4
The next day is much less eventful. I get to school on time and even manage to look presentable. I had put on my lucky outfit, a maroon peplum dress fastened by black buttons sweeping in a line from the neck to the shoulder. It’s my power suit equivalent, my armour. I stroll into the school with my head high, coolly saying ‘good morning’ to Mary, the receptionist.
When John catches me in the corridor, he whistles.
‘I dig your ’50s secretary look.’ He offers me a cookie from a paper bag he’s holding, which I accept because I’m a sucker for refined sugar.
John’s comment unnerves me because my fashion choices had always been a sore point between me and Aaron, who stated once that I dressed like a French schoolgirl mixed with Lolita. I was astonished he managed to come up with a literary reference of any sort because Aaron has always been a bibliophobe. As a result of our opposing opinions on fashion, he constantly treated me to overpriced black dresses that I detested and he couldn’t afford.
I take a bite of the cookie, and it dissolves on my tongue like spun sugar. I must moan out loud because John chuckles. ‘That good?’ I nod with embarrassment. ‘Oh man, I wish I still enjoyed eating crap like this.’ He checks the corridor when he swears, but the school seems abandoned. ‘Ever since I did a nutrition course a few years back and learnt what this does to your arteries, I can’t enjoy the simple pleasures of life. Luckily, there are other pleasures to enjoy.’ He winks at me, and I laugh out loud at his attempt to be seductive.
I don’t take his suggestive tone personally because I’m starting to gather that that’s his way of communication. Despite this, Lydia’s words creep into my head. Would it be so bad to have a quick romp with Mr PE Teacher to do a bit of unnecessary exorcism to rid you of Aaron? I shake my head to clear the invasive thought. I’m done with men. Plus, John doesn’t really do it for me.
I’m still grinning at John’s goofiness when I hear a cough. In sync, we turn our heads around to witness Alex exiting his office. A deep scowl working onto his face, he nods in acknowledgement as he breezes past us. My nose registers the woody fragrance of his expensive aftershave, and all of a sudden, my heart has swelled to twice its original size and feels too big for my ribcage. How long has he been listening?
‘Yikes. That was chilly even for Mr Boss.’ John eyes me with uncomfortable intensity.
I swiftly change the topic. ‘Whose cookies am I eating anyway?’ We start walking towards the upper floor where my classroom is.
‘Becky and Danielle’s. Do you want to join us for a tea break at ten?’
At least someone seems to like me here.
I reluctantly make vague plans of finding them later because I was planning on holing up in the classroom, working through my lunch and not leaving until I had everything ready for next week. I wasn’t planning on including any time for social interactions, tea breaks or even toilet breaks. I’ve learnt that one can achieve double the amount of work when equipped with finger food and thermos flasks.
By the time I’m left in peace for a few hours, I start falling into a false sense of security. That is until Alex stops by my classroom mid-morning. He even goes to the great lengths of knocking on the door before he enters, as opposed to John and Danielle who barged in without a second thought an hour ago and had left a mess of finished cups and half-empty plates of biscuits.
When Alex knocks on the door, I’m studying the last year’s planning template. I lift my head as he walks in and immediately freeze.
His face is wearing a customary unapproachable expression so unlike the Alex I knew. But I promised myself to stop making connections between the person in front of me and the Alex I knew ten years ago.
I try not to study him, but it’s hard not to notice the muscles forming under his crisp white shirt. He’s abandoned his jacket and waistcoat today and opted for charcoal trousers and a white shirt. The outfit makes him look much younger and less severe, that is until my attention draws back to his face.
He uses that cool, we’ve-never-met tone that unnerved me so much yesterday. ‘I trust you have had a productive day so far.’ He silently judges the empty, shrivelled-up packets of biscuits.
I just incline my head because, apparently, I can’t be trusted to be professional around him as a number of inappropriate and unprintable words automatically spring to my mind.
‘I’ve already spoken to Danielle. I won’t be able to join you planning because I have an emergency meeting with Jane and the board of governors this afternoon,’ he stiffly informs me. A part of me feels relieved that our imminent planning session is postponed, but a minuscule part tucked at the back of my mind deflates.
I nod. I’m so proud of my polite detachment that I could pat myself on the shoulder and pin a golden rosette to my chest. I almost don’t notice how his shoulder muscles press against the shirt when he folds his arms in front of him in a gesture that says he wants to say more but thinks better of it.
An errant memory of what his body felt like on top of me when we were teenagers lances through my conscious mind. Sometimes even now, I can’t stop imagining what sex would have been like with him. Through rose-tinted glasses of teenagerhood, the chemistry between me and Alex was all-encompassing. We were frantic, all hands and hungry mouths. I’ve never felt such energy with anyone who came after Alex. I tell myself that all first physical experiences are like that. Despite trying hard not to relive the past, I’m transported to ten years ago when it all started.
*
The coach is full, except for two seats. One next to me in the front of the coach, the seat of honour for the cursed people who suffer from travel sickness like me, and the doomed seat by the toilets that is affectionately known among our classmates as the shit seat .
My nerves are jangling, pleading wordlessly with myself to not vomit on the coach. I don’t mind a sneaky vomit in whatever services we stop at, but puking here would be social suicide. I can’t even get excited about the fact that I’m going to France for the first time because of the torturous eight-hour journey ahead of us that I can’t share with Vicky because she flat out refused to sit by the teachers and instead flopped down next to Jade at the back. And Catherine got a terrible bout of flu two days before the trip. At least I’ve got the seat next to me to myself because nobody wants to be next to a person who might decorate their outfit with projectile vomit. To save my middling reputation, I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch and doped myself with enough motion-sickness tablets this morning that would sedate a horse. My head is drowsy and my belly won’t stop growling like a starving bear cub.
I vaguely listen to Mr Browne calling out people’s names and ticking them off his list as my classmates holler back. He reminds everyone to check their passports one more time because, quote, ‘whoever fails to present one at the passport control, will be abandoned on the spot with no remorse and left to their devices, meaning they will have to find their way back home, be it hitchhiking or walking’. Mr Browne thinks he’s funny sometimes.
The driver, Ms Serrurier, the French teacher, is setting the satnav for Paris past Calais. Everyone is strapped in and ready to go, but last minute somebody bangs on the closed door of the coach. Mr Browne remarks dryly, ‘This must be your lucky day. One minute and we would have been off to France.’
‘How timely of me,’ a familiar voice says as a head with messy ginger waves appears on the steps of the coach. A few girls closest to me titter.
‘Find yourself a space, Mr Bennet,’ Mr Browne says flatly, not impressed by Alex’s comment.
My body clenches as his attention lands on me, eyes unblinking. He doesn’t check whether there are any more seats available and immediately swings his backpack over my head, stuffing it into the compartment above. He proceeds to seat himself next to me. Apart from a subtle nod, he doesn’t acknowledge me after that. On top of worrying I’m going to purge my stomach of the last vestiges of food all over the seats, I’m now terrified of spending the next eight hours with Alex Bennet because as much as we’ve spent the last month swapping notes, I have no idea what to say to him.
For twenty minutes, there is deafening silence between us. I can hear Vicky, as always a little loud, retelling a story about how her mother found a condom in her underwear drawer and went ballistic. I think I see Alex roll his eyes, but maybe I’ve imagined it.
‘Late or travel nausea?’ Alex asks without preamble like he’s unable to listen to any more of Vicky’s far-fetched stories despite half the coach being entertained by them.
‘Pardon?’ I startle and knock my elbow into his abdomen. I mumble sorry , unnerved by his closeness. I’m a frayed rope about to snap.
‘Why are you sitting in the second-worst seat in the entire coach?’ He nods towards the teachers two meters away. As if to reinforce his question, Jessica starts sneaking small sips from a metal flask at the back and passing it to others. Vicky throws me a strange look, but I have no energy left to decipher it.
‘Motion sickness, I’m afraid.’ I shrug, narrowly avoiding his torso. Despite his wide shoulders, he’s lean and boyish in shape, his pale arms in a grey T-shirt covered in golden freckles. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t cover you in vomit. There would have to be something in my stomach, and I can tell you that it’s even more barren than the Sahara at this point,’ I blurt and as if planned, my belly growls loudly in proof of my statement. Alex chokes out a surprised laugh.
His laugh gives me an ounce of confidence. ‘Why were you late?’ I pin my gaze to his pierced nose as he speaks because it’s easier than losing myself in the green abysses. The proximity to his face makes me want to kiss him, and the realisation colours my cheeks.
‘I helped my mum wash her hair,’ he offers simply. I wonder why his mum needed help, but I don’t ask.
He rifles through the pockets of his sweatshirt resting over his long legs until he pulls out a small tin. He opens it with a pop, and the smell of fresh mint and ginger burns my nostrils. He offers me the tin that is full of neatly cut ginger slices and a handful of mint leaves.
‘Helps with nausea,’ he explains as he places a leaf in his mouth. When he sees the realisation on my face, he smirks. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t cover you in vomit.’
Grinning, I stuff a ginger slice in my mouth and chew. Immediately, my eyes start streaming and my nose feels tingly.
He puts his hands up while laughing quietly. ‘I didn’t say it would be pleasant or pretty, but it does help. Tried and tested by moi .’
I take a mint leaf from the tin.
After that, the conversation flows, and we spend the next four hours chatting about everything and anything. The outside sky slowly darkens to a charcoal grey, and a few people have closed their eyes to rest and perhaps stall the starting hangover. In the last hour, Alex has leaned towards me, and eventually, we end up with our heads drawn together, our elbows and thighs resting against each other. My skin prickling at the closeness, I watch distractedly as the landscape changes on the other side of the window. Soon we pass the sign that welcomes us to Maidstone, the county town of Kent, the Garden of England.
‘You know what gets me really vexed?’ I whisper, ignoring the electrical current running through my skin where it touches his. I don’t wait for his response. His eyes are shut, his golden lashes fluttering, but I know he’s listening. ‘The way signs describe towns with positive superlatives. Why don’t the signs ever describe the things that aren’t great or totally awful about the place, to make people’s expectations a bit more realistic? Like, Bournemouth, known for mediocre deep-fried mini doughnuts and food-stealing seagulls.’
His lips quirk in the semi-dark. He joins my game. ‘Poole, known for chewing-gum-laden pavements and ancient pawn shops.’ His face moves even closer to mine and when he opens his eyes, they contain a spark of amusement laced with something darker.
‘Exactly,’ I beam at him despite the nervous energy that spreads through my limbs at the intimate nearness. Copying his move and twisting towards him fully, I add, ‘Christchurch, priding itself on the loudest gaggle of swans and mobility scooter central.’
He pauses on my mouth. I have an urge to lick my lips because they’re suddenly dry, but I resist. ‘Isn’t a collective noun for swans a bevy?’ he wonders out loud. He’s so smart, it’s almost annoying. ‘Plus, don’t forget Christchurch’s county-famous traffic jams. They should be celebrated. Christchurch, known for the loudest bevy of swans and mobility scooter central, where it takes you at least an hour to get anywhere from anywhere. The distance doesn’t matter. Be glad that you’ve reached the destination.’
We both start laughing at the same time, our hands between us tangling into a motley of fingers. He smells of laundry detergent and mint, and the combination is headier than my mother’s Christmas punch. My attention is yanked to where we’re entwined. He lifts one of his hands and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, but instead of letting go, he rests his palm against my cheek, cupping my face. My breathing picks up, and I’m utterly terrified of what might or might not happen next. He focuses on something behind him for a second and when I follow his look, I see Mr Browne sleeping with his mouth open, drool covering his chin. I turn back smirking but when I catch Alex’s serious expression, my smile freezes. Finally, he closes the distance between us, but just before his lips touch mine, he hovers. I realise he’s waiting for my permission, and as soon as I nod, his lips cover mine.
It’s soft, electrifying and dizzying at the same time. My lungs cannot get enough air in them. He glides his lips against mine in a graceful dance, and I copy his moves, unsure whether I’m doing it correctly. I’m utterly mortified that my first-ever kiss is on a coach in front of at least twenty-five unaware classmates. I slide my hand up his arm and end up clutching onto his shoulder because I have a sudden need to steady myself. When he pulls away, his pupils are wide, and he looks anything but composed. I know in that moment that I’ll never forget that expression. It burns into my retinas.
*
Eventually, Alex’s voice snaps me back to reality, his look very different to that day in my memory.
‘Danielle will show you how to fill in the template on the system. Please refer to my email about planning expectations.’ He carries on without a pause or an inflection. He’s about to turn around, ready to go without any input from me, but I stop him.
‘Hold on. I have some paperwork for you.’ I cover the length of the classroom to reach my bag tucked in the corner in a few brisk strides. I bend to pick it up, my dress moulding around my backside tightly for the briefest of moments. As I straighten up, a throat clears loudly behind me.
Alex is rooted to the spot wearing his coldest expression yet. I cannot fathom what I’ve done this time to deserve that look. But when he halts on the lacquered buttons on my shoulder, I catch his lips twitching before they flatten into a firm line in what I gather is distaste. I shove the folder in his direction with perhaps too much force, but I’m past caring.
Unexpectedly, Becky walks into the classroom and almost backs right out. ‘Oh, sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ she mumbles, and her cheeks colour deep maroon. She starts stammering, ‘We’ve left a mess here, so I wanted to help. With the mess, that is.’ Even I can tell she’s got it bad. I don’t understand why because even the iceberg that sank the Titanic seems more approachable.
To my surprise, his face morphs into something akin to affability. ‘That’s OK, Becky. We’re done here.’ A lump forms in my throat when I detect a softness in his tone I didn’t know he was capable of.
He glances my way, and the fingers of his right hand start drumming rapidly on his upper thigh. The next second, he rushes out of the classroom like someone has clamped a time bomb to his ankle. Embarrassment the intensity of a flash flood washes over me.
The classroom is oddly silent after his departure. ‘I’ve never seen him this put out before.’ Becky blanches. ‘Sorry. That was inappropriate and unsolicited.’ I know she doesn’t mean it unkindly, but something in me freezes, nevertheless.
If Becky has noticed the tension between me and Alex after being in the same room for less than a minute, how long is it going to take everyone else? The problem is that I can’t even pick him up on his behaviour because technically he hasn’t done anything wrong.
After helping me tidy up in awkward silence, Becky leaves me to my troubled thoughts. I try to regain my lost momentum, but I can’t push Alex’s face out of my mind.
I end up planning with Danielle. After a mere twenty minutes, I make a full assessment of Danielle’s character and decide I’d rather have my nasal hair waxed than spend any more time with the black-haired woman. Despite her helpfulness and patience when I ask a gazillion questions about the planning document, she’s a little too eager to share gossip with a virtual stranger. It doesn’t matter whether they’re friend or foe, if she has something on them, she’ll spill it to anyone who’s willing to listen.
After less than half an hour, I learn that Rob, the year three teacher, has a child with a married woman; Ellie, the SENCO, has been divorced twice; at a Christmas do, Becky got so drunk on J?gerbombs that she puked in Alison’s CELINE bag and lied about it, and that John once went on a date with Jane. The first, second and third titbits of gossip don’t cause a reaction whatsoever because I don’t remember which one of the two male teaching staff is Rob or who Alison is. However, I must admit that the last comment shocks me to the bone even though I don’t give Danielle the pleasure of reacting.
There’s a cutting nastiness to her remarks that puts me on edge and makes me grateful that the gossip isn’t about me. I keep steering the conversation back to work, but she keeps reverting it to personal matters like we’re playing a game of Swingball, the cord constantly moving up and down the post, never quite reaching the top or bottom.
We order a pizza, but it only gives her more fuel to keep trying to suck any personal information out of me. I’ve never been much of a sharer. I prefer to keep private things private. Some might say I have trust issues, but who doesn’t? Unwillingly, my thoughts steer to my dad, Aaron and eventually Alex.
I only half-listen as Danielle happily alternates between backstabbing Becky and her – what she calls – pathetic obsession with Alex and instructing me on how to write steps to success to match my learning objectives in the planning document. One has to admire her multifocal mind.
After she steers the conversation forcefully towards Alex for the fifth time, I get an uncomfortable feeling she knows something is amiss between him and me and is fishing. When I don’t show any interest in her gossipmongering, she gives up and goes for a direct hit.
‘I’ve got a bit of goss that I’ve been dying to share and thought you might be interested in.’ Despite her small frame, her ample bosom rises and falls as she inhales dramatically. I have no idea what she’s going to say, but I try not to clench my jaw, my nervous tell. ‘John overheard Mr Boss and Jane earlier.’ Dread constricts my chest, but I force myself to stay silent.
‘Apparently, John heard Jane and Alex talk about you. He made it sound like he knew you before yesterday.’ Her big red lips smack loudly against each other like she’s ready to eat a juicy chunk of meat.
I consider negating her statement, but then I decide that coming out with a half-truth and pretending it’s not a big deal is a better tactic. ‘We went to sixth form together. We weren’t in the same study group so I didn’t recognise him at first,’ I say as breezily as I can and physically make myself shut up before I say too much. Questions multiply in Danielle’s eyes like comments on Instagram Live.
Before she has a chance to ask, I dash her hopes. ‘I didn’t really know him that much.’ I shrug in what I hope looks like a carefree dismissal. Despite my outward composure, everything inside me tenses until Danielle nods, repeating my noncommittal gesture. I don’t think she bought it, but I guess I’ll only have to wait to hear the gossip to see whether she did.
‘Well, he seemed to remember you. When Jane asked him what he thought of you, he said you looked nothing like what you looked like back then.’
I force a laugh. Alex’s rude comment is a prompt reminder he’s never been what I painted him to be and that back then he’d deceived me into thinking he was a decent human being. I’m not going to make the same mistake now.
‘I guess that’s a good thing.’ I attempt a weak joke. ‘Nobody should stick with the fashion choices they made at seventeen. Even though I still stand by flared jeans and rainbow crop tops.’
‘He’s not very friendly towards you, is he, though?’ When I don’t say anything, she stops fishing. ‘But that’s Alex through and through.’
After that, our conversation dwindles, and the silence becomes oppressive once again. Eventually, we manage to complete planning for the whole week, but I stay long after she’s gone.
From my classroom window, I see all cars but two have left the car park by half five. Both are much fancier than mine. It’s good to know that I’m not the only person staying late. No matter how long I stay, I never feel I’m on top of things. I guess it comes with the territory of being a teacher.
Finally, I’m ready to leave at six. Last minute, I manage to reshuffle the desks to match my seating plan, check all stationery supplies are in place and all books are ready for Monday. My back is aching from hefting a cumbersome bookcase from one corner of the classroom to another to get some semblance of feng shui, but despite that, I feel something akin to happy.
I’m ready for my new life to start.