Chapter 20
TEDDY: Hey, have you seen El today?
The message is waiting for me on Monday when I check my phone at the end of the school day, as well as a missed call from Teddy.
LIZZIE: No. Why?
She replies straightaway, even though the message she sent has been sitting there for two hours.
TEDDY: I’m not sure. I was meant to see him last night and he cancelled on me. Said he wasn’t well. He’s not texted me once this morning either. Can you check he’s OK?
My plan is still to avoid Elliot as much as possible until I get some control back on my feelings for him, but I know Teddy wouldn’t text unless she was worried.
If spending a few minutes of my day with Elliot will help Teddy feel less stressed, it’s worth it.
My stomach still twists when I think about her being unhappy.
I promise I’ll go find him and report back.
I make my way to his office, hoping he’ll be busy, and we’ll exchange no more than a quick thumbs up so I can tell Teddy everything is fine.
His door is open a fraction when I arrive, and I hear the voice of Mr Montgomery.
Our headteacher has a library of voices to choose from depending on who he’s talking to, and this voice is stern.
Not angry, not patronising, but the voice he might use to a group of our oldest students when telling them to sort themselves out before exams arrive.
It’s the kind of voice you listen to without question, and the kind of voice you definitely don’t want to interrupt.
I linger outside the office, pretending to look at an art display until Mr Montgomery is done delivering whatever message he had for Elliot and walks past me.
‘Afternoon, Miss Cook,’ he says without slowing down.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ I say, sounding more like a student than a teacher.
The door to Elliot’s office has been left open, so I walk right through it before stopping in my tracks.
‘Elliot?’
I know stress can age you like nothing else, but Elliot looks way older than he did before he got the promotion.
He’s crumpled and dishevelled with dark rings around his eyes.
In front of him his desk is chaotic, with open folders balanced on top of each other, coffee cups, and loose paper everywhere, including the floor.
There’s a stale smell to the room that must have been even more intense before Mr Montgomery came in and left the door open.
He looks up at me, but he can barely manage a smile. He’s holding himself so tightly together, I can tell that any alteration to his state will pull him apart.
‘You don’t look too good, El,’ I tell him, which is the biggest understatement of my life. He looks dreadful. ‘Are you feeling OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ he says, his lips barely moving, like he’s a ventriloquist not wanting to give the game away.
‘No, you’re not. Yours is not the face of a person who is fine. What’s going on?’
‘I said I’m fine.’
‘When did you last leave this room? Have you eaten today?’
‘I’m busy,’ is all he says.
I want to go over to him and put the back of my hand against his forehead to check he’s OK. I want to put a blanket around him and feed him soup. I don’t want to see him like this ever again. I decide right then, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I thought the best way to get rid of my feelings for Elliot was to not be around him, to do it alone, cold turkey, but it turns out I was completely wrong.
Now I’m with him, and I can see he needs help, all those feelings that made me want to keep my distance are pushed to the back of my mind, and instead I move forward.
Elliot isn’t just a man I’ve been avoiding to squash my feelings, he’s also supposed to be my friend.
I’ve let myself forget that too much recently.
‘Come on, stand up. I’m taking you back to your flat.’
He scoffs at the idea. ‘I can’t go back. I’ve a report due tomorrow. I’ll speak to you later, OK? It was nice to see you.’
If he thinks he can dismiss me that easily, he’s sorely mistaken.
‘It’s nice to see you too, now move.’
‘I can’t,’ he says firmer. ‘If I don’t finish this report tonight, it will roll on into tomorrow, and tomorrow I’ve got to observe two teachers, write another report and attend a meeting, in which I’ve got to do a presentation on progress data, so if you don’t mind.’
‘OK. I get it, but you’re missing out a few vital things from that to do list, like sleeping and eating and breathing fresh air. If you insist on finishing the report, grab the files you need, and I’ll take you back to the flat. You can do it there, OK?’
I manage to cajole him out through a series of time-saving promises.
If he lets me take him back, I’ll stop nagging him and let him work.
If I take him now, we’ll miss rush hour, and he can be back at the flat in twenty minutes.
If he lets me in, I’ll make him food while he works, and I’ll make him something he can eat with one hand, so he doesn’t need to stop.
If he lets me help, I’ll leave him in peace much quicker than if he refuses.
He’s tense and quiet the whole journey back, fretfully looking at his phone every minute or so. He tells me he’s put his work emails on his personal phone so he can always be contactable, and I tell him he’s an idiot. The first time he properly looks at me is when I pull up outside his flat.
‘Thanks for the lift. You don’t need to come in. I promise I’ll eat. I might even take a shower,’ he says, giving me a smile that doesn’t crinkle the skin around his eyes like normal.
‘That wasn’t the deal, and you know it. I’m coming in, Elliot,’ I tell him.
‘Fine,’ he relents, ‘you can come in for a bit. Just be warned the flat is a bit of a state.’
It’s not a state at all. When my flat is a state, it tends to mean the dishes haven’t been done in days, there are clothes draped off every piece of furniture I own, and the carpets are covered in a combined layer of my hair and Bud’s fluff.
There’s no sign of any of those things in Elliot’s flat, but that doesn’t mean it’s as it normally is.
The first thing that hits me when I walk in is how cold it is.
The kitchen is spotless, but in that unlived in way you might find in a holiday rental.
The only nod to dishevelment is the unmade bed I spot when I walk past his open bedroom door.
In better times, I’m certain Elliot is the kind of person to make his bed as soon as he gets out of it.
It’s only when I sit on the chilly sofa, I spot what he might be getting at. Down the side is a tumbling pile of papers that have been heavily highlighted.
‘Can I get you something?’ Elliot asks, startling me as I’m flicking through them, struggling to make any sense of the numbers and columns on them.
‘No. You sit down here, and I’ll get you something. When was the last time you had a proper meal?’
‘I don’t know. Does cereal count?’
‘For breakfast, yes. As an entire diet, no. Let’s see what you’ve got, and I’ll rustle you something up. Preferably hot. It’s freezing in here.’
‘Is it? I’ll put the heating on for you.’
‘Yes, please. And why don’t you get changed too while I put the kettle on?’
He looks down at himself, at his crumpled shirt and his chinos with a stain on the thigh.
‘Yeah, I probably should. Will you be all right for five minutes?’
‘I’ll be absolutely fine. Take all the time you need. You don’t need to be worrying about me, OK? I’m here to help you,’ I remind him, gently.
Elliot goes off down the hallway, and I move to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle before opening cupboards and the fridge to see what I’ve got to work with.
The only things of note are an almost empty bottle of milk, some gone off hummus and two cans of tuna.
I’m well trained in the art of making something from nothing when I can’t be arsed to go to the supermarket, but even Jamie Oliver would be buggered trying to concoct a recipe from that pile.
‘Take your time, El,’ I shout from the kitchen as I put the milk back in the fridge. ‘You’ve nothing in, so I’m going to nip to the shop. I’ll be ten minutes.’
He doesn’t reply, and I presume he’s in the shower, but when I pass his room, I hear nothing. No water running, no rustling about as he gets changed. I pause outside the shut door, unsure whether he’s heard me.
‘Elliot?’
When he doesn’t answer, I open his door a fraction, shielding my eyes in case he’s getting changed.
I might have put my feelings to the side for now, but seeing Elliot naked is going to help no one.
There are no shouts of objection, so I dare to peek.
I find Elliot on top of the bed, still in his work clothes, fast asleep.
I shut the door gently behind me and creep out of the flat.
Teddy’s texted me three more times looking for updates.
I hesitate before replying, not sure how much to tell her knowing that she’s going through her own stuff right now.
But I can’t lie to her and tell her he’s fine.
Teddy got it spot on, recognising something was wrong with Elliot, and she deserves to know the truth.
I tell her he’s a mess with his workload, but that I’m helping him.
I also tell her that I’m tapping in on the school stuff, so she needn’t leave work to rush over, but that she should definitely check in with him later.
A lime basil and mandarin candle is burning, there’s a pot of tea on the counter, with a bottle of white in the fridge as a back-up, and I’m putting the finishing touches (grated cheese) onto a risotto when he walks back into the living area of his now warm flat.
‘You stayed?’ he asks, voice groggy. His work shirt is untucked and held together by only the two bottom buttons, revealing a column of smooth, taut skin that makes my stomach dip and my breath catch in my throat, but I push past it.
‘I left for a bit to get supplies, but yeah, I stayed.’
‘You didn’t need to. How long was I asleep?’