Chapter 4
For now
Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t—
“Hi, Melanie!” I say, furious that my headteacher would have the nerve to answer my call instead of ignoring it so I had an excuse to just text her like a normal person.
“You can’t be sick,” she replies instantly. “We’ve spent too much money on supply teachers this year already.”
“Sorry, I’ve had a bad case of V and D since the early hours of this morning.”
Usually, I curse Vomiting and Diarrhoea being a constant risk in my life, thanks to those germ-infested ankle-biters I teach, but today I couldn’t be more grateful for the mandatory forty-eight hours off work the excuse gives me.
And, as today is Thursday, that will take me nicely to the weekend, so I have four whole days to figure everything out before I go back on Monday.
“Shit,” she sighs. “Fine, but you’ll have to email over your planning for the next two days. We can’t expect the supply teacher to do it, can we?”
“No, that would be unreasonable.” I hope she doesn’t hear my eyes roll as I say it. “There’s a pink file on my desk with my planning and resources in ready to go. I set it up every Friday evening ready for the following week.”
“Okay, fine, I suppose that will do.” Melanie hangs up.
I throw my phone on the bed and lie back onto the pillow, pulling the covers up to my neck.
In my rush to pack, yesterday afternoon, I forgot to bring pyjamas, so, after sharing a pizza with Connor (I only ate one slice and dabbed away the grease with a napkin first), I had no choice but to go to sleep in my bra and knickers.
I didn’t bother looking for something of Ivy’s – it would never fit me.
I look up at the ceiling and try not to think about the exposed flesh hiding under the duck-egg duvet.
I would never usually have this much skin on show ever because I hate seeing myself like this.
Showers are the only time I’m completely naked, and getting changed takes place on my own in the dark.
I can’t remember the last time Rhys saw me without my clothes on, and I haven’t let him touch my midriff in years.
No wonder he got fed up of you.
I start to hum to myself to block out the voice and decide to get dressed. I sit up and, careful not to look down at myself, pull back the duvet just as the door swings open.
“I’m making pancakes if you— Woah!” Connor covers his eyes with his hands when he notices I’m in my underwear.
I rush to cover myself and feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment. We both start talking at the same time.
“What the hell…?”
“I heard you talking on your phone…”
“You should have knocked!”
“I didn’t know you were naked!”
“I’m not naked, I’m wearing underwear,” I huff.
“So, I can’t even see the good stuff?” Connor says with a smirk as he peeks through his spread fingers.
I lob a pillow at his face, which would have been much more impressive if it hadn’t missed him completely and landed on the floor two feet to his left.
“I’m sorry! It was instinct.” He makes a show of covering his eyes again but doesn’t show any sign of leaving. “Do you always sleep in your undies, then?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I forgot to pack pyjamas.” I pull the duvet close around my neck, my face on fire.
“Why didn’t you borrow some of Ivy’s?”
“I didn’t think.” The lie rolls smoothly off my tongue.
“It was late, and I was upset.” Friends now or not, I don’t want to get into a conversation with Connor about my weight issues.
“I’m going back to the house to pick up some more stuff this morning, anyway, so no need to worry, you won’t catch me like this again. ”
“I wasn’t worried,” he says. “You need breakfast before you leave. Pancakes will be ready in ten.” Connor leaves, shutting the door behind him and I hear his footsteps retreat down the stairs.
It takes the entire ten minutes for my face to calm down to its normal pale hue.
I quickly throw on some leggings and a hoodie, pile my hair onto my head in a bun, brush my teeth in the bathroom and head downstairs.
I follow the smell of pancakes like a cartoon character following the smell of a freshly baked pie cooling on a windowsill.
Connor is standing at the hob, expertly flipping a pancake. He adds it to the Leaning Tower of Pancakes on the plate next to him and adds more batter to the pan. The pancakes look golden and fluffy and perfect, and the smell makes my mouth water.
Greedy pig.
I hum instinctively to centre myself, which catches Connor’s attention. He throws me a smile over his shoulder before his face falls. He looks disappointed. What did I do?
“What?” I ask, frantically trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong.
“You got dressed! I thought walking around in our underwear was going to be standard procedure from now on.”
“Dick,” I say, relieved. His teasing doesn’t come off as mean, like it used to, but playful.
“How many pancakes?” he asks, grabbing a plate from the high cupboard. His grey T-shirt lifts as he stretches to reveal an inch of toned back.
“None for me, thanks, I don’t really eat breakfast.” This isn’t a total lie. I don’t eat breakfast, usually. But not because I don’t want to, it’s just an easy way of cutting a few calories.
Connor looks at me like I’ve suggested going on a killing spree. “Don’t be ridiculous! My pancakes are the best you’ll find for miles. Besides, you must be starving after only having one piece of pizza last night, so sit down and eat.”
He piles three pancakes onto a plate, drowns them in maple syrup and slides it over to me along with a bowl of sliced strawberries.
I sit at the breakfast bar overlooking the kitchen and stare at my plate.
How do I tackle this? I can’t just not eat them, or he’ll be offended.
I could cut them up and push them to one side of the plate to make it look like I ate some?
I could ask him for his recipe, input it into my calorie app and weigh each pancake to at least track what I do eat, but that would take ages.
“Eat,” Connor repeats and hands me a fork.
“Okay, thanks.” I’ll just have one, then adjust my lunch to make up for it. Connor seems satisfied as I take a bite and turns to his own plate of six pancakes.
“What time are we leaving?” he asks as I spoon strawberries onto my plate.
“What do you mean?”
“What time are we setting off to get the rest of your stuff?” He drizzles more maple syrup onto his pancakes. How does he eat this much and stay so fit?
“We?” I say through a mouthful of pancake.
“I’m your friend now, aren’t I? This is what friends do,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t start work until 4:00, so I have plenty of time. No biggie.”
I put down my fork and look at Connor. I have never seen this side of him before and it’s unnerving.
He’s usually taunting me or making fun of me, and he’s definitely never made me pancakes before – I would have remembered because he was right; these are the best for miles.
The Connor I usually have to deal with would have never offered to help me move my stuff.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Connor glances from my face to my crossed arms to my foot tapping on the leg of my stool, with an amused expression. The smirk brings out a dimples in his cheeks and his eyes light up for a split second before returning to normal.
“Cut the bullshit, Connor. You haven’t been nice to me since… ever, actually. Why have you suddenly changed your entire personality?”
“My personality hasn’t changed – this is who I’ve always been. I’m a good friend. We’ve just never been friends before.” He shrugs as he takes his plate over to the dishwasher. “Do you want to go back to how we used to be while you stay here?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stop being friends?”
“Not really.”
“Do you want me to take away the friendship pancakes?”
“Don’t you dare!”
He chuckles as I throw a protective arm around my unfinished plate before his outstretched hand can take it away.
“Well, eat up, Til. We’ll leave as soon as you’re done.”
I’m grateful for Connor offering to drive.
Not only does he have a bigger car, but my hands are shaking so much I’d have been pulled over and breathalysed for weaving.
I know that Rhys should be in work at the gym at this time, but I still feel nervous about going back to the house where I lived with him for so long.
There are six years’ worth of memories in that house, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to face them.
Despite it being less than twenty-four hours, it feels like an age since I left. Pulling up in the drive feels strange. Walking along the overgrown garden path towards the front door feels alien. Putting my key into the lock feels wrong.
You’re trying to unlock your front door with your car key, idiot.
Before I have chance to fix it, Connor gently takes my keys, finds the right one and opens the door for me. My keys make their way into the pocket of his jeans and he gestures for me to go first.
“You okay?” he asks as I stand in the hallway and look around, unsure of where to start.
My entire life is in this house. How do I even begin to pack it away?
“Not really,” I admit. “This is going to be hard.”
Connor nods slowly and shoves his hands in his pockets. I feel his gaze on the back of my head as I continue to look around, hoping someone will jump out and tell me it was all just a practical joke, and I don’t have to leave my home.
“Can I ask you something?” Connor asks tentatively. “As a friend?”
I just nod and turn to look at him. I pull my arms around my middle, for comfort more than warmth.
“You don’t have to talk to me about what happened between you and Rhys if you don’t want to, but I’ve been worrying… Did you leave because he was abusive? Physically?”
I blink, caught off guard. The thought of Rhys ever abusing me is ludicrous; he may have been a little difficult, even bordering on controlling sometimes, but he’s never laid a finger on me.
“No! God, no, nothing like that. Rhys has never been violent at all.”