The Road Trip(75)

‘Nah,’ I say, wrinkling up my nose. ‘Thought I’d stick around and help out at the summer school.’

He laughs, and I glow.

‘You’ve done well this term, Addie,’ he says. ‘I’ve been really impressed.’

The glow brightens. ‘Oh, thank you. I’m really grateful to you and to Moira for everything you’ve done to help me, and all your patience as I found my feet.’

‘I have a good instinct when it comes to people,’ Etienne says, holding the door open for me. ‘I knew you’d make a great teacher. And I knew you’d be a good fit here with us.’

The outside door to the staffroom is stiff and heavy, and Etienne has his hands full of folders. To keep it open for me, he stands in front of it – I have to pass close to him to step through. I give him a brief smile as I brush past, then I breathe in sharply. His gaze is on my face, and there’s a heat there. It’s hard to define, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s wanting.

‘Even Tyson’s dad has come around to you,’ Etienne continues as we head for the coffee machine, side by side now.

His tone is light and casual. There’s no trace of that look. I avoid his gaze as we make coffee in the staffroom. We talk. Just chit-chat. Already I’m rewriting the scene: he didn’t look at me strangely at all, he was just polite and held the door for me.

But then he touches my hand as we both reach for the fridge door. My heart skips. He catches my eye and there it is again, with a secret smile.

‘Sorry,’ I say, retreating, cheeks burning. ‘You go. I’ll wait.’

‘No worries, Addie,’ he says, still holding my gaze. And then – gone again.

I swallow and take my coffee straight to my classroom. I wish Etienne wasn’t so handsome. I wish me and Dylan hadn’t fought this morning. I wish I hadn’t blushed.

I glance at the clock – only a couple of minutes until the kids start filing in. I’ve been stood here with my coffee, staring at my own blank whiteboard, doing nothing for almost ten minutes.

I pull my phone out and open my WhatsApp chat with Dylan.



I love you. Sorry for getting upset about a stupid TV stand xx



He’s already typing.



Love you too. And it wasn’t stupid. Or rather, it was stupid, because I spent too much money on it. I’ll return it at the weekend.



I smile. Then he starts typing again.



But will you go for a drink with me and Marcus tomorrow night? I really want you guys to try and get along. Please? xx



I spend an hour trying to decide what to wear for the drinks with Marcus, getting more and more annoyed at myself with every outfit I chuck on the bed. It’s a hot evening, still in the twenties after six o’clock. I toy with the loose cotton dresses I wore last summer in France, but they all look too short. I’m so used to wearing dresses that cover my knees for school now; a minidress looks kind of scandalous.

In the end I wear jeans, Converse and a threadbare white T-shirt that always slips off my shoulder. I’m going for carefree and cool with the shoulder-slip, but as soon as I leave the house I realise it’s just an extra thing to think about. It keeps slipping too far and showing the top of my scratty strapless bra.

We head to a pub a few roads away from our flat. It has dark blue walls and pint glasses dangling from all the old beams on the ceiling, each with a little lightbulb inside. For a moment I see it as Marcus will see it: how try-hard it looks, compared to the cool London pubs he likes.

He’s already there, at a table by the window. The street light streaming through the glass casts his face in triangles of light and shade. He’s beautiful. I forget that, probably because he’s usually being such an arse.

We hug hello. He holds me at a distance, hips away from mine, the way you hug a colleague or a distant cousin. He and Dylan talk for a while and I keep missing moments to get involved, opening and closing my mouth like a fish.

‘So, Addie,’ Marcus says, picking at a beer mat on the table. ‘How’s school?’

‘It’s good, actually. I’ve kind of figured out how to do this teaching thing, a bit,’ I say, twisting my pint between my palms. ‘Behaviour has been the toughest thing for me. Getting them to respect me.’

‘Must be hard when you’re not that much older than them yourself,’ Marcus says.

‘Yeah, and half of the Year Elevens are a foot taller than me already, too,’ I say, pulling a face.

Dylan beams. It breaks my heart a little, how happy he is to see us getting on.

‘And the hot head teacher?’ Marcus asks. ‘How’s he?’

I feel my cheeks flush and it makes me blush even harder, because I know it looks like guilt.

‘Etienne?’ I say. ‘He’s fine. I imagine. Who told you he was hot?’

‘Dylan’s mentioned it,’ Marcus says, shooting Dylan an amused glance. ‘Once or twice.’

When Dylan’s embarrassed, you can see it in his eyes – they go sort of tight at the corners.

Dylan has never once mentioned Etienne to me. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned him to Dylan, either.

‘Right,’ I say, trying to sound like this is no big deal.

‘He recruited you, did he, the hot head?’