by Suzy K Quinn
Rodney nods, hanging the tea towel and pouring himself a cup of coffee. ‘Sounds tough.’
‘In a way,’ I say. ‘But really, I feel tremendously lucky. I have a father who loves me and made it through a really bad depression. He’s got a new girlfriend now and he’s happy. I have a best friend who’s like a sister to me, and her mum was always taking care of me when I was younger, giving me good advice, buying me girly stuff.’
‘How do you get on with your dad’s new girlfriend?’ Rodney asks.
I think about that. ‘I don’t think she likes me being around much, except to clean and look after the new baby.’
‘New baby?’
‘My dad and his new girlfriend had a baby. Samuel. He’s gorgeous. Six months old.’
Rodney smiles. ‘Mine are all grown up now, but I remember that age. They’re lovely, aren’t they?’
I nod and take out my phone. ‘Here he is.’ I show him the hundreds of pictures I have of Samuel, smiling, looking serious, chewing things.
‘How did you meet Marc?’ Rodney asks.
‘I ... I’m on his course at Ivy College.’
‘You’re his student?’
I nod, looking at my coffee.
Rodney doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks volumes. Eventually he says, ‘Well, I’d better go start on the bathrooms.’
In the silence of the kitchen, I sip coffee and think. Rodney clearly loves Marc, but his reaction to me being Marc’s pupil was perfectly normal. In fact, he’s probably more understanding than most, given that he seems to love Marc so much. What chance do we have? Even if Marc does soften – even if I manage to soften him – everyone will judge us, and for good reason. It’s not a normal way to start a relationship.
I look out at Marc’s garden through the patio doors. It’s overgrown, covered in ivy. I smile. It’s been left to go wild, and needs to be arranged better. I’m itching to go outside and start tending to it, but when I try the patio door it’s locked.
Suddenly I feel out of place. A stranger in this huge house. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave without the paparazzi seeing me.
‘Rodney,’ I call up the stairs. ‘How should I leave?’
He comes to the top of the sweeping staircase. ‘The press have all gone now,’ he says. ‘They never stay outside if Marc has just left. They know he won’t be back all day.’
‘So I just walk out the front door?’ I ask.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Marc left his driver for you. He’s waiting in the garage. He’ll take you wherever you want to go. Marc had an idea you might want to see your family today.’
‘He did?’
Rodney nods. ‘Do you know your way to the garage?’
‘Yes,’ I say, heading around the staircase. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 52
In the garage, the limo is waiting. I knock on the driver’s window, and see a cheerful-looking grey-haired man in a peaked cap.
He rolls down the window, and I hear Radio 2 announcing the traffic news. ‘Sophia?’
I smile. ‘Yes. And you are?’
‘Keith. Where would you like to go today?’
‘Home,’ I say. ‘Back to my village. I’d like to see my dad and baby brother.’
‘And where’s home?’
‘Halstead. Essex.’
‘Not too far then. Hop in. Let’s get going.’ He gets out of the car and opens the back door.
‘Do you mind if I sit in the front with you?’ I ask. ‘I’ll feel lost in the back on my own.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he says, smile lines appearing around his eyes. ‘I’d love a bit of company. Nice to meet any friend of Marc’s.’ He runs around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. ‘Hop in.’
The drive home is quicker than I expect, and mostly made up of motorways and electricity pylons, with a brief drive through the Dartford tunnel.
Keith and I talk the whole way. He’s been employed by Marc for nearly ten years. Marc’s a very loyal employer, apparently. He likes to have the same people around him. Keith has watched Marc go from teen heartthrob to Oscar-winning movie star.
I ask about Marc’s girlfriends, and Keith gives a knowing smile. ‘Oh, you want to know about his love life, do you?’
I blush. ‘Yes. If you want to put it that way.’
‘Well, there’s never been anyone serious,’ says Keith. ‘Not in the time I’ve known him. He has flings, but no one stays the night. You’re the first.’ He gives me a sideways glance and a smile.
‘I am?’ My heart glows. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something to lift my mood after Marc’s sudden, cold exit this morning.
‘Yes,’ says Keith, pulling onto a country road that leads to my village. As usual, there’s a tractor bumping along and we get stuck behind it, moving at ten miles an hour.
Keith honks his horn, and the tractor pulls over and lets us past.
We drive onto the village high street, and down the back roads that lead to my family home. Everyone turns to stare at the car – it’s a very unusual sight in this part of the world.
I ring Jen to see if she can get free from work for an hour and come over to my dad’s place, but she can’t. I tell her it’s fine, and that I’ll try and give more notice next time.
When we arrive outside Dad’s cottage, it feels extremely strange to be pulling up in such a fancy car.
My dad’s girlfriend, Genoveva, comes to the door with Samuel in her arms. She looks exhausted, and Samuel is crying, but she’s not so tired that her eyes don’t widen when she sees the car.
When I step out, I think her eyes are going to pop out of her head.
‘Sophia!’ she says. ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘I came to see you and Dad, and Sam,’ I say, going to Samuel and kissing his head. Sam reaches out for a cuddle.
Keith calls out, ‘I’ll come pick you up in a few hours and take you back to your college. Until then, I’ll make myself scarce.’
‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’ I ask.
‘No, no. You’ve got a family reunion. I wouldn’t want to interfere.’ He drives away.
Genoveva holds Samuel close and I can see he’s grown, even in the short time I’ve been away.
‘Well I must admit, we’ve missed you around here,’ says Genoveva. ‘Your father has been talking about you non-stop. I’m utterly exhausted. I was expecting you back last weekend. I had a hair appointment booked. I had to cancel it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I wanted to come back, but Dad insisted I stay put, and I was glad to, really. There was a lot of settling in to do.’
‘So I see,’ she says, watching the retreating limo.
‘I’ll try to come back at least every other weekend,’ I say. ‘I miss you all. Can I hold Samuel?’
Genoveva holds out the baby, and I take him and kiss him all over his blonde head.
‘Sams! You got big, didn’t you? You’ve grown.’
He clings to me.
‘Will you help me do his washing?’ says Genoveva, running a hand through her long caramel-coloured hair. ‘He’s got nothing left to wear. I don’t know where to start. It’s all built up since you left. And we’re nearly out of milk. Your dad tries but ...’
‘I know.’ I smile. ‘He’s a domestic nightmare. Don’t let him near anything, he’ll make twice as much work for you. I figured that out years ago.’
I walk into the house, bobbing Samuel on my hip. It’s an absolute bombsite inside. A tower of washing up in the sink, piles of laundry on and around the washing machine, Samuel’s toys all over the floor. A fly buzzes around the dishes, and three tied-up rubbish bags sit by the bin. I can tell by the smell that at least one of them is full of Samuel’s nappies.
‘Here.’ I pass Samuel to Genoveva and he gives a little whimper. I pick up the rubbish and run it outside to the wheelie bin. Then I start putting away plates from the draining board, but half of them are covered in dried food. They’ll ha
ve to be washed again.
I take all the washing out of the machine, frowning as I see some of it has shrunk or been damaged. The washing smells of mould, so I put it straight back in again with a mould removing tablet and set about doing the washing up.
Samuel crawls up to me and tugs at my leg. Genoveva collapses on the sofa, complaining of a headache. It’s like I never left, and in a weird way, I’m glad I’m still needed.
An hour later, I’ve done all the washing up, made Genoveva a cup of tea and started tidying the living room, when Dad walks in.
‘Love! This is a nice surprise. Don’t you have classes?’
‘It’s a study day,’ I say.
‘Sit down, sit down, don’t feel you have to tidy the place when you’re here.’
‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ I say.
‘Look at you! Got this amazing scholarship in London, and the first thing you do is come back and start tidying. Sit down, I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
Dad can’t make a cup of tea to save his life. In fact, I’m fairly certain I once caught mild food poisoning from a cup of tea he made for me.
‘It’s fine,’ I say with a smile. ‘Sit down, I’ll do it.’
‘Always running round after other people,’ says Dad, ruffling my hair. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been missed around here.’
On the sofa, I see Genoveva’s lips go thin. ‘You know how hard things are for me with my headaches.’
‘I know,’ says Dad. ‘It’s just nice to have her back, that’s all.’
We sit down in the living area, and I pull Samuel onto my lap and sing him a song.
‘So, tell us about college,’ says Dad.
‘It’s ... very different,’ I say.
‘Made any friends yet?’
‘A few,’ I say. ‘There are all sorts of different people there.’
‘What are your teachers like?’
I hesitate. ‘Good.’ I say. ‘The lady who teaches us singing is a really lovely woman.’
‘What about Marc Blackwell?’ says Genoveva, leaning forward.
‘Yes, what’s he like?’ Dad asks.
‘He’s an amazing actor,’ I say. ‘And ... a very interesting person. I’m still not sure what to make of him. The jury’s out.’
‘Right, of course,’ says Dad. ‘He seems a bit on the stuck up side when you read about him, but is he better in person?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Definitely.’
I bounce Samuel on my lap, and Dad and I drink tea and catch up. One of the village bus services has stopped, apparently, which is bad news for local teenagers. And the post office got raided a couple of days ago.
After an hour or so, a car horn sounds outside and I realise Keith is waiting on the driveway.
‘I should get going,’ I say. ‘I need to get back to campus.’
Chapter 53
On the drive back, I check my mobile incessantly for messages from Marc. There are none. I think about the coldness of his exit this morning, and feel an aching in my heart. What if it’s all over? What if I really crossed the line, and will never see him again?
When I get back to my bedroom, I toy with the idea of texting him.
Don’t be stupid, a voice says. You’ll only make a bad situation worse. If he’s being cold with you because you got too close, the last thing you should do is push things.
But the waiting is just agony. I can’t help myself. I type out a few words:
Thanks for last night, hope to see you soon.
Delete, delete, delete. Too desperate. I try:
Had a great time last night. Thanks for the view of the city.
No. Too nicey nicey, and it doesn’t have anything in it that might make him reply. Oh. This is so difficult. I write:
Will I see you again soon?
And before I can think too much about it, I press send. Then I spend the next hour in agony, waiting for a reply. When there’s none, I spend another hour in agony, re-reading the message I sent and analysing how he could have taken it.
I ring Jen, and we hash out the whole scenario together. I leave out a few key details, like his fondness for corporal punishment, but I tell her we had sex last night, and that he left first thing this morning.
‘It sounds like you got too close,’ she says. ‘Probably not a good idea to send a text message. If a man doesn’t reply within an hour, then he’d better have a pretty good reason. Otherwise, get rid of him, whoever he is. I don’t care if he’s some big film star.’
‘Nor do I,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t care less about anything like that. It’s who he is that matters to me, and that’s what I’ve fallen in love with.’
‘Soph – have you?’ Jen sounds worried.
‘I think so,’ I admit. ‘The way I feel is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. When we’re together ... it’s hard to describe, but it’s like we just ... fit.’
‘Wow. You really do fancy him.’
‘It’s more than that,’ I say. ‘I feel taken care of. And ... he’s good for me. He tests me, makes me stronger and better.’
Jen snorts. ‘Are you sure you’re not just madly in lust with an extremely hot film star?’
‘It’s not just sex,’ I say. ‘At least, I don’t think it is.’
‘When will you see him again?’
‘We have a class tomorrow morning. This is torture. Why did I send him that stupid text message? He must be running a mile right now.’
‘You had to send it,’ says Jen. ‘You’d be torturing yourself even worse if you didn’t. At least now you know. Or probably know. He’s freaked out. Leave him to it. He might come back, he might not. Go out and have fun in the meantime. I wish I was there with you. I could come down -’
‘You have work,’ I interrupt. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’
Even though it’s only mid-afternoon, I crawl under my duvet, feeling lonelier and emptier than I ever have in my life. Life without Marc – there’s no magic to it. No excitement. I can’t stand this. I just can’t stand it.
I stare at my phone, willing it to ring, willing the message alert to beep. But it doesn’t.
I have a singing class with Denise this afternoon, but I just can’t manage it. I’m too tired after last night, and emotionally exhausted after today. I stuff my phone under my pillow and lie looking at the ceiling, thinking, thinking, thinking.
I watch movies on my new laptop, trying to take my mind off Marc, but in everything I choose there’s something that reminds me of him. In Love Actually, the hidden romance between the Prime Minister and his assistant ... in Pretty Woman, the dynamic of a rich older man with a young girl ... I see Marc everywhere.
As evening falls, I know I can’t face dinner with Tom and Tanya. They’ll know straight away that something’s wrong, and I don’t have the energy to lie to them. All I can think about is seeing Marc tomorrow.
I feel torn in two directions. Part of me is desperate to see him. Another part of me is afraid. What if it’s over?
At 10pm, I pull the duvet over my head and drift into a troubled sleep.
Chapter 54
The next morning, I consider skipping class. But I know there would be so many questions from Tom and Tanya, so I get dressed and wait outside the lecture theatre, my stomach hollow from yet another ‘too nervous to eat breakfast’ morning. I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime, and I feel weak and scared.
Every click of a shoe makes me jump.
‘Hey.’ I feel a hand at my elbow. It’s Tom.
‘Hey, Tom.’
‘You look exhausted, my love. Late night?’ He raises a mischievous eyebrow. He’s wearing a black cowboy hat today, and a pink cowboy shirt with embroidery around the shoulders.
‘No.’ I smile. ‘I wish.’
‘Looking forward to our lecture this morning? It’s great to have the man himself back, is it not?’
I’m about to reply when I hear hard footsteps clicking down the corridor. I turn and see Marc,
striding towards the lecture theatre.
My heart jumps into my mouth and I clutch my books tighter. It feels strange not to say hello to him after being so close, but it doesn’t feel appropriate somehow. Or welcome.
‘Good morning, Mr Blackwell,’ Tom says, in his cheerful, booming voice. ‘How are you today?’
‘Fine, thank you.’ Marc glides past him and into the lecture theatre, without even looking at me. This again. The silent treatment. I know I’m about to cry, and although part of me wants Marc to see how upset I am, another part of me can’t bear him to see my tears if this is the end of things.
‘I’ll see you later,’ I say to Tom, running down the corridor.
‘Are you okay?’ he calls after me.
‘Fine.’
I hurry out into the grounds, running over the grass, into the woodlands. When I’m surrounded by trees, I throw my books onto the cool, damp earth, and feel sobbing take over me. Then I sit on the soil and breathe in and out. The natural sights and smells calm me and help me feel myself again.
Through the trees, I see a tall figure striding towards the woodlands over the dewy grass. I quickly wipe the tears away and stand up.
It’s Marc. He sees me and walks faster.
I pick up my books and stumble away from him, heading towards the accommodation block.
‘Sophia,’ Marc calls.
I start to run, clutching my books tightly to my chest.
‘Wait.’ He’s right behind me now, and grabs my elbow. ‘Sophia, wait. I need to talk to you.’
I shake my arm away. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. I got too close and you didn’t like it.’
‘Come back to class. We can talk at the end of the lesson. I don’t like you being out here on your own.’
‘There’s nothing in the trees that can hurt me,’ I say. ‘It’s the person in the classroom I should be scared of.’
Marc drops his head. ‘You’re scared of me?’
‘Of course I am.’ I wipe tears from my cheeks. ‘I’m scared you’ll hurt me. Have hurt me.’
He puts both hands on my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry.’
I feel tears welling up again. ‘Don’t,’ I say, shuffling away. ‘Not here.’
