by Dee Palmer
“Beautiful butterfly, beautiful butterfly.” Sofia beams and I lightly punch her on the arm for taking the piss, but I know I’m good to go.
“I’ll want all the deets later…so call me?” Sofia’s hug is getting a little emotional and tight.
“Stop! You’re making me nervous and I don’t need to call. I’ll see you later, I’m working the late shift.”
“I thought you would take tonight off at least, you know, just in case you hook up?” She teases.
“Bye Sofs.” I leave, she has a key, and she can lock up.
I tend to walk everywhere, but today I’m running late and don’t want to spend the rest of the day sweaty from rushing. All the same, it’s a shame to get the tube when London is in midst of Autumn and there has been no wind severe enough to strip the trees bare. It’s my favourite season and the only time of year when you really notice the sheer number of trees around the city, which are now golden, bronze and fiery copper.
The campus itself is spread over a few locations across the city, but the oldest and main part is the Quad: a cobbled courtyard surrounded on three sides by early nineteenth century buildings. They may no longer dominate the skyline as they once had but they are imposing nonetheless. I pass the Gate House and make my way through the crowds of students to the Student Information Centre. My main objective today, aside from the actual registration, is to work out how I can fit my part-time degree into a full-time time-table without raising suspicion. I need to double up on the part-time units in whatever way my work time-table will accommodate. I really don’t want this degree to take the typical eight years when I know I can do it in three. As I see it, I just have to approach each subject tutor individually and get them to accept me taking their extra lessons in addition to the lessons I’m actually assigned and just hope they don’t compare notes. Simple.
I move slowly down the corridors, which have notice boards brimming with information on either side. Course and lecture information, clubs and interests, jobs and welfare; every food group is represented. I quickly scan the boards. Not that I will be ‘joining-in’ anytime soon since free time is a luxury I haven’t had in a while. I’m naturally drawn to the jobs and opportunities board, and am surprised and intrigued by a simple small flyer pinned and fighting for space. Call center, flexible late night hours-excellent pay. Not a huge amount of information, but I tear off one of the strips with the contact number and slip it in my jacket pocket.
I head toward the library with all my course information and stacks of flyers, which have been pressed into my hands as I’ve wandered, trying to get a feel for where I am and where I need to be. I would always gravitate toward the library, regardless. I can’t live without my Kindle, but really there is no comparison to finding yourself lost in a room with shelves stacked high, soft chairs scattered, and quiet secluded corners surrounded by tombs of literature. Especially seductive if the building is as old as this; it’s like a warm blanket of knowledge waiting to unfurl around me. I find one of the silent areas and a comfy seat, sinking down I take my notebook and pencil from my bag and start to doodle as my mind drifts. The shapes my pencil make are repeating patterns of tightly bunched ears of corn, and the image makes me smile.
It was late August and I had agreed to open my exam results with John in the hayfield. I had waited for the postman and when he arrived I took the letter addressed to me, a blanket, some provisions and a notepad, then made my way to the hayfield. I walked through the churchyard and into the field, which was full of dozing Friesians, and guide to the field recently harvested for wheat. The farmer had baled and stacked the straw into several large blocks, and I couldn’t see from the ground which one John would be on. He wasn’t going to make it easy by leaving any clues or answering me when I called. I know he was there; he was always there before me.
I walked around three of the stacks and couldn’t even see any tell-tale flattened footprints or bent stubble, the only thing I could do was climb and look from the top. I called again.
“You know a gentleman wouldn’t let me climb all the way up there, especially when I’ve brought food!” It was a semi whine but I knew questioning his manners would get a response.
“Low blow, Boo, you’re no fun you know?” He peeks is head over the edge of the stack I’m directly next to and I smile at his pout. His dark hair is flopping into his warm chocolate eyes.
“Yeah, I know, but you’d feel bad making me haul my arse up the wrong stack and you know it.” I sling my bag over my shoulder, tie the blanket around my waist and start to climb the straw bales. Poking my fingers and toes in hard to get purchase, I manage to grip and climb while John has his hand dangling for me to take and as soon as I can reach it.
We sit crossed legged, knee to knee on my blanket with our letters in our hands. We both rip the envelopes at the same time and I stare at mine in shock.
“Well, I’ve got what I need, how did you do, Boo?” He takes the letter from me, “Bloody hell, Boo!” He leaps forward and knocks me onto my back. “You’re a freaking genius!” He laughs but I’m still in shock, I got nine A * and one C in PE, I hated PE. He rolls to his side and grabs my note book. “Right we need a plan, you know you can do anything with these, Bets, I mean it; you could be anything you want to be.”
I smiled at him and he looked so happy for me, he didn’t care about his results at all; they were enough and that was that. But for me he was, well, he just looked so proud. “Well it gets me into college, but let’s not go crazy, it’s not like I won the lottery!” I nudge him but he pitches up on one elbow and looks stern.
“No. No it’s not. That’s just money. Money you can lose, money can be taken away, this, this is yours; this gives you choices and no one can take that away from you.” He holds my gaze, “I mean it, Bets. It’s really important to give yourself choices in what you do with your life, you can be anything you want to be.” He leant in and kissed my cheek. “You are already everything to me but this,” he takes the letter, “this is for you.” He looks deep into my eyes. “You have to promise me Bethany, you’ll do this. Whatever it takes, you have to give yourself choices. Promise?” He looks so serious and he’s used my real name.
“I promise.” Confirming with a nod he looks relieved and flops back down beside me. “What did you bring me to eat, wench.”
I laugh at him and when I look at the faces staring at me. I realise I have laughed out loud in the library but I also notice the curious looks and I can feel my wet face. I quickly wipe the tears with my sleeve. I am always shaken when I remember but at the same time I don’t want to forget. I get back to sorting through all the information in my overstuffed bag.I spend the next hour sorting through the timetable and think I can juggle a few seminars and double dip a few units to get the extra credits I’m going to need. It looks like there will only be a few gaps in the four days I have to attend, which will suit my working hours at the restaurant perfectly. I’m starting to feel a little more confident I can pull this off.
There is an informal gathering for the new mature students in one of the basement classrooms. An opportunity to meet with fellow students and current students to get an insight, that sort of thing. I thought I should pop my head in, so I pack my bag and make my way back to the Quad.
I lean my entire body against the reluctant fire door to the classroom and the sprinkling of people inside turn my way. God I hate these things. It’s not that I find making friends particularly difficult, it’s just that I find these forced situations excruciating. I take in those in the room as I make my way to the safety of the coffee table. I am not sure if they are all mature students or if there are Lecturers here too, but I am by far the youngest; feeling that my first choice of outfit wouldn’t have been misplaced after all. There are some dodgy double denim combinations, some corduroy, I’m thinking Lecturer, and a few leather jackets, which belong to much younger men. The women seem to fair a little better and are dressed in either pant suit and blouse outfits or thick woollen type ma
tching skirt and jacket. Being slightly thankful that I really don’t have time to socialise I start to fix myself a drink with purpose and confidence I’m not really feeling. A double espresso would be welcome, but I’ll settle for the crappy instant coffee from the dripping silver canteen style dispenser.
“Don’t look so scared Bethany, they are all in the same boat and just as eager to make friends I’m sure.” A kind gentleman’s voice speaks directly behind me.
I turn with my coffee in hand to see Mr. Wilson, my course leader, smiling at me. His wrinkled face gave way to more wrinkles, if that was possible. Mr. Wilson is in his early sixties with wavy grey hair, dark grey eyes, which are framed by square black rimmed glasses that perch on the indent in his nose indicating many years of use. He wears a worn dark green tweed three piece suit, a bright shirt and even brighter bow tie. I understand he was a formidable business man in his youth having built and sold several companies. Now, however, he is firmly entrenched in academia.
I couldn’t apply for the undergraduate through the normal channel; although my actual grades were good enough, the dates and ages on the documents would conflict and might have been flagged up as suspicious. I am too young and they would insist I take the full time degree route. Instead, I had to fill out a departmental application form, have a general entrance exam, interview, and a date of birth stating I was in fact twenty-five. Mr. Wilson was, at the time, quick to put me at my ease at my interview earlier in the year and we have exchanged a number of emails since I accepted my placement. He is the least intimidating academic I have come across and I am thankful he seeMs. to have taken me under his wing.
“Oh I’m sure.” I return his smile. “Actually, I’m really glad you are here, I was hoping I could confirm my timetable amendments and just make sure I’m getting the most from what’s on offer?”
“Yes, yes, of course, my dear. I said at the interview we would accommodate as best we can and you were quite explicit in your requirements. I promised at the time I would help and I wouldn’t have offered you a place if I felt you wouldn’t take every opportunity on offer, or if we couldn’t fulfill our promise.” He gently squeezes my hand as if to reinforce his sentiment.
“That’s very kind, later in the week maybe?”
“You have my email, my dear, anytime.” He leans past me and picks up a handful of biscuits, which he tries to balance on the saucer holding his tea.
He doesn’t seem to have any compulsion to mix and as I have a full cup in my hand I am a little reluctant to navigate the room. So we remain standing together at the edge of the gathering and he begins to munch noisily on his biscuits. The room has started to fill and like many basement classrooms. it feels a little stuffy, but the noise level has risen from awkward silence to gentle hum. A number of Mr. Wilson’s colleagues have come over and it is clear he is well liked and respected. He kindly introduces me as some will be my Lecturers and I try to commit their faces and names to memory, but it’s hopeless until they leave and Mr. Wilson fills me in with some inappropriate piece of information that makes me laugh out loud and will definitely make it easier to remember them.
Ms. Stephens was a Karaoke queen, Mr. Philips nearly drove away with his new born baby in his car seat on the roof of the car after several weeks of interrupted nights, and I was lucky not to spit my coffee all over him when he revealed Mr. Peters, from finance, nearly didn’t get married last year because there was a fight as to who would wear the wedding dress! I can feel my eyes start to water as he turns a wicked grin my way.
I look over toward the still closed door as I feel a cool wave of fresh air flow over me and a rush of goosebumps prickle my skin. Before me, Mr. Wilsons’ eyes widen as he fixes his gaze directly above my head. I can’t seem to move.
“Daniel! How simply wonderful of you to join us, I didn’t expect you to accept my invitation to this little gathering, but I’m so pleased you could make the time.” Mr. Wilson gushes.
Wow! I can’t help but smile, this man is too sweet and obviously a little in awe of whomever is standing behind me.
“I didn’t and I don’t.” The deep voice growls his response.
“That’s rude!” My hand immediately flies to my mouth as I realise I did in fact say that out loud. My shoulders tense and I try to sink into myself as I notice the instant evaporation of Mr. Wilsons’ smile. I would like to think that his change in demeanour is a result of the rude man behind me but I can’t help feel it is because of my inappropriate contribution.
I give a tight smile and try to apologise as I mouth, “I’m sorry,” to Mr. Wilson. I straighten my back and turn sharply only to have my field of vision blocked by a wall of chest encased in a black fitted suit jacket over a crisp white shirt. I lower my eyes taking in his smart well fitted jeans, large thighs and shiny black boots. I drag my eyes up; this feels like it’s taking forever, I’m hoping it’s only seconds, especially as my gaze lingers a little too long at his crotch.
Christ! Move your eyes, Bets! I do, up and up, he is standing really close. My breath hitches when I take in the fierceness of the stare his eyes are giving mine. They are a ‘divers dream’ ocean colour blue, deep blue, with even deeper flecks. He narrows them slightly and I see a tiny twitch in his jaw. He is intense. I can feel the anger radiating in waves; I am only guessing its anger from the few words he has spoken..
“I need the keys to your office, Jack. You did say I would have access?” Curt and to the point, but his question has me confused as he hasn’t taken his eyes from mine.
“I’m sorry, Sir?” I’m generally confused.
“Accepted.” He gives a flicker of a grin.
“Errr?”
“Yes, yes.” Mr. Wilson interrupts. “Of course, Daniel, I have a set in my briefcase.” He pauses to see if he is being acknowledged in any way. He isn’t. Mr. Wilson continues, “Allow me to introduce…” He sounds flustered, but I interrupt.
“Mr. Wilson.” I turn away from the unfathomable tension that’s starting to build between this man and me. “Don’t bother, really, I should try and meet some of the others here… Well those who do want to be here at least. You’ve been wonderful so far, but I better brave this myself and leave you to help this–” I can’t help but pause, knowing it’s rude, “–man sort the keys so he can get on his way.” I go to move off and find I am again blocked by that large chest I can now smell it’s so close. Fresh with spice and something exotic and a surge of heat returns like taking a direct hit in the chest.
“Jack, please continue… allow you to introduce?” I am again looking into his eyes as they briefly flick toward Mr. Wilson for encouragement only to return their fix to mine. I’m trying to swallow and I am hoping the slight tremble I am experiencing now is not visible. With slightly less enthusiasm Mr. Wilson continues;
“Daniel, allow me to introduce one of our mature students starting with us part-time this semester…Bethany Thorne. Bethany this is Daniel Stone. He is a respected and very successful business man, and also a ‘Friend of the University’. Daniel has kindly offered his valuable time to give a series of lectures for our entrepreneurs’…we are very lucky.” Mr. Wilson seems genuinely thrilled and his smile is infectious.
“Mature?” Daniel raises an eyebrow, but his intense gaze doesn’t break contact with mine.
“Friend?” I challenge. I’m trying to be brave and counter his question. It’s not working. His obvious query removes the smile from my face and I look nervously at my hands, which are now gripped together. I reached to tuck my hair behind my ear and tug gently at the nape feeling the skin lift and pinch as I do.
“I’m twenty five.” I venture boldly, more bold than I’m feeling at any rate. “Yes, twenty five. I’m twenty five.” Smooth Bets, really smooth. I risk a glance up toward his face. His dark eyes crinkle as his grin transforms to a full on, breath taking smile. He is possibly the most stunning man I have ever seen and he can’t be the most important man in the room, yet I feel the power and command like a force
holding me rooted to the spot.
“Really?” He leans in further and I can feel his breath on my neck. I feel my face flush instantly. I must be seven shades of red right now and I know my heart is pumping so hard it might just succeed in escaping my chest via my ribcage. I try to swallow but manage only to make a whimper leave my dry throat. I lick my parched lips and notice his eyes fix on the slight movement. Christ, Bets! Get a grip, you’ll be swishing your hair and swooning any minute now. He lifts my hair away from my neck, an impossibly intimate gesture, which does nothing to quell the raging heat building between my legs. I am only thankful that Mr. Wilson seems to be distracted from this very intense exchange.
“Interesting Miss Thorne, now why are you lying?” His voice is rich and luxurious like velvet caressing my skin.
Shit! I don’t say this out loud but I’m screaming it to myself, and I have sucked in a sharp intake of breath, which has drawn Mr. Wilson’s attention back to me. I try to take a step back and notice a number of eyes focused on our little exchange, just what I need. So much for staying under the radar and it doesn’t help that Mr. Stone has neatly mirrored my retreat keeping the intimate distance between us.
“I’m not, I mean I don’t know what you mean…” I fumble quietly hoping Mr. Wilson is catching none of this.
“Oh Miss Thorne, you most definitely are, but what puzzles me is why? But I do love a good puzzle.” His tone is pure temptation.
“Well.” I recover. “This has been delightful and as charming as your are…” I leave the statement unfinished as I turn my back effectively blanking Mr. Stone and take hold of Mr. Wilson’s hand. He looks a little confused and I’m thinking,join the club!
“Thank you Mr. Wilson so much for this opportunity, I really am so grateful Sir.”
“Bethany, there is no need for ‘Sir’, please. I don’t mind if you call me Jack.”
“I’ll be more comfortable with Mr. Wilson, Mr. Wilson.” I smile.
“And I would be more comfortable with Sir.” I freeze as his hands grasp my shoulders and his lips are again brushing my ear. I pray to God no one else can hear because they can sure as shit see my face flame once more. “In fact… I insist.” He gives a gentle laugh. I shift slightly to try and ease the pressure in my groin.
