“I’m sorry I laughed, it’s just that we’re always bickering.” I wave my arm between us for emphasis, but Connor bats it away as if it’s offended him.
“Then we should call a truce. We stop bickering. No more sarcastic comments. No more snide remarks. We’ll start again and make an effort to be friends.”
I consider his offer. As surprising as this turn of events is, it’s a welcome one. With Ivy away in Scotland for the foreseeable, my mum living in Spain and Rhys now no longer an option for support, I could use a friend. But still, doubt nags at me.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, examining the pattern on the rug to avoid Connor’s eyes.
“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your happiness.”
Cryptic. I imagine Ivy’s threatened him to be nice to me while I’m here, and Ivy is not a woman you want to cross.
I nod. “Okay, we start again. Truce.”
A mischievous grin spreads across Connor’s face. He jumps up from the bed and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Less than two seconds later, there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in?” I call, confused.
“Hi, I’m Connor Wilson,” he says as he walks back through the bedroom door. He holds out his hand for me to shake. “I’m a chef, non-sports fan, a total dog person and I tell everyone my favourite drink is premium lager, but it’s actually a well-made Pornstar Martini. And you are?”
I giggle (yes, actually giggle!) before reaching out to shake his waiting hand.
“I’m Matilda Simmons, but you can call me Tilly. I’m a teacher, a tea-drinking book-reader, also a dog person and autumn is my favourite season.”
And scum. Don’t forget you’re scum, too.
My grip on his hand tightens slightly as I wince at that self-deprecating voice chipping in again. Luckily, Connor doesn’t seem to notice.
“It’s good to meet you, Connor.”
“You too, Tilly.” He smiles and releases my hand. “So, now that that’s sorted and you’re not sobbing into your pillow… food?”
I nod. “Food.”
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.
