Page 26

“Well, at least you can go home after this and crawl into bed for an early night,” Verity says.

“I can’t wait.” It’s not entirely a lie, though I’m still undecided whether seeing Joseph is a good idea.

I should have just let him go. I should have thanked him for the shirt payment and left my answer as no. I should have gone so far as to tell him everything Felix expects me to say to Joseph, maybe even screaming it in the manner he would.

Felix should have known it was unlikely for me to tell Joseph everything I should. If Joseph asked to meet again, it would be inevitable that I would say yes because I’ve never been able to say no to him. Right from the first morning and up until the night he left, I’ve been under some sort of enchantment. One that seems to still exist, something that pulls me into his orbit and makes me want to open up to him. He always had the uncanny ability to make me talk, to tell him secrets I hadn’t told anybody other than Felix. Back then, I let myself be swept up by his charisma, but despite the ease of me agreeing to see him tonight, I’m not the same person I was back then.

I’m no longer the girl who was scared of her own shadow. I’m no longer eighteen, living in a shitty home environment, desperate to escape and counting down the days until I would be free. I’m stronger. I’m a grown woman. I’m thirty and settled, with my own business and a resilience that I forged in fire.

Except I feel like I’m eighteen again, and all I can think is how I felt the morning after the hotel room. I was awed by the way he so easily cleared the barriers for me getting a safe night of sleep. When I woke that morning, I felt grateful. But also apprehensive. Even though I was by myself, I felt stripped bare, shy and vulnerable. All I could think about was how much the kindness and his promises to keep my secret would cost me, because aside from Felix, everybody who gave me anything expected something in return.

I was braced for it on the Monday when I went to school and saw Joseph for the first time since the club, but he acted like it hadn’t happened. He didn’t mention it. At one point, I convinced myself that I had imagined it all, that it was an elaborate hallucination. Except something about his behaviour had changed. He continued to stay with me when I was hanging around in the little area outside the history classrooms. He would slide me a banana across the table, or a sandwich, or a bagel, or some other sweet treat. I would let him look at my sketchbook. No words were spoken about the night in the club. Just acceptance of my situation, and me slowly opening up to him.

“You look weird,” Maddie comments, staring at me, pulling me out of my daydreaming.

“I’m just thinking.” I wave away her concern. I glance at my watch, calculating the time until I’m going to see him again, then force myself to focus on my family. “Eat up and then tell me what fun stuff you’ve been up to,” I urge.

Verity gives me a slightly knowing smile before picking up her own dish. I look away and shake my head. My thoughts about Joseph can wait.

But I still can't concentrate fully on the conversation that continues around me. Joseph is in my head throughout dinner. In my head, and in the pounding of my heart, as he has been since we first met.

Some heartbreaks cause gaping holes in the soul, stitched with uneven loops that never fully heal. That’s what he did to me, and I’m curious to know if tonight he’ll tell me whether I had the same effect on him, or whether he forgot me as easily as it appears. He walked away and left me behind without warning, a proper explanation, or an apology. Just a retraction of every promise, every reassuring word, and then there was nothing but his silence, my pain, and a desperation to understand why, again, I wasn’t enough.

Chapter six

Delilah

Then—School

“Coffee? Pastry?” Joseph asks.

I glance at him from across the table. “No thank you,” I reply.

He pours a cup of coffee anyway and pushes it towards me, along with a brown bag, clearly wrapped around something. I stare at the items for a minute, feeling like I’m warring with myself, torn between what I want and what I think I’m allowed.

I’m sure for most people, this is a simple decision. Want a coffee and a pastry? Is somebody offering them? Reach over and take it. Drink it, eat it, say thanks. It should be easy, but for me, it feels like I have to justify everything. Justify my need for something as well as my acceptance. I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m so used to going without or because I’m scared about the strings that are attached to things I’m given.

It’s been a few weeks since the night at the club. The Monday after it happened, I was convinced there would be repercussions. I expected that one of the teachers might ask me for a chat and then tell me they were concerned about my home life. I figured I’d be pushed and prodded to confess to things I told Joseph in confidence. But there was nothing. When I saw Joseph at breaktime, he just gave me a small smile and carried on walking. At lunch, he sat in the little area outside the history classrooms and asked me more about sketching. We struck up a conversation about the sketch I had of a set design, and he told me he loved the theatre, that he’d also taken theatre studies as one of his A levels. He told me about an amateur dramatics group he was part of.

Those conversations have continued each day. We talk about class, about the history he’s teaching, about plays and art. We rarely discuss anything personal. He’s never asked me about the night in the club. The closest he’s gotten is when he sees me in the afternoon and quietly asks if I’m okay. It’s a simple “Are you okay, Delilah?” but I convince myself he’s asking if I’m safe. Do I have a safe night planned.

Things have been okay. It’s the longest time I’ve had without there being one of my mother’s boyfriends being at the house. Not because she’s wised up, cut her ties with all of them, picked herself up, and decided to become a better mother. Now, instead of there being men at the house, there appears to be a man with his own place, and she’s been there. It won’t last. Either they’ll fall out, or Duncan will come calling. Peace will be shattered because that’s the perpetual pattern we live in, but I’m enjoying it for as long as it lasts. The silence in the house has been amazing. No television blaring in the early hours of the morning. No crashing sounds as my mother bashes into furniture in a drunken stupor. No screaming between her and a man. I’ve been by myself. There may not be any food in the house, and I may be staying in one room to conserve electricity as I know the credit in the meter is running low, but I’ve had a safe roof over my head. For now, I’m going to take it.

Thinking about the food makes my stomach rumble. If Joseph hears, he doesn’t let it show. I know he’s still staring at me while I’m staring at the coffee and the wrapped bag. I give in and reach for both items. Coffee first, pastry second. I open the bag and smile when I see a pecan plait inside.

“They’re my favourite,” Joseph comments.

I look at him, and he gives me a brief smile before returning his gaze to his notepad. Sometimes he spends his lunch period reading as he makes brief conversation with me, and sometimes he spends the time marking or what looks like lesson planning.

“Mine too,” I admit. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t look at me, just carries on making little scribbles and notes in his notepad. I still spot the little smile he has, the small tug of his lips on one side.

“You’re welcome, Delilah.”

I take a bite, chewing slowly as I let the flavours hit me. My mouth waters slightly. The pecans are crunchy, the pastry is beautifully flaky, and the maple is perfectly sweet. It’s like a little slice of heaven that exists in my current bubble of peace and quiet. It may be a simple thing—coffee, pastry, peace—but I can’t remember the last time I felt even the briefest moment of serenity like this.

As I let the feeling overtake me, my phone beeps. I scramble for it, crossing my fingers that it’ll be Felix, dreading the idea that it’ll be my mother.