TEN

Lexi 

‘MS JOHNSON?’ 

‘Yes.’ My heart pounds. I hate talking on the phone, especially when I don’t know who’s calling. And this guy sounds serious. 

‘Hello, this is David Price from St. Francis Secondary.’ 

‘Oh,’ I exhale. Relief. Just the Head from my placement, soon to be my School Direct placement, fully funded and salaried by the school itself. I hadn’t recognised the number and was worried it was Student Finance calling to say they’d overpaid me or something. I sink onto my bed as the beating in my chest calms. ‘Hi David. I hope all’s well with you.’ 

‘Yes, thank you. Studies going well?’ comes the voice which sounded so unfamiliar mere moments before. 

‘Yeah, I think so.’ I glance over at the pile of files and books on the floor. Notepads more than a little covered in sketches and doodles. 

‘That’s very good to hear,’ David says. As he continues chatting, my gaze drifts around the room, glancing past my old camera on the dresser and landing on the wall of pictures from first year. Cerys, Sam and Mylo. Some of the people I lived with in halls in first year. Shots taken down microscopes of frog embryos and E. coli and blood cells. Nature shots. Festivals and rock concerts. Should have taken my camera to Tram House… 

My eyes drift back to my books.

Haven’t even bothered with Instagram for a while.

‘…sorry to inform you that, due to the cuts, we’ve been forced to withdraw your School Direct placement due to commence in September.’ David’s words cut right into my thoughts. 

I sit bolt upright.

‘I…what?!’ 

‘Yes. Government cuts unfortunately. We’re so sorry, Lexi. You were fantastic on your placement, but we have no other option. The money simply isn’t there.’ 

‘But, but…what am I going to do now?!’ I know my voice is shrill but it’s out of my control at this point. 

‘You’ll be fine, Lexi. You have more than enough experience to get onto a PGCE,’ the Head says matter-of-factly, like there’s no competition for placements and funding at all. ‘You have applied, haven’t you?’ 

‘Well yeah. But there’s no extra funding for b—’ 

‘You said you’re doing well. I’m sure you’ll achieve highly enough to qualify for funding. We’re happy to provide a reference of course. All the best, Lexi.’ 

The line goes dead.

My jaw hangs open.

A PGCE was my back-up option. A completely unrealistic one at that. Practically zero funding, even for the highest biology achievers.

Oh crap. What am I going to do?!

‘Damn it!’ I hiss, tossing the phone on the bed and collapsing backwards onto the sheets. I press my palms against my forehead, then rake my fingers back into my hair, pushing my fringe up. 

I’m screwed.

Worst Friday night ever. Even worse than…well, let’s not think about that.

I can’t bring myself to ask my parents for money. And besides, I don’t even really want to be a teacher. But the School Direct offer was useful, even if I did feel a bit trapped by it, and it at least meant I’d have an income. I’ll never convince a PGCE interviewer that I should be teaching. 

There is one way…

I reach my hand out, feeling for my mobile.

I shouldn’t really.

And it doesn’t solve the teaching problem.

But it would solve the financial side of things.

Actually, I don’t know that. I left before he could give me details. And I’ve ignored his message offering more info.

I bristle, remembering how stupid he made me feel. Or how stupid I was for letting myself get sucked in by him.

My hand finds my phone and I turn it on above my face. I’ve got dozens of new matches on that stupid dating app. I haven’t touched it since that gig. I hold my finger down on it and drag it to the trash icon that appears at the top of the screen. It was meant to be for fun, but now it just irritates me and clogs up my storage.

I open my texts, clicking on the one conversation that has an unread message. Well, unopened. I know exactly what it says. It was right there on my home screen when I checked my phone after getting home on Wednesday afternoon.

Lexi I’m really sorry. I’m not sure what I said to upset you. Please give me a chance to explain and then maybe think it over? Get back to me.

It had taken all my self-restraint not to respond. Not to tell him to go fuck himself in the face. That he can’t buy me, even if it is just for show. Even if I do need the money.

And now? Am I really going to do this?

I don’t even know what to say to him. Maybe he’s found someone else now. It’s not as if he sent me any more messages after that. And I’m still not exactly happy about the whole thing.

But I need the money more right now.

Sighing deeply, I type out the most non-committal and nonchalant message I can manage.

OK.

After pressing send, I panic momentarily. What if he really has moved on and found someone else for this? I’ll look stupid and be financially screwed, in addition to having to somehow get on a PGCE course. 

I stare up at the screen, holding my breath, waiting for a response. Even if it’s just a no. Even if—

My phone buzzes in my hand and the screen brightens.

Cool. Shall we meet tomorrow?

OK. Breathe out.

I reply.

OK. 

DRIZZLY AND GREY. Typical October. 

I hurry along the path towards Oakfield Park, just outside of town. I’ve got a practical class starting in an hour that I can’t afford to miss.

A gust of wind threatens to blow away my umbrella but I manage to hang on. My hair will go from dead straight to frighteningly alive with frizz if the light rain touches it. It’s really irritating when it happens and makes my hair tangle horribly. I try not to be so precious usually, but I’ve got to look sensible and in control. I’ve got a deal to negotiate.

Namely: my price.

If I’m doing this thing, I want it to be worth my time and the potential fallout. Something I’ve been trying to calculate since we arranged to meet.

Another gust of wind blows the umbrella inside-out, but I manage to pull it back.

Nearly there.

I’ve already successfully negotiated one thing: the meeting place. I don’t want my friends finding out until I’m ready. Meeting somewhere a bit more secluded means less chance of photographs or anyone I know spotting me with a famous drummer. I have no idea how I’m going to tell them. Or what the reaction will be…

Just as I’m approaching the gates to the park, a BMW whizzes past, straight through a puddle, unceremoniously splashing the entire lower half of my legs and part of my thighs with rainwater.

I stand in shock for a few seconds, looking down at my legs. In a mere moment I’ve gone from reasonably well put-together to completely soaked through. And I’m suddenly freezing. I quickly duck into the park to avoid another soaking from the next car heading my way and reach for my phone as I contemplate canceling the whole thing. It’s clearly cursed.

Or me. Maybe I’m cursed.

‘Lexi?’ Too late. Luc’s voice has me looking up and straight into cobalt eyes that contrast sharply with the dull grey around us. It’s kind of annoying how good he looks in just jeans and a dark grey hoodie. He’s carrying one of those huge black golf umbrellas. I feel painfully childish next to him with my little red umbrella covered in multi-coloured ladybirds. 

Which suddenly turns inside out again, triggering laughter from Luc.

Damn it.

‘Come under here,’ he says, reaching out to take my cutesy umbrella off me. 

I resist for a moment, then step under his enormous umbrella. But I collapse mine down myself rather than handing it to him.

If this is going to be a business arrangement, as he seemed to indicate in his messages when we were sorting out when and where to meet, then I’m not letting him treat me like some pathetic damsel in distress.

Again.

‘Let’s go to the bandstand,’ he says. ‘The park is almost deserted and it’s dry up there.’ 

Tight-lipped, I nod my agreement and wrap my arms around myself as we walk, staying just close enough to keep dry. He offers his arm for me to loop mine through, and the urge to do so is almost overwhelming. It would certainly be easier. But I resist.

We walk past dying flowers and wilting trees, along with the evergreens. Leaves scatter the ground, red and orange and slippery with rain, but not quite the thick, crunchy blanket of dead and dying foliage that will cover the country a few weeks from now.

Luc was right. Apart from a few dog walkers, the park really is empty.

As we round a bend in the path, the bandstand comes into view, just beyond some huge trees. Neither of us say a word as we approach. It’s an oddly comfortable silence, and I’d rather it didn’t end anytime soon.

We climb the steps and Luc makes sure we’re fully sheltered before he collapses his umbrella. There’s a bench in the middle, metal painted with peeling green paint to match the bandstand itself.

‘Shall we sit?’ he says, his voice low and reverberating slightly off the metal casing around us. 

The bench looks cold and uncomfortable. Probably with a bunch of insects clinging to the underside. A few spiders, too, perhaps, and possibly a snail or two.

I look at the bench. I look at Luc. He props his umbrella against one of the pillars of the bandstand and, as if to reassure me, walks over to the bench and sits on it.

My feet stay where they are. I’m not sitting on that thing.

‘So tell me more, then. Tell me what I misunderstood.’ I raise an eyebrow as I speak, because there’s no way I misunderstood a thing. ‘Or what you didn’t explain.’ 

‘Are you going to sit?’ he asks, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. 

I cross my arms in front of me, my right hand still wrapped tightly around my little drenched brolly. ‘No.’ My voice is a little more defiant than I intended, but whatever.

Undeterred, Luc questions me further. ‘What happened to your legs?’

I look down at my sodden jeans and trainers. Oh yeah. I raise my head. ‘Car.’ He can work out the rest. The half-smile on his lips indicates he already has.

‘So go on,’ I urge, trying to push the conversation forward before he can make fun. ‘I haven’t got all day.’ 

He runs a hand through his thick blond hair and studies my face. ‘Why did you change your mind?’

‘Why are you avoiding telling me more?’ I fire back. 

Luc sighs. ‘I’m not. But what changed? You ignore me for days, then I get a text out of nowhere.’

‘Does it matter?’ I squeeze harder on the umbrella in my hand, rainwater dribbling out between my fingers. 

He shrugs, leaning back, never breaking eye contact. ‘Not really. I’m just curious.’

His indifference cuts me slightly, and the fact that it bothers me even a little makes it all the worse.

‘And I still don’t understand what I said to upset you the other day,’ he says. 

I turn my head away from him, focusing on a small dog running around in circles in the rain on some grass in the direction we came from. There’s no way I can respond without making myself look completely stupid. Because I thought you were flirting with me? Because I felt misled? Either way I’d look pathetic. 

So instead, I say nothing.

‘OK,’ he says, sighing audibly. ‘Anyway. All I was offering was to take you to some events, mostly fun things with any luck, and pay you in exchange for your time.’ 

Still looking away, I answer: ‘You make me sound like an escort.’

‘What? No. God no. Fuck, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean sex.’ In my peripheral vision I see him lean forward again, pressing his fingers together perpendicular to his palms until they crack. ‘It’s just, you know, you look the part—’ 

‘I look the part? What does that mean? I look like a prostitute?’ I face him again, glaring this time. 

‘That’s not what I meant.’ He looks away momentarily. 

‘Then what did you mean?’ I raise both eyebrows. 

He looks back at me. ‘You’re…you look good, you’re vivacious and—much as I hate this fucking word—bubbly. Friendly.’ He shakes his head. ‘You even fucking photograph well.’

I’m not sure what to say. Frowning, I echo his words. ‘I even fucking photograph well. What?!’

‘Yes.’ Now he looks annoyed. ‘For fuck’s sake, Lexi. You must know you’re…you look the part.’ 

I look the part?

I consider telling him that, according to someone on Twitter, I look like a goggle-eyed whore. Whatever that means.

‘So how about it? Want to help me out? Hayley’—he says her name like I know his ex-girlfriend personally—‘just won’t accept it’s over. Not unless she sees me moving on with someone else. She doesn’t need to know the truth.’ 

I’m still trying to work out what look the part means. 

‘Strictly as friends,’ he adds, mistaking my expression for something else, ‘in case you’re worried I mean anything else. Purely platonic.’ 

‘Just friends,’ I mumble, more to myself than anything else. 

Talk about mixed messages. Pretty sure he wanted the reverse the other night. One-night stand with no commitment. Now he wants commitment, of a sort, with nothing else.

‘Yeah,’ Luc says, quietly. 

I look back out at the grass, for the little white dog.

But the dog is gone. Nowhere to be seen.

After half a minute of silence, I speak. ‘How much?’ Still looking at the dogless wet grass.

‘What are you worth?’ he says, catching me completely off-guard. 

‘I…I don’t know,’ I say, turning back, losing a little of my composure. 

He studies me, narrowing his eyes. ‘Well, how much do you need?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I say quietly, pressing my fingers against my forehead, trying to run some quick calculations. Crap. Should be better prepared than this. I thought he was going to make some offer and I’d just counter it with something.  

‘You said you have a placement after you graduate?’ 

‘Had,’ I correct him. He looks at me quizzically. ‘I had a placement. It sort of fell through,’ I explain, frowning harder and closing my eyes as I try to work out how much I’ll need for my PGCE next year. 

Luc waits for a moment while I frantically try to work things out in my head. Eventually he gets up and walks over to me, gently touching my shoulder with one hand and tilting my chin up with the other. ‘Look. Tell you what. How about instead of a number, you just think of what you might like to do instead of teaching’—I open my mouth to protest but he lifts his hand up to stop me—‘because I know you don’t want to teach. You said as much before.’ He pauses. ‘And I’ll fund any training you’ll need. For whatever you really want to do. Including expenses. All expenses.’ 

‘But I need to finish my degree,’ I protest. 

‘I know.’ He nods. ‘I’ll fund the rest of that, too.’ 

My jaw slackens, leaving my mouth hanging slightly open. What is even happening? A few days ago I nearly had some kind of heart attack when I thought Student Finance were calling to say I’d overpaid. Then I nearly had another one when, a few minutes later, I found out my School Direct offer had been withdrawn. Now the cute drummer from one of the hottest bands making music wants to pay off the rest of my degree and help me train to do something I actually want to do.

This is crazy. Apart from the just friends clause. That’s just fucking typical, really. 

And all I’ve got to do is…I’m not sure.

‘And what do I have to do in return?’ I ask. It can’t be that simple. 

‘Make yourself available, basically. And don’t be seen with other guys.’ Luc drops his hands and I’m cold where his touch was. He retrieves his umbrella. 

I nod slightly, more to myself than to Luc. Guess it is that simple. ‘I still have to go to class and get my work done, though.’ 

‘I know,’ Luc says. ‘I’ll let you know as far in advance as possible.’ 

‘For how long?’ 

He shrugs. ‘Until Hayley stops thinking we’re getting back together, I guess.’

‘So I’m basically acting as your girlfriend?’ 

‘Yep. No one needs to know we’re just friends.’ 

I wish I didn’t need to know that part. And I really wish he would stop saying it. It hurts, just a little, even though it shouldn’t. He seems to like being with me. I look the part, apparently. I’m still sure he was flirting with me before.

He’s probably like that with every girl.

I’m being ridiculous, I scold myself, looking down to hide my face, which I’m sure is screaming some kind of disappointed expression. It’s not like I even really know the guy. 

‘Hey,’ he says softly, walking over to me with his umbrella. As I look up, just enough to make eye contact, he tilts his head slightly and smiles. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fun.’ 

Fun. I inhale deeply, picking up some of his masculine scent, wondering whether this is a good idea.

Luc holds out his hand. ‘C’mon. Wanna practise? I can walk you out of the park.’

Biting my tongue, I look apprehensively at his hand. Long fingers, curling gently. Waiting.

I really don’t know if this is a good idea. And like a fool I reach out anyway, slipping my smaller hand into his. His fingers slowly interlock with mine, and my stomach does flips. Stupid stupid flips. 

Maybe I shouldn’t do this. Maybe I have too much of a crush on him to make it out alive.

‘And look,’ Luc says, pointing with his umbrella to outside the bandstand, oblivious to my inner turmoil, ‘it’s stopped raining.’ He looks at me and squeezes my hand, grinning. ‘Alexis.’ 

Oh, this is really not a good idea.