Page 7 of The Rest is History
Maybe he even allows his face to break into a pleased grin after he hits the ball and it races away to the boundary.
For some reason, that would make me happy.
I don’t answer Zara’s comment, because I have nothing appropriate to say after that brief fantasy, and I don’t have the same disrespectful, banter-based relationship with him that she does (even if hers is wholly one-sided).
‘It’s my favourite thing about this time of year,’ Charlie says voluntarily, and I nearly die of shock. The guy has just admitted to a positive emotion. Today is a big day.
‘It was a nice evening for it.’ Zara picks up her mug of tea and slurps. ‘I quite fancy a bit of cricket on a spring evening. Do they have Pimms there? Maybe Elodie and I will come and watch you one night. Do you have any hot, single teammates you can introduce us to?’
‘Yes. And no,’ he grunts. ‘Neither of you is invited. And I’d never inflict you on my teammates, Zara. They don’t deserve that.’
I think that was a joke? Think. Though you never know with Charlie. It was either a joke or extremely rude.
‘Charlie the Charmer.’ She sighs. ‘Back to the PE department it is, then. What’s up first for you today, my lovely?’
She addresses this question to me. Obviously.
I think. ‘The fall of the Romanovs with Year Nine.’
‘Excellent.’ She nods sagely, chugging down more tea. ‘Estimated split of time between discussing the actual Russian Revolution versus debating conspiracy theories that Anastasia Romanov didn’t actually die?’
‘Oh, I’d say eighty-twenty in favour of Anastasia. She’s by far the most fascinating part of the entire period.’
Charlie snorts. ‘The Russian Revolution is still astoundingly relevant to the geopolitical situation today. Debating whether Anastasia Romanov was executed with her family is not. And there is actually a syllabus to follow, in case you haven’t managed to work that out over the past six months.’
I glance over at the back of his dark head. It’s bent over his laptop as if he’s exhausted, one hand raked through his waves. I’m not sure if it’s last night’s cricket or Zara’s well-meaning chat that’s knackered him.
‘I know. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Gosh, that was brave of me. But he really needs to chill the fuck out. ‘I’ll strike a balance between getting the facts across and making sure the kids can find something to get animated over. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Honestly.’ Zara tuts. ‘Why don’t you and I go to the staffroom? This guy is a mood killer and we’ve got’—she checks her watch—‘twenty minutes before the bell goes.’
Now that’s a good idea. I’m just about to tell her so when Charlie turns around suddenly and pipes up.
‘You go, Zara. There’s something I need to speak to—um—Elodie about.’
He says my name the way he always says it, in a slightly strangled fashion, as if he finds it too ridiculous to articulate.
I happen to love my name. I find it lyrical. It’s a mix of French and Greek, meaning foreign riches. But at this moment, the suspicion that he’s making fun of it isn’t what I’m focused on.
It’s the excruciating idea that Charlie Vaughan wants to speak to me.
Alone.
I must have really fucked up.
CHAPTER 4
Elodie
Charlie shuts the door behind Zara. I can tell from the face she made at me before he ushered her out that she’ll require a full debrief as soon as she gets me to herself. She has her own theories on why he’s so weird with me.
Let’s say they’re theories I deliberately choose not to entertain.
He gestures at the small table in the middle of the room. It’s just big enough to seat three people, conveniently. We use it when we’re discussing lesson planning and Charlie has no alternative but to interact with Zara and me. Otherwise, we avoid it. Charlie and I keep our faces to the wall and our backs to each other when we can help it.
This should be interesting. He’s voluntarily sitting across the table from me. Alone. We each pull up a seat. He’s brought two identical pencils over from his desk, but no paper, which strikes me as odd and pointless.
I sit and wait for him to begin. I hope he makes this quick—I have an espresso to make and glug before I put on my form teacher hat and check in with my class.
