Page 2 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
Her smile slipped as she headed up the empty corridor to the staff room. Seemed like her break would last longer than his. How could Felicia have given the role to Belinda? Belinda, whose interest in history was limited to Trojan wars because of the hot guys in the movies—she’d admitted such after a few too many drinks on one staff social night—and who had completed zero postgraduate studies, and would never volunteer at a place like Hooper’s Manor, the old Georgian-era mansion in the next town over now run by the National Trust. Had that been the problem? Had Liv missed out on the job because her volunteer work meant she couldn’t attend every staff social activity like Belinda had, so she wasn’t considered a team player?
She moved into the Humanities staff room that they shared with the Geography department, thankful it was empty, and blinked back stubborn tears. Custard. She needed custard. Stat. Not for her the temptations of comfort-eating chocolate, unless it be chocolate custard. Anyone could do chocolate. Or ice cream. Or cheese. For Liv it was always custard. Especially on those days that ranked with the worst in her life.
Wiping her cheeks, she opened the small refrigerator, barely noticing the drift of cool air over her skin. Where was her tub of emergency custard? Ah, there, behind Doreen’s prepackaged diet meal, which would often prove the starter before a sandwich or sausage roll. There was a reason Doreen’s diets rarely worked. She ripped back the foil and plunged in the bamboo spoon—the geography teachers were all about sustainability these days—and savoured the sweetness.Lord, help me keep it together. Show me what to do with my life.
For a moment peace filled the space, and she revelled in the quiet, until the door squeaked open.
“How’d you go?” Doreen asked.
Liv closed her eyes. As if the head of the Humanities faculty didn’t already know. She slowly turned to face her, hoping her nose and eyes didn’t seem too red, or that maybe she could put it down to a winter cold or something. “I didn’t get it.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Why didn’t her “sorry” sound any more genuine than Felicia’s had? Anyway, there was no way Doreen wouldn’t have known already, as she’d have the final say in who she wanted as part of her teaching staff. How Liv hated not feeling like she could trust people. Anger propelled words from her mouth. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“I, um, I’m afraid I wasn’t at liberty to speak.”
Neither was Liv, apparently, thanks to an unfortunately timed lump of regret clogging her throat. Why had she tried so hard to impress this woman who’d obviously lied to her about what she was going to do?
The heater clunked on, doing little to disperse the coldness filling the room on this last day of winter term. Three weeks’ break would begin tomorrow. Three weeks to figure out where next to apply for work. She might love the kids here, but no way did she want to work with these people again. Come to think of it, it was just like Felicia to wait until the last day before giving her the flick, with no word of warning to the classes she now wouldn’t have the chance to say goodbye to. There was a word for that.
She pivoted on her heel and shifted to her desk. Well, notherdesk, apparently. Not anymore. She slowly began removing folders and special treasures, including the Jane Austen magnet her mum had given her when she first started teaching: I RANDOMLYQUOTEJANEAUSTEN. It wasn’t precisely true—that was more her sister Katie’s domain—but it kept the memory of her long-ago literature studies alive.
Her phone flashed a silent message: “Any word yet?”
She sank into her seat, conscious Doreen was watching her as she tapped out a reply. “Didn’t get it.” Sad face emoji.
A second later her phone flashed again. “I’m sorry.”
Yep. She sensed the genuineness in this reply. Mum was a prayer warrior and had been praying for weeks now. For Liv’s job. For poor Gran’s upcoming hip replacement surgery. For Mum’s own health worries.
The reminder drew her to shoot up a few prayers of her own, before replying with a “Custard helps.”
Her screen lit. “Custard tart at the café with your name on it.”
She quickly tapped a “Thanks” and then leaned back in her chair, as Marta and some of the others returned from the staff common room and the teachers’ lunch held to mark the end of semester.
“Hey, here you are,” Marta called. “You didn’t come back after you went to see Felicia.”
Liv pressed her lips together. Shrugged.
“So, how’d you go?”
Liv cut her a glance and gave the thumbs-down.
Belinda entered, beaming, and rushed straight to Doreen.
“Thanks so much for those tips on what to say. I got it!”
Liv’s mouth dropped. Had Doreen really helped Belinda get the position? Indignation rose, hot and sticky.
“Seriously?” Marta muttered.
Yeah. Liv thought that too. But saying anything more was unwise. Especially with Doreen’s bat-like hearing. Although, now that Liv apparently wasn’t considered worthy enough to be a part of the team, she didn’t have to pretend to be a team player anymore, did she? Not when Doreen had basically lied to Liv by telling her the job was hers but had been helping Belinda on the side, and Belinda had exploited Liv’s generosity in lending her materials over the years. Ugh. Shehatedfeeling deceived and used.
She stood and, with a grand sweeping motion, cleared the remnants of desk paraphernalia into a cardboard box, a movement as clichéd as any recently dismissed person on TV, yet satisfying all the same. “Yep, after six years working here, looks like I’ll have to love you and leave you.” Fake smile. “So, seeing I’m not wanted, and I don’t have class scheduled for this afternoon, I’ve got some things to do.”
“Hey, we’ll catch up for dinner soon,” Marta said.
