“That’s really admirable.” She smiles at me, genuinely. “Who made such an impression on you there?”
“The headmaster and his wife. She teaches there too. Not only did they educate me and help me to change for the better, they did the unthinkable: they adopted me. I owe them my life.”
“They sound amazing.”
“They were. I mean, they still are. They’re just not together anymore.”
“Oh why?” she asks softly. There’s no judgement or prying in her tone. She simply invites confidence to talk.
“They split relatively recently. It came as a big shock to me and my brothers – other kids they adopted, and their one biological son – because they always seemed like such a perfect couple. But Dad ended it and found himself a new girlfriend pretty quickly.”
“Was he cheating?” she asks.
“Possibly. I guess it doesn’t really matter. I’m glad he’s happy if he wasn’t before. But my mum is still pretty cut up about it all. It’s hard for her. I wish she could be happy too.”
“Do they still work together?”
“Yeah, Mum didn’t want to leave her home. It’s kind of like a calling, rather than just a job. She has a house off campus, but she hardly ever uses it. She prefers to stay on campus with some of the other staff because I think she’s lonely. Dad kept the family home which is also off campus.”
“Sounds really tough.” She smiles sympathetically.
“It was for a while, but everyone’s getting there.”
“What’s the school like?” she asks, changing the topic. I’m grateful; I don’t mind talking about this stuff, but I’m happier to move on now.
“Well, the building itself is in pretty poor shape,” I joke. “The headmaster, Dad, pays his teachers really well to ensure the pupils get the best education possible, but also as an incentive for them to stay. They’re not exactly teaching the most enthusiastic pupils, you know?” She nods. “Some parents pay generously to send their kids to Knox, but there’s also a lot of charity kids there too. They’ve often been taken in as a last resort to keep them out of jail. Almost everyone is eighteen or older, so they could serve time in a state prison, rather than a juvenile facility, and Dad is keen to avoid that. He uses a lot of funds posting bail too.”
“That sounds pretty philanthropic of him,” she responds with a slight disbelieving frown.
“I know. It’s kind of hard to believe there’s people out there decent enough to operate like that, huh?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly, disappearing off into her own thoughts for a moment. I wait patiently and she soon comes back. “So, tell me about these tattoos,” she adds, stroking a finger along my exposed arm which is covered in a full colour sleeve of ink. She pauses to outline the Celtic knot tattoo that’s on the inside of my forearm, absentmindedly tracing the patterns around. It sends shivers up my arm, but I don’t talk about that tattoo.
“Ah well, that’s kind of connected to the teaching,” I chuckle.
“How so? You don’t normally see teachers with this much ink.”
“Well, we’ve already established that I had a troubled past. When I was younger I had a group of much older friends. One of them was a tattooist. Every time I did some stupid shit, I got ink to mark the occasion.” I shake my head at my idiocy. “When I came good, there was a lot of shame over the ink that I wore, and I wanted it gone.”
“So, you got a coverup?”
“No. I made myself earn it. I didn’t want to just hide my past, so every time I did a good deed, I got a small piece of work done to cover part of the old. Eventually I ended up with this,” I hold out my arm and pull the sleeve of my t-shirt up so that she can see it in full. “It serves as a reminder for me.”
“That’s…” She seems lost for words. Her fingers tentatively reach out and trace the colourful design across my arm. I rotate it so she can see the underside design and her touch ignites goose bumps all along my skin. “Are they all gone now? The old ones, I mean.”
“Almost,” I tell her sadly. “Not everything can be atoned for so easily.”
Whoa that got heavy, fast. To lighten the mood I decide to entertain her with some of the more harmless stupid shit I did when I was younger. She laughs and giggles at everything I tell her, but it’s an easy, genuine joyful sound. Not someone who’s simply trying to flirt or get in my good graces. I like it. I like her.
Some time, and several drinks later, my phone buzzes. I see a message flash up on the screen from Jessica. I read it quickly and see that she’s seriously pissed. Why is she mad at me? She was the no-show. I rattle off a quick reply and then my phone starts to ring. I silence it. I don’t want to speak to her, or hear her excuses about her car, or being at the wrong location.
“It’s getting late,” Amelie says when I slam my phone down on the table. I can hear the sad reluctance in her voice. I feel the same. I’m not ready for the evening to end either. “I should go.”
“You could stay,” I blurt out impulsively, knowing that the pub has rooms.
“Thanks, but I do have to get home.” She smiles easily as she gives the rebuff. “But maybe we can do this again?”
“Sure. Give me your number,” I reply, pulling out my phone and quickly saving her digits as she rattles them off. As she stands to leave, I join her and silently walk her out.
Once we’re outside the pub, she leans back for a moment against the rough brick wall. I unlock my car and as the headlights flash, her eyes light up.
“Nice car!” She beams.
“Really?” I ask in disbelief. Everyone’s always getting at me for driving a rust bucket, but it’s a classic and I love it.
“Absolutely! She’s a beauty. Are you restoring her?”
I smile at the way Amelie immediately personifies my car, makes it female and in need of TLC.
“That’s the plan. I’m not getting very far at the moment. Sometimes I wonder if I should cut my losses and trade it in for something more reliable,” I confess.
“Don’t you dare! I would kill to restore a car like this. Don’t give up on her. She’ll be patient and wait for you, so long as you don’t let her down.”
It’s kind of sweet how adamant she is that I stick with the car, and I find myself being persuaded to do exactly as she says. I smile when I consider Jessica’s juxtaposing attitude towards my choice in transport.
“Can I give you a ride?” I offer and she grins at my inadvertent innuendo, then shakes her head.
“I live so close by, I can be home before you’ve even got your seatbelt on,” she jokes.
“Okay,” I stall, wondering what to say. I don’t want her to go. Fuck it. I know what I want to do.
I move in front of her and as she starts to push off from the wall, I gently press her back up against it. My lips descend on hers and capture them easily between my own. She makes no sound or move to protest, so that gives me the green light to go ahead and kiss her. I’ve been wanting to all night, so the only thing that would stop me at this point is if she pushed me away.
Her hands come up to tangle in the front of my t-shirt, but she doesn’t push, she pulls me in closer. When our chests meet she gives a soft little sigh and opens her mouth to deepen the kiss. I slide my tongue into her mouth, loving how she tastes of bourbon and not a sickly-sweet sugary cocktail. She meets my kiss with enthusiasm, arms coming up to lock around my neck. I love how she has to rise up on her tiptoes to meet me.