Night School

‘Hey Speed,’ he laughed, steadying her with a hand on each shoulder. ‘Where’s the fire?’


‘Ha ha, you’re hilarious,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

He smoothed her hair. ‘Are your parents here already?’

‘They’ll be here any minute.’ She made a face. ‘I’m only hurrying because my dad hates waiting.’

His eyes clouded briefly, and she remembered that his parents would never come to pick him up again.

‘Where will you live during term break?’ she asked with a worried frown. ‘They won’t let you stay in the guys’ dorm.’

‘I’m moving into the teachers’ wing while they’re fixing the smoke damage,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘I hope you won’t be too lonely.’

‘I’ll be OK,’ he assured her. ‘This is home for me, remember? And I won’t be alone. Jo and Sylvain are staying and Jules is only going home for a few days. Most of Night School will be back after a week or so.’

Hearing Sylvain’s name, Allie felt an unwanted tug on her heart. She hadn’t seen him since the fire.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘But I’ll worry about you anyway.’

‘And I’ll worry about you. Write to me,’ he said. ‘And I’ll nick Isabelle’s phone and call you.’

‘You still have my number?’

He held up his hand – she’d written her number just below his knuckles an hour ago.

‘I’ll have it tattooed while you’re gone,’ he joked.

A sombre silence fell, and Allie rested her bag on her foot and gently bounced it with her toe.

‘You’re going to be careful, right?’ he said, tugging lightly at the hem of her shirt, pulling her a step closer to him. ‘You’ll stay safe?’

Even though he kept his voice light, she could hear the concern behind his words.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll be good as gold. I’m only home a week then I’m off to Rachel’s country pile, which is apparently as secure as Buckingham Palace.’

‘Good,’ he said, pulling her into a tight hug. ‘As long as you’re careful. We need you around here, you know.’

‘Yes you do. This whole place would fall apart without me,’ she said with an ironic smile.

Burying his face in her hair, he breathed in deeply.

‘Time! Everybody out!’

Zelazny’s voice rang out in the hallway outside the door. Allie lifted her face for a quick kiss, pulling away almost immediately. It was too late for long goodbyes.

She picked up her bag and threw it over her shoulder.

‘I’m going to go down by myself, OK?’ Her eyes searched his face, but she knew he would understand. If he really kissed her properly or asked her to stay – if she just kept looking into those eyes – she’d never make it out the door.

Moving briskly she walked to the door and opened it.

He called after her: ‘Nice boots, Sheridan.’

She didn’t look back.

‘Stay cool, Carter West.’

She was halfway down the hall when she heard his reply.

‘Always.’





ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


This book started on a dare. I never thought I could write a novel but my husband thought I could. One day he dared me to try. Dared me. Told me I’d be a coward if I didn’t try. I never back down from a reasonable dare and he knew that.

Thank you my darling, for daring me.

The dare started it but everything else that happened was serendipity and kindness and generosity. And while you can only thank the gods for serendipity, kindness and generosity deserve to be recognised.

Without the enthusiasm and energy of Madeleine Buston and everyone at the amazing Darley Anderson Agency (especially Clare Wallace and Mary Darby), there’s no way this book would have made it onto shelves. Your phone call changed my life, Maddy. There aren’t enough words in the world to thank you for that.

To the fabulous Samantha Smith, editor extraordinaire at Atom Books, a million thanks. Not only is she a brilliant editor but she’s funny too. Working with her is a dream come true. Frankly, the whole crew at Atom/Little, Brown is incredible: Gina Luck, Kate Agar, and Darren Turpin – you all helped to make Night School happen. Thank you all so much! I owe you so many cupcakes …

This book was shaped and honed with the help of friends who read it while I was writing it, and told me the truth about it. Their honesty and brilliance made it so much better. Hélène Rudyk, Kate Bell and Sally Davies – you are all goddesses.

To the staff at the Starbucks on Memorial Drive at Dairy Ashford in Houston, Texas, thank you for letting me sit and write in your icy air-conditioning for hours on end – sometimes until you were stacking the chairs around me and sweeping the floor under my feet – without ever asking me to buy more coffee or get out of your way. Basically, thank you for ignoring me. Night School was fuelled by your iced mochas.

While this book was being written my mother passed away, so she never got to see that everything worked out. That this wasn’t just another of my crazy dreams. They say sometimes people watch over you after they die so … Look Mom! I did it.