I frown. I don’t like the thought of leaving her alone like this. She looks so tired. It’s so different from her usual brash, bolshy personality that I’d stick a pin in my eye if I thought it’d make her feel better right now.
There’s only one way I can think to do that. I sigh. “Look. Do you want to go out?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Do you want to get a drink, or something? I know you’re meant to be having a date with Josh and Zack tonight, but I think you need some time off. There’s a pub in Battersea I’ve been meaning to try out, if you like.”
“I can’t,” she says glumly. “I have so much to do.”
I switch tacks. “The most productive thing you can do right now is take some time off. You’re too stressed to work anymore, and if you don’t give yourself a break, you’ll be in just as bad a state tomorrow.”
She hesitates. “I guess.”
“Great,” I say briskly, standing. “Take a scan of your invoice, send it to your supplier, then go get ready. I’ll straighten up your flat a bit, and when you’re ready, we’ll go out.”
She pulls a face. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not? You’d do it for us, if our situations were switched.”
“Well, yeah, but—” she trails off, her cheeks pinkening.
“But what?”
“If you see how gross my flat is, you’ll never look at me the same again.”
“You’re embarrassed because you’ve been working too hard to clean?” I say incredulously. “Christ, Layla. You’re my friend. I don’t care about the mess, I care about you.”
That startles her into silence for a few seconds. Her green eyes are wide as she stares up at me.
“Okay,” she says eventually, uncrossing her arms. “Thank you.”
TWENTY-NINE
LUKE
Two hours later, we’re both sitting in a booth at the back of a London pub. It’s packed tonight; there’s a football match on, so the place is full of fans watching the game. Layla and I have both had to squeeze onto one tiny bench, pressed close together. Layla has a mojito in front of her, and is looking a lot happier. The colour is back in her cheeks, and she’s finally smiling again.
“I still can’t believe you don’t remember me from high school,” she shouts over the clamour of the pub, kicking her heeled feet as she sips at her straw. “I was such a good student.”
“I’m sure.” I swig at my own beer and try to ignore the feeling of her thigh pressed against mine. After she showered, Layla changed into little black shorts and a skimpy green top. She looks lovely, of course — but it’s an awful lot of bare skin to have pressed up against you. I can’t help myself glancing down the long stretch of white leg as she shuffles closer, making room for a guy to squeeze into the booth on her other side.
“I was!” She insists. “I wrote an essay on the use of light in A Streetcar Named Desire. You said it was the best in the class.”
“I’m sure it was brilliant,” I agree. “Unfortunately, I think I’ve read about four hundred essays on that topic, so nothing is springing to mind.”
She kicks me under the table, her eyes crinkling. “You were everyone’s favourite teacher, you know. I was so excited to move into your class.”
I look down at my hands, my smile fading. “Hopefully I wasn’t too much of a disappointment. I probably wasn’t at my best when I was teaching you.”
She nods. “It was when your divorce was going through, right?”
I wince. “The students knew about that?”
“We knew. Mrs Martins—” she frowns, thinking. “Um…”
“Amy,” I supply.
“Right. She’d talk about you in class, sometimes. A lot of the girls were happy that you were back on the market.”
I grimace, and she laughs. “You were, what, sixteen at the time?” She nods. “You must have the reunion coming up soon, right?”
Layla’s face shutters. “Yeah. I got an email about it a few days ago.”
“Are you going to go?”
She taps her straw against the rim of her glass. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Well. I might be there as well. I got my invite just this morning.” Amy emailed it to me specifically. I’m not sure if it’s just part of her role as headmistress, or she was trying to dig at me.
Her eyes flash to mine. “Really?” She considers. “That’s convenient. Maybe you should just come with me, then.”
I sputter on my beer. “Like, as your…”
“Date, yeah.” She leans against me, amusement glinting in her eyes. “I’m really big on reducing carbon emissions. It would save petrol.”
“My car’s electric,” I manage.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s the nerdiest way I’ve ever been turned down. And I’ve been turned down a lot, as you well know.”
I clear my throat, setting down my beer. “Layla—”
“I know, I know. You wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole. I’m just kidding.” She sighs, turning back to her drink. “Do you seriously go to the reunion every year? Why would you want to go back to that hellhole?”
My eyebrows raise. “You didn’t like Emery High? I thought it was a wonderful school.”
She almost chokes on her mouthful. “Oh?”
“Yes. There was plenty of funding. The area was nice. And the students were some of the loveliest I’ve ever worked with.”
She snorts at that. “Sure they were.”
“Emery High has some of the lowest rates of student exclusion and suspension in the country,” I tell her proudly. “I never remember seeing a child get expelled for bullying or fighting. It was a lovely atmosphere.”
Layla is silent for a moment. “I hated almost every second of it,” she says eventually.
I’m taken aback. “Why?”
Her mouth twists. “Guess I’m not that academic.” She looks down at her glass. The noise in the room seems to just get louder as she lets the conversation trail into silence.
I frown. The happiness has drained out of her again. “Layla.” She doesn’t respond, so I touch her hand lightly. “Hey. Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” she says, stirring ice around her glass. “You did nothing.” We’re silent for a moment. Layla studies the table, running her fingertips slowly over the glossy grain.
I clear my throat. “So. How is the experiment with Josh and Zack going? Honestly.”
She smiles slightly. “I didn’t lie on the podcast. It really is going great. I’m already a lot better at flirting, I think. And I’m getting more natural on my practice dates.” She grins suddenly. “And now I can come in bed, too. If you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” I say firmly. She just laughs. “Well, I’m glad you’re finding it helpful. Just remember that if you ever feel like you need to stop, you can change your mind.”
She narrows her eyes, taking another sip of her mojito. “Why are you so against it? Is it just because you think it’ll ruin my friendship with Zack and Josh?”
I shake my head. “I just don’t think they’re going about it the right way. Your issues aren’t social, or…” the word sticks in my throat.
She smirks. “Sexual?”
I nod. “Right. There’s nothing wrong with you. I think you’re just finding the wrong men.”
“Oh?”
I nod. “I think finding a partner is less about attraction, and more about logic. If you can find a person that’s compatible with you, you can avoid facing troubles down the line when the honeymoon phase is over.” I smile at her grimly. “And you won’t make the same mistake as me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Jesus. You got divorced once, Luke. It’s not like you’re doomed to be alone forever because one relationship didn’t work out.”
My mouth falls open. “I don’t think I’m doomed forever—”
“No? I’ve never even seen you bring a girl home. There must be some reason for that.”
“Well… I…” I bluster. Honestly, I haven’t thought about finding a partner in forever. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is. I’m coming up to forty, after all. It feels a little late in life to be swiping through Tinder.