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On having his ‘many working-booted men must come here for lunch’ suspicions confirmed, Justin removed to the public bar, and Will went with him.
The stodgy pub food was comforting and fortifying. The music Aleks put on the old juke box was romantic. The fire glowed redder as we relaxed back on the sofa with hot chocolate after the meal.
“This time tomorrow,” he said. “We could be back in London. Drive all night.”
“We haven’t had any sleep,” I reminded him. “It wouldn’t be safe.”
“So, we take a few days to travel, see the country, be together. Or maybe everything will fix. Not her. She is never coming back from that. But the rest? We will see.”
I knew which option sounded better and was already envisioning staying in a range of nice hotels with Aleks, sleeping in a range of comfy beds with Aleks, and trying a wide range of different positions—
“Is your friend.” He pointed to a window on the far side of the room. It provided a view of the bar where Justin and Will were talking to Ross. “I don’t want you to go out with him again, Malphia. I don’t trust him.”
The proper reaction was obviously to screech that I could do whatever I liked, with whomever I liked, whenever I liked. But I looked at his twitchy face and just stated a fact. “I don’t intend to.”
“We can hear that dirge in the bar, you know,” Justin complained, coming through and seeking out alternative songs on the music machine. “You need to go persuade Hearst to drink coffee. He’s a mean drunk.”
“You’re drunk?” I asked him.
“I am slightly tipsy. He got into some manly display of testosterone with Farmer Giles, not that it wasn’t amusing at the time.”
I found Will slouched over the bar, black coffee untouched in front of him.
“You and Ross got drunk?”
“No,” he lied. “He said you must have a thing for older guys.”
“That wasn’t very nice.” Not going out anywhere with Ross? No problem.
“Bevan says the last one was old too.”
I glared at the speaker of untruths as he came through to see how the sobering up was progressing. “What’s this you’ve been saying, Justin?”
“The other old dude?” Will explained.
“Enlighten me,” I requested. “Because I have no recollection of this person.”
“Well, he was slightly older,” said Justin. “A little poetic licence has to be excused in a bar full of brawny men, Phi. The story was just better that way.”
“He was four years older than me. And I can’t believe you brought him up.”
“Neither can I. Sorry.” A moment of serious sincerity took place. It passed quickly. “No, Hearst,” said Justin with a wicked look. “It’s an unfair conclusion we came to, for the only other great love of our dear Amalphia’s life wasn’t older at all, was he? What a sad tale of unrequited desire and jealousy that is.” He covered his mouth. “It’s the drink. I think we all need some fresh air.”
“Who was that then, this other bloke?” Will slurred. “Do I know him?”
“I believe you may have a passing acquaintance, sweet William,” said Justin, enjoying himself far too much. “I sometimes suspect there’s still a little candle burning there. It’s eclipsed by the current flame, but who knows what the future will bring?”
There were no warm flames or soft candlelight on the drive back. The day darkened as the castle neared. I stroked Will’s hair as his comatose head lay on my legs, Justin having refused to sit beside someone who was a puke risk. Michelle’s face appeared in my mind as we drew up beside the high pink walls of the old keep. Hopefully we would soon be driving away from it, off into the night.
Will went to bed. I waited in my room. Aleks and Justin went to seek out Paul, and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the top of the tower all fired up with enthusiasm.
Michelle had been stripped of teaching privileges pending an internal investigation, which presumably translated to Paul polishing his glasses while having an awkward chat with Bekah. Aleks had been offered the position of Head of Dance Studies, giving him complete control of the dance school. The research was suspended for now. Paul would be talking to each one of us in the hope of getting the needed ‘informed consent’ but Michelle’s involvement was, most likely, at an end. I was being offered a part-time teaching post: exam work for the younger students. Justin’s workshops were to be a regular thing, also paid.
“What do you think, Malphia?”
“I think you could make this into an incredible school.”
He was clearly alight with the challenge, ideas already flitting through his head. I pushed my own disappointment aside and kissed him. We were together, and he was going to teach us again. What did the details matter?
