‘Oh,’ I said, taking an interest in my wineglass. ‘Is that unusual, then?’
‘Strangely, yes. At least, as far as St Sebastian’s is concerned.’
‘It isn’t true,’ I blurted, cursing myself for saying the words before they were even out. ‘About Mr Sim. Gareth, I mean. We aren’t … I mean, we were, last term, but we aren’t … any more.’
He took a draught of his pint and nodded.
Say something!I waded into the silent breach.
‘Is that OK? I mean, do you frown upon relationships between staff members?’
‘No,’ he said, leaning a little bit further forward, ‘not necessarily.’
I was about to ask him if his wife was a teacher when a loud beery sound from the doorway made me look away.
‘Oh God,’ I muttered.
‘Well, look who it –’ Gareth was on the verge of making a spectacular fool of himself, but he processed the identity of my drinking companion in the nick of time and turned his declamation into a brisk nod and a formal, ‘Headmaster. Cherry.’
‘Gareth,’ said Patrick unenthusiastically. ‘Come and join us. We were just indulging in a bit of a debrief session after our rehearsal.’
‘No, you’re all right,’ said Gareth. ‘I’m here with the rugby boys. Thanks, though.’ He skulked back to his broad-shouldered group at the bar, casting occasional glances over said broad shoulders for the remainder of our conversation.
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to him,’ I said. The atmosphere had switched from warm to awkward. I couldn’t stop looking over at the bar.
‘I know. I wasn’t. Er, so, you were saying …’
‘What was I saying? I’ve forgotten now. About you going to London? I’m not going anywhere much. Might visit my mum.’
‘Does she live locally?’
‘Nah, abroad.’
‘Really? What country?’
‘The Isle of Wight.’
He frowned at me for a thrilling moment before crumpling divinely into laughter, in which I joined with gratitude.
I had the feeling that, were it not for the hostile man-mountain at the bar, Patrick would have been offering to buy another round of drinks, but instead he picked up his scarf and made an apologetic face.
‘Well, best be getting my bags packed if I’m on the road tomorrow. Thank you for the company – I needed it after the half-term I’ve had.’
‘Oh, not a problem,’ I twittered, cheeks glowing from more than the effects of the coal fire. ‘Any time.’
He put a hand on the inner part of my elbow as I rose to my feet. I had to shut my eyes.
‘I appreciate it,’ he said softly. ‘Can I … Should I walk you home?’
‘No, no, I’m fine. I only live a couple of streets away.’
Idiot, idiot, idiot!
‘Right. Well, have a great half-term. You’ve earned a rest.’
‘You too.’
We were at the door. The back of my neck burned, probably from death rays sent out by Gareth’s eyes.