Page 9 of The Rest is History

Elodie

‘ S o. How did it go with Prince Not-So-Charming?’

Zara pulls me down in the seat next to hers. We’ve left Charlie to it and absconded to the staffroom, which is a hostility-free zone compared to the History office. A judgement-free zone, too.

And, critically, it doesn’t contain the person I’m trying to avoid. And the person Zara is intent on gossiping about.

I sigh and focus on the nails tapping on her mug of tea.

She gets new nail art done every other weekend.

This bright Monday morning, she’s sporting a gradient that goes from palest ballet-slipper pink on the baby finger of her left hand to hot pink on its opposite.

Every perfect oval talon sports an impeccable black slash down its centre.

I’d have preferred it without the slash, but Zara’s style is far edgier than mine. She’s far cooler all round, basically.

Case in point: today’s ensemble of the perfect white t-shirt in a vintage slub, paired with parachute trousers in a silky olive fabric. They gather prettily above her excellent ankles, showing off a fabulous pair of flesh-coloured suede stilettos.

I mean.

As I consider how to describe Saturday, her hand leaves her mug and gives a coquettish little wave.

I look up to see one of the PE teachers, Mr Gibbs, walking past. He’s in navy tracksuit bottoms and a form-fitting white t-shirt, and he flashes her a cute smile as he passes.

I eye him appreciatively—daily physical activity is clearly working well for him—before returning my gaze to Zara and cocking an inquisitive eyebrow.

She smiles smugly. ‘I may have made some early inroads in my quest to acquaint myself better with the PE department. But let me remind you that we are here to talk about you , my friend.’ She jabs a candy-pink talon in my direction.

‘Explain to me how you spent a day role-playing with our dickwad boss and lived to tell the tale.’

If I don’t think about the necklace incident, I can convince myself that the day was fine. Successful. Not terrible.

The problem is that I can’t stop thinking about the necklace incident.

About Charlie’s warm breath on my neck.

About the fact that every nerve ending in my body was on high alert as he put his mouth so close to my skin.

About the fact that, for some unknown reason, I found myself hoping with every fibre of my being that he’d put his lips on me. Slide a hand around my neck.

About my suspicion that I wasn’t the only one affected. That he lingered behind me, his fingers grazing my skin, a little longer than was strictly necessary.

The only possible explanation is that we both tumbled into some murky parallel consciousness where he was Henry, and I was Anne, and we tricked ourselves into an intimacy totally at odds with our real-life relationship.

To distract myself from the moment seared into my brain, I consider Zara’s question-slash-challenge.

‘It’s weird.’ I wrap a hand lovingly around my espresso cup. ‘He wasn’t actually a dickwad. He was… I dunno. Normal? Like, relaxed. The role really suited him. It was like it allowed him to show off a whole different side to his character. An extroverted side.’

‘Woah.’ Zara holds up a hand. ‘You’re seriously using the e-word for Charlie Vaughan ?’

‘I know. He really took on the role. He was great with the visitors—he was funny. Super confident. Very larger than life.’

‘Maybe he likes hiding behind such a big character,’ Zara mused. ‘Maybe it’s a healthy outlet for him. God knows, he’s so socially awkward most of the time.’

‘Socially awkward I can handle.’ I mean, socially awkward I can definitely sympathise with.

‘It’s just the outward hostility I have a problem with.

But he was Mr Jovial. He had some good swagger.

And the other queens all seem fond of him.

They give him a hard time, and he takes it.

Like, he rolls his eyes a lot and pretends to be pissed off, but I can tell he likes it.

They’re definitely not afraid of him. They even squish his face. ’

‘Holy crap. That I’d pay good money to see.’

‘I know, right?’

‘I bet I’m right. I bet it’s a release for him. He gets to explore a whole different way of being with people from the safety of a costume. Speaking of which…’

I roll my eyes. I anticipated this line of questioning. Damn her.

She presses on. ‘How did he look when he was all kitted out?’

‘He looked… good,’ I say lamely. ‘Impressive. He cut quite an intimidating figure, but in a good way. Majestic, I suppose.’

‘More Eric Bana than Humpty Dumpty?’

I laugh. ‘Definitely.’ I take a sip of my espresso. Mmm. The hot, bitter liquid burns better than alcohol as it slips down my throat.

‘Codpiece?’

I splutter. Clamp my hand to my mouth.

‘Good grief, woman.’

She giggles. ‘Sorry. But you knew it was coming. Yes or no.’

I lick a slick of escaped coffee off my palm before answering.

‘I believe there was, yes. I didn’t look directly at it.’

‘Kind of like a solar eclipse? Was it too blinding for your tastes?’

‘Oh my God. You are horrific . Remind me why we’re friends.’

‘Because if you didn’t have me, you’d be forced to hang out—in hostile silence, obviously—with Cheery Chops.’

‘Point taken.’

‘So, reading between the lines of your pathetic attempt at gossip, he looked hot and interacted with people like a normal human being. Yes?’

‘Yeah. Except?—’

She leans straight in. This woman is vicious. ‘Tell me.’

‘Well, we had a slightly awkward moment. It was a bit—intense.’ That was an understatement. I have a brief flash of memory again.

My hand braced on the wall.

My acute awareness as Charlie’s mouth came closer to my neck.

The goosebumps that erupted on my skin despite the warmth of his breath.

A hyper-awareness of him and me. Alone.

A stillness in the air. Like time was suspended for a few magical seconds.

The best thing to do with Zara, now I’ve been stupid enough to bring it up, is to downplay it.

‘The back of my hood got caught in my necklace,’ I explain. ‘Charlie couldn’t get it untangled, so he had to kind of… bite the threads off.’

Zara’s eyes are wide and she presses her lips together as if this is the most tickled she’s ever been and trying desperately to control herself.

She cocks her head. ‘El.’

‘Yeah.’ I aim for nonchalance, sipping at my espresso with studied nonchalance.

‘Babe. Charlie Vaughan put his teeth on you and you thought you could brush it under the carpet?’

‘Not on me. Jesus. He just snagged the fabric with his teeth.’

‘Where? Here?’ She touches her throat.

‘No. At the back.’ I signal self-consciously with my hand. ‘Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal.’

She sits back with her mug, a self-satisfied look on her perfectly made-up face.

‘Still. You’ve got to admit it’s all quite hot, in a macho kind of way. You know, him all dressed up like a tyrant. Tearing fabric off with his teeth and all that.’

‘Don’t forget the codpiece,’ I point out, and we collapse in another fit of giggles.