Page 4

Ellie

T he Thistlewood Café is every bit as charming as Natalie described it, with its black framed windows, strings of fairy lights and thick rivulets of English ivy stretching over the building's rustic, red brick facade. Wrought-iron tables and chairs sit in the quaint garden out front but aren’t occupied because of the cold weather, and there’s a foldable chalkboard placed near the entrance with this week's specials written on it. Inside it looks small, but bright and warm. White-washed wooden tables and matching chairs are spread out over the marbled black and white floor, a roaring fire crackles in a wrought iron heath off to the right and the pale-yellow walls are covered with beautifully painted landscapes of the English countryside. A bell tinkles above my head as I push open the door and the heavenly smell of freshly baked goods immediately fills my nostrils. My empty stomach grumbles and I can’t resist stopping to admire the large glass counter displaying an assortment of tarts, cakes and pastries, each just as tantalising as the next.

“Can I get you anything dear?”

An elderly lady with kind eyes and a friendly smile stands behind the counter. I study the extensive menu, debating what to order, before I ultimately decide on a pot of Chester tea for myself and black French press coffee for Marco - his favourite. I’m told to sit wherever I’d like, so I grab one of the tables near the fire. Even though more students start to filter in, occupying several other tables around me, the atmosphere stays remarkably quiet and pleasant.

Warmth fills my belly and all I can think about is Marco choosing to meet here because he knew it wouldn’t be too busy.

Maybe he’s learning after all.

As if on cue, the café’s door opens again and butterflies swirl inside me when the man in question appears. Tall and wide-shouldered with a strong, athletic build, Marco looks as handsome as ever dressed in faded jeans, a white T-shirt and his favourite leather jacket. His dark brown hair looks freshly cut and neatly quaffed, same as always, and his rich, honey-brown eyes scan the room slowly. When he finally spots me, his smile is all dimples and perfect white teeth.

“Hey, El.”

“Hey.”

I stand as Marco approaches, tactfully ignoring the group of girls eyeing him suggestively and whispering to each other, as I wrap my arms around him tightly. When he leans down and kisses me, I sigh wistfully against his lips. God, I missed this. I didn’t realise how much I did until now. Needing more, I press a little closer, trying to deepen the kiss, but he pulls back before I can, taking a seat at the table instead.

The butterflies in my stomach continue to flutter, but not nearly as intensely.

That was weird.

He’s never done that before.

Worry blooms inside me, but I try to mask it, plastering on a smile and sitting in my chair again.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, touching his forearm .

“Yeah, everything’s grand.” He smiles, trying to be reassuring, but it’s not hard to sense that something about him seems off now. Before I can figure out what it is or press him any further, a server comes over with our drinks, placing them in front of us.

Her eyes light up with immediate recognition as soon as she sees Marco.

“Oh my god, are you Marco Andersen?”

He smirks, looking her up and down. “I am, yeah.”

“Wow, I watched every match you played in last year and thought you were…” She trails off, suddenly turning bashful, “Well, I thought you were amazing. You’re the reason why I got into rugby.”

“Thanks,” My boyfriend grins, his eyes settling on her chest where a name tag is pinned to her shirt, suspiciously close to her ample cleavage I might add. “Coral. Always nice to meet such a dedicated fan.”

She giggles when he says her name, practically turning as red as a tomato.

I narrow my eyes.

Is she being serious right now?

I’m not bothered that she recognises him. Marco has always been insanely popular so I’m used to random people coming over and saying ‘hello’ to him all the time. What bothers me is how audacious she’s being. I can deal with girls ogling him from a distance and even endure the occasional encounter with one of his jealous rugby groupies, but it’s hard to ignore or even excuse someone who’s openly fawning all over my boyfriend and flirting with him right in front of me. Especially when said boyfriend seems to be relishing in the attention rather than finding it highly inappropriate like he should. The fact that he hasn’t said anything about me or bothered to point out that we’re together, makes the inside of my mouth taste bitter.

“So, um…would you like anything for breakfast?” The server asks shyly – all the while still completely ignoring me.

I roll my eyes, but keep my mouth shut, not wanting to make a scene.

“I’ll have a full English, thanks.” Marco orders.

“Good choice.” Reluctantly, she finally turns toward me, acknowledging my existence.

“I’ll have the classic eggs benedict, please.”

The server nods, jots down our order and after sneaking another fleeting glance at my boyfriend, she scampers off towards the kitchen.

I shake my head.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter.

“What is?” Marco asks, his head bent low as he scrolls through an endless stream of notifications on his phone.

My eyebrows skew into a frown. He’s joking, right? He’s acting like the last five minutes didn’t just happen. He’s not even looking at me.

“Don’t you think that server was a little out of line?” And that you were as well.

He shrugs nonchalantly, gaze still averted. “It’s not a crime to be friendly, is it?”

No, it isn’t, but I somehow doubt that being ‘friends’ was what she had in mind.

“You didn’t seem terribly annoyed by it.” I point out.

Not at all, in fact.

He meets my eyes with a frustrated look. “Why would I be? She’s a fan, Ellie. Being nice to people like her comes with the territory. What did you expect me to do? Tell her to piss off?”

“No, but you could’ve at least pointed out that I’m your girlfriend instead of letting her flirt with you.”

“You’re overreacting.” He gripes. “She was just being friendly. It didn’t mean anything, okay?”

“Whatever you say,” I mutter, busying myself by pouring a cup of tea.

Okay, maybe I am overreacting a little. I’m aware that being cordial towards his fans is an unavoidable requirement because it gives off a healthy public image, but he doesn’t have to be that friendly either.

“Look, can we not do this?” He sighs heavily, “I asked you here because I wanted to talk to you about something else.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyes drop and he fidgets, like he’s suddenly nervous about something, though I can’t imagine why he would be.

“You remember over the summer when I said that this rugby season is really important to me, especially for my future?”

I nod, stirring some sugar into my tea.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and I’ve realised…” He trails off, drawing a deep, steadying breath before he continues. “The thing is, El I can’t have any distractions going into it. I’m afraid that includes our relationship.”

I freeze, those butterflies I felt before dropping dead in the bottom of my stomach with a loud splat. Every muscle in my body tenses and my thoughts grind to a screeching halt .

“Wh-what?” I stare at him blankly, not believing what I just heard.

Is…Is he…

Despite the shock I feel, I somehow manage to set the teaspoon down without dropping it and I lower my eyes, tears already pricking them.

“Look, I’m sorry to have to do this to you, Ellie.” I hear Marco say, but I can’t bring myself to look at him and see if he means it or not. “I really am. Believe me, I never thought I’d break up with you like this, but …”

I tune out whatever he says next, the full force of his words and the entire situation suddenly ramming into me right where it will hurt later. My chest constricts painfully as barbed wire wraps around my heart, slowly suffocating it. I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back the tears and swallowing hard.

After everything we’ve been through…I…I can’t believe he would do this.

I don’t understand.

Where is this coming from?

Then it hits me.

…I’ve been thinking about this for a while now…

…I never thought I’d break up with you like this…

Realisation rushes towards me like a torrent. His strange and distant behaviour over the last couple of months. The incident at The Arms the other night. When he didn’t show up at the restaurant. How he flirted with the server now and tried to brush it off as nothing. All the times when I felt something wasn’t right between us, but convinced myself to ignore it and pretend otherwise. All the nights I spent worrying and struggling to sleep. It’s all there, plain and clear. This wasn’t a recent decision. Instead of trying to think of ways we could spend more time together like I have, he’s been planning this.

“How long?”

“What?” Marco asks, confused.

I look up, my devastation melding with the anger coursing through my veins. I meet his eyes, head-on this time.

“How long have you been thinking about doing this, Marco?”

He at least has the decency to look ashamed when he replies. “A few months, but come on Ellie, you can’t be that surprised, right? It’s nothing personal. We had our fun, but I need to focus on what’s important to me now, you know?”

He looks genuinely bewildered like he can’t fathom why I’m so shell-shocked right now. He can’t seem to understand why I didn’t see this coming. Clearly, he expected me to. That only serves to twist the knife he’s already stabbed into me even deeper.

Our relationship didn’t mean anything to him.

He wasn’t taking it seriously.

It’s not important.

It was just… fun .

I press my lips together firmly, hot tears spilling over as I push back from the table and stand on wobbly legs.

I need to get out of here.

I need …

My skin overheats under the scrutiny of the crowd of onlookers staring at me, but I ignore them. I ignore Marco calling my name as I sprint towards the exit, the icy breeze outside hitting me right in the face as soon as I push open the door. I welcome the cold. I want to be numbed everywhere so that I can’t feel the hurt anymore, but the embarrassment. The betrayal. It works its way into my heart, poisoning me from the inside out. Tears stream down my cheeks and I don’t stop running, the world and everyone in it becoming nothing but a blur.

I spent the rest of Saturday and the entirety of Sunday holed up alone in my room, only opening the door to collect the plates of food my friends thoughtfully left for me. Liv and Nat tried to convince me countless times to let them in so they could comfort me, but I couldn’t face them. I can’t face anyone right now, because, for someone who prides themselves on being good at reading people, I completely misread things with Marco and the resulting humiliation has been difficult to deal with. By the time Monday morning rolls around, I don’t feel any better and I’m still lying in bed doing one of the three things I’ve been doing over the last two days.

If I wasn’t sleeping, I was crying. If I wasn’t sleeping or crying, I was thinking about Marco, our entire relationship and all the times when I should’ve seen this break-up coming but didn’t. Each moment keeps playing over in my head constantly.

Taunting me.

Hurting me.

What makes this whole situation a million times worse is that everyone else seemed to be aware that we were headed for this Titanic-level disaster of an ending. Liv and Nat were both devasted for me, of course, but they weren’t that surprised either. Even my mum wasn’t as shocked as I expected her to be when I told her what happened. Much like my friends, she never thought much of Marco. She even warned me once that she had a ‘bad feeling’ about him and that he reminded her of my dad sometimes. I remember shrugging it off as her just being overprotective. My mum having a ‘bad feeling’ about a boy didn’t exactly hold much weight. Most men reminded her of my father who abandoned her – abandoned us – a week before my little brother’s fourth birthday when I was just twelve years old. My father was self-centred and only cared about forwarding his own future. He left without warning to pursue his lofty dreams and aspirations, casting his family aside like garbage in the process which, the more I think about it, feels eerily like how my break up with Marco went.

Was she right?

Was everyone trying to warn me, but I was too blind and stupid to notice or listen?

My mouth skews with anguish. How could I be so narrow-sighted that I didn’t notice the similarities until now?

Ignoring the stiffness in my muscles, I grab my phone off my bedside table and check the time, flopping back against my pillows when I see that it’s nearly eight in the morning. I could spend the day in bed again, cry and continue to beat myself up over this or I could get up and pull myself together. Seeing as I’ve reached my limit on wallowing in self-pity, I choose the latter an d I force myself to get out of bed, have a proper shower, change my clothes and tie my hair into a neat ponytail. I even apply a little makeup to my face, mostly to hide my puffy, tear-stained eyes so I don’t look like an absolute train wreck. Grabbing my cap and messenger bag, I head downstairs, finding Liv and Nat in the kitchen, the dregs of their conversation just reaching my ears .

“Those first two tries don’t count, I’ll flip the omelette properly this time.”

“As opposed to it ending up on the floor like the last one?”

“For the last bloody time Natalie, the pan was hot and it slipped out of my hand!”

A fond smile tugs at my lips and when I step into view, both of my friends freeze, the argument and the omelette suddenly forgotten.

“Yes, I’m alive,” I say, making light of the situation, “Take a picture.”

Liv’s chin wobbles and she steps away from the stove, immediately enveloping me in a warm, comforting hug. “Are you okay?”

I nod, holding onto her just as tightly. “Yeah, I’m okay. Better than I was before, anyway.”

She pulls back, anger flaring in her eyes.

“I’m going to kill that bastard. I swear he won’t be standing or breathing properly next time I lay eyes on him.”

“Now that’s something I would pay to see,” Nat adds matter-of-factly.

I laugh weakly. “So, would I.”

For once, neither of us would try to stop her.

Linking our arms together, Liv leads me deeper into the kitchen and we both take a seat on the stools surrounding the large, wooden island in the middle of the room, doubling as both a table and a preparation surface. Nat flips the omelette with ease before sliding it onto a plate, sprinkling it with fresh herbs and placing it in front of me with a slice of buttered homemade whole wheat toast on the side. It smells incredible and my stomach literally growls with anticipation. One of the many bonuses of being best friends with someone who’s studying a culinary arts degree is all the incredible food you get to eat courtesy of them.

“Thanks, Nat,” I say, taking a bite and savouring the taste of bacon, tomato and halloumi cheese. Exactly the way I like it.

Nat merely smiles in response, already preparing another omelette for Liv, but her grey eyes are tinged with apprehension, and I already know, based on that look, that she’ll be keeping a very close eye on me in the days to come.

Thankfully, breakfast is spent listening t o how much she’s enjoying her job at this swanky new restaurant in Craigavon and Liv talking about how well her music studies are going. She’s been playing the piano since she was six years old and has always dreamed of performing in front of live audiences someday, so I’m thrilled she’s loving it as much as she is. I eat my omelette and listen to them idly, also using the time to look over my schedule for the day and to check my emails which I haven’t looked at in days. When I see one from my creative writing professor, I click on it immediately.

Miss Simpkins,

Please remember to be at my office by 9 A.M. sharp for our meeting this morning.

Regards,

Professor Garrick.

I stare down at my phone, my eyes widening.

Oh my god!

In my post-break-up haze, I completely forgot about my meeting with her today!

“Shit!” I get to my feet, abandoning my half-eaten breakfast and scrambling to gather all my things together. “I need to go! I have a meeting with one of my professors that I completely forgot about! Do you mind if I borrow your car, Nat?”

She immediately tosses me her keys and I kiss her cheek, giving her and Liv each a quick, one-armed hug before I dash out the front door, jump into the driver’s seat of her VW Polo and start the engine. Thirty-five minutes later I arrive outside my professor’s office, sweating and panting like I just ran The Iron Man marathon. I check my watch, seeing that I made it with barely a minute to spare. Geez, talk about cutting it close. Steadying myself, I straighten my black peacoat, dust off my jeans, whip off my cap and tighten my ponytail before knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

Plastering on the most relaxed smile I can muster; I twist the door handle and step inside the office. “Morning professor, sorry if I’m a little late.”

Professor Garrick lifts her head, smiling at me politely from behind a large, neatly organised desk. Reading glasses sit at the end of her nose and she’s dressed in her usual white blouse and black pantsuit. Even with her piercing grey eyes, neatly shaped bob and the generally strict way with which she carries herself, I discovered, after she mentioned how impressed she was by my latest creative writing piece last week, that she’s not as intimidating as most people probably think she is. Provided she likes you, of course. Two days later, I overheard her yelling at another student who ran out of the lecture hall seconds later, practically on the verge of tears.

“You’re right on time, Miss Simpkins. Please, have a seat while I quickly finish this email.”

She gestures towards two leather armchairs placed in front of her desk. I sit down in the one on the right and look around while she works, taking in the shelves of books and the numerous framed awards and degree s that line the walls of her office ; all for outstanding achievements in fields such as journalism, English, writing and editing.

I swallow.

Okay, maybe I’m still a bit intimidated.

“So, you said you wanted to discuss something with me?” I ask, turning my attention back to her.

Professor Garrick closes her laptop, shuffles a few papers around on her desk and sets them aside neatly. She inclines her head, regarding me silently for a moment before she finally speaks. “Yes. Have you ever heard of the Armitage Spotlight before?”

I shake my head and she nods, apparently unfazed to find out that I haven’t.

“It’s an article that the university publishes every year initially through our student newspaper: The Armitage Press and then through our affiliate newspaper which just so happens to be one of the country's major and most respected publications. It focuses on one of Armitage’s best and brightest, and it’s usually researched and written by a third-year journalism student for a more relatable perspective. This year, however, I would like you to be the student who will write it.”

My eyebrows lift with surprise.

Wow…okay. I wasn’t expecting this at all.

“B-But I’m not in my third year and I’m not studying journalism either.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.” Professor Garrick answers, smirking slightly. “You may not be a third-year journalism student Miss Simpkins, but you are an exceptional writer and based on the work ethic your teacher said you displayed while working on your high school newspaper and what I’ve seen from you during your short time here, I thought a challenge like this would be something of interest to you.”

I’m not sure if she’s only complimenting me because she’s trying to convince me to do this or if she really means it, but something tells me Professor Garrick doesn’t hand out niceties unless they’re genuine. The fact that I’m a first-year student and that I’ve only been at Armitage for less than a month doesn’t bother her either, and maybe this is exactly what I need. A project. Something to distract me from how much of a cluster bomb my life is at the moment.

There’s just one problem.

I don’t like journalism or journalists for that matter, and I’ve never seen myself working as one either. I only joined my high school newspaper because I thought it would look good on my applications to university, not because I was passionate about itor anything and I only worked hard because it’s not in my nature to do anything in half-measures. But at the same time, however, this opportunity might be too good to pass up, especially if it would mean getting something I’ve written published by a major newspaper. Anything to get my name out there would be immensely helpful for my future as a writer.

“Of course, you would be required to spend a fair amount of time with the subject of the article.” She adds.

Hearing that gives me pause. “Oh? How long?”

“Months most likely. It all depends on how long it’ll take you to unearth as much as you possibly can about them. You must figure out what drives them. Discover what makes them who they are. Learn their habits and routines. Their likes and dislikes and so on. ”

I nod. So, it’ll be a long ‘distraction’ then.

Oddly enough, that doesn’t discourage me in the slightest though.

“Who will the article be about?” I ask the all-important question.

“You’ll find out soon enough and I think you’ll love it when you do. What I can tell you is that he has a highly promising career ahead of him as a professional rugby player and that he and his brothers are some of the best students to come out of Armitage in over a decade.”

Rugby career?

Him?

My eyebrows pinch together, but before I can press Professor Garrick for more information, someone knocks on the door and she calls for whoever it is to come inside. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, prepares me for the moment when I turn around and come face to face with a pair of dazzling, light blue eyes belonging to none other than; Colin Hunt. Wearing simple dark blue jeans and a light grey, fitted hoodie, he stops like a perfectly carved statue in the doorway. His eyebrows lift just the slightest when he sees me, equally shocked as well.

What is he doing here?

It takes a moment, but the scattered puzzle pieces inside my head suddenly fit together.

He’s the subject of the article.

Oh god.

This must be a joke or a dream.

I’m dreaming, right ?

But when Professor Garrick smiles, stands and steps out from behind her desk so she can greet him, it all but confirms my worst fears.

Forget the dream, this is a nightmare.

Somehow, I’ve landed in my own, personal version of ‘I wish I could be anywhere else in the world right now, except here.’

“Good morning, Mr Hunt. How are you?”

Still a bit stunned, Colin doesn’t respond immediately, but he catches himself quickly and shifts his focus from me to her, schooling his expression.

“Brilliant as always Professor Garrick. Are you well?”

“Very.” She turns, drawing all the unwanted attention on me again, and thankfully, I have enough presence of mind to clamp my slack-jawed mouth shut. “This is Ellie Simpkins. Ellie, this is Colin Hunt.”

I already know who he is and right now, I really wish I didn’t.

Colin’s piercing gaze holds mine and I swear my entire body lights up. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.”

All I can manage is a frazzled smile in return.

“Ellie is one of my first-year scholarship students in my English Literature and Creative Writing programme. She’s exceptionally talented which is why I’ve chosen her to write the article on you.” Professor Garrick announces.

The corner of Colin’s mouth lifts with an intrigued smirk. Seems he’s thrilled by the prospect. Unlike me.

“I know she isn’t a third-year journalism student like you were expecting,” Garrick continues, completely oblivious to the growing tension in the room, “But she is one of my best and brightest and I’m sure she’ll do an outstanding job capturing the true essence of who you are.”

Hearing those words being said out loud brings a firm smack of reality with it that finally snaps me out of my stupor. I stand abruptly, the abrasive sound of my chair scraping across the floor interrupting their conversation.

“Actually, Professor would it be okay if I took some time to think about it first? I’d like to make sure it won’t interfere with my studies before I commit to anything.”

My insides pinch nervously when Professor Garrick’s eyes narrow slightly. “I can assure you that it won’t.”

Next to her, Colin folds his arms over his chest, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watches me squirm.

Yup.

I need to leave. Now.

“Y-yes, I’m sure you’re right, but I’d still like to check myself if that’s okay?”

Professor Garrick sighs, clearly exasperated. “Yes, fine. If you insist, but I’ll need a firm answer by Saturday Miss Simpkins. No, later than that.”

“Of course. Thank you, Professor.”

I hope this won’t taint her good impression of me, but honestly, that’s the least of my concerns right now as I spin on my heels, grab my bag and leave her office in a rush. I catch sight of Colin trying to follow me, probably to pester or tease me about this unlikely situation we’ve found ourselves in, but luckily, Professor Garrick asks him to stay behind so they can discuss something privately, giving me plenty of time to make my escape. I hurry across the courtyard outside her office and duck inside the first building I pass, which just so happens to be the campus's main library. I move down the wide marbled aisles, weaving my way through a maze of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves until I finally reach an unoccupied study area near the back of the building. Breathing a sigh of relief, I lean against the edge of one of the empty desks and close my eyes.

Of all the things that could have happened today…

I stay there for a few minutes, willing myself to calm down and think rationally.

This isn’t a big deal.

It really isn’t.

There isn’t some law that says I have to write the article. It’s not compulsory. I can say ‘no’ if I want to. Professor Garrick won’t be happy if I do and it would be a missed opportunity, a great one at that, but if I could sit down with her and explain why I can’t take it (even though she’s practically gifted it to me) then maybe she’ll understand. Except I don’t have a good excuse to use and I highly doubt my disastrous love life or the fact that I don’t like the strange effect Colin seems to have on me will be enough to persuade her. I’ll have to think of something and I’ll have to do it quickly because there’s no possible way, I’m going to spend months forcibly attached to Colin Hunt’s hip if I can help it.

Until then, I’ll just have to avoid him.

How hard could that be?