Class Act A delightful romance
Marcus’s new teacher discovers that his uncle is not what he seems…
Two ten year-olds pause in fisticuffs just long enough for me to launch myself in between. “Marcus? Fred?” “He rubbished my castle!” “I didn’t!” It’s been a successful craft day. Both boys cradle their creations, crayoned walls still wet with glitter-glue and paint. “Well, fighting isn’t the way forward.” They huff-puff their way to the waiting area. This time I trip on discarded wellies and end up face-first on the floor. “You OK?” I roll over to look up into the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They brim with barely supressed laughter in the face of the uncomfortably gorgeous guy looking down at me. I’m aware my own face is a serious shade of puce. “Yeah, fine.” “I’m Dom.” He offers a hand. I take it. “Oooo, Miss! That your boyfriend?” The group’s jokers: Liam and Jack. If it’s possible I flush darker. I stand, reassert authority. I flash recently acquired teacher’s sternness and see something like respect flicker in the blue eyes of drop-dead Dom.
“I’m collecting Marcus – do I need to sign something?”
“Over there.” I indicate my colleague with the sign-out sheet. “See you tomorrow, Marcus.” I smile and, feeling foolish, retreat to the back office.
Iseriously hate creepy-crawlies, so today’s theme is not good. I’m fine with the building-a-bug-hotel bit – I can cram a box with leaves and bits of bark as well as the next woman – but searching for “hotel residents” in leaf litter is way out of my comfort zone. This job with the castle’s school holiday activity-scheme is great for an Education graduate like me – good preparation for my first post – but I’m hoping with my own class I can bypass the hands-on biology. Marcus doesn’t seem keen either. “Sorry about yesterday, Miss,” he says, falling into step. There is a pause. “It wasn’t about model castles, was it?” He lets out a life-weary sigh. “Fred said my dad didn’t love me if he lived on the other side of the world. But he’s in the army, Miss.” “Of course.” “Fred said Dom wasn’t really my uncle. He said that’s what his mum said about his stepdad at first. But he is, Miss.” The eyes plead. “My mum said so.”
Despite my child-protection training, the urge to hug this little boy, lost in the complications of an adult world, is strong.
“Whatever happens,” I content myself with a hair-tousle. “Your dad will always be your dad, Marcus.”
At home-time the “uncle” in question is there again. I’m just grabbing my bag, wondering whether to mention my conversation with Marcus or leave well alone when I feel it… an insidious tickle… I look down in my bag at the biggest beetle I’ve ever seen. I completely lose it. When I’ve finished shrieking it’s Marcus’s uncle Dom who calms me.
“It’s OK. It’s gone.” Turning to an abashed and clearly guilty Liam and Jack, he scowls. “That was not funny, guys. Apologise.”
I smile weakly, feeling foolish in front of this man all over again.
The rest of the week I’m too embarrassed to exchange more than nods with Marcus’s “uncle” Dom.
Friday we have a Knights’ Tournament. Each youth-leader has a team and alongside mine I wang-wellies, beat-the-goalie, hit shy-coconuts and run the obstacle course. We win. I’m leaping in the air, red-faced, breathless.
So of course here he comes, looking cosy with a pretty redhead that Marcus greets as “Mum”. The woman laughs at me, cuddles her son.
“So it’s you who’s the attraction?” she says. “I knew there was some reason my husband’s brother was meeting Marcus every day. I asked him to help out on Monday but that’s all. Nice one, Dom!”
She’s still chuckling as she walks away and two pink dots decorate Dom’s face.
“I’ve been teaching in Dubai most of Marcus’s life – he doesn’t really know me so I’ve been making up for lost time – especially since my brother is away.” he starts to explain, but he’s shuffling his feet awkwardly. “But Niamh’s right – I was coming for you.” “Oh.” My pulse, still pounding from racing, goes into over-drive.
“I wondered… maybe we could, err… grab a drink or something?” “Like this?” I look down at grass-stained jeans and dishevelled shirt.
“You look amazing.”