May I sit with you? Andrew asked, his voice cutting through the rustle of the hallway like a sudden clap of thunder.
Clare glanced up from her notebook. She was tall, with sharp eyes that caught every detail, and ever since primary school shed been placed at the back of the class while the smaller, bespectacled children filled the front rows. Shed never minded the solitude; it gave her space to think, and shed never needed a confidante. She was friendly enough to chat with anyone, yet no one ever breached the barrier of true intimacy.
Then Andrew appeared in her final year at St. Margarets, the new boy whod just transferred from a school three counties away. He was lanky, thin, and moved with a nervous grace, a stray curl perpetually brushing his lips. The moment he stepped into the room, he walked straight to the secondlast desk and asked, May I sit with you?
Clare nodded, already knowing the answer before it left his mouth. He never hesitated, never faltered. He burst into the class like a bright flash, loud and unapologetically confident, and soon he and Clare became an inseparable pair.
He was the lanky pup, she the poised, selfassured doe. Unlike the other girls who tried to look delicate, Clare had always been tall enough to be mistaken for a grownup. Shed grown up feeling olderher mother leaned on her after her own father died, and she helped raise her little brother Nathan, who was still in primary school. Andrew, a year younger than her, had started school a year earlier than his peers because his own family had been torn apart by tragedy.
The other pupils whispered that they were a couple, though their bond was simply friendship. They studied side by side for the GCSEs, most often at Clares cramped kitchen table. She tutored him in English, dreaming of a career in teaching, while he helped her with mathematics, hoping to become a software engineer.
Tonight Ill cook you a bowl of chicken stew, and then well revise, Clare commanded, and Andrew bowed his head in agreement.
She loved looking after him; it was a habit forged from caring for Nathan. But one winter, Nathan fell ill with a high fever.
Lets meet at my place then, Andrew said suddenly, his tone uneasy. No one will be home, Ill make you a lamb casserole, and we can study together.
Clare blinked in surprise. Shed never been invited to his house before.
Is that convenient for you? she asked, hesitant.
Of course it is, Andrew laughed, the sound echoing off the kitchen tiles. My dad makes a brilliant roast, and his steaks are legendary.
Your mother doesnt cook? Clare teased, smiling. Shes lucky to have married him.
A shadow fell over Andrews face.
My mother isnt here, he said quietly. She died when I was a month old. They say a goldencoloured cord was tangled around her throat during delivery, and she didnt survive. My father and I were only seventeen then, fresh out of school. We grew up in the childrens home, no relatives to speak of. They wanted to send me to a babycare ward, but my father refused. He said, I grew up in an orphanage; I wont let my son live the same life.
Clare pressed her hands over his trembling ones. Im sorry, she whispered. A wave of pity flooded her, and she finally understood why shed always wanted to protect him. Beneath his jokes and bright grin lurked a constant, hidden sorrow.
A sudden voice boomed from the hallway, and the front door slammed shut.
Your fathers here, Andrew announced, taking Clares hand and dragging her toward the entrance.
In the foyer stood a broadshouldered, sunkissed man, tall enough to be a mirror image of his son, only older. He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
This is Clare, love, Andrew introduced, and this is my dad, Robert Whitaker.
Its a pleasure, Robert said, his tone measured. Have you offered your girl any food yet? Im starving. You youngsters think love will fill you up, dont you? He chuckled, patting the empty spot at the table. Ive got a pot of lamb casserole on the stovelets see if it lives up to its reputation.
The stew was, indeed, unforgettable. Andrew spoke fondly of Clare, calling her his best friend, while she stole glances at Robert, marveling at his quiet strength. A seventeenyearold man who could raise a toddler on his own was a rarity, and her admiration grew with each stolen look.
Both passed their exams with flying colours, entered university, and went their separate ways. Clare saw Robert a few more times, each encounter sending a flush through her cheeks; his gaze lingered in a way that felt both familiar and unsettling, as if the man before her were a grownup version of Andrew.
One night, she dreamed that Andrew leaned in and kissed her. She shoved him away, shouting, What are you doing? Were just friends! He stepped back, and she realised the lips shed felt were not Andrews but Roberts. She found herself pulling him close, kissing him, because lately she could think of nothing else.
What, your dad never wanted to marry? she asked him once, halfjoking.
He laughed, Nountil recently there was a portrait of his late wife in the living room. Do you want to see it? He never brought anyone home. Then he took it down, maybe because someone new entered his life. His words made Clares heart race.
Their meetings grew rarer as university pulled them apart. One afternoon, unable to reach Andrew by phone, Clare walked to his flat, hoping to catch him. The door opened, and Robert stood there, his eyes warm yet mischievous.
Andrews out on a date, finally fell in love, Robert said, glancing away. Youve seen Diana, his girlfriend? Shes younger, bright as a spring day.
Clare managed a smile. Yes, Ive seen her. Shes lovely.
Roberts gaze softened. Shall we take a walk along the Thames, perhaps dinner at that little café on the pier? The weathers beautiful. What do you think?
She stepped closer, and before she could answer, he pulled her gently into his arms and kissed hera kiss that mirrored the one from her dream, soft yet charged with years of unspoken longing.
Little one, he murmured, forgive me my age.
The word little sent a shiver down Clares spine. No one had ever called her that before.
Their secret affair lasted six months, hidden even from Andrew. Im afraid youll wake up one morning and think Im no longer needed, Robert confessed one evening, his voice barely above a whisper.
After Clare finished her third year, she and Robert announced they would marry. Her mother erupted, Hes sixteen years older than you! Have you lost your mind? Then she stared at her daughter, softening, Perhaps, Lily, the door to happiness lies beyond this very moment.
Andrew, hearing the news, laughed loudly, Clare, I always knew youd be by my side So now youll be my stepmother? Good heavens, Clare!
Stop it, she retorted, halflaughing, Dianas waiting for you. Go to her.
For the first time, Clare felt truly small and wildly beautiful in Roberts arms. He was thirtysix; she was twenty. They were still young, and the worlds chatter could not touch them.
No one had imagined that the girl who once sat alone at the back of the classroom would marry the father of her schoolyard friend. Yet here they stood, bound by a love that refused to follow any rule.
