interested in doing your course but I’m not entirely sure you’ll be man enough for her.’ Patrick’s eyes flashed with humour.
Joel turned his laser gaze back to her. ‘Now there’s a challenge,’ he said, softly. ‘How could I resist? Tell me why you want to learn great things, Emma.’
Emma stared up at him, feeling hot. He was looking at her as if she was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. No one, not even Ollie, had ever looked at her with such fascination. His interest was incredibly exciting. Maybe this was someone who could actually encourage her to use her brain? Aware that Joel was waiting for her answer, she tried to put into words what she wanted. And failed. ‘I’ve looked at evening classes before but they’re all in Exeter or Bridport,’ she stuttered, aware she sounded trite. ‘Too far away. To have them here in Berecombe would be majorly cool.’ That wasn’t the real reason and she could see Joel didn’t believe it. She took a deep breath. ‘Look, like a lot of kids, I cocked up at school. Didn’t concentrate. Couldn’t wait to leave. Never thought of A levels or anything. Wanted some cash in my pocket, I suppose.’
Joel edged nearer. ‘And you spent too long daydreaming and staring out of the window, I’ll wager. Too imaginative. Bored with some very boring teaching.’
Emma blushed. How did he know?
He smiled. ‘It happens so often. Agile minds let down by an unimpressive education system which treats its gentle charges as nothing more than sausages in a machine.’
Emma wasn’t entirely sure what he meant but nodded vigorously. She could listen to his voice forever. It was smooth and cultured, with a sophisticated drawl.
He waved a hand. ‘Sausage in. Pricked. Baked. Tested. Tested some more. Sent out into the world unsatisfied and dulled by the tedium of it all.’
‘I like sausages,’ Emma breathed and, to her horror, realized she’d said it out loud.
Joel roared with laughter. ‘Patrick is right. You are perfect for me. And you will be a challenge. One I need.’
‘I need a challenge too. I want to find out if I’m up to it.’
‘And you want to be excited, I can tell.’ He put his head on one side. ‘And great literature can do that.’ He clapped his hands together in a way that should have been effeminate but just came across as enthusiastic. ‘Oh, Emma Tizzard, I can show you so much. Teach you so much. There are so many riches I can lead you to discover.’
It was all getting a bit heady. ‘So you’ll teach the course here, in the bookshop?’ she asked, in an attempt to bring the conversation down to a more normal level.
Joel spread his arms wide. ‘Where better? I think the idea is to hold them where the optimum number can attend. As you say, not everyone is capable of getting to Exeter.’ He paused and then went on importantly, ‘Should you want to, attendance can count towards a foundation course and then a degree. But we can talk more about that. I can bring some information to the first class. Do you think you’re up to it, Emma? And more saliently, do you think you’re up to me?’ He raised one eyebrow.
Emma felt her face begin to burn with possibilities. ‘I don’t have any A levels and I haven’t really done anything like this before.’
‘But you read?’
Emma nodded.
‘And love books? The worlds they offer? The escape from the tedium of everyday life?
He understood. Somehow, he knew that was why she disappeared into reading. Books were a way out. A way of forgetting the dragging fear over her father’s job. The way her mother was worrying herself thin. The dull suburban life they led. She gazed up at him, enraptured. She’d never met anyone quite like him before.
‘I need you, Emma with the flaming hair. I need you on my course.’ He took her hand and looked mournful. ‘Say yes or I shall leave here a bitterly disappointed man.’
‘Yes,’ Emma said, her eyes shining. ‘Yes!’
Joel nodded, satisfied. ‘And now, will you excuse me? I must away to find Patrick.’
Emma watched him go. ‘Wowzers,’ she breathed. ‘What a hero.’ He was every teacher she’d ever dreamed of, rolled into one. It was a world away – and more – from her days at Berecombe Comp. Turning away and seeing the last rays of the sun dip into the sea, she murmured, ‘I could do this. I could actually do this!’
‘So, how was she today?’ Ollie drained his pint. He nodded to her empty glass. ‘Another?’
They’d met, as usual, for a drink in the Old Harbour. As they were saving every penny they could, their social life had become fairly limited. Tonight they were sitting outside in the balmy September air. The sun had long since disappeared but there were still streaks of blue and gold in the sky and it was warm. The sea lapped against the shore and one or two walkers strolled along the beach, dogs gambolling between their legs. It was an idyllic scene but one Emma had grown up with and took for granted. The only thing she could see was Joel’s finely drawn features and the passion for literature burning in his eyes.
‘Em? You’re miles away. I asked if you’d like another drink.’
She nodded briefly and watched as Ollie got up and went into the bar, greeting one or two fellow volunteers from the RNLI as he went.
On his return he put her half of cider and packet of crisps down on the rough wooden table. It occurred to her that he knew her so well he didn’t have to ask what she wanted. They’d met at school and had been going out ever since. Oliver Lacey had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Every now and again they’d split up, see other people, but had always drifted back to each other. Her family adored him and Emma treated his mum as her own. Then, last year, after another break up, they’d got back together and things had got more serious; they’d decided to start saving hard to buy their own house. The only problem being, in Berecombe, housing stock was limited and expensive. Emma couldn’t really see it ever happening. Renting would be nearly as expensive and in seasonal demand and she didn’t want to have to move out every April to make way for the holiday lets; she wanted her own place. Somewhere permanent. Preferably without the anaglypta wallpaper and neat flower beds of her parents’ house.
Dave Curzon, who ran the newsagents, and his girlfriend Lola stopped to chat. Mostly to Ollie. Everyone loved Ollie. She listened as the men moaned about Berecombe football club’s terrible start to the season. Ollie needed a haircut, she thought. His unruly black hair was flopping over his eyes and he kept having to flip it back impatiently. She’d have to get her mum to do it. Since he’d been training with the RNLI crew, he’d put on muscle weight and had bulked up. His shoulders had broadened and he was almost stocky. Or maybe he was just transitioning from a lanky boy into a man? Emotion shifted inside her. She knew she didn’t always treat him as well as he deserved but, deep down, she loved him.
Dave and Lola drifted off and Ollie took a swig of his shandy and grinned. ‘So, come on, tell me what’s Her Ladyship done now?’
It was their name for Leona. It had taken one day for Tash and Emma to get the measure of their new colleague.
Emma’s
