Temptation [A Young Writer's Prize Submission]

Opportunities

Chapter Twenty Four

 

Faithful are the wounds of a friend; profuse are the kisses of an enemy.

Proverbs 27:6

Tasha and Vanessa walked with me to Haithwaite's office; talking about their plans for the day. From the way they were talking, I took it they considered me as part of the package, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about that.

"We're going to head upstairs and get ready," Tasha told me, "and meet you here afterwards."

"Okay, sure," I answered, still not clear about where exactly we were going.

Tasha smiled, and the two went off, leaving me outside Haithwaite's office door. I tapped on the door, not sure whether I should just walk in or not.

"Come in," Haithwaite called, and I pushed the door open. He sat in exactly the same spot as yesterday, as if he hadn't moved at all since then. The only indication that he might have left the room lay in the cup of coffee in his hand - instead of gin, and the navy suit in place of the grey one.

I closed the door behind me and sat down in the seat he indicated. He smiled benevolently at me, taking a sip of his coffee before setting down the cup and saucer on the arm of the sofa.

"Did you sleep well?" he enquired, relaxing back into the sofa.

"Fine, thank you." I couldn't quite follow his lead, and sat awkwardly at the edge of the sofa, my spine bolster straight.

"I called you here because Agincourt College asked me to give you a few forms to sign," he reached to a little drawer in the coffee table and brought out several sheaths of paper, then dug a pen out of his inner coat pocket and handed it to me.

"You're left handed?" he seemed surprised.

I nodded, signing the papers quickly. There was something about school policies, and qualifications for exams.

"You know, in the past, they used to think left-handedness was the result of a child being touched by the devil," Haithwaite mused. "They used to beat it out of them."

My hand froze on the paper momentarily, but then I continued to write my signature on the pages.

"I've heard you're a resilient character, Mercy," Haithwaite spoke through a smile. He didn't elaborate - making me uncomfortable, and unsure of whether he meant it as a compliment.

He waited a moment longer before continuing; "I thought I'd rather like to have a chat with you; I've heard a lot about you that makes you rather intriguing to an aging man with lots of free time." He smiled kindly, waiting for me to speak.

I hated situations like this - communication wasn't my strong point, and talking to others about myself always made me feel a little queasy. Even though I was more vocal with Cain, it didn't mean I told him everything.

My only tactic, and it wasn't very good, was to make him talk. "What have you heard?"

Haithwaite smiled mysteriously, picked his cup up from the chair and took another drag of his coffee. "I've spoken to Mrs Jakes about your recent admission into hospital, and the circumstances surrounding that - I also heard about your foster family."

I nodded. "Then that's pretty much everything covered."

"How are you dealing with it?" he seemed overly curious. Perhaps because he'd gone through loss - his wife - and he identified with people who he felt could share his experiences.