The Van Cat, which it turned out was actually the Vingt-Quatre so nothing to do with goods transportation or felines, was a short walk from the school on the bustling High Street of the market town that was home to St. George's. Heeding Em's warning about the difficulty of finding a parking space in the vicinity, Connie dumped her briefcase and suit jacket in Marjorie, her aged Fiesta, and suggested they go on foot. Outside, it was a beautiful day and Connie enjoyed the warm, late summer sun on her bare arms as they sauntered, chatting easily, along the lime-tree lined avenue that led from the school towards the town centre. The perfect spheres of the lime tree seeds that were starting to drop onto the path, crunched under the soles of their shoes as they walked and a light breeze was pleasantly refreshing after a day stuck indoors.
From behind a tall, wire fence that ran along one side of the avenue, Connie heard shouts and the rhythmic thump of a ball on tarmac.
"Ooh!" squeaked Em, "I'd forgotten about this. We'll need to make a brief detour," she grinned, looping one arm through Connie's and steering her across the street.
"Where are we going?" asked Connie, letting herself be marched towards what looked like an impromptu basketball game.
"It's the annual 'friendly' between the staff and the sixth form basketball team," explained Em. "If we're lucky, they'll have made the staff play 'skins'; they normally do. Ooh yes!" she said, smiling broadly and taking a seat on a bench at the side of the court.
"Skins?" asked Connie.
"Shirts off," said Em. "Look."
Half of the players were, indeed, bare-chested. She recognized Tom who, for a facially hirsute man, was surprisingly smooth-skinned elsewhere and also didn't have the beer belly Connie had imagined he might. In fact, she was beginning to understand his luck with the opposite sex. He was, of course, wearing old rugby shorts to play in.
"He's not bad with his kit off, eh?" said Em, nudging Connie suggestively.
"Not bad at all," laughed Connie, nudging her back.
"But I wouldn't go there, if I were you," said Em, her tone suddenly serious. "He really is a dreadful tart."
"I wasn't planning on it," said Connie, truthfully, wondering if Em's advice was entirely altruistic. She certainly didn't seem to be paying the other players much attention.
Connie could see that the sixth form were totally dominating the match.
"Do the boys always win?" she asked.
"Always," laughed Em. "They literally run rings around the staff. Without wanting to be mean to Tom, we've only got one decent player." She pointed to a tall, athletic figure at the far end of the court. He was moving nimbly round the court, getting in the boys' faces and forcing errors. He always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. Without him, the staff team might as well have not turned up. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting, low-slung, grey jersey shorts and well-used trainers. Connie found herself admiring the powerful, long legs and enjoying the play of the clearly defined muscles in his broad shoulders and toned back as he dribbled the ball past two of the sixth form team and jumped to successfully slam dunk it through the hoop. He turned to walk back to the centre of the court, high-fiving his teammates, and Connie's eyes were drawn to his torso. His abdominals formed a tight set of ridges that tapered in a perfect 'V' into the waistband of his shorts, a slight fuzz of hair just visible at his navel. Aware she was staring, Connie looked up and found herself looking straight into the angry scowl of Matt Turner. His eyes locked briefly with hers before he turned his back and spoke to Tom, saying something that caused Tom to laugh out loud.
"Now he is delicious," sighed Em, following Connie's gaze.
"What's his problem?" asked Connie crossly.
"Matt? What do you mean?"
"All he seems to do is glare at me! I've never even met him before. I mean, really, what is his problem?"
"Does he? Oh, that's interesting," said Em, looking at Matt with an intrigued expression on her face.
"It's not interesting," said Connie, "it's unfriendly and unpleasant. Come on; let's get that drink." She stood and walked away from the court without looking back.
Em ran to catch her up.
"Wait for me!" she said, jogging to keep pace with Connie's long legs.
"What I meant is it's actually very unusual for Matt to even notice someone, although why wouldn't he notice you? You're gorgeous with that whole tall, slim, cropped dark hair thing you've got going on. You're like a cross between Tank Girl and Audrey Hepburn," she grinned.
Connie ran one hand self-consciously through her short, dark hair, fluffing the fringe so it fell over her eyes.
Em pulled her shoulder length auburn hair back from her eyes and used an elastic she kept on her wrist to tie it back into a loose ponytail that emphasized her delicate features and pale blue eyes.
"I've tried everything I can think of to try to get a reaction from him," Em continued, "but he's nothing more than neutrally friendly, just like any other colleague."
"He's not been very friendly to me!" said Connie. "He totally blanked me in the staff room earlier and just now he seemed almost angry. Frankly, neutral would be a welcome improvement!"
"Oh no, a reaction, any type of reaction is a good sign. It means you've got his attention! He's actually noticed you. I'm so jealous. You lucky cow!"
"Ha!" Connie laughed. "You're welcome to him. That kind of attention I can definitely do without."
Back on the basketball court, the sixth form had, once again, totally annihilated the staff team.
"Thanks for the match, sir," said Anesh, the Head Boy, grinning as he shook hands with Tom.
"Perhaps we should do mixed staff-student teams next year to make things a bit fairer?" he suggested.
"Don't be cheeky, lad," said Tom, mock cuffing him around the ear. "We don't need your sympathy. Consider yourself lucky I don't put you all in detention for making us look like idiots!"
As the boys began to drift away towards the changing rooms, laughing and chatting animatedly, Tom and Matt took a seat on the bench vacated by the girls.
"So the new recruit to the languages department is pretty easy on the eye;" said Tom, "nice rack!" he grinned.
"Give it a rest," said Matt, taking the bottle of water Tom offered and swigging thirstily.
"Come on, man, don't tell me you haven't clocked her, because I know you have. In fact, I can't remember the last time you so actively showed such a marked disinterest in a member of the opposite sex. Most intriguing behaviour, if you don't mind me saying."
He took the water back and emptied the rest over his head, shaking droplets out of his shaggy hair like a dog who's been in a pond.
"I can remember the last time and I do mind," said Matt, pulling his tee shirt from his rucksack.
"Subject closed, then. Is that it?" asked Tom.
"In case you'd forgotten, as a result of the last time I showed an interest in a colleague, ironically also from the languages department, I'm now a single parent to my eight year old daughter who hasn't seen her mother in seven and a half of those years. Trust me, mate, that would be enough to put off even an undiscerning letch like yourself." He grinned to show there were no hard feelings and pulled the tee shirt over his head.
"Don't you think it might be time to move on?" persisted Tom. "Surely at some stage you'll want Mollie to have a female role-model in her life to, you know, deal with all the 'women's stuff' as she gets older?"
"She's got Maggie," said Matt flatly. "Seriously, mate, you're a good friend but it's time to leave it. Mum's a better mother to Mollie than Kate would ever have been and I'm not without female 'company' should I ever need it. I just don't need the complication of anything more than that in my life right now, or maybe ever. Okay?"
"Fair enough," said Tom, raising his hands in defeat, "you win. But she does have a nice rack. You've got to give me that!"
"You're such a wanker!" laughed Matt.
"I know, but I'm a loveable wanker," grinned Tom. "Van Cat?"
"Do you need to ask?"
The Van Cat was at the far end of the High Street, between a designer florist and a gallery. At this end of town, the pavement widened out and the town council had taken the visionary decision, a couple of years previously, to redirect the flow of traffic, creating a pedestrianised zone. This meant that on a warm summer's afternoon, tables and chairs were set out in front of the small wine bar, allowing the customers to spill outside to make the most of the good weather. Felix, the beautiful, black proprietor of the Van Cat, and his partner Simon owned both the gallery next door and the wine bar and, as such, there was a fantastic cross-fertilisation between the two establishments; the Van Cat having a regularly updated succession of eye-catching, contemporary art to grace its walls and the gallery, perhaps slightly unimaginatively named 'Number Twenty-Two', enjoying access to the town's best cellar and a delectable range of delicacies at the many arts and media related events they hosted. All in all, it was a particularly happy marriage of elements, creating a unique venue that was consistently packed out.
"Why does the weather always improve the day we start back to school?" sighed Em, taking a seat at a large table with a 'reserved' card on it. Leaning back in her chair, she turned her face to the sun.
"What are we having?" asked Connie, scanning the drinks menu.
"Bottle of Pinot Grigio with two glasses, jug of iced water, five beers, one of them some weird German shit I've never heard of, Felix knows which. Oh, and an ashtray, please." She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"You're not at all what I expected!" laughed Connie.
"What do you mean?" asked Em, taking out a cigarette and lighting up.
"Well, elite sportswoman and all that. Shouldn't your body be a temple, or something?"
"My body is a temple," grinned Em, "a temple of fun! Hey, Felix!"
A coffee-skinned man, maybe in his early forties and wearing jeans and a black tee shirt with a discreet XXIV logo was making his way towards them, smiling widely and stopping frequently to greet his other customers, most of them by name.
"I made an educated guess," he said, placing an ashtray, a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket and two glasses on the table between Connie and Em. "Although you'll have to put that out when Frankie gets here." He nodded at the cigarette. "Filthy habit anyway. It's about time you stopped. You'll get those horrible lines around your mouth and start to sound like Bet Lynch if you're not careful."
He leant down and kissed Em on each cheek, waving the smoke away with a flapping hand.
"Thanks, babe," she grinned. "I'm putting them away after this one," she promised. She picked up the bottle and sloshed the icy contents into the two glasses.
"And who is this divine creature?" asked Felix, turning to Connie.
"Hi, I'm Connie," she smiled, immediately warming to Felix.
"Connie's just joined the languages department at St. George's to teach French," said Em.
Felix took Connie's hand and kissed it.
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," he said. "I hope we will see you here regularly?"
"Count on it!" laughed Connie.
Felix turned back to Em.
"Are the boys coming?" he asked.
"Yes, and they're bringing the new Gappies with them, so five beers, please, including Rolf's and a jug of iced water..."
"...for Frankie," finished Felix. "She just texted Simon to let him know she's coming."
"Thanks, babe."
"Rolf's coming?" said Connie, slightly surprised. Em laughed.
"He's a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde character, actually. In school, he's quite straight-laced and formal, out in the real world, he's got this cool indie kid thing going on. He's big into the music scene. He DJs. In fact, he's done stuff for Felix and his partner Simon, whenever they've got a contemporary launch or preview. He did a street art thing during the summer holiday. It was banging!" Em said, waving one hand in the air.
"Actually, I have a gig here this Friday," said Rolf, who had just arrived from the other end of the street.
Connie could see that Em was right. With his heavy-framed, geek specs, his floppy-fringed, dark hair and pale skin that hinted at late nights spent well rather than early evenings with a pile of marking, Rolf was indeed rocking the cool, 'muso' look to perfection. He had removed the smart shirt he'd been wearing earlier to reveal what Connie assumed was a festival tee shirt, although she'd not heard of any of the acts listed, he wore his messenger bag across his body and on his feet was a pair of trainers that looked like they'd been victim to an explosion in a paint shop but which had probably cost a week's salary.
"Connie should totally come on Friday," said Em.
"I do have a spare ticket, if you're interested?" said Rolf.
"Everyone will be here," said Em, "it will be a great way to celebrate surviving your first week at St. George's."
"Thanks," smiled Connie, "if you're sure you can spare the ticket?"
"It would be my pleasure," said Rolf.
Felix arrived with Rolf's wheat beer and a jug of iced water.
"Frankie's on her way," he said, looking pointedly at the still burning cigarette in Em's hand.
"Okay!" said Em, stubbing it out in the ashtray and sweeping packet and lighter into her bag.
"You can clear away the evidence."
Tutting theatrically, Felix took away the offending articles.
"He's very protective of Frankie," Em explained to Connie. "She used to be married to his partner, Simon. Oh, here she is now."
"I thought for a minute that when you said 'partner', you meant life partner not business partner," said Connie, "I'd assumed he was gay."
"I did and he is," confirmed Em.
"But Frankie's female and she was married to Simon before?"
"I know, right?" said Em. "For like twenty years or something!"
A small, slight woman was making her way along the street towards them. She had long, highlighted, light brown hair, swept up into a messy ponytail and wore a light summer dress that finished at the knee. She had the fresh-faced, glowing look of someone much younger but Connie guessed she must be in her late thirties. As she drew nearer, Connie could see an unmistakable swelling at her waist. That explained the iced water and Felix's insistence on no smoking at the table. Connie swallowed hard, trying to control the old ache of regret and loss that always washed over her at the sight of a pregnant bump.
"Six months," smiled the woman, spotting the direction of Connie's gaze. "I'm hoping to make it to half term before I go on maternity leave. Hi, I'm Frankie. We met briefly this morning in the staff meeting but you've probably forgotten, you'll have seen so many new faces today?"
Connie grimaced.
"Sorry, I'm Connie." She took the hand Frankie extended.
"I know. That's the most annoying thing. Everyone knows your name but you won't be able to remember theirs!" laughed Frankie.
"Frankie's a colleague from the English department," explained Em.
"Hey, beautiful," said a deep voice behind them. A man, impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit and pristine, open-necked, white shirt, joined them from the inside of the wine bar.
"Reuben!" squeaked Frankie, leaping to her feet. "What are you doing here?"
He gathered her into his arms, one hand caressing the soft mound of her belly tenderly, the other in the small of her back, pulling her into him. She laced her arms around his neck and he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her like there was no one else around. Connie felt herself blush, feeling almost voyeuristic in the presence of such all-encompassing love. Still, she could see Frankie's point; the tall, dark-haired Reuben was breath-takingly attractive and, if she wasn't mistaken, at least ten years Frankie's junior.
"I managed to slope off early," he said, reluctantly pulling away. "Couldn't let the first day back at school pass without being here to mark the occasion with you."
"That's what I want," whispered Em, taking an enormous gulp of wine to drain her glass and glugging in a top-up. "A man who worships the ground I walk on. And if he happens to look like Reuben as well, so much the better," she added with a grin. She waved the wine bottle at Connie, her eyebrows raised in question.
Connie shook her head.
"Driving," she said.
She dragged her eyes away from Frankie and Reuben.
"I have to admit, if I could find someone who looked at me the way he looks at her, even I might be persuaded to revoke my vow of celibacy," she said.
Em choked on her wine.
"What are you talking about? You're not serious, surely?"
"Totally serious. I'll explain some time. Not now; I don't want to ruin a lovely afternoon. I think it's fair to say, though, that I've decided I'm better off without men in my life."
"What, all men?" Em looked horrified.
"Well obviously I make an exception for my dad, brother and nephew and Felix seems fairly safe territory, but basically, yes, all men and in particular artists."
Frankie and Reuben joining them at the table saved her from giving any further explanation. Felix rushed out with an extra wine glass for Reuben and a second bottle of the white.
"On the house," he said, kissing Reuben in greeting.
"Hello, beautiful boy. How's life in the big, bad, City treating you? Did you manage to hook up with my old sparring partner, Hugo?"
"Not anywhere near as nice as life here with Frankie," said Reuben, making Frankie blush with pleasure, "And, yes, thanks, I did get in touch with him. He gave me some useful contacts. He said there's always a job for you when you get bored of being polite to drunken bumpkins, by the way. I think that was his way of saying he misses you!" Reuben laughed.
"No, thank you very much," said Felix. Wild horses couldn't drag me back to the City, now. It's not a lifelong career."
"Indeed," agreed Reuben, "but we'll have an extra mouth to feed in a couple of months," he stroked Frankie's belly lovingly, "so I'm looking on it as a necessary evil for the time being."
There was a throaty snarl from further down the street as a motorbike threaded a path between the bollards marking the pedestrianised area. Tom and two boys in their twenties, dressed in identical school tracksuits, jogged alongside. Connie recognized the Nirvana tee shirt and the taught, tanned arms of the motorcyclist immediately. He pulled up in front of the bar and pushed his bike into the alley to one side of the building. As he reached up to remove his helmet, his tee shirt lifted, revealing the tanned six-pack Connie had admired from the side of the basketball court. That was before she had realised whom it belonged to, of course. She looked away and turned her back on Matt to say hello to Tom and be introduced to Sam and Ed who were both Australian and were spending two terms at St. George's coaching rugby and hockey as part of their degree course. Matt joined their table, sitting at the opposite end to Connie and Em and slipping his helmet under his chair.
Once again, Felix bustled out, this time with a tray of beers, which he handed round to the new arrivals.
"Matt," he said, passing him one of the tall glasses, "I'm glad you've come today. Simon wants you to pop next door to Twenty-Two when you've finished here. He's sold another of your canvasses and he's got a potential commission for you. He'll tell you more about it later."
"That's great, thanks, Felix," said Matt with a wide smile. He drank deeply, draining half the glass of cold beer before turning to chat easily with Sam and Ed.
Connie, watching him from behind her fringe despite herself, couldn't help overhear the exchange and suddenly everything made sense to her. He was an artist. No wonder he was a self-centered, arrogant twat. She was actually quite relieved he had taken an instinctive dislike to her. Well, he'd be pleased to know the feeling was entirely mutual.