Dear Reader,

I'm that sad writer who, long ago, left an unfinished story. On clearing out folders I rediscovered it and decided to make a few tweaks, get it finished and repost it. I'm English, so I've borrowed all the usual characters and anglicised them. The story is set in the UK, the accents and spelling are British…if there's anything you don't understand, please feel free to drop me a message.

The first chapter provides some background. The Cullens won't show up for a while yet, but hang in there; it will be worth it when they do. I hope to tell a well-crafted tale. If lemons are included, it will be to enhance the story, not for gratuitous smut value (However much we all like a bit of smut!)

As ever, all things Twilight belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm merely messing with her delightful creations. No copyright infringement or offense is intended.

The Cullen Dilemma

Chapter One

and the sofas would fit in here perfectly

"Ahem." The clearing of a throat brought me out of my daydream.

"Sorry," I mumbled apologetically. "I was just thinking…"

The agent smiled, clearly used to prospective buyers zoning out as the imagined how their belongings might fit into the different rooms.

"As I was saying," the agent continued, "the development is small but beautifully thought out. The builder has gone out of his way to ensure all materials are eco-friendly, gathered from sustainable sources; the predicted carbon footprint is extremely low and all energy sources are renewable."

"Impressive."

It was very impressive, but so far it was the feel of the place that had captured my interest.

"Let's go through to the kitchen," suggested the agent. "Of course, this particular example is pre-fitted to give clients an idea of the possibilities. Should you decide to go ahead with a purchase, there's a wide range of fixtures and fittings available to choose from."

I looked around the room, taking in all the details, trying hard not to get overexcited by what I saw. Although I wasn't convinced by the dark wood finish, I loved the layout of this room. Spacious cupboards ran above and below the work surfaces; the essential appliances were built-in, protected by matching doors, and a large butler's sink was located under a window, overlooking the neatly landscaped garden plot.

The far end of the room had large glazed doors.

"These are bi-fold," the agent enthused, unlocking the door and sweeping them open. Gliding silently, the doors appeared to compress until the whole wall was pushed to one side and the outside and inside space merged.

I nodded my approval, thinking of how I'd put my nana's old kitchen table in here, and maybe a couple of cosy chairs.

Upstairs was just as well laid out. I was happy to see that the rooms were well-proportioned, with plenty of storage. I was being shown a four-bedroomed model, but I knew that, realistically, the price was a little beyond my pocket. I also knew that there was a two or three bedroomed option scheduled which, for someone like me, would be perfect.

The agent's phone rang, so I excused myself to take a further, unaccompanied, look around. This was it – the one – my potential forever home.

By the time the agent completed her call, the decision was made.

"Sorry about that; shall we head back to the site office?" she asked.

We stepped outside, put on our safety helmets and she locked the front door.

"I know it looks a mess right now," she was saying, as we carefully avoided muddy puddles and building materials. "But in six months' time, when the work is complete, it will be a fantastic little development."

I looked down at the architect's model of the site; twelve individual properties, each surrounded by its' own generous garden, positioned in a Cul de Sac. I checked out the map, carefully taking in the location of each house; I had a preference for east-west facing to capture the best of the days' light. Finally, I read through the brochure, weighing up the pros and cons of each design, along with its price.

Plot 7. My eyes kept going back to the two-bedroomed house, tucked into the corner of the development, sandwiched between a modest three bed and a rather ostentatious looking five bed family home.

Having checked that Plot 7 was indeed available, I began the process of buying my very first house.

T-C-D

"Well?" asked my friend and colleague, Emmett McCarty, as we filed out of the staffroom after team briefing on Monday morning.

"I've done it, Em. Taken the plunge! Bitten the bullet!"

"Not before time," Emmett pulled me to his side for a hug. "I was worried you were going to spend your whole teaching career living in a grotty student bedsit."

I nudged him in the ribs.

"Ow! Stop bullying me, Swan."

I shook my head and grinned. As if I, Isabella Swan, 5 feet 2 inches, 7 stone 8 pounds, could bully the man mountain that was Emmett McCarty.

Emmett stuck out his bottom lip; then, when he saw it wasn't working, grinned back at me.

"See you at break time, Swan," he said. "Are you on playground duty?"

"Not today, thank goodness. I've got a million and one things to think about."

We parted ways at Emmett's classroom door.

T-C-D

I'd met Emmett McCarty during fresher's week in college – well, at 6 feet 4 inches in his bare feet, it was hard to miss him.

I'd been waiting patiently in the cafeteria queue, as the people ahead selected their food. I had my eye on the last BLT roll in the chiller cabinet. I was just about to pick it up when a great arm reached over and snatched it.

"Hey! That was my sandwich." I turned to see a tall – very tall – man, with blue eyes, a cheeky grin and dimples.

"Whoa there, little one, I didn't see you all the way down there," he said, laughing at his own joke.

I'd met his type before; he might think he could charm his way out of anything, but he hadn't met Isabella Marie Swan. I drew myself up to my full height and looked him in the…chest. I raised my eyes to meet his, unsurprised to find him smirking down at me.

"You…" I sputtered, raising my finger and pointing at him. "You…are rude!"

His smirk disappeared, to be replaced with a full on belly laugh. His amusement only served to increase my anger.

"Yes. Rude!" I was prodding him with my finger now. "And you're…big enough to know better."

I might have stamped my foot, just maybe.

"Did you just have a tiny tantrum?" He was laughing so hard, tears were now rolling down his dimpled cheeks.

"Just give me my sandwich, "I demanded, glaring at the big oaf.

"You snooze, you lose, little one. This yummy snack has my name on it." He unwrapped the cellophane and took a huge bite, a disgusting grin still on his face.

"I can't believe you just did that," I yelled. "You stole my lunch, you big, big…"

I didn't manage to get my final word out.

"If you'd just come this way," a voice behind me said.

"I don't want to…" I stopped. A uniformed man was attempting to guide my by the elbow.

"You're holding up the queue, Miss," he said.

The idiot was still laughing as I attempted to delay my enforced removal. I glared back at him as he mouthed the word 'priceless.'

"You, too, Sir." A second security guard had appeared. "Let's take this outside and let these good people get on with their lunch in peace."

Within a split second, all his bravado had disappeared. His head went down and a blush tinged the tip of his ears.

As we passed the till, he dug his hand into his pocket and produced money for the much-desired food item.

I glared at him.

"What?" He shrugged. "I'm an honest bloke."

Outside, the security guards gave us both a talking to, leaving us rather embarrassed about our behaviour.

"I'm sorry, little one," the big oaf apologised, "I just thought it would be funny."

"Well, maybe I overreacted a little - first day nerves and all that."

He held out a large hand. "Emmett McCarty. Here to study education with a special interest in maths."

I grasped it. "Bella Swan. Ditto! Education, specialising in English."

"I think our job here is finished, Kev." The first guard nodded in our direction.

The second rolled his eyes and walked away with his mate. "Ruddy students," he muttered.

T-C-D

Over a late lunch, I discovered that Emmett, like me, was an only child. We shared a love of books and music, although our tastes differed significantly, and we'd both aspired to becoming teachers from a very early age.

"My mum and pops are both teachers," Em told me, chewing on a large piece of flapjack.

"They should've taught you to close your mouth when eating!" I grimaced over the table.

"Sorry, little one. Lots of thoughts to put into words, so little time." He swallowed.

"Hmph! Well, no teachers anywhere in my family; I'm the first one to even go to college," I shared.

"Dad thinks it's a waste of time and I should train for something useful in industry. He believes that's where the big money is."

"So, he's keen for you to earn lots of money?"

"Uh-huh. He keeps telling me, no mon-mon, no fun-fun." I think I may have rolled my eyes. Emmett simply grinned.

"But, it's your life, little one. Your choice to make."

I sighed. "I know. It's so difficult though. Everything I've ever done, well, it never seems good enough for him."

"What about your mum?" Emmett inquired.

"She's great. Loves me to bits and backs me completely."

"But?"

"But, she's in a tricky situation. My nana, her mom, lives with us and it's awkward. She hates dad, dad hates her back. Mum is caught in the middle. She spends a lot of time and energy trying to keep everyone happy."

"Rubbish situation, then?"

I nodded. "Not always the easiest place to be. I feel a bit like a pawn in a chess game, sometimes."

Emmett wiggled his eyebrows, making himself look ridiculous. "Hmmm, porn, nice!"

"Oh. My. Life! P…A…W…N, not the other kind. What are you, a sex-obsessed fourteen year old boy?"

"No, little one, I'm a healthily sex-obsessed eighteen year old man. And we're in college, baby!"

T-C-D

I heard those words many times over the next 4 years. Em and I bonded over beers, homework, lectures, teaching practises and troubles.

One drunken kiss that first term, and the awkwardness that followed, made us swear to stick to being friends. I'd never had a big brother, but I was pretty sure that Emmett McCarty was the closest thing I'd ever get.

Em was the person I celebrated with each time we got great marks for an assignment and Em was the one I cried on every time I messed up, yet another, relationship.

"Oh, little one, you've got to stop doing this to yourself," he said, as he hugged me close after my break-up with Tim, boyfriend of 3 weeks standing.

"Doing what?" I snuffled. "I only want to be loved."

"You are loved," he sighed. "The only one who thinks she's not good enough, is you. Stop substituting lust for love. I hate seeing you let yourself be used like this."

We didn't speak for several weeks after that. I knew, on some level, that Emmett was quite right, but I was trapped in a downward spiral. I desperately wanted to feel valued, to feel good enough, and as soon as a guy showered me with attention, I was hooked.

Happily, I survived my first year and passed the course with good marks. Emmett passed with flying colours, of course.

We'd found a student house, near to college, to rent for our second year. Two girls, Angela and Leah, from our course joined us. They were good girls and we soon became close. Emmett seemed to love being surrounded by women; he wasn't even fazed when he found our underwear, hanging over the bath to dry.

"Hey," he'd told us. "I'm secure in my sexuality. I love you girls, but I'm all man."

As the year drew on, we'd been working like demons, preparing for our final teaching practise of the year. I'd been assigned to a school about an hours' minibus ride away. Em was luckier; his school was within walking distance of our student house.

"How did it go, Swan?" he asked as I slumped at the table after a long first day.

"Okay, I think," I replied. "The regular class teacher, Mr. Black, was out on a training course, so I had the honour of the head teacher being in class with me today."

Emmett laughed. "Did you get to do any actual teaching?"

"I mostly did observations and helped out when some of the students were stuck. I did get to read a story, though. How about you?" I grinned.

"It was pretty good. I was allowed to work with a small group and I got to visit several different classes to see the different maths levels."

I finished writing up my journal and retired to my room, happily oblivious to what awaited me the following day.

T-C-D

He had his back to me as I approached the classroom. I tapped on the door, before entering.

He turned and smiled directly at me. I was instantly dazzled. Tall, dark hair, neatly cropped, big brown eyes and the straightest, whitest smile I'd ever seen.

"Ah, Miss Swan. I've been expecting you. I'm Jacob Black, welcome to class 3B. Sorry, I wasn't here yesterday – training course, I'm sure Mrs. Hamilton took great care of you."

I gathered myself, not wanting to appear a total nerd.

"Good morning, Mr Black. I'm Isabella Swan, but I usually go by Bella. Thank you for letting my work in your class."

"I'm delighted to have you," he replied. "Call me Jake – not in front of the children, of course."

We laughed, and I'm sure I blushed.

Jake was an amazing teacher. All the children in the class loved him. Before the week was out, I was pretty sure I loved him, too.

He was so helpful, kind and attentive. He showed me the best ways to plan and differentiate lessons; he encouraged me to work with small groups and, ultimately, to teach my first ever whole class lesson.

"We work so well together, Bella," he told me at the end of my first week. "You're going to be a fabulous teacher."

"I'm really loving it, Jake. Teaching is so fulfilling, everything I ever hoped it would be."

"How about a quick drink to celebrate your first week? I'm nearly finished here and a group of us usually go to the pub on Fridays."

"I'd love to, but I need to get the minibus back to college."

I was starry-eyed when he offered to drop me off. He lived across the city and had to drive out that way anyhow.

We joined a small group of people in a little pub. The conversation was fun and lively, a group of young professionals winding down from a hectic week.

Once or twice, Jake put his hand on my arm or my back and I felt a small shiver pass up my spine.

We rode home, chatting all the way. Jake was a great raconteur, and he told me little stories about some of his students.

"One of my favourites was in an Art lesson," he told me, laughing. "We were looking at the work of famous artists, and I showed an image of The Mona Lisa. I asked the kids who painted it. After a few minutes of silence, I thought I'd better give them a hint, so I told them, Leonardo."

"Did they get it?"

"After a fashion. Jamie put up his hand and suggested that Leonardo di Caprio was the artist."

We both laughed out loud.

"I love the way children see the world; their innocence is great."

We'd come to a halt at the end of my road.

"That it is, Bella, that it is." Jake looked straight at me. He leaned over and lightly kissed my cheek. "You're a great girl, Bella. Thanks for this week, see you on Monday."

"Have a fantastic weekend, Jake," I replied.

I skipped all the way home.

T-C-D

The next three weeks flew by. I worked hard, wanting to do well, and got glowing feedback from the school and my supervising tutors.

Jake was my champion. He helped me every step of the way. He also made me believe, for the first time in my life, that I was good enough. We'd spend time after school, discussing everything and anything. We went for drinks a couple of times a week. He praised my work and he praised me.

Heated discussions led to little touches. Little touches led to heated kisses and heated kisses led to sex, mostly in the back of Jake's car.

"Wow, Bella! You're perfect," he whispered, as we gathered ourselves after a particularly satisfying session. "We're perfect together."

"I love you, Jake." I replied.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me into silence.

The final week was drawing to a close. On my last day, Friday, I was teaching an English lesson, with Jake observing, when Mrs. Hinds, the school secretary, came in. She bent over to give Jake a message. Jake paled and immediately got up and left the room.

"Sorry to interrupt, Miss Swan," she said. "I'll talk to you after the lesson."

At playtime, she sought me out.

"Sorry about that, Bella. Jake's wife called to say that Ethan had fallen from a climbing frame at pre-school, and needed him to meet her at the hospital. Poor little lad, he's always getting into scrapes and Lizzie is so good with him, although it's harder at present, what with carrying twins."

"It must be." I managed to reply.

"Can you manage the rest of the morning with the class?" she asked. "Mrs. Hamilton will be in to take over this afternoon."

"Of course," I said. "I'll help anyway I can."

Inside I was dying, but I knew that I had to remain professional at all costs. My future depended on it.

"Isabella, just pop into my office, will you?" The head teacher had pulled me aside after school when everyone had gathered to say goodbye and good luck.

"Of course, Mrs. Hamilton, I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

I collected up all my belongings and headed towards her door.

"Come on in," she said, with a friendly smile. "Sit down, Bella. I just wanted to thank you for all your hard work and tell you how impressed the whole team has been with your contribution."

"Thank you, so much," I said. "I've loved every second."

"You're gifted, Bella, a natural. Remember that, and don't let anything convince you otherwise. If you ever need a reference, I'd be very happy to provide one."

"You're very kind," I said, standing to take my leave. I moved towards the door.

"Oh, and Bella…"

I looked back.

"…Jacob Black is a great teacher, but a terrible husband. He's a charmer and very plausible, but don't be fooled, he's misbehaved before and he will again. He abuses his position of trust. We've been keeping a close eye on him for some time and I wouldn't be surprised to see him change direction in the very near future."

I nodded tentatively, understanding the subtext of her message.

"Good girl, Bella. You are worth so much more. Keep in touch; let us know how it's going, okay?"

"Thanks." I fled before the tears started to fall.

T-C-D

That was my summer of despair. I cried, mooched, moped and cried some more. Emmett had gone home for the holiday, but was in constant touch.

As September neared, I recognised the need to toughen up and change if I was going to survive college.

I stopped random dating and I gave up on romantic notions of love at first sight. I went out with the girls, and Em of course, and had fun dancing the night away. We worked hard, we played hard, and we looked after one another.

Before we knew it, we were in our final year. Placements came and went, dissertations were completed and the final ball attended.

Both Emmett and I were lucky enough to secure jobs straight from college, him in a small village school and me in a city primary.

After two years, I applied for a new position, in a brand new school, taking responsibility for the development of English.

To my delight, I got the job and it only got better when Emmett applied, and was given, the Maths post.

Five years on, we were both established and settled in our careers.

Emmett had met and settled down with Rosalie Hale; they'd bought a house together and were happily awaiting the birth of their first child.

Meanwhile, I'd remained happily single, throwing all me energy into work and friendships.

Now, here I am, in my thirtieth year, about to take possession of my own home. Life is good.