Chapter Ten

LOUISA:

The soft thudding of padded footsteps in the narrow hallway outside my bedroom woke me from my sleep. This was accompanied by mischievous giggles – no doubt Thomas' – and followed by Treena's vocal disapproval. The collection of sounds dulled as the two of them plodded down the stairs into what I presumed was the kitchen.

I finally dared to open my eyes ever so slightly, and was greeted by the sight of my bedroom's plain walls. I shifted onto my back so that I was now staring at the ceiling which was painted the same painful shade of off-white.

The memories of last night came flooding back into my mind in quick chronological succession. I pulled my bed sheets over my head, part of me hoping that they would envelop me into eternal darkness.

How would I ever face Will Traynor? Especially after he had visited our home which must have been a sharp contrast to where he lived? How would I be able to look him in the eyes knowing that he had sat around our dinner table in our cramped outdated kitchen?

These questions made me inwardly cringe, and I found myself pulling the sheets over my head even further.

My feelings of unease didn't subside as I walked up the pathway to the café on Monday. I dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my trench coat which I had found in a thrift shop during a past vacation with Patrick. The coat itself was a bright pink whereas the buttons were a bold green. Patrick had told me that I looked like a walking watermelon, but that didn't deter me in purchasing it. The shop lady told me that the jacket carried an element of spunk. I couldn't help but agree.

Nathan greeted me heartily in his usual manner as I stepped inside the café area. I quickly slipped on my apron and got to work filling the hot water urn and preparing the espresso machine. Nathan had to coax me into using such a piece of shiny machinery when I had first started. I was convinced I would break it if I touched it. I couldn't imagine how much it would cost if I had to replace it. But with Nathan's faith and encouragement, I had somehow became adequate in using it. It was a sort of miracle.

We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Me tending to the hot beverage machines, and him restocking the coffee cups and sleeves that were stored underneath the counter. I enjoyed the small moment of peace that occurred before the opening of the café.

Eventually, he paused in his work and turned to me as he rubbed the back of his neck rather sheepishly, "Louisa, I know that it's late notice, but I was hoping if you would be able to take care of the shop over the next couple of days. Exams are coming up, and I'd like to be as prepared as I can. Pamela should be able to help out in my absence."

I simply nodded at first, not trusting myself in what exactly I would say if I opened my mouth. A gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach threatened to overwhelm me. Nathan gave me an apologetic look which prompted me to speak.

"Of course. I can manage," I said in an attempt to reassure him.

He smiled back, "I know you can manage, Louisa."

I ignored the small voice that questioned what would happen if Will managed to visit the café, and focused on listening to Nathan as he chattered about the exam subjects he would be studying during the next couple of days.

I had made it entirely through Tuesday unscathed. It was as if the universe had erased Will Traynor from my life entirely. Friendly tourists filled the indoor terrace, and fulfilling their orders made the day pass quickly.

Pamela was a nice, quiet girl. I had only met her once before in passing, so Nathan's absence allowed us to get to know each other better. It turned out that she was taking a gap year in order to save some money before going to university. She seemed enthused when talking about what she intended to study, and even gave a vague outline of her five-year plan. I didn't tell her that I had never gone to university or that I didn't even know what I would be doing in a year. Would I still be working at the café?

It was a strange feeling knowing that Will Traynor was somewhere in the world doing who knows what. I should have found it peaceful that he wasn't bothering me or wrecking havoc with his usual easy charm, but for some reason I found the time rather odd. Had I gotten so used to his antics? I dismissed the thought with a shake of my head. Will Traynor and whatever he was up to was of no concern to me.

"I'm off," Pamela declared on Wednesday as she dug out her car keys from her purse. She gave me a small wave before hesitating, "Are you sure you're okay with locking up? I could stay."

Even though she said that I could tell she was itching to get home. I wiped my brow, "No need. Get home before it gets really dark, Pamela."

That earned a smile from her, "Alright. See you tomorrow, Louisa." She quickly made a beeline towards the exit and a couple of minutes later I heard the hum of her car disappearing down the long drive.

Suddenly it became eerily silent. The friendly chatter of the tourists had long disappeared, and now Pamela was gone as well. I looked up through the glass roof of the terrace, taking a moment to appreciate the last bleak rays of sunlight behind the clouds before it was totally dark.

"Do you have a moment, Clark?"

I practically jumped out of my skin. I gave a startled, short yelp as my eyes scanned my surroundings to see Will approaching me. It was clear to me that he had only recently arrived. A briefcase was clutched in his left hand, and an umbrella in his right. He set both down as he reached the counter, and leaned across to close some of the distance between us.

I cleared my throat, "I was about to clean up." I gestured to the espresso machine that still needed to be dealt with, and the pile of dishes that had to be washed. I was tempted to sigh at the sight, but instead waddled towards the sink. I picked up the sponge ready to scrub any grime I encountered.

"It'll only take a moment. Follow me," he said, scooping up his briefcase and umbrella swiftly. He turned as if to leave, but then thought better of it. He turned back and angled his head towards the exit, "Come on."

I pursed my lips slightly but after looking at him (who was staring at me unwaveringly and expectantly), I neglected the sponge and found myself trailing after him. We stepped into the cool evening and I sucked in a breath as we walked in silence. The only sound that filled the air was the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet. Will was a couple of steps in front of me partially due to his longer strides, but also because he was clearly leading the way. I opened my mouth to ask where we were exactly going, but then thought better of it. I was pretty sure that he wouldn't have given me a straight answer if I had asked.

The final destination turned out to be a space near Granta House. I studied the exterior structure carefully, trying to decide what exactly it held. He glanced at me as he paused at the entrance and unlocked the door, "My apartment though I suppose you can still see the faint resemblance of what it used to be." He paused for a moment as if he expected me to guess, "It used to be the stables."

Of course, it used to be the stables. I shouldn't have expected anything else. It should have been obvious considering the kind of family Will must have come from – the kind of people that lived in Granta House.

The sound of the door opening broke my train of thought. "Do come in, Clark," he beckoned as he stepped inside, his figure being bathed in warm lighting from the interior. He slipped away from my line of vision. I hesitated, unsure exactly why I was being invited into his apartment. What reason would he have to suddenly invite me in the place where he lived? I racked my brain, trying to understand.

My reluctance must have been apparent due to my lack of physical presence because his voice then called out to me, "I only mean to return the containers your mother used to send the leftovers home with me."

Embarrassment flooded in me. I couldn't pinpoint why I felt this way, but I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and cheeks. I tried to think of an excuse that would cut my time with him short, but I couldn't think of one. With that reasoning from Will, I cautiously slipped inside, the heat of the apartment being a welcome change in temperature. I peered around, curious to know what kind of place Will lived in. I was expecting a somewhat gaudy decorated space. The kind of decor that oozed wealth and screamed privilege. But to my surprise, it was – in every sense – tasteful and could even perhaps be described as minimalistic. It looked like the kind of interior that you saw in a magazine: immaculate, well-coordinated and as if it was never lived in.

I thought of my family's house with its mismatched and well-worn furniture, the chipping wallpaper and paint that begged for attention, and Thomas' finger paintings and toys that donned the first floor of the house.

"I'm in the kitchen," Will called out. I supposed that was his way of directing me where to go. I took a few steps further into the apartment, careful to not touch or bump into anything. I made my way around the corner, taking mental notes of the layout of the place. An open concept seemed to be applied between the living room area and the kitchen area – the latter where I found Will placing the containers in a glossy paper bag. The name of what I imagined was some designer I never heard of was stamped across it. Even a paper bag from Will Traynor's world was fancy.

"Do thank your mother for the leftovers. They kept well," he told me as he handed the bag to me. I grasped it and gave a small, short nod. I wasn't sure what to exactly say. The memory of him sitting at our dinner table was being replayed in my mind.

If Will felt at unease, he showed no inclination. He brushed past me and walked towards the door, "Right, well let's go."

"Go where?" I asked feeling rather dumb and strung along.

He looked back at me with an unreadable expression on his face before then turning his attention to the car keys which were clutched in the palm of his left hand, "I'm not so horrible as to let you walk home in the dark alone. I'll drive you."

I wanted to protest but I realized he had a point. There was a small part of me that was grateful for him accompanying me home, even if that meant he would see the tiny, modest abode I lived in.

The car ride itself was nothing special to note. At least in the beginning. As I stepped inside the car I tried to suppress the memories of my horse racing outing with Will. If he noticed how I sunk into my seat, wishing to be invisible, he didn't comment on it. As he neared the end of Granta House's long driveway, he took a moment to pause and fiddle with the radio. A moment later classical music filled the car.

"Do you like classical music?" he asked, breaking the silence. He kept his eyes on the road as we turned onto the main road and began the journey to my house, but I could tell that he was listening attentively. As if to confirm my suspicion, he glanced at me for a mere second as if prodding me to respond.

I cleared my throat, "Er – Dad will play it occasionally, though I don't recognize this piece." My awkwardness then prompted me to add, "Actually, I've never really been to a concert before. Well, one time I did go to a Westlife concert because Treena wanted to go but that was ages ago. But classical music? It's not really my thing. I don't listen to it hardly ever."

That earned a hum from Will. I couldn't make out if it was an approving or disproving kind of hum. Probably disproving. I didn't peg Will as the kind of guy who would listen to Westlife.

I turned to him, the leather seat squeaking slightly as I adjusted my weight. For some reason I felt a little irritated by his silent judgement, "What?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Clark." He replied, keeping his eyes on the road as he turned on his high beams to see the road better.

I kept looking at him for a few more seconds before turning my attention to staring out the passenger's window, "I know you're judging me. But we can't all have an ear for Beethoven or Mozart or whatever this is. It just isn't my scene." I realized the more I said, the more of a defensive tone I took.

Another moment of silence. Then he spoke quietly as he turned on the blinker to turn onto my road, "If you want my opinion,"

"I do not," I grumbled.

"You're a terrible snob," he said, carrying on unaffected by my interjection, "you say classical music isn't your thing, but you've never given it a chance. You say that Bach – this is Bach by the way – isn't your scene, but do you even know what your scene is?" He looked at me, as if studying me. I found myself squirming in my seat, not wanting Will's eyes on me. He let his gaze slide back to the road, "I think you have more depth than wanting to go to a Westlife concert. After all, you went to a Westlife concert but only because your sister wanted to go. So what is your scene? How do you know you don't like classical music if you never tried it?"

By the time he finished speaking we had pulled up to my house. I undid my seatbelt as quickly as I could, desiring nothing more than to be in the safe confines of the house. I even was looking forward to being in my claustrophobic bedroom. I clutched the bag that held my mum's food containers and slid out of the car. I ignored Will's voice, not caring what he was saying and focused on uttering out a thanks before shutting the passenger door. I could feel the headlights beaming on my back as I bounded up the porch steps and into the house.

It was only when I got to my room and shut the door that I felt I could breathe. I flopped onto my bed and closed my eyes.

I didn't want to tell him that I never had the opportunity to go to a classical concert. Or that I most often listened to rock and metal because it was what Patrick insisted we listen to whenever we were driving somewhere. I didn't want to tell Will that I detested Patricks' rock and metal, or Treena's boyband pop music.

I didn't want to admit that Will had a point.

Note: It's been way too long since I've updated this. I didn't even think about updating this (because I forgot) until probably a week ago. Feel like I definitely could have made some progress on this story if I realized this it needed updating sooner during quarantine. How is everyone doing? Sending hugs.

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