‘Let’s order more drinks.’ Anything to change the subject. Savannah shoots me a knowing glance. Privately, we call Matt, Matt the Twat. He lives in Ashley’s gorgeous Georgian house in Dublin city rent free, having quit his job to concentrate on writing a sci-fi novel.
Seven years later, it’s still not finished.
Seven years!
Seriously.
Which might be forgiven if Matt didn’t speak to Ashley like she’s something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. He’s nowhere near good enough for her. Sadly, the only person who doesn’t realise thatisAshley.
As the principal of the Catholic girls’ school where I work as an art teacher, Ashley is officially my boss. Unofficially, she’s the woman I phone wailing when I’m watching Hallmark movies, wondering when I’ll ever get my own happily ever after.
Mind you, I don’t help myself.
‘Isn’t that Dan over there?’ Savannah squints, her slim fingers flailing in the direction of the entrance.
I chance a fleeting glimpse.
I’d recognise that silhouette anywhere. Even through Heaven on Earth’s low lighting.
Shit.
I’ve been casually dating Dan Hargreaves for a couple of months. And I mean casually. We meet up once a week. Sometimes I manage to stretch it out to a fortnight with excuses like lesson planning, parents’ evening, and excruciating period pain - something which Dan visibly squirms at the mere mention of.
Truthfully, the pain of listening to him talking about himself all night is the only thing that’s excruciating.
We’ve had sex twice. Neither time was particularly memorable, not for me at least. I keep hoping he’ll grow on me, but that niggle in my gut screams that it’s never going to happen.
Still, I’m reluctant to call it a day.
Not because I like him.
No.
Because my parents do.
Funny how I’ve spent twenty-eight years of my life trying to impress my ultra-religious, conservative parents, yet Dan manages to achieve it in less than fifteen minutes flat. Maybe it’s the posh boy boarding school accent? Or his family’s wealth and status? Either way, they drool over every overly accentuated word he drawls.
The Hargreaves family owns a large chain of hotels in the UK and Ireland, and Dan oversees the social media side of the business. He doesn’t drink. Which is his own choice and entirely fine by me, but he hates me drinking.
Or hanging out with my friends.
Or having any type of fun that doesn’t include him, come to think of it.
‘Head down. He might not see us.’ In my dreams.
He knew we were coming here tonight.
ItisSancerre Saturday after all.
My regular girls’ nights are something we disagreed about only last week.
I turn my back to ensure eye contact is impossible.
The waitress breezes by and Savannah motions for another bottle of Sancerre. Probably not our smartest move, but YOLO, as my students often remind me.
‘I don’t know why you don’t just end it with him,’ Ashley murmurs into her drink.
Hello? Pot. Kettle.
