Read Online The Butterfly Effect by Julie McLaren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie McLaren
Ads: Link
for listening, though. I bet you think I’m completely flaky now, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t think that,” he said, and then he patted me on the shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. “I’d better go, and so had you, but I’ll catch you later.”
So that was when it all started properly, and who knows what might have happened if Greg hadn’t sent those flowers? I might not have been in my tutor room when Richie came to find me, I might have been in the staffroom, having a coffee. And our paths may not have crossed during the day, and maybe the PE teacher with the raven hair – such a dark, glossy black that sometimes it almost appeared blue – maybe she would have made a play for him after a few glasses of wine and then who knows? I like to think that he already felt enough for me to reject her advances, but if she’d been draped around him just as I stumbled across them in a corridor – well, the chances are I would have gone home in a huff and then … Well, there is no point in pursuing this, but maybe I have to thank Greg for Richie; that’s all I’m saying.
The rest of it seemed to happen as if it had all been decided at that moment. I saw Richie only briefly during the day, but when we assembled in the staffroom for the Head’s Christmas motivational address, he came and sat beside me and we were simply together from that point. I don’t even remember discussing it. It was as if we both knew and understood what was happening without the need to express it in words, and I had an amazing feeling of calm, and relief, whenever I looked up and saw him by my side. Naturally, I also had the butterflies and increased heart-rate that are the staples of the start of a new relationship, but it was different this time. It was like coming home.
We left the party as soon as we could without causing too much comment but, again without any real discussion, we headed to Richie’s car which was parked in a side street so he could collect it the next day if he’d had too much to drink.
“Do you want to go into town?” he asked, but I shook my head.
“Not really. Somewhere quiet, where we can talk.”
“It’s quiet at mine,” he said, with a little smile, and we both knew that was the perfect idea.
The rest is history. It all is, of course, but that evening is engraved in my mind like fine carvings in a cathedral, even if those memories will die when I do. We didn’t fall upon each other as soon as we closed the door, but we started the journey that would only end when he fell prey to the random madness of the street. Poor Richie. Poor me. We couldn’t know what was in store for us. We felt as if we had our whole lives before us, and even if we weren’t expressing it then, I think we both believed that we would be spending them together.
I didn’t say a word about any of this to my parents, when I finally forced myself to appear at their house on Christmas Day. I didn’t tell them that I had seen him a couple of times since, or that we had spoken every day. I didn’t tell them that I was floating on a cloud of happiness, even though I was still being careful about what I said on Facebook and Twitter, the spectre of Greg still lurking there in the background. If they were different people, they would have seen something in me when I let myself in, laden with bags, to face the inevitable reproach.
“We thought you might have been a bit earlier than this. Your mother has been cooking for hours.”
“Happy Christmas, Dad,” I said brightly. “Yes, I’m sorry, I meant to, but I was out late last night. Sorry, Mum.”
Mum presented me with her usual excuse for a smile and told me not to worry, so I ignored the tone of her reply and busied myself putting presents under the plastic tree, chatting about the weather, which was unremarkable, and school. This was, at least, one subject they would struggle to imbue with negativity, as they had both been teachers themselves and had wanted nothing more
“No, I don’t think that,” he said, and then he patted me on the shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. “I’d better go, and so had you, but I’ll catch you later.”
So that was when it all started properly, and who knows what might have happened if Greg hadn’t sent those flowers? I might not have been in my tutor room when Richie came to find me, I might have been in the staffroom, having a coffee. And our paths may not have crossed during the day, and maybe the PE teacher with the raven hair – such a dark, glossy black that sometimes it almost appeared blue – maybe she would have made a play for him after a few glasses of wine and then who knows? I like to think that he already felt enough for me to reject her advances, but if she’d been draped around him just as I stumbled across them in a corridor – well, the chances are I would have gone home in a huff and then … Well, there is no point in pursuing this, but maybe I have to thank Greg for Richie; that’s all I’m saying.
The rest of it seemed to happen as if it had all been decided at that moment. I saw Richie only briefly during the day, but when we assembled in the staffroom for the Head’s Christmas motivational address, he came and sat beside me and we were simply together from that point. I don’t even remember discussing it. It was as if we both knew and understood what was happening without the need to express it in words, and I had an amazing feeling of calm, and relief, whenever I looked up and saw him by my side. Naturally, I also had the butterflies and increased heart-rate that are the staples of the start of a new relationship, but it was different this time. It was like coming home.
We left the party as soon as we could without causing too much comment but, again without any real discussion, we headed to Richie’s car which was parked in a side street so he could collect it the next day if he’d had too much to drink.
“Do you want to go into town?” he asked, but I shook my head.
“Not really. Somewhere quiet, where we can talk.”
“It’s quiet at mine,” he said, with a little smile, and we both knew that was the perfect idea.
The rest is history. It all is, of course, but that evening is engraved in my mind like fine carvings in a cathedral, even if those memories will die when I do. We didn’t fall upon each other as soon as we closed the door, but we started the journey that would only end when he fell prey to the random madness of the street. Poor Richie. Poor me. We couldn’t know what was in store for us. We felt as if we had our whole lives before us, and even if we weren’t expressing it then, I think we both believed that we would be spending them together.
I didn’t say a word about any of this to my parents, when I finally forced myself to appear at their house on Christmas Day. I didn’t tell them that I had seen him a couple of times since, or that we had spoken every day. I didn’t tell them that I was floating on a cloud of happiness, even though I was still being careful about what I said on Facebook and Twitter, the spectre of Greg still lurking there in the background. If they were different people, they would have seen something in me when I let myself in, laden with bags, to face the inevitable reproach.
“We thought you might have been a bit earlier than this. Your mother has been cooking for hours.”
“Happy Christmas, Dad,” I said brightly. “Yes, I’m sorry, I meant to, but I was out late last night. Sorry, Mum.”
Mum presented me with her usual excuse for a smile and told me not to worry, so I ignored the tone of her reply and busied myself putting presents under the plastic tree, chatting about the weather, which was unremarkable, and school. This was, at least, one subject they would struggle to imbue with negativity, as they had both been teachers themselves and had wanted nothing more
Similar Books
