The Tutor

Chapter 22

Nora came back upstairs. Rafe was taking too long; she tentatively approached the guest bedroom, wondering if he'd fallen asleep in the shower or passed out in his own vomit. She wouldn't have been surprised if either had happened. She entered the room and saw him lying down on the bed, his face in his hands. At least his wet hair showed that he had showered. He was dressed in fresh clothes, and his wet ones were discarded in a pile of mess in the corner of the room. Was he asleep?

She crept closer, and sure enough, she could hear his light breathing. His cheeks were flushed. His hair was wet and slicked back. She touched his forehead; his skin was smooth and warm. Benny's clothes were a bit small around his shoulders but perfect in height. He looked so peaceful and adorable. His eyelashes were unfairly long and thick. His tall frame barely fit the bed.

"Thank you," he said, making her jump. She had been sure he'd passed out.

"I'm so embarrassed. This is not the best first impression in front of your gran. She'll probably have second thoughts next time you leave to tutor me."

Nora sat on the edge of the bed. "Nah, she's seen worse. Trust me."

"You mean you bring home piss-drunk guys in the middle of the day, all the time? I thought I was special."

"Oh, you're definitely special," she said, patting him on the leg. But she'd seen episodes like this before with Benny. Not only alcohol but self-harm too. Her grandma never judged anyone and always told Nora off for being too self-centred. She always encouraged her to help others. "Let's go get food. You should eat first; then you can rest."

He made a face and shook his head. "I feel like shit. I will throw it back up if I eat."

"You'll have a headache if you don't," she said. She grabbed the towel and ran it over his head to dry his hair.

"Oww," he grumbled.

"You see, it's starting already."

"It's starting because you're close to ripping my head off."

"Let's go. It's a Sunday roast. You can't miss it."

"Okay, but if I chunder, it'll be your fault."

"If you chunder, I'm shoving it all back down your throat," she threatened.

Rafe glared back at her through his wet hair resting on his forehead and tickled his eyes.

"Can I go back to sleep after I eat?"

"Maybe."

After stumbling down the stairs and starting to get food in his system, Rafe looked better. Colour returned to his face as he wolfed down his food like he'd never eaten before. Nora felt warm at the thought of Rafe enjoyed her homemade food. Before she moved in to live with her grandma, she couldn't boil an egg to save her life.

The blurriness in Rafe's eyes had disappeared, and he appeared sober, engaging in conversation and switching on that Italian charm. Her grandma watched him with concealed amusement as she topped up his plate. Simon told funny stories about his childhood in Scotland. Benny hung on onto every word, laughing at every quip and joke. It was a relief to see Benny so happy and carefree with someone.

Nora could feel Rafe's eyes on her once in a while and she couldn't blame him. She was in her element, surrounded by people who mattered, around a table of warm, delicious food, and wearing her comfy green hoodie. She laughed more, drank more and wanted to savour every moment of the day. He probably didn't recognise the person in front of him.

"This is delicious. Thank you so much. I'm sorry again—," Rafe said after swallowing a large mouthful.

"Oh honestly, Rafe, you don't need to apologise for being a teenager. Eat up while its hot. Nora put a lot of effort into this," her grandmother said, gesturing at the generous spread of food.

"Each week, we pick a particular recipe to try...so this week I wanted to perfect a Sunday roast...today being a special date and all," Nora said.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Rafe said.

"Thank you, my dear."

Benny and Nora began clearing the table, and Simon excused himself to answer a phone call.

Nora watched as Rafe looked at all the photos in the frames neatly lined up on the top of the small fireplace. He saw little Nora hugging her parents in Disney, a couple of photos of her grandparents, younger Nora in a kimono with flowers in her hair, and a few travel photos from around the UK.

"Whenever my gran was down or struggled, she'd always look at the photos of my grandfather," Rafe began.

"That's lovely," Joyce said softly, picking up the leftovers and tucking them into plastic containers.

"She said if she could get through life with that psycho, she could get through anything."

There was an awkward silence in the kitchen. Nora and Joyce exchanged an amused and slightly worried glance. Nora was beginning to wonder just what kind of environment he had been raised in. His father banished him. His mother was dead. There was no love lost between him and his stepmother. His grandmother didn't sound very nice at all. The only one he spoke well of was his half-brother, a ruthless lawyer who hadn't visited him once in all this time.

Nora put away the clean dishes back into the cupboards, her thoughts going back to all the times Rafe had said he was fine. She really had pegged him as a useless, spoilt brat.

Looking at him now, she realised what he was—lost.

"So, how's the tutoring going? I hope our little goody two-shoes is not letting you down," her grandmother asked.

"No, he isn't," Nora said with a grin before Rafe could reply.

Rafe flashed her back a smile that could melt a girl on the spot. Grandma looked a little smitten herself.

"She's been great. I don't know what I would do without her," he said, his eyes locking with hers. Nora's heart did that silly pacing again, and she looked away. "I owe her big time."

"We're submitting our university applications next week. Then we'll see the real results of ourhard work," Nora said, steadying her voice that had gone higher than it was supposed to.

"Rafe, did you know that Nora went to St, Claires in London? She told me you used to go to Westminster Prep. You were practically neighbours! Can you believe the odds of that?"

Nora almost dropped the plate she was drying as the name of her old school was mentioned. Shit. She had hoped to avoid telling him she was St. Claires girl.

He almost choked on his food. Her grandmother turned in her seat, and shot a look at Nora.

The one that said: You didn't tell him?

Benny looked alarmed, but Nora kept her face straight.

"I did not know that. It is indeed a small world," Rafe said, looking pointedly at her. Nora took a sip of her water and avoided his gaze.

"It doesn't matter. It was a shitty school and a shitty time. Who wants dessert?" Nora asked as she took out the dessert plates. The sticky toffee pudding bubbled in the oven, its sweet scent teasing on the nose. She tried to avoid Rafe's stare, who had gone quiet.

"Sorry Joyce," he began, "did Nora used to go by the surname Brandwell by any chance?"

"Yes," her grandmother replied, surprise lighting up her face. "Brandwell is our surname. Well, mine and my son's. But Nora changed it to her mother's surname when she moved here." 

Nora let out a defeated sigh and finally looked him in the eye but his expression was unreadable.