Chapter 2

Mr Music Teacher holds the door open for me, and I leave that oppressive room as fast as possible. Once we’re alone in the corridor, I let a little “phew” slip past my lips, and the other guy laughs lightly. “It was a bit tense in there, wasn’t it?”

Glancing over at him, I nod, laughing awkwardly. “Pretty sure everyone hates me already, and I only said like five words.” He laughs again, and it sounds more genuine and easy than the last one. “People just aren’t used to meeting new people, Aldeburgh is on the smaller side of coastal towns, and we don’t get a monumental number of new people each year.”

I nod, having sort of already got that impression. “I thought so, it’s pretty quiet around here.”

“Yep - what brought you here in the first place? Oh, and this is the humanities building, so you’ll be teaching in here,” he says as we walk through some double doors. Looking around, the walls have displays on for history and English et cetera until we reach a bit with some law related stuff on.

“Oh, I just wanted a fresh start,” I say truthfully, glancing into the classroom. There’s a bunch of tired-looking students, who also look unbelievably bored. “I thought there wasn’t a law teacher?” I ask, peering through the glass part of the door at an equally bored-looking man.

“Oh, he’s just the substitute. He literally knows nothing about law, so yeah. I know for a fact how boring his lessons are.” Mr Music Teacher grimaces, before we keep on walking. I need to find out his name.

“Oh yeah?” I ask, enthusiastic to keep the conversation with him going. Since we left the office and began chatting, he’s been getting less and less nervous. That’s one thing I’m really good at, actually. Well, two things: telling how people feel, and making them feel comfortable around me.

Everyone is always intimidated at first, but I’ve spent years getting others to trust me. I always feel manipulative, like I’m doing things just to lull others into a false sense of security, but I can’t help it. I was on edge for years, constantly on the job. It was really shit, and now I can’t just turn off the skills I learnt whilst undercover.

“Yeah, my students like to complain to me a lot, and honestly, the stories of his lessons can be quite entertaining. Apparently,” he says with a little smile, turning to me as we walk out of the building and into another one.

“Apparently, one time the substitute fell asleep, and everyone drew dicks on the board behind him. Very mature, obviously,” he says with a bright laugh, and I find myself smiling at his smiling face. He’s pretty cute, actually. Ugh, stop it Fyfe.

“Wow, very productive lessons I see,” I say with a knowing smile. He grins back, still chuckling to himself. “Oh, what’s your name again, by the way? I’m literally the worst person with names, so I’m afraid I forgot it instantly,” he says, and I feel eternally grateful that he was the one to ask, and not me.

“Oh, it’s uh, Fyfe Ardis,” I say, hoping that he’ll reply with his own name, rather than just going ‘cool’ or whatever. Much to my luck, he actually tells me his name. “Oh, cool! Fyfe Ardis, teacher of law. I’ll drill that into my brain, I promise I’ll remember,” he says with a toothy grin. “I’m Dray Hastidal, for reference, and I teach music.”

I nod, smiling. Dray Hastidal. Cool. Nice. “Oh yeah, I thought so,” I say nonchalantly, pushing a door open for Dray- Mr Hastidal? Not sure what to call him. “Oh? Now how did you get to that conclusion, Mr Ardis?”

Cool. Surnames it is then. Not like I’m not used to that, it’s just weird. When I was a cop, doing normal cop things, I was ‘Officer Ardis’ or whatever, but when undercover, I had a fake name.

Now that really fucked with my head - you try getting called the same name for three years by everyone you know, and then go back to your original name.

“Oh well, saw the cards on your desk. And either you’re famous for liking music, or you’re just a music teacher,” I say with a little laugh. It’s fake, as 99% of my laughs are. And my smiles - it’s not like I’m sad, more like I have a shit load of memories just waiting to leap into my conscious mind.

And two years of therapy has helped, but they’re still very much there. Makes it hard to smile and laugh genuinely, after faking emotions for three years, faking a whole different personality, a whole different identity.

Still fucks with me, even two years later.

“Mr Ardis? Are you alright?”

I blink, glancing over at Mr Hastidal. “Oh, yeah, sorry. What were you saying?” He smiles awkwardly, pointing at the door in front of us. “I said two things: this is the canteen, and also that I’m surprised you took such a good look at my desk in the like five seconds we were standing there.”

I shrug, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. “Oh well, I’ve been told before that I’m observant,” I say. Not true, I was told that I had to be observant, had to memorise things the instant I saw them. Had to be certain of what I saw, and report every single little detail back.

Like I said, it’s hard to turn off my undercover brain. At least I don’t see every person as someone who wants to kill me anymore, it’s only like 65, 70% of people I think want to kill me. Ooh, how I love my trauma induced paranoia!

Like I said, I get sarcastic when nervous.

Clearing my throat, I glance around, realising I hadn’t noticed we’d entered a new building. “So, uh, where are we now?” I ask, removing my hands from my pockets so I can trace the lines of my tattoo on my left hand. It’s a nervous tic which I developed when thinking or talking about my time undercover.

“Oh, this is the music building. Thought I’d show you my class, in case you ever need to come find me. Plus, it’s pretty chill up here, so if you ever need a moment away from the staff office, here’s a good place to come,” he says, turning back to look at me.

The sun streams through the window, highlighting his dark hair and beautiful eyes - hang on, when did I start thinking he had beautiful eyes? Shaking my head, I smile slightly. “Thanks, that was kind of you. I’ll make sure to come running to you if I need a knight in shining armour.”

I say it sarcastically, but I’m being genuine. I really think that this man in front of me, with his hair shining in the sunlight and his eyes bright with optimism, might just be my saviour.