The Wrong Side of Charm by Jane Shaw
Synopsis
After 16 years in the US, Sarah returns to the west London town where she used to teach primary school to be swept off her feet by a charming young man, Matt who turns out to be a pupil from her teaching days. At the same time, she began to fancy getting serious with Jonathan, a parent in her old school who used to ask her on dates but also helped her pursue her dreams. Little did Sarah know she was courting a shattering pandemonium which would hit her hardest.
The Oak & Thistle
The warm, amber glow of The Oak & Thistle wrapped around Sarah like an old, familiar sweater. It was only her second night back in Harrow, and the pub smelled the same as it had sixteen years ago. Yeasty beer, wood polish, and the faintest hint of Diana’s vanilla perfume. Some things never change, indeed.
They sat four tables from the bar counter, but she could hear almost every order made by the men. Every bloke made sure to yell well above the background chatter when she was sure they didn’t have to because, Claude, who may look like her grandpa, wasn’t hard of hearing. Speaking of Claude, something else that has refused to change in Harrow. He was old when she left Harrow, he’s still old today but interestingly, not a day older.
“He probably hit his aging threshold,” she nodded at Claude.
Diana looked towards the bar and chuckled, “He’s been this old since we were born, I guess.”
“I bet he was born old,” Sarah said before her eyes caught a pair of lads by the aisle, walking up the counter. One made eye contact before she quickly withdrew her gaze.
“So,” Diana said, leaning in over her half-finished gin and tonic, “tell me everything I’ve been dying to know. Did you leave any broken hearts in Boston?”
Sarah laughed, swirling the ice in her glass. “Only the hearts of recruiters who realized I wasn’t staying.” She sighed. “It was good, but…it wasn’t home.”
Diana’s eyes softened. “Well, Harrow missed you. Though, to be fair, not much has changed. Mrs. Perkins still runs the bakery, the high street still shuts down by eight, and” she gestured around the pub, “this place still has the same sticky tables.”
Sarah grinned. “And the same crowd, apparently.” She nodded toward another group of men near the dartboard, one of whom had already sent over two drinks and a hopeful smile in their direction.
Diana rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s just Greg. Divorced, talks too much about his fantasy football league. You’re not missing anything.”
Sarah chuckled, but her amusement faded as another man, this one in a too-tight suit, approached and tried his luck with a painfully rehearsed line about her “mysterious American accent.” She politely shut him down, and Diana groaned as he slunk away.
“You’re trying to scare them all off, aren’t you?” Diana accused.
“I’m not trying anything,” Sarah said, sipping her drink. “I just got back. Can’t I enjoy a quiet night without being interrogated by every single man in Harrow?”
“No,” Diana said flatly. “Because you’re the most interesting thing to happen to this town in years. Fresh face, glamorous past, mysterious…”
“Oh, shut up.” Sarah tossed a beer mat at her, laughing.
Just then, the door swung open, letting in a gust of chilly evening air. A tall figure stepped inside, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with sawdust. He slid onto a stool near their table, close enough that Sarah caught the faint scent of cedar and soap.
Diana’s eyebrows shot up. “Now that,” she murmured, “is an upgrade.”
Sarah shot her a warning look, but her gaze flicked back to the stranger anyway. There was something easy in the way he carried himself, like he belonged exactly where he was.
He must have felt her staring, because he turned and met her eyes. A slow, crooked smile spread across his face, and something about it tugged at her memory, though she couldn’t place why.
Before she could overthink it, he turned to their direction and approached. “Ladies,” he said, his voice warm and just a little rough. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Diana opened her mouth, probably to say something outrageous, but Sarah, against her better judgment, nodded. “Sure. Thank you.”
“My name is Matt by the way. You are?” He seemed to be addressing Sarah in particular. This was so obvious that Diana instinctively adjusted her chair to create adequate space between Sarah and her.
“Sarah,” Sarah nodded at Diana, “”and my friend, Diana.”
Matt smoothly stepped into the space before dragging a vacant chair from the adjacent table. “Although I only started attending this pub about two months ago, but I am pretty sure you’re new.”
Sarah shrugged, “It’s my first time.”
“In Harrow?”
“No.” Diana said.
“Yes,” Sarah said simultaneously. They looked at each other and laughed.
Matt seemed confused but tried a slight giggle not to appear like the joke.
“It’s my second night back in Harrow,” Sarah clarified.
“She was gone for two decades,” Diana added then took a sip.
”Wow, that’s such a long time. I want to ask what took you away but what I really wanna know is what brought you back.”
“You only get to ask one, young man,” Sarah said.
“Rule accepted. But that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me both.”
“What do you do, Matt? You sound like a programmer or a lawyer.”
Matt looked at his shirt as if he was sure his profession was written on it. “Carpentry.”
Sarah briefly glanced at Diana, “Hmm, nice.”
Within minutes, he had Diana cackling over a story about a disastrous carpentry job while Sarah found herself oddly charmed by his attempt to impress her with his less than basic “coding knowledge.”
“So, you’re telling me,” Sarah said, smirking, “that you almost built an app?”
“Almost is the key word,” he admitted, grinning. “My mate, Ian made it sound so easy. He said all we had to do was, learn Java for a couple of weeks, he got us into a bunch of tutorials and webinars. I got myself a wee laptop and some crazy bloke from up north came to market a new broadband service that was supposed to be the fastest in the world. They got me paying drug dealer money on that each month. Four months later, I was getting frustrated, I still don’t know how to code nothing. Ian has made fuck all progress too, but he won’t let me give up. He was like, just learn a little, enough for us to build a prototype app. Then we were gonna take it to some investors who would drop a tone of cash on our laps, and we are off to live like royals in London.”
Sarah laughed, but then she paused, studying his face again. That smile… it tickled the back of her mind, like a name she couldn’t quite recall.
The night slipped by too quickly. By the time they finished their drinks, Diana was already texting someone, probably another one of her doomed romantic prospects, and Matt stretched, glancing at Sarah.
“Need a lift home?” he offered. “I’ve got my Citroen outside. It’s got leather seats. It’s super comfy. Especially the passenger seat, you’ll love it.”
Diana laughed, “I see someone learnt some skills from the broadband marketers from up north.”
“You know, right?” he said.
For a fleeting second, Sarah considered it, but then that strange flicker of recognition unsettled her again.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” she said, standing. “It’s a short walk.”
Matt didn’t push. Just nodded and said, “Maybe next time, then.”
As Sarah stepped out into the cool Harrow night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something important.
The next morning…
Sarah sat cross-legged on her childhood, single bed, laptop balanced precariously on her knees, as another automated rejection email popped into her inbox.
“Thank you for your application. Unfortunately, we have decided to move forward with other candidates…”
She snapped the laptop shut with a groan.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Whoever was texting her, she wasn’t dying to know. She slowly rested her back on the wall, taking a moment to admire the nightstand. Something she adored with keenness when she was a teenager and even more so now. The whole house held about all her history, but that nightstand with the cabriole legs held most of it. It was where she piled neatly folded exotic lingerie in her late teenage years, until Joshua, her first boyfriend made it his favourite place to stash his endless supply of crisps when he came over to on weekends.
Thinking about Joshua, her mind flashed to last night. She tried to picture all the faces of the men. Could he be one of them and she couldn’t recognize him? Could he have been among the men who sent her drinks? No, if Joshua was there, he wouldn’t be sending her drinks. 16 years wasn’t nearly long enough to forget or even forgive what she did to him. Wasn’t it long enough for her to quite feeling guilty about it though?
She readjusted on her bed, letting one leg hang by the edge. What would she not give to set herself free from the past. Before she left Chicago, she vowed not to let the past deny her from the joys of being back to her hometown. She’s not giving up on that vow yet, she’s just coming to admit it was going to take some fight.
The phone buzzed again. This time, Sarah reluctantly went to the edge of her bed and stretched her hand to get it. Diana’s name flashed, followed by a photo attachment. Sarah swiped open the message, and her stomach sank.
Diana: Look who’s back in town! 😏 Simon heard you were home and is dying to catch up. Drinks tonight?
The photo showed Simon, a guy she scarcely liked from secondary school, grinning in a too-tight polo shirt, his arm slung around a pint glass like it was a trophy. Sarah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. This same Simon would later become Joshua’s best friend and joined them on outings on a few occasions.
Sarah was convinced Joshua has sent him to spy on her or something, but she wasn’t going to start sounding paranoid to Diana.
Sarah: Oh god. Didn’t he used to call himself “The Harrow Heartthrob”?
Diana: Still does. And he’s single now. Coincidence? I think not.
Sarah flopped back onto the pillows. The last thing she wanted was to endure Simon’s inflated ego while nursing her professional pride.
Sarah: I appreciate the effort, but I think I’ll pass. You seem to have forgotten he is Joshua’s best friend.
Diana: Uhm, Joshua as I remember him didn’t have a best friend. He just hung out with whomever didn’t find him gross.
Sarah: That’s mean.
Diana: Well, that’s true also.
Sarah: Anyway, I’d pass. Not really in the mood.
Diana: Because of the job stuff? Or because you’re still thinking about Matt?
Sarah’s fingers froze.
Sarah: What? No. That was just a random pub chat.
Diana: Uh-huh. You turned down a ride from a guy who looks like that? Suspicious.
Sarah rolled her eyes, but her chest tightened. She had thought about Matt, or, more accurately, the nagging sense that she knew him from somewhere.
Before she could reply, another text came through.
Diana: Fine, no Simon. But you’re not wallowing alone. I’m bringing wine. Be there in 20.
Sarah sighed but smiled. Diana had always been relentless, but at least she was relentless in the right direction.
She tossed her phone aside and reopened her laptop, staring at the cold, impersonal rejections. Maybe coming back was a mistake. Perhaps the real mistake was leaving in the first place. She was convinced that she did everything she could to put Harrow behind her, but nowhere else felt like home. Maybe jilting the only man that had loved her the exact way she needed to be loved simply because he fell short of everyone else’s expectations for her wasn’t the best idea. Maybe she hadn’t entirely forgiven herself for that incident that resulted from the break-up.
She took a long sigh. What was she expecting from Harrow? A warm hero’s welcome?
She sank back into her pillow, letting herself an attempt at relaxation. There’s a magazine centre-spread poster of the Spice Girls cheerfully grinning at her. Old days, idols of the teenage girl she used to be. But then her gaze drifted to the corkboard above her desk, still pinned with faded photos of her old life here. A younger version of herself grinned back, arm in arm with Diana, standing outside this very house. And tucked in the corner, a class photo from her teaching days.
Her breath hitched.
There, in the front row, was a little boy with a gap-toothed smile…Matt’s smile.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. There was no chance Matt was one of her pupils. He was older than any of them would be today. Besides, while she may not recognize many of those kids today, they would certainly recognize her. Matt would have mentioned it if he was in her class. Did he have a younger brother whom she may have taught?
She looked closely at the photo. She couldn’t recall the name of that kid.
The doorbell rang.
