Thanks to everyone who's read this so far, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. I won't see Waterloo Road on Thursday because it's my prom (which had better be good, that's all I'm saying) so I thought I'd write a chapter of this instead. Enjoy! x

All's Loud on the Western Front | Chapter Five

"I thought she wanted to see me."

"She does, love," Tom said, "She does."

Scout and Tom were sitting on the sofa in Nicki's living room. Tom kept crossing one leg over the other and then uncrossing it, needing to do something to occupy himself; every few minutes, he stood up and paced across the room to the bottom of the staircase, where he'd shout up to her to check if she was coming down yet.

Tom had made all three of them coffees (Scout didn't like coffee, but she hadn't wanted to say so) when they'd arrived. He'd said Nicki just needed a few minutes to get ready, but they'd been sitting here for nearly half an hour now, and Scout began to wonder how exactly it could take this long. What was she doing, curling each individual hair? Scout had never seen Nicki with her hair curled, although she thought it would probably look beautiful; Nicki had such sleek, soft hair.

"Do you think we should just go, Sir?" Scout asked, putting her mug on the coffee table. She'd felt the warmth seep out of the coffee and into her fingers as she'd balanced the mug on her knee; now the drink was untouched and cold. "Maybe she feels ill or something, and she just isn't in the mood to see us."

"I think we should give her a few more minutes."

It was strange, being inside a teacher's house. Obviously she'd been inside Tom's home before with Josh, but that had been different; Tom, as well as a father figure, was a friend, the teacher-student barrier hadn't ever mattered. Scout hadn't imagined that Nicki's house would look like this.

She stood up and went to the mantelpiece, where she trailed her fingers over the engravings in the ivory beam of wood, examining each photograph. There was a beautiful silver clock with Roman numerals in the centre of the mantelpiece, and around it photos stood in silver frames; there was a couple who were presumably Nicki's mum and dad, then some children who could have been nieces and nephews, or godchildren.

There was one of a young girl with sleek, soft hair like Nicki's, her body sleek too, accentuated by a beautiful pale pink dress decorated with roses, and a cream belt around her waist, pulling everything in. She was sitting on a wall outside a cottage (Scout spotted a cow in the distance; it was like those holiday homes she'd dreamt of staying in with her mum, when she'd been too little to understand these things didn't come cheap), her feet bare, her cheeks glistening with sunshine and happiness.

"I think that's Nicki," Tom said, having come to stand behind her.

"She was beautiful."

"She was rather, wasn't she? Still beautiful now, too."

Scout looked towards Tom, uncertain whether he was joking. His blue eyes were on the photograph and he looked serious.

"Do you like her, Sir? I mean, don't worry, I wouldn't tell anyone, I just w–"

"I do like her," he said softly, taking the frame down from the mantelpiece and running a finger across the glass, "I think this has made me see that I like her. I think I tried to hide it, but I couldn't pretend any more when she got hurt."

"Does she like you?"

"I doubt it. If anything was going to happen between us– well, it would have to be when she was better again. I suppose we'll just have to see what happens. Maybe we're better off as just friends."

"Your secret's safe with me, Sir."

Tom smiled and replaced the photo frame. "You stay down here for a minute, Scout. I'm just going to go up and check on her, I'll be right back."

Scout took the mugs into the kitchen (Tom hadn't been able to finish his coffee, either) and rinsed them out in the sink. Everything in here was organised too; she opened the top drawer beneath the hob and ran her fingers over the silver cutlery. She wondered how Nicki could afford all of this stuff, or perhaps it had been handed down from her parents and she just took good care of it.

Her fruit bowl was filled with apples, her jars of coffee and tea bags were lined up neatly on the windowledge. Scout hated thinking about that word, 'windowledge'. Of course this one was on the ground floor and couldn't really do any damage, but that didn't prevent things from spinning around in her head, images of Lorraine and Nicki scuffling on the windowledge, of them falling, and leaving only whiteness.

There was a little glass bowl of dolly mixtures on the sideboard, just like the one on Nicki's desk at Waterloo Road. Scout took one of the chocolate ones; she knew Nicki liked to save all of the yellow and pink squares until last. There hadn't been any dolly mixtures there for a while now, because Grantly had finished them off and replaced them with aniseeds, which he refused to share with the students. Every day the pain of not seeing Nicki smile in the corridors dug a little bit deeper.

Tom still hadn't come back down, so Scout crept to the bottom of the stairs. She could hear nothing, only the gentle hum of the house. She went upstairs cautiously, stopping every few steps to listen, to examine the photos on the walls of the staircase too; a family shot with a castle in the background, and a photo of Nicki and some of the kids mucking around at the Christmas party last year, colourful party hats skewwhiff on their heads. Scout felt warm to see a photograph of herself in Nicki's house, just because she always wondered if teachers really cared or if they just forgot at the end of the day.

The landing creaked and Scout felt her cheeks fill with colour. Nicki must think she was terrible, creeping around her teacher's house uninvited, snooping on private photos of private memories.

"We're in here, Scout," Tom called.

She crept into the bedroom and found both of her teachers sitting on the bed, Nicki still in her dressing gown, leaning against Tom. Her hair was damp and curling at the tips, her feet bare like they had been in the cottage picture, only her toes were curled up too, like she was trying to stop herself crying out in pain at something. The stitches on her head were visible to Scout, raw blue marks against raw red flesh.

"I'm a mess," Nicki whispered.

Scout didn't know if she meant physically or inside. She hovered uncertainly near the doorway, feeling like an intruder. Nicki's head was against Tom's chest, they looked perfect; her heart swelled at the idea that Tom would protect Nicki like he'd always protected Scout, even if they were 'just friends'.

"You didn't get very far with getting ready, did you, hey?" Tom asked her softly, holding her closer to him.

"I was going to, then I just– I found my camera from France, there were photos from the first day, from us eating those croissants, and then the Eiffel Tower. And Lorraine's in them, and she looks happy," her voice broke and she looked up at Scout, "I'm sorry, Jodie, you shouldn't have to be here."

Jodie, not Scout. "I wanted to come."

"We all just want you to be okay, Nicki," Tom said, "We know that's going to take time, but we want to be here for you."

Nicki didn't look away from Scout, "Do you have the nightmares too?"

Scout nodded. Nicki held out her other arm and Scout ran forwards and tucked herself on Nicki's other side, the bed soft beneath her, Nicki soft beside her. Tom reached his arm round so it was touching Scout's shoulder. She realised her tears were dribbling down onto Nicki's shoulder, wiped her cheeks, embarrassed.

"Tom, will you– will you make us some drinks, please?" Nicki asked, "There's some cocoa powder in the first cupboard on the right of the oven."

"Any marshmallows?"

"Second cupboard."

He buried his head briefly in her hair and then stood up and left them alone. Nicki held Scout to her for a moment longer.

"You're a mess as well." It wasn't a question.

"School's so weird without you, Miss."

That statement made her sound like a child. There was so much she wanted to say and yet none of it would come out, it was too complicated and too painful.

"And it's weird not being there. I even miss Barry Barry; there's something seriously wrong there, isn't there?" Nicki squeezed Scout's shoulder, "Would you do me a favour?"

"What is it?"

"I just don't have the energy to– will you dry my hair?"

Scout could hear Tom whistling downstairs as he boiled the kettle. She smiled, "Only if I can curl it after."

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