Pretty Woman / Two Woman Blues (1/2)
It took one night sitting together in front of the telly to realise that the woman he was with was not the girl of his dreams.

...
Alfie.

It's been three years since his first class graduated, and besides the regular tweeting, he hasn't really kept in touch with any of them beyond their monthly Nando's visits. (Even then the visits seem to be getting rarer and rarer. It's sad, but hey: his kids are just beginning their journeys and he's already a good way into his. It's sort of like that bit in Lord of the Rings where Gandalf The Grey gets split up from Frodo when he has to fight the Balrog and tragically dies but ends up coming back as a bad-ass White Wizard. Needless to say the whole White Wizard thing is still a work in progress).

He's still working at Abbey Grove and the school is as dysfunctional as it was the day he walked in, except now every day is less of a piss-up and more just general pissing around. Fraser's still up to his Luke Skywanker mischief and Rosie is his girlfriend, of sorts. They aren't always together but he swears their on-and-off, will-they-won't-they is the highlight of the school, really.

He has a new class now and they're amusing, but he can't help missing his old one. They were, after all, his first, and you know what they say... Anyway, it's hard to walk into class every day and not see his old students there waiting for him to play Class Wars. Now they're all off doing their own thing and wandering the world as helpless adults. Some more helpless than others. Jing, unsurprisingly, is off in a posh Uni studying medicine (with a minor in philosophy) and being her regular over-achieving self. The real surprise is that Mitchell's at Uni too, albeit studying psychology, and dating Jing of all things?! He should have known. Rem Dogg is involved in the underground music scene and his EP is mad shit, but he would say that even if it were terrible, which it isn't, but, you know, disco and grime will always be a questionable mix...

Cleo is a teacher (juvenile detention centre) and currently three-months pregnant with her first child (he wants to ask who the father is but he isn't too keen on the idea of an early death...).

Stephen is in theatre. There's not much to say beyond that because the theatre is just so Stephen and so expected that there really isn't any point saying anything more. That leaves Joe and Chantelle. It came as a real surprise to everyone when Joe went off to pursue his desire of becoming a professional chef, although why he went up North still baffles him. Joe, to this day, swears up and down that Northern food is the absolute shit, but there's a part of him - maybe the lump sitting in his stomach? - that is not in agreement. Chantelle works as a makeup consultant in the local Debenham's and is still holding onto her GCSE dream of getting her beautician's license. It's strange to think that out of all his kids, Chantelle is the one he sees the most. What's even stranger is how often he actually sees her.

She comes 'round his whenever she can after her late shift at the Mac counter. It's always fun and games, but it's also a massive point of contention between Rosie and him (she uses it against him at every fight, no exceptions) because, apparently, it's not normal to see your ex-student every week?! Even though Rosie dated Alex-what's-her-face. Talk about being hypocritical.

Anyway, it's not as if he could turn Chantelle away. The first night she had come over was the night her Mum had packed up and left.

.

He had been watching Game of Thrones when, just as another one was felled, a soft rat-a-tat-tat disturbed his TV groove.

"Ugh," he moaned, shuffling towards the door. "Right, this better be worth missing a grim and gruesome death."

Imagine his surprise when Chantelle was there, sitting prettily on top of a bunch of bin bags and a ratty leopard-print duffel. At first he thought it was some weird joke (or one of Chantelle's fantasies gone awry) but then he noticed the dark streaks under her red-rimmed eyes.

"Mum's gone," she whispered. "To Ibiza, with Jay, and I don't think she's coming back. She, she left all my stuff outside and took the spare keys. I wouldn't have come here but everyone's out of town and, and-is it alright if I stay?"

"Course," he breathed out, at a loss for words. "Yeah, come in."

"... It's only for a bit, promise." At that moment she looked exactly like him when his Mum had left him for the sun, Spain and the Spaniard, only he had his dad and her dad was long gone, living as some toff bouncer in St Tropez.

"Chantelle, you know you can stay here any time. Honestly. But you can't sleep in my room, all right?"

The way she looked at him after he said that was the look people on telly wore after winning The X Factor or The Cube or the ever-dwindling BGT.

It made him feel great. Like Jean Valjean after he promised Fantine to take care of Cosette in that really touching song. But that thought was short lived when Chantelle sidled up to him, pressing her lips to his pulse-point. It's obvious that time had not bridled her passion as he'd assumed it would. He wasn't sure what he thought about that.

"You won't regret this, Sir," she murmured, before sauntering off into his spare room with a tiny little smile on her face.

And that marked the end of the short reign of Les Mis comparisons. There was no way that Chantelle could ever be like Cosette, and, to be honest, he wasn't really a Jean Valjean type. Especially not with Little Valjean at half-mast...

.

True to her word, he doesn't regret any of the month she stayed at his apartment. It still surprises him to this day how clean Chantelle is. And how organised. And how greatly he misunderstood her.

It's not often, but sometimes he has these little moments where he's just a tiny bit insightful. They're not often, mind you, but they do happen and they're often these crazy eureka situations that make him want to run into a bathtub with a lightbulb above his head.

.

They were sitting at his small table in his even smaller kitchenette. It was Saturday and he had fried up some bacon and eggs for the both of them. Sometimes he made breakfast, and sometimes she did, but she had been out late at the job centre yesterday and had missed the early bus back home.

He used to think that Chantelle had been put in Special K for being a slacker, but she was working hard and in hindsight, her bad marks in history were not for a lack of trying... He would have to ask Fraser about that sometime. He swore the man sometimes made decisions for actual reasons, but there were no guarantees.

"Chantelle!" he called out. "Breakfast's on the table!"

"Coming!" It only took a few minutes for her to come out, but when she did she was in full makeup and dressed in something tight and shiny. He gave her a strange look because he was still in his jimjams, but didn't give it much thought because it might have been a girl thing. Rosie had done the same when she had slept over, but then again Rosie had left after breakfast...

"Going somewhere?" he asked in between mouthfuls of toast and fry-up.

Unlike him, Chantelle always finished chewing and swallowing before talking. "No, I wasn't planning on it. Why, do you need me to go out?" she asked urgently.

"No! No, not at all. You, you just look so dressed and I, well, I was just wondering." What a pathetic ending. Obviously there was some book out there he should be reading on the art of conversation. Perhaps Dummy's 101 to Being Less Awkward and Embarrassing? his mind offered helpfully. Not helping!

"Oh, well, I didn't want my ugly mug to put you off while we ate. A girl's got to look good for something, right sir?"

What could he say to that? "Um, yeah?"

"Anyhow, you made breakfast, it's the least I can do to show up looking halfway decent." It was at times like this where he wondered what Chantelle's Mum actually taught her daughter. Even if his mum had left him for The Spaniard, she had been around long enough for him to understand that this kind of thinking wasn't good for Chantelle, or any woman for that matter. And then it struck.

Least I can do... Don't want to put you off... Did she feel like she owed him something? Time to nip that thought in the bud.

"Look, Chantelle," he started. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to get this out (usually it ended with him looking like a complete and under twat) but he tried his best. "Don't take this the wrong way-"

That was obviously the wrong thing to say because a crazy barrage of words soon came out of Chantelle's mouth. "What's wrong, Alfie? Am I being too messy? Too annoying? Is Miss G still pissed? I swear I've been looking for a job and the gal at the employment office said that she'd get back to me and I've even been looking in The Watford Observer, you know, in that section at the back with all the creepy escort jobs. I've honestly been looking."

It took a few seconds for his mind to process all of that, before he exclaimed, "What? The Watford Observer? Escort? Don't do that! No, Chantelle, seriously, you haven't been a bother at all!"

He took a deep breath in. "I just wanted you to know that you can forget about owing me anything, because I'm happy to do this and I'd it for any of my kids. And you don't have to worry about shit like makeup with me. Not that I don't appreciate it, it's just you don't have to go to all that effort for me, for breakfast, because you're fine without it, yeah?" The end bit came out as a squeak, but he did the best he could.

There was an awkward moment of silence before she visibly perked up. "Okay," she breathed out, her eyes gleaming. And then she gave him a big smirk. "Fancy going out then, sir? After all, a girl shouldn't get dressed for nothing. Hmm?" When she gazed up at him with those dewy brown eyes he swore his heart skipped a beat, but that very well could have been the onset of indigestion.

After that, they went to the movies to watch some shit romcom that he maintains he did not cry at. There was just some dirt in his eyes.

.

The day after was spent with Rosie where they visited her book club - the book discussed was Americanah, which was actually a good book judging by the few pages he read - and went to lunch at the local Italian restaurant afterwards.

They were seated across from each other. He was eating pizza and she had a squash risotto with a glass of red wine in her hand.

"So, Alfie," she murmured, swirling the red wine before finishing it with one large swig. With one smile, the waiter came by and immediately refilled her glass. It's at times like these where he can really see her Russel Group roots. "What did you do yesterday?"

"Erm, I got up and made some breakfast for me and Chantelle-"

"Chantelle and I," she corrected, her brows furrowing.

He corrected himself. "Chantelle and I, and then we went to go see a movie together."

"And then?" Her expression at this point was pretty fearsome: all tight-lipped, arched eyebrows and disapproving. Especially disapproving. He gulped.

"And then, Alfie?"

"We, we walked back home and had dinner?"

"Oh, what did you have?"

"Pasta... With sauce?"

This declaration was met with a more intense version of the Disapproving Look. "Oh Rosie, it was only Dolmio! Promise!"

She sighed. "Alfie, I'm not mad that you had pasta it's just that I'm your girlfriend-" for the moment, his mind supplied bitterly. Not helping! "-and you're spending all this time with Chantelle and I'm telling you it's not normal for a teacher to do this sort of thing for an ex-student."

"But, but what about Alex? And Chantelle's going through a hard time! Her mum left her with no money and no place to stay!"

"Alfie, look, I know you felt really strongly about your old form but Chantelle is an adult now. And Alex and I had a romantic relationship. Are you honestly telling me that you are having a romantic relationship with Chantelle?"

"No, of course not! But Chantelle is my student and I need to help her. Rosie, Chantelle's mum left her. I had my dad. She has nobody!"

"Alfie, wake up! The girl has a bloody crush on you. It's not right to lead her to expect that you're more interested in her than you actually are."

.

The truth is scary, and sometimes it scares him to even think about it. Like the day he realised that his mum didn't really want him anymore.

He was seventeen when he finally created a Facebook account and the first thing he did was to search for her profile. When he finally found her (he was using the wrong last name) there were hundreds of pictures of her new children and her new life, as if she wanted everyone on Facebook to know that she was Finally Happy Now and that her old life, well, it was old, and you know what they say...

Out with the old and in with the bloody new.

But the thing that really keeps him tossing and turning at night on his old Postman Pat sheets is the fact that he would prefer spending a day with Chantelle than with his own girlfriend. Rosie. The woman he's had a crush on for ages who is always so compassionate and sensible, and yet is always insisting on treating him like a child and never like a boyfriend. When they're together she's always talking about Soweto and Uganda and Papua Bloody New Guinea, places where she can "actually make a difference" and have her own Finally Happy Now.

When he's with Chantelle, it's never serious talks about books, humanitarianism or politics. He never has to pretend to be something he's not. Despite their differences, they like the same things and watching The X Factor is always a laugh, even with all of the bloody commercials. They have traditions, too.

Saturday night is pizza night and Chantelle always orders hers with extra olives because she loves them and can eat them out of the bloody jar. She likes beer but more than that she loves Sprite and is forever declaring how no other drink can top it.

"Except for coke," she says one night after taking a swig from her can. They both know it's his favourite drink. "Coke is a special exception, isn't that right, Alfie?" One saucy wink and a light pat on the thigh has him gulping, but it isn't with apprehension.

It's at that moment he realises.

You know, by the way his heart's pounding it's almost as if...

Shit.