‘There’s only a few under the age of thirty.’
‘And how do you get along with them?’
‘I pretend they don’t exist.’
‘But there must be some occasions when you’re forced to interact. Staff meetings, for example? Or if you’re discussing a problem pupil?’
Nelson shook his head. ‘If we spent the time we needed discussing problem pupils, we’d have to cancel classes for the entire month. No, if there’s something important I need to ask one of them about, then I leave a note in her locker and wait for her to write back. I believe that’s how the Queen communicates with other members of the royal family, only rather than using their lockers, she sends a footman with a note on a velvet cushion and whoever it is, Prince William, say, or the Duchess of Cornwall, they write a reply and send it back the same way.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘Do you think that you and the Queen have a lot in common?’
Nelson thought about it. ‘We both like dogs,’ he said.
‘Do you have a dog?’
‘No.’
‘All right. And you don’t go on dates?’
‘Lord, no,’ said Nelson, shivering a little at the idea of it. ‘And neither does she, I expect.’
‘So you’re not sexually active?’
He shook his head, blushing furiously now. ‘Not with another person anyway,’ he said. ‘Although I nearly had a threesome the other night.’
Angela looked up, surprised by this unexpected revelation. ‘Really?’ she asked.
‘Yes. All I needed was two other people.’
She smiled and cocked her head to one side. ‘I’m surprised you can joke with me like that,’ she said. ‘That was rather risqué, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I told you, it’s because you’re in a position of authority. It makes things so much easier.’
‘Can I ask, have you ever had a girlfriend?’
‘Only once,’ he said. ‘And she wasn’t really a girlfriend. She was just someone I liked. And I think she liked me too. We went out for a drink. Or rather, we found ourselves in the same pub having a drink at the same time and decided to have our drinks at the same table.’
‘Strictly speaking, that doesn’t make her your girlfriend. But you talked to her?’
‘I did.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘The usual things people talk about on first dates. Films we liked. The metric system. The Elgin Marbles.’
‘And did you arrange to meet again?’
He nodded. ‘She was going away on holiday a few days later,’ he said, ‘and we arranged to have a drink in the same pub when she returned. But, sadly, she never came back.’
‘Why not?’
‘She died.’
‘Oh no!’
‘Oh yes! She was eaten by a lion.’
Angela’s eyes opened wide. ‘She was what?’ she asked.
‘Well, mauled to death by a lion, to be more precise. She was on safari and got out of her jeep when she shouldn’t have. And a lion got hold of her. By the time they got her to hospital it was too late.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Angela. ‘How awful. The poor woman.’
‘Yes.’
‘She was a ghost, you know.’
‘You think she’s a ghost? You’ve seen her since she died?’
‘No, of course not,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’m not insane.’
‘Sorry, I must have misunderstood you. But this must have been very upsetting for you.’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said Nelson. ‘Obviously, I felt sad for her. No one wants to be eaten by a lion. But it’s not as if I knew her very well, is it? We’d only spent one evening in each other’s company, although I had high hopes for what might take place upon her return. I’m very sorry about what happened to her, but the truth is, I find it hard to picture her face now.’
‘Still,’ said Angela. ‘You finally get talking to a woman, arrange to meet for another date, and then she’s killed in what can only be called a catastrophic event. You don’t think this might have affected your psyche in some way?’
Nelson looked down at the floor. He picked up his hard hat and put it on his head.
‘Do you mind if I wear this for the rest of the session?’ he asked.
‘I do,’ replied Angela. ‘No disguises, remember? But our time is up anyway, so don’t worry, you can leave it on for now, if you like. I want you to think about what we’ve discussed, all right? And when I see you tomorrow, you are to be dressed in a normal fashion. No uniforms. Okay?’
‘I’ll try,’ said Nelson. ‘But I can’t promise anything.’
EVERYTHING I’VE TOLD YOU IS TRUE
When Achilles first encountered Rebecca Jones, he was in Schuh, trying on a new pair of trainers, while she was browsing on the opposite side of the store. He became aware of her glancing in his direction and experienced that familiar tingle beneath his navel that quickly twisted into a shiver of anticipatory excitement.
For as long as he could remember, girls had liked him. Boys, too. It was as if there was a natural magnet located somewhere beneath his skin that simply drew people towards him. His earliest memories were of women in the street running their palms along his cheeks when he was out with his mother or nanny and telling him what a heartbreaker he was going to be one day. ‘I could just eat you up,’ they would say and, even then, he felt a willingness to let them. At pre-school, boys had tussled with each other to be his best friend. In primary school, girls had giggled when he looked in their direction. As a teenager, he learned how to take advantage of his charms, losing his virginity at fourteen to a friend of his older sister’s who, despite the age gap, stalked him for several months afterwards. People just wanted to be near him, to talk to him, to touch him, to kiss him, to discover what exquisite delicacies lay beneath his clothes. He knew that it wasn’t just his good looks that made this so, although they were certainly a part of it, but that there was something more mysterious and indefinable to his allure that no amount of study could ever explain.
And so, while he wasn’t particularly surprised that a stranger was crossing the floor to stand in front of him, he was intrigued by the words she chose to introduce herself.
‘That’s disgusting,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry?’ he replied, looking up at her and brushing the hair away from his eyes.
‘I said, that’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.’
‘What a bizarre way to initiate a conversation,’ he replied, cocking his head to the side. ‘Are you always this rude?’
‘You couldn’t have worn socks?’ she asked, looking down at his bare feet. ‘What if you don’t buy those trainers? You think the next person who tries them on wants to catch all your foot funguses?’
‘Firstly, it’s fungi,’ said Achilles, stretching his legs out and wiggling his toes. ‘And secondly, I don’t have any such disorders, thank you very much. I’m extremely hygienic and I pay particular attention to my feet, which is why they’re in such excellent shape.’