While the front of Rabscuttle Hall had been lavished with greenery for its guests, the area for staff was stark and practical. No vibrant flowerbeds and sweeping lawns, just tarmac and outbuildings and a pervading sense of purpose. Not a world Sophie found as easy to fit into as she had the ostentation in reception, but she had always been good at faking it – and the last few months had turned her into an expert.
“They said to turn right and follow the signs for deliveries to get to the kitchen,” Sophie said, setting off in that direction and concentrating on keeping her pace even, masking the discomfort blooming in her left leg. That one was always the first to go. A dull ache spreading through her muscles like when she’d had her 3-in-1 jab. Bearable, though.
“Are we just going to march into the kitchen?” Sunny asked, bouncing along next to her. “All, ‘hello, chef, we want to speak to the pot washer’?”
“Might have better luck if we use his name,” Win murmured from behind.
That was the plan: find the kitchen, ask to speak to Lucas and hope that the chef didn’t shower her with swears and throw a pan in her face like an episode of Kitchen Nightmares. Although if a less risky alternative presented itself, she’d take it. Maybe there would be an office, or staff taking a cigarette break or … someone conveniently rattling boxes around in that shed opposite the door marked KITCHEN ONLY.
She had little chance to exchange a triumphant smile with the others when whoever it was emerged from the shadows and Sunny emitted a squeak that would have pained a bat. “He’s hot.”
He had his back to them as he wrestled with the bolts, so all Sophie could see was an inch too much of his boxers and a heather-grey T-shirt that sat snug on a body that looked as soft as it was strong. When he stepped back, his hand rose to brush an impractical flop of soft dark curls from his face and Sophie gave a start.
“That’s Big T.”
“You know him?” Sunny’s voice radiated hope.
“Just house parties and stuff. He’s Campion, one of Kellan’s mates.” Sunny’s lust at first sight could wait until after they’d dealt with Freya’s parcel.
Before Big T disappeared back into the building, Sophie approached with a cool and confident, “Hey there.”
When he turned, Sophie looked for what it was that Sunny had seen, noticing lips that met in a pleasing curve and kind eyes framed by longer-than-average lashes. And that blink, like it was something he did on purpose rather than a reflex. If “swoon” was a sound, that was the one Sunny just made.
“Er, hi.” Then, “Sophie?”
“Hey, Big T. Good to see you.” Next to her, Sunny rasped a none-too-subtle, “Introduce us.”
Rolling her eyes, Sophie held out an arm like a ringmaster introducing a new act. “This is Win and this is her sister Sunny…”
“Hi.” Sunny lunged forward, holding out her hand like she expected him to shake it. After a second’s hesitation, Big T dusted his hands on the front of his apron and reached out to take it.
“Hi.” Blink. “I’m Lucas.”
LUCAS
This kind of quiet meant there was something wrong.
Lucas’s default was to assume it was him. Clammy hands? The stench of the spring onions he’d been shredding? Sweat stains spreading from under his arms?
He glanced down to check.
Nothing.
It had been a while since he’d seen Sophie, but she looked no less formidable in her signed school shirt than she did dressed for a night by the river or round at Kellan’s. Her face was rounder than he remembered, her hair longer, gleaming like copper wire in the afternoon sun – but Sophie was someone you saw once and never forgot.
And she was looking at him like he was a stranger.
“But … everyone calls you Big T,” she said.
“I mean, yeah, they do.” At least everyone Sophie knew. “But it’s not my name. Sorry.” He didn’t know why he felt guilty about this, but Sophie was frowning like he’d done something wrong.
Only then her friend, Sunny, swooped in.
“So is there, like, a silent ‘T’ in Lucas or something?” Her expression was free from any of Sophie’s irritation. Nothing but bright, bird-like curiosity.
“My surname’s Antoniou – Antony – Tony – T. And, well. Y’know.” He shrugged. The “Big” wasn’t ironic.
“None of my names are Sunny really and I’ve got, like, a million.”
“You’ve got two,” her sister said mildly from where she’d been standing like a shadow behind the others.
“And neither one is Sunny.” Sunny shot her sister a look like she’d rather those names weren’t mentioned, before turning back to Lucas. “But the names we choose are the ones that are most real, right?”
Lucas smiled. “Right.”
He’d known this girl less than a minute and Lucas couldn’t think of a name that would suit her better – although he’d quite like to know the others. Or anything else she felt like telling him about herself.
“I don’t get it.” Sophie interrupted whatever he’d been thinking of saying to Sunny. “How come you’re here?”
Lucas shrugged. He wasn’t supposed to be – as of last week he’d had to say he couldn’t work any shifts while he had his exams. This afternoon was a one-off. “Ed asked me to cover the start of his shift because he had to pick his mum up from the station and, well, money’s nice.”
“No. That’s not—” Sophie waved away his explanation. “I didn’t know you worked here. You should be down by the river for muck-up.”
“Well … shouldn’t you?”
He wasn’t sure why Sophie was the one who got to ask all the questions. Whether she knew it or not, this was where he worked – Sophie was the one who didn’t belong. Guests weren’t supposed to come back here.
The three girls exchanged the same look before Sunny’s sister stepped forward. Lucas was used to confidence that liked to announce itself in the loudest voice possible, but this girl wore hers quietly – in the short, sharp line of her fringe, the set of her shoulders and the way she looked him in the eye as she spoke. Even if her clothes hadn’t indicated she was in sixth form, he’d have figured it out.
“Actually, we’re here to find you.”
“You are?”
“You used to work with Freya Newmarch, right? Well, she sent Sophie a parcel this morning. Inside was one addressed to me – Win” – a gentle acknowledgement that he might not have caught her name – “and when I unwrapped mine…”
She flipped round the parcel she’d been holding and Lucas saw his name scrawled across the front.
Lucas Antoniou
He took it, casting a glance at Sophie that didn’t quite land. Her confusion made sense now. Freya had never called him Lucas anywhere other than here. Around Kellan and the lads – which meant around Sophie as well – he’d only ever been Big T.
“You going to open it?”
“Sunny!”
“What, I—”
But Lucas had already torn the paper a little too hard, right through the middle of his name, sending a cascade of shiny little triangles spinning to the ground like the seeds of a dandelion clock.