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  Jen doesn’t say anything. She’s still scanning the letter. Then she puts the paper down.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘Did you just say something about money?’ Jen asks.

  ‘Don’t you offer to lend me any. You know I won’t take it.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to, because your place is fully funded. Look. It says so right here. They pay for everything.’

  ‘What?’ I take the letter. ‘But ... how? I haven’t applied for scholarships or anything like that.’

  ‘You don’t need to,’ says Jen. ‘Take a look at that.’ She points to a paragraph. ‘Your place is fully funded, which means accommodation and food are paid for, and they’ll give you a living allowance and preparatory budget.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ I read the paragraph over and over again. I feel like I’m going to faint. ‘Fully funded?’

  ‘Now tell me a good reason why you can’t accept.’ Jen takes the letter again, and carries on reading. She turns the page over and reads right to the end, her eyes rushing back and forth. ‘Soph, where’s the envelope?’

  I shrug. ‘In the garden I think. Why?’

  ‘We’d better go get it.’ She hurries outside, and I follow her past the crumbling walls of the cottage, to the lawn, flowers, trees and vegetables of Dad’s garden. I say Dad’s garden, but truth be told, it was Mum’s garden, and now it’s mine because I’m the only one who takes care of it. Not that it’s a chore – I love growing things. I’d be out here all day if I had the choice.

  Jen picks up the brown envelope from the garden table. ‘You’re not going to believe this. Stop twiddling your hair. There’s nothing to be nervous about.’

  I drop my hand. My hair is straight at the top, but goes wavy at the bottom, so I’m always twiddling the ends to try and straighten them – especially when I feel nervous. My hair makes me look ridiculously young, like a little girl with ringlets, but Jen always says she’s jealous of my Kate Moss waves. I’d prefer her straight, blonde hair any day.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘A fully funded place means your accommodation, food and living expenses are all paid for,’ says Jen. ‘And they’ll buy all your books for you, too. But that’s not all. They’re giving you a one-off payment. For clothing and university supplies.’ She picks up the envelope and feels inside. Triumphantly, she pulls out a cheque.

  ‘Oh my goodness.’ I take the cheque and look at the amount. It’s more money than I’ve ever had in my life. I put my hand over my mouth.

  ‘Do you know what this means?’ Jen asks.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘It means,’ says Jen, ‘we’re going shopping.’

  Chapter 5

  Usually, going shopping with Jen is a mixed blessing. She’s great fun, always making me try things I’d never dare on my own, and she has endless patience. But she also has an endless credit card, whereas I’ve always had to survive on minimum wage earnings from one of my many part-time jobs.

  Most of the time, I can only ever afford practical things, like jumpers and jeans, and only one item a month if I’m lucky. But today, I can buy whatever I want. No checking price tags. No heading for the cheapest shops. It feels great and weird at the same time.

  We pull into the shopping centre car park, and Jen sticks a parking ticket behind the car windscreen, then links arms with me.

  ‘This is going to be fantastic,’ she says. ‘I’ve seen so many things that would suit you for autumn.’

  We take the lift to the first floor – a floor I usually avoid, since it has all the shops with clothes I can’t afford.

  ‘Look, there’s a sale on in that shop,’ I say, pointing. I have a good eye for sales.

  ‘Forget the sales today,’ says Jen. ‘They’ll be selling off summer stock. You need the new season stuff. Clothes that’ll make you look hot enough for Marc Blackwell to fall madly in love with you.’

  I laugh. ‘I can’t see that happening.’

  ‘Come on,’ says Jen. ‘I know exactly where we should go.’

  She takes me to Brickworks, a beautiful boutique that smells of essential oils. Rails of clothes are dotted around a huge, white floor space.

  I see a forty-something woman with cropped, platinum-blonde hair and black sunglasses leading around a beautiful, tall girl who I assume is her daughter. They both have armfuls of clothes, and I wonder what it must feel like to be so rich you can buy whole wardrobes in stores like this. I guess I’m about to find out.

  Jen is already loading jumpers and dresses into my arms. ‘This one is over-sized, off-the-shoulder. Look at that green. It’ll go perfectly with your eyes. I’d love to have brown eyes. This is your season, you know. Autumn.’

  I smile at her. ‘You and your seasons.’

  Jen is obsessed with colours, and matching them to people. Apparently I’m an autumn, which means I can wear oranges, soft greens and yellows. Jen wears cool colours, like silver and very pale pink.

  I look at my eyes in the mirror, and suddenly think of my mother. My eyes remind me of her. Sometimes, I worry I’ll forget her completely. The memories fade every year, and bit by bit she slips away. That’s why I keep pictures of her all around my annex, and have a box of her things under my bed.

  ‘And these jeans – wow. You’ll look so hot in these.’ Jen throws a pair of skinny jeans, tastefully ripped, and the most beautiful grey colour, over my arm. ‘And jewellery! I love the jewellery here. This necklace will go perfectly.’ She loops gold hoops of crinkled, beaten metal around my neck.

  Jen hurries me towards the fitting room, where an attendant opens a door for us and hangs the clothes on artfully twisted metal hooks.

  ‘May I suggest a draped t-shirt with those jeans,’ she says. ‘You’re a size eight, right?’

  ‘She is, the lucky thing,’ says Jen. ‘And she still thinks she’s fat.’

  The assistant brings us a hanger of smooth, draped fabric in a buttery, fawn colour.

  ‘That is just perfect for your skin tone,’ says Jen.

  ‘But what about the green jumper?’ I say. ‘I like that too.’

  ‘Soph, my love. You’re forgetting. Today you don’t have to decide between things. You can buy both of these.’

  ‘Right.’ I nod and smile, realising it’s true. Weird.

  ‘Did you notice our autumn boot collection?’ the assistant says.

  ‘No, I ...’

  ‘She’ll try on whatever boots will go with skinny jeans,’ says Jen, ‘and some high heels for this dress.’

  ‘But I never wear heels ...’

  ‘Soph, you don’t have to be practical today. You can buy things that are a bit silly. Things you might only ever wear once in a blue moon.’

  ‘Where would I wear high heels?’

  ‘My mother always says, buy the outfit and the event will come.’

  ‘Okay, fine.’ I give in.

  I try everything on, and as usual Jen has a perfect eye. The soft, blue dress she’s picked out sparkles under the store lighting, and clings to my waist in a way that’s both classy and sexy. The high heels make my legs look terrific. I feel like I’m someone else – someone who won’t look out-of-place at Ivy College.

  ‘It all looks great,’ I breathe, putting everything carefully back on the hangers. I check the price tags. ‘Yikes. Jen, I don’t know ...’

  ‘Oh yes,’ says Jen. ‘You’re taking the whole lot. New wardrobe, new life. If you don’t buy it, then I’m buying it for you.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Jen is always threatening to buy things for me. She knows I’d never let her, but she still tries. ‘Fine. I’ll buy it.’

  ‘All of it?’ Jen asks. ‘Jewellery too?’

  I notice the sales assistant leaning in keenly.

  I smile. ‘Yes. Everything. Belts, boots and jewellery.’

  Jen and the sales assistant both clap their hands.

  ‘Great!’ they say
in unison.

  Chapter 6

  Seven stores later, and I’m weighed down by paper bags. I’ve watched countless beautiful pieces of clothing being lovingly folded and packaged in tissue paper. One store even sprayed the paper with lavender oil, and offered to carry the bags to our car. I’m used to clothing with red sale stickers on, scrunched into polythene bags.

  ‘There’s something else you need before I take us for coffee,’ says Jen.

  ‘I’m taking you for coffee,’ I say. ‘It’s the least I can do. You’ve bought nothing on this trip. It’s all been about me.’

  ‘Soph, all the times you’ve traipsed after me while I’ve tried things on, and gone home with nothing yourself. This is a treat for me. I love seeing you get new stuff. You deserve it more than anyone. You work so hard.’

  ‘You’re such a good friend,’ I say, taking her arm. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without you when I’m in London. I’m going to miss you so much.’

  ‘I’ll come down and see you all the time,’ says Jen. ‘I’m only ever a phone call away. Anyway, I reckon you’ll have a whole new set of friends within minutes. You’re so kind and thoughtful, people always want to be around you. You’ll forget about me in no time.’

  ‘Never,’ I say.

  She steers me towards the end of the shopping mall, where all the men’s shops are.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  She leads me towards the bright lights of the Apple Store, its white interior glowing with tablets, laptops and computers.

  ‘I thought this would make you happy,’ says Jen, squeezing my arm.

  I’ve always been a bit of a cyber geek, and love computers, gadgets and games. Not that I’ve ever been able to afford many of them, but I’ve always enjoyed helping Jen choose a new mobile phone or computer.

  Inside the store, I approach a line of white laptops, all thin as a paper notepad.

  An assistant wearing an Apple t-shirt approaches.

  ‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Are you interested in a laptop?’

  ‘That’s an understatement,’ I say, running a hand over a perfectly smooth Apple logo on a bright white laptop case.

  ‘What’s your budget like?’

  ‘Um ... well, I guess ... I suppose I don’t have a budget.’

  ‘Oh. Well, we have credit plans -’

  ‘No. I mean ...’ I know my cheeks are going red. ‘Price doesn’t matter.’ I feel embarrassed, like I’m showing off. ‘At least, not today.’

  He looks at me curiously, no doubt wondering how a twenty-something girl, in scruffy converse and a bobbled sweatshirt, can afford to say price doesn’t matter.

  ‘Well, is there any model that takes your interest?’

  I move along to the newest Mac laptop. It’s light as a paperback novel, with a battery that lasts all day. It’s so weird to be heading towards the highest-priced item, rather than the lowest. Usually, I scan prices to find the cheapest thing. It doesn’t matter where I am – a restaurant, cafe or department store. I’m hardwired to look for the lowest price. It’s difficult to break the programming.

  ‘She’ll take this one,’ says Jen, following my gaze. ‘It’s the best one, right?’

  ‘I would say so,’ says the assistant. ‘It literally came out last week. There have been waiting lists for it, but we restocked today and we’ve got two left.’

  He goes to a back room and returns with a smooth, flat white box. ‘Here it is.’

  ‘If she’s buying at full price, what else can you throw in?’ says Jen, her eyes sharp.

  The man swallows. ‘Well. I suppose ... a laptop case?’

  ‘What else?’ says Jen, tapping her foot.

  ‘And some virus software.’

  ‘And one of those ... what are they called? Mice? Is that what you’d call them all together?’ says Jen.

  ‘You want a mouse with it?’ the assistant asks.

  ‘Yes. Add a mouse and we’ll shake hands.’

  The man looks uneasy, but I think he realises it would be stupid to argue with Jen in barter mode.

  ‘Deal,’ he says.

  ‘Great!’ Jen leads me to the till.

  We leave the store with me clutching my laptop like a new baby. I love it, I love it, I love it.

  Jen sees the grin on my face, and puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘This has been the best day.’

  Chapter 7

  When Jen drops me off, I see Dad in the cottage doorway, waving at us. He comes to the car window.

  ‘Christ almighty. Another shopping trip, Jen? How much did this little lot set your dad back?’

  Jen looks at me, and we share a quiet understanding that neither of us will tell him all the shopping is mine. Dad gets really anxious about money. If I told him I’d received a huge cheque for clothing and university supplies, he’d want me to put it in a bank account and buy clothes from a charity shop. Which is very sensible, and exactly what I’d usually do. But I’m glad Jen forced me to live a little.

  ‘Would you girls like a cup of tea?’

  I glance at the cottage, trying to work out if Genoveva is home. It sounds bad, but sometimes I avoid going in if she’s there because she’s always bossing me around. If it’s just Dad and Samuel, it’s fine. I’d never admit to Dad I feel that way. It would break his heart to know we weren’t all best buddies.

  ‘Is Genoveva home?’ Jen asks, always straight to the point.

  Dad scratches his head absentmindedly. His hair is black and grey now, and totally bald at the back. Genoveva has bought him this hair thickening stuff he uses sometimes, that turns his scalp black. He’s been bald since his early twenties. It never bothered my mum. I know the other taxi drivers tease him about it sometimes, but he can put up with teasing.

  ‘She’s taken Samuel to have his photo taken, with a friend,’ says Dad.

  ‘Didn’t know she had any friends,’ Jen whispers.

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ I tell Dad. ‘But don’t worry. You look tired. I’ll make it.’ My dad is the sort of person who makes a mess. He doesn’t mean to, but I know if he makes tea, there’ll be hot water and sugar all over the counter, and it’s me who’ll end up clearing up, else he’ll get snapped at by Genoveva.

  ‘Thanks, but I have to get home,’ says Jen, turning to me. ‘Can I have your opinion about something before I leave?’ Her eye twitches, and I know she wants to talk to me alone.

  When Dad goes inside, she says, ‘Do you think he’ll be upset?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I pull hair curls down, and feel them ping back up again. ‘I mean, it was always on the cards that I’d move out this year, but I don’t think he’d expect me to go so far away. I think they’ve come to rely on me for childcare and that sort of thing.’

  ‘He’ll cope,’ says Jen. ‘They both will.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘And once I’m out of the annex, they can rent it and make a bit of money. So the sooner the better, really.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Jen. ‘You will tell him today, won’t you? I don’t want you putting it off, then changing your mind about the college.’

  ‘I will.’ I take a deep breath. ‘It’ll be hard, but I’ll do it.’

  ‘Good. Your dad’s a soppy old so and so, but I think he’ll take the news just fine. You’ll see.’

  She starts the engine and drives away.

  I go into the house, and hear the kettle rumbling.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Do you want one of your camomile jobbies?’ Dad asks.

  ‘You sit down. I’ll do it,’ I say, going to the cupboard and taking out mugs. There’s no need to ask Dad what he wants – it’s always tea, made exactly the same way. Very white with two sugars.

  ‘You always make it better than I do anyway,’ says Dad, smiling and sitting at the dining table. The cottage is old, but Dad took out a lot of walls when he first bought the place, and everything is open plan. The kitchen and dining area open right out into the living spa
ce, and there are black wooden beams running along the ceiling. It’s three times the size of my annex and always warm and cosy.

  I’d never tell Dad, but the annex gets freezing at night and my bed sheets always feel damp. Sometimes, my box of Mum’s stuff gets mould on it, and I have to wipe everything clean.

  ‘Soph – I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but is there something on your mind?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ I say, a spoon of sugar hovering over his mug.

  ‘It’s just ... you seem a bit distracted.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe I am a bit.’ I drop the sugar into the tea and start to stir. ‘How are things with Genoveva?’

  Dad laughs. ‘Oh, you know. She likes a row now and then. Nothing different than any other couple, I expect.’

  Mum and Dad never used to row. They were both so agreeable, there was nothing to row about.

  ‘But you’re okay? Generally?’ I ask. I don’t want to drop a bombshell on him if he’s had a bad day.

  ‘Oh yes,’ says Dad, staring out of the window. ‘Generally okay. I wish I could let you stay in the annex for as long as you liked, but -’

  ‘Dad. Come on. Not this again. It’s fine. You’ve got Genoveva and the new baby to look after now. You need the rent from that place. I’m a grown up. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I don’t deserve a daughter as good as you,’ says Dad, taking his mug of tea. ‘There are custard creams in the tin.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I love custard creams, but right now I don’t feel like eating. ‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath and let it out. ‘I do have something to tell you.’

  Dad puts his mug on the table.

  ‘Are you okay, Soph? Is there anything you need help with?’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Nothing at all. But I have news for you.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dad tries to smile.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s great news really, in one way.’

  ‘Well. Let’s hear it.’

  ‘I’ve been offered a fully funded place on a postgraduate course.’

  ‘That’s fantastic news, Soph,’ says Dad. ‘Really, really fantastic.’ He breathes out. ‘Oh, that’s such a weight off my mind. I’ve been having sleepless nights, thinking about how you’re going to get a job in a village as small as this one. Without a car, and all that. I wish I could buy you a car, but – Soph, do you need to stay in the annex a while longer, then?’