“No,” I said honestly, “I don’t care about their money.”
Sandy nodded, “Well, just so you know, Oliver is an excellent catch. So is his brother. Alexander gets loads of girls and he’s popular here, too, but if you ask me, he’s not Oliver,” She pulled off a stocking and tossed it on to the floor. “He’s not nearly as nice.”
“So he’s had loads of girlfriends then?”
“Oliver?” She tossed her other stocking, “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not here at Bennington anyway. Ollie’s only had one girlfriend at Bennington that I know of. Her name was Gloria and it was third year. All the girls hated her and told her she had pasty skin, even though she was really very cute. She was really a nice girl, if you want the truth. She lives in Welshpool like him. I don’t know why they broke up. They seemed to still be friendly. Her parents decided not to send her back this year. I’ve heard they’re having legal issues and it’s costing them a fortune. But anyway, Oliver hasn’t had a girlfriend here since, not for anyone not trying. And he never snogged Gloria at the lake that I know of, so, you see, if you were caught with Oliver Dickinson’s lips on yours, most of the girls here at Bennington will really hate you, at least for a while.”
After she explained, it was somewhat entertaining being with the boy almost every other girl seemed to want, even if she pretended she didn’t. I sort of flaunted it, if you want the truth, by rushing to his arms and clinging to his side as I returned their nasty looks. Of course, they all had Alexander, who was willing to share himself freely, but Oliver…he was all mine. We thought we’d die when winter break came along and we had to be apart for two whole weeks.
“Can I ring you, Silvia?” Oliver asked me the morning we were scheduled to leave. He was facing me with his hand on my shoulder, caressing the bend in my neck with his thumb. It was fairly obvious he had no idea how seductive it was, “Do you have a phone?”
“We do, but my dad is odd about it,” I had an urge to turn my head and kiss his hand, but I didn't. There were too many people around and I didn't want a scene if somebody saw. Instead I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, “He doesn’t like for it to ring. He gets jumpy and upset. He says it’s for work and emergencies only. He’s really mental about it.”
Oliver looked disappointed, “Well, can I come and see you then?”
My heart began to pound, “I’d love that if he’ll let us! I’ll ring you and let you know!”
He smiled and my heart beat even faster. “Brilliant!” He grinned, “I do hope you do!”
He and his brother were taking the train home that morning Oliver and I walked hand in hand to the school bus that transported the students to the rail stop. We stood for as long as we could together on the edge of the drive outside the gates of Bennington. He was concerned about leaving me behind. “Your dad's coming to collect you?”
“Yes. He'll be here soon enough.”
“I hate going with you still here.”
Professor Rankin shouted at Oliver to get on the bus. He kissed me quickly, a move which could have bought us both a detention, but our professor chose to ignore it. “See you soon,” He took a step back and stopped. He sort of cocked his head and looked at me as if he were deciding something. “Silvia, I...”
“Come on!” Professor Rankin shouted.
His head jerked toward her, then quickly back at me, “See you soon, Sil,” He said and with a quick smile crossed the road and climbed on to the bus.
I stood there at the edge of the road watching him. Through the glass I saw him walk down the aisle and sit beside his brother. He leaned over him to gain access to the window. Alex shoved him a bit. Both of them waved to me as they pulled away.
It was the first time in almost five months that I’d been in anywhere where Oliver wasn’t within running distance. It was odd how completely unnatural that felt.
I walked back to the school with my hands in my pockets. It was windy and the cold nipped at my cheeks, but I didn’t care. It reflected the way I felt inside. The quad was dotted with only a few students, none of which I knew, all of whom were scurrying to finish their business before they left off for home. I went to my room to make sure I'd packed properly, although I was certain I had. I'd left school more than enough times for holiday to know exactly what I could do without while I was home. I sat on my bed for a while, feeling terribly sad and not being sure of why. It was a familiar feeling, an emptiness that I'd always had. A disappointment, really, because I knew full well there was absolutely nothing to look forward to. I'd go home. I'd sit in my room and read. I might even fall in love with a book or two, but I’d be alone. Maybe I’d spend some time with my sister. Annoying and silly, she was. I loved her to bits, but she was nine, still wanting to play with her toys, and I was fifteen and no longer even slightly interested in childish things.
I was too serious, really. It came from having lived the life I had at schools. Everything was organised and structured. There hadn't a whole load of time for fun or silly games, so when the moment came that I could relax I had no idea of how to do it. Not on my own anyway. The only time I ever felt carefree was when I was with the twins and they were both officially out of my life for two whole weeks.
To add insult to my feeling put out, my father was late. He was often late. Sometimes not just a little late, but hours late. Sometimes he'd forget all about collecting me all together, confusing his days. I'd have to stay an extra night when it happened, so it was a good thing that some of the staff lived on premises or it might have been even more embarrassing. After an hour alone on my bed, I decided to head down to the common room and sit on the sofa. There was the off chance that somebody pleasant might happen by and give me some sense that the whole world hadn't disappeared and left me behind.
I was deeply involved in a novel when Dad came bursting in with Madame Pennyweather at his side, “Sorry I'm late,” He proclaimed. His hair and trench were damp with rain, “I got caught up. Do you have your things? We need to get going, Silvia, and get your sister next so I can get back to work.”
I dutifully closed my book and shoved it into my satchel. Daddy had already grabbed my bag and was giving me his “hurry up” face. I kept my eyes away from his as I moved to the door. I didn't say a word. I didn't see any reason in it. It's funny the way that man could make me feel like I was less than nothing. He was more than a little late and still reserved the right to hurry me along as if his rush were my entire fault. He did that quite often, this indirect abuse, and I am still confused as to if he ever intended it. Still, it was hurtful. I'd tried to tell him once, but he'd gotten terse with me and told me I was over-sensitive and over-reacting. I never said a word to him about it again. I learned quickly that with him, somebody else was always at fault. Nothing was ever his doing, not if it wasn’t perfect. It was obvious that his priority was never me, so I learned to take care of myself and I never spoke to him at all if I didn't have to.
Madame Pennyweather walked beside me out of the school with her hand in the centre of my back, “Have a lovely holiday, Miss Cotton,” She said gently, “Do you have plans with Oliver over break?”
“No, Ma'am. I don't imagine I'll see him until we're back.” I sort of whispered it. Even though he was three steps ahead of us and I knew he wasn't listening, I didn't want my father to hear.