Page 63 of Emma
“Okay,” Vanessa murmured. “What will you do if she doesn’t look at you?”
“Nothing,” Emma said. “I’ll do my job. I’ll teach. I’ll say ‘good game’ or ‘tighten your passing’ or ‘careful of your footwork’. I’ll be her teacher.”
Vanessa nodded, a hint of pride sparking inside her. “And if she does look at you?”
“Same first,” Emma said with a smile this time. “Teacher first. If she hangs back, if she comes up to me…I’ll keep it brief. ‘I’ll be sending you an email, but there’s no rush to reply’. And then I’ll leave the corridor. No pressure.”
“Good.” Vanessa nodded. “That sounds sensible.”
Emma picked up her mug and blew on her tea, which no longer needed blowing on. “I hate that I’m afraid of wanting this too much.”
“I know.” Vanessa slid her hand into Emma’s sleeve and found her fingers, warm and fidgeting, just as she’d expected. “You’re not wrong to want it. You’re wise to hold it gently at bay.”
Emma’s eyes shone. Not with tears, exactly…just glossy in the thinning light. “If she says no or if she says ‘not now’, I need you to remind me that isn’t a life sentence.”
“I will,” Vanessa said simply. “And if she says yes, I’ll remind you to breathe between every sentence.”
Emma laughed, and some of the tension vanished so suddenly that Vanessa felt it leave the space between them. “Deal.”
“Give me a second to get my tea.” Vanessa rushed into the kitchen and lifted her lukewarm cup of tea from the counter. Not because she needed it, but because it was a ritual and it mattered. She returned and sat back down beside Emma. “Do you want to practice?”
Emma gazed back at her, confused. “Practice what?”
“What you’ll write,” Vanessa said, tilting her head. “Say it out loud. Sometimes hearing the shape of it helps.”
Emma groaned. “I’m really not sure where to begin, babe.”
“Humour me.”
“Okay.” Emma exhaled a deep breath. “I don’t know how I’ll start it yet, but I thought maybe just something simple. Something along the lines of ‘Nia let me know it would be okay to send you a message. I just wanted to say that I’m here if you’d ever like to talk. No pressure at all.’” Emma’s voice softened. “‘If email feels awkward, I’m happy to write—proper letter, stamp and everything—or not write at all until you want to. You can take as much time as you need.’”
Vanessa’s throat tightened. “That’s perfect.”
Emma picked at a loose thread on her cuff. “I feel like I should add something more…me.”
“Then add one small Emma-ism,” Vanessa said. “Not a joke that makes light of this. Something that lets her know you’re a person, not just a letter.”
Emma fell silent for a moment, and then she smiled faintly. “‘Also, this is wildly uncool, but I’ve been practising chest passes in my kitchen since Friday. If you want me to show you how toreallyperfect it, I’m available between 3 and 3:10 p.m. every day when the corridor by the changing room is empty.’”
Vanessa snorted. “That’s the perfect level of uncool.”
“Too much?”
“No. It’s just enough.” Vanessa smiled as she lowered her cup of tea to the ground and took Emma’s hand. “It tells her that you’re still you, and that she can be a teenager in this,notan adult.”
“Okay. I’ll start writing it when we go in. I won’t rush, but when it’s done, I’ll send it to Ellie and Nia before I send it to Freya.”
“Look at you,” Vanessa teased. “Model employee.”
“Please email Ofsted,” Emma deadpanned. “Tell them I’m thriving.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, allowing the severity of what they’d faced recently to settle into place. The sky had darkened, but Vanessa felt brighter than she had in a while now. She turned to find Emma studying her, that soft, present look that had been missing for too long. “What?”
“You’ve held me together over the last couple of weeks. All of this would have broken me if I didn’t have you.”
Vanessa tucked a knuckle under Emma’s chin and stared deep into her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”
“I know,” Emma whispered. “I want to do right by them. By everyone. Even Carmen. I don’t want to be the bad guy in someone else’s story.”
