around the room and into the adjoining classroom. “Are there any toilets here?”
“Yes. But they’re for the kids. You can use the toilet in the office building if you like.”
He lowers his voice. “I don’t need to take a piss, Elizabeth. I need to flush out the pipes while the mains are switched off.”
My cheeks heat. “Oh, yes, of course.”
“Could you let everyone in the building know not to use the toilets or taps until I’m done?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” He gestures to the T-shirt once again. “Looks good on you.”
I glance down, my face scrunched, and he walks away.
“Ms Hanson?” Jacey Preston is shuffling on the spot, legs crossed.
I don’t need to ask what she wants, so I just say, “You’ll have to come with me. Our normal toilets are broken.”
Her smile shows more discomfort than relief, so we make our way into the office, and I give her permission to use the toilet adjacent to the sick bay.
“She’s not gonna spew, is she?” Carly asks, glancing over my shoulder. “You can deal with her if she does. I’ve done my quota of kid spew this year.”
“She’s not going to be sick. She’s just using the toilet. Will said not to let anyone use the toilets or taps in our building until he says otherwise. Do you mind making an announcement to that effect, please?”
“Sure. But does that mean I’m gonna be inundated with midgets needing to poop and pee all afternoon?”
“I don’t know, probably.”
Carly pulls the type of face you pull when you realise you just stepped in dog shit, and I can’t help but internally laugh. She’s not a fan of kids, which begs the question as to why she works in a primary school… with kids. Lots of kids.
I learned long ago not to try to figure out how her mind works though, because some things cannot be solved. Like chickens and eggs, and which of the two came first. Carly is a chicken and an egg.
“Excuse me, students and staff,” she says into the school’s PA system. “The toilets and taps in Blue Building are currently out of order. Please do not use them. Instead, use Yellow Building, the recreation room, or—” She pauses then pouts.“—or the office. Thank you.”
“It won’t be for long,” I say. “I’m sure your friend will have it fixed in no time.”
“Afraid not.”
The sound of Will’s toolbox thudding to the floor at my feet again startles me, and I snap my head in his direction.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve found what appears to be several underground leaks behind the building. I’ll need to bring in the excavator and check all the joins.”
“So you’ll be spending a bit of time here then?” Carly asks, her smile slyer than a Disney villain.
He nods then looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m gonna be here, every day, for the next few weeks.”
What?
Chapter Seven
Carly places my herbal tea on the benchtop as I enter the kitchen. “You’re not wearing that today.”
I look down at my overalls and flannel shirt. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Is it Old McDonald had a Farm Week at school? Did I miss the hillbilly memo?”
She has a point—albeit a rude, insensitive point.
“It is a bit ‘rural.’ I’ll give you that.” I shrug and pick up the mug, cupping it in my hands. “But I like it. It’s comfortable.”
“And there lies your problem.”
“What problem?” I take a sip and scald my tastebuds. “Ffff, that’s hot.”
“No shit! It’s just boiling water with a tiny bag of fucking gross steeped in it.”
“Green tea isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, Carly.” Supercilious fuzzies wave over me, and I smile, a slight wobble to my head. “Ha! See what I did there?”
She deadpans, “Back to your ridiculous outfit. It’s comfortable, which is a bad thing.”
“How is being comfortable a bad thing?”
“Because comfortable equals slob.”
“Are you calling me a slob?”
“Yes.”
I glance at the coffee granules she spilled on the bench and the teaspoon she has no plans to put into the dishwasher.
My eyebrow hitches.
“What?” She looks down at her mess.
“And I’m the slob?”
“You’re a fashion slob. I’m a domestic slob. There’s a difference.”
“There’s no such thing as a fashion slob.”
Carly sighs. “How many times were you dropped as a child?” She tosses the teaspoon in the sink, swipes the coffee onto the floor with her hand, and nudges me toward my room. “Come on. Let me unleash your inner erotic sex slave.”
“What?” I stumble and latch onto the doorframe for dear life. “No! Wait! I want to be a hillbilly.”
Fidgeting with the tight-as-fuck