The morning was chilly enough for Nora to grab a cup of hot coffee and nestle upstairs in the cosy cafe that doubled as a bookshop. Nora had settled into her favourite spot close to Daunt's literature section that had small round tables and wooden stools scattered around different areas.
A cold draft slipped past. Nora tugged down the sleeves of her cardigan to keep her hands warm and wondered if Rafe knew what ten o'clock sharp meant. It was now ten thirty. For a person desperate to learn, he didn't look like he was in a hurry.
Nora loved this bookshop. More than a century old, it had once been an inn reputed to be frequented by secret lovers of the upper class and run by a famously wealthy madame who'd managed to buy her way into high society. She wondered what kinds of things had happened between these brick and plaster walls whose present October draughts made her pull her jumper closer. Immersed in her musings of an Edwardian woman waiting to meet her Italian lover, she barely caught the lazy approach of footsteps in time to compose herself.
She peeked over the rim of her book and caught Rafe watching her with tired, bloodshot eyes.
He had a subtle growth of stubble on his strong jaw, and his hair had become long and messy. He looked dishevelled and exhausted. How he still looked handsome, in a rugged way, was a mystery to someone like her. It kind of annoyed her, actually.
The chair scraped the floor with a screech as he pulled it and sat down. He dumped his books, a crumpled piece of paper, and a pen onto the table. The mess that he created in a split-second annoyed her even more. The snug, historical atmosphere had disappeared. She sat rigid, her book in hand, and stared at him hard.
He caught her glare and threw his backpack on the floor. "What?"
"Why are you late?"
"I barely got up this morning," Rafe explained, rubbing his temples. His voice was scratchy.
Nora caught a scent of alcohol lingering on his breath, along with coffee and the scent of expensive aftershave. "I've never woken up earlier than noon on a weekend."
Looking at the clock, he looked oddly proud of himself.
"Why did you barely get up this morning?" Nora could hardly contain her irritation. She knew the answer to that question already.
"Went out to a pub last night."
"So that's your excuse?"
"What is your problem?" he said. "I showed up, didn't I? So, I'm a little late; I'm still paying you for the full hour. And any additional charges or whatever," he said as if he were the one doing Nora a favour and not the other way around.
There was a moment of silence. Nora reached into her pocket, crushed the fifty-pound note in both of her hands as if moulding a snowball, and flicked it in his face.
"Donna pazza!" he said as he bent down to reach the note that bounced off his face and onto the floor. "What's wrong with you?"
"This isn't about the money. This is once again about your bad manners. This was a mistake after all," she said, standing up.
"Okay, okay..." he said, putting his hands up. He had the cheek to smirk, "Where's the janitor's room?"
She shut her book and grabbed her bag. Rafe jumped out of his seat to block her way out. Humor went out of his face. "Where are you going?"
"I knew this wasn't going to work. You got your full refund. Now get out of my way."
Rafe rubbed his face but would not move. "Why are you making this so damn difficult? I thought we had a deal."
"We did. It was to meet at 10.00 sharp."
"Seriously? You're mad that I'm thirty minutes late?"
Nora could tell Rafe had gotten used to being waited on and punctuality was never a concern for someone from the Ferreira family.
"Yes, because I need you to respect my time. I know you pay for it, but it's not an excuse for your rude behaviour or tardiness."
"Being late is hardly rude behaviour. I think you're being over-dramatic," Rafe said.
"Oh yeah? How were you planning on studying? You look like crap. You smell like crap. You probably feel like crap."
He looked affronted and sniffed his shirt. "No, I don'tâ"
"You have to meet me halfway. Literally, for starters!" she said, looking at the clock. "Keep your money. I knew this was a mistake."
Before she could leave, he grabbed her by the shoulders. The gesture threw Nora off. The low ceilings of the cafe made him look even taller, and there was a wooden beam that Rafe almost hit his head on. She wished he had.
"Hey. Sit down. Please." She wished his voice wasn't so scratchy and attractive. She was supposed to be annoyed at him.
"Why should I?" She glared at him, defiant.
He sighed. "Look. I'm sorry I'm late. And not looking up to your standards, or smelling, apparently. I didn't know you were punctual. Let's set some rules. I won't be late again. I promise."
After a moment of hesitation, she did as he asked.
"Fine. Ground rules. Be on time. And you won't drink heavily before or on the day we are supposed to be studying," Nora said.
"Yes, fineâ"
"And just because you pay me doesn't mean you can expect no effort or manners on your behalf."
"Okay."
"And you will be neat. Invest in good stationary, notebooks, and plastic wallets. You need to be organised physically to concentrate mentally. You will do everything according to my instruction."
His face soured. "Geez is that necessaryâ"
"We're doing this my way or no way." She crossed her arms. The black frames of her glasses reflected the morning sun, and he couldn't help but notice her hair was just as shiny and just as black.
"Fine," he said with exasperation. "Are you done?"
Nora replied with a curt nod, her straight ponytail bobbing behind her.
"But I have some rules, too," he said with a pointed finger, "I refuse to be up before ten o'clock on weekends. Unlike you, I have a life."
"Fine," she replied, unfazed by the comment. They both knew there wasn't much of a social life here in Berk. "Is that it?"
"Yes. Oh, and don't fall in love with me," he said. His tone was back to being playful. He even added a wink.
"Any realistic rules?"
He chuckled. "I warned you. So anyway, are we cool?"
"I have one more thing to ask of you," she replied business-like.
"Oh Madonna, what else?"
She stood up and made him stand up, too, ignoring his questioning look. "I will step on your foot."
"What? Why?"
She sighed. "Because you stepped on my foot, remember?"
"How could I not? It was the highlight of my first morning in school. So?"
"So, since you stepped on my foot, I have to step on yours."
"What are you, five? No, piss off, these are Loro Pianas," he pointed at his chic, stone coloured suede loafers.
"It's hard to explain... but you jinxed me."
Rafe looked sceptical. "You have some freaky foot fetish. I knew it. It's always the quiet ones that are kinky."
Nora reddened. "It's not a fetish; it's...uh... superstition."
"Fine, for the love of god, go for it," he said, and Nora lightly pressed on foot. She felt the balance restore in the universe and felt much lighter. She let out a small sigh of relief. It had been killing her since that first day of school, that feeling of unevenness.
"Thank you," she said and sat back down on her chair.
"You are such a weirdo. Happy now?" he asked, shaking his head, his eyes crinkling in amusement and confusion.
"Yes," she said before grabbing his stuff. "Anyway, let's see what you have here," Nora said and reached for the mess on the desk. She began stacking the papers and books neatly to one side.
Rafe produced another crumpled paper with his last year's transcripts. She scanned the grades whilst Rafe waited and then began her calculations.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm converting your marks to percentages to see what you have to achieve this year for a B grade. A if we're lucky."
"What convinced you to help me?" he asked after a few seconds of silence. He winced with every judgemental glare she threw at him. His grades were so random.
"Was it the money? Or the kindness of your good heart?" The last part dripped with sarcasm. "You were so against the idea."
Nora shrugged, not tearing her eyes away from the grades. "Bit of both. I figured I could make some money, and it would look good on my CV."
"You see? It's a win-win deal. May I call you sensei?" he asked with a grin.
"Depends. Are you being a racist about it?"
Rafe looked taken aback. "Of course not...just thought it sounds cool...you know, like in Karate Kid."
She guessed he was referencing some sort of a movie and couldn't believe how dorky he could be. "If you want..."
"You've never heard of Karate Kid?" he asked. She slowly shook her head. "Looks like I'll have to educate you too..."
Nora set the paper back on the table in front of them. "Explain to me why all your coursework has such high grades?"
"I uh had them done for me. I bought them basically."
"Ah, so that explains your terrible exam marks. You couldn't purchase those, could you?" Rafe shrugged in response with a small smile. "Apparently, money doesn't buy everything."
Nora blew out a sigh. "Well thanks to them, you can still achieve high grades this year with some effort. We will create a detailed plan of which subjects we will cover on which days. And then we'll practice, practice, and practice. Which university are you hoping for?"
"London Business School."
"Oh. That's quite a goal."
Rafe clenched and unclenched his hand. Nora noticed for the first time the scars on his knuckles from his previous fights. She also noticed that he shook his leg again. A habit that drove her insane during English classes, especially when she needed to concentrate. Why was he always so restless?
"Why is this so important to you?" she asked.
"My dad said if I don't get my shit together, I can say goodbye to my assets, trust funds, and freedom. He thinks I'm a disappointment. For once, I'd like to prove him wrong."
"By getting into a good university?"
"Yes, that, and last a year without trouble. I had to move to three different schools because I got into some form of trouble. Constant suspensions and expulsions and detentions. My family had enough. So, they sent me to this hole."
Nora glared at him, hurt by the use of words in reference to her current home.
He raised his hands. "No offence," he muttered.
"You know we will have our fair share of disagreements whilst I'm tutoring you. I better not have a broken nose at the end of our sessions," Nora said, her eyes flicking to his fists.
Rafe frowned. "Cazzo. I'd never hit a girl."
"Good. Let's get started then."
"Wait, I'll need about a litre of coffee before we begin."
* * *
An hour passed, but neither of them noticed. Nora didn't have a broken nose, but she did have two broken pencils that he snapped in half when he couldn't understand the allegory in Faust. He was also testing the very limits of her patience. She was beginning to think that she had bitten off far more than she could chew.
"Rafe you need to focus. Give me your phone," she said.
"Why?" he said, wriggling from her reach, like a child. "I will write out the paragraph. I just need to answer this one text. Real quick."
"The phone is distracting you. I'll give it back to you as soon as you finish that essay."
She held out her hand and was determined to get her hands on his phone. With a defeated sigh, he plonked the latest smartphone into her outstretched palm. She pushed up her glasses in satisfaction, and they ploughed on, but not without more distractions and arguments.
"Rafe, stop drawing naked women."
"Rafe, stop looking at the clock. I'll tell you when you can have a break."
"Rafe, you just used the bathroom ten minutes ago."
"Yes, I do know that coffee is a diuretic."
"Rafe, no I wouldn't pierce my nipples for a million pounds."
"Maybe five million."
Nora looked at the clock. They'd been at it for almost three hours, a task that would usually take her forty minutes tops. Well, Rome wasn't built in one day.
The other customers in the cafe came and went. Some, like them, were glued to their seats, indulging in a good book, throwing an occasional judgemental or curious glance their way. She had created a plan for his studies. Analysing his strengths and weaknesses, she concentrated on English Literature the most. It had a large volume of material to absorb and memorise. French was doable as it was so familiar to his native tongue, but she would still help him expand his vocabulary. The maths he could handle on his own. He was far better at crunching numbers than weaving words.
Letting out a long, tired sigh, Nora called for a break.