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Friday. Tom loved Fridays. It was his humble opinion – which he was fully aware he shared with many, that Friday was the best day of the week.
There was definitely more of a spring in his step, as he shot through the North London park on his morning run, and even Bobby, who trotted alongside him at a steady pace, seemed to recognise and appreciate his Dad’s heightened mood. Normally, Tom would need to call him to heel several times, but today he stayed exactly where he should. When they reached the gates of the park he stopped and sat obediently and waited for his Dad to reattach his lead, and continue back to their home along the public footpath.
Yes, Fridays were good. Although this one, this particular Friday was even better than normal. Because today was the day that Tom had decided to finally act on something he’d been firmly decided on for some time.
You see, whilst most of the population loved a Friday because it signalled the end of their working week, and the start of a weekend away from wherever their mundane Monday to Friday’s took place, for Tom it was for another reason entirely.
Carla Cookson.
Tom had first met Carla almost three years ago, when he was assigned as her mentor when she enrolled at RADA. He had some choice in the matter of course. He was sent audition tapes, a brief bio, and then he responded with his own comments, and which students he felt he could help the most. Carla’s hilarious take on Helena from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” in her audition tape had him rolling about in his living room laughing and her bio had intrigued him. Or more so…her distinct lack of one. Sure, she had decent GCSE results, and she had A Levels in Drama and English. But that was it.
She was also thirty-two years old.
Of course, his curiosity won out. He needed to know what she’d been doing to hone her talent in the past fourteen years. And thus, when he sent his response to the audition tapes he made a very strong case as to why he felt he was the best choice of mentor for Carla, and days later he met her for the first time.
Carla was one of three students he mentored, one in each year group. But she really was something special. Not just in her talent, but her true beauty as a person, inside and out. The more Tom had learnt of her, the more absorbed he became. As a rule he could meet his mentees as much or as little as they required, and as he could manage along with his own career. But Carla was nothing if not committed, and insisted upon meeting once a week. Friday was her day, for one hour, at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Certainly, there had been times when Tom was unable to accommodate this, when he’d been away filming, or work related meetings came up. But even if he couldn’t be there in person, he’d make up for it with telephone or Skype sessions.
But today was going to be the last session they would share – on a professional level anyway. Because Carla would be graduating in just a few weeks, and next Friday would be her third year production, in which she was portraying the female lead.
This meant Tom would no longer be bound by his moral stand point as a professional and as her mentor, and he could finally ask her to dinner, like he’d been wanting to do since their second meeting.
Carla loved Fridays. They were her favourite days of the entire week.
Not to get her wrong, though, Carla loved every day she had the opportunity to do what she loved. Especially, since it had taken her so long to get there. ‘There’ being at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, RADA for short.
Starting at thirty-two, she was by far the oldest student in her class. But she had needed a bit of time to work out what she wanted in life. And when she had finally figured it out, there had been the family business to consider.
No, not a huge law firm or a bank or some kind of multi million dollar company. A very humble Fish and Chip shop by the south coast of England. It may not sound much to some people, but it was important to her family. Her Grandfather had started working there in his early twenties, taking over when he was thirty. He'd been working there until he too frail to keep it up, by that time Carla's father had taken over, while her mother helped, along with Carla and her older brother.
Alex, Carla’s brother, was older by five years and had decided to go to University and pursue a career in Law. He had dreams of being more than a Chippy owner, and their parents had been so proud, they wished him off without a second thought. Because they still had Carla to help them run the shop.
So, it had been up to her. She couldn’t leave her family hanging. Cookson's Fish and Chips needed to stay in the family.
And it still was. Because – and Carla thanked the stars, some gods and whatever power there might be for that – Alex had eventually realised the lonely life of a lawyer wasn’t for him. He’d become tired of the hustle and bustle of city life. He wanted the country life. The family life.
And that was Carla’s start at RADA. And goodness, what a start it had been. Of course she’d known that there would be mentors. Quite famous ones at that. But really? She could still remember her shock when she’d met Tom. The Tom Hiddleston. Loki. But not only that. Apart from being Loki, he was also a great actor in so many other roles. On stage and on film. And he knew so much.
It did help that he also looked good. Great, even. He was very easy on the eye. Obviously. And she liked him. And he liked her. At least, Carla thought so. He was always the embodiment of professionalism.
She looked up from her copy of Wuthering Heights when the door to the class room opened. As he'd done on almost every Friday for the past three years, Tom strolled into the room, two coffee-to-go cups in one of his large hands, a bag from the same bakery in his other hand.
Carla's heart beat faster. As it had been doing for the past three years as well. What had been a slightly star struck crush in the beginning, quickly became more, and now here she was, her last week at RADA ahead of her, her last days with Tom as well.
She bit her lip, casting her eyes downwards.
“You’re here early…as usual,” at Tom’s words Carla looked up, meeting his grin with one of her own.
“And you brought me a coffee, despite me repeatedly telling you not to…as usual.”
Tom walked closer to where she sat and put the bag and the coffee on the table in front of her.
“Of course…It’s the last chance I get to feed you a Danish and getting your daily dose of caffeine. Almost-RADA-graduate.”
Tom watched as the slightly younger woman looked down bashfully and bit her lip. She was such a contradiction. For someone so bubbly and alive on stage, radiating confidence there, in private she came across almost timid on occasion.
“Thank you,” she reached for her coffee and took a tentative sip, then hummed with satisfaction.
“So…what did you want to go over today? You can’t have much left to do…have you finished all of your assessments?” Tom asked, as he settled himself in the chair adjacent to her.
“Erm yes… I did my last one yesterday,” Carla nodded.
“And how do you think it went?”
“Okay, I think, it’s hard to tell isn’t it?”
“It is, but I know you have nothing to worry about. You’re going to do great.”
“I wanted to go over my monologue for the show? I think I may be over thinking it… I get about half way through, and it’s not that I’m forgetting the words, but I start panicking that I sound like a robot. That I’m focusing too much on remembering the words, and not performing them.”
“Okay…do you want to show me what you’ve got?” Tom encouraged, and Carla moved to stand. She positioned herself in the open area at the front of the classroom they were using for their meeting. She gazed around the room for a minute, apparently getting her bearings.
“Can you give me my cue, please? You know it?”
“I do,” Tom nodded.
As always, Tom found himself swept away by Carla’s performance, and though he understood her concern, he failed to see her being affected by it. Her monologue was flawless, he felt every emotion, and heard her empathy with her character behind every word. So he told he as such.
“Maybe I am over thinking it then,” Carla nodded slowly, when he gave his thoughts, “I just want to do a good job you know? I’m representing the school.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“That’s normal, I’d be worried if you weren’t” Tom chuckled, “I’m going to be there, I’ve got front row seats.”
“Really?” Carla’s eyes widened, “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
“Of course I’m coming, I wouldn’t miss it for the world…and actually…well I was hoping that afterwards…you might allow me to help you celebrate by taking you to dinner?” There, he’d done it. He’d asked. The words were out.
“You…you want to take me to dinner?”
Surely, she didn’t hear him correctly? But then she saw it. Was he actually blushing? No, that couldn’t be.
But there he sat in front of her, while Carla was still standing right where she’d just performed her monologue. Tom Hiddleston, her mentor, the man she might have fallen for somewhere along the way, sat on his chair, fidgeting, asking her out to dinner.
“Yes,” he answered. And it came out strong and sure.
Strong and sure though wasn’t how Carla felt at the moment. Maybe confused. If she felt anything at all. “As a,” she started, and then tried again. “As a way to say ‘thank you for not making me look bad and ruin my reputation by murdering the play, and thank goodness I’m not your mentor anymore’?” Carla was rambling now, and Tom chuckled. God, she was a mess. Was he laughing at her now?
“No,” he said, before waving her over. “And could you please come closer and sit down again?” Whilst Carla did as she was told – on slightly weak knees – Tom continued. “It’s by no means a dinner to celebrate me getting rid of you. It is marking the end of me being your mentor, though. And hopefully the start of new dinners... dates to come.”
“Wow,” Carla only realised that she'd said it out loud when Tom chuckled – again.
“You still haven’t said anything, though?”
Carla jerked. That was right. She hadn't. Did she want to? Goodness, yes, she wanted to. Tom was a beautiful man on the inside, and damn, for sure on the outside as well, plus, he was clever and funny, and everything she could ever really want or hope for in a man. “I... Yes. Yes I'd love to, Tom.”
He beamed at her. Really, she had only seen him smile so big when she aced her first school performance and she told him about the great feedback her teachers had given her.
“That’s great. I could come backstage right after the performance. I could wait for you and then we can go together. What would you like? Thai? Italian?”
Oh. Shit. Just as Tom said ‘Italian’, it dawned on her. Her family asked her out. They’d all be there, Mum, Dad, and Alex. She couldn’t bail on them, they were making a journey up to London after all.
“Tom,” she whispered and closed her eyes. “I—”
She could hear him sigh, “I went a bit overboard there, huh?”
Carla shook her head, then opened her eyes just to see Tom looking at her, biting his lip. “It’s not that. I promised my family to go out to dinner with them. They’re coming up for the show, I can’t let them down.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I understand. Of course, I understand,” Tom assured her quickly.
They both nodded. The atmosphere in the room, she normally felt so comfortable in, changed. It felt a bit strange, awkward really. Would he still want to take her out? Was it just to celebrate after all? Was he still coming?
Just as she wanted to ask him – or maybe say goodbye forever and rush out of the room, Tom smiled at her.
“Would it be okay, if I invited you over then? Today, if you don’t have any plans when we are done here? We could eat at my place, after we’ve finished up?”
Carla bit her lip. Go over to his house? Eat with him? Tonight? Tom looked at her, and it reminded her of a puppy. How could anyone ever say no to him?
“Yes,” Carla nodded. “Yes, I’d love that.”
Tom couldn’t quite believe today's sudden turn of events. Although he’d been pretty confident she wouldn’t turn him down completely. He had noticed her gaze lingering a little longer when she thought he wasn’t looking, and the way her cheeks pinked when he complimented her on her work. He’d expected he might have a little more time to mentally prepare himself for the actual date.
He wasn’t sure what had made him suggest today as an alternative for her being unable to join him for dinner after the show. It had sort of just jumped out of his mouth before he’d thoroughly thought it through, and then she’d said yes. Afterwards, they’d sort of grinned stupidly at each other and despite their best efforts they couldn’t get back into the swing of the session, and Carla quickly told him that perhaps maybe they should finish up, because really at this point they’d gone majorly off topic and she had little else she’d needed to cover.
Now Tom found himself standing on the busy underground, Carla with him, but across the carriage clinging onto the pole by the door, whilst he held the one above his head. It was like sardines in a tin, and unable to really talk, they just eyed each other up playfully, waiting for the train to empty out as it got further from the centre of the city.
It was only when they finally stepped off the train at Chalk Farm, that Tom suddenly panicked. What state had he left the house in? He’d not planned for guests. Plus he was due to be heading out of the city tomorrow and he was certain he was completely out of milk.
“Ah…I’m going to dash in here and grab some milk,” he told her awkwardly as they neared a Premier store.
“Sure,” she bobbed her head and followed him inside. Milk procured, they continued their five minute walk uphill.
“Erm…this was kind of unplanned, obviously. So sorry about the mess…and the dog, he’s probably going to try and lick you to death,” Tom paused, as he tapped in his entry code and held the front gate open for her, “You don’t mind dogs do you? You’re not allergic are you?”
“I love dogs,” Carla assured him with a grin, then glanced around as he lead her along the cobbled path to his home, “This place is beautiful, I had no idea places like this existed in London.”
“It’s like a little pocket of calm isn’t it?” Tom agreed, “I fell in love the first time I saw it.”
“I’ve actually never been to this part of London before. I mean I’ve been to Camden market but… not around here,” Carla explained, wide eyed and looking a bit out of her element.
“Really? You’ve not been up on the Heath?”
“Hampstead?” Carla asked, standing behind him as he turned his key in the front door then stepped inside and again held it open for her to follow him in.
“Yes…it’s around a ten minute walk, it’s stunning.”
“Honestly, when I’m not studying, I’m working in the bar, and even though it's still London it’s such a trek, I just never really have time,” Carla explained.
“Where do you live?”
“Oh erm… Lewisham, I have a room in a house. It’s not permanent, obviously. Just whilst I was studying,” her cheeks flushed and Tom could tell she was embarrassed by her admission. There was nothing wrong with Lewisham, a little rough in areas, and he didn’t like the idea of her walking around there on her own at night. Also, it really was a long way from Hampstead. He would make sure he called a taxi to take her home later.
“Hey, no shame in that, when I was at RADA I shared a house with five nursing students,” he grinned, “I’m going to go and release the hound from the kitchen, come through I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Okay.”
And then that was the last thing she said for a while, because as soon as Tom entered the kitchen, there was lots of barking, followed by a “Bobby, no!” from Tom and then a brown spaniel that obviously didn’t care for any of his master's shouts.
Carla knelt in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, the excited puppy running around her, seemingly indeed trying to lick every part of her body. She laughed and rubbed the dog's fur.
“Bobby, no!” Tom again called from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, ankles crossed, but already on the move to drag the dog away from his guest.
“No,” she stopped him. “No, it’s fine, I really love dogs.” Carla smiled up at him, and now he grinned back. “Shoo, go make me that tea you’ve talked about.” With a laugh, he did.
Honestly, she was glad there was a bit of a distraction now. She had felt so awkward all the way here, and Carla needed something else on her mind. Something else than her actually standing – well, kneeling – in Tom’s kitchen. Not to get her wrong, it was a beautiful kitchen. Smaller and not as modern as she imagined it to be. It was homey, a small table with just two chairs having its place against one wall, while the kitchen counters made of white wood took up most of the space.
It was obviously lived in, with a used tea mug and a small plate on the counter. She didn’t mind one bit, plus she was used to it, sharing a kitchen and a bathroom with other students.
“Okay, uhm,” Tom clearing his throat pulled Carla out of her thoughts. She looked up at him. She’d been so distracted by Bobby playing with her, that she didn’t even notice Tom had finished pouring the tea. She blushed. “Do you take milk and sugar?”
“Yes, two sugars,” she answered as she got up, Bobby now running between her legs, occasionally making the way over to Tom. “Please.”
He nodded and poured some milk into her cup and stirred in two generous spoons of sugar. Then he rubbed his neck. He was nervous, she could see that. And that equally calmed her and made her nervous as well.
“This is going to sound horrible and I swear I don’t have any dirty secrets, but would it be okay, if you waited for maybe one minute while I rush to the living-room to check Bobby’s not made a mess of the house while I was out?”
She laughed at his sheepish expression. “No, go ahead.”
And so he did, and like he promised returned to her less than one minute later to take her – and the mugs – to the living room and opening the back door to let Bobby out in the garden.
Tom’s living room looked nice, well lived in, and Carla immediately fell in love with the wall of books. So many books in fact, that some hadn't found their place on the bookshelf, but in front of it. Stairs led up to some kind of gallery and other rooms, surely his bedroom. Maybe. But Carla shouldn’t think about bedrooms in Tom's house.
They settled on the couch. It was awkward. They always had so much to talk about in the classroom, talking about plays and music and movies. But with a start Carla realised that those were the topics in the classroom indeed. It was school for her and work for Tom. She hated to think that was all they would have in common. Maybe this would be a one-time-thing because they’d realise that they didn’t get along. She'd be sad, but that was life, wasn’t it? Maybe they just had these three years.
“I,” they started at the same time and then both stopped, chuckling embarrassed. “You first,” Tom continued. Oh, dear.
“Do you feel awkward as well?” she blurted. Oops. She’d never been this blunt before. She could do almost anything on stage, but sitting here on a couch with Tom, sipping tea and staring at each other... She would normally not feel comfortable enough to just say something like that. Maybe that was a good sign after all?
“Goodness, yes. I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe it’s just the different setting? Let’s maybe talk about something we know.”
And so they did. They talked about everything. Shitty TV programmes they’d watched nevertheless, good TV programmes, Ed Sheeran's newest hit that was played non-stop on the radio. The latest movies, and what plays they wanted to see. That lead to books they wanted to see on stage, which in turn led to the shocking discovery that Tom hadn't read any Harry Potter books. Carla gave him hell for that.
Then they talked and talked, talked some more, only stopping when they ordered their food, they decided on a Curry. In fact that didn’t stop them from a conversation, Tom simply told her everything he knew about India. His sister had been living there for some time, his brother in law came from there. They even had an Indian wedding, something Tom talked about for about half an hour. Carla didn’t mind, she found it all very fascinating.
They talked about their families and pasts and futures and about so many things, that both of them seemingly forgot they were on a date.
When Carla glanced at the clock it was gone ten o’clock, and she gasped. Bobby, now sprawled out in his doggy bed, raised his head once, but soon realised nobody was leaving him and let it drop back onto the cushion. But Carla should, it was getting late and she had to travel all the way back home.
“What is it?”
“It’s so late. I need... I should head home.”
He stared at her, then swallowed. “Uhm, now?”
“Well... yeah.”
Tom looked at his phone which sat ignored on the coffee table, and realised it was indeed just gone ten o’clock. They’d been chatting, eating and drinking for over five hours!
“Of…of course,” he nodded, and in that second, as he shifted on the sofa, he realised their proximity. It appeared whilst talking they’d also gravitated towards one another. Carla sat with her feet tucked beneath her, comfortable and at home, and her thigh was pressed against his. His fingers had been absently drawing patterns over the denim of her jeans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late.”
“Not at all, I’ve had a lovely time, really, if it wasn’t for the fact that I have an hours commute, I wouldn’t be dashing off,” slowly she moved her feet to the floor, pressed her hands to her knees and moved to stand.
“Well, I was going to get you a taxi…I don’t like the idea of you travelling through London alone at this time,” Tom told her.
“There really is no need.”
“Please, I insist.”
“That’s so nice of you, thank you,” she finally agreed.
“I’ll call one now,” Tom leant forward reaching across her lap to grab his phone from the coffee table. Only as he leant forward he was stopped…by Carla’s lips on his. He stilled, and Carla pulled back quite suddenly, looking utterly horrified.
“Oh god, I’m sorry!”
“Wh…what?” Tom managed to splutter, completely confused as to why she was apologising for kissing him, had she given him chance he would have kissed back, but she ended it far too quickly.
“I didn’t mean…you leant forward, and I thought you were…oh hell, this is so embarrassing, I’m really bad at this!” Carla groaned, and pressed her palms to her face to hide her red cheeks.
“Have I missed something? What are you bad at?” Tom was chuckling.
“Men…I’m bad at men, at dating…I don’t really…I haven’t…I’ve just never been that good at it. I’m far too shy, and awkward and I do stupid things like that,” she spoke into her hands the whole time, refusing to look at him.
“Well…if kissing me is a stupid thing, then I can’t wait to see how terrible you really are at this dating malarkey,” Tom nudged her knee, “Now put your hands down and give me a proper kiss, please.”
“Excuse me?” Carla dropped her hands and looked up at him in astonishment.
“I asked you to kiss me again…properly,” Tom repeated, and she simply stared at him for a moment, and he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. But then one of her hands came up to his face, her fingers grazing his cheek, and the stubble along his jaw, then she leaned in and pressed her lips firmly against his.
This time Tom didn’t give her time to pull away, his hand was on the back of her neck, threading through her shoulder length light brown tresses, holding her in place. She whimpered quietly when he nipped her bottom lip and he couldn’t help but grunt against her mouth, and bring his other arm around her back, dragging her closer. Her lips parted and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, swirling against hers.
“You know,” he started, pulling away just enough to speak, “If I’m not keeping you from anything, you don’t have to rush off. Taxis run all night.”
“Hmm,” she pecked his lips a couple of times, “I was just thinking the same.”
That agreed, they kissed some more. Only parting when there was a whining from Bobby, and he was pawing at his Dad’s leg to be let out again.
Carla followed him to the back door, and whilst he waited for Bobby to do his business, he pressed her against the counter, taking advantage of the new position to let his hands roam a bit more, he dug his fingers into her hips, appreciating the softness there.
When Bobby trotted back inside, he locked up, and that’s when Carla spoke up, “I really should go now. It’s so late.”
“Yeah…yeah I know,” Tom sighed, dejectedly.
“We…we can do this again though? Yes?” she asked.
“I really hope so,” Tom agreed with a grin, “Perhaps next time I’ll take you on a proper date, wine and dine you?”
“As long as it’s with you, I don’t mind,” Carla told him, and he didn’t miss how quickly her cheeks flushed when she realised what she’d said, “Sorry…I’m really, really not good at this.”
“I really would beg to differ,” Tom chuckled, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth, lips brushing her knuckles, “I’ll call that taxi.”
“Thank you,” she said, and he went to move past her, leaning in again for another brief kiss, but she lingered, wrapping her arms around his back, they kissed soundly for another moment, just relishing he feeling of each other.
“Unless…” Tom started, “Christ, I don’t do this sort of thing usually, and at the risk of sounding a complete cad… you’d be welcome to stay.”
“Stay?” Carla blinked at him.
“Here…for the night I mean.”
“Oh.”
“Just because it’s late, and you’ll be in the taxi for ages, and Lewisham isn’t the most…no offense…desirable of areas. But mostly because I’m really not ready for you to leave, and I’d like to take you for breakfast at this lovely café just around the corner –”
“Where would I sleep?” Carla cut him off and he wasn’t sure how to answer. He knew where he wanted her to sleep. Though if that was where she ended up, sleeping wasn’t what he wanted to be doing, and given their sudden inability to last five seconds without kissing one another.
“How much of a gentleman do you want me to be?” Tom asked eventually, “I have a guest bedroom, if this is all too soon. I won’t hold it against you.”
“If you’re going to have me sleep in the guest room, then you can call me that taxi now,” she wasn’t failing to surprise him this evening. That shy, timid girl who always spoke so carefully in class, who only showed any ounce of confidence when on stage with an audience, was suddenly here in his house, all but telling him she wanted him. It was a boost of confidence that Tom was in such desperate need of.
“I want you in my bed, with me. Next to me. All night… god most nights actually. I know that probably sounds really… a bit much. But I have to be honest with you.”
“Tom,” she stopped him, placing her hands on his shoulders, and tiptoeing for another kiss, “Take me to bed.”