Reckless

by Gemma Rogers

  ‘Whatever you want to do, honey. I can always drop you in town if you’d like. I’ve heard there’s a good cinema and a bowling alley.’ Charlotte had always enjoyed the cinema too. I had been taking her to the toddler mornings on a Saturday since she was three, whenever there was a good Disney or Pixar movie out. Packing the bag with lots of treats would help to keep her sitting still for two hours, which sometimes felt like a marathon. We hadn’t been to see anything for ages, the days when all it took was a bag of sweets to coax Charlotte to the cinema were long gone.

  When we arrived at the pool, it was relatively quiet, except for a few boys showing off for Charlotte’s benefit and making the lifeguard blow his whistle at thirty-second intervals. My daughter, at fifteen years of age, was becoming more attractive every day and it wouldn’t be long before boys were knocking on the door. She had so much spirit, more than I had at her age. Dark and brooding, like her father, but when she got angry, she was as unpredictable as a firework. The transition into the teenage years had been a challenge.

  I eased into a couple of lengths of breaststroke in a lane I had all to myself. Swimming was my favourite form of exercise; all stress would dissolve, and I’d allow myself to daydream. Gliding through the water, being weightless, was blissful and I even found the smell of chlorine heavenly. I contemplated my day and the move to St. Wilfred’s. So far it had been a success and I was hopeful that it would continue. I had bridges to rebuild with David and Charlotte, but for the first time in a while, it felt achievable.

  4

  When we got home, Charlotte disappeared to her room; she wanted to ring her friend Lisa from her old school. I wasn’t overly happy about it, but I understood that it wasn’t fair of me to expect her to cut ties altogether. Plus, it was a fight that I didn’t think I’d win.

  Even though it was early, I poured myself a glass of wine from the bottle I’d opened last night. A reward for a good day. We were having chicken fajitas for dinner, but by the time it was ready, the kitchen was a mess. As I laid the table, David came in, dumping his laptop bag in the hallway and striding into the kitchen. He kissed me on the cheek and pinched one of the sliced peppers from the chopping board, tossing it into his mouth before I could object.

  ‘It’s lovely to have you home early,’ I said, giving him a quick squeeze around the middle, but even my good intentions of being affectionate with David felt alien now. With the house move last month and new jobs for us both, there had barely been any time for intimacy. It felt like we were ships passing in the night.

  ‘How’s the job going?’ It was David’s third week in his new position, and this was the earliest he had been home from work since he’d started. Charlotte and I were getting used to eating alone.

  ‘OK actually. I had to present some projected savings to the vice president yesterday, which is why I was late back, but it went well, and I think they are going to implement my suggested changes.’

  I beamed at my clever husband.

  ‘You’re not the hatchet man, are you?’ I laughed, but David shook his head.

  ‘No, I leave that to someone in Human Resources,’ he joked.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘What about you, how are you finding the rabble at St. Wilfred’s?’

  ‘Fine, they seem nice.’

  We sat down to eat when Charlotte eventually emerged from upstairs, informing us that Lisa had been suspended already, in her first week, for fighting. Mine and David’s eyes met, silently confirming we’d made the right decision to move schools.

  After dinner, David changed out of his suit and he and I sat in the lounge to watch the latest satellite movie premiere, or rather, he stared at his mobile all night. By ten, I was yawning and ready for bed. Swimming had taken it out of me; I’d lost my stamina.

  In the bathroom, I slipped on a silk nightie and cleaned my teeth, leafing through a book in bed until David came upstairs.

  When he climbed in beside me, the mattress dipping and his body cold, he rolled onto his side to switch off the lamp. I gently pressed myself against his back, caressing the base of his neck with my lips. David reached behind and placed his hand on my thigh, patting it lightly. A minute later, I heard him snore.

  I turned away, letting a sigh escape, and stared at the ceiling. I’d been dismissed. We had to get over this hump and there was only one way to do it, but I couldn’t do it alone. We hadn’t been together physically for over three months and the longer it went on, the harder it was to get back into. I hadn’t spoken to David about it yet, hoping it was a blip and there would be no need for any awkward conversation, but it was fast becoming the elephant in the room.

  Our sex life had been sporadic at best since last year. I’d accidentally fallen pregnant. A tummy bug had purged my contraceptive pill a few days before a rare night away. My best friend Stella had stayed over to keep an eye on Charlotte and we’d booked a night in a hotel in Brighton. It had been such a shock when we found out, as conceiving Charlotte had taken a year of trying and when we’d tried for another child it had never happened.

  Although the pregnancy wasn’t planned and the age difference between the children would have been massive, we decided it was a gift. But just before I reached the sixteen-week mark, I miscarried. We were devastated and it somehow fractured the relationship between David and I. I was grief-stricken, consumed by guilt and emotionally shut down. David tried to help me through it, but I became cold and detached. Eventually he gave up trying to console me and we’d been papering over the cracks ever since. It became something we never spoke about, although looking back now, we could have done with some counselling.

  Charlotte wasn’t told about the pregnancy; we were going to surprise her with the scan to show the sex of the baby. There seemed little point in upsetting her to tell her about a brother or sister she would now never have. I’d tell her when she was older. As a result of the miscarriage and complications during the operation to remove the remaining foetus left behind, doctors confirmed I would likely be no longer able to have children. Scar tissue in my uterus and cervix would mean getting pregnant could be problematic. At thirty-nine, I felt I was getting a little old, preferring to concentrate on the family I had already. But David changed, he’d said it was like having a winning lottery ticket snatched out of his hand. I’d pushed him away, sure he blamed me for the miscarriage. I’d tried to take good care of myself. I’d taken folic acid and extra vitamins; exercised, drank plenty of water, but I couldn’t hold on to our baby. Now it felt like I hadn’t just lost my baby, but my husband too.

  I desperately missed how close we used to be. David was always affectionate, and I loved that about him. He never missed an opportunity to grope me in the kitchen, sneaking up behind me when I was doing the washing up and ‘unarmed’. I’d been desired and I wanted us to get back to that place but wasn’t sure how. Exasperated, I put my headphones in and listened to the latest Jane Fallon novel I’d downloaded, to drown out David’s snoring.

  On Wednesday, Mr Scott requested a staff meeting after school, which worked out well as Charlotte asked to go home with one of her new school friends. She gave me the address and asked if I could pick her up on the way back. I was looking forward to meeting them. I was hopeful that Charlotte had learned from her mistakes and would make better choices in whom she spent her time with. The teachers gathered in the IT classroom, a looming room with high tables lining three of the four walls, a monitor and keyboard for each pupil stationed a few feet apart. We congregated at a bank of desks in the centre.

  To start, Mr Scott introduced me to the remaining members of staff I hadn’t already met in the staffroom and then moved on to discuss the addition of after-school clubs. He hoped we would have suggestions in our relevant areas of expertise.

  Mr Ross, the PE teacher, proposed to coach a netball team after school on a Tuesday, in addition to the mixed football club he already held. I made a mental note to inform Charlotte, sure she would enjoy netball if she could be persuaded to sign up.
Matilda asked if she could run a pottery class, to which Mr Scott agreed in principle, depending on the cost of the clay. Mr Collins, the history teacher, was a chess enthusiast and said he would find out if any of the students would be interested, before advertising a club.

  I shifted in my seat, counting silently in my head as I felt my pace quicken. They’d been around the table, but I was yet to contribute.

  ‘I could run a creative writing club, if you think any of the students would be interested?’ My voice started strong but tailed off when everyone turned to look at me.

  ‘Fantastic idea, Izzy, yes I think that has legs. Catch all those future authors and journalists.’ Mr Scott clapped his hands together and I felt the prickle of perspiration on the back of my neck. I drummed my fingers on my thigh, counting, until the attention was diverted.

  I agreed to advertise my club, to be held on a Friday after school for an hour, which only gave me two days to plan. My chest fluttered as though caged birds were inside at the prospect of running a class where all the pupils that attended wanted to be there.

  The meeting concluded at half past four and, as we walked out together, Matilda invited me to join her and Susan for dinner. They were going to get a curry and I was disappointed I couldn’t join, but it was too short notice and I had to get Charlotte. Next time I promised I’d come along if they gave me a date.

  I wanted to make friends with my work colleagues as Stella had moved to Nottingham over the summer to look after her elderly parents. She was only at the end of the phone and I spoke to her often, but I missed having a girlfriend to go shopping or out for dinner with. These days, I seemed to spend much of my time alone.

  Deciding it was a bit early to get Charlotte and not wanting to ruin their after-school fun, I ventured into town to find the library. If I could borrow some books on creative writing to have a read through in preparation for the class, it would be a good start. I hadn’t run an after-school class before, so was nervous at the prospect although it was a subject I loved. If I was lucky there might even be some suggested exercises I could use.

  I’d seen signposts to the library on my way to school, so I had a fair idea where it was and, after a couple of wrong turns, I eventually found it. Libraries were my favourite places; quiet and peaceful, where time stood still. The smell of books was intoxicating, and hours could be wasted leafing through the latest romance offerings.

  Today, however, I went straight to the information section and avoided fiction altogether, knowing it was a place I’d lose time. In a peculiar slow sidestep walk with my head leaning to the right so I could read the titles, I found the section on creative writing. Many looked dated, and I took a few out of the bookcase, turning them over to read the back cover before returning them to their rightful places.

  ‘Hello, Miss.’ A voice from behind made me start and I almost dropped the book I was holding. I spun around to see Nicky, shirt now untucked, sporting a mischievous grin.

  5

  ‘Hi,’ I could feel my chest reddening. It was where it began, before it crept up my neck, leaving a mottled pattern it its wake. This is ridiculous, why am I blushing?

  ‘Nicky,’ he said smiling, introducing himself.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked, trying to appear unflustered. What was he doing here? I expected him to be running around a football pitch or out with a girlfriend, not knee deep in books.

  ‘Good thanks, what are you looking for?’ His gaze travelled downwards to the book in my hand, nodding appreciatively as I raised it for him to see.

  ‘You?’ I asked, to be polite. I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable. Nicky’s wasn’t a year group I was used to dealing with. I’d never taught sixth formers before. They were practically adults.

  ‘Sports Science, for my A-Level. I also need to learn about muscles and ligaments for Biology.’ His eyes glossed over me and I pulled my jacket together. The action made his eyes glint. I felt like prey about to be consumed. Physically he was imposing, tall and broad, and I couldn’t help feeling out of my depth, despite being twenty years his senior. ‘They’ve got a coffee shop upstairs; do you want to get one?’ Nicky asked.

  My eyebrows shot up momentarily. He was so self-assured, as though he was talking to a girl his own age and not a teacher. Taken aback, it took a few seconds to formulate a polite but firm response.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s appropriate, Nicky, but thank you.’ I turned to leave with the book still in my hand, my skin steaming beneath my clothes.

  ‘It’s not a crime, Miss,’ he called after me as I hurried to the self-check-out machine, feeling foolish for leaving so abruptly.

  I fumbled around in my bag for my purse, but before I could get my library card out, he was beside me.

  ‘Chill out, Miss, it’s only a coffee. I know you’re new here and if you ever want anyone to show you around, let me know.’ He shrugged and turned to leave.

  I felt a pang of guilt as I watched him walk out of the door to his car. Perhaps I wasn’t being fair, he was just trying to be kind. Likely an attempt to make amends for how we met. Almost running a teacher off the road wasn’t the best first impression and I was sure he felt embarrassed.

  Through the glass, I saw he’d parked his car next to mine. Had he followed me here? No, of course he hadn’t, I was being stupid. The near miss the other morning had unsettled me around Nicky, despite this I could still feel the tell-tale thrumming of my pulse in my neck.

  The self-service machine didn’t work, and I had to register for a new card as the one I had was redundant in this borough. The man behind the desk was painstakingly slow and questioned every answer on my form as though I was signing up for an exclusive membership to some secret society. All the time, I tapped my foot, counting steadily to four as I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, waiting for the anxiety to disperse. I hadn’t always been this way. I used to be confident, but it seemed the older I got, the more fearful I became. Counting, repetitive actions and swimming were the only things that calmed me.

  As the librarian generated my card, and my tapping slowed, I consoled myself that Nicky wasn’t on the list of A-Level English Literature students. I’d checked that morning, worried he might put me off. Blushing like a teenage girl whenever we spoke was embarrassing. The more awkward I felt, the redder I became. Something that had plagued me since childhood. Although as I got older, the episodes became less frequent. Until now it seemed. I didn’t know why he made me nervous, something about his manner, his confidence perhaps?

  Eventually I was handed my card and was able to check out the creative writing book. It was one I’d ended up with rather than chosen, distracted by Nicky’s arrival, but it would have to do.

  I typed the postcode into the Audi’s satnav feeling silly about my notion of being followed, as Nicky had left the car park already. I took the directions to collect Charlotte, driving through a small newly built housing estate with picture-perfect semi-detached properties in a line. Amy’s house had beautiful silver pots by the front door, filled with pink begonias. I was looking forward to meeting her mother, but Charlotte slipped out of the front door when I rang the bell, closing it firmly behind her.

  She said she’d had a good time but didn’t offer any more details. I had a feeling she wanted to keep her friends close to her chest. Worried that they’d be ripped apart if she formed any attachments I deemed unsuitable. I’d tried to explain, when we told her we were moving her out of Wallington, that I was only thinking of her future, but she’d refused to listen. She didn’t utter a word to me for two weeks, her door was constantly being slammed, and I knew she was struggling with lack of control of her own life. It kept me up at night, worrying we’d made a mistake, but I knew I had to get her away from that crowd. I had visions of the police bringing her home, stoned out of her head, and social services intervening.

  ‘Stir fry for dinner tonight?’ I suggested, hoping Charlotte would agree. I wanted something quick and easy so I could have a soak i
n the bath. Charlotte seemed fine with that idea and reluctantly helped me get the ingredients out when we got home. We were making progress; my attempts at conversation hadn’t been brushed off completely, although she rolled her eyes when I complimented her on how well I thought she was doing with the massive change. When I dished up, I still hadn’t heard from David, so put a bowl in the microwave for him as usual.

  Once we’d eaten, Charlotte carried on with homework at the dining table and I went upstairs to run a bath, adding a few drops of moisturising bath soak David had bought me last Christmas.

  Slipping off my black ankle grazers and polka dot blouse, I stood in front of the mirror in my mismatched underwear. The once white bra had turned a light shade of grey. Perhaps it was time to go shopping. My figure wasn’t too bad, a small paunch around the middle I hadn’t managed to lose since having Charlotte, but my legs were long and slim. They were my best feature and I needed to get them out more often. Every year I promised myself I would wear more skirts and dresses, but trousers were like a comfort blanket. I wasn’t as toned as I used to be, but if I got back into swimming, it would make a difference.

  The reflection staring back at me wasn’t bad for someone soon to be forty. I dyed my hair a mahogany red now as the greys were beginning to peak through, but I kept it short in an angled bob that was, according to Charlotte, on trend.

  Sliding into the bath, I sighed and closed my eyes, the warmth soothing. Running my hand over my stomach and watching the water run off my skin, I enjoyed the sensation. I missed being touched. David hadn’t touched me in months.

  I remembered when our sex life had been fun and spontaneous. We were forever giggling, grabbing opportunities when Charlotte wasn’t around. For a while, losing the baby had turned my body from a means of pleasure into something I despised. My chance of a baby had been snatched away and it took time to come to terms with the fact I’d never carry again. As soon as I felt ready, I began reaching out to David, trying to instigate some longed-for intimacy, but he seemed detached. When would he be ready? How long would I have to wait?