by Gemma Rogers
‘We don’t know exactly, Mr Scott was very discreet and got her out in a hurry to save her reputation. I’m not sure how far it went, he didn’t disclose the details to the staff.’
I didn’t have to feign the horror Matilda and Susan expected to see. Had the student been Nicky? The question ate away at me, but the conversation swiftly moved on to a different topic, namely Mr Collins’ lack of personal hygiene.
‘I mean, he doesn’t even wash that scruffy old jumper and he doesn’t iron his shirts either,’ Matilda boomed, getting louder the more lager she consumed. Our waiter kept bringing top-ups every time our glasses became empty. We didn’t have to ask for another drink once.
The main courses arrived, and we got stuck in. Our food was delicious, and I was glad I’d worn my denim jeggings, grateful for the elasticated waist.
Matilda and Susan were an absolute scream. They knew everything about the school, from the caretaker having it off with one of the married dinner ladies, to the gossip that came out of the girls’ toilets at break time. All too soon it was almost ten o’clock and, with full stomachs and Matilda a bit tipsy, we decided to call it a night, agreeing to make it a regular monthly feature. I was flattered they’d let me join their little get-togethers. I wanted to fit in as much as Charlotte.
We emerged from the restaurant in the middle of a heavy downpour, saying our goodbyes briefly before escaping from the rain. I’d managed to get a space outside by pure luck, having caught someone leaving as the satnav announced I’d arrived at my destination. Susan, who was driving tonight, had parked around the corner, so they hurried away as I jumped in my car, locking the doors as I always did before starting the engine. As I turned the blowers on to clear my steamy windows, I caught a glimpse of a shadow at the passenger door. A loud bang on the glass made me cry out, echoing around the car.
I squinted, trying to make out who it was, and then the window began to clear. I could see a dripping Nicky, bent over and grinning at me. My heart pounded at the scare, breath catching in my throat. Checking my rear-view mirror to make sure Matilda and Susan were out of sight, I lowered the window.
‘All right, Miss.’ His smile was wide, teeth beaming in the darkness, unaware he’d scared me half to death. Rain beaded on his forehead, collecting and running down his nose.
‘Are you following me?’ I asked, knowing we weren’t near where he lived.
He didn’t answer straight away, eyes narrowed as his hands rested on the door.
‘No.’
I saw headlights in the rear-view mirror approach from around the corner.
‘You’d better get in,’ I sighed, unlocking the door, concerned Susan would see.
Nicky jumped in; he was drenched. The smell of cigarettes and a sweet amber-scented aftershave emanated from him.
‘Are you following me?’ I repeated. Nicky appearing out of thin air had spooked me, a mix of nervous excitement trickled through my veins.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. A glint in his eye.
I shook my head and, without waiting, pulled out of the parking space and drove down the main street until I found a side road. Turning in, satisfied we were inconspicuous in the poorly lit street, I parked up and cut the engine.
I turned around in my seat to speak, but Nicky was there, his lips on mine as he held my face, the urgency apparent. It was forceful and passionate, as though he’d been building up to it for a while. For a second, my defences evaporated. I leaned into him, my body betraying me as I pawed at his hooded top, pushing my hands beneath to feel his hot bare skin on my fingertips.
Sense finally prevailing, I pulled away. What the fuck was I doing?
‘Wait,’ I said breathlessly, resting my head back on the window. It was a mistake. I needed to think. I wanted air and turned on the engine so I could lower the fogged-up window. Nicky remained silent, his cheeks pink and hoody ruffled.
I stared at him, trying to make sense of what had happened. Watching the rise and fall of his chest. His head barely a few inches from the roof of the car.
‘Izzy, I…’ he tailed off.
‘I need to think, Nicky,’ I snapped, frustration boiling over.
He recoiled at my sudden outburst.
‘This can’t happen,’ I breathed, smoothing my hair and straightening my clothes.
‘Why?’ He looked genuinely perplexed.
I felt my nostrils flare.
‘There are a million reasons why. I’m married for one, it’s my fucking wedding anniversary tomorrow. What are you, seventeen? I’m old enough to be your mother,’ I ranted.
‘I’m eighteen,’ he said, grimacing.
For a second, I thought he was going to argue further, but instead he got out of the car. I watched him walk away, raising the hood over his head as he disappeared into the darkness.
‘Jesus,’ I sighed, checking my face in the mirror. I looked exactly like I’d been having a fumble, the skin red around my mouth from kissing. I sat for a while, not wanting to go home. The thought of looking David in the eye after kissing another man was unbearable, the betrayal weighing heavily on me.
It was only a kiss, the voice in my head whispered. There was absolutely no way I was going to let that happen again. I wasn’t about to lose my career or my marriage over a boy half my age. I was no Mrs Robinson. The thought of the stigma attached to a teacher-student relationship made me shudder. I hadn’t engineered this move to watch everything I’d worked for – the house and change of schools, as well as my relationship with Charlotte and David – go down the drain.
Goosebumps peppered my skin and I closed my window before starting the journey home. When I got there, David was sat at the oak kitchen table, fingers tapping at his laptop, engrossed in a spreadsheet. He raised his head when I dropped my keys, clattering to the floor in the hallway.
‘Good curry?’ he asked, eyeing me as I scooped them up.
‘Lovely,’ I replied and slipped off my shoes before heading straight upstairs to get changed, my waistband straining. I couldn’t focus, even removing my clothes was a struggle as my mind raced, thoughts all of a jumble.
I sat in bed attempting to read until I heard David’s footsteps on the stairs, quickly sliding the book under my pillow and turning off the bedside lamp. I feigned sleep when he came in the room, but I knew it was going to be a long night. My stomach was bloated with rich and spicy food and churned audibly, but it was my head that was elsewhere. I couldn’t concentrate on the book; I felt so guilty. It was impossible to switch off. How could I have let it get so out of hand? A line had been crossed, personally and professionally, and, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take it back. I relived the kiss again and again, every time I closed my eyes, like a five-second movie on loop. It was so real I could almost taste him on my lips.
13
David was heading out of the door when my alarm went off the next morning. I heard the handle being pulled up to lock the door as I came to. It was our wedding anniversary and the sky in collusion was grey and overcast. This time sixteen years ago, under a haze of bright sunshine, I was preparing for the happiest day of my life. Until Charlotte came along, of course.
Back then, I was so sure David was the one. He made me laugh; he was kind and handsome and I knew he’d be a fantastic father. All of this was before ambition took over and his career became the thing that drove him, excited him. He was climbing the corporate ladder and my career was put on the back burner whilst I raised our child. No discussion. I felt guilty, but playing the little wife at home and looking after Charlotte wasn’t enough for me. Those years had been a struggle, but we’d made it through. David didn’t understand; he thought I took it for granted, that I was lucky to stay at home and look after our child with no financial worries. It was why I kept quiet, not wanting to appear ungrateful, but I was jealous of my husband’s professional success.
On reflection, I’d been feeling isolated for a while. As soon as Charlotte was old enough to play out with her friends, spending time with
me wasn’t on the agenda. I couldn’t blame her, it was a natural progression, and I didn’t want to be the one to hold her back. The pregnancy last year allowed David and I to find our way back to each other and to what was important. I got excited at the thought of extending our family, grabbing it with both hands, until Mother Nature stepped in and a second child wasn’t to be. Now we seemed further apart than ever.
Once dressed, I dug out the card I’d written some weeks ago and the malt whisky, taking them downstairs to place on the kitchen table. There’d been nothing left out for me. I doubted he’d even remembered; romance had never been one of David’s strong points. He was much more practical; for our sixth anniversary he’d even bought me an iron.
Charlotte raised her eyebrows when she finally came downstairs, around ten minutes before we were due to leave.
‘Channelling Dad today, are you?’ she smirked.
I’d power-dressed in a pair of grey wide-legged trousers, a white shirt and waistcoat over the top. I loved an androgynous look.
‘Oh shut up, smart-arse!’ I said, spritzing myself with perfume.
‘Well, no one is going to mess with you today, dressed like that.’
‘That’s the intention,’ I replied, winking. It was true, I had to make the boundaries clear, if only in my own mind.
‘Mum, when can Amy come to dinner?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Tomorrow?’ I suggested.
‘Great. I’ll let her know.’ Charlotte began tapping at her phone.
The traffic was bad due to the imminent predicted rainfall, which thankfully didn’t arrive until we were safely inside the school building.
My morning whizzed by with a review of the scene in Romeo and Juliet where they meet at Lord Capulet’s feast, by year ten, followed by more declarations of love with year seven and their sonnets. The rain hammered on the classroom windows intermittently, the sky so dark we had to have the lights on.
At lunchtime, I was printing out the exercises for the last class of the day when Nicky walked in, drenched by the downpour which had disrupted his football game. His shirt was practically transparent and stuck to his skin. Rainwater dripped into a puddle on the floor where he stood. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
‘You’re as bad as me,’ he said, licking his lips and twisting the bottom of his shirt to expel the water. The ache from last night surfaced and I tried my best to ignore it.
‘No, I’m not,’ I whispered, more to myself than to him.
Nicky opened his mouth to speak, but the corridor and classroom filled with students sheltering from the rain.
‘I’d better go,’ he said, his voice low.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I wanted to know how it would feel to have his hands on me, just once. It was wrong, immoral even, but it wasn’t as if he was a child. Cheeks burning, I tried to focus back on the exercise sheets spread across my desk.
Charlotte came to my classroom after school had ended, the last hour had been painful for us both. She looked sweaty and dishevelled. I couldn’t help but smile, she was usually impeccably turned out, not a hair out of place. Girls her age were always so concerned with the way they looked.
‘What happened to you?’ I asked.
Charlotte dropped her bag at my feet and tied her hair back into a ponytail. ‘PE. We had the bleep test.’
I remembered it only too well, it was a form of torture that PE teachers kept for rainy days or when they were in a bad mood. Pupils had to run between two cones, from one end of the hall to another, whilst listening to bleeps on a tape, although by now there was probably an app for it. The number of seconds between the bleeps decreased as the test got harder, meaning the runners had to move faster between the cones. It was something I was never any good at and unfortunately for Charlotte, she’d inherited my not very sporty genes.
‘Come on, let’s go home.’ I packed my things and we dashed to car as the rain continued to pour.
When we got home, there were anniversary cards on the mat, posted by mine and David’s parents, but there was no note or card from David and no message on my phone.
I rung Mum and thanked her for the card, staying quiet when she presumed David had bought me flowers. It was easier to go along with her assumption of him being the perfect husband than admit he’d likely forgotten. I said we’d finished our unpacking and I’d arrange Sunday lunch when she was free. Mum had a couple of busy weekends coming up, with a trip to the theatre and then dog sitting for her neighbour who was having a hip replacement.
I put the cards on the mantelpiece. A reminder for David if nothing else.
Out of principle, I refused to cook on my anniversary, so I let Charlotte pick a takeaway. She chose Chinese and I opened a bottle of wine when it arrived, pouring myself a large glass. Charlotte noticed the card and whisky on the table.
‘It’s not Dad’s birthday, is it?’ she asked, her face scrunched, horrified she might have forgotten.
‘No, it’s our wedding anniversary. We got married sixteen years ago today.’ Charlotte put down her fork, her eyebrows raised theatrically.
‘And Dad’s not here?’
‘Nope,’ I said, taking a bite of a prawn cracker.
Charlotte looked more affronted than I felt.
‘Happy anniversary, Mum.’
‘Thanks, love.’
I’d resigned myself to the fact David had forgotten. Although when it got to half nine and he rolled in, it was the last straw. Charlotte was in her bedroom watching Netflix on her iPad and I’d sunk half a bottle of wine. Fuelled by the alcohol, I was no longer willing to let it slide.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ David said, coming into the kitchen. He took one look at my narrowed eyes and knew he was in trouble. ‘What’s up?’
‘You’re a twat, that’s what’s up.’ I stood to put my empty glass in the sink.
‘What have I done now?’ he sighed, and I felt my jaw clench, looking pointedly at the table where the card and whisky bottle, decorated with a red bow, had been left.
He followed my gaze and the penny dropped.
‘Happy anniversary,’ I said sarcastically as I pushed past him to go upstairs.
‘Shit! I’m sorry.’ He followed me up and I shot him a look as we reached the top.
‘Shh,’ I hissed, not wanting Charlotte to hear us argue.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, whispering.
I busied myself washing my face and cleaning my teeth as David sat on the bed. He didn’t even try to explain himself, his head bowed. I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say anyway.
‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he said, eyes downcast, staring at his shoes.
I couldn’t bring myself to speak. In that moment I despised him. When had he become so selfish, so engrossed in his own world that the lives of me and Charlotte seemed to run parallel to his?
I couldn’t bear to look at him for a second longer, rolling over to face the window, putting my earphones in, but the narrator’s words swam around my head, and I couldn’t take them in. My mind was so full, I thought my skull might shatter from the pressure. Eventually, after fifteen minutes of oppressive silence, he stood and meandered downstairs.
I woke up still angry. The mood from last night had followed me into the daylight hours. I’d struggled to sleep, tossing and turning, my mind and stomach churning simultaneously. David was still on the sofa when I came downstairs for a cup of tea. The anniversary card had been opened along with the whisky, of which a quarter had already gone. David was snoring and dribbling on my beautiful jacquard cushions and I scowled silently at him on my way back to the shower. I put on a black polka dot wrap dress with a statement necklace and heels. I’d show him what he was missing.
When I went to find Charlotte at eight, I assumed she was in her room, already dressed, but I was wrong. I found her still in bed, wrapped in her duvet with an extra blanket on top for warmth. She was shivering, eyes red, surrounded by used tissues.
‘Don’t you feel wel
l?’ I asked, stroking her fringe away from her clammy forehead.
‘Feel rough, Mum. I’m really cold.’
I tucked Charlotte back in and retrieved the thermometer from the bathroom. Her temperature was a dizzying 38.9 degrees, high enough to warrant a day in bed. I popped downstairs and made her a Lemsip, leaving it on her bedside table.
‘Dad’s asleep on the sofa. He had a bit too much to drink last night. I’ll leave him a note to stay home with you today.’
Charlotte nodded and closed her eyes to go back to sleep. I leaned down and kissed her damp head.
‘I’ll ring you later on, OK, text me if you need me. I’ll keep my phone on me. Guess we’ll have to have Amy around for dinner next week?’
Charlotte shrugged, which meant she must have been feeling rough.
I wrote David a note in large block capitals on A4 paper and left it on the floor in front of the sofa. I’d already seen his laptop on the kitchen table, so if he was intending to work at all, he could do it from home.
My mood, softened by Charlotte’s fragile face, darkened when someone cut me up at the roundabout on the way to work. Today was not going to be a good day.
14
My English Literature sixth-formers were taken aback by my verbal annihilation of Alec d’Urberville in our character discussion that morning. It was lucky I was not on playground duty either, as the rowdy girls showing off to the boys outside my classroom window would have got a talking-to as well.
I called home at lunchtime, after hurriedly eating my sandwich and having a quick catch-up with Matilda and Susan in the staffroom. I hadn’t told them about David, we weren’t that familiar yet, but I texted Stella – I needed to vent to someone. I received a message back, a single word.
Dickhead
I had no doubt she’d ring me later.
Charlotte informed me that she was still in her pyjamas but had moved out of bed and onto the sofa in front of the television. Glued to the news reporting on the thousands of people gathered in London protesting against climate change. The four-hourly doses of paracetamol seemed to be doing the trick, but she still sounded full of cold. David had been looking after her apparently.