by Gemma Rogers
The day flew by in a haze; I was distracted for most of it. With each passing minute, I felt my stomach tie itself in knots. When three o’clock finally came, I briefly stopped by the toilets for a quick spritz of perfume and to refresh my make-up. It wasn’t until I sat in my car and turned the key in the ignition, I saw my hands were shaking.
I breathed deeply, counting over and over again. One, two, three, four; one, two, three, four. I started the car and pressed the clutch so I could run through the gears until I felt calmer. It was silly to feel nervous when I’d been with Nicky before. Twice. But this time seemed different, it was planned, and we would have more time together than our previous fumbles.
I didn’t look like a teenager any more. I had wrinkles and stretch marks and had even noticed an age spot appear on my hand in the past year. Trying to shrug off my insecurities, I reminded myself that, according to Charlotte, all the girls fancied Nicky. If that was the case, he could have his pick. But he’d chosen me. I didn’t feel thirty-nine any more than he likely felt eighteen.
His nineteenth birthday was right before Christmas, only a couple of months away. I knew because I’d taken a peek at his record while the secretary, Ruth, was out at lunch. She’d left her computer on and Mr Scott had been deep in conversation with Mr Ross in the staffroom. I knew where he lived, that his mother’s name was Pat and that there was no father living at the home address. I also looked at his grades; his GCSE results were of a high standard. He’d had a gap year before coming back for A-Levels. Why? Had he had to go out to work to help his mum out? Or maybe there were health issues in the family at that time? I couldn’t ask without it being obvious I’d checked up on him and it wasn’t an option to ask any of the teachers. I couldn’t risk drawing any unnecessary attention to me and Nicky. He was clearly smart and, in a strange way, it made me feel better; I wasn’t taking advantage of him.
The weird thing was, I felt like I needed him. I needed whatever it was between us. Without it, all I had was a crumbling marriage, and I couldn’t face that right now. With negative thoughts laid to rest, I hurried to Brampton Road, parking further down the street than necessary.
Nicky’s home, in the middle of a row of terraced houses, had a dark blue front door. Before I could knock, the door swung open and Nicky stood waiting for me. He wore a salmon coloured T-shirt and lose-fitting jeans. His feet were bare. He stepped aside to allow me in.
‘Hi.’ I said, my voice low. I could barely meet his eyes.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked and I nodded, following him to the back of the house, into the kitchen. He made me a pint of Robinsons squash and I couldn’t help but see the irony as I took a sip. ‘How was your day?’ He leant on the counter, his posture relaxed. The opposite to how I was feeling.
I stood stiffly, waffling on about my day, the nerves taking hold. I drummed my fingers on my thigh.
Nicky stared, a quizzical smile emerging.
‘You do that a lot.’ It was a statement not a question.
‘It’s an anxiety thing,’ I replied dismissively, wishing the ground would swallow me up.
Nicky took the plunge, moving first and beckoning me to follow him upstairs.
‘No need to feel anxious here,’ he said over his shoulder. His bedroom was remarkably tidy; painted a dark blue, with posters of Cristiano Ronaldo and Gareth Bale. A poster of a young Angelina Jolie in a bikini adorned his wardrobe door. I swallowed, feeling my throat close up. It wasn’t that dissimilar to Charlotte’s bedroom. Aftershave bottles and deodorants lined the top of a chest of drawers and an Xbox connected to a small tv in one corner on the floor, Call of Duty games stacked up neatly beside it.
Counting in my head, I placed my coat and bag on the floor. My stomach churned, and I worried I might be sick.
As I considered making a run for it, Nicky approached, raising his hands to hold my face and kiss me so gently that I melted into him, my nerves held at bay. I’d never wanted anybody more. He unbuttoned the top of my blouse, lifting it over my head and letting it fall to the floor. Feeling exposed, I felt the flush creep up my neck as I undressed him. I took my time to appreciate his body, stomach hard and smooth to touch as I ran my fingers across his abdomen. I felt his hands at my back and heard my zip descend, letting my skirt drop. He held my hand to help me step out of the floaty pile of fabric on the floor.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered, as I took my turn and unclasped his belt before tackling the awkward metal buttons of his jeans.
When we both stood before each other in our underwear there was nowhere to hide, no soft lighting and no bed covers to shield our modesty. I kissed Nicky hungrily and we scooted over to the bed. We made love, just as he’d said he wanted to. His hands touched every part of me so tenderly, different from the other times we’d been together. He moved on top of me slowly, fingers entwined, our bodies pressed together tightly. He seemed to know exactly what to do to, how to touch me so I’d respond. I was amazed at his ability to know the way around a woman’s body.
Afterwards, we tried not to fall asleep as we laid together, listening to the occasional car driving past. Nicky assured me his mother wasn’t due to come home for a while, but every noise set me on edge. The irony of worrying about being caught by Nicky’s mum hadn’t escaped me. I wrapped the checked duvet around myself and he pulled on his boxer shorts before opening the window and lighting a cigarette, offering me the packet.
‘Sod it, why not.’ I took one and he lit it for me. ‘I didn’t know you smoked?’ I said.
Nicky raised his eyebrows.
‘Only sometimes.’ I hoped he wasn’t doing it to impress me? No, Nicky was way too self-assured to even think about doing that.
I hadn’t smoked since I was a teenager, but it came back to me easily and I remembered how much I used to enjoy it when I was young and carefree.
‘I wish we could do it all over again,’ I said, wistfully stroking Nicky’s arm and kissing one of his many moles.
‘We could come here every day if you wanted to,’ he said, and I smiled. If only I could. If only I could stay here, all my responsibilities forgotten. But it wasn’t real life, I was suspended in a dream.
‘You don’t talk about me to your friends, do you?’ I asked.
He chuckled, smoke billowing from his nostrils. ‘No, of course I don’t. I’ve told them there’s someone, but that’s it.’
The relief washed over me. It wasn’t something I’d thought of up until now. The boys discussing their conquests. Sex with a teacher would definitely be something to boast about.
‘I just feel like I hardly know you,’ I admitted.
‘Ask me anything.’
‘OK, why did you have a gap year?’
He frowned. ‘How did you know about that?’
I blushed, not wanting to confess I’d looked at his school file.
He shrugged. ‘I was all set for going semi pro, I had trials at Brighton football club, but I fractured my foot. Fucked it all up.’ He squeezed his cigarette tightly, squashing the butt and inhaling sharply. I could see he found it tough to talk about, the bitterness spilling out of him.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s done now. Turned out OK. Bill, a friend of my mum’s, got me helping out with the motors at his garage, taught me basic mechanics. I helped out with services and MOTs. I still work there some weekends, when I’m needed. If he gets a rush on. He helped me do up the Fiesta, it didn’t run when I bought it.’ Nicky flicked his ash out of the window.
‘And then?’ I probed.
‘Then I decided to go back to school, do sports science and biology. If I can’t play professionally, maybe I could be a physio? I dunno, I’ll see where it takes me.’ He paused. ‘I think about you all the time,’ Nicky blurted, staring at me, his voice cool.
‘I think about you too,’ I replied, partly because it was true, partly because it seemed like the right thing to say.
We stubbed out our cigarettes and he pushed me down onto t
he bed, his hands straying to my breasts.
‘We don’t have time.’ I giggled, glancing at the clock. It was ten to five, but Nicky’s head was already between my legs making me writhe with pleasure.
Fifteen minutes later, we laughed as we tried to get dressed at speed.
‘Mum will be home soon.’
I stood bolt upright, reality crashing in.
‘Where’s your dad?’ I asked, and Nicky’s eyes narrowed. I instantly regretted bringing it up.
‘He left a few years ago, used to knock my mum about. He’s a wanker,’ Nicky said flatly, his eyes thunderous.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all I could say, although I wanted to take him into my arms and tell him he was doing fine without his dad around.
I gave Nicky a quick kiss as I dashed out of the door towards my car, looking up and down the street and praying no one had seen me going in or out.
I drove around the corner and pulled over, sitting for a while to gather my thoughts, not wanting to go home. How could I go back and look at David now? I wanted to be with Nicky, back in his bed. It was ridiculous. It’s just infatuation.
My bag vibrated jolting me out of my stupor and I reached in to check my phone. There were no messages from Charlotte or David, or any missed calls. The bag vibrated again, and I realised it was the Motorola, although I hadn’t remembered switching it on. Had Nicky done it? I had a text from him already.
Don’t sleep with David
It was an instruction not a request.
19
When I got home from Nicky’s, Charlotte was bouncing around as they’d won their first match. I congratulated her and she told me how Amy had scored the winning shot. I found David upstairs, packing. He had to attend a conference in Bristol at short notice, standing in as a representative for his firm as Patrick’s wife was unwell.
‘Can’t someone else go?’ I asked, incredulous. David ran the finance department, he was hardly the public face of the firm.
‘There is no one else. Simon is on holiday and Patrick can’t get hold of Ben the marketing guy. I’ll be back on Friday,’ he said, shoving toiletries into his bag. I could tell he wanted to get on the road to miss the traffic. He seemed agitated. I asked for the name and number of the hotel in case I needed to contact him and, once he’d left, I rang them. I wanted to make sure the conference was being held there and a room was booked for him. I hated myself for checking but was relieved to learn he was telling the truth. I had no idea if the mystery woman was going to be there too.
In truth, I knew I couldn’t say David was completely to blame for whatever was happening between us. The move had been an unspoken last-ditch attempt to bring us back together. Before the miscarriage we were happy, we laughed all the time and made the effort to go out just the two of us, at least once a month. We were a team.
Lately, despite the change of jobs, we were ships passing in the night, barely speaking past the functional. There hadn’t been an appropriate time to discuss the state of our marriage. My main priority was Charlotte and her not picking up on the atmosphere. I didn’t want her knowing things weren’t great between us. She needed to concentrate this year, leading up to her GCSEs. It was a crucial time and I didn’t want to rock the boat any more than we already had with the school move.
I couldn’t get my head around David entertaining the advances of another woman, though. He was too sensible, too sturdy. He never flirted, only the occasional banter with Stella. He was the reliable one. I was the fanciful one, prone to wacky, outlandish ideas. He made sure my feet were firmly planted on the ground when I got carried away. We complemented each other. To think of him being the object of a woman’s desire seemed bizarre. Although he was an attractive man. Tall, dark haired and slim, albeit now with a slight paunch. The thought of him with someone else made my chest cave in. Nicky was the one thing that made me feel better. I looked forward to seeing him. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted to consume him. No one had ever made me feel so desired. It was like the last few years I’d been asleep with David and now Nicky had come along, I felt alive. He was intense and, when we were together, we were in our own world. I wasn’t stupid, I knew it was infatuation with Nicky, the honeymoon period was yet to wear off. He got a kick out of deciding when and where we met. I was happy to let him be in control. A switch from our roles in real life.
On Friday, I wandered to the girls’ toilets at break time and overheard two sixth-formers talking about Nicky as they vaped in the stalls, a cloying caramel scent spilling out from over the door. I listened for a moment when I heard his name mentioned. One of the girls had been out with him a few times but not recently. She wasn’t pleased, her tone bitter. They thought he was seeing somebody, as Amelia, a girl in year eleven, had let it slip they weren’t together any more.
One of them couldn’t hide their contempt that he was going out with girls in a lower year. I was surprised when they mentioned Amelia; she was in my English GCSE class, but I would never have put the two of them together. She was quiet and bookish but beautiful, a classic English rose.
At lunch, I asked Matilda and Susan if sixth-formers generally dated year eleven students. Matilda told me it was pretty common.
‘The year eleven girls are easier to manipulate than the sixth-formers,’ Susan said, shaking her head despairingly.
I couldn’t see Nicky after school except at the creative writing class. He scowled when I told him, but my hands were tied; Charlotte had invited Amy to come for a sleepover and after their plans had been cancelled last week, I couldn’t refuse.
They hung around until the class was finished and I drove them home as they gossiped in the back of the car. When we got in, they chose pizza out of the list of takeaway options I rattled off and headed upstairs. My heart sank when I saw David was waiting for me in the kitchen, but he planted a kiss on my lips before I could speak, wrapping his arms around my waist. I wanted to wriggle out of his grasp, surprised at the sudden burst of affection. I spied a bunch of flowers on the table.
‘What’s going on?’
David pushed a cup of tea into my hand and I took a sip, the steaming hot liquid burning the roof of my mouth.
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been around this week. I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.’ He grimaced.
‘That’s not unusual though, is it? You’ve been spending more time at work than you have at home. If that’s where you’ve been, of course. You never answer your bloody phone,’ I said brusquely, my face growing hot. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he had another woman, but I was scared. Did I want it confirmed? Would I have to admit my affair too? What was the saying? People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?
His shoulders slumped and he sat at the table. I gripped the edge of the worktop, drumming repeatedly. I didn’t have to hide the compulsion around David, although I knew it frustrated him at times. It had only started after the miscarriage. The therapist I saw a couple of times afterwards told me it was common during periods of increased stress to develop a tick of sorts. She told me it may well go of its own accord at some point.
‘How was the conference? Did you go into the office today?’ I pressed.
‘The conference was fine, not really my thing, but I flew the flag like I was asked. I popped into the office on the way back. Had to debrief Patrick.’
‘I’m glad it went well,’ I said stiffly.
‘A colleague’s wife died suddenly today. She had a heart attack. The entire office was in bits this afternoon. I guess it was a bit of a wake-up call.’ David shook his head, his eyes glistening, tears threatening to fall.
My body, that had been held so rigid, softened. I went to David, pulling him into a hug.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. Things may not have been perfect between us, but I still loved him. Though, I wasn’t sure whether that was enough.
‘Urgh, get a room,’ came a voice behind us.
With a quick wipe of the eyes, I pulled away from David, fixing a smile upon my face.
Charlotte stood in the doorway to the kitchen, Amy behind her, peering over her shoulder.
‘Come in, what can I get you?’ David said, playing the host.
Five minutes later, they were heading back up the stairs with cans of Diet Coke and two large packets of Doritos.
When we were alone again, a lump formed in my throat and I struggled to swallow. I felt claustrophobic, as though a panic attack was building. I turned away, searching for the pizza takeaway menu, taking slow steady breaths to ward it off.
‘Is that what they’ve chosen?’ David asked, when I found the brightly coloured leaflet.
‘Yes, they must have got the memo pizza is your favourite.’ I pursed my lips. David had to have pizza at least once a week. He always said it would be his death-row meal.
Once I had the girl’s order, I rang it through and put some plates in the oven.
David sat reading the paper at the table, laptop nowhere to be seen. I wanted to comment as it was so unusual but thought better of it. He’d had a difficult day and I didn’t want to make it any worse. Instead, my mind turned to Nicky as I unloaded the dishwasher and tidied the kitchen, if only I could get out and see him later, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to be at home, my focus here.
It was surreal, leading a double life. It made the home one, where I was wife and mother, seem boring. When I was with Nicky, I was a teenager again, free as a bird, with no ties or responsibilities. I knew it wasn’t real and couldn’t last. Sooner or later, the bubble would burst, and my real life would come crashing in.
‘Stella’s coming tomorrow, isn’t she?’ David’s voice interrupted my thoughts.