Allie pushed the children’s drinks along and pulled the tray onto the table. Liz unloaded it carefully, then turned and called down the garden. “Girls! Kebabs are ready! Come on!”
Laughter drifted up from the makeshift playhouse in the far corner, which had a bright row of flowers and bumblebees painted on the front, topped off by a grinning dreadlocked sun next to a garish rainbow. Liz’s daughters, Dora and Emily, were busy ‘feeding’ a row of battered-looking toys. Through the lilac bush, Allie could make out a flash of pink material against coffee-coloured skin.
“Can we have a picnic down here?” Their cheerful voices chimed out as one.
Liz smiled. “OK.” Reloading the tray, she set off down the garden, her flowery chiffon dress emphasising the soft curves of her body. “Just try not to make a mess.”
Jeremiah reluctantly tore his gaze away from his wife’s behind and fixed Allie with a meaningful look.
“So. How was my assignment?” He sat down next to her and started to pile his plate methodically. “Or can you not tell me yet, miss?”
Allie focused on the pile of kebabs, trying to avoid quashing the enthusiasm evident in his dark eyes.
“We’ll have to talk about it on Monday really,” she began, casually. “There are a couple of things you need to do before it can pass.”
“So it’s a fail.” He picked up one of the kebabs and began to study it intently.
“It’s a resubmit. It’s not the same thing. If you do exactly what I say, it’ll be a pass when you hand it in again.”
“OK then. Do exactly what you say. Sounds good to me.” He grinned and straightened up. “Would you like some wine?” He picked up the bottle. “Not that I’m trying to bribe you, of course.”
Allie giggled: “Jeremiah. You know I could never be swayed by Italian red.”
Liz had reappeared without Allie noticing and was standing quietly at the end of the table.
“I’ll have some too,” she said, sitting down. “There you go.” She pushed the plate of kebabs over to Allie. “Now. Tell us all about lover boy.” Her brown eyes twinkled as she sipped the wine Jeremiah had poured for her. “How was last night?”
Allie raised her eyebrows. “Last night? How do you know about last night?”
Liz chuckled. “There’s nothing I can’t see from behind those net curtains.”
Allie proceeded to fill her friends in with the details, conveniently leaving out any romantic longings she may have had for Paul Richmond, or desire she might have imagined he had for her.
“So you mean to tell me you didn’t even get a snog?” Liz’s voice was incredulous, the wine she had drunk adding to her apparent disbelief. “Not even a peck on the cheek?”
Allie laughed. “No, nothing. Honestly.”
“Well, there might be a chance for you at the parents’ evening on Wednesday.” Liz nibbled her kebab thoughtfully. “Just wear a sexy dress. You know. Like…..” She swallowed hard. “Well, like that one really. You’ll have him eating out of your hand. Won’t she, Jeremiah?”
He nodded, his eyes on his wife. “She certainly will.”
“And if that doesn’t work, then there’s always the school trip to France in July.” Liz was still looking at Allie. “You’ll be able to dazzle him with your fluent French, won’t you?”
“Oui. Bien sur.” Allie had taught English in Eastern France for five years. “Maybe he’ll be impressed.”
“He will be,” said Liz, glancing at Jeremiah. “Most men are…. More wine, Allie?”
And the conversation continued long into the warm summer’s night.
Midnight came and went, Dora and Emily were packed off to bed and Allie decided, after a third cup of coffee, that she should be getting back. As she took her leave, Jeremiah suddenly jumped to his feet, moving more quickly than she had seen him do all week.
“I’ll see you across the road,” he said, opening the door for her.
“Nothing you do now will change that assignment result,” chuckled Liz. “Not even fending off a mugger.”
“Bye Liz.” Allie leant over and gave her friend a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the meal.”
“No problem. Let me know how parents’ evening goes.”
“Will do.”
Allie and Jeremiah walked slowly across the street. Allie flinched as the security light came on next door, illuminating her cream dress and bag.
“Good God! Why are they always so bright?”
“They don’t light up for me,” said Jeremiah, straight-faced.
“What do you mean?” Allie jiggled her key in the lock and pushed the door open. “Why?”
“They only detect white people.”
Allie giggled, then felt her face freeze as she heard the phone ring. Jeremiah turned to go.
“I’ll leave you to lover boy…..”
“Jeremiah, could you stay for a minute?” Allie tried to quell the faint edge of panic in her voice. “I… er… I had an odd phone call yesterday.” She picked up the receiver gingerly as she spoke. “Hello?”
Jeremiah nodded and waited on the step. Allie thought she could make out Liz peering over at them from behind the curtains. Or maybe the dark shape was one of the girls.
“Hello?” No one spoke. “Hello? Who is this?” She looked anxiously at Jeremiah, who stepped in and gently removed the phone from her grip.
“Some advice,” he said, putting the receiver down firmly on the table, beside the phone. “Just do this. Don’t hang up, ‘cos they’ll only phone straight back. Put it down and walk away. That’ll drive the bastard mad and hit his phone bill as well.”
Allie shot him a worried glance. “I suppose so.”
“Anyway,” he continued. “Did you dial 1471 yesterday?”
“The caller withheld the number.”
“That figures. Just leave it for a while. When you come back, he will have given up and you can unplug the phone for the night.” He reached for the door, then hesitated. “If it keeps happening, call the police. Will you be OK, Allie?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He bent towards her and kissed her softly on the cheek. She could smell tobacco and wine and feel his stubble brush her skin.
“See you at college, Miss.”
“See you, Jeremiah.”
As she watched him go back down the path, she noticed the curtain fall back into place over the road. All of a sudden, she felt cold and alone. Bloody Canadian. Where was he when she needed him?
Chapter Three
That should do it, thought Allie, trying to pull her hair up into some semblance of a ponytail. She gazed at herself in the hall mirror. Chic, sophisticated, yet still approachable. Maybe even sexy, she mused, touching up her lipstick. Just the kind of woman a young, single Canadian teacher yearns to see for the last Parents’ Evening appointment. Stray tendrils of wavy blonde hair kept escaping from the straitjacket of her elasticated black velvet band.
“Bloody Hell,” she muttered under her breath, furiously tucking them back. The through breeze from the back of the house cooled her cheeks for a moment as she turned to glance at the clock. “Boys!” she called. “Time to go over to Liz’s!”
George and Harry came bouncing in from the garden, red-faced and laughing, tumbling almost immediately out of the kitchen into the hall. At times, it seemed to Allie that she actually had four or five children, so great was the noise level.
“Can we take a football?” George’s glasses were so steamed up it was a miracle he could locate his mother at all, let alone smile at her.
Allie nodded, instantly dislodging another lock of hair.
“Take your shoes off in Liz’s house,” she yelled, as her sons ran past her and down the front path, like two eager puppies chasing a runaway toilet roll. She bit her tongue as they stopped, looking both ways before bounding across the road. She waved at Liz, who had appeared on the front step with a tray of lemonade and biscuits.
As she watched the boys being ushered in, a startling th
ought occurred to her. In ten years’ time, she might be gazing at two young men as they drove off for a night out on the town. She smiled as she pictured them: George in designer glasses on a Harley Davidson, Harry in a sports car. She tried to visualise herself too, at the ripe old age of 46. Would she still be alone? A middle-aged woman without a partner?
“See you later! You look gorgeous! Good luck!” Liz’s voice drifted across the road.
Allie smiled and waved. No way would she be alone at 46. If Paul Richmond didn’t want her, there were plenty more fish in the sea, pebbles on the beach, Canadian men in London. Well, hopefully. She would be OK. She took a long last look at her reflection before setting off for the school. He won’t be able to resist, she thought, putting on her sunglasses.
Mayfield School prided itself on its multiculturalism. Brightly-coloured posters filled the entrance hall, proclaiming a welcome in ten different languages. Youngsters from all ethnic backgrounds smiled down from displays on corridor walls, promoting the values of reading, writing and getting on with your classmates. The borough was, Allie had once been proudly informed by a helpful lady at the Civic Centre, the most ethnically diverse in London, as well as being one of the safest. As she went up the stairs, Allie passed rows of black and white photos of the pupils working, playing and laughing. The diverse hues of their skin were reduced to various shades of grey, blurring any differences. This, she thought, is how it should be. How children see other people. They don’t discriminate. Unlike adults.
A deep, Canadian voice cut into her thoughts:
“Right on time, I see.”
Although she was aware she would be seeing Paul, and had indeed planned every last detail of her appearance with this in mind, his casual greeting still startled her. It was almost as though she expected him to have changed. She wasn’t sure how. Not still be so… gorgeous.
“I like to be punctual.” Her voice echoed off the walls, emphasising the fact that she and Paul Richmond were almost certainly alone in an empty building.
As he stepped back to let her into the classroom, she sensed a slight awkwardness in him. Maybe he felt bad about not having phoned her?
“Take a seat, Mrs. Johnson.” He motioned vaguely towards a clump of absurdly small primary school chairs and she proceeded to lower herself into one, as gracefully as she could manage. He coughed. “It’s OK, Allie. You can sit at my desk.”
Allie stood up quickly and widened her gaze. She took in his table by the window, with adult seats on either side. How could she have missed those?
“Sorry Paul. I didn’t see.”
“No problem.”
There was an onrush of movement: she concentrated on sitting down and looking relaxed, while he placed himself opposite and began to rifle through a pile of papers. Eventually, he looked up, fixed her with an intense, warm gaze, and began: “I’m sorry, Allie.”
She was taken aback. “Sorry? Why?” She tried to sound unconcerned.
“I didn’t phone. And I said I would.”
“Oh yes. You didn’t, did you.” Her unconcerned tone shifted to non-committal, then swiftly became casual. “Never mind.” Maybe that was too casual.
His eyes grew darker. “I… I wasn’t sure I should.”
“No problem.” She was proving to be a talented actress.
“And I lost your number.”
“It happens.” You could have looked it up.
“And you would appear to be ex-directory.”
“Yes. I am.” The school office would have told you.
“And they’re doing some sort of audit this week in the Office, so that I couldn’t…..”
“Yes.” She looked out of the window, aware his eyes were still on her. All possible excuses had been given. She focused on the clear sky.
“I’d like to have phoned you, though.” His voice was soft. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have heard that. She felt her gaze drawn back to his face. His eyes transfixed her with their unusual mixture of brown and green. Hazel seemed such a tame word to describe the colours contained in their cloudy depths. “Allie?”
“Yes?” Oh my God, I’ve been staring too long.
“Would you like to come out with me?”
“Yes.” She smiled. Casual and noncommittal had now become eager and disbelieving. Playing hard to get didn’t come naturally to her.
“Come on then.” He stood up.
She’d heard of fast, but this was ridiculous.
“I’m sorry?”
“Come out with me,” he reiterated. “Into the corridor. I need to show you something. Some rather remarkable artwork.”
Oops. Her smile faltered a little, but didn’t fade.
“Lead the way.”
Twenty minutes and much discussion of her talented offspring later, Allie had discovered that George was a budding writer and Harry an accomplished artist. Just to balance things out though, both were in the bottom group for maths. The conversation between herself and Paul Richmond had dealt purely with the factual: how to help the boys, whether she should be worried or not and activities to encourage ‘mental maths’, as it was now called.
“Whatever happened to mental arithmetic?” Allie asked, aware the conversation was drawing to a close and wanting desperately to delay the inevitable moment of leaving.
“Mental arithmetic?” His face, which had become serious during their discussion, broke into a warm smile. “Too many syllables for today’s eight year olds? Too uncool? Too reminiscent of Victorian classrooms and starched pinafores?”
“God, yes. Remember those?”
“Well, not personally.” He laughed and began to tidy his desk.
“So. Am I the last parent?”
“I do believe you are.” He checked his list. “Yes. You are.”
“OK.” She showed no signs of wanting to move. “Paul?”
He looked up and felt his resolve melt into her azure gaze. Not only was she the last parent, but she was also the most desirable woman he had seen in a long while. And they were now totally alone in the building. The other teachers having ended their appointments an hour ago. His eyes alighted on the shapeliness of her shoulders, emphasised by the delicate straps of the blue dress she wore. He tried to chase away a momentary vision of himself ripping it off. What could he focus on with this woman that didn’t invite him to make love to her? If he looked into her eyes again, his carefully controlled reserve would evaporate.
“Paul?” she repeated.
“Yes?” Instantly, he met her gaze. Shit.
“You were miles away.”
“Sorry. My head’s full of…. Lesson plans.”
“That’s a shame.” She looked down. “I’d better be off now. While it’s still light enough to walk home safely.”
If that wasn’t a hint, he didn’t know what was.
“I’ll give you a lift, if you like.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Just Allie and himself in the confined space of his car was a recipe for disaster.
She looked directly at him again, making his heart lurch. She was even more beautiful when she smiled.
“Thanks, Paul.”
He was in trouble now.
As they drew up outside her house, Allie took a deep breath. Paul had been unusually quiet on the short drive back, and she was beginning to doubt that he liked her at all. What was wrong with him? She decided she would take a chance. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She waited until he turned off the engine, then took her courage in both hands.
“Would you like to come in for a coffee?”
She glanced at him. The evening sunlight threw his strong features into soft relief. For a moment, he reminded her of a classical Greek statue, deep in thought. He continued to stare at the dashboard for a moment before answering.
“Are you sure, Allie?” His tone was gentle, belying the tension she could feel coming out of him. Maybe he was just nervous?
She smiled. “Very sure. Unless you want tea, that is.”
He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel, then turned to her and grinned.
“Coffee it is.”
She got out of the car and was vaguely aware of him glancing at her legs, which were momentarily exposed as she swung round in the seat. She caught his eye and held his gaze for a moment longer than she should have. In that moment, just before he looked down, confused, she sensed one overwhelming emotion between them: desire. It was brief, controlled, yet so strong she could feel it with every pore of her body.
She stood up quickly and began to walk down the path, opening her bag. She could hear him lock the car and follow her to the door. As she reached for her key, she felt him right behind her. His eyes seemed to be burning into her back. There was something predatory about the way he leaned casually against the wall as she finished unlocking the door and went in. Something proprietary about the way he closed it and waited in the hall, gazing down at her as she sat on the stairs and kicked off her sandals. She cleared her throat and met his eye, breathing deeply, trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach.
“Coffee, was it?”
He nodded, still staring at her. His eyes were dark in the half-light. The intimacy she had noticed before had returned. He didn’t speak.
As she stood up, he moved slowly towards her. It was as though he had made up his mind. His hand touched her shoulder gently.
“Allie.” His voice was hoarse.
She froze. His face descended slowly towards hers, and she felt herself melting from within. Before she could speak, he had gathered her up and was kissing her face, her lips, her neck, her shoulders, pushing her back towards the wall and crushing her body with his own. She could hear herself moaning as his strong arms encircled her. His body felt firm. It was like being cushioned by steel. He was kissing her, tasting her, murmuring softly.
“Allie. My God. Allie.”
All of a sudden, he drew back and seemed to take stock of what was happening. “I’m sorry, Allie. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” He stroked her cheek tenderly.
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