Teacher's Pet

by Shelley Ellerbeck

  “See you, James.”

  “Bye.” He put the phone down.

  Allie stared at it for a while, then stood up slowly, put out her cigarette and went upstairs, taking her wine with her.

  Paul Richmond gazed out of the window and watched the sun go down over the gothic turrets of the old school on the hill. Its dying rays lit up the narrow streets, casting the chimney stacks into sharp relief. He thought of all the future statesmen and politicians who had doubtless enjoyed this view in reverse for hundreds of years. He wondered what thoughts had troubled them, and whether they had found relief from their homesickness in the timeless beauty of the old village and the green rolling slopes. With their creamy wickets, neat pavilions and nets fluttering in the breeze, the cricket fields must have reminded them that, wherever they came from, they were in England now. Whoever they had left behind had to be forgotten, albeit temporarily. Put out of their minds. Otherwise, life would be unbearable. They would be unable to function.

  He laid his forehead against the cool glass and closed his eyes for a moment. Caroline had been gone for two years now. As an old friend of his had put it, he ought to be over it by now. Needless to say, that old friend had rapidly become a former acquaintance. Any friend worth his salt had to realise that you never really ‘got over’ the death of your wife. How could you? The loss was all-engulfing. It became part of who you were. But life carried on. You moved on. Your life would never be the same again, but at least you still had your life. It was a precious gift, not to be squandered. As he had seen with Caroline: it could so easily be taken away.

  He opened his eyes and saw that it was twilight. Glancing at his watch, he registered with a sinking feeling that the whole day had gone by without him contacting Allie. Granted, he had been busy. Melanie had been upset. Petrified. Coward was too good a word to describe her ex, Rob. The man was ready to phone her up and threaten her and Billy at the drop of a hat. It was all Paul could do to restrain himself from doing the same to him sometimes. Give him a taste of his own medicine. But that wouldn’t help matters. They had to lie low until the restraining order came through. Be patient. Then they would have a real threat to use against him, and he would be scared off. A defenceless woman and her special needs child were one thing. The police, quite another. He could feel the tension running through his body as he thought of Melanie’s ex. A real bully: a brute. Some men didn’t deserve the women they got.

  He moved back to the sofa and sat down. What was he going to do now? He shook his head gently as he thought back to the discussion he had had with Melanie, after seeing off Rob. The mere fact that Paul had been in the house had been enough to make him turn tail.

  “I need to tell her,” he had said. “It’s not fair otherwise. She’ll be imagining all sorts of things, and I want to be honest with her.”

  He had fixed Melanie with a steely look, from his seat opposite her, but had melted at the sight of her, huddled up on the armchair, red-eyed and shaking.

  “Can you trust her?” was all she had said.

  “Of course I can.” His voice was gentler now. He had never been able to be harsh with Melanie for long. “I can trust her. More than anyone else I know over here.”

  There had been a moment of silence. Then Melanie had got up, come over to him and kissed him softly on the top of the head.

  “If you’re sure you can trust her, then OK. Tell her. But Paul…”

  “Yes?” He looked up at her, calmer now.

  “Just remember: if she tells anyone, just think what might happen to Billy. Not to mention to me…”

  “It’ll be OK, Mel. Nothing will happen to Billy, or you. It’ll be fine.” He stood up and looked down on her. She seemed so vulnerable. “I’m going now. God knows what she must think. Double lock the door behind me. OK?”

  She had nodded. And he had left her.

  Now, looking at the phone, he decided he had to call her, to come clean. It was finally time. If he couldn’t trust Allie Johnson, there was no one he could trust. Taking a deep breath, he keyed in the number.

  Allie tensed up when she heard the phone. Despite the fact that it was muffled by the steamy bathroom, the strains of the radio and the hair band covering her ears, the faint ring tone still made her start.

  “Mum! Phone! Shall I get it?”

  “No!” She tried to keep any panic out of her voice. “It’s any excuse to get up, isn’t it! You should be asleep by now. Let the answer phone take it.”

  “OK. Sorry. Night, mum.”

  “Night, Harry.”

  The phone stopped ringing and the answering machine cut in. Slowly, Allie sank back down into the hot bubbles again. She really couldn’t be bothered. Stalker or would-be lover. As far as she was concerned, they could all go to Hell.

  Chapter Seven

  It was Thursday evening and the school hall echoed to the sound of excited voices. Children sat with their friends, laughing and chatting about the upcoming visit to France. The parents were more subdued, speculating in lower voices about pick up times and safety, food and letters home.

  Allie found it hard to focus on what Melanie was saying. Even though she was sitting right next to her, she had to make a real effort to hear her above the squeals of delight emanating from George and Harry, who were just in front, exchanging jokes.

  “Sorry, Melanie.” Allie leaned forward. “George! Harry! Keep the noise down! We’re trying to have a conversation here.”

  “Oh mum, you are so uncool.” George grinned.

  “Sorry,” added Harry, glaring at his brother. And they began to speak more softly.

  She turned back to Melanie.

  “God! Kids!”

  “Yes.” Melanie smiled, and the overhead lights picked out the brown flecks in her hazel eyes. Billy was sitting by her, silent, totally focused on a rubber band he was flicking with his fingers. When she continued, her voice was subdued. “Kids, eh?” She glanced quickly over towards the stage and cleared her throat. “Here they are at last. About time. Seven o’clock, they said. Billy gets upset if things don’t happen when they should.”

  “So do I,” said Allie, smiling at Billy. She noticed he smiled as well and, although he was still staring at his rubber band, she half hoped the smile was for her.

  As the hubbub of voices died down, Allie turned to the front and felt a pair of eyes on her: Paul. He was leaning against the door and, while all attention was on the headmistress, Mrs. Black, he took the opportunity of looking directly at Allie. It was a slow, sexy, confident stare. Without thinking, she stared back. It was a reflex she had no control over. Almost immediately, she regretted it and looked down. But it was too late. She could feel Melanie’s regard and knew that the intimacy of what she had done had been seen and noticed. She looked up again and tuned in to what the headmistress was saying.

  “…..so the room allocation will be as follows: Mrs. Hampton will share a room with Billy, Mrs. Johnson with Miss Simpson, Mrs. Patel with Miss O’Hara. Mr Richmond will have a room to himself…..” Allie didn’t dare to look in his direction. “….the children will be in three’s in the remaining rooms. As far as Health and Safety goes, the only access to the hotel is past a ‘concierge’, or doorperson, who checks ID. There is also a stringent security system in place, with card-controlled access to each floor. As we have the second floor to ourselves, you can rest assured your children will be safe.”

  “Thank God for that,” whispered Melanie. “You hear of such awful things happening. And Billy’s so vulnerable.”

  Allie nodded, vaguely aware that Paul had moved and was now sitting up on the stage behind Mrs. Black. She caught his eye briefly and detected a twinkle in it. She switched her gaze hastily to Mrs. Black, who was looking round, expectantly.

  “Are there any questions?”

  Hands shot up all over the hall and the Headmistress began to nominate people. As the session got underway, Allie took the occasion to steal a sly glance at Paul. He was talking quietly to Miss Simpson, the y
oung teacher she was supposed to be sharing a room with. Dark-eyed, vivacious and bubbly, Miss Simpson was giggling, sharing a joke. Allie felt herself beginning to flush. How dare he make another woman laugh? She looked away, embarrassed. What was she thinking? He hadn’t even phoned. What she had hoped was a call from him on Sunday night had turned out to be a mystery. No message, no traceable number, nothing. She had been too proud to contact him since, and hadn’t seen him at the school gates this week. Not that she had looked out for him. Well, not much, anyway.

  When she had got in from the college open evening last night, there had been another call, but again the number had been withheld and there was no message. Now she felt confused. Melanie was chatting away brightly as though nothing had happened and Paul was acting cool. Mind you, what did she expect in front of a hall full of parents and kids? A red rose and an apology on bended knee?

  Aware that the buzz of conversation had quietened down, Allie felt mass movement all around her. It was time to go: people were heading for the doors and, as Allie stood up, it dawned on her she hadn’t taken in a word of the briefing. With relief, she noticed Miss Simpson handing out letters at the exit. Hopefully, this would summarise all she had missed.

  “Mrs. Johnson?” The deep voice made her heart skip a beat. She looked up and saw Paul at the end of the row of chairs. Melanie and Billy had already gone.

  “Mr. Richmond,” she said. Two could play at being cool. She moved towards him. “How are you?”

  “Fine thanks, Mrs. Johnson. And you?” His eyes seemed to bore into her, belying his voice, which was casual. The heat of his gaze made her cheeks burn.

  “Not bad.” She kept her voice light. “France should be fun, shouldn’t it?”

  People moved past them. Gradually, fewer and fewer voices echoed around the space above them. Paul stayed at the end of the row, blocking her exit. Once he was certain no one else was within earshot, he moved a little closer.

  “Allie. Can I come round?” His voice was low. “I need to talk to you.” His gaze grew darker. “Now. Please.”

  She glanced over at the twins, running around laughing by the door near Miss Simpson, who was sorting through her remaining sheets of paper.

  “You didn’t phone.” She hated the cold sound of her voice.

  “I did. You weren’t there.”

  “Why didn’t you leave a message?”

  “I needed to talk to you. Tell you something.” He put his hand on her arm, gently, but firmly. “I didn’t want to talk to an answer phone.”

  The intimacy of his touch instantly transported her back to Saturday night. She could almost taste their kiss. She looked away quickly.

  “Come over in about an hour,” she said quietly. “Let me get the boys to bed.”

  He lifted his hand from her arm slowly and moved away.

  “OK,” he murmured. “I’ll see you in an hour, Allie.”

  “Mrs. Johnson?” A shrill voice bounced off the sides of the hall, making Allie jump and look up guiltily. Paul was smiling at her, bemused, and behind him stood Miss Simpson, brandishing a piece of paper. “Do you need a checklist?”

  “Yes please. Thank you, Miss Simpson. Goodbye.” Allie walked past them and took a letter. “Goodbye, Mr. Richmond.”

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Johnson.”

  She heard him beginning to talk to Miss Simpson again as she walked down the corridor, followed by the twins, who were still chattering, running to keep up with their mum.

  Within an hour, Allie was sitting on the sofa in the front room, having packed the boys off to bed in record time. She was desperately trying not to look out of the window. She had opened a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. The television was on low, mainly to give her something to focus on. After all, she didn’t want to appear too eager. As she began to sip the smooth, red Burgundy, she caught a glimpse of Paul striding up the path. When the doorbell rang, she counted to five before getting up to answer it.

  She put her hand on the lock and hesitated for a moment. She could still hear movement upstairs.

  “George? Harry? Get back into bed. I’ve said you can read for a while. You shouldn’t be walking around!”

  The movement stopped.

  “But we are in bed, mum!” Their voices rang out as one.

  “Who’s that?” Harry added.

  She smiled as she opened the door. Why not be honest?

  “Your teacher,” she called out. “Come to discuss your homework and how much sleep you get!” Well, one white lie never hurt anyone.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Johnson,” Paul said as he entered. There was a sparkle in his eyes, and Allie felt herself beginning to melt.

  “Go through, Mr. Richmond,” she said, loudly. “The homework’s on the table. They did it yesterday.”

  “I’ll have a look, then.” He brushed past her casually as he went into the front room. “Night, boys!” he called, winking at her.

  “Goodnight, Sir,” they chorused.

  Allie followed him into the room and closed the door gently.

  “You’ve opened some wine,” he began, turning to face her. “It’s not good to drink alone.”

  “I know,” she said. “I was waiting for you.”

  She gazed at him for a moment before picking up the bottle. Once again acutely aware of how good-looking he was, she tried not to stare. But there were so many attractive things to stare at: his athletic build and his smooth, muscular chest, for starters. Granted, she couldn’t actually see the latter, but she could imagine it under his shirt, just from the inch or so of tanned flesh on display by his throat. It dawned on her that she had been watching him for too long, and she quickly turned her attention back to the wine.

  “Would you like a glass, Paul?”

  “Yes, please.” He caught her eye again and smiled reassuringly. “But I’ve got something I need to tell you. Maybe I should get it out of the way first.”

  She handed him his glass.

  “If you like,” she said, sitting down on the sofa. “Fire away.”

  He sat down next to her, but stayed perched on the edge of the seat. She could feel a sense of tension coming out of him. He didn’t drink his wine, but swirled it round in the glass, watching the colour change as the light played on it. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked at her.

  “It’s about Melanie, Billy and me,” he began. “I…. We….. I mean: we’re…”

  Suddenly, she heard the door open behind her and saw shock and anger register simultaneously in Paul’s eyes. She spun round, ready to tell the twins off.

  “God! James! What the…?” she gasped, unable to finish her sentence.

  James was standing in the doorway, wearing his pyjamas. He looked as shocked as Paul, and seemed at a total loss for words. Recovering himself quickly, he began to mumble an explanation:

  “Sorry Allie. I fell asleep upstairs. I just wanted to let you know I was here.” He glanced at Paul in alarm as he stood up abruptly and put down his glass. “I’ll go back up,” he continued, moving back into the hall. “You don’t need to leave, Pete.”

  Paul strode past James and headed purposefully for the door. His voice rang out, filling the hall:

  “I’ll phone you, Allie. And the name’s Paul, Mr. McCoy.”

  Then the door slammed, and the house fell silent again. The silence lasted for a moment. James appeared in the doorway again. Allie glared at him, then stood up, just in time to see Paul disappear down the street. She wanted to run after him, haul him back and push James out. What a mess. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

  “Bloody Hell, Allie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I really didn’t.”

  She sat down again gingerly and picked up her wine. After a large, comforting gulp, she looked up at James.

  “Shit, James. He’s gone.” He sat down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Shit,” she added, for good measure.

  “I’m sorry, Allie. I really am.”

  She managed a weak
smile.

  “It’s not your fault. After all, I did say you could come round anytime.”

  He nodded.

  “I can understand his reaction,” he began, sliding his arm gently round her shoulders, until he was very close. She could feel his breath on the top of her head as he spoke. “You’re a desirable woman. He thought he was going to have you all to himself…” Allie jabbed him in the ribs. “Ow!”

  “Knock it off, James,” she said. “I’m not in the mood. My evening’s been ruined.”

  He squeezed her shoulders playfully.

  “Come on, Allie. He said he’d call. You could always phone him later and explain. Surely?”

  Allie thought for a moment.

  “Yes. Maybe I could.”

  “If he’s as nice as you seem to think he is, he’ll phone. Don’t worry. He just needs to calm down a bit.” He picked up the wine bottle. “Believe me, I know. I’m a man.” He grinned suddenly. “More wine?”

  Allie nodded and pushed her glass towards James. He was right. If Paul was the man she thought he was, he’d phone.

  Paul cursed under his breath as he ran up the stairs to his flat. Why, oh why had he not seen that one coming? Heart still pounding, he unlocked the door and let himself in. Switching on a side lamp, he glanced at his space, his haven. Suddenly, it seemed empty. Desolate. As if someone was missing.

  He threw his keys down on the coffee table and walked over to the window. The old school was lit up, casting a benevolent glow over the surrounding houses. What did you expect, it seemed to be saying. She’s a beautiful woman. Her husband was bound to come back onto the scene. You idiot. Did you really believe she was waiting for you?

  He turned back towards his desk, running his fingers through his hair. Opening a side drawer, he carefully took out a photo of himself with a raven-haired woman. Caroline. It had been taken on their honeymoon. He let out a heavy sigh as he took in her delicate features and the huge, dark eyes that dominated her soft face. That was before the cancer took hold. Once it did, her eyes were all he could see when he looked at her, gaunt and skeletal, in the last weeks of her life. At the time the picture was taken, the only hint of all not being well had been a small lump in her neck. ‘Just a swollen gland,’ she had reassured him. ‘All the excitement’s brought it up.” She had had no idea.