Teacher's Pet

by Shelley Ellerbeck

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Allie. It’s Liz. How are you?”

  “Oh, Liz. Hi.”

  Allie sat down at the table and took in her surroundings. Her usually tidy kitchen still bore the scars of Paul’s food preparation. Knives, forks, and even a frying pan were strewn where he had left them. There was an open packet of butter sitting on the draining board. Men never quite seemed to grasp the importance of putting perishables away promptly. However, at least he had made her breakfast before walking out on her. That was more than a lot of men would have done.

  “Allie?” Liz’s voice was insistent. “Are you still there? Are you OK?”

  “Sorry, Liz. I’m fine. I was just….. sitting down.”

  “What? You mean you’re out of bed?”

  “Yes. I’m up. Feeling rather good, actually.”

  “Don’t do too much, will you?”

  “You know me, Liz. I’m not really one for doing too much, am I?”

  Liz laughed:

  “No, I suppose you’re not, are you? Is Paul still there?”

  Allie wondered whether Liz had seen him storm off earlier.

  “Er, yes,” she began, aware of how lame she sounded. She had never been much good at lying. “He’s still looking after me.”

  “Uh huh.” There was a pause before Liz spoke again. “Jeremiah wants to talk to you.” She sounded upbeat.

  “OK. Put him on.”

  There was a slight pause, then Jeremiah’s voice came down the line. Rich, melodic and warm, it made Allie smile instantly.

  “Hey, teach, I never thought I’d get through it, but I did. I got the results letter today. Isn’t it great? I did it!”

  “Congratulations, Jeremiah. Well done.” Allie was genuinely pleased for him.

  “It must be a surprise for you, Allie.” Liz’s voice cut into the conversation. “Is it?”

  “Well, no. I signed the results letter, remember, Jeremiah?” She must be on speakerphone. Allie hoped he could still hear her. “You deserved to pass. You worked hard. Well done.”

  “Thanks, Allie. I couldn’t have done it without you.” There was real gratitude in his deep voice.

  “Nonsense, Jeremiah. Any tutor would have given you the same guidance. We have criteria to adhere to, you know. I can’t just pass you because you’re my neighbour. We’d lose our accreditation. It’s not allowed.”

  “I told him that, Allie,” continued Liz, somewhere in the background. “I told him: Allie can’t just pass you just because you’re teacher’s pet…”

  “God, Liz, stop it, will you?” There was an uncharacteristic edge to Jeremiah’s voice now. “Sorry, Allie. I’ve got to go. I’ll hand you back to Liz. Thanks again.”

  “Congratulations.” Allie was aware of the phone being handed back to Liz, then of a door slamming somewhere in the background.

  “He’s chuffed to bits,” enthused Liz. “He just doesn’t like being teased. Men, eh?” Allie wasn’t too sure how to respond to that, but luckily Liz carried on chatting, seemingly oblivious to any offence she may have given. “We’ll have to have you over to celebrate, won’t we? When you’re up to it, that is. Maybe next week?”

  “That would be great.” Allie looked round her kitchen again, aware of the sinking feeling creeping back into her stomach. She would have liked to celebrate with Liz, Jeremiah and Paul, but was only too aware that Paul might never want to see her again. Shit. Tears pricked her eyelids. She blinked furiously, determined not to let them get the better of her.

  “Anyway,” continued Liz, happily, her voice seeming to speed up the more she talked. “We’ll sort something out. I’ll pop over and see you tomorrow. You’ll need your rest today, won’t you? Not that you’ll get much with Paul around, will you? If you get my drift. Right, I’ve got to go now. Jeremiah’s banging around upstairs and I’d better go and see what he’s up to. Take care. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Byeeee! See you tomorrow. Just ring if you need me. Bye!”

  “Bye.” Allie felt exhausted just listening to Liz and was relieved when she finally hung up. “Thanks for redecorating the walls,” she whispered, as the line went dead.

  Good God, that woman can talk for England, she thought, as she stood up and headed for the fridge. On opening it, she was pleasantly surprised to see that it was full. And not just with any old food, either, but with her favourite treats: sun-dried tomatoes, fresh pasta, strawberries, and vanilla cheesecake. Her mouth began to water at the sight of it. As she moved things around and tried to decide what she fancied, she wondered who had been shopping for her and when. Someone had been thoughtful, anyway. Someone who knew her taste in food.

  Pasta and pesto, followed by cheesecake and cream. That would fill her up, she decided. She filled a saucepan with water and tried to figure out whether the half jar of pesto sauce she had was still in date. She squinted at the writing on the label. That would do.

  All at once, she felt an aura of calm descend upon her. She realised three things: she needed to rest, she needed to eat and she needed to speak to Paul. Resting and eating could be done tonight. If Paul phoned her, then they would talk. If not, she would phone him tomorrow. She had to put things right between them, but she knew he needed time. She didn’t want to look as though she were chasing him. If he came back to her, it had to be because he wanted to.

  Only one thing disturbed her. What would she do if he didn’t want to?

  Jeremiah was walking on air. Well, he had been, until Liz made that stupid comment about him being ‘teacher’s pet’. Would she never let that one go?

  He sat at his desk upstairs in the cramped box room they laughingly called an office and moved papers around half-heartedly. Where was it? He had bought a ream of premium quality paper only last week. It had been sitting on the desk ever since, getting in his way. Yet now, when he needed it for his CV, it had disappeared. Or more likely, it had been tidied away by his wife.

  Just as he was about to give up, there was a rap at the door he had angrily slammed shut only ten minutes ago.

  “Jez? Can I come in?”

  He sighed.

  “OK, honey.” He could never be angry with her for long. She may have her faults, occasional, irrational jealousy being one of them, but she was still his wife, the mother of his children, and he loved her. For better or for worse.

  She pushed the door open gingerly and peeped round. The room was so small that one person, especially one of Jeremiah’s powerful build, seated at the custom-fitted desk, completely filled it.

  “Cup of tea?” She was wearing her brightest smile.

  “OK.”

  “Looking for something?” Her voice was light and Jeremiah noticed a twinkle in her eye. Repressed mirth best described it. At least, that was what he hoped it was.

  “The paper I bought last week.” He leaned back and stretched. “For my CV.”

  She thought for a moment, wrinkling her nose in that way he loved.

  “I tidied that away.”

  “I thought you might have. You’ve been doing a lot of tidying lately, haven’t you?” He tried not to sound concerned. After all, spring cleaning and sorting out didn’t have to happen in spring.

  “Have I? Yes, maybe I have. I’ve had a lot of energy this weekend. I’ve felt good. You know?” Jeremiah nodded. He’d noticed. She carried on, looking at him in that fixed way she sometimes had. The words came faster all of a sudden. “What were you looking for? That posh paper, was it? Try on the shelf. It might be there. Or in the bedroom. I can’t remember where I put it. Sorry, Jez. I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’ll make the tea.”

  As she shut the door, Jeremiah felt a vague sense of unease. Liz seemed to be speeding up. He turned back to the desk and re-arranged things. He would look on the shelf for the paper, then check the medicine cabinet. He knew he shouldn’t worry. Maybe Liz was just feeling good, full of energy, active. That would be the best-case scenario.

  He stood up and reached hesitantly onto the first shelf. This should
n’t take long. There only seemed to be a couple of boxes up here. Brightly coloured storage cubes that Liz had picked up on one of her Scandinavian design spending sprees.

  He pulled down the first box carefully and began to sort through it, his mind wandering as he did so, not really in tune with what he was looking for. Exploring scenarios rather than thinking of where the paper might be.

  He paused for a moment as his fingers alighted on what looked like an envelope crammed full of photos. His mind was elsewhere as he took them out. He was thinking about Liz. She had been unusually upbeat this week. Even when James had discovered the graffiti in the house, she had leapt in and suggested the solution, instant redecoration, then had gone on to amaze him with her energy. Especially after she had been so low and lethargic the week before.

  He shook his head and tried to focus on his quest for paper. After all, there was probably no need to worry. He would just check the contents of the box, before taking a look at Liz’s medication. He did trust her, he had to. She had been on track with her tablets for years now, and as a result her demons had not tormented her. She had been on an even keel, more or less. Neither manic, nor depressed. Horrible words those, to describe a chemical imbalance in the brain. And now the new term: ‘bi-polar’.

  He smiled to himself as he began to idly flick through the photos. He remembered that Liz had said the words ‘bi-polar’ put her in mind of a sexually experimental arctic bear, instead of any kind of mental illness. A lifestyle choice, rather than a serious, if controllable, condition.

  He gazed at the images, not really concentrating. It was as though his mind had gone out of focus. Shaking his head, he tried to take in what he had in his hands. He shuffled through photos of himself, Liz and Allie in the garden. But there was something missing. He looked once, then again. Surely not. Why on earth would anyone do that?

  He sat down heavily and spread out the photos in front of him on the desk. Suddenly, all worries about finding the paper flew out of his mind. What he was looking at made him realise that his wife was ill, and needed help. Now.

  Chapter 14

  Paul gazed in despair at the stack of well-thumbed exercise books in front of him on the table. His heart sank as he picked up the first one and caught sight of the name: Jordan White. He opened it and quickly found the page he was looking for. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. The weekly list of spellings had not only been copied down wrongly, but also used incorrectly in a number of scrawled sentences further down.

  My teecher tort me a lot.

  Well, he tried to, but to no avail, he thought, as he underlined the misspelt words in green. What made it even worse, apart from the jam stain on the page, was a hastily-scribbled message at the bottom from Jordan’s mother: Jordan tuk 20 minits on this.

  Paul’s hand went into automatic pilot and he let his mind wander as he worked his way through the pile, which consisted of page after page of largely predictable sentences, featuring words ending in aught or ought. After a while, he sighed and consulted his watch: two pm. Was it too soon to phone Allie? Would she be in the right mood to speak to him yet? Would she ever speak to him again?

  Shaking his head as if to dispel all such negative thoughts, he picked up Harry’s book and looked at his sentences. His heart began to beat a little faster.

  My teacher taught my mum all about my homework. He thought we weren’t spending enough time on it, so he brought round a bottle of wine and checked it over with my mum.

  Shit. The school inspectors would have a field day with that one. He made a mental note to remove it from the classroom on their next visit and reluctantly gave it a tick. After all, it was imaginative and included three of the target words, all spelt correctly.

  Once he had finished marking, he put his hands behind his head and stretched back in his chair. He hadn’t quite realised how tired he was. All that emotion had worn him out. That and the weekend in France, of course. The energy spent in just trying to get young children to listen to you was immense. Unimaginable to those who didn’t teach, it accounted for most of the stress of the job. And it often drained you so much emotionally that at the end of the day, you just wanted to be alone. Or with someone who understood you. A soul mate.

  As usual at times like these, his gaze was fixed on the turrets of the “School on the Hill”. And his mind was bent on avoiding the real issue. Not just bypassing it, or skirting round it, but actively bounding away from it like an eager puppy on a lead. He wondered if the Masters who taught at public schools experienced the same kind of stress as state schoolteachers. Probably, he concluded after a moment’s consideration, but it might come from different causes. How to reprimand the offspring of the rich and famous, for example. Or Parents’ Evenings. They must be a nightmare. “I’m sorry, Prime Minister, but your son can’t spell. And he’s a bully.” Paul wouldn’t swap places with them for the world.

  Reluctantly but purposefully, he dragged his thoughts back to the point in hand: soul mates. It was time to face up to the facts. As a man, he could do a lot, seem so in control. But all he achieved, everything he enjoyed, came to nothing without a soul mate. He was nothing without a soul mate. And he had just walked out on her again. Why? Because of trust. But if he didn’t let go, if he couldn’t allow himself to trust Allie, then who could he trust?

  He sighed out loud and reached for the phone. It was time to talk. He had to admit that walking out on her had left a sour taste in his mouth. After a few hours apart (had it only been a few hours?) he realised that life without the prospect of seeing her again was just not worth living. Life without Allie was unthinkable. It was like having a limb amputated. And that couldn’t be right.

  He dialled her landline and listened to the ringing tone as it went on and on. Past seven rings and no voice cut in. Damn. She must have switched off the ringer and the answer phone as well. He cursed under his breath as he hung up. What could she be doing? The rational side of his brain suddenly took back control. Sleeping, that’s what she was doing. Of course. How could he be so stupid? After all she had been through, she was now resting.

  He glanced at his watch: four pm. Standing up slowly, he stretched again and felt his muscles tense up, then gradually relax. What should he do now? He really should let her relax. But his immediate urge was to go and see her, hold her in his arms and cover her with kisses. Talking on the phone was no good at a time like this. It was the coward’s way out.

  He turned away from the window and headed for the kitchen, a plan of action forming in his mind. He was aware that he had to act, to salvage what there was between himself and Allie. She meant too much to him not to.

  His plan of action rapidly became a list of things to do. First, he would eat. Then have a shower. Next, he would get into his car and drive to Allie’s, picking up a bunch of flowers on the way. Once he got there, if she didn’t want to see him, he would just leave the flowers and wait.

  He opened his fridge and gazed absentmindedly at the array of food on offer, but his mind wouldn’t let go of Allie. He needed to tell her he loved her. Needed to hear her say she loved him too. It was more than a need. It was essential for his survival.

  Jeremiah spread the photos out carefully on the table. As he began to look more closely at them, a mounting sense of panic started to rise in his chest. Gaining in power and effect with every image he saw, it finally took hold of him and began to constrict his throat.

  He saw himself, laughing and happy in the garden, Allie by his side, the children in the background. The photos were good, the composition perfect, the lines clear. All the colours were as they should be. Maximum pixel resolution. The only thing that was missing, on every picture he looked at, was Allie’s face. It had been cut out carefully and methodically, the edges were neat and smooth. The work of a perfectionist. Somehow he could feel the chilling anger behind the snipping, just by looking at how painstakingly it had been done.

  He sighed as he put the images back into the envelope and stood up. He could feel hi
mself beginning to sweat as he opened the door and headed for the bathroom. He tried to stop his mind from conjuring up images of the last time Liz had decided she could do without her medication. The longer she denied herself the pills she needed, the more adamant she became that she didn’t need them. That had been the awful thing. She had become totally unreasonable in the end. But Jeremiah didn’t want to think of that at the moment. He just wanted to check her medication. Just to be sure. Before he really began to worry.

  Allie watched as the scented bubbles rose up the sides of the bathtub and steam filled the air. The scent of lavender wafted around the bathroom, and candles cast a soft, flickering glow on the smooth walls. Her thoughts wandered as she tested the water with her hand. Where was Paul? What was he thinking? Would he ever want to see her again? Could he accept that James still had a place in her life, if only as the father of her children? God. She fastened her hair back with a vengeance. Men!

  She turned off the tap and got in, enjoying the long-awaited feeling of her body being supported effortlessly by the hot water. Her movements made a soft, splashing sound that echoed around the high-ceilinged room as she made herself comfortable.

  All of a sudden, she heard the phone start to ring behind the door. The sound was muffled, yet insistent. Allie stiffened slightly, then relaxed. Whoever it was could wait. She had switched the answer phone off, so if they really wanted to speak to her, they would have to ring back later. Today, everything was on hold. She had some serious thinking to do.

  Jeremiah came down the stairs slowly. He didn’t want to startle his wife, especially given the state of mind she must be in. He opened the kitchen door gently and was greeted by the sight of Liz frantically scrubbing surfaces. The energy she was putting in was worryingly disproportionate to the task. He noticed, with a sinking heart, that the draining board she was wiping so frenziedly was already clean.