Teacher's Pet

by Shelley Ellerbeck

  Squinting against the sunlight, Jeremiah looked around slowly, as if unsure of where he was.

  “Bloody Hell,” he began, in a hoarse whisper. “What happened?”

  “I was about to ask you that,” said Paul, relieved. “Don’t you remember?”

  Jeremiah shook his head slightly, then winced and stopped.

  “I feel like I’ve got the mother of all hangovers,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit, that hurts.”

  “What do you remember?” asked Paul.

  “That’s a good question.” Jeremiah was sitting up straighter now and stretching. “Not much, that’s for sure.” He scratched his head. “I was having a cup of tea with Liz, and….. Oh God. Liz. She….” He was struggling to get to his feet, but slumped sideways instead.

  Paul caught him and placed him back against the wall.

  “I don’t think you’re ready to go anywhere just yet.” Once he was sure Jeremiah was balanced again, he leaned back on his haunches. “Is Liz OK?”

  Jeremiah looked at him strangely, as if trying to work out whether he could trust him.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, after a short pause. “She’s not been taking her medication.”

  “Medication?”

  “For bi-polar disorder,” he explained. “She has manic depression. They call it bi-polar now.” Paul nodded. “She needs medication to control it, and as far as I can work out, she hasn’t taken it for a couple of weeks.”

  Paul didn’t know what to say. He knew that this was serious. He had had an aunt who suffered from manic depression. She had committed suicide.

  “Where is Liz now?” he asked. It was beginning to dawn on him that Liz was maybe more in need of help than Jeremiah at the moment.

  “I’m not sure.” Jeremiah thought for a moment. “She isn’t in the house. I was…” He hesitated. “I was looking for something and I found some pictures. Weird photos.”

  Paul raised an eyebrow.

  “What kind of weird photos?”

  Jeremiah took a deep breath.

  “Well, there were the usual happy snaps. Of me, Liz, Allie and the kids in the garden.”

  Paul nodded.

  “Go on.”

  “But she had cut out a head in each one.” Jeremiah began to look more worried.

  “Whose head?” Paul’s heart was beginning to beat faster now. Jeremiah was staring at him, seemingly unable to continue. Paul repeated his question. “Whose head had she cut out?”

  Jeremiah looked down.

  “Allie’s.”

  Paul jumped to his feet, pulling out his mobile phone.

  “Has she got a key to Allie’s house?”

  “Yes.” Jeremiah looked up at him again. “We both have,” he added.

  Paul threw him the mobile phone and ran across the road.

  “Call an ambulance,” he shouted, as he sprinted up the path and began hammering on the door. He thought he heard a crash somewhere inside the house. Then silence. “Allie? Liz? Are you there? Is everything OK?” The silence continued, broken only by the distant sound of Jeremiah speaking into the mobile phone. He moved over to the front room window. Putting his hand up to shield his eyes from the harsh sunlight, he peered in and gasped as he caught sight of Allie lying motionless on the sofa. He began rapping on the glass. Surely he could wake her up. “Allie? Allie!”

  There was neither movement nor sound. Her blonde hair was spread out around her head, reflecting the light that filled the room. To his relief, he saw her chest rising and falling rhythmically. She was, hopefully, just in a deep slumber. He thought for a second. The adrenaline he could now feel coursing through his veins appeared to be preventing him from reasoning. He took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself down. Bizarrely, part of a lecture from his college days flashed into his mind:

  When you get angry with a child, this induces a state of panic in their mind, sending it into ‘fight or flight’ mode. In practical terms, this means the brain diverts blood away from the higher thinking functions, such as reason and logic. It goes to the extremities of the body, preparing them either to face up to their predator, or perceived threat (in this case – you), or to run away. So their brains are effectively starved of oxygen, rendering them unable to ‘think’, and therefore unable to perform the task you want them to carry out in the first place. Try as they might: when you shout at them, they are under stress and they cannot think.

  It was as if a light had gone on in Paul’s head. He began to will himself to breathe more deeply, to concentrate on possible solutions to the situation. He could feel, as he did this, his heart rate slowing down and the focus pushing its way back into the rushing stream of his jumbled thoughts. A key. Jeremiah had a key. Of course.

  He spun round to see Jeremiah lying on his side with his eyes closed again, and raced back over to him.

  “The key!” Paul didn’t mean to shout, and the sound of his voice woke Jeremiah immediately. “You said you both had a key. Where’s yours?”

  Jeremiah gazed at him for a moment, and then lifted his arm up with what seemed like a superhuman effort, and pointed to the hallway of his house.

  “On the hall table,” he mumbled, struggling to make his voice clear. He only just succeeded. “Red key ring. Got a blue Smurf on or something.” He blinked. “Feel sick…”

  Paul darted into the house almost before Jeremiah had finished his sentence, and grabbed the key. As he raced back past him, he yelled out: “Is the ambulance coming?”

  “It’s on its way.” Jeremiah was closing his eyes again.

  Paul ran up to Allie’s door and silently slid the key into the lock. Turning it carefully, he was able to open the door and slip noiselessly into the hall. The silence overwhelmed him. It smothered everything like a thick, woollen blanket. He advanced slowly to the front room and pushed open the door.

  “Allie?” He moved across to her and knelt down, checking her pulse as he did so. She felt warm, and her breathing was regular. He shook her gently. “Allie? Wake up,” he murmured. “Show me you’re OK. Wake up.” She blinked and opened her eyes with some difficulty. When he looked closely, he could see that her pupils were over dilated. “Allie? Are you OK? What happened?”

  “Paul…” Her voice was hoarse. “God, Paul, I don’t know. I was….” She coughed, then winced. “God! My head!” She managed a brief smile. “That hurts.”

  Relieved, he stroked her face softly. The colour was gradually coming back into her cheeks.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Grim.”

  It was his turn to smile now.

  “You will for a while.” He bent his head and kissed her face, breathing in her flowery scent. Inhaling deeply, he put his arms around her. “There’s an ambulance on its way,” he said, pulling her up into a sitting position. “Just sit back and relax.” As if on cue, a siren sounded in the distance, and began to get louder.

  “So, tell me,” she said, sitting back and looking him in the eyes. “What happened? One minute I was here with Liz, and the next, I wake up with…. Paul? What’s going on?”

  He had sprung to his feet and was heading for the door.

  “Liz?” he called, running into the kitchen. “Allie? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know,” said Allie, trying to get up, but then thinking better of it as the blood rushed to her head. By the time she was back on the sofa, the room had started to swim. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “She wasn’t making much sense earlier.”

  Paul ran back out of the kitchen and raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Despite all his efforts to calm himself, his heart was thumping again. He heard splashing from behind the bathroom door and immediately went to open it. It was locked.

  “Liz?” He tried to keep his voice as soft as he could. The sound of sirens was getting louder. They could only be a couple of streets away now. He knocked gently. “Liz?” There was no reply. But he could hear a swishing sound. Water, lapping against the side of the bath.
He pushed the door with his shoulder. Memories of his aunt came flooding back as he pushed harder and harder. She had taken an overdose, and he had been the one who had found her. He pushed harder, then took a couple of steps back and began to charge at the door, hitting it with the full weight of his body. He was vaguely aware of movement downstairs, of Allie’s questioning tone and a deeper, male voice reverberating in reply. His aunt’s kitchen had been spotless when he had arrived that day after school. That was when he had first guessed something was wrong. It was usually cheerfully disordered, but on the day he had discovered her lifeless body, it had sparkled like an operating theatre. Even at 11 years old, he had known that such cleanliness was not normal.

  He could feel his shoulder beginning to bruise as he charged the door again and again. There were footsteps behind him.

  “Sir! We have a battering ram! Stop!”

  The paramedic’s voice had no effect on him as he braced himself and made his final assault. He tensed his muscles as he slammed against the door and felt the lock give way at last.

  The next few seconds appeared to happen in slow motion. Paul threw himself towards the bath and hauled out the limp body floating face down in the water. He could feel cold, wet skin, hair and clothes sticking to him as he turned to face the two uniformed men at the door.

  “Put her over here, sir,” one of them said, quickly moving aside to make room. Paul knelt and laid Liz down gently onto the carpet. Her short dark hair was plastered to her forehead. Her face seemed calm, but the wrong colour. Drained. She looked like a faded rag doll that had been left out in the rain.

  Paul stepped back and let the experts do their job. He watched as they cleared her airways and started artificial respiration. They took it in turn, trying to breathe life back into her and pushing down rhythmically onto her chest. Despite the urgency of the situation, their movements were fluid and smooth, like some kind of macabre dance.

  After what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, Paul saw Liz jerk and heard a deep, choking cough. She was quickly turned over onto her side, and water flowed out of her mouth. Suddenly, she gasped in air and began to twitch and shiver.

  “She’s OK,” one of the paramedics announced, turning to Paul. “You saved her life, sir. You forced that door just in time. If we’d gone to fetch our battering ram, it would have been too late.”

  “God,” was all Paul could manage.

  “And she’d turned on the gas over the road,” the paramedic continued, covering Liz with a blanket and starting to rub her briskly. “Good job we got there in time to switch it off. Otherwise, Christ knows what would have happened.”

  “Jez, Jez….” Liz’s voice was a croak.

  “Lay still, madam,” a tall ambulance man was saying. “Don’t move. We’ll need to take you to hospital to check you over. Please, don’t worry.”

  “Jez!” Liz was sobbing loudly now. “Jez, Allie, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry… Tell Jez I’m sorry. Please. Tell Allie I wasn’t myself, and I didn’t mean all those things I said on the phone. God, I’m so sorry. How could I ever have thought? Please, Paul, tell them.”

  “I will, Liz.”

  “Stretcher! Coming up!” A woman’s voice echoed round the hall and a stretcher appeared. Liz was quickly and expertly lifted onto it before being carried downstairs and out of the door.

  Silence slowly ebbed back into the house. As if in a dream, Paul made his way downstairs and stood on the threshold watching as Liz and Jeremiah were both taken away in separate ambulances. He noticed that, despite the circumstances, Jeremiah appeared to be laughing and joking with the ambulance crew. It was a good sign.

  Paul could hear voices behind the front room door and hesitated. Should he go in? He knocked. Getting no response, he entered and was greeted by the welcome sight of Allie sipping a cup of tea. An ambulance woman was sitting on the other sofa, taking notes. He noticed how small Allie looked, probably because she was swathed in two thick cotton blankets. The other woman glanced up at him as he entered, then swiftly turned her attention back to Allie.

  “So, Liz’s daughters are with friends tonight?”

  “Yes.” Allie looked up at Paul and smiled warmly. “Sit down, Paul,” she said, curling her legs up. “There’s room now.”

  “Thanks,” he said, sitting down awkwardly in the small space by her feet. Resisting the urge to stroke what he could see of her smooth skin, he quickly turned his attention back to the conversation in progress. “Don’t let me interrupt you.” He sat back, enjoying the closeness of her body. “Please, carry on.”

  The woman switched her gaze to her notes.

  “So, do you have a phone number? A contact at all?” There was a soothing Scottish lilt to her voice.

  Allie put her hand on Paul’s arm. It felt cool to him. Welcome.

  “Paul, pass me my handbag, would you? It’s down the side of the sofa.”

  He obliged, marvelling at the weight of it.

  “What have you got in here?” he asked, grinning as he handed it over.

  “Never you mind,” Allie said, starting to rummage through. She pulled out a battered address book and began to turn the pages. “Hold on…. Aha! Here we are.” Paul was amazed at how awake she sounded. “They’re sleeping over with their Aunt Jane, in Torrington Road. Phone number: 07926 039610. She’s Liz’s sister,” she added, putting away the book.

  “OK.” The woman took down the number, put her notepad into her pocket, and swiftly stood up to go. “So, just watch out for all the things we talked about,” she said, picking up her jacket from the sofa beside her. She began to walk towards the door. “Will you be OK tonight?” she asked suddenly, turning back to face Allie and Paul. There was a look of concern on her face. “I mean, you shouldn’t really be on your own.”

  Paul had an uncanny sense of deja vu.

  “It’s OK,” Allie’s voice sounded upbeat. “I won’t be alone, will I Paul?”

  He grinned more widely now as he caught her eye.

  “Not if I can help it,” he said.

  “Right, that’s reassured me,” said the woman cheerily. “Don’t forget, any problems, you can call us out again. Don’t hesitate.”

  “I won’t,” replied Allie, turning her full attention to Paul as the paramedic went out and closed the door.

  She gazed at him for a few seconds, and decided to simply let his presence wash over her. He had an aura of calmness about him which seemed to fill the room. Calmness and strength, tinged with the usual mischievous sparkle in his eye that made her melt whenever she saw it. Sunlight danced on the gold of his hair as he leaned slowly towards her. Suddenly, he stopped.

  “Should I be keeping an eye out for anything?” He put his hand up to her cheek. “What did the ambulance woman say to look out for? Should you be awake? Asleep? Eating? Drinking? Fasting? Hot? Cold?”

  She put her hand on his.

  “I’m not allowed to go to sleep for a few hours yet,” she murmured. “Can you think of a way to keep me awake? Something that would stop me nodding off?”

  He smiled as he put both arms around her and pulled her effortlessly onto his lap, blankets and all.

  “I’ll see what I can come up with,” he whispered, kissing her neck. “Don’t worry about anyone else. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He would tell her what Liz had said later. She pulled him closer, and had the overwhelming feeling she never wanted to let him go again.

  “Paul?”

  Her voice stopped him in mid-kiss, and he drew back a little so that he could gaze at her.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you stay with me?”

  His expression was hard to fathom. Suddenly, he looked deadly serious.

  “What, you mean tonight?” he asked.

  Allie laughed. “No, you idiot. Forever.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Forever, eh? I’ll have to think about that.” He pulled her close and began kissing her neck again. She giggled. His deep voice reverberated through h
er: “Hold still, woman, will you?”

  “Paul? Paul!” His kisses didn’t make it easy for her to focus on the question in hand. “Is that a yes?”

  “It is.”

  He pushed her back and leaned over her, stroking her hair. “Now we’ve got that sorted, as you say over here, would you mind shutting up? I want to kiss your mouth, but it won’t stop moving.”

  There was a moment of silence. Allie looked into his eyes, and saw the depths that were always there when he looked at her. She felt, for the first time, that she was beginning to fathom them.

  “I love you, Paul,” she said, as he started to kiss her again.

  His kiss, tender yet passionate, pushed away all her worries, all her doubts.

  “I love you too,” he whispered. “Will you marry me, Allie?”

  The words were spoken so softly, she half believed she had dreamed them. She opened her eyes, and saw instantly in his expression that she hadn’t.

  “Yes, Paul. I will.”

  As she continued to respond to his kisses with mounting passion, she realised her hoping days were over. Now, she was sure. Sure of his love for her, and of hers for him. She was ready for life to begin.

  The End

  Copyright © 2013 Shelley Ellerbeck

  All characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover image copyright Africa Studio, 2013. Used under licence from Shutterstock.com.