by Suzy K Quinn
‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling through tears. ‘Thank you so much.’
Chapter 43
When I leave Denise’s classroom, I feel happier. Lighter. But I’m also thinking very hard about what she said, particularly the part about keeping things hidden.
As I head outside, into the grounds, I find Tom and Tanya waiting for me.
‘Are you okay, Soph?’ Tom asks. ‘We were worried you were in trouble with the teacher.’ His wheelchair is balanced half on the path and half on a grassy verge, so I move him in case he tips over.
‘No, it was fine,’ I say. ‘Honestly.’
‘Jolly good. Well then. Are you all set for the theatre trip tomorrow?’
‘The what?’ I ask.
‘To the Globe. College outing.’
‘Really? A class trip so soon?’
‘It was in our introductory paperwork,’ says Tom, pulling a diary from his rucksack and thumbing through. ‘Let me just double check. Ah! No, not tomorrow. The day after. In the afternoon. We’re meeting on campus, and being driven there in the college minibus.’
‘I’ve always wanted to see the Globe,’ I say. ‘That sounds great.’ But in the meantime, I have dinner with Marc Blackwell to contend with.
‘So what did you and Denise talk about?’ Tanya asks.
I look from Tanya to Tom. They’re both such good people. I hate lying to them. I think of what Denise said about keeping secrets and not wanting that for myself.
‘She wanted to talk about ... someone I’m seeing.’
‘Someone you’re seeing?’ Tom takes a bag of Wotsits from his rucksack and rips them open. ‘Cheesy crisp?’
‘No thank you,’ I say.
‘You’re seeing someone?’ Tanya says. ‘Who?’
‘Just ... someone I shouldn’t. Someone a little older than me.’
‘An older man? Since when? I want to hear EVERYTHING!’
‘What’s he like in bed?’ asks Tom, with a mischievous raise of his eyebrow.
I laugh. ‘Honestly, I’m not all that sure. At least, about the bed part. I’ve only been in bed with him once.’
‘Only once?’ says Tom. ‘What kind of sex are you having?’
‘Tom!’ Tanya glares at him. ‘Just because you’re obsessed, doesn’t mean we all are. She may not even be having sex with him.’ Tanya turns to me. ‘Are you?’
‘I don’t know if you could call it sex. I mean, at least not in the usual way.’
Tom’s eyes light up. ‘Ho, ho! Sounds exciting. Tell us more.’
‘It’s ... unusual,’ I admit. ‘Weird kind of sex. Super hot, but weird sex. He takes charge of everything. So I haven’t really got to touch him or do anything without his say so.’
‘He sounds like a total sexist pig,’ says Tanya.
‘Each to their own, Tans,’ says Tom. ‘If Soph is up for it, who are we to judge?’
‘I’ve never known anything like this before,’ I say. ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone. But ... part of me thinks I should run away. It doesn’t feel healthy.’
‘Who is he?’ asks Tanya. ‘Do we know him?’
I pull in my bottom lip. ‘It’s ... I can’t tell you who he is.’
‘Why not? Is he married or something?’ Tanya asks.
‘Something like that. Let’s just say it’s sort of forbidden, us being together. We can’t tell anyone what’s happening.’
‘I bet that makes everything all the more exciting, eh?’ says Tom, leaning forward to slap my thigh.
I blush. ‘Yes. It makes it super hot, actually. But ... it also means it’s not a relationship. In a real relationship, you don’t have to sneak around. And things are more equal. But with him, he’s very firmly in charge. I know I should probably walk away, but it hurts to think of ending what we have. You know? I’m really falling for him.’
‘Ditch him,’ says Tanya, grabbing a handful of Tom’s crisps. ‘No man should be in control of you. The sooner you do it, the easier it’ll be.’
‘But I think, maybe if I could just get closer to him, get him to open up ...’
‘They’ll be other men,’ says Tanya.
‘Not like him,’ I say. ‘I’ve never met anyone like him before.’ I feel so empty at the thought of ending things with Marc, I just can’t bear it.
‘I don’t think I can walk away,’ I whisper. ‘I want more. And until I have it, I’ll always be wondering.’
‘That’s how men like that operate,’ says Tanya. ‘He’ll always leave you wanting more. Always. Walk away before it gets even harder.’
I nod, but Tom touches my arm lightly.
‘Soph, love. Do you want the wheelchair guy’s opinion?’
‘Yes please,’ I say.
‘Do you know how many girlfriends I’ve had?’ Tom asks.
I shake my head.
‘None,’ he says. ‘I talk to girls online, and I visit disabled websites and have virtual relationships, but I’ve never had a real relationship. Not ever. And do you know what? I probably never will have.’
‘Oh Tom,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s so tactless of -’
‘No, no, no.’ Tom waves my comment away. ‘Don’t give me the sympathy card. That’s not what I’m asking for. What I’m saying is, I’d give anything in the world to be in your position. To be on the edge of love or lust or whatever it is you’re feeling, and dive right in, no matter how hard I fall and how much it hurts. To have the opportunity to get my fingers burned. That’s what I’d give anything for. Getting your fingers burned is what life is all about. So take every opportunity. Because one day, you might not have that chance. When you’re old and ugly, who’s going to want to sleep with you?’
‘Thanks a lot,’ I say, playfully slapping his leg.
‘Ouch!’ He mock winces. ‘The nerve endings still work, you know. Anyway, that’s my two-pennyworth. Throw yourself in at the deep end. I’m sure you won’t actually drown. And even if it all goes horribly wrong, you’ll come out stronger. Just whatever you do, don’t get pregnant.’
I smile, and for the first time in days I feel my teeth showing when I do. I give him a big hug, squashing his Wotsits against his chest and knocking his hat to the floor.
‘I guess that’s the advice she was looking for,’ says Tanya with a smile, picking up his hat.
Chapter 44
Dinner with Marc Blackwell. Dinner with Marc Blackwell. I pace back and forth in front of my huge wardrobe, feeling like I don’t have a thing to wear.
I’ve pulled out dress after dress and laid it on my bed. Thank goodness I went shopping with Jen when I got my scholarship. She forced me to buy going-out clothes, and gave me her mum’s advice: buy it and the occasion will come. Well, the occasion has come. And now nothing seems good enough.
I analyse every outfit, from the message it sends out (Confident? Desperate? Prudish?), to how flattering it is, what shoes go with it ... I’m driving myself mad.
I get Jen on Skype and hold up different outfits. She laughs when I hold the camera to the wardrobe, and she sees there are hardly any clothes left on their hangers.
‘It looks like you’ve emptied your whole wardrobe onto the floor,’ she says.
‘It’s not funny,’ I say, although I can’t help but smile. ‘Help me, please.’
‘Maybe this is too big a job for either of us,’ says Jen. ‘I mean, Marc Blackwell, Sophia. This is all a bit crazy, don’t you think? I’ve thought about it, and ... I don’t know. He’s never publically had a girlfriend, and to make the moves on one of his younger pupils ...’
‘He’s only a few years older than me,’ I point out.
‘But still ... okay. Look, usually I’d try and talk you out of something like this. You know what a pushover you are.’
We both laugh. I’m not a pushover when it counts, actually, but Jen can call me whatever she likes. I know what she means. Easy going. I don’t like arguments.
‘Anyway,’ Jen continues, ‘I can tell just by the way you’re
talking that you’ve got it bad. And I can’t say I blame you. So. I’m going to help you be sexy and confident and in control.’
‘Fat chance with Marc around,’ I say.
‘Well, let’s try,’ says Jen. ‘That red dress, hold it up.’
‘This one?’ I hold up a thigh-length red dress. Half the side has silk flowing down it like a waterfall, and there’s a red silk rose at the bust. It’s extremely fitted, in an expensive, crumpled sort of way, and strapless. ‘It’s a bit too red carpet.’
‘Exactly,’ says Jen. ‘Confident. Sexy. He won’t know what hit him. But tone it down a bit with the shoes. Those boots are perfect. And wear some sort of big necklace so you don’t look naked around the shoulders. That silver coin one.’
‘Okay,’ I say, picking up a necklace from the wardrobe shelf. I put everything on and look in the mirror.
‘Wow,’ says Jen, when I stand in front of the camera. ‘If he won’t make you his girlfriend, then I will.’
I laugh. ‘Spoken like a true friend.’
‘Where is his house, anyway?’ Jen asks.
‘I have no idea,’ I say.
‘So how are you getting there?’
‘I have no idea about that either,’ I say. ‘Marc texted me earlier. He told me to walk to the campus’s car park entrance and wait there.’
‘What a gentleman,’ says Jen. ‘He’d better take care of you, or he’ll have me to answer to.’
Chapter 45
In the end, I choose the clothes I feel most comfortable in – grey jeans, an oversized black sweater and silver jewellery. I put two glittering bird studs in my ears and hang a rose quartz on a silver chain around my neck.
It’s cold outside the campus car park gates, as I watch cars zooming past. I’m early as usual, and shiver in my sweater. I wish I’d brought a coat along, but when Jen and I went shopping they didn’t have the winter ranges in yet, and I don’t want to wear my old rain coat.
Like the main entrance gates, the car park gates are wrought iron, gothic and beautiful. If I wasn’t so nervous I’d be captivated by them. But I am nervous.
I check my watch again.
On the road I see a long, black limousine. Its indicator comes on as it approaches the college, and it begins to slow down.
Is that for me?
I watch in amazement as the limousine stops outside the college gates.
The back window rolls down, and Marc’s face appears.
‘Sophia.’ He opens the car door. ‘Get in.’
I duck my head and climb into the limo, closing the door behind me.
Marc sits on a leather couch inside, his legs crossed, watching me. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt, black jeans and slightly scuffed biker boots. One of the boots is propped over his thigh. His lips aren’t smiling, but his eyes are.
I take a seat on the leather couch opposite, putting my hands on my knees. I notice a drinks cabinet, lit with yellow lights, and a flat screen TV. It’s dark in the car and smells like leather.
Marc’s hands move to the drinks cabinet. He clicks open a can of tonic, then pours it into a glass with ice and lemon.
‘Here,’ he says, passing me the drink. ‘It’s too early for champagne.’
I look at the drink fizzing away, and think: is it? ‘I think I can manage some gin in this,’ I say, and to my surprise, Marc finds a bottle of Gordons in the cabinet and pours a small measure into my glass. I take a large gulp.
‘Aren’t you drinking?’ I ask.
Marc throws me one of his smouldering, intense looks and I grip the glass tighter, feeling its chill against my fingers. ‘Not yet.’
The car pulls out, and I see the college become smaller through the tinted windows.
‘How did you like singing class?’ Marc asks.
‘I liked it very much,’ I say. ‘I liked Denise. She spoke with me. About you.’
‘Really?’ Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Nothing gets past her.’ He looks out of the window. ‘I remember, when I was a teenager, being amazed by the things she knew about me.’
‘Oh really?’ I raise a playful eyebrow. ‘What sort of things?’
Marc smiles, and his cheekbones look sharp and lethal. ‘All sorts of things. I wasn’t the most wholesome of teenagers.’
‘How did I guess?’ I say, grinning now. ‘She told me lots of things I didn’t know about you. About how you grew up.’
Marc’s smile disappears. ‘It wasn’t the best of upbringings. If it weren’t for Denise, I could have gone in a very different direction. One of the reasons I love London so much is because she’s here.’
The car drives west along Oxford Street, and I see crowds of shoppers trying to peer into the windows when we stop at traffic lights.
‘Can they see us?’ I ask.
Marc shakes his head. ‘They can’t see a thing. The windows are specially designed.’ He leans closer. ‘I’m glad you’re getting on with Denise. It seems I’m not the only teacher you’ve been pleasing. Should I be jealous?’ He smiles again, and my insides melt.
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Denise is much more open than you’ve been.’
‘Ah.’ Marc leans back into the leather, and it squeaks under his body. ‘Openness. I’ve had bad experiences with openness.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
Marc takes the rose quartz that’s around my neck in his fingers. ‘I like this. It brings out the colours in your eyes.’
‘It’s a rose quartz,’ I say. ‘The stone of love. I keep it close to me when I want to feel safe and protected.’
‘And you don’t feel safe and protected around me?’
‘Yes. I do. But you make me nervous, too.’
Marc takes my gin and tonic, and places it on the walnut counter. Then he takes my hands. ‘You shouldn’t feel nervous.’
‘Sometimes I feel I should be protected from you,’ I admit. ‘This is all so ... intense.’
I like the way his hands feel on mine.
‘But you trust me?’
‘I trust you.’
‘And yet, you’re inhibited around me.’
I nod. ‘Yes. I feel so many things when I’m with you. It’s hard to relax and completely be myself.’
Marc sets my hands in my lap. He looks out the window. ‘Being in this car is a good opportunity to learn something about inhibitions and trust, don’t you think?’
‘Is it?’ I reach for my gin and tonic, and take a nervous sip. ‘Why?’
‘All these people, peering into the limo windows. It feels like they can see us, doesn’t it?’
I nod. ‘You’re sure they can’t?’
‘Sophia. Do you think I’d own a limo that people could see in to? And take you across London in it? When you’re with me you’ll be safe, and that means your reputation too. No one will know you’re spending extra time after class with me. Not unless you want them to.’
‘Right now, I don’t want them to,’ I say. ‘I want you to stay at the university. I don’t want the other pupils to miss out on your teaching.’
‘Just so you know,’ says Marc. ‘If it starts to bother you, doing things in this clandestine fashion, I’ll stop teaching any time you ask me to.’
‘And like I said. I can’t do that to the other pupils.’
‘Take your clothes off,’ says Marc.
My hands fly to my chest. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Deadly serious. I gave you an instruction. Take your clothes off.’
‘You really are being serious, aren’t you?’ I say. ‘You want me to take my clothes off right here, in the back of this car?’
‘All of your clothes. Right here, right now.’
‘But I feel like people can see me.’
‘Exactly right,’ says Marc.
I always thought of myself as a normal sort of girl with normal sorts of needs. But being with Marc has opened up a whole new world of feelings that I’m not sure I’m comfortable with.
Chapter 46
I sli
de my arms out of my sweater, taking my time, hoping he might change his mind.
‘Faster, Sophia. I mean it. If you don’t hurry up, I’ve got a slipper waiting for you at my town house.’
I wriggle out of the jumper, and take off my shoes and socks. Then slowly, I slide down my jeans and take off my vest.
I see the faces of shoppers and tourists lining Oxford Street as we judder slowly in tight traffic, and for a moment I want to fling my clothes back on again. But I trust Marc when he tells me they can’t see.
‘Your underwear too,’ he says, resting back on the couch and pouring himself a whisky and soda from the drinks cabinet. The glass is cut crystal and shines under the yellow lights.
I unclip my bra, and slide off my panties. I do it quickly, like jumping into a cold swimming pool. I think the quicker I do it, the less painful it will be. But as I sit here, completely naked, with cool leather under me, I feel more exposed than ever before.
The limo stops at another traffic light and more faces peer into the car. Teenage boys, tourists, couples – it feels like people from all walks of life are looking at me with no clothes on.
‘I feel like they can all see me,’ I whisper, my arms wrapping themselves around my ribs.
‘When a director asks you to do something, it may go against all your instincts,’ Marc says. ‘But you have to trust what they’re saying.’
‘Not all actresses take their clothes off.’
‘It’s not about nudity,’ says Marc. ‘It’s about baring your soul. Showing everything in here.’ He puts a fist to his chest. ‘A good actor is always perfectly in control, but totally exposed. That’s what makes it such a difficult profession. To show your soul to millions of people, without losing yourself in the process.’
I watch the pedestrians, and with every minute that passes, my nakedness seems less.
‘Now,’ says Marc. ‘Turn around and face the window.’
I turn around, knowing my rear end is now facing him. I look out of the window, watching shops go slowly past. The traffic has showed no signs of easing off and we’re stopping and starting, stopping and starting.