Laying the Ghosts

by Catherine Thornton

  It was only when Mr Dowding had asked her why she had come that everything suddenly seemed to snap back into the sharp focus of reality. She saw that she was a schoolgirl about to make a fool of herself and that he was composed and detached and would soon be laughing at her silly infatuation. She felt a rush of humiliation as she realised what the inevitable outcome of her confession would be and she felt angry with him for seeming so invulnerable. She might have walked out without even returning the watch had she not felt committed to doing something. So, in the end she handed him the watch with the simple intention of putting an end to the whole charade. His rebuff was all the more hurtful because it was expected. She wondered how it was that the madness that had drained out of her had infected him. He had been transformed at a single touch. She had been frightened at this change and there were moments when she would have pushed him off if he had not been so strong. It was only now that she was wholly glad about what have happened, because of what it implied.

  Alex was woken up by Daisy clambering over him. He was cold and stiff from sleeping on the settee and he felt sick as soon as he moved. A glance at the clock told him that he would be late for school if he did not leave almost immediately. He washed his face and changed his shirt and he had a quick cup of tea to help down some aspirin. He was prepared to believe that the events of the previous night had been one of his frightful dreams, but the sight of the watch – which had stopped overnight and would not restart – on the mantelpiece convinced him otherwise.

  It was a strangely disturbed day for him. He felt a lingering sense of shame that made him acutely and irrationally sensitive to the casual glances of both staff and pupils. More disturbing still was the fact that he could not rid himself of the thought of Emma. He dreaded seeing her again, yet he spent the whole day in a state of anxious anticipation. He expected something to happen as a consequence of the previous night but nothing did. It was only when he heard someone at his door shortly after he had returned home in the evening that he realised quite how unsuccessful he had been in regaining his composure.

  Emma looked pale and calm. He hesitated for a moment and then realised that he must invite her in.

  “We’d better talk. Will you come in?”

  She did so without comment. He felt obliged to say something but wasn’t sure where to begin. Eventually he spoke.

  “Emma, what happened was very wrong.”

  “Why?” she had followed him into the study and sat down uninvited as if she now had some right to be there.

  He ignored her question. The reasons were obvious. He wished he could free his mind of the memory of the last time she had been in the room. He knew he must take control of the situation.

  “Emma...”

  “Mr Dowding?” Her tone was faintly mocking and Alex lost his grip on his half formulated sentences and muttered a curse instead. It was Emma who took the initiative.

  “I know what you are going to say and I’d rather you didn’t say it. I’m not upset by what happened. I think it was right.”

  “It most certainly was not right!” he interrupted sharply. “Look, Emma, I’m very...sorry.” The word seemed absurdly inadequate. “The best thing we can do is to forget about what happened and to avoid each other as best we can.”

  “Forget it?”

  “Yes. The whole thing is silly and wrong. You must have boyfriends of your own age...”

  “Mr Dowding,” she controlled her voice with difficulty. “I do not have boyfriends. I’ve only had you. You can take me or leave me, but as far as I’m concerned I can never belong to anyone else.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “It may seem ridiculous to you,” there was a suggestion of a tremor in her voice and Alex turned to face his desk while she spoke, “but that is how I feel. It would be wrong of me to ever think of marrying anyone else.”

  “Emma, don’t be so naive.” He turned back to face her. “There is no possibility of any further...friendship between us. I’m old enough to be your father.”

  “Older!”

  “Thankyou.”

  “Well, you are. But I really don’t see why that makes a difference.

  He groaned aloud. “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  There was a long silence and then Alex said gently, “Emma, you are very young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’ll meet someone you’ve got lots in common with; someone your own age. You’re far too young to even think about marriage yet. I just hope you’ll...get over what happened.”

  Emma replied in the same tone of quiet control that she had used before. “Some people are too young to marry at eighteen. Some people are still too young to marry at thirty. Some people have no more sense at fifty! What does age matter? If you don’t want me, fair enough. But you can’t stop me wanting you. Not now.” She was buoyed up by her own belief that there was now an indissoluble bond between them.

  Alex was aware that he was at a tremendous disadvantage. His actions had compromised him and he had not yet regained complete control over his own feelings. He had to be firm, but the ground seemed to slide from beneath him when he tried to argue with her.

  “Do you have a bathroom?” she asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “A bathroom.”

  “Oh, upstairs. The door opposite when you reach the top.” He replied automatically, trying to give himself moments to compose himself.

  “Thankyou.” She disappeared upstairs and he bent down to put some more logs on the fire. He knew that he must make her leave as soon as he could. Maybe he would even have to leave the school altogether. He wished Emma was different. More like Jennifer Avery. Then he could just throw her out and forget all about it.

  The minutes ticked by and Emma did not return. There had been no sound from upstairs and a worm of concern turned in his stomach. Was she alright? He went into the hall.

  “Emma?”

  There was silence.

  “Emma? Are you alright?”

  Still no reply. He walked up the stairs. The bathroom door was open and he could see that the room was empty. He pushed open the door of his bedroom. She stood in the shadows.

  “Emma! For goodness sake! Please go.”

  She stood motionless for a moment and then she lifted her hands and started to undo the buttons on her blouse. Alex watched as she slowly took it off and looked up at him. He sighed as his barely formed resolve ebbed away. She took one light step towards him and he put his arms around her. This time he was fully aware of what he was doing and he knew that it was wrong. Perhaps he could even have stopped himself. As it was he lifted her onto his bed.

  Emma propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at Alex’s face.

  “You’re frowning.” One of her fingers softly brushed some hair off his forehead. When he opened his eyes he saw that she was smiling. There was a confidence in her manner that annoyed him.

  “My mother wouldn’t approve of this!” she said.

  He pushed her off with sudden vigour. “I don’t approve either.”

  “I hope you are not going to tell me how old you are again.”

  “Emma, do you realise how serious this is?” He pulled on his dressing gown fiercely. She sat up and looked at him coolly.

  “Of course I do. I believe I’m more serious than you. I just don’t believe that I am doing anything wrong. My mother says that if something is wrong your conscience will trouble you. Even if other people condone or commend what you are doing you will still feel troubled. But my conscience doesn’t trouble me, so how can I be doing wrong?”

  Her repeated invocation of her mother annoyed him.

  “Put some clothes on.” He left the room abruptly and went to wash his face. He was angry with himself for allowing his lust to over-master him with such ease and with Emma for her naiveté. He heard a footstep in the hall.

  “I wish you didn’t retreat into yourself the way you do. A few minutes ago you were gentle and loving. Now you are full of fury.”

>   “Loving!” He spoke with contempt. “That’s not loving.”

  “It was for me.” She seemed to make an effort to brace herself before asking, “Are you angry with me?”

  He let out a long, low sigh.

  “No, Emma, not you. It’s not your fault.” He looked at her. She was so pure and full of love. But he had sullied her purity and would alienate her love. He felt sordid and dirty.

  “There’s no point in talking, Emma. Don’t pretend that this is romance. You are being a fool.” He walked quickly back to the bedroom and picked up her clothes in a bundle and thrust them towards her. “Just keep away from me. For your own sake.”

  But Emma had not expected romance. Nor would she have valued it.

  “For some reason being in your house makes me feel grubby. I’m sure that if your mother saw me walking across her immaculate cream carpet or sitting in her lovely pale blue armchairs she’d want to vacuum me up or dust me off! Do you mind if I remove my shoes before I come in?”

  “It’s probably a good idea. Still, if it gets spoilt it’s their own silly fault for buying such a pale carpet. It’s already had wine on it.”

  Emma tiptoed across the room and perched on the edge of a chair.

  “Coffee?”

  “No. I’d only spill it.”

  Claire sat opposite Emma. Although she was not a particularly observant person, she did notice that Emma’s long hair, which was normally neatly tied back, hung lank and uncombed about her face and that her blouse was faintly dirty. She did look out of place and uncomfortable in the pristine and formal sitting room.

  “Are you better now?”

  “Better?” Emma raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I haven’t been ill. Just skiving.”

  “Shame on you. Still, you’ve not missed much. An essay from Mrs Lawrence. I can give you the title if you like.”

  “Thanks.” Emma pushed a long strand of hair out of her eyes. “No one has noticed my absence then?”

  Claire shook her head. “Nobody’s said anything. Why haven’t you been in anyway?”

  “I’ve gone off the whole idea of school.”

  “Haven’t we all. But seriously, you don’t want to get too much behind at this stage.”

  “I’ll be honest, Claire, at the moment I simply don’t give a damn.” She stopped to consider whether to explain herself. “You see, my mother’s not getting any better. I just haven’t got the concentration I need to get through a day full of dull lessons.”

  “What is actually wrong with your mother?”

  “Cancer.”

  “That’s pretty serious isn’t it?”

  “You could put it that way.” Emma again pushed her hair back from her face but it fell forwards after only a few seconds. “The doctor came yesterday. He’s thinking of putting her on something that sounds like an opiate. I bet it’s addictive and they only give it to you when they know that there is no hope.” She was looking down at one finger tip as if examining a blemish. “I wish he’d prescribe some for me too. It might perk me up a bit.”

  “I didn’t realise.” Claire spoke quietly. “I’m really sorry. If there is anything we can do to help...?” She couldn’t see Emma’s face which was hidden behind a curtain of hair. “Will she be going to hospital?”

  “No.” Emma shook her head vigorously. “She’s happier at home. Anyway, there is a nurse who will come round if necessary. But I’d rather be there myself. I mean she’s not bedridden or anything. She’s lost her appetite a bit over the last few weeks. And then there is the pain. But apart from that it is just a case of gradual deterioration. I think the worst thing would be for her to be left on her own all the time. She keeps telling me to go to school, but she doesn’t put up too much of a fight when I refuse. After all, I can get on with my reading any time. And If I don’t, the exams can wait a year or so. Anyway,” Emma stood up and went to smell some flowers that were in a vase on the mantelpiece, “how was Friday’s English lesson. Did I miss anything good?”

  “Not particularly. My Dowding kept losing track of his own arguments. In the end he gave up and told us to read. It was quite boring. He obviously had his mind on better things.”

  Emma pulled one of the blooms out of the vase and sniffed it. She could not detect even a faint hint of fragrance and wrinkled her brow as she replaced it.

  “How very gratifying,” she muttered absent-mindedly.

  “Pardon?”

  “He was obviously missing me,” she joked.

  “Missing a few marbles more like! I think he’s getting senile.”

  “Oh dear. I’m glad he can’t hear you say that. He already seems to have a complex about his age.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire put her head on one side enquiringly.

  “Oh, nothing.” Emma ran her fingers through her hair in an exasperated gesture. “I think I’m going mad, Claire.” She let her arms drop back to her sides with a sigh.

  “Oh, that reminds me: he wanted to see you.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know why, but he seemed pretty keen to find you.”

  “When was that?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Oh, Wednesday.” Emma’s voice expressed disappointment. “I doubt if it was important.”

  “Have you told anyone yet? About your mother I mean. They may not have noted your absence yet but Mr Hawkes is bound to twig sooner or later.”

  “Listen, Claire, I’d be grateful if you didn’t say anything to anybody. Even if they ask. Just say you have no idea what is wrong with me.”

  Claire shrugged her shoulders. “Ok. If that’s what you want. So you’re not coming in on Monday?”

  “I doubt it. Perhaps Tuesday. I’ll see. In the meantime I’d be grateful if you could give me the title of that essay.”

  “Well, Alex, I won’t pry into your motives as you so obviously want to keep them to yourself. But I must confess that I’m more than a little surprised. It will be extremely inconvenient, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I realise that. I’m very sorry. It is quite simply impossible for me to stay on after Christmas.”

  “I can see I’m not going to get any more out of you on the matter.”

  “No, Jean, I’m afraid not.”

  “Will you be looking for a job elsewhere? You know that I will provide you with a good reference.”

  “I appreciate that, but I haven’t made any plans.”

  “Well then, we’d better leave it at that.”

  Alex could recall every word of the conversation he had with Jean Jones on Monday. Leaving so suddenly with his A level girls so close to their exams was bound to be frowned upon and he was grateful that she had calmly accepted his decision without asking too many questions. He had no desire to lie to her, but he could not possible acquaint her with the real reason why he wanted to leave the school as soon as possible. He only hoped that the truth would never come to light. He hadn’t seen Emma herself since Thursday night but she was there now, sitting at the back of the classroom. He had spent the whole lesson marking essays whilst the class wrote down their ideas on some questions that he had put up on the blackboard. They should have been discussing their ideas but he wanted to be able to keep his eyes and mind on the essays he had in front of him.

  Alex did not look up once until the lesson was over. When he did his eyes immediately met those of Emma. The others were hurriedly putting their note together. Emma was the last to hand in her work. The others had left the room.

  “I was going to write you a letter but I decided to stick to Hamlet. Less complex.”

  He was disturbed to see that she looked quite wan and her eyes lacked their normal lustre. However, he kept his voice cold.

  “On the understanding that you keep the information to yourself, I think I should tell you that I have handed in my resignation.”

  The spark came back to her eyes instantly. She looked at him in exasperation.

  “What a stupid thing to do! You needn’t have worried. I d
oubt if I shall be coming back to school.”

  “Don’t be silly, Emma. You’ve got to.”

  “No I haven’t.” She took a sharp intake of breath. “Why on earth did you do that? I’ll keep away from you if that is what you really want.”

  “That’s not the point. It wouldn’t have been ethical for me to stay.”

  “Ethics? Nonsense! You just don’t want to face up to what’s happened and it’s easier to ignore things from a distance.” Anger made her direct.