by David Belbin
“Rachel! What are you ...?”
“I needed to see you.”
Rachel walked in. The remains of a takeaway was on the TV table, along with an open bottle of Pilsner Urquell, an expensive beer which Mike rarely treated himself to.
“Celebrating your new job?” Rachel asked, pointedly.
Mike was flustered. “How did you ...?”
“My mum’s a school governor, remember?”
Instead of kissing her, holding her, Mike began to explain. Rachel didn’t really listen. There was some stuff about how hard it was to get work at the moment, then a bit more about how he was talked into it, as though this wasn’t what he wanted at all. This had been the hardest decision of his life, he said.
“It doesn’t mean we’re finished, Rachel. It just means that we have to be discreet for a while longer.”
“How much longer?” Rachel asked. “A month? A year? Two years?”
“We can see each other,” Mike assured her. “But we’ll have to keep it quiet until, say ... Christmas.”
“I don’t want to keep it quiet,” Rachel told him. “I love you. I want to shout it to the world. I want to be seen out with you. I don’t want to be treated like some bit on the side.”
“It’s not like that,” Mike said.
He looked tired and flustered. There was something of a teacher’s impatience in his voice.
“Isn’t it?” Rachel argued. “You told me that you’d take any job, no matter how bad, so that we could be together. Instead, you’re staying at the one place where you can’t be seen going out with me! I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it!”
Mike came over and held her. Rachel began to hit him. He held her tightly. She continued hitting him, but began to cry. Then the hitting turned into holding, and the crying into kissing. Rachel hated herself for wanting him so much.
Before long, they were naked on the sofa, grinding desperately against each other. It wasn’t like before. It was pleasurable, but it wasn’t making love, Rachel realized. It was sex. Afterwards, instead of feeling full, Rachel felt hollow. On the hi-fi, Bob Marley sang a song about running away.
A few minutes later, Mike called her a taxi, and Rachel went home.
Five
Year eleven were demob happy. It was their last afternoon at Stonywood and the place was chaotic. Already, the fire alarm had been set off three times. Mike tried to return final pieces of work and give some last minute exam advice, but no one was really listening. There was a craze going round for writing on the backs of shirts. After all, none of them would ever wear school shirts again, would they? They were allowed to wear what they wanted when taking the exams.
Mike moved from student to student, checking whether they had any problems, asking what they were doing next year. Nick Cowan intended to do English Literature A-level, along with drama and communication studies.
“What about you, Becky?” he asked, as she came over to get Nick to write on her shirt. “What are you going to do next?”
Becky gave him a funny look. She was the only one in the class who knew about him and Rachel. Not that Mike was sure there was a him and Rachel any more. She hadn’t called since she showed up at his house the Friday before. Becky probably knew that too.
“I’m going to get married,” Becky said. “Have kids.”
“Aren’t you a bit ...”
“Young?” Becky filled in for him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, teenagers grow up more quickly these days. I want to have a family while I’m young, then have a career when I’m ready. I don’t want to be like my mum. She gave up work at thirty and never got back in.”
Mike thought that Becky was mad, but knew better than to tell her so. Becky held out one of the few unmarked corners of her shirt.
“Want to leave a message, sir? Something for me to remember you by?”
Mike looked at the scrawled shirt. The girls’ messages were mostly sentimental, the boys’ mainly lewd. He recognized Nick’s writing: simply the best, he’d written, love from Nick. Mike remembered Rachel telling him that Nick used to have a thing for Becky. The boy had good taste. What to write? Good luck, he put, Mike Steadman. Becky turned away and was replaced by Rachel.
“We were wrong,” Kate Duerden called out. “It isn’t Rachel he’s after, it’s Becky. Look, he’s written on her boobs!”
While Becky demonstrated that this wasn’t true, Mike watched Nick write a tender message on Rachel’s back. When he’d finished, she turned round and smiled at Mike.
“Want to write something, sir?”
Mike thought for a moment. Nick gave him a funny look. Other kids in the class were paying attention. “Better not,” he said.
His students started drifting away ten minutes before the break-time bell. Mike did nothing to stop them. What would be the point? He’d done all he could. The rest was up to them. Rachel was one of the first to go. He watched her leave, a comic book figure with her back covered in doodles. From behind, her new, short haircut made her look boyish. She seemed so young. Yet, six days ago, they’d been ... they’d been ...
It was over, Mike realized, as he sat in the classroom, alone, waiting for the bell. It couldn’t go on. He wouldn’t tell Rachel yet. It wouldn’t be fair to upset her during the exams. But he had to let her go. It would be easier, now that they no longer saw each other every day.
Maybe he had always known that it would end like this. They’d been mad to go with each other, but the madness - the risks, the near misses - had been part of what made it so exciting. They could never capture that again. And the other stuff, all the things they had in common, the talk about living together, they were never really real. On that point, as on many others, Phil had been right. Rachel was too young. She had a life to lead before she started making commitments.
Mike had never had to finish with anybody before. When the time came, he would break it to her gently. Maybe Rachel would work it out for herself beforehand. Maybe the two of them would simply let things fizzle out over the summer. If Rachel was mature about it, maybe they’d even manage to remain friends.
Or maybe not.
Six
Three weeks had passed since Rachel finished school. She hadn’t seen Mike once in that time. When they’d spoken on the phone, he’d been distant, only asking about her exams. Rachel had spent a lot of the last three weeks trying to decide what to do about him.
After Mike took the job, Rachel had considered chucking him. It would be better to finish with him before he finished with her. She’d worked out that Mike was bound to leave her. He’d made a choice between staying with her and staying at Stonywood. But they were still supposed to be going out with each other. Last time they spoke, ten days ago, she’d suggested that they sneak a weekend away in the summer. Mike said he’d buy tickets for an open air concert by REM in Huddersfield. But that would be after the exams, which, to Rachel, was a never-never land. You could promise anything there.
In the end, she decided, it was all about love, and being brave enough to love, to go for what you wanted and not give in. Mike had said “I love you” at the end of that last phone conversation, and, despite her doubts, she’d said it back. How could you stop loving someone, just like that? Mike loved her, sure he did. But maybe he didn’t love her enough. If that was the case, Rachel didn’t want to spend months waiting around for him to end it. She was only sixteen. She wasn’t going to settle for anything less than total commitment.
Dad sent a card wishing her luck in her exams. There was no address on it, no sign of him getting back together with Clarissa. Rachel missed Phoebe and Rowan, but there were other things to worry about than her father and his other family.
Her period was late.
Rachel went back and read the leaflets she’d been given about the combined pill. They said that if you started late, you should use a condom as well as the pill. At first, she and Mike had used condoms: belt and braces, like the nurse at the Safe Sex Centre said. But Mike disliked the things and
putting them on got in the way. Rachel knew Mike’s sexual history. They were safe. So they’d stopped using them, even that last time, which was when it must have happened.
It was probably a mistake, Rachel kept telling herself. What was a day or two? Anyway, she had other things to worry about. The exams had begun and, every day, Rachel panicked. Her head didn’t seem capable of holding any but the most basic facts. English was OK, and art. The rest - even history, one of her best subjects - were a nightmare. Rachel needed four good GCSEs to get into an A-level course. She’d be lucky to get two.
The final exam was English Literature. This ought to be Rachel’s best subject. She knew she’d done well on the coursework, which was worth thirty per cent. In the exam, however, her mind went blank. Mike was one of the teachers in the Sports hall, invigilating. Pale shafts of sunlight streaked across the huge space. Mike walked around it, now and then pausing to answer a query, or escort someone to the toilet. Rachel tried not to look at him, or his shadow. She didn’t want Mike to come over and see that her answer paper was blank.
During exams, the hall was unnaturally quiet. The only sounds were the scratching of pens and the turning of paper. In the distance you could sometimes hear workmen having a joke, or moving some bricks where they were extending the music block. If it got too noisy, one of the teachers went out to have a word.
Eventually, Rachel managed to write a reasonable piece about two poems from the anthology, Wendy Cope’s “Message” and Liz Lochhead’s “Fin”. She had to turn them into a conversation between two lovers. Rachel had her couple breaking up. Then she moved on to the Romeo and Juliet questions. These should be easy for her, but it didn’t work that way. She knew the play too well. One question asked her to write Juliet’s secret journal for the night of her wedding. Rachel had already messed up an assignment like that for Mike. She chose to write a formal essay: “All are punished. Discuss how far the Prince’s words apply to the main characters in the play.”
Rachel tried to make notes on the question. But the last answer had taken it out of her. She couldn’t do it. Her mind kept going over her own life instead. Rachel’s going with Mike broke as many taboos as Juliet going with Romeo. Yet, who was being punished? Mike had been given a job. Rachel, meanwhile, was screwing up her exams and might be pregnant. Why was she the one who had to suffer? Was she the one who’d done something wrong?
“Rachel? Are you all right? Rachel?”
She looked up to see Ms Howard.
“Rachel, you’re crying.” The teacher offered her a tissue, which Rachel used. She spent the rest of the exam staring at the paper, not writing a single word.
“How did it go?” Mum asked, when she got in from work. Rachel was on the sofa in the living room, watching Home and Away. She had the phone off the hook, and hadn’t answered the door when Becky came round, after the exam. She had nothing to say to anybody.
Mum repeated the question. Reluctantly, Rachel answered her. “Lousy. I failed.”
“But it was English Literature, wasn’t it? I thought that was your best subject.”
“It used to be.”
Rachel burst into tears. Mum sat down next to Rachel on the sofa and put an arm around her, holding her until she stopped.
“Isn’t it about time you told me what’s going on?”
Rachel didn’t answer. She wanted so much to tell her mum. There was no one she could go to. All of her friends were celebrating the end of the exams. She couldn’t bring them down. But Rachel felt like she had nothing to celebrate.
“Mr Steadman was so sure that you’d do well, Rachel,” Mum said. “What happened?”
Hearing Mike’s name mentioned, Rachel started crying again. Mum held her tightly, loving her warmly, unconditionally, the way a mother was supposed to.
“There, there. There, there.”
Rachel pressed her head against her mother’s chest.
“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to,” Mum said. “You’re entitled to have secrets. But I’m here to help if I can.”
Rachel closed her eyes. It seemed like the ground had given way beneath her and she could feel herself falling. There was only Mum between her and oblivion.
“What is it, Rachel? Are you feeling ill?”
Rachel lifted her head from her mother’s chest. “Not ill, no. I think I’m pregnant.”
Mum gulped and Rachel cried some more. When she’d stopped, Mum said, “I thought you were on the pill.”
“I am. But I’m overdue.”
“How long?”
“Coming up to a week.”
Mum reassured Rachel and talked about practicalities. She’d be able to take a test tomorrow. When Rachel was calmer, Mum asked another question.
“How did it happen? I thought the boy you were seeing was away.”
“He’s not away. We just agreed not to see each other for a while.”
“Because of the exams?”
“Sort of,” Rachel said, evasively. “I’m not even sure if we’re going out with each other any more. It’s complicated.”
“But you’re in love with him?” Mum asked.
“I thought I was. I don’t know any more.”
“And he loves you?”
Rachel didn’t know the answer to that any more either. “He says he does. But I don’t know what he’d do if I was pregnant.”
“He’d be responsible,” Mum said. “That’s the risk you take when you have sex with somebody. He’d have to support whatever you wanted to do. Do you think this boy is mature enough to do that?”
“He’s not a boy,” Rachel blurted out. “He’s a man.”
Mum’s voice became stern. “Who?”
Seven
By Friday afternoon Mike was more than ready for the weekend. At least the worst was behind him. The exams were over. Next week, instead of invigilation, he had four extra free periods where his year-eleven lessons used to be. He could relax a little, then spend some time preparing materials for next year.
And Rachel was gone at last. Mike had, of course, been worried when he saw her burst into tears in the exam yesterday. He’d tried to ring her as soon as he got home, but the phone was engaged. However, his main feeling was one of relief. She wasn’t a pupil here any more. He’d got away with it.
Would Mike see Rachel again? He had to. The summer holidays were only a few weeks away. They hadn’t slept together for nearly a month. He wanted her badly. Sex was a big part of their relationship. He and Rachel might not have a future together, but hopefully they could enjoy a few more weeks, before coming to a mature, mutual decision to split up.
It was his free period. Mike sat in the staffroom, alone, marking year-nine books. To his surprise, Sarah Poole came in, looking as tired as he felt. Mike thought she normally taught at this time.
“What’ve you been up to, Mike?” she said.
“Pardon?”
“I’ve just been summoned out of a lesson by the Head,” Sarah said, in her most excitable voice. “She said that she wants to see you, with me, now.”
“Why?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me that.”
This can’t be happening, Mike thought. Not now. It was too cruel. His brain wouldn’t take anything in. All he could come up with was: deny, deny.
“I really don’t know ...”
“Then you’d better think as we walk over there,” Sarah said. “The Head told me she’s brought in the Chair of Governors. That means it’s serious.”
The governors. Rachel’s mother, Mike remembered, was a school governor.
“Have you hit a kid recently?” Sarah asked, as they walked over to the administration block.
“I’ve never hit a kid in my life,” Mike told her, indignantly.
“You’d be one of the few, then,” Sarah said. “That’s what this kind of call is usually about. You haven’t really been screwing Rachel Webster, have you?”
“Of course not,” Mike said.
But what else cou
ld it be? Sarah kept chattering away. “Good. I did hear the stories going round. You always get them with young, single teachers. They can’t be making you redundant, can they?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right,” Sarah said. “Try not to worry. This is probably the Head coming in all heavy-handed over something trivial. Let me do the talking.” She knocked on the door of the Head’s study.
The door was opened by a middle-aged man who Mike recognized: the Area Education Officer. Sitting next to the Head was an unfamiliar woman. She must be the Chair of Governors.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Mrs Perry asked, gesturing Mike and Sarah to sit down. Mike shook his head. “We have no idea,” Sarah said.
“Really?” Mrs Perry said, her tone not quite sarcastic. “That surprises me.”
She turned to the chair of governors. “Mrs Newman, would you like to ...?”
The woman nodded. She was very ordinary-looking, Mike thought. Far too motherly to be a threat. But when Mrs Newman spoke, her voice was that of a magistrate. “I had a phone call from a parent last night, Mr Steadman: Mrs Webster. You teach her daughter, Rachel.”
“Yes, I do.”
So Rachel’s mum had figured something out. But Rachel would have denied it. Mike would be able to ride this storm. If only ...
“Mrs Webster says that you have been having a sexual relationship with Rachel for several months.”
Mike’s mouth suddenly became very dry. He tried to say, “I don’t know where she got that idea from,” but it came out as a series of coughs. Sitting next to him, Sarah spoke. “That’s an extremely serious allegation, Mrs Newman. I must ask if you have any evidence to back it up.”
Mrs Newman gave Sarah a supercilious look. “We have only the girl’s word for it, Ms Poole.”
“Girls her age are notorious fantasists.”
“I agree. However, this one also appears to be pregnant.” Mike gulped. They’d been careful. How could ...
“Do you have anything to say, Mr Steadman?”