by Daniel Hurst
‘That’s very good, Michael. Very industrious. I hope it helps.’
Then he sits down at his desk and opens his folder, and I feel a sense of relief. He isn’t mad at me, nor has he made fun of me. He is impressed that I am doing extra-curricular studies. And so he should be. I am a hard worker. A model student. A perfect pupil.
Yeah, right.
I smile at my friends who had been expecting me to get in trouble and lean back in my seat, satisfied with how life has turned out for me over the last couple of days. Okay, so I haven’t actually learnt anything since my lessons with Petra started, but that’s not the point. It’s not her fault that I’m too distracted by her beauty to listen to anything that she is saying to me. But the main thing is that I have the respect, admiration and envy of my friends. And even Mr Hamilton is happy with me, which is something that I thought would never be the case.
I feel so calm and collected that I want to put my feet up on the desk and recline even more, but I better not push my luck. I’m on a winning streak, but there’s no need to overdo it. Hopefully, my good fortune will carry onto the playground during the lunchtime football match. But I’m not even that excited about lunchtime right now. I’m more excited about tomorrow night.
I’m more excited about the second lesson with my tutor.
17
AMY
I’ve noticed the change in my son. It’s been impossible not to. He walks a little taller. He answers me with actual words instead of grunts. And he is smiling. I’m pretty sure that I know what the reason is for his newfound positivity, but I’m not complaining. I hired Petra to improve Michael’s academic ability, but she has improved his mood as well, and that is a welcome bonus. Instead of having to walk around eggshells with my son in case he erupts and goes storming off to his bedroom, Nick and I feel like we can talk to him about things now and he will actually talk back.
‘How was your day, love?’ I ask him as he climbs into the backseat of my car and closes his door.
‘It was alright,’ he replies and getting Michael to say that school was alright is akin to getting a stranger in the street to say that he will give me a million-pound cheque. It has never happened before.
‘How was Geography?’
‘Yeah, not bad. I got 60% in last week’s test.’
‘That’s better,’ I say because it is. I know Michael hates Geography, or rather he hates the person who teaches him Geography. Mr Reynolds is his least favourite teacher, and my son’s performances in his lessons reflect that. But it seems that the introduction of a tutor has given Michael a fresh impetus to apply himself. Petra hasn’t been teaching him Geography, or at least she shouldn’t have been, but it is clear that her introduction into his life has already had a positive effect. Whether that is down to her professional skills or her appearance remains to be seen, but the results are all that matter at this stage. Seven weeks to go to Michael’s final exams and all I care about is that he does as well as he can do.
‘Come on, Bella. Hurry up!’ Michael cries, and I turn to see him looking out of the car window at the school across the playground.
I smile a little because I know why he is in such a rush. He wants to get home and freshen up before Petra arrives at six for his latest lesson. Normally Michael would spend the whole evening in his room playing on his PlayStation and showing no interest in personal hygiene. But based on what he did before his previous lessons with the tutor, I know that he will now be showering, gelling his hair and applying liberal doses of Nick’s aftershave.
Oh to be sixteen again. That age when you are so unconfident within yourself that you spend every second trying to make yourself look better to try and catch somebody’s attention. I was the same when I was a teen. It’s a far cry from where I am now. At forty, I sometimes go days without putting any makeup on and stuffing my dark hair into a bobble is preferable to spending hours straightening or curling it. But that’s only because I have already impressed the object of my desire, so I no longer need to put the work in. I caught Nick’s eye when we were sixteen, and now he is mine. But the current generation of teens are going through that stage of wondering if anybody will ever like them enough to be in a relationship with them and my son is no different. He wants his sister to hurry up so that he can give himself the best chance at looking good for the pretty woman that is coming to our house.
It’s cute. As long as that is all it is.
I just hope my son doesn’t try and do something that will cause Petra to feel uncomfortable and end the lessons early. But I know Michael isn’t like that. He’s too shy to actually show her that he likes her. He’ll just keep gelling his hair to within an inch of its life and dousing himself in too much aftershave. All innocent and harmless and whatever it takes to get him to sit down and read a damn textbook.
I suddenly spot my daughter walking across the playground towards us. She is chatting animatedly with Lily, her best friend, and it warms my heart to see it. They have been besties since primary school, and I’m glad they are going to be together for their time at secondary school too. Everybody needs a best friend.
‘There she is,’ I say because I know that Michael will be getting increasingly agitated about how his sister is making him late for the shower.
‘About time,’ he mutters.
I smile again, and I’m just about to start the engine when I see Neville, Michael’s best friend, rushing towards our car.
‘Is Neville okay?’ I ask as the pimple-faced teen reaches the vehicle.
‘He’s never okay,’ Michael replies sarcastically as he winds down his window.
‘Have fun tonight you jammy git,’ Neville says as he reaches the open window. ‘And say hi to Petra for me!’
Michael laughs before looking at me a little sheepishly.
‘Hi Neville,’ I say to the panting teenager beside my car.
‘Oh, hi Mrs Lever,’ he says, and he looks as if he hadn’t expected to see me in the car with my son. He quickly rushes away after that.
‘So you’ve told your friends about your tutor then,’ I say, raising my eyes at my son through the rear-view mirror.
‘I just mentioned that I am having extra lessons,’ Michael replies.
‘Of course you did,’ I say, just as Bella arrives at the car.
‘Finally!’ Michael cries as his sister takes her seat and closes her door.
‘Shut up. We’re usually waiting for you,’ Bella snaps back, and my daughter is right.
‘Go easy on your brother,’ I say as I reverse out of the spot. ‘He’s got a busy night ahead of him.’
‘Michael loves Petra!’ Bella teases, and I can’t help but laugh even though I know I shouldn’t encourage my children to wind each other up.
‘Shut up! I don’t!’ Michael fires back, and he looks furious, which only makes Bella keep saying it.
I smile as I drive through the school gates and out of the school car park. I’m going to miss moments like this when Michael leaves school. I’m going to miss having both my children in the car every day.
Little did I know it at the time, but that wasn’t all I was going to miss by the time the school year was out.
18
PETRA
I’m trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but it’s difficult when I’m being overwhelmed with the fumes coming from my pupil. Michael has obviously put on a lot of aftershave for our lesson tonight, presumably to try and impress me. While I appreciate the fact that he has made an effort to smell nice, I would prefer it if my eyes weren’t watering right now. The air is heavy with the smell of his bottled scent, and all I can think is thank God that there are no naked flames in here.
One stroke of a match and I feel like this whole kitchen would go up in flames.
That’s not to say that I don’t like the aroma. On the right man, this particular fragrance is very desirable. But on a sixteen-year-old boy with half a gallon of hair gel on his head? Not so much.
I recognise the smell o
f the aftershave from the first time I visited this house. But it wasn’t Michael who was wearing it that day. It was his father, Nick. I caught a whiff of the scent when he opened the door for me and welcomed me inside, and I have to say that it made me even more attracted to him than I initially was. Coupled with his height, his handsome looks and his gentlemanly nature, I found myself instantly intrigued by the man of this house.
Of course, he is married to the pleasant and polite Amy, so he is off-limits. Or at least he should be. Stranger things have happened. But for now, I need to concentrate on the task at hand. I need to somehow get Michael to understand what I am trying to explain to him.
‘The probability of a seed developing into a plant is given as 0.32. If 1,000 seeds are planted, how many plants would be estimated to grow?’
I allow Michael a moment to study the three options, which are 3, 32 or 320.
The teenager’s brow is furrowed, and I can almost hear the cogs turning in his head. He might look cute if it wasn’t for the fact that the gel on his head was shining beneath the kitchen spotlights and the volume of aftershave on his body was burning my nostrils.
‘Erm, thirty two?’ Michael suggests.
‘Not quite,’ I say. ‘Take another look.’
Michael scratches his head and lets out a deep breath before returning his eyes to the page.
I wait patiently, not because we have the time but because I know it won’t really make a difference how fast we work. His Maths exams are in seven weeks and based on what I have seen from him in the first couple of lessons, he is not going to be ready in time to pass them. Sure, I can give him a better chance and probably improve him a grade or two, but is it really worth all the time and effort?
Of course, it’s worth the effort for Amy and Nick, and maybe it is for Michael too, but what about me? I have many talents in life, but I am wasting them by spending my time doing pointless exercises like this.
‘320?’ Michael asks after a tedious moment of silence.
‘That’s correct. ‘How did you get there?’
I ask the question even though I know exactly how he got there. He didn’t use any real logic or knowledge of the exercise to find the answer. He just guessed. He had a 50/50 chance of getting it right after he had got the first one wrong, and this time he had been lucky. It will be interesting to see if he admits that.
‘Erm, well.’ Michael begins. ‘I just guessed.’
I smile at his honesty as well as make a mental note of it. People would think that it would only be the student who would learn something in this situation, but they would be wrong. The teachers can learn so much too.
‘Don’t worry about it, you got it right, that’s all that matters,’ I say, turning the page for him and looking for the next question. ‘And it’s probability after all. The odds were that you had a good chance of getting it.’
He smiles at me, and I can see that he is pleased that I am pleased. He’s probably terrified of looking young and stupid in front of me, but he doesn’t have to worry about that. I already know that he is young and stupid, so there isn’t much that he can do at this point to change that fact.
I read out another question and allow Michael time to formulate an answer before I find my eyes being drawn to the closed door at the other end of the kitchen. I’m not exactly sure what the room is, but I know that Nick is in there. He came out of the room briefly when I arrived tonight, and he went back in there just before the lesson started. I imagine it is an office or study, but I can’t be sure. All I know is that he is in there alone now and I am stuck here teaching his stupid son probability.
What is the probability of me being alone in that room with Nick? What is the probability of me telling him how attractive I find him? What is the probability of me giving him a kiss?
And what is the probability of him kissing me back?
‘Forty five!’ Michael says, snapping me out of my daydream.
‘That’s the right answer,’ I reply, actually impressed that he managed to get one right first time. I had thought the probability on that would have been particularly low.
‘Okay, so I’ve got a good understanding of where you are at with this,’ I tell my student as I close the book and pick up a blank piece of paper nearby. ‘Now how about I show you a little trick that will help you in your exam when I’m not there?’
Judging by the grin on Michael’s face, he seems eager to know what it could be.
But I already knew that.
The probability was high on that one.
19
AMY
My son’s study session has just finished, and I have shown the Swedish tutor to the door. By all accounts, it was a productive lesson. I chatted with Petra for ten minutes after she had completed her lesson with Michael and she told me that things had gone well. I was worried that she might have just been saying that because her student was standing within earshot, so I had waited for him to disappear upstairs before trying to get more confirmation. But Petra said the same thing after he had gone.
Michael is a good student. He clearly struggles with some areas, but it’s nothing that can’t be improved before the big day. So far, it’s going well.
I feel relieved to learn these things, and it has confirmed my belief that Petra was the right person for this job. I also feel slightly guilty for spending so much time thinking about her appearance and not her professional skills. It shouldn’t matter what she looks like. The important thing is that she is a good teacher and it seems that is exactly what she is.
We also had a brief chat about other things before she left this evening. She asked me what I did for work, and I told her about my part-time job, although I found myself bigging it up slightly and making it seem a little more impressive than it really is. I’m not exactly sure why I did this, but maybe it has something to do with me not wanting to feel too inferior to a brainy tutor. I have no doubt that she has me beat in the brains department, never mind the looks, but that doesn’t mean I can’t at least try and make myself look a little better around her. I even put a touch of makeup on before she got here but not enough so that anyone in my family would notice it and be amused by it.
Just enough to cover a few blemishes.
Just enough to make me feel pretty enough to stand next to Petra.
Then she asked me about what Nick does for work, and she seemed interested in the fact that he worked from home. I imagine that is because her job requires her to go to other people’s homes on a daily basis, so she is probably envious of somebody who gets to have the work come to them. I was going to suggest to her that she could easily have her students visit her home instead of her going to them, but I didn’t want to. I’m glad she comes to us. It’s one less car journey to fit into my day. Besides, I don’t know her personal circumstances. Her home might not be suitable for holding private lessons. Maybe she lives in a small flat. Maybe she lives with other people. A friend or a boyfriend, perhaps. There’s so much I don’t know about this woman, but I know what I need to. She is a qualified teacher with good experience. Anything else beyond that is her private life.
I wished Petra a good evening and told her I would see her in a few days for the next lesson and now I am going in search of my husband in his study. I feel like letting him know that the coast is clear now or he might end up staying in there all night. I know he won’t be working at this hour. I bet he’s watching football highlights on his laptop again.
I open the door without knocking in a bid to catch him out, but he isn’t in here. I look around the empty study, but there is no sign of my husband. That’s strange. Where else could he be?
‘Nick?’ I call out as I leave the study and walk across the kitchen. I know he isn’t upstairs because I came from there when I heard Petra and Michael finish their lesson. So where the hell is he?
I reach the bottom of the stairs and see Michael coming back down. He has got changed out of his jeans and shirt and is now wearing his favourite jogging bot
toms and an old t-shirt that definitely could do with a wash. He obviously feels comfortable wearing these now that Petra has gone.
‘Have you seen your dad?’ I ask him as he walks down towards me.
But Michael shrugs as he passes me by and heads for the kitchen, presumably to find himself a snack in the fridge.
I decide to go upstairs and check to make sure. Maybe he slipped into the bathroom without me noticing. He must be up there. Where else could he be? The garden? That would be weird. It’s gone eight, and it’s pitch black outside. I don’t know why he would be out there.
‘Nick?’ I call out when I reach the upstairs landing. But the only thing I hear up here is the sound of music coming from Bella’s room. I should go in and tell her to turn it down and start getting ready for bed, but I want to find my husband first. A quick check on the bathroom confirms that it is clear. He isn’t up here.
He must be outside.
I go to our bedroom window and look out on the back garden. It’s pretty dark, but the light from the kitchen offers enough for me to see the grass and the path leading down to the shed. But there is no sign of any movement out there.
I go into Michael’s room, which is risky because he could come back up at any moment and have a go at me for being in there, but I want to get a look out of his window. That’s because it offers a view of the front of the house and I’m wondering if Nick is out there.
Stepping around the PlayStation consoles and the empty plates on the floor, I reach the window and pull the curtains aside.
That’s when I see my husband. He is standing on the driveway beside his car. But he isn’t alone.
He is talking to Petra.
He is smiling. She is laughing.
Then she touches his arm.
And now I want to know what the hell they are talking about.
20
NICK
I close the back door and rub my arms to get a little warmth into them as I head for the study. I had only planned on being outside for a couple of minutes, but then Petra had left the house and I had ended up talking to her on the driveway. I’d gone out to get the manual from my car to help with the online car insurance quote that I’m working on, and I’d gone out the back way to avoid seeing anybody. But then I had closed the car door and turned around to see Petra standing right in front of me.