by Daniel Hurst
It’s the first time I had properly spoken to her since she came to our house to meet us all before the lessons with Michael began. She seemed happy to see me and asked me how my work was going, which must mean that Amy has told her that I work from home. I told her that everything was going fine but then quickly said I had been busy, so she didn’t think that I had been hiding out in the study when I didn’t need to be. But she didn’t seem to read much into it, unlike Amy, who always wants to know what I’m up to in there at night.
I asked Petra how the lessons with Michael were going and was pleased to hear that they are going well. Of course, I’d already asked my son this before, but he was pretty coy about the whole thing. It’s hard to get an in-depth answer from somebody when they are playing a video game and have a mouth full of toast. But Petra had told me that Michael was a good student and that she was confident that she would be able to improve his understanding of his most challenging subject in time for his exams. I was glad to hear that, and I know Amy would be too. It’s not just about making sure that we get value for our money from the lessons, it’s about making sure our son has more opportunities open to him when he leaves school and decides what he wants to do next.
I had expected the conversation to end there, and I had been positioning myself to head inside when Petra had suddenly asked me what aftershave I was wearing. I had been surprised by the question and hadn’t really had a proper answer for her. I’m not actually sure what it’s called. Amy got it me for Christmas, and it’s French, but that’s about the depth of my knowledge on the matter. I can’t say I have spent much time reading the bottle. Petra had smiled and told me that it smelt nice, whatever it was, and I have to admit it felt good to get a compliment from a woman like her. It’s the first time in years that I have had a compliment from somebody other than my wife, and even those aren’t exactly forthcoming on a regular basis.
I had told her that I’m not exactly well educated on male grooming products and made a joke about what I consider to be my rather shabby appearance. It was more to ease my slight awkwardness at receiving the show of interest from Petra in the first place rather than any real attempt to be funny. But Petra had laughed and touched my arm slightly as she dismissed my display of self-deprecation and told me that I looked good for a guy who worked from home and didn’t have to make an effort if he didn’t want to. That was when I realised that she wasn’t just being nice to me.
She was flirting with me.
That was also when I realised that my wife was looking out at us from Michael’s bedroom window.
I had quickly wished Petra a good evening and headed for the house, waving her away casually and doing my best to make it look like we were just two people who had finished a banal chat, which we were really. Okay, maybe there was a little flirting in there, but it was harmless. And it was all from Petra, not me. I was just being nice and making conversation. All I had come outside for was the car manual. It wasn’t my fault that I had bumped into her on the driveway before I could make it back in the house.
So why do I feel so sheepish now? I’ve returned to my study, and I want to close the door, but I feel as though I need to go upstairs and see Amy. She is probably wondering what we were talking about out there so I should probably tell her. Of course, I won’t mention the fact that Petra complimented me on my aftershave or that she told me I looked good. I think I’ll leave those bits out. But I will tell her that we briefly chatted about how Michael’s lessons were going and that things sounded a little more promising regarding his end of year exams.
I should go up and say that. I should leave this study. I should talk to my wife. So why am I not doing that? For some reason, I feel nervous about having to go and explain myself. It was an innocent conversation. There’s no need for me to tell Amy what we were discussing. Of course, I will do if she asks but if not then what is the point? It might look more suspicious if I do feel like I have to explain it. Then Amy might suspect that I find Michael’s tutor attractive. I do, but that’s not the point. I find several celebrities attractive too. It doesn’t mean I have to feel bad about that and it doesn’t mean that anything is going to happen there either.
In the end, I close my study door and re-take my seat at the desk. It was just a little chat between a parent and a tutor. There’s no need to read anything into it and certainly no need to go and re-hash it all with my wife.
It was nothing. I should just forget about it.
So why can’t I?
THE FIFTH LESSON
The police officers wore stern expressions when they visited the house. They had every right to do so because they were there on serious business. There is a time and place for smiling, but this was not it.
When the door opened, the homeowner looked surprised. She was a middle-aged woman, and she clearly hadn’t been expecting to see the uniforms on her doorstep. Why would she? She was just a plain woman in a plain town with a plain family. She had a husband, she had two teenage girls, and she had a dog. There was nothing remarkable about her.
But the police weren’t there for her. Nor were they there for her husband and they certainly weren’t there for her dog. They were there to speak to one of her daughters.
They asked the mother if her eldest daughter was home and she nodded to confirm that she was. Then she stepped aside and allowed the officers in.
The front door closed, and it would be ten minutes before it opened again. When it did, the police officers stepped back outside but they were taking someone with them this time.
The sixteen-year-old girl had tears in her eyes as she was led towards the car in handcuffs. Her fourteen-year-old sister shouted at the officers and said words that a girl of her age should not be saying to anybody, let alone those responsible for upholding the law. The father made an appearance too, and he seemed only slightly more restrained than his youngest daughter was being.
But the mother was quiet. She wasn’t arguing like the others on her doorstep were, nor was she crying like her child who was now being put onto the backseat of the police car. She was doing nothing but watching. That was because she was in shock.
She was in shock after finding out what her daughter had just been charged with.
The fifth lesson is that anybody could be guilty, even your own flesh and blood.
21
AMY
I asked Nick what he was talking about with Petra, but I didn’t make a big deal of it. I had waited for him to come up to bed before broaching the subject, doing my best to make the question sound as carefree and casual as possible. It didn’t work though. No sooner had he answered me then he had started to tease me about being jealous of the new woman around the house.
They had just spoken about Michael’s progress, Nick said, and I believe him. What else would they have talked about? Maybe there was a little bit of emotion stirred up inside me from seeing my husband chatting alone with a pretty woman. But that’s just silly. I’m forty for heaven’s sake.
So why do I feel a little envious of Petra now?
It can’t just be her looks. It’s the way she made Nick smile on the driveway. I haven’t seen him smile like that at me for a long time. We’re a great couple and hardly ever argue, and I used to think that was a good thing. But maybe it means we have lost our spark. Maybe that’s why his eyes don’t light up around me as much as they do around her.
It’s Michael too. He seems genuinely motivated and interested when she is around yet I have to work so hard to get anything out of him when it’s just us two. I used to think that all mums had to put up with that from their teenage sons, but what if I’m wrong? Maybe Michael just doesn’t say much to me because he finds me boring. Maybe he thinks we have nothing in common and can’t see how engaging with me for more than two minutes at a time would be of any benefit to him.
Or maybe I’m just reading far too much into things like I always do.
Speaking of reading, I’m supposed to be doing that now. I have a paperback in
my hand, and I’m trying to finish this chapter, but I can’t quite manage it. I’m struggling to concentrate. Nick seems happy enough beside me, thumbing his way through his book. But my mind is far from the pages of this book and instead keeps drifting back to the Swedish woman who left this house a couple of hours ago. I can’t quite put my finger on the cause of it, but I have an unsettled feeling in my stomach. Yet I have no reason to. Everything seems to be fine. Michael is finally revising. Bella seems happy. And Nick is still being Nick.
So what is making me feel so uneasy?
I let out a deep sigh and tell myself to concentrate on the words on the page. I just need to lose myself in the story. I just need to quieten my mind down a little.
I just need to stop thinking so damn much.
I’m barely two sentences further on in the book before my mind goes back to that sight of Nick and Petra on the driveway. The way she laughed. The way he smiled. The way they stood so close together.
I can’t bring it up again with Nick because then he really will think that I’m jealous, which I am, even though there is nothing to be jealous about. But I can’t help myself.
‘Do you think Petra seems a little too good to be true?’ I ask, closing my book and turning to look at my husband.
He frowns and stops reading and I wonder if I have just asked a ridiculous question.
‘What are you talking about?’ he replies in a tone that does suggest that it was a bad question.
‘I just mean she’s nice, she’s a good teacher, she doesn’t cost a fortune, and she is willing to come to us rather than making us take Michael to her. It all seems perfect, doesn’t it?’
‘And that’s a problem because...?’
‘It’s not a problem. I’m just saying. It’s all very convenient, isn’t it?’
‘Amy, I have no idea what you are getting at,’ Nick says, closing his book and begrudgingly returning it to his bedside table.
‘I’m just wondering why someone like her is doing this. She could be anything she wants to be. Why is she spending her time teaching secondary school kids GCSE Maths in Nuneaton? Why did she leave Sweden to come here of all places? Why isn’t she doing something more with her life?’
‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Nick replies, returning my assault of questions with one of his own. And it is the obvious one. Why don’t I just ask her? I could offer her a cup of tea after the next lesson and attempt to get to know her a little more then. But she might think that I’m strange for caring so much.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, and I pretend to go back to reading my book.
But Nick isn’t buying it. He knows when I have a bee in my bonnet about something, and he knows I am not going to be able to concentrate on the story after I have just displayed such an interest in someone else’s.
‘Maybe she just really enjoys teaching. And maybe she likes the English way of life. Maybe she wanted something more than just being another blonde Swedish girl in Stockholm. Helping youngsters with their education is probably a little more fulfilling than being a model.’
‘You think she could be a model?’ I ask, closing my book quickly and looking at Nick.
‘No, I just assumed that was what you were getting at,’ he replies. ‘You obviously think she could have been more than just a tutor.’
‘I’m just curious about her, that’s all,’ I say, putting my book down too because there is nothing in there that is interesting to me as much as finding out more about this woman that I have invited into my home on a semi-regular basis.
‘Are you sure you aren’t a little jealous?’ Nick asks, snuggling in closer to me and attempting to tickle me under my arm.
‘No I’m not!’ I reply, wriggling out of the way before he can get his hand in there and make me scream.
‘You know I prefer brunettes,’ Nick says before kissing me softly on the neck. ‘Forty-year-old brunettes.’
I know what he is trying to do. He is just trying to make out that he finds me more attractive than Petra, which is frankly ridiculous. But I appreciate the attempt, and I certainly appreciate the attention that I’m getting now. It has been a while since we were intimate. I haven’t exactly made any attempts to break that dry spell myself, but it seems like it is about to end right now.
I reach for the lamp on the bedside table as Nick continues to kiss my neck. By the time the room is dark, he is already on top of me.
22
PETRA
I wish Nick was on top of me. I wish I could feel his strong arms holding me down, and I wish I could see those eyes of his looking down at me from above. I wish he was here right now.
I wish I was in that bed at his house instead of Amy.
But I’m not. I’m alone in my one-bedroom flat, and I only have my imagination to keep me company. My brain is the most important tool in my professional life, and it seems it is the most important one in my personal life too. But I’ve spent enough time living in my head. I just want to break out of it and really experience life.
No questions. No revision. No fantasies.
Just fun.
I wonder what Nick is doing right now. He might still be hard at work in his study. Maybe he is sitting on the sofa watching a movie. Or perhaps he is lying in bed with a good book.
He could be asleep. He might be talking to Amy.
Or maybe he is thinking about me.
The thought of it is thrilling, and I imagine that I might be right. I spent a few minutes talking to him before I left his house this evening and I wonder how many times he has replayed that conversation over in his head since then. I bet he is wondering if I like him. I bet he wants to know if I find him attractive for his age.
And I bet he wants me to touch him again.
A smile curls at the edges of my lips as I think about him lying in bed with his wife while thinking about me instead. It’s amusing, and it’s also exciting. I’ve had so much practise at living inside my own head all day, but I do find it fascinating to think about all the things that could be going on in other peoples. I’m already counting down until my next lesson with Michael. But it’s not him that I want to see. It’s his father.
But our next session isn’t until Tuesday. That’s four long days to get through before then. As far as Amy knows, I have other students and lessons to occupy my time before then. But I don’t. I just told her that I did. That’s what I told her so she would think that I’m just a polite, friendly and hardworking tutor who has many students and who is willing to travel to wherever the work is. She’ll eventually find out the truth.
But by then, it will be too late.
23
AMY
It’s Friday. The last day of the working week. The last day of school runs. The last day of rush hours. The last day of having to get out of bed early and stir my family into action. Two days of bliss before it all starts again. I’m ready for this weekend. But first I need to get through this final day.
I’m back at the school again, but I can’t just drop the kids and leave like I usually do. I have to go inside today. I have to speak to one of the teachers.
Michael has already gone inside, but Bella is walking with me. I know that she would prefer to be alone, but I need her to show me where to go so that I can find my way to the staff room. That should be where I find her form tutor, Mrs Samson. Then all that will be left to do will be to have an awkward conversation and leave.
God, I wish it was the weekend already.
So much for my belief that Bella was a happy little soul. That belief had been shattered when she had walked into our bedroom last night after lights out. Fortunately, Nick and I had finished making love well before then otherwise it would have been very embarrassing for all parties. As it was, we had just been drifting off to sleep before Bella appeared in the doorway.
She had told the two of us that there was a girl in her class who had been teasing her recently. I asked her why she hadn’t mentioned this before, and she had said that she thought
it would have stopped by now. But it hadn’t. Apparently, it had been going on for a while. And there was me thinking that Michael was the only one I had to worry about at school.
I had felt awful to hear that my daughter was being made to feel unhappy, and even worse for not picking up on that fact. But Bella had done a very good job of covering it up. She had always acted as if there was nothing wrong when I had picked her up and dropped her off, and she had still been dancing away to the pop videos in her bedroom every night, so I’d had no idea. But her veneer had finally cracked last night, and she had told us everything.
The girl is called Rebecca, and she is in Bella’s form. Apparently, the teasing started after Bella had asked to go to the toilet one morning at registration. Rebecca had decided then that Bella had a problem and had started to tease her about it. She would say that Bella was going to wet herself when they were in class or on the playground, even though it wasn’t true. Bella had ignored it initially, but gradually it had worn her down, and she was worried that everybody was going to believe it.
Nick told her to just ignore it because it is silly teasing, which of course it is, but I know it isn’t as easy as that. Adults have no problem dealing with annoying peers, but children are different. They can be made to feel very bad about things, and it needs to be nipped in the bud before it can get any worse. I’m not sure I would go as far as to call it bullying yet, but it needs to stop, whatever it is. That’s why I am going to speak to Mrs Samson today. It’s time to put a stop to this before it gets any worse.