by Freya North
‘You bet,’ said Kate, grasping Polly’s sentiment and taking hold of her arm as she did so.
‘He’s going,’ Polly announced, regarding Kate full on, ‘for good. And that very fact provides one huge safety net.’
Kate agreed by humming, softening her gaze but not leaving Polly’s eyes.
‘You see, whatever happens,’ Polly continued, ‘between now and then – he’ll go.’
‘Make hay while the sun shines?’ Kate asked through the corner of her mouth and then smiling benevolently.
‘Make out while the snow falls,’ Polly retorted with an air of resignation and a passable American accent, regarding Kate watchfully, ‘more like.’
Hang on, she’s not judging me? Why not? How is it that I feel calm and lucid though I am confessing my intentions out loud? Excuse me, but how did she even know that we’re talking about Chip when we’ve not mentioned names.
‘Kate?’
‘Polly?’
‘Chip?’ said Polly as a slight question. ‘Yes?’
Kate winked and clicked her tongue approvingly.
‘How did you know?’ Polly marvelled. ‘Did you guess? Was that difficult? Am I wicked? Or just transparent? Are you disappointed?’
‘Whoah,’ Kate laughed, chewing on more bread, ‘I’ll say just this – if I was you: young and gorgeous, miles away from home and on the threshold of lifelong commitment – and a guy like Chip showed me even an ounce of the attention he’s been loading on you – I’d go for it. I’d think twice – as you have – but I’d go for it.’
‘You would?’
‘I would,’ said Kate, pulling Bogey’s ear through her fingers and shifting the shopping. ‘I would because I did.’
‘Did?’ Polly questioned, ‘did what?’
‘What you’re about to do.’
‘Who? You?’
‘Me.’
‘With? Chip?’
Kate roared with laughter. ‘One of his great-ancestors, more like! Listen up, kiddo, every woman is entitled to a Chip just once in her life. My Chip was called Dave.’
‘Dave,’ Polly repeated in awe.
‘Let’s say,’ said Kate, tracing an arc with her foot, ‘he was my genie of the lamp – he sure lit my fire and, after some pretty intense rubbing, he kinda made my wish come true too, I guess.’
Polly gave a short giggle, simultaneously horrified and delighted and heartened by Kate’s revelation. ‘What wish was that then?’
‘That I wouldn’t be making a mistake with Clinton.’
Polly gasped in relief and reverence. ‘Exactly,’ she proclaimed, crouching down and embracing Bogey, ‘that’s exactly how I feel.’ She stood up and put her hands on her hips, ‘But is it wicked?’
‘Probably,’ Kate cautioned. ‘Like, how would you feel if Max was going through this? Confronted by the emotions you’re feeling? Horny for some cute Chipette?’ Polly shuddered. ‘Exactly,’ Kate said. ‘But I’ll tell you this and you listen up. Don’t ever, ever let on. This is your secret and it’s a guilty, precious, sacred one that you must take to your grave. Don’t ever tell Max. This is something that you’ve gotta do – almost in honour of him, I guess, in some perverse way. But don’t you tell him. Not in revenge. Not in the height of a fight. Not in years to come. Not ever, Polly, whatever the circumstance. OK? You hear?’
Polly nodded. ‘Are you disappointed in me?’ she asked.
Kate smiled. ‘Disappointed? No. Disapproving? Yes. But I didn’t approve of myself back then. Any road, right now I’m a woman who’s been happily married twenty-eight years. But,’ she said, holding her head high and nodding soberly at Polly, ‘I do understand – and I guess that’s what you need, someone who just understands and won’t judge.’
‘Just what I need,’ mused Polly, laying her head gently against Kate’s shoulder in intense gratitude.
‘This is not my seal of approval,’ Kate furthered sternly. ‘I’m not going to be an accomplice, or some kinda accessory to the crime – and it is a crime. I’m not giving you the all clear or the go ahead, but I will provide you with my shoulder and with my ear. When you want. If you need.’
‘I’ll try and get through it without burdening you,’ said Polly gravely before sighing heavily.
‘Hey,’ Kate laughed, pinching Polly playfully, ‘lighten up here – we’re talking rampant sex, remember. Enjoy – or there really will have been no point!’
Polly nodded and then looked alarmed. ‘Rampant sex? No no, just a kiss. That’ll do,’ she rushed with no notion of how deluded she appeared.
‘Whatever,’ Kate said with a sly, knowing smile that made Polly plead ‘No really’. ‘Come Bogey, home.’
Kate left, with a stamping walk to combat slipping.
‘Thanks, Kate,’ Polly called after her.
Kate turned. Main Street was utterly quiet. The snow provided both sound-proofing as well as amplification for a mere whisper.
‘Polly,’ Kate’s voice travelled, ‘it’s healthier to do and denounce, than not to and forever to wonder.’
‘Beautiful night, huh?’
Just a kiss. God, you’re gorgeous.
‘Gorgeous.’
‘You warm?’
I’m hot.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Cool.’
By the time Polly had watched Kate disappear and had made careful progress along Main Street, she had been fashionably late for Chip. As she had approached the church, she made out a shadowy figure leaning against the wall. Chip. It could only be. Only Chip could look so aesthetically, athletically rugged under layers of polar fleece and a voluminous ski jacket which served to accentuate the shapely musculature of his denim-clad legś beneath. His face, peeping above a fleece scarf and below a fleece cap, was sculptural, clean and perfectly framed. When he had smiled in welcome, his teeth outshone the snow and his glinting eyes outsparkled the stars; Polly was only too aware of the fatuous comparison, of the clichés, but she had fallen for them wholeheartedly.
It was heavy going, walking on the road, as the night-time drop in temperature had glazed the surface with a treacherous film of ice. If they ventured over to either side, it was a ponderous trudge through deeper snow. Polly didn’t mind where they walked; either allowed for their bodies to bump and jostle and her occasional skid on the ice was rewarded with a helping hand from Chip.
‘Easy there!’
‘Thanks.’
The night air was searingly clear, absolutely freezing and, consequently, invigorating. Polly felt she could walk for miles. Good job – as it appeared they were going to.
‘Ssh!’ said Chip, stopping still and cocking his head, a finger to his ear, a hand on Polly’s forearm. Polly listened hard. She heard silence and the oily tinkle of the river. She presumed that was Chip’s point, so she smiled, hoping that the moonlight was catching her features and spinning silver over them as it was over Chip. His gaze and a slight parting of his lips told her she was, indeed, as attractive as she felt.
‘OK,’ he said, walking on, ‘just near here – if I can find it under all this snow.’
He was now ahead of Polly; his capable, fit body making light of the going. She was subsumed by desire for him; he was seemingly so perfect that he was almost unreal.
If he isn’t real, what’s the harm?
She slowed her pace.
All this is just fantasy. Just playing. Acting. In fact, I’m going to pretend to fall, so he can rescue me and revive me with a purely medicinal kiss. Two, three, now!
With the skill of a stuntman, she choreographed a gracious slither to the ground with a beseeching yelp.
‘Hey hey,’ Chip soothed, coming to her rescue, ‘you OK?’
‘Yes,’ Polly assured him, holding out her hand, ‘clumsy clot that I am.’
‘Clumsy clot,’ Chip repeated with pleasure, taking her hand and helping her to her feet, his steadying grasp lingering for longer than necessary, ‘I like that!’ He brushed her jacket down and pulled her collar up.
‘All set?’
Polly replied with a sizeable grin that masked disappointment laced with humiliation.
But you were meant to kiss me. Damn, it didn’t work.
On they trudged.
‘Here we go,’ said Chip, cutting across the road and steadying himself with a tree. He held out his hand for Polly. ‘Easy now.’
They scrambled and slid down the bank, appearing to make more noise than the river below them. ‘Don’t look behind you,’ Chip warned at the base, ‘not yet. Not till I say. OK?’
‘Aye aye, cap’n,’ Polly replied. Chip regarded her quizzically, shook his head and walked on. Polly thrust her hands into her pockets to curb a sudden urge to grab a handful of Chip’s incomparable buttocks.
They skirted the edge of the river and made for an old stone bridge a few yards away. The ravages of time had provided a most conveniently placed bench low down on the bridge, where some of the rocks used in its construction had fallen away. Gallantly, Chip swept the snow off and motioned for Polly to take her seat. ‘Look at me!’ he warned her, ‘don’t look downstream till I say. OK?’
‘Okey dokey,’ said Polly, delighted to be ordered to gaze upon him. He sat down beside her. She held on tight to his eyes and found she could hardly breathe.
Kiss me. Now. Yes! It’s going to happen.
‘Oh-kay, doh-kay,’ Chip mimicked in a murmur, ‘you can look – now!’
Temporarily disappointed that the errant kiss was obviously on hold again, Polly swung her gaze reluctantly from suitor to stream and gasped. The scene was stunning. Moonlight was funnelled between the hills on either side, further deflected by the dense forestry in the lower reaches so that it illuminated only the stretch of river, revealing diamonds in the water and turning the wet boulders into platinum. The lowest trees either side were dark indigo, cloaked progressively with more snow as they climbed further up the bank. The water was like a wavering sheet of liquid silk, like mercury rolling and dripping, forever moving as a whole.
‘Hey?’ said Chip having given her some time to soak it up. He nudged her gently. Polly sighed and shook her head, turning to him and fully intending to hold his gaze. When she caught his eyes full on, she diverted hers immediately, shocked at the power and impact the sight of him had on her.
‘Stunning,’ she said to the river.
‘Sure,’ said Chip.
They sat alongside each other, comfortable on the bench furrowed from the base of the bridge, enjoying the scene and the serenity.
No one knows where I am, Polly marvelled, at this precise moment. Only me. And if no one knows where I am, then no one can possibly know what I’m doing. Ignorance is bliss. Once done, no one can ever know what passed. I want to be kissed, actually I have to be. Right, I shall turn my head on the count of three and offer my lips for the taking.
One
Two
Three
Chip’s eyes, however, are closed. He appears to be in deep appreciation of Mother Nature and Hubbardtons River. A pang courses through Polly that maybe kissing isn’t on his itinerary at all; just a devout contemplation of nature instead, of its gifts instilling harmony to the soul and clarity to the mind. She feels suddenly uncouth and so she stares hard about her, dragging unconnected stanzas of poetry to laud the scene that surrounds her.
Like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white then melts forever;
Glory be to God for dappled things.
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art –
Well-timed silence hath more eloquence than speech
The night is dark, and I am far from home
‘Hey.’ Chip nudges Polly gently from her thoughts and quotations. She smiles shyly and gazes again downstream. ‘You want to go?’
‘No,’ she says quickly, ‘a few more minutes.’
‘Cool,’ he says and settles back into the bridge bench. From the corner of her eye she can see his fabulous legs and her sex quivers at the notion of his knees.
Oh to rub against them.
She can feel his gaze burning on her face. She knows exactly where he is looking.
My cheek. My earlobe. Across to the corner of my mouth. Up to the tip of my nose. My eyes. Don’t dare blink. My forehead. Sweeping up and over my hair, back to my lips. Down to my chin. I’ll blink slowly. There, he saw. I’m going to lick my lips subconsciously; accidentally on purpose. There, he saw. Good. I’ll turn slowly to him, just a half-turn of my head, my lips will be glistening. And then we’ll kiss.
Polly turns her face, a half-turn, dragging her eyes around last from the magnificent pine on which they have gazed. Too slow. Chip is now looking over to Peter Mountain, shrouded ghostly pale in the moonlight.
Damn.
Polly returns her attention to the great pine. Some moments later she turns again to Chip. She encounters him staring at her full on and her gaze is commanded by his at once. He raises his hand slowly and she is sure that her heart can be seen beating hard at the base of her throat. In an excruciatingly slow, measured gesture, Chip takes his very fingertips to the side of Polly’s mouth where they hover for a suspended moment. While watching their journey and still unsure of their final destination, though subsumed by lustful anticipation, Polly feels in control. She can sense her pupils dilating, her nipples must have hardened and she can feel her clitoris twitching in excitement against the seam of her jeans.
Come fingers, come. Touch me.
However, when Chip’s fingers alight on the side of her mouth, warm and strong and determined, Polly leaps to her feet.
Her reaction horrifies her.
What the fuck did I do that for?
Do what, exactly?
Why have I jumped up? Sit down, idiot woman.
Chip, however, is returning his hand to the pocket of his ski jacket.
No no no! I didn’t mean it. Sorry sorry. Quick! You can kiss me here, right now – press me against this stone bridge and take my mouth.
‘Excuse me,’ Chip is saying, slowly straightening himself and smiling kindly at Polly, ‘I’m sorry,’ he is shrugging, ‘I guess we ought to head back.’
Polly is distraught, livid with herself, embarrassed. She says hardly a word, merely an awkward laugh or a ‘yes’ or a ‘really’ at Chip’s polite conversation. Chip reads her silence as detachment. He is disappointed. Polly feels he is now distant from her, that he must be regarding her as some inexperienced kid; she feels small, wretched. It is not so much a missed opportunity but one that she actively fluffed and ruined. She doubts that there’ll be another one.
And I should be glad of it.
Instead, she feels a failure and kicks herself – once or twice, quite literally. Chip thinks she is tripping because of the snow, but he refrains from offering her assistance, which depresses her more.
‘I’m fine,’ Polly smiles bravely as they reach the entrance to McCarther House where Chip is Dorm Parent this term, ‘you go on in. I’ll be fine.’
‘You sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure,’ says Polly.
‘I had a great evening,’ he assures her, while Polly works hard on keeping her smarting eyes darting away from his gaze.
‘Me too,’ she says, turning and walking away. She goes directly to bed and begs sleep to take her quickly. She refuses to think of Chip. She still has not opened Max’s letter.
EIGHTEEN
It was at least a week before Chip and Polly met again. She’d spied him at a distance, once or twice, but had turned away from the sight of him in the hope that she had not been noticed. School started an hour and a half earlier in the Lent term to accommodate the skiers and though it thus ended an hour and a half earlier too, it remained mercifully a Chip-free zone for invariably he was the last to leave the slopes and inevitably he had a queue of the wounded awaiting his return and attention.
Polly hadn’t exactly given up hope, she just had yet to decide what to do next. She believed the onus was now on her and it was onerous. Polly was indebted t
o her sizeable workload, took on the assistant directorship for the school revue, visited her advisees regularly and was a conscientious Dorm Mother. She synchronized two subsequent free evenings with Lorna and organized an ice-skating excursion to Keene on her day off. She finally read Max’s letter. It was short and ever so sweet but she read it only the once, swiftly, and then mislaid it accidentally on purpose. She has yet to reply.
As much as she tried to avoid Chip, Polly also kept her distance from Kate because, in some way, she felt she had let her down. She dreaded Kate enquiring after the state of affairs; to admit that nothing had happened because she had actively prevented it would be far too humiliating. Polly told herself that to dull the twinkle in Kate’s eye with the truth of the matter was an unbearable notion. Polly told herself that as Kate wanted to live again through Polly, how could she disappoint her so? Polly did not tell herself that she dreaded hearing the far more likely ‘Probably just as well, hon’ from Kate.
The bell had already rung for third period and Polly made her way to the classroom. She’d never been late and wondered why she was, and more importantly, why she wasn’t actually that bothered. From the hush of the rooms she passed, save for the voice of an adult, she knew that other lessons were already under way. She could detect animated chatter coming from the end room, her class, but knew it was hoping too much that the focus might already be on Dickens. She had faith in her students, though, and knew that as soon as she appeared they would listen up and apply themselves.
If you are even under a minute late at BGS, you’ve lost the entire class for the duration of the lesson – and very probably the subsequent two or three as well.
As Polly passed Jackson Thomas’s class, the door opened. It often did, so she kept on walking, as she always did, anticipating Jackson’s whispered insinuations and futile offers. In her left arm, she held a clutch of books to her breast so she held up her right hand in a preventative gesture as she went.
‘Thanks but no thanks,’ she said lightly, looking straight ahead and continuing on her way, ‘neither the time, the inclination, nor the money. Sorry!’