by Freya North
Fucking failing. What a fucking failure.
There was a knock at the door, to which she hollered ‘study hour’. A few moments later, however, another knock.
‘Study hour,’ she whimpered under her breath, pulling herself up and sitting hunched, shoulders heaving. ‘It’s bloody study hour,’ she whispered, ‘go away and study.’
Knock knock.
‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me. Max.’
‘Why are you crying?’ he asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting his hand cup her head.
‘Don’t know,’ she sobs, taking her face away from the comfort of his chest only momentarily before barging it back, lest this should be the last time she can lie there.
‘You sad? Happy?’ he probes, slipping his hands down on to her shoulders, the remembered feeling of their shape greeting him once more.
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘and yes.’
‘Happy and sad?’ he reiterates. ‘Me too.’ They share a sigh and stand very still. They hold on to each other, tight; Max breathing deeply into the top of Polly’s head, Polly burying her face against him. His arms around her, one hand enmeshed in her hair; her arms locked together around his waist.
God, this is too tempting.
I can’t hold on tight enough. He’ll slip away.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ Max asks, though he stifles a yawn and tells himself sharply that he is not tired.
Polly looks unhappy. ‘It’s bloody study hour,’ she cries, sobbing afresh. Max blots her tears with his thumbs.
He used to kiss my tears away.
Give him a chance, Polly.
‘Talk, then?’ Max suggests before succumbing to a yawn of prodigious proportions. Polly smiles at him and gives a hearty sniff to wrap up her cry.
‘You’re bushed, my boy.’
‘I am, I suppose,’ Max concedes, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand like a child.
I love him. Oh I do. I want to tell him. I want to touch him.
Go on then.
‘Maybe you’d better go and have a long sleep.’
Oh, very romantic, Polly.
‘We could talk tomorrow. It’s sports afternoon so I’m free.’
Good girl.
‘OK,’ Max nods, ‘you’re probably right. I wouldn’t want to say something in a sleepy stupor that I might regret.’
What might that be? wondered Polly, unnerved, as she showed him the door and bid him sweet dreams.
He was tender just now, wasn’t he? That must mean that he wants me, that he wants to come back. That’s why I could let him go and sleep, you see, because he’ll be back tomorrow. He said so.
Polly took Max on a cycle ride to Grafton the following afternoon. The reason was twofold for she was as proud of her increased fitness as she was of the area in which she was living. Max was impressed by both and Polly liked the ambiguity contained in his frequently and breathlessly expressed ‘Beautiful!’ Was it in reference to the sight of her pert bottom as she stood in her cleats and cycled up hill? Was it the hill itself? Was it the hill that made him sound breathless, or the sight of her? Whichever, Max seemed to be enjoying his afternoon.
That’s the main thing. He’ll stay.
They filled a basket from the Grafton Stores and cycled on out of town to the cheese factory where they bought a chunk of Vermont Cheddar. They pedalled on a few miles until they found a picture-perfect shaded dell near to where Saxtons River and Turkey Mountain Brook meet.
‘Fantastic names,’ Max marvelled, unpacking the provisions and smacking his lips, ‘Turkey Mountain Brook.’
‘How about Pompanoosuc?’ Polly suggested gaily, pointing it out on the map.
‘Pompanoosuc,’ Max repeated in a very odd accent but with great rhythm. They laughed.
‘We could go to Dorset,’ Polly suggested wide-eyed, ‘or Peru. There’s Weybridge too – or perhaps you’d prefer Manchester?’
‘Manchester? I rather think not,’ Max chuckled.
‘Sunderland?’ Polly pushed, ‘Plymouth? They’re all here, all in Vermont.’
‘Ottaquechee,’ Max enunciated carefully, scrutinizing the map.
‘It’s a river, a town and a gorge – pretty spectacular and not far from here,’ Polly enthused. ‘Perhaps we could go. I’m off duty from four on Saturday.’
Max flopped down on to the grass and rested his arms on his knees, map open and dangling in his right hand.
Did he hear me?
Polly laid her hand on his shoulder, because just at that moment she was overcome with affection for him. His slightly startled reaction, however, made her pretend at once that she was seeking only balance and she gave a convincing wobble as she took off her shoes.
‘Harmonyville,’ Max continued as if he hadn’t noticed. Polly fell silent and cast her gaze over to him until he dragged his eyes away from the map and looked directly at her.
‘Harmonyville,’ Polly said, in a quiet voice but strong. ‘You and I could live in Harmonyville.’ Max looked a little confused and was about to return his attention to his current surroundings when Polly kept him focused. ‘We could inhabit Harmonyville, Max – because, do you know, I think it’s probably as much a notion, a spiritual place, as a real town in Vermont, U.S. of A.’
‘Cheese?’ Max offered, after a loaded silence during which he and Polly locked eyes.
‘Please,’ Polly said, wondering if she was allowed to feel somewhat triumphant.
Because he didn’t flinch, did he? He didn’t frown or even look away. Harmonyville. He didn’t disagree. That’s it. We’re going to live in Harmonyville.
They ate their lunch, dangling toes in the water and feeling the not unpleasant sensation of just damp moss blush through their shorts.
‘Polly,’ Max said. Polly looked up. He cast his eyes away. She shuffled over to him.
‘Max?’
‘I don’t see how you think we can make a go of things. Do you really believe?’
‘Oh yes, I do, oh indeed, yes yes,’ Polly rushed, almost before Max had pronounced his question mark. ‘Certainly. No doubt. I’m positive. Definitely.’
‘Hold on.’ Max sounded a little irritated and his raised hand and diverted gaze compounded this impression. ‘We can’t just pick up where we left off, can we?’
Polly’s brain worked hard.
God. Quick, a question – quickly, answer him.
‘’Course we can,’ Polly said urgently trying to turn a blind eye away from the jumble of images rampaging across her mind: Chip, England last Christmas, Jen in her flat, herself running in hysterics to Kilburn, Dominic’s eyes seeing right through her, a BGS class room, Mount Hubbardtons in the snow, the taste of grits, the smell of Buster’s cat food.
‘No,’ she conceded quietly, ‘I suppose not.’
‘We can’t,’ Max stated, shaking his head resignedly, ‘just not possible.’
God. Quick, a solution – think of something. Change his mind. Reassure. Persuade.
‘New beginnings!’ Polly chirped up, having blinked hard to dispel the intrusive images. ‘A new start, a new phase.’
Max looked at her, grazing his teeth along his bottom lip. She could not read what he was thinking and her inability to do so, as much as wondering what it was that he was thinking, unnerved her.
I don’t understand. Last night he was all tenderness – now he’s distant. What does that mean – what can and should I do? Beg? Why is he here? What does he want?
She shuffled over to him, sat on her heels and placed her hands on his.
‘I mean, think how young we were when we started out as a couple,’ Max said clearly, ‘and, as Chloë pointed out, we’ve had no real obstacles to test us, for us to contend with, nothing that provides a yardstick of our strength, of our true worth as a couple.’
Who the fuck is Chloë?
Listen to him, Polly.
‘So now. Now? Well! Think about it, Polly. If we were to start afresh, might we not discover very diff
erent people from those we were so attracted to when we first started seeing each other?’
Polly looked away, desperate not to understand his point but knowing at once that what he had just said was horribly comprehensible and upsettingly, undeniably, pragmatic. A chipmunk appeared and seemed to smile at her. She looked back to Max and found him regarding her, as if in assessment. He shrugged and looked away.
Don’t look away.
But I can’t look at you.
Why not? Please do.
I don’t want to.
‘I don’t know, Polly,’ Max continued, ‘but I do know that things happen for a reason. Maybe we were coming to a natural end and it was all just, well, hastened.’
‘But,’ said Polly, the dawning of reality bringing with it a sensation of burgeoning panic, her heartbeat giving her a headache, ‘I do love you.’ Max looked away quickly, as if she had said the last thing he had wanted to hear.
Tough. I am going to say it loud and clear.
‘I love you, Max Fyfield. I know I haven’t treasured you enough. I want to be with you. Really I do.’
‘I loved you – what we had,’ said Max, looking sad and worryingly resigned too.
‘Don’t speak in the past tense,’ Polly pleaded hoarsely, reaching out to him again. Max rose to his feet, though, and pulled his leg away from her just as soon as she’d encircled it with her arm.
‘I think I have to,’ he said, ‘because, until I have a realistic sight of the tenable future – immediate and short term – I have no alternative.’
They cycled back in silence. Max leading the way.
THIRTY-NINE
Kate rarely ventured deeper into the labyrinth of Hubbardtons Academy than the Art faculty and the dining hall, which were set conveniently on the periphery. That night, however, she strode to Petersfield House with purpose. She knocked on the door to Polly’s apartment and entered without waiting for a response.
‘Polly?’
Kate marched in and out of the kitchenette and the sitting-room before coming across her, sitting in a hunch with legs akimbo, just outside her bedroom door.
‘Polly? You OK?’
Polly raised a pale face and nodded unconvincingly.
‘Listen, hon, you get yourself up, you hear? He’s talking about leaving tomorrow and you have to save the day.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t be so goddam defeatist. Yes you can. You have power. You are a woman.’
Polly looked at Kate suspiciously, wanted at once to giggle and sing her words à la Whitney Houston, but she knew fundamentally that Kate was wise and that her wisdom came from knowledge through experience.
‘Tell him you love him.’
‘I tried that,’ said Polly, disappointed, ‘it didn’t seem to make much of a dent in his armour.’
‘Nice analogy,’ said Kate, ‘but you don’t need purple prose, you need to yell it at him. Mad Max – swear to God, he is – and you can do something about it.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Let him see you so broken. Jeez, make the guy guilty. Men like to feel that they must protect us weak little ladies – it’s the caveman shit and all.’
‘Don’t want to play games,’ said Polly, hugging her knees. ‘This isn’t a game.’
At last. Well done, Polly.
‘I know it isn’t, and that’s not what I mean,’ Kate implored, crouching down and hugging Polly. ‘I think – and I only just met the guy – but I think he needs convincing. I think you gotta be a little, say, creative. I believe it’s all there, in him, but he’s taken a knock and you know guys, they go into that old self-preservation, I-don’t-need-this-shit mode.’
‘Do you think so?’ Polly asked, holding out her hand for Kate to hoick her upright. ‘Really?’
‘I know so,’ said Kate.
‘You do swear a lot,’ Polly marvelled.
‘What do you think?’ Polly asks Lorna twenty minutes later, having recounted both her afternoon with Max, and Kate’s visit.
‘Three things,’ Lorna says, holding up a corresponding number of fingers. Polly’s wide eyes encourage her to dispense with tea-making and cut straight to the point. She leads Polly from her little kitchen and sits her down on her couch. Lorna perches on her coffee table and leans forwards to Polly.
‘OK,’ she says, ‘three things: one, I’m in no doubt that Max does indeed love you, and love you deeply.’
‘Yes?’ gasps Polly as if it is the most fantastic, unexpected news ever.
‘I do. Know why?’ Lorna asks, answered by Polly’s vigorous head shaking. ‘Because he looked at me so so fondly all the way through Formal Meal.’
Oh yes? Bastard! I think he looked at Jen rather fondly too.
‘Idiot!’ Lorna chides, mind-reading. ‘You know, it’s like you want to love the people that love your partner, that your partner loves too?’
‘OK,’ Polly concedes, ‘but what did he say? What d’you think?’
‘Well, I felt he wanted to find out all about me? While mentioning you at any opportunity. I think he wants to get a hold on your life here – how you are, and how you are taken – you see? Make sense?’
Polly nods and her face appears to have warmed up a tone.
‘Number two,’ Lorna continues, ‘Kate is right. Heed her words.’ Polly jumps visibly but Lorna doesn’t stop to check why. ‘Kate is right,’ she repeats with a shrug, ‘he needs convincing and you gotta be creative – it shows effort born out of love and conviction – guys really don’t need much more, hey?’
Polly nods again and looks hard at the palm of her left hand, as if jotting down points one and two.
‘Three,’ Lorna presses on, ‘finally. Last and not least – I want to show you something.’
She takes Polly to her bedroom, motioning in the direction of the chest of drawers near her bed. ‘Second down, left-hand corner.’
Obediently, Polly pulls the drawer but she sees only the neatest pile of crisply ironed T-shirts in the left-hand side. She looks over at Lorna, enquiringly. ‘Shit,’ Lorna laughs, stamping lightly, ‘dig deep, girl.’ Polly lifts one, two, three T-shirts. And then she sees it. Now she’s smiling. Now she turns to Lorna and nods, a healthy grin lighting her face. She goes to Lorna and embraces her. They laugh.
Lorna has bought a vibrator. One of eye-watering proportions, no less.
‘’Sme.’
‘Polly Fenton!’
‘Is Dom there? You alone? Is it Neighbours?’
‘No – yes – no.’
‘How are you, Meg? I miss you. How am I?’
‘I’m fine – how are you? Any, er, news?’
‘What, like Max turning up out of the blue and into the heart of the Green Mountains?’
‘Mmm, that kind of news, yes.’
‘Max has turned up.’
‘No? Really!’
‘As if you didn’t know, you dark horse – you and that bloke from Holidays R Us.’
‘Just helping out a friend – me and that bloke from Holidays R Us.’
‘Oh Meg, he’s here and I love him.’
‘Holidays R Him?’
‘Max, idiot!’
‘You don’t say? Hurray! Hullo? Where’ve you gone? Hullo?’
‘But – God – I don’t think he wants me.’
‘Polly – silly – why come all the way over to see you then, twit?’
‘He is here, yes, but he isn’t, if you see what I mean. He’s distant like I’ve never seen him. That’s new and frightening.’
‘Go on.’
‘He says we can’t pick up where we left off – and we may have changed too much to make a fresh start. I think he wants to call it a day.’
‘That, Polly Fenton, is totally beyond my comprehension – knowing you both as well as I do.’
‘Really?’
‘Honestly.’
‘Then why is he packing as we speak?’
‘Because, Polly, you’re not there unpacking his stuff and making him
want to stay.’
‘I can’t force him.’
‘No, it’s true, you can’t. But you can make him want to stay.’
‘Zoe?’
‘Hey, Miss Fenton.’
‘Studying OK?’
‘Sure.’
‘Am I interrupting you? Disturbing you?’
‘No, not really – you want something? I done something?’
‘Yes. No. I want to do something for which I need your help. It’s highly illegal.’
‘I think you need Beth, don’t you?’
‘No Zoe, it has to be you. I trust you, and only you, implicitly.’
Polly sat on the student’s bed, reached for a very battered Mickey Mouse and hugged it close. Zoe twisted round in her chair and faced them both.
‘Shoot,’ she said, intrigued and just a little uncomfortable.
‘I have to slip out for a mo’ – can you hold fort?’
‘How long’s a mo’?’ Zoe asked, eyes sparkling but not quite able to conjure a convincing image of her teacher buying drugs down some gloomy alley – not least because there was a veritable dearth of gloomy alleys in Hubbardtons. ‘How long’s a mo’, Miss Fenton?’
‘Potentially,’ said Polly cautiously, ‘the same length as a piece of string.’
‘Boyfriend?’ Zoe asked quietly, knowing instinctively. Polly nodded. Zoe regarded her with sympathy and affection and awe. ‘Nice to be able to return the favour,’ she said.
‘Thanks a million,’ said Polly, ‘if anyone asks, anyone, I’ve gone to bed with a sodding headache.’
‘Sure,’ Zoe shrugged, ‘sodding. No problem.’
‘I owe you one,’ Polly told her, handing Mickey Mouse over.
‘No,’ said Zoe, snuffling the toy’s head, ‘you don’t.’
Polly creeps her way through the unlit sections of the school grounds and takes the back route to Kate’s. The light is on in Great Aunt Clara’s room but it is also on in the kitchen and she doesn’t want to be seen by anyone other than Max. She scurries over to Great Aunt Clara’s window and looks in. No Max. There’s no one there. But there is a bulging rucksack propped at the foot of the bed. Suddenly, Polly is subsumed with timidity and grief. Now she doesn’t even want Max to see her.