Caught!

by JL Merrow

Sean cocked his head. “Yeah? Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

  I stood up. “That was the whole problem, really. Oh God. I’m explaining this all wrong.” I took a deep breath and stared at my sports socks, my toes sinking into Sean’s soft blue bedroom carpet. “We got on a bit too well. He’s, well…” Intense. Different. Dangerous. A bit like you. “Not that I ever even dreamed of acting upon it,” I added quickly. “I mean, I was with Crispin.” Perhaps that had been part of the attraction too—I’d known it would never go anywhere, so I’d felt safe to enjoy it.

  I risked another glance at Sean’s face. He was frowning. “So this Oliver, he was the lad I met down at your place? How old was he? Can’t have been younger than sixteen.”

  “God, no!” Nausea rose in my throat. “Seventeen. He was seventeen.”

  “He was legal, then. If he hadn’t been your student, it’d have been fine, right?”

  “But he was my student. And… That wasn’t the only thing. He didn’t have the best of backgrounds. I think that was partly why he got a bit of a crush on me.” It didn’t excuse my behaviour, though. Nothing did. “I should have stopped giving him private lessons at once, persuaded one of the other teachers to do it, but…I liked him, you know? Liked spending time with him.” If I was brutally honest with myself, I’d enjoyed the ego boost too, the way he’d seemed to look up to me, even though I was barely six years his senior. “But it would have been totally unethical for me to go out with him, even if I had been free.”

  “What happened?”

  It wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be. “He… Well, he didn’t want to take no for an answer.”

  “He tried to force you into something? That bastard.” Somehow, Sean was standing behind me, his arms around my waist. Solid bands of comfort, where I’d thought I’d never feel them again. I looked down at his roughened hands, the jagged nails, and tried to draw strength from them.

  “No—God, no. At least, not like that.” I swallowed. “He said if I didn’t agree to go out with him, he’d tell the headmaster I’d—I’d molested him.”

  “So what happened?” His voice was a growl. I ought to find it sexy, I supposed, but right now I was just numb.

  “I didn’t. And he did.”

  “Bastard,” he said again, and his arms tightened around me. “And they believed him over you?”

  “The headmaster was really good about it. He thought it’d be best if I just left quietly.”

  “Oh yeah, I’m sure he had your best interests at heart. Nothing to do with not wanting his precious school in the papers.”

  I spun in his arms, pushing away from him angrily. “You think I’d have wanted to be in the papers? No anonymity for the accused, remember? And people always say there’s no smoke without fire. Do you honestly think I’d ever have got another teaching job?”

  “So what happened to the bloke you were with?”

  “Crispin. He… Well, we split up.” I managed a wobbly smile. “Couldn’t run away from me fast enough. And he was a PE teacher, so, well, obviously pretty quick on his feet.”

  “God. The one bloke you’d expect to believe you when you said nothing had happened.”

  “I think…” I couldn’t say it. But I had to say it. Had to be honest with him, or it would fester forever. I stared at Sean’s feet for a change. He was wearing thick woolly socks—a Christmas present? They were black, to match the jacket I still hadn’t returned to him. “I think…it didn’t really matter to him whether I was telling the truth. About nothing having happened between me and Oliver. He was just worried he’d be tarred with the same brush. And I wasn’t w-worth risking that for.” It was so humiliating, admitting it to the person I wanted most to think well of me.

  “Fucking…” Sean trailed off, glaring to one side. My chest tightened painfully, and a heavy weight thudded into my stomach, bringing a swift end to the hundred or so paper cranes that had hitherto flitted queasily therein.

  Then Sean’s arms were around me once more, pulling me close. I stumbled, but he caught me and held me in his strong arms. “God,” he breathed into my hair. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you seriously think I’d act like that prick? Fuck, don’t answer that. I’m not like that, okay? He was a fucking idiot.”

  My heart twisted, but I had to say it. “But…you left. Just like he did.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Sean still held me tight for a moment, then he loosened his grip to look me in the eye. “Look, sometimes I get a bit… Well. You know. It’s not easy, sometimes. I mean, you’re used to all these posh blokes with high-flying careers and degrees coming out of their ears, and I’m just a bloody rat-catcher. I mean, fucking hell, what did your family say when you told them about me? If you told them about me,” he added more quietly.

  I was hurt. “Of course I told them about you. I’m not ashamed of you. Far from it. Peter said to ask about blue peanut butter,” I remembered.

  Sean gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Yeah? God, we haven’t used that stuff in years. Bloody EU regulations. Mice used to go wild for it.” His gaze dropped. “Shit, I’m sorry. Should’ve trusted you. And I shouldn’t have got mad at you for not telling me everything. I mean… Well, it’s your life, innit? Not mine. Up to you what you tell people. I shouldn’t have dumped all my dad’s crap on you. Just ’cos he was a tosser, it doesn’t mean you are.”

  I blinked. “Have you been talking to Rose?”

  Sean directed a sheepish smile at my brogues. “Yeah, well. It’s possible she might have called me out this morning to deal with a rat in her bathroom that turned out to be a spider.”

  “A spider?”

  “It was a pretty big spider, mind. Took a few tries to get it down the plughole. She gave me a cup of tea afterwards. And a proper talking-to. So anyway… You’ve probably noticed I’m a bit of a dick sometimes. And I’m sorry I left. Really sorry.” He pulled me back into his arms. “But I’ll always come back to you. You know, if you want me to?”

  I couldn’t believe he thought there was any doubt about it. “I want you to,” I said, my heart unclenching itself into an almost painful lightness. “Always.” And, well, if he didn’t, I’d just have to make sure I went looking for him.

  Sean smiled, his green eyes bright and that roguish look upon his face that had always drawn me to him. He stroked my hair, and it occurred to me for the first time just how unkempt I must look after my desperate sprint to reach him. A second later, it further occurred to me that maybe he didn’t mind that one bit—maybe even found it attractive—and I couldn’t have kept an answering smile from my lips even if I’d wanted to try.

  “Right, then,” Sean said, his voice fond. “That’s a promise.”

  Epilogue

  The Easter end-of-term service at St Saviour’s Church was predictably less well attended than Harvest and Christmas, but I was heartened to see most of the children in my class had at least one parent in the pews. Destinee’s mum was there, with the tennis coach, both of them lean, tanned and probably Botoxed as well, although it was possible the vacancy in their expressions was due to boredom rather than cosmetic treatments.

  Mr. Mason was there too, for a wonder. This was the first time I’d seen him on hallowed ground. Although perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. His punctuality when picking up Charlie had improved markedly since our little chat, which helped me remember it—and its consequences—without total mortification.

  Even Hanne had turned up, having told me she wanted to hear “my” children singing. She was standing, beaming with maternal pride, next to a tall, rangy Viking I recognised from the photos she’d showed us of her younger son, Andreas. I suspected there might have been a subtle hint intended that it was time he thought about providing her with some grandchildren to spoil when she returned to her native land. She’d be moving back in the summer. I was going to miss her.

  I gl
anced in Sean’s direction, only to find him frowning in a sardonic way that somehow managed to fully communicate I saw you eyeing up the hot bloke, and don’t think you’re getting away with it. I widened my eyes in mock trepidation, and he immediately ruined the stern effect with a grin. Smiling back helplessly, I caught Debs’s exaggerated eye-roll and turned hastily back to the children in my charge.

  Debs was still cancer-free, and the prognosis was apparently good. She still wore headscarves out in public for now, not liking how her vivid red hair looked at its early stage of regrowth, but was looking forward to dispensing with them by the summer.

  The ponderous tones of the organ rang sonorously though the church, and the congregation launched into “There Is a Green Hill Far Away”, some more enthusiastically than others. Destinee, at the end of my pew, looked bored out of her sophisticated little mind but perked up when Harry nudged her. I pretended not to notice the four heads (Wills, Harry, Destinee and Charlie) bent over whatever they’d found to distract them. They’d been fast friends this term, and the other teachers and I had taken to calling them The Fearsome Four. Not that young Charlie, bless him, was the least bit fearsome even now, but his confidence had certainly come on in leaps and bounds of late.

  The vicar said a few words (actually, he said a few more words; I’d been so distracted, I’d entirely missed the start). Then it was time for class 2E to perform “He’s Alive”, an upbeat modern hymn whose chorus—at least in the version we were using—consisted solely of the words he’s alive repeated fourteen times, presumably on the basis that even the most dense listener would get the message by the end.

  I stepped out of the pew to shepherd my little charges into the apse, and the vicar moved to one side to let us pass, giving us a beatific smile. The Fearsome Four were still gleefully furtive, and I gave them my sternest look as the class lined up. Free this time of any seasonal accoutrements (Rose had suggested bunny ears and a tail, but I’d strongly suspected the Head might fail to see the joke) I raised my hands to bring them in.

  “He’s Alive” rang through the church at a creditable volume. Destinee had an impressive pair of lungs on her when she condescended to use them, and clearly she was in a condescending mood today. As the last chords died away, a sudden and very localised burst of applause drew my attention, and I turned to see Mrs. Nunn on her feet, clapping enthusiastically.

  “Ah, excellent, excellent,” the vicar said. “But, ah, we don’t normally applaud during the service,” he added in conspiratorial tones, as if the entire congregation couldn’t hear his amplified voice perfectly well.

  Mrs. Nunn made an ooh, get him sort of face, but at least she sat down.

  As the children filed back into their pews, I noticed the twins hanging back a little—and then Wills crouched down for a moment behind the vicar. When he straightened, I caught a glimpse of a matchbox before it disappeared into his trouser pocket. Wills glanced up and met my gaze with a curious mixture of defiance and worry.

  Should I say something? Warn the vicar there was now in all likelihood some leggy creepy-crawly climbing up his cassock? I hesitated, and the vicar looked at me, his lips tight-pressed. “If we could get on, Mr. Enemy?”

  Ah, well. The chances were, he’d find out for himself. I meekly joined class 2E in the pews, and the vicar began his sermon.

  Georgie’s christening earlier in the month had gone well. Sean had accompanied me, and I’d taken care to make it quite plain where my affections lay. Certainly Linette had seemed much more friendly towards me at the end of the day than the beginning. Come to think of it, Sean had been in rather a good mood too. The ensuing night had certainly left me in no doubt of where his affections lay.

  The air in the church was still chilly with winter’s damp, but outside in the churchyard and, indeed, all over the village, daffodils had sprung out in full force to herald the warm, sunny days to come. I was looking forward to them. I’d joined the cricket club—we both had. Sean, despite his lack of experience with the sport, had proved in training to be a very passable batsman and, of course, an excellent fielder. He also cut a rather fine figure in cricketing whites, despite his initial doubts. And training together naturally gave us an ideal opportunity to shower together afterwards…

  I cut off that train of thought sharply. It was veering into territory not entirely suitable to dwell on in a church.

  I was under strict instructions to take Sean to visit Mother and Peter in Wiltshire during the summer holidays, but it would only be for a few days and there was every chance Laetitia wouldn’t be there. Her on-off relationship with the boyfriend was currently back on, and they’d booked a fortnight in Tunisia. Sean and I had a tacit understanding that he would, when it came down to it, prove completely unable to get any time off work that wasn’t during those dates.

  There would be plenty of time for leisurely drives in Portia, rides on the back of Sean’s motorbike and lazy evenings together. And then, of course, it would be time to start teaching St Saviour’s little darlings the official school harvest song all over again. Funnily enough, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to mind.

  Even as I smiled to myself, the vicar’s drone faltered, and he scratched behind his ear. Only to find Wills’s little gift, presumably having made it to collar height under its own steam, had now hitched a ride on his hand.

  My word, that was an impressively large spider.

  The drone turned into a high-pitched shriek, and the vicar flicked the spider away in horror—only to have it land smack in the middle of the reception class, half of whom scrambled out of the pews in mortal terror while the other half yelled “Don’t kill it!” and set about trying to rescue the thing.

  I caught Sean’s eye—then had to look away rapidly. The sight of his handsome, well-loved features, creased with laughter, was not helping me in my struggle to keep a straight face.

  And Fordy thought the village was a boring backwater? Well, it was something of a backwater, perhaps. But boring? Maybe it would be, for him.

  I only knew there was no place on earth I’d rather be.

  “I Like Baked Beans”

  I like baked beans

  Brussels sprouts and tangerines

  Cabbages and carrots

  And peppers red and green.

  Alphabet spaghetti, pick and mix

  Chocolate muffins and sesame sticks

  Tins of soup and frozen food

  Let’s thank God for all that’s good.

  About the Author

  JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.

  She writes across genres, with a preference for contemporary gay romance and the paranormal, and is frequently accused of humour. Her novella Muscling Through was a 2013 EPIC Award finalist, and her novel Slam! won the 2013 Rainbow Award for Best LGBT Romantic Comedy.

  JL Merrow is a member of the UK GLBTQ Fiction Meet organising team. Visit their website at ukglbtfictionmeet.co.uk.

  Find JL Merrow online at: www.jlmerrow.com, on Twitter at www.twitter.com/jlmerrow, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jl.merrow

  Look for these titles by JL Merrow

  Now Available:

  Pricks and Pragmatism

  Camwolf

  Muscling Through

  Wight Mischief

  Midnight in Berlin

  Hard Tail

  Slam!

  Fall Hard

  The Plumber’s Mate

  Pressure Head

  Relief Valve

  Coming Soon:

  Heat Trap

  Raising the Rent

  If you dig up the past, be prepared
to get dirty…

  Relief Valve

  © 2014 JL Merrow

  Plumber’s Mate, Book 2

  It hasn’t been all smooth sailing since plumber Tom Paretski and P.I. Phil Morrison became connected at the heart, if not always at Tom’s dodgy hip. Neither of their families has been shy about voicing their disapproval, which hasn’t helped Tom’s uneasy relationship with his prickly older sister, Cherry.

  But when Cherry is poisoned at her own engagement party, the horror of her near death has Tom’s head spinning with possible culprits. Is it her fiancé Gregory, a cathedral canon with an unfortunate manner and an alarming taste for taxidermy? Someone from her old writers’ circle, which she left after a row? Or could the attack be connected to her work as a barrister?

  Phil is just as desperate to solve the case before someone ends up dead—and he fears it could be Tom. At least one of their suspects has a dark secret to hide, which makes Tom’s sixth sense for finding things like a target painted on his back...

  Warning: Contains a strong, silent, macho PI; a cheeky, chirpy, cat-owning plumber; and a gag gift from beyond the grave that’ll put the cat firmly among the pigeons.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Relief Valve:

  It had all started a week or two previous, when the phone rang. (And if you haven’t got déjà vu at this point, where have you been?) It was the landline, not my mobile, which meant it wasn’t work, or a mate, or… Come to think of it, why did I still have a landline?

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Phil asked, secure in the knowledge that with the ten-ton furry cushion that was Arthur snugly asleep on his lap, he was excused errands for the foreseeable future. “Put the kettle on while you’re up.”

  Serve him right if he got pins and needles in his dick. “It’ll only be some bloody telemarketer from a call centre in India. It’ll stop ringing in a minute when one of the other six lines they’re calling picks up.”

  We listened as the ringing carried on. Even Merlin paused in batting at something under the armchair and twitched a furry ear.