Love Lessons

by Nick Sharratt

  ‘He’s a brilliant teacher. Everyone loves him,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, come on, Prue, I bet everyone takes the mickey. He’s so stupid wasting his time teaching, and it’s crap money anyway. He earned double that amount when he worked at the advertising agency – no, triple. But of course he didn’t find that creative enough, though it beats me what’s creative about giving out pots of paint to a lot of bored teenagers. Sorry, I don’t mean you, Prue, I know you’re very talented – Keith keeps telling me.’

  ‘Does he?’ I said eagerly.

  ‘You must know he thinks the world of you,’ said Marianne.

  I hoped he did, but I wanted her to keep on telling me. It made me feel strange though, horribly guilty. She seemed to have no idea how I felt about Rax. She started treating me as if I was her friend.

  ‘It’s so good of you to babysit on a regular basis like this, Prue. Keith and I had got out of the habit of going out together. We don’t really do much, but it does us both good. It gives me a chance to dress up a bit and feel like a human being again – and it’s cheered Keith up too. I know he keeps up a smiley front at school, but he’s been really down the last few months. Well, since before Lily was born. He’s never said as much, even to me, but he gets these moods. But now he’s much cheerier, more like the old Keith.’ She sighed. ‘Make the most of being young and having your freedom, Prue.’

  I nodded politely, though I didn’t want to be young, I didn’t want to be free.

  Rax scarcely said anything to me in front of Marianne and the children. He waited until we were alone, in the car driving home. We had ten minutes together, twenty if we stayed chatting in the car outside the shop.

  We talked about art, we talked about books. Rax kept scribbling down recommendations and I kept all his notes tucked inside my copy of Jane Eyre, treasuring old Sainsbury’s receipts and Cadbury’s wrappers because they bore a few words of his beautiful italic writing. But the best conversations were when he stopped acting like my teacher and I got him to talk about himself. He shied away from talking about the way he felt now, but he talked easily enough about his childhood.

  He told me about his first big box of felt-tip pens and how he’d spent hours kneeling up at the kitchen table, colouring the seaside with big white-tipped waves and little red boats and v-shaped seagulls flying round and round the rays of his yellow sun. He drew himself standing on a rock licking a giant strawberry ice cream with chocolate flakes sticking out like horns. His mother had entered it for a children’s art competition and it had come second.

  ‘Another boy at my school came first, and I couldn’t help minding dreadfully. I managed not to show it in front of him, but I cried at home – how pathetic is that!’

  ‘But very understandable.’

  ‘My mum understood too, and had my picture specially framed. I think she’s still got it hanging in her kitchen.’

  ‘Has she got any of your later work, things you did at art school or afterwards?’

  ‘No, I think she feels I went off dreadfully after the age of seven. She may well be right.’

  ‘And do you still like strawberry ice cream with chocolate flakes?’

  ‘You bet I do!’

  Then we got onto our favourite foods. Rax couldn’t believe I’d never eaten a pizza or a chop suey or a chicken tandoori.

  ‘I’ll have to treat you sometime,’ he said.

  ‘Yes please!’

  I kept hoping that he’d suggest a specific time, but he was probably just playing a game. Sometimes he treated me like a little kid, as if I wasn’t much older than Harry. I tried to behave in a sophisticated manner, but sometimes he teased me when I used an elaborate phrase or struck a pose.

  ‘Don’t laugh at me,’ I said, stung.

  ‘I’m not laughing. Well. Just a little bit,’ he said.

  ‘I’m simply trying to impress you,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t have to try, Prue. You do that already,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You’re a funny kid.’

  ‘I’m not funny. And I’m not a kid,’ I said, flouncing out of the car.

  ‘Hey! Don’t go off in a huff!’ he said, winding down his window.

  I stuck my head back inside. ‘Who’s huffy? Not me!’ I said. Then I blew him a little kiss goodbye.

  I didn’t touch him. It was just a silly little gesture. He didn’t need to take it seriously – though I wanted him to.

  He wasn’t quite so chatty this last time, driving me home. I tried hard to introduce interesting topics of conversation, but nothing really seemed to spark with him. We got home much too soon.

  ‘Perhaps you could park the car up the road a bit instead of just outside the shop?’ I suggested. ‘If Mum hears the car she’ll wonder why I’m not coming in straight away.’

  ‘And why aren’t you coming in straight away?’ said Rax.

  ‘Because I want to talk to you!’

  ‘I know, I know. And I want to talk to you too, Prue. But . . . but we’re starting to act as if . . . as if there’s something between us.’

  ‘There is,’ I said.

  ‘Well, yes, I know we get on really well, and it’s a privilege for me to help you with your art, but that’s all it can be, Prue. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I know. But what do you really want inside? What if you weren’t my teacher?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I feel inside.’

  ‘It matters to me. You matter to me.’

  ‘Don’t, Prue. Look, this is all my fault. I should have kept my distance. You’re going through a difficult time, you’re feeling very vulnerable, your dad’s not well. It’s not surprising you’ve got overly attached to me.’

  ‘I’m not attached.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I love you, you know I do.’

  ‘Prue. Look, you’re a very sweet girl—’

  ‘Don’t treat me like Sarah.’

  ‘Oh dear God.’ He put his head in his hands, resting against the steering wheel.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I won’t make things difficult for you. I won’t tell anyone else the way I feel. I won’t do anything at all. But please, won’t you tell me if you love me just a little bit?’

  ‘I’m married, I’ve got two small children. I’m a teacher, you’re my pupil – you’re fourteen years old, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Prue, please, stop this. Go indoors now, your mother will be wondering where you are. Off you go.’

  He waited until I was safely out of the car, standing on the pavement. Then he whispered one word as he drove away. I couldn’t hear him, of course, but I saw his face clearly in the lamplight. He said yes.

  Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

  Rax seemed to be avoiding me at school. He barely nodded when we passed in the corridor. When I started a new project in art he didn’t even comment. We’d started working on aspects of Christmas. I found his postcard of a Botticelli Nativity and I made a fair stab at copying it, using gouache for the first time. I did a little replica Mary, Jesus and Joseph, I painted all their visitors, rural and exotic, and the holy livestock, and used up a lot of pink and gold on the host of heavenly angels circling the cattle shed.

  There was a strange graveyard in the foreground with dead people springing forth from the earth, resurrected, embracing each other joyfully. I copied each one, but I deliberately embellished the couple in the corner enjoying the warmest embrace. I gave the girl long dark curly hair. I gave the man a little beard with a hint of sparkly highlight on his earlobe.

  I wanted Rax to look at it closely but he only gave it a quick glance every time he went to have a chat with Sarah. I hoped he’d look at it more carefully after the lesson. I was sure I understood. He was being particularly cautious. It would look strange, even suspicious, if he singled me out.

  I didn’t like it all the same. School was so lonely now. Rita and the other girls hissed slag at me whenever I passed. T
he boys made crude remarks. Toby did his best to shut them up. Then he hung back, trying to talk to me.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Prue. I didn’t mean for it to end up like this. I never thought Rita would be so mean to you. I’ve tried talking to her, telling her to cut it out, but she just told me to get lost.’

  ‘Well, she would do, wouldn’t she?’ I said. ‘And if she sees you talking to me now she’ll get even meaner. You shouldn’t have broken up with her, Toby.’

  ‘But I don’t reckon her any more. You’re the only girl I want.’

  ‘Oh Toby. I told you. I like you ever so much, but I don’t want to be your girlfriend,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe you’ll change your mind,’ Toby said cheerfully.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, but obviously I couldn’t explain why.

  Rax didn’t mention babysitting at all in the last art lesson of the week, but then, right at the end, when everyone else was clattering out, he asked if he could have a word with me.

  ‘Look at her!’ Rita said to her friend Aimee. ‘Look at the smug little smile on the slag’s face, just because old Rax wants her.’

  My heart started beating fast. Rax had heard too. He paused and stood still.

  ‘Yeah, talk about teacher’s pet. I don’t think she’s that good at art, she just copies stuff,’ said Aimee.

  I breathed out, happy for them to carry on rubbishing my art. Toby irritatingly took it into his head to interfere.

  ‘You shut up, you lot. You’re just jealous of Prue’s talent,’ he said.

  This naturally encouraged them to be far more vitriolic.

  ‘Hey, you guys, how about conducting your slanging match outside in the playground?’ said Rax.

  ‘Prue is talented, isn’t she, Rax?’ Toby persisted. ‘That Christmas Jesus scene is brilliant, don’t you think so?’

  ‘Yes I do,’ said Rax. ‘But perhaps we shouldn’t keep telling Prue that or she’ll get big-headed.’

  ‘Her head’s as big as an elephant’s bum already,’ Rita said, and flounced off, circled by Aimee, Megan and Jess.

  Toby hung back, waiting for me.

  ‘You go on, Toby,’ I said.

  He sloped off, looking miserable. I sighed. Then I looked at Rax.

  ‘Do you really think I’m talented?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, you’re brilliant,’ said Rax, but he said it flatly, as if he wasn’t really engaging with the subject.

  ‘Shall I come round usual time tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Well. That’s why I wanted a word. We won’t need you to do any babysitting tonight,’ he said.

  He was standing at the sink, the taps full on, washing out paint pots and palettes. I wondered if I’d actually heard him properly.

  ‘You won’t need me?’ I whispered. ‘You’ve not got someone else to babysit, have you?’

  ‘No, no. We’re just not going out, that’s all.’ He stayed at the sink, splashing the palettes around, although they were all pristine.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We fancied a quiet night in, watching The West Wing with a takeaway pizza,’ said Rax.

  ‘Oh.’ I waited. He wouldn’t look round. ‘So. Next Friday then?’

  Rax stood still a moment. Then he squared his shoulders. ‘Maybe not, Prue,’ he said. He turned round properly. His face was so tense there were lines all round his mouth. He licked his lips, wiping his hands on his jeans. ‘I don’t think the babysitting is really a good idea.’

  ‘But the children like me. Harry loves me reading him stories, and I can always make Lily laugh. Marianne likes me too – we have all these chats together while you’re getting ready.’

  ‘I know, I know, you’re great at babysitting and my whole family adores you. But I just don’t think it’s a very good idea any more.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know why, Prue,’ he said impatiently.

  ‘Because I love you?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t!’ he said, looking round anxiously, as if there were children eavesdropping in the cupboard and Miss Wilmott tape-recording at the door. He took a deep breath. ‘That’s why we have to stop this. It’s dangerous for both of us.’

  ‘Dangerous for you,’ I said. ‘You’re scared you’ll lose your job if anyone finds out.’

  ‘Well, of course I am. I’ve got a family to support. But it’s not just the job. I don’t want to upset you – you’re only fourteen, and you’re taking our friendship so seriously.’

  ‘Are you still trying to pretend that’s all it is?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a close friendship, nothing more,’ said Rax.

  I started to cry.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Prue, stop that. It’s true. We haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Is it because I look so weird?’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Well, you stop it,’ I sobbed. ‘I have to babysit, I have to see you. It’s not the same at school, you’re not the same. You keep on and on about my age.’

  ‘Well, you’re still a child.’

  ‘If you start saying all that only-fourteen stuff again I’ll start screaming.’

  ‘Don’t!’ He looked alarmed, as if he thought I was really going to start shrieking my head off.

  ‘The only real time we have together is our time in the car,’ I said. ‘Ten minutes, once a week. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’

  ‘Twenty minutes. Sometimes half an hour.’

  ‘What have you been doing, timing us to the exact second? “Uh-oh, I’ve given this girl ten and a half minutes, warning bells, she’ll misinterpret my innocent caring teacherly concern as something much more serious and scary so shove her out the car quick.”’

  ‘You’re being silly now,’ he said, but his mouth twitched. He started laughing, shaking his head at me. ‘You’re a terrible girl, Prue,’ he went on. ‘You won’t ever act the way you’re supposed to. You just say whatever you think, act in the rashest way possible. Dear God, your dad must have been having a joke calling you Prudence. You’re the exact opposite!’

  ‘Well, I’m glad he didn’t call me Rash. Imagine, especially if I went through a spotty stage,’ I said, wiping my face with the sleeve of my sweater.

  ‘Don’t do that. You’re worse than Harry sometimes,’ he said, finding me a paper towel.

  I hoped he’d wipe my eyes for me but he kept me carefully at arm’s length.

  ‘Please let me babysit tonight,’ I said. ‘Marianne said she was going to look out some of her clothes that are too small for her. It will look so rude of me if I don’t turn up. And I told Harry I’d read him my own Wild Things book. I was going to act it all out for him – I promised.’

  ‘And I suppose you promised Lily you’d read her the whole of Alice in Wonderland and then you’d act out the Mad Hatter and the March Hare and Tweedledum and Tweedledee?’ said Rax.

  ‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee are in Alice Through the Looking Glass,’ I said. ‘There! We can have ten minutes tonight demurely discussing our favourite nursery classics. I swear I won’t cry or make a scene or try to make you stay later.’

  He didn’t say anything.

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘I don’t trust either of us,’ he said. ‘OK, OK, come round tonight. But it must be the last time. This is getting too worrying. God knows what could happen if we carry on like this. I want you to tell Marianne that you can’t babysit for a while. Say you’ve got too much homework – any old excuse. Will you do that?’

  ‘If you make me,’ I said.

  I left it at that, scared he might change his mind again. Grace was standing forlornly at the school gate. I’d forgotten all about her.

  ‘Where have you been? Iggy and Figgy went home ages ago.’

  ‘You should have gone home too, silly. I don’t see why you always have to tag on to me all the time.’

  ‘I don’t see why you have to keep being so mean to me. I’m your sister. I’m not nasty to you. I keep sticking up for you when Iggy and Figgy say stuff abou
t you. If you must know, we’ve even had a little row, because they said you took Toby away from Rita on purpose, even though you didn’t want him yourself – although how mad is that? – and I said—’

  ‘I don’t care what they said, what you said, whatever. Why can’t you all just mind your own business?’ I snapped, marching off.

  ‘There you are, you’re being mean again,’ Grace said, hobbling after me. ‘Why won’t you tell me stuff, Prue? We never used to have any secrets.’

  ‘I haven’t got any secrets,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, you have. You act all weird and moody most of the time. You’re not just playing your pretend games now, something’s going on. I can tell. I think you’re in love.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I snapped, starting to run.

  ‘I know you, Prue.’

  ‘You don’t know anything,’ I said, running hard.

  ‘It’s Rax!’ Grace yelled after me.

  Some of the kids in the street turned round and tittered.

  I stood still, waiting for her to catch me up. Then I grabbed her by the shoulders, digging my fingers into her marshmallow flesh. ‘Shut up!’ I said.

  ‘It is Rax,’ Grace said triumphantly. ‘You love him.’

  ‘I’m warning you, Grace.’

  ‘It’s OK. Lots of girls get crushes on teachers, even funny ones like Rax,’ said Grace.

  ‘It’s not a crush,’ I said. I hated the word, with all its silly girly giggly connotations. ‘It’s reciprocal.’

  ‘It’s what?’ said Grace.

  ‘He loves me too.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Grace, giggling.

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me! He does love me. He does, he does. He feels bad about it, he’s worried about his family and his job and all that, but he can’t help himself. It’s as if we’re made for each other, soul mates.’

  Grace stared, her eyes round as marbles. Then she laughed again. ‘I’m sorry! Don’t – you’re hurting!’ she said. ‘I’m not really laughing, Prue, it’s just it’s so weird. He’s a teacher, he’s years and years too old for you.’

  ‘Age doesn’t matter, not when you fall in love.’

  ‘But what’s going to happen?’