Love Lessons

by Nick Sharratt

  ‘Well.’ I thought hard. ‘Well, we’ll go on seeing each other when I babysit, and then . . . and then . . .’

  Grace looked at me. ‘And then?’ she repeated.

  ‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ I said lamely. ‘I’m not going to talk about it any more. And if you breathe a word to anyone – especially Iggy and Figgy – I’ll kill you, do you understand?’

  I said it with such vehemence that she backed away and trailed along several paces behind me all the way home.

  I knew I was treating her very badly. Part of me wanted to stop and put my arms round her and beg her to forgive me, but I still felt too angry. I couldn’t bear her laughing at me, behaving as if I was making half of it up. Rax and I were made for each other. Fate had brought us together. We were an unlikely couple, like Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester. They belonged together. They had to wait years but their story had a happy ending.

  I tried hard to look older when I got ready to go out. I wore my black sweater, and hitched my school skirt up like a miniskirt. I stuffed my feet into a pair of ancient strappy high-heeled sandals from our dressing-up box. They’d been a ten-pence jumble-sale find long ago. Grace and I used to shuffle about happily, pretending to be big ladies. They were still several sizes too big for me, but I strapped them up as tightly as they would go, determined to make myself look as sophisticated as possible. I still had to walk with a hop-skip-shuffle to keep them on my feet, but I hoped Rax wouldn’t notice when he drove me home. I didn’t care how many times I twisted my ankle on my way there.

  Mum created a scene about the shoes. She was shocked by my painted face too. I took no notice of her.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with you, Prudence,’ she wailed. ‘You’re getting so wilful. Just you wait till your father gets home! He’ll give you such a talking to.’

  I held my tongue. It was starting to look as if Dad might never recover his speech. He had abruptly lost all interest in repeating words after me. He refused to make any attempt to say anything to us, though he still swore when especially irritated. This was a great deal of the time. However, the nurses said he was improving dramatically. He had supposedly started to walk during his physiotherapy sessions but he barely turned over in bed while we were there.

  Someone had put a television in his room, thinking it an act of kindness. Dad behaved as if a miniature Kingdom of Hell was flaming at the end of his bed. Whenever the nurses switched it on he pulled the sheets up over his head, as if in fear of being scorched. But as the days passed he gradually peeped at several programmes, watching with one eye. Now he gazed avidly at the screen and shushed us if we spoke during his favourite shows.

  ‘Do you think Dad will let us have a telly when he comes home?’ Grace asked eagerly.

  ‘What are you going to buy it with, Monopoly money?’ said Mum.

  She was still sifting through the bills and final demands every day. She got in such a state that she plucked up the courage to ask Dad what we should do.

  Dad ignored her. Mum asked again, louder, though she went pink, terrified a passing nurse might hear about our money problems.

  Dad still took no notice whatsoever, though we knew there wasn’t anything wrong with his hearing.

  Mum didn’t pursue it. She managed to make small talk and gave Dad her usual kiss on his forehead, but on the bus going home her lip started quivering.

  ‘It’s all very well for your father, tucked up safe in the hospital,’ she said. ‘But what are we going to do when these bailiffs come and bash down the door?’

  ‘Can’t we sell the shop, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘It would kill your father, Prue. He loves the shop so, you know he does. And anyway, I can’t put it on the market, it’s your dad’s property. I doubt if anyone would buy it now anyway. It needs so much work doing to it – and the whole parade’s gone to seed.’

  ‘So what will happen to us?’ Grace asked.

  ‘We’ll manage somehow,’ I said. ‘If we get slung out of the shop then they’ll have to rehouse us somewhere.’

  ‘On the Wentworth estate!’ Mum said. ‘And what would we have to live on, anyway?’

  ‘You’d get . . . I don’t know, unemployment benefit?’

  ‘Your dad’s never forked out for his proper national insurance payments, or mine either,’ said Mum.

  ‘Then you’ll just have to put Grace and me on the streets,’ I said, joking.

  ‘You’re starting to look like a street girl!’ Mum shouted after me now, as I went out the door. ‘Whatever will your teacher think, going babysitting looking like that!’

  ‘I look fine. You’re just hopelessly old-fashioned,’ I said, but I kept glancing at my reflection anxiously all the way to Laurel Grove.

  Marianne answered the door to me. I saw her initial bemused expression. Then she smiled, rubbing her forehead above her nose.

  ‘I look funny, don’t I?’ I said.

  ‘What? No, no, of course not. Come on, Prue. You look very original, as always – and enviably skinny. No, I’ve just got a bit of a headache, that’s all. You know, time of the month and everything.’ She peered at me in the light of the hall. ‘You’ve gone a bit mad on your make-up tonight, haven’t you?’

  ‘I knew I looked awful.’

  ‘Just a bit . . . bright. Why don’t you try slightly subtler shades? Which lipstick do you use?’

  ‘I haven’t got any lipstick, or any other make-up. I just have to use my paints.’

  ‘I see. Yeah, that’s a bit of a problem. Here, come up to my room, let’s see if I can find you anything.’

  I had to follow her upstairs and into her bedroom. She rummaged through her messy cosmetic bag.

  ‘Hang on, I know I’ve got a dusky pink lipstick somewhere.’

  I couldn’t tell her that I’d experimented with it several times, that every time I came to babysit I couldn’t stop myself creeping into their bedroom and examining everything in it. I’d even taken to lying on her pillow and pretending that Rax was lying right next to me.

  I averted my eyes from their bed now and let Marianne wipe off all the paint with her make-up remover cream. She started applying her own make-up on my face.

  I could hear chuckles and shouts from the children in the bathroom. I thought Rax was giving both of them a bath. I was alarmed to open my eyes after Marianne had finished shadowing them to see Rax reflected in the mirror, watching us.

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ I said foolishly. ‘Shall I go and see to the children now?’

  ‘We’re not finished yet!’ said Marianne. ‘What about eyeliner? Just a very subtle grey shade? Keith, you haven’t left the kids in the bath, have you?’

  ‘No, no, they’re in their jim-jams. I’m just looking for Harry’s Honeybear, but I got distracted by the make-up session. It looks great.’

  ‘Just call me the makeover queen,’ said Marianne. She gathered my long wild hair in her hands. ‘Hey, let’s see what your hair looks like pinned up.’

  I could feel myself blushing. I felt horribly self-conscious in front of Rax. I didn’t want Marianne dabbing at me any longer, even if she was good at it.

  ‘No, it looks silly up. I don’t like it,’ I said.

  I liked my hair springing over my face and bouncing round my shoulders. I felt too exposed with it pinned up. But Marianne twirled it round her finger, and fixed it in a little chignon on top.

  ‘There!’ she said. ‘Oh, that looks so good! You’ve got such a lovely neck, Prue, just like a little ballet dancer.’

  I pulled a face, fidgeting.

  ‘Doesn’t she look lovely, Keith?’ said Marianne.

  ‘Yes, she does,’ said Rax. ‘But maybe you should be getting on with your hair and make-up, Marianne, or we’ll never get out. The film starts at half past eight.’

  Marianne sighed. ‘We can always get it out later on DVD. I’m not sure I can be bothered, not with this headache. I don’t really feel like going out at all.’

  ‘I think we should try to make the
most of tonight. It might be our last chance for a while,’ said Rax.

  He looked at me. I stared into the mirror at my own reflection, pretending to admire my new hairstyle.

  Rax waited a moment. ‘Prue isn’t sure she can keep on babysitting on a regular basis,’ he said.

  I swallowed. ‘Yes I can.’

  I didn’t dare look at him.

  ‘Didn’t you tell me at school that your mum isn’t too happy about it?’ Rax said sternly.

  ‘Oh, she’s had second thoughts.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Marianne. ‘We’ve been a bit cheeky, simply commandeering you and taking you totally for granted.’

  ‘I’m quite sure,’ I said.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ said Marianne. ‘Isn’t it, Keith?’

  Rax said nothing. I knew he was probably furious with me but I couldn’t help it. He walked out of the room, ignoring both of us.

  Marianne raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Take no notice. He’s been a bit edgy all week. Oh well, I suppose I’d better show willing and get ready. I’d much sooner stay home and play hairdressers!’

  She smiled at me. I watched myself in the mirror, smiling straight back at her. I felt so wicked. I waited for the mirror to crack, for the walls to close in on me, for the carpet to slide down into a dark pit, taking me with it.

  I stayed sitting on Marianne’s padded stool, the two of us smiling into the mirror, as if we were posing for our portrait.

  I still felt wicked when Rax and Marianne had gone out.

  I made a special fuss of the children, bending over Lily’s cot, holding her little chubby fist while I sang to her. I had to struggle to set my fingers free after she’d fallen fast asleep.

  Harry was in a surprisingly sweet clingy mode too. I read him my old copy of Where the Wild Things Are. He pretended to be a little frightened so he could sit on my lap and have a cuddle. I drew him a big, stripy, wickedly-clawed Wild Thing with his children’s wax crayons.

  Then I made up a new Wild Things story about a little boy called Harry who sailed to the land where the Wild Things are, only there was no one roaring or showing their claws this time. The Wild Things bowed low to King Harry and bought him lots of presents and lay on their backs so he could tickle their fat furry tummies.

  ‘Like this,’ I said, upending Harry and tickling him.

  I had to do it again and again, but he was getting sleepy now, rubbing his eyes. I began another story about the Wild Things in the dead of winter, when the snow came right up to their snouts and they all snuggled down in their cosy burrows.

  ‘Like this,’ I said, tucking Harry under his duvet. ‘There you are, Baby Wild Thing. Shut your eyes and suck your claws.’

  Harry giggled and sucked his fingers and fell asleep in seconds.

  I stood there in the dark nursery, listening to the faint snuffle of the children sleeping. They were both treating me like their fairy godmother but I was worse than any wicked witch, intent on working my black magic on their father.

  I crept into the main bedroom again and switched on the light. I looked in the mirror and a ghost image of Marianne peered back at me accusingly.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I wish you weren’t so nice to me. I don’t want to hurt you. I just can’t help it. I love him so.’

  I went to their double bed and buried my face in his pillow. I imagined him there beside me, his arms round me . . .

  Then I heard a door, noises, Rax’s voice!

  I sat up, heart thudding, not sure whether I was still daydreaming. No, there really were voices downstairs! Oh God, how could they be back already? Had I fallen asleep? I leaped off the bed, plumping Rax’s pillow, smoothing the daffodil-yellow duvet, racing across the carpet. As I came out of the door Marianne was coming up the stairs and she saw me.

  She frowned. ‘Prue? What were you doing in our bedroom?’

  ‘Oh Marianne, I’m sorry. I just wanted to look in your mirror again, to see my new hairstyle and make-up,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I see! Yes, you look lovely.’

  Poor Marianne looked awful, greasy and greeny-white.

  ‘I’ve been sick,’ she said, seeing me staring. ‘Keith had to stop the car.’

  ‘You poor thing. Do you think you’ve got a bug or something?’

  ‘No, it’s just the time of the month. It sometimes hits me like this. I’ll be all right once I’ve had a good night’s sleep. I was stupid to try to go out. Oh God, my head.’ She leaned against the banisters, her eyes closed.

  ‘Would you like me to help you into bed?’ I asked timidly.

  ‘No, no, I’ll manage. Get Keith to give you your money, eh?’

  ‘But I haven’t earned it.’

  ‘That’s not your fault, love. Oh well, I’d better lie down or I’ll fall down. See you next week then?’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said.

  She waved her fingers at me and then trudged into her bedroom, sighing. I heard the springs creak on her bed within seconds.

  I went downstairs slowly, my mouth dry, my tummy tense. Rax was standing in the hallway, still in his jacket.

  ‘Marianne’s gone to bed,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Right. I’ll take you home then.’

  ‘All right.’

  I followed him out of the front door, down the path, through the gate, into the car. I looked at Rax as he drove off.

  ‘Are you cross with me?’ I asked, in a very small voice.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  I didn’t dare say any more. We drove in silence. I tried to think of some way I could make everything all right again. This was our precious ten minutes together and it was ticking away. We were wasting it all.

  The silence in the car was becoming unbearable. Rax seemed to think so too, because he reached out and switched on the radio. Loud pop music filled the car. Lyrics of lost love, broken promises, betrayals. Every line seemed to have significant meaning.

  Rax stared straight ahead, frowning. He seemed to be concentrating hard on the traffic, although the back roads were nearly empty. We got to my street in just over five minutes. He drew up right outside the shop and switched off the engine. The love song stopped abruptly. The car was silent.

  ‘Right,’ said Rax. ‘How much do we usually pay you then?’

  ‘I don’t want any money,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Let me pay you for a full night’s babysitting. Here, take this.’

  He took several notes from his wallet and thrust them at me.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Take it. It’s a bit extra, to thank you for being such a good babysitter.’

  ‘Will you let me keep coming?’

  ‘No. I told you. This has got to stop. It’s getting out of hand. I think Marianne senses something. That’s maybe why she was ill.’

  ‘No it isn’t! She likes me, Rax, she wants me to keep coming. It’s just that you won’t let me.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a very long pause. ‘Well. Off you go then.’

  ‘Is that it? You’re not even going to say goodbye properly?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Prue, you’ll see me at school often enough.’

  ‘But it’s different there. We can’t talk properly. You’re the teacher and I’m the pupil.’

  ‘We are teacher and pupil.’

  ‘What about if we weren’t? If I didn’t even go to Wentworth? How would you feel about me then?’

  ‘I’d feel exactly the same as I do now. You’re a child of fourteen.’

  ‘The same age as Marianne when you started going out together. What if Marianne and I were both girls in your class at school? Would you like her best – or me?’

  ‘Will you stop this! You’re distorting everything, playing silly games. Look, Prue, I don’t want to hurt you, but you must understand. I’m your schoolteacher. We could both get into such huge trouble. I took an interest in you because you were new to the school and finding it hard going and I sympathized. I tried to help you and then I made the bi
g mistake of asking you to babysit for me and now somehow it’s all become too intense, too worrying. I feel so guilty, which is mad, because nothing’s actually happened.’

  ‘It has now,’ I said, and I reached over and kissed him on the lips.

  I’d never kissed anyone properly before but I’d imagined it enough times and I’d practised how to do it on the inside of my arm. It was a timid, dry-lipped kiss – but it was a real kiss all the same.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Rax said, trying to pull away.

  I kissed him again, sliding my arms round his neck and holding him tight so that he couldn’t pull away from me. After a few seconds he stopped trying. He kissed me back, deeply and passionately. I was so happy I didn’t care about anything or anyone any more. I just wanted to freeze time and stay inside the car, kissing Rax for ever.

  ‘Prue, we’re right outside your shop,’ Rax said. ‘Your mother—’

  ‘She’s not expecting me back for ages, you know that.’

  But there were people coming out of the Chinese takeaway, looking in our direction.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Rax. He started up the car and we drove off.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know. Round the block. I just need to think what to do,’ he said.

  I kept quiet then, peering out at the dark streets. We circled the block, but Rax didn’t stop. We drove on to the outskirts of the town. We were only a mile or so away from the hospital and my dad’s stroke unit. I wondered what he would say if he knew his elder daughter was driving in the dark with her schoolteacher sweetheart.

  We drove down a dark lane with fields on either side, and then Rax drew up beside a clump of trees.

  ‘Where are we?’ I whispered.

  ‘Oh, this is just . . . somewhere I used to come,’ Rax said. He was whispering too.

  I wondered if it was somewhere he came with Marianne. I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want him to think about her. I didn’t want him to think about anyone but me.

  I reached over to kiss him again.

  ‘No! No, listen, Prue, we’ve got to talk,’ he said, trying to turn his head.

  ‘I don’t want to talk. You’ll just say sensible things and I won’t want to listen. Let’s just do this.’