Margot walked away down the cul-de-sac moments later feeling a little lighter. A wonderful Juliet.
She held his words close all evening and replayed them in her head in bed later that night. You’re perfect. Mr Hudson thought she was perfect for the role. She pressed her closed fist to her lips and tried to imagine kissing someone. In the dark, Jamie Kingston’s face dissolved and was replaced with another. A man with green eyes and a head of dark curly hair. She smiled. Of course, he meant her acting, but still … no one had ever called her lovely before.
Two weeks later, standing offstage, hidden in the wings, Margot peered out at the gathering audience. She scanned the rows of faces and found Eve on the aisle of the third row from the back, bouncing baby Chloe on her lap. There was an empty seat next to her, but no sign of their mother. Yet.
‘Two minutes till curtain up,’ called Mr Hudson. Margot took a deep breath and shared a nervous smile with Jamie. The teacher stood beside them both. ‘Now remember, the most important thing is …’
‘… to enjoy ourselves,’ they chanted in unison.
He laughed. ‘I’ve taught you well.’ He reached over and adjusted the strap of Margot’s white gauze dress. ‘Your bra strap is peeking out,’ he whispered, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Margot felt a shiver pass through her, her skin tingling where his fingers had brushed her shoulder. An image of his warm fist pressed against her lips rose in her mind. She had thought of that moment, alone in her bedroom, perhaps more times than a pupil should strictly think of a teacher, imagining once or twice her lips meeting not his hand, but his lips.
‘Break a leg, Margot,’ Jamie said, smiling at her.
‘You too.’ She peered out once more at the audience but the lights had dimmed and all she could see were dark figures, waiting expectantly for the curtain to rise.
Halfway through the second act, as Friar Laurence laboured through a painful monologue, the unmistakeable sound of a baby’s piercing wail erupted from the audience. Margot peered round the stage curtain. She could just make out Eve standing and whispering her apologies as she snuck out of the fire exit, the sound of Chloe’s cries disappearing behind the heavy thump of the closing door. Margot tried not to mind too much. Perhaps she’d make it back in time to catch the next act. Perhaps her mother had crept in at the last minute and was sitting there too, hidden somewhere in the darkness.
At the final curtain call, Margot quickly scanned the faces in the audience. Eve’s seat was still empty and there was no sign of her mother, not in any of the rows. Margot bit her lip and tried to smile as she took a final bow. All that hard work and not one member of her family had seen her performance. As soon as the curtain had been drawn across the stage, Margot fled. ‘What’s up with her?’ she heard someone ask as she pushed past the cast and crew.
It was Jamie who found her in the makeshift dressing room, removing her make-up with a blend of Vaseline and tears. ‘Are you OK?’
She nodded. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He sat down beside her. ‘You were good, you know. By far the best of all of us.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I hope you’re coming to the after-party?’
‘I don’t know.’ She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the eyeliner smudged down her cheeks. ‘I don’t feel like it.’
‘You have to come,’ said Jamie. ‘It wouldn’t be the same without you. Besides,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘Riley’s nicked a keg of cider from his dad’s shed. Mr Hudson’s so cool, he’s pretending he doesn’t know anything about it. Come on, it’ll be fun.’
Margot stared again at her face in the mirror. She could either stay for the party, or go home, and she knew what waited for her there. Absolutely nothing.
Back in the school hall, the kids had cleared away the rows of chairs and set up a trestle table with drinks and bowls of snacks. Someone passed Margot a plastic cup. Beyoncé blared from a nearby speaker. She took a sip and tasted a strong kick of alcohol lacing the tropical fruit punch. Jamie winked at her. ‘Strong, right?’
Margot downed the drink in one go and reached for another. Soon, she had forgotten her disappointment. She sipped the cups of punch that were passed to her and let Jamie drag her up onto the makeshift dance floor with the rest of the cast until the school caretaker appeared at ten o’clock, threatening to lock them all in if they didn’t leave.
‘Where next?’ asked a tall boy from the lower sixth.
Some of the sixth formers wanted to decamp to the pub, but the sensible ones among them knew a large group of underage school kids would never get served.
‘You can all come back to mine,’ said Margot.
‘Won’t your parents mind?’
Margot shrugged. ‘It’s just my mum, and I doubt it. She’s probably working.’
‘You come too, Mr Hudson,’ cried a couple of students. ‘Come on!’
‘Yes,’ said Margot, gripped by a sudden desperation for the night to continue a little longer, for the emptiness of the days ahead – the vacuum that finishing the play would create – to remain at bay for a little longer. She turned and gave him her brightest smile. ‘Come on, Mr Hudson. Everyone back to mine.’
Mr Hudson threw up his hands up and smiled. ‘You lot are too persuasive. OK,’ he said. ‘For a little while. Someone needs to chaperone you lot.’
They ended up as a crowd of about twelve or so, a motley crew of those with an extended curfew, and those still standing after the spiked punch. Margot squashed into a sixth-former’s car and directed them to Windfalls. They parked at the top of the drive then followed Margot down on foot towards the house.
As they rounded the corner and saw the house ahead, Margot’s heart sank. Contrary to what she’d assumed, Kit wasn’t working late in the studio. There were lights on in the house, the shadow of her mother moving behind the drawn blind of the kitchen window.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said quickly. ‘We’ll go down to the river.’
‘Are you sure, Margot?’ Mr Hudson frowned. ‘Maybe we should call it a night. I don’t want to upset your parents.’
‘No!’ she said urgently. ‘It’s fine. Mum won’t care. It’s perfect. Down there we can be as loud as we want.’
She led the way, weaving through the orchard, stumbling a little on the uneven ground. Trees loomed out of the darkness, their edges strangely blurred, the stars overhead fizzing in the sky. Jamie, sloping down the hillside beside her, caught her arm as she tripped on an unseen tree root, steadying her. ‘OK?’ he asked, taking her hand and squeezing her fingers.
When Jamie didn’t let go, she pulled her hand gently from his. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, not entirely sure why she felt self-conscious in front of the others, but knowing that she didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, least of all Jamie.
Sensing rejection, Jamie hunched his shoulders and slunk ahead into the dark.
Someone else tripped and cursed. There was a loud burst of laughter, followed by hurried shushing. Up ahead, she could make out the dark glint of the river. Margot felt a sudden tremor of panic. It had been her idea to bring them all here, but outside, in the darkness, her head swimming and with only the moonlight to guide them, the night seemed to have taken on a new momentum, a furtive sort of atmosphere, as though the normal rules no longer existed. So what, she told herself. There was no one to care what she got up to. Besides, Mr Hudson was with them. He would make sure things didn’t get too out of hand.
She turned to check and saw him a few steps behind, talking easily with a couple of the sixth formers, laughing at something one of the girls said. A twinge of jealousy caught in her belly. She wanted to be the one walking next to him. She wanted to be the one to make him laugh. She wanted to feel the glow of his admiration for just a little longer. Raising his head, he caught her looking and smiled. ‘All right, Juliet?’ he asked.
She nodded and smiled, turning her face back to the river.
As the rest of the cast made for the jett
y, Margot groped her way to her mother’s studio where she flicked an outside switch on the old apple store wall, illuminating a string of bulbs hanging from trees along the riverbank and across the jetty. The lights were met with enthusiastic cheers, though the sight of them swaying in the dark made her feel even more unsteady, as though she were standing on a rolling ship. A large grey moth ghosted out of the darkness, batting against one of the bulbs. There was the sound of cans of beer fizzing open, the clunk of glass bottles rolling on the wooden jetty. Laughter and a few cheers. Something fell into the water with a splash.
‘So this is where the magic happens?’ The voice made her leap. She spun round to find Mr Hudson leaning against the studio wall, his white teeth shining in the light from the bulbs. ‘Where your mother writes,’ he added. ‘What a great spot.’
Margot smiled, feeling a small thrill at his approval. ‘Yes, this is her studio.’
‘Will you show me?’
‘I think it’s locked,’ she said but when she tried the door handle, it turned easily, the door opening into darkness.
‘A peek?’ He grinned. ‘I’d love to see where the famous K. T. Weaver comes up with her ideas.’
Margot shrugged. It was her mum’s boring office, but it was Mr Hudson and she didn’t want to disappoint him.
It was darker inside, the light from the moon and the swaying bulbs not quite reaching the studio interior. It took Margot a moment for her eyes to adjust. Scents of incense, paper and her mother’s familiar floral perfume hung like an afterthought in the air. She reached to switch on the desk lamp.
‘Don’t,’ said Mr Hudson. ‘They’ll all come. You don’t want that rabble in here, messing up your mum’s special place.’
He was right. She didn’t want anyone else to come. There was something exhilarating about having Mr Hudson all to herself. In his company, she felt as if a warm spotlight had fallen upon her. She didn’t want to share it with anyone else.
‘So this is it,’ she said, indicating the desk with a stack of typed white paper fanned across the surface, a rose-coloured crystal paperweight, the mug of pens, the framed photo, too dark to see though Margot knew it held an image taken years ago of her, Eve and Lucy balanced as a precarious, smiling trio on the garden swing. The office wasn’t that special. She hoped he wouldn’t find it too disappointing.
Mr Hudson moved towards the desk and lifted one of the typed pages, peering at the words. ‘The last novel?’
Margot nodded. Her words appeared to be stuck in her throat. She was alone with Mr Hudson in a dark room and with the quietness and the close proximity of him, all that came to mind were those moments she had imagined in the stillness of her bedroom. Thank goodness he couldn’t read her thoughts.
He studied a couple of lines of text, before turning to her with a wink. ‘Pretty racy stuff, hey?’
Margot wanted to sink into the floor.
He placed the paper back on the desk. ‘Do you like your mum’s books?’
Margot shrugged. ‘I don’t know. They’re all right.’
‘I bet you’ve learned a lot from them.’
Margot shook her head. She couldn’t feel more embarrassed than the thought of Mr Hudson reading her mum’s racy sex scenes. ‘Not my thing.’
She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. She had imagined being alone with him before now, but somehow in her fantasies it never felt like this. It had been a different Mr Hudson, an imagined man, a cardboard cut-out character she had always been in control of, not this unpredictable living, breathing person standing in front of her.
‘You did well tonight,’ he said. He was so close she could feel his arm brush against her own.
‘Thank you.’
‘Especially the balcony scene. I know you were nervous about it, but you couldn’t tell. It was very moving.’
‘Thanks,’ she said again. She took a step backwards, feeling the desk pressing into her legs.
He picked up the crystal and turned it over in his hands. ‘So did you like kissing Jamie?’ he asked, not quite meeting her eye.
Margot let out a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘No.’
‘Did you take my advice? Did you think about someone else?’
Margot nodded, her breath caught in her throat.
He returned the paperweight to the desk. ‘Who did you think about, Margot?’
Margot wasn’t sure if it was the darkness or the punch or the unfamiliarity of being alone with him that had her swaying slightly. Should she tell him? He would think her so silly. ‘I thought about …’ She knew she shouldn’t say it, but the burning anger earlier at her mother’s no-show and the cider fizzing through her bloodstream made her feel bold, somehow devil-may-care. The room felt cast in a strangely intimate air and the thrill of his closeness felt mixed with fear, that racing feeling of everything moving too fast, too much beyond her control. He loomed in front of her. She was afraid that he might kiss her; she was afraid that he might not. She looked down at the desk, at the stack of typed pages fanned neatly across its surface, and remembered her mother’s heroine. Memories of the book she had read last Christmas returned. She should be more like Tora, she thought. She should be a little bolder, a little more courageous, a little more grown-up. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s part of our biology. Her mother’s words echoed back at her. Margot opened her mouth. ‘I thought about … you.’
The final word escaped in a whisper, so quiet she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. She blushed, grateful for the cover of darkness, and looked down, unable to meet his gaze, surprised to feel his hand reaching for hers.
‘Oh, Margot.’ He squeezed her fingers and Margot, looking up to meet his gaze and seeing his smile, realised he wasn’t laughing at her. ‘From my lips, by thine, my sin is purged,’ he said, quoting Romeo’s line.
Before she even knew what was happening, he leaned down and kissed her. Margot, with her lips pressed against his, froze, her eyes wide, staring up at him. Was this happening? Was she kissing Mr Hudson? The moment she had thought about so many times – that confusing, stomach-churning fantasy she had entertained in the privacy of her bedroom and written about secretly in her diary – was actually happening?
It didn’t feel at all how she had imagined. His mouth felt firmer than Jamie’s, his skin rougher, his kiss less soft, less tentative. She could feel the stubble on his chin rasping against her cheek in a way that wasn’t altogether pleasant and she could taste the sickly sweet punch on his tongue. It felt exciting … and somehow all wrong.
She leaned away, trying to catch her breath and focus on his face, smiling with embarrassment. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Don’t be embarrassed.’ He pulled her into a hug. Her face was squashed against the buttons on his shirt, beneath which she could feel the beat of his heart. ‘Uh … should we go back?’ she asked, glancing at the door.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew her more tightly into him. She let him hold her, though it felt awkward, her face pressed against his chest and the weight of his head pressing down on hers. There was the faintest scent of sweat rising off his shirt. ‘Oh Margot. You’re like a flower, ready to bloom.’
She wanted to laugh but he was reaching and tilting her chin, moving her face so that he could kiss her again, his lips pressing hard against her own, his tongue moving between her lips.
Kiss him, she told herself. Don’t be a baby. Don’t make a fuss. But as his fingers crept up to her breasts, his thumbs rubbing her nipples through her T-shirt, Margot jerked away. She covered herself, horribly embarrassed. ‘I don’t think we should.’
‘Don’t hide yourself. You’re beautiful. Do you remember what I said? It’s about trust, isn’t it? Breaking down barriers. You trust me, don’t you?’
She nodded. From outside, the sound of laughter burst up from the riverbank. ‘I think we should go back,’ she said again.
He frowned, his eyes glinting in the darkness. ‘But I thought you liked me?
I thought you wanted to kiss me?’
She nodded and tried to smile. ‘I do. I did.’ She was going to add that she did like him, but she knew that kissing him was wrong and could get them both in a lot of trouble, but before she could speak, his mouth was pressed over hers again, his tongue pushing insistently into her mouth and then he was taking her hand and rubbing it across the front of his trousers where a hardness rose up against her palm. ‘See how much I like you, Margot? See what you do to me?’ And then his own hand was between her legs and he was touching her – too hard – making her squirm. ‘You like that?’
‘Don’t,’ she said, pushing his hand away. ‘I don’t want to do that.’ There was a lump building at the back of her throat. Don’t cry, she told herself. It was Mr Hudson. Her teacher. Her friend.
‘How can you know what you want if you’ve never done it before? I thought you trusted me? If you’re going to be a good actress, you’re going to have to learn how to let yourself go, Margot.’
‘I know. It’s just …’ She didn’t know what to say to ease this strange atmosphere that had arisen between them.
‘Good. Because I’d hate to think you were a tease. You know, one of those little girls who gets a man all worked up and then sends him away. No one likes those girls, Margot. I thought you were more mature than that.’
‘No!’ She laughed, a strange, high-pitched sound. ‘I’m not like that.’ She tried to push him away again, playfully, as if it were all a big joke. Because surely that’s what it was? A joke. But Mr Hudson stood firm, holding her trapped between his legs, with her back jammed against her mother’s desk and as the moonlight shifted from behind a cloud, she saw his face again, staring intently at her and shivered. It was Mr Hudson, she reminded herself. There was nothing to be frightened of. It was a misunderstanding. She had wanted … wanted … what had she wanted? His attention? To be alone with him? To be praised and called beautiful again? Yes, maybe even to be kissed?
Only now that they were there together, in the dark, she wasn’t sure. Mr Hudson – her teacher and friend – didn’t feel like Mr Hudson any more. He was like a stranger. His mouth so insistent and his hands grabbing at her in a way that made her feel afraid, his leg nudging between hers. She had drunk too much and her head was spinning. She couldn’t think straight. She could try to push past him, but she didn’t want to be rude.
The River Home : A Novel (2020) Page 19