by Rick Wood
And I hate myself for it.
I hate myself so much.
I’m a useless teacher. Useless husband. Useless man. But I really don’t want to be a useless father — yet I have no idea what to do to save Harper from the inevitable pain.
Either way, I’ve got to stop thinking about it. I have a day full of lessons to get through. I have hours of monotony to force upon disinterested adolescents.
God, I’d have hated me as a student. I’d have dreaded my lessons. I’d have taken the piss out of me and wondered if I had a life.
I open my laptop and the screen comes to life, though it will still take another ten minutes to load. On the keyboard is an envelope, one that had been wedged inside my closed laptop, and the front reads Mr Coady. It is written with childish, curly writing, and with hearts scribbled decoratively around it.
My immediate thought is Destiny.
I consider whether to open it. I dread what I’m going to find.
But I have to open it.
Otherwise I’ll have no idea what I’m dealing with.
I turn the envelope over to find that it has been sealed with a kiss — literally, the imprint of lipstick marks the seal.
I close my eyes and shake my head. I could just take this straight to the Headmaster.
But I’ve already given him enough ammunition. He already hates me enough — can I really trust him not to misinterpret the situation? I don’t even need to be guilty — just the accusation alone would be enough to ruin me; look what happened to Patrick Armidge.
I open the envelope, worried about what I might find — but it’s just a letter.
The first line starts Dear Will.
While she addressed the envelope to me as Mr Coady, she is now addressing the letter to my first name.
And I’m scared.
For the first time in this situation, I am not just worried or annoyed, I am fearful for both my career, and my freedom.
Reluctantly, I read the letter.
Dear Will,
I want to say sorry for my reaction yesterday. I understand it would have been an accident for you to spill your coffee on the chocolates. If you’d like, I can go and get some more for you after school. I really don’t mind.
I also want to say how happy I am to have you in my life. It’s taken a while for us to get to know each other, but love grows over time, and we’ve got plenty of time. With each passing day, our affection grows stronger, and I know I mean as much to you as you mean to me.
It is such a cliché to say that you’d die for someone. I’ve always seen it in romance movies and scoffed, thinking it’s just so Romeo and Juliet. But now I finally see what they mean.
Because I would, Will.
I would die for you.
When you meet your soul mate, you know — and I know, just like you do, that we are destined to be together.
Our love is special, unlike any other, and they won’t understand — but they don’t need to.
I will always be yours, whether we keep it a secret or shout it from the rooftops.
Forever and always your girl,
Destiny
X X X X X X X X
I hold the letter in my hands. Re-read it.
It’s shaking.
I don’t realise at first, but that’s because my arms are shaking.
Fuck.
I mean…
Fuck.
This isn’t just someone who has a crush on their teacher, or has an infatuation — she seems to believe her affections are reciprocated.
She seems convinced that this is a two-way thing.
And I don’t know what to do.
Should I report it?
Of course I know I should report it, but it’s not that simple, is it?
I open Google. I type in the name of the teacher I’d heard the news reports about — Patrick Armidge.
Straight away, the top results are news websites with headlines such as:
Teacher Falsely Accused Goes Into Hiding.
Falsely Suspected Teacher Physically Attacked By Parents.
Disgraced Former Teacher’s Wife: “I Want a Divorce.”
This man was innocent. The girl admitted it. It was a lie. But look at what a false accusation has done to him…
His life is over. He’s been attacked on all fronts.
I wouldn’t care. My marriage is over, my life is shit anyway — but what about Harper?
Could I put Harper through that?
She’s disappointed enough in me, I know she is — but if she believed I was doing something with a student, how much more would she hate me?
God, what if I lost her…
What if she was taken away…
What if she was attacked because of association…
I know I should report it, but even a false allegation, some sort of retaliation for my reporting it, would be enough to destroy my daughter’s life.
I can’t make things any worse for her.
I’ll talk to Destiny. I will. I’ll talk to her properly, and make it clear that this is not okay, that there is no love there.
That’s what I’ll do.
I’m not sure if it will work, but it’s the next step, it’s what I will try next.
Destiny is unstable. Perhaps we’ll understand each other. Two messed-up people with broken hearts.
I just hope it works.
I do.
I really do.
21
Harper
Lunchtime arrives and I’m still thinking about last night.
Normally my parent’s marriage doesn’t bother me for this long. Maybe it did when I was little, but I’ve become so used to it that it’s rarely more than a mild irritation. Like the fleeting annoyance I get when a teacher sets homework or the router needs resetting — it’s just part of life.
This feels different.
Mum left. She actually left. She’s never done that before. She’s threatened it, quite a lot actually, but she’s never packed a bag and she’s never walked through that door without returning later that night.
Dad was like a zombie this morning. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted a lift, or wish me a good day. He looked like he hadn’t slept. In a way, I miss his annoying morning talk. It doesn’t feel right that he doesn’t try and talk to me while I eat my breakfast.
At first, this made me think of him as human. As someone who’s suffering. As someone in pain, and that maybe I should cut him some slack.
Then I remembered what Danny said.
He’s not what a real dad is like.
It’s true. A real dad would fight to stop his wife leaving, would do anything he could to stop his family from breaking apart.
But he didn’t even bother.
As I sit alone at my table, prodding a dry piece of bread, my phone buzzes. It’s Danny, and that forces a little bit of a smile.
Hey.
You okay?
Sorry if I was a bit too full-on last night.
What do you mean?
When I said your dad deserves to be hurt.
I think about this for a while.
I could have taken offence to that; I could have found it a bit weird. But I didn’t.
In fact, I was pleased that someone said it.
That someone was able to voice an opinion I would be ridiculed for.
It’s okay.
You’re probably right.
How you doing today?
Dunno.
Not great I guess.
Glad I have you to talk to though : )
Aw me too.
I just want to help in some way.
It feels strange that someone wants to help me. No one’s ever helped me. No one’s ever cared that much.
Want to beat up my dad for me? lol
I regret putting lol. He’s too grown up for that.
And now I think about it, I regret the joke. It was a bit morbid.
Still, he doesn’t seem to mind.
Oh, yeah, sure.
Just name the time and date and I’ll fetch my cricket bat.
He makes me chuckle at least. Silly as it is.
Cricket bat?
Didn’t take you for a cricketer.
Well, I’m full of surprises.
Maybe it’s not the best idea.
Wouldn’t want to damage your cricket bat.
It’s seen better days anyway.
Maybe you’ll have to beat him up instead.
HAH! Yeah sure.
Do you know what tho…
Don’t even think he’d be bothered if I did.
He’d probably just sit there and take it.
That’s how little he cares.
And how would you do it?
Dunno.
I don’t own a cricket bat!
Haha.
Seriously.
If you were going to hurt your dad, how would you hurt him?
The question throws me.
It’s strange.
I wasn’t expecting it, and it’s not something I’d really thought about.
Of course, I’ve shouted at him and told him to leave me alone and told him he’s useless — but that was more frustration than with intention to hurt him.
Not sure.
Think about it.
What would you do?
I think psychological torture would be best.
He’s a teacher — maybe I could plant dodgy pictures on his laptop or something.
Haha!
You are evil.
Or I could do it while he’s sleeping.
Do what?
Do what?
What is it I’m even talking about?
What am I suggesting?
Dunno.
Not sure where I’m going with this tbh.
It’s hardly like I will do anything.
What if you had to kill someone?
What?
If you had to kill someone, how would you do it?
If I had to kill someone?
Yeah.
Like, would you burn them to death, or would you bury them alive?
I’m not sure how to take this.
I can’t see his face so I can’t see his expression. I don’t know if he’s smiling while he says this, or whether he’s grimacing.
A few seconds go by as I try and think of what to reply, and he sends me a message.
Sorry.
That was quite a horrific question to ask out of context.
I was joking.
Ok.
It’s something me and my mates joke about sometimes.
Like, how we would get rid of our least favourite teacher.
(It’s Mr Jennings btw — he teaches Geography and always has wet pits.)
It’s all right, he was joking. It’s hard to tell sometimes when you’re messaging.
That’s okay.
I don’t really have any friends, so I don’t really know what friends joke about.
I’m your friend.
I know you are.
I’m more than your friend.
If that’s what you want me to be, that is.
Of course.
: )
: )
22
Will
It’s after school and, although I haven’t asked to see Destiny, she turns up. Smiling, fiddling with her hair, biting her bottom lip, her skirt hiked up. I was in the midst of trying to call Natalie again, but her presence forces me to put my phone down.
She bounces in and sits on the edge of the desk, and her skirt rides up her legs even further, and it’s so inappropriate that I can’t believe none of the female teachers have had a conversation with her about this.
“Hey, Will,” she says.
“It’s Mr Coady,” I say, turning to face her. “Or sir.”
She giggles playfully.
“Sorry, sir.” The way she says sir is slow and deep, and she almost sounds like a real woman.
I pick up the letter and place it on the desk.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Oh, you found it!”
“Of course I found it, Destiny, you left it on my laptop.”
“I’m just not that good at saying how I feel, so I thought it best to write it down.”
“Right, but…” I wish I’d thought through what I was going to say. “It’s not really okay to send these letters to your teacher, is it?”
“Oh, I don’t do it to any other teacher, don’t worry. It’s only you.”
“But it’s not appropriate.”
“Why not?”
“You are my student, not my girlfriend.”
Her eyes light up on the word girlfriend, and it’s like she’s ignored every other word of the sentence and focussed on just that one.
“I think you need help,” I tell her. “Counselling, maybe. This isn’t normal behaviour.”
“What isn’t normal behaviour?”
“This… Nonsense you wrote.”
“Did I ramble?”
“No, Destiny, you aren’t getting it — it is crazy.”
She smiles again. Even blushes.
“Love like this is crazy, Will. That’s what makes it so special.”
“It’s not love, Destiny, we are not in love!” I stop and take a moment to make sure I keep my voice down. “Why won’t you listen to me?”
“I’m listening, I just don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
“This has got to stop. Please. The chocolates, the letter… It could land me in trouble.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“That’s not the point — even you saying these things to me, it makes me look bad.”
“You don’t look bad.”
“No, you’re not getting it!”
I stand. Clench my fist and raise it to my mouth, doing all I can to remain calm. I wander back and forth, trying to think of what to say, aware of her eyes following me everywhere I go.
“Will?” she says, standing up.
“It’s Mr Coady!”
“Oh, Will, stop it.”
“Did you not just listen to me? I said not to call me Will. You are a student, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
“To everyone else.”
“No, Destiny — to me.”
Her smiles fades a little. Some of this seems to have gone through. Maybe she’s even beginning to understand.
“I don’t love you, Destiny. And it’s not appropriate for you to say you love me.”
She bows her head. Her hair falls over her face and I can’t tell if she’s crying. It sounds like she’s sobbing, but when she lifts her head up and pulls her hair back, there are no tears there.
She gets up. Goes for the door. I think she’s leaving, but she’s not — she’s closing it.
I rush after her, go to open the door, but before I know it, she has turned to me and wrapped her arms around my neck.
“Stop it!” I tell her. “Get off me!”
She moves onto her tiptoes and purses her lips and her arms bring my head closer to hers, so much so I can’t get away, and I can do nothing to stop her lips meeting mine.
I try to push her off. I place my hands on her shoulders and use all my force, and she has such a tight grip, but finally I remove her and I back up, out of her reach.
She bites her lip. Smiles a smile only adults should use.
“See?” she says. “How can you say there’s nothing there with a kiss like that?”
I shake my head. Keep backing away until I am as far from her as I can be. This was a stupid idea. I have no choice in what I should do next.
“I’m going to have to report this,” I tell her. “I’m going to have to tell someone what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done? Don’t you mean what we’ve done.”
“You kissed me.”
“I know.”
“And I’m going to have to—”
“Will, please. You kissed me too. And if you start telling people that I kis
sed you, then I will tell them the truth.”
“Truth? What truth?”
“That you love me. That you kissed me too.”
“Destiny, please stop.”
“I can’t. I’m in too far.”
I say nothing.
She says nothing.
We stare at each other, at opposite ends of the classroom.
She’s right.
I can’t say anything.
Not now. Not with how it will look.
“Please, just leave me alone,” I say, and it comes out in a whimper.
She backs up to the door.