The Chateau

by Catherine Cooper

  So that night with Tash and Lily. Mum was out at some event so we started off with a couple of vodka and tonics while we got ready and then we went to a bar in the high street for more of the same. We were going to go into the West End after that but then these guys started buying us drinks and Lily fancied one of them even though they were a bit old, and then they asked if we wanted to come to this club Mint with them so we thought we might as well (Tash and me that is – Lily was absolutely desperate to go).

  Mint is about the naffest club we’d ever been in but it didn’t matter because we were together and having a laugh. God, I miss my girls so much! And all Lily was bothered about was getting with this guy and he was clearly up for it too so she was happy. We barely saw her from when we went in to when we left.

  Tash and I danced for a while and then the guys we came in with bought us some more drinks and we sat at a table with them and then some others came over that they knew as well. I got to that stage of being drunk where everything seems too loud and bright and I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying over the music and it was an Eighties night so the music was pretty rubbish too. Everyone was talking to the person next to them and I was just staring into space, too tired and pissed to try to get back into the conversation over the music.

  Then another guy stumbled over and joined us – I think he knew some of the others and he was quite fit. He started talking to me but I couldn’t hear what he was saying and by now Tash had started getting with someone on the other side of the table and I suddenly felt really lonely at the thought that Tash and Lily were going back home tomorrow and I still couldn’t hear what the guy was saying so I thought I might as well just get with him instead.

  So we did that and then I asked for his number because, let’s face it, I don’t know anyone here so I thought I might as well. And he was fit and he seemed OK, or as far as I could tell because he was pretty drunk too. He put his number in my phone and then I texted him and he took his phone out and saved it so unless he’s a very good actor it was his real number and he wasn’t pretending.

  But then in the morning I almost forgot about it and I was just sad about Tash and Lily going home and I thought about texting him but really, what would be the point? What would I say?

  Until I walked into the classroom and saw that he was my teacher.

  I don’t know how to deal with that.

  28

  January, London

  Nick

  Shit. Fuck. Wank.

  What the hell did I give her my number for? Did I even do that? I don’t remember. Could she have got it from someone else? Who? Why?

  ED. Not Ed at all. Ella Dooley. I guess I had the presence of mind to disguise her number in my phone, at least.

  But shit! How can she be in my class? I feel sweat bead above my lip. Does this mean … is she …

  I take a deep breath. No. She’s in Year 12. She’s must be at least sixteen. That doesn’t make it OK but … I didn’t know! And we didn’t have sex anyway. Nothing like that. A drunken snog in a nightclub – that’s all.

  But … shit! If she tells anyone … if anyone saw … oh God. I need to speak to her. Head this off. I’m about to reply to the text when Aura walks back in with an enormous gin and tonic and some Kettle Chips. I shove my phone back into my pocket as she takes a big slurp of her drink.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she says as she sits back down in the chair and starts fiddling with her phone, probably on Facebook or whatever as usual. ‘How good does this taste? Sure you don’t want one?’

  I shake my head and down the rest of my drink. ‘No. Thank you. I’m fine.’ I’m so not fine. The bedtime music is playing on the TV now so I lift the remote and switch it off. ‘Why don’t you relax and I’ll see if I can get the boys to bed?’

  Aura puts her phone down, tips her head back so it’s resting on the back of the chair and closes her eyes. ‘That sounds blissful. Thank you.’

  ‘Sol? You go up and choose a story, OK? I’m going to put Bay in his cot for now as he’s already asleep so I don’t wake him up while I’m reading to you.’

  Shit. Fuck. Wank. I need to get through bedtime as quickly as possible and reply to that text. But what am I going to say? Is it already too late? How many people will she have told? Might she have reported me to anyone? Have I actually done anything wrong if I didn’t even know?

  Oh God oh God oh God. This is career-ending stuff. I feel myself start to sweat – it’s always too hot in this house. I ease Bay down into his cot – he will wake up in about an hour screaming and Aura will probably tell me off for putting him here at all instead of in our bed, but I can deal with that later.

  Bay snuffles and shifts as I gently pull my hand away from his back and he settles back to sleep. He’s so adorable. Oh God. Why didn’t I just stay in last night? What the hell have I done? I go into our room where Sol has tucked himself into his favourite place bang in the middle of the pillows, rubbing his squirrel gently against his face and holding a book.

  ‘’Martest Giant, Daddy,’ he cries, waving the book at me. He already looks sleepy so hopefully this shouldn’t take too long. ‘Don’t laugh when his trousers fall down,’ he adds sombrely.

  I take the book. ‘Of course I won’t, Sol,’ I say, feeling a pang of love for him along with guilt that I’m feeling so desperate to get away from him to respond to a text from some random girl I snogged in a nightclub. Oh God. I take a deep breath and start to read, slowly. I will not rush. I owe my son that much, surely.

  Sorrel is asleep even before the giant’s trousers fall down. I tuck the duvet around his chin, kiss his forehead and then creep into our en suite, locking the door behind me. I close the lid of the loo and sit down to reread the text.

  Did you really not recognize me in class or were you just pretending? Not sure how offended to be …

  No emojis. No kisses at the end. Is she genuinely offended? Or is she joking? So difficult to tell. I feel like a teenager over-analysing a text from a girl I fancy. Which is not the case here. It isn’t. Shit.

  Is she angry with me? Or is the text mildly flirtatious? What’s the best way to respond to shut this down?

  Because that’s what I need to do, obviously. Shut this down. Perhaps I should ignore her. But then … if she is upset and I don’t reply, she might tell someone. If she hasn’t already.

  My face grows hot. What if Aura finds out? What if the school finds out? I’m not sure which is worse.

  I don’t really remember anything about this girl. What did we talk about? Did we talk at all? I vaguely remember us snogging, her hand on my leg … oh God, what if someone saw us? Who was she with? Were they from school too? No. She’s new. She doesn’t know anyone here. Does she? Might she? Christ.

  The words of her text swim in front of me. I need to reply. We need to talk. I need to make her see how important it is that this doesn’t go any further.

  What am I thinking? There is no ‘this’. We had a drunken kiss. I’m a married father of two. She is my student. She is more than ten years younger than me. But I didn’t know any of this. I haven’t done anything wrong. As long as she understands that, it’ll be fine.

  I stare at the phone. I didn’t recognize her at school. I was very drunk – so was she – I’m amazed she recognized me. But should I say that? Probably not. I’ll avoid the question.

  Hey I tap in, and then delete. Too informal. Bordering on flirty even. No. Stay professional.

  Ella.

  Much better.

  Sorry – it was a surprise to see you.

  Isn’t that the truth.

  I think we should talk.

  But where? Nowhere we can be seen. I can’t meet her anywhere outside school. Not a café or anything like that. Inappropriate. Here? Is that worse? Probably. Needs to be at school.

  Can you stay behind after lessons tomorrow?

  Yes. Bland. Unthreatening. Safe at school.

  Pretend you need to talk to me about where you’re up to with your studies as you
’ve just moved.

  Hmm. Should I be asking her to lie? I don’t want her to feel that we’re plotting together. I delete.

  We should speak about where you’re at with your studies as you’ve just arrived.

  Better. I reread, my thumb hovering over the ‘send’ icon. I think it’s OK. Bay starts wailing – that didn’t take long. The message will have to do. I press send, stand up and go and get Bay.

  29

  January, London

  Ella

  Tash:

  OMFG I can’t believe he didn’t recognize you!!!!! Rude.

  Lily:

  LOL he’s your teacher!!! No way!!! What a perv.

  Me:

  It’s not like he knew!

  Lily:

  Whatever, it’s wrong. You should tell someone.

  Should I? I don’t think I want to do that. It’s not his fault. Plus I’m new here – I don’t want to forever be known as that girl that got with the teacher.

  Tash:

  But he was hot!

  Yeah. He was. Is.

  Me:

  If he doesn’t recognize me I might just leave it. It’s not like anything’s going to come of it.

  Lily:

  That’s so disrespectful though. He should at least acknowledge you. Say something. You can’t be in his class all year and not say anything.

  Tash:

  Plus he might be pretending.

  Me:

  D’you think?

  Tash:

  idk

  We go backwards and forwards like this for an hour or so until we come up with a text the girls think I should send.

  Apart from anything else, sending it and waiting to see if he replies gives me something to think about. It’s so boring being here on my own, not knowing anyone.

  I send the text. I’m not sure what to expect, or even what I hope will happen. Maybe he’ll ignore it. Almost immediately my phone pings.

  Tash:

  Did he reply????

  And again.

  Lily:

  So?? What did he say?

  Me:

  Nothing. No reply. Mum’s calling – speak later x

  Mum isn’t calling – she’s not even here. But to my surprise I feel a pang of disappointment at his lack of reply. I don’t want to tell the girls that.

  30

  January, London

  Nick

  Bay is tearful when I drop him off at nursery this morning but Sol hardly looks back – he can’t wait to get in and play with the Duplo again. He’s barely stopped talking about it this morning. We don’t have Duplo at home because Aura won’t have plastic toys in the house. Sorrel slept better than usual last night – only woke up once – so maybe being at nursery rather than kicking round the house all day with Aura is helping to tire him out too.

  I, on the other hand, barely slept at all. I deleted both Ella’s text and the one I sent to her before I went back downstairs, but don’t these things always exist in the cloud or something? Is it possible to ever delete anything entirely now? I wonder about asking the IT guy at school but then he might wonder why I want to know. Maybe I’ll google it later. Does that leave a trace? I imagine it must do.

  I hand Bay over with the minimum of fuss, even though he is still crying, and exit quickly. It feels easier today than yesterday – I’m not sure if it’s because it’s the second time I’ve done it or because I’m so distracted. I’m both dreading and can’t wait to get to school – get this over with. It needs to be sorted.

  I glance at Ella as I come in. She’s at the back of the classroom where I suggested she sit yesterday, fiddling with her phone. Poor kid – it must be hard starting at a new school at her age when the cliques are already so established. Teenage girls can be so mean. Maybe when we have our chat after school I’ll suggest some clubs she can join.

  Though that is hardly the priority here. I don’t look at her as I call her name in the register. I don’t trust myself to keep my expression neutral, and also I’m a little scared of what I might see in hers. Mocking? Pity? Disgust? Hatred? I’ve really no idea.

  Ella didn’t reply to my text yesterday. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. But while I fretted about this all night I came to the conclusion that being as open as possible is probably the best thing, so at the end of the registration period I say in front of the entire class, ‘Ella, please come and see me at the end of the day so we can have a catch-up about where you’re up to work-wise, thank you,’ as if everything is totally normal and I’m not potentially about to be added to the sex offenders register.

  I look up at her but she isn’t looking at me. Instead she just nods and, I think, blushes.

  Oh God. Is that normal?

  Yes, I tell myself. I’ve just drawn attention to her in front of everyone and she’s new. She’s bound to be feeling self-conscious.

  The day drags by and I find it difficult to concentrate. Despite having planned out my conversation with Ella in my head, I can’t stop going over and over it again and again, with different permutations and imaginary outcomes.

  I make my way back to my classroom when the final bell of the day rings to find that Ella is already there. She’s sitting on a desk at the front of the room, legs dangling.

  ‘Ella,’ I say, doing my best to sound brisk and professional as I close the door behind me, ‘thank you for coming.’ I sit down behind my desk to create space between us and to reinforce the idea that I am the teacher and she is the pupil but then my eyes are level with her knees and her skirt is short and it feels wrong. I indicate the chair behind the desk she is sitting on. ‘Would you mind sitting down, please?’ I ask.

  She does the typical teenage eye-roll-and-slouch movement into the chair, drops her bag to the floor and looks at me. It’s difficult to read her expression but if I had to put money on it, I’d say insolence.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I’ve had a look at the report from your previous school and, while there’s nothing which leaps out at me as being a matter for concern, I wondered if there was anything you wanted to discuss or anything you felt you needed extra help with at the moment?’

  She continues looking at me in silence. ‘Ella?’ I prompt.

  She shakes her head. ‘No, nothing I need to discuss about my work,’ she says meaningfully.

  We lapse back into silence. I guess it has to be down to me as the grown-up to bring up what happened, but she certainly isn’t making it easy for me.

  ‘Right. Well. I guess we both know what you mean by that. The other night.’ I was determined not to, but I feel myself go red. ‘Do you … have anything you wanted to say about that?’

  She leans back in her chair with a small smile. I feel like she has the upper hand here. ‘Nothing particular, sir,’ she says, oozing sarcasm. ‘Do you?’

  I feel myself blush deeper. ‘Well, yes, Ella, I do. As I’m sure we both know, what happened at Mint – that nightclub,’ I say, trying to somehow distance myself from it, make it seem more formal, ‘would never have happened had I known you were going to be my pupil. In my class. My school. Or had I known you were only sixteen. I had no idea. Obviously.’

  She leans forward. ‘Are you saying you regret what happened, sir?’ she asks.

  Oh God. How do I answer that? ‘Ella, I’m sure you understand it’s nothing personal. There can’t be relations of any kind between teachers and pupils. We both know that.’

  ‘’Specially not married teachers, eh, sir?’ she adds, glancing at the ring on my finger.

  I snatch my hands away from the desk and rest them on my lap. ‘Yes. There are many ways in which I didn’t cover myself in glory that evening. I’m not going to make excuses for myself; my behaviour fell well under par on several counts.’

  Something suddenly occurs to me – could she be recording this conversation? Should I have asked her for her phone? Have I gone about this all the wrong way? Should I have ’fessed up to the head immediately and done all this through official channels?�
�

  Oh God. Oh God. It’s so difficult to think straight when I never get any sleep.

  ‘I fear I could lose my job over this,’ I say quietly. ‘I think we both know that what happened was a genuine mistake, and I would like to apologize profusely for my actions. Nothing similar will happen again, I assure you. If you could find it within you to accept my apology and let us put this incident in the past, it would be greatly appreciated.’

  That sounded less formal and twatty when I rehearsed it in my head. Ella rolls her eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ she says, evenly. ‘It was only a kiss, sir, no big deal. I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Relief washes over me and I allow myself a smile and then wonder if that’s appropriate. I rearrange my face into a more sober expression.

  ‘Thank you, Ella.’ As planned, I then switch back into teacher mode. ‘So tell me, how are you finding things so far? It must be very tricky starting a new school at this point in the year.’

  I fully expect her not to want to engage any further so am not surprised when she replies with a curt; ‘It’s OK, I guess.’

  I nod. ‘I’m sure you’ll feel more settled soon. In the meantime, if I can help in any way, as your teacher, then please don’t hesitate.’

  She pushes her chair back with a loud scraping noise. ‘Is that it then? Can I go now?’

  ‘Of course. Thank you very much for your time and … co-operation, Ella. Have a nice evening.’

  She leaves the classroom without a word.

  31

  January, London

  Ella

  Fuck’s sake.

  What’s wrong with me?

  When I leave Mr Dorian I go straight into the loos and burst into tears.

  I sit in the stinking cubicle stifling my sobs in case anyone else is still around.