Mark
I was aching to get rid of her, but she wouldn’t leave. She switched off the car engine outside my house, and lingered there, clearly angling for an invite. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want her in there. As nice as she was, and as well-meaning as her intentions, I just didn’t want her in there. I faked a yawn. “I’m exhausted. Too old for partying.”
She smiled. “You need a coffee and a back rub. You must be freezing.” She reached out and squeezed my arm through my shirt, and her hand stayed there.
“I need my bed,” I said. “Early start tomorrow.”
“Spoilsport.” She giggled. “I could wake you up… rustle you up some breakfast…”
“That’s very kind, but I’ll set the alarm.” I leaned over to peck her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Jenny.” She stared as I opened the door, her mouth flapping as she tried to think of something to say.
I felt like an asshole, but that was nothing new, holding up my hand in farewell as I bundled myself in through my front door. I held my breath until I heard her car start up. Thank fuck for that.
I flicked on the lights and the same old empty house greeted me. I turned up the heating and prepared a fire in the grate, then went to grab a jumper. There was one lying over the dining table, and as I picked it up I noticed my mobile on the side. I hadn’t taken it, hardly seeing the point, but it was buzzing and whining and flashing green, creeping its way across the table top.
I picked it up. Ten new messages. Jesus.
Helen: I thought you liked me. Helen: But now I know.
Helen: It was her wasn’t it? Helen: I feel so stupid.
Helen: You’ve broken my heart!!!!!
Helen: I thought I meant something. But I mean nothing. I’m just a joke to you, aren’t I? Just a stupid kid! Helen: Why is she so much better than me??
Helen: I love you. I love you more than she does. Helen: I’ll never bother you again.
Helen: It’s over for me.
I fired one back.
Where are you?
Helen: Why do you care?
Of course I care. Where are you? Are you still at Elizabeth’s?
Helen: No. Where? At home? Helen: No.
Jesus, Helen, where are you?
Helen: I’m thinking. Down by the river. I like it here. Enjoy your time with her.
My patience expired, faded to nothing behind a plume of rage and worry. I tried her number but she didn’t answer, then called through the pathetic list of Much Arlock taxi numbers, searching for someone to pick her up. The closest to her was forty-five minutes out, already engaged on a city run. That was way too long.
I checked out my reflection in the mirror, and I looked tired. I was way over the limit, far too drunk to risk driving. Under any other circumstances I’d never have considered it.
Fucking hell.
My fingers were angry little blurs as I sent my final response.
Don’t fucking move. I mean it, Helen. Don’t you dare.
I splashed cold water over my face, swilled my mouth out with mouthwash and grabbed my car keys.
***
She was easy to spot in the headlights, a little dark huddle of sadness on the picnic bench. I pulled up and left the engine running, grabbing hold of her before she could protest.
She was crying. Hysterical. A flailing mass of teenage drama. “What?” I said. “What is all this about?”
She got to her feet and her eyes were streaming. “You’re with someone else!” she cried. “You love someone else!” “What?! What the…” My jaw hit the floor, dumbfounded by the absurdity. “Miss Monkton? You’re talking about Miss
Monkton?!”
“Bed calling. Let’s get all cosy in bed and laugh about stupid Helen Palmer!” “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?!”
“Of course it is!” I ran my hands through my hair, and caught my breath, reeling at the insanity, of this… this crazy drama, this abject teenage devastation, this irresponsibility I’d been dancing with. “I’m not with Miss Monkton. I’m not with anyone.”
“But she said…”
“I don’t care what she said. She gave me a lift home, Helen. She drove me home, as a friendly colleague, and dropped me at the door, and went to her own bed in her own house. She’s there now, as far as I know.”
“She did?” Helen’s lip was trembling, her face deathly pale. She looked like a ghost in the darkness, a frightened, lonely, sad little ghost.
“Yes. She did.” I sighed. “How the hell did you get here?” “Walked.”
“Jesus Christ. It’s freezing.” “I didn’t care. I don’t care.” “You should care.”
“But I don’t!” She slumped against the bench, her arms wrapped around herself. “I don’t care about anything anymore. I’m done with caring.”
“You’re drunk.” “Not anymore!”
“You should be in bed. At home.” I went to take her arm but she pulled away from me. “Come on, Helen, I’ll take you home.”
And then there were more tears, tears and wailing and blubbery words.
“I… I just… I’ve ruined everything! I’ve ruined it all… and I didn’t want to… I just… I loved it… everything… and now I’m empty… and sad… I’m so sad… I thought you liked me… I thought… I thought…”
“I’ll take you home.” I beckoned her to follow. “Come on.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to go. It’ll wake my parents up, and they’ll be angry, or worried.” “Fine, then I’ll take you back to Elizabeth’s.”
She shook her head again. “Lizzie’s asleep. She has a communal door, I can’t get in.” “Well, what then?” I rubbed my temples. “What are you planning on doing?”
Her lip went again. “I’ll just stay… stay here…”
“Like fuck you will.” She couldn’t move away quickly enough this time and my fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her along after me. I opened the passenger door, and put my hand on her head as I lowered her inside, and I even crawled in after her and fastened her seat belt.
She struggled but it was half-hearted. The tears, not so much. “Please don’t take me home! They’ll be so upset with me!”
“Be quiet, Helen, just be quiet.” I slipped back in the driver’s seat, and closed the door. “I need to concentrate, I’m over the fucking limit. So please be quiet.”
She stared at me with big, sad eyes. “You shouldn’t have come for me…” “Like I had a choice.”
“You did…”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and she took the hint. The car went quiet. “Where are you taking me?” she said finally, and her voice was calmer. “Home,” I said, then turned to her before she could object. “My home.”
***
Helen
I didn’t speak. Didn’t say another single word. Buttoning up my beak and letting the world slip past the window.
His home.
I wished it felt better. I wished it wasn’t under duress. He was angry, I could tell. That felt worst of all.
I heard him sigh, and he turned the heater up full. It felt nice against my freezing legs. “You could have caught your death out there.”
I shrugged. “I was upset.”
We turned up towards Deerton Heath and my tummy tickled with nerves. The road climbed, steeply, and turned bumpy, and there were no streetlights, no lights at all.
“Not far now,” he said and I hugged myself to steady my thumping heart. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Whisked away in the night to his home.
The track evened out, and twinkling lights came into view in the distance. He pulled up, and switched off the engine. “This is us.”
Us.
If only.
I unclipped my seatbelt and let myself out, and he was already at the doorway, leading the way inside. The door was old, heavy and smooth, and the hallway beyond was old, too. You could tell by the walls, uneven and beamed and full of age. He flicked on the light, and I looked through to a dining room. It was cluttered, but artistically so, the table laden with canvases and palettes, and the walls were covered in prints and paintings, a faded terracotta colour peeping out through the gaps. I took off my heels and followed him through to the kitchen, another artistically cluttered affair, with jugs and jars and heavy pans, and a couple of strange looking houseplants. He ran the tap awhile before filling up a glass.
He handed it over. “Drink.”
“Lizzie already made me…”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Drink.”
I propped myself against the side and forced some down, but I was still shaking, still cold. Still nervous. I felt his eyes on me. “Heating is on.”
“Thanks.”
He brushed past me and took a door to the side, and I peered in after him. He was crouched on the floor by a fireplace, fumbling with some kindling. He set it alight, and my heart leapt, an unexpected moment of joy. My first in weeks. I love a real fire.
“Come through,” he said, and he was at the sofa – an old battered leather thing that had seen better days – making me a space amongst a load of art magazines. I sat down and pulled my legs up under me, and Mr Roberts fetched a soft woollen throw from a stool in the corner and draped it over my legs. “The fire will start kicking out some heat soon.”
“Thank you, I’m a bit warmer now.”
He sat on the arm at the opposite end, and watched the flames in the grate as they danced and crackled and sprang into life. “I wanted the best for you, Helen. That’s all I wanted.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
“This whole thing… it was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I thought if I could just back away, just give you enough space…” He sighed. “It didn’t really go to plan, though, did it?”
“I… I just…” I slumped down in my seat. “I just wanted it so bad. It broke my heart.”
“Seeing you with Harry Sawbridge…” His brows were heavy, concentrated. “Helen, you’re better than that.” “I didn’t feel it.” My heart hurt. “I don’t feel it. I feel like nothing. I just wanted it done.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I feel like nothing. Just a stupid little girl. A weirdo. A stupid virgin.” “Shh,” he said. “Don’t.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
He moved so slowly. Dropping to the floor and closing the distance on his knees, and he was there, in front of me, warm hands on my knees through the throw. “That isn’t the truth.”
“You would say that. You have to say that. You’re my teacher.” “I’m hardly acting like it.”
“You are.” And I was sad again. “You are acting like it.” “I’ve been trying.”
I managed a small smile. “You’re not doing so bad.” “That’s debatable.”
“You didn’t have to pick me up,” I said. “You should have left me there.” “Yes,” he said. “I should have. I’m too drunk to drive.”
“You don’t seem it.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m still too drunk to drive.” His eyes were on mine, and they burned. “Anna was killed by a drunk driver. He was three times the limit, lost control on a bend and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just one split second of bad timing. If he hadn’t been drinking, if his reactions had been better…” He looked away. “I don’t drink and drive, Helen. I never drink and drive.”
My soul shrivelled. “And I made you? I made you do it, didn’t I? Oh my God …”
“You didn’t make me. Your irresponsible choices made me. Please don’t make a habit of it.” I was crying again, and it was stupid but I couldn’t stop. “I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry, Helen, just learn from it.” He squeezed my knee through the throw. “You didn’t know.” “But she died… because of a drunk… and I made you… I made you drive…”
“Yes, she did. But I drove slowly, and carefully, and we were lucky. I weighed up the options and took a calculated risk.” I nodded, and I was sniffly.
“Sometimes that’s all we can do, Helen. Weigh up our options and take a calculated risk. Don’t you think?” I shrugged like a stupid kid. “I guess.”
“You guess?” He was smiling, a sad smile, a resigned smile as though he’d lived a thousand years. Maybe that’s what I did to him. Maybe being around someone as young and as stupid as me made him feel old. “I was hoping for a little more than I guess, since I’m about to take another one.”
Something fluttered, in my belly, something small and nice. “Another one?”
“Another calculated risk.” He moved, placing a hand beside me on the sofa, and my body moved for his, clearing a space as he filled it. He reached out a hand for me, and I shivered as his thumb brushed my lip. He trailed his fingers down my neck, brushing my hair to the side. “So help me, God,” he mumbled, and I don’t think it was for me.
His mouth pressed to mine, and his arms pulled me close, and it was really real. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and I kissed him back. I kissed him back as my heart stuttered and my soul came alive again. His tongue was needy, and his breath was ragged, and he was alive, too. I could feel him straining to keep the lid on a boiling pot, but it was bubbling and clattering and slipping. It was already toppling, and the pot boiled over.
I dared to reach for his tie. Dared to loosen it, and he didn’t fight me.
He slipped his jacket from my shoulders, and my skin wasn’t cold anymore. His fingers tickled, dancing over my skin, and he sucked at my bottom lip, breathed into my mouth, and I wanted him, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.
He broke away and I moaned. “Please, no,” I said. “Please don’t stop.”