Helen
Back to cold, hard reality, only I wasn’t ready.
My legs felt like jelly and my feet felt like concrete lumps, and my uniform felt stiff as a board and way too small for me. I hated it.
I hated what it meant.
Two weeks of bliss had flown by, and I’d been spat out of Heaven, landing straight back in my school shoes like nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
I’d changed.
I waited by the alleyway and checked my phone again but there was nothing from Lizzie. I’d been trying to reach her for a week, dropping her instant messages and calls and texts, but she’d reply with nothing more than a at Nan’s, speak soon. The thought made my stomach churn worse than it was already.
And then, just when things were shit and awkward enough, there was Dad’s casual announcement over breakfast.
“I’m covering Frank’s leave these next few weeks. Long shifts, Helen. You’ll have to pull your weight around here, look after your sister with your mum working as well.”
“But, Dad! can’t someone else cover? I mean, I’m busy now…”
“We’re all bloody busy, Helen. Holiday time’s over. Lover boy will have to wait.”
Frank worked evenings and weekends, covering the city runs to Hereford and back. Which meant, for all intents and purposes, I was grounded.
No Mark.
And no Lizzie either, seemingly.
I trudged my way into school, craving a couple of drags on one of her cigarettes, just like old times, and almost fainted when I spotted her in the distance, walking along with none other than Rachel Panter, the girl who’d been snogging Scottie’s face off at the winter ball.
Just what the fuck?
I followed them, trailing behind until they disappeared into the sixth form common room, which we generally avoided at all costs, not least because it was bitch bag central and full of mean girls and nastiness. Seemingly not today, not enough to keep Lizzie out of there.
I followed them upstairs and into the study area, to a backdrop of cackling as the Jennings’ posse caught sight of me.
“Hey, Helen. How’s Harry?”
“Hey, Helen. Are those little boy tits still frostbitten?”
“Hey, Helen. We didn’t know you were such a little slut, Helen. We didn’t know you liked it in public with the whole world watching.”
“Hey, Helen. You’re such a pathetic little loser.”
For once it meant nothing, not any of it, not a single bit.
Lizzie didn’t see me before I’d grabbed her elbow. She spun with wide eyes and a big old pout on her face. Her expression softened as she saw it was me, but only a little.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s going on? I was trying to call you, like loads.”
She raised an eyebrow and looked at Rachel, and Rachel stared at me with her fake blonde hair twisted around her fingers. “I wouldn’t exactly call it loads, Hels.”
I thought back through the holidays. It had been loads. Well, a few times, at least every day. Maybe every other… “I was trying to get hold of you, Lizzie.”
She shrugged. “Yeah, well, you didn’t. I guess you weren’t trying all that hard.” “You said you were at your nan’s…”
“I was. Some of the time.” She folded her arms. “I was worried about you…”
Rachel laughed, and it was a stupid nasty laugh. But Lizzie looked sad, and I felt guilty for things I didn’t even understand. “Worried?” she said, and her voice was cold. “Yeah, well, thanks, but there’s no need. I’m pretty damn cool, thanks.”
“You are?” I kept my voice hopeful, friendly.
“Yeah, I am.” She hitched her satchel up onto her shoulder, then pushed on past me. “Got maths, gotta go. See you later.” “When?” I said. “We walking home?”
She rolled her eyes, and Rachel laughed again. “Like you’re going to be around, Hels. Forget it, alright. I’ll see you.” And she left me. Lizzie left me.
I stood in the common room like a stupid idiot, with the mean girls laughing and the cool kids staring, and I felt like such a fool.
A fool who didn’t belong here anymore, not in this place, not in this stupid kiddy uniform and not with these stupid horrible idiots.
I took a breath and pulled my big girl knickers up, and clung on to my new place in the world. My new place in the wilderness, with open fires, and frosty grass and a man who loved me.
A man who was waiting for me in the art block.
I walked out of the common room without even giving them the satisfaction of a second glance.
***
English dragged like a bitch. Anna of the Five Towns was our next study text, and the whole thing sounded garbled to me, just a whole big load of nonsense. It wasn’t like me. I’m usually good at school, good enough to have gotten hell for it from the rebel kids all the way since primary. But not today.
Today I sucked.
I should have felt relief to be heading to the art room for third period, and I did, but it was hidden under a load of crud that swirled around inside and made me a little round jitter ball. Mark was setting up when I arrived, preparing the whiteboard as the younger kids filed in. He looked smart, and focused and a million times more in control than I felt. He looked like Mr Roberts had always looked, my perfect crush with his perfectly calm manner and his perfectly welcoming tone. He was in a dark corded jacket, and his tie was purple and flamboyant. I couldn’t help but wonder what socks he was wearing.
“Morning, Helen,” he said, and it was the same good morning he’d greeted me with for years.
Just like nothing had changed. And I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.
I held up a hand and scurried on by, to the safety of my usual perch, and I arranged all my art stuff and grabbed the watercolour I’d been working on before term finished. But even that looked crappy now.
And my seat was uncomfortable and cold, and my hands were awkward without the easel I’d come to adore.
And it was noisy, full of kids chatter and humdrum, not like the silence at Mark’s. The beautiful silence in his beautiful house and his beautiful arms.
I could feel him staring, and I wanted to stare back more than anything in the world, but I was afraid of my own emotions.
Afraid they’d bubble over and show their face to the world, and condemn us both as the rumour mill started up.
So I didn’t stare back. I didn’t even look at him. Not unless I knew he was too distracted to look my way.
My heart was bursting with love and pride, and my stomach was bursting with nerves, and my hands were tense with frustration, and my damned heel wouldn’t stop tapping.
And then he was there, at my side, and I lost all the air from my lungs.
“Remember what I said about wet-in-wet techniques?” He pointed to the corner I was working on. “You could really utilise that here, Helen. It would work really well.”
I nodded. “I was thinking of using that.”
He positioned his back to the rest of class, his posture loose and relaxed like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe it was. He was a born teacher, at ease in his domain. And me? I was just a schoolgirl who didn’t belong anymore. “Are you ok?” His voice was low and calm, but his eyes were anything but, and it made my heart thump.
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’m good.”
He took the brush from my hand and loaded it with paint, tickling faint lines over my own, and he was close, his mouth to my ear, his breath with just the slightest hitch. “Pinocchio.”
I focused on the marks his brush was making. “I’m good. It’s just… weird.” My voice was barely a whisper, lost beneath the chatter in the room, but I still felt bad, as though I may be risking us.
“Nothing’s changed. This is just… a necessary part of us.” “I know.”
“For now, Helen. It’s just for now.”
“I know.” I took a breath, leaned back to check out the room, and nobody was watching. “Dad’s working evenings.
Weekends, too. I have to look after Katie.”
“Lunchtime,” he said, and I felt bad for even risking the topic. He handed me my brush back, and I forced on a smile. “Thanks, Mr Roberts. I’ll use that.”
“Good,” he said. He straightened up, but he hovered, and I had to close my eyes, just to still myself, just to feel him there. His fingers brushed mine, and then they gripped, guiding my brush to the palette. And then his thumb brushed my knuckles,
just for a moment. It meant everything. An anchor in the chaos. “Lunchtime,” he said again. And he was gone.
Lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough. I breathed a long, cleansing breath as the door closed behind the last of the kids, and waited for Mark to make the first move. He wiped a load of pastel dust from one of the workbenches, and scoped out the corridor through the window. He must have been satisfied, because he closed the distance between us and gestured me over to the paint storage racks. I slipped between them, out of view of the windows, and he joined me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
“What’s going on?” he said.
I didn’t know quite where to start, so I started with Dad, blurting out a string of childish it’s not fairs before I even managed to convey the actuality of the situation.
He tipped his head from side to side. “It’s not ideal, but we’ll manage.”
“How?” I said. “Mum’s doing loads of shifts to make up for the holiday downtime. I’ll be stuck in every night.”
“For two weeks, Helen. It’s not the end of the world.” He smiled, and I felt like a petulant kid. “We’ll sort something out.” “I hope so.”
“I know so.”
“But if we don’t?”
“If we don’t, then we’ll make up for it over the next two weeks, or the two after that. This isn’t disappearing anywhere, Helen. You can relax.”
The tension in me uncoiled. “Sorry. I’m being silly. A drama llama.”
He laughed. “You’re entitled to be a drama llama sometimes. It’s nice you’re bothered.” “Of course I’m bothered.” My eyes could have eaten him up. “You look good. I like the tie.”
“You look young,” he said. “It’s amazing how quickly I’ve come to expect you out of uniform.” “I hate it. I feel like a kid.”
“You’re hardly a child, Helen. I think we’ve established that rather comprehensively, don’t you?” I could feel the blush. “I hate not being able to touch you.”
“The same applies.”
“I hate not being able to kiss you, or say whatever I want to say.” “I fully concur.”
“I can’t wait for the Easter break.”
He smiled. “You won’t find any disagreement from my side, Helen.” “I don’t want to be at school anymore. I want to be home, with you.” He sighed. “Enough of that. School first, always.”
“I know, I know.” I groaned, and decided to spill. “Lizzie hates me.” He looked surprised. “I’m sure Elizabeth doesn’t hate you, Helen.”
“She does. She was with Rachel Panter this morning and she didn’t even have two words for me.”
He shrugged. “Maybe she was just preoccupied. I’m sure she’s capable of having more than one friend.” “We’ve always just had each other. I don’t get it. I tried calling her, tried messaging…”
“Then you have little to worry about, I’m sure.” “She doesn’t seem to see it that way.”
“She will,” he said. “It’s first day back, give it a little time. I’m sure this will pass.” I smiled. “Why are you so calm all the time? You’re just so… perfect.”
He laughed. “Hardly, Helen. Hardly.”
“I wish I found all this as easy as you do.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think I find this easy?” I felt a flutter in my belly. “Don’t you?”
His eyes smouldered in a way that was wholly inappropriate, and I was right back at his, spread-eagled and helpless, squealing with glee as he pushed himself all the way inside.
“I’ve just spent two glorious weeks with a beautiful young woman in my home, Helen, in my bed. A beautiful young woman whose love has driven me to put everything on the line… to break my own code of ethics… to pack up every memory of my old life to make room for the new. You think I can just switch that off? You think it doesn’t drive me crazy having you so close under these circumstances?” His fingers brushed my cheek. “It’s all I can do to be professional right now, and that’s for your sake as much as mine.”
“I love you,” I whispered. “It feels so wrong not to be able to touch you.”
He took a step forward and I took a step back, until I was pressed to the wall, wedged tight between the paint racks. He took my hands in his and placed them on his chest, and I moved them, slipped them under his jacket with a moan. I could feel his skin, hot through his shirt, the familiar bulk of him, every ripple of his body, and mine came alive, wanting and needing and fluttering until my legs had parted for his and the heat of him was against me.
He pressed his hands to the wall over my head like a barrier. “We can’t,” he said, and his breath was ragged. “It’s too risky.”
But I couldn’t stop, my hands snaked around his waist, down to his ass, where I pulled him closer, and my mouth was at his neck, breathing him in.
“Helen… we can’t.” But his eyes didn’t match his words, and with a groan his lips met mine, and opened. His tongue pushed deep, and his heart was pounding against mine. His fingers slid between me and the wall, and cupped my ass, before snaking under the hem of my skirt. I moaned when he hit bare skin, and his palms ghosted up my thighs. His thumbs hooked inside my knickers and I sucked in breath.
And then there was noise, the familiar creak of the door. “Mark? Mark, are you in here?”
Heels clacking on tiles, and I was reeling, awkward, adjusting my clothes as the footsteps came nearer. Mark, too, smoothing his skirt back down and pulling his jacket closed to hide the swell in his crotch. He turned around, but his elbow caught the fixant cans and they went tumbling. I shrieked as they clattered to the floor, and Mark stepped away from me, stepping over them and catching one with his heel.
Miss Monkton’s voice was loud. “Mark?”
And then she saw me. Her eyes met mine and moved right the way up and down, taking in the scene. My cheeks were on fire. Burning me alive.
“Miss Monkton.” Mark’s voice was cheerful, but his breath was short. “I wasn’t expecting you. Helen and I were just looking for the paint thinner. I thought I’d grabbed the pesky thing, but seemingly I’d grabbed everything but.”
His garbled words didn’t help my self-consciousness. “I wanted a word with you,” she said. “In private.”
That was my cue, and I took it, slipping past Mark with my blazer hugged tight. I shot Miss Monkton a smile but didn’t dare meet her eyes, then bundled up my things and headed the crap out of there.
“I’ll see you later, Mr Roberts.” “Yes, Helen, indeed.”
***