by Annie Dyer
“I put him on my knee and gave him a hug - you’re not really supposed to do that, bu he was an upset child. He hugged me back and said he was going to leave something for his sister so she’d think she had a visit too.”
Her fingers laced through mine. “You knew him well.”
“The same as I knew all of the kids in my class. He didn’t stand out, except for being a nice, happy, kind child. There were never any concerns about his dad. After everything happened we were all grilled about the parents and the father – was there a concern that was never recorded, were our safeguarding procedures robust enough? All of those questions were asked and it got to me, because it was as if I should’ve seen something, but there wasn’t anything that ever even gave me a niggle. I just hope he didn’t wake up that night.
I felt the same about Ryan.
“You have to accept you don’t know. Or maybe choose what you want to believe. Given how deeply my nephews sleep, there’s a good chance he didn’t wake up.”
“I know. And he was a good sleeper. His mum told me about that one morning when she dropped him off.” She carried on describing the rest of her class, the impact it had on them and the others in the school.
I listened and held her, knowing that there were no words that would make it better or even begin to heal the wound that had been dug into her. If he weren’t dead already, I’d want to kill the child’s father myself, for what he’d done and how he’d left Anya.
“Do you think you’ll be able to be happy if you go back to teaching there?”
She laughed, the sound not full or happy, but dark. “I’ve been thinking about it. Up until last week that was exactly what I was going to do, I wasn’t going to let him take away the place where I loved to work, but now I’m not sure whether that’s the right motivation to have.” She took my hand and pressed it against her breast. I felt her nipple harden and her legs shifted. I could get used to this three times a day thing we had going on and that was a concern.
“Probably not. Were you going to stay there for much longer?” I knew teachers changed schools fairly frequently.
“I was looking for a move into senior leadership. That was my plan: to start applying for a September start in a different school where I was assistant head. I was head of my key stage and had a couple of responsibility points.” Her hands traced across my chest then up into my beard. She seemed to like the beard. Especially in certain places.
“You’re not betraying anyone by following that plan.”
“I know.”
I kissed her, softly but deep, making my intentions known.
“You can do whatever the hell you choose to do.”
“I know.” Her hand slid down to my cock. “I just don’t know where that should be.”
“Then wait until you do know. There doesn’t have to be a rush.” I kissed her again, keeping it slow, emphasizing my point and wanting to stretch this out, because it would soon be tomorrow and I knew we both had things to do.
“Sit back and take a longer ride.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We made love slowly, languidly, as if by rushing we were throwing away time. On our sides wasn’t the deepest position but it meant I could hold her, watch her. This time our words weren’t dirty, instead they contained something that I couldn’t explain, seeing us in colour, pinks laced with deep reds, pastels and soft lines.
Afterwards, I stayed awake, listening to her breath ease as she fell asleep on my chest, both of us using less than half the mattress. This was peace. I just wasn’t sure if it was meant to be sustained.
Anya
“It’s all good. We’re doing an end of year graduation ceremony for the year twos. We’ve even ordered cap and gowns. The parents are doing exactly what you’d expect though.”
I laughed at Lorna. She was the other year one teacher, my team member, and she’d taken over the responsibilities I carried. I knew exactly what she meant with the parents, several would go completely over the top with the idea of a graduation.
“Go on, tell me.”
Lorna giggled. “Three have approached the parent-teacher committee about having a graduation party, which is quite sweet.”
“I’d have expected that. And for it to happen at school.”
“But what you, and no sane person would expect, is for them to approach Tots and Tigers – you know that independent kids boutique - and have a policy put on dresses that they can’t sell two of the same to kids going to the graduation ball. The dresses have to be sold exclusively for that event so there are no duplications!” Her tone was highly amused and I imagined her sitting in her little flat in Islington with the Great British Bake Off on in the background. She had a thing for chefs, and another for food, so it was her favourite show.
“That’s just… Jesus, they’re seven years old. Anyway, I’m not surprised.”
There was a pause. I heard a voice in the background.
“Lorna, did you get lucky last night?”
A muffled laugh, then a deep chuckle.
“Lorna, we need to talk about this….”
“One second, I just need to tell him which butter to buy.” There was a conversation I wasn’t privy to, which was fine because I’d heard Lorna’s thoughts on different types of butter already and I didn’t need a refresher.
“Sorry, Anya. He’s a cook and he’s making me breakfast.”
“Where’ve you found him?”
“Jenny’s Jewels. The little bakery that’s opened round the corner from school where they have a café that just does afternoon tea type things. That’s his. One of his.” I could hear the satisfaction in her voice, something to do with more than the cakes he’d probably made for her. Cream of a different kind.
“He sounds like your type. Is he treating you well?”
“He’s lovely. He likes a woman who eats. But we’ve been going for walks every evening to balance out the foodie goodness. I like him a lot but we’ll see how it goes. Now, tell me about you. How’s the island? How are you doing?”
She hadn’t told me that the children missed me. I knew from experience that kids adapted. Teachers and teaching assistants could leave and within a week pupils would fix on someone new. Older kids had more trouble adjusting, but my five and six-year-olds would be coping fine.
“I’m good. It’s great to be home. I should’ve come back sooner.” I smelled coffee. I was sitting in the sixties kitchen with Gabe, having made our way here early in the morning. Our Friday had been spent at the bar, having a few drinks and a meal with Catrin and Anders, before going back to his where we’d lost ourselves in each other as we’d done several times during the week.
“We said. But you weren’t ready and to be honest, I think you did the right thing for your class. They needed someone who understood their loss. We’re opening a remembrance garden for Calen in October. The kids have designed it.”
“That’s good.” Gabe handed me a coffee and then wrapped his fingers in my hair. His laptop was open and he was working on the plans for his house. “It’s good to have something to remember him by.”
“It is. Are you coming back?”
The question was sudden and unexpected. When I’d left there had been no question of anything but a return. “I don’t know. I’ll need to work my notice.” The words were there. I couldn’t take them back. “I mean, I haven’t found anything yet…”
“Anya, you were going to look to move anyway. We all knew that. Don’t let what happened change your mind. And make sure I’m the first to know.”
“You want breakfast?” Gabe did not try to keep his voice quiet.
“Please. Just yoghurt and granola.”
He kissed the top of my head, his long hair tickling me.
“Anya. I hear a man in your house…” There was a warning note to Lorna’s tone.
“I’m actually at his.” I looked at Gabe. Everyone physically around us knew that we were kind of together. No one had passed judgement, just given a
lot of winks and knowing looks. My sister had commented on how ‘well-built’ he was, which I’d figured was her attempt to find out about his size, and not his height.
“So? Who is he.”
Gabe gave me broad, completely amused smile and sat down, clearly wanting to see how I managed to get out of this.
“He’s just moved to the island. He’s trained as an architect but that’s been put aside while he paints.”
The he folded his arms and sat back. I tried to kick him under the table.
“What’s his name.”
“Gabe.”
“I need more information! What does he look like? I want a picture? Is he hot? I hope he’s better looking than that dweeb you were with last year! Does he know how to use his fingers properly?”
I started laughing, unable to take my eyes off the man in front of me who looked to be incredibly amused. “He’s tall. He has pretty decent biceps.” Gabe raised an eyebrow and flexed his arm. “Long hair and a bit of a beard. He’s got tattoos on his arms and back.”
“He sounds like a bad boy.”
That made me laugh. I didn’t think of Gabe like that. His tattoos weren’t trying to make a statement; they were just a way that he’d expressed himself. His hair suited him and the muscles he’d gained while he was in rehab, recovering from the back surgery he’d had after the crash.
“He isn’t. He’s Gabe. You’d like him.” She would. Helen would’ve approved. And she would’ve approved of how he made me feel.
“Is he staying on the island permanently?”
I looked at him, aware that he could just about hear what she was saying.
“Are you?” I mouthed.
He smiled, gesturing to the house and nodding.
“He is.”
“Hmmmm. Interesting. Looking for schools over there then?”
It became harder to breathe. “We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.”
“True. Right, hon, I have to go. I need to take a shower before my chef gets back for our lazy morning watching cookery shows in bed. Talk to you during the week. And I’m happy – you sound more like you and less like that shadow you’d become.”
I said my goodbyes and watched Gabe as he sorted breakfast for us, his T-shirt tight as he moved.
“I’m sorry you were the topic of gossip.”
He laughed, passing me a bowl of cherry yoghurt and granola. “Why? What I got from that is that you think I’m hot and I make you happy.”
I mixed the seeds in. “Well, yes, that’s true.”
“Anya. I like being with you. The sex we have is amazing and I like feeling the way I do when I’m with you. I don’t have to pretend or explain. You’re like this breeze of air that helps me feel as if one day I’ll be able to fly again.”
“You have an obsession with seagulls. I’ve noticed that in your paintings.” It was a diversionary tactic. I couldn’t get into the deep talk right now. Gabe rarely mentioned the us that we were becoming, but it was obvious that we were becoming an us. And it scared me.
“Maybe I should change it round. Use a different bird.” He looked thoughtful.
I shook my head. “There was a painter – I can’t think of his name – who included a mouse in everything he painted. Kind of like a trademark.”
“I wonder why he picked a mouse?” He stood up and put our empty pots in the sink. “I’d pick a snake.”
“Why’s that?”
He grinned and glanced down at his crotch.
I shook my head and laughed. He wasn’t wrong.
I sat on Lligwy beach with a windbreaker watching my nephew rush around on the sand. I’d promised him a boat trip if he gave me half an hour of reading time, or Marcy time, as Kim called it. I wasn’t rushing through her letters. Instead, I was trying to savour them, take each one as a detective would and work out exactly what was happening with Donald Stretton and Julia. I got comfy, looking up to see what the terror was doing every few minutes. He was building sandcastles and then taking a long run up to them and dive bombing them. Somewhere on the beach was Gabe; he’d promised to help with the maintenance of a couple of boats this afternoon, learning more about the upkeep of them in the process. We felt like a couple, something which both delighted and scared the fuck out of me. I tried to take a step back and just enjoy it for what it was – amazingly great sex with a man who wasn’t a complete tosser for a change, but something made me worry.
I turned Marcy’s letters to where I’d last read and squinted at the page. Her writing was precise and well formed, but these pages were more worn. I had no idea why that was.
Dear Alice,
I’m utterly desperate to know how your meal with Arthur went! He sounds like a hero from Jane Austen, although not Mr Darcy! I’m so excited that you’re having such fun.
I know you’re worried that I’m taken with a man who I can’t have – maybe it’s just a summer crush as I really don’t have time to go dancing, or take walks on the beach with anyone. I promise you I’m not going to end up heart sick.
We had a new boat arrive this week. I hadn’t seen Donald for some days; he had been busy entertaining a now well Julia, taking her in the motor to the nearby towns and villages, giving into her craving for places that had more life in them than here, or so it seemed. He had reported quickly back to his father, although I hadn’t heard that piece of news from him. Instead I had heard it from Gerald, who had heard it from his father. Donald was pleased with how his father’s boats were being used and maintained, and because of this he was sending another boat round, this time a posh one.
We were now stood at the harbour, waiting for the men to sail it round from Carnarvon. I could see Donald and Julia near the front, surrounded by people with happy faces, cheers occasionally rising from the crowds. Gerald was stood near me and Jenny, and we were at the back. I hadn’t been able to escape the kitchen till late as it had been a particularly busy breakfast. I’d had to stay till after eleven, washing up the piles of pots that had been used and tidying the dining room. Jenny had escaped much earlier, and kept watching William Gibb, a man from Newborough. He had liked her for some time and quite possibly, the piles of pots that had been a promise of future days in the guesthouse may well have been enough to make her mind up about him. There was a cheer as the boat came into view; it had large white sails and it did look good. The boat was lovely, looking like a pure white seagull resting on the waves. The day was ready for the event too; the sun was already burning hot, and so far it was edging to be one of the hottest summers on record. Everyone had dressed up in their Sunday best clothes, Jenny had put on a sundress that showed her shoulders, probably for William. I had found a white skirt and blouse that I had worn for cousin Molly’s wedding last year. I had thought about buying something new, but it seemed pointless to waste money when I had these garments that had been worn only once.
Julia looked spiffing as I’d expected her to. This was the big occasion for her; she was the centre of attention and everyone would be looking at her. Her dress was a buttercup yellow colour, the material fine cotton brought tightly in at the waist, making her seem slimmer than usual. She and Donald were at the front, her hand through his arm. He looked the happiest that I had seen him in the past few days; his eyes were smiling, and I could see the glint in them even from where I stood. He turned around as the boat came closer in and spotted me. He waved and I responded, making eye contact even across the crowd. Julia turned, a scowl upon her face, and when she noticed me she hurriedly faced the sea once more, pointing at something on the boat and bringing Donald’s attention back to what was important.
A few people had brought instruments them and were playing a sea shanty – I don’t know what Julia made of it.
I saw Donald looking at me. At first I panicked, worrying that someone else would have noticed. He was looking at me over his shoulder, away from Julia, eyes averted from the ship that everyone else but him and myself were staring at. I felt cold, even with the heat of the s
un. The adrenaline that passed through me was nothing to do with the boat arriving, and it was not enough to warm to fear that was also there.
People went near to the boat once it had docked to have their pictures taken – you’d have loved it. Maybe bring Arthur to see it sometime if things continue the way they have been going. One or two people in the village had bought Brownie cameras and were sharing them freely so I’ll try to send you some pictures. Morris Stewart, who fancied himself a professional with a camera, stood near the boat, taking pictures. Ellen Jones grabbed me and pulled me toward him. We stood there while Morris directed us, making sure the light was in the right place and he could get the boat on as well as us.
“That’s lovely, girls,” he said in a way that I did not like. “Hold it still.” Ellen left as soon as the camera had done its job and Morris had given us a smile that showed the gums above his teeth. She had seen Joseph, a fisherman she had taken a liking to and clearly wanted to take the opportunity to impress him, even though I know he isn’t interested. I was about to follow her when a low voice blew the hairs that were on my neck.
“Have a picture taken with me,” it said. I turned and saw Donald, stood there, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his collar tieless. I scanned nearby for Julia, but she wasn't there.
“Where is she?” I asked in a low voice. Morris looked at us suspiciously and my heart began to pound in my chest. There was nothing for him to know. Donald was merely staying at my parents’ guesthouse. That was it. The picture would be a souvenir for me of that summer, of him staying with us. That was all.
“She’s talking with your mother,” Donald said. “She won’t think anything of it.”
I looked at him, disbelieving. He had not seen the look Julia had given me a few minutes previously, merely because he had waved, but I found I wanted the picture taken anyhow. We looked toward Morris who positioned us silently, watching us with interest. As he got ready to take the picture, Donald slipped his arm round me, his fingers sitting lightly on my waist. For a second I felt self-conscious, Julia was so slim even though she was slightly older than me. I looked at him, wondering if he was comparing me to her and then I heard the sound of the camera as it took the image.
