Love Lessons

by David Belbin

  Steve had a party and several of Emma’s friends came. Mike had known Emma since she was eight. She was perky and pretty and just as intelligent as her brother. At one point, when she was thirteen, Mike had been vaguely aware that she had a bit of a crush on him. But he was sixteen, and she was just a kid then.

  That New Year’s Eve, Mike got chucked by Vicky, the girl he’d been going out with for the past eighteen months. He got blind drunk and ended up being comforted by Emma, now fifteen and no longer a kid. Not a lot happened, but enough for Mike to realize that Emma was seriously interested in him.

  Mike’s best friend warned him off. Steve was sympathetic about Vicky. But Emma was Steve’s younger sister. Mike, an only child, could only imagine the way Steve felt. When Steve said, “She’s too young for you, mate,” Mike agreed. He tried to keep things cool. He tried to act like their kisses and hugs and heart-to-heart hadn’t happened. But he kept going round to see Steve, and couldn’t help seeing Emma, too. After a while, he began going home for the weekend when Steve wasn’t around, but Emma was.

  Emma started writing to him. Mike went out with women at university, but none of them set off sparks the way Emma did. In the long summer holiday, while Steve was working on a building site, Mike spent more and more time with his sister. They first slept together the night she got her GCSE results. By September, they were officially a couple.

  Emma’s parents took it better than Steve did. They liked Mike and trusted him. After six months, with Emma now seventeen and in the sixth form, they even sanctioned their daughter’s occasional visits to Oxford. But Steve went ballistic. He and Mike never argued about it. They just stopped talking.

  Another year passed. Emma got accepted by Sheffield and Mike arranged to do his PGCE there. They looked for a flat together. All this time, Mike hoped that his friendship with Steve would revive. It never had.

  “How is he?” Mike asked, when Emma put the phone down.

  “Fine. He wants you to get him two tickets for the Oasis concert.”

  “OK”

  A chink of light. Mike thought. They hadn’t been to a concert together in four years.

  In bed that night, Mike was exhausted, but couldn’t sleep. His mind kept going over his lessons for the year-eleven group. Last week they’d given him an easy time. But he was new, and their regular teacher had just died. The trouble was, he had few ideas about how to teach modern poetry. However, they were halfway through the book. It was too late to change text now. Mike found it difficult, standing up every other day and talking about love.

  It worried him how often he found himself standing in front of a class, hardly knowing the first thing about the subject he was supposed to be teaching. Why should the kids listen to him? How long would it take before they found him out?

  Seven

  At the end of maths on Thursday, Nick gave Rachel a big smile. He wanted to talk, Rachel guessed, maybe ask her out again. But she left the room with Carmen, as usual.

  “He’s very friendly all of a sudden,” Carmen said.

  Rachel thought for a moment. Becky was sniffy about Nick and hadn’t asked a lot about the date. Rachel had to talk about him with someone.

  “I went out with him last Saturday night.”

  The words slipped out quietly, but Carmen’s reaction was loud. “You’re going out with Nick? I don’t believe you!”

  “No need to broadcast it to the world.”

  If a girl in Rachel’s year had a boyfriend, he tended to be older than she was. Girls who went out with guys from the same year were looked down on by other girls. Everyone knew how immature the boys in their year were, had always been. But at least Carmen didn’t get judgemental on her, the way Becky had.

  “What was it like?” she asked, in a quieter voice.

  “Fine. Except ..

  Rachel told Carmen the story about Nick not passing as eighteen.

  “And are you seeing him again?”

  “I’ve seen him in the last two lessons.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Rachel answered reluctantly. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She and Nick had hardly spoken since Saturday, which felt strange. “If he wasn’t at school,” Rachel added, “things’d be easier.”

  “If he wasn’t at school,” Carmen told her, “you wouldn’t know him.”

  “Becky thinks I’m mad.”

  “Becky takes boys’ attention for granted,” Carmen said. “Nick’s nice enough. Hey, look, I need to get in the lunch queue.”

  “OK. Don’t tell anyone, huh?”

  “Would I do a thing like that?”

  Rachel went off to the common room. She didn’t have a school lunch. The school meals were all pizza, burgers and chips, unless you got there in the first five minutes. Then there were a few tired, taste-free salads which were usually snapped up by teachers. It was simpler to bring your own food in. Rachel and Mum took turns to make a packed lunch each night. Rachel usually ate hers with Becky. However, on Thursdays, Becky had a music lesson. Rachel was about to get her sandwich box out when Nick walked into the common room. He smiled at her.

  “On your own?”

  She nodded. “Eat your lunch with me,” Rachel invited. “If you like.”

  “People will talk.”

  “Let them,” Rachel said, throwing caution to the winds. Why shouldn’t she spend time with Nick if she wanted to?

  “Actually,” Nick said, “I haven’t brought a packed lunch today. I only live down the road, so I was going to go home. Mum and Dad are both at work. Want to come with me?”

  “Sure,” Rachel said. “Why not?”

  Nick’s house was a semi, halfway up a hill beyond the school. It was bigger than the terrace which Rachel shared with Mum, but much smaller than Dad’s house.

  Nick made a sandwich, then they went up to his room.

  “It’s a bit of a mess,” Nick warned.

  His room turned out to be tidier than Rachel’s ever was. A few cassettes were scattered across the floor. He put one on. Rachel wasn’t keen on it, but said nothing. Music wasn’t everything. She and Nick sat at opposite ends of Nick’s bed. Rachel was surprised by how many books Nick had, and commented on them.

  “They’re mostly science fiction,” he said. “I use them to relax with, that’s all. What do you read to relax?”

  Rachel mainly read romances and women’s magazines, but didn’t want to admit it. So she fibbed.

  “Poetry,” she said, “and, you know ... magazines.”

  “I like poetry, too,” Nick told her.

  “The book we’re doing in English is all right,” Rachel said, tentatively.

  “Yeah,” Nick said, grudgingly. “I quite like it.”

  “What are your favourite bits?” Rachel asked, as she tried to eat her sandwich without getting crumbs all over Nick’s bed.

  “I like Norman MacCaig,” Nick told her.

  “I don’t remember that one.”

  He went to his bag. For a moment, she thought he was going to read it to her, but he held the book open at the appropriate page instead. Rachel read the poem, “True Ways of Knowing”, twice to make sure she understood it.

  “That’s lovely,” Rachel said, putting the book down.

  “Yeah. I like Shakespeare, too. The sonnet especially. What about you?”

  “I like that poem, ‘Actress’,” Rachel said. “I want to be an actress.”

  “Really? I saw you in the school play last term. You were good.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said, flattered. “Mr Scott got me an audition with the Central Drama Workshop. I didn’t make it, but I got on the reserve list.”

  “That’s a pity,” Nick said. “I used to go to the Central Workshop. We could have gone together.”

  Rachel was impressed. “You kept that quiet.”

  “We put on a play in Edinburgh last August,” Nick said. “It was good fun. But I decided to give it a bit of a rest this year. Concentrate on exams.”

  “Actors don�
��t need great exam results,” Rachel insisted.

  Nick shrugged modestly. “Maybe not, but I’d like to go to university. When I’ve finished that I can decide whether I want to act or not. Best to have something in reserve.”

  “I guess so,” Rachel said.

  She never worked terribly hard at school. It was easy to coast by. But Nick had a point. Until today, she’d found his keenness irritating. Now Rachel was seeing a new side to him. Maybe acting was what had made him mature over the last year.

  The young couple moved closer to each other on the bed. When Nick asked Rachel to choose a tape, his body brushed against hers. She would have liked it if he hadn’t moved away again. But they kept their distance. Lunch hour was quickly over.

  As they were walking back to school, Nick asked, “Are you doing anything this Saturday night?”

  “Nothing important.”

  He slipped his hand into hers. She let it stay there until they were within sight of the school gates.

  Eight

  After school on Friday, Judith Howard kept Mike behind for a mentor meeting. He could have done without it. A mentor was meant to be supportive; an experienced friend rather than a boss. But Ms Howard was also the person who wrote Mike’s reference. If he wanted to get a job for next year, he had to give the impression that this one was going well.

  Therefore, Mike didn’t tell Judith that there were two classes which he couldn’t get to stop talking, especially when they were were meant to be listening to him. Nor did he tell her that he couldn’t get his year-eleven class to talk at all. Mike didn’t mention how he found it almost impossible to sleep at night, and even harder to get up in the morning.

  “As for discipline,” Ms Howard said. “Everything OK?”

  “Fine,” Mike assured her. “That year-eight drama class are a bit lively, but I’m getting on top of them.”

  “Good, good. You know, you don’t have to take them for drama every week. They’re meant to have it once a fortnight. I believe Colin Scott used to give them a drama lesson when it linked in with their English work.”

  Now she tells me, Mike thought. They’d been pulling the wool over his eyes.

  “I’m pleased that you’re so keen on teaching drama,” Ms Howard added. “Have you thought about what play you’re going to do next term with year eleven?”

  “I was thinking about Death of a Salesman,” Mike said.

  “I’m not sure we have enough copies of that in stock,” the head of department said, cagily. “And I haven’t budgeted to buy more. Have you considered doing Shakespeare?”

  “He’s the other obvious choice,” Mike replied.

  “We have plenty of copies of Romeo and Juliet.”

  This wasn’t a play which Mike knew well, or liked.

  “I think I’d prefer to do Macbeth or Caesar.”

  His head of department frowned. “The thing about Romeo and Juliet,” she said, “is that I’m putting on a production of it at the end of next term, which I expect some members of year eleven will get involved with. I’ll be advertising auditions next week.”

  “I see,” Mike said.

  “Therefore, it would be useful if both English top groups were studying the play - it would help the actors to understand their parts — as well, of course, as providing an audience.”

  “In that case,” Mike said, “I’ll be glad to teach ...”

  Ms Howard gave him a friendly smile and stood up. “Excellent,” she said, “and I would greatly appreciate any time that you could give to the play: helping people learn lines, that kind of thing. Your predecessor, Mr Scott, was always very helpful.”

  “Of course,” Mike said, standing too. “Though commuting to Sheffield makes it difficult for me to stay after school.”

  “But you’ll be moving to Nottingham, surely?”

  “I don’t know,” Mike replied. “You see, I have a relationship in Sheffield, and this job’s only temporary ...”

  His voice trailed off. Ms Howard smiled enigmatically. “I believe the Head said the job was temporary in the first instance. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t get a permanent contract, presuming that things work out this year. Which I’m sure they will. Think about it.”

  Mike drove home, quickly hitting the early Friday rush hour. In the bumper-to-bumper queue for the motorway, he had plenty of time to consider his conversation with Ms Howard. The message was clear: if he wanted a job for next year, he ought to help out with the play. But did Mike want a job at Stonywood? Hardly. Emma had another year at university after this one. Mike wanted to return to Sheffield and teach at an 11-18 school or a sixth-form college. All he needed out of Stonywood was a decent reference. So he would teach Romeo and Juliet, do the odd bit of line bashing at lunchtimes. But that was all. It ought to be enough.

  In the flat he found a note from Emma. Something came up. Gone home for weekend. See you Monday. X. E. Mike groaned. Emma was mad with him because he had forgotten to phone her last night. Tired after the parents’ evening, he’d gone for a drink with Phil, whose house he was staying at. They’d spent the whole evening talking about school and not left the pub until closing time. It was the first night he and Emma had spent apart in ages, but Mike hadn’t thought about her when he got in. He’d fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. It was the best night’s sleep he’d got since starting at Stonywood.

  Mike couldn’t blame Emma for being annoyed. They’d been together for so long, it was easy to forget that Emma was only twenty. She wanted more from a relationship than someone who worked late every night and had little energy left for the weekend. He’d make it up to her when she got back, he promised himself, before lying down on the bed, fully dressed, and falling into a dull, dreamless sleep.

  Nine

  Rachel stood on the doorstep, kissing Nick goodbye. She almost invited him in, but something made her hold back. It was ten-past-eleven. Her boyfriend walked to the end of the street and gave a little wave as he turned the comer. Rachel waved back, then let herself into the house, shutting out the cold night behind her.

  “I’m home.”

  Mum sat in the front room, reading a novel.

  “You’ve been home for five minutes,” she said. “I could hear you outside. Why didn’t you invite him in? I wouldn’t have minded.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Because I’m not ready to, I guess.”

  “Not because you didn’t want him to meet me?”

  “Course not.”

  Though maybe that was part of it. Having a boy turn up at Dad’s was a way of rubbing his nose in it: look, I’ve got my own man, I don’t need you any more. But that wasn’t the message which Rachel wanted to give to Mum.

  “Are you going to tell me about him?” Mum said. “It’s been two Saturday nights on the trot - you are going out with him, aren’t you?”

  “I guess so,” Rachel admitted.

  “How long have you known him?”

  “He’s in my year, so, since I started going to Stonywood, I suppose. But I didn’t use to like him much.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Rachel thought about it. Had she changed her mind? She felt more like she’d suspended judgement.

  “I don’t know,” she told Mum. “Nick seems very young in some ways. He can be a bit of a show off. But he’s actually quite shy, when you get to know him. And he’s interested in acting. We have things in common.”

  “More than you did with Carl?”

  Mum never met Carl, but Rachel had talked to her about him.

  “I guess.”

  “You seem uncertain.”

  “I wish Nick was a bit older, and we didn’t go to the same school.”

  Mum seemed confused. “Why?”

  Rachel tried to explain. “Hardly any girls at school go out with boys in the same year. You know what people are like.”

  “I don’t see the problem. If you like him enough, you’ll put up with a certain amount of teasing.”

  “I gues
s.”

  Rachel sat down. “Is there anything good on TV?” she asked.

  “One other thing,” Mum said. “I know we discussed this last year but ...”

  Rachel groaned. “Mum, I only kissed him for the first time tonight. I don’t need a refresher course on contraception. I’ll know what to do when I’m ready.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mum said.

  She left the subject there.

  Rachel put the late film on, but didn’t really watch it. And instead of thinking about Nick, she found herself thinking about her parents.

  Mum and Dad met at a university disco when Mum was nineteen and Dad twenty-two. Mum got pregnant during her second year at university and they married in the summer. Mum dropped out of college and had Rachel. Dad stayed on and got his PhD. Mum meant to finish her degree once Rachel started school. But, that year, Dad left her for another woman. Mum couldn’t afford to study. Instead, she got a job to help support herself and her daughter.

  Sometimes, Rachel found it awkward, discussing relationships with Mum. They rarely talked about the divorce. Dad, when he mentioned it, said they were both too young when they married, but that couldn’t be all there was to it. Clarissa was young - only twenty when Dad married her - and they’d stayed together for seven years already. Mum’s boyfriends always seemed to let her down. She hadn’t had one for a while. The older you were, the harder it got, for a woman. Mum said she didn’t miss having a man around. But she must miss being taken out, someone making a fuss of her. Rachel’s having a boyfriend was bound to rub salt into that wound.

  Could Rachel fall in love with Nick? She wasn’t sure. From the way he held her, from the tentative way he kissed her on the doorstep tonight, she could tell that he wasn’t experienced with girls. Maybe Rachel was the first one he’d ever kissed. She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. The hard, cynical part of Rachel said he was too young for her, too naive. But her softer side said that he was real, and so obviously cared for her. She would see what happened. Sometimes you had to trust your feelings and go with them, wherever they led.