by David Belbin
“I... I...”
“I advise Mr Steadman not to say anything,” Sarah told them.
They all waited a few moments to see if he spoke anyway. Mike stared at the carpet, trying to take in what he’d heard. Rachel was having his baby. It changed everything. He had to see her.
“In that case,” Mrs Perry said, “I have to tell you, Mr Steadman, that I am formally suspending you from all your duties at this school until such a time as the truth of these allegations is settled. I suggest that you seek immediate legal advice.”
Sarah stood up to go, gently lifting Mike by the arm. But the Area Education Officer had something to add. “I should warn you,” he said, “that if it transpires that intercourse did take place at a time when the girl in question was under age, the school will be bound to inform the police.”
“Anything else?” Sarah said.
All three of them shook their heads, like hanging judges pronouncing sentence.
Sarah didn’t speak until she and Mike were out of the building.
“I’ll get one of the Union full-timers to call you tonight,” she said.
“I’m ... I ...”
“Don’t tell me anything,” Sarah said. “I don’t want to hear about it. Get your story sorted out. I’ll give you one piece of free advice.”
“What?”
“You’d better make sure Rachel says that nothing happened until she was sixteen. Because if you were having sex with her when she was under age, the police might not bother prosecuting you, but the Department of Education will do something worse. They’ll put you on list 99 - the list of banned teachers. If that happens, you’ll never work in an educational establishment again.”
Mike got into his car and watched Sarah walk away. The June sun was shining, mocking his misery. Mike waited until Sarah was out of sight before allowing his head to slump against the steering wheel. Why hadn’t Rachel called him? Why had she told her mother that she was pregnant, but not him? It could only mean that she had already made a decision, one that he wasn’t part of.
Nothing was any good. Mike felt numb, annihilated. He couldn’t even cry.
“If I were you ...” Becky said.
“But you’re not me,” Rachel told her. “You and Gary really want children. I don’t know if I do. Certainly not for years. And I don’t want to bring a child up on my own, like Mum had to.”
“What does Mr Steadman want?”
“I don’t know what Mike wants. I don’t even know if I want him any more, never mind his baby …”
The telephone rang.
“Can you answer it?” Rachel said to Becky.
Becky did as she was asked. Rachel put her head in her hands, remembering all the bad things she’d said about girls at school who’d had abortions. A minute later, Becky came back upstairs.
“It’s him: Mr Steadman. He sounds pretty cut up.”
“Tell him I can’t speak to him now. Tell him not to call me.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Rachel didn’t have to think about it. “I’m sure.”
As Becky left the room, Rachel felt a familiar ache. She had made a decision and her body had begun to relax. Why couldn’t this have happened yesterday?
“He asked me to get you to call him,” Becky told Rachel. “In fact, he begged. He said he’d been suspended from school. He wanted to know if you were definitely pregnant.” Rachel nodded. She wasn’t really listening.
“So, are you ready to go the clinic?” Becky asked.
“I don’t think I need to,” Rachel told her. “I think I need to go to the bathroom. My period’s started.”
When Rachel came back, she and Becky hugged. Rachel was relieved, but she didn’t feel like celebrating.
“What are you going to do?” Becky asked.
Rachel felt tired, and defeated. She’d thought that she was carrying part of Mike inside her and had decided not to let it go on. She hadn’t taken his feelings into account, because she wasn’t sure how much she trusted him. Now she was bleeding, but everything had changed. She couldn’t turn back the clock twenty-four hours. Mike was finished at Stonywood. Was he finished with her, too?
“What are you going to do?” Becky repeated.
Rachel answered with a grim smile. “I wish I knew.”
Eight
“I’m not pregnant,” Rachel told Mum the minute she came in from work. “My period came.”
“I’m so relieved!” Mum hugged her. “I couldn’t bear the thought that you might fall into the same trap as I did. Have you spoken to him? Pippa Newman rang me at work. She told me …”
“I know,” Rachel said. “Mike rang up.”
Mum looked concerned again.
“I didn’t talk to him,” Rachel said. “But I will. Later. When I’m ready.”
She didn’t tell Mum that she’d decided to finish with him because she hadn’t made any final decision. What if Mike succeeded in making her change her mind?
Over dinner, the expected interrogation began.
“How old were you when you first slept with him?” Mum asked.
“Why, does it matter?”
“It matters a great deal,” Mum said. “If you were under age, the police will be informed. I doubt very much that he’d ever be able to teach again.”
“Would you like that?” Rachel asked.
Was Mum really so bitter?
“Yes. I would. I don’t think that he should be able to get into a position where he can get up to the same tricks. Do you?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Rachel said.
“How do you mean?”
“It wasn’t like he set out to seduce me,” Rachel explained. “If anything, it was the other way round. I wanted him. I made the moves. He’d never have done anything if I hadn’t encouraged him to.”
“Why should that make a difference?” Mum argued. “He’s still a teacher. He’s there in place of a parent. Adolescent girls aren’t always responsible for their own actions, but he ought to be.”
“Oh, come on,” Rachel said. “Things like this have always happened and always will. It’s nature.”
Mum shook her head, then said, wearily, “You sound like your father.”
“Why?” Rachel said. “Did he have an affair with one of his teachers?”
“No,” Mum told her, in a sad voice. “His students.”
“What?”
At first, Rachel thought Mum was joking.
“How do you think he met Clarissa?” Mum asked, patiently.
“Why haven’t you told me this before?” Rachel wanted to know.
Mum’s voice tried to contain its anger. “Because it’s humiliating for a twenty-six-year-old woman to lose her husband to a nineteen-year-old girl.”
Rachel ignored this jibe. “I thought that he met Clarissa after he split up with you?”
“He did. This was a different one. I doubt that she was the first, either. And Clarissa certainly wasn’t the last.”
“She was one of his students?”
Mum nodded. “He couldn’t keep his hands off them, Rachel. Some men are like that. Do you know how many lives he’s messed up? Do you understand why I’m so angry about you and this, this Mike Steadman?”
“Yes.”
They were silent for a long time. Rachel was shocked. She should have known about her father, she realized. It had been staring her in the face all along. But he was her father and she wouldn’t allow herself to think that way about him. She couldn’t imagine a girl in her teens wanting to, wanting to ... It disgusted her.
But Mike wasn’t like that. Mike and her were real. Once. Part of her still wanted to be with him, this minute, to hold him, to tell him that everything would still be all right. Rachel made a decision.
“I had no idea about Dad,” she said. “But you’re wrong about me being under age. Mike and I waited until after the Oasis concert, until the day of my sixteenth birthday. He didn’t break the law.”
Mum gave Rachel a l
ong, hard look. She couldn’t tell if her daughter was lying or not. But she could tell that she wouldn’t change her mind.
“Then he’s more devious than I thought,” Mum said, finally.
“He’s not devious at all,” Rachel said. “We were in love.”
“Love,” Mum said. “I thought I loved your father once. I haven’t used that word to another man since. You have to be careful when you say love’. It’s such a powerful word, and it’s used in so many lies ...”
This was the time, Rachel saw, for her to hug her mother, to tell her that she loved her. But there was something else she had to do first.
“I need to go for a walk,” she told Mum, “think about a few things.”
“I understand,” Mum said. “It must have been a shock about your father. I’m sorry I told you that way.”
“It’s all right,” Rachel told her. “I had to find out sometime.”
It was a balmy late afternoon. Children were playing in the streets. As Rachel walked to the phone box, she thought about Phoebe and Rowan. She thought about the life that might have been inside her. Then she thought about what she would say to Mike. He needed to know that she wasn’t pregnant and that she’d said she hadn’t slept with him until her birthday. He was off the hook. Then he needed to know that she didn’t want to see him any more.
Was it really what she wanted? She’d told Becky that Mike didn’t love her enough. Was that true? Rachel didn’t know. Anyway, things had changed. Rachel and Mike no longer needed to keep their relationship secret. They could see each other as much as they liked. They were both free adults.
Suppose, though, that it was always the secrecy which made Mike so exciting? Somehow, hearing about her father made Rachel see things in a different light. What was once special now seemed sordid. Perhaps one day she’d be able to look back at her first love with affection. Perhaps. But not now. Lifting up the phone, preparing the words she’d use to finish with him, Rachel felt no guilt. Mike was a teacher. He knew what he was getting into. He ought to have been more responsible. He ought to have known better.
For the last time, she dialled his number.
Epilogue
The college was so desperate for staff that they didn’t question Mike’s minimal reference from Stonywood. In the end, because he’d done nothing illegal, the school hadn’t sacked him. They had, however, failed to renew his contract, which was only to be expected. As he’d said at his interview here: “I couldn’t expect to stay on, with people being made redundant. And, anyway, I wanted more experience. I have a strong urge to teach sixth form.”
The hours were worse than at Stonywood, the staff more disillusioned. The pay was lousy, too. You didn’t even get a lunch hour. But at least Mike had a job, unlike Phil. Mike enjoyed teaching too much to give it up.
Mike had excellent qualifications. He would worm his way into favour here, getting a good reference for when he was ready to go. He enjoyed teaching A-level, too. The kids weren’t as bright as he’d hoped, but there were no discipline problems. You had more freedom than you got in an eleven-to-sixteen school. And, if it didn’t work out, he could always register for a PhD. Mike was not yet twenty-four years old. He could still be a university lecturer by the time he was thirty.
A shy seventeen-year-old was nervously reading out a presentation about Shakespeare’s portrayal of Cleopatra. These days, Mike got the kids to do a lot of what should have been his work. He was always looking for ways to save time on preparation and marking. He’d tell them to mark each other’s essays if he thought he could get away with it.
As the boy talked awkwardly about the Queen of the Nile’s sexuality, Mike found himself thinking about Rachel. What was she doing now? He hadn’t seen her since the last exam, hadn’t spoken to her since she’d phoned to finish with him. He didn’t even know her results.
“Is Anthony the love of Cleopatra’s life?” the boy asked. “Or a politically convenient pawn for her to manipulate? Shakespeare clearly comes down on the side of ...”
Mike still missed Rachel. When she finished with him, he’d been too depressed to do much about it. He’d drafted a hundred letters, but never posted one. What was the point? On the phone, she’d told him that he didn’t love her enough - she’d realized that when he agreed to stay at Stonywood. He’d started to explain that her being pregnant changed everything, that he’d give up teaching, marry her, whatever ... but she’d interrupted, telling him that she wasn’t pregnant, only late. Then she told him that she’d lied about when they first slept together.
Mike had begun to thank her. He’d told her how much he loved her, but it came out wrong. Mike could hear the sound of his own voice. He sounded like a worm, pathetically grateful after being let off the hook. He’d stopped speaking.
“I’ll never forget you,” Rachel whispered, then hung up the phone.
Was Rachel the love of Mike’s life, he wondered? He no longer even knew if he believed in love. It was a complicated thing, he’d decided, to do with self-interest, and seeing yourself reflected back through a flattering mirror. He’d had his heart broken three times now and had learnt a lesson or two about love. Best not to take it too seriously, but enjoy it where you could.
Mike let his eyes rove around the small classroom. There were twenty-three students, far too many for any worthwhile discussion. However, this was the only education on offer, and they were lapping it up. Mike’s gaze settled on an intense but really rather attractive girl who was sitting near the front.
“Thank you, Peter. Has anyone got anything to add to Peter’s comments? No? All right, then. Peter, leave that with me. Justine, I’d like you to do the next presentation, please. If you wouldn’t mind staying behind for a minute, we can discuss what’s required. Now, I think we’ll break early...”
There were so many students that it was hard for Mike to remember their names. Some, however, stood out. When they were alone, Justine brushed the hair back from her face and gave Mike a winning smile. Mike sat in the chair next to hers.
“Did you follow all my comments on your essay?” he asked, in a warm voice.
“Yes, sir. I was very ... flattered.”
Mike put on his easiest manner. “It was a very good first essay, Justine. And, please, don’t call me ‘sir’. You’re not in school now. Call me Mike.”
“OK,” she said, softly. “Mike.”
“Now, about this presentation.”
Mike pulled out a copy of the book and, in order to look at it, Justine moved closer to him. Her shoulder pressed against his arm. Mike let it rest there.
“I’m a bit nervous,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “It’s not for two days. You can go away and think about it. Then, tomorrow, if you’d like some help, come and see me at the end of the day.”
“I’ll do that,” Justine told him.
“Good.”
As Mike put the book away, Justine saw the Elastica tape sticking out of his bag. He’d brought it in to lend to another student.
“Do you like them?” Justine asked.
“A lot.”
“Me as well.”
“You’ve got good taste, Justine.”
As the teenage girl left the room, she risked a small, shy glance backwards and was pleased to see Mike still watching. He and Justine exchanged a meaningful smile. Whistling a cheerful tune, Mike strolled down the corridor to his next class. This might be a lousy job, he figured, but it had its compensations.
Rachel’s dad’s new home was a flat in Carrington. It was part of a huge old house which had once been very grand. But that was back in the days when they had carriages, and horses. Today the traffic going by on the main road made loud, constant noise. It was nothing like the leafy, silent street where Dad used to live.
Rachel hadn’t seen her father for weeks and was very nervous. There’d been a couple of phone calls, including one on the day of the GCSE results. Rachel only got pass grades in three subjects: English lang
uage, art, and history, which meant that no college would take her to do A-levels. She would have to spend this year retaking the exams she’d failed. In the time left over, Rachel was doing a drama foundation course.
The university hadn’t started back yet. Dad should be in. He’d finally let Rachel have his address, but hadn’t invited her round. Rachel could see why. The building was shabby. The wood in the window frames was rotten. The place made Stonywood look like The Park by comparison. When she rang the doorbell, Rachel couldn’t hear it sound. Nothing here looked like it worked. Then a young woman opened the door and Rachel thought she must have pressed the wrong button.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m looking for Eric Webster.”
The young woman gave Rachel a suspicious look. She had unwashed blonde hair which was covered by a headscarf. She was also very thin, and her face bore traces of acne.
“I’m his daughter,” Rachel added.
“You’d better come in then.”
As she opened the door fully, Rachel saw that the girl wasn’t that much older than herself. She also saw that she was pregnant. It didn’t surprise her.
Dad was in a tiny kitchen, reading the paper. The place was a mess. Paper plates and old milk bottles were balanced on a rusting microwave.
“Rachel!” he said, standing up. “I never ...”
Rachel went over and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
She gave him the new leather wallet she’d selected in Jessops.
“Thanks. But don’t tell Fiona how old I am. You’ve met Fiona?” The girl smiled shyly at Rachel, then went and stood by her forty-year-old lover. Looking at them, Rachel thought about something Clarissa had told her, a few days before.
“He’s a philanderer, but at least he’s an honest one. He gets a girl pregnant, he marries her. There were girls before me, and there were girls after, though I tried not to know. But this new one, he slipped up. So he did what he thought was the right thing.”
Rachel remembered the look on Clarissa’s face during what she said next. It had been frightening.
"You know what I’d call the right thing? I’d rip the bitch’s eyes out!”
