‘I just wanted to know,’ he says, staring me right in the eyes. ‘How do you get someone to have sex with you?’
They say that people see red when they are provoked into full-blown anger. I do not see red. I see a generation of kids with no respect or consideration for anyone but themselves. And I don’t know what Twinky would do if she had the misfortune of being faced with a class of insolent fifteen-year-olds but I know what Hannah Thompson is going to do.
She is going to give it them straight.
‘You want to know how to get someone to have sex with you?’ I ask, my voice sharp. A few kids laugh nervously but on the whole they keep quiet and I am glad to see that they have understood the gravitas of the situation. ‘Well, firstly we need to address the use of language in this question.’
I stride into the middle of the classroom and sweep my eyes around the room. ‘A person can get many things. For example, they can get a McDonalds if they feel in the mood for food. Or they can get pregnant or get chlamydia if they feel in the mood for unprotected sexual intercourse. The term get implies an acquisition of some sort. But it is very wrong and immoral to try to acquire a person for the sake of sexual activity. Do we all understand that?’
The room stays silent.
‘Do we all understand that you can’t just get someone to have sex with you?’ I bark.
‘Yes, Miss,’ they mutter in unison. I can tell by their slumped body language and lack of eye contact that they are not entirely in their comfort zones right now. And I’m about to push them a bit further because I am an educator and this is what we do. We create a safe environment where challenging discussions can be enjoyed without fear or humiliation.
Well, perhaps enjoyed is too strong a word.
‘So, moving onto the next issue with this question.’ I head across to the window and lean against the glass. ‘You are all still fifteen years old. It is, in fact, a legal offence for any of you to be involved in any sexual activity.’
This gets little reaction other than an unimpressed huffing noise so I move on.
‘It’s also important to consider the emotional and psychological impact of engaging in sex before you’re ready,’ I say. ‘You have your whole lives ahead of you and believe me when I tell you that you’re going to be grown-up for a very, very long time. There’s plenty of opportunity for you to explore the world of adulthood but your time as a child is limited.’
I gesture up at the clock on the wall. ‘Time is ticking, Year Ten, Class C. Make the most of being a kid while you can because before you know it, you’re going to worrying about money and relationships and your own kids and global warming and whether the best years of your life are behind you and that’s the time when you are free to engage in whatever consensual and legal sexual activity takes your fancy. And even then, you’re going to be beset with neurosis about how often you’re doing it and whether you’re doing it the way everyone else is doing it – it’s an endless battle against hormones and self-esteem and fatigue and body-confidence and don’t even get me started on what happens when you have a mid-life crisis. You guys are definitely best holding off for as long as you can.’
I pause to take a breath. ‘And I can’t pretend that I have all the answers. Of course I don’t. I’m a teacher, not the Internet.’ I wave my hand in the direction of The Box. ‘You can put whatever questions you like in there and the chances are that fifty different adults would answer them in fifty different ways. But what I do know is that when you’re ready and of legal age, then engaging in sexual activities with a consenting person who cares about both your physical and mental health can be both meaningful and enjoyable. And it doesn’t have to be about swinging from the chandeliers or setting the world on fire. It’s about more than that. It’s about knowing that you are safe and cared for and that you’re part of something with a person who likes you for exactly who you are.’
‘You’re really selling it, Miss,’ mutters Brody.
‘I did not know that a conversation about sex could be so boring,’ adds Vincent. ‘Like, no offence Miss, but that was seriously dull.’
Brandon Hopkins nods. ‘I wish I’d never asked now.’
I smile. I was right. All they needed was the honest truth. Something to cut through all the noise of being a teenager.
It’s at times like this that I really do feel like Teacher of the Year. I am at the top of my game. I can tame the wild beast. I know no fear.
Maybe I’m not as much of a phony as I thought I was?
Chapter Twenty-Five
It is T-minus two days until Sex Con and I am struggling to maintain my composure. A million potential disaster scenarios are whizzing around my head and I am finding it hard to channel my thinking. I don’t know what questions I’m going to be asked on the Real Sex Talk panel but I do know that I’ve done everything I possibly can to bring forth my inner Sex Goddess and I’m just going to have to cross my fingers and pray that some of my research has stuck. I still have the issue of what I’m going to wear but that’s a problem for my day off tomorrow. I’ve debated the pros and cons of the dominatrix jumpsuit but there’s no way that I’ll be able to relax in it and I think that the entire event is going to be challenging enough without me feeling like mutton dressed as lamb. I’ve got my silver hair and my new, sparkling attitude. That’s going to have to be enough.
We all gather in the kitchen at suppertime and I dish up lasagna (shop-bought, naturally). Nick opens a bottle of wine and the four us sit down at the table for a lovely, relaxing Thursday evening family catch up which is exactly what I need.
When will I ever learn?
‘So – how was your day?’ I ask Benji, passing him his plate. ‘Did anything interesting happen?’
Benji shakes his head. ‘Not really. Except the tooth fairy still hasn’t come which means that I’ll probably be owed a load of interest when it finally pays up.’
I gently blow on my lasagna to cool it down and look across at Benji. ‘I’m fairly sure that interest rates are at rock bottom right now. I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Now eat your supper.’
For a blissful moment the room is quiet. And then Scarlet decides that we’re obviously a bit too relaxed.
‘Can I go out on Saturday night?’ she asks. ‘With someone that I met at Petra’s party, before you ask.’
Oh, it was a party, was it? Only I distinctly seem to recall you referring to it as a casual get-together.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘As long as you tell me where you’re going and what time you’ll be home.’
‘I’m going to chill at their place for the day and I’ll make sure that I leave you the address and I promise that I’ll be home by ten o’clock.’
The speed of her answer makes me sit up straight and give her my full attention. This is not like Scarlet, not one bit – and I have a heightened awareness to any changes in my children’s behavior.
‘Is this a date?’ I ask, looking her in the eye. ‘Do I need to have more information about this someone?’
‘Hannah,’ says Nick. ‘Do we need to find out every single detail?’
I look at our daughter and see her fidgeting uneasily in her chair.
Yes. Yes, we absolutely need to find out every single detail.
‘How about I help you out?’ I say, reaching for the salad bowl. ‘I’ll ask you questions and you can answer them. How does that sound?’
‘Like a particularly torturous way to spend Thursday evening,’ mutters Scarlet.
‘I think it sounds great!’ says Benji, picking all the beef out of his lasagna like he’s excavating for treasure. ‘It’ll be like a real-life game of Guess Who! I’ll start – do they wear glasses?’
‘Somebody put me out of my misery,’ groans Scarlet.
Nick snorts. ‘Just answer her questions and then we can all get on with a nice evening,’ he advises her. ‘Hannah – you can ask her three things and that’s it, okay? We have to start respecting her need for privacy.’
‘That’
s fine with me,’ I tell him.
A person can discover most things if they ask the right three questions and I’m no rookie.
‘Question one: What are you going to do all day?’
This is a good starting point. It’s not too threatening and I can learn a lot by her answer.
Scarlet shrugs. ‘Dunno. Hang out. Play video games. Get some food. Stuff.’
Maybe not the rich source of information that I was hoping for but I still have two questions left.
‘How old are they?’ I look smugly at Scarlet. I’ve made the mistake before of assuming the gender of someone we’re discussing and it’ll only take one sniff of political incorrectness on my part for her to go off on a tirade about my lack of woke-ness. And then I’ll have lost my opportunity for parenting…and snooping.
She sighs loudly. ‘He is older than me.’
I narrow my eyes.
‘How much older?’ I snap.
‘A bit,’ she volleys back.
‘That’s your three questions done,’ Nick informs me.
‘You didn’t even ask any of the good ones,’ complains Benji. ‘Like does he have a beard or does he wear a hat?’
‘How much older? More than one year?’ I ignore them both.
‘Why does it matter?’ she asks, wrinkling her nose. ‘Age is just a concept created by humans.’
I bloody hate it when she quotes me back at myself. Especially when the words sound so ridiculous.
Scarlet picks up her fork and puts some lasagna in her mouth.
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of all this,’ she mumbles around her food. ‘Granny was totally chilled about it when she met him.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Granny knows that you’re hanging around with an older boy and she’s okay with it?’
Granny knows that you’re hanging around with an older boy and she DIDN’T TELL ME? What the actual fuck? She’s gone too far this time. My mother and I are going to be having a challenging conversation in the very near future. Challenging for her, anyway.
‘What does he do for money?’ asks Nick, bringing me back to the moment. I’m impressed a) that he’s finally caught up with the gravitas of the situation, and b) with his line of questioning. It’s an important detail. And maybe a change of tack will trick her into sharing some information.
Scarlet stops scowling and grins. ‘A bit of this, a bit of that.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ I snap. ‘Stop being difficult.’
She looks at me and shrugs. ‘I’m not being difficult. That’s what he told me. If I knew any more then I’d tell you.’
I seriously doubt that.
‘What’s his name?’ I ask. I can’t lie – I am not hopeful that the answer will bring me any relief.
She pauses, making sure that she has our full attention. ‘It’s Skinz. With a z.’
Of course it is.
She’s on a roll now. ‘And you were right, Benji. He has got a beard.’
Fuck. My. Life.
‘We need to meet him before you can go over to his house,’ I tell her.
‘Absolutely,’ agrees Nick, who seems to have gone rather pale. ‘Why don’t you invite him over here tomorrow evening instead?’
‘I’d rather have a date in hell,’ snarls our darling child, her smile dropping from her face.
‘Park your attitude!’ I bark back. ‘We are trying to be accommodating here but we can always just say no to you seeing him altogether.’
I’m lying. My parenting credentials might not be exactly stellar but even I know that banning her from hanging out with him is both pointless and dangerous. I know my daughter and it’ll take only the slightest provocation to drive her underground. I might not like this latest turn of events but now, more than ever, Nick and I have to behave rationally.
‘Fine.’ Scarlet loads up her fork with more lasagna. ‘Whatever. I’ll just see Petra tomorrow then.’ She puts the food in her mouth and chews slowly while switching her gaze between the two of us. ‘Assuming you’ve not suddenly decided that I’m not allowed to hang out with my friends, now?’
‘Of course not,’ Nick assures her. ‘And I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement about this, this – boy.’
She smiles at him and the atmosphere in the room starts to thaw.
But that doesn’t stop my stomach swirling and my head fizzing with unanswered questions, most of which start with ‘what the hell’ and end with ‘why yes, I’d love more wine…’
We finish the rest of the meal in peace and I start to think that the evening can be saved. But our oldest child leaving home has clearly done nothing to diminish his ability to tag-team with his siblings in order to cause us maximum stress and the phone rings just as I’m getting into bed.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, leaning back against the pillows. ‘Why are you calling me so late?’
‘Hi to you too, Mum!’ He sounds exuberant and I can hear other voices in the background. ‘I’m doing great! And what are you on about? It’s not late. We haven’t even started the evening yet.’
I glance at the clock and wince. It is late. If I don’t go to bed now then I’m never going to get my eight hours’ sleep.
‘I’m just about to head out with the rest of the flat but I thought I’d give you a quick ring first to tell you my news.’ Dylan’s voice is trembling with excitement and I sit up straight and swing my legs off the bed, readying myself for action. I have no idea what he’s about to say and that bothers me. It bothers me a lot. It’s one of the strangest parts of your child leaving home – you go from being absolutely involved in every aspect of their daily life to not knowing what they’re doing or thinking or feeling apart from the things that they choose to share with you.
It makes me feel constantly on the back foot and I do not like it.
‘Is everything alright?’ I enquire, as casually as I am able.
He laughs again. ‘Mum. I told you that I’m doing great. Do you think I’d say that if I was ringing to tell you that there was some kind of disaster?’
I shrug. ‘You might. If you were trying to soften the blow and let me hear traumatic news in a gentle way.’
‘Well…’ He pauses and I hear him take a deep breath. ‘I’ve been really giving this some thought and I know that it might freak you out a bit but I promise that I’m not doing it on a whim and I think it’s going to be something that changes me for the better.’
This situation just got a whole lot buggering worse. Images explode into my head, one after the other like fireworks being detonated by a toddler.
He’s asked Harley the pole dancer to marry him.
He’s got someone pregnant.
He’s dropping out of university to become a monk.
‘Spit it out,’ I rasp into my mobile. ‘What is it?’
‘Drum roll, please,’ he demands and I resist the strong urge to scream at him. ‘I’ve signed up for a charity trek. I’m going to Everest, Mum – isn’t that amazing!’
‘Amazing,’ I whisper, my voice weak as I flop back onto the pillows. ‘Utterly amazing.’
‘Don’t start stressing out,’ he tells me. ‘It’s all super-organised and everything.’
‘Totally not stressing out,’ I assure him. Nick comes in with two cups of tea and offers one to me.
‘Get rid of the tea and put some wine in there,’ I hiss, covering my phone with one hand and waving him away. I’m doing him a kindness – far better that he hears this revelatory news with something alcoholic in his bloodstream.
‘So, just to clarify,’ I say, once Nick has left the room. ‘Are we talking about Everest as in Everest, Everest? As in Mount Everest?’
‘Yes, Mum!’ Dylan sounds more excited than I’ve ever heard him. ‘Everest as in Nepal. We fly out to Kathmandu and then we fly from to Lukla. You should Google it – apparently it’s the world’s most dangerous airport and you only get one shot at landing and takeoff because the airstrip is right on the edge of the mo
untain and if the pilot gets it wrong then it’s Hasta La Vista, baby.’
‘Lovely,’ I say, ignoring his terrible Schwarzenegger impression and willing Nick to hurry up with the wine. ‘I will most definitely look it up online.’
And then I will no doubt be haunted by whatever horror stories the Internet has to offer me from now until your safe return.
‘So you’re okay with it, then?’ he asks and it’s only now that I can hear the nerves in his voice.
No. I am one hundred percent not okay with this. Not even a tiny bit. He is my first-born child and I am barely coping with him being a few hours away. The idea of him being in a different county is hard enough, never mind a different continent. I am his mother and it is my job to keep him safe. I could tell him that I hate the idea and I don’t want him to do it and the chances are that he’ll listen to me. He’s always been good like that.
‘It sounds like an incredible opportunity,’ I tell him, reaching out and accepting the glass of wine that Nick is now proffering towards me, a questioning look on his face. ‘Good for you, Dylan. Now you’d better tell your dad all about it.’
I hand my phone to Nick and take a big gulp of wine. I could have stopped him but I didn’t. Just because I could doesn’t mean that I should. And it’s not just his physical safety that matters, I know that. This is the very first big decision that he’s made for himself, all on his own.
It isn’t about me. All Nick and I can do is stand back and watch and pray that we’ve given him the wits to survive when we aren’t there to catch him.
Nick ends the call and turns to face me. We say nothing for a moment, just stare at each other while everything that Dylan has said wraps itself around us and pulls us closer together.
‘Well done,’ he says after a while, raising his glass towards me. ‘I heard what you said to him and I know it wasn’t easy. But you did the right thing, Hannah.’
‘I’m glad you took him out on all those climbing trips when he was younger,’ I say, clinking my glass against his. ‘At least he’ll have a vague idea about what to expect.’
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 27
