by Julie Cohen
She looked around for Avril’s mum, but as usual, she didn’t see her. Mrs Toller had only come to one or two parents’ evenings in their secondary-school career so far; in fact, that was one of the few times that Jo had actually met her. Often Avril helped Lydia babysit while Jo went to the school, but tonight she hadn’t turned up, and Lydia had snapped Jo’s head off when she’d commented on it. Jo had thought maybe that Avril was with her mum instead. It was an important parents’ evening, the last one before the girls started their GCSE exams.
But there was no sign of her.
Jo frowned. There was something wrong there. All the meals Avril had at their house; all the time she spent with them. Not that Jo minded, at all. She loved Avril; she was like another daughter – at times distinctly more pleasant to her than her own daughter was. But Jo worried about her. It was clear she wasn’t getting what she needed at home, if she spent so much time at their house. And yet she couldn’t broach the subject. Avril deflected it, and so did Lydia.
She resolved to try again, when she had the chance. She respected Avril’s boundaries, but Avril was still a child. She needed someone looking after her.
Geography was over by the serving hatches. The air smelled of cabbage and chip fat, the same smell Jo remembered from her own school dining hall. Teenagers these days seemed so complicated, so much more sophisticated than Jo had been, but some things, at least, never changed. Chips for school dinners.
The bell rang, and Jo made her way towards the back of the room, where a couple were just leaving a desk occupied by a man in a blue suit, with glasses and curly brown hair.
It was Marcus.
He hadn’t looked up yet. He was writing something down on one of the papers that littered his desk. He had a plastic cup of the same orange squash she’d just been drinking; his tie was loosened, and the glasses she’d never seen him wearing before were horn-rimmed, round. Sexy.
She couldn’t breathe.
The bell stopped ringing. Had it been going all this time? It echoed in her ears, and at that moment, Marcus looked up and saw her.
He had half a smile on his face, but it melted away. His eyes widened.
Around her, other parents were moving, going to desks, shaking hands, sitting down. Keeping their appointments, like she needed to keep hers. Feeling like a robot, she carried on forward.
It couldn’t be him. He might teach here – he’d never mentioned what job he did – but he couldn’t be Lydia’s teacher. Her tutor.
But the name label on his desk said MR GRAHAM – GEOGRAPHY.
He stood as she approached. The scrape of his chair on the wooden floor seemed very loud.
‘You’re …’ He cleared his throat and checked the list on his desk. ‘You’re Lydia’s mother?’
She nodded. He started to hold out his hand, but then he seemed to think better of it.
‘Why … don’t you sit down?’
There was a patch of pink on each of his cheeks. Jo took a seat, her limbs stiff, and he sat down across from her. They looked at each other.
Petals in his hair, and she’d reached across and kissed him. Yesterday.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said.
‘How—’ she began, and needed to swallow. ‘How is Lydia doing in Geography?’
‘She’s fine.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Lydia Levinson. Yes, she’s a very bright girl. Doing French A level early, top sets in everything. Obviously I … obviously I haven’t been teaching her for long. But she shows definite aptitude for the subject, and she’s doing well across the board. Wants to go to Cambridge, she says.’
‘Yes, like her father did.’
‘Jo, I didn’t know you were her mother.’
‘I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘Yes. Since … I started here at Christmas.’
The taste of his lips, damp with rain.
‘So … is there anything I can do to support Lydia at home?’ She had already asked the same question of the English and French teachers.
‘Well, with the exams coming up, obviously she needs to revise. And she … she could do with a bit more focus, especially lately.’
‘I’m not surprised, if Avril’s in the class with her. The two of them chat constantly. They’re best friends.’
‘That might be it. Yes, maybe. You … um, are you all right, Jo?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Because yesterday I didn’t mean …’ He glanced around the room, seemingly remembering their surroundings. ‘Ah. Would you like to see her mock results?’ He shuffled papers. She looked at the page he passed over to her, but couldn’t understand the figures on it.
‘She … what are you predicting for her in Geography?’
‘We’re hoping for an A-star, if she keeps her focus.’ He met her eyes again, and then looked back down at the paper. ‘Of course, that’s easier said than done.’
‘I understand.’ Where was the bell? Jo twisted her damp hands together.
‘Jo—’
The bell went. She stood. ‘Well, thank you. I’ll talk to Lydia about paying more attention in lessons.’
He scrambled to his feet as well. ‘Yes. Right, thank you. I’ll, um … see you.’
She nodded again and fled.
She was still a wreck when she got home. Oscar and Iris were watching Rastamouse in their pyjamas and Lydia and Honor were sitting on the sofa together, apparently looking at Christmas cards. Normally this bit of family harmony would please her, but she felt shaky inside and desperately humiliated, and wanted nothing more than a very large glass of wine.
Lydia jumped up as soon as Jo came in. ‘I’m going out,’ she said.
Honor stood and began to make her way back to her room, the cards under her arm.
The wine would have to wait. Jo sat on the carpet, pulled Iris onto her lap and watched Rastamouse with her and Oscar. The storyline about missing cheese did nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Nor did bedtime stories, or tucking in, or kisses. She did it all on autopilot. By the time she had come downstairs to the kitchen and poured a large glass of pinot grigio, she had resolved two things. No, three.
First, she would be friendly and breezy with Marcus. He was her neighbour, and Lydia’s teacher, so she couldn’t ignore him completely, but she would be distant. She would not linger in the garden or gaze out of her kitchen window or take him up on his offer of a cup of tea, if he were polite enough to make it again, which was unlikely to say the least.
Second, she would not refer to what had happened between them in the garden.
And third, she would never ever kiss another man ever again. Ever.
She gulped her wine to cement her decision and laid her forehead on the table.
She jumped when there was a knock at the back door. Lydia had returned already and forgotten her keys, she thought, but when she opened the door it was Marcus. He’d taken off his suit jacket and his tie, but he still had his glasses on. Her heart and stomach did a massive leap.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Can we talk?’
‘Come in.’ Resolution one out the window, then.
He hesitated. ‘Is Lydia here? Because …’
‘She went out.’
‘Right. OK.’ He stepped in and Jo shut the door after him. ‘It’s … you’ve got a nice house. I like how it’s open-plan.’
‘Thanks. Cup of tea?’
‘Please. I’ve been – it’s been a lot of talking. Parents’ evening, I mean.’
She put on the kettle and he stood in her kitchen. He was nervous. He kept rubbing his thumb against his index finger, as if he wanted to wear away the skin.
‘The kids?’ he said.
‘They’re in bed. And my mother-in-law is in her room, doing whatever she does in there.’
‘I’m sorry about earlier. I couldn’t … there were too many people. Jo, I honestly had no idea that you were the mother of one of my students. I didn’t even know you had any children other than Oscar and Iri
s.’
‘I didn’t know that you were a teacher.’
‘It’s my fault. I should have mentioned it. I suppose I just think that everyone can tell anyway, since that’s what I look like. Chalk on the fingers. Ink on the tie.’ He tried a self-deprecating smile, but it melted away as soon as he’d done it.
‘You don’t look like a teacher. You look like …’ Jo threw away resolution number two. ‘Well, you can probably tell from what I did in the garden yesterday, that I think you look good.’
He leaned back on the kitchen island, gripping the granite worktop in both of his hands. ‘Listen, I mucked that up yesterday. I’m sorry about that, too.’
‘No, I mucked it up. It was totally out of order.’
‘It wasn’t out of order. It was wonderful.’
She stared at him.
‘I was surprised, that was all. I didn’t expect it. I hadn’t thought you were interested. So I …’ He gestured, grimacing. ‘I’m not always the most articulate person. I mean sometimes I am, but other times, not. You can probably tell.’
‘You’re articulate enough.’ It was wonderful? ‘You didn’t think I was interested in you?’
‘Well, you know, you’re busy, you have a life. And you’re beautiful. And you’ve probably had your fair share of random blokes coming on to you, and the lecherous neighbour is such a cliché, so …’ He shrugged. ‘And then you kissed me out of the blue, and I was surprised, and I blew it. I’m sorry.’
She couldn’t quite process this. ‘You blew it? Wait, are you saying you’re attracted to me?’
‘Yeah. Of course I am. And also, I like you a lot.’
The kettle boiled. She ignored it. Marcus Graham, Geography teacher, adorable in glasses and a shirt that could do with an iron. Liked her.
Was standing in her kitchen, looking at her, liking her.
‘But you can’t,’ she said helplessly. ‘How old are you – twenty-five? You can’t have been teaching for very long.’
‘I’m twenty-nine, I’ve been teaching for seven years, this is my second school, I’m Head of Department. Does that even matter?’
‘I’m forty, Marcus. I have three children.’
‘So?’
‘So? It’s impossible. I could practically be your mother.’
‘No, believe me, you couldn’t.’
His smile this time was slightly crooked. Sexy.
She found it quite difficult to breathe.
‘But you’re my daughter’s teacher.’
Marcus took a deep breath. His hands tightened on the granite. ‘Yes. That’s a problem.’
‘I mean, could you get sacked for that?’
‘For fancying you rotten? I don’t think I can get in trouble for inappropriate thoughts about a student’s mother. Pending further legislation.’
‘No, I mean if we … did anything.’
Her heart was pounding like crazy. Basically she’d just confirmed to Marcus that she wanted to do something with him. She’d practically propositioned him, in theory at least. If he’d been in any doubt after she’d kissed him in the garden.
And he fancied her rotten.
‘I … don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s definitely not a good idea.’
‘I was wondering, do you know if Lydia’s planning on doing A level Geography?’
She blinked. ‘What? No, I don’t … I mean I don’t know, but it’s unlikely. She only took it to make up her subjects; she likes English and languages. No offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘Though you might change her mind.’ Yes, having an incredibly good-looking teacher might make Lydia reconsider her A level choices. It would have made Jo reconsider, at Lydia’s age.
No. She couldn’t think about her daughter having a crush on the same man that she did.
‘But if she doesn’t change her mind,’ said Marcus, ‘if she wants to continue on with languages, like you say – not that I would discourage her from doing a subject that she enjoyed, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Why were they talking about Lydia?
Because Lydia was pretty much the only thing that was keeping her from doing something insane, right now.
‘But if she doesn’t take A level Geography,’ continued Marcus, ‘I’ll only be her teacher for another few months. They change tutor groups for A level as well.’
‘So you mean – we could wait.’
‘We could wait and see.’
‘Until you’re not her teacher any more. And then, if we still feel the same way …’
‘We could spend some time together before that. As friends.’
‘That would probably be the best thing to do.’
‘We could get to know each other better.’
‘And definitely not do anything,’ Jo said. ‘Because it’s not a good idea.’
‘It’s not a good idea.’
‘So we’re agreed.’
‘Yes. Right.’
She’d leaned back against the worktop, too, across the kitchen from him. She held onto the counter in an echo of his posture.
She remembered the feeling of his face in her hands. The scent of him. He looked steadily across at her, his eyes blue and intent, a faint flush on his cheekbones. She couldn’t look away.
Definitely not breaking any more resolutions or promises tonight. Definitely.
They met each other halfway across the kitchen. His hands in her hair, hers on his face, their mouths pressing together. She’d been remembering his taste since yesterday but he tasted better, his mouth was hotter, and he held her to him and kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough. He felt so alive, his kisses full of a passion she barely remembered as being possible. His tongue touched hers and she moaned without meaning to.
She didn’t know they were walking backwards until she came up against the kitchen cabinets. He could get closer this way; her breasts pressed against his chest, and his groin fitted into her. Marcus took one hand out of her hair to unbutton the top of her blouse, still kissing. She felt him shaking.
She had no idea how this was happening; how they had crossed this barrier so quickly, from hesitant words to no words being needed. She pulled his shirt out of his trousers and put her hand on his back, stroked up his skin. He made a sound deep in his throat and dipped his head to her chest, kissed her bare skin on her collarbone. She tilted her head back. He licked her neck and she shivered.
‘It’s a bad idea,’ he whispered against her. She could feel her pulse on his lips.
Honor, in the next room. Oscar and Iris, asleep upstairs.
‘Not here,’ she said and he paused. Retreated half a step from her. They stared each other in the face. His eyes were wide, unfocused, glasses crooked, his mouth open, breath coming fast. He looked shaken, as if he had been given news of some calamity.
The front door opened.
‘Lydia,’ she whispered.
‘Shit.’ He released her and frantically began tucking in his shirt.
‘Out the back door.’ She pushed him. He went.
Jo straightened her skirt, buttoned her blouse, ran her fingers through her hair. Rubbed the back of her mouth with her hand. She felt his hands on her, his lips on her skin. She turned to the sink and washed her hands, listening.
Lydia’s footsteps went upstairs and faded to the top of the house.
Jo’s legs were trembling. She could taste Marcus on her tongue.
What had she done?
He was gone, now, and she could think. This was not the sort of thing she did. It wasn’t the sort of thing she ever had done. Kissing a stranger, with the children in the house, with her mother-in-law in the next room, with her daughter about to come in. Kissing her daughter’s teacher.
She was going insane.
And what would she say, how would she act when she saw him again? How did you act cool, adult, as if this sort of thing happened all the time? Grown up, and carel
ess, and worldly-wise?
She wasn’t worldly-wise. She’d been married twice and had three children and she had absolutely no idea.
Jo tiptoed to the back door and opened it. She wanted fresh air; she wanted to see the gap in the hedge, see the wall of his house, and think about what on earth she’d say when she saw him again by chance, tomorrow or the next day. Had they crossed some barrier now, or was that it? Had they kissed, and now it was finished?
It had to be finished.
Marcus was just outside the door, close enough so that she bumped into him. He steadied her.
‘Is it all right?’ he whispered.
‘She’s gone to her room,’ Jo said, and Marcus caught her eye, and they laughed. He fell against the wall, and she leaned on him, her head on his chest. He put his arm around her. His heart was beating hard.
‘That was amazing,’ he said.
‘It was …’ She breathed in his scent. Was this playing it cool? Was this finishing it? ‘I didn’t expect that.’
‘I didn’t either. And we agreed not to. But I’m glad we did.’ He tilted her head up and kissed her. Once, twice, a longer third time. He was saying goodbye. She knew he was saying goodbye, he had to be.
‘When can I see you again?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘I can’t tomorrow.’
‘Thursday?’
‘I don’t know. I need someone to look after the children.’
‘You don’t have my number.’
‘I can give you mine.’
‘I don’t have my phone; it’s in my jacket. Listen. I’ll leave my light on. If you can come, come. I’ll be in.’
‘Waiting?’
‘Marking.’ His mouth quirked up. ‘And waiting. Come and see me, Jo. If not Thursday, then the next day. And the next.’ He brushed her hair from her face. ‘For a cup of tea, at least.’
His kiss promised more than a cup of tea. And then he was gone, running across the garden, slipping through the hedge. Jo put her hand over her mouth, as if she could trap the memory.
