The Pupil

by Dawn Goodwin

  ‘What does the doctor say?’ Why hadn’t she told me that in person yesterday? I don’t know why I was surprised though. But then, had I actually asked her?

  ‘He says they will have to do a replacement, but I can’t, not living on my own. Who would take care of Bert?’

  I felt the guilt nibbling away at me. ‘I could come back home for a bit, look after you?’

  ‘So that’s what this is all about.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Have you and Paul had a falling out? I knew it was only a matter of time. But you rushed into marrying him and I told you not to.’

  I didn’t trust myself to respond. I remember the argument well. I had phoned her to say that Paul had proposed six months after we met and I was going to marry him. She had told me I was being impetuous and that it wouldn’t last. I had stupidly told Paul about the argument as I had been devastated by her reaction and he had held it against her ever since. I swiped at the tears still tracking down my cheeks, but now of sadness rather than joy. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror above my dressing table. I looked stooped, withered, as though someone had punched me in the gut. She had that effect on me.

  ‘No, I was actually phoning to say that someone has offered to represent me as an agent for my book. They think I could be commercially successful with it.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She paused. ‘You won’t make much money out of that though. Good job you’ve got Paul to pay the bills.’

  I exhaled slowly. ‘I might, depending on the deal I sign. But that’s not why I’m doing it.’

  ‘All right for some. So when do I get to read it then? You know I’ll tell you if it’s rubbish. That’s what mothers are for.’

  Her words ricocheted off the coat of armour I had been wearing all these years, but this time I was left with a tremendous fatigue that quickly mutated into a deep-seated fury rippling through me.

  ‘You know what? All these years of pushing me, telling me who I should be, what I should do, what I should say, and I don’t remember you ever telling me you’re proud of me. It’s almost like you hope I’ll fail. A mother should be proud of her daughter just for who she is. But not you. The idea of me being successful threatens the hell out of you, doesn’t it? You’ve been setting me up to fail from the start. Why? To make yourself feel better about the mess you made of your own life? Is there comfort in knowing that I might make the same mistakes that you did when you invested all of your time in some loser who left you with nothing? That you didn’t have the balls to get back up, dust yourself off and make something of yourself? All those things you’ve badgered me about endlessly – do as I say, not as I do, right?’ My words were firing at her like buckshot. ‘I really hope I’m doing a better job as a mother than you did. I want my children to know that I’m proud of them, no matter what they do, and I will love them regardless, even if they end up penniless and on their own. And I want them to be proud of me too.’

  I gritted my teeth to stop myself from saying anything else, my fist clenched tightly around the telephone.

  There was silence on the other end of the line and, in that moment, I could hear my relationship with her rupturing once and for all. All of the scalding fury evaporated as suddenly as it had boiled over, leaving me battered and ashamed.

  ‘Goodbye, Katherine, and good luck with it all,’ my mother’s rigid voice said then.

  ‘Mam, I—’

  The line cut out and I was left staring at my formless reflection in the mirror once again. I looked down at my fist holding the handset and screamed in frustration as I threw it as far across the room as I could. It hit the wall above the mirror, chipping the plaster before landing on the carpet like an accusation. I flung myself down onto the mattress and sobbed into the cushions, feeling like a lonely, lost teenager.

  *

  20 April 1997

  Lisa thinks I should move to London when I finish my exams in a few months. She says that’s where I need to be to get a good job – in the heart of the city, trying to get a job in a literary agency or publishing house, maybe an apprenticeship. She says I won’t have anything to write about if I stay here and certainly won’t get anywhere near a career in publishing. She has a point, but Mam would never let me go. She’s too unstable. Up one minute; down the next.

  Why can’t I have a normal family like Lisa? A mam who gets up every day, cooks meals, looks after me instead of it being the other way around. A dad who actually knows his daughter exists.

  You would think I’d do anything to get away from here, but I’m not sure I do want to leave. Darren is here for a start and this place is all I know. And I can’t leave Mam on her own.

  My Saturday job at the leisure centre isn’t a huge earner, but I have a little bit saved up. Nowhere near enough to move away though. Besides, I don’t think I’ll do very well in my exams as it is, apart from English, so I might have to accept that the leisure centre is my only career choice. Bloody sad. But if I did carry on working there, I could write in my spare time and still stay close to Mam and Darren. That would work, right?

  19

  The next two days were a haze. I went through the motions of cooking, cleaning, dog walks with Bo and a run with Helen, but I felt fizzy, knowing I had a secret but not wanting to confess it to anyone else until a contract was signed. The news had buoyed me and for the first time in ages, I almost encouraged whoever was watching me to come forward, make themselves known, because I felt invincible and ready to shut that part of my life down for good. Perhaps it stemmed from finally having had the courage to tell my mother what I really felt, however regrettable that conversation had been. I hadn’t called her back yet because it still felt too raw, like a scab I had scratched that hadn’t stopped bleeding, but I knew I would make amends at some point.

  On Friday I dressed carefully for the evening ahead. Making too much effort would make Paul suspicious of where I was going. On a whim I’d fabricated that I was just handing back the laptop and staying for a drink as a farewell, possibly with some of the other students from the course. All these little white lies. Harmless.

  Paul had been as protective as he always was, offering to escort me all the way into London. ‘You know how you get in busy places. At that time of night, the underground will be packed. I could meet you on my way home from work and take you there?’

  ‘No, thanks Paul, that would mean I would have to arrange a sitter for the kids and it’s not worth it. I can handle it. I did it every day on the course.’

  ‘Yes, but that wasn’t at rush hour. I don’t want you to have a panic attack because of the crowds – or end up getting pushed onto a train that takes you in the wrong direction. You know how you can be,’ he repeated. He was angling for caring, but his tone when he spoke to me lately sounded patronising to my ears.

  If he only knew what I had managed to achieve all on my own, he’d be astonished. Beyond pissed that I’d lied, though. And I did survive without him once, all those years ago, let’s not forget. He really did believe me to be a flake, but up until now I hadn’t given him any reason to think otherwise. Maybe it was time to correct that situation with some plain talking here too.

  ‘Paul, I will be fine and I want to do this on my own. I think it’s time I start doing things alone. Otherwise, what kind of example am I setting for Lily and Jack? That their mum doesn’t have the confidence to go further than the local school? That I am a victim of my anxieties? I want them to see me as a strong, independent fighter.’

  ‘But you’re not, are you? Much as you tell yourself that, it won’t happen overnight.’

  ‘I can work on it – this is the first step and I feel stronger than I have in a long time.’

  ‘Fine, but when you have your panic attack, call me.’ And with that, he pushed away from the table and closed himself in his study.

  So here I was, surveying my image in the floor-length mirror: black cigarette trousers; simple black turtleneck and hair loose around my shoulders. I would we
ar my Converses from the house but would change into some heeled ankle boots when I got off the tube. That would do just fine.

  I was nervous, but not paralysed by fear as I’d been before. I grabbed a large shoulder bag and dropped my boots in it, along with the laptop, then headed downstairs.

  Jack and Lily were in the lounge playing Connect 4 while Paul was now at the kitchen table eating the dinner I had prepared for him and reading a golf magazine.

  ‘I’m about to head off,’ I said with a cheery smile.

  He looked up. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this? I can always arrange for a courier to take the laptop back? There’s no shame in admitting you can’t cope. You know that.’

  ‘I’m fine now and I will be fine later. And I can cope. Don’t wait up. I suspect we will have a few drinks while we all catch up again.’

  ‘I’ll call you later and make sure you’re okay.’

  I smiled thinly. ‘Okay. Have a nice evening.’ I walked around the table and gave him a brief kiss on his cheek. Then I went into the lounge and gave Jack and Lily a kiss and cuddle before warning them to go to bed nicely for Dad.

  ‘Ah, Mum, he always makes us go to bed really early when you’re not here,’ Jack moaned.

  ‘And you’ll do as you’re told. Please.’

  I gave them each another squeeze and headed out.

  As soon as I closed the door behind me, I felt like I could breathe again, as though I was being released from prison.

  I caught the train to Waterloo and sat transfixed as the train rattled through south-west London. Good manners dictated that I buy a bottle of wine in M&S before I headed down the long escalator into the cavernous underground.

  The tube was indeed packed, but instead of feeling intimidated and out of my depth, I enjoyed the buzz around me as different personalities interacted, then went their separate ways.

  The sun was still up but weak when I got to Mayfair and I felt the nerves kick up a gear then. What if Viola had changed her mind? Or Sam? Well, then I would hand back the laptop and move on, no harm done.

  I had to admit, I was equally nervous about seeing Sam again after having had no contact for a while now.

  I took a deep breath and rang the bell. It buzzed and I pushed against the door, emerging into the cool, hushed entrance hall with its now familiar scent of cedarwood and undertones of vanilla, elaborate floral arrangement – this time regal and upright calla lilies – and neatly stacked envelopes waiting for their recipients to claim them.

  I’d missed coming here. Maybe I’d be spending even more time here in the future, the thought leaving a buzz in its wake.

  I’d almost forgotten about changing my shoes. I slipped off my Converses and zipped myself into my boots, then started up the stairs to the top.

  I was about to knock when the door was flung open by Sam.

  ‘Katherine! So lovely to see you. It feels like ages.’ He pulled me into a hug and I could feel myself grinning. It was so good to see him.

  ‘Sam, how’ve you been?’

  ‘Really good, thanks.’ I leaned away and looked at him closely. He didn’t look it. He had a greyness to his skin and his hair was unkempt. There were broken capillaries standing out on his nose and his eyes were reddened. There was also the sour tang of alcohol about him, like he was wearing it as cologne. But he was still dressed impeccably in relaxed chinos and a white shirt, even if his eyes had an artificial shine to them.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ He shuffled me past him and closed the door. ‘I believe champagne may be in order?’

  ‘Don’t pressure her, Sam. Let her get her coat off at least,’ Viola said from down the hallway.

  I pulled the cold bottle of Chablis from my bag. ‘Viola, lovely to see you again. This is for you.’

  She accepted it, studied it and said, ‘Ooh, lovely. I’ll open it straight away, shall I?’ One thing Paul had taught me was how to identify a good but reasonably priced bottle of wine.

  ‘Let me take your coat,’ Sam said over my shoulder. I handed it to him and followed Viola into the lounge. The sun had set, but there was still a burnt orange glow reflecting off the glass and steel of the city beyond the lounge windows.

  ‘Actually, what about a lovely gin and tonic first? It’s a beautiful evening after all,’ Viola said.

  I didn’t normally drink spirits, but the chill breeze flowing through the open French doors out onto the small balcony made the suggestion perfectly fitting. ‘Sure, that would be lovely,’ I replied.

  I put my bag down on the couch and wandered over to the balcony doors.

  ‘I can’t get over how breathtaking London can be at this time of the evening. It’s so vibrant and energised.’ I could hear the city sounds amplified in the air.

  Sam came to stand next to me. ‘I know – one of the reasons I love this place.’

  ‘And one of the reasons I do not,’ Viola added as she came over with the drinks. ‘Always noisy. It’s never perfectly still here like it is in the country. I like quiet.’

  I took the frosted glass from Viola. ‘Thanks. I think I’m with Sam. I love noise and bustle – it reminds me that I’m alive sometimes. Part of it is probably because of growing up in the north. There was always noise when I was little. People in and out of the house, kids playing in the street, men arguing after throwing-out time at the pub. When my dad left, our house lost its energy and with it, all the life and noise. I’ve missed that ever since.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned your dad before,’ Sam said.

  I sipped on the gin, not sure why I had brought it up in the first place. My emotions were running away with me. ‘He left when I was a teenager, apparently running off with his secretary and creating a new family for himself somewhere else. He hasn’t been a part of my life for a very long time.’

  ‘That’s sad. To miss out on watching your child grow up by choice when others would kill to have more time with theirs,’ Viola said, staring across the skyline, her expression blank. Then with a smile, she said, ‘But you have two lovely children in Jack and Lily. Your house must be full of noise and life all the time.’

  I smiled back and sipped on the bittersweet gin. ‘I’d like it to be, but my husband, Paul, is a fan of peace and quiet like you. He’s rather… old-school, you could say.’

  ‘I’d like to meet him. Especially with the exciting news that Viola has offered to represent you!’ Sam said, his eyes alight. ‘Have you thought about what you’d like to do?’

  ‘I’ve thought of nothing else!’ I grinned in return. ‘I’m thrilled, obviously, but it’s… complicated.’

  ‘I know you have your reservations about how much time it will take up and other things, but let’s sit and talk about it. I can answer any questions you may have and I will always be on hand if you need any advice, now and in the future. Come, let’s sit.’ He took my hand and escorted me back into the lounge to the couch.

  Viola watched us with guarded eyes, then headed into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a platter of sushi.

  ‘I confess I have not cooked myself this evening. I have a lovely caterer who has whipped up something for us.’

  ‘I don’t think you ever cook, do you, Vi? But I didn’t marry you for your domestic skills,’ Sam said endearingly.

  ‘No, Sam, you did not. I think it was my business brain and my skills with a manuscript, wasn’t it?’ she replied flatly.

  ‘And your sparkling personality, darling,’ he bantered, but Viola’s expression betrayed her lack of humour.

  I giggled as I looked at the sushi. ‘Do you remember that day you made me try the wasabi?’ I said to Sam.

  ‘Oh yes, do I ever! I thought your head was going to erupt! Hilarious!’ We giggled at each other, but my mirth dried up when I saw the cold look Viola threw at me.

  Sam didn’t seem to notice. He tucked into a California roll, then said, ‘So, tell me your concerns, Katherine.’ He sat back and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. Before I could answer,
I heard my mobile ring in my bag.

  ‘Sorry, excuse me a moment.’ I leapt to my feet and rummaged in the cavernous bag. I pulled out my phone just before it switched to voicemail. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Katherine? Are you okay?’

  I moved onto the balcony out of earshot. ‘Paul, hi. Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘The journey was okay? You’re feeling okay with everything?’

  ‘Yes, it was very straightforward.’ I resisted the urge to sigh down the phone.

  ‘Good, good, well, don’t stay late. And if you need me, call me and I will come and fetch you. I don’t want you having a panic attack on public transport.’

  I looked over my shoulder at Viola and Sam sitting on the couch. Sam was wolfing down sushi in between gulps of gin, but Viola was watching me. I turned away again and said, ‘I think I may be a little late as some people have only just arrived and I’m looking forward to catching up with them, so please don’t wait up.’

  ‘But is that wise?’

  I was running out of patience with this. I was not a child. ‘I will make sure I get a cab home if necessary. Have a good evening, bye.’ And I hung up before he could say anything else.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing down the frustration, then returned to the lounge. I put the phone down on the coffee table in case he phoned again.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Viola asked.

  How many more times would someone ask me that? Did I come across as that pathetic? I could feel a burst of rebellion sparking in my belly. ‘Yes, just Paul checking that I got here okay,’ I replied tightly.

  ‘He keeps quite a close eye on you, doesn’t he?’ Viola said.

  ‘He’s just protective and he worries sometimes.’

  ‘Seems a bit overly protective to me.’

  ‘Now, now, Viola, it’s none of our business, is it?’ Sam said.

  She shrugged in reply. ‘More drinks?’

  I hadn’t finished the first one yet, but Sam and Viola had drained their glasses. I looked away and took a few bigger gulps, then said, ‘I’m okay for now, thanks.’