The Ivy Lessons (Devoted, Book 1)

by J Lerman

  An hour later, I’ve done all the washing up, made Genoveva a cup of tea and started tidying the living room, when Dad walks in.

  ‘Love!’ Dad watches me with amazement. ‘This is a nice surprise. Don’t you have classes?’

  ‘It’s a study day,’ I say.’

  ‘Sit down, sit down, don’t feel you have to tidy the place when you’re here.’

  ‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ I say.

  ‘Look at you! Got this amazing scholarship in London, and the first thing you do is come back and start tidying. Sit down, I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  Dad can’t make a cup of tea to save his life. In fact, I’m fairly certain at one time I got mild food poisoning from a cup of tea he gave me.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say with a smile. ‘Sit down, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Always running round after other people,’ says Dad, giving my hair a ruffle. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been missed around here.’

  On the sofa, I see Genoveva’s lips go thin. ‘You know how hard things are for me with my headaches.’

  ‘I know,’ says Dad. ‘It’s just nice to have her back, that’s all.’

  We sit down in the living area, and I pull Samuel onto my lap and sing him a song.

  ‘So, tell us about college,’ says Dad.

  ‘It’s ... very different,’ I say.

  ‘Made any friends yet?’

  ‘A few,’ I say. ‘There’s all sorts of different people there.’

  ‘What are your teachers like?’

  I hesitate. ‘Good.’ I say. ‘The lady who teaches us singing is a really lovely woman.’

  ‘What about Marc Blackwell?’ says Genoveva, leaning forward.

  ‘Yes, what’s he like?’ Dad asks.

  ‘He’s an amazing actor,’ I say. ‘And ... a very interesting person. I’m still not sure what to make of him yet. The jury is still out.’

  ‘Right, of course,’ says Dad. ‘He seems a bit on the stuck up side when you read about him, but is he better in person?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘A little.’

  Sam comes and sits on my lap, and Dad and I drink tea and catch up. One of the village bus services has stopped, apparently, which is bad news for local teenagers. And the post office got raided a couple of days ago.

  After an hour or so, a car horn sounds outside and I realise Keith is waiting on the driveway.

  ‘I should get going,’ I say. ‘I need to be get back to campus.’

  Chapter 53

  On the drive back, I check my mobile phone incessantly for messages from Marc. There are none. I think about the coldness of his exit this morning, and feel an aching in my heart. What if it’s all over? What if I really crossed the line, and now I’ll never see him again?

  When I get back to my bedroom, I toy with the idea of texting him.

  Don’t be stupid, a voice says. You’ll only make a bad situation worse. If he’s being cold with you because you got too close, the last thing you should do is push things.

  But the waiting is just agony. I can’t help myself. I type out a few words:

  Thanks for last night, hope to see you soon.

  Delete, delete, delete. Too desperate. I try:

  Had a great time last. Thanks for the view of the city.

  No. Too nicey nicey, and it doesn’t have anything in it that might make him reply. Oh. This is so difficult. I write:

  Will I see you again soon?

  And before I can think too much about it, I press send. Then I spend the next hour in agony, waiting for a reply. When there’s none, I spend another hour in agony, re-reading the message I sent and analysing how he could have taken it.

  I ring Jen, and we hash out the whole scenario together. I leave out a few key details, like his fondness for being in charge and corporal punishment, and my growing fondness for it too. But I tell her we had sex last night, and then he left first thing in the morning.

  ‘It sounds like you got too close,’ she says. ‘Probably not a good idea to send a text message. If a man doesn’t reply within an hour, then he’d better have a pretty good reason. Otherwise, get rid of him, whoever he is. I don’t care if he’s some big film star.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ I say. ‘You know me. I couldn’t care less about anything like that. It’s who he is that matters to me, and that’s what I’ve fallen in love with.’

  ‘Soph – have you?’ Jen sounds worried.

  ‘I think so,’ I admit. ‘The closeness I felt to him last night was like nothing I’d ever felt with anyone before. It was like our souls came together.’

  ‘You and your poetic language. You fall madly in love every other week.’

  ‘But not like this,’ I say. ‘I feel taken care of with him. And like we have a connection on a deeper level. Like we were together in another life or something.’

  Jen snorts. ‘Are you sure you’re not just madly in lust with an extremely hot film star?’

  ‘It’s not just that,’ I say. ‘At least, I don’t think it is. He’s teaching me things -’

  ‘I bet he is.’

  ‘No, I mean he’s helping me come out of myself more. To be a better actress. A more confident person. To believe in myself.’

  ‘Well that can’t be a bad thing,’ Jen admits. ‘When will you see him again?’

  ‘I have a class with him tomorrow morning. This is torture. Why did I send that stupid text message? He must be running a mile right now.’

  ‘You had to send it,’ says Jen. ‘You’d be torturing yourself even worse if you didn’t. At least now you know. Or probably know. He’s freaked out. Leave him to it. He might come back, he might not. Go out and have fun in the meantime. I wish I was there with you. I could come down -’

  ‘You have work,’ I interrupt. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’

  Even though it’s only mid-afternoon, I crawl under my duvet, feeling lonelier and more empty than I ever have in my life. Life without Marc – there’s no magic to it. No excitement. I can’t stand this. I just can’t stand it.

  I stare at my phone, willing it to ring, willing the message alert to beep. But it doesn’t.

  I have a singing class with Denise this afternoon, but I just don’t think I can manage it. I’m too tired after last night, and emotionally exhausted after today. I stuff my phone under my pillow and lie looking at the ceiling, thinking, thinking, thinking.

  Chapter 54

  The next morning, I consider not going to class. But I know there would be so many questions from Tom and Tanya, so I get dressed and wait outside the lecture theatre, my stomach hollow from yet another ‘too nervous to eat breakfast’ morning.

  Every click of a shoe makes me turn around.

  ‘Hey.’ I feel a hand at my elbow. It’s Tom.

  ‘Hey, Tom.’

  ‘You look exhausted, my love. Late night?’ He raises a mischievous eyebrow. He’s wearing a black cowboy hat today, and a pink cowboy shirt with embroidery around the shoulders.

  ‘No.’ I smile. ‘I wish.’

  ‘Looking forward to seeing Mr Blackwell this morning?’

  I’m about to reply when I hear hard footsteps clicking down the corridor. I turn and see Marc, striding towards the lecture theatre.

  My heart jumps into my mouth and I clutch my books tighter. It feels strange not to say hello to him after being so close, but it doesn’t feel appropriate somehow. Or welcome.

  ‘Good morning Mr Blackwell,’ Tom says, in his cheerful, booming voice. ‘Did you have a good evening?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Marc glides past him and into the lecture theatre without even looking at me. This again. The cold treatment. I know I’m about to cry, and although part of me wants Marc to see how upset I am, another part of me can’t bear him to see my tears if this is the end of things.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ I manage to say to Tom, running down the corridor.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he calls after me.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, hurryin
g out into the grounds. I run, sobbing, over the grass, into the woodlands, and throw my books onto the cool, damp earth. Then I sit on the soil and breathe in and out. The natural sights and smells calm me and help me feel myself again.

  Through the trees, I see a tall figure striding towards the woodlands over the dewy grass. I quickly wipe the tears away and stand up.

  It’s Marc. He sees me and walks faster.

  I pick up my books, and stumble out of the woodlands, heading towards the accommodation block.

  ‘Sophia,’ Marc calls, walking faster.

  I start to run, clutching my books tightly to my chest.

  ‘Wait.’ He’s right behind me now, and he grabs my arm. ‘Sophia, wait. I need to talk to you.’

  I shake my arm away. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. I got too close and you didn’t like it.’

  ‘Come back to class. We can talk at the end of the lesson. I don’t like you being out here on your own.’

  ‘There’s nothing in the trees that can hurt me,’ I say. ‘It’s the person in the classroom I should be scared of.’

  Marc drops his head. ‘You’re scared of me?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. ‘I’m scared you’ll hurt me. Have hurt me.’

  He puts both hands on my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I feel tears welling up again. ‘Don’t,’ I say, shuffling away. ‘Not here.’

  ‘Come back to class,’ says Marc. ‘We’ll talk afterwards.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll sit in the class, take notes and pretend nothing has happened. That I don’t feel anything for you.’ I turn and head towards the lecture theatre.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Marc, walking beside me. ‘I never meant to hurt you, but this is new territory for me. I haven’t worked out how best to handle it yet.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, feeling empty and defeated. ‘I knew this couldn’t last. We both did. I knew it had to end and I knew I’d get hurt.’

  ‘No. It doesn’t have to end.’

  ‘I don’t see how it can’t,’ I say, walking faster.

  Chapter 55

  When we get back to the lecture theatre, everyone stares as I squeeze into the seat. They must guess I’m upset by my red eyes, and maybe a few of them might think I’m upset over Mr Blackwell. They probably think I have a crush, and he’s just told me to forget it.

  Marc goes to the front of the theatre and begins his lecture, which is about body language. He tells us how he studies people for months when he has to play a particular part. When he played the part of a student in a wheelchair, he studied people with Spina Bifida, and learned how they moved and the obstacles they faced.

  ‘One girl told me that people often urinate in New York apartment block lifts,’ he tells us. ‘So her wheels often got covered in urine, and she was always cleaning them and washing her hands. When I played the part, I added in hand-washing scenes.’

  It’s fascinating, and for a while I’m able to forget that Marc is someone I slept with the other night. He’s just famous, charismatic Marc Blackwell who can transform into anyone he wants in seconds. The most amazing actor.

  When the class files out, I try to leave the room too. I have no desire to hear Marc’s goodbye speech, and I’d rather just let things end with dignity. But I feel a hand on my elbow as I’m leaving, and turn to see Marc, his face cloudy, two vertical frown lines above his nose.

  ‘Miss Rose, I’d like to talk with you please.’ His words are soft, and lack their usual fierceness. I feel a pain in my chest. The class files out and it’s just me and him. Alone.

  ‘Look, I don’t need the Dear John letter,’ I tell him. ‘I get it. You don’t want what I want. So ... let’s go our separate ways.’

  ‘No.’ Marc shakes his head.

  ‘I think we should end this before I get more confused than I already am.’

  ‘Do you really mean that?’ Marc’s thick eyebrows pull together.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, although it’s not true. I’m trying to be strong, but under Marc’s gaze I have precious little strength left.

  ‘Then tell me again,’ says Marc, moving closer to me. ‘Tell me we should end this, and I’ll never bother you again.’

  ‘I think we should ...’ I whisper, but I can’t finish the sentence.

  ‘We should what?’ he asks softly, bringing his face closer to mine.

  I look away.

  Marc moves my chin so I’m facing him again. ‘You think we should what?’

  End it, I think. But the words melt in my mouth, and the next moment he’s kissing me and I’m lost in the clean, sharp smell of his skin, the strength of his hands on my arms. His eyes, closed and slightly pained looking, with those long eyelashes fluttering as his mouth moves on mine.

  He lifts me up and puts me on a desk.

  ‘Tell me you don’t want me,’ Marc whispers into my neck. ‘And I’ll never touch you again.’ He pulls me closer to him. ‘Tell me we can’t be together.’

  I shake my head. ‘I ... can’t.’

  He pushes my skirt up over my thighs. ‘Nor can I.’ Marc pulls aside my underwear. I see the silver of a condom packet, and feel the foil scratch my thigh. ‘I can’t be without you right now.’

  I let myself mesh with his body. The protestations in my head are mainly drowned out by tugging that pulls me to him. But some doubts still break through. ‘You were so cold when you left,’ I stammer.

  ‘Shussh.’ Marc slides inside of me, and my protestations fall silent.

  ‘Oh.’ I moan as he moves gently back and forth.

  ‘You want me to stop?’ he says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because I will if you want me to. Say the word and I’ll stop.’

  ‘Don’t ... stop,’ I hear myself say, as pleasure builds in my abdomen.

  Marc moves faster and harder. He grabs my buttocks and pulls me into him, and I moan louder.

  ‘I wanted to fuck you on this desk since you walked into the class this morning. Did you know that?’

  I can’t answer him. I’m too lost in what I’m feeling. He carries on moving, sliding himself further and further inside of me.

  ‘I thought I couldn’t handle it,’ he whispers. ‘After our night together. I thought I couldn’t handle it. But then the thought of losing you ... I realised as soon as I saw you this morning, that I can handle that even less.’

  His words have little impact on me right now. The sensations are building up and up. I’m completely filled up by him, in every way. The harder he moves, the better it feels.

  I come, and I fall against him.

  He slides himself out of me, and I see him take off the condom and tie it. He pushes himself back inside his trousers, and I see his bulk pressing against trouser fabric.

  ‘How can you stand not to come?’ I ask. ‘I don’t get it. I want you to feel what I’m feeling.’

  ‘I need to stay in control,’ says Marc, walking back and forth. ‘But I’ll be the first to admit it’s getting difficult.’

  ‘Then let yourself go,’ I say.

  Marc shakes his head. ‘It wouldn’t be right. Especially while I’m still you’re teacher. Now. You’ve got another class to go to in ...’ he checks his watch, ‘about ten minutes, am I right? Singing with the wonderful Denise.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, wanting to cling to him. To spend every moment I have with him.

  ‘Then you should go,’ Marc says. He runs a hand over my hair. ‘I’ll see you on the trip to the Globe this afternoon.’

  I nod. I’d forgotten about that trip. ‘I didn’t realise you were going,’ I say.

  ‘I organise the class trips every term,’ he says. ‘And as usual, I’m going on all of them. I need to make sure my students get the most out of the experience.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but ... when will I see you again? Properly?’

  He smiles. ‘Soon.’

  Chapter 56

  Denise’s class is fun, but it’s soon over, and after
lunch we’re on our way to the Globe Theatre, courtesy of the college minibus.

  The theatre is on the bank of the Thames, and the weather is windy and rainy. Myself and the other Ivy College students stand, shivering, waiting for our guide. The minibus dropped us off a little early, and we’re told we have a ten-minute wait.

  Marc arrived separately, we’ve been told, and is apparently inside the theatre, trying to hurry up the tour. Tanya also thinks he’s inside so he won’t be mobbed by adoring fans, who are waiting on the banks of the Thames. They’ve closed the Globe especially for our trip, and word has got around that Marc Blackwell is inside.

  The theatre is huge, round and beautiful. Its walls are white and smooth, with dark wooden beams running around them, and there’s a straw roof on top. I stare up at this famous building, thinking what it must have been like for people to visit the actors here in Shakespeare’s time. It’s not the original theatre, but it’s a very good likeness, and enough to set my imagination racing.

  A woman in a green anorak, the hood pulled up, approaches our group.

  ‘Good afternoon, Ivy College.’ There are wiry glasses on her nose and coral pink lipstick stains her mouth and teeth. ‘It’s a pleasure to have you here. I’m your guide to the Globe. Come on inside.’

  We follow her to the main doors, which she unlocks, and we find Marc waiting for us in the reception area. He looks as handsome as ever, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I don’t know how he’s not feeling the cold.

  His lips tip up a little when he sees me, and he holds my gaze. I look away, hoping no one noticed our glances.

  ‘Mr Blackwell!’ says the guide, breathlessly. ‘A pleasure, an absolutely pleasure.’ She shakes his hand and does an odd sort of curtsy. ‘So good of you to come with your class.’

  ‘Oh, I have my motives,’ says Marc, fixing me with an intense stare.

  ‘I’d lead you straight through to the theatre itself,’ says the guide. ‘And then we’ll walk through the museum, and you can learn more of the history of this fabulous building.’

  She leads us out into a huge, round open-air space, which has a gritty floor and wooden seating and banisters curving around us. There are three tiers of seating, and I can see part of the straw roof sheltering the seats from the elements.