The woman, tall and stout, middle-aged and done up with face full of make-up, barks, “Why? What has she been doing wrong?”
“Mrs Bernard, she’s nothing but an angel, I assure you.”
“Oh, that’s alright then.”
“I have to admit, I worried about her at first. Mostly because she was new and starting here at such a pertinent time of her school years, you know, but she’s settled in so well.”
“Oh, she has?” she asks with incredulity.
“Yes, from what I can tell. She loves English, I know that. She’s very good at it.”
“Really? I thought she was useless.”
“What makes you think that?” I gasp, taken aback.
“Dunno. I dunno,” she rolls her eyes, “she got into loads of trouble at her previous schools. She was a problem.”
I watch her pick at her false nails and I decide to reel off some bog standard chat to pass the time and get rid of her, hopefully. I don’t know why she’s here, she seems totally uninterested. So I refer to my notes and try to collect myself.
“She’s got the potential to get an A in her GCSEs. She always hands her homework in on time. She loves to read aloud in class, to organise presentations and contribute to discussion. I have no worries at all with her. She’s one of the few I can say that about.”
“Yeah?”
Her eyebrows narrow and she crosses her legs, looking bemused.
“Yes, honestly. You’re lucky to have her.”
I don’t mention that sometimes, Hetty can be a bit too much, you know, over-enthusiastic. Zealous. That’s my own private observation.
“So, that’s all?” she asks, uncrossing her legs as if she is about to stand.
“Yes, unless you have any concerns?”
“No,” she mumbles.
“Okay, I will see you in summer then, shall I?”
“Might not bother next time, if she’s that good,” she drawls.
I sense from the tone of her voice that there’s not much affection between mother and daughter. Perhaps Hetty’s mother only came to the school today to see if her daughter was behaving herself. She’s not asked any questions to do with the curriculum or the friendships Hetty has made since she joined this school.
“Like I said, no worries. I’d let you know if there were.”
“You would?” she asks suspiciously.
“Of course, yes. Like I said, I was worried. I have been keeping an eye on her, to ensure she settles in. She’s in my tutorial group too. However, she seems to have settled so well.”
“I’ll admit, she was a tearaway at her last school. Much like her father, that good-for-nothing bastard that left us in the lurch. I have to work all the hours you know to keep us going.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“He ran out and left me with her, and like I said, she’s sometimes a challenge, you know, difficult.”
A voice inside me has alarm bells ringing. I don’t believe that for a second.
“If you ever have any concerns about Hetty, you can talk to one of our counsellors, or me. We’re all here to benefit her education.”
She leans forward and tells me curtly, “Seems we don’t need any help, thank you.”
She rises and walks to her next meeting with Kev the maths teacher. I watch her carefully as she circulates the room and I don’t like the way she stares at other people as if they are detritus on her shoe. I don’t like the way she keeps looking back in my direction, either, because she’s putting me off as I talk to other parents.
I shake off my worries anyway and have a quick swig of wine from a paper cup with the other teachers afterwards.
“I am so glad that is over with,” Ruby says.
“I know. For another few months.”
For the most part, the evening is a decent enough challenge, but it is exhausting. It can be trying when you have to explain that some of the kids are not doing too well.
“This one mother told me I look like a day-release mental patient, after I told her that her son had called me a bitch and that’s why he’d been put in detention so many times.”
“Oh Ruby, I am so sorry,” I apologise, and rub her shoulder.
“That’s alright,” she shrugs.
Betsy waddles up, “Stupid malarkey over with? Can I go home and get shit faced now?”
We all laugh but I spot Hugh as white as a sheet. He hates this more than us. I wander over and hand him a cup and he downs it.
“Go home, have a bath and remember you still get your pay cheque at the end of the day.”
He nods quietly and heaves himself off his seat. Poor lad.
I pack up and when I see Warrick waiting for me in the car outside, I smile like I haven’t done in years. He’s turned up to surprise me. I am so glad I won’t have to walk home after this. I get in the Mini and we kiss like we would if we were alone. He’s been playing football and stinks of sweat, but I love it. The windows are steamed up with his aroma. I could lick them.
When I sit back in my seat to put my belt on as he starts the engine, I see Ruby and Betsy stood a few yards away, with their coats and bags, their jaws dropped.
“Oh shit, cat’s outta the bag,” I moan.
Warrick laughs and drives me home.
“Thought I would surprise you, baby. I know it’s probably been a trying night for you.”
“Yep, but I’d rather not talk about it. I just want to get home and snuggle.”
“Listen,” he begins and I turn to watch his face as he steers the vehicle. I stroke my finger up and down his hairy leg.
“Yes?”
“My friend goes to this Zumba class. I know you like watching dancing, how about trying it out?”
“Zumba?”
“Yeah, it’s like, you know, hips and bootie shaking.”
“This is a legitimate dance class?”
“Yeah!” he laughs.
We pull into the park and he tells me, “I have the flyer in my jeans pocket. I’ll show you later. I thought it would be something we can do together, you know? Instead of just always being in the flat, shagging.”
“I like shagging,” I complain.
“I know,” he grins.
He parks and I let myself out. “I’ll catch you up, I need a fag.”
“Okay, I need a shower,” he says, leaping indoors with my bags and his kit bag.
I stand outside the house and puff. It’s December now and on nights like this, sometimes you can barely see across the park, it’s so foggy. I get lost in thought. There was something about that Mrs Bernard.
Also, Ruby and Betsy are going to be a nightmare now…
I get inside and hear the shower on. I dress in my nightwear and get comfortable on the bed with some marking I need to get out of the way. I tuck into a leftover burrito that will have to suffice.
He whistles while he dries himself off and he comes through and flings himself on the mattress next to me with a dramatic growl. I glance to see him impressively naked, laid on his front. His hair is still wet. I slap his round backside and he hands me a bit of paper.
“There you go.”
I look the flyer over and it looks legit.
“Okay, fine. We’ll go. But I know you only want to watch my arse shaking.”
He rolls on his side and shows me what’s there waiting for me and I squeal, “No. No. No!”
Too late.
He’s on me and kissing me and I am powerless, giggling and running my hands through his damp hair.
***
A few days later, we prepare to visit the church hall to take part in the class and have an absolute whale of a time before we even get there. Him in his shorts and me in lycra has us nearly missing the class.
Warrick’s dancing skills are known to me, of course, but mine aren’t to him. In fact, when I first start the class, I don’t feel comfortable. It’s been years since I have danced anything. I just kind of bounce a bit until the teacher shouts, “Ponytail girl. Come on! Pop t
hose hips!”
When I get into the swing of it, he’s staring with his mouth wide open. Yes, I can actually dance. I just forgot, or rather, haven’t wanted to for twenty years.
Eventually I switch off and let the music fill my veins and my spirit breathes the rhythm. I don’t think about the steps or the commands from the teacher. I just do it and it happens and the teacher’s smiling bright, as if I have surprised her too. My hips work and my shoulders jiggle and I let my body come alive. I copy the moves she does and then I make my own and I also swing my hips into it far better than any other person in the room.
It’s exhilarating and afterward, Tracy the teacher asks whether we will be coming back again. I nod, “Absolutely!”
Warrick is as pleased as punch not only with my hip action but also with having gotten me into something new.
We’re leaving the hall when I spot a ballet class in another room. There’s a group of youngsters, maybe six or seven years old, all in tutus and pumps. I stare through the glass and Warrick shouts, “Come on Jules.”
I find myself staring and a memory hits me. He sidles up to see what has derailed me and asks, “What’s–”
He must realise.
I simply say, “Mum was a ballerina. She taught me, a few things, you know? I forgot I could dance. I really forgot. Maybe, I…”
“Babes, you can dance… so well I am willing to throw you over my shoulder and carry you home to bed if I have to.”
I smile and take his hand, and he pulls me out onto the Avenue and into a run.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jules
It’s two weeks until Christmas. This Saturday afternoon we are wandering around the German market stalls in town. I eat curried bratwurst and sweet breads to soak up the sauce. We also sip mulled wine. We hold hands.
From the market, Warrick buys his dad a strange, dirty gnome with its pants down and we howl with laughter. Warrick threatens to use a permanent marker to tattoo its arse. I buy luxury chocolate hampers for my staff and he tells me they don’t deserve my generosity.
We drink beer in a cosy pub in the Old Town. We find ourselves surrounded by taxidermy, rotten old tankards, brass ornaments and black panelled wood. Several hundred beer mats are stapled all around and there are stubby candles on every table. We sit in silence, supping slowly, because there really is nothing much to say now. I feel so happy in his embrace, watching the world go by.
Just… unspoken. Never awkward.
We purchase packets of meat, cheeses, jars of condiments and fresh loaves of bread to take back home and we make a picnic on the coffee table.
It’s later the same day and I am wearing a red, chiffon number. My hair is done up in curls and tresses straggling down my back. It’s my work’s Christmas party. He dons a suit and looks so dapper. I love his slim hips and waist in trousers and shirt.
We eat six courses at a country club on the Wolds and I congratulate Jack on a fine evening. I tell him it’s more extravagant than anything his predecessor did for us.
Warrick and I dance on the floor and he holds me so tight and close, our hands twined at his heart. He’s not showy with his love in public but anyone would tell from the way he’s looking at me, just how he feels. Betsy and Ruby are practically in tears watching us.
“Won’t you have a work’s party?” I ask him as we dance to Mad World.
“Nah. Nothing in the budget.”
I know from the twitch in his neck, he just told a white lie. I’ve grown to read him so well.
“I see. So I won’t meet any of these elusive colleagues of yours?”
“Nope. In our work, we don’t mingle socially.”
“Socially? So social are we, during the day, that it’s out of the question after hours?” That doesn’t seem right at all!!
I pick, pick, pick at the issue almost every day, but he never budges. He still goes out at night, and it’s getting more frequent, and I don’t like it still.
“You look so beautiful tonight, Jules,” he whispers in my ear, and I wonder which Warrick is telling me that. You see, there’s a grown-up one willing to admit things and then there’s the childish side of him constantly fobbing me off.
“You look hot in those trousers, especially your arse,” I groan in his ear.
“I think I shall have to be the one to remove this dress tonight.”
He slides his fingers underneath my spaghetti straps.
“Then I will have to be the one to take charge first in the ensuing entertainments.”
This is us now. We are so skilled in lovemaking. We’ve tried so many things. I am not embarrassed to do anything in front of him now. He also likes to leave me lists of instructions by the bedside on how he wants me positioned when he gets home from work. Sometimes with illustrations. It’s often hard to stop myself laughing during.
“Do you mind me wearing heels?”
“Right now, or later?” he winks.
“Now, I guess.”
I can’t help but grin.
“I love you in all forms, even statuesque. There are some visual advantages of the heels you might not realise,” he remarks, fluttering his eyes in the direction of my bosom, which is inches from his eyes with my raised height.
“What about later?”
“Later, I will require you fully heelless so that no injuries befall us.”
“Sounds promising,” I drawl, gently tugging on the hair on the back of his neck.
We shift around the dance floor for the rest of the evening, outlasting many other couples. We’re a new couple in love and we’re powered by that. I love the feeling of his hips swaying with mine and his shoulders encircling me.
When the end of the night comes, Warrick goes to warm the Mini while I say my goodbyes.
I get stopped by Jack, who says, “Nice work this year Jules. Exciting times ahead.”
“I admit, I hated you to begin with…” I am bold but I have a bottle of wine inside me, so I continue, “…but I am actually excited to see where this takes us next year.”
He slips me a Christmas card and when I get in the car with Warrick, I open it to discover a £50 spa voucher, with the message: Enjoy. Jx
I show it to Warrick and he reverses the car with a smile.
“He isn’t all that bad, is he?”
“No, but you know what this means?”
“What?”
He glances at me while he takes the car onto an A-road and drives carefully in the treacherous, icy conditions.
“You will have to come too.”
“She has me wearing face masks, suits, and now, she’s making me go to a sodding spa!”
“This is what boyfriends do.”
“Say that again,” he winks at me.
“Boyfriend. My boyfriend.”
“I love being that,” he responds, “but I don’t love having my body on show for old biddies to glare at.”
“What about for me to glare at?”
“Stop it Jules, I am driving.”
“Oh but you know how much I…”
I talk dirty to him all the way home and by the time we get back, he’s incensed enough not to need me out of the dress, nor the shoes.
***
The next day. A Sunday. I wake and look up from my pillow. I am still in the dress. We fell down after screwing so hard it hurt, and I fell asleep without a care, lying on top of his unclothed body with my clothed one.
Now I am brutally aware of the fact he is no longer beneath me and I am bereft without him nearby. Having fallen asleep in the immediate aftermath of lovemaking, to find him not here when I wake up is hurtful. I need his arms and I need them now.
I shout his name but there is no response and I warn him that if he’s playing a game, he ought to pack it in right now. Still, no response.
I realise it’s only 8.13a.m. so I decide to see if I can get back off to sleep, but I fail. I know what’s happened. He brought me home, loved me, and then went out after I fell asleep so he could car
ry out his usual late-night escapades, whatever they are. Now he’s got his own key, he can come and go as he pleases.
I bundle myself in the cotton duvet cover and try to comfort myself with his lingering scent. A tear forms in one eye and I feel it slide down my cheek in slow-motion. Time stops and I know, I won’t be able to continue with this. He’s gone too far now. It’s like Laurie again. But worse. Warrick is meant to love me. Yet, he services me and then leaves. He and I make love and he keeps himself at a distance still.
It feels like I’ve been laid here a long time when he returns. I catch a glance at the clock and see it’s 11.21. He creeps across the floor while I pretend to be asleep still and he undresses before sliding into bed behind me.
“I know you’re awake. You don’t scowl in your sleep.”
His tender fingers slide around my waist and he kisses my shoulder blade.
“I want you to stop. Or we’re over. I don’t care what you’re doing. This hurts too much.”
Tears are flowing down my cheeks now. The way he held me at the party last night was wonderful; how our bodies shifted on the dance floor, how much love I felt for him in front of those other people.
“Please don’t cry.”
“You’re breaking my heart. I worry myself sick when you’re not here!”
I spit out my words and know I am not only gushing rivers of tears, but slaver and snot too. I am beside myself.
“Give me more time and I will stop going out in the night. I will.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
His phone rings on the bedside and he snatches it before I can reach it.
“Yes?” he answers.
I hear mumbling but I can’t determine who is on the other end of the line. I resist the urge to turn and look at his face; I don’t know what I might see if I do.
“Anna, I told you. No. This has to stop.”
When I hear her name, I turn immediately.
“I said before, no. I meant it. You always do this.”
He is exasperated and he mouths, I will tell you everything.
I leave him to it and throw my robe on over my crumpled dress, which I may never be able to wear again.
Angel Avenue Page 21
