Life Class

by Allan, Gilli

  ‘I won’t come in.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My boot …!’

  He continued to look at her, then shook his head and smiled. She felt a flush of warmth surge through her.

  ‘The bloody wildlife. I’m sorry. I’d forgotten. Why don’t you take the boot off and hop over to the chair? I’ll clean it for you in a minute.’

  It was good to see him smile. His habitual expression was distant and preoccupied. No wonder she’d responded. Pulling up the hem of her jeans, Dory unzipped the boot. ‘I’d not have minded if I had stepped in the poo of a woodland creature. But it was the wildlife that distracted me from looking out for the domestic variety.’ Limping inside she said, ‘Are you hooked up with other local artists? There’s a cooperative isn’t there, called ArtSkape?’ She hung her bag over the back of a chair and sat down.

  ‘No. From what I understand, it’s a bit cliquey. And I think you have to be invited to join.’

  ‘It may go against the grain, but do you think it might be worth doing a bit of smarming just to get the invitation? Once in you don’t have to join the clique if you don’t want to. The benefit is they’ll probably feature some of your work on their website and add a link to yours.’

  ‘Mine? What? Website?’

  ‘You haven’t got a website?’ Her jaw dropped. ‘This day and age you absolutely must have a presence on the net. As well as blogging and tweeting.’

  He laughed. ‘Of course I haven’t got a website, let alone …’

  ‘Why “of course”?’

  ‘I’m a Luddite. I can only just send emails.’

  ‘You’ve not thought of finding yourself a web designer?’

  ‘That costs money, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It would cost less than fifty quid, to get a domain name.’

  ‘A what?’

  She sighed. ‘Before you can even think of setting up a website you have to register the identity you want to be known by. For instance, you might want stefannovak.com, or sculptornovak.co.uk. That’s your domain name. After establishing that, the cost of web design is a moveable feast. Depends how many bells and whistles … how elaborate you want it, and whether you have it designed by a big-time, high-profile outfit or someone small, modest, and reasonable. Or, if you’ve a friend who’s computer savvy you could get a simple site done for nothing?’

  Stefan looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. The kettle had boiled. He poured the water onto the coffee in the mugs, then paused, kettle still in hand. ‘Sounds like too much hassle. Maybe …?’ He put the kettle back and handed her one of the mugs. Sitting down on the other chair, he asked, ‘What do you do at the clinic?’

  ‘Oh.’ Taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, she surprised herself by blushing. ‘I’m sorry. My being there must have been a surprise.’

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘I do the preliminary screening. Swabs are taken and slides prepared. They’re delivered to me and I check them under a microscope. There are other trained nurses I shift share with who also do what I do. Other, more complex testing is done by the hospital’s main lab.’

  ‘Are you a nurse?’

  ‘No. I studied microbiology at university and my first job was in a hospital path lab. I kind of migrated towards STIs. Well, it was my partner’s idea. Before we split up, we ran a private clinic in London. When I came back here I contacted the hospital to see if they had any vacancies. Since Fran badgered me into joining your class … my sister’s the bossy one in the family … I wonder if I shouldn’t have studied art instead.’

  ‘You have ability, although art is not such a clear-cut and dependable career path.’

  ‘No. And STIs are definitely dependable. The stats just keep on going up and up.’ Should she mention Dominic? Apologise now for her indiscretion?

  ‘It’s never too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  ‘To change course and do art,’ he elucidated. ‘About the house …’

  Again, she floundered. He kept changing direction.

  ‘You wanted my decision?’

  She caught her breath. Was now the right moment to head him off, to admit she’d been in a delusional state when she made the offer and had now changed her mind?

  ‘You remember the little cottage adjoining it?’ he said, seeming not to notice her hesitation. ‘I’m afraid everything has been complicated by the fact that Grace died.’

  ‘Oh!’ Ashamed that even she had doubted this excuse for his absence, Dory said, ‘You told me she was a tough old bird.’

  ‘She was, but no one lives forever. It was a stroke. I found her when she was still alive, but …’

  ‘So it was Grace’s funeral?’

  He nodded. ‘Sad. There were only a couple of us there. Thing is, she’s left me her property. I wasn’t expecting it. To be honest, I was flabbergasted. But it’s altered everything. Her cottage might be small but the amount of land has been almost doubled. So, I may wait and put the whole lot on the market. Whatever I decide, everything’s up in the air till the will is probated. I’m sorry.’

  Despite every rational instinct, disappointment bloomed up from her gut into the back of her throat. ‘Of course, you must do what’s best for you. It was probably unrealistic of me to even think …’ She cleared her throat. ‘But I kind of fell in love with it.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘I wouldn’t have made the offer otherwise.’

  He looked straight at her and smiled his thanks. For just a moment, lost in contemplation of the transformation a smile brought to his face, her regret was forgotten.

  ‘I have to do the best deal possible without letting sentiment get in the way.’

  ‘I understand. But you’re not going to be able to release cash any time soon, other than raising a mortgage on the property yourself. How long will you have to wait before Grace’s will is probated?’

  ‘Sounds as if the Australian relatives may want to challenge it.’

  ‘And what about her priest?’

  ‘Miffed, I think, but not actually contesting it.’

  ‘It only takes one challenge to hold up a will, maybe for years,’ Dory said. ‘In the meantime, I’m sure there are other things you could do to promote yourself and save money. Why don’t you go back to the barn as your studio? It’s a wonderful space. That would save money on your rent for this workshop. And I’m sure you could do a better job of promoting yourself and selling your work. Like I said, a website would be a start.’

  ‘I’m committed here till September. And how soon could a website be set up?’

  ‘Almost immediately. But I can’t guarantee how quickly you would start seeing a return on it.’

  Stefan looked thoughtful. ‘Dom seems to know his way round the internet, downloading music, gaming, or ordering esoteric discs and T shirts which all seem to come from the fastnesses of northern Europe. But I don’t think he’s into web design. Other than him, I don’t think I know anyone else who might have the necessary skills.’

  At the mention of the boy’s name, a guilty tremor pulsed through her. If she was going to apologise, now was the time to do it.

  ‘Um …’ She looked down into her coffee, then up. He watched her expectantly. ‘About Dom. It was inexcusable. I’ve felt very … deeply embarrassed about disclosing personal information about him to my sister. She is the only one I told.’

  Stefan’s expression grew stony, as if he too had temporarily forgotten the reason behind the frost in their relationship. Putting his mug down, he walked outside.

  ‘I’d better do this.’ He picked up the boot. ‘Then you can get on your way.’

  A gloomy pall resettled over her head. She sighed and limped after him. Stefan had found a thin wedge of wood with which he was already scraping the sole. He put the boot and implement back down on the ground, then pushed past her into the workshop, bringing out some newspaper and the kettle. Her acute discomfort was nothing to do with being lopsided, one socked
foot balancing her weight. She had to make things better. If he only knew how much she regretted her lapse.

  ‘I know it was unethical. You or Dom would have every right to make a formal complaint against me.’

  ‘Dom doesn’t know his confidentiality has been breached. He doesn’t even know you work there.’

  ‘I’ve never contravened a patient’s trust before and I’ve felt really, really bad about it ever since.

  But …’

  Stefan looked up. His right arm was swathed to the elbow in tan leather. He poured hot water over the sole of the boot from the kettle in his left hand.

  ‘But what?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain. I don’t want to betray Fran’s confidence.’

  ‘You don’t want to betray your sister’s confidence but it was OK betraying Dom’s? He doesn’t count. Why? Because he’s young? Because he’s gay? Because he’s not related to you?’

  ‘No, none of those things! To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about him at all. I was trying to make my sister see sense. If you must know, and I really implore you not to disclose this to anyone, she’d developed this insane kind of crush on him.’

  Stefan’s eyes widened. ‘On Dominic? But she’s …’

  ‘Nearly forty. Look, I’m not even sure how serious she is – was. She tried to persuade me it was all some kind of a tease, but that didn’t stop her wittering on and on about him, as if actually trying to get my approval. I became sick of it. Suddenly it seemed like home truths time. I was trying to get through to her how ridiculous she was being. She’s probably as old as his mother, for heaven’s sake!’ Stefan’s eyes were still fixed on her face. ‘I was trying to make her face up to that, and thought it wouldn’t hurt her to realise that in the extremely unlikely event of a boy of his age fancying someone so much older …’ Dory blushed and her voice thinned to a weedy treble. ‘It wouldn’t be a woman.’ She cleared her throat, half expecting Stefan to look uncomfortable or annoyed, but he merely nodded, putting the kettle down on the ground and picking up a wad of newspaper.

  ‘That certainly seems to be the case now, but sexuality is not necessarily set in stone at his age, is it?’ His eyes were now directed at the task as he rubbed briskly at the sole of her boot with the newspaper. ‘Here,’ He handed it over. ‘That’s as clean as I can get it.’ His eyes were still cold, his mouth compressed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said automatically, bending down to brush grit off the bottom of her sock before pulling on the boot. But as she fiddled with the zip, a pent-up head of steam was building inside her brain. She’d admitted her mistake and apologised for it. But how dare he look at her like that, as if he held her in contempt? How dare he assume the moral high ground? He’d stood there, casually agreeing that Dom’s sexuality wasn’t necessarily fixed, as if it had nothing to do with him.

  ‘This is stupid.’ Abruptly straightening, she looked him in the eye, noticing, not for the first time, their colour. Like his hair, the deep dark brown was enlivened by metallic glints of rust and copper. She swallowed. ‘I’ve made my position clear. I regret disclosing personal information about Dominic to a third party. I admit I was in the wrong. I admit it was unethical. I have said I’m sorry. I could not defend myself if you decided to make a complaint. Bang to rights, guvner! But I don’t think you have any right to judge me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am not homophobic! Do you think I could do my job if I were? And I know gay sex is legal at Dom’s age. But there’s a difference between legal and moral. You are in a highly ambiguous position. Believe me, I would find it similarly repugnant if any fortyish man of my acquaintance was keeping a young girl as a mistress, even if she were over the age of consent and her sexuality was not in question. But you have just admitted that boys, and maybe Dom in particular, can have a fluid sexuality, which makes it even more reprehensible that you are exploiting his vulnerability.’

  Stefan’s mouth dropped open. ‘Vulnerability?’

  ‘Yes, vulnerability. He’s only seventeen. He’s still a child. What you’re doing is an abuse of power!’

  ‘Have you read his file?’

  ‘No. All I know is his age and that he’s been involved in risky gay sex. Otherwise why did you bring him along to the clinic to get him screened? To make sure you don’t catch anything, I presume!’

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m going!’ She was about to walk off, but remembered something else, which recharged her fury. ‘Before I do, what about the ethics of you smuggling your boyfriend into the class? I assume his name is missing from the register because he’s not paid the enrolment fee? Not to mention the fact he’s jumped the waiting list.’ He continued to stare at her, his face frozen, but she was on a roll. ‘Oh, and by the way, have you considered getting yourself checked out at my department? Maybe it’s Dom who’s in danger of being infected by you!’

  The silence stretched. His jaw had dropped, his face paled – its expression going from taut immobility to aghast. She knew her own must be flushed and hateful, but the hot miasma of anger that had buzzed inside her head had been vented and was fast seeping away, replaced by the queasy conviction she’d gone too far. He deserved to be challenged. He had no right to be so judgemental. Wasn’t there a Bible story along those lines? Not that she set much store by anything religion had to say on a subject, but she felt sure there was something somewhere about not making too big a deal about the speck in someone else’s eye until you’ve removed the stonking great beam from your own.

  Her pulse gradually slowed. She knew as well as anyone that life was never black and white. Hadn’t she technically jumped the life class waiting list? The way he conducted his life was none of her business. Why was she having such difficulty convincing herself of this? And why did she feel so disappointed by his behaviour? For a brief moment, it had seemed there was a second chance at friendship. Now, with the smell of burning boats in her nostrils, Dory walked away. Regret washed over her.

  Chapter Thirty - Stefan

  More than a month had passed since their meeting on the towpath. Easter had come and gone and yet the events of that chilly morning would not cease replaying over and over through his mind. It was the sorrow and regret in her eyes which kept coming back to him, but at the time, transfixed by his own emotions, he’d not registered hers.

  Stunned into immobility, he’d watched her walk away. She dragged the protesting gate closed behind her and strode off back down the towpath. His shock at her tirade was already morphing into something else. It started as a tense, breathless tremor deep in his gut and became a spasm that surged uncontrollably through his body. Suddenly, surprisingly, it erupted from his mouth in a loud guffaw. And having started to laugh, he couldn’t stop. Gasping for breath, he fumbled around for something to wipe his eyes. The laughter took minutes to subside. Still chuckling intermittently, Stefan returned to the workshop. He hadn’t laughed like that for a very long time. A smile still came and went as he reached for his mobile in the pocket of his leather jacket. Withdrawing the phone, he spotted Dory’s bag, still hooked by its long strap over the back of the other chair. Unfortunate, but not the end of the world. He’d deal with that later. He had another call to make first.

  Outside, in the chill sunshine, he paced up and down while the phone rang. It went to voicemail. He rang again. A smile still hovered on his face; he was confident it would be answered eventually. The third time he dialled, it was picked up.

  ‘Yoh …?’ came the sleep-thickened voice on the other end. Stefan could hear the rustle of a duvet.

  ‘Dom, it’s me. Did I wake you? Sorry.’

  Another croak.

  ‘Dom, answer me something. Do you feel exploited?’

  ‘Whaaa? Umph … d’you say exploit …?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been suggested to me that I exploit you.’

  There was a grunt, which became an odd wheezy, snuffling sound, then a creak. Stefan could imagine the scene. Often
enough he’d witnessed the boy emerging blearily out of sleep. He’d push himself up – the dragon tattoo, vivid against his pale flesh, curving down from shoulder to elbow – then flop back.

  ‘Nah. Other way round, mate!’ Now it was evident that Dom was laughing.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Stefan smiled, unconcerned that he was the butt of the joke. It was good to hear Dom laugh these days. ‘You can go back to sleep now. Though it is the afternoon.’

  ‘S’all righ’, I’m awake now!’ His voice still had a laugh in it. ‘Who said it?’

  ‘Not important. See you later.’ He clicked the red button on the phone and pocketed it. Talking to the lad prompted the thought that had grown increasingly troubling since his return at New Year. What would happen to Dom if he sold up? A sudden rusty squeal interrupted the thought. He turned to see Dory coming back through the gate. Her short, ashy-blonde hair was tousled and standing on end as if she’d been running her fingers through it. Her wide, hazel eyes were bright and glittery.

  ‘I’ve left my bag behind.’ She said it calmly, but a tell-tale flush rose into her face. She wasn’t wearing a trace of make-up, he now noticed.

  ‘I only just spotted it. I was …’ He stepped out of her way as she marched past him and into the workshop, emerging seconds later with the bag over her shoulder.

  ‘My keys and mobile are inside,’ she said, like an explanation was required, as if it were understood she’d have been happier to abandon the bag had it contained nothing useful. Head held high, she began to walk away, but abruptly stopped and turned.

  ‘By the way, if you decide you want one, I could design a website for you. I mean … no cost to you other than the domain name.’