Life Class

by Allan, Gilli

  ‘Are you all right?’ The sudden concern in his voice was touching, but it only made her suppressed amusement all the more irresistible. And then she was openly giggling, her shoulders heaving helplessly. Looking through her fingers she saw only surprise in his face. She hoped he wouldn’t be hurt by her hilarity, but it had acquired a life of its own. Curled and shaking, she turned away from him, trying to regain control. She wondered where the laughter had come from. Then, thankfully, she heard his laugh join hers.

  As she opened her eyes, the section of blue sky she could see through the window had deepened. Her flailing hand felt nothing beside her. Dory turned. She was alone in the bed. Footfalls were coming up the stairs. Carrying two mugs, Stefan pushed through the door. His dark green robe was thin, and hairy with unravelling threads. She sat up, pulling the duvet up with her.

  ‘Tea,’ he said. ‘Might be a bit musty. It’s been open in the cupboard for I don’t know how long. Dom and I don’t drink much.’

  ‘That’s kind. But you should have woken me earlier. How long have I slept?’

  ‘After my lamentable performance when you’d laughed yourself into a coma, I decided the best thing was to join you. So, I don’t know. I’ve been asleep as well. Perhaps a couple of hours?’

  ‘I wasn’t laughing at you.’

  ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘Honestly!’

  He gave her the mug of tea. ‘I hope you don’t take sugar.’

  ‘No. It’s fine. Nice,’ she added, taking a sip. She now noticed the subdued throb of a baseline. ‘I can hear music.’

  ‘If that’s what you call it,’ Stefan said. ‘Dom’s home. I haven’t seen him but I’m sure he won’t burst in on us. He understands about privacy.’

  ‘You don’t really think I was laughing at you?’ Dory said, still concerned that she’d offended him. ‘I was laughing at the situation. Everything seemed so absurd. Perhaps it was relief. What I told you earlier had been preying on my mind and the release of tension …’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He sat down. ‘Laughter was the best response. Pity would have been harder to bear.’

  Still unsure if he was teasing or if there was a germ of seriousness there, Dory put her half-drunk tea on the bedside cabinet. She lay back against the pillow and raised her arms in invitation.

  ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about …’ The sudden seriousness in his expression transmuted into something else. Whatever he’d wanted to say was overtaken by another, more pressing imperative. ‘Perhaps it can wait.’

  Dory agreed. The time for analysis and post-mortems could come later.

  Without the former urgency of passion it was disconcerting to be the focus of such intense scrutiny. Before, she’d been brazen, but now she felt shy. His hands began to travel over her in long, exploratory strokes, as if he were fascinated by each tiny detail of her anatomy. He caressed her belly in an appreciative sweep, then planted a kiss into the hollow beneath each pelvic bone. He touched his mouth to her eyelids, to her cheek, brushing back and forth as if scenting her skin. She adored the soft scrape of his beard against her face. She adored the sensation against other parts of her body. He gazed into her eyes, watching her response as his hand slid down, unhurriedly traversing the contours of her breasts and belly. Her eyelids drooped and she sensed him sit up and turn away, heard the sound of tearing. Soon he was back, gently moving her legs apart.

  He began to manipulate her with a gentle accuracy. Even had she wanted to, she couldn’t have spoken. She felt drugged – eyes tight shut, mind detached – contemplating the sensations he aroused. Against her eyelids a memory replayed. Again she was watching his damp hands as they investigated every crevice of the nude figure. He kneaded and sculpted, his fingers exploring, touching, smoothing, massaging, digging into the greasy clay. Abruptly, the physical and mental clicked back into synch. Her pulse quickened, her breathing grew ragged and gasping. The sensations were tightening, twisting, focusing into a crescendo, then the maddening touch stopped. Dazedly, Dory heard her own strangulated bleat of loss, but detached from her, as if it were someone else making those piteous, needy sounds.

  She was aware that Stefan had knelt up on the bed. She opened her eyes and saw him staring down at her. His face was dark and shadowed, his expression intent as his hands moved over her, almost as if trying to memorise the forms of her body. Dory closed her eyes again, abandoning herself to his touch. He lifted her hips and drew her towards him till her body was tilted, thighs straddling his lap. Leaning forward, his hands cupped her buttocks. She felt again a slight lift, and then her body was opening to his. With the connection, she heard his long exhalation of breath, when at last he slid deep inside her. Her orgasm discharged instantly, sweeping her with a sweet quenching pleasure. But while she was still being lapped by the aftershocks, she sensed the profound ecstatic pulse of his. As all tension was spent, his taut body relaxed against hers and they lay, skin to skin, their breathing growing slower and quieter.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ she breathed after moments had passed. ‘That was …’

  Stefan lifted his head and looked down at her. He raised his eyebrows.

  Lost for words, Dory added, ‘Phew,’ and then, ‘Nice. That was nice.’

  ‘Not a word my father allowed. Nice is a paltry, mealy-mouthed word, he would say.’ Seeing the creases deepen at the corners of his eyes, she relaxed. She was beginning to know when Stefan was serious. ‘But nice will do. I’m just glad I was able to redeem myself.’

  Dory woke with the dappled morning sunlight on her face. Full consciousness and recall of what had happened the previous evening sifted into her brain slowly with the realisation she was in an unfamiliar bed where the musky scents of sex still lingered. The room was uncluttered and utilitarian. No need for clutter in a big house like this one. Most of the furniture was unremarkable apart from one of those extraordinary painted wardrobes. Of course, it wasn’t the first time she’d looked at this room. She’d seen it before Christmas, with no premonition she would be in bed with the owner in six months’ time. What was going to happen now, she wondered, rolling back and looking up at the ugly light fitting. For someone so artistic, he had a blind spot about his living arrangements. Someone should take him in hand. Immediately she batted back the unformulated implication that that someone would be her, or that she could expect anything long-term in this relationship. Live for the moment, my girl, she told herself.

  ‘I’ve made another mug of tea,’ Stefan said as he returned to the bedroom. ‘You let the first one go cold.’

  Dory frowned. She’d suddenly realised that the simply framed life-drawing on the wall was familiar, but not because it had been there when she viewed the house. The male subject, seen from the back, was drawn in a black, spluttery ink line, the form indicated in a bright jade ink wash. Why did Stefan have one of her drawings on his wall amongst the other modernist abstracts?

  ‘Last night, remember?’ he continued. ‘And I’ve brought some toast this time. Breakfast.’

  Dory pulled herself up into a sitting position, wondering whether to ask him about the drawing now, or wait. She noticed a large white envelope on the tray he put down beside the bed.

  ‘Wow, luxury! I can’t recall the last time I had breakfast in bed.’

  He handed her a mug and the plate of buttered toast before settling himself cross-legged on the bed next to her.

  ‘Is Dom up?’

  ‘You are joking? It’s only half past seven. Left to his own devices I wouldn’t expect to see him till midday or later. As it is, I’ll have to winkle him out in the next half hour or so. We have to get to painting class. Leaving by nine at the latest, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’d forgotten. Monday is one of my days off.’

  ‘I nearly forgot, too. It would have been …’ He breathed in. ‘Such a pleasure to stay here with you. But needs must. I’ve had enough time off this year. You have the morning to yourself. You can make your getaway later. Dom need never
know who was here. Unless, of course, he recognises your car.’

  Munching toast and drinking tea, which was – as he’d predicted the previous evening – a bit musty, they continued to chat about nothing significant. Neither of them suggested how they saw the future of the relationship. He seemed to assume she would want to hide the fact from Dom. Maybe that was a giveaway about what he wanted? Who else did he want to keep secrets from? He could be home from college by early afternoon but it apparently hadn’t occurred to him that she might want to stay. Her thoughts infected by countless misgivings, Dory kept glancing at the bulky A4 envelope on the bed. Whatever it was, he’d a made a point of bringing it upstairs. Why?

  ‘There’s something I want to discuss with you,’ Stefan said at length, handing her a tissue from the box by the bed. They both wiped butter and crumbs from their fingers in silence. Dory waited. He took her greasy tissue and threw it, with his, on the floor. ‘I was going to raise the subject last night. But …’ He caught her eye and smiled. ‘Other things intervened. I’d only had a phone call about it, but this morning I had the confirmation.’ He tapped the envelope. ‘Are you still looking for a place to buy?’

  ‘Well … I’ve gone off the boil since you sensibly refused my mad offer,’ Dory replied cagily. ‘But I don’t want to rent forever.’

  ‘You may have to hang on for a bit longer if you’re interested in one of these?’ He was thrusting his hand into the envelope as he spoke and pulled out a wad of paper. Dory felt the tremor as she reached for the folder of documents. It was instantly clear what this was. The giveaway name was printed on the outside of the folder, promoting an exciting new development – Kitesnest Grove. The plans and architects’ drawings, which she withdrew and lay out on the duvet around her, took little deciphering. There was Bull’s Lane, leading up from the main London road to the common at the top. There were the few houses, now situated along the lower half of the lane, interspersed by fields and copses of trees. And there, over halfway up the hill, was the area of land where now, Kitesnest House and Kitesnest Cottage stood, with nothing between them and the common. But on these plans, those two houses had disappeared. Instead, the land was divided up into an irregular grid of little plots, dotted with houses. According to the bumph and the drawings which accompanied the plans, there were going to be starter homes, three-bed semis, and four- or five-bed detached family residences, crammed onto the site, with roads linking through, around, and back to the lane.

  ‘It’s only a proposal at the minute,’ Stefan said. ‘Grace’s property has made all the difference. When the probate is finalised, these people want first option.’

  ‘But how can they do this?’ she whispered, almost to herself. ‘This is an area of outstanding natural beauty. So much has been lost already. We can’t let them continue to destroy what makes this place so special. All those trees! There have to be regulations against cutting down an area of woodland like this.’

  ‘On the land registry, these woodlands are described simply as gardens.’

  ‘So what? I thought gardens were no longer designated as brown field sites.’

  ‘Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that building on a garden is prohibited.’

  ‘So you still have to get planning permission?’

  ‘Not my problem. The developers are very keen, Dory. They seem confident of gaining the required permissions.’

  ‘But surely not for a development like this … with no bus route, no school, no shops. And what about the wildlife? The birds, the bats?’ She spoke as if the matter was out of his hands, as if he had no influence over the final decision. Stefan shrugged.

  ‘But the money …’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘I don’t see how I can turn it down.’

  ‘But you don’t agree with this, do you? It’s not what you want? Tell me you’re not going to sell to this company. Please. It’s the worst possible outcome!’ Her hand was over her mouth and she could feel the tears pricking to her eyes. She gripped his arm. ‘It would be so wrong to go along with this.

  No amount is worth this desecration!’

  His expression became taut and shut down. She realised, with a plunge of disappointment, that he was unable to see beyond the money.

  Chapter Forty-eight - Dominic

  At first, Dom wasn’t sure what had woken him. Then he heard the raised voices. He shook his head and lifted his mobile from the floor beside him to squint at the time. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock. There was a text flashing at him. He fell back yawning, trying to remember what day it was. Shit! The memory that it was Monday morning came with an unpleasant jolt. As he’d swum up out of sleep it had still felt weekend-ish. He had to get up for class – but not yet. He could eat and dress and be out of the house in fifteen minutes.

  Hard to make out what was being said from the bedroom across the landing, it was a novel experience hearing any voice in the house other than Stefan’s. He didn’t mind if the old guy had a woman in. It was about time. But he wondered where he’d found her and hoped that what sounded like anger was really ecstasy. It would be bad luck to get off with a woman on Sunday only to start arguing with her first thing Monday morning. Unless it was deliberate. Stefan had needed to get his rocks off but now wanted rid of her. Dom had no trouble understanding that impulse.

  He’d already guessed who’d texted him – it would be another message from Mel. He’d look at it in a minute, when his brain was in gear with his eyes. Sunday had been unusual for him too. Assuming that Stefan was working in the barn, and fed up with the raised eyebrows, Dom had deliberately avoided seeking him out. First, stuffing his inside pocket with a handful of condoms from the bathroom cabinet that Stefan kept him supplied with, he’d set off down the hill and caught the lunchtime bus into Painchester.

  It had been a while since he’d been to the city on his own. On arrival, he was at a loss to know what to do. He could visit old haunts and look for old friends, but these days he was no longer sure if they were his friends. They were just people he knew; people he’d been in the home with or people who’d shared his lifestyle. But he didn’t have that lifestyle any more, did he? He didn’t want it. It’d had its attractions. He’d had sex, made money, and got high whenever he fancied, but there was a down side. He knew about the down side better than Stefan or any of the other mealy-mouthed do-gooders. He didn’t need their warnings. Today could be, like, a test, to prove to himself that he could spend time on his own but not give in to temptation. He wouldn’t need the condoms in his pocket. He’d prove it to them all.

  Suddenly he realised who it must be in the bedroom with Stefan. Dory was all right, he decided. She was better than her sister, anyway, and she’d been kind to him. But he still wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea of Stefan having a girlfriend. The idea of anyone having a girlfriend had always been an alien concept. Just making friends with a girl – that was something else, something he thought he could understand now.

  Yesterday had been weird – he wasn’t used to fit girls just walking up to him and starting to chat. The one with dark hair, Jax, was the bolder of the two. But the blonde one, the one he liked, Mel, was quieter and somehow more mature. He’d liked the way she was dressed – a bit Eastern looking, with cool jewellery. They’d all gone for a coffee – well, he’d had a Coke – and he and Mel had talked about everything. During the conversation, though she hadn’t been explicit, he’d realised Mel had a lot more to her. She’d lived in Thailand – that’s why she was dressed like that – and she knew stuff. At first she’d just talked about the exotic beauty of the place, describing the temples and floating markets. But later, she’d talked about the Bangkok nightlife and it was plain that as well as the sunny touristy stuff, she’d seen the dark side. The bar she’d worked in had been bad enough, she said, but better than many of the sleazy clubs and nightspots in the red-light district. She hadn’t needed to spell it out. Easy to imagine the live sex acts performed in those clubs; the ladyboys and prostitutes cruising for business, the girls
and boys – often hardly into their teens – sold to slimy sex tourists by pimps. The thought of it made him feel sick.

  There’d been a click between him and Mel. Not sex or anything, just fellow feeling. He could imagine making a friend of her. And when he got home, they’d texted each other. He told her about the noises coming out of Stefan’s bedroom. That’d been a laugh. But now …? The voices were even louder and crosser. And he was beginning to tune in to what was being said. Now he’d guessed the identity of the woman, it was less of a laugh, and the anger bothered him.

  ‘I can’t believe this! I’m in my own home, being told by a woman I hardly know that I can’t do what I want with it! Who do you think you are? Shit! You told me your sister is controlling! Have you ever looked in a mirror?’

  ‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do!’ she screeched back. ‘I’m just trying to make you think! For an artist you’re surprisingly blinkered to the beauty around you! You’re so lucky yet you want to destroy this wonderful place, and for what? Money? Christ! You’re not the man I thought you were!’

  ‘Probably not. We’ve both had misconceptions. If I can’t afford to work, there is no point in living at all, let alone somewhere beautiful.’

  ‘You’re being melodramatic.’

  ‘I’ve told you how much it costs. I can’t carry on trying to work without an injection of cash. This property is useless to me unless I can raise some money on it. The simplest way is to sell.’

  ‘And then where will you work? You’ve already told me that the Wyvern Mill studio doesn’t inspire you. But hey, why work at all if you’ve a million or so tucked away?’

  ‘Do you really believe that once I’ve got my hands on some money I’d swap my work for a playboy lifestyle?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. What I see is that you’ve no appreciation of this house and the countryside it’s set in. And you do not seem to accept that it’s a part of everyone’s landscape … it might belong to you in the legal sense, but it doesn’t belong to you morally. You only hold it in trust for future generations.’