Teach Me Dirty (18 page)

I messaged Lizzie.

What time is Scottie picking you up?

Lizzie: He’s not.

He’s not??

Lizzie: No. We’re not one of ‘those’ couples. We don’t do the traditional thing.

Traditional thing? It’s a ball, Lizzie, not an engagement. :p

Lizzie: I’m meeting him there.

I let it go and focused on my outfit. The shoes Mum had ordered online fit perfectly. They were princessy enough to make Katie happy, just the slightest sprinkling of jewels and a delicate little heel that added a couple of inches. Mum curled my hair and painted my toenails, and I put on just a tiny little bit of makeup to make my skin glow.

And then I was ready.

Even Dad looked lost for words.

“You look… really good, Helen.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“When did you get all grown up…?”

I wish I was all grown up.

“…he’d better appreciate it.”

My stomach turned. “Yeah.”

And then
he
was here. Only he was the wrong he. In fairness to him, Harry Sawbridge polished up well. His suit was fitted and his hair was slick and his eyes looked big and dark and pretty hot. Only I didn’t want him.

He yabbered on all the way to the Three Friars, and high-fived about a million people that I disliked on the way in, and then I was tossed around a sea of bodies in big gowns, and everywhere I looked they were staring at me, and laughing. They were all laughing. Finally, I found myself an anchor. Or rather, an anchor found me.

Lizzie grabbed me by the waist, spun me around her, and she looked great, in one of those 50s swing dresses in purple polka dot and a big ostrich feather in her hair.

“Have you seen him?” she whispered and she was smiling.

“Seen who?”

She rolled her eyes. “Rampant Roberts. My God, he polishes up alright, Hels, even if I do say so myself.”

My knees felt like they’d go from under me. “Where?”

She turned me in the direction of the bar and peered between bodies, angling me to follow her eye line. And then I saw him. He was standing with Miss Monkton, smiling politely as she whispered in his ear. And he was beautiful.

He had his glasses on, in that geeky way that I love so much, and his hair was still a mass of eccentric curls, but he was so smart, in a jet black suit with a black tie, and a crisp white shirt… I’d never seen him like this. I’d never seen him so polished and magnificent.

“Hot, isn’t he?” Lizzie giggled.

I couldn’t even speak.

He looked at me, turning his head in slow motion, and I felt the moment his eyes met mine. The world stopped, just like that. Everything stopped. And he swallowed. And my cheeks burned. And the whole world seemed to lurch and wobble.

And then he looked away. He looked away as if it was nothing.

As if
I
was nothing.

I don’t know why it hurt so badly, I don’t know why him turning his attention back to what Miss Monkton was saying caused me so much pain, but it felt like someone had ripped me in half and tossed my stomach on the dancefloor. I could feel it there beneath the clumsy feet. Feel them trampling all over me.

I stumbled my way to the bar and Lizzie was there before me. She forced her way through and I shouted for a double, a double anything, I didn’t even care.

“I’d have got that for you,” Harry announced as we cleared the throng, and it was all I could do to smile.

He led me about the place like a prized show pony and I hated it. His hand felt clammy and icky and his fingers didn’t fit mine, and I hated it. I didn’t want to be there with him at all, and I hated it. But seeing Mr Roberts laughing with Miss Monkton was what I hated most of all.

She was touching him, her fingers wrapped around his elbow, and she was too close, pressed into his side as she laughed. And it was horrible. I wanted to know how he smelled, how his suit felt, how his voice sounded over the dance tracks. I wanted to know how it felt to stand at his side in public, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Harry fetched me a fresh drink, and another after that, and Lizzie handed me her little hip flask filled with vodka while she followed Scottie around the dancefloor.

I went to the toilet to drink some down, and died inside as I walked into Sarah Jennings’ bitch brigade. They flashed me looks full of scorn and they laughed.

“Ooh, get Helen Palmer in her fancy gown.”

“Shame about the tits, Helen.”

“See how horny Harry finds a training bra.”

I burned up and dashed into a cubicle.

“You still got your crush, Helen?”

“Still a little stalker freak, Helen?”

“Look on the bright side, Helen, you know what they say about Roberts… maybe you could pretend to be a boy for him.”

“Yeah, you could be a little boy!”

“Helen with her baby breasts, he’ll love that.”

I wasn’t going to cry for those bitches. I counted down the seconds until they laughed and disappeared, and downed the rest of the vodka in one.

There was more than I expected, and it burned my throat, but I was way past caring.

Outside the toilets, Scottie Davis was hanging out with Rachel Panter. His hand was on her ass and his lips were on her neck and I felt so sick at the sight that I stumbled backwards into the wall.

I dashed around the place, trying to find Lizzie, and eventually located her under the patio heater. She was smoking. Not the calm, chilled, give-me-a-cigarette type smoking. This was angry smoking. Stressed smoking. I-can’t-find-my-boyfriend type smoking.

I could hardly bring myself to tell her.

“It’s Scottie… I don’t know what to say… he’s, um… he’s…”

“Fucking Rachel Panter, I know. It’s been going on ages.”

My jaw fell open. “You knew?”

“Yeah. We’re just… unconventional… I’m cool with it…”

She nearly convinced me. Nearly. But there was a tremble in her lip as she handed me her cigarette, and it gave the game away. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you were solid.”

“Yeah, well.” That was the only explanation she gave me.

I sucked in smoke and pressed myself against the wall, into the shadows where nobody could see me, and as Mr Roberts and Miss Monkton stepped outside, Lizzie joined me in the darkness. We stood silently as they made their way from the main patio, over towards the gardens and away from the straggling revellers. My eyes followed them, and I hitched a breath at the realisation they were stopping just a few metres away.

“Kids,” Miss Monkton tutted. “This makes me feel so old.”

“Quite,” Mr Roberts said, and lit her a cigarette.

The simple act of sharing set off fireworks of jealousy in my guts.

“Oh to be young again,” she laughed. “Can you even imagine?”

“I’m a bit past that,” he said.

“Oh, Mark, you’re really not that old…”

“I’m old enough.”

“You’re in your prime.” She brushed his sleeve. “You look great.”

“As do you.”

“Thank you.” And she giggled. She giggled at him. “I’ll expect Helen Palmer’s eyes will be popping out of her head this evening.”

I swear my heart stopped when I heard that.

“I’d rather not talk about Helen,” he said.

“Oh no, I mean, it was only a joke. I know it’s only teenage silliness. She’s just a girl.”

And he didn’t argue. He didn’t argue with her. Didn’t say I wasn’t a silly girl, and didn’t say it was none of her business and didn’t stand up for me.

I knew the vodka had gone to my head but I didn’t care. I stepped from the shadows and into the light from the patio heater, and Miss Monkton’s face was a picture as she saw me there.

“Helen! I didn’t see you there…”

But I didn’t smile, and I didn’t laugh and I didn’t make conversation. I didn’t even look at Mr Roberts, hating the whole world that they were laughing at me, taking the piss out of me, making me out for a stupid joke, that my emotions were nothing but a stupid joke.

I wished I could have told the stupid cow. Told her how he’d touched me and looked at me, and made me feel special. Told her how I wasn’t just a stupid kid.

But I was a stupid kid. A stupid
virgin
. And if I wasn’t things could be different.

If
I wasn’t.

I turned and hurried back inside.

Lizzie caught me up. “Hey! Steady up. What’s going on?”

“They were laughing at me,” I said, swaying around the place. “Laughing at me for being a stupid virgin!”

Lizzie looked confused, even I could see that. “They were?”

I nodded. “They think it’s hilarious.”

“I didn’t hear that bit…”

“
Everyone
thinks I’m hilarious. I’m just a stupid joke. A laughing stock. A stupid kid. An outsider. A weirdo.”

“You’re not!”

“I AM!”

But I didn’t want to be. I wanted to be the same as everyone else.

I saw Harry in the doorway, laughing with Tina Foxton, and I forced myself to be brave. I made a move for him, lunged into his arms and planted my lips on his, and he grunted in surprise and so did Tina, but then he found his footing, and opened his mouth and poked his tongue at mine, and it was slobbery and disgusting and tasted of cider but I didn’t care.

I kissed him for ages, until I was sure that the whole sixth form would have seen let alone Mr Roberts, and then I took his hand and put my drunken lips to his ear.

“Fuck me,” I whispered. “Fuck me, Harry. I want it.”

“You do?” He looked unsure, taken aback.

“Now,” I said. “I want it now.”

I dragged him by his wrist, and he followed meekly behind, and when Lizzie saw me she fist pumped the air and wolf whistled and did a ‘GO, HELS!’ chant while we made our way into the gardens.

I hitched up my skirt, and propped myself on a picnic bench, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything other than not being a stupid baby virgin anymore.

“You’re sure about this?” Harry asked, and I pulled him closer by his belt. And my fingers were fumbling, drunk and needy and I just wanted him in me, wanted it done.

“Fuck me,” I said again. “I’m on the pill.”

Harry looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming, and then he pressed his fingers between my legs, as though he was checking I was really real.

“Fucking hell, Helen Palmer,” he grinned. “I didn’t see this coming.”

He dropped his pants.

***

Mark

The whole place was thrumming, the air rippling with shock and amusement and bitchiness.

Helen Palmer’s fucking Harry Sawbridge! Right now, in the gardens! For fucking real!

Who’d have ever thought it of Helen Palmer?

Sweet little Helen Palmer.

I thought she was a goody-two-shoes little virgin.

I laid a hand on Jenny’s shoulder, indicating she should hang back, and I was off like a bullet, pushing my way through the throng to the gardens.

“Mark? Mark? Where are you go…?”

I held up a hand and carried on, her eyes burning my back until I stepped out of view.

My heart was pounding as I headed for the shadowy rear of the beer garden. The action wasn’t all that hard to locate. A straggle of giggling sixth formers marked the spot, peering into the darkness of a shady alcove.

“Back inside,” I said. “Now.”

Harry Sawbridge was too engrossed to notice me, his mouth slurping on Helen’s neck as his hands grabbed at her, pawed at her without finesse, groping and sloppy and eager. His belt hung loose, trousers around his thighs, greeting me with the pale sight of his naked backside as I crossed the lawn. I took hold of his arm, and the contact was much more violent than I intended, spinning him around but propelling him further, off-balance, where he swayed and dithered and shimmied about the place with his cock out and his trousers falling around his ankles.

“Mr Roberts!” His eyes flew wide as his predicament dawned, and he dropped to the floor, wrestling with his underpants to gain back a sliver of modesty. “Sir, I’m sorry, I…”

“Go!” I said. “Back inside!”

“But Helen… but…”

“Inside!” I said, and shoved him towards his destination.

He shot Helen a pitiful glance and hurried away, fastening his belt as he went. I waited until he was well out of sight before I turned around.

She remained perched on the edge of the picnic bench, smoothing down her crumpled dress and pulling her straps back up. Her mouth was puffy and her hair was dishevelled, eyes big and scared as she stared up at me from the shadows. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and focused on her creamy skin, the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she caught her breath.

“What the hell were you doing? Helen, what the hell were you
thinking
?”

“What the hell do you
care
?” She folded her arms across her breasts.

“Of course I
care
. You think this is acceptable? Fucking some drunken idiot on a picnic bench while the rest of the year cheers you on from the sidelines? Is that what you want?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Oh come on, Helen. You’re better than this. You’re so much better than this!”

“Am I?!” she snapped. “Am I better than this?! I don’t
feel
better than this!” Her eyes were glistening. “Maybe I don’t
want
to be better than this! Maybe I want to be
normal
!”

I leaned in to her, and her breath was nothing but alcohol fumes. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I’m
legal
, legal for booze, legal for
everything
.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re legal or not. How much have you had to drink?”

She shrugged again. “A bit.”

I took her elbow, and she was cold, her skin goose-pimpled. “Where’s your coat? Do you have a coat?”

“Dunno. Somewhere. A shrug thing.”

“Where?”

She tipped forward on the bench, lurching about the place. “Can’t remember. Inside somewhere.”

I couldn’t hide my frustration, hissing out a sigh as I shrugged off my jacket and draped it around her shoulders. I guided her arms through the sleeves, and she was a flutter of dithery limbs, weightless. “You’re going home. I’ll find your shrug later.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, Helen,” I said. “You’re going home right now. Shall I call your parents?”

Oh the horror, her eyes flew wide. “No! Please! Not my dad!”

“What, then? You can’t just walk home alone.”

“Lizzie’s,” she said. “I’ll go to Lizzie’s. She lives at Lawnside…”

Lawnside wasn’t far. You could practically see the flats from the Three Friars’ car park. “Alright.”

“Don’t be mad…” she said, reaching out to pull at my cuff. “I don’t want you to be angry… please…”

“I’m worried. There’s a big difference.”

“I’m ok…” she whispered. “He didn’t… we didn’t…” She took a breath. “I’m still a…” And then she crumpled and the tears came, drunk emotional tears that rolled down her flushed cheeks. “I don’t want to be, but I still am. I’m still a stupid virgin.”

I took her by the shoulders. “And you’ll be glad you still are when you sober up.”

I caught some movement on the edges of the lawn, a couple of nosey parkers trying their luck. I took a few steps towards them and they scurried back, but not before I managed to bark out my request.

“Can someone find Elizabeth Thomas, please? I need Elizabeth Thomas here, now.”

“Don’t…” Helen said. “Lizzie will have to leave, too!”

“Maybe you should have thought about that earlier.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry.” She pulled my jacket tighter around her. “I’m just… I dunno… I dunno what I am anymore…”

“Drunk,” I said. “You’re drunk.”

It didn’t take long for word to reach Elizabeth, she came tottering across the grass with a cigarette in her hand. She had her collar up against the cold, dressed much more for the weather than her sweet little friend was.

“Helen? Hels?”

“She’s alright,” I said. “But she’s ready to go home now, are you able to take her to yours? She tells me you live at Lawnside?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Yeah, just down the road… I can take her…” She reached for Helen, yanked her up by her arm. “Come on, Hels, let’s get you sobered up.”

I took Helen’s other arm, holding her steady as she found her feet. It felt as though the whole place was staring as we made our way under the patio heaters and out to the car park, but I was long past caring. Helen tried to shrug my jacket off at the entrance, but I pulled it back around her and buttoned it up. I fished my wallet, cigarettes and keys from the pockets.

“Keep it,” I said. “You’ll catch your death.”

“But what about you?”

I hadn’t even noticed the chill, my heart was still pounding and my whole body felt wired. “I’ll be fine.” I looked at Elizabeth and she seemed sober enough. “Take care of her. I’ll watch you both down the road.”

She nodded. “Will do. Come on, Hels.”

I watched them leave, and it was a slow affair. Helen seemed to crumple into Elizabeth’s side, mumbling words I couldn’t hear in a voice that sounded sad and whiny and tearful. I was glad I couldn’t hear them. I lit up a cigarette as I watched, positioning myself on the street where I could see them make their way up Elizabeth’s road. I waited until I saw them arrive at a block of flats in the distance.

And then I made my way back inside, and grabbed myself a double scotch.

***

Helen

“I’ve ruined everything!” I could hardly get my words out, they sounded weird and slurry and not like me. My legs were like jelly, too.

“Just walk, Hels, or we’re both going to go flying.”

I focused on my feet, climbing the stairs slowly up to Lizzie’s place. They lived on the second floor and it seemed to take forever and a day, swaying all the way up while I death-gripped the railing.

Ray was watching the game when we made our way inside, an empty bottle of scotch at his side.

“Twit-twoo. Didn’t expect you girls so early. Very nice…”

“Helen’s not well,” she snapped. “She’s had too much to drink.”

“If you girls want to carry on the party…”

I heard the venom in her voice. “No, thanks. Where’s Mum?”

“Your nan’s.”

“Fucking brilliant.”

She dragged me through to her bedroom and dropped me on her bed. It was a long way to fall, just a mattress on the floor, and my stomach lurched as I landed. She crouched beside me and pulled off my heels, and my feet felt cold against the carpet tiles. “Get in bed if you want.”

But I didn’t want.

“It’s all over. I ruined everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re drunk, Hels. You don’t know what’s what.”

“I do know,” I sighed. “It’s all over. He hates me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” She tutted. “You’re wearing his jacket and he watched us all the way up the bloody street.”

“Because he’s my teacher. He has to.”

“I don’t think it’s just that, Helen.”

“It is.” I lay down and pulled my knees to my chest. “I screwed up.”

“You
screwed
,” she laughed. “I dunno about screwed up. Maybe both.”

“I didn’t,” I said. “Harry didn’t fuck me.”

Her eyes widened. “You are shitting me?”

I shook my head, trying to ignore the sick feeling. “No. He was too busy fumbling, and then Mr Roberts was there.”

“Shit. That sucks.”

“Maybe.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be Miss Purity anymore?”

“I don’t. But Harry… I don’t love him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like anyone gets that whole love shit their first time. First time’s overrated, Hels, you’ll find out. It’s not even that good. It’s awkward and it hurts, and it’s a big fat non-event. You’ll see.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m glad I didn’t, then.” She fetched me a glass of water and I drank it down while she lit up a cigarette. She shoved the ashtray towards me and offered me some, but my stomach turned at the thought of it. Lizzie’s room was spinning a little, but I looked around anyway. She still had loads of posters up, still the same old broken wardrobe door and the tatty old dressing table. I was hardly here, she hardly wanted me here. I don’t think she wanted to be here either. “Mum’s away again. Typical.”

“Maybe we should go to mine…”

She shook her head. “It’s alright, you should get some sleep.”

I forced myself up, until I was sitting upright. “I have to go back out later.”

“You what?”

“I have to, Lizzie. I have to say sorry. Give him his jacket back.”

“That’s ridiculous. He won’t thank you for it.”

I reached for her hand. “Please, Lizzie. Don’t stop me. I have to make this right.”

“You’re trashed. You wouldn’t make it ten yards.”

“I’ll sober up, head over there just before midnight, just before it finishes…”

“You’re crazy!”

“You can watch me up the road, like he watched us.”

“This is crazy talk, Hels.”

“Please.” I squeezed her hand. “Please, Lizzie. It’s important to me. Please.”

She sighed.

“I love him,” I said, and even drunk it sounded pitiful. “I really love him.”

“And he’s really your teacher, and you’re really drunk.”

“If I sober up,” I begged. “Please, Lizzie. Please let me go.”

“You’re eighteen years old, Helen Palmer. It’s up to you how much of an idiot you make of yourself.” She smiled to lighten the words. “I can’t believe you’re still a virgin. Way to go, useless Harry.”

“Harry’s nice. I just don’t want him.”

“You don’t want
anyone
who isn’t Mr bloody Roberts, Hels.”

I shrugged. “That’s true enough.”

She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. “Ain’t such a thing as true love, Hels. It’s nothing but fairy tales.”

“You really think that?”

“I really
know
that. There’s sex, and there’s finding someone who is tolerable to try and goof about the rest of your life with. That’s it.”