Teach Me Dirty (6 page)

And I felt alone, too.

Teacher and man collided. They knocked heads, and fists, and somehow they drew a truce, a middle ground. I opened the comments window, stared at the flashing cursor for seconds that felt like hours before I tapped out the words.

You’re not alone.

I pressed send as a knock on wood sounded through the speakers, and there was a sudden fear in me. As though those simple words had condemned me, doomed me to some terrible retribution I didn’t yet comprehend. I heard the ping of my message being received, but Helen didn’t look, she didn’t see. Her languid body jolted to life, her face disappearing off-screen, body tense at the creak of a door.
“Helen, I just wanted to talk to you… about dinner… I’ve spoken to your dad about the panto… he says that…”

And the screen turned black. Disconnected.

I logged out and pushed the tablet aside. Professionalism, where the hell was my
professionalism
? Listening to the ramblings of a teenage identity crisis on webcam, pretending this was normal, that this was coaching, that this was in any way decent. But how could I not? Helen was my student, and she needed a sounding board, she needed a guide, a friend. She needed a teacher.

I would be that teacher.

Just
a teacher.

But a good teacher. A great teacher. The teacher an exquisite soul like Helen Palmer deserved.

I turned Jagger back on and poured myself another wine.

***

Helen

You’re not alone.

My heart was pounding with the need to tell Lizzie, but I was scared to. The words felt fragile, a quiet sentiment in the stillness that I feared would shrivel into nothing if spoken aloud. Speculation would be dangerous, a simple scoff from Lizzie could crush my flutter of hope, and yet the opposite was so much more dangerous. The
what ifs
could pound me into putty.

I held those words tight inside.

You’re not alone.

One little utterance on my chat window had picked me up from the floor.
And
I was going to paint the panto set. Go Mum and her powers of Dad persuasion.

Maybe I wasn’t so alone after all.

“So, what did you say to him?” Lizzie jabbed me in the arm, smiling her pretty little face off. “I so know you cammed for him last night. Don’t go holding out on me.”

I kept walking, focused on the cloud of my breath in the frosty morning. “Just stuff… art stuff.”

“Oh come
onnnnnnn
. Seriously?! That’s all you’ve got for me?!”

I shrugged. “It’s a coaching video, what did you expect me to say to him?”

She grabbed me so hard her satchel swung around to thump me on the ass, and her mouth was at my neck, warm against cold skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Mr R, let’s play school, I’ll be the naughty little girl, you can be big bad teacher man.” Her mock kisses were squelchy, they tickled.

I pushed her away. “Yeah, right.”

She groaned. “You need to up your game if you’re going to land him anytime in the next lifetime, Hels.”

I stopped in my tracks. “This isn’t a
game
. I’m not playing at anything, I’m just… talking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you for real? You have the best opportunity in like, forever, and you’re going to be all puritan about it?”

“I’m not being a puritan, I just don’t want to wreck it.” The thought of blowing it all made me feel sick. I resumed walking. “Being an idiot slut on webcam could ruin everything.”

She matched her pace to mine. “I wasn’t being serious about the teacher game, Hels, I just mean you should seize the moment.
Seduce
him.”

“
Seduce
him?” I laughed at the absurdity. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. How the hell could I
seduce
him? He’s a
man
. An actual proper man. He’s not Scottie, Lizzie, he’s not going to go all goggle-eyed over a little bit of cleavage and some dirty words.” I looked down at my chest and smiled. “Just as well, too.”

“You have cute tits, Helen Palmer. More than enough to get a man like Roberts all steamy.”

“Thanks… I think.” I squeezed her elbow. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” We halted our conversation as a couple of year seven lads came charging past. Their blazers were too big, and they were still playing at being army soldiers on their way to school. How could I ever seduce a man like Mr Roberts while I was dressed like every other kid in town? I waited until the lads were out of earshot. “How is he ever going to want me when I’m dressed like a child every time he sees me? Why do we have to live in the most backwater place on the planet? Most sixth forms don’t even
have
uniform anymore.”

She smirked. “But you look so cute in it. Maybe you should get some white socks, put your hair up in pigtails… get some sweet little Lolita shoes… maybe that will get his interest.”

“Can you even imagine the abuse I’d get from the Jennings’ posse? She’d never ever ever ever ever stop laughing at me.”

“Fuck Sarah Jennings and her bitch brigade.”

“It wouldn’t even work anyway.”

We reached the end of Oakfield alley, and Lizzie grabbed my arm to hold me back. She pulled out her cigarettes and sparked one up. “The female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

Sarah Jennings’ bitchy smirk flashed before my eyes. “You can say that again.”

“I mean
you
, not Sarah bitch-face Jennings.” She offered me her cigarette but I waved it away. “Think about the siren myths, mermaids tempting sailors to their doom and all that. The sailors
always
go. They totally fall for that shit, every time.
You
need to be the siren, you need to call him out to you, he’ll totally go for that kind of thing. I mean he’s an arty type, all deep and mysterious and… I dunno…”

“And totally not interested?” I folded my arms. “I can’t be a siren. I’m just a crazy weirdo.”

“You’re no weirdo, Hels.” She took a couple of long drags then stubbed out the remnants with her shoe. “And he totally is interested. How many other teachers do you think are cam-buddying all cosy with their students?”

“
Coaching
.”

Her eyes dug into mine. “Why are you being so utterly defeatist? You told the guy you love him! He saw your dirty pictures! Shit, Helen, he took you for a cosy ride to his
special spot
and now he’s watching you spill your quirky little guts over webcam! If that’s not interested, I don’t know what is.” She tutted at me. “You should be
happy
. This is progress beyond epic progress.”

I turned away, staring at the stragglers in the distance making their way through the school gates. “I’m scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Scared of everything. Of getting carried away, of getting my hopes up. Scared of making an idiot of myself and watching every dream I’ve had in this place fall away from me.” I shrugged. “Scared of thinking this could ever be more and being shot down. I couldn’t stand it, Lizzie. I’d rather never know.”

“So, what? You just do nothing? Defeated?”

“No!” I shook my head at her. “I’m doing everything! You can’t say I haven’t been brave. I told the man I loved him. I actually said it.” My cheeks burned at the memory.

She swung an arm around my waist as we walked on. “You are brave, and cool, and cute, and smart, and quirky as hell.
And
you have super-dirty pics in your sketchbook. What’s not to love? Believe me, Helen Palmer, you can totally siren the guy in. Trust me, I’m one hundred million percent sure about that.”

I smiled. “I wish I was so sure.”

“You should be.” We passed through the gates, officially on school turf, and my stomach lurched at the sight of his car in the corner of the car park. “I’ll help you,” she grinned. “I know this stuff, I used it on Scottie.”

“What stuff?”

“The art of seduction,” she whispered. “I have secret ways.”

I laughed aloud. “Now this I have to see.”

“Mock all you like,” she smirked. “It’s in my Romany bloodline.” We separated at the entrance to the English block and she blew me a kiss goodbye. “Trust me, Hels, the man is all yours.”

Tingles ran through me at her words.

***

I finally found my voice, but it came out more mousy than I’d intended. A pathetic little squeak, hardly a siren calling.

“I’m not keeping you, am I? I can go…”

Mr Roberts looked up from the paperwork he was reading, and then he took his glasses off. I liked his glasses, he didn’t wear them very often, but when he did they made me a bit giddy. They suited him, made him look like an art professor, geeky and creative and, well, hot.

“No, you’re not keeping me. I have plenty to be getting on with.”

I looked at the clock above his head. Thirty minutes since the end bell had sounded, and I’d dawdled, hovering around my painting even longer than usual. I’d already sent Lizzie a message saying I’d give walking home with her a miss. In truth I didn’t know quite what I was waiting for. The picture in front of me was all but finished, I was tweaking tweaks I’d already made, adding scratchy little lines of nothing. The river was already perfect, its grey-brown water babbling and playing across the canvas, reflecting the rainclouds overhead.

Mr Roberts dropped his paperwork and got to his feet. My hands started shaking.

He propped himself against the art bench beside me, and his palm landed on the corner of my sketchpad. My secret sketchpad. I tore my eyes away and loaded my brush up with paint. I could smell him, the woody fragrance of his aftershave, only he hadn’t shaved. His jaw was dark with the shadow of stubble, working with the dark curls of his hair to make him appear more mysterious than usual. Deeper. Darker. Sexier.

“I’m glad you stayed late. I wanted to talk to you. I meant to add more comments last night, before we were disconnected.”

My pulse sped up. “It was my mum… they never wait, they just knock and come in. It’s not even a proper knock, it’s like a tap and boom, they’re in there. It’s not privacy, it’s more like a cursory announcement.” I gripped the brush to still my shaking hand then painted over the brown of the soil with the exact same brown. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, I just…”

“It’s ok, Helen. It’s fine.”

I daren’t meet his eyes. I was too afraid of seeing something bad, something dismissive, or apologetic, or patronising. He smoothed his tie. It was his green one, dark, like a forest.

“It’s hard, being different, being creative. Finding your feet in a world of normality, feeling the pressure of people around you. You’re right, I do get it.”

Self-consciousness battered me, made me shy. “I was just, talking, I was… I felt… alone. I felt alone then. But I’m fine now.” I smiled a fake happy smile. “I’m totally fine, I don’t always feel like that. I’m good, I mean.”

“You didn’t sound fine.” I could feel his eyes on me.

“I’m fine now. It’s just… family, life,
stuff
. Sometimes it feels hard.”

“Sometimes it
is
hard.”

His tone. So strong, so…
safe
.

I made myself breathe. “Sometimes.”

He moved, appeared at my shoulder, staring at my canvas and my skin prickled at his closeness. “You’ve captured it well. I guess it made an impression. I’m glad.” I could hear his smile in his voice. “It’s nice to find someone who appreciates the beauty in the things I find beautiful.” His fingers traced one of the trees. “I love the twist of these branches. I’ve spent a lot of time admiring them.”

“It looks like a hand,” I said. I raised my own hand instinctively, gesturing at the curve of the branch I’d considered a thumb, and for the briefest moment my fingers collided with his, skin against skin, and it sparked and jolted me. My fingers jumped away but his followed, curling around mine. His hand was warm, his grip strong.

“You aren’t alone, Helen, not even when it feels that way.” His voice was low and kind. I couldn’t even breathe evenly, couldn’t think of anything but the heat of his touch. “Creative spirits will always find their own, and you have your own place in this world, I promise. You’ll find your own kind, you’ll find where you belong, and in the meantime you can always talk, if you need to.” He let go of my hand, and my fingers dithered, lost. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“Mr Roberts, I…” No words would come.

He saved me the awkwardness. “You’re right, it does look like a hand. I’ve often thought so. It’s a shame it lost its leaves early this year, you’d have loved the colours.”

And I was sad I’d missed it. I forced my attention back to my art. “Autumn colours are my favourite. It’s like the world is doing a farewell dance before winter takes its breath. One final explosion, a celebration of life before the world turns grey.”