Authors: Sam Hayes
‘Please . . . please don’t go out. Or let’s all go. Josie can come and we can go out for lunch.’ She spread her fingers round Mick’s wrist. ‘Please.’
‘Nina, what’s got into you? I thought you had mountains of paperwork to get through today.’ Mick allowed his wife to steady herself on him. ‘Josie’ll want to see her friends later, not hang around with us.’
‘You don’t understand.’ The colour drained from Nina’s face. She thought she might faint. ‘I just don’t want to be alone today.’
Suddenly, Nina was back there, sitting on the grass with the evening sun blanketing their shoulders. The bridge cast
a diagram-like shadow over the sludge of low tide in the crook of the gorge, and the warm cheese melted in their mouths. Josie wasn’t even a glimmer of a thought between them, and the most pressing issue in Nina’s mind was whether Mick would kiss her when they parted.
It was all so simple, all so unexplored, and over the following weeks, Nina and Mick grew closer than she could ever have hoped. He was an intelligent, enigmatic, sometimes moody, brilliant artist, and she was a young, naive and slightly nervous make-up artist living above a fish and chip shop. It seemed a lifetime ago now.
‘I’ll be back before you know it. A couple more hours’ work and then how about we have a late lunch outside together. Bread, cheese, wine . . .’ Mick enveloped Nina and pulled her face to his chest. They both knew what he meant; how symbolic that simple feast was. ‘You make your phone call, while I duck out.’ Forgetting to make the coffee, he reached for his car keys. ‘I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’
Nina grew worried. Mick often spent hours in the art supply shop without realising the time, chatting to the owner, browsing the brushes, running his finger over canvases, different paper grades, and trying out the various charcoal sticks that would end up snapped and stubby around his studio.
‘OK,’ Nina reluctantly agreed. She couldn’t press it further. She knew she was being ridiculous. ‘But please don’t be long.’ Nothing would happen while he was gone. She would lock the doors and figure out a way to make
contact with the only man in the world who could offer advice. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
She watched Mick drive off. Within seconds, the door was locked and the windows double-checked. No one would be breaking in again today.
The girl is naked. Moonlight swims over her young skin, giving the appearance of modesty yet not leaving an inch of her unseen. Flat stretches of muscle, gentle mounds, long youthful limbs, hair spidering down her back, I watch it all. She’s performing a dance, or so it seems, right there under the tree, shrouded by the branches. She looks as if she’ll never stop, as if she’ll just keep on dancing for him.
I followed them. A sound woke me. It was late and as soon as I stirred – sitting bolt upright in bed – I sensed it was her coming to see me again, tiptoeing down the corridor, about to tap on my door, about to fall on to my quilt, about to cry, about to confess what was on her mind. Katy Fenwick had been to see me several more times since she’d interrupted my bath. As yet she’d not mentioned any names. She was a troubled girl, that was for sure, and it gave me something else to think about, something other than my own misery.
‘Stop
.’ The hushed command from outside my door stopped Katy’s rap.
‘Who’s there?’ Katy’s voice rasped down the corridor. Someone had followed her.
I got out of bed and pressed my ear to the door. Two voices, one male, one Katy’s. I froze. A breath the size of the one I wanted to release would reveal my presence the other side of the wood.
‘Leave me alone,’ she said. Sobs welled in her throat.
‘You’re being ridiculous, Katy,’ he said. ‘We need to talk about this.’
A sob finally erupted – the pathetic choke of an animal caught in a trap, its captor leering above. Then more talk that I couldn’t hear, crying, muffled sounds, shuffling feet on the creaky boards, more whispers. It all grew distant as the pair retreated.
I grabbed my robe, pushed my feet into slippers, and unlocked my door. It was three twenty-five in the morning.
I’m thirsty; I couldn’t sleep; I heard voices . . .
Excuses filled my mind in case I was caught.
Was it the scent of passion that led me on? Was it footprints of lust or a trail of forbidden love that directed me to the basement? Open doors, lingering words, an illicit scent . . . I smelled the fresh night air, cleaned and ready for the onset of morning, as I slipped out of the cellar. The door leading outside had been carelessly left open, showing me where they’d gone. I pulled my gown further round my shoulders and ducked under the low gothic arch. I climbed the steps to ground level and caught a silver trail of the pair as they ducked into a nearby thicket.
By the time I reached the edge of the evergreen spinney, by the time I’d drawn breath and steadied myself against a tree, by the time my eyes had widened enough to take in
what was happening, I’d already seen Katy’s nakedness; had already spotted that the man with her – his dark eyes swollen and transfixed – was Adam Kingsley.
Now, still watching, frozen, hoping someone will tell me the right thing to do, I stand here, paralysed. Katy winds herself through the undergrowth. Tears stream down her face as she performs her dance. ‘Is this what you want from me?’
My mouth falls open and my heart bounds in a million crazy beats.
This can’t be happening.
I clap my hand over my mouth. Vomit or a yell, something is about to come out. I bend and duck away.
It’s dark,
the voice in my head tells me.
It’s dark and a girl is naked and crying in the woods.
‘No, Katy. You don’t understand.’ Adam’s voice is unfamiliar, altered by the situation – that he is watching one of his young students perform an erotic dance for him in the moonlight. Slowly, Adam removes his arms from his jacket. I watch, breathless, my heart thumping its own rhythm behind my ribs, as he begins his strip.
Katy holds out her hands to Adam; uses her youth to draw him towards her. It’s unclear who is seducing who. I lay my hands on the scabby bark of the bush. Crouching in the thicket, I watch through the network of thorns and twigs.
‘Oh, Adam,’ she sighs, and her tears subside. Everything about Katy is alluring and soft and the perfect feast for Adam, who doesn’t know what to do with himself. Katy’s legs are coyly crossed, her angular shoulders pressed back, and the moonlight is like brushstrokes of white across her skin.
Adam is free of his jacket. I wait for him to unbutton his shirt, but he doesn’t. Instead, he approaches Katy with his jacket held before him as a bullfighter would spread his cape to the bull. ‘Katy,’ he murmurs. Adam is a hunter and Katy the fawn. Thorns scratch my ankles.
‘But Adam . . .’ she says. ‘Mr Kingsley. Mr
Kingsley
.’ She lets his name – the name of him as her teacher – roll off her tongue. She sidesteps the outstretched garment. She shakes her head and draws up to him from behind.
Adam spins round. ‘I want you to put—’
If there was a way to escape, I would. One movement from me and there will be three players in this game. Katy brings her face close to her teacher’s. She presses her lips against his and delivers a kiss he will never forget.
I bow my head into the leaves. I can’t watch. Following them was a mistake, but I wanted to make sure that Katy was safe. I had no idea it was Adam stalking her; no idea what his intentions were. No idea what I will do now, even though I should have learned that lesson long ago.
‘No!’ I look up just as Adam pulls away. ‘Katy, for heaven’s sake, will you put this around you and get back inside.’ He recovers from the momentary paralysis Katy inflicted on him. His body is his own again; he has escaped from the teenage web she spun around them.
In an instant, he has the black jacket across Katy’s shoulders. Once covered, Adam hunts around for her garments. He retrieves a flimsy nightie from the floor of the spinney and holds it out to her.
‘It’s what you wanted, Mr Kingsley.’ Katy is a child
again. Adam grips her shoulders, tiny in the width of his jacket. He shakes her gently.
‘No, Katy, it’s most certainly not what I wanted. All this nonsense has got to stop.’ Adam’s chest rises and falls. He’s sweating.
‘I thought you loved me,’ Katy says. Tributaries of mascara cut up her face. Her mouth hangs open. ‘Kiss me.’ She lunges at Adam. Her calf muscles stretch as she stands on tiptoe, desperately trying to deliver affection to her history teacher.
Adam intercepts her. His palms flat against the hollow beneath her collarbones, he eases her gently away. ‘No, Katy,’ he says firmly. ‘No more. I am your teacher and I do not want to have a relationship with you.’ His voice slams off Katy and ricochets between the trees.
‘No!’ she cries hysterically. She’s laughing now, ripping the jacket from her shoulders.
‘Katy, you’ve been drinking. You need to calm down and come back inside.’ Adam picks up his jacket and attempts to harness the girl within it again.
She’s having none of it.
‘You want me . . . you came to my room looking for me . . . you’re always flirting with me in lessons . . . you grab me whenever we meet . . . you can’t wait to get your hands on me . . .’ Katy continues to mumble, staggering, ranting on and on until Adam silences her with a hand cupped over her mouth.
‘You’re imagining all this, Katy. It’s a crush and it’s got way out of hand. When you came looking for me tonight, I
thought we could sort this out once and for all. But when you ran off, looking for Miss Gerrard, saying you were going to tell her everything . . .’ Adam twists his head away. ‘It’s just not fair on me, Katy.’ He drops his hand from the girl’s face. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
For a few seconds she is stunned into silence. Then, ‘I hate you!’ she screams. ‘I’m going to report you.’ Katy’s hand draws up and lashes across Adam’s face. Her fingers are spread like claws, carving two scratches on his cheek. Adam recoils and watches Katy run back to school. It’s over.
I don’t move. I see the sadness, the despair as Adam takes one step after another in the trail of devastation that Katy has left behind. When he is completely out of sight, when I have counted to a hundred for good measure, I crawl out of the thicket and follow the shadows back to my room. I lie awake for hours, wondering who I should tell.
‘Mick? Is that you back?’ Nina called out. No one replied. ‘Josie?’ She was sure she’d heard someone rattle the front door.
Nina went to the hallway and stopped. She listened, her breath rasping in her chest, waiting for proof that someone was there. It had been loud and clear – the firm pull and tug, the rattle of the handle. She knew the sounds of her own house.
‘Mick?’ she tried again. There was no familiar click of the lock, no jangle as he dropped the bunch of keys on the hall table and called out that he was home. ‘Josie,’ she half whispered, half cried up the stairs. ‘Can you hear me?’ From where she was, she couldn’t see the small glass panel in the front door; couldn’t see if perhaps Laura had popped round, or if it was someone else peering in. Surely, she thought, if it was Laura, then she’d ring the bell or try the back door. Besides, she’d be at work now.
‘What is it, Mum?’ Josie stood at the top of the stairs, impatient, wondering why her mother was acting weird and looking frightened.
‘Stay there,’ Nina whispered fiercely. ‘Go back to your room.’
‘Why did you call me then?’
Nina felt the vibrations as Josie slammed back into her room. Then the rattle at the front door again. Why didn’t they just ring the bell? She dared to take a look into the porch, but no one was there. She thought she spotted a shadow flick round the side of the house. Her mouth went dry and her hands shook as she reached for her mobile phone. She clenched her teeth and dialled. Josie’s safety was more important than anything.
Her stomach lurched as she was connected. She’d prayed she’d never have to do this. ‘Police, please.’
Nina solemnly gave details, keen to stay calm yet desperate to get it over with. She begged them to hurry, wanting it all to be over before Mick returned. Explaining to him would take the rest of her life and that, she knew, she didn’t have. She silently begged for the sirens to come, to frighten off whoever was prowling round her house. Perhaps that’s all it would take. What might happen after that, Nina hadn’t a clue.
They left the Downs in a fit of urgency and passion. Nina felt giddy from the last of the sun’s strength, the wine they’d shared, but mostly from Mick’s company. He was a heady concoction of masculinity and creativity. During their picnic, she’d discovered feelings within herself that she hadn’t known were possible. Where she’d come from, honest desire, passion driven by love, simply hadn’t existed.
Nina admitted to herself, as they tumbled down the hill towards the road, that she wanted Mick more than anything else she’d ever desired in her life. Her lust was both capacious and neglected – a balloon that had been expanding within for years, yet had never had the chance to bloom. Mick would be the fixer of all her problems; he would fill the gap, bring purpose, fulfilment and reason. They would be best friends, lovers, one day marry. She was working it all out.
‘My place?’ he said as they got on the first bus that came along. Neither of them knew if it was the correct one, or would be taking a direct route to the city. Neither of them particularly cared. For it wasn’t a necessity to go side by side into Mick’s messy trailer, or to strip without closing the blinds, or to drop with weakened knees on to the mattress. It wasn’t essential that they locked bodies, forgetting whose skin was whose, or where lips had and hadn’t been. Neither was that moment of silence, that rigid teetering place where two strangers felt like one, an essential part of the plan. For Nina and Mick, each of their minds greedily sucking up the possibilities, just sitting on the bus with all that potential at their fingertips was in many ways more desirable than having each other for real.
Nina nodded solemnly as the countryside transformed into suburbs and then the city streets. ‘Yours.’ They hardly spoke. Her veins hummed as they left the bus at some unknown stop. In a daze, as if they had both been waiting for this moment all their lives, they took another bus to the opposite side of the city. The walk to Ingleston Park was
quick and silent, every footfall a step closer to their fantasies. Mick unlocked his trailer and they were greeted by the fallout of artistic smells and unkempt van. Neither of them noticed nor cared. Each had the same idea about what would happen next.