The Day Of Second Chances (21 page)

‘She went out.'

‘Right. OK.' He stepped in and Jo shut the door after him. ‘It's … you've got a nice house. I like how it's open-plan.'

‘Thanks. Cup of tea?'

‘Please. I've been – it's been a lot of talking. Parents' evening, I mean.'

She put on the kettle and he stood in her kitchen. He was nervous. He kept rubbing his thumb against his index finger, as if he wanted to wear away the skin.

‘The kids?' he said.

‘They're in bed. And my mother-in-law is in her room, doing whatever she does in there.'

‘I'm sorry about earlier. I couldn't … there were too many people. Jo, I honestly had no idea that you were the mother of one of my students. I didn't even know you had any children other than Oscar and Iris.'

‘I didn't know that you were a teacher.'

‘It's my fault. I should have mentioned it. I suppose I just think that everyone can tell anyway, since that's what I look like. Chalk on the fingers. Ink on the tie.' He tried a self-deprecating smile, but it melted away as soon as he'd done it.

‘You don't look like a teacher. You look like …' Jo threw away resolution number two. ‘Well, you can probably tell from what I did in the garden yesterday, that I think you look good.'

He leaned back on the kitchen island, gripping the granite worktop in both of his hands. ‘Listen, I mucked that up yesterday. I'm sorry about that, too.'

‘No, I mucked it up. It was totally out of order.'

‘It wasn't out of order. It was wonderful.'

She stared at him.

‘I was surprised, that was all. I didn't expect it. I hadn't thought you were interested. So I …' He gestured, grimacing. ‘I'm not always the most articulate person. I mean sometimes I am, but other times, not. You can probably tell.'

‘You're articulate enough.'
It was wonderful?
‘You didn't think I was interested in
you
?'

‘Well, you know, you're busy, you have a life. And you're beautiful. And you've probably had your fair share of random blokes coming on to you, and the lecherous neighbour is such a cliché, so …' He shrugged. ‘And then you kissed me out of the blue, and I was surprised, and I blew it. I'm sorry.'

She couldn't quite process this. ‘You blew it? Wait, are you saying you're attracted to me?'

‘Yeah. Of course I am. And also, I like you a lot.'

The kettle boiled. She ignored it. Marcus Graham, Geography teacher, adorable in glasses and a shirt that could do with an iron. Liked her.

Was standing in her kitchen, looking at her, liking her.

‘But you can't,' she said helplessly. ‘How old are you – twenty-five? You can't have been teaching for very long.'

‘I'm twenty-nine, I've been teaching for seven years, this is my second school, I'm Head of Department. Does that even matter?'

‘I'm forty, Marcus. I have three children.'

‘So?'

‘So? It's impossible. I could practically be your mother.'

‘No, believe me, you couldn't.'

His smile this time was slightly crooked. Sexy.

She found it quite difficult to breathe.

‘But you're my daughter's teacher.'

Marcus took a deep breath. His hands tightened on the granite. ‘Yes. That's a problem.'

‘I mean, could you get sacked for that?'

‘For fancying you rotten? I don't think I can get in trouble for inappropriate thoughts about a student's mother. Pending further legislation.'

‘No, I mean if we … did anything.'

Her heart was pounding like crazy. Basically she'd just confirmed to Marcus that she wanted to do something with him. She'd practically propositioned him, in theory at least. If he'd been in any doubt after she'd kissed him in the garden.

And he fancied her rotten.

‘I … don't know,' he said at last. ‘I don't think it's a good idea.'

‘No,' she said hastily. ‘It's definitely not a good idea.'

‘I was wondering, do you know if Lydia's planning on doing A-level Geography?'

She blinked. ‘What? No, I don't … I mean I don't know, but it's unlikely. She only took it to make up her subjects; she likes English and languages. No offence.'

‘None taken.'

‘Though you might change her mind.' Yes, having an incredibly good-looking teacher might make Lydia re consider her A-level choices. It would have made Jo reconsider, at Lydia's age.

No. She couldn't think about her daughter having a crush on the same man that she did.

‘But if she doesn't change her mind,' said Marcus, ‘if she wants to continue on with languages, like you say – not that I would discourage her from doing a subject that she enjoyed, of course.'

‘Of course.' Why were they talking about Lydia?

Because Lydia was pretty much the only thing that was keeping her from doing something insane, right now.

‘But if she
doesn't
take A-level Geography,' continued Marcus, ‘I'll only be her teacher for another few months. They change tutor groups for A-level as well.'

‘So you mean – we could wait.'

‘We could wait and see.'

‘Until you're not her teacher any more. And then, if we still feel the same way …'

‘We could spend some time together before that. As friends.'

‘That would probably be the best thing to do.'

‘We could get to know each other better.'

‘And definitely not do anything,' Jo said. ‘Because it's not a good idea.'

‘It's not a good idea.'

‘So we're agreed.'

‘Yes. Right.'

She'd leaned back against the worktop, too, across the kitchen from him. She held onto the counter in an echo of his posture.

She remembered the feeling of his face in her hands. The scent of him. He looked steadily across at her, his eyes blue and intent, a faint flush on his cheekbones. She couldn't look away.

Definitely not breaking any more resolutions or promises tonight. Definitely.

They met each other halfway across the kitchen. His hands in her hair, hers on his face, their mouths pressing together. She'd been remembering his taste since yesterday but he tasted better, his mouth was hotter, and he held her to him and kissed her as if he couldn't get enough. He felt so alive, his kisses full of a passion she barely remembered as being possible. His tongue touched hers and she moaned without meaning to.

She didn't know they were walking backwards until she came up against the kitchen cabinets. He could get closer this way; her breasts pressed against his chest, and his groin fitted into her. Marcus took one hand out of her hair to unbutton the top of her blouse, still kissing. She felt him shaking.

She had no idea how this was happening; how they had crossed this barrier so quickly, from hesitant words to no words being needed. She pulled his shirt out of his trousers and put her hand on his back, stroked up his skin. He made a sound deep in his throat and dipped his head to her chest, kissed her bare skin on her collarbone. She tilted her head back. He licked her neck and she shivered.

‘It's a bad idea,' he whispered against her. She could feel her pulse on his lips.

Honor, in the next room. Oscar and Iris, asleep upstairs.

‘Not here,' she said and he paused. Retreated half a step from her. They stared each other in the face. His eyes were wide, unfocused, glasses crooked, his mouth open, breath coming fast. He looked shaken, as if he had been given news of some calamity.

The front door opened.

‘Lydia,' she whispered.

‘Shit.' He released her and frantically began tucking in his shirt.

‘Out the back door.' She pushed him. He went.

Jo straightened her skirt, buttoned her blouse, ran her fingers through her hair. Rubbed the back of her mouth with her hand. She felt his hands on her, his lips on her skin. She turned to the sink and washed her hands, listening.

Lydia's footsteps went upstairs and faded to the top of the house.

Jo's legs were trembling. She could taste Marcus on her tongue.

What had she done?

He was gone, now, and she could think. This was not the sort of thing she did. It wasn't the sort of thing she ever had done. Kissing a stranger, with the children in the house, with her mother-in-law in the next room, with her daughter about to come in. Kissing her daughter's teacher.

She was going insane.

And what would she say, how would she act when she saw him again? How did you act cool, adult, as if this sort of thing happened all the time? Grown up, and careless, and worldly-wise?

She wasn't worldly-wise. She'd been married twice and had three children and she had absolutely no idea.

Jo tiptoed to the back door and opened it. She wanted fresh air; she wanted to see the gap in the hedge, see the wall of his house, and think about what on earth she'd say when she saw him again by chance, tomorrow or the next day. Had they crossed some barrier now, or was that it? Had they kissed, and now it was finished?

It had to be finished.

Marcus was just outside the door, close enough so that she bumped into him. He steadied her.

‘Is it all right?' he whispered.

‘She's gone to her room,' Jo said, and Marcus caught her eye, and they laughed. He fell against the wall, and she leaned on him, her head on his chest. He put his arm around her. His heart was beating hard.

‘That was amazing,' he said.

‘It was …' She breathed in his scent. Was this playing it cool? Was this finishing it? ‘I didn't expect that.'

‘I didn't either. And we agreed not to. But I'm glad we did.' He tilted her head up and kissed her. Once, twice, a longer third time. He was saying goodbye. She knew he was saying goodbye, he had to be.

‘When can I see you again?' he whispered.

‘I don't know.'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘I can't tomorrow.'

‘Thursday?'

‘I don't know. I need someone to look after the children.'

‘You don't have my number.'

‘I can give you mine.'

‘I don't have my phone; it's in my jacket. Listen. I'll leave my light on. If you can come, come. I'll be in.'

‘Waiting?'

‘Marking.' His mouth quirked up. ‘And waiting. Come and see me, Jo. If not Thursday, then the next day. And the next.' He brushed her hair from her face. ‘For a cup of tea, at least.'

His kiss promised more than a cup of tea. And then he was gone, running across the garden, slipping through the hedge. Jo put her hand over her mouth, as if she could trap the memory.

It was only then that she remembered the promise she'd made to Lydia.

AS SOON AS
Mum got home, Lydia ran to Avril's house. All she could think about was what Granny H had said. How she'd loved without hope or reason. How she'd never found anyone else, for forty years. The expression on her face when Lydia had brought down the letters, the way she had touched the envelopes as if they were a person, fragile and immeasurably precious.

They had only read one letter out of the eight, the one with the earliest postmark. It had been written the Christmas after her father had died, and the thing about it was that it sounded so
normal
. It had news about his family, his three daughters and their children, who were Lydia's cousins, now that she thought of it. Nothing about it would hint that it was the letter of a father to his son, except for the last line:
I think about you often, and hope one day to meet again
. And for the way Granny H had looked when Lydia had read it to her: greedy, drinking in every word, tears shining in her eyes.

Lydia ran faster. When she reached Avril's block of flats, she was out of breath and had to recover for a minute before she pressed the button. Avril appeared almost immediately. ‘Hiya,' she said, plainly pleased, and for a minute Lydia thought that everything was back to the way it had been last week, before Harry.

‘Want to go for a walk?' Lydia asked.

‘Yeah, I'll get my jacket.'

Lydia waited for her outside. She didn't have her own jacket, and it was a little bit chilly, especially since she'd sweated a bit. She rubbed her hands over her arms and when Avril came down, she gave Lydia her pink hoodie. It smelled of her.

They walked around for a little while, off her estate and across the park. Lydia wasn't really sure what to say, and the longer she didn't say anything, the harder it was to start. When she'd been running, she'd had some idea of trying to persuade Avril that Harry wasn't worth it. But Avril was smiling, like she had a wonderful secret, and there was a bounce in her step.

Jealousy felt awful. It was like burning acid eating away at her insides, destroying every good bit. It made her want to strike out at Avril for being so happy. Except she didn't want to get into an argument. She didn't even want to mention Harry, because Avril would be able to tell she was jealous, but she knew that Avril was dying for her to ask about him, so she'd have an excuse to talk about him. She wanted to feel his name in her mouth, like Lydia felt Avril's name sometimes: the burr of the v on her lips, the kiss of the l on her tongue.

‘How's your mum?' Lydia asked finally. ‘Did she go to the parents' evening?'

It was a mistake. Avril's face closed up. ‘No. And she's fine.'

‘Is she out tonight?'

‘She's working. Why do you keep on bringing her up?'

‘Because … because I care about you?'

‘I told you, I don't want to talk about her.'

‘All right. But you know, if you do …'

Avril's phone went and she pulled it out of her pocket immediately, as if she'd been waiting for this very thing. She stopped walking and opened the text, and Lydia heard her sharp intake of air.