Teach Me Dirty

I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I expected the repercussions of my actions to come calling at any time. Maybe it would be the head teacher, or maybe a member of the board. Maybe even the police. A word please, Mr Roberts. Outside. We’ve had an allegation. A very serious allegation.

I wouldn’t even attempt to defend myself.

But two days in and it hadn’t come, and why would it?

Helen had shown no desire whatsoever to throw me to the wolves, despite what I deserved. Her eyes had been full of honesty. Honesty and tears.

The memory still pained, and made me feel like the abominable bastard.

She was last in again, her eyes flitting to mine nervously before she joined her classmates. She stared at her notepad, scribbling notes as I spoke about the coursework schedule for the run up to Christmas, and all the while I tried not to stare at her. I wrapped up the talk and the students made their way to their benches, resuming their pastel work, and Helen was gone from me again, her shoulders angled away as her heels tapped on that damned stool leg. I circled the room twice before I dared to venture any closer, and even then I was wary, as though I could no longer trust my own body. I pushed my hands in my pockets as I surveyed her work, just to be sure.

“Excellent blending,” I said. “Great choice of greens.”

She smiled but didn’t look at me. “Thank you, Mr Roberts.”

Her cheeks had the hint of a blush, and it transfixed me. I watched her fingers on the pastels and imagined them in my hair all over again.

“Good work, Helen.”

I stepped away and I was certain I could feel her eyes on my back, but when I turned she was still working, her foot still tap, tap, tapping. Her hair was more flyaway than usual, the woody tones vibrant and deep.

I should know better than to let my imagination gallop into fantasy at thirty-eight years old. I should know better altogether. I forced myself into some kind of order, some kind of professionalism, and focused on the specifications for the Aladdin’s Cave panto set instead.

The final hour of the day took a long time coming, yet passed by in a blink. The school bell was upon me before I knew it, and the sixth form ball meeting loomed.

I really did feel Helen’s eyes on me as she packed her things, shooting me a series of anxious glances as she loaded up her school bag. She lingered, pretending to reorganise her pastel case while Kelly Merrick ran through some coursework queries. Helen waited until the door had closed behind her fellow student before she approached, and by then I was already late. She stood at a healthy distance, her eyes closer to the floor than they were to mine.

“Mr Roberts, I’m sorry, I just… about the set painting next week… I was wondering if you had a minute… please…”

But I didn’t, and the last thing I wanted was Jenny Monkton heading down to locate me. I didn’t trust that she wouldn’t sniff out the tension in the room, even if she’d missed it in the car. Teacherly instinct is a powerful thing.

“I’m sorry, Helen, but I have a meeting.” I checked my watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

Her cheeks bloomed pink, darkening her sweet freckles. “Oh… I’m sorry. It was nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t believe me. I could see it in her eyes. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her art case and she was gone quickly. So quickly that her name was still in my throat as the door swung closed behind her.

Helen, wait. Just wait.

Helen, there really is a meeting. A cruddy meeting that I don’t want to go to.

Helen, stay. Come to where it’s beautiful, and we’ll talk again, just two souls sharing the same view.

Friends. We can be friends.

I turned off the lights and made my way to the bloody winter ball meeting.

***

“So, are we all happy? The Three Friars Hotel, on the eleventh, seven til midnight.” Jenny was looking at me, asking me.

I found it so hard to nod in the affirmative. “Fine, yes. All good with me.”

“Great!” she said. “In that case, Mark, I’ll pick you up on the way, and Janet, you’ll meet us there at six, before the students arrive.”

I was already dreading it.

I sidestepped an offer of Friday night drinks and headed back to the art room, where Helen’s burning cheeks haunted me. I should have made a minute for her. I could have made a minute. And now what? I couldn’t exactly turn up at her parents’ house. Hi there, it’s Mark Roberts. I groped your daughter’s beautiful young breasts and I loved it, it’s all I think about. Is she in?