Teach Me Dirty

I could feel the tears welling up. I tried to hide it, but a man like Mr Roberts sees everything, knows everything.

“I’m sorry.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“I think I’ve made you cry more than enough just lately.” He smiled, and it made me smile through the tears. “I’m alright, Helen, really. It’s been a long time.” I felt so good there, held against his side, his arm so strong around me. I closed my eyes and listened to the river, and felt his lips press to the top of my head. “It feels nice to have a friend. Thank you.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“Maybe it’s about time I started dreaming again.”

“What will you dream about?”

He shrugged. “That will take some thought. I’ll let you know when I know.”

“Please do.” I wanted to say so much more, ask him about life, the universe and everything that made up Mark Roberts. What he liked to eat, where he went on holiday, how he knew Anna was the one for him. If he’d ever had a pet and what its name was. Whether he had an innie or an outie belly button. If he could ever love me. Things any real friend should know.

The bleeping from my pocket put paid to all of that. I pulled out my phone to read the message.

Dad: Are you taking the piss? Five o’clock finish you said. Your dinner is going cold.

I tapped out a reply.

Sorry. We ran over time. Put dinner in oven, I’ll have it later.

Dad: Get home, Helen.

“Everything ok?” Mr Roberts wasn’t looking at my handset, he was looking at me.

“Only my dad. I have to go.”

And just like that he freed me from his grasp and pushed himself from the bench, then reached for my hand to help me down. I stood, awkward and mute, wishing he’d kiss me again, or hold me again, or anything.

He did nothing of the sort, just smiled and held up his keys. “I’ll drop you home.”

***

“How can you be grounded at eighteen years old?” I could hear the scorn in Lizzie’s voice down the line. I could hear Ray’s voice in the background, too. Shouting about something, shouting about someone. I heard Lizzie slam her bedroom door and let out a groan.

“I’m not grounded… Dad’s just… pissed. Says I need to knuckle down and study rather than treating life like one big party.”

“As if you ever party.”

“I just don’t want him to get arsy… it might make it awkward for me to go every day. And it’s my last time… and…”

“And I get it.” I could almost hear the eye roll. “So, that’s it? I’m banned am I?”

“No!” I said. “Of course not. It’s just… difficult this week. Just for a few days, while I’m painting the set. I need to be seen to be taking my exams seriously in the evenings.” I felt shit about it, but Dad had looked grumpy as hell when I’d rolled in late. Grumpy enough to relieve Brittainy’s mum of babysitting duties if I didn’t pull my arse back into line. “More time with Scottie, hey? Surely that’s a good thing…”

“Just as well, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, Lizzie.”

She tutted at me. “You’d better be. You’ll have to make it up, I’m thinking sleepovers galore over Christmas, just the two of us, hanging out like old times.”

“Wouldn’t miss that for the world.” I smiled. “You’re the best.”

“So, was it worth it? Did Rampant Roberts touch your tits again?”

I slumped onto my bed, keeping an ear out for movement outside. “No, he didn’t.”

“You wore the turquoise, right?”

“Yes, I wore the turquoise. And the stupid frilly undies.”

“Shit, maybe he is gay,” she laughed. “Maybe the grope really was a one-off.”

“You think so?” My stomach lurched.

“Of course not. There’s no way it was a one-off.” More voices sounded in the background. Her mum this time, yelling, and then more doors slamming. “What are you wearing tomorrow? You’ll have to up your game, I told you heels were the way.”

My throat turned dry, and I didn’t know why. It was just Lizzie, hardly a judging panel. “I’m, um… I’m just going to wear my normal clothes tomorrow.”

“Your normal clothes? Why would you do that?” she said. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No, I just…” I sighed. “I just want to be me.”

“You are you. Just you in hotter clothes.”

“But maybe I don’t want to be hotter. Maybe I want to be real, I want him to want me for me, not because I’m dressed up all fancy.”

“He will! They’re just props, Hels!”

“No, he won’t, you don’t understand.” I took a breath. “His wife died.”

I heard the bed springs creak under her. “Whoa… what?”

“He had a wife and he loved her and she died. And he’s so broken, Lizzie. It’s so tragic, and beautiful. A slutty skirt isn’t going to make any impression whatsoever… he’s… he’s deeper than that…”