Teach Me Dirty

“I couldn’t have done this without you, Helen, I’m glad you came.”

Oh, but he could. The man was so talented and calm and wise, he could do anything.

“So am I.” I handed him his cigarette. “I love this time of year. I love painting the set.”

“We’ll be lost without you next year,” he said. The thought hurt. It smashed through my pride like an ice pick, and I shuddered in the wind. “But I’m sure you’ll be working on much more exciting projects at university. You won’t know yourself, Helen. You’ll be amazed at how quickly you leave all this behind. You’ll have a whole world of opportunities at your fingertips, such excitement, and many challenges, with so many interesting people.”

And it was one of those talks.

“I don’t even want to go.” I’d never said that aloud before.

“A major talent like yours needs to fly free, not be stifled in a small space without the right environment to nurture it. You’ll be happy there, Helen. Trust me on that.”

“You’ve nurtured it,” I argued. “I learned everything here, from you.”

“That’s simply not true.”

I shook my head. “You don’t believe that,” I said.

“I don’t?”

I could feel his eyes on me. I stared straight ahead, took a breath. “No, you just want to believe it, because you want to trivialise this thing in my head. You want to pretend you could have been anyone, and that the other day meant nothing.”

I could feel his shock. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “It wasn’t nothing, Helen.”

“Not for me, no.”

“Not for me, either.” He sighed. “I’ve ruined our day. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You just want to forget about it. I understand.”

“I don’t want to forget about it.” His voice was weird and raspy. “But perhaps it’s better for you if we do.”

I laughed, and it was sad and I felt such an idiot sitting there in my frilly undies. “You don’t need to say this…”

He looked around at the deserted school grounds. The playing fields were empty, the yard between the buildings cold and quiet. And then he took my hand and squeezed it in his. “I’m trying to say sorry. Again.”

“And that hurts worst of all…”

He looked confused. “Why so?”

“Because saying sorry means it’s over.” I closed my eyes, savoured the feel of his hand on mine.

“Helen, I only want the best for you. I hope you know that.” He squeezed my hand again. “This school, this town, this life. Me. None of this is the best for you.”

“My dreams are here, Mr Roberts. Everything I want is here.” I wasn’t scared anymore. “What is the point of being afraid of the truth? The truth just is. Like the air just is, and the wind just is, and the sky just is.”

“The truth is, your dreams are waiting by the sea, and they’ll be better than you can ever imagine, I’m sure of it.”

“And what about your dreams?”

He finished up his cigarette and flicked the butt in the litter bin. I’d have been suspended for doing that.

“My dreams?” he said. “I’m a bit long in the tooth for all that now, Helen. My life is my life.”

“And are you happy?”

He met my eyes and although he was smiling, he didn’t look so happy. Not underneath. Not where it really matters.

“We’d better get going,” he said.

***

Mark

I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have kept my bumbling mouth shut and enjoyed the day. But I’d been enjoying it too much. Enough that I’d nipped it in the bud before I got carried away. I’d punctured her, and I could feel her bleeding, her smile all but gone as she covered the paint trays for the night and headed to the sink with the rollers and brushes.

In my mind I’d been doing it for her, setting her free to live her life without some limiting infatuation hanging around her neck. In reality I’d done it for myself, a pathetic attempt to enforce the denial. The denial that this attraction for Helen was taking up root in my guts and growing. Quickly.

I picked up her bag and coat and scarf and waited outside the canteen for her, and when I didn’t see her coming I held the fabric to my nose and breathed her in, and that’s the fleeting moment the universe decided she should step back into view.

She looked at me and I looked at her, and there was confusion there. I could feel her brain churning, trying to make sense of this bag of mixed signals, a tumble of contradictions and ridiculous grandiose statements about her best interests.

I had no real idea about Helen Palmer’s best interests, I was just toeing the standard old line – or trying to.

Maybe she’d hate university and hate everyone there, and hate the course, and find her fulfilment through a random, chance lucky break, just like Anna did.