Teach Me Dirty

She nodded. “Will do. Come on, Hels.”

I watched them leave, and it was a slow affair. Helen seemed to crumple into Elizabeth’s side, mumbling words I couldn’t hear in a voice that sounded sad and whiny and tearful. I was glad I couldn’t hear them. I lit up a cigarette as I watched, positioning myself on the street where I could see them make their way up Elizabeth’s road. I waited until I saw them arrive at a block of flats in the distance.

And then I made my way back inside, and grabbed myself a double scotch.

***

Helen

“I’ve ruined everything!” I could hardly get my words out, they sounded weird and slurry and not like me. My legs were like jelly, too.

“Just walk, Hels, or we’re both going to go flying.”

I focused on my feet, climbing the stairs slowly up to Lizzie’s place. They lived on the second floor and it seemed to take forever and a day, swaying all the way up while I death-gripped the railing.

Ray was watching the game when we made our way inside, an empty bottle of scotch at his side.

“Twit-twoo. Didn’t expect you girls so early. Very nice…”

“Helen’s not well,” she snapped. “She’s had too much to drink.”

“If you girls want to carry on the party…”

I heard the venom in her voice. “No, thanks. Where’s Mum?”

“Your nan’s.”

“Fucking brilliant.”

She dragged me through to her bedroom and dropped me on her bed. It was a long way to fall, just a mattress on the floor, and my stomach lurched as I landed. She crouched beside me and pulled off my heels, and my feet felt cold against the carpet tiles. “Get in bed if you want.”

But I didn’t want.

“It’s all over. I ruined everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re drunk, Hels. You don’t know what’s what.”

“I do know,” I sighed. “It’s all over. He hates me now.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” She tutted. “You’re wearing his jacket and he watched us all the way up the bloody street.”

“Because he’s my teacher. He has to.”

“I don’t think it’s just that, Helen.”

“It is.” I lay down and pulled my knees to my chest. “I screwed up.”

“You screwed,” she laughed. “I dunno about screwed up. Maybe both.”

“I didn’t,” I said. “Harry didn’t fuck me.”

Her eyes widened. “You are shitting me?”

I shook my head, trying to ignore the sick feeling. “No. He was too busy fumbling, and then Mr Roberts was there.”

“Shit. That sucks.”

“Maybe.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be Miss Purity anymore?”

“I don’t. But Harry… I don’t love him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like anyone gets that whole love shit their first time. First time’s overrated, Hels, you’ll find out. It’s not even that good. It’s awkward and it hurts, and it’s a big fat non-event. You’ll see.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m glad I didn’t, then.” She fetched me a glass of water and I drank it down while she lit up a cigarette. She shoved the ashtray towards me and offered me some, but my stomach turned at the thought of it. Lizzie’s room was spinning a little, but I looked around anyway. She still had loads of posters up, still the same old broken wardrobe door and the tatty old dressing table. I was hardly here, she hardly wanted me here. I don’t think she wanted to be here either. “Mum’s away again. Typical.”

“Maybe we should go to mine…”

She shook her head. “It’s alright, you should get some sleep.”

I forced myself up, until I was sitting upright. “I have to go back out later.”

“You what?”

“I have to, Lizzie. I have to say sorry. Give him his jacket back.”

“That’s ridiculous. He won’t thank you for it.”

I reached for her hand. “Please, Lizzie. Don’t stop me. I have to make this right.”

“You’re trashed. You wouldn’t make it ten yards.”

“I’ll sober up, head over there just before midnight, just before it finishes…”

“You’re crazy!”

“You can watch me up the road, like he watched us.”

“This is crazy talk, Hels.”

“Please.” I squeezed her hand. “Please, Lizzie. It’s important to me. Please.”

She sighed.

“I love him,” I said, and even drunk it sounded pitiful. “I really love him.”

“And he’s really your teacher, and you’re really drunk.”

“If I sober up,” I begged. “Please, Lizzie. Please let me go.”

“You’re eighteen years old, Helen Palmer. It’s up to you how much of an idiot you make of yourself.” She smiled to lighten the words. “I can’t believe you’re still a virgin. Way to go, useless Harry.”

“Harry’s nice. I just don’t want him.”

“You don’t want anyone who isn’t Mr bloody Roberts, Hels.”

I shrugged. “That’s true enough.”

She stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. “Ain’t such a thing as true love, Hels. It’s nothing but fairy tales.”

“You really think that?”

“I really know that. There’s sex, and there’s finding someone who is tolerable to try and goof about the rest of your life with. That’s it.”

“That’s no way it,” I argued. “That’s crazy talk.”