Natalia hopped from foot to foot, clicking the buzzing vibrator from one speed to the next.
‘How do you turn this thing off!’
‘Give it here—’
Now Neill thumbed the vibrator through the settings drilling away madly in his hand, all the while Ryan was knocking at the door.
‘I’ll call the police! I swear it, if you don’t let me in…’
‘Yes yes, just hang on, will you!’ Neill rapped back as Natalia snatched the toy from his hand, ran to the window, and flung it out as far as she could toward the beck running beyond the spiked fence round the school.
They both stared as it landed short somewhere in the reeds.
‘I think it was press and hold,’ he frowned. ‘Lucky rats.’
‘Well, you said I’m better than any sex toy.’
They sighed and turned gloomily to the door.
‘Well, my cock’s gone down. Now to get rid of the other one before I do too.’
‘Shall I hide? Will it look dodgier?’
‘Stand behind there at least—’
Neill took her shoulders and positioned her just behind the filing cabinet, then went to unlock the door.
‘Oh, hello Ryan!’
‘I know she came in ‘ere. I’ve ‘eard her! What have you done with her!’
‘Ryan, don’t be ridiculous, sit down and we’ll—’
Ryan strode straight in, past the desk, stopping level with the filing cabinet where Natalia stood.
‘Oh, hello, Ryan!’
‘What’s going on? What’s he done to you?’ he growled with fists clenched by his side, as Natalia’s eye shifted nervously to Neill who was re-locking the door and pocketing the keys.
‘Nothing,’ she blinked back at Ryan. ‘I don’t know what you’re so concerned about?’
‘Why were you crouched by my door eavesdropping, Ryan?’ Neill stepped over.
‘I don’t think you’re asking the questions,’ Ryan trembled, ‘I know you’re up to no good, sir’ - he nodded at Natalia - ‘she is your girlfriend then!’
‘Not quite,’ she crossed her arms indignantly just as Ryan shot out his arm and wrenched at Natalia’s collar.
‘Oh, the red leotard’s still on!’ - he glared, as she gasped and her arms flew up - and Neill now lunged at Ryan, snarling ‘don’t you touch her!’ yanking Ryan into a headlock just as he yelped and waggled his hand at the book on the desk:
‘Yoga! Is that what you’ve been doin’! …Fucking gerroff me!’
Natalia stared to watch thunder-faced Neill, feet planted stoutly on the floor, squeezing Ryan into the colour of beetroot.
‘Neill, let go of him, he’s only going to—’
‘You’re shagging each other or summat, I knew it!’ Ryan choked. ‘Let go of me!’
‘Shut the fuck up first and I will,’ as Neill pulled Ryan in tighter till his eyes were popping out of his head.
‘Ryan! Neill!’
‘Lehhgo, lehhghhhh—’ An awful guttural noise came from Ryan’s throat.
‘Touch her again and I’ll break your arm.’ Neill flung Ryan to the floor, as he turned and looked up with messed hair and face all blotchy, stammering:
‘You’re a fucking thug! And a nonce too, I’ll bet! I first saw it in Haworth! Walking round the museum together all lovey dovey, and then when Adam were in ‘ere, he pulled you in like Robin to Batman or summat, and you probably get all your fags from him too!’
‘Er, doesn’t everyone?’ she blinked.
‘And oh!’ Ryan’s eyes flashed. ‘You must have got me beaten up!’
‘Keep your voice down,’ muttered Neill, tapping his computer mouse to check no-one was outside. ‘I mean, what on earth are you talking about?’
Ryan stood up. ‘It makes bloody sense now! Me and Bernard and Adam were beaten up cos we saw the video of her fingering her minge on!’
‘She doesn’t do things like that—’
‘Alex wasn’t even part of that and he was beaten up,’ shrugged Natalia.
‘I don’t care!’ fumed Ryan, ‘but I do know I’m going to the police and I’m going right now! I’ll tell ‘em everything I know! About my phone getting nicked, the slut leotard he made you wear, and that he calls the receptionist Big Tits!’
He stormed over to the door and rattled it, as Neill slid between him and the handle, taking hold of his shoulders.
‘Ryan. You need to calm down. You don’t have everything right—’
‘Unlock it! Let me out!’ he battered against Neill’s chest. ‘I’m not being made a mug of!’
‘By no means do we think you’re a mug, we—’
‘Me mam, me mam this morning, she said to me before she went… if there’s something I believe in, I should always do the right thing!’
‘Your mother! She’s… dead?’
‘No!’
‘You said, before she went,’ Neill frowned.
‘Before she went down Tesco. We’d run out of Tetley’s and my dad was too pissed to get up.’
‘Er, oh.’
The two stood there for a moment as Natalia watched bewildered.
‘Well… speaking of mugs, and teabags - I assume you were talking Tetley’s tea, not beer - sit down at the desk and have a cuppa and we’ll explain everything, ok?’ Neill gestured wide-eyed at Natalia and the kettle. ‘Make three teas, dar— er, Natalia, please. Then, Ryan, you can decide whether to go to the police. You can ring them right from my desk if you want to.’
Glancing dubiously to Ryan as she emptied a Harrogate Spa bottle into the kettle, surprisingly he turned and dropped into the chair, staring levelly at the desk as though momentarily snapped inside upon mentioning his mother.
‘I’ll listen for one minute then I’m off.’
‘Right.’ Neill paced round to his chair, smoothing his hair. ‘Well, it will take a minute at least to get the tea made. Do you take sugar?’
‘Two.’
‘Two sugars, Natalia.’
‘What is she, your bloody secretary too?’
Neill cleared his throat as the kettle cranked up to fill the silence.
‘So, what treatment are they giving your mother?’
‘What? She’s ‘avin chemo obviously. Fat lot of bloody good it’s doing. Every time I see her she’s paler.’
Natalia had gathered two mugs and was looking round desperately for a third.
‘What stage cancer?’
‘Four. It’s bad.’
She’d snatched a mug from the windowsill and was hastily wiping out fag ash at the bottom.
‘Has she ever tried anything else?’
‘What dya mean.’
No time to brew. Just pour the water and get the milk in.
‘Any other medicinal programme?’
‘She had surgery if that’s what you mean. And she’s on drugs too, Ta-marzipan, or summat.’
Natalia brought over the three weak teas, deliberating over whether to give Neill or Ryan the fag ash mug.
‘Listen, Ryan,’ Neill nodded, ‘Natalia and I, ah…’ He waited till she’d scraped over a chair and sat down on Ryan’s side. ’…We have a sort of relationship, that’s correct. A platonic relationship, that is, I mean to say, not intimate, but otherwise, as you are most correct, not entirely appropriate.’
‘Do you think I’m daft that you’re doing yoga in here with that slag?’
She decidedly placed the fag ash mug in front of Ryan.
‘It started when I helped her with various problems in school. Bullies, home life—’
‘Oh I get it! You did Marcia for her? Oh it just gets better!’ Ryan laughed almost tipsily into Natalia’s face.
She bit her lip at Neill.
‘Marcia Adams was expelled from Thornwood due to possession of a class B drug,’ Neill replied. ‘Call it as convenient as you like but bad eggs do as bad eggs do.’
‘And you’d know all about those,’ Ryan jeered, ‘with all your smug dirty jokes and letting that boy put a dildo in the sweet jar, everyone must be clocking on you’re a fuckin’ nonce.’
Natalia’s eyes fell to the floor.
‘The Valentine vibrator incident had nothing to do with me,’ Neill smoothly droned, ‘I am now wrestling with the national media to salvage Thornwood’s reputation over the doings of one Year 8 boy. But I do have something important to ask you, Ryan…’
Natalia’s eyes lifted.
Neill leaned forward. ‘Has your mother tried cannabis oil?’
‘What the ‘ell are you on about?’
‘Cannabis oil for cancer.’
Ryan paused. ‘My uncle laughed once about weed in a syringe but I wouldn’t know where to get that.’
‘Right, perfect. I mean - I can help you - to get hold of some for your mum.’
‘Oh what, is this your bribe? Plant a B class drug on me too?’ he scoffed.
‘I’m simply saying I can get hold of an intensive course of a suppressed elixir, that is, a cure.’
Natalia watched nervously as Ryan’s face seemed to flush pink and his breaths began to mount like he was going to sneeze.
‘Can you save ‘er? Can you save ‘er from cancer?’ he choked like he was back in Neill’s headlock.
‘Well, such guarantees cannot be made of course, but it’s worth a try.’ Neill sipped his tea casually. ‘It completely cured a friend of mine from a stage 4 brain tumour. At the very least it will provide protective effects from the chemotherapy so it can target the cancer without weakening her so much.’
Ryan stared.
‘Of course,’ blinked Neill, ‘I would need your assurance you won’t talk about the situation between Natalia and I, to anyone. Or tout any of your false claims. If my time is taken away on being questioned by the police then I won’t be able to get you the—’
‘Where will yer get it from?’
‘I have reputable sources. I will obtain a protocol to suit your mum’s exact circumstances - how much to administer, you know, all the instructions on how to do it…’ With an eye on his computer screen, he raised his finger as a knock came at the door. ‘Stay quiet. It’s Mrs Coleman—’
All three of them sipped their teas till she clip-clopped away.
Natalia glanced nervously at Ryan as his face screwed up.
‘Get it,’ he blurted. ‘Get it for me and I’ll give it to ‘er.’
‘Right.’ Neill cleared his throat. ‘I’d be happy to. I’d need a guarantee that you won’t—’
‘I won’t say owt about you, and whatever you’re up to. I couldn’t care less if she’s a slag.’
Natalia glared, mouth glued.
Neill handed over a post-it pad. ‘Write your number on here.’
Ryan took up a pen then stopped. ‘Will I get into trouble for it?’
‘If your family ask about it you must keep the information confidential.’
‘I won’t even say it’s bloody weed.’ Then Ryan gnawed the pen, surveying them both. ‘Are you two havin’ a laugh?’
‘Of course not. Why would we find this funny?’
Natalia shook her head quickly.
Ryan drunk more of his tea in thought. ‘When will you get it?’
‘As soon as possible. Next few days.’
‘Mmh.’ Ryan scribbled and tossed back the pad as Neill stood and gestured to the door.
‘I’ll be in touch.’
Ryan left, as Neill locked the door again and came back over, checking his computer screen.
‘Well, he’s gone.’
‘God. We were busted,’ Natalia moaned, head down between her knees.
‘Almost. Almost busted.’
She looked up. ‘Do you really know someone who was cured at stage 4 brain cancer by cannabis?’
He adjusted his tie. ‘Stage 2, skin cancer, friend of a friend of Justin’s, who died four years later, but…’
‘Do you think it will save Ryan’s mum?’
‘It’ll at least stall him till I can think of another bribe, or leave the country.’
‘Who will you get it from?’
‘Through the same men I paid to beat him up.’
‘Oh, God, what if it doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t keep quiet? What will we do then? How will he keep that a secret? What’s he going to tell her it is? A magic apple like Digory got from Narnia but pressed like Innocent Smoothie into a syringe?’
‘Natalia. There’s no point worrying. We’ll just have to see.’
‘Does it smell like weed? Whenever you give me weed it stinks like a farm. What if he gets into trouble? His family might run to the police!’
‘Natalia,’ he whispered sternly, ‘I think we’ve done rather well in the circumstances. What do you recommend I do more? Give him a bloody X-Box and a blowjob? You can see plainly that saving the life of his mum is priority. I think we’re extremely lucky.’
‘Lucky? We need luck alright. And what if it doesn’t save her?’
‘Jesus, I’m not Jesus, I can’t guarantee curing her with a touch of my hand!’
‘Maybe a touch of your mouth.’
‘Oh, Christ.’
‘I’m… I’m sorry, I just…’
He slid over her Yoga book. ‘You’d better get going before someone else starts knocking.’
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*
‘Something terribly sad about combustion, Natalia?’
‘Huh? No, Mr Khan…’
‘Are you ok?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘Homework due in next lesson!’ Khan called as the bell went.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ murmured Ryan in her ear as she walked out.
‘Really,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘You must be shagging him then. Else you wun’t look so nervous.’
She stopped him by the wall display. ‘No, I’m not shagging him,’ she said squarely into his face.
‘Blowing him then?’
She waited till some pupils had passed.
‘I don’t want Neill to lose his job,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t care less for Thornwood, we’re all out of here in three months. But Neill’s done so much for the school. He cares about stuff,’ she blinked into his cynical face. ‘Yes, he’s done me a few favours like buying me lunch on the school trip when I didn’t have one… and he’s not the most orthodox headteacher, but…’
‘Yeah, whatever. It’s not like I can agree when he had someone bash my face in, and nick my phone which had two years of pictures of me mam on, before she went all pale.’
‘That wasn’t him who—’
‘Shurrup. I’m not stupid. Talk to me like I’m stupid and I will talk.’
She bit her lip. ‘Well, once you get the oil, if there’s anything I can do to help, just—’
‘I don’t need your ‘elp.’
‘Ok.’
‘But if this oil dun’t work, and my mam gets worse, then you can do something for me.’
‘What?’
‘I bet you know.’ His tongue pulsed inside his cheek.
She stared. ‘Fuck right off. I wouldn’t touch a dick like you with a bargepole!’
She stared as he walked off laughing.
A day that had started as titillating triumph, lorded her as the lithe leader of the PE class, and peaked with the inaugural sight of Neill’s cock - his cock at last - had ended more upside down than it. Her whole body shook like the vibrator held to ransom by a different sort of cunt.
She could only pray Neill’s defending shot would be on target.
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*
She wasn’t surprised to see Dinkey relegated to presenting next morning’s Assembly. Neill was probably on the blower to his mafia compadres in as much a cold sweat as what came over her when Williams stepped over, mid-lesson:
‘Natalia. You are being asked to speak to an officer up in Neill’s office.’
Officer? In Neill’s office? Did Ryan talk? He must have talked! The look in his eye when she said she wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole! He must have dashed straight to the coppers and now it’s over, all over!
Her heart sunk so low that walking up the stairs felt like she was dragging her own body at her ankles. Thoughts of a handcuffed Neill being dragged away and another boring headteacher dragged back in, weighed in her throat and banged her sinuses like drums as she knocked a hand as frail as a fly leg on the door.
‘Come in!’
Using what felt like most of her strength and courage to push down the handle, she saw a woman with a dark bob of hair sitting beside Neill.
‘Hello, Natalia,’ Neill smiled, not as lively as normal, but neither was it stricken; twiddling a biro between thoroughly uncuffed hands.
‘Oh, hi,’ Natalia’s ribs pounded so hard she thought she would be sick. Is Neill always this composed right before being busted? Why’s the policewoman wearing an argyle jumper and lanyard and looking so smiley?
‘Natalia Molova?’
‘Ye-yes,’ she almost whispered.
‘Please don’t worry. Nothing to be nervous about. Please, take a seat. I’m Miss Morgan, East Leeds Educational Safeguarding Officer. We’re just here asking a few questions,’ she wrinkled her freckled button nose, ‘regarding the Valentine’s Fair on Saturday 19th February. You were one of the witnesses on camera, who saw what happened involving… adult material, secreted inside a jar of sweets?’
Natalia’s face went through various shades as she talked.
‘Sweet jar?’ she stammered. ‘Yes… adult material… objects, like, condoms were inside, yes. I know the boy who did it, well he’s the brother of my friend, well kind of friend…’
‘Your friend, who would that be?’
‘Sam. Samantha Pollock. Her brother Jack does a paper round, got the sweets, hid the… you know.’
‘That matches what we’ve heard from two other pupils,’ her green eyes twinkled. ‘We know this is a pupil prank, but you see, when it involves inappropriate content posted onto social media, it becomes something for us to look into. In fact, it received a dispute that contained so many red flag terms, it was forwarded to the police and that’s how it came to our attention.’
‘Oh… yeah?’
‘But that is also why it was removed in the first place,’ rejoined Neill’s deep voice, Natalia now daring to look at his face for the first time since sitting down. ‘And the police have deemed it a matter for Miss Morgan, not them,’ he finished with a wink, as she stared back like an open-mouthed toddler.
‘That’s right,’ replied Morgan, who was looking down at her notes, ‘and we have a teacher currently on leave, under great distress from being featured on the footage. So it’s rather crucial we determine the facts. Something I do wish to ask you, which is a little awkward I know, but the item - a sex toy - Neill tells me has been mislaid, and we want to clarify with witnesses what it was exactly?’
‘Huh? It was… a vibrator, you know…’
‘Can you describe it?’
‘Small, about this big’ - Neill’s eyes met her shaking thumb and forefinger - ‘light pink colour. That’s what I saw.’
‘Right. That matches.’ She tilted her head to Neill, adding: ‘To be honest, when we heard it was a sex toy, I know I shouldn’t say this, but we were imagining a lot worse!’
‘Like a black, fourteen inch, double-ended fist bump?’ replied Neill.
‘Yes, something like that!’ Miss Morgan blustered in sudden laughter.
‘Yes, thank god it wasn’t,’ blinked Natalia.
Morgan quickly resumed formality, stroking her pen over her lip. ‘Mr Neill says he saw the pupils in question who filmed the footage that was posted to YouTube and Twitter. Did you also see them?’
‘Yes, Dean Withers and Jenny Pattison.’
‘Perfect. We’re speaking to them.’
‘And, of course, Jack the lad who was to blame for this, will be reprimanded,’ added Neill. ‘Thank you Natalia.’
Natalia left them, shaking as adrenalin of relief flooded her body. A little later came a message:
‘Sorry to spook you with that. Was all very sudden. Thank you! x’
- ‘Hope Miss Doris hasn’t topped herself? x’
‘Might be a way to stop Jack laughing’
-‘Oh dear. Any luck getting the stuff for R?’
‘Working on it. Seeing family this weekend and Ofsted result expected Monday. It’s all go at the mo. :/ Take care and have a good one. X’
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*
She spent all of Saturday in bed, her hands firmly outside her covers. Something terribly sad about combustion, Natalia? Yes, when it was the spontaneous combustion of her life. Woeful that she helped attract police attention with her YouTube dispute, her pelvis still taunted her with the vibration, whilst her mouth kept gurning at Ryan’s blowjob blackmail. Is that what he’d really want whilst his mum perished? She couldn’t even confide in Neill about his sleazy threat for fear he’d bash Ryan’s brains in and really end up down the slammer.
On top of everything, a scarlet fever of a different kind was brewing like a storm inside her, just to make her even heavier. She pulled out the pack of pads that Neill had bought her last month, still half left: Always Ultra, the posh brand she never went for. Slim-lined, each one wrapped in satin pink. She scrolled the Just Eat app then tossed her phone. A pitiful email would go to Neill, ‘your peasant food is on its way!’
Sunday morning came, along with memories of last week’s Sunday worship watching Chatterley with a bellyful of roast, piquing her to message him now:
‘Can we talk? About things? Or are you still in London with family? X’
-‘Hey. Too busy here. Let’s talk tomorrow. X’
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*
She tossed and turned in bed so much that night she began to wonder if the cat had brought in fleas. Still scratching down her thigh at Monday morning form, an SMS text came through from Neill and seemed to arrest the itch like a barrier cream.
‘May you be the first to know. The school is officially GOOD!!’
She smiled like she hadn’t all weekend.
‘Oh GOOD! …Better than good! Amazing! X’
-‘Can you meet me please at break in Room 19 on the third floor. Don’t let anyone see you.’
‘Ok x’
Her smile wavered. The itch on her thigh tingled. An invite to see him was good, better than good, but she sensed a sobering conversation as grey as the text he’d used to message, not colourful WhatsApp. She could see his furrowed brow from here.
In that first lesson, French, Williams was smiling from ear to ear even when Adam said he’d forgotten his homework. On her way up the stairs at break she saw Coleman, Francis and even Mrs Cheng’s sour face all in animated chatter. The Ofsted result must be slowly spreading through the school.
She slipped into Room 19. He wasn’t here yet. She stepped into the corner till she heard him come in, waved her presence, and watched him lock the door.
‘Hi…’
‘Hi.’
They share a smiling hug, that feels somehow formal and stiff; his hand brushing over her hair and shoulder as she shivers, then a hard brief kiss on her forehead, that feels curiously like it’s pricking a tear into her eye, like his fig and fag scent was becoming forlornly distant before she’d even heard him speak.
‘Well done on the result.’
‘Thank you. How are things at home? Is everything ok?’
‘Yeah, yeah—’
‘Mum buying food? No drunk buffoonery worse than mine?’
‘Fine at the moment.’
‘Good. Come, sit. Listen, I’ve been thinking,’ he scooped his chair up to her. ‘A lot. And rather painfully.’
‘Oh?’
He took a breath, blinked twice earnestly. ‘We need to lay low for a while.’
‘What, like… how do you mean?’
‘Just, be normal. Till your exams are done. Till you’re done here. Then you can come to my house every damn weekend if… you still want to.’
Upon these words she was waiting for the response of her body, which all weekend had felt like stagnant water left in a paddling pool, and his words were like a hose dribbling in more water, which she had yet to feel was warm or more cold.
‘I confessed to you after the London trip,’ he continued, ‘that what we’re doing is risky, then we’ve gone - well I’ve gone - and taken another twenty risks and landed us in the shit. Luckily, we have Ryan under bribe, the welfare officer squared away, and with that, Williams off my back - she even made me a tea this morning - the Ofsted result’s got tongues wagging all over the shop.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Yes. Just as I thought Thornwood was going down, it’s on the up again. Phil saw the vibrator video on YouTube in the end, but sent this huge smiley face and asked me to talk on Zoom tonight. So the chances are I can get Thornwood this million pounder and keep everyone happy with a two quid pay rise whilst I cover the cost of Digory’s apple.’
‘Oh, you got it?’
‘His mum should start in the next couple of days. The course alone will take weeks. Probably till the end of school, so Ryan will keep quiet at least till then.’
‘And you say in the summer, we… what, it will be legal for us, to…?’
‘Natalia, you and I wouldn’t be legal even when you’re 18.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’ve groomed you since you were 15.’
‘That wasn’t grooming. It was just being a decent headteacher.’
‘I took you to London and snogged your face off nine hours before you even turned 16.’
She smiled wistfully.
‘Because I’m your headteacher I don’t know if an indecent relationship between us would ever be decent without me being buggered to death in jail and then being banned from your proximity for life.’
‘How depressing.’
’You also won’t believe what else I’ve had to deal with,’ he groaned. ‘Joan wants to arrange our Ofsted celebration to take place in Oulton Hall. In her words, Mr Quinn is a dear friend of hers—’
‘Oh, fuck!’
‘Yep. Joan of Arse knows Mr Fucking Red-Faced Quim. I’ve had to lie through my teeth saying I have a 70% mates’ rates at some swanky place in Leeds centre I’ve never heard of, just for the risk that Quim starts asking in front of Joan about the young lady he saw me holding hands with last month. Or maybe has us on CCTV, walking all post-wank happy down the stairs, you sniffing your hand and me sniffing the hand that touched your hand.’
She laughed, before her face fell back into the miserable implication of where all this was going.
‘But listen. Because despite all of this, I am a distraction, Natalia,’ he rapped her knee. ‘I just saw your latest essay for Coleman. It was a C minus. Natalia! Since when are you on the level of C minus?’
‘I guess since the headteacher sunk to the level of doing the same thing.’
‘See minors. Very funny. And exactly my point. Your grades are of fundamental importance out of everything.’
‘Hmph.’
‘So let’s keep on the lowdown, or rather the no-down. Delete our WhatsApp chat. Please throw away any notes or anything I’ve written to you. Let’s do it properly.’
‘Ok…’ The word barely came off her tongue.
‘Anything that exists is a risk for someone else to go straight to the police without us having the chance to bribe them like Ryan.’
‘So… no kisses? No Sundays, no… nothing?’
He looked hesitant, with the faintest of nods. ‘You probably hate me right now,’ he sighed.
‘Why would I? I just hate I can’t… spend more time, with you.’
‘Yet.’
There was a silence, before he cleared his throat and checked his watch.
‘We have to go.’
A sober rise, another hug as their lips met briefly, she sniffed back her tears and gave him a pally smile, as he scooped her chin into his hand. She shifted her face away. He kissed her on the forehead.
‘Let me know if you need anything at home, ok?’
‘What about the Just Eat app, I…’
‘With my card on it?’
‘Er, yeah. I can remove it?’
‘Leave it. Order whatever you want, whenever you want.’
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*
In Art, last lesson, Natalia almost walked straight into Miss Patrick carrying an armful of sketchbooks.
‘Oh, look out, Natalia!— …Everyone to continue with your exam response prep! I know spirits are high from today’s news, but can everyone settle down, please!’
Natalia, with spirits decidedly in the other direction, scraped her stool to the table remembering how even the crippled, sexless, cuckolded husband in Lady Chatterley’s Lover cheerfully got on with ‘trying his hand at painting.’ She could do with his optimism right now.
‘Which topic did you pick, Nat?’ Sam clattered next to her.
‘I already told you. Interiors,’ she mumbled, ‘after Miss Patrick said it will mix it up from the gazillion mermaids I’ve drawn for my coursework. But now I’m stuck referencing Edward Hopper and I need to find another painter but there’s none I like.’
‘Well I chose Landmarks. Mum’s taking me to Yorkshire Sculpture Park so I can take photos of Barbara Hepworth’s Squares with Two Circles.’
‘Sounds boring as fuck.’
‘Excuse me! Well it’ll get me out of the house. Jack got suspended on Friday and Dad went ballistic. Jack told me Neill’s not mad at him but that he had to do it for the welfare officer. Says he high-fived him. I don’t believe him. He’s such a prankster.’
‘He’s… a good Head.’
‘I meant Jack obviously.’
‘Oh, right.’ Natalia rubbed her face into her hands.
‘Are you ok?’
‘It’s just my period. Makes me all skittish.’
At hometime Natalia walked to the next bus stop to clear her head. After exams are over she can go to his house ‘every damn weekend if you still want to,’ he’d said. ‘If you still want to?’ Sweet deferential politeness, or a waning interest?
She mused whilst waiting impatiently for a car to roll past, before she crossed the road, glancing at the letters on its back plate. ‘FFS.’ About right, she thought.
A shoot of sudden remembrance widened her eyes and sent her hand sliding to her phone.
‘Neill, where are you?’
‘Still in my office, what is it?’
‘I think Mr Quim is on the prowl!’
‘What, where?’
‘I think he’s just driven past me. A car with FFS, For Fuck’s Sake, I remember it from that slow fuck on the country lane!’
‘Pardon?!’
‘The car you overtook on the way to Oulton Hall. I remember laughing to myself at the letters FFS on the plate. Then later I saw it in the car park with Quim getting in.’
‘Oh. And you just saw him driving now?’
‘Well, no…’
‘Was it definitely the same car?’
‘I’m not a hundred percent sure, but…’
‘What car make was it?’
‘Don’t know—’
‘What colour?’
‘This one was silver. The one at Oulton was silver too. Or greyish. Or maybe blue…’
‘Could have been a pink Ford Probe or a Vauxballs Vulva for all you women remember about cars! Why the devil do you think it’s him?’
‘I, I… guess I was just scared it was Mr Quim visiting because you said Joan wants to do the party there.…’
‘I’ve already called all that off. Natalia, your imagination is running away with you. There’s loads of cars with FFS, FFS. Go home and rest. I’m already at wit’s end here, I may be close to firing Big Tits—’
‘What! Why?’
‘That day I pushed you into my car was captured on CCTV…’
‘What!’
‘On the edge of the screen. You can’t see your face but you can see your bottom being shoved through my door, and me staring at it—’
‘Oh my god! Did she see it?’
‘Not sure, that’s the thing. She wasn’t there at the time - she’d gone home if you recall - and I’ve destroyed it, but I’ve no idea whether she’s seen it, told anyone or is holding it as a bribe against me. She smiles at me more lately, but I don’t know if that’s since the vibrator debacle. Or maybe she found it in the reeds and stuck it right up there.’
‘Ok, er, good luck.’
Finally home, away from car plates and smiling people and delirious delusions, even Ras rubbing her leg at the front door made the key tremble from her hand.
As the night drew in and the sound of canned comedy laughter wafted up the stairs, her gaze at the ceiling deepened into a frown. Anger at herself, or at Neill, or at the incompatibility of the two? That she was not the Headmistress after all, or just someone else entirely?
Still, there was a silver lining as she ordered a takeaway. Neill going to prison because he didn’t want his groomed girl to go without her fish and chips.
Better return the favour. She pulled out his love notes, but how could she throw these away? Maybe she should bury them? Or tape up each one in a satin-pink Always wrapper and arrange them like potpourri by her bed, safe in plain sight? Meanwhile, to divorce the chat. She stroked a goodbye finger through all their WhatsApp hellos, come ups, how are yous, that loosely punctuated their timeline since she first texted thanks for the taxi home. Then with a heavy heart, she pressed delete on it all, skittled her phone across the floor and cried bitterly.
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*
Message came through the next morning, by dull SMS again:
‘Delete these texts when read. Success with Phil last night. Got Ryan his first batch. I’m going to be away for a few days. Is all ok with you? Good at home? x’
- ‘Yes, all is same as usual. Thanks for letting me know x.’
At once his ‘dream woman’ and a liability, she pressed delete, thinking she couldn’t give a rat’s arse for Thornwood and its grants and ratings. What once brought them together was now tearing them apart, on this overcast, spitting day, coloured only by the flashing red in her knickers like the dull blob-throb of life and death itself, as she overheard Dinkey drone to Coleman in the corridor:
‘No, no, he’s gone this week. He’s flown her off on a surprise trip! He plotted it with me to take care of things whilst he’s gone. She was floored, the lucky lady! Alright for some, eh!’
‘They must be celebrating the result then?’
‘Reckon he deserves it! Thornwood’s finally out of the gutter, thanks to him!’
The words fell on Natalia like a Hepworth sculpture spell, as her face - chin curdling, staring into space - might well be the Square with Two Circles. Why didn’t he tell her? Is he falling in love with Joan; blinded by the Sandwoman? Of course he could never tell her if he was! The lucky lady getting his purple-red bulger all to herself and she knows far more than Natalia what to do with it, how to yelp on it and swallow it like an A-class doggie.
Despite all the time she’d spent with Neill she had no clue what she meant to him, or what the proper thing here was to do. What had been a privileged thrill, to see the Headmaster, now became the reason she couldn’t talk to anyone about this. The operative words and get-out clause had been ‘pretend girlfriend,’ that now slapped her in the face! She was the shy Miss Doris mouse, awkward virgin, Miss Oliver Twist! Shut up little girl and learn something!
The week chugged along like a steam train. ‘It’s World Book Day!’ Laura enthused on Thursday morning.
‘It’s I don’t give a fuck day.’
‘Get you! Sam said you’re always ratty on the rag. School photos tomorrow, are you even going to brush your hair for it?’
Her ears were open to only seven words that day, caught from Noble going through the canteen:
‘No, he’s in Morocco. Yeah, yeah, Morocco…’
Morocco. Three syllables that changed things. He’d been schmoozing with Phil, then, with Joan in tow. Still, her throat and stomach throbbed to know another weekend was approaching and not be quite sure how she’d get through it.
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*
The next morning, there was Neill himself, presenting Assembly like visual opium in the green suit from the Valentine Fair, with a sheen of tan, smiles for everyone, fingering his tie, a bit twitchy, glad to be back, or…? He lilted on about events and dates she had no care for, only for the crackling timbre of his voice that she’d missed, was ashamed to have missed, so badly.
There were no cheeky references, no jokes, even the hall looked bored, as though Neill was on best boring behaviour - goodness, was even Natalia tiring hearing him ramble on? - a glint in his eye as he screwed his temples with laughter, oh, never!… and as they filed out, his eyes hooked on hers. Bored?!… The swallow in his throat as he looked at her was like a match striking her innards, as he approached gingerly and smiled:
‘Morning Natalia,’ cocking his head whilst she bristled as shyly as when she first met him, and returned a hello, till Coleman caught his attention back the other way. Enough to raise a smile for the school photos that day, but more a vain gladness she’d smartened herself up in time for him.
On the bus home, she had to text him, she hoped he wouldn’t mind:
‘Hi, I’ll delete this after, sorry… just wanting to ask, did you have a good holiday?’
-‘Hi…yes… thank you. Hoping all has been good with you? x’
She hesitated. She didn’t want to say she was unhappy. Mum was putting food in the fridge and life was calm enough, whilst Neill had the world to run. Maybe, just maybe if she could hear his voice?
‘Can you call?’
-‘In the office with three wenches organising my life :(( I can try later? Is something up?’
‘Ha. No… all’s good. No worries.’
-‘Glad to hear x’
She had one cigarette saved from Neill. Saturday night, she could smoke it to the sky like he does and ‘learn to forget’… ‘this cold old world and with it, Alice,’ she, lost in Blunderland, till the summer when exams are done and she’ll see him all the time… if he still wants to.
She sniffed the stinky saucer that she used as an ashtray, gone stale like their sojourn, and tossed it into the bin just as she heard Darren laughing through the wall - then her mum - even she was happier than her right now. Their mattress began squeaking, as she dived for her earphones, but too late as a leery grunt erupted. Ah, all done - in Neill’s sarcasm. Jeez, can she stop thinking in Neill?
She needed someone else to talk to for a change. The image of Bill immediately came to mind. My number’s on the board, he’d said. Should she try church tomorrow? Could singing hymns restore the spirits she’d rejoiced in the last times?
‘The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want!’ She sang it without the semi-colon after shepherd. If only she could not want, long, hanker for the one she’d made an icon of. Tears creeping, her will weakening, she crept out of the pews, photographed Bill’s number and left just as everyone shared peace handshakes.
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*
‘Yeah she’s got Neill on it, it’s quite a coup!’ Dinkey dropped by Williams at morning form on Monday, his voice rising in that way people’s departing tone suddenly goes ear-burstingly loud. ‘Oxford it is, yeah, Oxford!’
Did this mean Neill was going away, again? She’d spied his car outside. Now spying a swarm of staff outside his office, they peeled in laughter to Neill’s boom within:
‘Just call me Mr Brown Nose! I’ll have pearly gates on this school by the time I get to them myself!’
So much for Ryan reckoning ‘everyone’s clocking on he’s a nonce.’ It really was like October all over again, Neill the man of the moment. As for Ryan, he was quiet as a mouse lately.
‘How’s your mum doing?’ she thought to ask, filtering out at break.
‘Do you really care?’
‘I care for anyone who’s suffering like that, yes.’
‘She’s doing alright. She’s had a couple of goes with the oil and she’s got her colour back. But that might be cos dad’s stopped drinking himself to death on a weekend.’ He shrugged. ‘So you can tell that bit of news to your boyfriend.’
‘I’m not interested in boys,’ she said. ‘Or men. I—’
‘What, you’re a lezza.’
She paused. ‘I think I am, yeah.’
‘I knew it. I knew it all along.’
‘Well then you’re a smart cookie, I guess.’
She was grinning more than him as they parted ways.
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*
Neill’s car wasn’t outside the school the next day, nor the next; Natalia assuming he was in Oxford doing whatever brown-nosing he promised everyone, whilst she got so stuck into her work she managed to not think about him for a whole Geography lesson on coastal erosion, until in English reading a passage from Jane Eyre, making notes on Blanche Ingram she may as well have been making notes on Joan herself. ‘I was not jealous - the nature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by that word.’ ‘She was too inferior to excite the feeling.’ ‘Very showy, brilliant attainments, but mind poor, heart barren’?
But tonight, she had something to look forward to - someone, who might quell her pangs with some Christian values like Jane Eyre always seemed to manage - and as her bus rumbled home, dropping down her earphones of Depeche Mode that was now Depressed Ode, she thought to what she would talk to bobbly-jumpered Bill about.
By 6pm she was sitting on a plastic chair in the Parish Hall, with a Monopoly-themed ‘Just Visiting Jail’ mug of tea, speckled with brown floaty bits.
‘My missus is at home at the moment, so if you want privacy, I have keys to the hall’ - he’d said on their way in, making her feel sleazy for a moment unlocking the door as though he was going to start kissing her like Neill once it closed. But as the cheap plastic kettle cranked up and he smiled at a calendar on the wall, where Jesus stood palms out in a ray of light, chuckling ‘good chap he was,’ she felt grateful just to have someone new to talk to.
‘Well, on that topic,’ she smiled, ‘there’s someone I like. A man, well, a boy, you know… and I think, I don’t know, but my feelings for them are so, deep. And I don’t know how to cope.’
‘Ah, teenage love, eh,’ chuckled Bill as he sat down.
‘I don’t know about love. I know I just, like them… him, a lot.’
‘And what is wrong? Is he with another?’
‘Kind of. Well, yes.’
‘Ah. Very tricky. Best not get involved in those cases. It’s sure to lead to heartbreak as I know myself. Is it another girl at school he’s with? Maybe a friend of yours?’
She shook her head.
‘He’s not… married?’
She stared up at the Jesus calendar. ‘No. He’s just… kind of, a different social class. A different world.’
‘Older, then?’
‘A little bit.’
‘Well, it might not be the right answer, but one sure fire way of getting over one, is to find another. You’re such a young lass,’ he sighed, ‘with life spread out in front of you. Many suitors will come your way.’
‘I see the many suitors that come and go my mum’s way. It’s hardly an advertisement for that way of life.’
‘Unfortunately, it’s just the way life is for many. The ebbs and flows of relationships.’
‘The only thing that kept them together was having me. And even that didn’t work in the end. Mum even told me the other day that he left when I was born. For six weeks he deserted us.’
‘Dear oh dear,’ he sighed. ‘Mary’s had it tough. And he doesn’t keep in touch?’
‘Nope.’
‘Sad. Have you tried to find your dad?’
‘Mum doesn’t tell me anything. All of his side are in Russia. I’ve tried looking him up but whenever I put in Anton Molova, nothing comes up.’
‘Molova?’ he frowned.
‘Well Molov, or whatever…’
‘No, his name was something else, I’m sure.’
‘What do you mean? Molova’s his name, they were married!’
‘Were they?’ he blinked. ‘As far as I know, they weren’t. I got the impression they didn’t parade the fact because in the Russian circles, it was seen as living over the brush. They were already feeling ostracised by the Parish because most of the Russian folk went to the Orthodox Church, you see. I always told them there was no need to feel that way, but I went on calling them the Molovas and they never objected.’
‘My dad told you his name was Molova?’
‘Hmm… well, not quite. I do recall the first time I ever met your mother. She brought you to the church toddler group and I remember her laughing that it’s so handy, being close by, free of charge and opposite an Off License—’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘I’d just joined the Parish and I was running the group at the time,’ Bill screwed his eyes shut in recollection, ‘we had to put down the names of all the children and I wrote down Molova, so that’s how I came to refer to your family. It was only when your dad later did some driving for the Parish committee and he showed me his license that I saw a surname that was something else. Something very long, and very Russian, I can’t for the life of me remember!’
‘Jesus,’ Natalia stared. ‘I mean… sorry, jeez - if that’s better,’ she smirked.
Bill smiled faintly. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea you didn’t know. So Mary told you they were married? Have you seen wedding pictures?’
‘I just thought she chucked them all out! She’s never denied they were married, and she never corrected me when I typed dad’s name as Molova on Facebook!’
‘Oh. Have you seen your birth certificate? His name should be on there.’
‘I’ve never seen it. I’d have to ask my mum. But even if they weren’t married, why would she give me her name?’
‘Well, you just said he left for six weeks when you were born.’ He did the constipated look again. ‘You have to get the baby’s name registered within two weeks, you know, and if she didn’t know where Anton was, that’ll be why she put her name.’
Natalia sipped her speckly brown tea in a reflex of shocked contemplation. She suddenly thought Bill, constipated and all, was smarter than he looked.
‘God, you’re right,’ she stared.
‘Well, it sounds like your mum has some explaining to do! Isn’t there anyone else in the family you could talk to, love?’
‘Only Uncle Andy in Manchester. Non-blood. Husband of my mum’s sister who died yonks ago. Mum always says he only married her sister because he felt sorry for her, but she doesn’t realise he only stays in touch with her because he feels sorry for her too.’
‘You’ve never asked Andy about your dad?’
‘No. He was ill at Christmas. Whenever he comes I mostly stay upstairs anyway because he’s such a know-all.’
He laughed. ‘Maybe that could be handy now. You see, as you get older you get more interested in these things. Your own family tree and such.’
‘Well, thanks Bill,’ as they washed up in the sink. ‘You’ve certainly shed some light,’ she nodded to the Jesus calendar, leaving Bill with his laughing-orgasm-face drying the mugs. She swore she could hear the Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Relax, orgasmic ‘huu-aarrgh!’ just as he did.
Then she pulled her phone out of her pocket and realised her music had been playing and flattening the phone battery for the past hour.
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On the way home, she tried Uncle Andy’s home number. No answer.
Horse’s mouth, then. She went into the living room, picked up the remote and turned down Corrie.
‘Mum…’
‘What yer doing that for?’ she swiped it back. ‘Fizz has just found Tyrone’s empty condom packet!’
‘Fuck Fizz! This is real life!’
‘Ten minutes.’
Natalia stormed back upstairs. She checked her phone and retried Uncle Andy.
‘Ell-oh?’
‘Oh, hi Uncle Andy. It’s me, Natalia… Hello?…’
She groaned at the black screen. She plugged her phone in, watched it blink at 0% then went back downstairs to the whine of Corrie’s end credits.
‘Right, I need you to tell me something, a straight yes or no,’ as she blockaded the TV screen. ‘Were you and dad actually married?’
‘Pah-don?’
‘Just answer it.’
Her mum got up and walked to the kitchen.
‘Oh for god’s sake!’ Natalia paced after her. ‘Silence, silence all the time! I know you weren’t married to dad. Why have you lied?’
Her mum flicked the kettle. ‘I’m making a cuppa then I’ll talk to ya if you can stop shouting like a lunatic.’
Natalia’s huffing was drowned out by the storming kettle, as she sat down at the table and her mum gazed through the window.
‘So who’ve you been talking to?’
‘Bill, if you must know—’
‘Do you want a cuppa?’
‘No, I bloody don’t. I’ve just suffered one with more floaters than Darren leaves the toilet to derive this information. Dad’s name wasn’t Molova, so why have you lied?’
‘I never said we were married, either.’
‘But why pretend, why never deny you were? Can you turn round and answer properly?’
Mary sat down at the table stirring her tea.
‘Only cos it were frowned on back then,’ as she set down the teaspoon.
‘Sorry, are we talking about the noughties or the 1940s?’
‘We never had the money. We were always arguing and always pissed, and I didn’t want to even marry the bastard. Mam had just passed away so I didn’t need to do it for her sake. And bleedin’ pigs would sooner fly into this street than his fuddy-duddy Ruski folk. I wanted to get you into the school up the road, the Roman Catholic one and I didn’t want those blabbermouths at the church saying you were illegitimate.’
‘So that’s why you let me believe you were married? And why not tell me since?’
She shrugged and slurped her tea.
‘I bet it’s because you don’t want me to find dad!’ Natalia stared. ‘You’ve sat and watched me search the wrong name!’
‘His name I could never bloody remember anyway. Half the time he just went with Molova when nosies like Bill came up to us.’
‘Do you have my birth certificate?’
‘You won’t find his name on there. I left it off because he’d buggered off. As you’ve probably figured that’s why I put Molova on there in’t first place. If he were round, then you’d be’ - she nodded - ‘y’know… his name.’
‘Well what was his name?’
She waited for her mum to finish a long gulp of tea. She felt like she’d never hated the sight of tea so much.
‘Oh, all into Russian now are ya? What with calling the cat Vlad Putin.’
‘Rasputin. Don’t tell me that was dad’s name.’
‘Tretchi, it were Tretchi-summat.’ She pulled up her phone and peered into a Google search window. ‘Here’ - she began typing ‘Tretchi’ and the auto-suggestions came up.
‘Are you serious, you’re googling it? You don’t remember?!’
‘I’m dyslexic as you know. There—’
‘Tretchikoff. Are you sure?’ Natalia stared cynically.
‘Of course I’m bleedin’ sure.’
‘Let me get my phone.’ Natalia slipped away up the stairs. Her mum came shuffling up behind her.
‘So what are you gonna do? Start searching for him?’
Natalia’s phone was now on 33% as she pulled it from the wall.
‘What’s it to you? Do you want to search for him with me, downstairs together?’
‘Why ya so interested in someone who left both of us in the lurch? What do you want to do, drag him back here to show him I haven’t married anyone else except a bloody stray cat?’
‘It’s not all about you,’ Natalia pushed past across the landing, charger hanging from the phone. ‘Isn’t it a birthright? Even my teacher at school said, it’s something I should’ve asked ages ago. Mum, where the fuck’s dad? Why do you act like he’s dead!’
‘Because he were a fucking no-good ‘un!’
Natalia snapped the landing light switch, no light came on. ‘About as good as you are at changing a lightbulb? How long’s this one been waiting, left empty, hanging in the dark like I have all these years? Let me past—’
‘God! You’re a bloody nightmare you are, always wanting to be better! Running away, like I say, just like your dad!’
‘Well maybe, I might go find him! Sometimes I wish I was with the parent that ditched me, than you!—’ Natalia lunged to the top of the stairs, without noticing Ras in the dark, who was jumping up to bite the cable hanging from her phone - as she stepped, foot caught into his belly - and tumbled down the stairs.
Her mum screamed as Natalia cartwheeled in a flash of thuds together with Ras, falling to the bottom with a thud, as the cat tore off in panic.
‘Natalia! Oh my bloody god!’
She was moaning out loud, still holding her phone in one hand, looking to it dazed.
‘My screen’s cracked,’ she groaned. ‘Oh, it’s only the screen protector…’
Her mum was staring open-mouthed from the top of the stairs. ‘Don’t move!’
‘I’m fine,’ grunted Natalia, staring in shock as she began to sit up. ‘I just got… bumped.’ Her mum was cascading upon her.
‘Don’t touch me!—’
‘I didn’t do anything! You slipped! Do you need to go to the hospital?’
Natalia stumbled up, buckled again, rubbing her side. ‘I need to get out for a bit,’ she croaked. ‘I need some space, I need to get out of here—’
She limped to the door.
‘Where the heck ya going at this time in the dark? You can’t be going out if you’re hurt! You need to get checked over!’
‘I’m fine. I’m fine! How many times do I have to say it? Just leave me alone,’ she winced, hobbling out of the door, nonstop into the darkness down the street, phone still in hand with the charger attached, crying harder and harder till she was in the park, where the squeaking glint of three boys doing wheelies under a lamp post stopped to stare.
‘Are you alright babe?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You can’t plug your phone into’t bench,’ one sniggered.
She was shaking as she switched on her phone. Missed call from Uncle Andy. On the bright side he was not needed anymore. She could avoid an hour-long droning conversation with Uncle Andy and phone the Man of all Men himself.
It rang seven times then the Vodafone answer machine played.
She sent a text:
‘Please, please call. I’m hurt’
A response came within a minute:
‘?? Will call you asap’
She waited for Neill’s number to flash up four minutes later.
‘Natalia?’
She sobbed back.
‘What’s happened?!’ His bark was so loud that one of the boys looked over. She turned the volume down and looked the other way.
‘I, I need you…’
‘Darling. Talk to me. What is—’
‘I fell down the stairs. Well, my mum… she, she pushed me down the stairs…’
‘What the fuck!’ The wires rasped. ‘Why the hell… How bad are you?!’
‘I’m ok, I can walk, I’m out of my house now. I’m just… banged. Bruised. I don’t know how bad…’
‘Fuck! I’m in Oxford. It will take me at least three hours to get back.’
‘Are you… finished there?’
‘Upon this news I’m checking out. Get a cab straight to mine.’
‘Are you sure y—’
‘Get a cab. Or, I’ll do it for you - where are you?’
‘I’m by the park gate.’
‘Let yourself in using the key under the stone. Lock the door and draw the curtains and don’t answer to anyone.’
‘Ok. Thah—’
‘I’m leaving now.’
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*
Her shoulder ached. Something hurt in her side rib when she breathed. She felt a bump on her forehead. But her sobs subsided and the throbs slowed between each rush of blood as the taxi flew her up Wetherby Road.
She’d laser-beamed herself exactly where she wanted to go most of all in the world, by falling down the stairs - with her cat, like Alice - and just as unpleasantly, down a rabbit hole back to the caterpillar, Mad Hatter and Cheshire Cat combined. And without Tweedledum and Tweedledee, which one might consider Ed and Claire, and without the burden of colds, just worse, a body of bruises, and her own pool of tears; Alice in Blunderland but as happy as could be, she had the gift of the gaffe, that led to his gaff, she’d suffered the stairway to heaven.
Neill sounded livid. Of course, over her lie that tumbled out of her mouth. She’d think about it later. She was approaching his street and she needed to get the taxi driver to stop before it. With a thanks and a hobble and a lift of the stone, she was inside his lounge.
She slumped down her bag and breathed in the woody, stoney cottage tick-tock like a momentary remedy. It was almost 9pm. She slipped off her bra and leggings and soon she was camped out in her top and knickers, marooned in the blanket with tea, water and TV remote, prodding a text to her mum:
‘At Sarah’s. I’m ok.’
A reply came through from Neill instead:
‘Bad traffic. You’re at home?’
-‘I’m at yours’
‘What I meant. Should be an hour.’
-‘X’
‘X’
She stared for a while at that X like on a treasure map, drifting in and out of a doze as the night deepened and the intermittent motorbike barfed past. This is what her mum’s life is like, she smiled to herself. IV-TV comedy drip whilst waiting on blokes.
An hour passed, and another, feeling her knocks stiffen into bruises. Feeling reassured now she wasn’t dying, she opened Google and typed Anton Tretchikoff, almost proudly; his name, a truth she’d won with battle wounds. An array of faces came up on Facebook and LinkedIn that she’d have to go through and examine. She had fresh motivation, somehow, that she was another step further from her mum.
Finally a key in the front door just past 1am, one eye to the clock confirms, her heartbeat tripping as she feels his breath slipping into the house before she can even see him.
‘Awful traffic on the M1’ - came a deep mutter in the dark, a swish-away of a jacket and there was Neill pacing straight at her, ‘I came as quick as I could’ - now he was crouching beside her, all fragrant with cold air and traffic fumes, his hand on her head, stern cool irises riveted into hers.
Suddenly weak inside, she could barely mew a hello, as his hand came to her hairline, ‘lump on your head, poor thing. Sit up—’ He leaned to snap the lamp just behind the couch. ‘Where else are you hurt?’
‘A-around here,’ moving her hands up her torso. ‘I daren’t see how it—’
‘Top, off—’
‘I’ve got nothing underne—’
‘I don’t care. Off.’
Before the t-shirt even brushed over her head, one firm hand was under her armpit, the other down her back.
‘Jesus. This parts looks bad,’ he tossed the t-shirt over the couch back, as she watched it slip off into the unnameable darkness behind it. ‘This must hurt?’
‘Yeah, that feels sore…’
‘Right here on your rib,’ his hand practically cupping her breast, ‘does that feel tender?’
‘A bit, I—’ She shuddered and then giggled as his hand ran down her hip. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit ticklish.’
‘Sorry.’
She shuddered again.
‘Well you’re very ticklish.’
‘Touch it, er… harder.’
‘Well I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Just not too softly.’
She gasped again. He sighed. ‘Ok, we’ll do this the GF way, shall we—’
He sat down and pulled her decidedly across his lap, she naked all for her knickers, bruised and throbbing in more than the hurt places now, her breasts squashed down into his cool trousered lap, as he examined her shoulder blade under the lamplight, its cold wire along her buttock.
‘That firm enough?’
‘Ah, yeah…’ panting into his sleeve.
‘Bruise coming up here,’ his fingers circled at her knickerline. ‘More here.’
He was evidently taking this very seriously. As sobering as everything was, she’d better stop finding this examination from Dr Neill so enjoyable.
‘Not too bad. Ok, lay back,’ he hoisted her by the armpit back onto the cushions.
Her arms coyly shielding her breasts, his hand brushed them aside, darting eyes nonchalant to her display of nudity in this assumed role of doctor; detached, impassive, as if he was barely noticing, as his hand felt underneath her front ribcage, frowning as though he were about to get a stethoscope out next.
‘This is er, weird…’ She let out a smile that couldn’t be contained any longer.
‘What?’
‘Seeing my… well you’ve never seen my…’
‘Oh, yes. Rather necessary I’m afraid. Do you mind me playing doctor?’
‘No, n—’
‘And no doctor would ever say this, although I’d say for sure every one of them would think it: you have very beautiful breasts.’
‘Ah… ha,’ she bit her lip to stop too big a smile.
He sighed like the beautiful breasts were a tricky Sudoku puzzle. ‘We don’t know if a rib is broken. When you move how does it feel?’
‘Quite sore, like they’re bruised,’ as she rippled her shoulders.
‘Probably not broken. Even if there is a broken rib, there’s nothing we can do but rest it. Have you taken any painkillers?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Right—’
He disappeared out and up the stairs, meanwhile she knelt to see where her top went, and was just reaching down for it when he re-appeared.
‘I used the last of the paracetamol on that blasted hangover. But here, Ibuprofen for the swelling—’
His hand was straight in her face, pressing the tablet through her lips, in silent emulation of when she’d nursed his hangover, as her smirk lingered against his fingers, then followed by the rim of the glass of water, which she’d barely swallowed before he was poking something small and thin into her mouth.
‘Whuh—’ The lighter was clicking in her face.
‘Girls Scout Cookie thanks to Ed. The Indica is perfect for pain relief. Pity it can’t extinguish the pain in the arse he is entirely.’
Dubious, there didn’t seem to be much room for debate as he held it there till she sucked it alight.
‘That will be a godsend,’ he sat down and tugged at his laces. ‘You need to rest here tonight obviously. Have you eaten?’
She was topless and smoking weed before he’d even got his shoes off.
‘Erm, no,’ she gently puffed, as he went out to put his shoes by the front door. As he passed back through, she held the joint back up to him.
‘Finish that up, please,’ he waved his hand and continued onto the kitchen, where the sound of cupboards clappered and the kettle cranked up. ’I’ll make you a sandwich,’ he called, ‘then you can tell me everything, ok!’
The puffs of cannabis were already buoying her within, making her feel a little woozy after that examination from Dr Neill, that had already swirled her pelvis, and now felt accelerated, a rush-tap-tap right down in her groin, and where was her top? She leaned again over for it just as Neill came back in and promptly put a cold cloth to her head.
‘Here’s a compress. Hold it there for a bit,’ he lifted and plastered her hand in place, as she now sat with both hands occupied, breasts still exposed, as he took another look at her.
‘Good, deep puffs. That’ll help you sleep too. I’ll make you a herbal tea, no caffeine.’
He went back in to the bubbling kettle, clattering plates and fridge door yanking; jar lids singing onto the counter. She stubbed out the joint - still a third left - found and pulled her top back on, and put the cloth back to her head as he came back in with a plate and steaming mug.
He set them down at the table and stroked her crown. ‘Get that down you whilst I pop out for a fag. I won’t bother with the fire… or, do you want one?’
‘Yes, ok,’ she thought it would be nice to sleep next to.
‘A little one, for you. It’s a bit nippy.’
He kneeled to the logs as she reached a hand to open a bread triangle and see carved ham, a cheese that smelt mature and some kind of pickle. She never ate pickle. The tea was chamomile which she and her mum said tasted like piss, probably the only thing they agreed on.
She put down the cloth and took up a sandwich whilst Neill disappeared to the back door. She didn’t feel hungry, but she ate anyway, robotically, for nourishment’s sake, and because well, Neill told her to, and there was some kind of shift in him, an interlude of seriousness from his usual rambunctiousness. But did the lie about her mum really matter when the pain in her life was real? When her mum had pushed her over the edge so many times and her track record of coldness could hardly acquit her?
He was soon back with a whiff of cigarette scent. ‘All done?’ He sat down on the end of the couch with his own cup of chamomile, gathering her ten toes onto his lap. ‘So tell me what happened with mum, if you can still call her one,’ he glanced to her plate. ‘Don’t you eat the crusts?’
‘Oh, er, some of them,’ as she picked and gnawed the least brown looking one. ‘So, things had been ok with her lately, on the whole. But earlier we had a heated conversation on the landing.’
‘What about?’
‘Lies she’d told me about dad. Turns out they were never married. Anyway, I felt this shove, and…’ she blinked, ‘the next thing I know I’m tumbling down and screaming. The first thing she says when I look up is, ‘that was an accident!’ before she even checks I’m ok.’
He shook his head. ‘Christ. Throws you down the staircase and then what, Oliver? Feeds you cockroaches through a canister?’
‘I’d be lucky to get that.’
He squeezed her foot.
‘Then I just left the house. I’ve told her I’m ok and at a friend’s.’
He made a deep aggrieved breath, got up and wandered away, clenching his fists at his side like Ryan.
‘I’m so sorry Natalia. This is all my fault.’
‘What? It’s not your fault—’
‘After that gang bang night, it was clear you weren’t safe,’ he was muttering through the window.
‘Huh?’ A tinge of guilt rose now. ‘I just hate her. I know you’re not supposed to hate your mum but she’s so useless, and spineless, and thoughtless…’
‘And sadistic to boot.’ He walked back over, and with the weight of all her guilt, her sadness of missing him, and now gladness she was here again with him, tears pricked into her eyes.
‘Hey. Come here, give me a hug—’
He sat down next to her as she lunged forward, burying her face into his shirt as she cried.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she snivelled into his neck, ‘I feel like such a burden.’
‘Don’t be silly. Where else are you going to go?’
‘But what about you? You have things to do. Can’t be looking after me. What about keeping on the lowdown and all that, I, I…’
‘Don’t worry about that for now,’ he patted her thigh. ‘What’s more important is you being ok. You could have been knocked unconscious or broken a leg. Finish that chamomile up, then bed, little Susie.’
‘Susie?’ she sniffed up at him.
‘Fell down the stairs, all her dress torn and blood in her hair…’ he softly sang into her face.
‘What’s that?’ she smile-frowned.
‘Michael Jackson.’
‘He wore dresses?’
‘Father left home, leaving poor little Susie all alone,’ he continued, as she thought she saw the shine of a tear now in his eye.
‘Fire’s not burning so well,’ he blinked. ‘I’ll go stoke it.’
She slid back onto the cushions as he got up.
‘Were you with Joan tonight?’ as she reached for her chamomile.
‘She was with me at the conference, yes. Flashy, educational council for bigwigs, fat cats and hotshots from all corners of the cunt-inent.’
‘And I’ve disturbed you?’
‘You called just I was fucking her up against the Corby trouser press. Before the hotel door even clunked closed or she had chance to get hold of the room service menu and giggle for half an hour over the calories of salad dressings. My phone went off in my pocket and I got the most curious feeling to pull it out, and the sound of shock I made when I saw it was you, made her think I’d shot my load already so she wriggled away, allowing me to do the same to the hotel foyer to call you back.’ He sat down on the chair opposite.
‘Oh, er, sorry.’
‘That’s quite alright,’ he sighed, taking up his tea. ‘It’s more than I got when I dragged her out to Morocco last week. ’
‘Oh, how was that?’
He made a deep groan as though he’d being mugged on the street.
‘Enjoy yourself?’ she tittered.
‘That came about almost against my will,’ as he sipped his chamomile. ‘I was talking to Phil on Zoom and he said I should come over to his villa, and clearly he wanted his dear friend Joan too. So I was over a bravado barrel to whisk her on a last-minute, surprise trip like a sort of pre-approval for the grant.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t tell you. How could I? Hello my darling, I’m just popping out with Joan to Marrakech. Just Eat a kebab on me.’
‘That’s ok. I, er, figured it was to do with Phil.’
‘I never even thought there was any point trying to get Thornwood in with prize foundations and poncey symposiums till the kids can learn to breathe with their mouths closed. But this million quid we can get off some dozey philanthropist who laughs at my lamest wisecracks is turning out to be viable so it was worth the airport shlep and even having to put up with being Joan’s charming little toyboy puppy.’
‘Toyboy. That’s sweet.’
‘Sweet?’ he raised his eyebrows, as she giggled into her mug. ‘Christ, Natalia, this past two weeks has been… well, you don’t need to know my woes right now.’
‘It’s fine, it’s cheering me up from my own. Well did you have any fun there in the end?’
‘When I finally got Joan away from talking incessant shite with the villa neighbour, or in from the veranda where she consumed her body weight in Chardonnay nightly, and pillage her body to scrape back a modicum of satisfaction from this pilgrimage of her Headmistress ego, which I only managed twice - can you believe twice?’
‘Sounds like true love.’
‘So I get blue balls, and on top of everything, she’s rose-cunted - that is, gets her fucking period - talk about the Red City! So she took it down the hatch, but yes, the souks were lovely, thank you.’
‘Souks? Both of them?’
He smiled faintly. ‘I have missed you, you rascal. So much I even started tapping my own cock.’
She laughed mid-slurp. Piss tea never tasted so good.
‘In fact, bullshitting to get out of the conference and drive back here was the most exciting thing I’ve done since the Yoga lesson. I’m just glad I insisted on bringing my own car and didn’t share with Joan. I’d been caught in her fucking net enough lately as it was.’
‘Oh, does she have a net strong enough?’
‘Nah. Her days are numbered.’
‘Thought you were going to say her holes are too big.’
‘Awful, vile young girl you are,’ he tutted. ‘Right, come on. It’s very late, let’s get you to bed. Up into the big bed with me this time, so I can keep my eye on you.’
She coughed on her last mouthful of tea.
‘Are you ok?’
‘Yeah, yeah. It went down the wrong way. Oh, but the little fire—’
‘Is almost out,’ as he pulled over the grate. ‘Rather like I am. Up to bed, now.’
Who cares about little white lies?
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