Teach Me Dirty(103)

It was well into the afternoon when Mum turned down the volume on the TV and glanced at Dad to make sure he was still sleeping. As if the snores didn’t tell her enough.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll handle your dad.”

I turned to face her and my eyebrows were high. “What?”

“Don’t think I can’t see it, love. You’re missing him. So go.”

“But Christmas… you said…”

“And you were here,” she said. “Now get yourself gone. Before he wakes up. Will Harry come and get you? I’d take you myself if we hadn’t polished of that bottle of wine.”

I was nodding, smiling, itching to run out of the door as fast as my legs would carry me, but I took the time to hug her instead, really tight, and it shocked her, I could tell. The force knocked her backwards in her chair and she laughed in my ear before she hugged me back.

“Thanks, Mum.”

“Just have fun, Helen. Enjoy it. You’re only young once, love.”

“I will.”

I grabbed my coat, and my phone, and threw some more clothes in my overnight bag, and left through the back garden, ducking under the gap in the fence and making my way out onto the main road. Once I was clear of the house, and more specifically clear of Dad, I called up Mark’s number and was about to press dial before I thought better of it.

He might be drinking.

He might feel obliged to pick me up.

He might be angry at me for making him do it.

So I didn’t call him. I took a gulp of afternoon air and set off on foot. Three miles, tops. Ok, maybe four. But I could do it. I knew the way.

Tarmac turned to lanes, and lanes turned to frosty grass as the afternoon light waned. My heart leapt as I hitched myself over the fence at Mark’s special place, and it already felt so long ago that he’d touched me there.

I took a break, sitting in his spot on the slate ledge, watching the brook babbling its way downstream, and I felt close to him there, close enough to feel him.

I wondered if that’s how he felt about his Anna in this place. Maybe it was a place for memories and ghosts and stolen moments.

I laughed to myself, at my melodrama, and decided to end my stupid solitary trek and call him.

He answered after two rings.

“I’m somewhere beautiful,” I said.

“And where would that be, Helen? At home, stuffed full of turkey, I hope.”

“I think you’ve worn a groove in this slate, Mr Roberts. Your ass must be a perfect fit.”

I could hear the surprise in his voice and it made me smile. “What are you doing on your own in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’m following my heart,” I said. “And it led me on a mission to the middle of nowhere.” I took a breath. “Mum let me go.”

“So you decided to trek your way back to me?”

He sounded different. Tired.

Sad.

Why was he so sad?

“I wanted to see you. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It is.” I could hear him walking around. “I’m on my way. I’ll be on foot, though, I’ve been drinking.”

“You don’t have to. I can make it to yours before the light goes.”

“Look up through the trees.”

I looked up through the trees, to the portion of his studio jutting out from the foliage in the distance, and the light twinkled, on and off, on and off.

“You’ll blow a bulb if you keep doing that.”

He laughed. “Keep walking,” he said. “Straight ahead, over the shallows of the brook, and up. You’ll see the points of the fences I cross. I’ll meet you halfway.”

The thought thrilled me.

The fields were steep on the approach, and the fences were awkward and made me feel a fool as I scrambled over them. It was cold, too. My breath was frosty and my hair was crisp from the winter chill and the light drew in quicker than I expected.

And then there was a twinkle in the distance. A twinkle that was moving.

The relief flooded me, and my heart jumped in recognition of its missing piece. My legs found reserves of enthusiasm and my lungs felt bigger and stronger, and I pushed on, faster and faster, until Mark’s outline was visible and his torchlight found me.

And I ran.

I don’t even know how I had the energy left, but I ran.

His arms were waiting and they ate me up, and his breath felt so right against my cheek and his lips felt so right as they pressed to mine. My heart found its home again, and it soared, but then it fell. It fell as I felt Mark’s sadness.

I could see it in his eyes, even in twilight. I could feel it in the air around him, in the strain in his breath, which smelled of scotch.

“What?” I said, “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t speak, just took the bag from my grip and hitched it over his shoulder, and reached for my hand. His fingers squeezed so tightly, but he wouldn’t look at me, just kept walking, staring into the distance as we climbed the field to his.

“Mark?”

“We’ll be home soon. Don’t worry.”

I pulled back until he was forced to turn to me. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” He tugged at me. “Let’s get home, Helen. It’s cold and dark, and your legs must be like jelly.”