Teach Me Dirty(39)

“Fine, Hels, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She covered the handset while she yelled at someone, then came back on the line. “It’s like a pissing war zone in here tonight.”

“Sorry, I feel bad you’re not here.”

“I’ll survive,” she sighed. “Anyway, I’m all ears. I think it’s about time you told me all about the deceased Mrs Roberts, Helen Palmer. Don’t hold back on the detail, I want everything.”



I felt so much better the next day. Boring flat pumps sat so much more comfortably on my feet, and I’d opted for my art shirt; loose, soft, faded pink cotton with hippy-style thread work. I wore it with my faded jeans and a crocheted cream cardigan, and I looked like me. Weird, geeky Helen and her slightly eccentric clothes. I didn’t bother with makeup, and what would have been the point, anyway?

Mr Roberts wanted to talk to me, not grope me. We shared art, not sex. And although it pained to think there was a chance he would never touch me again, I’d have given anything just to sit with him some more and talk the hours away. Maybe that would be enough.

I was kidding myself and I knew it the moment I set foot in the hall.

He took my breath away.

His smile was warm, and his eyes were bright, and we painted and we talked and we laughed, and the kids laughed, too. And it was fun. It was loads of fun. I fluttered, and prickled, and had butterflies whenever he’d walk close to me. My face would burn, all the time, whenever I caught his eyes, and that would be often since I’d catch him looking all the time. Even more than me. Maybe even more than good friends looked at each other, but I didn’t want to hope too much.

It was good, and happy, and fun. So much fun my stomach fell through the floor when it was time to leave.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asked, and today it sounded like the most natural thing in the world.

“Unfortunately, yes.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Dad thinks I need to study. I’ve exceeded my fun quota already for this holiday.”

He smiled a little. “Already? That’s a real shame.”

I gathered up my bag. “Got exams, he says, got to get my head out of the clouds, he says.”

“I’m sure he just cares.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a baby.”

“You’re his baby.” His tone was deep and calm and so mature. “He wants to see you do well, that’s only natural, Helen. It’s a big year for you.”

“It doesn’t mean he has to put me on an evening curfew just so I‘m allowed to paint some scenery in the holidays.”

He led the way out and got the lights as we passed. I waited while he locked up and tried the doors behind us.

“If you can’t paint, I understand. Don’t put yourself under pressure.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I want to be here…” I wrapped my scarf around my neck for the walk home, and suddenly he was right beside me, he pulled a tangle of hair free from my collar, and smoothed it flat with his fingertips. And I couldn’t breathe. He stole my air. Breathed me in until I was just a wisp on the wind. “…with you. I want to help…” I’d checked out the canvases before we’d left, and for all our best intentions we were way behind schedule. This was the job of ten people, not a handful of kids.

“I appreciate that.” He was standing so close to me, blocking my view of the way home, like a barricade, as though every part of his body wanted me to stay, even if his mind didn’t know it. He looked through me, like he could see the boring white bra through my clothes, and I felt self-conscious, like a little kid again.

“I… um… I have to go.”

He smiled and sidestepped. “Sorry, Helen, I was a million miles away. Of course.”

“Goodnight, Mr Roberts.”

“Yes, Helen, I hope so. Enjoy your studying.” He reached for my arm as I passed by, and it startled me enough that I gasped. “I enjoyed yesterday. I haven’t talked, not for a long time. It felt good.”

“That’s ok…” I said. “I enjoyed it, too…”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I didn’t move and he didn’t let go, and if my phone hadn’t bleeped with another Dad prompter we’d have probably stayed there forever.

But my phone did bleep, and I was already late again.

He let go of me, and I hurried away before I lost every tenuous scrap of willpower I had left in my body.

***

Mark



Her hair blew in the breeze — catching on the wind like a feather halo — and it was beautiful. I watched her leave, and she dithered at the gates, her dainty little feet dancing along the path in sweet black ballet pumps. My little Helen, so graceful and kind. A sweet soul in a sweet body, and I wanted to taste all of her. It was all I could do to let her walk away.

Her nerves were intoxicating, her wispy breath teasing my face whenever I passed too close. It would have been so easy to kiss her. I could have sent the kids home and pulled her close and touched my lips to hers, and loved her. I could have loved her.

I could have made love to Helen Palmer the way I’d made love to Anna.

And then I’d have taken her all over again, and this time it would have been different.