Teach Me Dirty(71)

I tipped her face up to mine. “Everything alright?”

She nodded. “Just… I dunno.” She smiled but it was nervous. “You got all this for me?”

“I suspected you wouldn’t have snooped hard enough in the kitchen to locate the muesli.” Her eyes widened and I laughed. “I was joking. How do you like your eggs?”

“However they come.”

“Much of a hangover?”

She shook her head. “Not so bad.”

I flicked on the kettle and grabbed some mugs. “Sorry, Helen, I don’t even know how you take your coffee, or tea, do you prefer tea?”

She blushed a little. “I don’t… I don’t like either…”

I pulled a face. “You don’t drink tea or coffee? Extraordinary girl.” I reached for a glass instead. “I’m assuming you like juice?”

She nodded. “I like juice.”

I handed her a drink and busied myself with breakfast, browning the sausages off before adding the bacon and eggs, and toasting the bread just enough to crunch.

“We’ve got so much of this to cover, Helen. So many likes and dislikes, and food preferences and pointless trivia.” I flipped the bacon. “What’s your favourite food?”

She propped herself against the wall. “Potato waffles.”

“Potato waffles?”

She nodded. “With baked beans.”

I soaked her in like I’d never seen her before, seeing her youth through clear vision, and it was pure and intoxicating… and addictive. There was such beauty in her innocence, in the simplicity of her answers, without pretence or front or any kind of showmanship. No pompous detailing of quail’s eggs and truffles to sound like more of a grown-up, just potato waffles, because that’s the truth of it.

“I’ll cook you potato waffles,” I said. “It can be our first dinner together.”

It made her laugh, but just a little. “You’ll cook me waffles?”

“I like waffles,” I lied. “It’s a good meal.”

“You’re a rubbish liar.”

I pointed my spatula at her. “That’s very true, so I rarely bother. And by rarely I mean, I don’t. Unless I’m trying to save someone’s feelings from unnecessary anguish.” I plated up the food. “So, if you have any questions of me, please always ask, and the answer you get will be the answer I mean. You don’t need to ponder my intentions or second guess me, Helen, they’ll be exactly as I express them. I find that’s by far the best way to a healthy relationship.” I handed her her plate, and she was pale as a ghost. “Are you feeling alright?” And then it dawned on me. “Are you regretting things? I should have given you more space, I know it’s a lot to take in, and reality can be so different to fantasy…”

“No!” she said. “No! That’s not it! I’m not regretting anything. I love being here. I love you.” She bit her lip at her outburst, but I couldn’t help feel the warmth in my stomach.

Love.

Was this love?

“What is it, Helen?”

She cleared a space on the dining table and sat with her breakfast, and I handed her cutlery without any more prompting. I sat in silence, giving her time, and she’d only eaten a couple of mushrooms before she dropped her fork and her lip was trembling a little.

“Last night, you said I could tell you anything, and I want to. I mean, I need to… because I’ve done something… and I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it… and you’ll be angry, and I don’t want you to be angry, because I love being here, and I love being with you, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life and I don’t want to ruin it all, but I probably already have, and I’m sad, and…”

I looked right at her. “What have you done, Helen?”

She took a breath. “You’re going to be so mad…”

“I don’t anger all that easily, why don’t you just try me?”

She covered her face with her hands. “I was going on Facebook, I promise, and I was about to log in, and then there was this directory, but I wasn’t even looking for it, I shouldn’t have even noticed, but I did…”

And I knew. Her eyes were closed so she didn’t see me smile.

“…I didn’t mean to be nosey. I’m not that kind of person. I’m really not, I promise… but it’s because… I don’t even know why… I don’t know why I looked… I shouldn’t have looked. I feel horrible…”

“You saw my pictures? Of me and Anna?”

She nodded, and dropped her hands. “And there was a video, too. I only watched one… I swear. I’m so sorry, Mr Roberts.”

“Mark,” I said. “It’s Mark.”

“Please don’t hate me…”

“Which video?”

Her face darkened to beetroot and I had to stifle a laugh. “The… the, um… there was wax…”

“There often was.”

Her eyes widened, and I loved that. I loved how expressive she was. “Often?”

“Yes, often.” I pushed my plate aside. “Does that bother you?”