A Ladder to the Sky(63)
‘We got married five and a bit years ago,’ I told him. ‘And we were dating for a few years before that.’
‘He’s incredibly handsome,’ said Nicholas, and I nodded.
‘He is,’ I said. ‘Why did you say that? You don’t fancy him, do you?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’m straight. But I mean he’s just obviously very good-looking.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I said, waving towards the barman for another round.
‘I think Garrett fancies him,’ he said.
‘Really?’ I said, surprised. ‘He and Maurice have met a few times and there always seems to be some sort of mutual loathing going on there.’
‘He’s only acting that way because he wants to get into his pants. You know he’s driving us all crazy right now? Telling us that we aren’t to think of him any differently now that he’s going to be a published writer.’
‘And do you?’ I ask.
‘No. I thought he was a cock before and I think he’s a cock now. Just a soon-to-be-published cock, that’s all.’
I laughed but didn’t disagree. A part of me knew that it was wrong to be spending so much time drinking alone with one of my students but, if I’m honest, I didn’t care. I was enjoying the sense of freedom he offered me, the feeling of being twenty-three again and dreaming of a writing career. The more we drank, the more attractive he grew and when he leaned back in his chair at one point to produce a dramatic yawn, his T-shirt rode up, displaying a lower belly that was covered in fine, dark hairs. Just looking at them made me imagine what he might look like if he stripped that T-shirt off.
Perhaps he guessed. Perhaps, after our first couple of drinks, he’d wondered whether our afternoon might end with us going to bed together. After all, I’d alluded to such things already. Because when we finished our next drinks, he asked me whether I wanted another or whether I might like to go somewhere else.
‘Like where?’ I asked him.
‘Like my place,’ he said, without an ounce of self-consciousness. ‘I only live a few minutes away.’
I shrugged. I didn’t want him to think that I was in any way shocked. ‘To fuck, you mean?’ I asked him.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘If you want to.’
‘Tell me it hasn’t always been your fantasy to fuck your teacher.’
‘You wouldn’t think that if you’d seen the teachers I had in school.’
‘Why don’t we just … walk down the street and get a little air?’ I said, standing up, and soon enough we were outside, feeling the disorienting effect of sunshine on our eyes when we were both a little drunk. We strolled around St Peter’s Street and on to Goat Lane but didn’t speak the entire time. The anticipation was making me incredibly aroused and I had no clear idea what I was going to do next, whether I would in fact go to bed with him or whether I might turn around on his doorstep, place a hand against his chest and say something like You’re very sweet, Nicholas, but there’s no way this could end well for either of us. It felt as if I were watching myself from above, like I was a character in a film about to make a bad choice that would inevitably lead to catastrophe, but when he finally stopped outside a door and put a key in the lock, I felt an extraordinary longing to follow him inside and let him do anything he wanted to me.
He turned around, saw the expression on my face, and offered a half-smile.
‘That’s a no, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Wrong time, and all that.’
He shrugged. I could tell that he wasn’t going to beg. He did, however, lean forward and kiss me and I kissed him right back and, I don’t mind telling you, Maurice, that boy knew how to kiss.
‘I’d better go,’ I said, turning around, and as I walked back down the street I knew he was watching me and that felt good.
When I got back to the flat, stumbling on that bloody handrail again, which you still hadn’t fixed, I had a long shower and later, when we were sitting on the sofa together watching a movie, I found that I was barely thinking about the events of the afternoon at all. Come Wednesday, there was no awkwardness between Nicholas and me and he seemed so untroubled by the whole thing that I began to wonder whether I had simply imagined the flirtation and the kiss.
6. February
In early February, the department head, George Canter, dropped into my office to discuss some student issues and while he was there I took the opportunity to ask him whether I might be able to stay at UEA for a few more years.
‘Of course we’d be delighted to have you, Edith,’ said George. ‘And if a job should come up, then we could certainly discuss it. Although for legal reasons, we might have to advertise it formally. But even if we did, I think it would take a strong candidate to defeat you. Particularly since you’re already in situ, so to speak. Just so I know,’ he added, ‘when are you hoping to publish your second novel?’
‘I plan on delivering it by April,’ I said. ‘And all going well, I hope that it’ll be out by next spring.’
‘Well, that will certainly help too,’ he said. ‘It looks good for the faculty to be actively publishing. The students need to see that we’re doing as well as teaching.’