Teacher's Pet (16 page)

“I tidied that away.”

“I thought you might have.  You’ve been doing a lot of tidying lately, haven’t you?”  He tried not to sound concerned.  After all, spring cleaning and sorting out didn’t have to happen in spring.

“Have I? Yes, maybe I have.  I’ve had a lot of energy this weekend.  I’ve felt good.  You know?”  Jeremiah nodded.  He’d noticed.  She carried on, looking at him in that fixed way she sometimes had.  The words came faster all of a sudden.  “What were you looking for?  That posh paper, was it?  Try on the shelf.  It might be there.  Or in the bedroom.  I can’t remember where I put it.  Sorry, Jez.  I’m babbling, aren’t I?  I’ll make the tea.”

As she shut the door, Jeremiah felt a vague sense of unease. 
Liz seemed to be speeding up.  He turned back to the desk and re-arranged things.  He would look on the shelf for the paper, then check the medicine cabinet.  He knew he shouldn’t worry.  Maybe Liz was just feeling good, full of energy, active.  That would be the best-case scenario.

He stood up and reached hesitant
ly onto the first shelf.  This shouldn’t take long.  There only seemed to be a couple of boxes up here.  Brightly coloured storage cubes that Liz had picked up on one of her Scandinavian design spending sprees. 

He pulled down the first box carefully and began to sort through
it, his mind wandering as he did so, not really in tune with what he was looking for.  Exploring scenarios rather than thinking of where the paper might be.

He paused for a moment as his fingers alighted on what looked like an envelope crammed full of photos.  His mind was elsewhere as he took them out.  He was thinking about
Liz.  She had been unusually upbeat this week. Even when James had discovered the graffiti in the house, she had leapt in and suggested the solution, instant redecoration, then had gone on to amaze him with her energy.  Especially after she had been so low and lethargic the week before.

He shook his head and tried to focus on his quest for paper.  After all, there was probably no need to worry.  He would just check th
e contents of the box, before taking a look at Liz’s medication.  He
did
trust her, he had to.  She had been on track with her tablets for years now, and as a result her demons had not tormented her.  She had been on an even keel, more or less.  Neither manic, nor depressed.  Horrible words those, to describe a chemical imbalance in the brain.  And now the new term: ‘bi-polar’. 

He smiled to himself as he began to idly flick through the photos.  He remembered that
Liz had said the words ‘bi-polar’ put her in mind of a sexually experimental arctic bear, instead of any kind of mental illness.  A lifestyle choice, rather than a serious, if controllable, condition.

He gazed at the images, not really concentrating.  It was as though his mind had gone out of focus.  Shaking his head, he tried to take in what he had in his hands.  He shuffled through photos of himself,
Liz and Allie in the garden.  But there was something missing.  He looked once, then again. 
Surely not.
 
Why on earth would anyone do that? 

He sat down heavily and spread out the photos in front of him on the desk.  Suddenly, all worries about finding the paper flew out of his mind.  What he was looking at made him realise that his wife was ill, and needed help.  Now.

Paul gazed in despair at the stack of well-thumbed exercise books in front of him on the table.  His heart sank as he picked up the first one and caught sight of the name: Jordan White.  He opened it and quickly found the page he was looking for.  He rolled his eyes in disbelief.  The weekly list of spellings had not only been copied down wrongly, but also used incorrectly in a number of scrawled sentences further down.

My teecher
tort
me a lot.

Well, he tried to, but to no avail,
he thought, as he underlined the misspelt words in green.  What made it even worse, apart from the jam stain on the page, was a hastily-scribbled message at the bottom from Jordan’s mother:
Jordan tuk 20 minits on this
. 

Paul’s hand went into automatic pilot and he let his mind wander as he worked his way through the pile, which consisted of page after page of largely predictable sentences, featuring words ending in
aught
or
ought
.  After a while, he sighed and consulted his watch: two pm. 
Was it too soon to phone Allie?  Would she be in the right mood to speak to him yet?  Would she ever speak to him again?

Shaking his head as if to dispel all such negative thoughts, he picked up Harry’s book and looked at his sentences.  His heart began to beat a little faster.

My teacher
taught
my mum all about my homework.  He
thought
we weren’t spending enough time on it, so he
brought
round a bottle of wine and checked it over with my mum.

Shit.
  The school inspectors would have a field day with that one.  He made a mental note to remove it from the classroom on their next visit and reluctantly gave it a tick.  After all, it was imaginative and included three of the target words, all spelt correctly.

Once he had finished marking, he put his hands behind his head and stretched back in his chair.  He hadn’t quite realised how tired he was.  All that emotion had worn him out.  That and the weekend in France, of course.  The energy spent in just trying to get young children to listen to you was immense.  Unimaginable to those who didn’t teach, it acc
ounted for most of the stress of the job.  And it often drained you so much emotionally that at the end of the day, you just wanted to be alone.  Or with someone who understood you.  A soul mate.

As usual at times like these, his gaze was fixed on the turrets of the “School on the Hill”.  And his mind was bent on avoiding the real is
sue.  Not just bypassing it, or skirting round it, but actively bounding away from it like an eager puppy on a lead.  He wondered if the Masters who taught at public schools experienced the same kind of stress as state schoolteachers.  Probably, he concluded after a moment’s consideration, but it might come from different causes.  How to reprimand the offspring of the rich and famous, for example.  Or Parents’ Evenings.  They must be a nightmare.  “I’m sorry, Prime Minister, but your son can’t spell.  And he’s a bully.”  Paul wouldn’t swap places with them for the world.

Reluctantly
but purposefully, he dragged his thoughts back to the point in hand: soul mates.  It was time to face up to the facts.  As a man, he could do a lot, seem so in control.  But all he achieved, everything he enjoyed, came to nothing without a soul mate. 
He
was nothing without a soul mate.  And he had just walked out on her again.  Why?  Because of trust.  But if he didn’t let go, if he couldn’t allow himself to trust Allie, then who could he trust?

He sighed out loud and reached for the phone.  It was time to talk.  He had to admit that walking out on her had left a sour taste in his mouth.  After a few hours apart (had it only been a few hours?) he realised that life without the prospect of seeing her again was just not worth living.
   Life without Allie was unthinkable.  It was like having a limb amputated. And that couldn’t be right.

He dialled her landline and listened to the ringing tone as it went on and on.  Past seven rings and no voice cut in.  Damn.  She must have switched off the ringer and the answer phone as well.  He cursed under his breath as he hung up. 
What could she be doing?
  The rational side of his brain suddenly took back control.  S
leeping, that’s
what she was doing
.  Of course.  How could he be so stupid?  After all she had been through, she was now resting.

He glanced at his watch: four pm.  Standing up slowly, he stretched again and felt his muscles tense up, then gradually relax. 
What should he do now?
  He really should let her relax.  But his immediate urge was to go and see her, hold her in his arms and cover her with kisses.  Talking on the phone was no good at a time like this.  It was the coward’s way out.

He turned away from the window and headed for the kitchen, a plan of action forming in his mind.  He was aware that he had to act, to salvage what there was between himself and Allie.  She meant too much to him not to.

His plan of action rapidly became a list of things to do.  First, he would eat.  Then have a shower.  Next, he would get into his car and drive to Allie’s, picking up a bunch of flowers on the way.  Once he got there, if she didn’t want to see him, he would just leave the flowers and wait.

He opened his fridge and gazed absentmindedly at the array of food on offer, but his mind wouldn’t let go of Allie.  He needed to tell her he loved her.  Needed to hear her say she loved him too.  It was more than a need.  It was essential for his survival. 

Jeremiah spread the photos out carefully on the table.  As he began to look more closely at them, a mounting sense of panic started to rise in his chest.  Gaining in power and effect with every image he saw, it finally took hold of him and began to constrict his throat. 

He saw himself, laughing and happy in the garden, Allie by his side, the children in the background.  The photos were good, the composition perfect, the lines clear.  All the colours
were as they should be.  Maximum pixel resolution.  The only thing that was missing, on every picture he looked at, was Allie’s face.  It had been cut out carefully and methodically, the edges were neat and smooth.  The work of a perfectionist.  Somehow he could feel the chilling anger behind the snipping, just by looking at how painstakingly it had been done.

He sighed as he put the images back into the envelope and stood up.  He could feel himself beginning to sweat as he opened the door and headed for the bathroom.  He tried to stop his mind from conjuring up images of the last time
Liz had decided she could do without her medication.  The longer she denied herself the pills she needed, the more adamant she became that she didn’t need them.  That had been the awful thing.  She had become totally unreasonable in the end.  But Jeremiah didn’t want to think of that at the moment.  He just wanted to check her medication.  Just to be sure.  Before he really began to worry.

Allie watched as the scented bubbles rose up the sides of the bathtub and steam filled the air.  The scent of lavender wafted around the bathroom, and candles cast a soft, flick
ering glow on the smooth walls.  Her thoughts wandered as she tested the water with her hand.  Where was Paul?  What was he thinking?  Would he ever want to see her again?  Could he accept that James still had a place in her life, if only as the father of her children? 
God
.  She fastened her hair back with a vengeance. 
Men!

She turned off the tap and got in, enjoying the long-awaited feeling of her body being supported effortlessly by the hot water.  Her movements made a soft, splashing sound that echoed around the high-ceilinged room as she made herself comfortable.

All of a sudden, she heard the phone start to ring behind the door.  The sound was muffled, yet insistent.  Allie stiffened slightly, then relaxed.  Whoever it was could wait.  She had switched the answer phone off, so if they really wanted to speak to her, they would have to ring back later.  Today, everything was on hold.  She had some serious thinking to do.

Jeremiah came down the stairs slowly.  He didn’t want to startle his wife, especially given the state of mind she must be in.  He opened the kitchen door gently and was greeted by the sight of
Liz frantically scrubbing surfaces.  The energy she was putting in was worryingly disproportionate to the task.  He noticed, with a sinking heart, that the draining board she was wiping so frenziedly was already clean.

“
Liz?” He kept his voice soft.  “Liz, are you feeling OK?”

She stopped scouring and turned slowly to face him.  Although there was a bright smile on her face, the sparkle in her dark eyes made him feel more than a little uneasy.

“I’m feeling great.  I’ve nearly finished the kitchen.  Just the floor to do, then I can relax.  Your tea’s over there.”

Jeremiah sat down warily at the table and tried to decide how best to broach the subject.  He took a sip of his tea and decided to get right to the point:

“Liz.  Why haven’t you been taking your pills?”

She was standing, not moving, gazing at him in that unblinking, disconcerting way she sometimes had.

“I haven’t needed them for a while.”  Her voice was gently persuasive.  “Drink your tea before it gets cold.”

He dutifully took another sip.  He was beginning to feel more relaxed about the whole thing.

“Is this decaf, Liz?”  She nodded and moved a little closer.  “It’s just that it tastes a bit bitter,” he continued, swallowing another mouthful. 
Best not to irritate her
.  “But it’s really refreshing me,” he added.

“Drink up.  It’ll do you good.”

“Mmmm.” He obliged.  He felt his concentration beginning to wander.  “Where was I?”

“You were asking me about my pills.  I was saying I didn’t need them.”  Her voice seemed a little harsher now and began to echo inside his head. 

He tried to keep his mind on the question in hand.

“But you
do
need them, Liz.  You know you have to keep taking them until the doctor says you need to stop. 
You
can’t decide when to stop.”  He was finding it hard to speak.  His words seemed to be slurred and his view of Liz a little hazy.

All of a sudden, she seemed very close.  Her voice echoed in his ear.

“Are you tired, Jez?  Would you like to sleep?”

He tried hard to focus on her and on what else he had to ask.  What was it?  Oh yes.  The sleeping tablets.  They had been in the cupboard too, but had now disappeared.  He heard his voice, but it sounded as though it was outside his body.  As though someone else was speaking.  God, he felt so tired.  Even as he asked his final question, he already knew the answer.

“Liz?  Where are the sleeping tablets?”

He felt himself slipping forward as she started to laugh.  Th
e last thing he saw was the tiles coming up to meet him as he hit the floor.

Allie stretched out on the bed and picked up a magazine.  The cover promised to tell you if your man was ‘cheating on you’, as well as to judge whether you could ‘trust your best friend’.  She smiled: now she knew Paul wasn’t cheating on her, life had become a lot more straightforward.  Un
til he’d walked out, that was.

Pulling her thick towelling robe around her, she flicked through until she came to the friendship quiz.  That should take her mind off things.  After all: if she couldn’t trust
Liz, then who could she trust?  She chuckled to herself as she looked at the first question:

Would you trust your best friend to look after your children –

a.
       
Only if there’s no alcohol in the house and your husband isn’t in.

b.
       
Yes.  They love her much more than they do you, because she spoils them so much.

c.
        
Without question.  You can always count on her.

It was one of
those
quizzes, she thought, as she ticked
c
without hesitation.  Just from the first question, she could predict the answers: 
mostly
a’s
= the untrustworthy Best Friend with problems /
mostly b’s
= the control freak Best Friend /
mostly
c’s
= the perfect Best Friend.  And to think people got paid good money to write these things.  She was in the wrong job.

She rolled over onto her stomach and carried on with the quiz.  It was nice to have the luxury of doing something truly mindless for a change.  The doctor had signed her off work for a couple of weeks, so she had neither preparation nor marking to occupy herself with. What bliss!  Just reading, relaxation and maybe daytime TV.  Not to mention her writing, which hadn’t progressed much in the last two weeks. She chewed the end of her pen, considering the best use of her time.  Rest was, of course, her number one priority.  But she would, if she were to be strict with herself, be able to set aside a few hours a day for her novel.  Such a treat!  She could feel her spirits beginning to lift.  She grinned to herself as she leafed through the rest of her magazine.  She was, reluctantly, beginning to see the funny side to her romantic predicament.
At least she had plenty of raw material for any scene in her story involving her hero storming out on her heroine.  In her life, it was getting to be a regular event.