Teacher's Pet (14 page)

That was it.  Her children
.

“I’m not feeling too good, Paul.”

He sat up immediately.

“Do you feel nauseous?”

She smiled.

“No.  Just a bit muddled in my head.  As if my brain’s out of focus.”

He relaxed his posture a little.

“You need to sleep.  You’ll feel much better in the morning.”  He bent and kissed her softly on the top of her head.  For an instant, she felt like a child being tucked in at night.  “Try to sleep now,” he c
ontinued, easing her forwards and rearranging her pillows as he spoke.  “I’ll be right here.  Just call my name if you need me.” 

She could hear him moving
around the room as she closed her eyes.  The last thing she was aware of was him getting into bed beside her.  She could feel him stroking her head gently as the room began to spin and she fell into a deep, black sleep.

The next day, Paul woke up early.  Sunlight filtered through the curtains, bouncing
shimmering rainbows from the antique mirror onto the white wall.  He glanced at his watch: six am.  His neck felt a little stiff as he rolled over to face Allie, who was still asleep.  With her light, wavy hair spread over the pillow and her cheek resting on one hand, she looked the picture of innocence and calm.  He studied her face carefully.  Her skin was smooth and there was at last more colour in her complexion.  Looking at her now, you wouldn’t have known there was anything wrong.  Not wanting to wake her, he rolled over again and got up in one swift movement.  His clothes were in a heap on the floor.  He picked them up, then pushed the window open gently to let in some air. The room was full of accumulated heat that was making him sweat, despite the fact that he was only wearing his boxer shorts.  He managed to manoeuvre round the bed without making a noise.  As the door creaked open, he cursed silently to himself, glancing back at Allie.  He needn’t have worried.  She didn’t move.

Heading for the bathroom, he grabbed a towel and tried to sort out the muddled thoughts in his head.  He had been shocked to see the violent, scarlet red words scrawled onto Allie’s wall, and to feel the anger and hatred seeping through the jagged lines of the letters.  Who could have done that to her?  Who wanted to scare her that much that they would break in and run the risk of being caught?

He turned on the shower and stepped in, enjoying the feeling of jets of water pummelling his skin.  His thoughts jostled for position, each one wanting to be considered next. 

Breaking in
.  That was what bothered him.

He began to rub shampoo into his hair, massaging his head as if trying to unknot the tangle of what was going on.  Yes, that was the problem.  The one thing that didn’t make sense.  That jarred.

The person who did this hadn’t broken in.

He had used
a key.

The mouth-watering aroma of eggs and bacon was what finally woke Allie up.  It wafted into the bedroom, affecting her tongue and stomach before finally reaching her nose.  By the time she opened her eyes, she could literally taste the r
ich yellow yolk and salty meat.

She blinked and rolled over, glancing at the clock: eleven o’clock.  She stretched and pushed off the covers. 
Eleven o’clock?
  It had been years since she had managed to sleep for so long.  Normally she would be assailed by the children long before now: so where were they?  And who was cooking for her? She sat bolt upright, a sense of panic swiftly replacing the hunger in her churning stomach.

“George?  Harry?  What are you doing?”

She stood up, aware the door to the bedroom was ajar and that little feet could come shooting up the stairs at any moment.  She reached a little unsteadily across for her dressing gown.  Just as her hands grasped the fabric, a sudden dizziness overwhelmed her and she found herself grabbing the door for support.  The panic was briefly replaced by nausea, and she leaned heavily against the door now, pushing it back against the wall, afraid to let go in case she fell.

“George?  Harry?”  Her voice was weaker as the light-headedness began to spread outwards, reaching her fingers and toes to become a disabling tingling.  Her heart was pounding and she was vaguely aware of a voice through the rushing of blood to her ears.

“Allie!  Allie, don’t move.”  Strong arms encircled her. “It might be a bit too soon for you to start wand
ering around, don’t you think?”  She focused and smiled with relief. 
Paul.  Her Canadian knight in shining armour.
  He guided her back and sat her down on the bed.  Gently but firmly.  “I think you need to eat before you try to do anything,” he began, lifting her legs onto the mattress and pulling the covers over her.  “Stay here for a while,” he continued, settling her into a sitting position, “and I’ll bring you breakfast.  Then get up slowly.”  He smiled at her.  “You may feel like you could run a marathon.  But believe me, you might not even make it to the bathroom at the moment.  Without some help, that is.”  She nodded, the dizziness receding a little. “Do you need the bathroom, Allie?  I can take you if you like.”  Surprise must have shown on her face.  “I’ll wait outside the door, of course, and only come in when called.”  His smile widened at her horrified expression.  “Or I could wait at the bottom of the stairs, if you’re going to be
that
British.”

“Or next door?”  s
he suggested.

He bent
and kissed her cheek tenderly. 

“Wherever you feel happiest.”

“Over the road, then.”

“Anything you say.”  His eyes swept quickly down her body, then up to her face.  “You’re looking very well.  For someone so unwell, that is.”

She laughed.

“You never cease to amaze me, Paul.”

“Well, that nightdress is rather fetching, as you say over here.”

She looked down.  ‘Posh Puss’ grinned up at her
.  Not again
, she thought.  Why did the men in her life insist on dressing her in this monstrosity?  She wondered vaguely which of the aforementioned men had actually put this on her last night.

Paul c
ontinued, a twinkle in his eye:  “But then again, you’d look good in an old sack.”

She felt her spirits lift.

“I think I’m ready for some breakfast now.”

He leapt to his feet.

“Don’t go anywhere.  Coming right up.”

As she leaned back against the pillows, she smiled.  Whatever was going on, Paul was here.  Paul was looking after her, even making her breakfast.  She closed her eyes and let herself relax.  Paul would take care of her.

Paul speared the bacon with a fork and tossed it deftly onto the plate next to the eggs.  It was calm in Allie’s kitchen.  He could hear the sound of birdsong through the open window and the faint roar of a plane, the vapour trail of which was the closest thing to a cloud in the otherwise clear skies.

He slid the plate onto a tray, which already held orange juice, toast and fr
eshly brewed coffee.  Before picking it up he hesitated, suddenly thoughtful.  He sipped his own coffee and glanced out at the back garden.  It was, just like its owner, beautiful to behold.  Colourful flowers cascaded out of pots and tubs, spilled out of baskets.  Reds, oranges, yellows, purples and pinks.  For a moment, the variety of hues took his breath away and transported him back to the first time he had come here, the first time he had been alone with Allie.  That warm summer night when he had eaten with her, talked to her and touched her.  The memory seemed so real that he could almost taste her skin.  That was the night he had fallen in love with her and realised that this woman would change the course of his life.  That he would never be the same again.  That he couldn’t.

His gaze returned to the kitchen.  It was bright, airy, and he felt comfortable there.  At ease.  At home, even.  Eventually, he picked up the tray and
smiled to himself as he spotted the pile of marking on the dresser that never seemed to diminish.  That, for him, was typical Allie.  It was one of the things about her that he loved.  Her ability to have order in her house, but always one stubborn corner of chaos that remained.   

He let out a deep, controlled sigh as he walked slowly towards the door. 
He had so wanted to trust her.  He really had
.  If there was one thing he insisted upon in his relationships, especially where love might be an issue, it was honesty.  Absolute, total straightforwardness and trust.  There came a moment when you bared your soul, and that was always a turning point.

But Allie had let him down.  And, try as he might, he found it hard to understand why.  He had asked her for honesty.  That evening in France when she had questioned him about Melanie, he had come clean, and had been honest with her.  He had finally told her the whole truth.  From the start, he had never really wanted to deceive her.  But that didn’t change the fact that she was not being honest with him now, despite her wide-eyed reassurances that they now had no secrets.

He began to climb the stairs, dark, suspicious thoughts cloying together and making no sense.  Just causing him anger and resentment.  He shook his head slightly, trying to disentangle them.  From what he could work out, Allie had had a stalker for a while.  James had known all about it. In fact, James had taken an almost gloating pleasure in filling him in on the details, Paul had thought.  Yes: James, despite not really being part of Allie’s life anymore, had known.  Hell, even her neighbours had known.  So, why hadn’t she told him?  If they really had no secrets, she would have done so.

Part of him knew he was being unreasonable, but he could feel a sense of disappointmen
t boiling over to become fury.  His mind wouldn’t let go of the question.
Why?  Why hadn’t she told him?  And why had she confided in an ex-husband who always seemed to be around?

Paul had reached the top of the stairs now, and turned to go into Allie’s room.  He made sure his features betrayed nothing of what was going on inside his head.  It was an effort for him.  He could feel his jaw ache and sensed the muscles in his cheek beginning to twitch. 

As he entered the bedroom, she looked up at him, clear-eyed.  His anger melted away instantly. 
Damn her.  The power she had over him.  She had no idea.

“God, Paul.  T
hat smells great.  Just what I need.”

“There you go.”  He was putting down the tray now, making sure nothing was spilt.  The sun played on the blonde of her hair, sparkling gold in t
he light.  He didn’t want to feel it now, but suddenly it was all he could feel.  Desire.  Tinged with anger.  And that wasn’t good.

“Allie?”

She looked up, a cup of coffee halfway to her mouth.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?”  She took a sip.  Then swallowed.  “Tell you what?”

“About your stalker.”

Her cup stopped in mid-air, on its way down to her lap.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Didn’t want to worry me?  What do you mean?” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms.  “If I wasn’t worried before, I’m sure as Hell worried now.”

She considered this for a moment, taking in his defensive posture.

“Paul,” she began softly.  “The moment wasn’t right.  I was going to tell you.  Honestly.” There was a soft clink as her cup finally found the tray.

“But you decided against it.  You didn’t feel you could trust me.”  His tone
was accusing.  “Your ex-husband: yes.  Your neighbours: yes.  Just not me.”

She
picked up a piece of toast, and immediately put it down again.  Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Paul.  Why are you so angry with me?”  The way he was glaring at her brought back memories of rows with James.  Scenes of screaming, shouting and tears edged their way into her mind. 
Christ.  Not this again
.  She sat up a little straighter.  “Anyway,” she added, regretting the words as soon as they tumbled from her mouth.  “You took your time telling me about Melanie, didn’t you?”

“That was different.”  His eyes darkened immediately.  “Billy’s well-being was at stake.  I explained all that to you.”

There was a brief silence.  She wasn’t too sure what was going on in his head, but, all of a sudden, she felt an overwhelming urge to be alone.  She needed her own space.  Time to herself.  Time to think.  A wave of tiredness washed over her.  She pushed the tray aside slowly, making sure it was flat next to her on the bed before she spoke.

“Paul.  I don’t want to argue with you.” At the mention of the word argue, she saw concern flicker briefly in the sombre depths of his gaze.  She took a deep breath and continued.  “Maybe you should go home now.”

He stood up straight.

“But Allie, I….”

“Go home, Paul.”  Without warning, she felt a rush of anger.  It went quickly from being an edge to her voice to taking over her whole body, and making her shake. 
What was it with the men in her life?
  There was always one rule for them, and another for her.  James had been the same: it had been OK for him to have an affair, but if anyone showed the slightest interest in Allie, he was after them like a shot.  Fulfilling the usual masculine expectations in such a situation, which consisted, seemingly, of warning the intruder off before laying claim to his property: his woman.  And now Paul!  Having consciously lied to her for weeks, he was getting upset because she had omitted to tell him something.  She saw a clear difference here between what he had done and what she was now being accused of. 
He
had set out to deceive her.  Whereas
she
had not wanted to enlighten him about one small detail.  She had not wanted to worry him.

For a moment, their eyes met and locked.  She could see a confusing mixture of emotions on his face: fury, desire, bewilderment.  She could feel the same emotions struggling for precedence in her head.  Finally, anger gained the upper hand.

“Go home, Paul.”  Her voice sounded flat and weary.  At that moment, she hated herself for what she was about to say.  “Just go home, back to your flat, and get some rest.  Maybe we need some time apart.  A break from each other.”  She looked down, unable to hold his hurt gaze.  She was aware of him moving away and tried to keep her voice even: “I think we’re getting too involved.  We should cool it for a bit.  We need to sort out what we both want from this relationship, before we carry on and fall out for good.  Please. I’ll be OK.  Go home.”

She heard footsteps on the landing, then the door open and close downstairs. 
When she finally looked up, he had gone.