Bleed for Me (19 page)

‘I used to teach history. My father said it was the perfect subject because there was always more to teach.’

‘Even if it repeats itself?’

‘Because we never learn.’

She smiles and a dimple appears on her left cheek, but not the right.

The sun has come out. Reaching into her bag, she takes out a pair of sunglasses.

‘That’s a very colourful bag.’

‘My ex-husband gave it to me when we were stil married. It was stuffed ful of lingerie, most of which was total y obscene and not sexy at al . Don’t even try to get me out of my good old Marks and Spencers striped pyjamas.’

‘I wouldn’t try.’

She feigns surprise. ‘Am I
that
undesirable?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I just . . . I mean . . . I wouldn’t force you out of them . . .’

She laughs prettily and then convinces me to share a slice of ‘death by chocolate’ cake because a ‘true gentleman would share some of the guilt’.

‘So why did you cal me, Joseph?’

‘How wel do you know Gordon El is?’

‘Why?’

‘I’m interested.’

She licks her spoon. ‘We were at col ege together during teacher training - back in the days when we were young and committed to the cause.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Too handsome for his own good.’

She says it in such a matter-of-fact way that I feel a twinge of jealousy.

‘Is he popular?’

‘Very. Particularly with the senior girls - he sets their little hearts aflutter. Some of the real y presumptuous ones pass him notes or make excuses to rub up against him. Gordon has to be very careful.’

‘Has he had problems?’

She looks at me doubtful y. ‘Why are you so interested?’

‘I think Sienna Hegarty has a crush on him.’

‘She wouldn’t be the first or the last.’

‘What if it went further than that?’

Annie’s head tilts to one side. ‘Sexual misconduct - are you making an accusation?’

‘It’s a hypothetical question.’

‘A dangerous one. Rumours spread very quickly. Careers can be ruined.’

‘This is just between us.’

She toys with her earring, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger.

‘The school has procedures to deal with sexual misconduct.’

‘Internal procedures?’

‘Usual y. Most incidents rarely get beyond a harmless crush and misplaced affection.’

‘And when it does?’

‘The school accepts responsibility. The teacher is quietly suspended, sacked or transferred without any fuss.’

‘Or damaging publicity.’

Annie doesn’t disagree.

‘Maybe you don’t remember being at school, Joe, but classrooms are like sexual petri dishes, ful of hormones and sexual tension. I’ve had my share of admirers. When I was at school I fancied Mr Deitch, who taught English and PE. We used to go and watch whenever he was on the track because he wore Lycra running shorts just like Linford Christie. He had an impressive lunchbox.’

‘I get the picture.’

She laughs. ‘Did a teacher break your heart too?’

‘Miss Powel - she taught French and had done some model ing in Paris. I saw her shopping one day and made up a story about how she’d been buying sexy underwear. My mates were so jealous. Anyway, the story got back to her and she sent me to see the headmaster. I had to write an essay on why women shouldn’t be treated as sex objects.’

‘You poor boy.’

‘It wouldn’t have happened to a girl.’

Mock surprise. ‘You’re blaming
me
now.’

‘No. Never. But tel me, how do you guard against it - teenage crushes?’

‘I avoid meeting students outside of school or having them in my car. I don’t play favourites. I avoid situations where I’d be alone with a particular student. I don’t accept gifts or give them. I avoid physical contact. I leave the classroom door open. I don’t write notes or emails that could be misinterpreted.’

‘It’s a minefield.’

‘Yes and no.’

She runs a finger around the top of her coffee cup. ‘I can usual y tel when a student has a crush on me - the lovesick looks and excuses to stay late or arrive early.’

‘And then what?’

‘I find a way of distancing myself. I let them down gently. I maintain the boundaries.’

Annie raises her eyes and holds her gaze on mine. I can feel myself blink and colour come to my throat.

‘Is that why you asked me here - to talk about Gordon?’

‘Yes and no.’

‘Oh wel , as long as you’re paying.’ She laughs gaily. ‘You wouldn’t even recognise Gordon if you saw photographs of him as a kid.’

‘Why?’

‘He was a real Bil y Bunter. Overweight and short-sighted with crooked teeth and a face like a pizza.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I once met his mother. She came to col ege to make sure he was looking after himself. She had photographs of Gordon as a youngster. You’ve got to give him credit for remaking himself. He lost the weight. Got his teeth straightened. Worked out. It helped that he grew to be six-two.’

‘Did you know Natasha?’

‘Who?’

‘Gordon’s wife. She must have been around.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Gordon said they met at school. I thought she must have been around during his col ege years.’

Annie shakes her head.

‘He had loads of girlfriends at col ege. He went out with a friend of mine, Alison, for about three months.’

‘Did you date him?’

She shrugs. ‘He’s not real y my type.’ She pauses. ‘You’re very nosy, Joseph. Are al psychologists like that?’

‘We’re interested in people.’

‘Are you interested in me?’

‘Of course.’

It’s the right answer. Suddenly she stands and suggests we go for a walk. Crossing Argyle Street, we fol ow Grand Parade through Bath City Park. Annie hooks her arm through mine.

Her shoulder bag swings gently against our hips. It’s nice to flirt and banter with a pretty woman. Julianne and I used to be like this, teasing each other, making observations, righting the wrongs of the world.

‘So what made you decide to become a counsel or?’ I ask.

‘It’s probably the same reason you became a psychologist. I wanted to make a difference. Why did you decide to lecture?’

‘I’m not real y sure. I’m not certain that psychology
can
be taught.’

‘Why?’

‘Clinical work is very instinctive. It’s about listening to people and sharing the burden. Making them feel as though someone cares.’

‘What made you give it up?’

‘A real y effective psychologist is someone who commits. Who goes into the darkness to bring someone out. Years ago I told a friend of mine that a doctor is no good to a patient if he dies of the disease, but that wasn’t the right analogy. When a person is drowning, someone has to get wet.’

She pauses and turns to me.

‘You got tired of getting wet?’

‘I almost drowned.’

We have reached North Parade. Canal boats are moored on the opposite bank. Someone is cooking on deck, dicing carrots and tipping them into a bubbling pot on a gas burner.

‘Thank you for the coffee and cake, Joseph.’

‘I hope you didn’t have too far to travel. I didn’t even ask where you lived.’

‘Are you inviting yourself home?’

‘No, not at al . . . I was just . . .’

She’s laughing at me again.

‘I’m glad that I’m such a source of amusement.’

‘I’m sorry. I’l make it up to you at dinner.’ She says it quickly. Nervously.

I take too long to answer.

‘Don’t let me push you into anything,’ she says. ‘I’m not usual y this forward.’

‘No. I mean, yes, dinner would be great.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. It’s just that I haven’t been invited to dinner by a woman since . . . since . . .’

‘Maybe you should stop counting.’

‘Good idea.’

She pecks me on the lips.

‘So it’s dinner. How about Monday night?’

‘Sure.’

And then as an afterthought, she says, ‘About Gordon El is and Sienna . . .’

‘Yes.’

‘I’l try to find out if anyone complained to the school.’

‘Thank you.’

20

Charlie has a footbal game for her district team. Watching teenage girls play a competitive team sport is completely different to watching boys. There is no diving, feigning injury, flying elbows or cynical fouls. Body contact tends to be completely accidental and should one of the girls get injured twenty-one players wil stand around her asking, ‘Are you OK?’

Charlie is getting less interested in footbal as she gets older. There seems to be a moment in adolescence when girls abandon sport as being either too sweaty or too much like hard work. Maybe they discover boys. Why can’t they discover schoolwork?

I wander along the sidelines, occasional y yel ing encouragement, which Charlie hates. I’m also not al owed to dissect the game afterwards or comment on how she played.

Julianne comes along sometimes, which is nice. She chats to the other mothers, sipping thermos coffee and rarely fol owing the action unless a penalty is being taken or a goal has been scored.

She didn’t come today. I offered. She declined.

Keeping one eye on the game, I try to cal Sienna’s therapist again. I’ve left three messages. Robin Blaxland hasn’t answered any of them. He has an office in Bath, not far from the Jane Austen centre.

I always find it ironic that Jane Austen is Bath’s most famous former resident - yet she reportedly hated the spa town. She lived in Bath for six years and didn’t write a word in that time, but that hasn’t stopped them naming streets, festivals and tearooms after her.

At half-time I cal Ruiz. He’s outside, puffing slightly.

‘Are you jogging?’

‘Yeah, I’m running the New York marathon.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘I’m in Scotland.’

‘Why?’

‘Gordon El is used to teach in Edinburgh.’

‘Is that important?’

‘Might be.’

He’s not going to tel me anything else. That’s the thing about Ruiz - he’s a man of few words and those ‘few’ are chosen like the boiled sweets he carries around in his pocket.

‘I need a favour,’ I tel him.

‘I’m stil working on the last one.’

‘I need a home address for a psychotherapist cal ed Robin Blaxland. He was treating Sienna Hegarty.’

‘Give me an hour.’

Ruiz hangs up and I go back to watching the game.

The ful -time whistle signals a narrow defeat. Charlie sits on the rear tray of the Volvo and unlaces her muddy boots. She slips tracksuit bottoms over her shorts and puts her boots into a plastic bag.

‘You want a hot chocolate?’

‘Nope.’

‘Hungry?’

‘Not particularly.’

She examines a blister on her big toe. Her nails are painted dark purple and she’s wearing a silver ankle bracelet.

‘That’s new.’

‘Sienna gave it to me.’

‘Why?’

‘She didn’t want it any more.’

‘It looks expensive. Where did Sienna get it?’

Charlie’s eyes fix on mine. ‘You think she stole it.’

‘I never said that.’

‘It was a year ago, Dad. One time. You want to see a receipt? I’l ask her.’

She turns away. Disgusted.

Nicely done, I think. Charlie is changing out of her strip on the back seat.

‘Can I get my navel pierced?’ she asks.

‘No.’

‘Erin got hers pierced last summer.’

‘That makes no difference.’

‘How about a tattoo?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘What if it’s a real y smal tattoo on my ankle?’

‘When you’re eighteen you can tattoo your entire body.’

I know she’s rol ing her eyes. Holding her foot, she examines her blister again. I have plasters in a first-aid kit. Taking off the wrapping, I get her to hold her foot stil .

‘Can I ask you about Mr El is?’

Charlie looks at me defensively. ‘What about him?’

‘Does he play favourites?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Does he seem to favour particular students?’

‘I guess. Some girls flirt with him.’

‘Does he flirt back?’

‘Not real y.’

Charlie pul s a sock over her foot. ‘Why are you so interested in Mr El is?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘I’m not stupid, Dad. You never talk about nothing.’

Another game is about to start. The teams are warming up, doing short sprints and passing dril s.

‘What do you think of Mr El is?’ I ask.

‘He’s cool.’

‘What makes him cool?’

‘You can talk to him. He listens.’

‘About what?’

‘Stuff.’

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘Stuff. Problems. It’s like he understands because he’s been there.’

We’ve al been there, I feel like saying.

‘Gordon doesn’t judge us. He doesn’t look down on us. He doesn’t treat us like children. And if anyone has a problem, he says they should come and see him. He’s a good listener.’

‘You cal him Gordon?’

‘Yeah, he lets us, but only during drama classes.’

‘Do you ever talk to him?’

Charlie’s shoulders rise and fal . The gesture says al I need to know.

‘Was Sienna close to Mr El is?’

‘She used to be.’

‘What happened?’

‘He started picking on her. Criticising her. Saying she wasn’t trying hard enough. Sienna didn’t seem to mind. I don’t think she cared.’

‘That surprises you?’

‘Yeah, I guess. It’s not like her.’

A whistle blasts and the game is underway. Charlie watches the action, aware that I’m studying her profile. Normal y she complains when I look at her like this - accusing me of trying to read her mind.

‘Was Sienna seeing Mr El is outside of school?’

‘She used to babysit for him. He has a little boy. Bil y. He’s adorable.’

Charlie doesn’t understand what I’m asking.

‘Was Mr El is Sienna’s boyfriend?’

Charlie’s head snaps around. ‘What gave you that idea?’

‘Sienna was seeing someone outside of school. Not the boyfriend she claimed to have. Somebody older.’

She laughs. ‘And you think it was Mr El is?’

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You’re right. It’s not funny. It’s tragic. Gordon said this might happen.’