Love Lessons (27 page)

‘I can't come back to Wentworth,' I said.

‘Yes we can. Mum will maybe talk Dad round. Or we can just run out like we did today. We have to keep coming to school. I'd die if I couldn't stay friends with Iggy and Figgy.'

‘No, Grace. You don't understand. You can keep coming to school if you can get past Dad.
I
can't. Miss Wilmott told me I can't come back.'

‘What? For the whole week? What have you
done
?'

‘I can't ever come back. Well, to hell with her, to hell with all of them.' I tore open my bag and pulled out all my school textbooks and exercise books. ‘I won't need this – or this – or this!' I started hurling them over the wall, into the empty playground. They flew through the air like large awkward birds, pages flapping.

‘Prue! Stop it! You've gone crazy. Tell me why you can't come back,' Grace said, tugging at me.

‘Because I love Rax,' I said, running off down the road. I ran and ran, with Grace thudding along behind me. I rushed round the corner – and there was Rax's car. He was parked, waiting for me. He leaned out of his window. He looked very pale, but he nodded pleasantly to Grace.

‘Hello, Grace. Do you think you could go home by yourself just this once? I need to talk to Prue.'

Grace stared, open-mouthed.

‘Yes, you go home, Grace,' I said, and I got in the car with Rax.

We drove off quickly.

‘We're not supposed to see each other any more,' I said.

‘I know.'

‘If Miss Wilmott saw—'

‘She can't see round corners.'

‘So where are we going?'

‘I don't know. I don't care. I just had to see you. What's happening? Are they excluding you?'

‘Miss Wilmott doesn't want me back at all.'

‘Oh God. Prue, I'm so so sorry.'

‘It's not your fault.'

‘Yes it is. I hate myself. I let her think the worst of you, the best of me, just to save my own skin. I said it was ridiculous talking about a love affair between us. I said you simply had a crush on me, and that I was just trying to be kind.'

‘Well. That's what you said before, to me.'

‘And you were brave enough to stand up to me and force me to acknowledge the truth.'

‘Which is?'

He hesitated. Then he said it, very softly. ‘I love you.'

‘You
really
do?'

‘That's why I had to take a risk and see you this one last time. I didn't want you to think I didn't care.'

‘Then let's keep driving. Let's really run away, you and me. I don't care where we go. We'll find a little seaside town with a harbour and boats, just like the one you painted when you were little, and we'll both eat ice creams every day.'

‘I can't, Prue. You know I can't. I'm going to stay with my family, stick with my job, do all the safe sensible things. But every night when I close my eyes I'll think of us together in this car and how badly I
wanted
to drive off with you. I'll imagine us walking hand in hand at the water's edge—'

‘I'll imagine it too. I'm good at pretending.'

‘You've got your whole life in front of you. You won't have to pretend, you can live it for real.'

‘Can we at least drive to that secret place where we kissed?'

‘No. We can't go there, it would be crazy.'

‘Please, Rax.'

‘No. Stop it.'

‘I can't bear the thought of not seeing you.'

‘Listen. I told you, one day someone will ask you about the first time you fell in love and I bet you you'll struggle to remember my name.'

‘I'll always remember you, and every little thing about you.'

‘You wait and see. Now, I think I'd better take you home.'

‘No!'

‘If you arrive long after Grace your parents will think it strange.'

‘I don't care. I'm in enough trouble as it is.'

‘What do you think they'll say when you tell them you can't go back to Wentworth? I wish I wasn't such a coward. I ought to go and meet them and try to explain.'

‘To my
dad
? Don't be silly, Rax. Listen, couldn't we meet up sometimes, after you've finished school?'

‘No.'

‘We would be very careful.'

‘We'd still be found out sooner or later.'

‘Then can't I phone you? Or write to you?
Please
, Rax.'

‘No. This is it, Prue. We have to say goodbye.'

He drove me home. He did park a few metres away from the shop, but there were people wandering up and down the pavement and it was still daylight. Even I could see we couldn't kiss properly. Rax reached for my hand instead, squeezed it gently and then whispered, ‘Goodbye.'

I whispered it too, and then I got out of the car and watched as he drove off. I stayed staring down the road long after he'd gone round the corner. Then I turned and stared at the shop. I looked at the uninviting window display of yellowing books in bad bindings. I stared at the peeling olive paint on the shop door and the
OPEN
notice hanging lopsidedly in the window panel. I couldn't stand the thought of going through that door, back into my own life.

Maybe I could run away by myself? I could make for the seaside, lie about my age, get some sort of job in a shop or a café or a hotel. I could walk along the sands every day. It would be desperately lonely but I could think about Rax, pretend he was with me, imagine our life together . . .

I started to walk down the street. Then I stopped. I couldn't
really
run away. I couldn't do it to Grace or Mum. They would be frantic if I disappeared. I didn't know about Dad. He didn't seem to want me as his daughter any more.

I took a deep deep breath as if I was about to dive into a murky swimming pool, and then opened the shop door. Grace was sitting at the desk, building copper and silver and gold towers out of the money in the till. They were very
small
towers. She saw me, and the towers tumbled down, small change spilling off the desk and rolling all over the floor.

‘Oh Prue, you're back! Thank goodness! I was scared you might run away with Rax,' said Grace, rushing over and hugging me.

‘I wish,' I said sadly.

‘I couldn't believe it when you just hopped in his car and drove off. So are you and Rax – you know – like, really in love?'

‘Ssh, Grace,' I said, looking upwards.

I could hear Mum's heavy footsteps upstairs in the kitchen.

‘It's OK. I told Mum you had to stay behind and see one of the teachers. I'd never tell on you. Prue, Mum and Dad are acting kind of
weird
.'

‘So what's new?' I said.

I expected Mum to be tearful and repentant after standing up to Dad this morning. I thought he would still be apoplectic, ranting and raving in his new staccato voice. But the kitchen seemed strangely silent, though a wonderful sweet syrupy smell started wafting downstairs.

‘Oh yum! Mum's baking!' said Grace. ‘What do you think she's making? Jam tarts? No, I think it's treacle tart! Oh, I've got to go and see.'

She went rushing upstairs. I stayed in the shop by myself. I found the big art book and looked at my portrait of Rax on the back page. I bent over it, my finger stroking every pencilled line.

‘Prue!' Grace came galloping down again. ‘It
is
treacle tart, yippee. Mum says we can shut the shop early and come and have some tea.'

The kitchen was warm from the oven and thick with the smell of the golden tart shining like a sun in the middle of the kitchen table.

Dad was pushed up to the table in his wheelchair. He was sitting painfully upright, head held high, as if he was attempting to show he wasn't permanently disabled, that he could leap out of the wheelchair in one bound if he put his mind to it. He saw me, he saw Grace, but his eyes slid straight past us, as if we were invisible. He had obviously decided we were no longer anything to do with him. He took no notice of his wife either. He sat in stony isolation, his amended Magnum Opus balanced on his bony knee.

Mum was making a pot of tea. She was very pink in the face, wearing her red-and-white checked apron, a cousin of my dreaded dress. Her hair stood out in wisps, there was a smear of flour on her nose, and the sash of her apron emphasized her thick waist – but she looked better than usual. She didn't look defeated any more.

‘Hello, girls.' She looked at me. ‘Are you all right, Prudence?'

I shrugged.

‘Come and have a nice cup of tea.'

‘Can we have the treacle tart now, Mum?' Grace begged.

‘Of course, dear.'

Mum cut her a generous slice. She cut one for me too.

‘I'm not really hungry, Mum.'

‘You're mad! I'll have Prue's slice too, Mum. Oh, you make such
superb
treacle tarts,' Grace said indistinctly, spraying crumbs everywhere.

‘I'll have to show you how to make tarts yourself sometime.'

‘I'd sooner just eat yours! Are you going to serve cakes in the shop, Mum, like Toby suggested?' said Grace. Then she looked anxiously at Dad.

Mum glanced at him too. ‘I don't see why not,' she said. ‘I think it's a very good idea.'

Dad muttered his favourite worst word, staring straight ahead.

‘Please don't swear in front of the girls, Bernard. Or me, for that matter.'

Dad swore more forcefully.

‘Your dad and I have had a little tiff, girls,' said Mum. ‘Come on, Bernard, there's no point sulking. You'll have a piece of my treacle tart, won't you?'

Dad clamped his mouth together as if she was about to force-feed him.

‘Don't be like that,' said Mum. She paused, standing behind him. She raised her eyebrows at us, her hands resting on the handles of his wheelchair. She looked at the corner, as if she was going to wheel Dad into it and leave him there.

Grace giggled nervously.

‘Useless!' Dad muttered.

‘Stop it!' said Mum. ‘I told you, Bernard, I'm not standing for it. You're not going to say these dreadful things to the girls. I know you're their father – but I'm their
mother
. You're upset because they're going to school but there's simply no alternative. You can't teach them now, you know you can't. And they've settled down so happily at Wentworth. Well, Grace certainly has. It's not been so easy for Prue, though she's doing really well in art.'

That was it. That was my chance. I cleared my throat.

‘Mum. Dad. I've got to tell you something.'

Grace stared at me, almost dropping her slice of treacle tart. ‘Don't talk about Rax!' she mouthed at me.

I shook my head at her. ‘I don't really want to stay at Wentworth,' I said. ‘I'm not going any more.'

‘Oh Prudence! Make your mind up!' said Mum.

‘I just don't fit in there,' I said. ‘Grace has got her friends.'

‘You've got Toby,' said Mum.

‘He's about the only one that likes me. Maybe it's my fault, I don't know. But can't I just stay home now? I can help out in the shop. I can help look after Dad.'

‘Don't need – blooming looking after!' Dad said, but he reached out with his good hand and took hold of mine, squeezing it awkwardly. He thought I was being loyal to him, doing what he wanted after all. ‘We can work – on Magnum Opus,' he said.

Each word was like a hammer blow but I was past caring. I just nodded weakly. I hated Dad's dry clasp. I wanted to keep the feel of Rax's hand on mine. But Dad hung onto my hand, tugging a little.

‘Who's – Toby?' he asked suspiciously.

‘He's a lovely lad,' said Mum – and at that moment the shop bell rang downstairs. ‘We're closed!' she said. ‘Wouldn't you know it! No customers all day long, and then they come calling the minute you close. Run down and see who it is, Grace.'

Grace ran. She came back two minutes later with Toby. Mum looked a little anxiously at Dad, but smiled at Toby all the same.

‘Why, Toby, what a lovely surprise! We were just talking about you, dear. Bernard, this is Toby, Prue's friend.'

Dad glared at him, still hanging onto my hand. ‘How – do – you – do?' he barked.

His hand grew hot and I could feel him shaking. I suddenly realized how much effort it took for him to say the simplest thing now.

‘How do you do, Mr King,' said Toby politely.

‘Would you like some treacle tart, dear?' said Mum.

‘Yes please!' said Toby.

‘What are you doing here?' I asked, frowning at him.

‘I had to see you. You wouldn't listen to me at school! It's about the book.' Toby started delving into a carrier bag and unpeeling bubble wrap.

‘Which book?' I said.

‘This one!' said Toby, suddenly exposing
The Intimate Adventures of the Very Reverend Knightly
.

‘Toby! Put it away!' I said sharply.

‘What's this book?' said Mum.

Dad dropped my hand. He waved his good arm wildly. The sweat stood out on his forehead. ‘Not! Not!' he said, his speech deserting him again.

‘Let's have a look,' said Grace, opening it. ‘Oooh! It's ever so rude!'

‘
Not!
' Dad insisted.

‘Toby, that's not a very nice book to bring into the house,' said Mum.

‘It was in your shop, Mrs King,' said Toby. ‘Prue showed it to me.'