The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,50

think we’ve met?’

She had the grace to blush and hesitated, looking at my hand as if she didn’t know what to do. Ralph stepped in. ‘This is Megan. She’s in my English set. She’s just had an offer from Edinburgh. To read English. Obviously.’ He smiled down at her. ‘She’s a very talented writer.’

She gazed at his face as he praised her as if he were a prince. Her prince. My fingers curled.

‘Well, Megan.’ I could hardly get out the words. ‘Well done, you! You must have worked very hard.’

Ralph managed to tear himself away from her face for long enough to give me a parting glance.

‘Look, sorry, I must go.’ He pulled an apologetic face. ‘I promised I’d give Meg a lift home.’

I stared after them as they hurried away together to the Upper School car park where Ralph’s car was waiting. I thought of those long, elegant legs sliding into the passenger seat beside him, the short skirt riding up even higher, his hand reaching over to caress them. Ah, she has legs!

I put my phone on the seat beside me as I drove home, waiting for a message. Nothing. At home, I paced up and down the flat, opened a bottle of wine and began to drink. My body was tight with fury. How dare he humiliate me like that. With a schoolgirl. A girl in his own class. Had he gone mad? What was he thinking? They’d fire him on the spot, if anyone found out.

Gradually, as the wine took hold of my senses, my anger melted away to misery. I sprawled on the settee, on my bed, on the floor, tearful and despairing. Ralph, was this it? Have you really moved on?

At two in the morning, unable to sleep, I broke down and sent him a series of rambling texts.

I love you. Don’t do this.

She’s so young, too young for you.

Can’t you see? They’ll finish you if they find out. You’ll never teach again.

Don’t do this, please.

I love you so much.

Silence and again silence.

Thirty-Three

I was always a fool for love. Perhaps I should have been more like Helen and bided my time. Perhaps if I hadn’t said anything, if I hadn’t done anything, the infatuation would simply have passed. Megan would be off to start a new life in Edinburgh soon enough.

But I couldn’t. Besides, it was simply wrong. She was a child, a schoolgirl. He was her teacher. It was abuse, plain and simple. It would ruin him.

I didn’t hear from him after that evening, not for days. Every minute hurt. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely eat. The face in the mirror each morning was haggard.

At work, Elaine and Hilary whispered together when they saw me sitting alone in the staffroom, pretending to read a book. Elaine took me aside at one point and said she was worried about me, was everything all right?

I went to the doctor. Just to appease Elaine and stop them talking.

‘I can’t sleep,’ I told the doctor. ‘I feel panicky. I need something to calm my nerves.’

She gave me a cursory examination, then sat down heavily and turned to me, sober-faced, all white coat and stethoscope, trying her best to bond with me in the remaining two minutes of our ten-minute slot.

‘I can offer some medication that might help,’ she said. ‘But it’s only a temporary fix. If there are underlying causes…’

The word ‘depression’ hung heavily in the air between us, unvoiced.

I left with a repeat prescription, a promise to go back in three months’ time for a review and a bunch of printed leaflets about healthy eating, managing stress and counselling services. I dropped the leaflets in the bin on the way out.

I fell to messaging him every evening. After a glass of wine or two, the pain became unbearable. My texts grew incoherent. Begging. I was humiliating myself. I knew it and I hated him for it. I hated her. My imagination drew pictures of the two of them together, his broad, middle-aged body, her immature one, the fresh white skin, the firm breasts, the legs. It was obscene.

I tortured myself. He couldn’t do this. To leave me for another woman, another adult, that would be painful enough. But this, this madness, it wasn’t love, it was criminal.

I sent him all manner of texts. Angry. Threatening. Pleading. Most of all, late at night, desperate and full of loving forgiveness.

Please. I love you. I’ll do anything. Answer me. Come and see me. We need to talk about