1 comments/ 9783 views/ 5 favorites Must Try Harder By: Gunnlaug There's a magic in the way that women concentrate, closing out the noise around them, delicate and determined at the same time. Alex was no different, tapping the end of her red biro against her teeth then crossing through a mistake with a swift slash. She was able to shut out the sound of Mike and Dennis discussing football across the common room. They were displaying their ignorance, typical PE teachers, but they were harmless, good family men. I could forgive them, even though they were distracting me and begging to be set straight. I looked back at Alex, shyly drinking her in. She was a supply teacher, here for a term to fill in for John Harding whilst he recuperated from shoulder surgery. And wasn't she a picture? Long legs, long auburn hair, delicate fingers, another woman who I had failed to seduce, not able to get beyond a polite hello in passing. And today was the last day, summer holidays were upon us; six weeks for the kids, more like two weeks for us teachers given the paperwork and departmental course conferences we had to attend in preparation for the next academic year. Alex would be gone, though, and I felt a little wistful. I could go and talk to her now but I knew that I wouldn't. I bent my head down over the essays I was marking, marveling at how little my pupils had absorbed, all except for Mark Hemming. He was a sponge, and I'd already written a university reference for him. I could see him as one of the next generation of history teachers, though I wasn't certain that we needed any more. Disillusion is a killer in my job and claims more victims than anything else. I knew I was feeling it too. I glanced up as Alex left the common room, a swish of skirt and she was gone, out of my life forever; a fantasy for the lonely nights and nothing more. I think I may have sighed out loud before I forced myself back to my marking. Two more hours and I would have a little space to do the serious thinking I knew I needed. I drove over to my dad's once the school day was over, stopping at a Jamaican bakery in Electric Avenue to pick up a couple of patties. I couldn't stand them myself but dad loved them, a testament to my mum's influence. Then I drove through Camberwell and past Loughborough Junction, down into Dulwich and my dad's small house. He wheeled himself to the door and opened it, looking at me with his usual hint of pride and roguery. I cooked up some rice and heated up the curried mutton I'd prepared the night before and left in the fridge to marinate. Dad loved Caribbean food, a legacy of thirty-five years with mum. They'd met when he was seconded from London to the Jamaican police and it had been love at first sight. Of course, back then it had been difficult for a white Englishman to marry a black woman, but he hadn't cared and as soon as his attachment was finished he'd brought her back to rainy London. They'd weathered the racism, held together by a deep passion until she died three years ago, a real lady until the end. And she'd made him more Jamaican than English in many ways; except for football, of course. We settled down and watched a World Cup group game. It was a dead rubber, both teams had failed to qualify for the next stage and they were merely playing for pride. Casting off the shackles they played with abandoned attacking verve. My dad watched, eyes dancing at the audacity of the play, dissecting every move, analyzing formations and off the ball runs like a pro. Such a contrast to Dennis and Mike. I enjoyed it too, loving the purity of the game; 22 men in a defined area with a defined purpose, and a myriad of ways to achieve it. I left in the early evening, dad accompanying me to the door as he always did, the lord of his house regardless of the wheelchair. I was halfway through the door when he stopped me. "You're really not going to go anywhere?" he said, disbelieving. "Nope, you need me so you've got me. All summer. We'll watch the football and you can tell me what they're doing wrong." I could see dad was torn; he wanted me to do something or go somewhere, but equally he loved having me around. "Well, then," he said, "you can take me to the pensioners club on Monday. After hanging around with us pensioners for a day you'll be on a budget flight to Crete. I would be." He loved that club. It gave him the opportunity to be cock-of-the-walk again. They all knew that he'd been awarded the Queens Police Medal even though he never made a deal about it, and the old ladies were always fussing around him. I did mention that he is a bit of a rogue, didn't I? I didn't mind. I wasn't going to be doing anything else, and the old folks were always interesting. I always heard a new tale or two, and a lot of them helped me in my teaching. I heard stories of rationing and bombing, jazz clubs and the cinema, and it was clear to me just how much more social they used to be back then. There was no TV or internet, so if they wanted human contact they actually went out and met people. How different we are now, wrapping ourselves in cotton wool to keep out the world. *** I dealt with as much paperwork as I could over the weekend and picked up dad on Monday morning, driving him to the club whilst he moaned incessantly about the terrible England performance; they lacked style, ideas and solidity. The last things I would have said about dad. I settled him in the day room, carrying his bag as he wheeled himself up to his spot at one of the tables where his cronies were waiting. I held his bag out for him as he reached in and pulled out his box of dominos then froze. Walking in through the double doors to the day room was Alex, helping an elderly lady who was walking slowly with a stick. I wasn't breathing as I looked at her smiling and caring for the elderly lady. The day room was full to bursting and I realized that the only free seat was at dad's table. Alex looked around and spotted the free space but not me, then guided the lady to the seat. I suddenly felt dad's elbow in my thigh. "Who's this lovely girl, then?" he chuckled, and it took me a second to realize that he meant the lady Alex was escorting rather than Alex herself. Alex looked across at dad when she heard him and it was only then that she noticed me. "Wow, hi Roland," she managed once she'd got over the shock. I didn't get over the shock, afraid that I'd stutter, and noticing that all four of the old folks around the table, my own father included, were giving me the biggest leer imaginable. After what felt like an age I cleared my throat and remembered my manners (painfully learnt from my mother; Jamaican women of a certain era are absolute sticklers for manners). "Hi Alex," I managed, "you quite surprised me." "And who's your friend?" I should have known dad would butt in. "My name's Florence, though you haven't introduced yourself so I see no reason why I should volunteer any more information about myself until I have the name of the gentleman with whom I am conversing. Now, are we playing dominos or should I ask my grand-daughter to escort me to a more suitable location?" I fell in love with Florence one hundred percent at that moment. It was all said with a smile, and as she finished she reached across and started to spread out the dominos. My dad's jaw was down somewhere near his knees and it had been beautifully done. Florence may have been eighty, but she was going on eighteen. I tried not to laugh and held it in for about two seconds before I cracked. After that I had to sit on the floor and even dad was chuckling, looking at Florence with respect for a new, formidable opponent. The rest of the room fell silent, staring at the lunatics in the corner. I looked up through my tears and saw Alex biting her hand to suppress her hoots of laughter, and then Florence set the seal on it. "One is most gratified to be amongst you," she said to the room in general, imitating the Queen all the way to the regal wave. Alex collapsed, silently guffawing with her back to the wall, and I was on my back, tears streaming down my face. Dad nearly fell out of his chair, slumping on the arm and gasping for breath. I finally hauled myself to my feet and for a horrible moment I thought dad's regular playing partner Reg had had an apoplexy. But it was laughter, still, so I turned and offered Alex my hand. Instead of taking my hand she put her hand around my forearm and helped herself up, smoothing her hair as she stood for a moment. Florence looked up at her and winked and Alex was gone again, wheeling away and walking over to the bay window with her hand in her mouth. I had so many questions to ask that I had to follow. Alex swallowed her laughter down and we looked back at Florence. "She's... irrepressible," was all I could say. "Isn't she? And is that your grandfather?" "No, my dad, Martin." "Well he's a bit of charmer, isn't he? I'd tell Flo to beware but I'm afraid she'd just eat him alive." Florence was already holding court, my dad the lead courtier, weaving a youthful charm around the room. I smiled and looked over at them all, a wish in my heart that at their age I would have as much fun. "Seriously, though," said Alex, "men like Florence and she likes men. Just don't let them play poker with her." I shivered, suddenly aware of the devastation Florence could wreak on a game of Texas Hold'em and Alex laughed at my reaction. "Exactly," she said, "she was a croupier in a Mayfair club back in the golden age of clubs. There's no flies on her." "Nope. I think she's magnificent. How is she with cribbage?" "Demon! Don't go there. She's going to have these old boys' pensions, I can see that." "Maybe I'd better warn my dad," I said, but only half seriously. "No need. She always gives it back these days. It's the winning that's important, not the money." It was time for a change of subject, and I opened my mouth to ask a question only to find Mrs Richardson, the manager of the club standing in front of us. "Miss Carpenter, I'm sorry, but the taxi company said that they will have to send a bigger car if you want to bring Sally in. It's beyond our budget, really." "Sally?" "My dog. A lot of people in these clubs love to have contact with an animal, even if it's only a quick stroke and a pat on the head. I really want to bring her in. Are you sure there's nothing we can do?" she asked Mrs Richardson. I looked over at my dad and knew he wouldn't mind. "Maybe I could give you and Florence a lift next time, I'm sure we could find some space for Sally. She's not a wolfhound or something?" "No, a black lab. Do you really think that would be ok?" "We can give it a try." "Is that arranged then?" Mrs Richardson asked, and we shrugged and nodded. Alex gave me her address and phone number and left for an interview, and I went back to the most hilarious game of dominos I'd ever seen. Florence had every movement pat, quite putting my dad in the shade and he was the expert. But I saw a real respect in his demeanor towards Florence, treating her as an equal and trying to beat her as such. *** A couple of days later I settled dad into the front seat and we set off for Blackheath to pick up Florence. "So then," dad started, "tell me about the grand-daughter." "Alex?" "You know who I mean," dad was in an incorrigible mood, probably because he was going to see Florence again. "Nothing to tell," I said, "she was a supply teacher last term, said hello now and again." "So you haven't taken her dancing?" "No." "Why not?" There was no answer to that, and I drove in silence as dad chuckled, then got the subject on to the World Cup quarter finals. Safe ground. I left dad in the car when we got to Florence's house. I rang the bell and Alex answered, Sally by her side. "Hiya," said Alex, as I gently reached my hand to Sally. She sniffed then let me pat her. "Well, that makes things easier," said Alex smiling, "I'll get Flo." Neither of us could get a word in edgeways as I drove them to the club. It was inevitable that Florence and my dad had known plenty of the same dodgy west end characters back in the day, and they reminisced without end. I settled dad in when we got to the club and Mrs Richardson settled Florence in what was rapidly becoming her chair. Alex brought Sally in and she was an immediate hit, working the room like a pro, resting her chin on elderly laps and flashing the baby brown eyes. After an hour Alex came and asked me if I could give them a lift to the park. Sally needed a break and a run, and I was happy to oblige. Sally bounded out of the door when I pulled up and Alex soon followed, finding a stick and hurling it for her. I followed, my eyes on Alex as she reverted a little to nature, making her all the more attractive. I caught up with them as Alex threw the stick again and Sally hurtled off after it. "Can I ask you a question?" said Alex, turning to me, "why did you hardly speak to me all term?" "I...err..." was all I could manage. "It's ok. I'm being unfair," Alex smiled, "you have dozens of supply teachers through your school. Why try to make friends when they'll soon be gone?" "I'm sorry, it was wrong of me," I said formally, and it was. "Really, it's alright," said Alex, still smiling but sincere, "I'm just glad I've had a chance to talk to you now." "Ok. What do you want to know?" "How about, why aren't you sunning yourself on a Mediterranean beach right now?" "Someone's got to look after dad, and my brother's hopeless." "The Christmas and Easter syndrome?" I must have looked quizzical. "They only turn up at Christmas or Easter," Alex continued, "full of bright ideas, then they leave and you're the one who has to actually implement their genius or point out exactly why it isn't actually that bright after all." "Brother or sister?" "One of each. Our parents are dead." Sally was sitting and watching us impatiently, her stick on the ground in front of us. Without thinking I bent down and picked up the stick, hurling it for her and watching her hurtle after it. "Oh, err, sorry," I said, suddenly realizing what I had done. "Don't worry about it," Alex smiled, "she likes you and she's a pretty good judge." "So that's why you aren't getting a tan, then?" "Partly, that and looking for a post for the autumn." I could understand that. Being a supply teacher could feel a bit tenuous and it is impossible to plan anything for the future. "Pity, you'd look good with a tan," where did that come from? "Why, thank you, kind sir," Alex said with mock gravity, "so, you do take after your dad, then?" I shuffled and mumbled and then we had to get back to the club. The afternoon passed quickly enough and I gave Alex, Florence and Sally a lift home. I quickly agreed to drive them again on Friday, well aware that I would catch hell from dad if I didn't, and quite happy to spend some more time with Alex. Dad was thoughtful on the way back and I could see him looking at me out of the corner of his eye a couple of times. "Did you kiss her?" he finally asked, knowing the answer. I didn't know where to look. "Shame," dad continued, "I like that girl. She'd make a better daughter than Maureen." Maureen was my brother's wife. Dad didn't like her much but was polite and friendly to her because that's how he was brought up. "Of course, it's up to you," dad concluded, "but in your shoes I'd have kissed her quick. In case someone else does." He was right and I knew it, but then he was a bit of a swashbuckling pirate. I was too much of a thinker. We caught up with the football once we were back at dad's but I have to admit I didn't really take the game in, my mind on other things. Dad spotted my distraction and chuckled, and to be honest it was one of the few days when I was glad to get away and go back to my empty house. As I drove I thought of Alex and our time in the park. It had been so unexpected but so invigorating to talk to her, and I could feel that she was weaving a spell on me. Perhaps I should channel a little of my dad. *** During the week I did the thinking that I needed to do. I was at a low ebb professionally and I knew it, finding it increasingly difficult to motivate myself to go through the same material and fight the same indifference. I went for a couple of long walks across Mitcham Common, trying to make sense of my career, but I was rapidly moving to a radical decision, and I could feel it rising inside me. It only remained for me to admit it to myself. By Thursday I was finally able to say it; I needed a long break or I would need to leave the profession. I called my Head of Department and then the Head of the School and made my case at a meeting with them. They were pleased that I'd recognized my ennui, as they had both spotted something of it themselves. They were gracious, though, telling me that they didn't want to lose me to burn out, and suggesting that I take a year off on sabbatical. I'd been teaching for twelve years and a reassessment was overdue. I wasn't really sure what I'd do with a sabbatical, but I knew I needed space. Then I saw a news report about Haiti and the slow and difficult rebuilding process they were still enduring following the Port-au-Prince earthquake. It all clicked and I was searching out voluntary organizations online before the news ended. Physical work building schools and improving the water supply would be the perfect way to turn my brain off for a while and let it do the necessary thinking without bothering me too much. The logistics were easy, the voluntary organization was happy to have me, and the school was pleased that I was going to go and do something worthwhile. I would leave for Haiti in two weeks for an initial three-month stint, then I'd return for another six months if the first stint went well. And then I had to have a difficult call with my brother. His nose was seriously out of joint when I told him he'd have to take responsibility for dad but for once I put my foot down. I ended up ranting at him down the phone, telling him some home truths. At first he rose to it, ranting back at me until he finally took a deep breath and admitted that it was his turn to take some of the strain, along as it was time limited. It was the best I was going to get and I took it. *** Sally bounced into my car outside Florence's house, taking up position in the middle of the back seat as if she owned it. I helped Florence in as dad said hello to Sally. I gave Alex a cheery smile. "You look great today," I said to her. Again, where had that come from? "And so do you," smiled Alex and I knew she was teasing me. I flushed a little and blessed my coffee coloured skin for disguising the colour in my face though I'm sure my expression gave me away. I helped Alex into the car, holding the door open for her, and as she swiveled elegantly to slide into the back her hand brushed mine. I felt a jolt. Was it accidental? Had she meant it? She was already in the car and I couldn't see her expression. A little excited and a lot scared but mostly feeling foolish I sat behind the wheel and drove extra carefully to the club, not trusting myself. Halfway through the day we took Sally to the park again. As I was following Alex out of the day room Florence called me back, making sure Alex didn't hear. Resting her hand on my arm she looked me straight in the eye. "You're a hit," said Florence, "and with me as well." I didn't know what to say so fell back on gallantries, assuring her that she was a hit with me, too, before hurrying after Alex and Sally. When we got to the park Alex produced a tennis ball and for Sally this was Christmas. She chased that ball across the park and back as we strolled along, picking it up and throwing it for her each time she dutifully returned it and dropped it in front of us. Finally we found a tree trunk that had been cut down but not yet removed. We sat on it, still not really talking but enjoying being with each other. Must Try Harder "I..." I began. "Do you..." she began at the same time. We giggled and went through the 'you first' routine. And then suddenly there was electricity as I looked at her, a massive ratcheting up of something, time slowed and stopped and a spark seemed to arc between us. I held her gaze for a moment then she leant in to me, kissing me, first brushing her lips against mine, then pushing a little more as I responded, bewildered and disbelieving. After an eternal moment she leant back again and we looked at each other, a new feeling between us. "But... err..." I began again then halted. Suave, Roland! Brilliant! The girl opens up to you and all you can say is 'but'. "Once upon a time there was a supply teacher," said Alex, noting my confusion, "and she worked in the same school as this handsome history teacher. She always sat near him in the common room hoping that he'd talk to her, but he never did. So she left thinking that there was something wrong with him. Or something wrong with her. But then she met him again by chance and she got to like him." "Alex, there's nothing wrong with you, I promise. You're beautiful, smart and kind, and I've been thinking about you a lot." "Now that's what you say to a girl who wants to be kissed," said Alex, leaning in and kissing me again. I responded quickly, pressing my lips against hers, the tips of our tongues gently twining as her hand rested on mine. "Of course, she wanted to go on a date with him," Alex smiled as we finally broke apart, "and she spent far too long waiting for him to ask her out." "Point taken, milady, I would be honoured if you would accompany to the cinema on an evening of your choice. The sooner, the better." "Tomorrow night, then." At which point I started at the feel of something wet and slimy being pressed into my hand. Looking down I realized it was Sally's nose and I relaxed a little. I looked at Alex to see her giggling, and after I moment I smiled as well and stroked Sally's ears. Then I gave her what she really wanted, picking up the tennis ball and throwing it as far as I could and she sprinted after it, her tongue lolling and her tail wagging furiously as she chased it down. We walked back to my car, Alex's arm in mine and I felt a comfort that had been missing for time without count. But if my conscious brain was at peace my hindbrain was whirring, warning me, and finally flashing a word across my mind that halted me: Haiti. I was leaving in ten days and Alex didn't know. I was about to blurt it out but then stopped myself, not wanting to spoil a perfect day. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Back at the club my dad guessed immediately, smiling and nodding at me as soon as he saw me. I think Florence may have guessed as well but she was classy enough not to mention a thing. But she had been busy, telling Alex that she had invited my dad to Sunday lunch and that I would have to drive him, so it would be four of us in all. My dad grinned and I knew that he was thinking of himself as well as me; it was clear he was smitten with Florence. I told dad about Haiti as I drove him home and he was pleased for me. He wasn't surprised that I hadn't decided on voluntary work in Jamaica; much as dad's family had disapproved of mum, so mum's had disapproved of dad. Mum had never gone back after leaving with dad, and although they never talked about it I know they were hurt by the reactions on the island. I'm half Jamaican, of course, but the place had no pull for me. *** Taking Alex to the cinema and not dinner was strange but it had been a defensive measure; the cinema was a perfect place for a date to go bad. It would still soak up a couple of hours and make an early 'good night' less painful if one of the parties couldn't wait to get away. But with Alex we had been nattering away, good naturedly squabbling over the popcorn and trying to steal it from each other when we suddenly had to shut up and behave. The handholding was nice, though, and she didn't let me go all film. We went for a drink afterwards, sitting on a pub terrace as the heavy, sensuous scent of honeysuckle enveloped us. I told her straight out about Haiti, not wanting to hide anything. I told her my reasons why I had to go and she understood. And I apologized for the bum timing. She leant across the table and kissed me, telling me that we still had nine days and we'd better make the most of them. I agreed wholeheartedly but was pretty certain that Alex expected to be taken back to Florence's that night, and when I told the taxi driver her address Alex squeezed my hand; I'd made the right choice. *** Sunday lunch at Florence's was a production with Florence as the perfect hostess, filling me and dad with food and forcing more on us the way that old people will. Finally we were able to drag ourselves away from the table and Florence insisted that dad and me watch the last World Cup quarter final. "Oh no, not football!" Alex snorted as she came into the living room. "Guests' privileges," Florence replied, ending that particular discussion and Alex flopped down next to me on the sofa. "I don't get what you see in it; twenty-two men chasing a ball around a field. And they get paid so much," if I had a pound for every time I'd heard that complaint... "Let me show you something," I said, feeling a little mischievous, "give me your foot." Alex looked at me suspiciously, then slowly lifted up her leg and lay back on the sofa, letting her foot rest in my lap. Dad glanced at me from the corner of the room where he was sitting with Florence. He grinned and I almost baulked; seducing a woman when your own father is watching feels more than a little strange. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound. I let my finger rest lightly on Alex's instep and she started. Her eyes widened as she looked at me, and then I think she caught a little of my mischief, because she smiled and angled her head; a motion for me to continue. Very well. "This is the instep," I explained, as I let my finger slowly slide down to the ball of her big toe, "and it's the easy part of the foot to use. It is used to swing the ball inwards." I looked at Alex as she wet her lips, a little aroused by my sensuous stroking of her foot. I made sure I kept her gaze when she looked up at me. "But here," I said moving my fingertips around to the bridge of her foot, "is more important. Clench the foot in the right way when striking the ball and it can impart great power. And then here," I continued, moving my fingertips to the inside of her heel, "can be used to deceive, changing the direction of the ball at a right angle, wrong-footing an opponent." "But what about there?" she said, pointing at her smaller toes, her eyes alive knowing that I was teasing her. "Ah, here?" I said, gently stroking. She nodded, softy holding her lower lip between her teeth. "Here is where the subtlety is," I continued, "with an off-centre strike the ball will swerve or curve, and here," and I sudden ran my finger around and under her foot, brushing her sole. She started and let out a little gasp, shock changing to lust in a millisecond. "That's what we stand on," I finished with a smirk. I'd tapped into a vein; she was horny but also angry with me in a half-hearted way for tickling her foot. Her expression told me that the game was afoot and I could expect as good as I had given. We suddenly remembered where we were and pulled ourselves together. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Florence nudge my dad and suddenly they were very interested in the TV. I looked back at Alex and could see the flush across her neck, but she looked me in the eye again and slowly winked. All at once I wanted to rip that woman's clothes off. Alex pulled her foot away and sat up on the sofa, paying attention to the game as I fought down my erection. She was determined to show she was the better tease, ignoring me precisely because she'd got me like a cat on a hot tin roof. And then she almost finished me off. "And will you show me," she murmured after turning to face me, her breath in my ear, "how footballers use the chest?" I dug my nails into my palm to fight down my reaction whilst Alex sat back on the sofa, satisfied now as well she might have been, the little minx. If we'd been anywhere else I would have carried her upstairs, whooping, but Florence's house was a no-go for that. I drove dad home with my legs crossed, his cackles in my ear. *** I almost ran up to Florence's front door on Tuesday. I ran the bell and stepped back a little. Sally was the first to the door; I could see her outline through the frosted door as she waited, and I could make out her tail wagging. Then, after an age, Florence opened the door and I'm embarrassed to say that my disappointment showed. "I'm sorry, but she's at an interview," Florence said, smiling and absolutely ignoring my shocking lack of manners (mum would have words with me in the afterlife for that one), "so it's only me. And this one is staying at home today." Sally looked at me, her ball between her forepaws as she waited for the nice man to take her to the park. "Sorry, Sally," I said to her as I fondled her ears, "it'll have to be next time." Sally wagged her tail and backed away from the ball a little, inviting me to play. "Kitchen!" Florence ordered in a firm voice and Sally obeyed, gently picking up her ball and walking away with more than one hurt backward look. I was a little lost at the club for the first time I could remember. Without Alex there I was despondent, killing time and looking at the clock. Eventually dad sent me away, telling me to go shopping or go to the pub. By the time I came back from my aimless driving around to pick up Florence and dad I was virtually silent, uncommunicative. Dad sighed and shook his head, making my face burn when he loudly told Florence that I'd obviously got it bad. *** Friday was oppressively hot with all the tell tale signs of an approaching thunderstorm. I had my own thunderstorm raging; I was taking Alex out to dinner, elated and yet at the same time a nagging depression lurked because this was the last time I would see her before I left. We hadn't really talked about our feelings and I felt less than confident that she felt the same as I did. I knew my dad was right that I'd got it bad, but what about Alex? Maybe this was just some casual thing, a summer romance. "Wow!" was all I could manage when she came downstairs and made her entrance in Florence's living room, having made me wait an obligatory ten minutes. 'Wow' was about right. She was wearing lace up high heeled suede boots that came up above her ankle, dark tights (or stockings, my hindbrain prompted), a lose knee-length print skirt, a severe black top which accentuated her breasts and a well cut military style jacket. The whole ensemble was devastating and Alex enjoyed watching her effect on me. Her conversation was infuriatingly light as I drove us to the small restaurant I had chosen. I wanted to know what was happening, but I bit my tongue; forcing this kind of issue would only ruin an evening I had been anticipating for my whole life. "Can we talk?" I asked, unable to stop myself once the waiter had left us the menus. "No," she said, but kindly, "we can talk tomorrow. And tonight, there is no tomorrow. Ok?" I must have looked a little crest-fallen so Alex took my hand and squeezed it. "Look, dummy," she smiled, "I'm here with you and," she lowered her voice, "I'm going home with you. I want you to make love to me and I don't want to think about losing you for three months. Does that answer your question?" I leant across and kissed her, a surge of relief and emotion rushing through me. I caressed her cheek gently as our tongues locked, and I felt her breathing deepen. I stirred, and pressed myself against her lips, and I have no idea how long we kissed. The waiter clearing his throat interrupted us. We giggled like naughty children after the waiter left our drinks and departed. It set the tone, and the meal passed light-heartedly with me telling tales of my dad when I was young and the tricks he would play on his boys. It was never anything bad and always led to an "aw, dad!" moment. Alex laughed a lot and I loved watching her laugh. And I caught that thought and savoured it for a moment; I was falling in love. It would probably hurt but I couldn't stop myself even if I wanted to. Alex hung on to my arm as we walked to my car. The storm was clearly imminent and she fanned her face with her free hand. As we reached my car she stopped, looking up at me with her lips slightly parted. I enveloped her in my arms and our kiss built our passion painfully. I tried not to speed back home, but I did cut a few corners on yellow lights. Once inside my front door we stopped and looked at each other. The lust was clear in her eyes and I expect in mine too. I moved without thinking, taking her in my arms again and firmly pushing her back until she was up against the wall. I covered her with kisses, moving around and nibbling her ear lobe then kissing down her neck. Alex gasped and pushed herself against me, wrapping her leg around me as she held me tight. I broke away and held out my hand to her. She grasped it and we ran upstairs. Our jackets hit the floor the moment we were inside my bedroom and then we stopped again, looking deeply into each other's eyes. And then we were on my bed. I hauled off her boots, my fingers feverishly fumbling with the laces as she pulled open the buttons on my shirt. Her tongue was on my chest and I stopped for a moment, loving the little sparks I felt as she kissed and licked me. Then I lifted off her top to reveal her breasts underneath, currently encased in a lacy bra. She saved me any further fumbling, reaching behind her back and flicking open the clasp. She let her bra fall forward and I almost whooped. Leaning down I took her nipples softly between my lips, and spurred on by her little gasps I gently licked and nibbled at her breasts. Her hand was suddenly on the bulge in my trousers and the pace picked up rapidly. I unzipped her skirt and pulled it down and off her. She was wearing tights over her panties and as soon as her skirt was on the floor she lifted her bum in an invitation to me to strip her completely. I needed no second invitation and I pulled down her tights and panties together, the best aroma in the world meeting me and stroking every erotic nerve I possessed. I was naked, too, as quickly as I could yank my trousers and pants off. And then we were locked together again; our hands everywhere while our tongues were glued together. We explored each other, stroking and nibbling, touching and licking, and as I began to think I might explode I frantically reached over to the draw in my bedside table. I pulled out a condom, tearing at the foil packet with my teeth as Alex distracted me, stroking my cock and making me want to lie back and surrender. But I wanted something else more and I suspect I broke the world record speed for putting a condom on. I rolled on to her, resting between her legs for a moment, then eased myself forward, loving her little 'oh' as I finally entered her. In contrast to our abandoned passion earlier we made love slowly at first. I felt like the king of the world now, my long strokes matched by her pushing back on to me, tentatively at first but with a growing boldness. Then we made love faster as our excitement mounted. Our endearments were mumbled and breathless as I took her with long deep thrusts until she began to urge me on, faster and harder. I don't think her orgasm was earth shattering but that's hardly surprising given that this was our first time. I'd learnt nothing about her body really, but a lot about her passion, and I was quite conceited that I'd managed to give her any pleasure at all. There had been more than one mediocre first time in my life and this was so far from mediocre that I was grinning like an idiot even as I came, jerking so hard it was almost painful. I flopped down onto the mattress and Alex immediately curled herself across me, her leg across my thighs and her head and arm on my chest. I wanted to say something but words wouldn't come and I think she felt the same way as we embraced, calm and contented. After a minute or so the first blinding flash of the storm illuminated the room and Alex was out of bed and standing by the window, squeaking with excitement. I smiled and stood up, hauling off the condom and dropping it in my bin before walking over to her and standing behind her. She leant back against me, enjoying the lightning and the almost deafening thunder. Then she reached back and at a very appropriate moment she grasped me, turning and kissing me deeply. I took her back to bed. I was alone in my bed when I woke up, and Alex's clothes were gone. I went downstairs with a sinking feeling. The house was too quiet and then there it was; the note on the kitchen table. I didn't want to read it but I knew I had to. Had this just been a bit of fun for her? I made myself a coffee first, shutting the bad news out of my mind, then sat and took a deep breath. I picked up the note. Darling, it read, I know you want to talk but I don't think I can. Not now, anyway. Last night was amazing but now you are going away. Whatever happens I'm happy that the supply teacher let herself get seduced by the handsome history teacher from the common room, at least I have that. Email me when you can and please know I'm thinking of you, xxx. I blew out my breath and then the phone rang, the first of many calls to wish me well, ask if I needed help packing (and that reminded me; the rest of the day was a whirl of bags and unsuitable clothes until I caught my breath and forced myself to re-pack). It was late by the time I was finished, and I was tired. I crawled into bad and set my alarm for four in the morning. I was at the edge of sleep when I realized that I hadn't called Alex. I shuddered a little, angry with myself, then I drifted off. *** I learnt the true meaning of deprivation in Haiti. Even the smallest things made a huge difference and I threw myself into the projects that my organization was involved in. I wrote as often as I could to Alex, telling her about Haiti, and my work, and telling her that I missed her. I didn't have so much free time and the work was exhausting, particularly in the heat, but in my free moments I walked and thought, Alex's eyes prominent in my reveries. My three months passed and by the end I was worried. Alex's emails were matter-of-fact, telling me about how hard it was for her to find a post, how Florence and Sally were doing, everything in fact, except any real reference to our relationship. It was hard to escape the conclusion that I was losing her (if I ever had her, perhaps I'd read far too much into a passing attraction), and I came back to London for two weeks depressed and grumpy. The first thing I did when I got back was check on dad, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that my brother, and even Maureen, were doing more for him than I'd asked. Dad laughed when I mentioned this and told me how Florence had set them both straight, politely and lethally, scoring with every word as she pointed out just how much had been left on my shoulders. I couldn't help thinking it was a shame she couldn't manage it with Alex's siblings, but close family is always more difficult. I hustled dad into my car, determined to visit Florence and Alex and set my mind at rest. But I was to be disappointed. "I'm so sorry, Roland," said Florence, breaking bad news as gently as she could, "but Alex is in the north of England. A short term opening came up and she couldn't turn it down. She won't be back until next month." Must Try Harder I was crushed but also free, my suspicions confirmed in my mind. Alex knew I'd be coming back and hadn't even let me know she would be away. It was obvious I'd been a fling, something to occupy herself with briefly before moving on. She was a free woman and had avoided any long term talk so I had nothing to hold against her. But, goddamn, it hurt! I did almost nothing for the two weeks I was back. Dad and Florence walked on eggshells when I was around them, and I didn't even notice how close they were to each other now. For the rest of the time I sat and stared at nothing. But I had come to one decision; I was going to stay in education and push for promotion. My time so far in Haiti had confirmed to me how essential education is, and the kids there would do anything to get to school and learn. They were an inspiration. I went back to Haiti after two weeks with a heavy heart but with a clear idea of the value of what I was doing, and that was at least worth something. *** I must have been a picture as I walked into the arrivals lounge at Toussaint Louverture Airport, tired and stinking after my journey from London via Miami. I know that I staggered slightly in disbelief, and had to prop myself up on a pillar as Alex dashed over to me, squeaking in pleasure and throwing her arms around me. Our kiss was deep and sloppy, and then she was kissing my eyes and my cheeks before finding my mouth again. Finally she leant back in my arms and gazed at my face, smiling with love at my happy confusion. "Dad and Florence are really sorry," she began. "About?" "Tricking you. I flew in the day after you went back to London and I swore them to secrecy." "But why, I mean, how come, I mean..." "I decided to come out about a week after you left. There was no work for me and Flo gave me some money, you know she adores you? I wanted to be settled here and in a routine with the work when you got back. So we could enjoy a six month working honeymoon before..." I was kissing her again, blessing every god I could think of. "And what about your apology?" I asked when I was able to speak. "Apology for what?" "For making me think you didn't give a damn." "It was all part of the surprise," she said with a smile, "but if you really think that you need an apology, well, this is hardly the place." And as I received apology after apology that night I had to agree with her. *** Dad and Florence were married for four years before he passed away. At least he got to see his grand daughter, and Florence won't leave Maya alone. When we opened his will I was glad to find out he'd left half his house to my brother who'd done so much more over the recent years. I put that down to Florence's influence. Florence is still the queen of the pensioners' club, although I know she misses dad. But I guess that at their age you appreciate every day you have together knowing it could be the last. For Alex and me there are decades before I need to feel that way. Every day it's a pleasure to wake up with her, even when a bouncing three year old decides to replace the alarm clock. Except on Sunday mornings; Maya stays with Florence on Saturday nights, and Sunday mornings are our time. I make sure I possess every part of Alex before we reluctantly drive over to Blackheath for Sunday lunch. And Florence always makes Alex let me watch the football...