‘I loved your novel,’ I said. ‘I think it’s one of the best things I’ve read in ages.’
Now it was her turn to glow. ‘Thank you for the lovely review. Shame I never got any write-ups like that in the press. You could have just told me you liked it though rather than go to all that trouble.’
‘I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the other students.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. Praise doesn’t embarrass me, I can assure you. Anyway, thank you again.’ She picked up her bag and threw it over her shoulder. ‘I’ll see you next week.’
She took a step towards the door and I knew I had to act fast before the opportunity slipped away. ‘Siobhan.’
She turned back. ‘Hmm?’
‘Would you…I wondered if…maybe we could go out sometime? To talk about your novel.’
She had her back to the open door. ‘You’re asking me out.’
I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.
‘Well…yeah. I guess so.’ I tried my best to maintain eye contact with her.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry Alex. I can’t. It’s a college rule. Teachers aren’t allowed to date students. I’m sorry.’
‘But…who would know?’
She was clearly unhappy about this rule too – she looked a bit choked. Oh, poor Siobhan. I wanted to comfort her, but I was frozen by what she had said.
She mumbled something about how rules were rules and how she couldn’t risk getting into trouble with the college. ‘And it would be so hard to keep it quiet.’
Before I could respond, she said, ‘See you next week.’ She left the classroom, leaving me on my own. I reached out for her, but she’d gone.
Walking home, I thought about what was going on. She was afraid. But was she afraid of breaking the rules, or of love itself? Was she using the college rules as an excuse? Maybe someone had hurt her recently? I know from the way she looks at me that she wants me. But she’s scared, like an animal that’s afraid of people, either timid by nature, or a victim of cruelty. That must be why she hasn't accepted my Facebook friend request yet.
If I’m going to win her love, I need to get the balance right. I need to show her that she needn’t be frightened, that that love is a bond, not a cage. I need to tiptoe and whisper rather than rush and shout. And I need to get to know her: the way she lives and feels and thinks. Not that that’s going to be a hardship. It’s going to be fun, researching this woman I love, because it will mean I’ll have to get close to her.
But what if she rejects you? What if she doesn’t want you?
The voice whispering at me sounded just like my mother. I wanted to punch her in the mouth, shut her up. Because, I whispered back to myself, Siobhan does want me; will want me. Cupid, that fat little angel, who changes our fate with an invisible arrow, has chosen us. Our hearts were his target, and his aim doesn’t lie. Siobhan and I are meant to be together.
Live our lives apart? I’d rather we were both dead.
I needed a drink, so I stopped outside a bar. It wasn’t the kind of place I would normally go to. Too trendy. But the people I saw through the window looked so happy and luminous, and the damp, shining bottles of beer on the table were calling to me. And seeing all the couples leaning close and laughing didn’t make me feel sick like it normally does.
I stubbed out my cigarette and went in, bought a bottle of Corona and took it over to a table in the corner.
Siobhan doesn’t smoke – at least, I’ve never seen her smoke – so maybe I should try to quit. She might not like the smell of it. Or, more likely, she won’t mind it on me. She might even find it sexy, mannish.
I took out my notebook and began to work on my exercise for next week. I wanted my hero to be masculine, strong, well-read and -travelled. A kind of modern day Indiana Jones. I thought Siobhan would like that.
I scribbled away happily, engrossed in what I was doing. The bar was pretty quiet, and the background hum was pleasant; quite soothing. I finished my beer and stood up to get another, and as I walked past the table next to mine, I saw a face I recognised.
It wasn’t until I’d reached the bar that I worked out who it was. It was him – the guy I saw leaving Siobhan’s house the other night. As I walked back to my table, I kept my head down, looking at him from the corner of my eye. Yes, it was definitely him. I recognised the cleft chin (like a bum) and the bags under his eyes. He was wearing the same denim jacket. But the skinny woman he was sitting with was definitely not the object of my affections.
I sat down, my back to them, and tuned in to their conversation. It wasn’t easy because they were talking quietly, so I missed some words. But I heard enough.
He said, ‘I want us to give it another chance.’
‘But I don’t know if I can trust you, Phil.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…(inaudible).’
‘But Lynn, sweetheart, I swear. It’s over between me and Siobhan.’
‘(Inaudible) …since last week?’
‘I swear. On (couldn’t make it out) life. I haven’t even spoken to Siobhan this week.’
I couldn’t hear the next couple of lines at all. Their voices went really low and soft, and then they stopped talking altogether. I sneaked a look over my shoulder. They were leaning towards each other across the table, holding hands and kissing.
‘I love you,’ I heard the lying creep say.
‘I love you too,’ said the poor woman. ‘Let’s go home.’
‘To celebrate?’
She laughed throatily. I think they must have exchanged saliva again, and then Phil said, ‘Lynn… you don’t think I’m rubbish in bed, do you?’
‘Eh? What’s brought this on.’
‘I don’t know. I just… you don’t think I’m crap, do you?’
‘No! You’re fine.’
He must have been satisfied with this faint praise because the next thing he said was, ‘Okay, let’s go. I just need to go to the loo.’
He stood up and crossed the room to the Gents. And I followed, one hand lightly scratching my brow so it hid my face.
He held the door open, not looking at me, and went straight into a cubicle. There was nobody else in the Gents. Perfect. I heard him unzip his fly and let his jeans fall to the floor. He sighed as he sat down. I waited till I heard the first splash.
‘Phil,’ I said, through the cubicle door.
There was a pause. ‘Who’s that?’
‘You don’t need to know my name. You just need to listen. Actually, think of me as a guardian angel – though not yours.’
‘What?’ I heard him tear off a strip of bog roll. I needed to hurry.
‘I know you’ve been lying to Lynn. I know you saw Siobhan the other night. I want you to stay away from Siobhan. Don’t speak to her. Don’t go to see her. If you do, I’ll make sure Lynn finds out about the lies you’ve been telling her.’
‘Who the fuck . . ?’
But before he could clean his arse and fasten his trousers, I was out of there: out of the front door and round the corner. Phil couldn’t come chasing after me because of Lynn. He hadn’t seen my face, so he would have no idea who had been talking to him. And it was true what I said to him: I am a guardian angel. And I’d just helped Siobhan remove an obstacle from her life.
When I got home, I was still excited and pleased with myself. More than anything, I wanted to hear Siobhan’s voice.
I hit 151 first to withhold my number, then dialled Siobhan’s. The phone rang six or seven times. I just had enough time to wonder if she was in the bath, which gave me a wonderful image, her skin made pink by the hot water, her nipples peeking out through a layer of bubbles, when she said, ‘Hello?’