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Natalia sat with the stare of twenty questions as Neill raised his mug in a toast.
‘Good! Brilliant!’ he chinked with hers wilting on a frail wrist. ‘This will be a much better Geography lesson than you could get upstairs!’
‘Field trip?’ she smiled, drinking perfunctorily now, for the tepid liquid could be sewage for all her senses functioned at this moment. ‘Are you,’ she blew out a breath, ‘really serious about this?’
‘Listen,’ he leaned forward, ‘when we went out in the i8 the other day, you were the red roar I was really test-driving.’
‘Huh?’
‘Testing whether you’d got any better in public since being all Pippy Long-Faced Stockings in Haworth—’
‘What? That was the happiest day of my life!’
‘Clearly, because in the BMW you raised up a notch.’
‘What? Jerking about in the back, spilling chocolate dishwater over my bobbly school tights?’
‘It was too dark for Mr Jason to see that. Besides, he was busily blinded by commission pound signs that I was going to buy that garish thing on a budget earned from shepherding yob offenders, but upon driving right into an area prevailed by them, suddenly feared being blinded by a brick shattering the window instead. Anyway, the point is, you rose to the occasion when it was thrown at you.’
‘How?’ she frowned. ‘I was pretty scared.’
‘And like a good pretentious adult you masked it. You said the right things and made the right sounds that stupid pretentious adults have to make to other stupid pretentious adults. And so, you may come to London and meet the ones I call my friends.’
‘But - but… who do we say I am? Daughter, like you joked in the car? Who did Jason think I was?’
‘It was a toss up. But I can’t suddenly introduce my friends to my new teenage daughter. You could only really be girlfriend or niece.’
‘Niece?’ she scorned. ‘Niece works. Haven’t you seen Pretty Woman?’
‘I’ve seen it… but I don’t remember?’
‘Well basically it doesn’t work.’
‘Right well, that leaves the other option.’
Silence.
‘Girlfriend then,’ she smirked.
‘Right,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘And you have to be at least 18. Your brain’s fine, that’s 20 years on. You just have to dress and look it. Do you think you can clear an alibi with your mother?’
‘I’ll just say I’m seeing a friend? She’ll be happy to know I finally got one!’
He grinned. ‘More than one!’
She bit her lip. ‘So none of your friends will, like… know I’m a pupil here?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I don’t make up a name?’
‘No, we do as little as we need to do. But we need a story about where we met. At university where you’re doing English? Or at art college?’
‘Art student.’
‘You’re at Leeds Art College.’
She nodded, then stared. ‘What on earth am I doing?’
‘Art obviously.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘Well at least I’ve made you smile again.’
‘I was already smiling.’
‘Blush then. I’ve made you redder than I’ve ever seen.’
‘Shut up,’ she glared and laughed. Then she drew another breath and looked askance at him. ‘We can’t go to London surely. This is too fucking unbelievable.’
‘On the contrary, I’d say I’m remarkably fucking believable. I’m taking you to London, Natalia. Don’t I do everything I say I’m going to do?’
‘Mmm…’
He leant forward again. ‘Haven’t we made deals before, darling? The teachers we’ve fired over tea? The canteen rehaul handshake? The Banana Pound bet? Do you need this one contracted?’
She narrowed her eyes as his bored into them. He sighed, pulled a sheet of A4 from his printer and uncapped a pen.
‘Nat-alia… Honey.’
Her elbows up on the table and head cradled in her arms, she exhaled dreamily, watching him scrawl and drawl:
‘Come with me… to Lon-don. Meet my friends… be my girl-friend - in brackets, pretend, ok!’ - he glanced up to her pejoratively as she giggled. ‘Leave Leeds, just for the week-end…’ he continued. ‘Escape moany bedhead mum…’
‘Oh!’
‘Fall asleep in lovely Richie’s car and get bedhead yourself!… Oh, and draw cocks on… as many newspapers… As. You. Want. Signed!’
Ending it with a squiggling flourish, he flapped it in front of her and rolled over the pen.
‘Ready for yours on the line. Because London’s on it, calling for you! I mean all the signs are there, aren’t they?’ He softly sang: ‘London’s calling! The top of the dial! And after it all, will you give me a smile?’
Her face was alive with mirth and delight, recognising the words to the Clash song on her earphones at home. ‘You’re the bloody craziest Head ever.’
She gazed down at the letter like a winning lottery ticket. Then she took the pen, cast her eye up at him, and drew a cock shape on the line. He sighed, watching, as she continued writing, using the cock as an ‘n’, then adding ‘atalia.’
‘Cock in your name,’ he tutted. ‘Definitely my girlfriend.’
‘Are we going just for the day?’
‘Too far for that. I’m going to book a hotel now. Two rooms.’
She threw him a wry smile, watching him click his computer, her eyes roaming his office wondering what on earth the other teachers would think.
‘Perfect, art student: The Rembrandt.’ He swivelled the screen to present a picture of a sumptuous plush interior of a four-star Edwardian hotel.
Her eyes bulged.
‘It’s not bad. Wanted the Baglioni but I’m a bit strapped for cash after Christmas. Still, this one’s…. nah. Sod it,’ he pulled the screen back. ‘We want a hotel not a hovel. Let’s do the Bentley instead. Five star.’
He swivelled the screen again to show an even plusher, historic wide-span interior.
‘Oh my god. Really. Is that because I’m… the pretend girlfriend?’ She avoided saying ‘your.’ It seemed so taboo.
‘Partly, and partly to spoil you, Natalia,’ Neill pulled the screen back and began clicking. ‘It’s a superadded opportunity to super-spoil you rotten from all conceivable angles. Don’t you think you deserve it on your birthday of all days?’
She buried her face into her arms again. ‘Ahhh, yes, maybe,’ came a muffled giggle from within the nook of her jumpered arms, incredulous that all she’d done is text to say hello, and now she was watching him arrange going to London with him. A clandestine overnight London trip with the Headmaster in a five-star hotel. Jesus Christ.
Was this a joke? She looked up again to see he was sitting back with his arms raised holding his hair behind his head, waiting for something to process onscreen. Evidently not.
‘So, on the topic of er, actual girlfriends, Mr Neill,’ she coughed, ‘how did it go with Mrs Harrogate? Joan, I mean?’
‘Oh. Yes,’ as he clicked and typed something in concentration, then came back into genial commentary: ‘Yes, it was very nice. She’s beautiful. She’s intelligent, so she’s on my level,’ he winked cockily. ‘We like the same wines,’ he laughed. ‘I might see her again.’
‘So… don’t you want to take her to London?’
‘No.’ He said it brusquely, with a prompt final stab of his keyboard.
She stared, trying not to laugh out of politeness. The bell went for end of lunch.
‘What is it for you now?’ he asked.
‘Food Tech.’
‘Then go bake cookies for the drive, Me-lover!’ he growled in the Santa voice, as the screen reflection disappeared from his eyes, he stood up tall and stretched his arms from his chest, patting his pockets.
‘Today’s the planning day. Friday we’re baking.’
‘Perfect timing. Cookies will still be soft.’
‘Er, ok,’ she arose, legs like soft cookies. ‘Sir can you… check the coast is clear? I don’t want Williams seeing I’ve been in here again.’
‘Of course.’ He strode over and fiddled for a few moments at the door whilst she stood to the side blinking nine to the dozen.
‘All clear.’
‘Thanks. Bye then,’ she said in the most casual manner she could muster to contain a bursting heart beneath, and skipped to Art.
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*
Her whole body was suspended by balloons, that even stern reprimands from teachers to pay attention to the board in class, couldn’t pop back down to earth. When Adam Letchworth turned to jeer, she just inwardly cheered, that she’d schemed the steamiest tryst to go with her adored Neill far, far away from here, and it made her queasy with adrenalin and disbelief.
Turning up London Calling to max volume in her ears as the bus trundled into the dark, its deep reverberating guitar beats went through her like the i8’s engine when Neill cranked it up, now he’d cranked her up, to shudder with mounting incredulousness that she was going to London. The place of myth and fantasy. Only people with money go down there, her mum says. It’s like a different country, I stay well away! A sprawling metropolis, a den of iniquity, a documentary once said. The place where all her mum’s telly programmes were made, where all the celebrities lived. There’d once been a school trip to the Natural History Museum in Year 10 but she’d been ill. Probably couldn’t stomach the thought of the coach ride. And now her stomach twinged with something of the same, but in a good way. The empty fridge when she got home didn’t bother her for she couldn’t eat a bite.
It was such a huge thing for a Leeds girl! And someone she liked most of all in her world, had granted access to fly there upon his wing. As his ‘pretend girlfriend’! Good fucking grief! She had no idea what he would expect of her when they got there. Her mind couldn’t think that far. Should she mention it to her mum now, or closer to the weekend so there’s less time for interrogation?
Her ribs banged with the kind of anxiety one gets when nearing the front of a queue for something they fear will run out by the time when they get to the front and miss out on altogether. She wanted to park the worry of ‘clearing an alibi’ as Neill put it. And she should catch her now whilst Darren wasn’t around.
She crept up behind the couch whilst Emmerdale played.
‘Mum… I’m going away this weekend, Saturday to Sunday. To London, with my friend. Just so you know.’ Please, please… she prayed for her usual apathy.
‘You what love?’ Her mum turned down Cain Dingle and craned her head back. Oh no.
‘London. This weekend,’ Natalia repeated. ‘For my birthday, you know.’
‘Come round where I can see you at least. Sit down then. What’s this? Some lad?’
‘No, a girl… Sarah.’
‘The one you went to BMW with?’
Natalia stared. ‘What?’
‘Yer cup in the bin. Had BMW on it, Darren saw. Where were that from? Race track or summat?’
‘Oh! Oh, yeah, no! Well, Sarah’s mum - she works at the showroom - we dropped by the other day.’
‘Who’s this Sarah? A mate at school?’
‘Yeah, she’s new. Started a couple of months ago.’
‘She’s well-off, then? To be going to London an’ all?’
‘Yeah, her parents are pretty well-off. She’s treating me to this trip. So I don’t need your money for any of it.’
‘Mmmm. Your poncey sort then. She putting you up in an ‘otel?’
‘Yeah yeah, just a Travelodge, you know.’
‘Handy to have someone with a few pennies. Get her to buy you a birthday lunch while you’re at it.’
‘Er, yeah,’ she smiled, glad to see her turning the TV back up. ‘I’ll be off very early Saturday. And I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.’
‘Rii-ght. You’ll miss your 16th here, then?’
Exactly, thought Natalia. But let’s keep it civil. ‘Celebrate on my behalf with Darren.’
Her mum laughed. ‘Yeah, if he behaves.’
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Phew. Got that lovely lie through, just about. Was there even a Sarah in Year 11? Shit fuck, her mum saw her cup! Neill gets away with that red snarling spaceship coming down the road and she gets caught for a screwed beaker in the bin!
She looked in her wardrobe. What was she going to wear to look ‘twenty years older’? Did she have anything elegant enough for a cold January trip that would make her look over 13? The red dress, with blue tights and low-heeled boots. Extra mascara. That should work. And for the second day, a chequered dress with high rise neck and belt. Both dresses were warm and figure-hugging but didn’t give too much away. Long cardigans to go between the dress and her coat for warmth and moral support.
She took them all downstairs to stick in the washer and fetched up her coat to try on in her bedroom mirror. She did it right up to the top like he did. 50s style, he’d said. Still, it was getting old and bobbly. She longed for an elegant grey fur-collared one like Alana’s. Oh god, what would someone like Alana think if she knew, the Year 11 loner had bagged a room in the Baglioni?
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*
‘Did you know, Laura doesn’t even shave?’ Stacey’s face had turned in sinister gossip to Sam sitting beside Natalia. Normally such company, topic, and not least the fact that they were talking behind Laura’s back as soon as Laura was off with a cold, would prohibit any desire to even entertain joining in, but Natalia’s mouth opened almost without control.
‘Sorry, are you talking of the Laura who normally sits here? When did she turn into a bloke?’
‘She means shave her fanny,’ helpfullyadded Sam.
‘Oh. So you mean as soon as one of the first key signs of being a woman emerges, you’re supposed to get rid of it?’
Stacey scoffed. ‘You said you didn’t want to answer any more questions. I was talkin’ to Sam.’
‘And Sam? Have you anything to say about your bestie?’
Sam coughed and kept quiet.
‘So you two don’t shave either?’ continued Stacey with a grin.
‘I’d rather not model myself on a porn star or a five-year old.’
‘You watch porn!’ Stacey snorted.
‘Once, I did. And that was enough to put me off both porn and shaving.’
She couldn’t help wondering that the idea of shaving her bush was appealing for the first time ever. It had been two sweaty sleepless nights since the ink dried on the contract secreted in her pocket, now almost wet again from her clammy palm, as she sat wondering through Williams’ register call, whether Williams shaves down between those gargantuan thighs. Could she even reach? What about headmistresses, do they shave like porn stars? Or just a genteel Harrogate trim?
Not having seen the headmistress-shunner around except once from a distance wheezing in laughter with Clarkey that ‘he has a Microsoft alright! A three and a half inch floppy!’ whilst pointing his fag high in the air, she began to wonder whether he would call her up to admit he can’t take the school squirrel on a five-star trip with him after all. It was a mad idea, surely? All that had to happen was being seen by one person who knew them. And what about the hotel reception, seeing him arrive with her?
Even staring at the contract, smuggled from her pocket now to her diary, doubts grew. Filing out onto the playground tarmac on Thursday morning, toward the Archery target all set up and Lisa McGann taking hold of the bow and arrow as a giggling queue formed and Natalia slunk to the back, when her turn came her concentration shot the arrow way off almost over the fence into the reeds.
‘Talk about cock-eyed!’ squawked Lisa to a ripple of laughter, which had Miss Barnes’ strong voice of diplomacy sending the fat-nosed heckler to go fetch it, and Natalia subtly smiled in thanks to her stalwart heroine, before lowering her eyes in guilt that she was about to take her place this weekend as suitor to the Head. Pretend, ok? Pretend, god this can’t be real. Until Thursday, laying on her bed after school, his number flashed up.
He was calling. Be still, my attacking heart… London’s literally calling. It off?
Laying down to arrest her nerves, she answered with an unintentionally sultry ‘hello?’
‘Oh, hello, darling,’ he echoed in sultriness. ‘Sorry, did I disturb you?’
‘Oh!’ She sprung back up. ‘No, er, no…’
He laughed. ‘Are you ok?’
She could hear the seatbelt chiming and window clunking.
‘I was just falling asleep. Just been, a tiring day…’
‘Aww, you’re in bed?’ he mumbled, fag between lips, she could hear now.
‘Er… yeah. Well, on bed. Not in bed…’ God, he makes her blush when she’s alone in her room.
‘Oh?’
‘Still dressed I mean. Not quite un… oh, god, can we just start this conversation all over again?’
He hooted in laughter. ‘Of course!’
There was a pause.
‘Do you want to start off by saying hello again?’
‘Oh, yeah. Yes!’ She giggled, rebooting. ‘Hello, Neill.’
‘Hello honey.’
She paused with a soft, faint sigh as her ear drunk him in.
‘And how are you?’ he said as if registering her micro sigh as a reply.
‘I’m very good!’
‘Oh, you’re very good now?’
‘Ha, oh, I—’
‘That’s one magic bed, can I send my entire staff to lay on there?’
‘Stop it! So are we—’ speaking at the same time he spoke again.
He stopped, and she stopped.
‘Go on,’ he said bemused.
‘No you go on,’ she said.
He sighed. ‘I need to talk about London.’
‘Oh. Yeah…’
Her breath hung. Was his little sigh to call it off?
‘I’d like to go early on Saturday,’ promptly dispelling her two days of doubts in the space of two seconds. ‘Can you be ready for five?’
‘Oh, 5pm, sure…’
‘Five in the morning.’
’Oh! What! Don’t you know teenagers need their sleep? How about six?’ Knowing full well she would arise at midnight and roll naked across a frozen lake for him.
‘No. Five, No-Rollover Molova! Beat the traffic and get to my friends in time for brunch.’
‘Well, ok.’
‘Good! Looks like the weather will hold.’
‘What… what do you want me - I mean - what kind of thing should I wear?’
‘That’s where you need friends to discuss that kind of girly stuff with.’
‘I think you should be glad I don’t have friends to discuss this with.’
He chortled. ‘Well I can’t exactly come to your bedroom and look inside your wardrobe with you…’
‘Oh, shame…’
‘Stop it, I’m looking in there now. Ah! That red thing I saw you in at Christmas. That was alright.’
‘Alright? Now you’re talking Northern sir!’
‘We’d better get south quick then.’
‘Might the red dress attract unwanted attention?’
‘Stretch it a bit.’
‘I meant the colour red.’
There was a pause down the line. Then both laughed.
‘I’ll just bring that then, with some others.’
‘Good. And any stuff you need. You know, pyjamas, toothbrush, your lunchbox, your little girly teenage diary novels I can read when you’re not looking.’
‘Yeah, yeah!’
‘So in case I don’t see you tomorrow - as I’m clearing a lot of very dull Ministry of Education stuff to make way for the weekend - I’ll see you Saturday at the same place I dropped you off before. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed at 5, and if you’re a good girl and you’re on time, I may even have a hot tea waiting for you.’
She grinned to herself. ‘And if I’m late?’
‘Then there’ll be no heated seat, no spliffs, and you’ll cause the return of the cane. Off you go and practice the role you’re playing this weekend.’
‘Art student?’
‘Girlfriend.’
She felt her blood rising.
‘Bye then Richie.’
‘Bye rascal.’
And with that eargasm of Neill, the night sweat was back threefold.
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*
She couldn’t hear a word of Assembly. Her eyes dropped down and then up again, and again, her heart not quite able to take it. That glorious man could be wittering on about the content of his toilet bowl for all she knew, and that glorious man was going to be all hers come tomorrow. Nothing was going to come in the way of this.
Not even Ryan, hobbling up to her after Science.
‘Hey.’
‘Oh hey, haven’t seen you much this week? How’s your mum?’
‘I’ve been taking care of her. She came home from the ‘ospital.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Yeah. My dad and Auntie Jackie are with her for the weekend. So I was wondering if you wanna…’ His cheeks went red and puffy. ‘Come out? To the cinema? Or…’ His voice tailed off when he saw Natalia’s blinking reaction.
‘Oh, sorry, I really can’t do this weekend. We’re going to my uncle’s.’ She suddenly felt bad. But god she has a date, a pretend date with God, in London for god’s sake.
‘Oh.’
‘Next time I’m free, we’ll do it.’
‘Er, alright. See ya.’
Goodness. What happened there was huge. But right now, Ryan was merely a Northern doofus. And not the only one she had to wade through to get to the Southbound weekend.
Darren was back lurking his Friday-night feet under the table. ‘Aye up!’ he chirruped as Natalia scurried to pull a pair of tights off the radiator.
‘She’s off to Landan, don’t you know!’ her mum called from the couch. Natalia winced.
‘London? Ooh aye. What you doing down there, Nat?’
‘Just having my birthday there with my friend,’ her lips pursed. None of your business, birdshit-head! Somewhere where they don’t say ‘ooh aye’ at every fucking little thing like they’ve never heard of it before!
‘What part o’London? I used to work in Stratford.’
Oh great. Twat’s been to London.
‘Kensington.’
‘Ooh, poncey! Used to build for some clients there. Better get your little finger out ready for the high tea!’
‘And yer 15 quid,’ cackled her mum. ‘Or Sarah’s, rath-er!’
Now she wished she didn’t say Kensington. What if Kensington was one street where he could send some bozo builder to snoop on her? She shook it off and returned upstairs to where she kept her cookies she baked today, stashed well away from those two vultures. Quality-testing one, as Neill did; ah, perfect. Not to eat at 5am obviously. Or maybe it didn’t matter. Her adrenalin was running on such full pelt, that what with the noise in her head, and noise in her house, she wondered when she’d ever sleep properly again. She could hear them downstairs, her mum’s whining admonishment: ‘You’ll be out of here if you carry on Daz! I’m not having the police turning up ‘ere in the middle of me tryin’ to watch Corrie!’ What was Darren up to now?
She blocked it out with her earphones, with the smirk of a saccharine-high schoolgirl about to go on a midnight feast… with the Head himself! ‘Practice the role of girlfriend,’ he’d said. ‘Stretch the red dress a bit.’ He might as well be saying goodness Natalia, I have your bottom on my brain, don’t I? I’m taking you to London, Natalia, to super-spoil you rotten from all conceivable angles! You’ll cause the return of the cane! Not too long, she implored her eager fingers, early start tomorrow, and I have to look into this man’s face come 5am, come… again, ok once more. Then be dignified, be serious. This is a better field trip than Geography. She could picture him with his usual look, about to burst out laughing, that was on her face too. Burst out like this… ahhh. Come again then. Now come on, come on, say yes Richie. Now sleep.
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*
Waking to her alarm two minutes after falling asleep, her body was a dead weight. Wake up again, adrenals, it’s time for the actual thing you’ve exhausted yourself for.
She felt something achy in her chin, groaning to the mirror. Great, not just a zit, but one of those alien life-form zits that distort your face for a week before it’s even got a pus hole. She’ll be ‘twenty years older’ by the time she can even splat it. Concealer, more concealer.
Showered, she heard a grunt from the kitchen. Darren had better not be nosing! She heard the creak of the stair and her mum’s bedroom door close again. 4.50am, and a text from ‘God’ (note to self: change that pronto):
‘I’m here’
- ‘Ok coming’
Bag packed, coat on; quick glance up to her mum’s bedroom window to check they both weren’t gawping out or worse, waving, she stepped out onto the finely frosted pavement, mist lining the chimneys of her dead-asleep terraced street, walking as though in a dream. This was more than Jane’s gleam of sunshine, this was heaven opening up at the end of her neighbourhood. Could life really be this good?
Turning the corner and crossing the road, lo and behold, were the taillights like red stoned eyes of his ‘safe, discreet’ Merc glaring through exhaust fumes. As though puffing its own fag on the ledge of the pavement in waiting, she walked the last steps with an expression as though it might well be a spaceship waiting to take her to another planet.
She opened the front passenger door.
‘Oh, fuck!’
‘Good morning to you too!’ said the thick thighs in jeans.
‘I’ve forgotten my deodorant,’ as she climbed in, ‘but I’m not going back.’ Removing her coat and bundling it along with her bag into the turquoise wool-sleeved arms that appeared, ‘steady on, steady on!’ said the face she couldn’t see yet. ‘Jesus, what’s in this?’ came the exclamation at her bulging, rainbow-weave backpack like a huge unwanted babe-in-arms that was cannonballed into the back seat to reveal the bemused, gorgeous, fresh-shaved Neill looking as smiley as ever at 5am.
She laughed. ‘Just stuff! Oh wait, I need something from it—’
He groaned and heaved up to retrieve it; his torso right in her face, and banged his temple right against hers as he came back.
‘Ow!’ - ‘Oops’ - ‘Here, here. Enjoy this godawful thing for the last time because I’m going to have to buy you a new one.’
‘And a new coat too!’ as she wound down her seatbelt.
‘Oh, now you’re getting into it, Veruca Salt! Done? Yes? Now can we go? There’s your first birthday present - your tea.’
‘Thank you! It’s so cold out there. Now drive!’
‘Yes bossy pants.’
Landing her fingers on the tea as Neill moved the car, she looked at him again, properly now, to take him in: all wintry-casual like in Haworth, as she contemplated with a shiver that this was just like the coach again, but without everyone else in tow.
He glanced at her and grinned.
‘Well this is bloody surreal,’ she smiled back. ‘Are we really going to London?’
‘Of bloody course. The furthest you’ve been in Sheffield isn’t it?’
‘Shitfield, yes. On a coach that took two hours.’ She sipped her tea carefully as he rampaged them over potholes out of Gipton. ‘I’m wearing this for the drive,’ she answered the glance he gave down her leggings and top. ‘But I have something else for later, you know, to make me look… older.’
‘Ah! Shawls, jewels and blouses to catapult you from 15 to 35, correct?’
‘Erm, not quite.’
‘I’ll have to trust you then.’
‘More than I do for you.’
‘Oh, when have you had reason to doubt me?’ he smiled.
They were now on smoother road into town, all dim and deserted, stopping at red traffic lights on ghost-hour roads, as he followed the blue, half-misted signs toward the high-speed runway out of Leeds.
‘Sooo, Mr Neill,’ putting her tea back into the holder, ‘apparently not my Headmaster on this trip,’ she giggled, rubbing her hands together in a fidgety excitement the closer they got to the motorway, which caught his amusement and drew up his fingertips to lightly tousle the back of her hair.
‘Yes? You.’
She shuddered right into his hand.
‘Are you sure I can come with you?’
‘Of course, that’s why I invited you.’
They both chuckled, knowing their words were superfluous, repetitious, and that what they were finding funny, is the utter rebellious audacity that they were about to spend hours shunting down a long road alone, together, and that was absolutely normal, and absolutely shocking, and they both acted as happy to have no clue what they were getting themselves in for, as they would be to leave Leeds behind forever.
‘How long is the drive?’
‘About four hours.’
‘Jeez,’ she said, masking delight. ‘What are we going to talk about all that time?’
‘I think we’re going to know each other’s life stories inside out.’
They were now turning onto an expansive roundabout with various unfamiliar blue M606 and M621 signs.
‘M1 here we come, too late to turn back NOW!’ he hollered, accelerating from the slip road at breakneck speed as Natalia lurched and laughed.
‘Fucking hell, how fast are you going!’ craning her neck to see the needle on 100mph.
‘Just the usual speed to get to London. A mere return to the orbit I know.’
She felt his look of bemusement at her, poised up at the window gazing like a child at the signs whizzing out from the black sky, cocking her head at the odd passing car as though it was a novel sight. The nylon of her top shrunk up her waist as she leaned, knowing that the skin of her lower back would be exposed to him - having always been obscured by the blinding drape of school uniform or by the red-stocking-dress - it was now free, free to be seen, flashing under street lamps and the moon, and she wanted him to see it, because it was both liberated and lit up entirely by him.
Finally she sat back with a happy sigh.
‘Are you ok?’
‘Yee-es,’ reaching for her cup.
‘You seem very excitable right now.’
‘I am.’
He laughed softly. ‘Little darling. But remember, on a serious note, that I’m responsible for you on this trip. Listen to me at all times and do what I ask please. Can’t be losing you in London of all places. Can you imagine?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Mmm.’
‘No wandering off and you will hold my hand everywhere we go.’
The remark prickled deep in her hips. She shifted in her seat with another ‘mmm.’ Not having a verbal response, his hand came and lay over where hers hovered at the cup of tea, prompting:
‘Yes? Do you understand?’
‘Ok,’ came out in half-whisper.
‘I don’t want to have to be chasing you like that time in the shed after Assembly. Although I did get you, didn’t I?’
She croaked a yeah, her voice still buried in a blush, renewing her fingers’ caress of her tea.
‘Is that how you normally answer your Headmaster?’
She looked up in surprise now, to see him smiling, so cleared her throat and added: ‘Yeah… sir.’
His hand came to hers and squeezed her knuckles. ‘Good girl,’ drawing his hand back again to the wheel. Oh shit, ten minutes into a four-hour drive and her bush is sweating.
‘But you know,’ she blinked, ‘you’re not Headmaster on this trip, are you? I wouldn’t answer sir as… pretend girlfriend.’
‘That’s debatable.’ Then in a casual, musing tone as if he were picking food off a menu, he continued: ‘If you really were my girlfriend I think I’d have you do everything I say.’
She couldn’t tell if he was joking, as everything he said was some level of outrageous.
He turned to her. ‘Wouldn’t you want to do everything a man said?’
‘No way!’ she said in faintly indignant amusement, but then she added, partly to humour him and his kindness for taking her on a trip, and partly because she admired him so: ‘But maybe with you,’ adding a laugh.
He chuckled, staring into the road. ‘Well, to some extent you’re going to have to on this. You can’t be looking like a lost lamb sitting with me like you do in my office. We need to talk a bit about how we’re going to make this girlfriend act convincing.’
‘Oh?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll show you when we stop at the services.’
She could only imagine. She took up her tea. Every sip of caffeine augmented her adrenalin to the point of delirium now with these comments, heightened by their containment as they rocketed down the motorway together - what, they must be at least 30 miles from Leeds by now? Did she miss the signs for Shitfield? Oh no - ‘there’s Meadowhall, wave bye bye to Yorkshire entirely!’ he waves an exaggerated hand, as she sighs with nauseous, early morning hungry pangs weighing down on her empty belly from the past few days, combined with a somewhat pleasantly oppressive sense of his power - his power trip - as she glanced back and forth from his grasped knuckles on the wheel, his softly frowning driving face trained ahead as though he had a bone to pick with the road.
She wriggled around to get more relaxed.
‘You can recline the seat if you want. Round the side.’
She located the button and whirred back a little way.
‘Are you going to sleep?’
‘Just relaxing.’
‘Still pitch black. We won’t see daylight for another couple of hours.’ Lamp-posts strobe-lit his face looking softly into hers for a turning moment. ‘Talk to me then, Natalia. What does your mum do?’
‘She does nothing. I think a long time ago she used to work in a pub. Now she just creates her own alone.’ She found herself glad to latch onto something familiarly indignant to find her voice again.
‘Ha, works from home?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Sorry, should be serious. Doesn’t sound good about your mum. And your dad, you say just left?’
‘Yeah, when I was about five. I don’t know much about him. My mum always says he wanted more and that he felt dragged down by her. I literally have one blurry memory of them, fighting on the stairs.’
‘I’m sorry to hear. So your Russian origin then, which parent is that from?’
‘Both. But Molova is er, yeah… my dad’s.’
‘You don’t sound so sure,’ he chortled. ‘They were married, correct?’
‘Well, it’s funny because it was only when I was 13 and I first went onto Facebook, that I wanted to look up my dad’s name. I asked my mum if she was actually married to him and she said yes, so his name was Anton Molova—’
‘Children normally take the dad’s name even if the parents aren’t married.’
‘Oh, yeah. Well, she’ll have thrown all the wedding photos out anyway.’
‘Wouldn’t she want to go back to her maiden name if she disliked him so much?’
‘She wouldn’t be arsed to find out how.’
‘Well, that’s typical too. Joan keeps her ex-husband’s name for herself and her son.’
‘Oh you remember her name, well done!’
‘Shut up you. Don’t ask me what her surname is!So didn’t your dad come up on Facebook?’
‘No, only a couple of weird accounts. Mum won’t tell me anything much about him either, so literally the only thing I know is that she met him in the pub. Of course,’ she scoffed. ‘Where she meets bloody everyone.’
‘Were they both alkies then?’
‘She was the worse influence.’
‘And he spoke Russian I take it, but the most your mum could do is swig vodka and put her Rs the wrong way round?’
‘Again pretty much. Backwards arse.’
‘See, I know everything about you! Except, ah - where your dad is, obviously…’
‘Well, then I just go back to wondering why the hell I’d want to even find my dad when he’s the backwards arse that walked out on me.’
‘Hmm. Did he have some problems perhaps? Don’t any of your relatives know more?’
‘Gran, my mum’s mum, died when I was nine. Dad’s side are still over in Russia. There’s only Uncle Andy but he’s my mum’s brother. He never got on with my dad apparently.’
‘And you don’t get on with mum, or is that just since she started smashing pissers with the new boyfriend, so to speak?’
‘Smashing…?’
‘Pissers.’
‘Piss— oh. So gross, Neill…’
‘Sorry I should have said slapping sloppies. Dunking the dingus. Squat-jumping in the cucumber patch.’
She sighed. ‘Anyway. In answer to your question, my mum’s always got on my nerves, and has always been a mess. I remember finding her passed out on the floor from drink when I was ten. Somehow I don’t blame my dad for buggering off and wanting more.’
‘Oh?’
‘She doesn’t do anything inspiring at all. I mean, look at the area we live in. Awful isn’t it?’
‘Well, I’ve only passed through. A little hairy but there’s worse out there.’ He paused. ‘That’s in reference to Gipton, not your mum.’
‘Hairy. So you think… er, is hairy not good?’
‘Hairy. Hazardous! High risk.’
‘I know, I know… just, so early for double-entendres,’ she smiled.
‘They’re always lurking around the corner.’
‘Now you’re describing my mum again. Darren found my hot chocolate BMW cup in the bin.’
‘Crumbs! What did you say?’
‘That I went to the showroom with my posh friend Sarah who I’m going to London with and who’s putting me up in a Travelodge.’
He guffawed. ‘Good one. Not the Travelodge. So I’m in your phone as… Sarah?’
‘Yeah…’ she pulled out her phone to deftly change it from God. She eyed him. ‘What am I in yours as?’
‘Trouble.’
‘What? That’s what Darren calls me!’
‘I’m joking. You’re just in there as N.’
‘Just cock then?’
‘Huh? Oh! Not when it’s a capital, the big one, just like where you’re off to, my darling!’ he enthused, ‘a million miles from mum, Monsieur Darren and gipping Gipton! Although I will add that one day, strangely enough you will be interested a lot more in your mum, and your dad… and even your modest little street!’
‘Why would I?’
He shrugged. ‘Because they’re part of you, and you’re part of them.’
‘I dunno.’
‘But at your age it’s your prerogative to not give a fuck. Vitally important, actually, to rebel and get away!’
‘On a secret field trip with the Headmaster to learn his awful slang words for sex, you mean?’
‘And why not? For here’s a young and sweating devil that commonly rebels,’ he suddenly took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Too early for Shakespeare?’
‘That reminds me,’ as she felt a flush over her body, tentatively moving her cold finger over his warm knuckle. ‘Deodorant in the services, don’t let me forget.’
He laughed, drawing his fist back to the wheel.
‘So your turn, Neill. Are your mum and dad much better than mine?’
‘By the sounds of it, I’ve been a lot more fortunate. I have fond memories of swimming, picnicking, biking, pretty much constantly, in the woods and meadows around where we lived. Hampstead, North London, where Mum and Dad both still live.’
‘Brothers or sisters?’
‘One of each.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘London too. East and West.’
‘Shall we drop in?’
‘Ha. Would be a round trip. I saw them all at Christmas. I try to keep in touch, but I’m not on mum’s doorstep weekly like Debbie and Fred. I’m like you, an itchy-footed free spirit. I like to fuck off and live my own life. Central problem to both of my marriages.’
‘Central problem to the one that birthed me too,’ she smirked.
‘Hmm. My mum and dad have always seemed happy. Stable. I’ve never been able to work out whether there’s something of lifeless boredom in that. Something of inertia and death. Funny, isn’t it? Is it necessary to be in a restless wake of pain to feel alive?’
‘Ask my mum on a Sunday morning.’
He laughed. ‘I was thinking we should aim for Toddington,’ as he peered out at the passing signs, ‘but if you want to stop earlier we can. Do you need the toilet? Or are you hungry?’
‘Yes and yes.’
After a short while of small talk about winter and roads and weather down south, he pointed and announced enthusiastically:
‘Leicester Forest East, only two miles! Can you wait that long?’
‘How far are we from Leeds now?’
‘Over a hundred miles.’
‘Oh my God! I can’t wait to learn to drive. How hard is it anyway?’ She watched him steering onto the sliproad with one little finger.
‘Piss easy. Even I could teach you.’
Daylight was just lifting as they parked up at the services.
‘7.48. We’ll stop here and eat breakfast then we’ll motor on to London.’
By the time she’d put her shoes back on, he was at her side in his long brown coat, opening her door, as she arose without hers on yet.
‘Ooh, it’s cold…’
‘Come here then, girlfriend,’ as she came up, obliged to stand up right against him, as his arm wrapped around her pulling her in, and with an audacious girlish murmur of thrill she slid one arm inside his coat - in and around his waist. His answer was to wrap his coat flaps around her, drawing her beating heart into him, as she rested the side of her face against his chest like a pillow, now enclosed there sighing and closing her eyes with more murmurs and lip-biting, until she pulled back and looked up at him.
There was his face, beautiful, manly, so intent on her, with that same look in his eyebrows, of majestic inquisition, his big clear blue eyes, his landscape of manly dotted jaw, his pronounced but proportioned nose with distinct kidney-shaped hollow of his nostrils, his closed lips in a wide but gentle smile at her, which she looked at directly and suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss, or be kissed by - but felt she could never dare - and she pondered the mystery of being a woman who knew how to handle a man like this, or to be received by such.
He was studying her studying him, and seemed to be pleased by either that or by her own face - and hopefully not noticing her growing chin zit - as he murmured:
‘Ahh. You’re very cute, you know. Cuter than ever when you’re happy like today.’
Her heart beat hollow as the burden of a blush made her gaze fall, then rise again to his face, and he caught her looking at his lips and he looked down at hers, and smiled a bit more as if reading her thought, his lips parting to show his teeth as he spoke, questioningly and invitingly into her face:
‘Do you want to be kissed? Do you want to be kissed right here and now?’
She was silent as her eyelashes lowered.
‘Because you know that we’re going to have to practice, don’t you?’
Her heart jabbed on his words, as she smiled and flinched away.
He squeezed her into him some more, as if to conclude the embrace, with a rub on her back and then, a warm kiss brushing the top of her hair, that made her belly glow, as he reached for her coat inside the car, held it out for each arm, then did it all the way up for her.
‘Come on, let’s get inside. Hope they’ve started serving breakfast.’
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