I watched as the angst visibly lifted from her face, forming into an expression of hope. She nodded. ‘I won’t say a word to anyone, I promise.’
‘I thought you’d say that,’ I said, walking to my desk drawer. ‘Which is why I’ve bought you a phone. It’s a pay as you go, nothing fancy. We can text each other whenever you want,’ I licked the dryness from my lips. My heart thumped hard at the implications of my words. Steady. Take your time, I reminded myself, urging caution at every corner. ‘I’d like you to put your name down to borrow the class camera for a week too. You know, for art projects, homework, things like that.’ I quickly followed up. ‘I’ll book the darkroom, develop the photos myself.’
I handed her the phone, watching as she quickly stowed it away in her bag. ‘Be careful,’ I said. ‘Don’t show it to anyone, not even your dad. Don’t text names. I’ll know who you are. If you get caught with it then say it belongs to one of your friends.’
Emma nodded. ‘I’ll delete any texts that I send.’
I leaned against my desk and crossed my ankles. ‘I was thinking, we should keep our meet-ups outside of the classroom. There’s nothing wrong with bumping into each other if we’re out for a walk, is there?’
‘I hang out in Castle Park at the weekends around two. Sometimes I bring a picnic,’ Emma said, packing away her pictures before swinging her schoolbag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then?’
I delivered a curt nod, before walking to the door and showing her out. She’d had enough encouragement for one day. The art of seduction was as much about the lead-up as the execution.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EMMA
2002
My heart throbbed a warm beat as I lay on my bed, trying to make sense of the day. He’s just being nice, I chastised myself, wishing my pulse would slow the heck down. My emotions seemed too big, too overwhelming, yet the prospect of having more than a platonic friendship with my teacher frightened me silly.
I licked my lips, my mouth dry. Thoughts of Mr Priestwood crept further into my consciousness, and I blushed as I imagined him pressing his lips on to mine. In the background, Dad’s television blared from the living room, and I wished I could mute the sound.
I took a slow, calming breath, telling myself not to become carried away. Just having someone to open up to about my problems had really lightened my load. But lately, silly daydreams were stealing my focus. I imagined us getting married, me taking his name. Emma Priestwood. Mrs Priestwood. Mrs E. Priestwood. I wrote it over and over, improving the curve and flow of the words. I thought of our children, whom I would call Daisy and Teddy, and our home in the country, complete with a picket fence.
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. It was a silly daydream. I wasn’t a child any more, and Mr Priestwood was no schoolboy. My stomach tied up in knots as I imagined us together. Men like him weren’t content with holding hands and a peck on the cheek. He’d want a real kiss, with tongues and everything, perhaps even more. I pressed my palms against my cheeks to stem the rising heat. How my classmates would laugh if they knew of my naivety. Marsha Beckett had had sex with two boys by now, and I was pretty sure I was the only girl in class not to have had a proper kiss. That’s if you didn’t count the fumble with Samuel Clarke at the back of the bike shed last year, when he tried to suck off my face. It had felt like a slug attaching itself to my mouth, all wet and gross, and I had pushed him away. But something told me that Mr Priestwood wouldn’t be like that. He was a man. He would know exactly what to do.
I could talk to Tizzy, isn’t that what sisters were for? But I hardly saw her these days. Besides, she wouldn’t understand. No, she wouldn’t approve. My frown burrowed deep as I tried to make sense of it all. I’d gotten myself into a right state. A something and nothing, my mother would call it, but it felt very real to me. I wanted my friendship with Mr Priestwood to continue, but I saw how he’d looked at me, felt a tingle when he brushed his fingers against my cheek. He didn’t treat any of the other girls that way, and they were all desperate for his undivided attention. And now the phone . . . I didn’t know what to make of it. What did he want me to text? Sometimes he could be so forward, but other times he was distant and aloof. As for meeting him in Colchester, what was that all about? I had come to rely on his friendship, but did he really want something more?
A muffled cheer erupted from the football game on the television as my father’s favourite team scored a goal. Dad thought Mr Priestwood had been a positive influence. If only he knew. I closed my eyes, allowing my teacher’s image to seize my thoughts. A soft sigh escaped my lips. He was only seven or eight years older than me. It was no biggy. People fell in love every single day. It wasn’t as if he was going to pounce on me, make me do anything I didn’t want to. I slid my phone from under my pillow, the one he had given me in class. Giddy with nervous excitement, I began to type a text.
Thanks for lessons today, really enjoyed them. See you soon.
My finger hovered over the ‘X’ as I deliberated whether or not to send a kiss. A mischievous smile crept on to my face. He was my teacher. Would I dare? Then I thought how his eyes had sought out mine, and how his hand had rested on my back. Biting my bottom lip, I added ‘X’ to the text and pressed Send. I pushed my face into my pillow, squealing a giggle of disbelief. I had done it. I had texted my teacher, and even added a cheeky kiss! Another giggle erupted in my chest, silenced by my pillow as it found escape. I stared at the phone as I awaited a reply, feeling out of my depth. As fun as it was to flirt, I knew that when it came to Mr Priestwood, I wasn’t really ready for anything more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ALEX
2017
‘You’re frightening me,’ I said, feeling a rising sense of dread. With shaky legs, Emma joined me in the living room, her eyes darting from left to right. I had confronted her about her bulimia in the past, but I had never seen her as tightly wound as this. ‘I’m not angry with you, sweetheart, just worried. We can sort this out.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew.’ Her words were jittery as she spoke. I laid my hands on her shoulders, stiffening as she flinched. I should have been paying closer attention. I frowned as I accepted my portion of the blame. ‘Is it because we’re selling the house? Because, well’ – I sighed, trying to form the right words – ‘we don’t have to if it’s upsetting you. How about we come to a compromise? We could get a bigger mortgage, hang on to this place too.’
‘I don’t want to keep the house,’ she said, tear-stained and weary. ‘I want to get as far away from here as possible.’
Her eyes left mine, and my head ached from trying to decipher her thoughts. ‘Here, you’re freezing.’ Pulling a throw from our leather sofa, I wrapped it around her. I eyed my vaporiser on the coffee table. My nicotine habit was proving difficult to kick, now more than ever. Emma curled up beside me on the sofa, but she was still unable to meet my eyes. The house creaked around us from the force of the wind. The place felt cursed, and I could not wait to leave it. I wanted to challenge Emma about her eating disorder but at the same time I did not want to make her any more upset than she already was. ‘What were you shouting about in the toilet? Have you had a scare? Is it your health? I know you’re keeping something from me.’
‘It’s not my health. It’s something I’ve done.’ Taking a deep breath, her eyes met mine. ‘If I tell you, our family can’t go back to what it was before. In fact, it’s better if you don’t know. We can carry on with what we’re doing, sell the house, and start a new life. I’ll pull myself together in time.’
My heart pounded with ferocity. I was the head of the household. There was no question of turning my back on my family. ‘Just tell me. I want to know.’