Part 5 (1/2)

He was the first boy who had ever shown interest in her, or at least she had thought he had, and it hadn't gone further than looking at some museum exhibits together.

So Margery threw herself into her schoolwork as usual, burying herself in prep, keeping up her record of straight As. None of them noticed that she was unhappy. Her diary was her primary confidant, as it was for Laura.

”Dear Diary, I miss him when I don't see him, and I miss him when we don't speak. For the first time I understand that verse in Song of Songs - that thou wert as my brother - just to be with him, anyhow, would be enough. Everything feels as though it's growing darker.”

10. Crossing the line.

Laura was running another errand, delivering a pile of photocopied forms on behalf of the school secretary. She had been pa.s.sing by the staffroom after the last lesson of the day and been commandeered.

The empty English cla.s.srooms seemed eerie at this hour. It was still light, but starting to fade. She hurried through them, and finished with the modern languages block: first French, then German.

She honestly wasn't expecting Mr Rydell to still be in his cla.s.sroom. She had a.s.sumed he was in the staffroom, amid the clink of teacups and conversation that always emanated from that mysterious sanctum.

About to walk in and drop off the last papers, she stopped dead when she saw him by his desk.

”I had to deliver these,” she said.

”Come in.” He was cleaning something off the blackboard.

She entered, walking past him to put the forms on his desk. As she turned to go he looked at her and she stopped, looking back up at him, and they both stood there.

Moments pa.s.sed. Too long to ignore. She could not speak.

Teachers and pupils do not stand gazing into each other's eyes, in silence. Not like this. She was half his age. But the line was already crossed.

He took a step towards her. His hair fell over his forehead, his eyes dark grey, chiselled features tense.

”I've been fighting this for so long.”

A muscle twitched as he clenched his jaw. He was looking at her, serious, no joy in his expression. His eyes seemed almost sad.

Her stomach was lurching. It was the moment she had longed for, dreamed about, and yet it felt more like a terrible taboo than ecstasy.

He stroked his hand down the side of her face, moving her hair back.

”This is something that could ruin both our lives,” he said.

She couldn't speak. She wanted to tell him that she didn't care, that she only wanted to live for the moment. But she was terrified.

”Wanting you this much... it makes me willing to risk everything.”

His lips came down on hers, warm and firm, and her first sensation was relief. At last! Then joy, and terror, and desire. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring her, tasting her. It was a union: so different from French kissing the St Duncan's boy, or the boy from her holiday.

She was in his arms, and he was holding her gently at first, then more strongly, pressing her harder against him as his own desire for her grew.

Her head was spinning, racing. There were two of her: a wild, abandoned purely physical Laura who wanted and needed him as though she was drinking him in. Her hands felt his body, his warmth, the firmness of his muscles, the flat, hard planes of his chest through his s.h.i.+rt.

Then there was a panicking, mind-whirling, Laura-of-thoughts with a thousand questions and doubts and anxieties. What if someone came in? What if someone saw them?

Then he turned her so her back was against the wall and pushed her hard up against it, his pa.s.sion increasing. He crushed his body against hers, bruising her lips as he kissed her. She felt as though he was devouring her.

His hand moved over her breast, feeling it through the thin wool of her school jumper, making her body arch and press towards his. His lips were on her neck, he twisted his fingers through her hair to draw her closer to him.

His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me...

And then he broke away. Ran a hand through his own hair, moved away. ”G.o.d, this is madness.” He was speaking to himself.

She was left breathless, torn away.

He regained some composure. ”You must go. This is completely wrong.”

Overwhelmed, she fled.

The coldness of the evening air revived her enough to straighten out her appearance in the nearest cloakroom before going into prep. Thank G.o.d there was no one else around. Her hair was everywhere, falling around her face. Her clothes were rumpled and coming apart. Her lips were bruised and swollen.

Shock put her into survival mode. She tucked her blouse back in. Splashed her face with water and dried it. Smoothed and tied back her hair.

Then she leant on the basin and hung her head, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

Everything throbbed.

Like an automaton, she rushed to get her books and to join the others before the second bell went. Would they notice anything amiss? She felt like she was naked, that the whole world must be looking at her and knowing. She felt that there was writing all over her, that everyone would be staring. She held her head low, tried to hide in the crowd, sat down and huddled herself over her work.

A sharp nudge. WHAT'S WRONG??? Charlotte was looking at her, concerned.

ALL FINE she scribbled back, erasing it almost immediately. She wasn't fine. She would never be fine again.

Somehow she found a still place inside her. It enabled her to get through supper, go through the motions of conversation, walk back with the others, use the bathroom, get ready for bed.

”I'm so bored of me,” she told Charlotte. ”Tell me an exciting story about your life.”

Charlotte launched into a tirade about Teresa Hubert and Miss Partridge.

In one evening she had learned to act. To dissemble. To stash real-Laura deep away, in the still place.

She suspected that Susie was not convinced, but she didn't care. She dreaded her dreams tonight, she knew they would be confused, and she feared she would talk in her sleep.

What was going to happen in their next German cla.s.s? How could she face him? Did he hate her now? Had she ruined his life?

Would she ever feel like that again, be in his arms again?