“I’ll always be your friend, Helen, but we have to go now.”
He got to his feet and held out his hand. I took it mutely, confused and scared and dizzy on the inside as he pulled me up after him. And then he took off, walking quickly back the way we came, and I followed, struggling to think of words to stop him, to make it ok again. He leapt the fence, and again he helped me over, but this time he didn’t touch me, not like he had before. His hand was awkward and rigid, gripping my elbow like I was both dangerous and in danger. In the car he wound down the window and lit up a cigarette, and he didn’t offer me any this time.
I nearly asked for a whole one. Nearly asked for the whole packet.
The fluttery brightness inside me turned dark, as though I’d lost something I hadn’t known I’d had. He was Mr Roberts again now, beyond all doubt, and I was little Helen Palmer, just a girl. Just a kid.
“I’m sorry…” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you angry…”
“You didn’t. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
But I did, and it felt horrible. I felt like an idiot, and I hated inner Lizzie for making me so brave.
“I shouldn’t have said anything… I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?” A horrible tightness in my throat, and I didn’t need him to speak, I already knew the answer.
He took short hard drags on his cigarette until there was nothing left, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry like a little baby, waiting for the engine to start up. But it didn’t.
When I chanced a look at him he was staring through the windscreen, fingers gripping the steering wheel. I had a chance. One little chance to make it right.
“Just forget I said anything, ok? We don’t have to talk about it, I won’t even mention it, I promise, never again. It can be about art… just art… and maybe then you can bring me here again, and I won’t say a word about any of it, I promise. We can be friends… I want to be friends… please…” He sighed, loudly, and my tummy flipped. “Please, Mr Roberts, please pretend I never said anything… just pretend you never saw my sketchbook… we can pretend, right? Please just say we can pretend…”
His eyes were dark, and shadowy as the sun disappeared behind the trees, and they told me no. No, we couldn’t pretend.
“It’s much too late for that, Helen,” he said.
***
Mark
I could hear her breathing. A panicked little rabbit, desperate for reassurance. Her eyes on the footwell, fingers fidgeting in her lap.
I could feel her in my limbs, in my veins, in my clammy palms, in the pulse between my legs. I could smell her, that apple shampoo. I could almost taste it … taste her.
The key was in the ignition, but I couldn’t turn it.
And I couldn’t stop myself. Even though my inner voice was screaming, I couldn’t stop.
“Helen, look at me.”
It took her a moment. Her gaze crept up slowly, and it was one of resignation. Of sadness.
She was an orchid in a rainstorm. Fragile and captivating.
“I shouldn’t do this,” I said.
“Shouldn’t do what, Mr Roberts? You haven’t done anything…”
“Not yet…” Slowly, I reached to her, my fingers soft as they brushed a wisp of hair from her face.
Her eyes widened as I moved towards her, and the look of surprise on her face was breath-taking. She gasped, then stiffened, rigid in her seat as my lips pressed into hers, and they were as soft as I’d imagined. I cupped her face and held her still, my mouth tight to hers until I felt the tension leave her body. She sank into the seat, and her fingers found my arms and gripped, hard. And then the excitement seemed to find her. She squirmed, and wriggled, and made the sweetest little murmurs, her hands dithering and dancing their way up to my shoulders. Her lips yielded so eagerly to my tongue as I pushed my way inside, and hers met me there, hesitant and nervous and delicate.
I wasn’t delicate.
I was hungry for Helen Palmer’s mouth, and I consumed her.
The kiss was warm and soft and wet, and Helen squirmed all the harder for it as I broke away to suck at her lip. I swept my tongue across her mouth and then kissed the corners, and my fingertips grazed her neck until she shivered and moaned. I followed them there, my lips hungry for her skin, and her breath was warm in my ear.
“Yes… oh, please…”
“Is this what you want?” I said. “Tell me this is what you want.”
“Please…” she whimpered. “Please, Mr Roberts. I want… I want you… please. Please touch me…”
I kissed her slowly, my tongue tasting hers so gently, savouring everything. My fingers slipped inside her blazer to seek out her breasts, but all I could feel was fabric.
“I want to see,” I whispered. “Let me see you.”