Polly (18 page)

He's gone.

Yes.

My God, no!

She dodges the crowds and heads in the direction he took.

What on earth have I been thinking. It's him. Only him. Only ever him. For ever.

‘Max!'

Can't you see? No one could love me more.

He's in sight but he can't hear her. He's fiddling with change and token at the ticket machine.

‘Max!'

He's pressing all sorts of buttons. He's scratching his head and laughing with other bemused drivers. Polly runs towards him, something hard in her small rucksack digs into her back.

So what?

‘Max?' she's out of breath but with him. He looks amazed, his eyebrows are doing a funny, lovely dance.

‘Max?'

‘What are you doing here?' He guides her away from the whirring machine to a nearby corner but it smells of urine so he steers her away, backtracking towards the departure hall.

‘Sweetie,' he soothes, kissing her cheek while he closes a hand behind her neck, ‘silly thing.'

‘No,' she says, clearly and rather loudly.

‘Not silly?' he asks.

‘No,' she is wide-eyed and adorably serious.

‘OK,' he says slowly. He looks at his prepaid ticket to the car park. ‘Darling, I have to go – these things are only active for eight minutes – then the cars spontaneously combust. And I'm arrested. I think.'

Polly nods vigorously. Her heart is thundering though she is no longer out of breath.

‘Bye bye?' he asks.

‘Max!' she all but shouts.

He regards her and cocks his head, ‘Yes?'

‘I will,' she declares, ‘I will. I will, I do, I shall, yes. Yes, yes.'

‘Crikey!' he marvels at her enthusiasm. ‘Wow.' He tips his head the other way, ‘you will
what,
exactly?'

‘Marry you!' Polly announces, triumphantly, ‘you bloody bet your bottom bloody dollar I'll marry you.'

Max bursts out laughing. ‘Haven't you said yes to me already, then?'

Icy finger wave

Ski trails on a mountain side

Snowlight in Vermont

Karl Suessdorf & John Blackburn,
Moonlight in Vermont

A
n exposure to too much altitude, combined with the crossing of too many time zones and the slightest change in culture or landscape, can all play havoc with the mind, the heart and the most resolute of souls. Polly Fenton, well aware of this, was determined that it would not be so with her. Fortuitously, the mundanity, the back-to-work and down-to-earthness which met her, were a far cry from the stylized emotional reunions she'd conjured and half-anticipated, direct from a lot at Universal Studios. In reality, she seemed to settle back into her routine much more easily than she had in London. This in itself was affirming.

Seductive even.

And then there was the snow.

Polly hadn't expected snow, but a recent dusting greeted her on arrival in Boston (Kate was there to meet her, of course she was) and had enveloped the town of Hubbardtons with a cosy sound-proofing by the time they arrived back. It was all so picturesque, so bewitching. With the start of Lent Term still a few days off, Hubbardtons Academy was blissfully quiet too. Even Mount Hubbardton seemed somewhat diminished by its gentle powdering of young snow. Only Hubbardtons the river and Hubbardtons the General Store bustled as usual.

‘Polly Fenton,' Kate declared, stamping snow from her shoes, regarding Polly greeting all the familiar faces on the fridge of smiles, ‘you've had a haircut and you've gotten thinner – and you look tired and pale.'

‘Gosh, do I?' Polly responded, twisting her hair between finger and thumb and checking her reflection in the window. Amused at the return of her clean vowels and choice vocabulary, she asked, ‘Was I awfully fat before?'

‘Hell no!' chided Kate, ‘you just look a little – well,
little
.'

It was lovely to hear the word pronounced with a click and roll of the tongue, without concession to one ‘t', let alone two. Polly made a note to practise her pronunciation a li'le la'er.

‘You go on some kinda diet?'

‘Gracious no!'

‘You forget to eat?'

‘Honestly, I ate plenty.'

‘That guy of yours some lousy cook?'

‘On the contrary,' remonstrated Polly, ‘I do declare!'

‘Well,' said Kate, gouging a huge wedge from something brown and gooey, ‘wrap your lips around this and tell me all about your trip home.'

The snow, the brownies, Kate's affection – Polly felt she was being wooed.

But now, I can be seduced without falling prey.

‘I'm going to marry Max,' said Polly with a full mouth some minutes later, chocolate chips wedging themselves to her teeth while globs of marshmallow threatened to glue her jaws together.

See!

She masticated and hummed while Kate beamed her approval and congratulated her heartily.

‘That's so so
nice
,' Kate clapped, ‘Polly's getting wed. You must bring Max over here some time.'

‘Certainly,' said Polly, contemplating aside how she would have said ‘you bet' if she was still back in London. Wondering, quietly, why she and Max had not arranged such a visit.

It's not the right time. I'm working. Later, maybe.

‘You want to stay here tonight?' Kate asked. ‘Move into Petersfield tomorrow?'

Polly accepted another monstrous portion of Kate's heavenly concoction and thought hard while she licked and chewed.

‘Do you know,' she said at length, smacking her lips and attempting to dislodge debris from her teeth with her finger and tongue, ‘if I stayed tonight, not only would I not leave tomorrow, I very probably would not leave at all.'

‘I'm cool with that,' Kate smiled.

‘And so, no doubt, would my future Dorm Daughters be,' Polly laughed.

‘Jeez,' said Kate, holding her head in her hands, ‘can you only imagine! No problem, we'll move you this afternoon – only come for dinner tonight, hey? You've already gotten a sneak preview of dessert.'

Petersfield House was a traditional, planked Vermont dwelling of three principal floors and a further floor converted from the attic. It was painted white; the window frames and bannister around the porch, blue-grey. The ground floor was taken by the McLellan family: Rick McLellan who taught science, Martha McLellan who taught computing and their toddlers Billy and Kevin who, in their infancy, had taught many a fascinated student how to change a diaper and make a lullaby effective. Up a floor to five bedrooms, three of them doubles, for the students; onwards to the second floor with the Dorm Mother's apartment, the ‘easy' room and the bathrooms; finally the top floor, divided into four single bedrooms of quirky dimensions and slanted ceilings, most usually given to seniors.

Polly had been shown her apartment at Petersfield House towards the end of the previous term but now, whitewashed (more of a lemon-vanilla wash) and sparkling, she felt she was viewing it anew. An ‘L' shaped sitting-room with a tiny kitchenette and a picture-perfect view to Mount Hubbardtons led to a small double bedroom with a rather luxurious and large bathroom
en suite.
Polly loved it at once and went about unpacking, singing
My My Hey Hey
in a very passable Neil Young accent. She sang
Sugar Mountain
all the way through in honour of Mount Hubbardtons' icing-sugar sprinkling while she arranged her books and cassettes on the shelves in the sitting-room. Unfortunately, she was humming
Only Love Can Break Your Heart
when she came across her framed photograph of Max but changed her tune at once to
Heart of Gold,
singing it melodiously while she placed the photograph by the bed and gazed on it a while.

With Marmite in my cupboards and my boy by my bed, this place is now home indeed.

Polly went to check the view from the bedroom window. It looked out across the hockey pitch to the gyms. And the athletic trainer's surgery. She noticed in passing, that's all.

I wonder who else'll notice my haircut.

Term started with a great spewing of bag-laden children from an army of station wagons and Cherokee Jeeps.

‘Parents!' Polly marvelled to herself, skipping downstairs. ‘Do you know, it didn't really occur to me that my kids have
parents
. I thought of them as, I don't know,
autonomous
– because we all live here together and don't go home at night. But here they are with their other families, their life that stretches pre- and post-Hubbardtons Academy.'

As she went to meet and greet, she thought how much smaller and younger the students appeared when seen alongside the adults who bred them.

‘Hey Miss Fenton, great hairstyle! Will you come meet my folks?'

‘Of course, AJ, it'll be a pleasure.'

When AJ introduced her to his portly father and rather glamorous mother, Polly realized she had absolutely no idea of their surname. When she thought a little deeper, she found she didn't even know what the A or the J stood for. Luckily, the indigenous geniality for which Americans are famed, and often unfairly derided, bowled in to the rescue.

‘Steve Harvey,' AJ's father boomed, brandishing a smile of an inordinate number of teeth, shaking Polly's hand and squeezing her arm warmly, ‘An-th-ony has told us so much about you. This is my wife, Jenny.'

‘Jenny Harvey,' smiled the wife, repeating the warmth of the greeting with just as many pearly teeth, and taking Polly's free hand in both of hers, ‘An-th-ony's nose has been buried in books the whole vacation.' She whistled slowly in appreciation. AJ blushed and shuffled.

‘Jolly good!' Polly declared, obviously to Steve and Jenny's delight as they tightened their hold on her hands. ‘He's a pleasure to teach and should do really well.'

‘Miss Fenton,' AJ muffled once his parents had gone to shake Lorna's hands, ‘please don't call me An-th-ony, OK? I like being AJ.'

‘OK,' said Polly slowly, ‘but I'll seal my promise if you'll tell me what the “J” stands for.'

‘Gawd, do I got to?'

‘You mean, “Dear Lord, must I?” And for that aberration, yes you must!'

‘Jerome. It's Jerome.'

‘Jerome, OK, Jerome – but that's a terrific name, couldn't I call you by it?'

‘Please don't. Just AJ?'

‘Want to know my middle name?'

‘Sure.'

‘Elizabeth.'

‘Wow! Like the Queen?'

‘One and the same.'

‘Cool.'

‘Yeah, so I guess on the whole they're a good bunch – but, as I say, keep a watch on Beth and Johanna.' Rick McLellan was advising Polly on her Dorm Daughters.

‘Beth who was caught smoking drugs,' Polly reminded herself out loud.

‘That's right, she's on a S.A.P.,' Rick confirmed.

‘S.A.P.,' spelt Polly, closing her eyes and murmuring ‘Student Assistance Programme' for confirmation. ‘And S.A.T.s,' she continued, somewhat triumphantly, tossing her hair, eyes now open, ‘are Scholastic Aptitude Tests.'

‘You got it,' Rick clicked his tongue, ‘but don't ask me what G.C.S.E stands for – or why your private schools are public! Anyhow, back to Beth and the S.A.P. Drugs mean final probation status, straight up. She had to sign a contract with the S.A.P. and if she violates that – in any way – she's out. She'll continue to be randomly tested and evaluated by an outside counsellor.'

‘For a year,' said Polly.

‘Yup, a year. Pretty pricey – random testing's forty bucks a pop. Anyhow, she's half-way through and she's a good kid. She just made one emotionally and financially expensive slip-up.'

‘And Johanna?' asked Polly, thinking that no doubt half the fifth and sixth forms at BGS would be on S.A.P.s if their extra-curricular activities were researched.

‘Johanna,' Rick said carefully, ‘kinda likes the guys.'

‘Say no more,' Polly laughed, accepting Rick's invitation to join his family for coffee, and to teach his sons an English nursery rhyme.

There were twelve girls in her sitting-room, most taller than her. Polly recognized them all but knew by name only the five who were in her English classes. She had yet to put faces to the infamous Johanna and Beth but found she had guessed correctly once each girl had introduced herself.

‘Super,' said Polly, asking Beth to pass the Coke around. ‘Well, as you know, I'm Miss Fenton – and I like to think that, as a teacher, I'm reasonable, fun and young. And I take absolutely no nonsense whatsoever, however inventive the excuse. Respect me and I'll respect you. Cross the line, or ignore it – and I'll have your guts for garters.'

The girls were stunned into a fear-drenched silence.

‘Our what for what?' Jodie whispered, trying to see through Miss Fenton's floaty skirt for hideous proof.

‘Exactly,' Polly whispered back, drumming her fingers against her thighs. It was only when she winked, still straight-faced, that a hushed cycle of relief was exhaled. Polly smiled broadly. ‘Tell you what, once your rooms are shipshape, you can show me around and we can have a good one-to-one.'

The idea was met with approval and Polly noticed the girls looking around her apartment.

‘You can tell a lot about a person by the way they organize a room – and their belongings therein, of course.'

‘Yeah right!' laughed Zoe, brandishing a clutch of Polly's cassettes, ‘Fleetwood Mac – yes siree!'

Soon enough, all twelve girls were analysing Polly's musical tastes and finding much amusement in the process; even greater entertainment in the results.

‘OK, OK,' Polly said, ‘I'm unashamedly old and square.'