The Holiday (59 page)

‘I’m afraid I haven’t really got an awful lot to show you, what with it being the start of a new term,’ she said, for the benefit of all ten pairs of ears that were listening; she had never known a class to be so attentive. Then, in a frantic whisper, ‘What on earth are you doing here, Mark? Why have you come?’

‘To apologise. I’ve undergone a reality check. I’ve been a complete fool.’

She led him to the back of the classroom, towards the big cupboard in the alcove where she hoped they could speak without being overheard. ‘The theme we’ll be covering this term,’ she said, as he followed closely behind, ‘is autumn. We’ll be using as many media as we can to capture the spirit of the season.’ She slowed her step, lowered her voice. ‘And when you’ve apologised, what then?’

What then?
was the million-dollar question that had plagued Mark every mile he had covered by taxi and train since first thing that morning. During the long journey he kept thinking of his conversation with Bones, and how easily Bones had shaken the truth out of him. Until that moment, he hadn’t said out loud that he loved Izzy. When he had been with her, he had skirted every which way around the simple phrase - I love you — never quite committing himself to it, never letting her know the extent of his feelings. The truth was, he had been scared of what his love for Izzy meant to him. When he had come close to losing her that night in Corfu, it had frightened him to know just how painfully vulnerable his love for her made him. But all those days and weeks without her had taken their toll, and he had known that he couldn’t go on pretending to himself that he was protecting her by ending their relationship. The only person he had been protecting was himself. And, as usual, Bones had been the one to cut straight to the heart of the matter, forcing him to see things clearly.

Getting off the train at Manchester and finding himself a taxi for the remainder of his journey, he had worried that Izzy would refuse to speak to him - after what he had done to her, she had every right to turn him away. Which was why he had engineered their meeting as he had. Coward that he was, he had hoped that by seeing her like this, so publicly, she would be at a disadvantage and less likely to be angry with him. It had been simplicity itself convincing that money-grabbing snob of a headmistress over the phone that he was interested in sending his non-existent children to her school — he had made out he had four all under the age of eight — and an appointment had been instantly made. And, as public venues went, this fitted the bill perfectly: all these goggling children couldn’t keep their eyes off them.

‘It’s the
what then
that I’ve come here to resolve,’ he said, his voice still low, ‘I could get poetic and talk about how much I miss you. I could say how the sky was dark without you, how the sun never shone, and that the stars had dropped out of the heavens, but there’d be a danger you’d laugh at me. I could also confess that I can’t write without you in my life. But that might make it appear as though I have a cheap ulterior motive in coming here, so I’d better not mention that. Which leaves me just the one option to prove I’m being sincere.’

They were standing in the shelter of a large alcove now, facing an open cupboard, their backs to the class of children who had started up a rumble of activity; chairs were being scraped across the floor and voices were raised. It was probably going to be the only moment of privacy they got before some nosy child came to see what was going on, so seizing his chance, Mark lifted Izzy’s chin with his hand, bent his head and kissed her. It was the lightest of kisses, their lips barely touching. ‘Do you remember that day at Old Perithia,’ he murmured, still kissing her, ‘when I asked you if being involved with somebody, heart, body and soul, was the same as being in love?’

She nodded.

‘Well, I’m here to say that it is the same. I love you with all my heart, with all my unattractive body and with all my ragged, unworthy soul.’ He pulled away, looked into her face. ‘Tell me that being an irreplaceable part of my life is enough for you, Izzy. Tell me that you love me.’

‘Oh, Mark, it’s more than enough. And, yes, of course I love you, how could you ask? But please, we have to stop this. You’ll get me the sack.’

‘Wouldn’t I be doing you a favour, getting you away from that awful headmistress?’

‘Not if she refuses to give me a good reference.’

‘I’ll write you all the references you’ll ever need. Come on, Izzy, make a break for it, let’s get out of here. I don’t mind getting you the sack for a furtive kiss, but I draw the line at young minds being perverted by the sight of their teacher being made love to in the art cupboard, which is what we’ll end up doing if we stay here a minute longer.’

‘But I can’t possibly leave them.’

‘Yes, you can. It’s easy. You just give me your hand.’

His madness took her as far as the doorway, where, having crunched across the floor, they found their escape thwarted by a partially scrubbed Claremont number four and a furious-looking headmistress. Izzy’s nerve ran out on her, went and hid in the furthest corner of the room. Now sanity and reason would step in and make her realise it couldn’t be that simple.

‘Mr St James,’ said the head, looking none too pleased, ‘if you feel you’ve quite exhausted the delights of the art room, perhaps we could — ’

‘Sorry,’ he said, pushing rudely past her, ‘I’d love to stop and chat, but Miss Jordan has a pressing engagement I’m rather keen for her to fulfil. And as for the delights of the art room, believe me, I’m bowled over by them.’

Oh, my goodness, Izzy thought, as they raced to the front of the school to where her Triumph Herald was parked, it really is going to be as simple as he says.

 

Hardly aware of the short drive back to her flat, or of the speed at which they had tumbled into bed and made love, Izzy sank into the softness of the pillows behind her and looked across the room to the framed sketch she had drawn of Mark when she had first set eyes on him. How intensely serious he had seemed that day on the rocks as he looked out across the water, not at all the witty, unpredictable and loving man she had come to know.

‘By the way,’ she said, ‘I just want you to know that you are totally and utterly mad, Mr St James.’

He lay with his head half on her chest and half on her stomach. ‘I suspected that might be the case,’ he responded, without looking up.

‘Why didn’t you phone or at least write to me?’

‘I thought about it but decided a personal appearance was more appropriate. I’ll never forget the expression on your face when you saw it was me.’

She stroked his spiky hair, what there was of it, understanding now why he had worn the baseball cap. One look at his brutally cut hair and the terrible scar, complete with stitch marks, on the side of his head and he would have been refused entry to the school; the headmistress would probably have called the police saying an escaped convict was on the loose. ‘You realise, thanks to you, that I’m going to be the talk of the staffroom,’ she said. ‘For days and weeks to come I’ll be the only topic of conversation.’

‘I’d hoped to turn you into a legend at the very least. I want you to become known as the reckless art teacher who abandoned her pupils to run off home to have sex with a complete stranger in the middle of the afternoon.’

Reckless, she repeated to herself. Well, she had certainly become that. She closed her eyes and wondered how he would react if she told him she was pregnant, that right now, he was just a few inches from the heartbeat of his child. Feeling his weight lift from her, she opened her eyes. He had raised himself up on an elbow and was staring at her.

‘You’ve got a strange look on your face,’ he said, ‘one that says you know the punchline that nobody else knows.’

She smiled hesitantly. ‘Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.’

Kissing her forehead, he said, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your secrets, then. I need a shower.’

‘Help yourself. But you’ll have to make do with girlie shower gel. It’s all I have.’

He grinned. ‘Who knows? It might bring out my feminine side.’

 

She had almost fallen asleep when she sensed she wasn’t alone. Turning over, she saw that Mark was standing at the foot of the bed. He smelt of Timotei shower gel and was wearing her lilac bathrobe, the sleeves of which were hopelessly too short for his long thin arms. But it was what he had in his hands that really caught her attention. It was the box containing the pregnancy testing kit she had thrown into the bin in the bathroom last night. Oops.

‘Is this the punchline?’ he asked, holding out the package for her to see.

She searched his face for a clue to his thoughts. But his expression was unreadable. Scared, she suddenly wondered if she had got it wrong about him wanting to be a father. Or maybe he did fancy it, but not just yet. She sat up straight, held the duvet against her. ‘We weren’t as careful as we thought we were. Does it ... does it change anything?’

A silence passed, his eyes not on her, but on the pregnancy-testing kit. At last he looked at her. ‘Too damned right it does!’

The combined christening party for Maximilian Cornelius Lewis Sinclair and Beth St James — Mark had been adamant there would be no fancy names for a child of his - was a suitably joyous occasion.

It was a warm summer’s day in the middle of June, the party of close friends and family had spilled out into Max and Laura’s pretty garden, and as Theo held Beth in his arms and posed with Mark while Izzy took their photograph, he felt it was the proudest moment of his life.

‘You are the luckiest man alive,’ he said to Mark, when Izzy had left them to photograph somebody else, ‘I hope you appreciate everything you have.’

‘Including my mother-in-law?’

‘Ah, well, you win some, you lose some. But at least she is here and on speaking terms with you.’

‘Oh, she’s on speaking terms all right, she never stops speaking to us. She phones every other day to check that Beth is sleeping in the right position, that Izzy isn’t feeding her too often, or too little, and that we’re using the correct nappies, not the ones she’s just read are carcinogenic.’

Theo chuckled. ‘It’s a fair price to pay for your good fortune. And your own parents? How do they feel towards their latest grandchild?’

Both men looked across the lawn, to where Izzy was patiently trying to line up the St James family — including a host of children who wouldn’t keep still — to have their picture taken. The scene reminded Theo of Mark and Izzy’s wedding day earlier that year in Robin Hood’s Bay. They had married on a bitter winter’s morning and the photographer had had less than five minutes to take his pictures outside the small Methodist chapel before they died of hypothermia. The reception had been a modest affair back at the house, and because no cars were allowed into the quaint little village, they had to walk down the main street in a flurry of snow before cutting through a criss-cross of sheltered narrow passageways. But at least they had had the pleasure of thawing out in front of a roaring log fire while drinking mugs of life-saving hot chocolate. Serving hot chocolate instead of alcohol as a welcome for their guests had been Izzy’s inspired idea. ‘So much more practical than champagne on a day like this,’ she had said, as they warmed their frozen hands gratefully on the mugs of reviving sweetness. It had been particularly good to see Mark’s parents in such happy circumstances, their obvious love for and pride in their youngest son, who had taken such a long and tortuous route to happiness.

In answer to Theo’s question, Mark said, ‘They’re delighted with Beth. You’d think she was their first grandchild.’

Refraining from saying that perhaps Beth was special because she was the one grandchild they had thought they would never have, Theo said, ‘And judging from their faces, it looks as if they’re just as delighted with Izzy.’

Mark smiled. ‘Yeah, she’s worked her magic on them as well. Shall I have Beth now so that you can get yourself a drink?’

Theo held on to the tiny sleeping child possessively. ‘No need, I am quite happy as I am. It’s a shame your old mentor, Bones, isn’t here. I would have liked the opportunity to meet him again after all these years. He missed your wedding also.’

‘It’s his way of keeping his professional distance, I guess.’

‘If it had been me I would have jumped at the chance to rejoice over one of my biggest success stories. And talking of stories, what’s the latest news of
Flashback Again?’

‘The general opinion is that it’s my finest hour. “Popular while remaining literate,” is what the literati are saying. As if they know anything. There’s even talk of a film.’

‘Aha! Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say that I had a good feeling about this one? You should listen to your old friend more often. He knows what he is talking about.’ The loudness of his voice stirred the sleeping baby in his arms. Two little feet kicked from under the silk christening gown, then a pair of eyes opened wide: they were grey and solemn, just like Izzy’s. ‘She is quite adorable,’ sighed Theo, ‘and so very like her mother.’

‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’ Bending down to take a closer look, Mark stroked his daughter’s delicate cheek, ‘Can’t see it myself.’

‘Oh, surely you cannot be so blind that you — ’ Theo stopped short, realising that Mark was teasing him. ‘Oh, he of so little heart and soul.’

‘That’s not what Izzy says about me. In fact when we’re in bed she — ’

‘Please,’ cried Theo, clasping Beth closer to him to cover her ears, ‘spare the child your saucy bedroom tales! Now, behave yourself and tell me when you are coming to stay. You will be coming, won’t you? You’ll both need a holiday after the year you’ve had. Max and Laura are flying over in a couple of weeks. Why don’t you join them?’

Mark shook his head. ‘Not a chance. Last summer was a little too action-packed for us. We’ve decided to go somewhere else. We thought walking in the Himalayas would suit us better.’