The Ivy Lessons (25 page)

Don’t be stupid,
a voice says.
You’ll only make a bad situation worse. If he’s being cold with you because you got too c
lose, the last thing you should
do is push things.

But the waiting is just agony. I can’t help myself. I type out a few words:

Thanks for last night, hope to see you soon.

Delete, delete, delete. Too desperate. I try:

Had a great time last. Thanks for the view of the city.

No. Too nicey nicey, and it doesn’t have anything in it that might make him reply. Oh. This is so difficult. I write:

Will I see you again soon?

And before I can think too much about it, I press send. Then I spend the next hour in agony, waiting for a reply. When there’s none, I spend another hour in agony, re-reading the message I sent and analysing how he could have taken it.

I ring
Jen
, and we hash out the whole scenario together. I leave out a few key details, like hi
s fondness for being in charge and corporal punishment
, and my growing fondness for it too. But I tell her we had sex last night, and then he left first thing in the morning.

‘It sounds like you
got too close,’ she says. ‘Probably not a good idea to send a text message. If a man doesn’t reply within an hour, then he’d
better
have a pretty good reason. Otherwise, get rid of him, whoever he is. I don’t care if he’s some big film star.’

‘Nor do I,’ I say. ‘You know me. I couldn’t care less about anything like that. It’s who he is that matters to me, and that’s what I’ve fallen in love with.’

‘Soph – have you?’
Jen
sounds worried.

‘I think so,’ I admit. ‘The closeness I felt to him last night was like nothing I’d ever felt with anyone before. I
t was like our souls came together
.’

‘You and your poetic language. You fall madly in love every other week.’

‘But not like this,’ I say. ‘I feel taken care of with him. And like we have a connection on a deeper level. Like we were together in another life or something.’

Jen
snorts. ‘Are you sure you’re not just madly in lust with an extremely hot film star?’

‘It’s not just that,’ I say. ‘At least, I don’t think it is. He’s teaching me things -’

‘I bet he is.’

‘No, I mean he’s helping me come out of myself more. To be a better actress. A more confident person. To believe in myself.’

‘Well that can’t be a bad thing,’
Jen
admits. ‘When will you see him again?’

‘I
have a class with him
tomorrow morning. This is torture
. Why did I send that stupid text message? He must be running a mile right now.’

‘You had to send it,’ says
Jen
. ‘You’d be torturing yourself even worse if you didn’t. At least now you know. Or probably know. He’s freaked out. Leave him to it. He might come back, he might not. Go out and have fun in the meantime. I wish I was there with you. I could come down -’

‘You have work,’ I interrupt. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’

Even though it’s only mid-afternoon,
I crawl under my duvet, feeling lonelier and more empty than I ever have in my life. Life without
Marc
– there’s no magic to it. No excitement. I can’t stand this. I just can’t stand it.

I stare at my phone, willing it to ring, willing the message alert to beep. But it doesn’t.

I have a singing class with Denise this afternoon, but I just don’t think I can manage it. I’m too tired after last night, and emotionally exhausted after today.
I stuff my phone under my pillo
w and lie looking at the ceiling, thinking, thinking, thinking
.

Chapter
54

The next morning, I consider not going to class. But I know there would be so many questions from Tom and Tanya, so I get dressed and wait outside the lecture theatre,
my stomach hollow from yet another ‘too nervous to eat breakfast’ morning
.

Every click of a shoe
makes
me turn around
.

‘Hey.’ I feel a hand at my elbow. It’s Tom.

‘Hey, Tom.’

‘You look exhausted, my love. Late night?’ He raises a
mischievous
eyebrow. He’s wearing a black cowboy hat today, and a pink cowboy shirt with embroidery around the shoulders.

‘No.’ I smile. ‘I wish.’

‘Looking forward to seeing Mr
Blackwell
this morning?’

I’m
about to reply when I hear
hard footsteps clicking down the corridor. I turn and see
Marc
, striding towards the lecture theatre.

My heart jumps into my mouth and I clutch my books tighter. It feels
strange not to say hello to him
after being so close, but it doesn’t feel
appropriate somehow. Or welcome
.

‘Good morning Mr
Blackwell
,’ Tom says, in his cheerful, booming voi
ce. ‘Did you have a good evening
?’

‘Yes, thank you.’
Marc
glides past him and into the
lecture theatre without even
looking at me. This again. The cold treatment. I know I’m about to cry, and although part of me wants
Marc
to see how upset I am
, another part of m
e can’t bear him to see my tears if this is the end of things
.

‘I’ll see you later,’ I manage to say to Tom, running down the corridor.

‘Are you okay?’ he calls after me.

‘Fine,’ I say, hurrying out into the grounds. I run, sobbing,
over the grass, into the woodlands,
a
nd throw my books onto the cool, damp earth. Then I sit on the soil
and breathe in and out. The natural sights and smells calm me and help me feel my
self again.

Through the trees, I see a tall figure
strid
ing towards the woodlands over
the dewy grass. I quickly wipe the tears
away
and stand up.

It’s Marc. He sees me and walks faster.

I pick up my books, and
stumble out of the woodlands, heading towards the accommodation block.

‘Sophia,’
Marc
calls, walking faster.

I start to run
, clutching my books tightly to my chest.

‘
Wait
.’ He’s right behind
me now, and he grabs my arm. ‘Sophia, w
ait. I need to talk to you.’

I shake my arm away. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. I got
too close and you didn’t like it
.’

‘Come back to class. We can talk at the end of the lesson. I don’t like you being out here on your own.’

‘There’s nothing in the trees that can hurt me,’ I say. ‘It’
s the person in the classroom I should be scared of
.’

Marc
drops his head. ‘You’re scared of me?’

‘I don’t know.’ I swipe at th
e tears on my cheeks. ‘I’m scared you’ll hurt me
.
Have hurt me.
’

He puts both hands on my shoulders.
‘I’m sorry.’

I feel tears welling up again.
‘Don’t,’ I say, sh
uffling away. ‘Not here.’

‘C
ome back to class,’ says
Marc
. ‘
We’ll talk afterwards.’

‘Fine.
I’ll sit in the class, take notes and pretend nothing has happened. That
I don’t feel anything for you.’ I turn and head towards the lecture theatre.

‘I’m sorry,’ says
Marc
, walking beside me. ‘
I never meant to hurt you, but this is new territory for me
.
I haven’t worked out how best to handle it yet.
’

‘It’s okay,’ I say, feeling empty and defeated. ‘I knew this couldn’t last. We both did. I knew it had to end and I knew I’d get hurt.’

‘No.
It doesn’t have to end.
’

‘I don’t see how it can’t,’ I say, walking faster.

Chapter
55

When we get back to the lectu
re theatre, everyone stares
as I squeeze into
the
seat. They must guess I’m upset
by my red eyes, and maybe
a few of them might think I’m upset over Mr
Blackwell
. T
hey probably think I have a
crush, and he’s just told me to forget it.

Marc
goes to the front of the theatre and begins his lecture
, which is
about body language. He tells us how he studies people for months when he has to play a particular part. When he play
ed the part of a student in a wheelchair
, he studied people with Spina Bifida, and learned how they moved and the obstacles they faced.

‘One girl told me that people often urinate in New York apa
rtment block lifts,’ he tells us
. ‘So her
wheels often got covered in urine, and she was always cleaning
them
and washing her hands.
W
hen I played the part,
I added in hand-washing scenes.’

It’s fascinating, and for a while I’m able to forget that
Marc
is someone I slept with
the other night
. He’s just famous, charismatic
Marc
Blackwell
who can transform into anyone he wants in seconds. The most amazing actor.

When the class files out, I try to leave the room too. I have no desire to hear
Marc
’s goodbye speech, and I’d rather just let things end with dignity. But I feel a hand on my elbow as I’m leaving, and turn to see
Marc
, his face cloudy, two vertical frown lines above his nose.

‘Miss
Rose
, I’d like to talk with you please.’ His words are soft, and lack their usu
al fierceness. I feel a pain
in my chest. The class files out and it’s just me and him. Alone.

‘Look, I don’t need the D
ear John letter,’ I tell him. ‘I get it. You don’t want what I want. So ... let’s go our separate ways.’

‘No.’
Marc
shakes his head.

‘I think we should end this before I get more confused than I already am.’

‘Do you really mean that?’
Marc
’s
thick eyebrows pull together.

‘Yes,’ I say, although it’s not true. I’m trying to be strong, but under
Marc
’s gaze I have precious little
strength left.

‘Then tell me again,’ says
Marc
, moving closer to me. ‘Tell me we should end this, and I’ll never bother you again.’

‘I think we should
...’ I whisper, but I can’t finish the sentence.

‘We should what?’ he asks
softly, bringing his face closer to mine.

I look away.

Marc
moves my chin so I’m facing him again. ‘You think we should what?’

End it,
I think. But the words melt in my mouth, and the next moment he’s kissing me and I’m lost
in t
he cl
ean, sharp smell of his skin, t
he strength of his hands on my arms. His eyes, closed and slightly pained looking, with those long eyelashes fluttering as his mouth moves on mine.

He li
fts me up and puts me on a desk.

‘Tell me you don’t want me,’
Marc
whispers into my neck. ‘And I’ll never touch you again.’ He pulls me closer to him.
‘Tell me we can’t be together.’

I shake my head.
‘I ... can’t
.’

He pushes my skirt up o
ver my thighs. ‘Nor can I
.’
Marc
p
ulls
aside my underwear
. I see the silver of a condom packet, and feel the foil scratch my thigh.
‘I can’t be without you right now
.’

I let myself mesh with his body. The protestations in my head are mainly drowned out by tugging that pulls me to him. But some
doubts
still break through. ‘You were so cold
when you left
,’ I stammer.

‘Shussh.’
Marc
slides inside of
me, and my protestations fall silent.