‘Not usually, no,’ I replied, not wanting him to think that I was some sort of lonely alcoholic in my spare time. ‘I was shopping, you see, and the rain—’
‘I was kidding,’ he said, sitting down opposite me before standing up again. ‘Oh, sorry. I suppose I should ask whether you want company before assuming that you do.’
‘Please,’ I said, indicating the seat. ‘I was thinking of having a second, actually. You’re welcome to join me if you like.’
He went to the bar and ordered a pint for himself and another wine for me, and when he sat down we clinked glasses and he told me off for not looking him in the eye as I did so. ‘In some countries,’ he said, ‘you can be barred from pubs for such behaviour.’
He was wearing a tattered denim shirt that was open halfway down his chest and a white T-shirt underneath. His sleeves were rolled up and, for the first time, I noticed that he had a tattoo on the underside of his right arm. Two letters: EB.
‘My aunt’s initials,’ he told me when I asked what they signified. ‘She brought me up after my parents died.’
‘What happened to them?’ I asked, for I didn’t know that he’d been orphaned.
‘A car crash,’ he said with a shrug. ‘It’s okay, I was only three at the time. I don’t really remember them. Anyway, my aunt – my dad’s sister – took me in. She’s a social worker. She doesn’t have any kids of her own. She took care of me.’
We talked a little about his work then, about how it was coming along, and soon enough it was my turn to go to the bar and order a round. I brought back some peanuts as I was worried that I would get drunk too soon and switched to lager so I wouldn’t find myself drinking an entire bottle of wine on my own.
Soon, our defences were down and I asked him to fill me in on the class gossip.
‘What sort of gossip?’ he asked.
‘Well, who’s sleeping with who, and so on.’
‘I don’t think there’s been too much of that,’ he said, narrowing his eyes a little as he considered it. ‘You’ve probably noticed that there isn’t a lot of sexual tension in workshop.’
‘Yes, that’s been very disappointing,’ I said, flirting shamelessly with him now, enjoying the freedom just to look at his beautiful face. ‘When I was a student we spent half our time in each other’s beds. I hoped there’d be a few broken hearts at least, followed by classroom recriminations and walk-outs.’
‘There’s still six months to go,’ he replied. ‘We could surprise you yet. Anyway, the one girl that all the boys fancy is completely unattainable.’
I thought about it, running through each of the female students in my mind, uncertain who he might be referring to.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked, and he simply smiled and took a long drink from his pint, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.
‘Oh, please,’ I said, blushing a little but utterly delighted. ‘I doubt anyone is thinking of me in those terms. I’m old enough to be … well, a big sister to most of the boys in the class. What about you? Have you been seeing anyone?’
He shrugged, then shook his head. ‘No one special,’ he said. ‘No one from our workshop, anyway. I guess I’ve been focussing on my work.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said.
‘Can I ask how long you and your husband have been together?’ he said.
‘We got married five and a bit years ago,’ I told him. ‘And we were dating for a few years before that.’
‘He’s incredibly handsome,’ said Nicholas, and I nodded.
‘He is,’ I said. ‘Why did you say that? You don’t fancy him, do you?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘I’m straight. But I mean he’s just obviously very good-looking.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I said, waving towards the barman for another round.
‘I think Garrett fancies him,’ he said.
‘Really?’ I said, surprised. ‘He and Maurice have met a few times and there always seems to be some sort of mutual loathing going on there.’
‘He’s only acting that way because he wants to get into his pants. You know he’s driving us all crazy right now? Telling us that we aren’t to think of him any differently now that he’s going to be a published writer.’
‘And do you?’ I ask.
‘No. I thought he was a cock before and I think he’s a cock now. Just a soon-to-be-published cock, that’s all.’
I laughed but didn’t disagree. A part of me knew that it was wrong to be spending so much time drinking alone with one of my students but, if I’m honest, I didn’t care. I was enjoying the sense of freedom he offered me, the feeling of being twenty-three again and dreaming of a writing career. The more we drank, the more attractive he grew and when he leaned back in his chair at one point to produce a dramatic yawn, his T-shirt rode up, displaying a lower belly that was covered in fine, dark hairs. Just looking at them made me imagine what he might look like if he stripped that T-shirt off.
Perhaps he guessed. Perhaps, after our first couple of drinks, he’d wondered whether our afternoon might end with us going to bed together. After all, I’d alluded to such things already. Because when we finished our next drinks, he asked me whether I wanted another or whether I might like to go somewhere else.
‘Like where?’ I asked him.
‘Like my place,’ he said, without an ounce of self-consciousness. ‘I only live a few minutes away.’
I shrugged. I didn’t want him to think that I was in any way shocked. ‘To fuck, you mean?’ I asked him.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘If you want to.’
‘Tell me it hasn’t always been your fantasy to fuck your teacher.’
‘You wouldn’t think that if you’d seen the teachers I had in school.’
‘Why don’t we just … walk down the street and get a little air?’ I said, standing up, and soon enough we were outside, feeling the disorienting effect of sunshine on our eyes when we were both a little drunk. We strolled around St Peter’s Street and on to Goat Lane but didn’t speak the entire time. The anticipation was making me incredibly aroused and I had no clear idea what I was going to do next, whether I would in fact go to bed with him or whether I might turn around on his doorstep, place a hand against his chest and say something like You’re very sweet, Nicholas, but there’s no way this could end well for either of us. It felt as if I were watching myself from above, like I was a character in a film about to make a bad choice that would inevitably lead to catastrophe, but when he finally stopped outside a door and put a key in the lock, I felt an extraordinary longing to follow him inside and let him do anything he wanted to me.
He turned around, saw the expression on my face, and offered a half-smile.
‘That’s a no, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Wrong time, and all that.’
He shrugged. I could tell that he wasn’t going to beg. He did, however, lean forward and kiss me and I kissed him right back and, I don’t mind telling you, Maurice, that boy knew how to kiss.