The Schoolteacher

1961

Not raining hard, but softly, barely perceptible, enough to raise the umbrellas among the lamp posts and shop doorways,  dampness stretching evenly over the asphalt. Not enough to work for the wipers, sufficient to spot the windscreen with widely spaced translucent dots. To emphasize the approaching evening, stop lights  beginning to flash on and off with possibly more clarity than ten minutes previously. An impatient intensity building up amongst the buses, cars and trucks attempting to slither round each other. People coming out of the Bingo Hall, crossing the fume wreathed crocodile, intent now only on tea and television, the rain an accepted fact, not something to talk about, the dark scuttling figures no longer looking up, their heads bent towards the grey, foot clogged pavement.

Knew the girl, without ever having seen her before. Drove past  a dozen yards or so to see if she would run after the car... She did. Pushed the door open.

"You're from the driving school? ... for Miss Crawford?"

She was breathless, anxious and annoyed, the annoyance pressing itself into two straight furroughs above the bridge of her nose. A million on, a school teacher. Too young to be stamped with all the characteristics. Pretty, in a tired way, her hair dropping to her shoulders. Marks on her coat and a hole in the knee of her stocking, not a bad pair of legs. The itinerary,  mechanical, taking about three seconds, a little longer maybe with something really worth looking at.

Miss Crawford remained hesitant, still standing, half bent towards me, one hand on the door.

"How much longer are you going to stay out there letting the rain in?"

 ... So what did I care how I talked to the punters? ... wasn't paid enough to use personality and anyway, reactions are always interesting. She reacted, jumping into the nearside seat crashing the door shut after her. She was mad, but what did she expect from a cheap-scate driving school? VIP treatment?

"I have rung your firm twice ... do you realise  I have been waiting over half an hour for you to turn up" she started, half blue with the cold.

Pushed the heater on to "Full". Hadn't looked at her straight yet. A Taffy, they are all a little inclined to high flying. She sat there, stiff, staring at the dashboard, waiting for an answer. Ignoring the attitude, shoved it into gear and drifted away from the main road. Waited a few blocks before  replying to her. Finally came out with

"Yes, I do realise that I am late, but I was held up at the test centre ... I am sure it won't happen again."

The same old bull. Invariably late, the real reason being that in the trade we were known as 'Gliksten's Bus Company' as we took work on all over London, without any regard to time and distance. She swallowed my small deception, visibly relaxing, starting to look about the car expectantly. they were all the same. Had the feeling she was going to be a lousy pupil.

"Have you done any driving previously?"

Routine chat, keep them talking, stop their knees knocking together, as seen in extreme cases of nerves. No ... she had never done any before, but her old man had bought her a car in anticipation. In fact, it turned out, her father and she were quite inseparable.

Through the shuddering clutch control and dicy steering, I was to be thrown, not only about, but small insights into Wales, her father, herself and as predicted, her teaching.

After three or four lessons, all of I which turned up late for, she begun to get the message, Gliksten had conned  her, as he had done with so many other people. The standard of tuition questionable; the state of the cars laughable. There being no handbrake on this particular one, where necessary, I surreptitiously used the footbrake on my side, the pupil going through the motions quite unaware of what was happening. In some hopeless cases, I would drive the car from my side on the dual controls until the prepaid number of lessons had run out,  then get the pupil to sign up for another dozen, convinced of their own skill.

Hardly knew why I bothered. Purely a matter of convenience, I guess. Going off for days in one of Gliksten's cars ... he had so many, the place  so disorganized ... more or less ran my own driving school using his set up. If he queried as to how much   I was Paying in, or a punter suddenly found himself being asked to pay twice, both Gliksten and myself, as did occasionally happen, I always wriggled out of it, under no illusion that Gliksten had more than a suspicion of what was happening.

Not very interested in Miss Crawford ... not that way. Had other things playing about ... anyway, she didn't look as though she would come across in a hundred years. She appeared very stiff, matter of fact, strictly no messing, however,  did start to relent a little towards her. She did have this thing about wanting to drive, besides,  had taken a liking to her, regardless of her enthusiasm for living, her sign-song voice and the way she had taken to looking at me with her big brown eyes, as if saying 'You would like to screw me I know, but  have not the slightest intention of letting you do so !

Had a horrible feeling she was a virgin.

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One evening the rain stopped falling, the Sun crept out from its hiding place, umbrellas were left on buses.

Miss Crawford stood outside the Bingo Hall, in her usual place,  Sunlight, soft on her smooth skin,  early April breeze blowing at her hair… always waved at me now, eagerly, as if she knew me as a friend; as though she was pleased to see me. Had smartened herself up quite a lot in recent weeks. No marks, no holes ... make-up, even.

Pulling into the kerb, slid  into the nearside seat, eyeing her all over again. She wasn't a dope, knew what was happening, may even have hesitated, ensuring  I did not miss out on any carefully prepared detail. Perhaps imagination on my part. Somehow  knew it wasn't. A lot of discrepancy in our ages and I had never shown any particular interest.

Was going to have it    'thrust upon me'.

" ... and how are you this evening?" she said, her voice rising  and falling.

Climbed in, adjusted her seat, checking the mirror, gear stick and hand brake, still unaware that it made no difference, 'on' or 'off'. Leant across to check my door, I caught a whiff of Chanel No 5 ... Woolworth's vintage.

"You smell good" I said ... trying not to choke, hoping my voice wouldn't give me away.

"Do I? ... Thank you".

Kids stuff. Looked along the line of her leg stretched out against the clutch. Perhaps time for a reassessment. She was blooming.

Always saw her as on that first occasion, cold, white and damp. Not quite scruffy, but no attempt to hide the fact of not caring what she looked like, but Sunshine, however little, always affected my attitude towards a given moment. Became generous ... for the first time offering to take her to tea.

Getting out of the car together, she took my arm, falling into step with me. She had an easy swinging gait ... well used to walking.

We played mothers and fathers over the table ... she poured and gaily gushed along. I watched and wondered what the hell I was doing.

Life has always held these inflection for me. She, sitting,  half smothered with a gold shaft of Sunlight hung with blue smoke and drifting dust, intent only one thing ... myself. Myself, thinking of a long time ago, when I would have joined in the game, all the pleasantries ,all the innuendoes among the “tea and  cakes and ices”, forcing the moment to a rather deflated crises. Now, I saw her as a person; not someone I was trying to make, only reminding me of what I used to know; few men wish to know about that….. A long way from afternoon tea at four on the lawn, with bougainvillea and orange trees as a background.

"You know you haven't been listening to a word I have said",

This, leaning towards me, her face caught in the light, sharply distinct.

Took her hand, pressed it by way of a reply.

The contact was made easily. Felt the impulse run right through my body, finishing up with a thud somewhere in my bowels.

………Nothing changes.

                                   

Miss Crawford's reaction to that touch.. predictable. Only felt sad in the Sunlight..  sad.. unable to fall in with her feelings, having to take that I had known it all before,

“known it all already.”

Accepting what she was prepared to offer, would not be hard, for me, it would end there in the bed, the slow surfacing afterwards, the grip of her eyes, that candid, expectant expression, for her, a beginning ... still twitching from the convulsions of her new, unknown, hot, wet, bare, twisting body, she would see through me only to a chapel on a Welsh hillside, oblivious of the fact of my not having any money, suitable work and only the clothes I stood up in, she would straighten everything out to her own satisfaction, regulating my life by simply opening or closing her legs.  …….Amen……..

Felt old, very old, looked towards the Sun slithering down on yet another day, just a red rim reaching over the rooftops, unconcerned at the chaos, its redness reaching along the rubbish strewn streets, amongst the smoke, amongst the shouting, gesticulating, living; licking over the silent, impalpable dead.

We returned to the car, neither of us speaking, the weeks of watching.. the quizzical looks, had crystallized in the inevitable contact.

It had started to get dark, she managed to press her body against mine, Drove slowly nowhere.   Undecided. No longer now a matter of what was about to happen ... more prosaically ... where?

Really no where to take her, still living in Lea View with my mother, that was out. My mother always reacting very heavily towards other women, women  I occasionally introduced her to. Possibly could rake up enough for a 'Hotel' at Finsbury Park, knew  her reaction to a grotty, cold room would not be all that, rather looked like the old standby ... Hackney Marshes or Epping Forest... decided on Epping.

Lea Bridge Road stretched straight and clear. We had gone a long way down it ... almost to Whipps Cross before she ventured anything.

"Where are you taking me?"

By now  passing the 'Rising Sun' brilliant, summer days, my mother and father arm in arm, me paddling the old boat round and round the small lake, they wandering off ... He, in his Anthony Eden hat, she, in a white dress and shoes.

"We will be in the Saloon bar" They shouted, laughing ... "don't get your clothes dirty."

The trees touched across our heads, throwing deep darkness into the woods beyond. She was insistent.

"Where are we going?"  voice raised slightly. Reached out and took her hand by way of a reply.

Finally  came to rest at 'High Beach'.

London lay spread beneath us, a carpet of myriad lights stretching to infinity, as if we were disconnected from the World below. We sat, each appraising the situation. Without any words  arriving at the same conclusion… the moment was now, here.

Left the car… hand in hand walking down the receding slope towards the distant lights. Once into the tree line she became hesitant,  heavy shadows in sharp contrast to the clear starlight. Looked back towards the ridge were we had left the car, nothing and no one to be seen. Apparently, only she and I on this planet,  wind, gently rustling amongst last years leaves, together we subsided into them.

She, very quiet, breathing heavy, only making a token resistance to my hands that had found the bare skin of her back and were already looking for the clip that can be undone in so many ways.

Finally, she lay quite naked other than for the flimsiest pair of briefs which she clung to with one hand. Eased off, lying back looking up at the night. Far off, a dog  barking, insistent monotonous. Miss Crawford let go her briefs and took hold of me… perhaps thinking I had lost interest.  rolled onto her. She said something about maybe people were watching, too late.. her long white legs forced apart .. sweat  standing out over my whole body. Quite suddenly, as if waking from a dream, she started to pull hard away from me.

"You're not wearing anything" she gasped her voice convulsed, hard,  uncompromising.

She tried to struggle up onto her elbows, but I was too far gone, pushing her down, collapsing on top of her… my life running into hers.

As if we had been asleep for hours, or only seconds? The grass, wet ... the dog, stopped barking into the night ... complete silence. Still locked together, her bare body still hot, my head buried in her long hair. Slid slowly off Miss Crawford. She lay, eyes open, giving me that straight candid look.

I shivered, not too sure whether it was her look and all it implied or the sudden cool night air.

"You're cold" she said.

Eased herself into a sitting position, feeling about for her clothes which had been thrown everywhere in the long grass at the initial struggle. Finally, both dressed and walked in the expected manner back to the car ... hand in hand.

Driving back down the deserted lane, found it very difficult to think of the slightest thing to say. Miss Crawford did open her mouth once or twice as if about to say something ... anything, but we had completed the cycle, my only interest , to get her back to Edmonton.

Mind wandering off to Australia, thinking about Adelaide, thinking  it must be about one o'clock in the afternoon there Wondered what the kids would be doing. One o'clock, early April afternoon, weather still very mild, Sun creeping along Desaumarez Street, mother-in-law in the Garden ... no doubt she  now in full command of the kids. Then I remembered that having gone broke in Desaumarez Street, had to sell for some ludicrous price, bought some old wooden shack up to Magill ... My God ... then I had run ...

Oh well….,  had the feeling  the stroke I had pulled on Dear Virginia would reverberate throughout my life.

Hit the Great Cambridge Road at about seventy,  tyres hissing on  damp asphal,. street lights passing quickly overhead. Every window in every house strung endlessly along the roadway, in darkness. Where were all the occupants? What were they all doing? For those who still nurtured the desire, they had completed the act, without variation ... relieved that they could each fall each into their own private dream, apart,  bodies faintly smelling against the windows, shut tight from the traffic,  waited for the day that would soon appear gently from the East with the overture from the birds preceding it.

Stopped silently outside her door. Fell back into my corner of the car. She, still waiting for me to say something...  I could not rise to anything other than "Well, I'll see you Wednesday then,"         my voice tailing off ...

She nodded, opened the door, climbed out, walked away up the front path without glancing back.

Cruised slowly to Hackney, relieved, the interlude  over. 

Going down Springfield, just a faint crack of dawn coming through the high chestnut trees  lining the park.   Lea View,  the opposite side of the road, a long monotonous oblong, endless rows of sightless windows, countless bricks punctuated with tiny square openings 'the verandahs' as they were so euphemistically called… enough room for two people to stand in.

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