Love Lessons Read online

  'Please, Rax.'

  'No. Stop it.'

  'I can't bear the thought of not seeing you.'

  'Listen. I told you, one day someone will ask you about the first time you fell in love and I bet you you'll struggle to remember my name.'

  'I'll always remember you, and every little thing about you.'

  'You wait and see. Now, I think I'd better take you home.'

  'No!'

  'If you arrive long after Grace your parents will think it strange.'

  'I don't care. I'm in enough trouble as it is.'

  'What do you think they'll say when you tell them you can't go back to Wentworth? I wish I 252

  wasn't such a coward. I ought to go and meet them and try to explain.'

  'To my dad? Don't be silly, Rax. Listen, couldn't we meet up sometimes, after you've finished school?'

  'No.'

  'We would be very careful.'

  'We'd still be found out sooner or later.'

  'Then can't I phone you? Or write to you?

  Please, Rax.'

  'No. This is it, Prue. We have to say goodbye.'

  He drove me home. He did park a few metres away from the shop, but there were people wandering up and down the pavement and it was still daylight. Even I could see we couldn't kiss properly. Rax reached for my h a n d instead, squeezed it gently and then whispered, 'Goodbye.'

  I whispered it too, and then I got out of the car and watched as he drove off. I stayed staring down the road long after he'd gone round the corner. Then I turned and stared at the shop. I looked at the uninviting window display of yellowing books in bad bindings. I stared at the peeling olive paint on the shop door and the OPEN notice hanging lopsidedly in the window panel. I couldn't stand the thought of going through t h a t door, back into my own life.

  Maybe I could r u n away by myself? I could make for the seaside, lie about my age, get some sort of job in a shop or a cafe or a hotel. I could walk along the sands every day. It would be desperately lonely but I could think about Rax, 253

  pretend he was with me, imagine our life together . . .

  I started to walk down the street. Then I stopped. I couldn't really r u n away. I couldn't do it to Grace or Mum. They would be frantic if I disappeared. I didn't know about Dad. He didn't seem to want me as his daughter any more.

  I took a deep deep breath as if I was about to dive into a murky swimming pool, and then opened the shop door. Grace was sitting at the desk, building copper and silver and gold towers out of the money in the till. They were very small towers. She saw me, and the towers tumbled down, small change spilling off the desk and rolling all over the floor.

  'Oh Prue, you're back! Thank goodness! I was scared you might r u n away with Rax,' said Grace, rushing over and hugging me.

  'I wish,' I said sadly.

  'I couldn't believe it when you just hopped in his car and drove off. So are you and Rax – you know – like, really in love?'

  'Ssh, Grace,' I said, looking upwards.

  I could hear Mum's heavy footsteps upstairs in the kitchen.

  'It's OK. I told Mum you had to stay behind and see one of the teachers. I'd never tell on you. Prue, Mum and Dad are acting kind of weird.'

  'So what's new?' I said.

  I expected Mum to be tearful and repentant 254

  after standing up to Dad this morning. I thought he would still be apoplectic, ranting and raving in his new staccato voice. But t h e kitchen seemed strangely silent, though a wonderful sweet syrupy smell started wafting downstairs.

  'Oh yum! Mum's baking!' said Grace. 'What do you think she's making? J a m tarts? No, I think it's treacle tart! Oh, I've got to go and see.'

  She went rushing upstairs. I stayed in the shop by myself. I found the big art book and looked at my portrait of Rax on the back page.

  I bent over it, my finger stroking every pencilled line.

  'Prue!' Grace came galloping down again. 'It is treacle tart, yippee. Mum says we can shut the shop early and come and have some tea.'

  The kitchen was warm from the oven and thick with the smell of the golden t a r t shining like a sun in the middle of the kitchen table.

  Dad was pushed up to t h e table in his wheelchair. He was sitting painfully upright, head held high, as if he was attempting to show he wasn't permanently disabled, t h a t he could leap out of the wheelchair in one bound if he put his mind to it. He saw me, he saw Grace, but his eyes slid straight past us, as if we were invisible. He had obviously decided we were no longer anything to do with him. He took no notice of his wife either. He sat in stony isolation, his amended Magnum Opus balanced on his bony knee.

  Mum was making a pot of tea. She was very 255

  pink in the face, wearing her red-and-white checked apron, a cousin of my dreaded dress.

  Her hair stood out in wisps, there was a smear of flour on her nose, and the sash of her apron emphasized her thick waist – but she looked better than usual. She didn't look defeated any more.

  'Hello, girls.' She looked at me. 'Are you all right, Prudence?'

  I shrugged.

  'Come and have a nice cup of tea.'

  'Can we have the treacle t a r t now, Mum?'

  Grace begged.

  'Of course, dear.'

  Mum cut her a generous slice. She cut one for me too.

  'I'm not really hungry, Mum.'

  'You're mad! I'll have Prue's slice too, Mum.

  Oh, you make such superb treacle tarts,' Grace said indistinctly, spraying crumbs everywhere.

  'I'll have to show you how to make t a r t s yourself sometime.'

  'I'd sooner just eat yours! Are you going to serve cakes in the shop, Mum, like Toby suggested?' said Grace. Then she looked anxiously at Dad.

  Mum glanced at him too. 'I don't see why not,'

  she said. 'I think it's a very good idea.'

  Dad m u t t e r e d his favourite worst word, staring straight ahead.

  'Please don't swear in front of t h e girls, Bernard. Or me, for t h a t matter.'

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  Dad swore more forcefully.

  'Your dad and I have had a little tiff, girls,'

  said Mum. 'Come on, Bernard, there's no point sulking. You'll have a piece of my treacle tart, won't you?'

  Dad clamped his mouth together as if she was about to force-feed him.

  'Don't be like that,' said Mum. She paused, standing behind him. She raised her eyebrows at us, her hands resting on the handles of his wheelchair. She looked at the corner, as if she was going to wheel Dad into it and leave him there.

  Grace giggled nervously.

  'Useless!' Dad muttered.

  'Stop it!' said Mum. 'I told you, Bernard, I'm not standing for it. You're not going to say these dreadful things to the girls. I know you're their father – but I'm their mother. You're upset because they're going to school but there's simply no alternative. You can't teach them now, you know you can't. And they've settled down so happily at Wentworth. Well, Grace certainly has. It's not been so easy for Prue, though she's doing really well in art.'

  That was it. That was my chance. I cleared my throat.

  'Mum. Dad. I've got to tell you something.'

  Grace stared at me, almost dropping her slice of treacle t a r t . 'Don't t a l k about Rax!' she mouthed at me.

  I shook my head at her. 'I don't really want 257

  to stay at Wentworth,' I said. 'I'm not going any more.'

  'Oh Prudence! Make your mind up!' said Mum.

  'I just don't fit in there,' I said. 'Grace has got her friends.'

  'You've got Toby,' said Mum.

  'He's about the only one t h a t likes me. Maybe it's my fault, I don't know. But can't I just stay home now? I can help out in the shop. I can help look after Dad.'

  'Don't need – blooming looking after!' Dad said, but he reached out with his good hand and took hold of mine, squeezing it awkwardly. He thought I was being loyal to him, doing what he wanted after all. 'We can work – on Magnum Opus,' he sai