Chapter 2

I didn't avoid Tania, but neither did I seek her out; she was just there. I went about my usual activities, walking, visiting the University and the public libraries; reading, listening to music and so on. When Tania expressed interest in what I'd been doing, I told her. She, rather diffidently, asked if she could go along with me sometimes. As a result, I had a companion when I drove out into Derbyshire to walk and look for wildlife. She'd make up a picnic, which I would not normally have bothered with. When I went to the library, she made use of it too and was very pleased. "I never thought about using the University library," she commented. "It's very useful. And I can access the catalogue online at home, too."

I left her in the house when I set off for a previously arranged week of walking in the Dales with an old friend. I didn't consider inviting her – we were carrying our homes on our backs, sleeping in tiny bivvy tents barely large enough for one person and pack. It was enjoyable; fresh air, wonderful views, good exercise and companionship as we caught up on what we'd been doing over the last year, but...

"Something on your mind, Bill?"

I jerked in surprise. "What?"

"You're only half here, Bill. Want to talk about it?" I frowned as I stared at my old friend Andy. "It's okay if you don't, but it might help."

"Well..." I hadn't mentioned Tania. Why? "Andy, I've got a house-mate..." I went on to describe what had happened.

"Soft git," was his immediate response. "Seems to me there's more to it than just helping the girl out."

I shrugged.

"Tell me, at least – is she pretty?"

I had to think about that. If that seems strange, I'm sorry. "Ye ... es," I answered slowly, "but that's not it. She was so infuriating when she was a pupil, because I was sure she was capable of much more than she was achieving. You know how it is? If she'd spent half the time that she spent avoiding work on actually studying, she'd be in University now, or at least in some sort of vocational training. But one couldn't have helped liking her. She was so ... sparky. Full of life. So even if she'd been plain, or over weight, if she'd had nothing physical to commend her, she'd still have been attractive just because of her personality. Now ... she's buckled down and seems determined to make something of herself. I couldn't resist, especially when her parents turfed her out. I can't make that out at all. She says – and I believe her – that she's still a virgin."

"Admit it, Bill – you're in love with the lass."

I shook my head, but I'll never know if it was in negation or bemusement. For the rest of the time, he didn't press me on the matter, but I did tell him a little from time to time; it was hard not to, in fact, since she was on my mind much of the time.

When I got home the house was empty; mid afternoon, a Sunday, she was probably working. I unloaded my pack, shoved dirty clothes in the machine, and went for a shower. After that I felt – was – considerably fresher. I thought about food; not that I was particularly hungry at that moment, but I knew that food would be necessary and it would be unfair to expect Tania to prepare something when she got in from work. I went to the kitchen to see what was available to work with. Tania had foreseen and pre-empted my thoughts; a note on the table informed me;

"Welcome home, sir. I have missed you. Lasagne in the fridge, so you can relax – you don't need to do anything. I'll be home as usual about five."

When she got in, popped her head round the door, said, "Hello! Welcome home, Mister Woodford," and disappeared to the kitchen as I was saying,

"Hello, Tania..."

It struck me, really for the first time, that Tania was still relating to me as if I were her teacher. I was 'sir', or 'Mister Woodford'. Of course, I hadn't thought to invite her to use my given name, but even so...

She called me to the kitchen. Piping hot lasagne, potato wedges, and salad.

"This looks wonderful, Tania..."

"Thank you, sir..."

"Yes, about that..."

"Sir?"

I shook my head. Letting good, hot food, get cool is an insult to the cook. Besides, I wasn't sure what to say at that point. I sat. Tania placed a steaming plate in front of me and put the tray of wedges, and a bowl of salad stuff, in the middle of the table. I helped myself.

"It's good," I said after a couple of mouthfuls. "All your own work?"

She beamed. "Yes. I prepped the lasagne and potatoes last night."

"Well, you're getting to be a good cook, if you weren't before."

She shrugged. "Mum insisted I learn."

We ate silently for a while. Once the edge was off my hunger, I ventured, "I think we know each other well enough that you could use my Christian name." She didn't respond, and when I looked her head was down. "Tania?"

"I ... that's..." she lifted her head and she was blushing. "I can't ... I mean ... Oh..."

"It's okay, Tania – you don't have to. It's just that I thought we were getting to be friends."

The blush darkened. "Thank you." It was barely more than a whisper. There was a sort of tension in the air as we finished, but then Tania went to the fridge and extracted a chocolate mousse. "Made this, too."

"Wow!" It, too, was excellent. Normally, I'm not enthusiastic about such things; I like solid puddings, pies, sponges, that sort of thing. But she'd gone to that trouble, and it was light, fluffy, and rich. "This is very, very good," I praised.

"Would you like coffee now?"

"Thanks, but I think redbush would be better."

"Okay! Why don't you go and sit in the lounge, and I'll bring it through." She was acting a little oddly, and I puzzled over that as I sat in my favourite chair. She brought a tray from the kitchen; a pot of Rooibos tea, two mugs. Milk – I don't use it – and sugar. Don't use that either. "I thought I'd try some too, if that's all right."

"Of course. It's a bit of an acquired taste, but it's refreshing without the caffeine."

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Neither. But you can have it how you like."

That got me an odd look, that I didn't think about till later. She poured tea ... I suppose really, I should say it's an infusion, since tea is a particular plant, but I think mostly people refer to Redbush as 'tea'. It's certainly a tea substitute. Leaf tea, as I rarely use tea-bags.

We sipped. "It's ... okay. I could get used to it. Sort of sweet. Yeah..." She frowned. "Um ... Mister Woodford ... I need to tell you something."

There was something in her voice that made my ears prick up. "Sure – go on."

"I ... this is really hard. I don't know ... you're going to think I'm weird."

"I doubt that!"

"At ... at ... at the club ... I followed you out." She took a deep breath and I stayed quiet, wondering what was coming. "Oh ... God. How do I..." She stopped and covered her face with both hands. "I was fourteen, you know. You were right out of college, and young. Good looking. Intelligent. Caring. So patient. That's why I spent so much time in detention. I was never in detention with any other teacher."

"I didn't know that."

"An', an', I saw you in the club, with the other teachers, an' I wanted to walk over an' ask you to dance, y'know?" Her speech was speeding up and loosening up. "An' you got up, an' I could see you were going, so I said to the others, 'I'm off. Something to do. Someone to see.' An' I followed you. But outside, well, I'd had a bit to drink, an' it seemed to hit me all at once. What you must've thought of me. Drunk, and spewed my guts. I remembered that much. I wouldn't tell where I'd been, when I got home. But even if I had, even if I'd proved I was ... I was ... still a virgin ... just because I'd been out all night, because I'd been in a club drinking, they'd still ... Oh, God, sir..."

When she hadn't said any more for a few minutes, and I drained my cup, I stood and refilled it. She looked up and caught my eye – I only just missed over-filling my cup – and she was still pink, and her cheeks were wet with tears.

"None of that is so very terrible, except I don't see why your parents kicked you out. That's, well, not right. But is that all?"

Her head was down again, but then she looked at me. "No, that's not all. But..."

"You might as well tell me."

"It's just ... when I messed about, and you kept me back ... I wanted to be punished."

"I thought that was what I was doing?"

"Well, yes. But once upon a time, you'd have bent me over a desk or something, and spanked me with a slipper, or a cane, an' I wanted to..."

This was moving into areas I was unfamiliar with. She wasn't the first girl to have a crush on her male (or female, for that matter) teacher. She wasn't the first for me, for that matter. But I'd never encountered one who wanted to be spanked, as far as I know. Don't get me wrong when I say I got a bit excited about it.