by Arthur James
He could see the sea from his bedroom window on a clear day. Often before he went to bed at night he would gaze out of the window and see the lights of the small fishing boats far away in the distance. For as long as he could remember he had lived in the same semi-detached house with his mother, father and elder sister. Now his mother was gone. He knew everyone and everyone knew him in that street. It rose steeply, ending abruptly in a small patch of grass where he played football or rounders with the other children. At the other end, near the busy main street, the houses gave way to a row of brightly painted garages then shops. A second-hand bookshop, a tiny hairdressing salon and then finally, on the corner itself, a pet shop.
One Saturday morning he was just passing the pet shop and stopped to look at the small puppies pressed up against the window. He caught sight of her reflection as she passed. She called out a greeting to him. It was a neighbour, a friend of his father's, Alison Sweet, heavily laden with her week's shopping. Miss Sweet taught at the local grammar school. She had a hard, severe face which seemed to possess a fragile beauty. Her long mane of glossy black hair was tied at the back with a thin green ribbon
Being a polite, well-mannered boy, he at once turned and offered to help her with her shopping. When his mother was alive she used to tell him to always be sure to act like a gentleman. It was as if he could still hear her voice in his head. Miss Sweet was carrying so many bulky shopping bags for such a slender looking woman that she was bound to struggle before she reached home. She lived right at the very top, the end house on the other side of the road almost directly facing his own house.
"That is so kind of you, David," she said. It was funny, in some ways he found her rather disturbing, yet they seemed to get on well. She could often make him laugh with her sharp tongue but she would not suffer fools gladly, if at all. He often thought it would be a little bit scary to be taught by her. Perhaps in a year or two, if he wasn't sent away to boarding school, he would end up at the grammar school himself. It was a worrying thought as he was happy at the small junior school he attended. However, it was a Saturday and he wanted to avoid thinking about school on a Saturday. They walked up the long steep road together in companionable silence. The heavy shopping bags cut into his hands but he didn't protest as he didn't want Miss Sweet to think he was weak. Although he was tall for his age, he wasn't that strong. His mother used to tell everyone he was a delicate boy.
She invited him in for something to drink. At first he was going to politely refuse but then he remembered he had nothing left from his pocket money. He was sure to get thirsty later on. They were sitting in her neat, comfortably furnished lounge with its heavy dark brown furniture. The room was old fashioned, full of small ornaments and fading black and white photographs, as if it was a room that should have belonged to a far older person than Miss Sweet. He was sipping his orange squash and wondering if having another digestive biscuit would be considered as being rather too greedy. He had already eaten four and she still hadn't eaten any. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, almost as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. She always liked to talk about how he was getting on at school and seemed surprised that his school reports were invariably poor. It wasn't a subject that he enjoyed discussing.
"How did you get on in your Geography test by the way?" she asked.
He was in the act of reaching for a fifth biscuit as she spoke. He hesitated, as if his performance in the end of year Geography test did not entitle him to a fifth biscuit. He wasn't the sort of boy who would lie about things but for a moment he felt tempted. Most of the class had done badly so it wasn't as if he was the only one who hadn't done himself justice. The truth was he was dreadfully lazy when it came to school work. He couldn't help it. His father used to say he had inherited his lazy gene. Although his father was always cross at first about his dreadful school reports, later, he would often joke about them. Somehow he could never imagine Miss Sweet joking about bad school reports.
"38 per cent!" he said, grimacing wryly.
"Oh dear," she said. "That's not very good at all! Is it David?"
Her voice touched him and he felt guilty that he hadn't worked much harder. It was true he really had got that lazy gene. He turned his face from her as if he was suddenly quite ashamed of himself. Several times lately Miss Sweet had gone out for a meal alone with his father. Perhaps there was romance in the air. He wondered what she would be like as a stepmother. Probably they would get on well but he sensed she would not be as easy going about some things as his father was.
"If you were my son, David, I should know just what to do. I don't like to say this but I think you would benefit from someone being rather stern with you. Do you understand what I mean by that?" she asked.
She was looking at him as if she expected some sort of reply to her question. He was conscious of her eyes and how extremely blue they were. From the window a soft pool of light fell across her jet black hair. She sat suddenly still, a cup of tea half finished on the small coffee table in front of where she was seated on the dark brown sofa.
"Well, do you understand, David?"
She was still staring at him. His mouth felt dry. He nodded his head sheepishly although he wasn't quite sure exactly what she had meant by that last comment. It sounded as if she was talking about punishing him or perhaps she just meant she would find a way of ensuring he worked much harder. For some strange reason the thought of being punished by her disturbed him deeply. Then, perversely, another part of him actually wanted to be punished by her. He felt confused, his skin blushed a rich pink which seemed to amuse Miss Sweet. She was still smiling a few minutes later as she showed him out by the kitchen door.
He kept on thinking about what Miss Sweet had said all day, even when he was having tea with his sister, Christine. He saw his father getting ready to go out. The strong odour of after shave was in the air, which meant he was going somewhere special. He imagined his father had no sense of smell at all or else he would have used something more pleasant.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I am just going out with Alison," replied his father, smiling happily in anticipation.
Perhaps she would end up as his stepmother. In the fairy tales he remembered, stepmother's were usually wicked and cruel. A vision of Miss Sweet pulling down his short trousers and underpants then bending him over the arm of the sofa flashed into his head without warning. It made his stomach tie itself into a knot. She was so stern looking he could never imagine himself not doing what he was told.
Later that night, when he had gone to bed, he listened to the sound of the rain falling outside. His father still hadn't returned home. A glimmer of light shining outside the door told him his sister was reading in her bedroom opposite. Again he thought of Miss Sweet taking his trousers down, this time putting him over her slender knee and smacking his bare bottom first with her hand then with a slipper. In the comics he read every week children were often smacked with a slipper. Of course that had never happened to him although a young teacher at the school, Miss Ellis, had threatened him with such a punishment on several occasions. If you misbehaved at school usually you were hit very hard on the back of the legs which hurt dreadfully but it wasn't as embarrassing as being smacked on the bare behind. The difference was, Miss Ellis was so gentle and kind; he couldn't believe it when she threatened to spank him but something about Miss Sweet made him tremble deep inside. Perhaps it was her cold blue eyes that scared him or maybe it was her wicked smile.
That night he had a most peculiar dream which involved Miss Sweet but he couldn't remember much about it except he was told to fetch a cane from the pantry as she was going to beat him with it and he was crying and begging her not to. In the pantry there was a thin yellow cane hanging from a hook and he remembered reaching up to take it and passing it to Miss Sweet. He couldn't recall what had happened afterwards. It was all very disturbing in any case and when he had woken up his hands were still clammy with sweat and all his blankets had fallen off the bed, except for one which lay twisted around his legs.
That morning after breakfast, he went off to call on his friends who lived in the next street. They played football in the road all day until it started to rain hard. It was as if the heavens suddenly had opened and the rain poured down. Time had flown by and it was nearly teatime. He had forgotten all about lunch, so he made his way home. He was soaked to the skin by the time he arrived. He got rather a surprise as the house was empty but there was a note placed against a vase of bright yellow daffodils on the table. It simply said, "Have taken Christine over to Nan's. Alison has said she will cook you an omelette for tea. Love, Dad." It rather took the wind out of his sails, after the peculiar dream he had had last night. In fact Alison Sweet was the very last person he wanted to see but he was hungry as he had only had three slices of toast for breakfast and nothing since. He didn't bother to dry his hair or change his clothes and crossed the road. The rain was still falling, though less heavily. She was in the kitchen as he arrived soaked to the skin. When she saw just how wet he was she was horrified.
She begun to firstly rub his hair vigorously with a thick white towel then brush it with a heavy wooden hairbrush, and as she did so she gently placed her hand on the nape of his neck. Her hand held him close, pressed against her starched white apron. He could smell the faint scent of peppermints on her breath. How he wanted her to carry on brushing his hair and holding him close to her. Would anyone recognise him with his hair so neat and tidy he wondered? After what seemed like an age she stopped and said briskly, "Right let's have those wet clothes off!"
When he looked up at her surprised she smiled down at him and said, "Unless of course you would like me to find a better use for this hairbrush."
He looked up at her, half horrified, half desperately wanting her to actually spank him with the hairbrush.
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