SEVEN DAYS (24 page)

They waved to Mark, who greeted them and introduced his group, describing them as his friends, which made everyone smile, except for Judy, who felt more like a creep than ever. He introduced the group to the kids, by name.

“That's so sweet,” said Maggie, and clapped her hands together, her skull-adorned bangles jangling.

Mark explained that they were here to watch the kids create. They pulled up tiny chairs or crouched or sat on the floor and observed what they were doing.

“Look how he holds his brush,” Mark said.

“It can take years for an adult to be as free as that,” he noted.

“Watch how this boy mixes the colours,” he advised in a whisper.

A girl with glasses and pigtails, not dissimilar to how Judy might have looked when she was a little girl, was peeling one piece of paper from another and revealing something not dissimilar to the Rorschach-inspired paintings in the Tate Modern. Judy glanced up at Mark. He turned away from her, focussing his attention on the kids.

* * * *

At four-thirty, the school day ended and they parted, the kids returning to their parents, except for one boy with a superhero on his T-shirt. The boy ran up to Mark and gave him a massive hug.

“I have to take you to work with me,” Mark said. “But don't tell your mum that.”

He helped the boy onto the bus and then got into the driver’s seat.

Fuming, head spinning, Judy sat at the back.

“That boy's gorgeous,” Maggie said.

“The big boy or the little boy?” Simon asked.

“The big boy actually,” Maggie said. “But his son's sweet, too. Must be amazing having a dad like that.”

“Yeah, so exciting.”

“Yeah,” said Judy. “He's full of surprises.”

* * * *

That evening, Judy strode down the corridor to Mark's room, which was on the ground floor, unlike the participants' rooms that were all on the first floor. He was already a cheater. The boy meant that he was possibly married or in a relationship. That would make him a double cheater.

She banged on the door, harder than she had intended.

The door came open and Mark looked startled.

“What do you want?” he said.

“I want to talk.”

“I'm listening.”

“Firstly, you've got the wrong impression of me,” Judy said.

“Oh yeah?” said Mark.

“And it's your fault.”

“How so?”

“You got me high or drunk or whatever on that stuff in that bottle and then I made a fool myself and then I ended up kissing Andre...and that was all, we just kissed, once...twice...and it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't insisted on drugging everyone. What kind of a teacher are you?”

“I didn't drug anyone,” Mark said. “I offered it to you and you took it. You're in charge of what you put in your body, but then, you know that.”

Judy opened her mouth to protest that he had sold his product so effectively that everyone had tried it, but Mark cut her off by raising his hand.

“Secondly,” he said, “there was no drug. It was water and sugar, and not much sugar at that.”

Judy gave him a sideways look.

“There was no drug,” he repeated. “Only the power of suggestion. What you did, you did because you wanted to.” He gave it a moment to sink in. “I'm not judging you,” he said. “What you do is your business. I was hurt; that's all. I thought...”

“What?”

“I would have taken you home myself, but I had to stay with the students. Believe it or not, I'm working. But if I'd known that you and Andre would...never mind.”

“Nothing happened,” Judy said. “I mean, we kissed. That was all.”

He looked annoyed, pained. His eyes gazed through her and she felt herself almost physically disappear.

“That's not entirely the point, is it?” Mark said. “I thought we had something.”

“I only did it, because you were with Maggie.”

“I was,” Mark said. “And also with Simon and Ophelia and Kristine. We were here, in this room, talking until late. When they went to bed, I went up with Maggie to see if you were okay, but you weren't there. I went to find Andre and I found you both instead.”

“I saw her undressing in front of you,” Judy said. “You were touching her.”

“You’re the only person she hasn’t shown her tattoos and you share a room,” Mark observed.

“I was jealous,” Judy said. “But maybe I needn't have been. I think I might have made a mistake about you. Again.”

Mark touched her face.

“You were right,” he said. “What you said earlier. Nobody's perfect.”

“Maybe you,” Judy said.

“Not me,” he said. “Not anyone. We’re all doing our best. Speaking of which, I trust you not to tell anyone about the water and sugar. It would ruin the illusion too soon and I might need to pull that trick again before the week is over. I really need them to believe my spiel, just until they're exceeding their expectations by themselves. Then it doesn't matter who or what I am to them anymore.”

Judy looked down the corridor. It was uninviting, uninspiring, lonely.

“Can I come in?” she said.

Mark shook his head.

“It's Ace's bedtime,” he said and opened the door a little more to reveal the little boy, drawing with crayons.

“Your son?” Judy said tremulously, giving the boy her best smile. To Mark, she said: “And where's his mother? Are you still married?”

The boy laughed.

“He’s my nephew,” said Mark. “My sister's away for the night and I said I'd take him.” He whispered: “I almost forgot to pick him up. That would have been the second time. See? Not perfect.”

“You're a doofus, Uncle Mark,” the boy said.

Mark guffawed for him and he cracked up.

Over Mark's shoulder, Judy saw that the room was a chaos of books and DVDs, food cartons, hand-written papers and clothes. Organisation was not Mark's strong suit.

“This whole course is one improvisation, isn't it?” Judy said. “You're winging it.”

“I've been known to think on my feet,” Mark said.

“You're making it up as you go along.”

“Like life,” Mark said. “Organisation is the illusion of control. Art is about letting go. But, yes, I am absolutely making all of this up and I am so, so out of my depth that I'm terrified every second of it, but I've never let that get in the way of the creation of something beautiful and I won't let it get in the way of my students either.

“They're going to be great artists, if that's what they really want. As long as you don't tell them what I've just admitted to you.”

“Maybe you can give me something in return for my silence,” Judy suggested.

“Do you have something in mind?” asked Mark, closing the door somewhat again so they could talk more privately.

Judy allowed her eyes to drop to his chest, then his crotch.

“Maybe tomorrow?” she said.

“Too far away,” said Mark and then he turned to his nephew and said: “Ace. Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“A minute?” Judy cried. “Is that all you have for me?”

“You’re right,” said Mark. “Ace? Make that five.”

* * * *

“If you think I’m going to cook for you,” Judy said, “you’ve got another thing coming.”

Mark smiled.

“The canteen is as far as we can get from the private rooms without leaving the house,” he said.

“Are you intending to make a lot of noise?” Judy asked.

“Somebody might be getting spanked tonight,” he suggested.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ve been naughty.”

An uncomfortable moment passed between them. It was the first moment of real awkwardness, with neither of them knowing what to say to the other.

Judy responded by removing her clothes. She pulled off her T-shirt. Then she unclipped her bra and tossed it away. Next, she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her socks.

The floor was covered in her clothes and stone tiles that drew the warmth out of her feet.

“It’s freezing,” she said.

“That’s too bad,” he said.

She grinned at him.

“You’re not really angry at me are you?”

“You frustrate me,” he said. “But you’re irresistible. I’m not angry with you.”

She unbuttoned her jeans and slid them, peeled them, down, down, down, breasts dangling delectably as she did so, then she stepped out of her jeans. She kicked them aside with one icy foot.

“Does that mean you’re not going to spank me after all?” she said, pouting.

“I didn’t say that,” he said.

“Good.”

She stepped out of her knickers.

She’d never felt so sexy as this moment.

He circled her and she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by anticipation. His feet clicked on the tiles while she shivered and waited to learn his desire.

He stood behind her for a long time, not touching her, just breathing, his breath close and wonderfully warm on her neck.

Her chest ached and her own breath became rapid. She wanted to tell him to take her, but this was his moment. She gave him no demands but waited impatiently for his hands. Instead, she received his words.

“Lie on your back,” he said.

They both knew that the tiles were like ice. She hesitated, but he was unwavering. She bent her knees to lower herself to the ground. She lay back, gasping as the heat rushed from her body.

She surprised herself by feeling even more sexy than before. The discomfort only added to her desire for him.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

It was no hardship to do as he bid. One hand massaged her breasts while the other sought the folds of her labia. She was wet and used two fingers to rub her clitoris, not trying to be sexy nor readying herself from him, but seeking her pleasure. No frills, no embellishment.

This, her fingers were saying, this is what I like.

He removed his own jeans and shorts and kneeled beside her, cock in hand. He didn’t need to tell her what to do with it. She immediately took him into her mouth, as deep as before, then deeper, no longer gagging, but opening up her throat and taking him deep, deep into her.

She held his cock in a tight grip and worked earnestly to make him come, wanting him to feel something akin to the way she had felt in the studio.

Before she brought him to orgasm, he pulled away.

They made love simply, with him on top of her and her legs spread to accommodate his body, wrapped around his thighs and waist.

From time to time they rolled over and took turns to be on top.