New Places, New Problems
Chapter 26
Stephen looked at Claire. She was staring at him as if she did not quite believe him. She was expecting him to say any second now that he had been joking, but he was not going to do that. He leant his elbows on the bed and stared back.
"Oh well…" Claire began. "You must not like my sitting here then. I'm not fictional. Shall I go?"
"Maybe you should give fictional men a try, Claire," Stephen suggested.
"I don't think I should give any men a try at the moment," she said calmly.
He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Maybe that would be best. Although you can never tell whether it was good or bad until afterwards."
"I don't think you're so decided against real women at all," Claire said a little sharply. "If you say that."
"We don't always follow our own good advice," he said philosophically.
"Is it good advice?"
"That is for you to decide," Stephen replied.
"Hmm. Well, thanks for it anyway." Claire got up, suddenly aware of the fact that her heart was beating faster than it normally did. She put it down to having poured her heart out. "Thanks for not kissing me."
"Oh, continue to offend me, will you?" he asked good-humouredly.
"I am not!" she protested. "But I would really have lost my faith in men if you had tried."
"Claire, why should I wait to try until you were upset with another man for doing so? It's not logical."
"Things just aren't logical at the moment."
"I think we ought to restore your faith in men," Stephen remarked. He had written a scene like this once. For a moment he felt guilty about copying other people, but then he realised that he was those other people because he had created their characters. It was hard to see that sometimes. "Come and sleep with me and I'll show you --"
Claire did not let him finish. "Stephen!" she cried with a shocked look on her face. All men were the same. This proved it again.
"My apologies. That was a bit badly phrased. Let me finish my sentence," he said calmly. "Come and sleep with me and I'll show you that you can have faith in men." Because nothing would happen. He studied her appalled face with interest. "Alright. So that doesn't work. It worked for some of my characters, but of course that was because I controlled them. Interesting." So he would not write something like this again. "Why are you so shocked to hear that I sleep? Did you think I stayed awake all night?"
"You escaped from an asylum, didn't you?" Claire asked anxiously. "And now you're hiding out on a remote island. I ended up in a horror story."
"Get out of my room before I start drinking your blood," Stephen gasped. He was about to do something she would not appreciate, such as jump at her with a scream. He should avoid doing something like that. His parents would wake up and be curious, because Claire would undoubtedly scream back at him. Maybe it was time that he urged his parents to do more than just look into houses on the mainland. There were always two sides to everything.
"Tell me you're not insane," she begged.
"Stupid question. There's no way you could trust a madman's answer." Stephen stood up and rummaged in a closet. He took out a sleeping bag. "I'm going to sleep outside."
"Why?"
"Because I feel like it."
"In a tent?"
"In a tent is not outside."
"Oh well, have fun," she said dubiously. "I think I prefer my bed."
"I'll be somewhere near the little dune if you need me."
"I don't think I will."
"Oh, I hope you won't. Not before I'm awake anyway," he smiled. "Good night."
Claire did not wake early in the morning. She had spent some time thinking about what had happened before she fell asleep, quite as long about Matthew as about Stephen. After eating a little and not seeing anyone, she decided to check whether Stephen was still near the little dune.
She found him curled up in his sleeping bag, scribbling furiously onto a notepad. Because he could not see her, she sat down and watched him for a few minutes. Sometimes he spoke softly to himself and she wondered what he was saying. After a while she felt a little guilty about spying on him and she called his name.
Stephen turned and rested himself on one elbow, beckoning her with the other arm. "Come down here!"
"What is it?"
He handed her the notepad. "Would you say this is catchy enough?" He was taking a leap in the dark here and he did not feel very confident about it.
"For what?"
"Just read it."
Claire read it and wondered what it was. It looked like a bit of a children's story, but where was the rest of it? "What is it?"
Stephen looked resigned. "I'll have to rewrite."
Claire noticed that he did not seem very pleased with her question, but she wanted to know where the rest of it was. And what did he mean by rewriting it? "Why?" It looked good enough.
"Because you said that."
"Do you mean you wrote this?" she asked.
Stephen looked away. "Yeah…" It was not his usual sort of thing to write children's stories and so he was not very sure he could do it.
Claire looked at him quizzically, but he did not meet her eyes. She shrugged and read it again. It was hard to give an opinion on such a short bit. The sea looked very appealing right now. Maybe Stephen could write more while she had a swim. "I'm going into the water. Write more."
She had run off before Stephen could say that the water was a bit cold. In fact, one of the reasons he was in his sleeping bag was that he had been cold after his brief swim earlier that morning. And Claire was not even used to swimming in the sea, he thought, bending over the notepad again. He supposed it was a good thing that she told him to write more.
His writing was disturbed some twenty lines later and he tried to fathom why Claire was appearing before him in dripping underwear. It was not a bad sight at all, he admitted, and he postponed asking any questions.
Claire panted from her run. "I put my clothes on the beach, but I think they washed away." It was incredibly embarrassing to be so stupid and she could see Stephen was studying her with one of his most mocking expressions.
The tide was indeed coming in, Stephen knew. However, for the tide to wash away her clothes they must have been really close to the water and she must have stayed in pretty long. He glanced at his text and tried to figure out how long he had spent on it. It was impossible to say. He frowned at her. "That is why I always leave my clothes up here."
"Very helpful to tell me when it's too late!" Claire shivered. "Have you got a towel?" She realised she could have run home and avoided Stephen's reaction altogether, but it was too late for that now too.
Stephen zipped his sleeping bag open. "No, but take this." He was wearing his pyjamas anyway and he crawled out of it, shaking his head. "I want to laugh, but you'd kill me, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," Claire said fiercely, wrapping herself in the sleeping bag. She felt cold.
"Thank you anyway. You see, the thing with having only fictional women is that you tend to forget how they look in their underwear after a while and a fresh impulse is always good," Stephen said seriously.
She groaned and hid herself. "I'd almost suspect you of setting this up!"
Stephen whistled on his fingers when he saw the dog some distance away. "Hector!"
Claire catapulted herself onto him, sleeping bag and all, when she heard him call the dog. It would be just like him to have ordered the dog to steal her clothes. Hector barked and ran closer, seeing there was a nice party going on that he wanted to join. He jumped on top of Claire, barking excitedly. This was great fun. Perhaps there were sticks to be had as well.
"Down, Hector!" Stephen yelled, when he felt he was being attacked from two sides.
Hector was disappointed and did not give in so easily. It required another few orders to make him stop and then he ran circles around them.
"You look like a giant caterpillar," Stephen informed Claire. "But why did you jump on me?"
"You ordered Hector to steal my clothes!" she said accusingly.
He looked at her disbelievingly. That was the most preposterous idea he had ever heard. "Hector's far too stupid for that! And so am I, actually," he grinned. "It's a great idea, though. No, down, Claire!" he ordered when she made signs of moving towards him again. "I'll tell you what -- we'll compromise." He took off his pyjamas and threw them at her. "Now we're even."
"I don't want to be even with you. I want to be ahead," Claire grumbled, jerking the pyjamas into the sleeping bag when Hector thought he was meant to fetch them. She wanted to laugh, but she could not allow Stephen to laugh at her too.
"You've got the sleeping bag," Stephen pointed out to her.
"Why were you wearing swimming trunks under your pyjamas?" Claire wondered.
"You're not into men at the moment, remember?" he chided her. "Don't ogle them."
"I am not," she lied, feeling slightly unsettled.
"I know when I'm being ogled."
"No, you don't! You only have fictional women. They don't ogle."
Stephen snorted and returned to his notepad. "Quite right. How would you define your look then?"
"No comment."
"Wise," he remarked without knowing what he meant. "Very wise." But he was beginning to find the fictional women a little annoying.
Chapter 27
Stephen was getting a bit cold without his pyjamas. The wind had become a bit stronger and the small dune did not offer all that much protection anymore to someone who was sitting up. He got up and grabbed the entrance of the sleeping bag, pulling the zipper all the way down.
Claire observed his actions. She had no idea what he was up to and amazingly enough she did not feel any need to intervene. "I think you forgot to tell me what you're doing," she informed him. It was Stephen, so he could not have anything evil in mind, but still.
"I was going to suggest that we walk back."
"Somehow I think you got the order of actions mixed up. First you're supposed to tell me you want to walk back, then that you're going to zip me open and then you can start zipping."
"This is easier."
"You do realise that I would have kicked any other fellow in the balls?"
"How? If you're in a sleeping bag?" Stephen inquired.
"Maybe I'd like to stay here."
"No, you don't. Do you want to wear my pyjamas or do you want to wrap the sleeping bag around yourself?"
"The sleeping bag, definitely."
"Alright, I'll take my pyjamas." He pulled them on again.
Claire wore the sleeping bag like a cape, but with the next gust of wind she was standing in her underwear again because the sleeping bag was flapping about in the air. "I don't want to go up that hill. I'll be blown off with this parachute behind me. Can I have your pyjamas, Stephen?"
"No, try flying once. I want to see it," he said in an interested voice. "Come up here and jump off."
"Why don't you just jump off yourself," Claire grumbled, trying to wrap the sleeping bag around her a little tighter. That only ensured that she could no longer lift her legs to walk. She would have to move with small jumps now.
"Oh, who cares?" Stephen replied. "I've seen women in bikinis before, you know."
Claire tried the cape approach again and climbed the hill. "Yes, I know. I saw pictures over at Matthew's house. Three girls in bikinis that were all over you. They looked better than me, so I'm sure me and my outfit wouldn't excite you."
Stephen gave her an odd look. Her tone had sounded a little accusing. Why? "Don't put me in a difficult position. If I say it would excite me, you'd be upset. If I said it wouldn't, you'd also be upset. Am I right?"
"No! You have the right not to find me attractive."
"Really? Men have such a right?" Stephen raised his eyebrows sarcastically. Some women did not seem to think so.
"Of course. Because I certainly want the right to find some men unattractive," Claire declared. "Some girls just don't have any taste and they throw themselves at anything." She noticed Stephen was smiling. "Why are you laughing at me?"
"I don't know. Maybe because you were just describing what happened here last week."
"What happened?" she asked immediately. The mysterious Linnet had visited last week. She had thrown herself at Stephen?
"I'm sure you'd be appalled to hear that a woman threw herself at me last week." Stephen's eyes twinkled. "At me."
Claire was actually more interested in what the result had been. "Just to humour you, I'll be appalled. But how did it end?"
"It hasn't ended yet."
"She's still here?" Claire cried.
"No, but she'll be back. She always comes back."
"Why?"
Stephen spread his arms wide. "She wants me." Well, not him personally. He was just part of the package, really.
"She's done this before?" Claire asked incredulously. "Do you have money or something?"
"You're so honest. I have no other attractions, so it must be money," Stephen said in amusement.
Claire coloured. "I didn't mean that. I meant…"
He smiled at her. "It's alright. I think I know what you meant and I actually like you for putting it that way."
"Oh, well," she said quickly, determined to leave that embarrassing moment behind as soon as possible. "Did she succeed in throwing herself at you?"
"That depends on how you define it," he said thoughtfully.
"Well, you tell me."
"She managed to fall a few times, but you know how gallant I am. I don't help out females in need."
"Right. You don't." Although she was sure he was exaggerating again. She remembered his note. He tended to exaggerate. He was doing it now. He had always helped her so far if she had really needed help. "Was that all?"
"Claire, would you stop at that if you were bent on having me?"
She stuck her nose in the air. "I can't imagine anyone being bent on having you, so I wouldn't know what they would stop at."
"I knew you'd say that," he sighed. "And I know you don't mean anything of it, so let's have your answer."
"You can't know if I don't mean anything of it."
"Yes, I can."
"I won't go there."
"So don't answer my question then and you'll never get an answer to yours." Stephen wondered if this approach was going to work. Claire certainly seemed curious.
"Alright. I wouldn't stop at that if I were desperate, not that I'm really capable of imagining it, but I'm not allowed to say so."
"Really. So does that mean you'll be visiting me in the middle of the night too then?" he raised his eyebrows. "I'll have to lock my door tonight."
"She did that?" Claire exclaimed.
"Yeah, just once. After that I developed the habit of sleeping outdoors. No woman will follow me outdoors. It's perfectly safe," he grinned.
"What did she do when she visited you?" Claire's eyes were huge and she looked immensely curious.
Stephen looked at her closely for a second. "It looks like I can keep my door unlocked tonight."
"I don't understand."
"If you have to ask me, I don't suppose you're into that sort of thing."
"Oh, don't make me feel as if I don't know anything!" she protested.
"The sort of thing you'd do if you were desperately trying to seduce a man," Stephen explained.
"I'll be getting all sorts of things in my head now if you don't tell me," Claire warned him.
"It was a little worse than asking me if I wanted to go out with her."
"Why do you even let her come here if you don't want her attentions?"
"Good question." He had thought about that himself and wondered why he could not send her away every time she showed up. It was embarrassing. "It's just that there's always some pathetic story that later on doesn't turn out to be true, you know." He wondered why he could not see through those inventions and exaggerations from the start, but she was just so cunning.
Claire looked skeptical. "And you still haven't figured that out."
"I have, but she was staying with Matthew this time, so it wasn't really my job to send her away."
Claire frowned. She seemed to be missing a crucial point here. "Was this the Linnet he mentioned to me?" Maybe they were talking about different people and it would make more sense.
"Yes." Stephen looked at her questioningly. "He mentioned her?"
"Yes. But if she was staying with Matthew, how could she have come into your room at night?"
"She walked here," Stephen shrugged. "And the door is always open. Anyone can get in." It was their habit and not one that should be changed just because of annoying visitors like Linnet.
"I still don't understand it."
"Claire, if I understood her myself, I would have told you, but it doesn't make any sense to me either. The only reason I can imagine is that I have more money and that she just can't pass up the opportunity to try and catch me."
"Did she succeed?"
"She succeeded in getting her hands on me and I succeeded in getting them off me," he replied. "Does that answer your question?"
Chapter 28
The next day Stephen, having the only alarm clock in the house, came to wake Claire by giving her a hearty shake. "Are you a morning person?" he asked.
"I think so."
"Good. I shouldn't like to work together with a grumpy old bag."
"You're as complimentary as ever in the morning," Claire groaned and literally rolled out of bed.
"And you're as elegant as ever," Stephen remarked, watching with interest as Claire tried to stand up.
"Just go and fix me breakfast, will you?"
"Sure." Stephen left the room.
Claire gasped incredulously, but she did not protest. She went to take a shower, all the while thinking about his obedience and what a vile trick it was to make her believe that he was serious.
When she came downstairs, Stephen was reclining onto one of the lounging chairs in the garden, two plates and two cups beside him on a small table. He was just taking a sip of his coffee. There was another chair for Claire and she sat down in it in surprise. "Thank you. I hadn't thought you actually would."
"Mmm mmm," Stephen answered with his mouth full. For once he was not wearing one of his woollen sweaters, but a denim jacket over a rugby shirt. "Normally I wouldn't, of course."
"Of course."
"Your turn tomorrow."
"I'll need the alarm clock. What time is it anyway?" She looked at her watch. "Christ." It was early. What else did he want to do before school?
"Stephen," he corrected her patiently.
She did not even know how to spell that. "With a V or a PH?" Funnily enough she preferred Stephen over Steven.
"PH."
"And what's your last name?"
"You don't know?" He could not recall telling her, but she might have found out through other channels.
"Would I ask if I knew?"
"Yes, you would."
"Well? What is it?" Claire asked.
He did not want to say it, but she would not stop until he did. "McAllister." Stephen pronounced it the way the islanders would say it. If he was lucky she would not be able to make the inevitable connection between his last name and the book he had given her to read. He took a sip of his coffee.
"You're a Scot!" Claire discovered.
He was amused. "This is Scotland after all." It had taken her a bit long to find that out. "Didn't you see that sign YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE CIVILISED SECTOR when you came here?"
"Hence the woollen sweaters!"
"What do they have to do with anything?" Try as he might, he could not fit them in anywhere.
"Well, you always look like you might have escaped from some highland tourist brochure." She could imagine him in a picture where he was fishing in some lake, or perhaps with a glass of whisky.
Stephen looked disgusted. "I do not and if you stupid Englishwoman will bring up a certain something that I know you will bring up, because stupid Englishwomen always do, I'll do something really horrible to you." He would still have to think that punishment up, but it was best to warn her in advance.
Claire stared at him for a few seconds. Was he serious? No, he could not be. He could not suddenly be thinking of her as a stupid person. This had to be one of those incomprehensible Stephen-jokes. "Do you mean I can't compare you to the monster of Loch Ness?" she asked innocently. She could do that to him if he called her names.
"I was actually referring to kilts, but you're really in for it now too."
"How?"
"I haven't decided yet." Stephen suppressed the urge to make her die a tickle death. Today he was a respectable teacher and he could not start wrestling with her like a schoolboy. He was not sure what else to do with a woman who challenged him, so maybe he should just refrain from doing anything at all.
"You don't know, do you?"
"If I don't say anything, will you attack me physically?" he asked, regretting it right away.
Claire considered the question. "Not even you can make me violent." She began to eat her breakfast and he did the same. Halfway through it, another question occurred to her, but she studied Stephen first to see if she could guess at the answer. "How old are you?"
"Guess."
"I tried."
"What did you come up with?"
Claire smiled apologetically. What if she was completely wrong and he was offended? It was better to have him tell her himself. "I'm very bad at guessing ages."
"Well, doesn't my body look young?" he asked, making Claire squirt her coffee through the garden. "Oh, God. It's repulsive," he said sadly. "Careful with that coffee. I don't have time to make you a new cup."
Claire was coughing with a red face. "Urrrrrgggggghhhhhh!" she cried, rapidly drinking the rest of her coffee before she stalked off in the direction of the road. She had to get away from him before she acted on this irrational urge to smack him.
Stephen pulled a face at the cat. "Now where did she go? To school? I was going to make her carry all my stuff." With a sigh he pushed himself off the chair he had been lying on and he went up to his study to get his things together -- slowly, because he had another half hour.
Claire walked quickly to get rid of the excess energy that had accumulated inside her in order to get even with Stephen. Sometimes she kicked or threw a pebble. Some distance down the road six children suddenly jumped out of a hedge, scaring her witless.
"Where's Stephen?" they shouted.
Claire was still clutching her heart. "Will you not sneak up on me next time? Please?"
"You were scared!" they shouted in delight. "Where's Stephen?"
She turned and looked back, but he was not in sight. "Do you like him?"
"Yes, we do! Where are you going?"
"I'm going to school."
"We can't go to school without Stephen," said the smallest, a little girl in a green dress. "Where's Stephen?" Anyone seeing her serious face would think Stephen was incapable of going alone.
Claire knew better. "Yes, we can. Do you want to come with me?" She held out her hand and the little girl took it. Her other hand was quickly snatched away by another girl and they all began walking.
When they arrived at the school, the children had received answers to their most pressing questions and they were satisfied about most of the particulars of Claire's life. Claire was not strict. She was not married. She was not married to Stephen, nor planning to be. She did not have a dog. She did not have dolls.
Chapter 29
It was sunny again today and Claire sat on the wall separating the school garden from the playground, watching the children play. A woman came to tell her Ricky was ill, but she did not stay for a chat. Stephen arrived a few minutes later. He blew a whistle that sent all children indoors. "What does that mean?" Claire asked when he approached her.
"Why did you run off so suddenly?"
"I still don't know how old you are."
"Er…yes, that's really logical," Stephen nodded with a bemused expression.
"It wasn't my intention to be logical."
"You never told me your age either." He held out his hand to her.
Claire took it and he jerked her off the wall. "Stephen!" she complained. "My arm! I'm not a guy."
"That's why I'm assisting you in getting off the wall," he said with undeniable Stephen-logic and pulled her towards the door.
"Assisting!"
"I hope you're not rejecting my good intentions."
"Are you always this rough-handed? I thought you said you were good at --" She was going to say fondling, but she swallowed it.
"There's a time and place for everything," Stephen said, not knowing what she meant exactly, but he could guess. Had he really said he was good at something or other that was the opposite of being rough-handed? "But I don't really have a clue what you're going on about. I never say I'm good at something."
"Fondling. Or something like that." Claire knew very well it had been fondling and she blushed.
"Fondling?" Stephen was amazed. "I said that?" He paused just outside of the classroom.
"I knew you were lying. You could never be good at it."
Stephen let out his breath. "It's a pity we have to teach right now. I'd love to have a little talk with you about when I said what and in what context."
"You said it when you were lifting me onto the quay," Claire said when the break came around.
"Your mind is still on that subject?" But he remembered the occasion now, though still not that he had said it. "That must have impressed me a lot if I said something like that. Could be. I don't get to touch a lot of women here, do I?"
"Then how can you say you're good at it?" Claire wondered.
"I have no idea, because I'm not." He grimaced at her. "Stop thinking about it."
Well, she would stop talking about it. That was all.
"Duncan," Stephen beckoned one of the bigger boys. "You're going to do the shopping today. Take Miss Elson and show her how it's done."
Claire followed the boy into the kitchen where he got a notebook from a cupboard. "This is our shopping list," he showed her. "We have to take this to Mrs. McDonald's shop."
They walked to one of the shops. It was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside and it was quite busy. Duncan carefully collected all the items on the shopping list. Claire followed him and wondered if she needed anything herself. She could never think of anything when she needed to. It was likely that she could think of things in a few hours.
Mrs. McDonald had been gossiping with the other customers, but they all fell silent when Duncan and Claire arrived at the counter. "This is our new teacher," Duncan informed her, handing her the notebook.
The shopkeeper began to check off the goods and noted their price in the notebook. "You were at the pub on Saturday." Besides, everyone had seen Miss Elson arrive last week. "I hear everything," she smiled at Claire.
"I don't remember who was there and who wasn't," Claire said, glancing at the other customers. She really could not tell if she had seen them before.
"Young Stephen will be able to tell you. If he paid attention," and old man chuckled, implying that young Stephen had not.
"Young Stephen?"
"Yes, the boy."
"The boy?"
"Your fellow teacher," Mrs. McDonald clarified. "He's a mere boy to Albert."
"I remember him from this small." Albert held his hands a few inches apart. "And he hasn't grown up yet." He saw that Claire snickered and he rubbed his hands. "Oi, we could tell you things, couldn't we, Em?" Albert said with a chuckle.
"Albert's memory isn't always reliable," Mrs. McDonald warned Claire.
"That's what young Stephen always says if I get a little too close to the truth." Albert was really warming to his topic now. "He doesn't like to be reminded of that time when he stuck his tongue down the throat of a fish."
"Why would he do that?" Claire said in wonder.
"All men do stupid things in their youth," Albert stuck his fingers behind his braces. "When I was still young and handsome, I --"
There was merry laughter among the other customers, who were old enough to have known Albert in his young days. An old woman croaked something incomprehensible and they all laughed again.
"Let me guess. Gossip?" Stephen asked when she returned. He was sitting on the wall and the children were playing.
"You stuck your tongue down the throat of a fish? Shouldn't you do it the other way around? Stick a fish down your throat?"
"Albert doesn't know any other stories, does he?" Stephen groaned wearily. He got off the wall briefly to kick a ball back into play.
"Did you have a fish hanging off your tongue or what?" Claire mused. "They must have very small throats."
"I am not proud of this episode."
"I'm just curious."
"I know you are, but your curiosity tends to focus on things I'd rather not have you know." It was as if she had some antenna, Stephen thought. She zoomed in on anything that was potentially awkward.
"Why not?"
"Because it wasn't a fish, but a girl." He looked the other way. A girl who was nearly a fish and who tasted like one as well.
Claire was shocked. He should not have done that, although she did not know why. "Ooow. Did she live to tell?"
"Claire, do you think you could ask me about my favourite dish or my favourite football club instead of always trying to embarrass me?" Stephen asked in exasperation.
"I don't care about football," she protested in a small voice, looking at the ground with a red face. "Sorry."
Stephen was afraid he had hurt her. He took her hand and squeezed it. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She squeezed him back so very tightly that he glanced at her and saw she seemed to be squeezing her tears back very tightly as well. He blew his whistle and the children began to go indoors. Not letting go of Claire's hand, he made sure all children were inside the classroom, told them to make a drawing and then he pulled her into the small kitchen. "Now," he said, positioning her against the sink and placing one hand on either side of her.
"Now what?" Claire asked. Her throat felt constricted and she kept her eyes on Stephen's chest. She would cry if she looked at his face.
"I don't know," Stephen confessed. "You seem upset."
"I don't know why."
Stephen stood very close, but he did not touch her. He studied the tight lines in her face. "With me."
"No, with myself." Claire noticed he stood as close as he could without touching her. "I know you don't like people taking liberties with your body. It's a good thing. Don't get me wrong. But would you mind terribly if I --" she stopped, leaning towards him and giving him a hug. "You can't be minding that," she mumbled.
Stephen was a bit surprised, but he did not mind. It was over before he even noticed it was going on.
"Thanks for lending me your body," she said softly. It had been as much to let him know she was sorry as to be reassured herself.
"That helps?" he asked skeptically.
"Yes." She looked up at him again, her face relaxed once more.
"Oh." Stephen thought Claire slipped in and out of these moods extremely fast. Either they were not serious or the real problem never got solved. He did not know which of the two was right.
"Go back to the classroom. I'll be alright. I'll just have a glass of water and I'll follow you."
Chapter 30
After school Claire inspected the cottage because Stephen had told her to. While she was thinking he must be wanting her to move out, he had other things on his mind. "It's alright, but not for a young girl. It's too dark," he said.
Claire was surprised, but she also felt guilty. Why could she never guess right for once? She kept understanding it all wrongly. "I'm not that young."
"So you really like this wallpaper?" Stephen said with a shudder, pointing at the orange and dark brown flowers on a light brown background. It was hideous. How could people even sell this?
"Mmm," Claire answered. She was trying to steal his wallet to see how old he was himself. Like every other man, he had put it in his back pocket. He did not seem to notice her attempts, but kept frowning at the ugly flowers on the wallpaper. She drew the wallet from his pocket and ran off with it, trying to lock herself in the bathroom, but there was no lock.
Stephen was a bit late in reacting, but he distrusted her intentions and so he ran after her.
"I bet your last name is not McAllister if you're so desperate," Claire called to him, jumping over Mrs Guthrie's bed to evade him. "Or do you have a picture of you in a kilt in your wallet?" She loved that idea even better and her fingers struggled to open the wallet in a hurry.
"Oh, why do I care anyway?" Stephen decided and fell onto the bed.
Claire giggled at the pictures on his cards. Unfortunately he did seem to be who he had said he was. "Where's your birthday?"
"What do you want my birthday for?" he asked.
Claire checked more cards and documents. "Oh! Found it, Stephen Michael. June 16, 1967. Why were you ashamed of that?" She had guessed something like that age.
"I wasn't."
"And your name really is Stephen."
"If you suspect people of lying about their name, you must have a guilty conscience yourself. Is your name really Claire? Not Clothilde?"
"No, it's not Clothilde."
"Are you sure?" He tried to figure out where she had put her own wallet. There was a little bulge on her behind, so he assumed it was there. He lurched at her suddenly. Claire assumed he came to get his wallet back and so she concentrated on keeping that safe, rolling herself into a little ball, clutching the wallet to her chest. It gave Stephen ample opportunities to try and pull her wallet from her pocket with one hand, while pressing her down with the other.
"Stephen!" she protested indignantly. "Do you know what you've got your hands on?"
"Ye-es." He wished her jeans were not so tight. It was damn hard work now.
Claire did not think he had heard her properly. "My bottom." Right. That would make him stop.
It did not. "Ye-e-es. I have one too, in the same place," Stephen replied. The wallet was stuck and instead of pulling, he tried pushing it up from below.
She drew in her breath very sharply, unable to speak. He really deserved to be smacked for this unwillingness to realise just what he was doing. "Stephe-e-en!"
"Ye-e-e-es. One second. I've almost got it."
"I don't think you get it at all!"
"You're wearing jeans, Claire," Stephen said as if this sufficed for an explanation. He withdrew the wallet and sat on the bed to look through it. Nobody felt anything through jeans and did she really think he was trying to feel her up? In this pathetic way?
Claire lay gaping like a fish on dry land, kicking air in frustration. "Stephe-e-e-en!" That she was wearing jeans had nothing to do with it at all! Was that some kind of license?
"When it comes to guessing the intention of women wriggling on the floor and begging me, Claire, I might guess wrong," he informed her, taking out the huge pile of little scraps of paper and beginning to look through them. "It's amazing what women keep."
She gasped. "I'm certainly not begging you for more!"
He looked up from studying a receipt from a clothes shop. "I still have to put it back, though," he said in mock concern.
"As if you'd get the chance!" Claire nearly burst.
Stephen prodded her gently with his foot. "Go ahead. Call me a jerk."
She did not. "It's no use."
"Why not?"
Claire groaned and hit her fist on the floor. "Because you'll say you had no intentions anyway because you prefer fictional women and so you get away with anything."
Stephen tried to follow that argument. Part of it was true and part of it was surprising. "I can get away with anything? If I can get away with anything, how come you're always upset with me?" he inquired curiously.
She just glared at him.
"Who did you go to the cinema with? To the late film?" he asked, holding up a ticket.
"What would you say if it was a man?" Claire challenged.
"Nothing, but it probably wasn't."
"Oh, the presumptuousness!"
"Look. Why don't you put my wallet back in my pocket and then take it out so I can experience exactly what you suffered, because I really don't get it," Stephen suggested in a serious voice.
She stared at him for a second. "Alright. Get on the floor." Stephen lay down and curled himself up. She tried to shove the wallet into his pocket, but he was wearing jeans too and it would not work. "I can't get it in."
"Clai-aire," he complained in a whiny voice. "Do you know what you've got your hands on?" he repeated the words she had spoken earlier.
"Don't you mock me. Stretch out your legs." Stephen obeyed and lay flat on his stomach. Claire shoved the wallet into his pocket and told him to curl up again. "And now you did this," she said, trying to push the wallet up.
He raised his head slightly to observe it. "And that was unpleasant?" He did not feel a thing.
That flustered Claire somehow. "I didn't say -- well, you just shouldn't have done it." She kept pushing and pulling, but it would not budge.
"But you wouldn't have given me your wallet had I asked," he pointed out to her. "I had to."
"Who says you had to have my wallet!" she exclaimed.
"You had mine."
"So?"
"I believe in equal opportunities. You don't seem to be trying very hard," he remarked. "I haven't actually felt your hands yet."
Claire turned red and leant against the bed. She had only been touching the wallet, so that was no wonder.
"I don't mind if you're a bit rough. I think it's the only way to get there," he advised.
She tried again, feeling extremely embarrassed. Stephen had been right. More force was the only way to get the wallet out. She asked herself why she was even trying. There had to be a reason for it, other than that she was completely insane.
"I can feel it. You've almost got it," he encouraged her. "One good pull will do the trick. Ye-e-e-e-s! I have to say, Claire, now I know why you begged for more. Do it to me again!" he sighed dramatically.
Claire did not think it was so very funny. She kicked him, but he did not seem to be impressed, so she tickled him where his shirt had moved up to expose the bare skin above his belt and tickled him quite viciously. That seemed to work much better than a kick, because he let out some inarticulate sounds and gasps and his body wriggled. She saw no reason to stop if this was the effect and she continued happily.
"Hello?" a female voice called suddenly from another room in the house. "Anybody home?"
They both froze. "Oh God," Stephen muttered. He was sure their struggle had been quite audible and hoped that whoever it was had not been there for long. Who was it anyway? He sat up and saw he looked quite dishevelled. The visitor was bound to misunderstand this. But he had only been tickled. "Yes!" he called in a not very steady voice, straightening his clothes. "I'll be right there." Before the visitor could get it into her head to look in the bedroom, he jumped up and ran into the hall.
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