Mythical Simplicity (Chapter 5)
Author's Note: Checking this, I remembered that writing bits of it (well, most of it) was like being dragged over red hot shards of broken glass by wild, incontinent horses while listening to fingernails and cats' claws on a blackboard. So I'm sorry if bits are tiresome. I was trying to keep to the period, and some of the people are irritating. The dream conversation was fun, but that's only about six lines long. The whole thing's short, but I didn't see the point in drawing out the tedium. Sorry. The next part's better, gearing up for the big finish.
Chapter Five
That evening, John made his way down into the village once more, to the large, impressive house that belonged to Harry. He paused before he knocked on the door, imagining the looks on the faces of his colleagues - the things they would say! - and wondered whether he really wanted to do this. But the idea of seeing Harry again was much more powerful.
A few moments later, Harry opened the door, smiling instantly when he saw John. He welcomed him inside, showing him into the large living room. For a few moments they stood awkwardly; Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked at his feet, smiling almost shyly, while John rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, his arms swinging aimlessly at his sides.
In the end it was Harry who spoke first. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh … yes, please.”
“What would you like?”
“Mmm … whatever you’re having.”
“Make yourself comfortable.” Harry gestured to the cushioned chairs and left the room, reappearing a few seconds later carrying two glasses. He handed one to John - whose hands, he noticed, were shaking slightly - before sitting down himself. He found himself moved by the anxiety his friend was obviously feeling. “I’m so glad you came.”
He saw John take a deep breath, and the tension in the room finally seemed to fade. “Me, too.”
** ** **
They talked for a little while, about their jobs, and current events, and John was surprised by how much they seemed to agree on things. Of course, he didn’t have particularly strong views one way or the other, but the way they saw the world seemed remarkably … compatible.
“So … how did you get into teaching?” Harry seemed to want to steer the conversation in a more personal direction, and John shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Oh … I don’t know. I liked school well enough, enjoyed reading history at university. It just seemed the natural thing to do.” He couldn’t think of anything more interesting to add, couldn’t remember when he’d first felt drawn to the profession, couldn’t tell him why he loved history, couldn’t remember doing anything unusual at university, so he said nothing, taking a sip of his drink.
Harry looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded as if that made perfect sense. As he had before, John tried to turn the conversation around. “London must be an exciting place to live.”
Harry’s eyes widened, as if he’d never really considered that. “Yes,” he answered, after a long pause. “I suppose it is.” But if he could honestly think of anything exciting that had happened, he didn’t mention it. He looked back at John. “You don’t like to talk about your past, do you?” His tone was gentle, not accusatory, but it still made John slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s not that I don’t like to talk about my past.” That much was true; he already felt like he could talk to Harry about anything. “It’s just … I don’t think about it much. It won’t do any good to dwell on things. Keep looking forward, keep moving on.”
Harry smiled, looking fondly amused. “That is,” he remarked, “a strange philosophy for a teacher of history.”
For the first time in ages, John laughed.
Silence fell on the room, but it was no longer an awkward or uncomfortable silence. Instead it felt pleasant, companionable. It felt wonderful just to be here, and the very air felt contented and relaxed. John finished his drink, and perhaps emboldened by this, went over and sat next to Harry, leaning close and resting his head on his arm. Harry moved his hand to John’s knee, and they sat for a long time in blissful silence.
As the night grew darker, John sighed. “I shall have to leave soon. Can’t return to the school at midnight.” His voice was much slower and sleepier than usual.
“When do the school holidays start?” Harry asked, running a finger backwards and forwards over John’s knee.
“End of the month,” John answered.
“That’ll be nice,” Harry murmured in his ear. “Whole days - weeks - when you don’t have to leave.”
“Sounds wonderful,” John whispered, pressing his cheek into Harry’s shoulder briefly, before reluctantly standing up. He slid his feet back into his shoes - he’d taken them off earlier, feeling so relaxed - and gathered up his coat and hat. Harry got to his feet, next to him, and took hold of his hand, turning John to face him.
“Good night.”
“Good night.” And Harry kissed him, gently, and it took all of John’s strength to turn and walk out of the house.
** ** **
The next day was Sunday, and shortly after John arrived at Harry’s, they had decided to take a drive in the country. The summer had turned warm and pleasant once more, and , as Harry pointed out, there was little point in having a car if you didn’t use it.
John didn’t know a great deal about cars, but Harry’s seemed very wonderful. Harry drove well, if a little quickly, around the bumpy country roads. As midday approached, it became hot once more, and both men took off their jackets and their ties, enjoying the fresh summer air.
As they drove out of the village, John suddenly looked across at Harry. “I had a dream about you last night.” He felt a swell of fondness as he saw the pleased, slightly embarrassed look on Harry’s face.
“Oh, yes? What about?”
“I can’t quite remember. But you were definitely there. I can only remember tiny fragments.” He shut his eyes tight, concentrating. When he opened them, though, they were round and wide, and a distinct blush was creeping up his face. He quickly looked away.
Harry smiled to himself, feeling his own face turn slightly pink, and didn’t press for details.
** ** **
Harry felt wonderful, as he always did when he was out in his car. Free and unburdened, enjoying the sensation of motion. The sun was beaming down and the air was hot, but the wind blowing through the car was very pleasant.
He looked across at John. His top button was unfastened, his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, unruly hair blowing in the wind, head tilted back, eyes closed against the sun … Harry had to wrench his attention back to the road. A moment later, he slowed down and pulled over, and before John had a chance to realise what was going on, Harry leaned over and kissed him, hard and fiercely. Almost losing control, he found himself climbing on top of John, never breaking the kiss, and after a long moment he realised John’s hands, which had been firmly around his shoulders, were sliding down his back, lower and lower …
Harry forced himself back into his seat, gasping slightly. “Should we … go home?”
John nodded. “Shouldn’t really be doing this. Not here, I mean. Not out in the open.”
Sighing, Harry turned the car around and set off back towards the village. They had been out all day, and it was late afternoon. They were only a mile or two away when an unpleasant thumping noise came from under the car.
Cursing, Harry stopped and jumped out, and a quick glance told him all he needed to know. A tyre had burst. John stood beside him, giving the tyre a perplexed look, scratching his head.
“What do we do now?”
“Change it. There’s a spare one in the boot. This has happened a couple of times before.”
It quickly became apparent that John had no idea what to do, but he helped Harry as best he could. Eventually, the wheel was changed, but Harry had torn his shirt, which was grubby and covered in oil, and there were black smudges on his face.
It was strange, seeing the usually neat man like this, but John felt more attracted to him than ever. But the hour had grown late, and by the time they got back to the village, all Harry could do was drop John off back at the school.
** ** **
Early on Monday morning, John was in his classroom, preparing his lessons when a message was delivered. His lessons for the morning had been cancelled, and his presence was requested in a meeting with Mr. Blackwell at once.
Feeling extremely puzzled, John made his way to the headmaster’s office. He couldn’t imagine what could possibly be so important as to cancel lessons first thing on a Monday morning. He felt confused, but not particularly worried.
That changed, quickly, when he entered the office and saw not only the headmaster, sitting behind his desk, face grim, but Harry, sitting in one of the facing chairs.
“Have a seat, Mr. Smith.” The headmaster’s voice was stern and cold, completely lacking the good-natured pomposity it usually held. John sat down in the chair next to Harry, not daring to look across, a dull noise buzzing in his ears.
“Before I begin, I want you both to know that I am extremely uncomfortable having this conversation. However, following an emergency meeting with the chair of governors last night, it was decided that I should deal with this situation as quickly as possible.”
John had to force himself to breathe.
“I am sure you are aware of the situation in question.” He looked at both of them questioningly. Avoiding the man’s gaze, John turned and glanced for the first time at Harry, and saw there a look he hadn’t expected. Shock, to be sure, but a total lack of fear. Resolve, perhaps … and defiance.
Encouraged by Harry’s boldness, John turned back to face the headmaster, but neither of them acknowledged the question.
“Please, don’t make this any more difficult than it already is,” Mr. Blackwell’s voice sounded strained, and little exasperated. “You were seen together on Saturday night by a member of our staff. Now, I believe your lives are your own business, but you must understand that a school with our reputation must set a higher standard …”
John felt his face turn scarlet, the heat rising from his chest, making him light-headed. They’d been seen, seen being … intimate. Everyone would know. He looked at the floor, unable to meet the gaze of anyone in the room. But he looked up quickly when he heard the note in Harry’s voice.
“And exactly what standard would that be, Mr. Blackwell?” he asked icily. He was glaring furiously at the headmaster, but every now and then his eyes would glance sideways, for the shortest second, at John, and at those times they only seemed to hold concern.
The headmaster looked genuinely shaken, but he refused to be cowered. “Don’t play the fool with me, Saxon. I know all sort of things go on in London, but you can hardly believe that kind of behaviour is acceptable conduct for someone in your position!”
Harry opened his mouth to say something, then appeared to change his mind. He rolled his eyes slightly, shot one more worried glance at John, and then returned to glaring coldly across the desk.
“Now, only the chair of governors and I are aware of the situation at present, and there’s no reason it can’t stay that way. Obviously, this would be the best scenario for the school; I can only imagine the complaints, or worse, we would have to deal with if this became common knowledge. But I will have to ask for letters of resignation from both of you, immediately.”
John stared at him in horror. He knew what they’d been doing was … unconventional, generally frowned upon. But was it really that bad? So bad that he could no longer stay here?
“Tell me,” Harry demanded, his voice so full of restrained fury John could hardly stand to hear it, “why anything we may or may not have done outside of this school takes away our ability to do a good job when we’re here.”
“It’s not the ability to do the job, Saxon, it’s the positions of influence you both have. A school governor and, worse, a teacher, of a boys’ school … now, I’m sorry, but if you do not submit your resignation by the end of the day it will be left to a governors’ vote, at which point it will become widely known. Is that really what you want?”
Harry’s expression plainly showed that he did not care, but one look at John, pale and drawn, changed his mind.
“No, it’s not,” he gritted, through clenched teeth. “You’ll have my resignation by the end of the day.”
Satisfied, the headmaster looked at John, who could only nod, tightly. “It would be best if you left the school as soon as possible, but … do you have anywhere you can stay?”
John glanced around, lost. Of course he didn’t.
“Of course he does. He can stay with me.” Harry arched his eyebrows at the headmaster, challenging him to argue.
“Very well. But for goodness’ sake, show some discretion. You’re still associated with this establishment.”
Harry made a sound that sound that resembled a snort, although it was so quiet that perhaps only John heard it. He stormed over to the door, holding it open for John. Outside in the corridor, John leaned against the wall, worried his legs might not support him. Harry stood close and whispered, “Pack some things. I’ll bring the car up in an hour. Will you be all right?”
John made a visible effort to pull himself together, and nodded. Harry walked away, pausing after a few steps to look back at him, giving him an encouraging smile.
** ** **
John made short work of his packing. He didn’t have a great many possessions, and one suitcase and two boxes full of books were all it really amounted to. Glad that everyone in the school was still busy in lessons, he carried his things out to the front gate, where Harry was waiting. He took the suitcase and a box from John, placed them in the back of his car, and climbed in.
Rolling down the drive, John felt the shock start to wear off. Being asked to resign in disgrace was awful, of course, but it could have been much, much worse. He still had Harry.
It only took one trip to carry all of John’s things up the stairs to Harry’s spare room. He looked around him, feeling shaken and disorientated, but surprisingly safe. He smiled weakly at Harry, who crossed the room in three quick strides and wrapped his arms tightly around him, and he held him for a long time.
** ** **