Read Online Polly by Freya North - Free Book Online Page A

know,’ Polly replied, ‘I think I’ll give it a miss. Jet lag, you see. And building a house tomorrow – have to be strong, hey!’
    â€˜Well,’ cautioned Kate, ‘I don’t think you can give it a miss. You’re on duty, Polly. That’s your job. That’s what you’re paid for. That’s why you’re here.’
    Kate didn’t tell her that it wouldn’t be a problem for another teacher to stand in. She didn’t tell her because she didn’t want Polly not to go. She thought Polly ought not to be alone. Not on her first Saturday night in America. She hardly knew the girl, not properly. But she knew her well enough to see that loneliness was uncharted anathema to Polly Fenton. Kate cared.
    So Miss Fenton went through the motions of being a teacher that night. She knew the film well, having seen it many times at university, and knew what to heckle and when to sing. But though she did so at all the opportune moments, gaining much admiration from the students in the process, there was no passion behind it and she felt no fun. She could have talked to Lorna, really she could. Really talked. She’d have liked that; Lorna too, hopefully. But she couldn’t because it was so noisy. And she was on duty.
    What is it, Polly? What, exactly, has unnerved you so?
    It feels too far to be safe.
    How do you mean?
    It’s new. I’ve never not been near him. We’ve rarely done things apart. ‘While the cat’s away’, hey?
    How about ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, surely?
    More like ‘out of sight, out of mind’. I must be losing mine. I don’t know, do you know I just feel – uneasy. All of a sudden. I suppose I just presumed all to be so secure. After five years, you slip into an easy routine. Or is it complacency? I’m not going to say ‘yes’. I’d better not. Not for a while.
    Power game?
    Safety net.
    Fighting sleep, Polly forced images of Max to assault her instead. Max drunk. Max stoned. Max having a brilliant time without her. Max necking someone, tall and blonde. Max’s mind being utterly devoid of Polly.
    She’d never done this to herself before.
    She’d never seen Max like that.
    What are you doing, Fenton? That’s not Max – not Max at all.
    Look what Sunday has brought – a breathtakingly beautiful morning. Polly slept well, eventually, and her fears that smiling would elude her entire stay have proven unfounded: she grins broadly at the morning. Dew covers the lawn in a sweeping kiss and the very tips of just one or two leaves on each maple tree wink a crimson preview to Polly. New England. Vermont. Fall. How lucky.
    Trading Old for New.
    â€˜Just you wait,’ says Kate, pushing a mug of erbal tea (most definitely no ‘h’) into Polly’s hands, ‘another four weeks and man, you’ll weep!’ They sip and sigh awhile.
    â€˜All set?’ Kate asks.
    â€˜Won’t I need a hammer?’ asks Polly. Kate laughs and gives her a quick, spontaneous hug.
    â€˜Nope!’ she declares, ‘that’s for the guys. You know there won’t be one nail or screw used, just oak pegs?’
    How could Polly know? She’s never been to a house raising before.
    Can a scent be deafening? Technically, probably not; grammatically, debatable too. However, it occurs to Polly, as she and Kate stride towards the site, that it is the most appropriate word to use.
    The scent of pine is deafening.
    Definitely; it is deafening and divine.
    The pine, not yet seen, has been felled, planed and is ready to be made into a house.
    From the right-hand fork at the end of Main Street, a small, well-maintained lane leads off it to the right. It continues severely up hill; over the petticoats and on to the very skirt of Mount Hubbardtons. Not that John Hubbardton was a cross-dresser, of course; it’s merely the price he must pay for having a mountain