effect their farewells. Sheba resolved the matter by prodding Connolly abruptly in the ribs and jumping onto her bike. “Bye then!” she cried as she rode away. When she glanced behind her, she saw that he was lingering on the pavement where she had left him. She waved and, after a moment, he waved mournfully back.
It is a nice question as to when exactly Sheba became conscious of having amorous feelings for Connolly or, indeed, became conscious of his having amorous feelings for her. I have pressed her on many occasions for specificity on this issue, but her responses are maddeningly inconsistent. At times she will insist that she was guilty of nothing more than maternal fondness for Connolly and was utterly “ambushed” when he first kissed her. At other times she will coyly volunteer that she “fancied” him from the start. I daresay we shall never know for certain the exact progress of her romantic attachment. But it seems clear that, during these early days, Sheba was not very honest with herself about her feelings for the boy. The hairstroking episode is a case in point. On her way home that evening, she felt troubled, she says. Unsettled. She kept going over what had just happened in her studio and telling herself that there was nothing to fuss about. She had ruffled the boy’s hair, for goodness’ sake. Just as an auntie might. But why, then, she wondered, was she feeling so shifty? Why was it necessary to reassure herself? Things that are truly innocent don’t need to be labelled as such. If everything between her and the boy was
so simple and aboveboard, why had she never mentioned his visits to Sue? She was feeling guilty about it. She was!
Had Sheba pursued this interrogation of herself with any rigor, things might have turned out very differently. But almost as soon as the promising line of enquiry had been opened, she abruptly shut it down. She had not mentioned Connolly to Sue, she told herself, because Sue would have been bound to respond with unnecessary anxiety. She would have said that the after-school meetings were “inappropriate.” And Sheba absolutely knew that they weren’t. What did it matter what other people might think, as long as she knew that the thing was harmless? People were hypervigilant these days, because of child abuse. In the rush to guard against the sickos, the world had gone slightly mad. There were people who wouldn’t take pictures of their naked children anymore, for fear of being reported to the police by the man at the developer’s. Surely she wasn’t going to succumb to that sort of craziness and become her own tyrannous Neighbourhood Watch? She had ruffled his hair. His hair. She had only wanted to comfort the boy, she told herself. Perhaps she would have been less inclined to make the gesture with another, less appealing pupil. But what of that? She couldn’t expect herself to be oblivious of what the kids looked like and smelled like. She spent all day confronting their corporeal reality: inhaling their farts, gazing, with pity, upon their acne. Some of them were vile looking and some were attractive. What kind of saint wouldn’t notice the difference? Any pleasure she took in Steven’s physical self was no more or less suspect than the pleasure she had once taken in the plump, velvety bodies of her own babies. A sensuous pleasure certainly, but far from sensual.
One Friday afternoon, not long before the Christmas holidays, Connolly appeared at a Homework Club that Sheba was minding. The two had not encountered each other in a public setting since they had become friends, and Sheba felt somewhat uneasy. Connolly arrived late, in the company of a skinny, grinning boy called Jackie Kilbane. According to the notes that they handed in, they had been caught earlier in the week sharing a cigarette together in the school’s crumbling outdoor lavatories. They were now serving a fortnight’s worth of hour-long detentions. Sheba detected something sly and furtive
It is a nice question as to when exactly Sheba became conscious of having amorous feelings for Connolly or, indeed, became conscious of his having amorous feelings for her. I have pressed her on many occasions for specificity on this issue, but her responses are maddeningly inconsistent. At times she will insist that she was guilty of nothing more than maternal fondness for Connolly and was utterly “ambushed” when he first kissed her. At other times she will coyly volunteer that she “fancied” him from the start. I daresay we shall never know for certain the exact progress of her romantic attachment. But it seems clear that, during these early days, Sheba was not very honest with herself about her feelings for the boy. The hairstroking episode is a case in point. On her way home that evening, she felt troubled, she says. Unsettled. She kept going over what had just happened in her studio and telling herself that there was nothing to fuss about. She had ruffled the boy’s hair, for goodness’ sake. Just as an auntie might. But why, then, she wondered, was she feeling so shifty? Why was it necessary to reassure herself? Things that are truly innocent don’t need to be labelled as such. If everything between her and the boy was
so simple and aboveboard, why had she never mentioned his visits to Sue? She was feeling guilty about it. She was!
Had Sheba pursued this interrogation of herself with any rigor, things might have turned out very differently. But almost as soon as the promising line of enquiry had been opened, she abruptly shut it down. She had not mentioned Connolly to Sue, she told herself, because Sue would have been bound to respond with unnecessary anxiety. She would have said that the after-school meetings were “inappropriate.” And Sheba absolutely knew that they weren’t. What did it matter what other people might think, as long as she knew that the thing was harmless? People were hypervigilant these days, because of child abuse. In the rush to guard against the sickos, the world had gone slightly mad. There were people who wouldn’t take pictures of their naked children anymore, for fear of being reported to the police by the man at the developer’s. Surely she wasn’t going to succumb to that sort of craziness and become her own tyrannous Neighbourhood Watch? She had ruffled his hair. His hair. She had only wanted to comfort the boy, she told herself. Perhaps she would have been less inclined to make the gesture with another, less appealing pupil. But what of that? She couldn’t expect herself to be oblivious of what the kids looked like and smelled like. She spent all day confronting their corporeal reality: inhaling their farts, gazing, with pity, upon their acne. Some of them were vile looking and some were attractive. What kind of saint wouldn’t notice the difference? Any pleasure she took in Steven’s physical self was no more or less suspect than the pleasure she had once taken in the plump, velvety bodies of her own babies. A sensuous pleasure certainly, but far from sensual.
One Friday afternoon, not long before the Christmas holidays, Connolly appeared at a Homework Club that Sheba was minding. The two had not encountered each other in a public setting since they had become friends, and Sheba felt somewhat uneasy. Connolly arrived late, in the company of a skinny, grinning boy called Jackie Kilbane. According to the notes that they handed in, they had been caught earlier in the week sharing a cigarette together in the school’s crumbling outdoor lavatories. They were now serving a fortnight’s worth of hour-long detentions. Sheba detected something sly and furtive
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