Watch Over Me

He was back at school at six thirty. He put his coat in the cloakroom; he picked up his bag in the teachers' common room and went to the classroom he'd been assigned for his talks.

Bob Howarth, one of the janitors, stood in the school entrance to answer possible questions. He was accosted by a big man with a briefcase; where could he find Mr Musson? There was no Mr Musson at school. Bob decided he'd probably mean Matheson, and pointed at Mo who was just walking past. The man dropped his briefcase and made a run for Mo. He struck him hard in the face, and when Mo went down like a log, he started to kick him. The people present looked at it aghast. There were a lot of men in the hall but it took a lot of them to stop the intruder from trying to batter the life out of him.

"There, you bastard," the man growled, "that's what you get for fucking my wife!"

Then everything went very fast. There was an ambulance to take Mo to hospital, accompanied by the headmaster, Mr Murdoch, and one of the deputy headmasters, and the police came to fetch the bull-like perpetrator, who'd been recognised as Mrs Wilkinson's husband. He shut up like a clam after his one sentence.

Anne looked at the clock a little nervously. Almost eight o'clock. She still wasn't too happy about the arrangements, and awaited Mark's arrival with growing apprehension. She would have to talk it out. Ten more minutes...

Then her cell phone buzzed. There was a text message from Jenny. Mo's been beaten up and taken to hospital, it said. Her mouth dropped. Mo? Who on earth would want to beat up Mo? She called the school immediately. Yes, he'd been taken to hospital and Mr Murdoch and Mr Wright were with him. Could she have the phone number of either of them, please? She called Mr Murdoch. Was it true Mo'd been attacked?

Yes, only too true. Horrible -- but that's what you get from fooling with another man's wife, was his final comment.

Anne exploded. "Don't you bloody know what goes on in your own school?" she shouted. "Mo fooling with another man's wife? No one ever told you about Murchison and that woman?"

It remained silent on the other end of the line for some time.

"Well, jeez" the head admitted, "that does sound rather more likely. Oh dear!"

"How is he?" Anne asked.

"Not too good," the head said. "His arm's been broken in two places, he's got two broken ribs, his left eye socket is damaged, and that's apart from internal bruisings, bruised legs, and he probably has concussion. They say he's not in any danger, and they think his eye itself is alright, but he will be in pain for a considerable time. But they see no reason to keep him here. They want to send him home; we'll have to find someone to take care of him."

"Found," Anne said. "I'll be over straight away."

She hurriedly threw a couple of necessaries into a bag, put on her coat and went out into the street.

Mark was just alighting from his car. "Hey," he said. "I thought we had a date?"

Mark. Blast. Mo's plight had driven straight from her mind. "Sorry," she said. "We'll have to talk later. Mo's been beaten up. I have to go and take care of him."

Mark grew very red in the face. "Mo?" he said, puffing up his chest. "Mo? I should've known. You've kept fucking him all the time, you slut! Mo? You rotten, lying bitch! You --"

He spent the next minute doubled up, wondering what had hit him. Anne had kneed him in the groin, and then taken her bicycle to rush off to hospital, not bothering about Mr. Annison for one more second.

When she came at the hospital she was shown into the room where Mo was lying. He looked like the people you sometimes see in less appealing news items, with a large hematoma round his left eye, and one arm in plaster, and he was very pale, and breathing hard.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Oh, my poor boy," she whispered, "why should this happen to you?"

Mo must have heard, for he opened his right eye and tried to smile at Anne. "Hi, Anne," he croaked. "Good to see you."

"Shh," she said. "We're going to take you home. I'll be taking care of you this time."

VI. Mo

Anne proved to be a quite efficient nurse, somewhat to her own surprise. She had asked and been given instructions at the hospital, and she made sure Mo's healing process and recuperation went as smoothly and pleasantly as possible. Arrangements had been made for a hospital bed in the downstairs spare room, and she spent most of Mo's waking hours sitting there, trying to entertain him and see to his needs. She had to wash him, brush his teeth, feed him at first, help him at the toilet... It would be a long time before Mo was strong enough to sit up, and yet longer before he could use his left arm again.

She had to find his pyjamas and so she went into his upstairs bedroom. It felt a bit like intruding at first, but she told herself not to be silly. The large wardrobe was half empty; the part that was used was organised -- just like everything else, she thought. Not overdone, just pleasantly tidy. She looked around the room. There was a big double bed, with a chair that he probably used for his daytime clothes at night, and a bedside table that held a reading light, a novel, an alarm clock and a framed photograph. She went over to see what was in the picture, and felt rather a shock when she saw her own face smiling at her. She wondered when it could have been taken, and then she remembered that Ted had brought a camera, that Christmas. Mo must have asked him for a print.

Washing him was a strangely mixed sort of thing -- very intimate, and a little daunting. If he'd been her boyfriend it might have been easier. She'd never seen him naked before. She vaguely noticed the difference between Mo and Mark; Mo wasn't so well-trained. He had no six-pack stomach, but he was slim and she liked the way he smelled, and washing and touching him made her feel warm and happy. She made an effort to push any qualms away, and then it felt easier to wash even his most intimate parts. His cock looked different than Mark's -- but then, she'd never seen Mark other than at least semi-aroused. It felt warm and human, and she carefully washed him, pushing back the foreskin to keep him clean. Strange, really, that she could touch him now... She'd wanted to before, thinking she never would. Mo looked nice and masculine without the ostentation Mark seemed to have to show even in his physique. When she had finished washing him she stroked his cheek. He opened his eye and smiled at her, and she blushed hard.

He wondered a little tiredly why she was blushing -- and he smiled again. "Thank you," he whispered -- and she had to turn her head to hide her tears.

The first thing she did that night, when she'd settled back into her old room, was call Mark.

"Hello." She realised Mark always answered the phone on a peremptory note. That's what you get from being important, she thought.

"Hello," she said.

"Anne? Who the hell do you think you are, flying at me like that!"

"Mark, listen to me for once. I'm calling you to tell you I'm absolutely through with you. You have been behaving more and more condescendingly and selfishly lately and the baseless insults you threw at me this evening capped it all. I --"

That was as far as she got.

"You bitch, you slut! As long as I pay for you I'm good enough, and to satisfy your desires, to be fucked like the bitch in heat you are, and you aren't even good in bed --"

Anne hung up on him to stop hearing the abuse he was shouting at her. She was red and her face felt hot with rage. She removed all traces of him from her cell phone and blocked him on Facebook -- and good luck to him, she thought.

The very next morning, Mr Murdoch came round, with a bunch of flowers. He inquired about Mo's situation, and Anne told him the little there was to tell. Then she said, "Look -- I think you'd better put me on unpaid leave."

The head shook his head immediately. "No way," he said.

Well, I never -- the bastard, Anne thought. She heaved a very deep breath to give him a piece of her mind, but the head immediately took the wind from her sails.

"I may be an idiot," he said, "but at least I hope I'm no jerk. We'll put you on paid leave for as long as necessary -- up to you to decide. If I had kept my eyes open..." He shook his head, and added, "I'm very sorry, Anne. Really."

He told her a temporary teacher had already been found to take over her work till the summer holidays. Mo's lessons would be seen to by the other English teachers; they'd like to come and visit Mo as soon as she thought they could and she promised to let them know.

Murdoch had a rather unpleasant interview with Murchison. He said the head was a hypocrite. He would miss the love-making with Genie, he said; he supposed he'd be dismissed for improper behaviour... But man, what a laugh that Mr Decency Matheson had to bear the brunt of those blows. He grinned wolfishly. The bastard had had the nerve to remark on his behaviour, but he didn't have the guts to go for a nice piece of skirt. Well, Murchison had a friend in Manhattan who ran a school there; he'd be happy to have him in the math department. He said his goodbyes in high good humour, completely unrepentant.

Mo slept most of the time. His internal bruises were immensely painful, and he was given a lot of painkillers. When he was awake she first saw to his needs; then they talked a little. It appeared Mo'd thought it had been a parent who attacked him, and he'd been wondering what on earth it was that one of his pupils could have held against him. When she told him it had been Genie Wilkinson's husband, he gave her a tired look, shook his head and sank back into the pillows, closing his one visible eye. "Oh, God," he said.

"Don't worry," Anne said, and she stroked his hair. He felt for her hand with his undamaged arm, and she pressed it. He held her hand until he fell asleep.

Anne had a lot of time to subject herself to a deep scrutiny. How she had wasted her time and herself on that bastard! How could she have been so blind? He and his mansions. Mo's place didn't contain anything ostentatious; it was harmonious and it felt safe and good. It was the way she'd like her own home to be. If she could only believe Mo might be interested in her at all... But then, that picture? She shook her head. She was there for him for the time being; that much was clear.

She called Medbh and told her about Mo having been bashed up. Medbh asked her a lot of quite pertinent questions about the incident and then about Mo and her; then she was silent for quite some time. Eventually she said,

"You know, I think I ought to come down and have a look. Would you mind?"

"No -- I'd love to have you," Anne said. "Please!"

One of Mo's English colleagues called that afternoon. Anne told him they'd better come on Saturday, halfway through the morning -- Mo would probably be at his best then. They talked for some time about the incident and how they had divided Mo's tasks between them, and then he hung up.

That evening, when Mo was asleep, Anne decided to play some music over Mo's headphones. She saw the system was still on. She wondered what Mo had been listening to last, and after putting on the headphones, she pressed the play button of the CD player.

It was a Mary Chapin Carpenter song -- the box was lying on the side table. She picked it up and saw the song she heard was not the opening one. Mo must have programmed the thing, she thought.

She listened to the lyrics --

You've been saying for the longest time that the time has come

You've been talking like you're of a mind to get some changing done

Maybe move out of the city, find some quiet little town

Where you can sit out on your back porch step

And watch the sun go down

No one knows where they belong

The search just goes on and on and on

For every choice that ends up wrong

Another one's right

A change of scene would sure be great

The thought is nice to contemplate

But the question begs why would you wait

And be late for your life...

Now you might never find that perfect town

But the sun still sets on a rooftop where the city

Sounds like a Gershwin clarinet

And you might still be searching every face for one you can't forget

Love is out there in a stranger's clothes

You just haven't met him yet

No one knows where they belong

The search just goes on and on and on

For every day that ends up wrong

Another one's right

Call it chance or call it fate

Either one is cause to celebrate

Still the question begs why would you wait

And be late for your life

Call it chance baby, call it fate

Either one is cause to celebrate

And the question now is why would you wait

Don't be late for your life

Anne sat listening until the song ended, and then waited for the next one -- but the system stayed silent. She realised with a start that Mo must have felt very sad to programme just this song, which seemed to express her feelings only too well, too. She often felt she was late for her life.

She played the song once again. Well, she thought, at least Mark hasn't completely overtaken my life. She took the CD from the player and put it in its box. Then she took off the headphones, looked in on Mo, who was fast asleep, and turned in. The words of the song kept playing their part in her thoughts, though, and she almost cried when she thought about the way life played tricks on you.

Medbh came down that very weekend. She'd brought a book she thought Mo would like -- he did -- and she had some flowers for Anne. They sat with Mo together for quite a while until he grew weary and fell asleep.

Then they went into the garden. The cold air felt good, and even now the view was wonderful. Medbh told Anne how much she liked Mo's place -- it reminded her so much of her own home, though Mo's setup was a lot tidier and quieter by far -- their daughters always made a lot of noise, pleasant noise, okay, but still...

Anne nodded. She'd been there and she knew. "Yes," she said. "It's great here. It's typically Mo's place -- it's just like him."

Medbh looked at her and raised her eyebrows. "Just like him?" she repeated.

Anne nodded. "Yes," she said. "Tidy, and friendly, and welcoming, and attractive..." She saw Medbh look at her, and looked away. She ran her hand over her eyes.

"We thought -- or hoped -- you might join up," Medbh said. "But you didn't. I asked Mo, and he said that he'd always expected you to go and find a place of your own, because a young woman needs to live her own life --"

"I'm not a young woman," Anne interrupted. "Mo's only five years my senior."

Medbh shook her head. "You're right," she said. "But he knows he is. We tried to convince him that he might be wrong in thinking that the age difference could be a problem, but he didn't want to be in anybody's way. He'd find it very hard to flirt, I think. Did he, ever?"

Anne half laughed, half sniffed. "No. He did give me a bottle of perfume and a collection of poetry under the Christmas tree."

"Okay -- that's quite something for him. Wouldn't you have liked to stay?"

Anne sighed. "I was afraid I might outstay my welcome," she said. "Having someone stay at your place for months..."

"He loved it," Medbh said. "He wouldn't have dreamt of offering you to stay with him if he hadn't thought you were really nice, and I think he found you to be even nicer than he'd thought."

"Did he say so?"

"No. He just talked about you. He never talks about anyone, normally... After you'd left, he told us and then withdrew into himself like he used to. Maybe even more so."

"Was he angry with me?"

"He had already told us you'd probably leave, as a matter of course."

"If only I'd known," Anne said. She stared down the garden to the river at the bottom of the slope. She heard the bell in the big church in town strike the hour -- a low, lonesome sound that faded slowly over the fields. She shook her head. "I'll just go inside and look at him for a moment -- and then I'll do the cooking."

"I'll lend you a hand," Medbh said.

The two women stood pleasantly pottering about in the kitchen, cleaning mushrooms and leek and preparing a nice quiche, and a mixture of rice, peas, maize and small pieces of Edam. Mo could eat a little when it wasn't too hard or tough, and quiche, without the crust, was excellent.

When dinner was ready they went into the spare bedroom. Anne propped Mo up against the pillows, and started to feed him small parts of quiche, while Medbh sat talking with her plate on her lap. She told Mo the latest news from her part of the world, and he made an attempt at smiling.

Even though the occasion was not exactly a happy one, Medbh's visit was quite cosy and they sat together pleasantly. Mo loved seeing the two women he liked best together in his room, and nodded at them happily. Then he flinched -- nodding was not a good idea yet. The two women started, and Mo quickly indicated with his right hand that he was okay, really. "Nodding hurt a bit," he whispered. "Sorry"

"No apologies, Mo!" Medbh said. "As if you could help it!"

Anne stroked his cheek, and his eyes smiled at them. They nodded at him. Anne gave him some yoghurt to finish his dinner, and then she gave him another painkiller and brushed his teeth. Medbh took her leave. She kissed Mo softly on his cheek, and then she embraced Anne, and kissed her, too.

"Keep up the good work, girl," she said. "I'm glad I've come -- and I'm sure Mo will be alright. Especially with you to watch over him."

She smiled at Anne. "Remember what I told you, right?"

Anne nodded hard. "I will," she said. "But it is hard to act on it..."

"I know. I've drawn a lot of circles around Ted first, too, believe me... and he around me. When we'd decided it was alright, it really was."

"Really?"

"Really. Going now -- it's a long drive. See you soon!"

Anne went along to Medbh's car, and waved when she drove off. Medbh was fantastic, she thought. A real friend. Then she remembered she had not given any sign of life to Jenny. She called her on the landline, and they talked for a long time. Anne told her how her contacts with Mark were over, and Jenny fell silent for a moment.

"You were very right about him, you know," Anne said. "I'm much better off without him. I kneed him in the groin --"

"You did? Anne! I'd never have expected you could! Fantastic!"

Jenny started giggling. She had a very infectious laugh, and Anne laughed along, for the first time in weeks. She realised she'd sometimes laughed at Mark's jokes -- but they weren't the kind of jokes that were really nice, and her laughter hadn't been too real... This made her feel light inside. Lovely!

"Well," Jenny said, "I'm glad you're back, honey. I do know you again like this."

They talked a little about school, and Jenny said that the head seemed quite different from how he used to be. He was taking an interest in his staff, and he was a lot more approachable.

"Mo's misfortune did the school some good, then," Anne said.

"Huh?"

"Yes -- he thought Mo'd been fooling around with Genie. And I almost bit off his head. He obviously felt very bad about having missed the whole thing. I'm on paid leave, you know."

"Wow. Okay. Well, I'd say that's a happy extra. You must be happy nursing Mo, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." Anne sighed. "I shouldn't have left. But you're always wise after the event, aren't you?"

"Uhuh. But it's not too late, is it?"

"Maybe."

Anne fell silent until Jenny said, "Believe you me -- Mo's not a bad idea."

"I know. Oh well, we'll see. Have you done anything nice lately?"

The girls talked a little more, and then Anne rang off and went back to Mo. He was asleep, and he groaned a little. Anne smiled. Yes, he was nice. Really, really nice -- and sweet. She bent over him and whispered, "I'll watch over you, baby!"