Free Wise Follies by Grace Wynne-Jones

angry on James’s behalf as I scurried around the studio, trying to make things shipshape. But I was very glad to have an excuse to be alone with him too. Sharing these somewhat domestic tasks with him had an intimate feel to it. It was as if we were a couple suddenly – a couple clearing up after the kids had gone to bed.
    The fact that we didn’t speak much seemed to make the situation even more loaded. The clay, as it squelched between my fingers, seemed deeply sensual – and the silent rhythm of our movements felt quite carnal too. The way James wiped the tables seemed so masterful. So full of hidden meaning. It was almost like one of the more restrained scenes in that film The Piano . The early ones where the daughter was scampering off somewhere and Holly Hunter and Harvey Keitel were alone in his mountain shack. I wished there was a musical instrument in the room and I could play it with sudden brilliance.
    James hadn’t spoken for ages. The sexual tension in the room was so thick I almost had to push my way through it as I scrubbed and wiped and rinsed. I wondered whether he was wrestling with his conscience. Trying to subdue his emotions. After all, teachers aren’t really supposed to become involved with their pupils. But this was different. I wanted to tell him that. This was way beyond ceramics. This was a man–woman thing. I suspected that he was realizing this. Every so often he looked up and gave me a small, grateful smile. If he did speak, it seemed to me that he might say something wonderful. It would come out as a sort of husky groan, a deep rasp of longing. ‘Put that J-cloth down and come here, Alice.’ I furtively slipped a Silvermint into my mouth.
    James was perspiring a bit. I could smell it. It was a lovely smell. Clean and male and lusty. I wanted to snuffle into his armpits like a truffle pig. There are many smells to James Mitchel, and all of them are blissful. I could enthuse about them the way a wine expert might enthuse about her favourite muscatel. ‘A hint of sandalwood wafting through the sweet flowers in a summer meadow, a hint of sea and pine leaves – and something else so wonderful I cannot name it…’ that kind of thing. I wished it was dark outside and that the lights would go out for some reason. That way we’d have to grope around and probably bump into each other and it would Happen. James would take me in his arms and press me so close to him that we almost melted together. He’d press his mouth against mine, urgently, hungrily, for a long, deep, delicious kiss, our pheromones dancing.
    Thinking all this made me rather self-conscious. I was determined to appear businesslike – even searching in the cupboards to see if there was any Ajax. I scrubbed those plastic table-tops until they shone. I scrutinized them carefully. They were clean, there was no getting round it. Any moment now, James and I would have to leave, leave with our passion completely unaddressed. How very poignant it was. I sighed deeply as I gave my J-cloth its final rinse.
    And then James said something. ‘Come here, Alice, I want you…’ As I stared at him, he seemed to hesitate. ‘For a moment,’ he added quickly, but I barely heard him. I wanted to run, arms out, grab him. I didn’t. I approached him slowly, cautiously, like David Attenborough might a mountain gorilla. I didn’t want to frighten him away.
    ‘What do you want me for, James?’ I asked tremulously. Then I gave him a very encouraging smile. I looked at his earlobes and thought how I’d love to nibble them. I was very glad I’d had that peppermint in my pocket.
    He seemed so tall as he stood there before me.
    ‘Alice, I was wondering if you’d like to…?’ He was looking straight into my eyes.
    I fluttered my eyelashes in as coquettish a manner as I could manage. ‘I’m sure I would, James,’ I thought, almost quivering with nervous excitement. ‘Go on. Please, just ask.’
    ‘I was wondering if you’d like to look