Free Homework by Margot Livesey

glasses of wine.” The glasses were passed above the crowd to Stephen’s waiting hands. He gave me one. “I should have asked for the bottle,” he said.
    I drank some wine and immediately felt slightly giddy. I had had nothing to eat since breakfast. Stephen was standing quietly, smiling. “Shall we go into the living room?” I suggested.
    He led the way, and I followed. I waited for him to take me over to a woman and introduce her in a manner that left no doubt as to the nature of their relationship, or to make some excuse to get away, but he guided us without stopping to the corner farthest from the stereo. Then he turned towards me. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass and clinking it to mine. Near us a woman in a brief red satin dress was dancing wildly.
    â€œHow do you know Deirdre?” I asked.

    â€œI teach maths at her school.” He was about to elaborate, but, as if she had heard her name, Deirdre appeared. She put an arm round Stephen and said to me, “You came. I was afraid you wouldn’t when I saw your face this afternoon. You looked like you were arriving back at Holloway Prison after your Christmas break.”
    â€œI was worn out from the train,” I said. “It was jammed with drunken Scotsmen.”
    Deirdre and Stephen burst out laughing. “I can guarantee you won’t find any of those here tonight,” said Deirdre. “I’m pissed as a newt already, but if you want anything, let me know. Right now I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my big brother.” She drifted out among the dancers, and reappeared in the arms of a middle-aged man, barely up to her shoulder, who in spite of the music was trying to waltz her round the room.
    â€œWho’s that?” I asked.
    â€œThat’s Mr. Sutherland. He teaches classics at our school.”
    â€œYou’re not really Deirdre’s brother, are you?”
    â€œNo, it’s a joke between us. We’ve known each other for years, ever since teachers’ training, and we were lucky enough to end up at the same school. What brought you to Edinburgh?” he asked.
    â€œI was offered a job here.”
    â€œYou mean you moved here just on the strength of having a job. You didn’t know anyone?”
    I nodded.
    â€œThat’s very courageous,” he said. “I don’t know if I could stand living in a city of strangers.”
    I asked Stephen how long he had lived here and where he grew up. I thought he must realise that every one of my questions was really the same question, and next day, when he claimed that he had not known whether I liked him, I was incredulous. Because he was so much taller than I, and
soft-spoken, because of the music, perhaps because my emotion like a high wind whipped his words away, there were all kinds of gaps in my understanding of that first conversation. If we had, at that moment, been swept apart, I would have been hard-pressed to describe him.
    Later I discovered he was tall, loose-limbed, with light brown hair and eyes. He had fine, straight hair which flopped over his forehead, his nose was small, his skin was smooth and even in midwinter looked slightly tanned. Everything about him, including his horn-rimmed glasses, was sweetly rounded, he even had a dimple in his chin, and I was amazed to learn that he was several years older than I.
    Suddenly the music stopped. Above the crowd I saw Deirdre standing on a chair. She stretched out her hands in a gesture of silence. “Quiet, children,” she shouted. On the radio Big Ben began to chime, everyone joined hands and sang “Auld Lang Syne.” As the noise crescendoed, Stephen kissed me.
    For a brief interval the room, the noise, the music, the people, all dropped away. Then I heard Deirdre’s voice saying, “Save some for me.” Stephen released me, picked Deirdre up and swung her round. Meanwhile the man on my right seized his chance to give me a