His Model Student: A Student-Teacher Romance

49. Christmas

[RECAP: It has been several weeks of forced separation for Sera and her art teacher Mr Marek, and she's missing him like crazy...]

On Christmas Eve Sera was still awake when there was a noise at her window. Something collided with it.

Fearing Rudolph had bruised his nose she opened the curtains. But it wasn't Father Christmas or his reindeer.

Instead a tall, dark figure stood below, silhouetted against a streetlight. Her heart swelled as she instantly recognised the one person she had missed and longed for these past weeks. What was he doing there? She checked her alarm clock: it was one am.

Sera pulled on a warm jumper and crept downstairs. Everyone else was asleep. She carefully avoided the stair that always creaked and made her way down into the hallway. She was used to this in reverse, as well as opening the front door silently, as when she was returning late from a party or a club she always took care not to wake her family up on her return.

Outside her breath frosted in the air.

"I can't stay, she thinks I'm picking up aspirin from the all-night service station. I wanted to you have this." Mr Marek held out a wrapped, square package.

"I've missed you."

"You're not the only one, baby. But I have to go."

Sera tried to stop him. "Wait!"

He paused.

Not sure how to keep him there she said: "Happy Christmas" and pressed herself into his arms. Put her lips on his, felt the warmth between them in the freezing darkness.

Mr Marek resisted for a moment then yielded. His mouth opened, his tongue entering hers in a kiss that was deep and sweet. Sera felt like she was drinking him in. His arms went around her and for a moment she was locked in his embrace.

He broke off. "The taste of you, the feel. I crave you, Seraphina."

Then he turned and was gone.

Sera felt bereft but she understood the risk. Victoria was probably sitting back at his place with a stopwatch.

Hugging the parcel to her chest she carefully entered the house and returned to her bedroom. She couldn't sleep for hours, thinking of him. Having horrible visions of Victoria forcing her advances on him. They had been a couple before, what if he gave in?

But he came all this way and kissed me, she thought. On Christmas.

* * *

Sera was superstitious about Christmas. When she was very small she had been warned that presents would vanish if she tried to peek or unwrap them before Christmas morning. She no longer believed this but she still avoided ever putting it to the test.

So she went back to bed without unwrapping Mr Marek's parcel. She wanted the full magic of Christmas when she did: that sense of waking up to endless wonderful surprises.

She was also fairly certain that it was a painting of some kind - something framed, anyway - and she would want to see it in the clearest daylight possible not by her bedside lamp.

After what seemed like a dreamless sleep she woke, showered and dressed while she opened the small gifts in the stocking that her parents still hung on her door every year. Her brothers were already racing around the house causing havoc with the various toys they had unwrapped.

Bigger presents came later, under the tree.

Sera slipped downstairs and put Mr Marek's present with the others in the large pile. It would possibly raise some questions, depending on what it was, but she could always claim it was by one of the other students at art class.

"Happy Christmas," her father greeted her, serving up pancakes with smoked salmon. Marisa was sipping Bucks Fizz and offered Sera a glass.

The orange juice and champagne cocktail felt festive and Sera tried to feel glad that she had family around her. Her heart might feel half-broken but at least he was still thinking of her.

"Anyone going to church?" her father asked, knowing full well the answer would be no. The boys were an absolute nightmare on Christmas morning, fired up with sweets and chocolate and wanting to play with their new gifts.

Sera, who liked carols, had half thought about going to the local church but decided it was too cold outside. Besides she was secretly even more keen than the twins to open the main presents.

Finally they were all sitting around the living room, Marisa's parents having arrived to spend the day with them, and the two boys taking it in turns to play "postman".

A new scarf. Some make-up from Lois. Bubble bath. Something from Joel that Sera rapidly buried under other things after seeing the words "Adult Enjoyment" on it.

"What's that, dear?" Marisa's mother asked her.

"Something for styling hair," Sera mumbled, vowing to kill Joel. She had managed to give him a perfectly respectable book on musical theatre, that he'd mentioned wanting.

Then Mr Marek's parcel was finally uncovered. "This one doesn't have a label."

"It's mine," Sera said quickly. "From a friend in art class. The label must have dropped off."

It was handed to her and she opened it carefully, fighting the instinct to rip the paper off as quickly as possible. It was wrapped with string and parcel paper, with a layer of bubble wrap underneath.

She drew it out.

A beautiful oil of a seascape lay before her. A small boat - she recognised it as the same boat in the picture in Mr Marek's home - drifted on much calmer waters.

There were still clouds in the sky: brooding colours of slate, ash and gunmetal. But dawn was breaking on the horizon - a cold, rose gold - and overall it felt like a picture of hope. The craft was waiting for the skies to fully clear.

She could tell from the smell of oils that it was recently painted. How had he hidden it from Victoria?

"That's rather beautiful," Marisa's mother said, looking over her shoulder. "Who's it by?"

"One of the artists in my evening class."

"What a lovely gift. Gives one a rather strange feeling, looking at it. They must be very talented."

Sera carried the painting back to her room and to safety as soon as possible. She didn't want any more questions about it and she didn't want one of the boys damaging it in one of their energetic games. They had already nearly knocked the tree over twice.

She took down a decorative mirror that hung on the wall: it was the wrong height and size to use as a looking glass anyway. Mr Marek's painting replaced it. She wondered if he had titled it but there was no writing on the back. Just his signature in the bottom corner: T. Marek.

Now she could lie and gaze at it and dream of him and what might have been.