#liam mcfarlane

Liam knows that Saffron has a free period at 11.30, which is why he texted her to meet him in the stairwell at 11.35. He is supposed to be teaching Geography to a class of Year Sevens between 11.30 and 12.10 but he tells another teacher, Mrs. Lamb, that he has an upset stomach and asks if she can substitute for him. As expected, Mrs. Lamb looks sympathetic and agrees, and doesn’t ask him any further questions. The truth is that Liam’s stomach isn’t bothering him nearly as much as his heart, which feels like it has been violently ripped from its moorings and is now lodged somewhere in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. In the damp mildew-smelling concrete stairwell the minutes tick by: 11.40, 11.45. 11.50. His earlier feelings of anger and betrayal have now been replaced by sickening anxiety. 11.55. Liam climbs shakily to his feet. He presses a hand to his forehead, which is being stabbed from within by tiny needles of fear dipped in panic. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through the pain.

[previous]

Liam drives towards school and parks in a side street until he sees Saffron’s pink convertible zoom past. His heart surges with love and anticipation. He follows her into the student car park and parks his yellow hatchback in the space right next to hers. Saffron slams her car door when she gets out, her face pale with anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses at him. “Are you crazy?”

“Saffron, please just stop and listen,” he says. “I’ve got something very important to tell you. Please.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says. “Don’t you get it? I’ve blocked you, for God’s sake. What don’t you understand? Stop stalking me, or I’ll-“   

“I’ve finally done it,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. The sense of freedom is intoxicating, the crisp morning air sparkling with promise and possibility. Saffron stares at him, uncomprehending. “I’ve left Stephanie! Saffy, I’ve left my wife! I told her this morning that I want a divorce! Now we can be together!”  

But instead of receiving his news with awe and excitement, Saffron looks even more furious.

“I have to go,” Liam says to Saffron. He looks dazed. “That was the police. Stephanie….Stephanie’s had an accident. She’s been taken to the ER.”

Saffron doesn’t react to his statement. She has noticed that Connor is standing by his car and is staring at her and Liam. She must have been too busy raging at Liam to notice his arrival. She quickly replays in her mind what he may have seen. She feels nauseous, trepidation pooling in her stomach. Liam gives her one final imploring look with his damp spaniel eyes then turns and gets into his car. Connor walks towards her as Liam is driving away. He is frowning.

“What’s going on?” he says. “Why were you arguing with Mr. McFarlane?”

“We weren’t arguing,” says Saffron. “He was just…he keeps asking me to join this poetry club he belongs to. Like, constantly. And I keep telling him I’m not interested. He just won’t take no for an answer. So I got a bit annoyed.”

“A poetry club?” says Connor. “Why would he ask you to join a poetry club?”

“We once got talking in the library about poetry when he saw me borrowing a poetry book,” says Saffron. “That’s all.”

Connor’s frown has deepened.

“So why did he drive off?” he asks.

“He had to go to the ER. He got a call about his wife being in an accident or something,” says Saffron.

“Holy hell, that’s terrible,” says Connor. “Do you know what happened? Is it serious?”

“No, I don’t know what happened,” says Saffron. “I already told you everything I know. Can we not talk about him any more? He’s annoying.”

“Christ, Saffy, can’t you show a little bit of compassion?”  says Connor. “The guy’s wife is in the ER, for God’s sake-“

Liam: XAVIER! Get down from there right now! Sit on the bench properly!

Xavier looks at Liam with lazy, slack-jawed incredulity.

Xavier: Are you for real, Sir?

Liam: I most certainly am. I'll give you ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight-

Xavier: This is bollocks, Sir! I always sit like this!

Sian muffles a giggle and shoves her phone quickly in her blazer pocket.

Liam: Did you say something, Sian?

Sian: Me, Sir? No, Sir. I think you're hearing things, Sir.

Liam: Be quiet. That's enough. You both have a two hour detention.

Sian: What the actual hell, Sir?

The bell has just rung for lunch when Saffron pokes her head around the doorway of the music room. The hallway outside is deserted. She adjusts her clothes and turns to give Liam behind her a terse nod.

“I love you,” he mouths.

Saffron glares at him and then walks quickly down the hallway towards the stairs. She passes a couple of students carrying violin cases on the second floor, and she guesses they are on their way to the music room to practice during their lunch hour. Liam will have had enough time to escape, not that his presence in the room would necessarily have been deemed strange - he is a teacher, after all, and can move freely about the school without arousing suspicion. Saffron goes into a bathroom and checks her hair and puts on lipgloss, then enters a cubicle and urinates and uses a lot of paper to wipe herself, screwing her face up. The few seconds of pleasure she derived today from her liaison with Liam aren’t enough to compensate for her growing feelings of unease….it’s no longer gratifying to hear him say that he loves her, or that he writes poems about her, or that his existence is meaningless without her, or any of the other trite comments he trots out. When she first started having sex with Liam she used to have fun and if she's honest with herself she actually enjoyed his company also…not only was he attentive and experienced, but there was an added layer of illicit excitement, the intoxicating thrill of defying social norms and of one-upping her peers. Having an affair with a married man made her feel smug and sophisticated and superior. But now she just feels empty, and soulless, and fucking lonely.

Saffron has driven about a third of the way over the bridge when her phone starts to ring. ‘Unknown caller’ pops up on her car’s dashboard display. Which is sooooo ironic, thinks Saffron, because she knows exactly who the caller is. She lets her finger hover and dance in mid-air for a few moments before accepting the call.

“Hello,” she says, her voice flat with boredom.

“Saffy,” says Liam. He sounds as if he has just run a marathon. ”Where are you?”

“Driving over the bridge towards home,” she says.

“Didn’t you tell me yesterday you were going to be at the library till closing time?” His disappointment clouds the glass walls of the phone booth, already smeared with fingerprints and the sticky residue of God knows what.

“Yeah, but something came up,” she says.

“What? What came up?”

“I have to babysit,” she says, enjoying the anguish in his voice.

“So what are you saying? We can’t meet up?”

“No, we can’t,” she says. “Not tonight.”

“But tonight’s the only night I can sneak out! Steph’s home every other night!”

“Not my problem,” says Saffron.

“Well, can I come to your place? What time are your parents due to come home?”

“No, you cannot,” she says. “My little brother’s going to be around. And anyway, I’ve still got loads of studying to do. I don’t want any distractions.”

“It’ll only be for half an hour, tops,” he says. “Come on, Saffy. Please. I need you. Desperately."

[previous]

“What's the effect of exchange rate volatility on macroeconomic variables?” Saffron asks Connor, reading from his textbook. Connor frowns and sucks on his teeth. He shrugs.

“Mrs Fisher covered it in last Thursday’s class,” says Saffron. “You weren’t paying attention, obviously.”

“It was all a bit over my head,” says Connor.

Saffron rolls her eyes, but continues reading. “Exchange rate volatility has a negative relationship with variables like inflation, foreign investment and imports. It has a positive relationship with GDP per capita and exports. Are you going to remember that?”

”Yeah, that’s pretty easy,” says Connor.

“Okay. So based on what you understand so far, should developing nations adopt fixed or floating exchange rates?”

“Um…erm….maybe…fixed?” says Connor.

“Why?” Saffron’s blue eyes, as cold as the ocean, drill into his.  

“Because….is that your phone?” says Connor.

“Answer the question,” she says.

“Someone’s texting you,” he says. “It might be important. Maybe your brother missed the last bus home or something?”

“I know you’re just trying to create a diversion, Connor,” she says, but takes her phone from her pocket.  She stands still for a second looking at the text then grimaces and shoves it back in her jeans.

“Everything okay?” says Connor.

“Everything’s fine,” says Saffron, sitting down and picking up the book again.

“Was that your married man?”

“I don’t have a married man, you dick,” says Saffron. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah. Why should developing nations adopt fixed exchange rates?”

Liam eats a solitary dinner of Caesar Salad at the Bridgeport Sports Bar, along with a solitary beer. He hardly tastes his food, brooding about Saffron’s refusal to see him. His wife Stephanie has been invited to be the guest speaker at some museum fund-raising dinner in Riverview tonight and is not expected back until tomorrow afternoon, and he is frustrated that Saffron’s stubborness has stymied what would have been a wonderful opportunity for the two of them to enjoy some precious intimacy. He often thinks that Saffron derives sadistic pleasure from turning him down, that she is willfully fickle just to tease him. It drives him crazy, and makes him want her even more desperately.