Page 95 of Sex Ed

‘I got thirsty.’

He grabs the bottle off me, unscrews the lid and then takes a huge swig. Ed is drinking in public; this is major and that is more than a swig. He chokes a little, removes the bottle from his mouth and then stares into space. Knowing Ed, this may mean he’s already drunk.

‘Caitlin is sleeping with Tommy from school.’

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a weight feels like it’s lifted from my shoulders, but I realise I need to act shocked, like I didn’t know this already.

‘What the actual…?’ I say, opening my mouth. I should have taught Drama. ‘How did you find out?’

Please don’t be via the kids, via TikTok.

He passes me the bottle and shrouds his face with his hand. ‘I went round there with muffins because she told me she had period cramps and Tommy was there without a shirt, she was in a dressing gown. They were going to eat a takeaway in bed.’

‘Oh, Ed…’ I say, my eyes glassing over to hear his disappointment, to see the devastation in his face of having found them out like that. This is awful. ‘I’m sorry.’ I wrap my arms around him, and I feel his body shudder. Please don’t cry, Ed. Please don’t be sad. ‘Let’s get you in and we can finish off this wine. I’ve got you,’ I tell him, using the sleeve of my coat to wipe his face.

He nods, walking towards his building. ‘This is a bit embarrassing. You never saw this…’

‘Did you cry in front of them, when you saw them?’

‘No. I also didn’t let them have any muffins,’ he says.

‘Strong response,’ I say.

‘I should have punched him, right?’ he asks me.

‘No, that’s what I would have done. You’re not me.’

We climb the stairs, and he opens the door to his flat, the sadness in his eyes unbearable to see. He walks in, kicking off his shoes like a tired child and I watch carefully. That’s usually my move. I follow him quietly. When I get to the kitchen, I pause at the sight that greets me. Boxes of muffins lined up on the table, stacks of bread rolls, bottles of smoothies and juice. I walk over to the table where he’s written tags for the bottles.

Aerobic respiration = glucose + oxygen -> carbon dioxide + energy + water

Good luck, from Mr Rogers

All of them have different equations, all handwritten with bubble writing. This beats me by a tree with a handbag of Haribo all day long.

‘Ed, you did all this?’

He shrugs, standing there silently.

‘Are you OK?’

He shakes his head.

‘Oh, Ed…’ I go over to him and embrace him again.

‘I should have listened to you. You said I was diving in too fast. Maybe I scared her off. Maybe this was something I did,’ he says, his head on my shoulder.

My body freezes for a moment to hear him turn this on himself. ‘No, I won’t hear you say that.’

‘He’s better looking than me, he’s more experienced,’ he moans.

I push him away. ‘But he’s also a dick. You know he’s a dick. You’ve seen what he’s like. There is really no comparison here.’

‘Maybe it was a sex thing.’

‘Then what you’re saying is I’m a shit teacher and I find that very insulting.’

That didn’t raise the smile that I hoped it would and I feel overwhelmed by a mixture of panic and sadness. I grab his face with both hands and make him look at me.

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