Single father series

What sparks my hearthstone's flame

"Andrej, where did you put the multiplication table we bought? We have to study."

He didn't answer, looking at me playfully. I knew he had hid it before I got back from the bathroom. He's been a handful lately. I understand that he'd rather play than study but he seemed to understand his obligations during the first two grades better. Now it's become harder to keep him interested and sometimes, even, focused, depending on what he'd been doing before studying. Since he had watched a cartoon previously, I'm up for an eventful afternoon.

"Andrej, where did you place it?"

"I've not touched it, dad."

"I know you did; now you go bring it so we can study. Unless you want to miss Ninja turtles?"

He ran to his room and was faster back than there. I learnt these little childish tricks worked better than saying I won't allow him to watch the cartoon if he doesn't bring the table back. If I did that he'd cause a tiff, he is very stubborn and you've no idea how hard his spite is to manage. Mum says she thought no one was more obstinate than me but it looks like I found an heir. It isn't easy to study with a child because their mind drifts off if you don't make the lesson interesting. Luckily, his teacher seems to be doing a good job and making them keen on schoolwork. So whenever there's a lesson that's a bit more difficult I try to find a way to simplify it or bring it closer to Andrej with a plain example where I usually, somehow, incorporate something his fond of. Works every time.

"So this is like the ABC for maths, buddy."

"So very important?"

"Exactly. Now, we'll learn this together."

He's been doing well in school and I always made sure to let him know I was proud of him. Lately it's become very hard to kick him out of my atelier. As soon as the new canvas arrives it's ruined before I get the chance to get him away from it. Regular paper has become dull and arid for him. So we made a deal. He gets one with every package. I'm definitely not a strict parent but I don't think I'm too loose either. I try to stay somewhere in the middle, so he does know who's in charge but to also know we're friends. I'm trying to build our relationship on trust and love, not fear and punishment. So far so good, I'd say.

This is Andrej's last year with Désirée as his teacher. It meant the end of my agony. Since our quick separation she's not come to the gallery, at least not when I've been there. But I saw her every day I'd pick my son up at school. I tried not to pay attention to the woman in front of the main door, making sure all children are taken by their parents or guardians and not wandering off on their own. She seemed like a very thoughtful and understanding person, she was very good with the little ones and that draw me into her even more. While trying to stop thinking about her, I thought even more. My mind wasn't helping me at all, creating a complete counter-effect. As if looking at her from afar wasn't enough, sometimes she'd send a smile my way which wasn't doing any good to me. The night we shared kept repeating itself in my head, as a film, a film I could not forget, something I wish I could repeat over and over again, but not in my mind only. I know she was only being polite but I would've done better if I wasn't constantly reminded of what a charming smile the French woman had.

Once every term we had a parent-teacher meeting to be informed how our children were progressing, which let me know she was a very conscientious teacher and really did want the best for her pupils. The first one was extremely awkward, at least for me. But later on we became very good at this game of not knowing each other any better than she knew Peter or any other parent. One time she even asked me whether I was helping a little too much to Andrej when it came to his art homework. I had explained that I, of course, did not draw a single line and how my son started drawing when he was a small toddler, to which she replied with a compliment to my own work, saying that Andrej must've inherited his talent from his father. We had a meeting about some school trip to the museum, and many more later and all that time I struggled to pay attention to her words, because pictures I tried to supress were erupting to the surface. I still wanted her, if not even more than before. I was greedy. I had a piece of that passion once, two and a half years ago, but I wanted more. A lot more. I yearned to feel her shape again, to sense her skin, feel her nails dig in my back and hear her soft sounds of pleasure. To me her body was art, and her personality intriguing enough to occupy my thoughts too often. For some reason, whenever she referred to me as Mr Styles, it felt like a slap to my face. A slap from the harsh reality.