‘I notice lots of things.’ He sat on the edge of my desk.
‘I’m sure there were plenty of others there to cheer you on,’ I teased. Standing, I reached up and scratched away a lump of dirt from his brow. ‘Look at you, you’re a mess. Are you okay?’
‘A little sore, if I’m honest.’
I shoved a handful of tissues in his direction, though I ended up being the one blotting at his injury. ‘Is this the part where we cut to the romantic scene of me tending your wounds?’
‘Are you going to shave my face while sitting seductively on my lap wearing nothing more but matching underwear?’ He smirked. I hated that those words pulled at something deep inside.
‘That would be far too romantic, and I have no desire to shave you, lest I cut your throat,’ I teased, crossing my eyes.
He snorted. ‘You’re so caring and maternal.’
‘I really am,’ I said. ‘You should see me on babysitting duty.’
‘You know, we did lose, so I wouldn’t mind a teensy bit of consoling.’ He was going to trip over that bottom lip if he jutted it out any further. I pushed it back in with a lone finger that lingered longer than it should have.
‘You poor darling boy,’ I teased. ‘If you need consoling, I’m sure I have an old Atari at my dad’s.’
‘Hilarious.’
I gathered up the last of the scattered books, succeeding only in moving them from one end of the bench to another. What was I even doing? Maybe it was my brain’s way of saying the busier I was right now, the less I’d look at the oversized, dirt-covered footballer lounging against my desk.
Marcus sucked a pained breath through his teeth. ‘So, I was just going to say that, as much as you hate me …’
‘I don’t hate you,’ I said. ‘If that were the case, we certainly wouldn’t have had sex.’
Nose wrinkled, he folded his arms across his chest, leaned towards me and whispered, ‘It was really, really good sex, too.’
I grinned, but kept my mouth shut. He wasn’t wrong.
‘Anyway, we should sit down and work out this presentation. It’s important to me that we get this right,’ he said.
I turned to face him and leaned back against the bench opposite him. ‘Why?’
‘What’s with the smile?’ he asked. ‘You look like the snake that got the mouse.’
‘Why is this event important to you?’ I asked. ‘Because you think it’ll secure you the role of vice principal?’
‘I guess it is. I’ve been a senior teacher here for a few years now. The only person higher than me is Mick, and he has no interest whatsoever. He just wants to ride it on out until retirement. I think I have more to offer. I’m a good teacher with strong community ties and would like to affect positive change.’ He paused only long enough to hoist his foot up on my chair. ‘I have experience. I can do this. I want to do this, but I won’t get there if we keep fucking about and putting things off.’
His words smacked of desperation and caught somewhere at the back of my mind. I remembered that feeling well. Even if I could only relate to it on the level of securing my job here, there was something raw knowing an achievement was so close, but still so far from my grasp.
‘Vice principal is a big role, you understand.’
‘Yes, Mum.’ He made a tender effort to peel back the sticky bandage from his knee.
‘Let’s say we succeed at this endeavour, and you get the role. Can I hand out the tickets at the coronation?’
He laughed. ‘Piss off.’
I flung myself into a theatrical stance reminiscent of a Shakespearean play, eyes closed to the ceiling. ‘The king shall stroll through the crowd, crown on his head, ruby red regal cape flowing behind him in a gentle breeze.’ I peeled an eye open to find him watching me intently, gloriously happy. ‘Staff in hand.’
‘Staff in hand?’ he mocked. ‘Hands, please.’
‘Where it usually is.’ I collapsed with laughter. ‘Your subjects bowing in your presence.’
‘You wish.’
‘Oh, come on, they were worshipping you today.’
‘I’m not interested in any of them.’ He lifted his eyes to mine, only briefly, but long enough to press his meaning across. ‘Plus, I’m no good to anyone with a busted knee.’
‘Oh?’ I said, surprised. ‘Mothers aren’t your thing?’
‘Why? You got womb to rent?’
I picked up the nearest book and slapped his arm with it. My methods may have been more effective had I not been doubled over with laughter.
‘Stop it,’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
He gestured wildly at his knee. ‘Duh, removing my tape.’
So far, that looked to be a painful venture, for him at least. Any wonder; everyone knows to rip plasters off quickly, no matter the size. After watching him picking at the edges and wincing, I crossed the room, snatched the end of the bandage from him, and tore it off in one clean yank. Marcus yelped, bit down on his knuckle, and tried desperately to recoil away from me.
‘Christ, remind me never to wax.’ He rubbed at his bare knee, a little raw. ‘You’re awful!’
‘To be fair, you probably should have left that on until you got home,’ I said. ‘Give your knee a bit of support.’
‘And you women wax your legs?’ he whimpered, rubbing quickly at the spot.
I thrust the waste paper basket in his direction so he could toss the used bandage. ‘I can assure you, waxing one’s knees is not the painful part.’
He refused to look me in the eye, instead concentrating on the bald patch on his leg. ‘I am not touching that at all.’
‘It’s not like I’d let you anyway.’
He snorted. ‘Now that is just a bald-faced lie.’
Our eyes met. Awkward silence swam into the room, which was beginning to feel increasingly charged with each passing comment. It was a new feeling, and one I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with.
‘Have dinner with me,’ he suggested. ‘You don’t have to bring anything. I’ve got a few things I want to run by you.’
‘You have?’ I swallowed down a confused lump. My plan was to not sleep with him again, so finding myself anywhere near the vicinity of his house was going to be way too much of a temptation. And, if he was still wearing his football gear when I arrived, I could not be held responsible for my own actions. This was not a good idea.
There, I said it. And wasn’t the first step admitting you were powerless? Powerless to the itty-bitty shorts and tight guernsey and go the hell away. No.
‘I figure we can grab some wine, go through last year’s programme, work out how closely we’ll follow that.’
I stuffed some homework of my own into my bag. ‘You know, I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘What do you suggest, then? We don’t have a lot of time left.’
‘My divorce went through today,’ I spoke slowly, feeling a flutter of annoyance bloom. ‘I just … I think I’d like to be alone tonight.’
Marcus was silent for a moment, his expression softening. ‘Manning, I—’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound difficult.’
‘No, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have pushed.’ He moved towards the door. ‘I’m glad it’s all sorted, enjoy your night.’
The library door swung closed behind him, leaving me standing there feeling adrift. I hated myself for using that as an excuse again. I was supposed to be getting on with things, not burrowing away in the past.
Chapter 12
Whether I’d received my divorce papers three weeks or three months ago, the build-up to this moment had been almost a year in the making. When the key hit the lock and barrels dropped to reveal I’d come home to an empty house, it was almost a physical representation of how I felt.
Almost.
Walking through town this afternoon, sea breeze at my back and seagulls swooping overhead, I realised I wasn’t feeling anything. I wasn’t a kitchen sink vorte
x of happy, joyous, or ecstatic, nor was I sad, mournful, or regretful. What I was, was thirty-six years old and single. That’s not considered old by any stretch, but I was well aware of a flashing railway crossing in the back of my mind. Its ringing bells would occasionally alert me to a coal tender that would scream down the tracks with my biological clock its only cargo.
The idea of celebrating my new life status wasn’t exactly appealing and, when Penny arrived home with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine for me, we made like all good thirty-something girls on a Friday night. It was home-delivered pizza, comfortable old pyjamas, and a well-worn copy of Bridget Jones’ Diary while we giggled our way through a blow-by-blow replay of the football match.
When I woke the next morning, buried under a pile of pillows and cocooned in my navy duvet, I felt a renewed energy floating through the air. The breeze coming through my window was crisp and carried a hint of freshly cut grass. It was the perfect combination to make me want to get out into the world.
Looking around my room, I pawed at my bedside table until I grasped the edge of my phone. Everything was still a bit too beige, too bland and, really, there wasn’t much in here except my bed, bedside tables, and a chest of drawers, all of them a pinkish shade of beech. Today felt like the right day to make some fresh changes, buy a few small pieces that announced my name to the world. Or, at least, to the confines of my room.
‘Pen?’ I stepped out into the kitchen.
‘In the laundry,’ she called. ‘Do you need anything washed?’
‘Maybe, yeah,’ I mumbled to myself.
‘How are you feeling?’
I shrugged. ‘Good, I think.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask yesterday.’
Honestly, I hadn’t expected her to. Before my own experience, divorce was one of those awkward subjects that stilted conversations. No one was ever quite sure of what to say for fear of causing offence or upsetting the situation. I mean, what do you actually say? I thought it was best to offer a quick greeting and wait for those affected to bring up the topic. At least, that’s how I felt and, honestly, it was time to move on, so the less airplay it got, the better.
I waved a dismissive hand. ‘Really it’s okay. No need to make a fuss. Listen, is that old antique shop still around?’
‘That one on the bend of the main street?’ She peered around the doorframe. ‘Yeah.’
‘I might head on down there for a bit of a look, see if I can’t find a few nice pieces for my room.’
‘Only one rule.’ She held a finger up.
‘Sure.’
‘Bring me back something tropical.’
I smiled. ‘I can do that.’
* * *
The weather was warm for early November, in a way that made for sticky flyaway hair. The air had a sweet salty tang that beckoned you to swim in the ocean. Sounds of passing traffic were caressed with lapping at the shore, directly across the road and behind nascent dunes that edged a children’s playground. It was so relaxing I could have torn off my clothes and floated about in the bay all day if it weren’t for public nudity laws and morals. Penny was right – I should have done this twelve months ago.
Sand had reclaimed its place in the bottom of my shoes as if I’d never been gone. I paused briefly outside the café for a quick shoe shake, and a deep breath of the yeasty scent of fresh bread. A Dalmatian watched me as I peered into the window at a queue that threatened to spill out onto the street.
I looked at the dog. ‘I think I’m going to stay out here with you for a few minutes.’
She didn’t reply, but stretched her front legs out, almost supplicant in hope of a scratch. When I obliged with a scratch behind the ear, she shuffled in between my legs and placed her head on my thigh, because she was not loving this at all. Was there a better way to wait for coffee than to have a snuggly dog? I couldn’t be sure who was enjoying it more.
‘White with two sugars, right? More, depending on how salty you’re feeling?’
I wasn’t so much annoyed as I was slightly nervous at the sight of Marcus as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Dodging a torrent of people flowing past, he made his way over to us with a wry smile and a small limp. Immediately, the dog’s tail began flickering like a metronome. If she kept going, I suspected she’d make like a helicopter and take off into the sky. Offering me a coffee, he turned his attention to his dog. ‘Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I, Daisy?’
‘What a gorgeous name,’ I cooed. ‘And you are so very pretty.’
Daisy was so impressed that she yawned.
‘She’s very affectionate.’ I wiped a slobbered-on hand against my jeans and took the heavy cup, my fingers brushing against Marcus’s at the switchover. He was warm. Solid. ‘Thank you, by the way. I wasn’t expecting you … how did you know I was out here?’
‘See those windows? I could see you through them, thought I’d save you the trouble.’
‘Do you want some money?’ I asked.
‘No, I don’t want some money. It’s a coffee, please accept it with my compliments.’
‘Your compliments?’ I chortled. ‘Do you come with one of those little packing slips, too? With compliments.’
‘You know, I could just take that back and you can get in the queue?’ He thumbed towards the door. ‘The far queue.’
‘The far queue,’ I mouthed back at him. ‘Anyway, why are you hobbling? Old age? Arthritis? Weight of the world on your shoulders?’
‘Because I am an old man who needs to understand he’s no longer twenty.’ He took a sip. ‘Or so said my doctor last night.’
‘Football?’ I asked. ‘It’s hard work being a hero.’
‘It really is.’ He wrestled with reattaching the Daisy’s leash. ‘But it’s a cross I must bear.’
Laughing, I asked, ‘So … what are you up to today?’
‘Not a whole lot. I thought I’d start by taking Daisy for a walk along the beach.’
‘How very romantic.’
‘Oh, I know.’ He held in a laugh. ‘But then I thought we might also go home, do some marking, work on the yearbook.’
‘Fancy.’
‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘I was just heading to the old antique shop up … that way.’ I did the Retail Worker Point. It meant somewhere over there, in that general area, but I won’t be showing you the way.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Marcus nodded along sarcastically, even peering off in the same random direction. ‘Over there. That’s the way we’re headed, actually.’
‘Should I just walk with you then?’ I suggested. ‘It’d be rude not to after such an exquisite coffee.’
‘Not just the coffee.’ He pointed. ‘After all, who else is going to save you from dragons?’
‘You best lead the way, now you put it like that.’
Marcus crooked an elbow and waited for me to slip my arm through his. He gave it a playful wriggle when he saw me hesitate. ‘Come on. If we’re going to do this morning stroll, we have to do it properly.’
‘Since when are you worried about doing things properly?’ I teased, finally taking him up on his offer.
‘You know.’ Marcus leaned in. ‘This makes me feel rather posh with my dog and a lady on my arm.’
‘Calm down, Roger Radcliffe.’
‘Hey, I understand that reference.’ He elbowed me as I laughed, my head dipping almost instinctively into his shoulder. ‘Anita.’
‘So, football and childhood fantasies?’ I asked, hoping to fill some of the silence as we walked alongside each other.
‘Yeah. I’d never really played until I moved here and made friends with Patrick. I take every opportunity to remind him of that every single time I hurt my knee.’ He glanced down at Daisy, who was making eyes at a light pole. Like all good dog parents, he stood, and waited for the sensation to pass. ‘What about you? What do I find in your gym bag?’
‘Knitting needles.’ I leaned in to him. ‘But it’s not exactly a summer sport.’
‘Truly,’ I said.
‘At least I know you’d get along well with my grandmother.’
I snorted and came to a stop outside the antique store. In the front window, a butter tray, a Charles and Di commemorative plate, some faded Woman’s Weekly magazines, and an art deco style radio that looked promising.
The antique store, with its old-world signage had been around for as long as I had memories. It had changed hands over time, but it was still the same dusty old place full of items collected from old estates, records and books, trinkets and bric-a-brac. Occasionally, you’d stumble across a great furniture find, like Dad’s old rocking chair. It cost him thirty dollars, twenty-five years ago, and was still in perfectly good working order.
‘Here we are.’ Marcus pivoted as Daisy used us as her personal figure eight workout.
‘We are here,’ I said. ‘Here is where we are.’
I looked back along the street we’d just walked up. Watching people at tables, and waiters delivering lunches gave me a few moments of thinking time. What did I do now? Marcus tried pulling Daisy to a stop. When I turned to face him, he was already watching me.
‘Do you want to come in with me?’ I asked. ‘Unless, you know, you’ve got more exciting things to do.’
‘Oh … uh … I’m not sure I can bring the mutt in with me.’
I stepped up into the doorway and called out to anyone who might answer.
‘Excuse me,’ I called. ‘Can we please bring our dog inside? She gets terrible separation anxiety.’
‘You hear that?’ Marcus whispered loudly. ‘I think you’ve got a fan.’
A dachshund did a power slide around the corner of some shelves, its black and brown stomach too close to floorboards that were being scratched up by tiny toenails as it rushed to greet us. ‘I guess that’s a yes.’
The brilliance of junk shops lies in the random nature of them. Sure, the clothing was usually displayed in the one spot, but you could be guaranteed to find candle holders beside plates, toasters near cassette decks, and vinyl sitting in warm windows. It was perfect marketing when you had no choice but to dig through everything to find the gold.
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