As it turned out, the look in Phil’s office was his severely put-out look. I suspected then that he wasn’t used to having his ideas vetoed as often as they had been lately. The idea tickled me.
‘Bus?’ I tried pouting but laughed instead. ‘I don’t see a bus around here.’
Still clutching as his right side, a chuckle bubbled up. ‘You are terrible, Manning.’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘I am absolutely horrible.’
‘After everything we went through,’ he sighed heavily, using the glass doors of one of my cabinets to adjust his tie. I won’t lie, it was quite a sight.
‘Everything we went through?’ I sputtered. Now was not the time or place to begin this line of enquiry. ‘I thought we’d—’
‘The coffee, the onions, the deep and meaningful on that fateful night. Our shopping expedition.’ He scratched at a piece of tape on the bench. ‘I come in this morning prepared to make you a special coffee to save you from drinking that god-awful cheap shit they seem to want to feed us, just to see if I can’t come to an agreement. But, no.’
I rolled my eyes.
‘I can’t even get a look in. I feel so cheap. So dirty. And you’ve moved on to Jack already? What does he have that I don’t, huh? Is it the scruffy beard? Because they don’t really do it for me; too itchy. Plus, I don’t think a man-bun would help the aesthetic I’m trying to achieve.’
‘You are such a giant cock,’ I mumbled, pushing him out of the way and reaching for my course folder. ‘And you can calm the jealousy down. All I did was send him an email. He hasn’t got back to me yet because it was the weekend, which are those two days between Friday and Monday where some people don’t work. And, if you must know, I’m not interested in him like that.’
‘Well that is a compliment for the ages,’ he said with a delighted chuckle. ‘I thought it was certainly adequate to the task, but nothing extraordinary.’
I hid behind my folder, hoping to stop a hysterical laugh spewing forth, but succeeded only in bringing out his own deep-seated chuckle.
‘Go away.’ I shoved playfully at his shoulder. ‘I can’t even look at you, you’re such a grub.’
‘Well.’ He sank against my desk, arms folded. ‘If I can be frank—’
I nodded. ‘Okay, Frank.’
‘All right.’ He looked away momentarily, a wistful smile on his face. ‘I need to admit something to you.’
‘You do?’ I asked, feeling my throat close in on itself. I swallowed and hoped to whichever God was in charge that he wasn’t about to say something he could never take back.
‘It’s a brilliant idea.’
I blew out a heavy held breath as I felt relief wash over me. ‘Thank you.’
Was that a pin dropping? Or the mechanisms of my brain grinding to a halt? My chest expanded with a held breath, and the silence was so loud I could hear blood rushing about my ears like a conch shell.
‘Anyway, I wanted you to know that, despite, well, whatever, I’m looking forward to seeing how this pans out,’ he said nervously.
Every time I thought he might be eroding some of my crisp candy coating, he’d go ahead and do something like call me Manning instead of Eleanor, or use that bloody word, ‘whatever’. It only served to deflate an otherwise lovely moment. I wondered, then, if it were wise to say something about Saturday, or had that just been a whatever moment for him, too?
‘Good thing, too, because I’m planning on working you hard,’ I bit.
Marcus winced. ‘Poor choice of words, don’t you think?’
I stabbed his chest with a single finger from each hand, drumming a little beat into the front of his crisp white shirt. ‘Maybe, but he picked my idea, not yours.’
‘Oh, la-dee-da,’ he mocked, grabbing at my hands and holding them still. ‘Because you’re not competitive at all.’
‘Nope.’ I grinned. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon to get the invites sorted. I’ve got a tonne of paperwork to do today, and some classes – not yours, by the way.’
‘Oh, I know,’ he said. ‘And, on that note, I know where I’m not wanted.’
‘Wait.’ That one word took me by surprise, pulling me to a quick bounce. I felt like I was crossing a rope bridge over a wild sea, dainty footing and flowing dress being threatened with the idea of a deep dive should it all go belly up.
‘Hmm?’ Marcus grabbed at the doorframe on his way out.
‘Before you go,’ I began.
‘Yes.’ A smile spread slowly.
‘Thank you.’
He tilted his head. ‘For what?’
‘For Saturday. For the things you said. You might have thought it didn’t mean anything, but it …’ My voice drifted as I twirled a pen through my fingers. I lifted my eyes to his, large green and welcomingly soft. ‘Well, it’s helped a lot.’
‘Manning, you’ve gotta start being kinder to yourself.’ He swung from the doorframe. ‘You’re strong, you’re capable. Go forth and conquer. It’s your time now.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And it’s Eleanor, in case you were confused.’
Marcus winked, tapped on the door and left.
After the excitement of the last few days, I was glad for simple things, like the whirring of my computer as it booted slowly. Even better was the feeling that, when it finally awoke, there was nothing life threatening or urgent in my inbox, nor were there any requests to chip in for yet another office birthday present.
Surveying the damage left from the Book Fair, it was clear that the first few moments of my morning were going to be spent cleaning if I had any chance of holding a class in the library. I decided to skip Monday morning assembly to focus on doing just that. I could hear everything through the PA system, so I wouldn’t miss anything important.
I unfolded a flattened box and, one by one, dealt with the piles of books I’d abandoned on Friday afternoon. I packed them and stacked them, filling out returns paperwork, and booking a courier. All the while listening to the echo of announcements from the sanctuary of my office. I peered out the window at Marcus, who was standing about thumbing at his phone. As he turned the screen to a small crowd of students, he was showing off pictures of Daisy again.
I wanted to punch myself in the face, because the first thought that flashed through my mind was what a proud father he’d be if he ever got the opportunity.
Christ, Manning!
Chapter 15
Despite what my biological clock might tell me with each passing month, I was in no hurry to have children of my own. If ever I got too worried about it, I reminded myself I was lucky enough to be a teacher with plenty of kids to call me ‘Mum’ when they momentarily forgot they were at school and not at home.
Teaching was a brilliant eye-opener, particularly for anyone who’d ever considered what it might mean to have twenty-five children at once. Sometimes, I likened my days to an out-of-control McDonald’s birthday party, minus the Happy Meals and ice-cream cake, but with the whirlwind kids, playground fights and vomit.
Yet, for all its frustrations, there was a wonder in teaching the younger classes. They were fresh minds in the early stages of discovering the magic of language and handwriting. Their first year of school was as much a learning curve as it was a shock; for me, and for them. While wading through phonetics and word families, rhyming books and alphabet-based crafts, there were huge breakthroughs almost daily. It was an amazing feeling to see a child walk away with a tiny puffed chest and the knowledge that something, somewhere had just unlocked for them.
Nobody took on this job for the accolades, but it was doubly nice when parents acknowledged and appreciated our efforts, even if it meant being held up while trying to deal with courier drivers and on the way to a meeting. Moments like those were gentle reminders of why I’d chosen this profession in the first place.
As I watched a parent walk away from one such interruption, I felt a lovely sense of achievement. Things were heading in the right direction. It had taken me a few long, hard weeks
but, there I was, persevering and doing the job. Names of students were becoming quicker to recall and, if borrowing reports were anything to go by, I was having an upswing in library visitors. Before I had a chance to get too caught up in my thoughts, I was interrupted by the crunch of gravelly footsteps approaching from behind.
‘Eleanor, before you race off for the night.’ Jack lumbered towards me, guitar case under one arm, and a bundle of papers in the other.
‘I’ll be here for a while yet, Jack, you should know that.’
‘Life of a teacher.’ He tossed his head back with a dramatic sigh. His hands grappled wildly as the case slipped to the ground. ‘Anyway, Dad tells me you used to be a dab hand with the piano.’
‘Does he just?’ I watched as Mick scuttled past, finger pressed to his lips.
‘Are you still?’ Jack turned his attention back to me.
‘It’s been a while,’ I admitted. ‘But I’d hope it’s like riding a bike. Why?’
‘Okay, so, as you know, we got a piano delivered recently. I thought that it would be a nice thing to have in time for the presentation night, look at the school, new equipment, etcetera and so forth, but I can’t get anyone out to tune it before the night.’
‘After moving them, they generally need to rest for at least a fortnight before tuning,’ I explained. ‘Even then, you’re talking about moving it to and from the gymnasium.’
‘Right.’ His top lip curled. ‘So, what you’re saying is that it’s not quite doable?’
‘What if we used the old piano? We can shift it into the gym tonight,’ I said. ‘I can tune it next week and check it just before the night. At least then you don’t need to worry about the new one moving about and shifting again. I can still do all the tuning, that’s not a problem. I’m sure I still have my toolkit.’
He pouted. ‘I was really hoping to use the new piano.’
‘I know you were,’ I soothed. ‘But this will be easier.’
‘It will be, won’t it?’
‘Do you want to move it now, get it over and done with?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got a few minutes spare before a meeting.’
‘I can’t.’ He winced apologetically. ‘I’ve got to get going, band practice. You should come along one night, listen to us play.’
‘Maybe,’ I drawled. ‘Anyway, I need to go do a few other things before this meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow?’
Without much more to add, Jack scuttled over to his car, a clapped-out hatchback that looked like it would circle a roundabout in some sort of British comedy skit, sweets rolling about the dashboard and scented tree that erred on the wrong side of ashtray. Smiling as I waved him off, I checked the time and made my way inside.
* * *
‘Hello.’ I popped my head inside the classroom.
‘Oh, look, it’s Miss Manning.’ Marcus, looking genuinely pleased to have me in his space, replacing the cap on his whiteboard marker with a flourish. ‘What can my lovely class do for you today?’
With his tie loosened slightly and jacket hanging from the back of a chair, it was an altogether casual man that presented this afternoon. His eyes were tired but still bright as he waved me inside. I walked towards the back of the room and awaited further instruction. There were still four students in class with him, books open, pens in hand. I must admit, as a student, I loved being in the school after-hours. There was something about empty halls and classrooms that felt a little naughty.
‘Haven’t we finished for the day?’ I asked. ‘It’s after three-thirty, and I’m sure I heard the bell ring?’
‘Most people have, yes, but we are the extra learners. We’re working just a little bit harder to get ready for high school next year.’
I pointed somewhere in the direction I’d just come from. ‘I’ve just popped in to talk about end of year. Shall I come back tomorrow?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I think you might like to join us for the last ten minutes. What do you guys think?’
Instead of answering, I was greeted with a chorus of giggles. They were same giggles that told me Marcus and I would be starring in our own playground romance by recess tomorrow. I could play this game. With a smile, I dragged out a chair in the corner of the room and sat. Arranging my belongings around me, my phone, some papers, and the pen I pulled from my ponytail, I threaded my fingers across my front and waited for him to continue.
‘Ready, Mr Blair.’
‘How are your maths skills, Miss Manning?’ Marcus rolled the marker between his fingers like an old coin trick. ‘Good?’
‘I think they’re okay,’ I said. ‘Is that what we’re doing?’
‘Five points for you!’ He pointed at me. ‘We’re working on multiplication. Is there anyone in here who’s still not quite sure about the longer method? It’s okay if you’re not, this is exactly why we’re here and I certainly won’t judge you because it’s my job to help you.’
A lone hand went up, a sheepish-looking boy. ‘I’m still not sure.’
‘Tom, I promise you, it’s fine. I remember how much I struggled with this at school.’ Marcus sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Are you getting lost with carrying numbers over?’
Tom nodded. It tore at me that he looked on the verge of tears all over a maths problem. Equations that had been written across the whiteboard were solved using a single method but, in my experience, sometimes learning isn’t a one-size fits all approach. I thrust my hand in the air and waited. The look of sheer delight on Marcus’s face was worth more than oxygen.
‘Miss Manning?’ he asked.
‘Have you tried the Japanese visual method?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps our friends could benefit from a different perspective?’
‘Can’t say we have.’ Marcus shook his head slowly as he spoke and tossed his marker at me. ‘Let’s see it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ He shrugged. ‘After all, it takes a village.’
I took a deep breath and stepped up to the whiteboard. Marcus took my seat amongstst the students, crossed his legs at the knees, folded his arms, and waited. This felt entirely different to standing in front of a class and talking about books. I wasn’t a maths teacher, and, for a fluttering moment, I doubted I could do it. But, as with most things that had popped up in the last year, I was going to roll with it.
The further I got into explaining the method of intersecting lines and simple addition, the more comfortable I began to feel. The sceptical look Marcus wore washed away, slowly replaced by something akin to surprise when Tom thrust his hand into the air, shuffled to the front of the class, and created his own problem to solve. When he walked out of the room minutes later with a smile on his face and the loose air of accomplishment, there were high-fives for everyone.
‘It looks like you’ll be coming to teach my class more often.’ Marcus nudged me into his office.
I blew out a heavy breath and stretched up, hands way above my head. ‘I don’t think so. What even was that? What did I walk in on?’
‘Like I said, that was our extras class,’ he explained. ‘Maths on Tuesday and reading and writing on Thursday nights. The kids who need a little help get an extra class.’
‘Since when?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t know this was a thing.’
‘It’s absolutely a thing.’ In the corner, the coffee machine hissed as he switched it on. ‘For me, anyway. I just hate the idea that they won’t otherwise get to high school fully prepared, and the last thing I want on my conscience is one of them getting left behind when they get there. It’s my job to make sure they’re ready, so here we are. Selfishly, I refuse to do Monday nights because, ewww, Mondays. Tuesdays and Thursdays fit with football training during the season, so it works.’
‘I’d hardly call any of this selfish.’ I looked up as he handed me a coffee. ‘I think what you’re doing is wonderfully selfless.’
‘Says the one who snapped the puzzle together for Tom in the closing five minutes.’ Marcus sat at his desk and motioned for me to join him.
‘He’s been struggling for weeks, and in you strut.’
I blew against my fingernails and buffed them against my shirt collar. ‘I’m just that good.’
We cleared a small space on his desk. A computer keyboard was relegated to a precarious balancing act atop of the monitor, and papers were jammed haphazardly into an in-tray as I pulled out a small notebook I’d been keeping about our project. I’d dot-pointed potential suppliers, rough prices, and any more ideas that had ballooned up in the process. I watched as Marcus studied my handwriting for a moment, his eyes drifting carefully across the page.
‘You do realise you’re doing a fantastic job of upstaging me lately?’ he asked.
My cheeks prickled. ‘Does that bother you?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘On the contrary, I quite like it.’
We looked at each other, eyes searching faces. The silence sat heavily on my chest and, for a moment, I wondered if this was the tipping point, the moment when something was going to change. My ebony-keyed heart had been tinkling away, trying to get the tune right since the weekend. Every time I saw him, my mind disappeared back to his bedroom. Mix that with his words, and I had to remind myself why opening that door again was a bad idea.
‘Right.’ I reached down into my bag for my phone. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘Do you want a biscuit?’ He wheeled himself to the opposite side of the room. ‘I’ll get biscuits. They’ll be good. Hopefully, Mick hasn’t eaten them all.’
‘He does love his sweets,’ I said, suddenly, slightly, irrationally annoyed at the awkwardness. Could we not just get on with this?
There was a knock at the door. My head shot up to see who’d interrupted, and Marcus looked like he’d been caught, quite literally, with his hand in the biscuit barrel, eyes headlight wide and lips parted.
‘Hello, Marc.’ Grace flitted about by the door. She looked ethereal in a long skirt and crisp shirt. Her normally limp hair had been replaced by soft curls, which suited her perfectly.
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard Marcus wheeze. ‘Hello, Grace.’
Lessons in Love Page 15