Lessons in Love

by Belinda Missen

  Chapter 16

  I woke with a start, back aching, cheek smeared with drool, and buried under Penny’s crochet blanket. On the coffee table, my phone buzzed and blared out the opening bars of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture Op.49 and, despite how energetic that may sound, it in no way inspired movement. Wiping at my mouth, I reached out to grab it before it woke Penny as well. A thank you note sat under my phone, in Marcus’s handwriting. He was officially the first thing I thought about today.

  ‘Good morning, sleepy head.’

  Penny was wide awake and chirpy, as only she could be. She slid across the kitchen floor in her socks and flicked on the kettle. I looked at her through bleary eyes and a head that told me I should have skipped that last red wine.

  ‘What’d I miss?’ I asked.

  ‘Well.’ Penny mused slowly, dumping two mugs on the counter. ‘Do you remember Patrick leaving?’

  I drummed my fingers against my chin. Last night had been a balancing act, I remembered that much. When I wasn’t running about being pinned in and out of dresses, careful not to rip seams or fall out and expose myself, I was dashing between the lounge and kitchen to help Marcus piece together our group project.

  Creating the invites had been a simple exercise of drag and drop formatting in a mailing list program. We pored over whether we’d included all the important information, along with the school colours and contact information. After all the gnashing of teeth and arguing yesterday afternoon, it had turned out to be a simple affair that we managed between mains and dessert, and all with a crumpled notepad and pen.

  When the last dress had been tried on, and I’d been stabbed with one final pin, I changed into a fire-engine-red onesie and shuffled my way about the house making coffee and eating more cake, much to the bemusement of Patrick. There’d been more than one reference to the backside flap and whether it was useful for anything. When he looked to Marcus for support, he looked up blankly, oblivious to the world around him. We’d pulled him from the abyss.

  He’d been paying no attention, preferring to keep our conversation on course. We volleyed ideas back and forth, listing things we still needed to organise. Marcus jotted notes while I threw suggestions at him. From catering and seat hire, to splitting up remaining responsibilities into something that looked fair and even. I’d even managed to finally air my suggestion for gift bags for the students. We could include a school mug, their certificates, and a voucher for Thatcher’s Books. It was a tiny congratulations and thank you for their hard work throughout the year.

  ‘Patrick drove your mum home?’ I asked, scrolling aimlessly through my phone. ‘About thirty seconds after he wolfed down a slice of cake.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘I need a shower.’ Stretching out, I crossed to the counter and took a hurried gulp of coffee. ‘I’m going to be so late this morning and I feel like a wreck.’

  ‘You and Marcus were working exceptionally hard last night,’ she said, a tiny accusatory hint in her voice. Her eyes, set firmly on her own phone, barely met mine. What was she getting at with that? ‘I didn’t hear anything other than work, work, chairs, tables, invites, food.’

  ‘It was productive.’ I held my mug to my mouth. ‘I’m glad. We’ve got a plan. I feel lighter knowing that, like a blockage has moved, except the whole drinking on a school night thing.’

  ‘You sure that’s not fibre?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ I offered a sarcastic grin. ‘Simply some things coming together.’

  Penny smiled. ‘I have a question for you.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘What’s his favourite film?’ she asked.

  ‘How should I know?’ I called from where I was gathering up some clothes in my bedroom.

  ‘His favourite book?’ she continued.

  I poked my head out of the doorway. ‘Where are these questions coming from?’

  ‘Just curious,’ she said around a mouthful of cereal.

  ‘The only thing I can tell you is that he needs to leave the tie at home more often.’ I dashed towards the bathroom while my words volleyed about the kitchen.

  ‘That’s quite the statement coming from you.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he has this nice collarbone thing going on.’

  She sniggered. ‘I can’t say I pay a lot of attention to a man’s … collarbone.’

  ‘No, neither do I,’ I said. ‘I guess it was just because he doesn’t normally get about without a tie, so, you know, easily noticeable.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘You’ve got five minutes, and I’m helping myself to the shower.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ I closed the bathroom door behind me.

  * * *

  I burst through the doors of the staffroom, which was its usually busy arterial self, reeking of burned toast, coffee and not enough sleep. Teachers came and went, students knocked on the door with questions and complaints, and there I was desperately trying to snaffle breakfast in the five minutes I had remaining. It had been one mad rush after the other, culminating in the decision to skip my morning trip to the café.

  When my toast sprang forth like an Olympic diver, I grabbed at it like I was going for gold, regardless of burning fingers, a trail of crumbs, and a not especially clean plate that had been donated by Jack. To my left, Glenn washed dirty dishes and moaned to no one in particular about climate change.

  ‘Eleanor, can I ask you a question?’ Grace sashayed up beside me, winding her ponytail around her hand. She was one of those people who always had impossibly beautiful hair, always perfectly clean and shiny, and not a strand out of place. Most mornings, I opted for an up-do simply to prevent me looking like a troll doll.

  I surveyed the room quickly and, amongst the many impromptu morning meetings, found her teaching group as they had been the day I first arrived. They were huddled together on the couch except, this time, they were merely pretending to be busy on their phones.

  ‘Absolutely.’ I dug my knife into the butter and ignored the fluttering in my stomach that told me to run. If I knew anything about my day yesterday, it was that there was only one way this conversation was going to go.

  ‘Have I done something to offend you?’ She shifted her weight from foot to foot and fixed me with this look that I could only describe as feigned innocence. It was the look that said, I know that you know, but let’s pretend. She tipped her head slightly, as if to prompt my answer.

  I gave her my best surprised face. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She squinted. I half expected the tips of her ears to tinge a shade of cut-grass green. ‘Because last night I was getting this whole vibe that maybe I was treading on toes, and I’d so hate for your toes to get squashed.’

  ‘No.’ I bit down on the first heavenly, melted butter and strawberry jam toast. ‘No toes are getting squashed. I wear very comfy, closed-toed shoes.’

  The side door swung open with a tired yawn, and Marcus appeared over my shoulder. He looked like he had something to say, something urgent, but our present company put a quick hold to that.

  ‘Good morning, Marc,’ Grace cooed, her attention instantly diverted to where he was by the fridge

  ‘Hey.’ He returned, pinching my elbow gently. ‘Good morning, Eleanor.’

  ‘Marcus.’

  I turned back to my plate to find it had vanished. So had Marcus, who was scarpering towards my library with nothing more than a wave and a boyish smile, one that I’d seen over again on much younger classes. It was the cheeky recognition of knowing right from wrong, and not caring either way. I tossed my butter and jam back in the refrigerator and gave chase.

  ‘That’s hardly fair,’ I complained to the back of his jacket. ‘Cake isn’t enough, you have to steal breakfasts, too?’

  ‘You’re right. I’m awful. I should tell her I spent last night with you.’ In my office, he turned and inspected what was left of the toast. ‘Nice jam.’

  ‘It was in the discount section,’ I deadpanned. ‘Feel free to tell her though, it’s y
our death warrant.’

  ‘Really? Judging by those eyes, I suspect it might be yours. Good thing I bought you a solid breakfast for your last meal.’ He presented me with a lukewarm coffee and crinkly plastic tub of fruit and yoghurt that had been waiting beside my PC.

  ‘You bought me breakfast?’ I asked, surprised. ‘Why?’

  He shrugged, though there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘Just as a thank you for last night.’

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I said, genuinely touched by the gesture. ‘Honestly, I’m glad we got things sorted so thank you for coming past.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ he said. ‘It was Daisy who wanted to see you.’

  ‘Naturally.’ I waved the idea away and shuffled through a few invoices that needed my signature. ‘Blame the dog.’

  I cupped my hands around the coffee and sat beside him on the desk, pivoting slightly to look at him, at the curve of his nose and the slight stubble that told me he’d also slept in. ‘I’m glad you came,’ I said. ‘It was nice to have a full lively house.’

  ‘It was great, once you stopped arguing with me.’ Marcus scratched at his upper lip. ‘Which I think was about thirty seconds before the snoring began.’

  ‘I was not arguing with you,’ I baulked. ‘And I do not snore.’

  ‘No, no, silly me, of course not. You were just road-blocking everything.’

  ‘I was not!’ I threw my head back. ‘You know, you are unbelievable.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, you’re right. Again.’

  My eyebrows reached for the ceiling.

  ‘You were just expressing an alternative approach,’ he said with a laugh, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘Correct.’ I nodded once. ‘I’m allowed to have a different opinion.’

  ‘Quite a lot of alternative approaches.’

  ‘Do you complain this much about everything?’ I asked, wondering if he hadn’t just decided to take up annoying me as his newest off-season sport.

  ‘My toast was cold.’

  ‘It was my toast.’ I peeled the lid from the salad and popped a piece of pineapple in my mouth. ‘Mine.’

  Marcus dug about my fruit salad with his fingers and stole a plump strawberry I’d already spied and hoped to save. ‘Shall we go and speak to Phil about our plans?’

  ‘You know what? Let me go through your email, I’ll add some notes, we’ll reconvene and send it through.’

  ‘Sure thing.’ His fingers dove for another piece of fruit. This time, I gave in, handing him the fork and holding the container out for him to have it. With another piece of pineapple held aloft like a prize, he made his way to the door. ‘Let’s get it out by lunch, then we can move along.’

  ‘Good, good.’ I nodded, snatching the fork back from him. ‘Hey, I have a question for you.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘What’s your favourite movie?’ It had been all I’d been able to think about as he stood there in my office. The seed had been planted, and now I wanted to know what made him tick.

  ‘My favourite movie?’ His brow knitted, like he couldn’t quite work out what I was saying.

  ‘Yeah. One that you’ve memorised and can quote.’

  Chewing on his bottom lip, he peered up at the ceiling, made a bit of a noise, and drew his eyes back to mine. ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark. My eight-month-old niece isn’t a huge fan though, so it’s plenty of Tangled repeats whenever she comes to visit.’

  ‘You have a niece?’ I asked. I may have been more surprised to learn this, except for the fact that Penny had already reminded me that Marcus and I spoke about nothing but work. This information was fresh and, again, presented a new layer – one that I quickly found that I liked.

  Before I had a chance to ask anything further, Marcus had pulled his phone from his pocket and was scrolling through to an extensive photo collection. Photos whizzed past, eventually slowing and landing on one particular shot, much like a prize wheel in a bingo hall. Marcus was curled up on the couch with a toddler nestled under his chin.

  ‘She’s so sweet,’ I cooed. ‘I bet you use that photo to pick up all the time.’

  He smirked. ‘Probably why I’ve never shown you, then.’

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘Have a good day.’ He wrestled his phone back from me and slipped out the door. ‘Eleanor.’

  * * *

  It had only taken us weeks to get ourselves aligned, but it was so nice to have a plan. I could properly compartmentalise things, instead of having bits of catering overlapping invites, which straddled the music, and mixed up in a cauldron of who knows what else we may not have thought of.

  Phil loved the email we sent through just before the end of lunch, where we’d been huddled in my office checking and double-checking before hitting ‘send’. All our further plans for the night – the red carpet, the gift bags and a photographer – were enthusiastically approved.

  For the rest of the week, my inbox pinged at regular intervals as RSVPs began mounting up. Every time I thought I could sneak a look at my computer between classes, hoping for an eBay dispatch notice for a pile of books I’d bought, there’d be another email completely unrelated waiting for me. Regardless of whether my education lay firmly in information technology, and that the invites were merely a mess of drag and drop options, I was excited to see such enthusiastic responses.

  Then, of course, there was Glenn: were we going to have vegan options in our catering? We should consider, he wrote, that some of our guests would like the option.

  I read his email again, just to be sure. I wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to be at the event, and nobody had come back with a remotely similar request. So, were we going to be catering to him? I couldn’t afford not to after reading his email, lest I open myself up to debate about not treating everyone equally. I made a note amongstst the scribble in my diary. Looking at the ever-growing list, which I think read: tree nuts, regular nuts, sugar, potatoes, shellfish, cow’s milk, eggs, soy, and dairy, I sighed and may have admitted that maybe Glenn was on to something. If nothing else, a vegan menu might work if only to avoid allergens.

  That realisation led me to scrolling dozens of recipe websites in search of the perfect cake recipes, loaves of bread, and sandwich fillings. On its own, it looked like a mammoth task, keeping everything and everyone catered for. I hoped the school canteen could cater to our needs but, being no dietary expert (my level was nothing short of eat everything in sight, either), I hadn’t counted on the idea that they no longer baked everything on site. While we provided an allergy-free canteen, some of the products that were brought in weren’t guaranteed to be from a nut-free, gluten-free, allergy friendly production space.

  ‘Have you seen these emails?’ I paced the length of Marcus’s office at lunchtime. He sat hunched over his laptop, typing with single fingers, which was the last thing I expected to ever see from him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making notes,’ he said. ‘And, yes, I’ve seen them.’

  Our last few days had been perfectly coordinated, and I put that squarely down to our night of planning. If we’d organised a quick lunchtime catch-up, he was ready and waiting before me. If one of us was listed to call a supplier, it happened. For the first time in weeks, I was comfortable with the way things were coming together.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think Phil’s budget will stretch to serving shellfish in the first place,’ he teased.

  ‘Marcus!’

  ‘What-us?’ Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘If the canteen can’t guarantee it, the caterers can organise it. We’ve got enough going on without worrying about the intricacies of the food. Just take the list to them. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Are we still going tonight?’ I asked. ‘To the caterers, I mean?’

  ‘Commitment, consistency, communication,’ he recounted with a pointed finger. ‘So, yes, of course we’re still going.’

  ‘Oh boy,’ I groaned. ‘You’re
wheeling that out at every opportunity, aren’t you?’

  He shucked on his jacket and pinched my cheek. ‘You better believe it.’

  ‘And we can’t take forever.’

  ‘Have you got plans?’ he asked.

  ‘Penny seems to think I should go on a blind date.’

  ‘You?’ he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  I stopped and looked at him. ‘Is that so unbelievable?’

  ‘Fair enough.’ He shrugged. ‘So, tell me about this blind date. What do you know about him?’

  ‘I know nothing about him.’ I stepped past as Marcus held a door open for me. ‘But he better not be an idiot.’

  Chapter 17

  Blind dates weren’t exactly a new concept to me, though I was reluctant when Penny first broached the topic on Thursday night. I’d suffered through a handful of them in the past twelve months, but I’d been wracking my brains trying to work out who on earth she thought she could set me up with.

  Awfully, I wondered if there was anyone left in town that she hadn’t been involved with? Since I’d been here, it seemed like she had a different date each weekend, but I immediately shook that thought from my head. Firstly, because it wasn’t any of my business, really. Secondly, because she was trying to do the right thing. My only job was to simply embrace the fact and enjoy the night.

  I was home five minutes, only long enough to pour myself a long cool drink, before I found myself bundled into the bathroom, Penny armed with a make-up brush and reminding me I was on a time deadline. I was more than capable of getting myself ready, but recent experience had proven she was far more talented at this make-up malarkey than me. Plus, I just really loved having someone else brush my hair. It was truly one of life’s simple pleasures.

  ‘Tell me, is he lovely?’ I asked, looking at her in the mirror’s reflection.

  She sighed gently. ‘He’s a total gentleman.’

  ‘That’s a good start,’ I said. ‘Good family?’

  ‘Strong family ties. He would bend over backwards for them. Loves his mum.’