‘Sure.’ Marcus brushed his hands against his pants. ‘What’ve you got?’
‘“Marcus, on our next date, it’s your turn to cook. What are you making me?”’
‘Oh. We’re having another date? Good to know’ He reached across, seeking my permission with a quick look, before relieving me of some of my dinner. ‘I would make you a roast chicken, with potatoes, pumpkin, broccolini not broccoli, pan gravy. For dessert we might have chocolate cake.’
‘Are you making the chocolate cake?’
‘Unless I’m feeling lazy. In which case, I might try and swing a Lucy Williams special.’
‘Oh, fancy.’ I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Name dropper.’
‘Impressed?’
‘Totally,’ I teased. ‘But I’d rather you baked.’
‘You look lovely tonight, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’ I made a point of not looking at him as heat bloomed in my chest. Instead, I poured out two glasses of wine. ‘I figured this would work better than my seventy-something Scottish history professor look.’
‘I really should apologise for that.’ Marcus wriggled in his seat and looked suddenly uneasy. ‘I feel that, if I could explain something to you, that comment might make a bit more sense.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘I was a bit worried the other night when I arrived, and you were covered in pins.’
‘Why? Because you thought I might stab you?’
‘No, I can deal with a little pinprick occasionally.’ The hollows of his cheeks sunk as he sucked on something in his mouth. ‘It was the homemade clothes that scared me.’
I laughed. ‘Trust me, you weren’t the only one. It’s a new hobby for Aunty Gwen, so …’
‘Do you remember me telling you my sister was into theatre?’
‘I do.’
‘Right. Well. My mother also got heavily involved. It was like Dance Moms for the Nineties. She was right in there with rehearsals and set design and, eventually, costuming.’
‘Oh, no.’ I covered my mouth and laughed. Anyone who’d lived through school productions and rock eisteddfods knew that, sometimes, it was best to leave the costuming to the professionals.
‘See, you know where this is going.’ Marcus waggled a finger at me. ‘You know.’
‘She went and bought herself a Singer, didn’t she?’
‘Not only that, she turned our house into a sweatshop.’
I roared with laughter, a protective hand the only thing stopping a little bit of dinner shooting forth across the table.
‘My sister was probably fourteen or fifteen at the time, so I was nine or ten; something like that.’ Marcus clutched at his elbows. ‘Soo, Mum decided she didn’t need to buy real clothes anymore, because she knew how to make them. And, so, little Marcus was sent to school in pants befitting a Sesame Street extra. There was one pair in particular that were rusty orange corduroy, and they flared out like jodhpurs. They were fucking awful. I spent a large portion of my childhood and teen years being bullied over my clothes.’
‘She seriously didn’t buy you clothes?’
‘Not while she was busy making them. I mean, it was all well and good to sew up a Mr Mistoffelees over the weekend, but I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to go to school dressed like him.’
‘Stop talking,’ I wheezed. ‘Please. I’m going to wet my pants.’
‘And let’s not forget the time my sister, Jessie, woke me up in full costume. I thought I’d stepped right into a nightmare.’
‘No!’ I coughed through the laughter. ‘No, no, no.’
‘It was my sixteenth birthday the night before, and I might have gone out and got a bit drunk. So, there I was, having a sleep in, being very hungover and feeling awfully sorry for myself, and I feel a knock on my shoulder. I peel open one eye, and my life has suddenly turned into a B-grade horror movie. Here I am thinking I’ve lost my mind completely and am stuck in a nightmare with this human cat hybrid trying to climb into bed with me, meowing noises and all.’
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe for the laughter. ‘Photos? Please, for all that is holy, please let there be photos.’
‘There is one Polaroid in existence,’ he confirmed, taking what was left of my chips. It didn’t matter. I was having far too much fun to care, and I could always order more. Drinks, combined with how I was feeling right now, the sheer joy of revelling in his stories, made me want to stay all night. ‘I look for all intents and purposes like I’m trying to climb the wall.’
‘That is way too perfect. I want to see that photo.’
‘I’m sure I can wrangle a copy for you.’ He reached for his pocket. ‘See, I would text my mum, but I can’t because my phone is gone.’
‘Is she still in theatre?’ I dug through the box. ‘Your sister, I mean?’
‘A little.’ He nodded. ‘She’s got the kids, so it’s more behind the scenes stuff now. Mum’s given up the clothes making, thank God.’
‘Is that why you’re always in suits?’ I asked.
‘I guess it is, yeah,’ he said. ‘I remember one particular day at school that was just revolting. I was being called all kinds of names, and I just wanted to crawl into a hole. You know, you’re a twelve, thirteen, fourteen-year-old boy, and your image is kind of important, but you’re just getting rallied constantly because your mum thinks she’s more Versace than Picasso when it comes to sewing and, so, I promised myself that the moment I could buy my own clothes, I would buy decent, fitted clothes.’
I watched him over the top of my glass, lips wrapped around the edge and fixing him with a look.
‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that I had no right to criticise your clothing choices.’
‘No, but you weren’t wrong, either,’ I said. ‘And, to be fair, I bit first, so it was in the spirit of the game.’
It was around that time our cue cards were forgotten, and our conversation disappeared into the depths of family, their further quirks and misdemeanours. We were enjoying our night so much or, at least, I was, that time ran away, and we were soon being bundled out the door by bleary-eyed barmen who wanted nothing more than their own beds.
We stepped out into an almost silent street. Car parks were mostly empty, and the only thing making a noise was the occasional seagull out over the bay. My breath puffed in front of my face.
‘Can I ask something before you go?’ Marcus held my jacket out for me.
I slipped my arms through my coat and began fastening buttons. ‘Tonight has been the night of questions, so I think that’s only fair.’
‘Did you know this was going to happen tonight?’ He did the late-night pat-down, the double-check to make sure we weren’t doing a mad dash back to the pub for lost items in the morning.
‘I knew that I was going on a blind date,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t know it was with you.’
‘Oh, right.’ He rubbed his mouth. ‘Because blind dates don’t strike me as an Eleanor thing.’
‘Don’t they?’ I smiled. ‘I’ve been on blind dates before. In fact, I’ve been on a few in the last year, it’s just that I have a few more stipulations now.’
‘And what are they?’
I smiled gently, revelling in his face under the light of the street lamp. He looked altogether different now compared to the start of the night, gentler, more striking. Beautiful, even, and the weight of that sat heavily in my stomach. ‘My only requests were that he be kind, gentle, a family man, and undeniably handsome.’
Marcus laughed nervously. ‘Looks like you were shit out of luck tonight.’
‘On the contrary.’ I stepped away. ‘I got exactly what I asked for.’
His expression changed almost instantly, a relaxed happiness replacing uncertainty. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’ I ducked into his line of sight.
‘Eleanor, can I walk you home?’
For a brief moment, we were silent. A cheeky, knowing laughter took over, the connotations of that question far heavier t
han usual.
‘I’ll be okay, but thank you,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’ll text you when I get home.’
‘All right.’ He brushed his hand over his mouth. ‘Would you like to do this again, maybe?’
‘There’s no maybe,’ I said. ‘I’d love to.’
Marcus’s eyes widened. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘I can’t tomorrow. I’m having lunch with an old school friend, but I would definitely like to do this again. Tonight was nothing short of …’ My voice trailed off, my shoulders rose, and I made a noise I hoped came across as blissful.
It did.
Marcus smiled proudly. ‘Let’s talk soon, then?’
‘We will,’ I said.
We stepped into each other at the same time, not a misstep, but an understanding of what may be to come. Without another word, Marcus leaned down, his nose brushing against my cheek as he kissed me. Warm breaths puffed against my ear and I stood there, fixed to the spot. As he pulled away, I felt his nose draw against mine, and all I could think of was just how much I wanted him to kiss me in the moment.
‘Goodnight, Eleanor,’ he whispered.
‘Goodnight.’
Walking away, there was that little flutter again. Somewhere under the ribs, but above my stomach, something that let me know my night had not panned out exactly as expected. It had been better, wonderful, and made me think that the possibilities were endless. The realisation was one-quarter thrilling, one-quarter curiosity, and two-quarters running for the hills, back to the safe harbour of singledom. At the corner of the street, far away enough to be considered breathing room, I stopped and looked back at the street behind me. The street was empty, Marcus long gone.
At home, I walked through the door to find Penny on the couch with a box of tissues and a packet of sweet biscuits. I poured myself a cold drink and sat gingerly in my favourite recliner.
‘Hola.’ She didn’t waiver from the television.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Watching Dawson’s Creek.’ She shoved another biscuit in her mouth. ‘It’s amazing. The Flash is about to Hulk out, and Dawson thinks he’s Dr Phil. This guy has got more red flags than a beach in summer.’
‘You what now?’ I laughed. ‘The Flash?’
‘Dawson’s dad was The Flash in another life.’ She looked at me as if this were common knowledge. ‘Keep up.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘And?’ She leaned out over the side of the couch and fixed me with an expectant look. She was never any good at waiting for news. I was surprised it had taken her this long to ask.
‘And what?’ I smiled, pulling my skirt out over my knees.
‘That smile says it all.’
‘Does it?’ I asked.
‘It does.’ She sunk back into the chair. ‘Good night?’
‘It was lovely,’ I confirmed. ‘Thank you for your fine organising. I’ll have to thank Patrick the next time I see him.’
‘And?’ she teased.
‘And what?’ I took a sip.
‘Did you kiss him?’
I laughed. ‘No, no I didn’t.’
In a grump, she picked up her phone, fingers dancing across the screen. ‘Bugger it. I owe Patrick fifty dollars.’
I laughed and turned in for the night. ‘I promise, you’ll be the first to know when I do.’
Chapter 18
He was the last thing I thought of as I drifted off to sleep, and the first when I woke the next morning. But, unlike normal, I wasn’t so much thinking about how infernally infuriating he was. Instead, I was staring at a crack in the ceiling and wondering whether something, anything, would work with Marcus.
Reaching across, I angled my alarm clock towards me. Plenty of time. Sally, who I was still having long and late conversations with via text, had organised lunch for midday. Nervous excitement tickled at the idea that I could have said yes to a breakfast date after all. Would that have made me look a little too eager? Did that even matter anymore? I tampered down the idea like the final embers of a campfire and distracted myself with social media instead.
My inbox bulged with messages and friend requests from a small circle of old friends who’d realised I was home. Memories came decorated with LOLs and smiley faces, and I lay about in bed laughing quietly at some of the anecdotes that popped up. Wait, you’re working at our old school? asked one. Who’s still there? asked another. Can’t wait to see you! Sally exclaimed through the thrumming dots on the chat app. It’s been so long, commented Claire. They all looked so different to the girls I remembered. No doubt I did, too.
Time did that, and I hadn’t seen any of them since I left Apollo Bay in favour of the bright lights of Melbourne and university. Life in general and the natural attrition of friendships meant that they’d all but dropped off my radar.
Even so, when Saturday lunch was first suggested, I’ll admit I was sceptical about wanting to see everyone. Chat groups were nice, but we’d all moved on. What could I possibly have in common with these women that didn’t revolve around old memories? Would there be anything? They all looked like they’d settled down happily with their families. Social media accounts were full of weekend football games, pony clubs, or school artwork. While I was sure I taught some of these kids, I didn’t have any of my own, and nobody had pulled me up after Monday morning assembly to say hello. Our entire ethos would be markedly different from that of the fifteen-year-olds who often made my dad cringe in horror.
Still, maybe it was as simple as carving fresh friendships. As I gargled mouthwash, I though about last night and my not-so-blind date with Marcus. It had taught me that my initial judgement of him had been so far removed from the reality of him, of the overweight boy with jodhpur pants and poorly stitched outfits. The best thing I could do, for me and for everyone, would be to take another leap of faith and just turn up, be present, and enjoy the olive branch of adulthood.
‘Eleanor!’ Sally greeted me at her front door, a child on her hip and one hidden behind her legs.
Growing up, Sally had come from a farming family and had always lived on the outskirts of town, a twenty-minute walk past the last bus stop. On hot days, when a group of us lumbered up the hill, it felt like the worst thing ever. Her bronze ringlets were always hidden underneath a battered Akubra, her boots always covered in either dust or dung from an assortment of horses, cows, sheep, or pigs that her family kept.
Two years ago, she gave all that up for the suburbs, a weatherboard home with floor-to-ceiling windows, and a beach view from her spot in the green hills.
I followed her along the entrance and into the kitchen, through the piles of children’s toys, narrowly avoiding being mown down by a rogue ride-on train, complete with light and sound effects.
‘It’s only you and me today,’ she explained with a roll of her eyes. ‘I tried getting some of the other girls together, and they were all keen, but you know what it’s like with kids. It’s swimming, or little athletics, or pony club, or gastro.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ I smiled though I felt a pang of disappointment.
‘I know, I know.’ She placed her child down, who scampered off into the next room. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess. Ben’s out at work today, and I really can’t be bothered to worry about the small stuff. Let’s just get outside in the sunshine.’
‘I … yeah, the mess isn’t a problem,’ I started. ‘You should see the classroom after some of those little whirlwinds go through.’
‘You’re probably used to it, right? What, with the school and everything. How is that going?’
I was lost in that weird headspace of trying to take in new surroundings, the silver glint around oversized mirrors and sparkling of chandelier-like light fittings, cataloguing items and paying attention to the layout, while also trying to listen to everything Sally was saying. Work was great, I told her. Kids are great, love my job. Truly, I did.
As I followed her through the kitchen and towards the outdoo
r area, I felt perfectly comfortable and relaxed. Conversation came easily. My worries had been unfounded. I’d made the right decision coming here today.
‘You must be seeing a lot of our kids now,’ she joked. ‘That must be weird?’
‘Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone I know or remember yet,’ I said. If I had, they’d been doing a great job of avoiding me.
‘I’m just trying to think.’ She frowned a little, screwed her face up in thought. ‘No, I think most of them go to the new school. The prep to twelve college on the hill?’
That explained that.
Pushing open a set of French doors, we stepped out onto a back veranda that could have swallowed our apartment for breakfast. Café blinds lined the vast space, ready to protect us from squalls that drifted in from the ocean. Pink and white peonies burst excitedly against the grey of the recycled door turned table, and a bottle of champagne had already been popped in anticipation of my arrival. It was one throw rug away from a home decorating magazine, one of those rooms you only wished you had so you could curl up in the corner of a comfortable sofa with a book and cup of hot cocoa.
‘This is so beautiful,’ I said with a wistful sigh. Another child caught in the peripherals of my vision as they climbed the stairs towards us.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘Ben’s put a lot of work in since we moved back into town. Figured if we were going to downsize, we’d do it properly.’
‘Naturally.’ I took the glass of fizz she offered. ‘Cheers.’
Sally tapped her glass to mine. ‘To old friends.’
‘Not quite so old,’ I joked, taking a seat at the table, right by a tray that had been laden with shaved meats, cheeses, dips and crackers.
‘Right?’ she cackled. ‘So, come on, fill me in. Tell me where Ellie’s been hiding all this time?’
The questions spewed forth like tennis balls from a launcher. Overwhelming at first, I caught the ones I could answer, dodged the ones I couldn’t, and gave the Twitter-condensed version that said I was okay, living with my cousin, working here, presently single. The usual.
I think we were both grateful for the ice-breaker that was the nibbles tray. It gave us some time to sit, eat, and consider being in each other’s space again while we made small talk that, so far, wasn’t venturing too far past children. Where that was concerned, I felt a little awkward, like I was sitting on the cusp of a joke that I didn’t quite get. As many children as I taught, it was no substitute for motherhood.
Lessons in Love Page 19