‘Do you remember that afternoon we sat around by the old gum talking about where we wanted to be in twenty years’ time?’ Sally waited for me to agree, but I shook my head slowly. ‘I remember it vividly. I wanted to be a scientist. The closest I ever got to a petri dish was the IVF clinic.’ She snorted her laughter. ‘Claire wanted to be an astronaut.’
Claire was short and dark-haired. If you didn’t know her, she came across as very serious and studious. If you did know her, you knew she was behind a lot of the trouble we got ourselves into. It was Claire who, in our final year of high school, tossed glitter into a portable air conditioner during art class and let chickens loose in the corridor.
‘Oh, Claire,’ I sighed wistfully. ‘She popped up in my messages over the weekend. Is she well?’
‘She’s great.’ Sally nodded emphatically. ‘I’m going to try and organise this a bit better next time so more of us can come along.’
‘Let me know,’ I said. ‘I’ll help where I can.’
‘And, Eleanor, you played the piano, I think. You were a total rock star.’
‘I’m not sure about rock star,’ I said, a little embarrassed. ‘I while away my hours in a library now.’
Her eyes widened excitedly. ‘Actually, as the teacher, you might have an idea on how to solve this one.’
‘Sure.’ I clapped my hands in my lap. ‘What’s up?’
‘Our eldest, his reading isn’t the best. How do you suggest I approach that?’
I scratched at my upper lip. ‘Does he read at home? That’s really the best way to start.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I meant when I speak to the teacher. I mean, I’m paying taxes to pay their wages. He should be able to read.’
‘You don’t read with him at home though?’ I asked.
She snorted. ‘I’ve got three kids; I never have the time.’
I grinned so tightly I thought my jaw might cramp. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard these types of comments, not by a long shot, but they still grated. I’d also learned long ago that you couldn’t argue with some people about their children’s education, so I stayed shtum.
And I was glad that I did because, not long after, conversation returned to normal, non-teachery things, and I could sit back and enjoy the afternoon without the worry about getting myself into a SmackDown style argument about children’s literacy. Sally availed me of condensed versions of everybody’s histories, at least the people we could jointly remember and, when the subject of teachers came up, naturally, we chatted about Mick. And Marcus, who I wished was here to discuss the reading issue.
‘You know, I thought about sending the kids there.’ Sally chewed thoughtfully on a cracker. ‘I just couldn’t, you know? The college on the hill will see them through until the end of high school. They won’t have to move, they’ll have all the same friends, it’ll be great.’
‘That’s fair,’ I said, wrangling a small child who’d climbed onto my lap.
I was curious about the college on the hill. When I’d been searching for jobs, a class teacher role was available, but I was enamoured with the idea of our school library. It certainly looked like a great school, much better funded than ours, and Sally was happy to talk me through teachers and their quirks, and what she loved about the school. But she was also quick to remind me there was something missing.
‘But you’ve got Marcus and, no word of a lie, I considered sending the kids to your school just for the eye candy.’ She tipped her head back. ‘Oh, boy-o.’
Wrinkling my nose, I asked, ‘How, how, how does everyone know about Marcus?’
‘Football.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Ben plays with the team occasionally. Well, he mostly trains, but pulls on a jumper when he’s not injured.’
‘Ah, makes sense.’ I shoved a chunk of cheese in my mouth. ‘Marcus injured his knee during the last match.’
‘Is he nice?’
‘He’s lovely,’ I said, finding myself echoing my cousin.
‘You know, I love my husband dearly.’ She waggled her wedding ring in my face. ‘And he loves me. Check out the size of that rock, that’s love. But if I got myself a hall pass, I’d be on it like white on sugar. So would a lot of the women around here.’
Deflation. That’s what that feeling was, and it had been creeping up like a slow leak for the last few minutes. I’d started the day so full of hope, thinking that something might have been possible with Marcus and, then, it was gone instantly, and all in a few clipped sentences.
I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to listen to her talk about him as if he were a prize to be caught. If I did end up with him, that chatter would only move to the back rooms and private conversations. Would it morph into flirting and end with a misplaced text message like last time? I wasn’t prepared to put myself through all of that again. And the real struggle in all of this is that Marcus is exactly how Penny described him. He was lovely, sweet, and gentle, but that was precisely what I loved about Dean to begin with, too.
What a complete mess.
Chapter 19
One of my favourite childhood memories was the smell of the lemon tree in our backyard. The yearly harvest that began in November kept our home smelling citrus fresh right through summer and well into early autumn, when a crackling wood fire would begin to take over. Our tree had been planted when the house was first built, ten years before we moved in, which meant it was well established by the time I was looking for trees to climb. Even now, it clocked in at over three metres tall.
The next morning, with nothing else to do and a massive case of the Can’t Be Bothereds, I walked around to Dad’s. I checked the letterbox, ran the mower over the grass, opened some windows and let the fresh air in, grabbed an old laundry basket, and began scaling the heights of the old tree.
Clearing the tree had been something that had always fallen to me to do, and why wouldn’t it? It was the perfect extracurricular activity for a little wild-haired tearaway child with energy to spare. I dumped an old laundry basket by the trunk and, with my hand wrapped firmly around a branch, I took my first tentative steps up into the tree.
I’d barely settled onto one of the thicker branches when my phone buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket, not so silently reminding myself I couldn’t afford to drop it from a great height.
Just wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed Friday night.
I looked at the message sitting hopefully on the screen in front of me, crying out for a response. From the moment I left our blind date, my thoughts had been performing their own Newton’s Cradle in my mind. On Friday night I was swinging wide in the surprising thrill of Marcus’s company and, had he called the next morning, I’d have jumped at the notion of a breakfast date.
After lunch with Sally, I felt an unmistakable ache for what she had – the family, the children, the happy, comfortable home. Regret sat on my lap in the form of a four-year-old, intent on explaining the finer details of her favourite book to me. I wanted that, and I’d wanted it for many years before yesterday, so why had I waited so long? Was Marcus the answer to that question? A large part of me wanted to believe that he was, but after listening to Sally speak about him yesterday, I was more concerned with history repeating itself. Brave, bold Ellie had retreated into the centre of her thoughts again.
I had a great night, too, I replied.
It was true. I wasn’t going to lie and tell him it was awful. Anyone who’d listened to or seen us fall about in fits of laughter could have confirmed as much anyway. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. It vibrated again almost immediately.
Are you busy?
Lost in thought, I continued to stare at the screen until it blacked out again. In my right hand, absentmindedly, I felt the telltale give of another lemon coming clean from the tree. I watched it fall into the washing basket below me. It lumped and rolled into an empty space.
Steadying myself on the next branch, I decided to return his message with a call, otherwise I might have found myself spend
ing far longer in this tree than I wanted to. I pressed my phone to my ear and waited.
‘Hello.’ There was an undeniable smile in his voice as he answered. It served to do nothing more than turn me into a watery mess. The tug-of-war between my head and my heart had officially begun.
‘Good morning,’ I replied. ‘How are you?’
‘Well … a little bit of this, a little bit of that.’
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Are we allowed to talk shop?’ he asked. ‘I mean, we aren’t in the pub, so it’s a free-for-all now, right?’
‘Of course we’re allowed to,’ I answered with a chuckle. ‘I’ve been reliably informed that it’s what we do.’
‘Right. Good to know,’ he started. ‘The thing is, I’ve just piled up all my work this morning and, well, there’s a bit more than I anticipated.’
‘Have you been lazy, Mr Blair?’ I teased, another lemon tumbling below me.
‘I … you know, that sounds a little too kinky for so early in the morning,’ he admitted, the fluster evident through his bumbling.
‘It’s almost lunch, isn’t it?’ I asked. ‘About eleven o’clock?’
‘Maybe, yeah,’ he admitted quietly. ‘Anyway, between all this marking I’ve been putting off, and the bundle of shit the boys handed me yesterday for the yearbook, I feel a bit … flooded.’
Not so long ago, I’d told him to reach out for help if he needed it, though I wondered if he was a little reluctant to come straight out and ask for it. I wanted to see him. I wanted him to prove that my reluctance was ridiculous and that I had nothing to worry about, that he was different.
‘Would you like some help?’ I blurted.
‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. Please. I would like some help. If you’re not busy, that is.’
‘I’ll make you a deal.’ I plucked at another lemon, rustling a bunch of limbs and leaves.
‘Wait, where exactly are you?’ he asked.
‘That’s the thing,’ I said. ‘I’m currently up a lemon tree.’
‘You? Up a lemon tree?’ He laughed. ‘Please tell me I’m not hearing things.’
‘You’re not,’ I said. ‘I’m at my dad’s, and the tree is full of fruit. Don’t worry, he’s not home, he’s away. But, if you’d like to come and help carry this oh so heavy tub of lemons I couldn’t possibly handle on my own, I’d be ever so grateful.’
‘And where am I carrying the lemons to?’
‘See, that all depends.’ I moved about gingerly, listening for the heave and give in the old branches. ‘Do you know anyone who could use a few kilos of Apollo Bay’s finest citrus? Possibly watered by my dad, no doubt watered by uncles and friends, and countless men.’
‘Chances are, my grandmother would probably Hansel and Gretel me if she knew I had access to them and passed up the opportunity.’
I clapped my hand over my mouth and giggled. The mental image of him having his ear twisted by an old lady, who I imagined was far smaller than him and hunched over, was immediately hilarious and one I’d love to see.
‘That settles it, then,’ I said. ‘I’ll text you the address, you come and get them.’
‘And then?’ he asked.
‘And then we work,’ I pipped. ‘Simple.’
‘Well … okay. If you’re sure.’
‘Hurry up, before I change my mind,’ I said. ‘Won’t somebody please think of your promotion?’
‘All right, all right, I’ll be there soon.’
By the time I heard the rattle of the old side gate, and the familiar shuffle that could have only been Marcus, my basket was heaving with fruit. He approached the tree cautiously, looking back at the house on more than one occasion.
‘Are you still up there?’ he asked.
‘You’ll have to come around the back.’ I tossed a piece of fruit through the foliage, and it landed just to his right.
He picked up the offending missile. ‘You know, that’s not a statement one hears very often.’
I laughed, a little embarrassed, and slightly pained at how easy this all was with him. ‘Okay.’
I listened as Marcus circled the tree, coming in to land just behind me. I dropped more fruit, glancing up around me to see exactly how much was left. Not a lot, and perhaps I could leave them, but I shuffled another branch higher.
‘Are you sure this is safe?’ he called. ‘What are you? Two, three metres up?’
‘About that,’ I answered. ‘I’d have used the ladder, but there’s a huge ass spider on it, and I ain’t got time for that.’
‘Right, so … one spider precludes the ladder, but you’ll climb into an entire tree full of insects and God knows what else and maybe fall out?’
‘Correct.’ I aimed for his head but missed. The best part was, he didn’t even flinch.
‘So, this is home?’ he asked.
‘Home, sweet home.’ I turned to look at the house and wondered exactly how it looked to him. Did it live up or down to expectation? I plucked at two last lemons and began the wary climb down.
‘You know, I have walked, jogged, and run past this place so many times.’ He held out a steadying hand as I reached the ground. ‘I feel like we should have met a long time ago.’
The thought jolted me as my eyes met his. He wasn’t wrong. This town was small enough that there was every chance we had bumped into each other before. Maybe he’d driven past as I stood in the driveway with Dad, or he’d sat at a table next to me in a café on a rare trip home. I’d just been too busy running around with my eyes shut to notice him.
I allowed myself a moment, only a quick one, to think about how different my life could have been if he had been around earlier, if we had had our meet-cute by the counter in the café and got talking about teaching and kids. Even Daisy and her bizarre love of me would have been enough to get me talking. I pushed that right out of my mind just as quickly when I realised the thoughts were sitting heavily on my heart and mind. Nothing could change the past, so there was no use dwelling on it.
‘Well.’ I shoved my hands on my hips. ‘I just have to lock up and we can go?’
‘I … yes, let’s do that.’ He looked around his feet. ‘Want me to bring the tub?’
‘Sure.’ I stopped with a jolt and snapped my fingers. ‘Come to think of it, if you give me a few moments, I think I still have my old yearbook here somewhere.’
‘I was so close to asking.’ Marcus pinched his fingers together, delighted by my admission. ‘So close.’ Catching a look over my shoulder as he followed, I watched his arms flex and strain under the weight of the laundry basket. The handles flared out under the weight and, I, well I was just delighted by the show. I offered up a teasing smirk as I held the back door open.
‘Honey, I’m home.’ He winked, stepping past me.
‘Welcome.’ I followed him inside.
‘Well, this is lovely.’ Marcus moved quickly through the galley kitchen and into the lounge.
‘You’re being very polite,’ I teased.
‘No, I’m not being polite. It feels really homely in here,’ he said. ‘A lot of creature comforts, stuff you’ve owned for a hundred years that’s completely worn in.’
Rinsing a mug in the sink, I stopped and smiled. ‘I like that description.’
‘There are lots of photos of you and your dad.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I ask about your mum, or is that off topic?’ He’d stopped walking around.
‘She lives in Sydney,’ I said. ‘She left when I was a baby. I don’t see a lot of her.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘I don’t really know any different.’ I offered with a tiny shrug as I stood between both rooms. ‘I’m not sure if that’s because she doesn’t know how to mother, or if there’s maybe another underlying problem, but I’ve always had a strange relationship with her. If I’m honest, I wish that was different, but it is what it is.’
‘And your dad just picked up the slack?’ he asked.
‘He did.’ I approached him by the sideboard where Dad kept an assortment of photos in various mismatched, sometimes handmade, frames. ‘Let’s go find my old school stuff.’
My old yearbook had always been buried in a cheap translucent plastic box under my bed in my old bedroom. It was one of those boxes with castor wheels that fall off too easily and handles that snap if pushed too hard. I knelt beside my bed and dragged it out into the sunlight for the first time in years.
It landed on my bed with a heavy, dusty thud.
‘I feel like this room hasn’t seen change in a while.’ Marcus leaned into the doorframe, arms folded across this chest and legs crossed at the ankles. ‘It’s almost like eighteen-year-old Eleanor moved out, and it’s just been waiting for you to return.’
‘I always jokingly call it the museum.’ I flipped through the first few items. There were certificates and old textbooks, report cards and photo albums or random teenage things that I held up with a modicum of embarrassment. ‘I keep telling him to change the room, make it a library, or a theatre room. I mean, you can see, this house is tiny. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. You’d think he’d be excited for the extra space, but it’s always, “It’s there if you need it.”’
‘And, yet, you moved in with Penny.’ He handed back a certificate I’d thrust in his hand.
‘Would you like to try and sneak past him in the dead of night?’ I held my yearbook aloft like a trophy. Marcus snatched it up just as quickly.
‘No.’ He flipped through the first few pages. ‘I can’t say I’d enjoy that honour. Then again, I never really did a lot of that as a teenager, so maybe I could relive my lost youth?’
‘Much easier to sneak a boy past Penny.’
‘Oh look.’ His groan was tinged with laughter. ‘Is this you?’
Lessons in Love Page 20