Lessons in Love

by Belinda Missen

  I giggled. ‘Doggy Playboy?’

  ‘Sure.’ He nodded. ‘What about you? What do you see?’

  ‘I can see the jetty my father and I used to sit on while we ate fresh mussels and oysters when he’d come back from a day on a fishing trawler.’

  ‘Your dad’s a fisherman?’

  ‘Occasionally.’ A smile teased my lips. ‘I can see summers spent in a tin can boat with Penny’s father getting burned rotten. I can see gravel-filled knees as I learned to ride my bike downhill. I can see the terracotta-tiled roof of my grandparents’ home where I was taught to play the piano. There’s also the school I always wanted to work in. For the first time in my life I can say I’ve made at least one of my dreams come true. I can see first kisses and last dates, winter storms and lightning rolling across the bay, and sticky summer days with melting ice creams, running under garden sprinklers, and overworked air conditioners.’

  ‘Now, see, I say something as simplistic as school and beach and café, and you come back with this winding narrative full of light and colour.’

  ‘And yet you’ve got Grace all over you,’ I teased. ‘Go figure.’

  Marcus leaned into my neck and sniffed audibly. ‘What is that perfume you’re wearing? I fear it smells of something close to jealousy.’

  I retreated slightly and offered him a look of disgust. ‘I am so not jealous of her.’

  He narrowed his eyes and pinched his fingers. ‘Come on, not just a teensy bit?’

  ‘How can I possibly be jealous of someone who’s so vapid she makes a helium balloon look like Albert Fucking Einstein?’

  There was a pin drop of silence, a momentary vacuum in which the world fell still, and we stole surprised looks at each other before roaring with laughter.

  Marcus leaned forward and clutched at his knees, his shoulders jiggling about. ‘Do you reckon that was on his birth certificate? Albert Fucking Einstein.’

  ‘If it’s not, it should be.’ I reached into my bag and checked the time.

  I wasn’t checking the time because I wanted to go home. On the contrary, I was hoping I still had a nice chunk of time to kill, which may have been the irony of the night. Previously, when Penny and I had discussed the merits of a weeknight date, there was one resounding plus. If things went pear-shaped, and we were suddenly and totally incompatible, I could call it a night, citing work in the morning. And so could he.

  But the more time we spent together, the more I wanted to be here. I could sit and listen to him talk all night. Not just our questions, but about anything that came to mind. The words he spoke were nuanced and thought out and, as we stood in comfortable silence, I wondered if he wasn’t the reason I moved home. Some power in the universe somewhere knew I needed him in my life, and I was becoming increasingly comfortable with the idea. Before us, lights across town began to blink out.

  ‘Do you think they’re trying to tell us something?’ Marcus looked at me.

  ‘Probably that my bladder is full and they’re about to lock the public toilets,’ I joked, not entirely sure I should put my thoughts out into the world quite yet.

  ‘Shall we go home, then?’

  ‘Do we have to?’ I asked. Okay, so maybe I would.

  Something in his face softened. ‘No, we don’t have to.’

  Instead, we cosied up in the nearest cake shop and took whatever they had to offer, which wasn’t much given it was late. But it didn’t matter. It bought us some more time to mull over a few thoughts, pull out one or two cue cards, and pretend like we didn’t have to or didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  It was only when the owner began placing chairs on tables and dragging out a mop bucket that we called time on our night. Not that it stopped us nattering like a couple of old ladies on a park bench as we gathered our belongings and walked out the door. Something had happened tonight, a switch had been flicked, and we now had more to say to each other than I’d ever thought possible, only to arrive on my doorstep and stand about awkwardly.

  Our words had up and vanished. Instead, we took turns glancing around the street, at grass that glowed like neon under headlights, and moths that swam about street lights.

  ‘I’m, ah, going to go inside.’ I pointed back towards the apartment, which was currently sitting in darkness. I wondered if Penny was home at all.

  ‘Eleanor, I have enjoyed every minute of tonight.’ Marcus scratched at the back of his neck.

  ‘Me, too.’ I shifted my weight to my other foot, and the movement tripped the security light on the porch.

  Marcus rocked gently on his feet. ‘I could always offer you a nightcap? We could go back to mine and …’

  ‘I would.’ I smirked. ‘But, it’s a school night.’

  ‘Oh my God, you just went there. You used that excuse.’

  ‘It’s my Draw Four card,’ I sniggered.

  ‘All right, all right. I’m going home.’

  ‘Thank you for tonight,’ I said. ‘I enjoyed skipping out of the bookshop for you.’

  ‘And I enjoyed encouraging you.’

  Watching as he stepped backwards down the street and into the night, I felt flat. Defeated wasn’t the word, because there had been nothing taken from me, but there was something missing. How did I know? The moment he turned around, it was unmistakable quiver in my stomach that propelled me forward, down the road and after him.

  Was I a loud lumbering mess? I had no idea. I could feel and think of nothing other than what I wanted to do right here and now, and I was going to do it before I lost the nerve. Reaching him, I tugged at his hand, turned him to face me, and kissed him. Hesitation gave way to the relaxed touch of his hands slipping to rest on my hips, where they burned against the cold night air. He tasted of warm cinnamon and coffee, and everything I wanted more of.

  Marcus broke first. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Sorry, I just got sick of waiting.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know … you were in, you were out … I couldn’t tell if that was what you wanted.’

  I nodded and kissed him again.

  ‘I did tell you I was a late bloomer.’ His smile was soft and warm, and he kissed me again before disappearing into the night. Again.

  Chapter 23

  Avalon Airport was a tin shed, blink and you’ll miss it single-runway complex between Melbourne and Geelong. As I approached it, crossing a narrow bridge over the freeway, I was greeted with the wheaten hues of what was once an old cattle farm.

  Even though it felt like I’d spent weeks waiting for today to arrive, the last few days had scrolled past in a blur of heightened colours, stolen kisses, lunch dates, and late-night texts. It was exactly my luck that, having finally put the wheels in motion with Marcus, he would be busy the rest of the week. If he wasn’t working with his extra classes, he’d agreed to help Patrick with after-hours work just to clear up a backlog.

  That left me with little more than a handful of photos taken inside a shed somewhere, face masks and safety gear on. We talked the subject of Mum’s visit to death. Over again, Marcus assured me everything was going to be fine, the lead-up was always so much worse than the event, it was just that I was anxious and, like always, wanted to make a good impression. Those text messages seemed to be the only things keeping me sane right now. Sort of.

  My brain was scrambled, so much so that I returned to my car twice just to check I’d locked it. Once through security and inside the terminal, I made my way to the gate, grabbed a coffee and chocolate bar, thumbed through books in the newsagent, and stood about checking the flight tracker on my phone. The plane hadn’t moved. My foot tapped in time with a beat only it could hear. I wished it would stop.

  A Melbourne to Sydney flight was an hour on a good day, and I’d arrived about ten minutes after the scheduled departure time. Call it nerves, call it excitement, call it Eleanor hates being late for anything. Whatever the reason, I was there. When the arrivals board read Delayed, I popped to the loos, scrolled social media, and availed
myself of a sandwich and bag of crisps.

  The worst part about waiting for someone was the uninhibited time left to think. At the top of my mind this morning was our date earlier in the week. A butterfly cage had been well and truly unleashed in my stomach, and each thought made my stomach jump excitedly, my heart twist, thrilled by the prospect of what awaited at the end of those kisses.

  Barging their way into my headspace were thoughts of my mother. I was cautiously optimistic that she’d arrive, even if I had been in this situation a handful of times before, even if she’d never booked her flights to begin with. Things had been going so well lately, with my job, the house move, with Marcus, that today would have been the perfect culmination of all these great things. I checked my inbox to be sure I hadn’t simply imagined seeing her boarding pass.

  It was still there in all its orange and white glory with big black letters.

  I took a shaky breath and checked the arrivals screen again; thirty minutes to go. People began milling about, each of them awaiting their Love, Actually moment, and all I could do was stare at my phone screen. Five minutes before the plane was due, I bought two fresh coffees and biscuits. What better way to bond than over a hot drink and food? When the plane finally landed, time slowed to a crawl and my heart took its place at the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.

  Flight attendants checked the gate, opened the doors, and drew walkie-talkies to their mouths with muttered instructions. The influx began slowly, a businesswoman here, a mother wrangling her child there, a family of four, and then the teeming bell curve of the crowd. I peered up, over, and around hats and hairdos, waiting for the telltale blonde bob to appear. When the crowd began to thin again, leaving one last wheelchair bound passenger being helped through the door, the crushing realisation began seeping in.

  My foot stopped tapping and a new weight fell on my shoulders.

  She wasn’t here. She hadn’t got on the plane. Again.

  I was ten years old again, only this time I wasn’t waiting in a Melbourne park for birthday cake. My memory of that day was still etched vividly; the helium balloons tied around my wrist and party hat on, only to be told hours later that the plane was ‘broken’. A few scurrying minutes later, the airport gate was empty again and the doors drawn shut and I stood there, still clutching two coffees. I swallowed down a lump and looked for the nearest exit in a room that was fast closing in on me.

  How are you supposed to react when you feel both let down and completely bloody stupid for believing something might have worked out differently? There was only so much I could steel myself against in preparation for these moments. Every time I thought something was going to change, that she was going to show up and make an effort, I was left sitting alone in an airport car park. I’d come so close, only to be pushed away again. The only thing I had to be grateful for right now was that at least it was Avalon, and not Tullamarine, another hour up the freeway. There is a silver lining in everything, after all.

  For a few confused moments, I sat in my car trying to work out what to do. There was nothing to do but go home. With coffees in cup holders, my phone connected to the charger, and parking ticket between my teeth, I turned the ignition over began the drive home. Guilt trickled in to slowly erode my anger. What if something had gone wrong? I couldn’t be angry about that, could I? By the time I was halfway home, I pulled over on a turnout to call her.

  Under the dappled light that filtered through the canopy of ferns and tall trees, I listened as the phone rang out. I tried again, with the same result. I sent a text message. As expected, there was no answer. For a moment, I contemplated making another call and, as I unlocked my phone again, it rang. Shocked, I dropped it in the footwell and knocked over an empty coffee cup. I yanked my seatbelt off and grabbed about the floor for it.

  ‘Mum?’ I’d answered in such a rush that I hadn’t seen the number.

  ‘Oh no.’ It was Marcus. He groaned and cursed under his breath. ‘Really?’

  So far, I’d managed to keep the tears at bay. I’d been too exhausted, too confused, too … everything. I hadn’t slept well last night, tossing and turning and cycling through what might happen. It was one hell of a build-up, only to be dropped from a great height. But now, in the privacy of my car, my lip trembled, eyes blurred, and my throat tightened.

  ‘Hello.’ I tried for upbeat Ellie, but think I overshot the mark. ‘How are you?’

  ‘She didn’t show, did she?’ he asked.

  ‘That would be a big fat no.’ I wiped at my eyes.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I think so?’ I squeaked. ‘I don’t know. It’s not as if it’s the first time she’s done this. It’s so bloody ridiculous. I should have expected this. Tell me I should have expected this.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t have expected this. You should have expected her to be an adult and keep her promise.’ He stopped. ‘Where are you? You’re not driving, are you?’

  A log truck hurled past at an unsafe speed, my car rattling in the downwind force. Its tail-lights disappeared in a cloud of burs as it wound around the gully, never to be seen again.

  ‘I’m currently in the national forest, somewhere between Winchelsea and home, hoping like hell I don’t get crushed by a log truck.’ I watched another car go past. ‘But, no, I’m not driving. Not right now, anyway. I’ve pulled into a turnout.’

  ‘If it’s not them, it’ll be grey nomads in their caravans holding everyone up like a conga line.’

  I scoffed. ‘I know.’

  ‘Look, you probably want to get home, so I’ll let you go. Do you want me to let you go? Or do you want to talk some more?

  ‘I’m going to get going, head home.’

  ‘Can I call you later?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘All right. I’ll give you a bit of time to get home, settle down, and then I’ll check in,’ he said. ‘Drive carefully, okay?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘Nah, not into the Daddy kink, sorry,’ he teased. ‘Talk soon.’

  Forty minutes after his phone call, and now swinging somewhere between a longing ache and raging anger, I pulled up in my driveway. With Penny away at a hen’s weekend, all I had planned now was an afternoon in my pyjamas with a whole lot of comfort movies, and probably food, too. I tossed the empty coffee cups in the recycling bin and thumped my way up the stairs. Busy digging about in my handbag, I completely missed Marcus sitting on the top step, picnic basket at the ready.

  I clutched at the bannister and tripped over laughing. ‘Oh, shit, you scared me.’

  ‘I’m not that ugly.’ He feigned disgust. ‘Please.’

  ‘You’re right, how awful of me.’

  ‘You okay?’ He tilted his head towards me as I stepped past him and unlocked the front door.

  I shook my head. ‘You want to come in?’

  ‘Yes, yes I do.’ He climbed to his feet.

  I dithered about in silence for a few minutes, dumping my handbag inside my bedroom door, opening the sliding door for a kick of fresh air, and boiling the kettle. The whole time, Marcus stood patiently by the bench, arms wrapped around his wicker basket.

  ‘What’s in the basket?’ I placed two mugs on the bench.

  ‘Remember I said to you that you had no idea what a picnic was?’

  I smiled as I measured out coffee into each mug. ‘I might.’

  ‘Well, I thought today was as good a day as any to have a picnic. We could go down to the beach, roll out a blanket, and feast.’ He lifted the lid. ‘We’ve got coronation chicken sandwiches, passion fruit macaroons, crisps in the event that’s all too fancy for you, homemade hummus.’

  ‘Is it homemade because you made it?’

  He gave his head a quick shake. ‘The pizza shop did.’

  ‘Cheese?’ I picked up half a wheel of Brie.

  ‘There’s cheese, crackers, dips and, the pièce de résistance, a lemon myrtle and poppy-seed cake from Lucy Williams.’

  ‘You … a L
ucy Williams?’

  Everyone knew both how pricey a Lucy Williams cake was. Also, the café she ran with her husband, celebrity chef Oliver Murray, was ninety minutes away, so Marcus must’ve been made of magic to have picked one up between our phone call and now. I peered into the basket to find the barely iced beauty in its cardboard box.

  ‘How?’ I looked up at Marcus.

  ‘Patrick is pretty much her best friend.’ He stopped. ‘Or she’s his. Either way.’

  ‘Patrick?’ I said, surprised. ‘And Lucy?’

  ‘They’ve known each other since they were teenagers. I’ve done a bit of work for Patrick at their café, so …’

  ‘My, you do get around,’ I teased.

  ‘So, what do you say?’ Marcus waved his hands like a game show compere. ‘Shall I spirit you away to the tropical sands of the local beach?’

  ‘Would you be offended if I said I didn’t feel up to going out today?’ I asked. ‘I think I’m just going to put my pyjamas on and watch a movie.’

  ‘I am one hundred per cent behind that theory.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know today was a big deal for you, so staying in is perfectly okay if that’s what you need.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I leaned over the counter and kissed him.

  I’d have moved away if he hadn’t pulled me into him, wrapping his arms tightly around my shoulders. He was pure warmth, his heart thudding lightly in his chest. Closing my eyes, breathing him in, I sank into him and just waited for the moment to pass. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

  ‘I’m going to get changed.’ I mumbled into his wool jumper. ‘Something a little less formal.’

  Marcus smoothed a hand over my head and pressed a kiss against my hair. ‘Need a hand?’