‘I believe that I’m at least a half-decent teacher, and I do hope some of you might agree with that. However, organising tonight should have been something of a breeze for me, a last hurrah before that next stepping stone.’ He looked out at the room. ‘I failed.’
Ever wondered what the correct protocol was in moments like this? As it turned out, most people went along with stunned silence. Phil stood to his side, hands clasped in front of him, a look of uncertainty on his face. Roger, Tony and Mick all peered down the end of the aisle to me where I sat with my head bowed, heart racing, and mouth drier than the back end of a dehydrator.
‘Most of tonight was organised by Eleanor, Miss Manning as most of you know her. There are people who will argue that she was tossed in the deep end when tasked with planning this evening. It’s only her first term with us here. But I also know that, if you ask her, she might disagree with my assessment.’ He looked at me.
No, no, that was quite the deep end that I didn’t want, but I made do because that’s what I do.
‘So, there we were. Two idiots who’d barely met and, if I can be frank—’
‘Okay, Frank,’ I chuckled. My laughter was joined by the voices behind me.
‘It’s fair to say we barely liked each other. We clashed. A lot. Yet, the more I got to know Eleanor, the more I got to know myself, which has been a sobering but welcome experience. Where I sat back and slacked off on some points, sometimes a little too much, and made life difficult, Eleanor was hard at work not only learning the ropes of her new job, but also giving me quite the schooling of my own, too. The invites you got? She did most of them. Tonight’s incredible theme and the gift bags? All her idea. We shared the task of the yearbook, but I failed dismally when I uploaded the wrong file, which has caused a frenzied last-minute reprint. As it turned out, my priorities were somewhat out of order, and I let her down. For that, I apologise.’
Though his eyes were a little wider, Phil was not reacting at all.
‘What happens now, I hear you ask? Well, I expect I’ll be in my classroom next year with a new bunch of students, preparing them for high school. After a few focused discussions, I’ll also be working with Eleanor to expand a learning programme I’ve been running with my class this year. I won’t waste any more time with a lengthy explanation, because I know we’re all itching to get out of here, but I just wanted to highlight a few things that needed to be said.’ Marcus cleared his throat. ‘Oh, and Eleanor’s a very talented pianist, too.’
Childish giggling rose from the body of students and spread to the adults.
‘You boys,’ he chided. ‘I said pianist. Perhaps someone can talk her into playing at some stage tonight.’ He gathered up his things. ‘Anyway, I won’t single her out any further because I know the consequences of that, too. There’s every chance she’ll sneak into my house tonight, ply my dog with treats, then murder me in my sleep. But I do want you all to know who pulled ninety per cent of tonight together, and I want you to please make sure you thank her as you leave. And thank you for coming along tonight. I hope you’ve enjoyed looking back on the year that has been.’
* * *
‘You know, you didn’t have to do that.’ I followed Marcus into his house. Daisy barely lifted an eyelid to us this time. I think that meant she was sick of me. Already.
‘Eleanor, you pulled most of tonight together.’
I wasn’t sure I agreed. Over the course of the last few months, we’d shared the load evenly enough. When one of us stumbled, the other offered a helping hand, even with the yearbook problems considered. I’d collected the gift vouchers from Thatcher’s and put together the gift bags containing congratulatory cards and certificates along with the vouchers. Marcus had come through with the catering, though I suspected there was some low-level begging where Lucy Williams and Oliver Murray were concerned. Though, it had earned him massive brownie points when people discovered who was behind the delicious spread of food we ate.
‘So, you have been offered the job?’ I asked.
‘I’m not taking it,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Look, without getting into the semantics of men continually being allowed to fail upwards in this world, I don’t think anything that’s happened recently is a reflection on you as a teacher.’ I traipsed up the stairs, stripping off as I went. After the rush of the last few months, I was exhausted. I was so looking forward to waking up tomorrow and have nothing to organise, no parents to talk around, and nowhere to be but in bed.
Marcus followed me into the shower. ‘In English, please.’
‘You are still a brilliant teacher, and you have everything to offer.’ I squirted a blob of shampoo into his hand. God, how domesticated was this? ‘None of this was ever about your teaching ability. It was you and me and all that entailed. I think you would be crazy to turn it down.’
‘Maybe I need another year to get myself settled.’
‘Oh.’ I smiled. ‘Settled, okay.’
‘See how things go with my girlfriend.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Work out what we both want from the future.’
‘You dick,’ I teased. ‘I want you to be happy and fulfilled in your professional life.’
‘Eleanor, stop.’ He smiled gently. ‘It’s okay. I’ll get there.’
‘What have you got planned for the weekend?’ I asked.
‘I am looking forward to doing nothing this weekend.’ Marcus moved me aside so he could rinse his hair. ‘I could get used to that kind of life.’
‘It was a lot, wasn’t it?’
‘It was,’ he agreed. ‘What are you doing? Are you seeing Penny?’
Ah, Penny. While I was busy begging Marcus for another chance, she’d fronted up to the café and demanded to know why her name was always wrong on her order. Freddie, our favourite local barista, had been trying to work up the courage to ask her on a date for months. When he couldn’t, he hoped that spelling her name wrong or making cute drawings on her cups might be enough to impress her. So, when she walked in expecting to tell him off, she’d walked out with a date.
At last, it was nice to be right about something.
I was thrilled for her. She looked genuinely happy and settled for the first time in months. It had only been two dates (in the last week), and he’d sent her flowers to work – with another variation of her name attached, of course. It was utterly gorgeous, and I was so keen to see how things were going to end up for them. Because, sometimes, when you know, you know.
And one thing I knew was that Marcus and I were onto a good thing.
With Dad extending his trip to celebrate New Year’s Eve in London, Marcus and I were headed to Sydney over Christmas. I was sure I asked him one thousand times over if he was okay with being away from family during the festive season, but the fact he bought the airline tickets and presented them to me along with a hotel booking was answer enough.
Mum and I talked a lot. I’d even taken the lead from Penny and Patrick and explained the cue card game to Mum. I even sent her my own version, things I’d always wanted to know. Our phone calls never stayed on topic, but that was the entire point.
* * *
‘Have you got everything?’ I slipped my arm around Marcus as the ferry cut its way into Darling Harbour.
He looked down at me. ‘Look at you, getting all anxious. I’ve got everything. Have you got everything?’
I had everything I could think that I’d need, my handbag, photos, and a small gift bag for Mum. After she mentioned having boxes of photos of me, I decided she at least could put them in an album, so I bought her a photo album. It was completely daggy, but practical.
The ferry bumped and swayed as we docked, and the water around us fizzed like a shaken soda, which I thought was a fantastic representation of me right now. Stepping off onto the wharf, Marcus watched me as we walked along in the sunshine, which was sizzling in a way that only summer in Australia could.
‘What are you looking at?’ I asked.
/>
‘You.’
‘Why?’ I continued.
‘Because I like looking at beautiful things.’
I glanced at him, rolling my eyes playfully. ‘Please.’
‘Thank you,’ he teased. ‘Hey, so, just a thought.’
‘You? Thoughts?’
‘Rarity, I know.’ He slipped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side. ‘Anyway, I’m going to go and slip off down a side street here for a few minutes.’
‘Why?’ My stomach flip-flopped into uncertainty.
‘To give you a bit of time with your mother, just the two of you,’ he said. ‘I thought that would be obvious.’
‘No, no, no.’ I looked up at him. ‘I want you to come with me.’
‘I just figure you could both do with a few minutes to get used to each other’s company again before I bombard it.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘Because I don’t mind you being there. I did ask you to come with me after all.’
‘Maybe I’m just here for the hotel.’
‘In fairness, it’s a very nice hotel,’ I said.
Each morning, we woke to sunlit views of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and marvelled at the amount of early morning traffic we didn’t have to sit through as we ate breakfast. Now, it looked like all those people in their cars had descended on Darling Harbour and were looking for lunch. Marcus was adamant that he was going to look around for a few moments on his own. With a quick kiss on the cheek, he slipped off into the next street, leaving me to look for my mother.
I took a deep breath, which did nothing for my nerves, and kept walking.
As the restaurant came into view, with its outdoor tables and market umbrellas, I crossed my fingers that all of this hadn’t been in vain. I was sure she’d be there. My eyes searched each table, nervously scanning for a figure that resembled me. I caught a family with the stroller, a grumpy older couple who complained about seating, corporate high-rollers who still loved a cheeky lunch special, and the overworked waitress trying to keep them all happy.
Then, at the very last table, underneath an oversized sunhat, was my mum. She was here. The next few moments passed in a wobbly blur of excitement. My limbs felt heavy, and I wasn’t sure I could even feel my legs, but one foot in front of the other squeezed me past tables and patrons towards her.
‘Hello, you,’ I greeted her with a laugh.
She stood, slowly at first, and then leapt towards me, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, squeezing like I might vanish if she drew another breath. I was surprised to find I’d forgot how close in height we were. ‘Eleanor.’
‘That’s me.’ I smiled broadly. ‘Shall we do this?’
‘Let’s do this.’ She wiped at her eyes. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
Acknowledgements
And here we are at book three. By now, I’m sure that each book is sent to teach me something different. The lesson from this book is that things take time. I know that this one certainly has.
Rewriting, coming at old characters from a different angle has been an interesting experience, and certainly a challenging one. As a result, this book is a little fatter than the last two. It seems that these two characters had a lot to say.
Now that it’s finally done, I owe some big thankyous to a lot of people:
I can’t start this without both apologising and thanking HQDigital. In particular, my editor Charlotte. I’m sure there were times I was lucky I lived outside the UK. Thank you for your patience while I tried turning this book into something a little less messy. Thank you for your guidance and suggestions. This book is so much better for your touch.
Shane, you’re probably in every book, but you deserve to be. Thanks for putting up with me, period. Author spouses get lumped with a lot of stuff (housework) while us writers are busy doing writerly things. At least I can bake, right?
Erin & Michael, I think I’ve known you both way longer than anyone else outside my own family. Thanks for being awesome, thanks for explaining Game of Thrones to me, and thank you for making me laugh until I went my pants. Erin, our trips to Le Plazeur are the stuff of memes, and I’m sure our discussions are where half my characters’ sidekicks come from.
To the Savvy Authors – thank you for all your advice, support, and massive knowledge bank.
Tracy Fenton and the team at TBC – thank you for keeping my Kindle full and for running an amazing review group. Your support of authors is invaluable.
Dymocks Waurn Ponds and the Bookshop at Queenscliff, thank you for being champions of local authors and for allowing me to pester you. I promise I’ll try and turn up to more book club meetings – and not just for the wine, either.
This book was basically a call-back to my childhood and a school library I always wanted to work in, so thanks to all the teachers I’ve had before. Some of you I still see, some of you I wish I did.
As always, thank you to anyone who’s bought and reviewed my books. Every time you buy or leave a review, I get an extra power up, Super Mario-style, so thank you.
If you loved Lessons in Love then turn the page for an exclusive extract from An Impossible Thing Called Love
UK Edition / US Edition
Chapter 1
Hogmanay, 2010
Flames danced towards the night sky, slowly snaking their way along the cobblestoned street like a slow-moving river of fire. At the front of the procession, Viking warriors chanted to the steady rhythm of a beating drum, blending with the sound of bagpipes.
It all sounded so medieval, but it wasn’t anything like that – not by half. Positioned near St Giles Cathedral on Edinburgh’s famous Royal Mile, our tour group huddled tightly near the end of the spiralling mass of people taking part in the traditional Torchlight Procession.
Tonight officially kicked off Hogmanay, one of the most spectacular – and exciting – ways to ring in the New Year. And I was there to experience it all.
An icy wind sprang up, causing the flames of our torches to wobble excitedly. I tugged my jacket tighter, warding off the chill that blasted my face, and pulled my beanie further over my dark brown hair. Somewhere nearby, a bagpipe started another frenzied rendition of a Proclaimers song. This wouldn’t have been a problem normally, but it felt like the same song had been on repeat for the last two days while we’d wound our way up from London, after already hitting a dozen European cities. Hearing the song again caused raucous groans and laughter from our group.
‘You know what this reminds me of?’ My best friend Heather leaned in. ‘It reminds me of that time in primary school where we had to practice those Beatles songs over and over.’
For months, our class of ten-year-olds spent day after day rehearsing the same four songs, all from the Yellow Submarine album, the culmination of which was being crammed on a tiny stage in the town hall to sing for the masses – mostly other schools and mums, but it was our five minutes of fame. One misplaced step saw Heather, the periscope of the submarine, fall off the edge of the stage.
I smiled at the memory. ‘I was a bright pink octopus.’
A crackly loudspeaker and the shuffle of feet announced the beginning of the procession and, just like the song, we were on our way. My breath formed small cloudy bursts in front of me and, not for the first time this trip, I was thankful that I’d packed another layer of clothing. Even though we’d been in Europe almost three weeks already, the cold took some getting used to, especially as we were more acclimatised to roasting under the Australian sun at this time of year.
‘Josh was seaweed,’ I said, the memories of our gone too soon childhood flashing before my eyes. A small child bounced off my leg and collapsed onto the muddy ground, before getting up and running off again. Her exasperated mother was hot on her heels, a puff of fringe and muttered words under her breath.
‘Actually…’ Heather looked around. ‘Where is he?’
Along with half of our tour group, Josh had dispersed as soon as the procession began, blending in with the hundreds of
other people joining us for the traditional Scottish event. He was weaving in and out, looking for new, unsuspecting girls to charm with stories of Australian urban legends. Lanky and a little bit standout-ish, I managed to identify him by his Where’s Wally beanie over by a group of girls. One on each arm, he looked more than happy with how his night was progressing. He turned the corner with the crowd and disappeared towards Princes Street.
Wet roads glistened under street lights, and grass glowed an iridescent shade of green. Everything here just seemed so … vibrant. From the architecture, to the history, the people, and the fiery shade of red hair over by a first aid station. I couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face as I realised that I was finally here.
For almost eighteen months, Edinburgh had been circled on our calendars as the pinnacle of our trip. Heather, Josh and I – friends for most of our remembered lives – had decided we would embark on a European bus tour at the end of our gap year. When one year became two, it only afforded us more time to save, adding more destinations to our trip.
We worked jobs we hated, took late-night shifts, skipped parties, felt soggy food floating in filthy dishwater, and I’d forgone volunteer shifts at our local hospital (the plan was medicine, if they ever let me into university) in favour of forcing smiles at retail customers in the Christmas rush. It was all in the pursuit of adventure. It had paid off.
So far, our trip had been a whirlwind experience in the best of ways. In just ten short days, we’d had a Christmas feast of buttery pastries underneath the Eiffel Tower and battled cheesy woodfired pizza after tossing coins in the Trevi Fountain. Salzburg revived our senses with sweet cinnamon-y apple strudel after shopping the Getreidegasse, and hoppy beer in Berlin kept us warm against biting temperatures. I ran my fingers along all the old stone buildings and dunked my toes in all the freezing waters. I wanted to feel it all. The moment we arrived back in London, we boarded another bus for Edinburgh, ready for the biggest street party and New Year’s celebration this side of the Atlantic.
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