Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  “I better check if I’m allowed first.” I’m not usually allowed to go all the way into Toronto on a school day, but I thought Mum might let me today because it was the last day of school. “Mum! Can I go to the baths with Tom? I’ll be back by tea time.”

  “Don’t yell, if you want to talk to me, come here and talk to me,” she yelled back.

  “How dumb is that?” I asked Tom. “Fancy yelling out to someone just to tell them that they shouldn’t yell out.” I rolled my eyes and huffed out of the room.

  Less than thirty seconds later I was back. “Mum said I can go, but if I come back late this time, I’m not allowed out tomorrow,” I told him. I knew that unless I was really late, she’d never make me stay home. If she did, she’d be stuck with me moping around the house all day. I think that’s the reason Tom’s parents let him out so much. They don’t want him around messing up the house. The only time they don’t let him out is on Sundays when he has to go to church.

  Poor Tom, fancy having to go to church every week, how boring!

  “Tops!” Tom said, bouncing off the bed. “Let’s stop and get my pushie, it’s too hot to walk.”

  I offered to get Ed and Shortie and meet Tom at his place. That way, I wouldn’t have to see the Undertaker again.

  “You will stay inside the baths, won’t you Jenny?” Mum shouted as I was leaving.

  “Yes, Mum,” I called back. I’m not supposed to swim outside the baths, but I do anyway. It’s not like she’d ever find out, so it’s no big deal.

  Ed wasn’t home, but Shortie was, so we walked back to Tom’s place together. Shortie didn’t ride his bike, he pushed it. That way I could keep up with him. I ask Mum for a bike every birthday, but she always says they cost too much. It’s hard to argue money with Mum, so I don’t even try. What I do instead is add it in big letters to my Christmas list each year. After all, what parent would want to shatter a young girl’s faith in Santa by not getting her a bike for Christmas? Especially when she asked him for one to save her parents the expense?

  I sometimes feel slack for asking Santa for a bike when I know my parents can’t afford it, but I think it’s a good way to prove I still believe in him, so I figure I’m not so bad for doing it. Besides, ten year olds aren’t meant to be that good, especially when you want a bike as much as I do.

  I looked at Shortie’s Malvern Star with envy. Next to him, it looked big. It isn’t though, he’s just heaps short for his age, that’s all. His real name is Darren, but no one calls him that except his mum. Even his dad calls him Shortie, which is pretty funny really, because his dad’s short too. We’ve been friends almost as long as Tom and me. He moved in about six months after Tom did and he’s hung around us ever since.

  Shortie has five brothers and no sisters. Yuk! Imagine all those smelly feet in the one house. Their place must smell like a cheese factory. They all have red hair and freckles, and they all look the same. I can’t tell them apart half the time. Except for Shortie, that is. Shortie has a big scar on the side of his face where he got hurt at last year’s cracker night. He was picking up crackers that hadn’t gone off when one of them blew up and hit him in the face.

  Tom was waiting for us when we arrived. “Come on, get up. I want to get there before it’s dark.”

  It doesn’t get dark until around eight o’clock during daylight savings time, but it’s one of those things Tom always says when he’s in a hurry to do something. He needn’t have bothered though, we were all in a hurry to get there. It had been a scorcher all day and it was still over thirty degrees at four in the afternoon.

  Stepping from one foot to the other on the hot road, Tom steadied the bike so I could climb onto the handlebars. “Bloody hell, it’s hot,” he complained. Having taken my thongs off so they wouldn’t fall off my dangling feet, I had sympathy for his burning soles. I threaded a thong through each handlebar and climbed up as quickly as possible without making the bike fall over. We rode the fifteen minutes or so it took us to get to the baths with me sitting on the front of Tom’s bike, my skinny, tanned legs sticking out in front of me, and my hair blowing back into his face. Sometimes Tom lets me double him, but I get puffed out more than he does, so he usually does the pedalling.

  ***

  The baths were full by the time we got there. I could see heaps of people I knew. I waved to a couple of girls from school and Tom yelled hello to Craig Wilkinson who was just about to take a dive from the top of the handrails at the back of the baths. He almost fell off waving back.

  “Last one in’s a rotten egg,” Shortie challenged, as he dropped his bike, ran full-pelt up the jetty, curled himself into a ball, and hit the water with an enormous splash.

  “Typical,” said Tom in a haughty voice. “That boy has no class.”

  “Uh oh,” I nudged Tom, “guess who’s here?”

  Tom followed my gaze and looked around. The Dumbrell boys stood at the end of the jetty throwing a towel to each other. The towel appeared to belong to Jason who is the youngest of the four. “Give it back or I’ll tell Dad,” he complained.

  “Dobber!” Dean threw the towel over Jason’s head into the water. “Dobbers wear nappies!”

  “Just pretend we didn’t see them,” I said, under my breath.

  “Too late.”

  Duncan, the biggest of the boys, was walking towards us. He’s also the oldest. He used to go to my school, but now he’s in high school. I heard that his dad grew up at Dr Barnardo’s boys’ home and that’s the reason Duncan and his brothers are uncontrollable. If you ask me, I reckon they’re just a pack of brats.

  Duncan turned and called to his brothers to hurry up. Dean is younger than Duncan by about two years, but almost as tall. “Just leave the little turd behind, see if I care,” Duncan said to Dean. “He’s going to cop it when he gets home anyway.”

  Just when I thought they were going to walk straight past us, Duncan looked over at Tom. “What are you staring at, retard?”

  “Dunno, I haven’t worked it out yet,” I snapped.

  Duncan leaned over and gave me a shove. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your sissy boyfriend.”

  “Leave her alone you pig,” Tom shouted. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

  “You are my size, so shut your trap or I’ll punch your face in.”

  Duncan’s actually a lot bigger than Tom, but that didn’t seem to matter. Next thing I saw, Tom lunged across and pushed Duncan backwards into the water. “Quick!” he screamed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  I was just about to yell to Shortie when I saw him running up the jetty at a hundred miles an hour. Dean and Andrew had their backs to him and never saw him coming. Jason was still fishing his towel out of the water, so he didn’t see him either. As Shortie ran past Dean, he pushed him as hard as he could. “Bombs away!” he called, as Dean landed in the water with an almighty crash.

  Chapter 2

  Thursday, 7 November 1968

  In all the years Peter had been teaching, he had never encountered a more reliable way of knowing that the academic year was coming to an end than that of the dwindling number of students in a lecture theatre. This year was no exception. Notwithstanding the meagre class numbers, Peter’s attitude towards the matter had not changed in almost ten years. He refused to penalise the students who endured to the end by slackening off in the same fashion as his student numbers.

  “Righto!” Peter tapped his ruler on the desk and waited for everyone to quieten down. “I know you’re all keen to get going, but before you do, I’d like a moment of everyone’s time.”

  Everybody sat back down and waited for Peter to continue. “The year’s not over yet, folks. I’d like to remind everyone that you are running out of time to get your applications in. So, if you’re considering applying for any of the advertised positions, and you haven’t already done so,” he raised his voice so that he could be heard over the collective murmur that had broken out, “may I respectfully sugge
st that you get on with it? From memory, most of the applications need to be in by the end of next week, at the latest.”

  Peter gave the class a moment to consider what he had said before continuing. “My offer of assistance still stands. If you need me to help you with your application, please come and see me right away.” He noticed a couple of students talking in the back row and turned up the volume. “In other words - Mr Davies, Mr Percy - do not come to me after next week, I will be unable to help you.”

  The offending students looked up.

  “Is that clear?” he asked the class.

  Without answering, they all got up and rushed for the door. “Don’t forget,” he called as they filed out of the lecture theatre, “I have Wednesday and Friday afternoons set aside if anyone needs to see me. Oh, and good luck with your exams.”

  “Do you get the distinct impression, Sir, that your assistance is not required?”

  Without turning around, Peter knew that the question had come from Jane. Jane was one of the few female students in his engineering class. Unlike the usual women’s libber type that graced his classes, Jane was the epitome of femininity, all curves, perfume and makeup. With her long, dark hair, knee high boots, and mod attire, there was no doubt that Jane stood out amongst the faded denim, scruffy tee-shirts, and thongs that characterised most of his students.

  Her delicate looks and big, baby doll eyes gave the misleading impression of helplessness. Peter knew by now that Jane Lester was anything but helpless. In fact, he no longer had any doubt that she was coming on to him. When she originally started hanging back after class to seek his help, he assumed her motives were innocent. However, over the last couple of weeks he had given up trying to convince himself that the signals she gave were those of a struggling student vying for her teacher’s assistance. On the contrary, he had come to understand that there was nothing inept about Jane Lester, academically or otherwise.

  Peter framed his response carefully, so as to avoid the innuendo she invariably heard in his words. “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said, in a voice that contradicted the butterflies in his gut.

  “Every teacher’s dream, no doubt,” she said playfully.

  Peter thought that Jane had a way of making even the simplest of statements sound suggestive and he fought the temptation to flirt. While he acknowledged that it felt terrific at the time, he knew that any further flirting from him would only serve to fuel her conviction and make him feel like a rotten bastard afterwards. Initially, he’d thought the flirting was harmless enough, but when it progressed to long intense looks from Jane across the lecture theatre, Peter became uneasy.

  That was last week, and around the same time that Peter realised he needed a reality check. This morning, Peter’s reality check had come. The images of Jane that had snuck into his thoughts while making love to Maggie were intolerable. Whatever transpired between him and Jane was not about Maggie. Maggie was his soul mate, his best friend. Jane was a mere ego trip and had no place in his life next to Maggie.

  He realised that he was rationalising the situation again, and felt doubly bad. Peter knew there was no excuse for his behaviour. Maggie’s trust in him was unconditional and she did not deserve to have her husband carrying on like a schoolboy behind her back. He had no doubt that if she ever found out she would justifiably ask what the hell a balding, middle-aged man was doing flirting with someone young enough to be his daughter; one of his students no less.

  It was a good question, he thought, and one he had asked himself many times. Unfortunately, it was a question he couldn’t answer. Peter kicked himself for being such an idiot. Did he really think Jane was interested in anything other than conquering another hapless male? And so what if she was; then what? Peter had no interest in a relationship with anyone other than Maggie. Yet, as awkward as things had become, Peter decided that it wasn’t too late to extract himself from the situation without losing everything he held dear. After all, he reassured himself, he’d been faithful up until now, hadn’t he?

  Having returned to the path of righteousness, Peter was determined to find the strength to continue his fidelity. But, that was this morning. Now that Jane stood before him in all her glory, he found it took a lot of effort to keep their interactions banal.

  Peter looked into Jane’s startling green eyes and realised that now was not the time to contemplate such matters. He was determined not to waver on his newfound pledge and he turned away from the captivating face before him. “And what about you, Miss Lester?” he dared to ask while packing documents into his briefcase. “I trust you’ve considered all the employment opportunities currently on offer and have completed the required applications.”

  “I have, Sir. My preference is to work with Shell, but I’ve applied to the Department of Main Roads and the Australian Post Office as well.

  “Well, I’m sure with results such as yours, you won’t find it too difficult to find work.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Sir, I’m a girl.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed, Miss Lester.”

  “Well then, I’m sure you’ll agree that I’ll find it difficult to get work in the field of engineering.”

  “I suspect you’re correct; however, I have every confidence, Miss Lester, that your powers of persuasion will prevail and you’ll find yourself in gainful employment in no time.”

  Jane looked him in the eye. “I hope you’re right.”

  Peter looked away uncomfortably. “Well, we’ll see, won't we?”

  Jane made no move to leave despite the faltering conversation. “And, what can I help you with today, Miss Lester?” Peter naïvely expected his question to bring an end to proceedings.

  “Well, that depends.”

  “Depends on what?” Instantly recognising his wrong move, Peter hoped that this wasn’t another one of her ambushes. She often reeled him into conversations of the kind he was now desperate to avoid, with nothing more than a seemingly innocent question.

  “Well,” she sidled up next him, “it depends on how much time you have, Sir. My problem might take a while to fix.”

  “I’m sure things can’t be all that bad.”

  “You’d be surprised, Sir.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, Miss Lester.”

  “So, tell me,” Jane challenged, “what would it take to surprise you?”

  Peter felt his fortress of determination crumbling. Whoever said males were the weaker sex knew something, that’s for sure. “Well, Miss Lester,” Peter said, avoiding her question, “as you heard, I’m free Wednesday and Friday afternoons, if you’d like to make an appointment, you can tell me about your problem then.”

  Now that classes had finished for the year, Peter had a lot more time on his hands and could have easily accommodated her during any number of alternate timeslots. The last thing he needed; however, was to let her believe that she was worthy of special concessions, so he extended no such offer.

  “Hmm,” she considered his comments, “I’m not sure my problem will hold out that long.”

  “You’re a resourceful girl, Miss Lester, I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage.”

  Jane never batted a heavily mascaraed eyelid. “Okay then, what if we say four o’clock Wednesday, how does that sound?”

  “That sounds fine. I’ll see you then.” Peter picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.

  “Oh, and one more thing, Sir?”

  Peter stopped but didn’t turn to face her. He was certain that had he bothered to turn around, she would have been giving him one of her smoldering looks. Like the kind she reserved for when she sat in the front row, knowing that the only person that could see her was Peter. “Yes?” he asked.

  “I look forward to it, Sir.”

  “Good day, Miss Lester.”

  Peter left the lecture theatre and headed in the direction of his office. Remembering he had a couple of free hours before his next class, he decided to take a walk to the Roundhouse for a coffee and a c
igarette. After that little encounter, a long walk would do him good.

  ***

  Peter took his coffee outside and sat on the grass under a tree. While he smoked his cigarette, he contemplated the conversation with Jane. He was well aware that the situation had reached a point where his actions could no longer be excused as careless. While he may be able to frame the situation in such a way as to fool Maggie, he knew that he was contributing to a position that had the potential to blow up in his face. It was one thing to say that Jane had misunderstood his intentions and that, apart from some harmless flirting, nothing had happened between them, but, the moment he crossed that line there would be no coming back. Then what? Will it have been worth it, he asked himself, to give up almost sixteen years with Maggie for a stupid fling with one of his students? Never mind what would happen if Sir Phil found out. Phillip Baxter, the head of the university, had quite a formidable reputation, one Peter would do well not to experience firsthand.

  Peter stubbed his cigarette out on the lawn, threw his empty cup in a nearby bin, and headed back towards his office. With the gorgeous sky above and Jane off his radar screen, he felt his resolve return. Who knows, maybe he was just being egotistical and Jane really did have a problem she needed to see him about.

  Just as Peter was beginning to think that his day was looking up, he was provided with clear evidence that he’d been mistaken. When he got back, his colleague informed him on his way out of their shared office that Jane Lester was waiting for him inside.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, “now what?”

  Barry Leeman looked confused. “Something wrong, mate?”

  “Nah, it’s nothing.”

  “Hey, you going to Warnie’s party?” Barry asked. “His missus is nagging him about numbers, so he said to let him know.”

  Peter looked confused.

  “Warnie’s party, remember? It’s on the thirtieth, we talked about it yesterday.”

  “Oh yeah,” it was all coming back to him, the Warner’s end of year bash, the invitation was on his fridge, “I’m pretty sure we’ll be there,” he told Barry.