“No worries mate, me and the old girl look forward to catching up with that pretty young wife of yours.” Barry started to walk off and stopped. “Can you lock up when you go, mate, I’m shootin’ through after this class and I won’t be back today.”
“Sure thing,” Peter managed, desperately hoping that Jane had not overheard Barry’s last comments.
Oblivious to Peter’s discomfort, Barry left him standing by the door wishing that he could simply turn and leave. Of course, he could do no such thing. Instead, Peter sighed deeply and walked into his office with as much enthusiasm as walking into a snake pit.
Chapter 3
Friday, 14 December 1979
The three of us grabbed the bikes and took off up the street. “Quick, pedal faster!” I looked back over my shoulder and saw Duncan and Dean get on their bikes. Andrew and Jason seemed to have lost interest already and were still on the jetty where we left them. “Go faster!” I repeated.
I could see Shortie out of the corner of my eye. He actually appeared to be enjoying himself. He leaned forward on his bike with a crazy grin on his face and a wild look in his eyes. His hair and clothes were dripping wet and his dry towel was still tied to his bike rack. We flew up the hill and down the Boulevard. We could hear one of the boys yelling out that we were going to cop it when they caught us. “Stop at Eddy’s Corner,” I yelled back at Tom. “They won’t dare get us in there.”
We dropped the bikes on the footpath and barged through the fly strips. Mrs Eddy looked up from the counter with a start. “Oh, hi love, what can I get you?”
“Is Grandma here?” I asked, breathless.
“She’s just out back slicing some devon, she won’t be long.”
What a relief, Grandma was working today. Grandma’s worked at Eddy’s Corner for as long as I can remember, but I never know what days she’s on. I wasn’t sure exactly what I expected her to do, but just knowing she was there made me feel better.
We only had to wait a couple of seconds before Grandma walked into the shop. “What’s all the noise about?” she enquired.
“Some boys are chasing us,” I blurted. “They called Tom a retard and shoved us around. Then, Tom and Shortie pushed them in the water, but now they’re following us. They said they would punch our faces in when they caught us.” I took a deep breath.
“Oh, did they now, we’ll see about that.”
We heard the bikes crash down outside and waited with anticipation for the boys to come through the door. Grandma gave me a wink and said rather loudly, “Constable Ryan said he’d be here in a minute. You can tell him all about it when he arrives.”
We held our breaths and waited, but they never showed their faces. When I finally took a breath and looked up, Grandma nodded towards the window, indicating for me to look. When I turned around, Duncan and Dean were leaving.
“Scaredy cats!” said Tom. We all burst out laughing.
“Now,” Grandma said. “Do you mind telling me what that was all about?”
“Oh nothing, just a bunch of hooligans, that’s all,” I answered casually. I didn’t want anyone to know how frightened I really was. I thought we were goners for sure.
“They’re always picking fights with someone,” Tom added.
“Sounds like they need a good hiding to me,” she replied.
That was Grandma’s answer to everything. She believes there’s nothing that a good hiding won’t fix. I don’t think she means it though, I asked Mum once if she used to get a hiding from Grandma when she was little, she just laughed and told me not to be silly.
“Would you kids like to earn two bob?” Mrs Eddy asked.
“Sure,” I answered.
Tom was about to answer and thought better of it. “Is that each, or between us?”
“What do you want us to do?” asked Shortie.
Mrs Eddy laughed, “What an enterprising lot you are. I just need you to break up some cardboard boxes for me, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’m not going to get you to paint the shop.”
Tom and Shortie looked relieved.
After stacking thousands of boxes, Mrs Eddy called us in. “Here you go kids, payment as promised.” She handed us each a twenty cent coin and a glass of cold cordial.
Tom’s face lit up. “Gee thanks, Mrs Eddy.”
“I have to go,” said Shortie, sculling the cordial. “Thanks for the money.”
She looked at him curiously. “Aren’t you going to spend it?”
“Nope, I’m saving up for a new racing bike,” he told her.
I reckon he’s too short for a racing bike, but I’d never tell him that. He’s been saving for it forever. He even got a paper run, so he could earn extra money. I’ve tried to save before, but it never works. I always end up spending it. Shortie never does. He’s saved almost fifteen dollars so far.
Since I wasn’t saving for anything and neither was Tom, we stayed and bought some lollies. It’s good when Grandma’s working, because she always gives us extra.
“Don’t eat them all before tea,” she called as we were leaving.
“We won’t,” Tom replied.
“Speak for yourself,” I said, arranging myself on the handlebars for the ride home.
***
We rode all the way home with our mouths full of lollies. By the time we got to Tom’s place I’d already finished mine. “I better get going,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”
It was starting to cool down a bit, but it was still pretty hot. I put my thongs back on because the road was boiling and the grass was full of bindies. Leah and Andrew Jenkins were sliding down their driveway on a Slip’n’Slide when I walked past. I remembered that I didn’t get to have a swim and wondered if Dad would let me play under the sprinkler when I got home. The thought of running through the cool water made me walk faster. Our street isn’t very long, so I didn’t have far to go. There were still a bunch of kids playing outside, even though it was almost teatime. Most people ate tea later in summer because it stayed light longer, but Mum insists that we eat at six o’clock every night, no matter what.
All the houses in the street have a tree on the footpath. The Council planted them after finishing the first bunch of houses. I grabbed a handful of the leaves from the closest one and crushed them between my fingers. The scent of lemon tickled my nose. I scattered the crushed leaves along the footpath, but the smell lingered all the way home.
The smell of food wafting down our driveway competed with my lemon-scented hands. Despite eating all my lollies, I was starving. “What’s for tea?” I asked, entering the kitchen.
Mum wiped the bottom of the saucepan dry and put it on the hotplate. “Lamb cutlets and mashed potato.”
“Great, I’m starved.” I was really wishing that she’d cook something different for a change.
Dad was sitting at the table going through some paperwork. He looked up when I came in. “G’day, Blondie.”
He always calls me that. His favourite singer is Blondie. He has an old record player in the shed and that’s all he ever plays; her and Linda Ronstadt. “So, it’s your last day of school for how long?”
“Six weeks.”
“I wish I got that many holidays.”
He says that every year. Mum finished turning the cutlets over and looked up. “How was the water?”
“Dunno, we never got to go for a swim. The Dumbrells were there and they tried to pick a fight with Tom. Then, they chased us all the way to Eddy’s Corner, but Grandma scared them off.”
“Someone needs to do something about those brats,” Dad said.
I agreed.
“I’ll tell you what they need,” said Mum, pointing the wooden spoon at Dad, “they need a mother, that’s what.”
I heard Mrs Dumbrell left when the boys were little. Mr Dumbrell used to bash her up all the time, so one day she just up and went, leaving the boys behind.
Mum sent me to have a bath while tea was cooking. I could hear the Bay City Rollers coming from my sis
ters’ room, next door. That’s Kate and Tracy for you. If I were sixteen, there’d be Buckley’s chance of catching me sitting around in my room all day listening to the dumb Bay City Rollers. I’d be out doing all the things Mum says I’m too young to do, like catching a train all the way into Newcastle or staying out after dark.
I laid in the bath with only my face sticking out of the cool water. I made a list in my head of all the things I needed for tomorrow. Tom and I were going to make a cubby house. We hadn’t had one for a while. Someone wrecked the last one and we haven’t bothered to rebuild it. Dad said he had some scrap wood we could have and we’d already collected four sheets of tin for the roof. Ed and Shortie are going to help and Dianne said she might be allowed to come over too.
Dianne lives two doors up from me. We’ve been friends for a while, but she doesn’t hang around us much, so it’s not like we’re best friends or anything. I suppose it’s fair to say that she’s more like the kind of friend you play with when there’s no one else around. Her mum babies her all the time, which is really annoying. She told me she’s not allowed out very often because she’s an asthmatic. I don’t know why though, Cameron Kelly has asthma, and he’s always at our place playing with Brian.
Ed had the idea of dragging an old car seat home from Deefie’s Hill. We agreed to look for one first thing in the morning. Tom said he’d bring his dad’s saw so we could cut the branches and wood to the right size. He’s going to sneak it out of his dad’s shed and return it when we’re done with it. We’re still not sure where to make it yet. Shortie wants to build it in the bush where no one can find it, but I reckon we’d have to walk too far to find a spot that no one knows about. I still think the best place is just behind my back fence. There’s lots of bush there and it’s not too far to carry all the stuff. Besides, there’s a big tree that’s fallen down right there. You can walk all the way along the trunk to the top of the tree. The branches are so big that the top of the trunk is still way off the ground and there are lots of hidey-holes underneath that would make a perfect spot for a cubby.
Brian bashed on the bathroom door. “Tea’s ready!”
Shit! I’d laid in the bath so long day dreaming that I hadn’t even washed myself yet. Mum can always tell if I don’t use soap because the water stays clear. I couldn’t stand another lecture, so I quickly soaped up, making the water all cloudy. Then, satisfied with the level of murkiness, I dried off and put my pyjamas on. I hung the towel back up and joined the others at the table.
Chapter 4
Thursday, 7 November 1968
“Hello Peter, I was starting to think I might have missed my opportunity to catch you today.” Jane put so much emphasis on the word catch that she left no doubt as to its actual intent. Nevertheless, it was the use of his first name that stood out the most. Peter always encouraged his students to call him by his Christian name, but for some reason, Jane never did. She either called him Sir or Mr Thompson.
“Ah, Miss Lester, I see you couldn’t wait until Wednesday after all.”
“You see correctly, Sir.” Jane got up and closed the door to his office. “And please Sir, call me Jane.”
Peter looked at Jane questioningly. “Please open the door, Miss Lester.”
“Why? What’s the matter Sir, scared someone might knock and find us locked away?” Jane walked over to Peter and ran her hand across his chest.
“How perceptive of you,” he removed her hand and placed it at her side. “That’s exactly what I’m scared of.”
“Relax,” Jane purred, “I heard Mr Leeman say he had a class to attend to, so I’m sure we’ll be safe for a while.”
Peter doubted that he could ever be safe alone with Jane, but he wasn’t about to find out. “I have a load of work to get through, so unless you’ve come to see me about a genuine problem with class work, I can’t stop and chat now, sorry.” He realised that she had such a hold on him that he had softened his words to reduce the likelihood of hurting her feelings.
Jane’s killer instinct was already exploiting such an obvious weakness. She walked back over to him and took hold of his hand. Instead of pulling it away, he stood hypnotised like a rabbit in the spotlight. When she spoke, she did not enunciate her words, she let them ooze out. “Mmm…I like a man with big strong hands,” she turned his hand over to examine his palm. She drew a line across his palm with her finger, stopping at his wrist. Then, before Peter could anticipate her next move, she lifted his hand and pressed it against her breast. “See,” she said, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do, “can you feel how fast you make my heart beat?”
Peter’s hand instinctively cupped her flesh. It was impossible not to notice the firmness of her breast beneath the thin fabric, and he was surprised at how large it was for someone of Jane’s small stature. Maggie, who was a good five inches taller and at least two sizes bigger than Jane, had smaller breasts than Jane did.
Thinking of Maggie’s breasts was sufficient to break the spell. Peter snatched his hand from her in a manner befitting contact with a leper. “I’m sorry, Jane,” he said, using her Christian name for the first time, “you really are going to have to go.”
“Oh come on Sir, the fun’s just starting.”
He was too shaken by the events unfolding before him to notice the desperation in her voice. Before she could protest any further, he walked to the door and swung it wide open. “Have a good day, Miss Lester.”
Jane loitered a few seconds before stealing past him with a knowing look in her eye. “Good day, Mr Thompson.”
Chapter 5
Tuesday, 12 November 1968
Maggie was inconsiderately dragged from her daydream by the gate’s noisy protests. That’d be right, she thought, I finally get the first bit of peace and quiet for the day, and someone rudely interrupts me. Maggie huffed loudly and turned around to see who the intruder was. She hoped it wasn’t Peter’s mum dropping in for a cup of tea. She didn’t think she could face the woman's neurotic personality today. Not after the day she’d been having. It had been one disaster after another.
Belinda Stanton had set the tone by dirtying her pants. She was too embarrassed to tell Maggie about her mishap, so she sat tight and hoped for the best. Subsequent to inspecting thirty sets of school shoes, Maggie could stand it no longer and insisted that the guilty party step forward. For her troubles, she spent the next twenty five minutes trying to calm the hysterical child and cleaning up a mess that was made significantly worse for having been sat in for a good length of time.
She had no sooner walked back into the classroom when young Paul Whiting vomited all over the desk and floor. Maggie shuddered with the memory of it. Not only did he manage to get it all over Cheryl Pane who screamed so loudly she had Mrs Wilson running in from next door to see who was being murdered, he even succeeded in projecting it into the pencil cup and all through the Cuisenaire rods.
“Hello? Is this still the Thompson residence?”
Maggie had yet to take the first sip from the cup of tea balanced on her armrest, she carefully moved the hot drink to the table and stood up. She shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun and looked at the person standing before her. “Yes this is the Thompson residence; can I help you with something?”
“I’m looking for Michelle and Stephen.” The attractive, well-presented woman offered no further explanation.
Maggie looked at her with open curiosity. “And can I tell them who is enquiring after them?”
The lady gave Maggie an icy smile. “Of course,” she said arrogantly, “you can tell them their mother is here to see them.”
Before Maggie could respond, Stephen came bounding through the back door. He walked over to Maggie and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Hi Mum, how was your day?” Maggie looked nervously from Stephen to the lady who had only seconds before contradicted this greeting. Looking from one to the other, Stephen apologised for the intrusion. “Sorry for interrupting,” he smiled sweetly at Maggie’s guest and turned
back to face his mother. “Mark’s waiting for me out the front. I just came home to grab some stuff.”
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m going over to Mark’s place to listen to his new record. I’ll be home in time for dinner.” With that, Stephen turned and left the yard without another word to either of them.
“Well,” Maggie said smugly, “that was Stephen, and as you can see, he’s no longer home.”
Marjorie glared at Maggie.
It was the first time Maggie had seen Marjorie in the flesh. She knew that she was almost a year older than Peter and reluctantly decided that she looked remarkably well for someone who was approaching forty-three. She wore a sleeveless shift dress and a pair of sling-back sandals, not dissimilar to Jean Shrimpton’s infamous Derby Day outfit, thought Maggie. Despite the twenty-something year age difference between the pair, Maggie acknowledged Marjorie carried it off well.
Unlike Stephen who had inherited Peter’s brown eyes, the dark blue eyes that looked back at Maggie were the same as Michelle’s. As was the dark, straight hair, which Marjorie wore pulled up at the sides and fashioned on the top of her head with a twist. In contrast to Michelle, who chose to wear her long hair free from any styling, Marjorie’s hair was cropped smartly above her shoulders.
All in all, Maggie decided that Marjorie was far prettier than what Peter had led her to believe.
“Well, perhaps I could speak with Michelle then?” Marjorie suggested.
“Michelle no longer lives here,” offered Maggie.
“Oh, I see.”
While Marjorie considered what to say next, Maggie made no attempt to alleviate her discomfort. She stood waiting for Marjorie to say something in the same way that she waited for one of her first class students to recite the times tables.
Marjorie indicated the chair next to Maggie’s. “Do you mind if I sit down?” Maggie stepped aside, clearing the way between Marjorie and the chair. Marjorie took it infer that she was allowed to sit down and graciously did so.
Sounding far more welcoming than she had intended, Maggie offered Marjorie a drink. Marjorie spied Maggie’s full cup on the table and correctly deduced she was drinking tea. “Yes thanks, a cup of tea would be lovely.”
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