The Good Teacher

by Petronella McGovern

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. How’s Gracie coping with the move?’

  ‘She’s up and down. She misses her mum.’

  ‘Of course she does.’

  Allison still missed her dad and he’d died six years ago.

  ‘It’s good to be here, though. We came on holiday to Manly when Gracie was a baby. My wife loved this area.’

  Luke ran a hand over his face and cupped it around his chin. Was he going to cry?

  ‘I’m sorry about your wife. It must be very hard.’

  ‘There are so many things I miss.’ He shut his eyes for a second. ‘And now Gracie’s starting chemo again … we used to care for her together and discuss the treatment plan.’

  ‘I’m not medical but I know kids. You can talk to me, if you need to.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that. I seem to be the only single dad in the cancer clinic.’ Tears glistened in his eyes. ‘No-one else understands.’

  ‘I understand a little,’ she said. ‘I know it’s nothing like your situation, but my husband left me on New Year’s Day. Completely out of the blue. Please don’t mention it to anyone else at school. I’m only telling you because …’

  … you share that same sense of loss. Tears were pricking her eyes now.

  ‘I’m so sorry. That must’ve been such a shock.’

  ‘We’d been married for twenty-four years. Someone told me that it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all … She meant well but it was horrible. Why should we have to be the ones who lose?’

  ‘People think they’re being helpful but they’re not.’ Luke shook his head. ‘How are you doing now? Did you think about getting away? Going overseas? That’s what I wanted to do—but I couldn’t, of course, because of Gracie’s treatment.’

  ‘I thought about it.’ She hesitated before admitting to her phobia. ‘I’m scared of flying.’

  Another thing that had probably driven Tony away. Her refusal to go on a plane, to accompany him to the funeral in England. Allison would like to disappear now; magically fly away on the weekend and not turn up to school on Monday.

  ‘We’re all scared of something,’ Luke mumbled.

  Her fears were pathetic—flying, being scared of the dark without her husband in the house. Luke’s fear must surely be the worst one. After coming home from the restaurant last night, instead of finishing a bottle of wine, Allison had researched Gracie’s disease. The girl wouldn’t even be able to pronounce it: thymic carcinoma, with the complication of an autoimmune disorder, acquired pure red cell aplasia. Extremely rare in children. And with a ‘poor prognosis’, according to the website she’d found. No wonder Luke had moved to Sydney for a specialist.

  ‘So, Gracie’s starting chemotherapy again next Friday, is that right?’

  ‘Yep. That means she’ll have a chance to recover over the weekend—though she’ll also be away this Monday for some blood tests. Still, Dr Rawson reckons she should be able to come to school most days. I know it’ll be tricky, but I want her to make some friends.’

  ‘I’m sure she will. It’s a friendly school.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Walsh.’ He smiled properly for the first time. ‘Gracie’s lucky to have such a good teacher.’

  Allison knew the chatter which happened in the school playground at the beginning of each year: Which class is your child in? Did she get the good teacher?

  The good teacher.

  A year ago, Allison had been ‘the good teacher’. Not now.

  On Saturday morning, Allison crossed her fingers as she started the Mazda. A flat battery, the NRMA guy had said last night as he’d charged it up. Presumably not related to the scratches down the side of the car, then. Had she left a light on or a door partially open yesterday? Allison had no idea.

  To her relief, it fired up normally. She’d arranged to meet Felix at Warringah Mall to go shoe-shopping. Up until now, Allison had been ignoring Tony’s emails about dividing their assets, certain that he’d come to his senses. Yesterday, he’d sent a message about organising a real estate agent to look at the house. Soon they’d have to discuss the everyday logistics of paying for textbooks and soccer registration and school shoes.

  Half an hour later, Felix was begging her for the most expensive shoes he’d tried on: a pair of black Nikes.

  ‘I’ll buy them if you stay with me on Monday nights,’ Allison said.

  Bribing her son with footwear. How had it come to this?

  ‘Can’t. I’ve got debating after school then Dad’s set up some soccer training.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were doing debating.’

  ‘Dad said maybe I could stay at yours on Wednesdays.’

  At yours. As if Felix didn’t live there anymore. Why the hell was Tony trying to keep Felix away from her? Allison placed the shoes back in the box and walked towards the entrance of the shop. Was it about childcare payments? Money? She waved impatiently for Felix to follow. Or was it something to do with the new woman? As Allison stepped through the door, the alarm went off and a security guard put his arm out in front of her. Felix sidled up next to her, keeping his eyes on the floor.

  ‘What’re you doing, Mum?’ he muttered. ‘You forgot to pay.’

  As a golden-orange sunset lit up the clouds, Allison parked behind a large van, ten houses down from the bungalow. Dog-walkers meandered along the footpath returning from the off-leash area at Curl Curl beach. Tony’s cloak-and-dagger place was a weatherboard house, neither old nor new, nothing flashy, simply comfortable; the sort of bungalow where the same family might have lived happily for decades. From his street, she could hear the gentle lull of waves, the happy shouts of kids playing. She could taste salt in the air. This seaside suburb didn’t have the bush backdrop of Wirriga. Everything was out in the open: old weatherboard shacks from the 1950s sat alongside brand-new mansions of brick and glass.

  And yet, Allison had seen nothing.

  Watching. Waiting. Four weeks now. And still the woman hadn’t appeared.

  A middle-aged couple stood at the bus stop, staring at their phones rather than talking to each other. In the fading light, their faces glowed blue with the reflection from the screens. Allison checked her own phone, pulling up Facebook so that she didn’t look so suspicious sitting in the car. She read the article that Nadia had posted about empowering women to create their best lives. Shona had linked to a book review so she clicked through to the blog. Tried to focus on the words while peeking up at the house every few seconds. A man came out of the place next to Tony’s.

  This morning, she’d asked Felix outright: ‘What’s Dad up to this weekend?’

  ‘Not much.’

  Allison knew she shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t a crazy, stalking ex. But Tony’s secrecy had sent her into an obsessive frenzy. After yesterday’s embarrassment with Elena, she had to know. Last night, Allison had trawled through Tony’s social media again. A new female friend had popped up on Facebook. This woman looked so ordinary—brown bob, white shirt, dark jacket, small smile on her ordinary face. How dare Tony turn my life upside down for this ordinary woman? It wasn’t logical but if Tony had to leave her, shouldn’t it be for a glamazon? A six-foot goddess with a flat stomach and golden tresses. And then, in the midst of her anger, she’d had to laugh. As if a six-foot bronzed goddess would want Tony: fifty-one and showing every year, a slight paunch, only just six foot himself, crooked teeth, hair in his nose and his ears, balding at the temples. And smart. And funny. And kind. And caring. And hers.

  She’d figured out the Facebook friend was a colleague from work.

  Still no movement at the house.

  The buzz of her phone was so loud in the enclosed space that she knocked her leg against the steering wheel. Shit, don’t let it be Tony.

  She checked the caller ID. ‘Hi, Nadia.’

  ‘Hi, what’re you up to?’

  ‘Nothing.’ The guilt flooded through her at the lie.

  ‘Do you want to come over for dinner?’

 
; Sweet Nadia, a last-minute invitation, trying to keep her sane. And her poor husband, a friend of Tony’s, stuck in the middle. Even he didn’t know anything about the new woman.

  ‘Thanks, that’d be nice.’ Allison sighed. ‘Guess what? Tony has asked an agent to look at the house.’

  ‘You need to get some financial advice. If you want to keep the house, he’ll insist you buy him out.’

  ‘I know. I know.’

  This time last year, she and Tony had been discussing restaurants for their silver wedding anniversary, talking about superannuation and long-term planning for their retirement and holidays. Now, Allison had to calculate if she could afford the mortgage on her teaching salary alone. She’d probably have to work until she was seventy-five.

  ‘Maybe you could get some extra cash by hosting Japanese exchange students?’ Nadia suggested.

  ‘That’s a better option than your joke about asking the strays to pay!’

  Allison and Tony had always welcomed people to stay; Nadia had nicknamed them ‘the strays’. Mostly, they were Tony’s friends and family from England or their grown-up kids backpacking around Australia. Sometimes Felix’s mates stayed when their parents went on overseas trips. And they’d opened their home to any others who needed it: teachers from regional areas in Sydney for professional development programs; a Japanese exchange student who’d had problems with her host family. Even a family from school with their lovely Labrador, when a tree had crushed their house and the injured dad ended up in hospital.

  ‘Or …’ Nadia hesitated, ‘… you could rent out the house and move into a funky apartment. Start your own new life.’

  ‘I was happy with the old one.’

  In the background, Allison heard Nadia’s two girls calling out. She pictured her friend cooking dinner for her family, juggling conversations between her daughters and her husband. Wanted by everyone. Needed by everyone.

  ‘Let’s take up something new, like salsa dancing,’ Nadia said. ‘That club in Narrabeen is holding lessons on Thursday nights.’

  ‘I am not learning to dance. And if you’re trying to get me to meet men, don’t!’ Allison couldn’t think of anything worse.

  ‘Well, you need some kind of project to …’

  To stop me going crazy. Oh, Nadia, if only you could see me right now.

  4

  LUKE

  Sitting at the hospital on Monday morning, Luke kept Gracie entertained by re-reading the dog-eared joke book.

  ‘What do you call a blind dinosaur?’

  ‘Do-you-think-he-saw-us.’ Gracie groaned. ‘That’s soooo old.’

  ‘Well, do you think Dr Rawson saw us?’ Luke asked, hoping Gracie enjoyed the rhythm of the words.

  ‘He’s nice. He gave me a red frog.’

  ‘Okay, smarty pants.’ Luke patted her leg. ‘What do you call a sleeping dinosaur?’

  ‘Dino-snore!’

  In addition to loving the movie Frozen, Gracie loved dinosaur jokes. He needed to buy some new books; she knew all these jokes off by heart. This was the only one they had from back home.

  ‘Right, I’m going to find a joke that you’ve never heard before.’ He searched on his phone. ‘How do you ask a tyrannosaurus out to dinner?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Tea, Rex?’

  ‘T-rex?’ she repeated, frowning.

  ‘Some people call dinner “tea”.’

  The frown grew deeper.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, honey. It’s silly. You can borrow a new joke book from the school library.’

  The frown turned into a gigantic smile. ‘Can I borrow books?’

  ‘You sure can. Just ask Mrs Walsh.’

  ‘I like Mrs Walsh. She’s a bit like Granny.’

  Mrs Walsh had been a godsend—helping with the separation anxiety, settling Gracie in gently, sitting her with a buddy. Every afternoon, when Luke picked her up, Gracie had come out of her shell a little more. Back in October, when he’d broken the news about her mother’s death, Gracie had nodded solemnly and asked for hot chips as a special treat. The meltdowns had started the next day, the nightmares a week later.

  ‘When’s Mummy coming home?’ She’d ask the question in the most unexpected moments.

  Everyone said these were normal responses but Luke wondered if Gracie would ever go back to her old self. Giggly, cheeky, fun. Just like he’d been as a child. This move to the beaches should help. So far, the community had been welcoming. They’d already had a playdate at Evelyn’s house. They’d been invited to a kindy families’ picnic and he’d been put on the mailing list for morning teas and volunteering at school. The mothers in the playground had chatted to him on the second day, their eyes on Gracie’s bandana as she attempted the monkey bars.

  ‘Is she okay to do that?’ one of them had whispered.

  ‘Yes, as long as she takes it easy. No somersaults over the top!’

  Mothers who’d do anything to protect their child were called ‘Mama Bear’. But there was no such label for fathers. Luke had changed cities and states. Uprooted their lives for a better future.

  Luke didn’t mind the forty-minute drive between the children’s hospital and Wirriga. It was a time-out between the two parts of their lives. Today, Gracie was commentating on everything they passed—a yellow Ferrari, horses near Randwick racecourse, the red and silver tram, a woman in a yellow scarf waiting to cross at the lights.

  ‘Can we go over the sea, Daddy?’

  He detoured from the entrance to the Harbour Tunnel and came out onto the bridge, the steel arches curving above them. The Jeep was handling well in the city traffic. Luke opened the windows and a strong breeze whistled in. Out towards the heads, the sun shimmered on the water like light glinting off diamonds.

  ‘Can you spot the Opera House?’ Luke asked.

  ‘So big.’ Gracie held her arms out wide.

  Luke knew she wasn’t talking about the Opera House itself but the whole city—high-rise towers and freeways full of cars. So different to her old life. He peered in the rear-vision mirror towards the child seat, checking her expression.

  ‘We’ll be going over the bridge every Friday, honey.’

  How would she cope with the new routine and taking a day out of school each week?

  ‘Can I have ice-cream?’

  He’d bought a sugar-free sorbet but she didn’t like the orange flavour.

  ‘Do you think you’d like strawberry?’

  ‘YUM!’

  ‘Let’s get some at home.’

  He called the apartment ‘home’ but it didn’t feel like it. Beds that had been slept in by hundreds of holiday-makers, chipped chairs and the bare necessities in the kitchen. His aim to live close to the school in Wirriga had been hampered by a lack of rentals. Mrs Walsh was right—once people moved into the suburb, they never moved out again.

  In the back seat, Gracie had pulled off her bandana and tossed it on the seat. A soft fuzz covered her scalp. The baldness and the bandana made her almost unrecognisable from two years ago when she’d had dark, frizzy hair that could only be tamed with conditioner and combing. Luke remembered Gracie in the bath with her mother. The never-ending combing—adding hot water when Gracie complained it was getting cold—combing, combing until the knots were finally out. Did Gracie remember those moments too?

  A year later, Gracie cried as her hair disappeared. But Luke had shaved his at the same time so they could be ‘baldies’ together. Rubbing her hand over his stubble, Gracie had laughed at its prickliness and hadn’t said a word about her own hair since.

  Adaptable. That was his Gracie.

  Wirriga Wellness Centre had a light airy feel to it, although Luke wasn’t sure about the name—it was basically a gym, it didn’t have any of the extras that came with a ‘wellness centre’. As he was peering towards the glassed studios, a voice boomed from behind him.

  ‘Welcome! You must be Luke. Great to have you on board!’

  Luke went in for a handshake but the gym owner clas
ped him into a half embrace. The man was a similar height to him although more muscular. The black singlet showed off his biceps inked in red and black tattoos.

  ‘I’m Greek—we hug everyone, mate,’ Nico said, slapping Luke on the shoulder. ‘And when you start working here, you become family.’

  Family. Luke could certainly do with a bit of that.

  Over the phone, Luke had explained his situation and how he could only work school hours and not Fridays. And how sometimes he might need to stay home with Gracie. Nico hadn’t been fazed. ‘Thanks, Nico. I appreciate you taking me on.’

  ‘No problem, mate. I’ve got an appointment, but I’ll get Maz to show you around. She’s between classes.’ Nico pointed to a blonde girl slurping on a green smoothie in the centre’s cafe. ‘She’s been here a few years so she knows the ropes.’

  He introduced the instructor and disappeared back to his office.

  ‘Welcome to Wirriga!’ The girl had a smile that could light up the Opera House. ‘You’re gonna love working here. It’s the best. Nico is a great boss.’

  ‘Thanks, I’m looking forward to it.’

  Maz led him down a corridor. She bounced as she walked, her high ponytail dancing from side to side, her hips swinging with every step. But it seemed unselfconscious; she wasn’t sashaying on purpose. This was simply her.

  She pointed out the various studios and the change rooms. The walls were emblazoned with motivational sayings.

  You get out what you put in.

  Failure is only a mindset.

  Play your own game.

  To be the best, you have to take the extra step.

  Luke could imagine using these sayings as directional signposts. So many cancer websites had sayings about pain and battle and hope and God. These were better.

  As she showed him the equipment and the storage areas, she asked, ‘Have you just moved to Wirriga?’

  ‘Ah … yes. I’m looking for somewhere to rent long-term.’

  ‘My mum works at the real estate agency. Well, she’s in admin, but she knows what’s coming up. I can ask her if you like?’