The Good Teacher

by Petronella McGovern

  ‘How’s Luke?’

  ‘Not good,’ Maz admitted. ‘And he’s in hospital over there. He’s got this heart thing.’

  ‘We all think we’re so strong, but we’re soft. In here.’ Nico held his hand over his chest. ‘You too, Maz. You shouldn’t have come in this morning. Take the rest of the day off. And tomorrow too.’

  ‘It’s okay. I can do tomorrow’s classes.’

  If she didn’t instruct, she didn’t get paid.

  She parked at the headland north of Freshwater beach and climbed down the wet, slippery rocks. Positioned herself so she could see the long curving sands of Manly to the south and the jutting rocks of Long Reef to the north. Clouds hung low in the sky, staining the sea dark grey. This was where the seals had been playing last month. They’d planned a whale-watching cruise in winter; Gracie had been excited by the idea of even bigger sea creatures.

  Luke hadn’t talked about his fears with Maz. One motto on the gym wall declared: There’s no such thing as failure, it’s all about your viewpoint. But how could there possibly be a different viewpoint here?

  Gracie was dead.

  Ting. Ting. Ting. The texts and messages rolled in to Maz’s phone.

  —Devastating.

  —I’m heartbroken. You must be too.

  —How’s Luke holding up? Give him my condolences.

  —OMFG! What a shock!!!!!!!!

  —Wasn’t this the cure? How could it happen?

  Jiggling her legs, Maz didn’t know what to do with these twisting, twirling sensations radiating from her tummy. Like one of those old lava lamps with heavy blobs bouncing around inside her. Apart from Joseph’s death, which had crushed her self-confidence at work, her only other loss had been Smokey. Maz and Kelli used to fight over whose bed Smokey would sleep on each night, although the cat mostly decided herself. And then, when Maz was sixteen, Smokey kept getting tick after tick. They’d given her the tick treatment but it wasn’t working. Old and exhausted, Smokey’s body gave out. For months after, whenever Maz came home from school, she was heartbroken anew that Smokey didn’t thread her sinewy body through Maz’s legs as she unlocked the door.

  Losing Gracie did not feel like that.

  The little girl had been so alive when Maz hugged her goodbye. Maz had given her a Frozen colouring-in book, along with some protein balls for strength. When Gracie saw the cover of the book, she screeched, ‘ELSA!’ Briefly Maz had wished she were going to America too—she’d never been overseas—but a trip to a hospital in Chicago would not be her first choice.

  Moving would help. Running, dancing, jumping. Any activity to shift the uncomfortable sensations inside her body. Maz clambered back up to the car park and jogged along the clifftop path to Curl Curl beach. She sprinted down to the sand, yanked off her shoes and leggings, and ran into the waves in her g-string and crop top. The shock of the cold water against her skin overrode the other sensations. Afterwards, to dry off without a towel, she spun around in circles, staring up at the grey sky, until the world was one big giant blur. It was something that Gracie used to do.

  Em-Jay popped in to see her at home after lunch. Kelli called from work on her three o’clock break. Other friends posted condolences on Maz’s Insta page. When she was alone again, Maz pulled out the bag of purple bracelets from her top drawer. With the help of the school lunchtime club, she and Gracie had finally caught up with demand. Instead of planning tonight’s healthy dinner, Maz sat on her bed and counted the bracelets. Fifty-seven. She’d never imagined that she would be giving them out at Gracie’s funeral.

  Curtis came by on his way home from the office.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, handing her a bouquet of purple flowers.

  Following her into the kitchen, he dumped his backpack on a chair and slumped at the round table. His lanky legs stretched out across the lino.

  ‘Is it up online already?’ Maz asked.

  She hadn’t checked yet, but once Curtis decided to publish, everyone would know.

  ‘Just a short piece. I’m doing an article for tomorrow but I wanted to talk to Luke first. Have you got any vodka?’

  ‘Vodka?’

  ‘Yeah. I think a fucking tragedy like this calls for vodka.’

  The parentals’ drinks cupboard had a range of spirits but no vodka.

  ‘Brandy?’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘Sure. Anything.’

  Maz poured a large glass for Curtis and a tiny one for herself. She rarely drank. Some of her friends popped tabs for a high time without the hangover. But not Maz—she’d seen enough pictures of beautiful teenagers dying at music festivals.

  Curtis took a large slug of the brandy and coughed.

  ‘That’s pretty rough.’ He coughed again. Took another mouthful. ‘How’s Luke? I just can’t imagine …’

  ‘Devastated.’ Maz pretended to take a sip. The brandy fumes wafted upwards and tickled her nose.

  ‘We’ll do a full spread in the Saturday paper. Gracie touched so many people.’

  Maz couldn’t stomach the brandy. She went to get the jug of cold water from the fridge. When she sat down again, Curtis had his camera out on the kitchen table.

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘I thought we could take a photo and you can give me a quote about Gracie.’ He shrugged and held out his hands, palms open, long skinny fingers reaching out towards her. ‘I’m going to interview the school principal and Nico and Dr Rawson. I’ve left a message with Allison but she hasn’t called back.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Maz twisted her ponytail and squirmed in her seat. ‘Can’t you write something for me?’

  Steepling his fingers against his nose, Curtis frowned at her. He looked like a granddad when he did that. The boys at school had teased him for it—‘Fag Old Man’—they’d yell when he was considering a problem in maths class. Maz hadn’t really known him back then; it was only after the bullying that they’d become friends, when he’d arrived at the gym to bulk up.

  When Curtis didn’t answer immediately, Maz asked him a different question.

  ‘I haven’t seen you at the gym lately. Where’ve you been?’

  ‘I was there a few weeks ago. Went to Luke’s class.’

  Duh, of course. All the gay blokes preferred Luke’s class to any other. She’d seen how Curtis looked at Luke and wondered if others recognised the same desire in her own eyes. Luke was so tactile, touching Curtis on the shoulder, throwing his arms around Nico, holding a client’s hips to show her how to move properly. It made him a great trainer. Maz tried not to feel jealous.

  ‘You could just say that Gracie was a gorgeous girl and the whole gym was supporting her and her dad,’ Curtis suggested.

  She suspected that Luke would rather she said nothing. Oh God, she still hadn’t edited her website—she needed to remove Gracie’s smiling face from the homepage and disable the donate button and the links to Curtis’ articles.

  ‘Can we take the photo now?’ Curtis asked, standing up to tower over her. ‘We could do it in the front garden next to that bush with the red leaves. Or you could hold up the purple bouquet?’

  The bouquet lay in its plastic wrapping on the counter next to the sink. She should find a vase and stick it in water. Pushing herself out of her chair, Maz fought an overwhelming tiredness.

  ‘Quick, let’s take it in the front garden before Mum and Dad get home. They’re pretty upset.’

  Having her photo taken by Curtis was usually a good experience—he brought the best out of her. She’d grin, slightly raise an eyebrow, tilt her head down and flick her ponytail over her shoulder. But today was sombre. She sat on the brick wall, the red bush behind her, another tree in the background, bare of leaves. The dampness of yesterday’s rain seeped through her leggings, chilling her bum and the backs of her thighs. Curtis asked her to put one hand under her chin and stare off down the street.

  ‘As if waiting for Luke and Gracie to come home.’

  At that point, Maz burst into t
ears.

  ‘Perfect.’ Curtis kept clicking.

  When they finished, Maz expected Curtis to leave but he collected the mail from their letterbox and followed her inside again. He studied one of the letters before handing it over.

  ‘Why is the Australian Border Force writing to you?’ he asked. ‘You’ve never been out of the country.’

  The envelope was addressed to her personally. She took it from him and opened it.

  Notice of Seizure

  Your package has been seized by Australian Border Force and will be destroyed.

  It contains a prohibited substance and its supply in Australia is illegal. These capsules do not meet the quality and safety standards to be included on the Australian Register of Therapeutic Goods. They pose a risk to your health. They show an increased risk of liver damage, hepatitis and acute liver failure causing death. If you have any capsules in your possession, stop taking them immediately. Consult your doctor if you have any concerns about your health.

  It is an offence against Australian customs law to import prohibited goods. For some goods, the penalty may be up to ten years’ imprisonment. Australian Border Force can, and does, prosecute offenders.

  Maz put a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself. Australian Border Force—all she knew about them was from the TV show, where they took suspicious airline passengers off to a small room and arrested them for importing drugs.

  ‘We urge Australians to use extreme caution when considering buying medicines online …’ Curtis was reading aloud over her shoulder. ‘What the fuck?’

  Dropping the letter onto the kitchen table, Maz covered her face with her hands.

  ‘What’s the prohibited substance?’ Curtis asked.

  Maz wished Curtis would disappear. The words ricocheted in her head. Acute liver failure causing death. Why exactly had Gracie died? Luke mentioned a reaction. Was it liver failure?

  ‘We could do an exposé in the paper.’ Curtis rested his hands on her shoulders, as some kind of comfort. ‘Without naming you, of course. The dangers of buying medicines online—a cautionary tale to others.’

  ‘Shut up, Curtis.’

  ‘Sorry, but you know I’m only on a short-term contract. I need some good stories if I’m going to be made permanent. Maybe I could take some photos of the pills before you throw them away. How much did they cost?’

  ‘Just go!’

  He put his camera in his backpack, and let himself out the front door. Maz stared at the letter again, focusing on the last line—up to ten years’ imprisonment. Australian Border Force had taken her package, they had her name and address; they could turn up at her house at any moment. The letter listed a chemical but Maz didn’t know which product it was in. She’d been importing fourteen different products—supplements for her gym clients and herbal medicines for Gracie. The labels didn’t list all the ingredients. How could she work it out?

  Maz checked her Fitbit—5.45 p.m. Mum and Dad should’ve been home by now. She folded the letter into a small square and hid it underneath an old jewellery box, in her bedside drawer. All she wanted to do was talk to Luke, but he was the one person Maz couldn’t tell. Maybe she could start by googling each product to see if the ingredients were listed online.

  On the bedside table, her mobile buzzed. A text from Mum.

  We’re at the hospital. Dad’s not well but don’t panic. Can you meet us in Emergency?

  21

  LUKE

  Luke finished typing and pressed share. The news would send shockwaves through Wirriga and the surrounding suburbs. There were people he should ring but he didn’t have the energy. Ally and Maz would tell everyone. In his experience, bad news spread faster than good.

  All the hospital visits, the diet, the supplements, the online research, the queries to overseas doctors, the reading-up on drugs and alternative remedies, raising more than one hundred and forty thousand dollars … all of it had led to this moment.

  The most devastating news. Our amazing Gracie has lost the battle. She had a very rare reaction to the treatment.

  I can’t thank you enough for your love and support to give her the best possible chance.

  If you wish to donate in Gracie’s memory, the funds will go to the Sydney Children’s Hospital.

  The shock has resulted in a minor heart issue for me and I’m in hospital in Chicago. That means funeral arrangements will be delayed. Thank you to everyone who joined Gracie’s Gang to help a beautiful, happy, one-of-a-kind little girl.

  Gracie will be in our hearts forever.

  The last time he’d kissed Gracie’s forehead, he’d noticed that her hair was growing again. Wispy strands, dark against her pale scalp. Luke had tucked the white sheet around his daughter’s body and gazed at the blank walls of the room. Anonymous, sterile.

  Had he done all that he could?

  Or had he made one little mistake that affected everything?

  22

  ALLISON

  Allison guessed she’d had less than two hours sleep—her thoughts flicking from memories of Gracie, to worry about Luke, to plans for her class, to speculation about the identity of Helena’s ex-husband. But the same question was running through all of it: Why did Gracie die?

  At three in the morning, she called Dr Mercado’s clinic in Chicago.

  ‘We cannot give out information about a patient.’

  Whatever Allison said, the woman on the other end repeated the same line. It was like talking to a robot. Luke had described the team as ‘caring’, but clearly that didn’t include the receptionist. When Allison tried to make an appointment, it was a three-month wait.

  Three months to hide whatever had happened to Gracie.

  Then she attempted to track down TN, the person on the blog page who had questioned the clinical trial. But there was no contact information. She sent a message to Brian in Boston asking if he could help. She didn’t want to bother Luke with her concerns, didn’t want to put any more stress on his heart.

  At five a.m., she typed a list detailing lessons for the Wirriga Wombats for the next week and a half.

  At five-thirty, she texted Luke a copy of her flight arrival time.

  At six, she showered and finished packing.

  The bright red suitcase sat in the front hall ready to go. Now, a quick breakfast, a call to Declan and then off to the airport. She’d been planning to catch public transport; after splurging on the ticket, Allison needed to watch her cash flow again. Take care of the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves. Her father’s motto. But when she spoke to Nadia last night, her friend had offered to pick her up.

  Was it too early to call the principal? She’d worked with Declan Considine for five years but she didn’t know his morning routine. His wife answered his mobile.

  ‘How’s Gracie? We’ve been thinking of her. Declan’s just coming out of the shower.’

  An image of Declan nude shot into her head. Knobbly knees, wrinkly skin, white concave stomach, elbows jutting out from his skinny arms.

  ‘I … um … thanks, Kathleen. I can ring back later.’

  ‘Wait a sec. He’s here now.’

  Could Allison tell the principal the awful news while he stood there in a towel? He needed more protection, some body armour against the blow.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Declan,’ Allison said, apologising for being the bearer of bad news, even though her own heart was hurting.

  He sighed heavily. ‘So she’s lost the battle.’

  Battle. Allison hated that word. It was mentioned in almost every newspaper article, every online story. Gracie was a little girl, not a soldier; she shouldn’t have had to go into battle. Ironic that she’d started the treatment on ANZAC Day—Curtis had made it the focus of one article. Oh no, the Northern Beaches News would run a story. Allison had imagined Gracie coming back as a medical marvel. Not this. She’d been so busy whipping up media for the fundraising, it’d never occurred to her that, one day, she might not want Curtis to report on Grac
ie.

  Quickly, she explained to Declan about going to Chicago.

  ‘I understand. We’ll sort out a substitute. Thank you for organising your lessons.’

  ‘Shall we do a special assembly when I’m back?’ she asked. ‘So Luke can be there also?’

  ‘Of course. And we’ll bring in another school counsellor. It’ll hit them all so hard.’

  In the background, she heard Kathleen start to sob.

  The staff, the students, everyone who had become a part of Gracie’s Gang … they’d all expected Gracie to get better. So many families had donated time and money, and invested their hope in one special little girl. Had all their efforts been compromised somehow by the actions of Allison or Luke or Dr Rawson?

  The traffic in the Harbour Tunnel slowed. Nadia changed lanes, although the other one seemed to be going at a snail’s pace too.

  ‘Have you told Tony you’re going?’ Nadia asked.

  ‘No, I asked Felix to do it.’ She flinched as the truck next to them blasted its horn. ‘Tony will take it as a sign that he can sell the house.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Allison. Give him a bit of credit.’

  When Allison had first invited Luke and Gracie to stay, she’d presented it as purely altruistic. That poor girl with cancer can’t live in those horrible holiday flats. Even to Nadia, she hadn’t admitted her ulterior motive: I’m stopping Tony from selling. How fast would he act now? At least he wouldn’t be able to accuse her of stalking while she was out of the country; the police couldn’t take it to the next level.

  At the airport, Nadia wanted to come inside the terminal, but Allison felt that would increase her anxiety. Without a friend to lean on, she had to be strong. She hadn’t been so strong when she’d driven Luke and Gracie to the airport. As they were about to check in, Allison had failed to hold back the tears.

  ‘Maybe you should go now,’ Luke had whispered.

  He’d seen her distress and wanted to protect Gracie. So Allison had taken a quick photo of them for Facebook and the blog: Gracie pointing excitedly up at the departures board. She’d hugged the little girl tight, pleased that Gracie was excited, not terrified.