by Suzanne Leal
He’s in luck: only Tania and Belinda are in the staffroom. He gives a tiny shake of the head so they won’t ask what happened—not now, not while Elsie’s there—and they don’t. Instead, Tania rubs Elsie’s back while Terry looks for something he can use to clean the girl’s face.
He can’t find any tissues, but there’s a roll of paper towel in a metal dispenser near the sink. He rips off a length of it, wets it under the tap so it won’t be too harsh on her skin and starts to clean her face. Any other eleven-year-old would resist, but Elsie lifts her face up to make it easier for him. Slowly, then, her tears subside. Thinking that it might be helping—his wiping her face—he goes back to the sink, takes a fresh piece of paper towel, wets it with warm water and again runs it over her skin. ‘Shush, love,’ he whispers, ‘it’s okay now, it’s okay.’
A moment later, the bell rings. Although it’s not a bell anymore. Now it’s a recording that gets played through the loudspeakers. With Diane in charge, it was always going to be the Stones and, in a show of hands in the staffroom, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ won by a vote. Every morning, Terry has a little smile as he watches the kids hurrying to the sound of those bad boys. This morning, his smile is smaller than usual, but that’s not surprising. Bloody Trina.
Just when things had finally been sorted out; just when Family Services had agreed that even if Len wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, it didn’t mean he couldn’t look after his daughter—and this happens. All the work he’d put into it—his work, Diane’s work—and now this. He’ll kill Trina if it unravels now. If it all gets dragged up again, he’ll come after her with an axe. It’s been a lesson, though, and this is the lesson he’s learnt: sometimes it’s better to fly under the radar and keep Family Services well out of the picture. With any luck, Trina’ll take off again and never come back.
Enough of that. He turns to give Elsie a wink. ‘Come on,’ he says, holding out his hand. ‘Let’s go.’
Outside, there’s mayhem in the playground.
‘Last year’s classes,’ Terry calls out. ‘Lining up in last year’s classes.’
Running the length of Terry’s old classroom is a balcony that looks over the morning assembly area. It’s a good place to address the school, provided the PA system works. Terry calls it the Diane Thomas soapbox. But today, Laurie’s up there instead, in a suit again. Grey this time, instead of black. Still must be stinking hot, he thinks. His shirt is short-sleeved and already he’s sweating.
Bringing the microphone up to her mouth, Laurie starts to speak. But no one can hear a word she’s saying. Stifling a smile, Terry climbs the stairs to give her a hand. Sure enough, she hasn’t switched the thing on. Granted, the button’s on the bottom of the mic instead of at the side, but still. He turns it on for her, gives it a tap to check it’s working, then hands it back. She says thanks but shoots him a half-hostile look, like it was his fault all along. And that’s enough to make him want to yank out the cable on his way back down the stairs.
‘Good morning, Brindle Public,’ says Laurie, and this time, because she puts her mouth so close to the microphone, it emits a sharp whistling sound. ‘My name is Ms Mathews and I will be the acting principal while Ms Thomas is on leave this year.’
The announcement gets the kids whispering to each other, although Terry’s got no idea why. Diane must have warned them thirty times that she’d be away for the year. Still, it seems the penny’s only just dropped.
And then it’s over to the main game: all students are to go with their old teachers, who’ll talk to them about their new classes.
So far, so good, until Terry starts to lead his class up the stairs and over to the demountables.
‘Mr P,’ Kurt calls out, his voice already deeper than it was last year. His hair, thick and dark, sits neatly over his ears after what, to go by past experience, might well be his only haircut for the year. ‘Mr P,’ he repeats, ‘where we going? We’re going the wrong way.’
‘Yeah, Mr P,’ Ethan chips in. ‘This is the wrong way.’
Terry turns around. ‘Let’s just say there’s been a couple of changes since last year. Can’t tell you just yet—I’ll explain once we’re there.’ At least that makes it sound exciting. And sure enough, they fall silent as they follow Terry up the stairs, past the hall and over to the demountables.
‘Here we are, ladies and gentlemen,’ he announces as they enter the vestibule. ‘Find a hook—don’t fight about it, remember it’s only a hook—hang your bag on it then go and sit on the rug.’
Once they’re all inside, Terry drags his chair across so he’s sitting in front of them all. ‘As you can see,’ he says, ‘I’ve been given a new room.’
Kurt puts up a hand. ‘But it’s not your room, it’s Ms Coote’s room.’
Terry gives his hair a scratch. He can’t have nits already, surely; not on the first day back. ‘Good point, Kurt,’ he replies, ‘and nice observation. It has indeed been Ms Coote’s room for some years now. But this year we’ve swapped.’
‘Your old room’s much better than this room, Mr P.’ Ethan is sitting beside Kurt. He doesn’t raise his hand, he just calls out.
‘Hand up, please, Mr Thompson, otherwise it’ll all descend into chaos before the day is done.’
Ethan shoots up a hand and keeps on talking. ‘The other room, it’s heaps better. For one thing, it’s got a balcony.’ He’s a freckly kid, is Ethan, and he talks with his face scrunched up so tight he seems to have his eyes closed. Brindle is league territory and Ethan and Kurt are the school’s star players. Kurt because he’s built like a brick and Ethan because he’s fast.
‘That’s correct, Ethan, it does have a balcony.’
‘So why did you swap then, Mr P?’ It’s Jade this time. For a kid who mostly zones out in class, every now and then she’s spot on with her questions.
He stops to think about it. Ms Mathews made me isn’t going to be the most helpful answer, even if it’s the honest one.
‘Well, because Ms Coote’s class will be a big one this year. And Ms Mathews thought it would be better if Ms Coote had some more space.’
‘So Ms Mathews made you swap?’ Cody sits just behind Kurt and Ethan, his little head peeping out from between them. He’s thin and wiry and small, his hair bleached close to white from a summer spent, no doubt, on his surfboard.
Terry shakes his head. This is one of those times when lying’s the only way to go. ‘No. It was more an agreement.’
Cody leans forward, a hand on each of his mates’ shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t’ve agreed, Mr P,’ he says, his voice earnest. ‘I would’ve just said, This is my room and I’m going to keep my room. That’s what I would’ve said.’
‘Me too,’ Ethan calls out. ‘I would’ve just stayed.’
Time to move on, Terry thinks. ‘So, ladies and gentlemen,’ he says, ‘today I’m going to be telling you about your new classes.’
A nervous ripple passes through the group. He could draw it out a bit, call them out name by name to keep the suspense going, but what for? Best just serve it straight up.
‘So,’ he says, ‘here’s the news: I’ll be your teacher again this year.’ He watches as they digest the information. Kurt is the first to react, punching the air with his fist as he lets out a whistling, ‘Yes-s-sss.’
The rest of them are quieter. Cody nods his head like one of those dolls on a spring and Ethan just looks pleased. Behind him, Jade leans back on her hands and gives Terry one of her lazy grins. Even though she’s not yet twelve, she’s as sassy as an eighteen-year-old. Out of school uniform, you’d think she was fourteen, fifteen even. Already she’s a head-turner. Her hair, naturally a very light brown, has lightened with the summer, and there’s a new smattering of freckles across her nose.
Beside her, Bridie doesn’t do or say anything. She just stays as she is: cross-legged on the rug, her hands in her lap. Only when Terry gives her a wink does she venture a tiny smile, her eyes big and watery behind her thick glasses.
&nbs
p; Elsie is sitting right in front of Terry and, like a big puppy, she jumps up and runs to him, falling over him with her arms outstretched. A few of the kids snigger, but they’re all used to Elsie.
‘So then,’ Terry says, once he’s sent Elsie back to the rug, ‘welcome back to Brindle Public, 6P.’
That’s all he says, but it’s enough to send a buzz across the classroom.
‘And now, 6P—’ he repeats the word deliberately, to keep the excitement up, to highlight the elevation it represents, this rise to the top of the ranks of Brindle Public School ‘—we’re going to start the new year with some holiday news. Each of you will stand up and tell us, in a couple of sentences, something good about the holidays.’ With exaggerated movements, he takes a stopwatch out of his trouser pocket. ‘You know the drill: one minute on the stopwatch and I’ll give you a warning when you’ve got ten seconds left.’ It’s a technique he’s been using for a couple of years now—ever since Anthony Longman wouldn’t shut up.
Today, Jade is first cab off the rank. Unfazed by the stopwatch, she spends the first ten seconds fiddling with her hem, which, in Terry’s view, should come down a couple of centimetres. More than that. What she really needs is a new school uniform. One that isn’t so tight across her chest. Puberty has come to her in a rush and, as she lets go of her hem to face the class properly, it’s clear she’s pleased about it. He’s never seen her stand up so straight: so straight that her newly grown breasts press hard against the blue-and-white gingham of her tunic. He opens his mouth to say something, but what’s he going to say? Stop standing so tall; stop being so provocative?
‘We stayed at a caravan park down the coast,’ she tells the class, ‘and one night my sister didn’t come back until one in the morning so now she’s grounded for two weeks and she can’t even go to her best friend’s birthday party. And we hung around with a whole lot of high school kids and we pretended I was in Year 8 and they all believed us.’
She stops and Terry counts down the remaining seconds: fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. ‘Thank you, Jade.’
Bridie has a new uniform but really, he thinks, she and Jade should just swap. Poor little Bridie’s tunic is two sizes too big for her and hangs off her tiny frame. What was Vonnie thinking? Not a flying chance in hell Bridie’s going to grow into it this year.
She pushes her glasses up before she starts, her eyes on the stopwatch as nerves and the time limit make her gabble. ‘My dad made me a pencil case and it’s got my name on it.’ She holds up a glazed wooden box that has the word BRIDIE burnt into the top, the writing sloping and shaky. She slides the top panel open to reveal a rubber, a sharpener and two pencils so new they haven’t yet been sharpened to a point. Terry makes an encouraging sound so she’ll keep going and she does, her words tumbling together. ‘And my dad and me, we went on a holiday and we went to this fun park and we went on every ride.’ She looks down as she speaks, and only when the time is up does she give Terry a cautious look. He taps his fingers against his leg, swallows, then gives the girl a nod. Still wary, she colours as she makes her way back to the rug.
Kurt swaggers his way to the front of the classroom. He’s turned brown-red with too much sun, the skin across his nose peeled back to a baby-doll pink. Standing with one leg bent, he gives his hair a scratch before he starts. ‘We went overseas with me dad and we stayed in these hut things that have got poles on them so they aren’t on the ground, they’re, like, on poles. And we went to the jungle and that and then, my brother and me, we caught the plane back by ourselves and there was this snack bar at the end of the plane and you can go there whenever you want, and whenever you want a hot chocolate, you just press this button and they bring it to you.’
Terry holds up a finger to give him the fifteen-second warning. This makes Kurt stop still for a second before he gets the rest of his story out in a rush. ‘And they’ve got this Xbox thing on the plane, and we played it the whole time. And you could even play it while you eat your meal because the screen’s stuck to the back of the chair in front of you.’ He looks over to Terry to check how he’s done, giving himself the victory sign as Terry mouths fifty-eight then fifty-nine before he draws an imaginary line across his neck.
‘So why did you and Jordan catch the plane home without your dad?’ Terry asks the question lightly.
‘’Cause me dad, he’s moved there now. ’Cause his fiancée, that’s where she lives. So we get to go there on the holidays.’ Kurt scratches his head again. ‘Not the next holidays—’cause it’s really expensive to go there—but probably after that.’
When Terry nods, Kurt gives him a smile that’s half proud and half like he wants to say something else before he squashes himself back down between Cody and Ethan, and Cody gives a yell because Kurt’s sitting on his ankle and Cody reckons it’s twisted.
Terry surveys his brood with a satisfied smile. It’s good to be back, he thinks. It’s really good to be back.
Sid
Sid doesn’t need an alarm clock. Like a bird, he wakes as soon as it’s daylight. He doesn’t get up straightaway, though; he just lies in bed for a bit and lets the day catch up with him.
It’s promising to be a hot one, already he can feel it in the air. He doesn’t mind the heat. He’s not a fan of humid, sticky days, but a bit of heat, that’s another thing. Now he throws the sheet off, pulls himself up and swivels around until his feet are on the ground.
Under his toes, the carpet is thin. And no wonder; it’s done its time. He was a kid when they laid it and now he’s sixty-seven.
Although he takes his pyjamas off, he leaves his singlet on. From the wardrobe, he chooses a short-sleeved shirt. He’s never been a man for a T-shirt. In a T-shirt he feels half dressed. He needs a collar to feel right.
His swimmers are hanging up in the bathroom. He pulls them on, then backtracks into the bedroom for yesterday’s walk shorts. All he needs is a towel, his sandals, a pair of underpants to put in his pocket, and he’s set.
He never locks the door. He doesn’t see the point in it. There’s nothing much worth stealing inside and, from what he sees on the telly, locks don’t seem to deter anyone much anyway. If they want to get in, they’ll get in all right.
Ahead of him, the laneway is quiet. Four doors down, there’s a passionfruit vine that, as best as Sid can tell, is the only thing keeping the back fence up. A hammer and a couple of nails would do the trick, but the owners are new and he’s not sure they’d appreciate him just getting in and fixing it up. Still, his hands itch to do it each time he passes by.
He turns left at the end of the street and walks down until he hits the bay. It doesn’t matter how often he sees it, every time it makes him go quiet, just looking at it. It’s so beautiful.
The pool—Brindle Rock Pool, according to the new council sign—is just past the boat ramp. Every morning, Sid is down at the pool by 7.45 am. A lot of the regulars are earlier than that. Six am, even, some of them. Not him. He can’t see the point of it. Especially as he doesn’t need to be at the school until just before nine.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Ray motors down to meet him at the pool. Ever since he got the ride-on buggy, he’s had a new lease of life. It’s an electric thing, the buggy, something of a cross between a motorbike and a golf cart. Ray plugs it in at night, and by the morning he’s ready to go. And it’s a sight, all right, to see Ray heading past the golf club then careering down the footpath until he reaches the pool itself.
They’ve always got on well, he and Ray, even when they were kids. When they were little, they’d get mistaken for twins. Which was fair enough, from Sid’s perspective at least, given that there’s only eighteen months between them. But Ray hated being mistaken for his little brother’s twin. Not that it would happen now. Now people would give Ray an extra ten years over him. Sometimes, you’ve got to be careful what you wish for.
Sid doesn’t wish for much. He’s more inclined to let life deal out its cards and get on with it. There are w
orse places to find yourself than Brindle. And here he is, still living in the house he was born in. Unlike Ray, who took off as soon as he could. But someone had to stay—especially after their father dropped dead. So Sid stayed to keep their mother company, and then, as time went on, there was never a good enough reason to move out. If he’d had a family, things would have been different—he wouldn’t have expected them all to bunk in with his mother—but, somehow the family thing never happened. That’s the truth of it. It just never happened.
And since his mother’s been gone, it’s just him at the house now.
Today, the first touch of water on him is cold. Climbing backwards down the metal ladder, he lowers himself into the water until he is covered to his neck. Most of the young ones wear goggles and a cap—even the men—but he’s never done either. He just closes his eyes for the first couple of seconds then keeps them open for the rest of the time. A bit of salt water never hurt anyone.
He mostly swims overarm, two strokes to a breath. As a nipper, he’d keep his face right out of the water, but they don’t do it like that anymore. Now, they keep the face in. Left side or right side—it used to be you got a choice—but he’s noticed that it’s gone and changed again among the young ones. Now it’s one side three breaths, the other side three breaths and on you go. He’d got used to breathing on the left, but the whole swapping sides thing is a bridge too far.
The first lap is a bit nippy, but by the second lap, it’s perfect. Today, the pool’s an aquarium and as he makes his way back up the length of the pool, he’s following a blackfish. He’s a big one, bigger than others Sid has seen, and he thinks of him as the chief. Chief blackfish, trailing a school of smaller fish, tiny blue and yellow ones that disappear in a clap of colour when Sid gets too close.
After his third lap, he stops to have a break. Leaning his elbows up on the concrete edge of the pool, his eyes follow the waterline across the narrow bay that stretches out in front of him and across to Sandy Rock. For the locals, it’s the best fishing spot around. Sid used to do some fishing there himself, though he hasn’t done it in a while. Tom, who lives five doors down, he still gets around there. And every week or so, there’ll be a knock on Sid’s door, and it’ll be Tom with a couple of fish in a bag for him. Sometimes he’ll stay while Sid cooks them up and they’ll have dinner together. Other times, Tom will just hand him the fish and be off. Either way, it’s okay by Sid; he likes Tom’s company, but he likes his own company, too.