The Teacher's Secret

by Suzanne Leal

  By the end, it’s bordering on a fiasco, and for Terry, there’s always magic in that. So he lets them go for a bit until he calls them back to order.

  ‘Steady on,’ he tells them. ‘Steady on.’ Then he waits for the place to quieten down before he hands the mic to Laurie so she can sign off and send the kids back to their classes.

  Laurie carries the microphone back to the lectern and tries to push it back into the holder. Once she’s got it, she yells into it, her voice so unexpectedly loud it makes even Terry jump. ‘Students,’ she says, ‘your behaviour is unacceptable. You are not in a school disco, you are in your school assembly and I expect you to show some respect for your teachers and for your school. From now on, during assembly, I will expect only to see and hear quiet singing without any actions. At your disco you can dance, but at your assembly I expect more appropriate behaviour.’

  The student body stare up in astonishment. Beside her, Terry struggles to keep his expression neutral. He can’t trust himself to look at her, and staring down at all the little faces in front of him will only make him more irate. Instead, he chooses a point at the far end of the hall and keeps his eyes fixed on it.

  Laurie keeps talking but he doesn’t hear any of it. Only when the kindergarten kids stand up and file out of the hall does he register that the assembly’s over and he should get off the stage to retrieve his class.

  He mulls over it as he walks the kids back to the demountable. A year of it, he thinks. How the hell is he going to manage a year of this woman?

  Back in the classroom, Kurt sticks up a hand. ‘Mr P,’ he asks, ‘how come we aren’t allowed to do the actions at assembly anymore?’

  Terry considers how to answer that one. Because Laurie Mathews is an uptight upstart with no sense of humour. His lips twitch with the urge to blurt it out.

  ‘Ms Mathews thinks it makes you too rowdy. She thinks assemblies should be quiet, genteel affairs.’

  Kurt keeps his hand up. ‘What do you reckon, sir?’

  Terry pulls at his ear. Bugger it. ‘Actually, Kurt, I really like songs with actions,’ he says.

  A murmur ripples through the class as Cody shoots up his hand. ‘So, Mr P, does that mean we can still do actions at assembly because you’re in charge of singing and that, or does that mean we can only do them when Miss Mathews is away?’

  Terry cocks his head to one side. ‘I’d say that’s a watching brief at this stage. That’s what I’d be saying.’ And there’s no follow-up on that, even though he’s pretty sure none of them knows what he’s talking about. He makes a mental note to explain it next lesson: a watching brief—something to look out for when you’ve got no bloody idea what’s going on.

  Nina

  As she turns into Colin’s street that afternoon, Nina sees Jen’s car parked outside the house. Good. She loves Steve’s sister as much as she does his dad.

  The two of them—Colin and Jen—are sitting at the kitchen table. When Colin sees her, he stands up to give her a kiss. ‘Sit yourself down while I make you a cuppa,’ he says.

  Nina gives him a hug before she turns to Jen. ‘Hi, stranger.’

  Jen’s face crinkles up. ‘Hi, yourself.’

  In the backyard, Emily is playing with Jen’s little girl, Yvette. With only fifteen weeks between them, the cousins could pass for twins.

  As Nina slips into a seat beside Jen, Colin says, ‘So give us the update.’

  Nina laughs. ‘The update?’ she says. ‘Not much—I think that’s the update.’

  On the kitchen table is a pile of cork coasters. Colin puts one in front of Nina then places a cup of coffee on top of it.

  ‘There you go, love.’ As always, the coffee is instant and, as always, he has added sugar to it, even though Nina only takes milk. Still, there is a comfort in sugary coffee when Colin is the one to make it for her.

  ‘How’s the boy?’ This is what he always calls Steve.

  Nina nods as she false sips on her coffee so it won’t scald her tongue. ‘Good,’ she says, ‘he’s good. The new job’s going well as far as I can tell.’

  Colin makes a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Well, he’s got you to thank for it, hasn’t he, love? Getting him through all the study and the rest of it. More than I managed when he was at school, I can tell you that much.’

  Nina smiles. ‘It was worth it, wasn’t it? He likes the job and the pay’s almost double.’

  ‘Like I said, love, and it’s all thanks to you. The best thing that’s ever happened to him, that’s what you are.’

  Pleased, ridiculously pleased even, Nina repeats the words to herself. The best thing. The best thing that’s ever happened to him.

  Out in the backyard, the girls are getting louder. Jen starts to rise but Nina puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll go,’ she says.

  The dispute is over a Barbie doll: that much is clear. The girls have one each but now the argument is about whether they should swap. Emily’s face is determined, her fat little fingers clenched around her doll, so focused on the argument she doesn’t notice her mother until Nina is right beside her.

  ‘Mummy!’ she cries when she sees her. ‘Mummy, you’re back!’ The doll forgotten now, she lets it slip to the ground as she flings her arms around Nina’s legs.

  Nina lifts her daughter up into her arms. ‘Hello, my darling.’

  Emily wraps her arms tight around Nina’s neck and nuzzles into her ear. ‘Hello, my mummy.’

  While Emily is distracted, Yvette bobs down to grab the doll.

  Trying not to smile, Nina holds Emily even closer so she won’t see what’s happened. ‘Let’s go home,’ she whispers.

  Emily keeps her head burrowed into Nina’s shoulder. ‘To see Daddy?’ she asks.

  ‘Soon,’ Nina tells her, ‘soon.’

  In the car, Emily squirms as Nina tries to fasten the seatbelt. ‘It’s too tight, Mummy,’ she says, ‘too tight.’

  Nina checks but it’s not too tight. Giving it a bit of a fiddle, she pretends to adjust it. ‘Better?’ she asks.

  Emily nods. ‘Better.’

  When they get home, there’s a message on the answering machine. It’s Meg, wanting to see when they’re free for dinner. They’re good friends, Meg and Paul, and it would be nice to catch up.

  Nina is in the shower when Steve gets home. Turning the water off, she wraps a towel around herself and hurries out to greet him. Emily is already in his arms, clinging tight to him. ‘Daddy’s home,’ she says.

  Nina reaches over to kiss him. ‘We need to be out by seven,’ she reminds him.

  A slight frown crosses his face. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he says, ‘we’ve got heaps of time.’

  That’s not true, but she doesn’t want to push it. Instead, she heads off to get herself ready. Her dress is new and she’s pleased with it. It’s a simple style, black, almost to the knee with capped sleeves and a scoop neck. There are black fishnet stockings to go with it—the fine ones, not the tarty ones—and her jewellery, as always, is silver: a chunky beaten necklace with matching earrings and bracelet.

  She has ironed Steve’s shirt and left it hanging on the wardrobe door beside the tie she’s chosen: the blue one with a shot of green through it.

  But later, when he’s showered and dressed, she sees this isn’t the tie he’s wearing. Instead he’s wearing the Simpsons tie someone gave him: rows and rows of yellow-skinned Barts running across a red background. As she opens her mouth to say something, the doorbell rings.

  It’s the babysitter, Josie, but to Nina’s surprise, she’s not alone. With her is a boy Nina has never seen before—more than a boy; a man, really.

  ‘Hi there,’ she says to Nina, flicking her hair in the man’s direction. ‘This is Nathan.’

  Nathan smiles and offers Nina his hand. It is then she sees he has piercings running right up his ear. Startled by this, she fumbles the handshake. When she hears Steve’s footsteps coming up behind her, she turns to him for help.

  ‘Steve,’ she says,
her tone pointed, ‘this is Nathan. He’s come to babysit with Josie.’

  She wants him to go into bat for her, to say to Nathan—man-to-man style—that perhaps it would be better for Josie to babysit without him, seeing as he’s a stranger to them, and no one wants a stranger minding their child. But Steve just puts out his hand and gives the boy—the man, the stranger—a loud clap on the arm. ‘How you doing, Nathan?’

  Nathan homes in on Steve’s ridiculous tie. ‘Like your tie.’

  Steve holds it out in front of him and gives a chuckle. ‘Not bad, is it?’

  Josie leans in to have a look. ‘Cool,’ she says, ‘got to love a Bart tie.’

  When Emily hears Josie’s voice, she sprints into the room. Josie gives her a big smile. ‘Hello, chicken,’ she says.

  Emily’s eyes sparkle. ‘I’m three,’ she tells her.

  Josie affects surprise. ‘Are you sure you’re three? I thought you were two.’

  Emily shakes her head. ‘No, I’m three. And then I’m four.’

  Josie bends down to her. ‘We’ll have fun tonight, won’t we?’

  Steve slaps Nathan on the back. ‘Not too much fun, though, mate. Not too much.’ Nina can’t believe it. But Steve laughs as Nathan colours.

  Nina isn’t sure if she wants to go out at all now. ‘Ring me if you need anything,’ she tells Josie. ‘Anything at all.’

  The girl nods. ‘It’ll be sweet,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Nina’s smile is small. ‘Okay.’

  In the car, she is still troubled. ‘I don’t like Josie turning up with some boyfriend we don’t even know.’

  Steve pushes air through his lips. ‘He seems all right. And it’s not like it’s just him—Josie’s there, too.’

  Nina shakes her head. ‘I don’t like it, though. I don’t think she should just turn up with some stranger.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like he’s a stranger to her, does it?’ He reaches out to run a hand over her leg. ‘Just relax, it’ll be fine.’

  The top floor of the club has been cordoned off for them and two long tables have been set up to one side of the room. On each of the tables, there are place cards.

  On the other side of the room, near the bar, drinks are being served. There must be forty or fifty people gathered there. Nina recognises none of them. Suddenly shy, she grips Steve’s hand.

  A florid man in an open-necked shirt walks over to them. ‘Mate,’ he says to Steve, ‘welcome to your welcome party.’ He must like how that sounds because he chuckles and says it again.

  Steve chuckles with him and Nina tries to join in, but her laughter sounds forced. She waits for an introduction but none comes. Instead, the two men start talking club politics. Gazing past them, Nina looks over to the other guests. There are more women than men and, from what she can see, hers is the longest dress in the room. The other women wear short, shiny dresses and orange-brown spray tans.

  Steve’s friend taps her on the arm. ‘How about I get you and Steve a drink?’

  As they follow him though the crowd and over to the bar, everyone they pass greets Steve with a shout or a tap on the arm. Nina is pleased to see this; pleased to be the wife of the guest of honour.

  Steve, too, is in his element. She can tell by his walk—jaunty and confident—and by the way he wraps his arm around her when they get to the bar.

  Steve’s friend orders for them. The drinks are free so it’s simply a gesture, but a nice one. There’s too much cordial in her lemon, lime and bitters and she winces at the sweetness of it. Steve has a beer and after his first sip, she leans in to tell him he’s got froth on his moustache. He scowls as he wipes it off and she wonders if she’s spoken too loudly.

  Before she can ask him, before she can shoot him anything more than a puzzled look, a woman sidles up to them and slips an arm around Steve’s friend, who leans back to rub cheeks with her. She looks much younger than he is and her hair, a startling blonde, is piled on the top of her head in starched curls. Her dress is short and stretchy and lolly-pink. Her shoes, high and strappy, match her dress and her bare legs are darker than her face. Beside her, Nina feels like a Greek widow.

  Still clutching Steve’s friend, the woman smiles at Nina. ‘I’m Trudy.’ Someone has turned the music up, and she has to yell to be heard. ‘Sav’s wife.’

  Nina smiles back but her mind is elsewhere, trying to work out if she can’t just rush home and change into something else. As she mulls it over, Trudy says, ‘You must be really proud of Steve. I mean, with the new job and everything.’

  Nina nods. She is proud, that’s true, proud and happy for him.

  Trudy is still talking—something about the dinner—but Nina’s no longer listening; she’s looking across at Trudy’s husband and wondering why he’s called Sav, and whether it’s short for Salvatore. Not that he looks Italian, with his pink-red skin. But it’s got her curious so she leans over to Trudy to ask her. ‘So Sav—where does his name come from?’

  Trudy gives her a bemused look. ‘It’s short for Gavin.’

  When they sit down for dinner, it turns out the four of them have been seated together. There is wine on each of the tables and Gav stands up to serve it: red for Steve, white for Trudy. He holds the bottle of white over Nina’s glass and when she shakes her head, swaps bottles and starts to pour red wine into her glass instead. When she keeps shaking her head, he gives her a knowing look. ‘You preggers, are you?’

  Somehow she manages a smile. ‘No, I’m not.’

  Gav looks over at Steve. ‘Don’t tell me your missus is a bloody teetotaller, mate!’ he bellows.

  Steve grimaces. ‘’Fraid she’s not much of a drinker, mate.’ He nudges her with his elbow. ‘One-pot screamer, aren’t you, love?’

  Nina’s mouth tightens into an even smaller smile.

  Trudy slaps Gav on the arm. ‘Leave her alone and just let her enjoy herself.’

  Gav’s voice rises in protest. ‘That’s what I was doing: offering her a bit of social lubricant. Where’s the harm in that, babe?’

  Trudy looks at Nina and lifts her shoulders, half in apology, half in surrender. It’s a kind gesture and Nina smiles to let her know it doesn’t matter. Even though it does matter. And it matters because she’s completely out of place here. Her hair, her dress, her shoes, her voice, even her drinking: it’s all wrong. She checks her watch: 9.15 pm. With any luck, they’ll be home by midnight.

  It’s closer to 1.30 am when Nina finally pulls up in the driveway. Steve has fallen asleep in the passenger seat and she leaves him there while she runs inside.

  Josie is watching a movie but Nathan has crashed out beside her and it takes Josie some shaking to wake him. Finally he sits up and, his eyes glazed, mumbles goodnight as Josie leads him out the door. Following them out, Nina slips some money into Josie’s hand. Without even looking at it, let alone counting it, Josie pushes the notes into the pocket of her jeans before she directs Nathan towards her car.

  When Nina returns to her own car, Steve hasn’t moved. At first she shakes him softly, then harder and harder until finally he wakes up. ‘We’re back,’ he says to her, his words blurring. ‘We’re back home. Home, home, home.’ This makes her smile and when he sees that, he smiles too.

  Carefully, then, she guides him into the house and across to the bedroom.

  As soon as they’re in bed, Steve’s hands begin to wander over her body. She’s not up for sex but she wants him to hold her and tell her she’s beautiful even though she wore the wrong dress and said the wrong things. His hands are clumsy, his breath is sharp and his speech is slurred, but he does say she’s beautiful and he does hold her. And she’s happy to be told and happy to be held.

  Joan

  The ring of the alarm bell is shrill, so shrill it wakes her with a start. Reaching an arm out across to the table beside her bed, Joan taps the clock to stop it. It is a cool morning, oddly cool for Brindle in February. Her nightie, cotton and lemon-coloured, is too light for such a morning and, with a
stifled yawn, she reaches for the dressing-gown at the end of the bed. It is her summer dressing-gown, sky blue chenille and short-sleeved.

  The house is still but outside there are bird noises. Some of them come from Billy-boy, but most are from the Indian mynas who come too close to his cage and try to peck at him. Budgerigars have weak hearts, she’s been told, but Billy-boy’s a tough one. Not even the mynas faze him.

  In the kitchen, the table is already set for her breakfast. Unnecessary, she knows, to set the table for herself each night, ready for next morning, but it’s a habit she can’t break. More than that, even, she finds it comforting to come into the kitchen every morning and see everything waiting for her: the small plate with its matching cup and saucer, the butter knife, the stainless-steel teaspoon, the eggcup; the saucepan already on the stove, half filled with water, so that she need only light the gas and reach into the fridge for an egg. Today, she chooses one that is brown and speckled, testing it in the eggcup first to check it fits, before she puts it in the water. Some eggs are just a touch too big for this, her favourite eggcup.

  Hers is a two-cup teapot, and she fills it right up, even though she’ll drink only one cup of tea over breakfast. The rest she’ll take into the backyard and throw over the parsley plant. It is a habit she has taken over from her mother. Certainly, the parsley seems to thrive on it.

  The egg, when she takes it out, is just as she likes it: the white cooked but the yolk still runny. She butters her toast liberally and cuts it into fingers, which she is tempted to dip into the yolk. Instead, she nibbles at her toast, finger by finger, and sips her tea slowly.

  Quiet. Too quiet.

  She could turn the radio on or bring Billy-boy inside, but she doesn’t. Instead, she treats the silence as a test, to see if she can do it; to see if she can manage to live in such a still house. Mostly she can. It is only sometimes she can’t.

  When she has finished her breakfast, she opens the sliding doors and steps out onto the porch. As usual, Billy-boy is in front of his mirror. When he sees her, he starts to chirp. There are ways of making budgerigars talk; one of them is to remove any mirrors from the cage. But Billy-boy loves the mirror—it makes him think he has company, and she doesn’t want to deprive him of that.