The Teacher's Secret

by Suzanne Leal

  As soon as he has gone, Rebecca walks down the road to Grace’s house. The electric gate that blocks the house from the street is high and sturdy, with spikes on top to deter agile intruders. To the side of the gate is a bell. Rebecca rings the bell once and waits. For Rebecca, this is a new thing; more often, and particularly in her line of work, she has been the one to keep others waiting. But Grace is a prompt woman and within seconds she is at the gate. She looks tired.

  ‘A restless night,’ she tells Rebecca, ‘that’s all.’ But her voice is flat and she seems subdued. Not that she is ever what Rebecca would call vivacious. This, in itself, is something Rebecca likes about her: that she is not a woman prone to gushing. Rather, she is a quiet woman, self-contained even, and she has told Rebecca very little about herself. Only that they had been living abroad, she and her husband, and have recently returned home. And not once has she approached Rebecca with that type of reverence so usually accorded the well-known and instantly recognised. Grace is a trained teacher, although she is now a secretary at the university where her husband, Johnson, also works.

  Family money, then, Rebecca had surmised, to warrant such a house in Fallondale.

  On occasion, Grace asks her in after their walk. Rebecca likes it when this happens. Today, on the way home, she is more forward than usual. Today, she invites herself in. But when Grace hesitates, she immediately regrets her boldness.

  ‘Actually,’ she says quickly, before Grace can respond, ‘I probably should get ready instead—it always takes me twice as long as I think.’

  This isn’t true but Grace’s face relaxes when she says it. ‘Next time,’ she offers.

  ‘Yes,’ Rebecca replies, trying not to look disappointed, ‘next time.’

  Mel

  His hands wake her as they brush across her breast, before a finger starts to draw circles around her nipple. She’s tired; it’s still dark outside, for Christ’s sake.

  He rolls over, then, so that his mouth is up against her ear. ‘Morning, babe,’ he whispers, his breath warm.

  ‘Feels like four am,’ she says, her voice croaky.

  But that doesn’t stop him. Instead, his hands move down to her stomach. ‘How about I make your day?’

  ‘At four in the morning?’ she snorts, but her irritation is feigned. Having his hands on her always feels good. They aren’t soft hands, and she likes that: likes that they are rough hands; rough hands that know how to use a hammer and a drill and pour a slab. Hands that haven’t been sitting idle in an office.

  Again his voice is in her ear. ‘Actually, it’s just about six,’ he tells her as his hand moves down to where her pubic hair used to be. It’s a new thing, the Brazilian, and she’s still not sure whether she really loves it or really hates it. The first time she got one, it was a surprise for their anniversary. But God, it had killed. Think about it: every clump of pubic hair—the whole lot of it—covered in hot wax and ripped out. And everything on show to Jodie—who, granted, she knows well; she’s Brindle’s only beauty therapist, after all—but still.

  ‘Why do you want a Brazilian?’ Jodie had asked her, wax strip in hand.

  Mel shrugged. ‘You know, something different.’

  ‘Are you having an affair?’

  Mel started to laugh. ‘And when am I going to find time for an affair?’

  Jodie shook her head. ‘You’d be surprised. Where there’s a will. Nine out of ten times when a client starts asking for a Brazilian, that’s why.’

  ‘Because they’re having an affair?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And they tell you?’

  ‘Sometimes, not always. But the Brazilian, that’s the giveaway.’

  ‘Anyone I’d know?’

  Jodie always has the goss, but generally she’s pretty discreet. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Locals?’

  Jodie had licked her lips. ‘Maybe.’

  Interesting. Who? she’d wondered. Not her. In all the years she’d been with Adam, she’d never had an affair. Him either. As far as she knew. No, she did know: there’d never been anyone else for either of them. Christ, she wouldn’t know how to start. She’d been a teenager when they got together and now look at them: Mr and Mrs with a mortgage, two kids and a pool in the backyard. Who’d have thought it?

  Of course, there are times she would have liked something a bit more exotic thrown into the mix: not so much getting out of the country; she’d have settled for getting out of Brindle for a bit. But she hadn’t even managed that, had she? And now look at her: Brindle Public student turned Brindle Public parent. Hardly living on the edge. Hardly an adventurous life.

  But when she thinks about another life, a life lived elsewhere, a life of excitement, a life that is more daring, this is what happens: the bay pulls her back, the headland pulls her back, Brindle itself pulls her back until she is forced to give in to it, until she is forced to admit to herself that whatever the pull of the world outside, Brindle is home. And Adam is home, too. For whatever her daydreams, whatever her imaginings of a life lived differently, the truth of it is that Adam is always there, always right there beside her.

  Although now he’s right there on top of her.

  ‘You like that?’ he asks her.

  ‘I like it,’ she whispers, although to be honest, she’s a bit itchy where her pubic hair is starting to grow back. That’s one thing she hadn’t thought through, the itchy stubble regrowth thing. Maybe laser it next time? Or maybe just forget the Brazilian altogether?

  It’s a quickie this morning. But a good one, still. It’s always good with Adam—not that she’s got much to compare it with. Just what her friends tell her: that a lot of the time they put out because they think they should, even if they don’t feel like it. Mel can pretty much be talked into it whenever. Which isn’t bad considering it’s been—what? Twelve years. Which is already about eleven years longer than everyone gave them at the time.

  He was so old, they said, and she was so young. Funny how quickly that disappeared, how much five years was then and how little it is now.

  They met at a nightclub, a dive of a place, but the only one prepared to accept her dodgy ID. Adam and his mate were at the bar, watching as Mel and her friend Bianca sipped on their vodka and lemonade. One drink would get them started, another would keep them going and a third would send them wild.

  Back then, he wasn’t a dancer. Back then he just stood there watching with a beer in his hand. That’s still all he drinks. She likes spirits, especially a gin and tonic with her cigarette once the kids are in bed. Adam doesn’t smoke anymore and he’s been at her to quit, too. Sooner or later, she probably will. Just not right now.

  That first night he played it cool: just watching, drinking, watching. He was still watching when she left the dance floor to get some water from the bar, sweat pouring down her face, hair plastered to her cheeks. He was close enough to her, then, to be heard over the music. ‘Bit of a workout up there, hey?’

  Mel tilted her head towards him. ‘You should try it.’

  Without taking his eyes from her, he leant back against the bar and shook his head. ‘Not wearing my dancing shoes.’

  It was such an odd, old-fashioned thing to say, she just burst out laughing. ‘Well, I’m wearing mine—you can borrow them.’

  Slowly, his eyes had slipped down her body, past her neck and down to her breasts, then down again until she felt a buzzing in her groin. A brief flicker up, and for a second he met her eyes again before, with another sweep, his eyes were on her shoes: high-heeled and strappy.

  ‘Don’t think it’s the look I’m after,’ he said in a slow sort of drawl.

  She’d just about thrown herself on him then and there.

  He had a car and a job. Not just a job; he had a trade. He was a builder. He even had his papers. Mel was impressed. So when he offered her and Bianca a lift home, she said yes. His car was a hatchback, a speedy sort of hatchback. In the dark, she couldn’t tell the colour, but when he dropped them back at Bianca�
�s place—her parents were away—she saw that it was electric blue.

  He was not a teenager. He was twenty. When he told her that, she decided to give herself a bit of a boost. She was seventeen, she told him. In Year 11.

  For a surprise one day, he picked her up from school, which, as it happened, was also his old school. There he was, at the end of the day, waiting at the gate for her. He held her hand as they walked back to his car. And that made her so, so proud, that she should be holding hands with her new boyfriend who had both a car and a job.

  Inside the car, he pulled her close and kissed her so hard she imagined she might disappear down his throat.

  When, finally, they broke apart, his forehead wrinkled.

  ‘Your uniform,’ he said, ‘why are you wearing that uniform?’

  She pretended to be confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s the junior uniform.’

  She’d felt herself turning a deep red.

  ‘You’re not in Year 11, are you?’

  Eyes down, she shook her head.

  ‘Year 10?’ His voice sounded hopeful.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Shit, Mel,’ he said. ‘What, then?’

  ‘Year 7.’ She said it as a joke.

  ‘Year 7!’ he exploded. ‘You can’t be bloody serious.’

  ‘Year 9,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m in Year 9.’

  ‘Year 9? That must make you the only seventeen-year-old in the year, then.’

  ‘I’m fifteen,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Fifteen? For Christ’s sake, Mel, fifteen?’

  She didn’t think he’d be back. But he did come back. And he kept coming back. After six months, he bought her a friendship ring. Not silver, like the other girls had, but gold with a tiny, tiny red stone in it.

  In the afternoons, after school, he’d drive her up to the headland where there were private places to be. Private places that were big enough for the two of them. Comfortable enough, too, so long as they took the picnic blanket with them. Not that they ever once used it for a picnic.

  One time, the condom broke. Just once, but once was enough. Because she wasn’t on the pill, was she? How could she be? How could she have asked the doctor for it? He would have been on to her mother in a flash.

  It wasn’t Adam’s fault it had broken. And it wasn’t her fault she was so bloody fertile. Now she laughs about it. But she wasn’t laughing then. Not when she twigged that something was up. Even that took a while.

  No way was she going to buy the test herself; she made Adam do it. They couldn’t go back to her house or even his house, so they took it with them up to the headland. When he handed her the specimen jar, she’d just stared at him.

  ‘Pee in it,’ he told her. ‘You’ve just got to pee in it.’

  But she wouldn’t. Not until he’d turned his back, walked away and promised not to look. It was an awkward thing to do, there on the headland, squatting over that stupid jar, her pants around her ankles. The instructions said to dip the stick in and wait three minutes. But within seconds, there were two strong lines.

  Perhaps she’d got it wrong, she thought. Perhaps just one line meant yes and two lines meant no. But Adam was holding the instructions and when she held up the stick, she saw his face drop.

  Fuck, he was saying, oh fuck.

  Telling her parents was always going to be tricky; they didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. So they didn’t tell them. They told Adam’s mum instead. And Fran, God love her, she hadn’t screamed or shouted or cried. She’d simply turned on the kettle, put her hand over Mel’s hand, and said, ‘Oh dear, love, that’s a bit of a surprise now, isn’t it?’

  And when Mel, shaking hard, said she couldn’t tell her parents, she couldn’t possibly—Fran had nodded for a bit then said, ‘Well, love, why don’t I take you to the doctor so we can find out what’s what?’

  What’s what was a fifteen-week pregnancy, and a belly that, now she knew about it, seemed to be swelling by the second. She wasn’t going to have an abortion. She wouldn’t even consider it. Adam didn’t try to talk her around.

  Which meant that Mel’s parents would have to be told, and soon. Adam came with her. Fran, too. Because it might be easier that way, she said, for the mothers to talk together.

  But the conversation was brief and afterwards there was only silence. From everybody. Thick, thick silence that gave Mel the urge to whistle through her teeth. Instead, she tapped her foot under the table.

  ‘Stop,’ her father said finally. ‘Stop tapping.’

  So she did, she stopped tapping. But once Adam and Fran were gone, leaving her there in a silent, angry house, again she started to tap and tap. This time, her father didn’t tell her to stop. This time, he just looked across the table at her and said, ‘You disgust me.’

  She saw the year out—there were only a few weeks left—but when school started back the next year, she stayed away. She moved out of home, too, and in with Adam and Fran. And after Ethan was born, they became a household of four. And if it was a bit tight at times, it didn’t matter so much.

  When Mel turned sixteen, they got engaged. Adam bought the rings together—the engagement ring and the wedding ring. Fran didn’t think it would be lying to wear them both before they got married. It would be a shame not to, that’s what she said, seeing as they’d been designed to be worn that way.

  They were married just after her eighteenth birthday. The wedding was small—neither of them wanted to make a fuss. She didn’t wear white and her father didn’t give her away. Afraid of a refusal, she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t offered.

  After Josh was born, by chance, a house came up for sale at the end of the street. It was old and it was rundown but, though the bank took a bit of convincing, almost affordable. And that’s where they’ve stayed, right there in Brindle. Now, people are even calling it the new hotspot. That always makes Mel laugh. Brindle, by the jail, a hotspot. Who’d have thought it?

  Adam is off her now, lying on his back beside her, still catching his breath. ‘Thanks for that, Mrs Thompson.’

  She smiles as she walks her finger from his belly button down to his groin. ‘My pleasure, Mr Thompson.’

  There are noises outside. ‘Quick,’ Adam whispers, ‘they’re coming.’ With a giggle, Mel covers them both with the quilt. Arms wrapped around each other, they wait for the onslaught.

  Josh is first in. Theirs is a low bed and even though he is small for a seven-year-old, he can still make it on top of them in one leap. This morning he lands on Adam’s groin. ‘Go easy, mate,’ Adam groans. ‘Don’t kill your chances of having a sister.’

  ‘What sister?’ says Mel. ‘I thought we were done.’

  Adam makes a popping noise with his mouth. ‘Maybe we’ll change our minds.’

  Now Ethan is launching himself onto them, too. He misses Adam but lands on Mel’s legs. ‘What are you trying to do, you little monster, break my knees?’ She turns to Adam in mock despair. ‘How could we possibly bring another child into this madhouse?’

  As soon as she says this, the three of them—Adam included—start to grunt and make stupid faces. Pushing them all away from her, she pretends to get up. ‘In five seconds,’ she says, ‘I’ll be getting up and—I’m warning you—I’m naked.’

  It’s the only thing guaranteed to get the kids moving. Now she laughs as she watches them scrambling out of the room, eyes squeezed tight to make sure they won’t catch even a glimpse of her.

  Adam leans over to kiss her. ‘If it’s any consolation, babe, I love seeing you naked.’

  Nina

  It’s the middle of March. At the club, that means Aloha time and everywhere Nina looks there are leis linked together to make giant paper chains. Large Chinese parasols hang from the ceiling and giant pieces of papier-mâché fruit are piled on either side of the bar.

  Nina enters the room alone, dressed up in a tacky Hawaiian shirt she picked up in an op shop. She recognises no one.

  Steve is alrea
dy here, somewhere. Steve, she calls in her head, hoping this will be enough for him to look up and call her over to him.

  But there’s no sign of him. She could phone him, but the music is so loud he’d be unlikely to hear the ring. Besides, he could be with a client—this is a business function, after all—so he might not even answer.

  As it happens, she finds him at the far side of the bar. He, too, is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, but unlike hers, his is the real deal: the cotton is thick and, instead of palm trees, pineapples form a border along it. He wears it with light cotton jeans and a pair of slip-on sandals he must have scored from his father. He looks great, she thinks, like a movie star from the fifties.

  Once she has spied him, she picks up her pace. When she reaches him, she stretches out a hand to tap him on the arm. He is in conversation with the barman but when he feels the pressure on his arm, he turns around, his party smile wide. When he sees it is her, his smile seems to drop a little.

  In front of them, the barman is pouring a light pink concoction into a cocktail glass. ‘Better make it two of those,’ says Steve, and she feels happy when he gives her arm a rub.

  The drink comes in a martini glass with a short black plastic straw and a paper umbrella pushed into a glacé cherry. Aloha Sunrise, that’s what it’s called.

  Beside her, Steve has dispensed with the straw and is drinking his cocktail straight from the glass. When he has finished, he picks up his umbrella between two fingers and bites into the cherry. She flinches: there is something about a glacé cherry that reminds her of an eyeball. As he starts to chew it, she has to look away.

  Once she’s finished her drink, she fishes out her umbrella and carefully separates it from the cherry. For Emily, she thinks, as she folds the little umbrella closed and tucks it away into her handbag.

  When she looks up again, Steve is reaching into her glass for the cherry. His fingers are too thick for the glass and it takes him a couple of goes before he has it. Quickly, he throws the cherry back into his mouth. She forces out a smile although the action repels her.