by Suzanne Leal
All around her the clapping continues, strong and loud and joyful. And now, she joins in with it once more.
They will stay.
This is where they will belong.
And as she thinks of this, and all it might mean, she catches a glimpse of Mel, who is standing in the aisle, her camera pointed at the stage. All afternoon she has been taking photographs, this woman who is fast becoming her friend. She must have hundreds of them, hundreds of pictures of the show. It will be good, she thinks, to sift through them together. She will look forward to this with great pleasure.
A little closer, only a couple of seats down from her, are Sid and Joan. Rebecca smiles to watch them: their eyes glued to the stage, both of them transfixed. How delightful, she thinks. How lovely, too, that they have both made such an effort for the show: Joan’s dress is a rainbow of colours and, in her hair, she’s wearing a clip that sparkles. Sid’s hair, as usual, is carefully slicked back and today he is wearing a tie. It’s like they’re out on a date, she thinks. It’s like they’re an old married couple out on a date.
It is only then that she notices it: Sid is holding Joan’s hand.
No, it can’t be.
But it is. It is. Sid’s hand is clasped around Joan’s and their shoulders are touching.
Imagine that, she thinks. And for some time longer, she keeps watching them until slowly, almost reluctantly, she turns her gaze back to the stage.
Nina
When the applause has died away and the children have disappeared down into the audience, Laurie comes on stage. Watching from the wings, Nina remembers, with a jolt, that it’s her last day. She kicks herself for having forgotten. She could have at least bought her flowers.
Laurie keeps it brief. She talks about the year and about the school’s achievements, and how she’ll be sorry to leave.
There is applause when she finishes, but it is muted, and when Nina scans the audience, she sees that Tania isn’t clapping at all. From somewhere in the back of the audience comes a shout: What about Terry Pritchard, why’d ya sack him? It’s so loud Laurie must have heard it. But if she has, she gives no sign of it. Only when she walks back down the stairs to her seat does Nina see that her hands are trembling.
As soon as Laurie sits down, Tania stands up and makes her way to the stage. She waits until the hall falls silent.
‘To prepare for Ms Thomas’s return next year,’ she says, ‘I thought we should start exercising our vocal cords again. Brindle Public School students, you won’t need the words. Brindle Public parents, you probably won’t either. Anyone else, just try your best. All right?’
There is only a faint response. Taking a step forward, Tania puts a hand behind her ear. ‘Can’t hear you, Brindle Public,’ she says.
From the audience comes a sprinkle of laughter.
Tania takes a second step forward. She’s at the edge of the stage now and when she takes a third step, she keeps her foot in midair. Another step, and she’ll fall off the stage. ‘Still can’t hear you, Brindle Public!’ she shouts.
Loud laughter fills the hall now. Still with her foot up, Tania calls out to the audience, ‘I said, Brindle Public, are you ready for some music?’
This time, the response is overwhelming.
Putting her foot down, Tania looks pleased. ‘That’s more like it,’ she says. To the left, Belinda is waiting by the PA system. Tania gives her a nod. ‘Ready when you are, Ms Coote.’
A silence, then, before music starts to trickle through the system. It takes Nina only a couple of bars to recognise the song: ‘Blame It on the Boogie’. She struggles to hold back a chortle.
The music gets louder then, louder and louder, and soon it’s not just coming from the PA system, it’s coming from everywhere.
Onstage, Tania is singing hard, pumping each word into the microphone, so that her voice reverberates throughout the hall. When the chorus comes, the audience erupts.
There are actions for the chorus. Fabulous actions, and onstage, Tania leads the audience through them: half-circles, stretched arms, twinkling fingers, twisting.
And although Tania is keeping time, there are problems in the audience. Some are stretching, some are twinkling, some are twisting, some are doing nothing. It’s a fiasco. To one side of the hall, everyone from The Wolf is grouped together. They’re all standing up, they’re all facing Tania and they’re all doing the actions, each one of them. Nina splutters with laughter when she sees them. Not because they can’t do it, but because they’re trying so hard: their faces earnest while their arms fly everywhere. And when they start to boogie, each of them twisting vigorously, each of them pointing a hand to the ceiling, each of them still absolutely serious, she can’t hold back.
God, she laughs.
She laughs and laughs. More than she has in years. She laughs so much she starts to choke. And when she tries to control herself, a giggle catches in her throat, and still she keeps on laughing—how she laughs—even after the music is over and the dancing has finished.
Acknowledgements
I have long admired Jane Palfreyman and her stable of innovative and talented writers. To now be one of them still makes my heart leap. Thank you, Jane, for all your advice, care and support.
Ali Lavau’s editing gave the book a clear and cohesive setting in time and place, Sarah Baker was meticulous with her suggestions and changes, Sarina Rowell was a careful and thoughtful proofreader and Alissa Dinallo designed a beautifully striking cover. Thank you, too, to the rest of the team at Allen & Unwin.
My agent, Margaret Connolly, is wise and practical and encouraging and always available. It’s a delight to be her client and friend.
Claire Scobie read many early drafts of the work and her feedback was invaluable.
Richard Glover, Kathryn Heyman and Joanne Fedler were so very generous with their time and their feedback.
Megan Tipping (née James) read the manuscript with the eyes of a teacher and helped me navigate the world of primary schools.
Mandy Mashanyare’s thoughtful suggestions were instrumental in making the work more credible and more authentic.
Juliet Lucy was a scrupulous proofreader and Kelly Barlow, queen of social media, organised me, revamped me and sent me out into the digital world.
My father, Barry Leal, has instilled in me a love of language and stories, and my mother, Roslyn Leal, has been an ever-present support to me.
Alex, Dominic and Xavier are my beautiful sons, and Miranda, our lovely little latecomer, completes us. I’m so very proud of you all.
David Barrow is my great love. As a husband, father and stepfather, he is caring and funny and generous and wise. How lucky we are to have you!
About the author
Suzanne Leal began her career as a criminal lawyer with the Legal Aid Commission of NSW and has since held appointments to several tribunals, including the Refugee Review Tribunal. A former legal commentator on ABC Radio, Suzanne is an experienced interviewer at literary functions and events.
Curiosity about hidden stories and secret lives drives Suzanne’s writing. It sparked her interest in the lives of her Czech landlords, Fred and Eva Perger, who inspired her first novel, Border Street, commended in the Asher Literary Award. Curiosity, too, prompted Suzanne to explore the intrigues of the schoolyard and bring them to life in this, her second novel.
Suzanne lives in Sydney with her husband, David, and her four children, Alex, Dominic, Xavier and Miranda.
suzanneleal.com