The idea caught him quickly, and his coffee table was soon littered with pocket guides and language course fliers, maps and internet printouts. Soon enough, I was dropping him at Tullamarine airport with nothing more than a backpack, his passport, hiking boots, and an international SIM card.
When he reached his first stop, Paris, the text messages came thick and fast:
I’ve just landed.
I’m in the bus.
I got to my room okay.
Start of day one today.
Hostel life sure is something else.
I met some lovely young Cuban girls today.
On day two of his trek, after a text to say he’d checked into a hostel with ‘about ten thousand twenty-somethings’, he’d discovered social media. Or, perhaps, he’s been introduced to it – everyone knows what tour groups are like. Either way, his Facebook became an art gallery of his trip through Italy, France and Spain. From starting with one online friend, me, he quickly amassed a host of people. His newsfeed now looked like a multilingual dictionary and it was beautiful. See Translation became the most seen term on his page, and I was thrilled that he was getting out and enjoying the world.
After the fortnight I’d had, I almost regretted not taking him up on his suggestion to go along with him.
Now that I’d moved home, I’d been charged with keeping his yard clean, letterbox empty, and utility bills up-to-date. A quick drive-by before I landed at Penny’s confirmed that the grass either desperately needed cutting, or I was about to open a wildlife sanctuary.
Anyone who’s been away long enough and come back again will tell you that some of the best things about home are the unique smells, sights, and sounds. Ours was jasmine scented, thanks to a plant that had been creeping up over the carport from as long as I had memories. It greeted me with soft comfort as I stepped up onto the front porch and slipped the key into the screen door. I took another deep breath of the flowers before stepping inside.
I grew up in this house, with its tinkling wind chimes, blistering paint, and Mission Brown coloured everything. It was the colour of the Seventies and Eighties, and it had made its home on every surface, gutter, and downpipe in sight. I remained wholly convinced it was the only paint tint available in Australia at the time. I suppose it matched the overgrown grass and front garden beds which, right now, resembled a child’s drawing of a tree; brown and green everywhere, and branches at Edward Scissorhands angles.
But those negatives were easily forgiven. It was a home so full of love and laughter it could have been one of those cheap Live, Laugh, Love signs from a homeware store. We were blessed to live only a few sandy streets away from the beach and a small community we could go to for anything. I had my own surfboard and, when Dad wasn’t busy picking up random jobs and working his backside off, he was doing his best to keep me out of trouble. And as Mum had left when I was a baby, it had only ever been the two of us.
The less that’s said about Mum the better.
I switched on the radio and welcomed it drowning out my thoughts.
With cleaning products scattered around the kitchen, I pulled what may have been broccoli from the fridge and tossed it away. That was soon joined by liquified cauliflower, and long-life milk that wasn’t as long-life as Dad perhaps thought it would be. I opened windows and enjoyed the fresh breeze chasing its tail through doorways and down halls.
When I finally made it to the backyard and realised the lawn mower wouldn’t start, I sent Penny an emergency text: I needed mower fuel and some help.
She tumbled through the door forty minutes later, blurting every swearword known to man. After hoisting a jerry can up onto the dining table, she shoved her hands on her sides with such force I thought she’d give herself a hip displacement and glared at me.
‘What?’ I laughed.
‘I got petrol on my hands,’ she complained.
‘And?’
‘Well, they’re all dried out now. I’m the crumpled leaf from that old Vaseline ad, and I can’t remember the last time I used Vaseline for that. And! And! I think there’s some on my shoes. I look like a guy at the pub with sixteen beers and no concept of aim.’
She was right, her glossy black shoes had matte splashes across the toes.
I swallowed down a laugh. ‘The Vaseline ad was moisturiser, not petroleum jelly.’
‘Yeah … well.’ She jerked her head. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Do you want to rinse them in the sink?’ I asked. ‘I need to cut the lawn, and I don’t want to be here all day, so thank you for bringing fuel. I do appreciate the immense hurt and anguish you’ve gone through.’
She snorted. ‘Shut up.’
After checking for spiders, snakes, and any other woodland creatures that might want to take up residence in the pair of old boots on the porch, I poured the fuel in the mower and made good on my promise to cut the lawn. Penny helped by sunning herself in a hammock strung between two trees in the front yard, and that was where she stayed until I offered to buy lunch.
‘You know, if I rolled myself up in this hammock, the rope pattern would make me look like a pineapple.’
‘If you keep swinging like that, you’ll probably invert and do exactly that,’ I chuckled. ‘So, please, be my guest, because that would go straight online.’
‘I have a better idea,’ she began. ‘And it involves lunch.’
* * *
‘How was your week?’ I passed a hot pie from the bakery counter to Penny, who was busy trying to decide what soft drink to grab from the fridge.
‘It was in-sane.’ Finally settling on Fanta, she grabbed two bottles and stepped out into the afternoon sun.
The day was bright and breezy in that perfect way that would normally have me sleeping in the passenger’s seat of a car. I could easily see myself kicking back on a towel at the beach with a good book, some sunscreen, and an umbrella for shade. It wasn’t so hot you’d be off to the nearest hospital with third-degree burns by dinner, it was just nice. The cool pinch on the breeze made it even more acceptable for me to be walking around in an old unbuttoned boiler suit.
‘You know, we want parents to pay their school fees.’ Penny scuttled along beside me. ‘They’re a good thing, they help little Karen go to swimming sports, or a cut-price school camp where she’ll learn to ask for the manager when her mashed potato is the wrong temperature. I just wish they wouldn’t all do it on the same bloody day. And it’s not my fault Samuel, the little shit, lost his uniform on the first day. How about you?’
I felt my shoulders sag. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Really? I thought you loved teaching? Loved being back here?’
‘I do.’ I threw a leg over a bench seat. ‘I love it. I had this great breakthrough with a student during the week, already. He was this little first-grader who was struggling with his words and, I mean, I know I can’t provide a panacea, but I think I did a good thing. I got him excited about a book, and he’s promised to come and see me on Monday morning and let me know how he went. Whether he does or not is another issue, but it’s a start, right?’
‘But?’ she asked.
I smeared sauce across the lid of my pie. ‘It’s not the students who are the problem.’
‘Yeah,’ she said slowly. ‘The adults tend to be the bigger assholes.’
‘This particular one has been nothing but.’
‘Let me do my best John Edward.’ Penny placed her drink on the table beside us and waved her hands about, lips puckered, and eyes narrowed. ‘I’m getting a word starting with C. Is it caffeine? Ca? Coffee?’
I chuckled. ‘You idiot.’
‘Talk to me.’ Penny leaned forward. ‘Surely it’s not just the coffee, because this is an awful amount of grief over something that did wash straight out of your blouse.’
‘All right.’ I wriggled about and got comfortable on the seat, legs crossed in front of me. ‘It started the very first day.’
‘It did?’
‘He wanted me to
change the library roster for him and I said no,’ I explained. ‘He wouldn’t let it go. After the coffee, he’s taken to antagonising. He slips through the library and makes shitty remarks. He called me an angry little onion in front of his class!’
Throughout all this explanation, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell her I’d slept with Marcus. It was constantly on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong; I just didn’t want to risk her accidentally blurting it out and the entire school finding out.
‘A what?’ Penny roared with laughter. ‘An angry little onion?’
‘Yes. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ My bottle of soft drink hissed as I cracked the seal. ‘Yesterday, he told his class to spread out and find themselves books to read. He made sure they picked from all corners of the library, so I had to spend an extra hour last night trying to sort them and put them back in the stacks.’
‘Have you tried just sitting down and, I don’t know, talking to him?’
‘Talk to him?’ I laughed. ‘I walked in there last night and asked him what his problem was. We ended up in this row where he told me I dressed like Indiana Jones’s dad. Next thing I know, Phil’s at the door and telling us we can organise the presentation slash graduation night.’
Penny laughed so hard she coughed. ‘He actually said that?’
‘So, now, not only do I officially not like him, but I have to organise a soiree with His Highness of the Peacock Feathers.’
‘Peacock feathers?’ she asked.
‘Bloody hell, he has a strut,’ I grumbled. ‘Please tell me you’ve seen it?’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘He does,’ I whined. ‘He does, and he’s so sure of himself, and so much like Dean, and can’t he just go away?’
‘Wow. Okay.’ Her hands moved like she was trying to pluck words from the air. ‘So, there’s not a lot I can do about the whole end-of-year thing. It’s simple, really. Just talk to Jack about some music, whack some sandwiches on a few plates, crackers and dip, and you bang out a few awards that the teachers give out. Mick’s done it so many times I’m surprised he hasn’t got an autopilot button somewhere.’
‘Of all the people.’ I slapped my hands against my legs. ‘And I almost had him over a barrel, too, and I let him slip through like a slimy little olive. Pop!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I was just about to unleash when Phil appears like Scotty’s beamed him up. And he’s all, “Problem?” Marcus just fixes me with this look.’ I tried to recreate it, and failed, much to Penny’s amusement.
‘Hold up, was it the lips parted, head dipped, Puss in Boots eyes?’
‘Yes!’ I snapped my fingers wildly. ‘That is exactly what it was!’
And it was exactly the look he gave me outside the pub, a nanosecond before he kissed me.
Penny laughed loudly, like I’d just told the funniest joke ever. ‘He got you. He got you. You are wrapped around his little finger. I’ll bet you said nothing.’
I sighed heavily. ‘I said nothing.’
She leapt up and performed something that might have been a dance. It was either that, or a fit. I couldn’t be sure. I peered out at her from behind barely spread fingers.
‘He does it all the time. Boys, honestly. It’s so hard to say no to any man who looks like he’s about to do naughty things to me.’
I coughed.
Penny peered at me. ‘What?’
‘I can see it now,’ I said. ‘It’ll be like every high school assignment ever. One person does all the work, while the other sits there and gets fat. It’ll end up like that joke where I ask him to be a pallbearer at my funeral, so he can let me down one last time.’
Penny held her mouth shut to stop food spewing out as she laughed. ‘Can I say something?’
‘You know you can.’
‘Your first week or so at any job is balls. Remember that time I worked at that burger joint?’
‘The one that closed down after six months because he “couldn’t get staff to work weekends”?’ I made air quotes while Penny nodded wildly.
‘Well, he couldn’t get staff because he was an absolute knob. My point is, though, my first week was the worst first week ever. I burned my hand, he screamed at me because I put pickle on a burger when someone had specifically said no pickle, and then told me I was a more than a little bit stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid,’ I sputtered. ‘What a dick. I hope you stood up for yourself?’
‘I absolutely did. Every time something suspect came out of his mouth, I took him to task. By the time the place shut down, he told me I was one of the best workers he had.’
‘Moral of the story is ride it out, right?’ I asked.
‘I was going more for the “stand up for yourself” mantra. If you do that, then the rough seas will subside. I want you to take a deep breath and enjoy your weekend. You’re up-to-date with everything, aren’t you?’
‘I think so, yeah.’
‘So, jump in fresh on Monday, and see what happens.’
One of things I loved the most about Penny was her ability to look at the positive. Flat tyre? Yeah, but look at the scenery. Lost your job? That’s okay, a few days off. Husband cheated on you? Let’s not deny that it sucks, but you can come live it up by the seaside. I didn’t doubt her in this instance, either.
‘You’re right.’ I rubbed at my face. ‘You’re absolutely right. Let’s just write it off as beginner’s nerves and start afresh on Monday.’
Penny offered a short nod. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘I really am. I’m here with you, and I know I have a lot of ground to make up there. I want to spend a bit of time getting back to being me. You know, the things I like, and the hobbies I used to have.’
‘Knitting,’ she gasped. ‘If you’re getting back into that.’ She grappled with her handbag. ‘Can you make me something?’
‘Sure.’ I stood up and brushed crumbs from my chest. ‘Knitting isn’t really a summer sport, but if you have the pattern.’
She passed me her phone, fingers at the ready to zoom in on a design she was already intimately aware of. ‘I saw this online the other night and fell in love.’
I pinched the picture open a bit further. A knee-length hooded jacket in a dusty rose-coloured bobble stitch was screaming out to be made. Hell, I wanted one for myself. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘You can do that, can’t you?’ She looked at me hopefully.
‘It’s been a while, but I’m fairly certain I could. It looks straightforward.’ I scrunched my rubbish and stood up to stretch. ‘Now, is there anything else we need to do before we go home?’
Chapter 10
One thing I needed but had let slide was finding myself a lawyer. It seemed like a simple enough thing to do, but it was one that I’d been burying my head in the sand over. I hadn’t asked around for recommendations, because that meant involving other people and I was enjoying, in my new environment, not having to constantly discuss my situation with those around me. Online forums turned out to be cesspits of reviews and half-truths, so I took the balance of probability, a shot of courage, and made a phone call.
Lawyers’ offices were quite like hospitals. Nobody ever really wanted to be there. There was a false happiness inside them; a Klimt print here, a water cooler with crinkly plastic cups there, and ten steps towards an office that would help decide my consciously uncoupled future.
The earliest appointment I could get was late Saturday afternoon, the last slot of the day. I was covered in grass stains and probably smelled like the back end of a spark plug, but I hoped the meeting would be quick.
It was.
I made a decision months ago not to contest anything. It was all part of my proving to the world that I was perfectly fine and capable. What had happened had been more than enough, and I’d be happy if I could settle things quickly and painlessly and lock the door on that chapter o
f my life. Dean was welcome to the house and everything in it. It was all just stuff, and I’d gone so long without any of it already. Deep down, I would have loved my piano, but I walked away with what I had and was already busy living and thriving without him.
Well, thriving if you didn’t consider the Marcus situation. If we took the issue of sex away for a moment, we were identical, repelling ends of a magnet. It was The Good, the Bad and the Ugly sneering at ten paces.
For the next three weeks, we barely spoke at all, let alone entertained the idea of the presentation night. We were conducting a highly coordinated version of hide and seek. Class handovers on Friday afternoons reminded me of tense custody exchanges, where Dad would stand on one side of some random suburban park, Mum on the other, and never the twain shall meet.
It was all incredibly mature.
Of course, the problem with avoiding problems is that it doesn’t exactly help them go away. Oftentimes, it makes them worse – much worse, as we found out the morning we were summoned to Phil’s office for a 7.30 debriefing – minus the cocktails.
‘I really hope you two have got something to show for the weeks of silence.’ Coffee splashed up over the sides of his mug like an overfull bathtub, forming a brown ring on his desk mat. He cursed and shook droplets from his fingers. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him all he’d done was spread coffee to his phone. Or wall. ‘Something, something, weekly updates. I was sure I was speaking to two humans then, wasn’t I?’
Beside me, Marcus wriggled about, pinching at his pants. I shifted nervously and tried to slow the hamster wheel in my mind. We glanced at each other quickly, and at different moments. For the record, sleeping with someone doesn’t give you a sudden insight to their facial expressions, because I could not tell what he was thinking at all.
Lessons in Love Page 9
