Lessons in Love

by Belinda Missen

  ‘You know, it’s unusual seeing you without a suit and tie on.’ I watched Marcus through a partition in a glass shelving unit.

  He was quiet for a moment, mulling over his thoughts. ‘Really? I’m sure you’ve seen me naked.’

  I worried my lip. ‘I meant in regular clothes. Jeans, T-shirt. It’s a little jarring after all the formality.’

  ‘I guess you’re right. I mean, it’s not every day you come to school dressed like teen rock star.’

  ‘I am not dressed like that!’ I gasped.

  ‘Manning, you’re two steps away from the seventh circle of eyeliner hell.’

  I pulled out my phone and switched the camera to selfie mode. It was an eternal wait for the screen to illuminate and learn that my make-up hadn’t turned me into a bipedal panda. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Wait. How do you know about eyeliner?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘I have a mother, and a sister who’s heavily entrenched in theatre.’

  ‘Theatre? Really?’ I asked, turning over a coffee mug. Since when was a Seventies orange glazed cup worth twenty dollars? ‘How’d you end up in teaching?’

  ‘Firstly, I can’t act. Secondly, I had a shit time in school. I was the fat kid with Coke bottle glasses and bar piano teeth. Mum will tell you it wasn’t that bad, but it certainly felt like it in the eye of the storm. Initially, I wanted to be a carpenter, but ended up in a teaching degree when I realised, or maybe someone suggested to me, that a lot of shitty behaviour could and should be nipped in the bud early.’

  ‘I’m fascinated by this milk bottle glasses kid.’ I picked through a box of sheet music. There was nothing more recent than Rodgers & Hammerstein. ‘You look so put together. It makes me wonder where he is, the milk bottle kid, that is.’

  ‘He’s still here.’ He smiled softly, his eyes meeting mine. ‘He just wears contacts now.’

  ‘And suits.’

  Marcus turned a book over to read the blurb. ‘He’s got much better taste in clothes now.’

  Below us, Daisy waited around patiently. A sniff here, a chew of her feet there, and a quiet trot when we moved to the next stall, stand, or table. It felt weirdly comfortable, the three of us in here, digging through shelves and taking turns scratching the dog.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I always wanted to work in our school, in the library,’ I said. ‘You can be guaranteed I’m an exhilarating person.’

  ‘Really? Why? I mean, it’s a brilliant community, but why? Of all the places you could go in the world.’

  ‘I always felt at home in there, and not because I grew up here, either. Or maybe it is. I’m sure there’s some psychological reason for that, and I’m not convinced I want to pay someone to delve into it. Of course, Cathy was there for the long haul, and I was busy being a smug married, but life is life, and things fell into place in the end, didn’t they?’

  ‘Is the plan to hang out until retirement?’ he asked. ‘Or are we a wayside stop on the way to something better?’

  ‘I’ve had something better, and it’s not always the best option.’ I handed him a floral teacup, delighting at the slide of my fingers across the palm of his hand. ‘But maybe I’ll stop somewhere in the middle to have some kids. What about you?’

  ‘Me? I’m not sure my body is built for childbirth,’ he admitted. ‘But if I were any cluckier, I’d be trying to hatch Creme Eggs.’

  I sniggered and moved along to the next shelf. Was that kind of admission considered flirting? It had been so long, I couldn’t be sure, but the idea of him with children was far more appealing than it should have been. I’d spotted him tucked into a corner of the library the other day, consoling an upset student at lunch, and I was a little jealous at how easy dealing with children seemed for him.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a secret that I want Phil’s job,’ he continued.

  ‘Do you think that’s the most useful role for you?’ I looked up. ‘I feel like your passion lies in the downtrodden kids, and it can be hard to enact great change from behind a desk.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m not even sure,’ he conceded. ‘I guess that’s all part of the challenge.’

  ‘That’s fair,’ I said.

  ‘All kids are ever looking for is acceptance and friendship, but some of them are just plain assholes. I mean, I’m sure it’s a product of their upbringing, but I don’t think I have to explain that to you.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ I dug through a box of baubles. ‘What does your Christmas tree look like?’

  ‘Right now?’ He moved in beside me and peered over my shoulder into the box of decorations in front of us. ‘Currently wrapped in plastic and in the garage. During the month of December, it’s a decidedly scruffy looking thing. You?’

  ‘I don’t currently own a Christmas tree, but last year’s tree was quite fabulous. I walked into a department store and bought the window display.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I liked it.’

  ‘Just like that, you said, “Give it to me,” and they did?’

  I shrugged. ‘Turns out it was cursed, anyway. More fool me.’

  ‘It sounds like there’s a story there.’

  ‘Depends on if you want to hear it.’

  ‘I would be lying if I said I wasn’t mildly curious.’

  Standing huddled together in a mothball-scented corner of old clothing, I took a deep breath and set the scene for my story. It was a balmy Saturday afternoon just before Christmas last year. Presents wrapped in gold ribbon sat patiently under an ornately decorated tree, and our sitting room was full of colleagues and important clients. It could have been the perfect day to secure some important business deals.

  It was true that the tree had come from the front window of a department store. Despite Dean’s stronghold on the bank accounts, if something was going to paint him in a positive light, he was on it like ants at a picnic. The tree was deep green leaves, pastels, fake feathers, and tiny lights that blinked soft yellow in a dark room. It took centre stage in our sitting room, opposite my baby grand piano.

  My piano was my pride and joy, a celebratory gift from my husband on my thirtieth birthday. Polished to the point that reflections slid from its surface, it was played only ever when I had the house to myself. The evening’s request for a public performance had been muted by Dean, who declared it out of tune. It wasn’t; I’d only had the tuning forks out earlier that week.

  He’d whizzed through the kitchen, quickly grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey and a pinot noir, pressed a kiss into my forehead, and offered rare praise. Dinner looked good, he’d said, and I looked better. It was unusual, but I was happy to take it. Who didn’t love praise from their husband? Perhaps the Christmas spirit was working in mysterious ways, even if it was Scottish and aged twenty-five years.

  An anecdote about a lost laptop on our recent travels brought the sound of laughter from the next room. And, while Dean stood in the corner of the room, suit and tie still in place from work, and a tumbler full of whiskey, his phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter. When it vibrated, I picked it up.

  My best friend, Sian, who was leggy, blonde, and cover model gorgeous, was sitting in the lounge with her husband Raph. The message was from her. ‘Wish we were alone x’.

  ‘Then what?’ Marcus stopped, turning over the price tag on an old coat.

  ‘I went back into the sitting room where everyone was.’ I scratched at my forehead. ‘And the thing with Dean’s friends is they always thought I was a little stupid. As if working in a library meant I wasn’t capable of much more than reading books and cooking meals. They never said it to my face, but I just knew. You know when people sort of alter the way they speak to you and how they interact with you, like Charlotte’s Web was the best I could do? Anyway, one of them asked me if I’d read anything good lately.’

  A rollicking laughter burbled up from the deep, Marcus’s eyes wide with delight. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes
,’ I chortled. ‘I mean, my heart was absolutely hammering in my chest, and I could feel the drops of sweat forming, but I thought bugger it. It was happening, and there was no way for me to win after reading those messages. So, I told them I’d recently been reading the ballad of the philandering husband and proceeded to read out the text messages between the two of them. The idiot hadn’t changed the passcode on his phone.’

  ‘How was that received?’

  ‘I moved out about an hour later,’ I said nonchalantly.

  ‘Okay, well, mine is hardly that dramatic. All I got was a Saturday evening discussion where Alice sat me down after dinner and told me that I had become increasingly boring and obsessed with my job, and perhaps it was time we looked at separating.’

  My nose wrinkled like a foul odour had wafted through the room. ‘How had you suddenly become boring?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged a lone shoulder. ‘I mean, look, we’d always had this agreement that, if one of us were unhappy, we’d have to come to the table and lay everything out and decide what to do from there. But, she just kind of skipped that part and went straight for the, “It’s over” speech.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He shook his head and stepped away. ‘Apparently, I was always marking work or talking work or learning for work, and she’d run out of patience. I tried explaining we weren’t in university anymore, so weekends weren’t exactly for beer bongs and pizza, but then she launched into the second part of her speech that alluded to how I probably wouldn’t be the best father if I were so preoccupied with work.’

  ‘Marcus, that’s completely ridiculous.’

  ‘Yeah, well, whatever, right?’ he grumbled.

  Whatever. That bloody word again. I pursed my lips and felt my brows twitch.

  ‘I guess the good thing about your situation is that it wasn’t your fault,’ he said.

  I scoffed. ‘I’m not entirely sure that’s correct. I had to have done something to send him running.’

  ‘No, I don’t think that’s true,’ he argued. Daisy tugged on her lead, sniffing about at the dachshund that had joined us. ‘His cheating had nothing to do with you. He was obviously looking for something, something he hadn’t given you the opportunity to provide. He hadn’t asked for it, he just took it from someone else. You’re not responsible for that. Me, on the other hand, I am a bore who thinks nothing more of spending a Saturday afternoon marking assessments and rereading Harry Potter for the forty-seventh time just so I can keep up with class discussions every year.’

  ‘How is that boring?’ I asked. ‘That’s your job. We all know there’s a mountain of unpaid overtime in this profession. It’s the nature of the education department which, unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of control over. Yet, we run headfirst into this job because we believe in something bigger. This stupid bloody presentation, for instance. A lot of that will be weekend and evening work. Marking papers is part and parcel, taking an active interest in your job is not boring, it’s dedication and, I’m sorry, I’ve seen you with those kids, you are damn good at what you do. Never apologise for that.’

  Marcus stood silently at the end of the next table, watching me. His face was soft with something I couldn’t yet put my finger on, but it tugged at me, nonetheless.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  A relaxed smile pulled at his mouth. ‘Thank you.’

  * * *

  In the end, all I walked out of the shop with was a small armful of novels and some old sheet music. There was every chance Dad had some of these pieces at home, but I’d lost most of my music, so was keen to start building up my collection again. It would come in handy when I eventually replaced the piano.

  Stepping out onto the sidewalk again was an awkward Sliding Doors moment. A will they or won’t they continue the conversation over hot coffee and soothing cake? Marcus watched silently while I tucked my life back into the pocket of my jeans. I’d been sans handbag today, and it was a nice light feeling, but made it slightly annoying to Jenga-balance everything on the walk home.

  ‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ I asked.

  ‘Now that I’ve finished procrastinating?’ he asked, scratching at the back of his head. ‘I’ve got a heap of marking, surprise, surprise, that I need to get rid of so I can start final report writing.’

  The devil on my shoulder was screaming at me, accessorised with megaphone and spittle, to go and help him. Offer him some assistance. It couldn’t be too hard, there was always an answer sheet to work from. When it came to the angel, though, she was very happy to remind me of what happened last time I made it to his front door, then asked if I was prepared for the possibility of that again. I wasn’t sure I was, so I sided with her.

  ‘Do me a favour, will you?’ Daisy wound herself around Marcus. ‘Stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘Only if you promise to do the same,’ I said.

  ‘I promise you, I’m okay. It’s been a few years now, so I’m looking forward to the next chapter,’ he said. ‘Oh, God, dog, stop. Sit. Just sit. Two more minutes.’

  ‘I’ll let you go, but if you need any help, just call me, okay?’ I stammered, tongue wrapping around tonsils and mouth drier than a beach in summer. ‘With marking and stuff like that. It’s been a while, but I’m sure I’ve still got it.’

  Wait. What? My heart skipped as my breath caught. I wasn’t sure if I automatically regretted saying that, or if I was more worried about the answer.

  ‘I might just do that.’ He smiled, arm outstretched as Daisy pulled him towards the corner. ‘Thanks.’

  Chapter 13

  Crawling around on my hands and knees, arm buried elbow deep in wool, was not how I expected to spend my Sunday, but knitting felt like a great way to reconnect with the Eleanor of old, to wake her up gently, so I packed Penny into the passenger seat of my car and brought her along with me. Right now, I was revelling in the joy of picking through different ply yarns, flipping through pattern books, and realising I wasn’t sure exactly what gauge needles I had anymore.

  ‘You’re quiet today, Ellie,’ Penny said, arms laden with the balls of yarn I’d already tossed in her direction.

  Talking to Marcus yesterday had given me so much food for thought that I’d kept my mouth shut out of fear of talking with my mouth full. His words spent most of yesterday afternoon tumbling around in my head, arranging and rearranging themselves until sleep finally gave my brain a chance to unwind and relax for the night.

  Right now, wool was keeping my mind busy. If all I had to think about today was matching dye lots – and that stuff was imperative unless you wanted your latest cast-on to look like a rainbow – then I was going to be happy. If the suggestion in Penny’s voice was anything to go by, though, I was not done digesting. I slipped back onto my haunches, a lock of hair flopping down onto my face. I tucked it back behind my ear and peered up at her.

  ‘I am?’

  ‘I’d say so, yes.’ She took another skein from me, rubbed the soft fibres across her face, sighed, and added it to her swaddle … pile. ‘You wolfed breakfast without saying a word, asked to go shopping, and said nothing the entire way here.’

  The drive to the wool mills, which was run from an old farmstead deep in the Otways, had taken forty-five minutes end-to-end and, to be fair, we were listening to a podcast the entire way there. A very good true crime podcast that we’d both been engrossed in. So, there was that.

  ‘Sorry?’ I said, more of a question than anything. Was I meant to be apologising?

  ‘You don’t need to apologise.’ She smiled sadly, like you would at a toddler who’d done something cute, but a little bit wrong at the same time. ‘I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was a no, then.

  ‘You haven’t even spoken about what you got up to yesterday, let alone how you’re feeling about … everything,’ she continued. ‘All I know is you went to the antique shop and came home with two books and yo
ur mouth sewn shut. Did something happen?’

  I shoved my hand back into the cube shelving unit. ‘I ran into Marcus.’

  ‘Oh,’ she pipped, a cheeky smile spreading slowly. ‘Well, that’s interesting.’

  ‘It was,’ I confirmed. ‘He gave me a lot to think about.’

  I pushed myself up to my feet, bouncing as I straightened out and plonked the last ball in her arms. I wanted to share his insights with her, and what they had meant to me, but putting exactly what that was into words right now was the hard part. Reaching for a burnt-orange wool, I held it up to my cheek.

  ‘Does it work?’ I asked. ‘The colour, I mean.’

  Penny shook her head. ‘Blue is more your colour. Brings out your eyes.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, not entirely sure she wasn’t making this up on the spot. ‘Blue?’

  ‘A nice dark navy,’ she continued. ‘Or green. Emerald-green.’

  I traipsed across to the next lot of shelving, all of them dusty, all accentuated at the end by spinning stands of pattern books, Cleckheaton for yards. Penny picked up a 4-ply baby book and flicked through it quietly, wool abandoned on the shelf next to her.

  ‘I’m glad you ran into him, actually. He was worried about you,’ Penny continued. The shop assistant, who’d otherwise been hovering about, handed her a shopping basket. ‘He was asking after you on Friday night. A few of us caught up for post-game drinks. He said he’d seen you in the office and you’d just kind of switched off on him. I suspect it triggered some memories for him.’

  Confusion was swiftly replaced by a feeling of deep regret. I’d only spent my first month in the job absolutely loathing him. I’d gone out of my way to find fault and, yet, he was the only person so far who’d been able to offer advice from the perspective of hindsight and first-hand experience.

  ‘Don’t say that.’ My bottom lip, which had been doing so well lately, began to falter. ‘He’s been far lovelier than I deserve.’

  ‘It’s not that you don’t deserve it,’ she argued. ‘It’s just that, this time, it sounds like you dialled down the sarcasm and listened … and heard.’