‘No.’ I walk away, closing the bedroom door behind me.
‘Just being polite and offering,’ he added.
Wrapping myself up in a blanket, I shuffled over to the couch, offloading control of the remote. I promised myself I was going to watch a little television, raid the picnic basket and enjoy my company. How could I not? It was such a juxtaposition to have one person who should be there not show up and, yet, another who didn’t owe me a thing show up without so much as a request. My resolve to stay awake lasted until I decided to use Marcus for a couch, resting my head on his leg, snuggling in to the rear of the couch. I was out cold.
I woke when Marcus tried to shuffle off to the bathroom carefully. He was never going to succeed, but I loved that he at least tried with gentle hands and soft movements. When he returned, he placed the picnic basket on the floor by the coffee table and sat back down. I reclaimed my place on his leg.
‘You look funny from this angle.’ I reached up, poking and prodding at his face.
Cupping a hand over my cheek, he said, ‘Newsflash, I look funny from every angle.’
Smiling, I pinched the end of his nose. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘This is a common occurrence, isn’t it?’
‘Very.’ I checked myself. ‘Well, only as common as every time I’m expecting her. It’s not an every weekend thing.’
‘I feel like I should say something, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I need to ask you something.’
‘Go for it.’
‘Why do you let her do it?’
‘I don’t let her do it.’ A disbelieving laugh bubbled to the surface as I sat up. ‘You think I want her to do this?’
‘No, no, no.’ His shoulders sank. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it as if to say you encourage it. I just mean that you give her the opportunity to hurt you. You agree to her coming down even though, deep down, you know she won’t turn up.’
‘You’re saying I should tell her not to bother?’ I said.
‘Well, I mean, she keeps hurting you, doesn’t she? This hurts. And please don’t say it doesn’t, because I can see it all over your face.’ He drew his fingers through my hair. ‘You walked in here and the first thing you did was nap. It’s mentally exhausting.’
I pressed my lips into a thin line and took a breath. ‘I’ve spent the last twenty-five years trying to work out why she doesn’t want me.’
‘I can’t answer that for you, I wish I could, but I just think that this is toxic behaviour. Actually, I don’t want to say toxic, because I don’t know, but it pulls you in and spits you out just as quickly. Why agree to her requests? Why give her the chance to hurt you?’
‘I deserve better.’
‘Absolutely you do.’ Marcus shifted, almost cocooning me between him and the sofa. ‘If it were me, and she were to call again, I wouldn’t engage. No, you can’t visit, don’t tell me you’re coming if you’re only planning on not showing. It’s childish and ridiculous, and I can’t wrap my head around why she does this. It makes no sense.’
‘I just want her to engage with me as an adult. Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to do?’
‘Have you discussed this with her?’ he asked. ‘I know my mum gets a little funny if I try and bring stuff up, but she eventually comes around.’
I had tried, a few times, more so in the last few years, but I could never get a straight answer. There was always an excuse for cancelled flights, from her husband’s work or other commitments she’d forgot about, but she would never address the problem directly. It was as if she were scared to put something out into the world. Whatever her reason, I was no wiser. The one time I pushed, she shouted and hung up the phone.
Like every other time this happened, I didn’t want to spend a lot of time dwelling on it either. It was a recipe for doom and gloom and, well, I didn’t want to. I wanted to enjoy that fact that, instead, I was here with Marcus. After all, I’d spent all week looking forward to some alone time with him. I leaned forward and peered into the basket. So. Much. Tasty. Food.
‘Tell me something,’ Marcus said.
‘Sure.’
‘What did you have planned today? Were you going to do something special or were you going to sit around here all day?’ he asked.
‘Well, I had bought tickets for the P-12 College school play.’
‘Which is?’
I smiled.
‘Please don’t say Cats.’
I meowed.
* * *
That was how we found ourselves sitting in the middle of a darkened school theatre watching a play I was sure both of us had seen more than once before. We’d gobbled down the contents of the picnic basket as an early dinner, though the cake had escaped under the pretence of dessert later tonight.
A perfectly wonderful buzz filled stalls before performances, it was a nervous energy for both the audience and performers, and for entirely different reasons. Once upon a time, it was something I’d done regularly. I’d put on a nice dress, collect our front row tickets and a glass of bubbly, and wait for the stalls to open. Tonight was more relaxed. I didn’t feel like I was under any obligation to be here.
‘Will this give you flashbacks?’ I leaned into Marcus as he placed his coat across my knees.
‘It is entirely possible.’ He kissed my cheek. ‘I’ll just have to hang on to you for good luck.’
A slippery jolt ran through me as his fingers grazed the top of my knee. I wasn’t sure if the goose bumps that raced along my arms were from the air conditioners, or him. Who am I kidding? It was definitely him. Squeezing gently, he looked to me for approval as he let go and slipped his hand under the hem of my dress and up the length of my thigh. White hot electricity chased the fingerprints I was sure he was leaving, through my core, and tugged at the base of my belly in an almost silent room.
‘You can’t do that now.’ I brushed his hand away and tried to stifle a laugh.
‘Why not?’
‘We’ve got hours of this to get through before you can do anything about that,’ I whispered.
‘Is that so?’
‘That is so.’
‘We could leave now?’ In the darkened room, seconds before the stage lights burned to life, I saw him crook an eyebrow.
‘This was your idea.’
‘And so is this.’ He kissed me again.
‘You do realise my place is closer?’
‘Oh, I know.’ I smiled.
* * *
Where I’d expected to find a body beside me the next morning, I found nothing more than a warm shadow and ruffled sheets. I was alone. The only consolation to that being the knowledge that there’d be little chance Marcus had bolted from his own home.
We’d all but run home from the theatre, taking a short cut through an empty block of land and knee-high grass to tumble through the front door and up the staircase, just as we had the first time I’d gone home with him. But that was where the similarities ended.
The first time we’d slept together had been crude and frantic. We were in such a rush to get to the result that we hadn’t thought to pad out the middle and enjoy ourselves. This time, as he moved above me, he did so slowly and with care. We touched, explored, and revelled in the feel of each other’s skin, fingers intertwined, and mumbled nuances of instruction to each other. More than anything, we laughed.
It was that same laughter that dragged me from my thoughts to the activity happening downstairs. A dog’s too long toenails scratched excitedly across floor tiles as the front door opened.
‘What on earth are you dancing about?’ Marcus asked Daisy through laughter. ‘Where’s Ellie?’
Daisy, who’d slept downstairs all night, appeared at the bedroom door first. Marcus, dressed down in tracksuit pants and an old T-shirt, appeared next, a weighted plastic bag in one hand, a tray of coffee in the other.
‘I didn’t have anything much in the cupboards, so I thought I’d just grab a few things from the bakery.’ He held up
a plastic shopping bag.
I sat up, pulling the duvet around me. ‘A few things?’
He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure what to get, really.’
It was a lazy morning in the Blair household. We set ourselves up outside on the rear deck. Kicking back under the warmth of the sun, I’d found myself some drawstring shorts and an old T-shirt to wear. With breakfast, a seemingly never-ending coffee, and Marcus by my side, it felt like my troubles were all but distant memories. For today at least, but I hoped that it would last longer.
Chapter 24
‘Okay, so what have we got?’ Phil took the coffee offered from Marcus and pulled up a chair at Roger’s desk.
‘So, firstly, the yearbook should be delivered by the end of this week,’ Marcus said. ‘Eleanor finished that last Wednesday night. I sent it off for printing first thing Thursday. Yes, that sounds about right.’
‘That’s right.’ I turned from where I was sat at his desk, scrolling through emails from suppliers. ‘You were working with Patrick, so I finished it off.’
Phil wrinkled his nose like a sour odour had wafted into the room. ‘Things are going well then, I take it?’
They were. Well, if he were referring to what was happening behind closed doors. After breakfast yesterday, we’d retreated to spend a large chunk of Sunday in bed, not caring for anything else. We emerged to eat and shower, and that was about as far as we got. But he wasn’t, and if we thought we were going to float away on a sexual cloud of strewn seats and torn foil, we were sorely mistaken. It was Monday, we were back at work, and reality was ready to bite.
The three of us had met early Monday morning in Marcus’s office to discuss where we were. Up until that moment, things had been going well. I opened the newest email, caught sight of the first two sentences, and groaned in annoyance.
‘And that’s the screen printers out,’ I said. ‘They can’t print our backdrop, have refunded our money, and that’s the end of that.’
Marcus hovered over the back of my seat. ‘I’ll look for someone else at lunch.’
I craned my neck to peer back at him. ‘My first class isn’t in this morning. I’ll do it.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
Whether I was sure or not, we didn’t have many options, as Google would tell me later that morning. Our next best hope told us they possibly couldn’t deliver the item in time, but we were welcome to pick up from their warehouse in Ballarat, which was only a five-hour round trip away and one that I’d have to do in business hours. I blew a raspberry at the screen as I read those words, then told them I would do it anyway.
There, that problem was solved.
That was, until Wednesday, when our caterer decided they wouldn’t be able to supply food on the night. A family emergency, they explained, and they’d be one baker short for the next fortnight. It would leave them barely enough staff to cover the shop, and certainly not enough to help us.
I stepped out of the café feeling like Murphy’s law was sprinkling his luck across our week, perhaps even hoping to become a theme. It felt like nothing was going right and, as we walked back towards the school, Marcus was silent beside me, his fingers jabbing at the screen of his phone.
‘Oliver Murray,’ I blurted.
‘What about him?’ he asked.
‘You know him,’ I said. ‘You can ask him to cater. Or Lucy, at least.’
‘I can’t ask him that,’ Marcus exclaimed. ‘That guy has got so much going on besides our silly little night.’
‘It’s not silly and it’s not little,’ I argued. ‘It’s important.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Marcus sighed. ‘I know it’s important, but I really don’t think that he would agree.’
‘Have you asked him?’ I urged. ‘Have you rung and asked him?’
‘We just walked out of there.’ He threw his arm back towards the café. ‘So, no, I haven’t.’
‘Are you going to ring him?’
‘No, no I’m not. I hardly know him. I’ve barely got a good morning from him while I was hanging off scaffolding outside his restaurant, so I can’t just call and ask him to do something cut-price out of the goodness of his heart. He’s out of our league, Eleanor.’
‘Only because you won’t try,’ I snapped. ‘Give me his number.’
‘I don’t have his number.’
‘Then ask Patrick.’ I stood on the spot. ‘I’ll ask Patrick.’
‘I’m not asking Patrick for his number, and neither are you.’
‘No?’ I asked.
‘No.’ Marcus shook his head defiantly. ‘There’ll be somewhere else around here that can do it.’
‘You know, you drive me insane,’ I blurted, turning on my heel and continuing the walk back to the school. I passed another café, and a table full of school mums who sat silent throughout. No doubt we’d just handed them the news headlines of the day.
‘I do, do I?’ He followed me. ‘Well, let me tell you a thing …’
‘No, you’re not telling me a thing, because I’m going back to work.’
‘Eleanor.’
I looked over my shoulder at him. ‘No-anor.’
‘Honestly,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re impossible.’
‘I’m not being impossible, Marcus, I just want things to go right.’
‘You’re right, I know,’ he said. ‘Look, we’ve got the yearbooks arriving tomorrow. Surely they’ll be fine.’
* * *
Our yearbooks arrived on Thursday afternoon in the middle of a class. They were wheeled in unceremoniously on a trolley cart by a delivery girl in shorts, tattered boots and a fluorescent shirt. Neatly packaged and screaming for attention, the most I could do with a library full of students was sign for them and hope everything was okay.
At the end of the day, I closed the office door and drew the blinds. I wanted to see that they were all in order before I went showing them off to anybody else, including Marcus. Over on the other desk, all the things that had gone right this week. There were gift bags, mugs, book vouchers from Thatcher’s, and a box full of cards that were almost ready to go into the bags. I cut at the adhesive with a knife and opened the box.
The smell of fresh print wafted from the box as I pulled out the first of the books. Glossy and colourful and everything they should be, I pored through the contents, looked at the photos of students and their mini-profiles. I recognised most of them and loved that their young voices shone through their words. I feel like we’d captured them perfectly.
The photos from school camps and excursions were big and bold. Tiny anecdotes and swathes of creative writing sat beside lists of favourite books made me feel like maybe I’d had an impact, however small, in the time I’d spent in the classroom with them. They were so beautifully put together.
I shifted as the edge of the desk dug into my hip, and flipped through to the back, to the final few pages, dedicated blank spaces for everyone to sign. There was a page set aside to highlight the organisers and our inspiration for the night.
‘We hope you enjoy our Oscar’s theme tonight. Put together by Marcus Blair, we wanted to …’ my voice drifted off, disappearing into a disbelieving ether.
I had to read the same sentence half a dozen times before it sank in. When it did, it hit me like, well, like a book in the face. I’d been all but erased from the night. All my work, my effort, all of it credited to someone else. It smacked of everything I’d walked away from in the past, and everything I promised myself I’d stay away from as I rebuilt my life. My heart squeezed and my throat became tight. Then came the anger. I picked up a box of the books and walked it down to Marcus’s office.
‘Hey, Eleanor.’ Mick glanced across as me as I walked in the room.
‘Hey, you.’ I offered a contrived smile. ‘Gentlemen, can I please have Marcus to myself for a few minutes?’
Tony snorted, Roger gave him a playful tap on the shoulder, and Mick shuffled out quietly with a questioning look. With his glasses on, tie off, and top two shirt but
tons undone, Marcus looked well on his way to winding down for the night. Everything in his world was seemingly going right.
I rolled Roger’s chair across the floor and sat near him. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Just starting to compile end-of-year reports.’ He rubbed his eye, then cursed the new fingerprint smeared across the lens of his glasses. ‘What’s going on with you?’
I held the box aloft. ‘The yearbooks.’
‘Oh! Exciting.’ He reached for the box. ‘How are you, anyway?’
I was not going to cry. I wasn’t. I bit the inside of my cheek and swallowed down a lump. This was not the place for tears, I reminded myself. All I needed to do was impart my thoughts and leave. I was an adult. I could do this. I’d been through worse. This was a mosquito bite, not a sword’s gash.
‘Eleanor?’ He looked at me briefly. ‘You okay?’
I nodded. ‘Just keep reading.’
‘It’s come up well, don’t you think?’
‘Sure.’
‘Sure? What’s that supposed to mean?’ He flicked through the rest of the book quickly. As his eyes settled on the last page, his frown began deepening. When the realisation hit, his shoulders slumped as he rubbed his mouth. ‘Shit.’
‘Do you remember the other night when you asked me why I was so slow to date you?’
He let out a long, slow groan. ‘Don’t make that correlation, Eleanor.’
‘But this smacks of someone who is all about the spotlight being on them. They’re so busy trying to gather their kudos, to keep their fan club happy, that everyone else pales in comparison.’ I stabbed a finger at the page. ‘Organised by Marcus … no word of anyone else who had anything to do with it.’
‘You know that’s not true,’ he said, shoulders sinking lower with each word.
‘But it is true. It’s there in black and white, and it’s been there since the moment I walked into this school,’ I said. ‘And it’s not even about the accolades or the spotlight. I don’t want to be singled out as the most amazing person ever, because I’m not. It’s about the simple acknowledgement of me as a woman, as a human being who has contributed something.’
Lessons in Love Page 26
