The Good Teacher

by Richard Anderson

  The portrait of Mack looked down at her. Instead of judging her or telling her she was a home-wrecker it told her his eyes weren’t quite right, and something about the hair … She squinted at it and still couldn’t see how to correct it. It had been like that for weeks now and she still couldn’t see her way through. The hair wasn’t a big deal but she had changed the eyes several times. Each time they had improved in a small way but not enough to be right. She had painted him without his thick glasses because she wanted him to appear as a visionary. But in real life when Mack took his glasses off he squinted and scrunched up his face. It was very hard to get a good look at what his eyes were actually like. She had one photo of him plain-faced without his glasses and it was a side-on shot that wasn’t much help.

  Madison wondered what Mack looked like as a younger man. Handsome, no doubt, and definitely rugged. He had a large head with powerful features even though they’d drooped and slackened with time. She remembered some photos of him when her father was a little boy. Perhaps they’d help. She could place younger eyes on his older head. It was a very pleasing realisation.

  SARAH

  Ian rang every day, as she hoped he would, first on her mobile and then when she screened it, on Nikki’s house phone. Nikki would say: ‘She’ll talk to you when she’s ready. Bye.’ Or put the kids on so he could talk to them. That was as far as it went. For the first week away from him, that first week of the holidays, the idea of hearing his voice made her feel sickly inside. The pleading note in his voice from the bedroom was still ringing in her head, and the bottom, that damned bare bottom, would not go away.

  Staying with Nikki in her comfortable, over-appointed house and lush, symmetrical garden, while Joel spent long hours at work, was a bit like a holiday. Nikki helped with the daily routine of the children and came with them on first-time bus trips and excursions to the zoo and the beach and the park, and in between they got the chance to catch up properly. Nikki seemed happy with her life. Her children, Amber and Daniel, were both travelling overseas, and her small interior design consultancy, which she ran from home, was going well. She could pick and choose her clients and claim tours around the world as business expenses in her endless search for fabrics, furniture and ideas. It was inconceivable to Sarah how some people, even her sister, found or created a life like this. In her own life, there had never been a point where this sort of glamorous, have-whatever-you-want option had presented itself as even a distant possibility. It did sound a bit lonely though, and given the way Sarah had been feeling she knew she would much rather dispense with glamour if it meant avoiding loneliness.

  The house was so big she began to wonder if moving in full-time wasn’t a very good idea. They could all share in Nikki’s beautiful life and maybe lessen the pain of living with Joel. (If there was any pain.)

  When she took the kids for a walk or an outing without Nikki she thought about jobs she could do. According to the paper, office administrators were needed, as well as receptionists, cleaners and dog walkers. There seemed any amount of things available. Nikki had asked her if she’d ever considered going into business for herself. Sarah wasn’t sure what business she could go into until Nikki said, shaking her head: ‘You are such a good cook. I’d pay good money for your biscuits and cakes.’ It was something to think about.

  Dreaming up a life in the city with a new job and new surroundings and even new friends was its own kind of vacation. She imagined herself slimmer and better dressed, with expensive hair, driving a nice car and being taken to dinner by sincere, attractive, interesting men (Damien and Julia didn’t find their way into that fantasy). She looked at cute houses she could live in and possible schools for the kids. It was a lovely little dream, but except for those first shocking days she knew it was not going to happen. Even if she could not bear to look at Ian she would find a way to survive with him while the kids were small. She did not want them separated from their father in those early years.

  Her own father was a man she loved dearly and for much of her early life considered a hero: afraid of nothing and capable of easily fixing most problems. Later on, she saw that he wasn’t heroic in any way and didn’t bother with problems at all. He ignored them, avoided disagreement and pretended difficulties were something someone else could fix. But she loved him still. It would have driven any normal woman insane, but Sarah’s mum, who came from a family that fought viciously all the time, thought it was an attractive quality because he made sure there was never a fight. It was a lesson for Sarah in the good outweighing the bad. Ian’s infidelity may not be his last, but for the moment it was his only infidelity. If he did it again that would be a different problem. For now she was going to compartmentalise it: still a betrayal, still a brutal selfish thing to do, but something that might be ‘got past’ (and not without some punishment for Ian).

  Once she established this idea and decided she knew where she stood, other ideas pushed their way in. What if he was in love? What if he genuinely had feelings for Madison? He couldn’t honestly expect to take the relationship any further, not with a girl who hadn’t even left school. But sometimes the heart made its own decisions. Ian might have turned into one of those silly middle-aged men who couldn’t walk away from a one-off dalliance.

  The idea of Ian loving someone else hurt her suddenly and deeply. What had driven him to it? She had to admit, with the demands of the kids and their busy days, their sex life mightn’t have been what you’d call high octane, and men had such needs, didn’t they? But there was a big difference between thinking and desiring and actually doing. To take that girl on the floor of their own bedroom with the kids not two rooms away … it made her gasp.

  Perhaps now he only saw her as the mother of his children and not someone he could desire or really love? She’d put some weight on since the kids, but no more than anyone else. What was he thinking? Did he dream he was going to make it a regular thing every time she went a P&C meeting?

  Sarah dared to look at herself in one of Nikki’s full-length mirrors. She saw a short woman, with straight light-brown hair, a round face and a round body. The face was pretty—not stunning, but pleasant, smooth and maybe even appealing.

  If Jennifer and Brock hadn’t got together, none of this would have happened. Or least she would never have found out it was happening and she wouldn’t have that image in her brain. That reminded her about Nikki’s suggestion she confirm her suspicions. She rang Angela’s number.

  ‘Sarah. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. I heard you’d gone away and I didn’t even know you were going.’

  ‘It was a bit of a last-minute thing.’

  ‘You didn’t make it to golf.’ Angela giggled. Sarah played a good game but she’d confided in Angela that she never really enjoyed it and only went to be part of the group. ‘Have you been having phone trouble? I tried your mobile. Anyway, you missed everything.’

  Sarah held her breath, nodding to herself. What did they say? The truth will out.

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘You heard about the fire?’

  Sarah hadn’t heard about the fire because she refused to take Ian’s calls. Angela told her in great detail about the meeting and Brock opening the door and the eventual destruction of the school.

  ‘We still don’t know what caused it. The police think it will be another couple of weeks or so before we know.’

  ‘What about the school?’

  ‘Jennifer’s trying to get one of those transportable classrooms. Says the signs are good.’

  Sarah had intended to ask if there was any scandal or any gossip she’d missed out on, but the news of the fire had overtaken everything. Their lovely school and all those books and the children’s work, incinerated.

  ‘Is Jennifer okay?’ It didn’t sound like a strange question.

  ‘She’s fine. A little shaken at the time of the fire but seems back on track now.’

  ‘She and Brock getting on?’

  ‘Yes. I think so. Why?’


  Nikki was right. Nobody knew. Angela didn’t know much about subtlety or spin. If she knew something she would have at least hinted at it.

  ‘Oh, no reason. I just had this feeling, in the meeting, that there was something between them.’

  ‘Between them good or between them bad?’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  ‘I’ve obviously missed something. I usually do. They seemed fine to me. Getting on famously.’

  Sarah didn’t like to picture them getting on famously.

  ‘When I was in that meeting, I shouldn’t say this …’

  Angela didn’t take the cue to offer an encouraging prompt.

  ‘I was sure they’d been doing it. Recently. Not long before the meeting.’

  ‘Sarah Howard! Are you serious?’

  ‘I was then. I thought you were all ignoring it and I was the one just finding out about it.’

  ‘Oh god, Sarah, I’m sorry. I had no clue. I was just sitting there in a blear, as per normal. I didn’t have an inkling. I would never be able to hide something like that from you.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah took a grip on the edge of the table. She had known this is what Angela would say. Of course Angela would be supportive, would want to share. But somehow on that night it had felt as if no one was on Sarah’s side. How silly she’d been.

  ‘Really. Could it be true?’

  ‘Probably not. I guess we’ll see. But please don’t say anything to anyone. I’d hate to spread a story that wasn’t true.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  After she put the phone down Sarah felt so much better she almost wanted to skip across Nikki’s sparkling floor. She had friends who cared about her, who had never stopped caring about her. Life was much better than she had allowed herself to imagine. And then she thought about the fire and marvelled at how much could happen at one small school in such a short space of time.

  One day, after a visit to the park with the kids, she walked back towards the house and saw a white utility she knew. Ian had come looking for her. There was nothing much she could do except face up to him. The kids were hungry and no doubt in need of a toilet. When they neared, he got out of the ute. He was better looking than she remembered but worse looked after. He’d done a terrible job of ironing his shirt. Surely a grown man could iron his own shirt properly? His childishness was infuriating. He couldn’t control his penis and he couldn’t iron a shirt and no doubt he was eating his meals at the pub. Where did he get the idea he had a right to be so pathetic?

  The children were pleased to see him at least. She shooed them inside after they’d hugged him.

  ‘Sare.’

  ‘Ian.’

  ‘I made a mistake, a stupid hurtful mistake.’

  ‘You did.’ It was a surprise. It came out firm and self-assured, just as she hoped it might.

  ‘I’m here to beg you to come back. I love you and I can’t live without you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘If you know, come back. We have a home and a farm and a great family.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You will?’ He moved as if he might hug her. She put up a finger to stop him.

  ‘We’ll be home at the end of the holidays. One week. But you’re in the spare room and that place better be absolutely spotless.’

  ‘It will. It will. It definitely will. That’s such great news.’

  ‘All right. I don’t want you around here now. Find yourself a motel. I’ll see you when we get home.’

  She walked to the house, enjoying her strength and the sound of her commanding voice. What did her father say about ill winds blowing no good?

  JENNIFER

  The police asked a lot of questions, none of them particularly hard to answer, to do with where and why and what time. The investigation was being led by a pudgy Detective Grant Johnson, who was based in Fresh Well. When the interview was over, Johnson, whose suit was under more duress than Jennifer, pulled a sort of Columbo stunt. As she was getting up to leave, a uniform opening the door for her, he asked: ‘Do you smoke, Mrs Booth?’

  It was almost offhand, a social question to do with something unrelated: ‘Do you like artichokes, Mrs Booth?’ But she was ready for it, even if the timing put her off balance.

  ‘No.’ Then she made out to be thinking about it. ‘I did have a couple, about two years ago late at night—’ she giggled, girlish with a hint of coy, ‘—when I’d had much too much to drink, but normally I don’t.’

  He smiled at her but not with his eyes. Just as casually, he said: ‘Know anyone connected with the school who does?’

  She screwed up her eyes and after some more thought said, shrugging and apologetic: ‘The principal does.’

  Johnson didn’t react so Jennifer gave him a moment and said: ‘I saw the ashtrays in his house when I’ve visited him for P&C business.’

  The detective looked very interested at this. ‘I didn’t know that. Thank you. Popular, is he, Brock Kelly?’

  ‘Very. We don’t get many good teachers out here and he’s a good teacher.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Booth.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective.’

  She left the building feeling like she dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s, although it did make Brock’s position a bit more difficult. They would probe him on whether he smoked or not. He would have to decide whether he was going to confess early or hold off until the cause of the fire was established and then admit to being a liar. It would be fair of her to tell him what she’d told the detective, but then it never paid to show all your cards, especially when something so important rested on the outcome of the game.

  Andy was waiting for her in the small, asphalt car park, anxious to see that she hadn’t been mistreated. As if the police could mistreat her, she thought. She had to be careful not to mistreat them.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  Her shoes scraped on errant pebbles as she stopped and looked at him. He stood next the car, large hands on hips, ready to defend her honour. A good man to have on your side. She knew he’d been pacing. He was a nice man. He had always been a nice man, right from their first encounter when she’d been seated next to him at Cassie Allen’s eighteenth birthday party. Right then and there she knew he was exactly what she was looking for: conservative, honest, likeable, hard-bodied, with genuine capital. She had wanted him straight away and he had lived up to every one of those attributes, even if you couldn’t describe him as hard-bodied anymore. Sure they were young, but when you found what you wanted you had to go for it. She was twenty-one when Madison was born and it had never seemed a day too early.

  What she wanted now wasn’t quite so clear-cut. And here he was, doing his best to be her knight in shining armour, unaware that she was his Guinevere and Lancelot was a primary school teacher with a collection of worn-out joggers.

  She got in the car with him. ‘Everything’s okay, Andy. Everything’s okay.’

  They drove out of town with Andy asking intermittent questions about the interview. Jennifer was short with her answers. She was already bored with the interview. It had been handled and she had moved on.

  Then her mobile rang. It was Susie Green. The last thing she wanted right now, the last thing she ever wanted, was a call from Susie Green. Susie asked how she was and Jennifer told her she was fine despite having just being interrogated by the police.

  ‘Then this is probably the worst time to tell you, but I’m afraid I’ve just got to. Someone has to.’

  ‘What is it, Susie?’ She made sure her voice stayed casual in case Susie was about to reveal that she knew about Brock and the cigarette and the fire. She couldn’t guess how Susie might know, but she didn’t want to risk Andy cottoning on.

  ‘Sarah went away for the holidays because she caught Ian having an affair.’

  ‘Oh, that’s terrible. How awful. Is she all right?’

  The phone was silent. Jennifer began to wonder if Sarah hadn’t done some damage to herself. Silly woman.

&n
bsp; ‘Jennifer, I’m told by my friends in town that the person Ian was having the affair with was Madison.’

  Jennifer couldn’t hold her nonchalance or the phone. It slipped from her hand and she had to grab it against her neck and juggle it nervously back into place. Andy looked across at her, slowed the car and asked questions with his eyes.

  ‘And how would these people in town know, Susie?’

  ‘Maybe they don’t. They could be wrong. But their daughters are friends of Madison’s and the mothers overheard conversations, read some texts.’

  ‘Teenage girls say all sorts of things. I hardly think their chatter is a reason to incriminate my daughter.’

  The phone was silent again. Her husband was waving a free hand around, demanding explanation. Jennifer pushed a palm at him to keep him in place.

  ‘Sarah left the day after the meeting.’

  ‘I’m really disappointed you’d stoop this low, Susie.’

  In the dark soil paddock on her right, a man in the glass cabin of a tractor pulling a sowing plant waved at them. She waved back without thought. Andy put both hands on the wheel.

  ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t mentioned this to anyone else but I really thought you should know.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you should be more careful whose eavesdropping you listen to.’

  Jennifer hung up the phone. Ridiculous idea. Andy wanted to know what was going on and she couldn’t think what to do except tell him.

  ‘It’s possible.’

  She could see he was in that grim limbo between outrage and scepticism.

  ‘How can you think that, Andy? She’s not that sort of girl.’

  ‘What sort of girl? Free spirited and single-minded?’ The speed increased and his powerful hands throttled the wheel.

  ‘Loose. I don’t think she’s even had a boyfriend.’ Jennifer gave her nose a little wipe with a primness that matched the way she said ‘boyfriend’.