‘Serious?’
‘Serious. Meet me and I’ll tell.’
She described how she was allowed to ride her horse down to her grandfather’s house and said she could extend it and meet him off the road somewhere.
‘Asking for trouble’ would be her mother’s assessment of any girl agreeing to meet her married lover, and if she knew Madison was planning to meet Ian, the assessment would have been a lot more severe. But you had to live. You couldn’t stay in your bedroom forever and, besides that, Ian might have information important to her family. Something to do with her mother and the principal could be seriously mundane but Mack’s comments about the investigator’s suspicions and the smell of cigarette from the car made Madison think there was a possibility that her mother was involved in something more significant than P&C matters.
So they agreed to meet where the myall trees were thickest in the travelling stock reserve that jutted into the Booth property. She tied Zumba up to a low branch and waited behind the grey-green veil of the hanging myall leaves. Soon enough, his ute appeared. He parked a distance away and walked to the trees. Ian had morphed back into his usual self: upright, tight-muscled and firm-jawed, except for a slight discolouration on that jaw. The whimperer had disappeared. Despite her better and much-challenged judgement, it was pleasing to see him. He stood a distance from her and said a confident ‘Hi’. Once again he was leading her to the bedroom, her heart pounding, breath catching.
For a while they talked like they were still texting, in short chunks, non sequiturs, looking over their shoulders and responding to every distant noise. But soon he began to make small jokes about himself and she couldn’t help giggling and relaxing and feeling happy in his company. It was dangerous, very dangerous.
‘So, what’s this information that’s so powerful?’
‘Ah well.’ He shrugged as if he might have been bluffing and looked out towards the concrete water tank and long trough in the distance.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t know whether I should tell you now.’
Zumba stamped an impatient foot but Madison refused to take the hint. ‘Come on. We had a deal.’
‘Sarah’s pretty certain that your mother and that new principal are having an affair.’
Madison felt her eyes go wide and she blinked to recover and forced her brow to furrow in disapproval. Who made up something like that?
‘How does she know? Did she see them or something?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Not exactly?’
‘She saw them afterwards, in the meeting.’
‘They were still getting dressed?’ It was making less and less sense.
‘No. She just knows about these things. She does. Believe me.’ He looked at her intently.
‘Sounds like you’ve made up a story to get me out here.’
Ian took a couple of steps towards her. ‘I haven’t made it up. I did want to see you. But I can tell you Sarah is very rarely wrong about these things. You haven’t noticed anything?’
‘No.’
‘Your mother doesn’t go to the school more than she used to?’ His tone was confident, as if he were helping her solve a simple puzzle.
‘Yeah, but just for P&C stuff.’
‘Is there more P&C stuff than there used to be?’ She shrugged. ‘There was a fire and there’s a new classroom.’
‘I can’t prove anything but I know who I’d bet on.’ He had that grin now and it caught her, drew her in against her will.
‘I can bet you my mother wouldn’t be getting together with the school principal.’
‘All right, let’s have a bet. I bet you she is. What’s the prize if I win?’
‘Well, you don’t get me, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ It was supposed to come out as a harsh retort to put him in his place, but instead it sounded half-coy. He laughed and reached for her hand and she didn’t pull it away. He leaned in to kiss her and she responded then pulled back. It took all her will. She could feel her ears reddening with the heat of it and might have kissed him again if she hadn’t seen the raw hunger on his face. The advantage was a thrilling, unexpected saviour.
‘It can’t be me because Sarah would know if she knows about these things. A hundred bucks is the bet.’
‘What do we do for proof?’
‘That’s your problem. I don’t have to prove anything. My mum’s a married woman with no track record for this sort of thing and there are no rumours. Therefore you have to prove she’s guilty.’
She broke away, walked over and untied Zumba. Ian was standing watching her, confident she wouldn’t leave.
‘You can’t go now. We just got here.’
She looked him up and down and thought how nice it would be to grab him and have him right there, in the sticks and leaves. But the thought of Sarah and those lovely kids made her turn away and try a new skill: responsibility. She mounted and turned her horse away, wondering if she could make a rude joke about ‘last mounts’. Instead she said: ‘That makes it a good time to leave. See ya.’
He was left standing in the trees.
SARAH
In the Fresh Well supermarket, which she did not consider ‘super’, Sarah battled with the children, the trolley and the colourful traps at eye level. At one time she had almost enjoyed food shopping: taking her time to think about the meals she would make for herself and Ian and friends who might come over. Now it was just part of the week’s work. At least now she could sometimes do it when Damien was at school and Julia in kindy. Not today. She had only managed to make it into town after school.
She was removing a box of crackers from Julia’s distressed hands when she happened to look towards the end of the aisle and see Jennifer and Madison go past, talking, not looking down the aisle, obviously confident they knew their way around. Her heart took a couple of beats of time out and she had to grip the nearest shelf—Snack Foods. Her first inclination, after righting herself, was to get out, avoid a confrontation and her own potential explosion. The two Booth women in one place together: two villains in her life. She could feel the steam coming out of her ears. So she decided to make her way through her shopping list as normal, and if she ran into them she would deal with it and if she didn’t, then well and good. She nonchalantly picked her way down the aisle and when she got to the end considered she could excuse herself if she turned right, away from where she thought the Booths were, instead of left, the way she needed to go. She looked hurriedly to the left as if expecting an oncoming truck and then pushed the trolley forward, kids on board, and ran head-on into Jennifer and Madison’s trolley coming from the other direction. There was a harsh clatter of metal and Damien squealed excitedly: ‘Mum!’ The three women stood abruptly still, looked at each other and no one said anything. Jennifer appeared to swallow the words fizzing on her lips (probably ‘Fucking idiot’) and forced a smile. Sarah had too many phrases in her head to sensibly select one: ‘You ruined my marriage’; ‘You’re not going to get away with blaming Ian for everything’; ‘I know you’re sleeping with Brock’; ‘Your husband is a thug’; ‘Like mother, like god-damn-daughter.’
Sarah could not think of a polite way forward and what she really wanted to do was ram her trolley into Jennifer’s until Jennifer backed off for fear of her hands and her ankles and all Sarah’s rage and embarrassment and humiliation was finally dissipated in the air-conditioned music-pumped air.
Eventually the children took charge and whispered: ‘Hi Madison’, and then Madison said, staring directly at Sarah: ‘I’m so sorry. I did a terrible thing. I’m so ashamed.’
Sarah did her best not to show it but it melted her. This girl was taking responsibility. She wasn’t hiding behind her age or circumstance or Ian’s forcefulness, and it felt generous and brave. Jennifer, slim and steely-eyed, looked like she was waiting in line for something. Her face said she didn’t know any of them and had no reason to engage. She simply had to wait until they had finished whatever they were doing.
Sarah manoeuvred her trolley out of the collision zone, smiled as sweetly as she could manage and said: ‘Thanks for saying it. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of blame to go around.’ She was in the meat section before she dared to let her head drop from its haughty spot.
On the way home Damien asked her why she was so funny around Madison and she told him: ‘Sometimes when you’re an adult you just don’t know what to say.’ It was a good enough answer for both of them.
BROCK
A couple of weeks into term, a classroom turned up on the back of a truck. A ute-load of men came with the truck and they plopped the classroom down in the bare area next to the playground and explained that another crew would come and make sure it was wired to go by the end of the week. It was so obviously the work of Jennifer that Brock was surprised it didn’t have ‘courtesy of Jennifer Booth’ emblazoned on the side.
He was pleased to have it, but he couldn’t teach in it until it was wired so another week of schooling outdoors and under the Covered Learning Area loomed. That probably wasn’t legal but knowing the department they wouldn’t have paid sufficient attention to know that Stony Creek only had one classroom and when that was gone they had nothing except the toilet block, a couple of garden sheds full of junk and a little sports equipment shed.
If the weather held, teaching outside would continue to be all right and he knew the novelty still hadn’t worn off for the children. Maybe he could teach them on their new verandah. He sent out a note warning parents the children would need to be dressed for the outdoors again and asked for co-operation and patience. Then he proceeded to work on lessons that would make use of the situation. Something on weather would be good: temperature, wind, types of clouds and maybe even air pressure. A nature walk might have been productive if he knew anything about nature, but as far as he was concerned the trees were all gums and the birds were all magpies. If he could draft a parent to lead the nature walk that would be the solution and a sophisticated public relations move too. This group of parents liked to be involved and liked to see the kids learning about the natural environment. He added the request to his missive and then despaired at the pointlessness of it all.
He would probably be gone in a couple of weeks. Word had snaked out that the cause of the fire had been established. He would most likely be called in by the police soon for another selection of cunning questions. Then it would be time to pack his bags. He probably wasn’t even worthy of a goodbye party. Even if they decided to put one on, it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d want to attend: a sad wake for the still-existing. What would he be heading back to? He had friends in the city, and family, which was a comfort but nothing more. They couldn’t create a future for him. His fingers dangled over the delete button, ready to lay waste to everything. They wouldn’t know what they’d had till it was gone. Who cared what happened at Stony Creek now?
The truth was: he did. He cared, and it was alarming how much he cared. So much that he considered it was his responsibility to do his best to the end. He felt immediately noble and worthy, rising above the hurt the community had laid on him. Except they hadn’t put it on him, he’d put it on himself. They’d actually been very nice.
The big pay-off hadn’t been what he’d hoped for either. He’d sent Jennifer clever little cryptic emails and even left a couple of messages on her answering machine, asking her to meet with him to ‘see what comes up’ and ‘go over some old territory’. But she just ignored him. You had to give it to her, she was tough. He thought the phone messages would get her running, but they didn’t. So he gave up. He wasn’t a manipulator or a blackmailer at heart. It was why he hadn’t been more successful at past schools.
Before he had tried to blackmail her, though, he had felt that she had a genuine hunger for him at both encounters. Clearly not. Deep down, it surprised and disappointed him. Maybe she was just hungry for men in general and had them hanging by threads all around the community. It made his departure even more bleak. He was beginning to feel particularly dark about everything.
That week, he took to strolling around the outside of the new classroom in the afternoons, sometimes thinking about the best ways to use it and sometimes not thinking at all. As soon as he could, he would put up pictures and posters. When the new books eventually arrived they would have to be displayed, perhaps across the tables, to make the room feel like a classroom and not a cell block.
He was walking around the classroom so many times, a path was appearing. It was perhaps time to do something else or run the risk of the community considering him a loony. So he restricted himself to one turn around the block on Thursday and Friday.
On Saturday, after he’d completed a morning circumambulation, the electricians turned up to do the wiring. At the time he was wondering if he could handle a beer so early in the day, when he saw his not-quite-as-shiny four-wheel-drive in his driveway and an idea struck him. Instead of beer or walking in circles, which the electricians would think was weird, he would take his new car and explore the area before his final departure. He could turn the music up and enjoy the sights. That was a better idea, wasn’t it? So he packed himself a picnic, checked the tyres and the fuel like a good country man, and set off.
The scenery was quite something: distant blue-green hills placed like couches around the flat black soil plain carpet. The road was rough and stony but his new car kept the ride smooth and comfortable while the music system faultlessly recreated perfect notes. There were multicoloured crops he didn’t know the names of (sorghum? canola?) and cattle, definitely cattle, an occasional sheep, yep, and many large pieces of machinery and great silvery silo constructions. At the top of a rise, where there was an open patch alongside the road and a view over the plain, he stopped, got out his lunch, lifted the back hatch to the car and sat there looking out over the undulations that turned into watercourse and floodplain. He smoked a cigarette and drank thermos coffee and thought sadly that maybe he was a country principal after all, and how good it would be to know the names of the crops and the properties and the landmarks. Then he packed up his lunch things and got back in the car and turned back towards his temporary home.
The tour lifted his spirits so much that as he neared the turn-off to Stony Creek he decided he would do it again and go even further next time. He would print detailed maps from the net, and farming information, and really educate himself about the area.
As he got ready to make the turn, a much larger four-wheel-drive came speeding towards him and cut the corner in front of him without giving way or waving an apology. He was only taking his time, but it was something of a shock, especially when he saw at the last minute that the driver was a wild-eyed Jennifer. She must have recognised him when it was too late because once round the corner she drove a little way and then pulled over. She got out and stood at her car door watching him. He pulled in behind her car and parked. It looked like he was in for a reprimand of some sort. She walked towards him, looking slightly feverish. He could only guess that either she’d got a twenty-four-hour lurgy or the police had worked out what had happened and confronted her about it and soon everyone would know what they’d been up to and what she’d done.
But she leaned in the car window and kissed him full on the mouth and then reefed his door open and within seconds was in the car, straddling him while he hadn’t time to take his foot off the brake pedal. Things proceeded at a pace his brain couldn’t keep up with: urgent and passionate and even a little bit scary. They were in the car, right there, on the side of the road. When they were finished she wiped down her skirt with a tissue, tied it in a little parcel and put it in her coat pocket, adjusted her buttons and hair and got out of the car without a word or a gesture. A white ute whizzed past and she waved as if she had been attending to another one of her many daily duties.
For the next few days she turned up at his house and the same thing happened. It was so ferocious and desperate that Brock could only think that she genuinely wanted him and wasn’t doing it solely to keep him
to his word.
Nevertheless, it had the effect of making him keep his word. He jettisoned any plan to tell the truth or expose Jennifer. He knew it was a bit pathetic that he was so easily bought off, but what could he do? He was happy to admit he was well and truly bought and considered all bets paid. He was ready to do his best for the school and accept his fate.
IAN
He felt like he’d made some progress with Madison. Yes, she’d flipped him off at their first get-together after the incident, but she’d agreed to that meeting (none since), hadn’t run off at the first sight of him and there was a good vibe between them. A bit of flirty stuff even.
It was clear he had to take it slow and earn her trust. The best way to do that would be with messages: short, lighthearted, assuming nothing. The little bet about Jennifer having an affair was his ticket in. He had no intention of ‘proving’ anything about Jennifer and Brock, but he was sure he could make stuff up to keep the conversation alive.
Since then he had taken to looking at himself in the mirror, naked and clothed, and he liked what he saw. He’d never really paid much attention to mirrors but now, with a younger woman in mind, it seemed important to keep an eye on himself. He went into Fresh Well to get a haircut, and while he was in there bought a new shirt and a pair of soft canvas shoes like the ones he had seen young men wearing. Bruce Jones, ‘the men’s retailer’, had laughed at him and made stupid comments about Ian trying to spice up his love life. Moron. If only he knew. Ian decided he’d go to the other clothing store next time.
In the supermarket he wandered about, and then sorted through popular men’s deodorants. There were too many choices and he couldn’t think how he would explain to Sarah why he was suddenly smelling like a superhero or a chick-magnet or whatever you were supposed to smell like. He chickened out and went back to his trusted cheap, generic variety.
One Friday he took the momentous decision that three beers a night was too many for a man who wanted to keep his figure. The third one had to go. And then, the following day, as if it was pre-ordained, the god of good timing placed him in his ute heading west near the Greenslope turn, right at the time when in the distance two cars appeared to almost run into each other, on the side of the road, further round the turn. Ian had slowed, wondering if everything was all right, and whether he should go and help them out, when he saw a woman he was pretty sure was Jennifer get out of one car and into the driver’s side of the other, facing the wrong way, when there was already someone in there. Ian had stopped and got out his phone and held it in case anyone wondered why he was pulled over on the side of the road. He couldn’t properly see what was going on in the car but soon enough Jennifer got back out, straightening her clothing before she got back into her own car. Ian put his foot on it, not wanting to be caught spying and knowing he had just hit the jackpot. He saw the principal as he zoomed past.
The Good Teacher Page 10
