The Good Teacher

by Richard Anderson

  She scrolled through. They were mundane discussions about family and hopes and confusions: personal, sort of emotional, but without being sexy. Shared confidences. For someone like her father, they were very intimate. This was a side of him that was carefully concealed from everybody, except this Abi. It was almost touching to think her father had another dimension, a world of feelings that she didn’t know about.

  She pulled up the last message sent and began idly reading it, almost ready to sign off. But then the bowl slipped in her hands. She placed it carefully on the desk, her eyes never leaving the screen.

  Got a hypothetical for you. Say, in a long term marriage, partner A saw partner B being unfaithful—passionately unfaithful—with an unmarried person. The unmarried person is a blow-in, someone who could easily move on, while partner B is deeply rooted (excuse me) in the local community. What does partner A do? Walk away? Threaten violence? Wait patiently, hoping the whole thing will finish soon? Make sure the unmarried person moves on? What do you think?

  What was this and who was it about? Her first thought was that it was about herself and Ian. But if that was true he was asking from the perspective of Sarah. Why would he do that? And Madison was hardly a blow-in.

  Was this some sort of internet game her father and Abi had devised—relationship hypotheticals? Or was Ian was right? Was this about her parents? She guessed her father wouldn’t be asking these questions if he was Partner B. So her mother was having an affair with a blow-in, which could probably only mean one person (unless she’d taken up with the contract fencers renewing the boundary last week). She was repulsed: at her mother cheating; at her mother having any sort of sex let alone passionate, illicit sex.

  Also, was her father an internet philanderer?

  Abi’s response was unequivocal:

  If partner A still loved the partner B, he or she should do everything in their power to hold on to that relationship. If that means encouraging the problem to leave then so be it.

  Madison appreciated Abi’s advice, because at least theoretically she was on the side of keeping Andy and Jennifer together.

  And then:

  Andy, I’m afraid my partner A has moved on from me. Even though there was no infidelity he just didn’t want to hold onto our relationship.

  Madison felt like writing ‘Boohoo’ but instead she typed into the message box:

  Dear Abi. Piss off.

  For good.

  She sat back and put a foot up on the desk, relishing her sassiness. It didn’t take long for her to realise she’d overdone it. Her father would never have said that. She leant back in, deleted her comment and wrote:

  Dear Abi

  I’m so sorry but I just can’t do this anymore.

  I’m sure you understand.

  sincerest regards

  ABI

  Her response to Andy’s hypothetical was disingenuous, there wasn’t a kinder way to say it. If Andy was ‘A’ then she wanted him to kick ‘B’ out straightaway. Nothing to be proud of but at least she hadn’t expressed it. She had fallen for Andy, online Andy, and his creeping self-awareness, his disguised pleas for tenderness and his general good-natured goodwill. It had nothing to do with her split with Tim but it had certainly filled the space he left, even if he’d left it some time ago. She felt like one of those middle-aged women who fell in love with Nigerian scammers, refusing to believe their love wasn’t reciprocated, wasn’t real, blithely transferring their life savings to their supposed soulmate. And that was why she wasn’t on the computer to Andy for hours at a time. Her ardour was tempered by the intuition that she was an idiot.

  And then the last message. It didn’t sound like him and it was such an abrupt change in tone and attitude that she suspected that Jennifer had decided to step in. She couldn’t believe that Andy would have sent it, which then made her feel even more like a sucker in a romantic scam. Either way, the message meant the end of things. If Andy had sent it, then something drastic had happened and if someone else had sent it, something even more drastic must have happened. So she gave up on the messaging, assuring herself that it was best and the healthiest thing to do. It was important to stop fantasising about an unseen, married man.

  Tim had moved in with a woman, a girl, from HR (of course). Could he have been more clichéd? The whole time he had maintained vociferously that there was no one else, he just didn’t feel right with Abi anymore. She had accused him and castigated and sneered at him anyway. When he moved in with whatever-her-name-was, Abi was mug-smashingly furious, but she quickly realised it was the fury of a sore loser, not the fury of the heartbroken, of someone who actually cared. It didn’t stop her texting obscene abuse to him as if the nasty words were needed to fill the hole left by the sweet ones. Expressing the rage made her feel better about everything.

  Her children, Lee and Kate, were hurting, she knew that. They were teenagers and they had seen plenty of divorces among their friends’ parents, but it made them angry too and sometimes mean. They wanted to spend time with their father but he was preoccupied. Why wouldn’t he be? He was hardly a looker or charismatic or even fun to be around, and he had landed a much younger, presumably attractive, woman. And all of this she’d been meaning to tell Andy, the one person she wanted to share it with. But now it was a no-go zone. That hurt. It was hard to be always doing the right thing and still be punished for it.

  The remaining good thing about Tim was that he’d been very successful. There were no money issues except for low-level bickering. The school fees were fine, the house payments were no problem, and Abi didn’t have to suddenly go out and get a job (even if it would have been a good idea).

  To make herself feel better she made up new fantasies where she went to visit Andy and Jennifer or just happened to see them in the street and they invited her for dinner. On quiet walks alone with Andy, he found her irresistible and they pledged to be together forever. She could see herself as the country matriarch, baking, serving beautiful meals, organising staff and family, tending the perfect sprawling garden and loving the bright clean air. The difference between her and those silly women with their Nigerian fantasy romances was that she knew it was a fantasy. She knew it was made up, just to ease her pain and awful sense of loss. But she did find herself buying magazines about country gardens and houses and stylish women who could muster cattle or crutch sheep by day and hold sumptuous, creative, original dinner parties at night, in unique artistic decor.

  It was so tiring, getting through the day, and yet she didn’t sleep well. None of her old routines or strategies worked for her. It was all wrong.

  She had to give up watching movies during the day, because a couple of times she had sat on the couch in the morning and found herself in the same spot, several movies later, when the kids came home. They had looked at her suspiciously, giving her the sense they thought they should be ringing someone for help. So she stayed away from the TV during the day, and instead enjoyed the romantic comedy unfolding in her head.

  BROCK

  While the meeting was going on at the school, the one he hadn’t been invited to, Brock received a phone call from his cluster director, his boss of sorts, Alice McKinnon. He had met her a couple of times, a skinny woman with clothes that suggested she was a fan of the Fresh Well op shop, but her phone manner gave no indication of any acquaintance.

  ‘Brock, you are aware there has been a full investigation into the burning down of Stony Creek Primary School?’

  ‘Yes.’ He got off the couch and stretched, confident he knew what was coming.

  ‘You may also be aware that the investigation found you to be smoking on school premises and that your cigarette was accepted to be the cause of the fire.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. You haven’t received the paperwork on that?’

  ‘Nope. I guess I don’t need to now. Since I’m guilty.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Brock. You were supposed to have received official notification.’

  ‘No worrie
s.’ It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

  ‘It’s not that bad, you know. The department has deemed it an accident and won’t take any action. You’ll keep your position and your entitlements. Everything will remain as it was.’

  Brock had to hold the phone away from his ear. This was unforseen. He’d been so confident of his dismissal that even if they’d ruled he’d done nothing legally wrong he still expected them to suggest he move on.

  As if reading his mind, Alice said: ‘It’s very hard to get good teachers in isolated schools. The department felt you deserved a chance.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Alice. Very much.’

  ‘There is one qualification.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘As with all small schools, the community has an important role. They can’t get rid of a principal, but if they felt strongly enough about removing you we would look at placing you somewhere else. Do you understand that?’

  ‘I do.’

  When he hung up the phone he was smiling. He did a little skip across the nylon thread carpet.

  He wondered how Jennifer would take it. He had never thought about whether she’d want him to stay because staying was never a possibility. He’d upheld his end of the deal and she’d got through without a blemish so there shouldn’t be a problem. But something primitive, deep in his gut, told him the neatly placed facts of the matter were irrelevant. Jennifer didn’t want him to stay and she had no contingency for him to hang around because she stood to lose too much.

  He moved back to the window and peered through the curtain. The lights were still on in the schoolhouse and the car park was full. He’d guessed that Jennifer was going through the motions of finding a replacement for him, being her usual organised self. But now a suspicion hit him that maybe something else was going on. Did she know about the department’s decision before him? It was certainly possible. She seemed to know everyone in the area office. She might be sealing his fate right at that moment. Would a smart operator walk into that meeting and tell them his job was secure as far as the department was concerned? Maybe that would be good enough for the parent body. They’d made it pretty clear it was almost impossible to recruit good teachers.

  But instead of storming the meeting, he cracked open a beer to celebrate. If nothing else, his career wasn’t totally trashed. He barely had time to smack his lips after finishing his stubby when there was a knock on the door. Was this Jennifer coming to tell him his time was up? It would be the perfect moment to tell her his news.

  But the person at the door was Sarah Howard, flush-faced, wanting to come in, a cake tin in her hands. For a moment Brock thought he had another horny middle-aged mother on his hands. Now that would be interesting. She held out the tin. In it were biscuits. He had eaten Sarah’s biscuits before, once, at a morning tea. They were possibly the best biscuits he had ever eaten.

  In the lounge room, she apologised for intruding. ‘It was said at the meeting that the department has information from the official investigation that you started the school fire with a cigarette.’

  Brock nodded at this, not ready to disclose anything.

  ‘It was also said that the department would be obliged to ask you to leave. We’re in the process of looking for a new principal.’

  Brock sighed. He should have gone to the meeting. Jennifer already had his bags packed for him. Sarah was scrutinising his face. What was she hoping to see?

  ‘The thing is, Brock …’ She stared a little harder at him. This was getting too intense. ‘The thing is, I know about you and Jennifer.’

  ‘Know what?’ He hadn’t intended to be defensive or evasive but there was nothing else in reserve to say.

  She was suddenly firm. ‘I know you and Jennifer have been having an affair. I know you were together before the meeting when the school burned down. And I think I know that Jennifer smokes.’

  Brock realised he’d been expecting someone to call him on this for weeks.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Sarah.’

  He went to the fridge, grabbed another beer and offered Sarah one, which she rejected.

  ‘Don’t say anything.’ She bit at her lip. ‘Let me just tell you what I think and if you don’t like it you can forget I ever visited.’

  He nodded and took a slug of his beer. He probably shouldn’t be having another beer because he was struggling with decision-making as it was. Should he tell her about the department’s ruling? Did he want to hear what she had to say? He had the feeling that nothing would stop Sarah from proceeding. This was a different Sarah to the touchy-feely one he’d met before.

  ‘I think Jennifer wants to get rid of you because you’ve turned into a complication she can’t handle. Maybe Andy’s found out or maybe she’s just over you. She says the department has no choice but to get rid of you. I don’t know whether that’s true, but I do know the department doesn’t like trouble and if the parents got behind you I think they would let you stay. They have enough trouble with us as it is.’ The look on her face was one appropriate for a life-changing event. The problem was, it probably wasn’t her life that was changing. But as he looked he realised Sarah was all heart. It was there for anyone to see, on bright beating display.

  ‘So, Brock, all I need to know is: Do you want to stay?’

  Brock put his beer down. It was the question he hadn’t really faced up to. Whenever he thought about it in the past he was able to sidestep it, because of desire or his promise to Jennifer or assumptions about what the department would do. Now he had to face it with no excuses.

  ‘Yes, I do, Sarah. I think I can do a good job here.’ There it was. The whole world might not have heard, but he had and there was no denying it.

  ‘I’m so glad you said that. I want you to stay and I think the other parents do, too. I think you can do a really good job here.’ She was looking at him as if hoping he might reassure her. ‘I’ll let the other parents know and rally some support. Thanks, Brock.’

  She was out the door without hearing him add his own thanks. And he hadn’t told her what the department said, which would help the cause. When the official documentation arrived he would forward it to her.

  But what to tell Jennifer? If Sarah was right, Jennifer had moved to oust him before the department had given their verdict. Was he prepared to give up the hottest sex to fight for his job? If the parents thought that highly of him, then maybe he was. Crazy thing. Perhaps adulthood beckoned.

  SARAH

  Sarah rang the cluster director at the department after Ian had encouraged her to go to the source. But when she asked Alice if what Jennifer said about the department ‘dispensing’ with Brock’s services was true she hit a brick wall.

  ‘I can’t tell you that until the principal has received official confirmation of his status.’

  ‘Is it true the investigator found that the fire was caused by a cigarette—Brock’s cigarette?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that either.’

  ‘Not even a hint?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘When can you tell me?’

  ‘When the principal has written confirmation.’

  ‘When’s that?’

  ‘Soon.’

  Sarah put down the phone and harrumphed. How had Jennifer got past such a bureaucratic roadblock? And what if she hadn’t? What if she’d made it all up in order to align the community against Brock? Perhaps she should pull a bluff of her own?

  She began ringing people, family by family, starting with Pam. She knew she had Angela’s support, and Pam was the only other one who had shown she hadn’t made up her mind about Brock. The old Sarah would have pretended to ring about another topic, then casually dropped a question in at the end. The new Sarah got straight to the point.

  ‘I don’t want Brock to leave,’ she said to Pam. ‘And with enough community support I’m sure the department will let him stay. Will you back me?’ She couldn’t be any more direct than that.

  ‘Jennifer said the department
doesn’t have any choice.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the department and they have no position until Brock is officially informed and he’s not informed yet.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean Jennifer’s wrong.’

  ‘Maybe not. But if he did cause the fire, and I’ve got my suspicions about that, it was an accident. We all have accidents. John Bookham burnt half the hill down last year, Leslie Peters tipped his truck over on the turn because he was overloaded, Susie Green ran into the post office sign …’ She tried not to think about Ian’s ‘accident’ and hoped Pam wouldn’t allude to it. Pam said nothing.

  ‘We’ll never get a better teacher; we’ll be lucky to get any sort of qualified teacher to replace him. You know that, Pam.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So who would you rather have? Someone very good who had an accident or some complete dud with a clean record?’

  And so it went. Some agreed and some didn’t and most just listened politely. Sarah could feel the mighty presence of Jennifer looming over all of them. It didn’t look good.

  The next day she was in the service station in Fresh Well, trying to stop the children from stealing chocolate bars, when Julia, attempting to escape from her, backed into a man in front of a magazine stand.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  The rather large man turned and smiled at her. ‘That’s okay, Mrs Howard. I know what it’s like with young kids. Got a couple of my own.’

  It was beefy Detective Johnson, still in a suit but no longer lost. He was much more relaxed than when she saw him last. They exchanged family truisms for a while and then Sarah said: ‘They tell me you found your fire-starter.’

  ‘Ah.’ He was suddenly guarded. ‘They’ve told the school?’

  She nodded. Where did lying come into the new stronger version of Sarah?

  ‘Between you and me,’ the detective sighed, ‘I’m a bit uneasy about what happened out there but nobody wanted me to put in the time and the resources to go any further.’ He grimaced. ‘It’s not murder or armed robbery after all.’