‘Or take a pill for it.’ They were laughing with a delighted boorishness at their own cleverness now.
But he was just regretting the kiss. It was a childish get-back that didn’t serve any purpose except to make himself feel good. Jennifer had been a bitch, but she did have a lot at stake. He understood that now. It disappointed him that he couldn’t have been more noble, especially towards someone who he felt, goddamn it, so much for.
He visited his mother, went to the movies, met up with mates at the pub, feeling like he was back with his people. Everyone was interested in Stony Creek.
‘They’ve got this one pub, but if they want to go to the movies or a restaurant or any shopping they’ve got to drive three quarters of an hour into this tin-pot little town.’
‘Really?’
Some of the blokes had been pig shooting in areas like Stony Creek, but no one had actually lived in the country. He was a foreign correspondent returned from tribal Africa. ‘No fast food? Man, I’m not going there.’ Brock felt like he was the interesting, adventurous one in his group, someone who had dared to do something different.
When the stress leave eventually finished, he put his name down at his old school for casual teaching and almost immediately got a call from the deputy principal. It was strange to walk in the front gates even though he hadn’t been away that long. It seemed such a large, busy place. Already there were teachers and children he’d never seen before. He met the deputy principal in her office, a simple room with appropriate, earnest posters about education on the wall.
‘Thanks for coming in, Brock. It’s good to see you.’
He took a seat, trying to remember that he wasn’t in trouble.
‘You’re a principal now, I believe?’ She was impressed. Or was that sceptical?
‘Yes. I’ve taken some leave from the position.’ It hadn’t occurred to him that he might technically be her senior.
‘Stress leave, I believe.’ She examined a form as if it was the first time she’d seen it. ‘A building burnt down?’
He was nodding now, once again being put back in his place.
‘I just wanted to check that you were okay to come back to work? All right to handle a city class?’ She wasn’t letting it go.
Perhaps he should have said: ‘As a principal I’m sure it’s not beyond me.’ But he didn’t. He was feeling much better, he said, and keen to get back to teaching.
‘Of course we can’t offer you the principal’s position like the department would expect.’
This was a terribly funny joke that made the deputy laugh. Brock wasn’t sure when he’d last been so openly ridiculed, but he sat through it anyway. He was beginning to feel like he always sat through it. Always taking a beating from someone with power over him and never responding with more than a whimper.
Then he remembered the kiss with Jennifer and it made him feel warm and triumphant. He smiled at the deputy, unnerving her. She went back to her paperwork, and ran through what he might do at the school on a part-time basis. He knew whatever it was would involve some sort of humiliation that would make it clear the rank of country principal meant nothing to a school like this.
When he left the office his enthusiasm had evaporated. His talents weren’t going to be appreciated at this school—which disappointed him because he had begun to believe that he did have some talent, and every school needed teaching talent, didn’t they?
He was walking out the school gates when a woman got out of a car ahead of him. She was heavily made up, manicured within an inch of her life and strapped into a business suit. Despite all the cosmetic appeal and her sense of purpose, there was something slightly nasty about her. ‘Emily.’
The woman looked up, her face transforming in readiness for a client (and everyone was a potential client). When she realised who it was, some of the intent left her face and was replaced by something he didn’t remember. Was it kindness?
‘Brock. I heard you’d moved to the sticks.’
‘Ah. I did.’
‘You’re on holidays?’
‘I’m on leave. How are you going? Gave up the teaching, I hear.’
‘I’m doing professional training now. It’s fantastic. Lots of moolah. Maybe you should have a look at it.’ She turned back to the car. ‘I’ve got a brochure here if you want it.’ She pulled a glossy pamphlet out of a briefcase and went to hand it to him, but then looked up at him, smiled and withdrew the offering. ‘It’s not you, is it? Someone like you should teach. I wouldn’t want to take you away from that.’ She laughed in a way that made him shudder with memory and longing. He laughed too. She asked him: ‘You want to get a coffee?’
It turned out that Emily’s stockbroker boyfriend had moved on. There didn’t seem to be a man in her life and she loudly proclaimed work was her passion. She had no time for relationships. They drank several cups of coffee, until Brock could feel a tic in his left eyelid. Their conversation was warm and friendly. When her leg rubbed his under the table he felt exhilarated. He mused that no matter who you were, if you were the one broken up with you always wanted to get back together. In the past six months Emily could have rung him at any time day or night and demanded his presence (in her bedroom, in a bus station, in the back of a butcher shop—anywhere) and he would have got there, like a shot. And now? Now was exactly the same.
They went back to her house, in the middle of the afternoon, scrabbling at each other, hot and bothered like new lovers. But when they were finished (a couple of times) and she was lying with her head on his chest, he presumed smiling, it was uncomfortable. Her hair was scratchy and he couldn’t help remembering things he didn’t like about way she made love, the way her body was, her faint smell and her noises. He found himself being unintentionally critical. And instead of erasing the thought of Jennifer, it brought back her perfection: her smell, her energy, an indefinable quality of—what was it?—physical sweetness? He’d never looked at the marks on Jennifer’s skin and felt they detracted from her attractiveness in the way that he now looked at a mole of Emily’s and thought: ‘Cancerous?’
She stretched happily, languidly, and reached up to kiss him on the mouth. ‘Hey, babe. I’d better get some work done. You—’ she pushed a finger onto the end of his nose, ‘—are a bad distraction.’ She got up and dressed and he was relieved it was over. He was gone, claiming an appointment, before she could offer a cup of tea.
It was exactly what he didn’t want: the knowledge that he desired something unattainable. Jennifer could not have done more to get rid of him and yet he knew he had to go back to Stony Creek.
It sounded good when he said it to himself, romantic even, but by the time he was back at Carl’s his rational self prevailed. He didn’t have to go back. He had to stay the hell away. His feelings for Emily had waned, and so eventually would his feelings for Jennifer. It would just take time. Years perhaps.
At least it would have if Alice McKinnon hadn’t rung.
After the day with Emily, he had been avoiding the phone because she had taken to calling night and day. His lack of interest made her smoulderingly keen, which made him even more indifferent. So he walked, visited old friends, read articles on education, brain development and approaches to learning difficulties, and let his phone go flat. On the day he decided to charge it, it buzzed in his hand.
Alice McKinnon’s voice rang a clanging bell in his body. Her voice meant Stony Creek.
‘I just wanted to check that you were okay, Brock. Has the stress leave worked?’
He had almost forgotten he’d been on stress leave and answered like an insurance fraudster, wondering if it was a trick question. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘That’s good. That’s very good. Have you heard about Stony Creek?’
‘No.’
‘We can’t seem to get anyone to apply for the position, your position.’ Images of Stony Creek, the kids and Jennifer flashed up in his mind as she continued. ‘I was wondering if you’d given any thought to returning.’
‘I
… hadn’t actually thought about it. I presumed the position would be filled.’
‘Mrs Clift wants to finish up and we’re having trouble finding another temporary principal. Truth be known, we’ll have to suggest we close the place pretty soon. This isn’t good enough for the education of those children.’ There was a sound, something like a clicking tongue. ‘At least that’s what we tell them.’
‘I could consider it if you needed me.’ His mouth went right on and said it even as his head was shaking ‘No’. It was impossible and a waste of all the work he’d done to free himself. He couldn’t live in the same community as Jennifer and be a normal human being. It wasn’t possible.
‘That would be fantastic. Could you get back to me soon? Say tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow? Sure.’
He put the phone down and banged Carl’s table hard and repeatedly, partly in excitement and partly in disappointment.
ANDY
The relentless cycle of the seasons demanded his commitment and forced out thoughts of Jennifer and Brock and the school. He was at work night and day, as he always would be, and that was a security in itself. The plan had worked and the teacher was gone. Jennifer had got rid of him. What better demonstration of her intention to go back to normal could you ask for? He didn’t send the lover away; she blackmailed him and sent him packing herself. All good.
But, in the way of these things, one perspective quickly gave way to another. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d wished too hard for what he wanted. His wife had had an affair, probably burned down the school, blamed her lover or conned him into confessing and then (with prompting from her husband) blackmailed him into leaving. This was his life partner? This was what he had really wanted?
Of course it was. No one had been hurt and he’d protected his family. The teacher had moved on but he hadn’t been fired. He could probably now graduate to an even bigger school as a principal. No doubt that was why he came to Stony Creek in the first place. So in the end, it worked out rather neatly and Jennifer seemed fine. Sometimes you just had to do what you had to do. Not necessarily pleasant, but that was the way of the world.
But that kiss did bother him. The way the teacher had done it as an open defiance. He had put it in the public memory that he and Jennifer had had something. And Andy would never forget Jennifer’s face. It had the look of someone completely disarmed, their real feelings on naked display. It was that look that was eating at him, more than the ruthless things she—they—had done to protect themselves and maintain the status quo. It brought back the terrible sight of her through the window in the teacher’s residence. It was real. No getting away from it. Could you live a life with someone when you had seen something like that on their face?
It was that look that made him have sex with her at every opportunity. He made the advances and she never declined. It was muscular, energetic sex and all the time he was testing for a hint of rejection, distaste or dislocation. As primitive as it was he couldn’t help himself trying to claim back his territory, his woman. He searched for any sign that she might not want to be claimed, any sign that she was less than one hundred per cent. But he knew he would never be convinced while he remembered that look on her face.
These were all things he would have liked to share with Abi, but he stayed away. It was the only fair thing to do.
They had finished sowing wheat now, the subsoil moisture was good and the frosts not too harsh. Wheat prices weren’t strong, but the good start and reasonable weather forecast meant a large yield might overcome a poor price. He liked to hope for the best and expect nothing. There was always hail, a late frost, fungal diseases, pigs, floods, extreme heat and any number of unforeseen hazards that could come along and ruin his crop. Compared to the behaviour of human beings, farming felt comfortingly predictable.
MADISON
The principal was gone. Something had happened at the meeting and she wasn’t sure what. She wasn’t sure why he left, something about stress, but it didn’t mean anything to her except that it had probably removed all the questions about her mother’s involvement with the school fire and that had to be a good thing. Ever since Mack had pointed out to her that snooping wasn’t the cleverest idea, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about a link between the principal and her mother.
Lately her mother had taken to crying, secretly, in the oddest places. Jennifer had never been a crier—not at the death of a pet, not in the weepiest movie. The only time Madison could remember her mother having a proper howl was at Celie’s funeral. Then just the sight of her sobbing had made Madison cry too.
So when she found her mother leaning into the linen cupboard, so far in she thought she was stuck, making terrible, mournful sounds in among the pillowcases, and then realised she was actually crying, it was a much more shocking experience than it might have been for daughters of more emotional mothers. Madison tried to console her mother, probe her as to what the problem was, but all she got, after the extraction, was a sudden return to stoicism. ‘I’m fine. Just a sad moment.’
She thought about asking her father what was wrong but then decided against it, taking into account the fact that her mother had gone to such lengths to conceal her tears. Her mother and father seemed fine around each other. Had she not seen the weeping she would never have thought there was something out of balance.
Perhaps with all that had gone on at the school her mother might need a friend, and this was probably the time a daughter could be the friend she needed. So at breakfast one morning when her father was already at work and it was just the two of them in the kitchen, she said: ‘You can talk to me, you know, Mum.’
Her mother was putting on gardening gloves and a wide-brim hat, ready to discipline an already-cowed garden.
‘I know that, honey, and you can talk to me about anything.’ She smiled and turned to the cupboard to search for her secateurs.
It wasn’t true. There was a legion of things that Madison wasn’t going to talk to Jennifer about—the way she had devised her exit from boarding school, the loss of her virginity, how Ian had made her feel that night … It made her think that if there was so much that she wasn’t prepared to talk about to her mother then possibly her mother had bags of luggage she didn’t wish to open too.
‘Why are you crying all the time, Mum?’
‘I’m not crying all the time.’
‘I’ve seen you.’
‘I’ve just had a few sad moments, it’s … that’s all. My hormones are going crazy. Might be change of life.’
It sounded plausible although her mother seemed a bit young and she’d never made any mention of it before. Mad-ison had thought it would be something her mother might talk about. Usually her mother liked to talk at length in an educational sense about such things, to the point where you wanted to run screaming from the room. For no particular reason other than to avoid a lecture on menopause, she asked: ‘Why’d that principal leave?’
Her mother turned to her and she could see the beginning of suppressed rage behind the contours of her forehead. ‘Why?’
It alarmed Madison a little and she almost couldn’t come out with a coherent reason. ‘No reason. I just heard he left and no one said why.’
This seemed to placate her mother enough for her to return to examining her secateurs. ‘I think burning down the school was just too much for him. The stress and everything.’
There was something about the way her mother never countenanced uncertainty that brought out the contrarian in Madison.
‘Did he burn down the school?’
‘Yes. Apparently. A cigarette or something. Pity really.’
Madison took a breath. Violence was probably coming. ‘That’s funny. Grandpa said the investigator didn’t believe the principal did it.’
Jennifer placed the secateurs carefully on the kitchen bench. Madison could see it took a great deal of self-control and she wondered why.
‘And what would your grandfather know about something like that?
’ She had a hand on her hip.
‘Apparently he knew the investigator’s father or something.’
‘That is funny, because the investigator brought down a finding that Brock was guilty. Brock confessed to smoking a cigarette that night.’
‘What? When you were there?’ There were lines drawn that Madison never got the hang of acknowledging and there was one there right now that she knew she was stepping over.
‘No. Before I got there.’
‘It must have been a bit smoky or smelly or something when you arrived.’
Her mother’s face was going purple-red. ‘I meant after I got there. After we had our meeting. Are you cross-examining me, Madison?’
‘No. It just didn’t make a lot of sense. That’s all. But it does now.’
‘Good.’
Jennifer opened the kitchen door and headed for the garden as if she was on her way to deal with a restless horde. Madison was no more knowledgeable and more uneasy about what was going on. Her mother was hiding something significant. She couldn’t honestly believe her mother was having an affair—Mack had helped her see sense there—so it must be to do with the fire. All indications pointed to Jennifer being guilty and not owning up, leaving the principal to take the blame. Nothing noble in any of it. But Madison was probably never going to know the truth unless she asked the principal, who had disappeared, and she was never going to do that.
MACK
It was a stupid thing. He’d been stepping down the back stairs in the morning, on his way to check the lettuces, when he thought he heard the phone ring and turned back to hear more clearly. As he did, he put his foot on the edge of the step, and his ankle gave way and he fell, hip first, onto the step below and bounced down onto the lawn.
The minute he hit the grass he knew it was bad. After a moment of letting the initial pain reduce he tried to sit up. He couldn’t and he had no chance of dragging himself up the stairs to a phone. Then he had tried inching across the lawn to the front yard where he hoped he might be able to hook the attention of a passerby, but he only managed a couple of body lengths before the pain made him stop. (And the idea of a passerby was plain stupid). Now he’d been there five hours and he was shivering and hungry. At least he wasn’t thirsty yet. But he hurt all over, especially through his pelvis and down his legs.
The Good Teacher Page 17
