The Good Teacher

by Richard Anderson

  Ian Howard went past, too fast as usual, but Jennifer barely noticed.

  ‘Don’t try and explain it. I can’t believe you would do such a thing. We’ve had some tough times, but I thought we were fighting our way back, together. And now you do this. With another woman!’ She sobbed. Andy could never handle the sobbing. It smashed his defences. Jennifer didn’t look to see if he showed any remorse and he gave no sound to suggest he felt it.

  She wiped her eyes and sat up straight, sniffing indignantly. ‘Just passing through. That was a nasty little ruse.’ She guessed this would catch him out and, as an experienced campaigner, she was aware that he was hopeless at the rapid rebuff to a left-field accusation. Someone who looked like the detective went past in the other direction but she gave it no mind. ‘You and sweet little Abi cooked it up, did you?’

  ‘No. We did no such thing.’ He almost stammered it.

  She was twisting the knife as they pulled into the school car park. ‘Then you’ll deny having an online affair too?’

  ‘Not an affair. Never an affair. A friendship that’s all. An innocent friendship.’ But he didn’t look innocent.

  Jennifer scoffed and got out, knowing counter-accusations would be bubbling away in his head. He might even be questioning the likelihood of Abi’s random visit, so she needed to get away from him while he still faltered. After the meeting his claims of injustice would be irrelevant.

  She could hear him, still at the car, choking on an epiphany.

  ‘You bloody organised it, didn’t you? You invited Abi! You set the whole thing up!’

  Jennifer kept walking, knowing Andy wouldn’t make a public scene about it, especially in front of Brock and the detective. He would hate to look a fool.

  Brock was already waiting outside the classroom and with him was that bloody meddling Sarah. What was she doing there? And where was the detective? Had he bolted?

  Andy’s footsteps were loud on the paved path behind her, which pleased her. If he had decided to sit the whole thing out or even drive home without her, her plan would be ruined.

  SARAH

  The children were at Mrs Patterson’s, Susie Green had left the daisies, petunias and salvia in their punnets in the COLA earlier that morning, and Brock was waiting, looking pleased to see her. The detective arrived and left, which was a little confusing, and then Jennifer and Andy turned up and delivered strained, clipped hellos.

  Jennifer’s face was that of someone about to storm the ramparts, but she was meticulously turned out with Andy as her furious accessory. They split up and stood as separate couples to wait for the detective. There was a faint fragrance in the air of flowers that had bloomed opportunistically and in the distance someone fought with a gasping mower. Then the detective returned, parked like there was a bank robbery somewhere and walked quickly to them, his cheeks blowing from the effort.

  When he’d greeted everyone in a pleasant enough way he suggested they go inside. They followed Brock up the steps, across the timber verandah and into the classroom. They took seats and did their best to look like this was any other meeting.

  The detective, ridiculous in his small chair, a large cake cooked in a small tin, said: ‘I know this is all a bit unorthodox, so thank you so much for coming.’ He nodded to himself and softly clapped his hands together. ‘I say again, this is not an official investigation. It’s to do with some things that I need to clear up for myself, if you like.’ He looked around the room at them, suddenly less nervous, more police-like.

  Outside, the parents were rolling in, in their white utes with their garden tools, potting mix and new plants: husbands, wives, some grandparents. Against normal practice, the children had been allocated to various remaining grandparents, older brothers and sisters and station hands.

  They unloaded tools and plants and, after a chat, began to dig soil and cart weeds away. Sarah felt the energy and good humour coming through the windows. Angela was wearing new red gardening gloves. She and Susie were examining the punnets. They were going to be lovely. She noticed the others looking outside. Their expressions were mainly that of confusion. With one last peek, Sarah attempted a headcount of the workers in the garden. There were many more than the core group of the P&C, more than all of the committee, more than every parent that had children at the school. Vehicles were still arriving, overflowing the small car park and lining up along the boundary fence. She saw couples walking up the school path who hadn’t had children at the school for a decade or more, and others who didn’t have children there yet. But there weren’t just daisies and petunias. Every new car arrived with rootstock and climbing-something-or-others, small shrubs and even a wattle or two. There were enough plants for three schools. She could feel her heart fluttering. It was a show of strength and it was fan-bloody-tastic. She had wanted a display of numbers and they had provided it. The noise rose like they were celebrating a twenty-first.

  Then Madison and Mack came hobbling into view. Madison had a bunch of flowers in each hand. To Sarah it was the most incongruous of visions. Where had they come from with flowers and why were they walking? Madison greeted Angela Crown and Susie Green, looking like she had been ambushed, and then made sure Mack had a comfortable seat in the playground. One of the fathers offered Mack a cup of tea.

  ‘The thing is,’ Detective Johnson continued, ‘and this is what has been playing on my mind—there was some pretty bad stuff that went down here. Maybe not bad in the general scheme of things but bad for a small, strong community like this.’

  Now in detective mode, well-practised and no longer unsure, he continued: ‘The evidence that Mr Kelly, Brock, burnt down this building was slim at the very best.’

  Jennifer shifted in her seat: a reaction so obviously a response to the comment she must have wished she’d been able to still it.

  Behind her, through the glass door, Sarah saw Jennifer’s daughter parting the crowd outside. Madison walked up the verandah steps with the inexplicable bunches of flowers. Andy coughed, and by the time Sarah had looked at him and then back, Madison was no longer there.

  ‘I should have done a more thorough job of the investigation, no matter what pressure was coming from upstairs. I’m pretty sure I know who was responsible for the fire and how it came to be that Brock confessed, and why he was encouraged to leave his job. There’s nothing there that any of us can be proud of.’

  Brock was looking at floor with fascination, as Jennifer smiled grimly, rolling her wedding ring round on her finger. And Andy steamed, as if his skin was only just holding the heat in.

  ‘Now Brock is back in the job, an optimist might believe the worst is behind you. Bygones are bygone. Time to move on. But Madison approached me because she believes, and I think she’s probably right, you people are going to fight this out like a blood feud until there is nothing and nobody left.’

  At the mention of Madison’s name, Jennifer and Andy took one wild, accusatory look at each other and then turned quickly back at the detective.

  ‘But the truth is, nothing will be helped by another investigation or by me proving my hunches. I don’t want to be the reason this school shuts or this community breaks.’ He gave a little beckoning wave to Madison, who really was waiting at the door.

  ‘I think the best thing we can do is agree that mistakes were made, but that the school and the community are more important than the individuals in it. I’m asking you to let it go.’

  Sarah felt like she should be letting go too. Everything had got out of control. It had to stop.

  The detective furrowed his brow as Madison opened the door. ‘But if you can’t, I will come back and open every investigation I can think of: arson, abuse, coercion, vehicle registrations, water theft, drink-driving, improper use of the council tip …’

  Madison crossed the floor with the flowers in her hands, proffering them to Brock and Jennifer. Brock took a bunch and smiled, but Jennifer waved them away. She stood, her face flushed, her hands wringing the blood from each other.


  ‘There is no need, Detective. I’m happy to confess to my wrongdoing. I burnt the school down. The cigarette was mine. I’m deeply ashamed of what I’ve done and the pain I’ve caused.’

  Sarah felt the room slow and almost stop. Madison’s face was exuberant with pride. Brock’s softened to a kindly look. The detective stood a little straighter, his grin a little broader. Only Andy seemed to miss the moment, his expression wild and unreadable.

  Then Jennifer brought them back by stepping across the room and taking Brock’s hand. ‘I’ve done my best to avoid recognising how I feel. But I can do it no longer. I want to be with Brock for the rest of my days, and I want everyone to know it.’

  Sarah felt her hand go over her mouth, saw Madison dropping the second bunch of flowers onto the table, in time with the slackening of the detective’s jaw. Everything she had guessed had been true, but she had never predicted this: Jennifer pronouncing her love for the principal she had manipulated and brutalised, in front of her daughter, her husband and a policeman, let alone Sarah herself, an arch enemy. It was so unexpected, but she knew the response from Brock would be exactly what she dreaded. He would fall to his knees in gratitude and they would be back where they started and Jennifer would have him wrapped around her proverbial.

  But Brock did not fall to his knees. After an endless moment of stunned group stillness, he stood up with a look on his face that might have been resolve, and gently extracted his hand from Jennifer’s firm grip. He was spluttering, not with pleasure and acceptance, but rather attempting to say, Sarah was pretty sure, that he didn’t hold anything against Jennifer, no grudges, no bad feelings, he didn’t care about having been blamed for the fire, he just wanted to be the principal of this school and he didn’t want to be with her.

  While the rest of them were deciphering it, Andy stood and in a clear stentorian voice said: ‘Neither do I.’ If the jaws hadn’t dropped from Jennifer and Andy’s revelations then they certainly had now.

  Jennifer’s face was flushed and her lips quivering, one hand gripped at the table, the other moved to entreat, as she got out: ‘Brock?’ And then, in despair: ‘Andy?’

  They both said ‘I’m sorry, Jennifer’ in perfect unison. She looked from one to the other and then ran wailing from the room.

  Madison put the flowers on the table, turned to Detective Johnson, who looked like he was still having a first encounter with the unfathomable, and said: ‘Can you give Dad a lift home? I’m going to go after Mum.’

  The detective nodded, glad of something practical to do. Madison left. Brock and Andy looked at each other and grimaced and Sarah guessed it was time to go. The working bee had stopped to watch Jennifer’s flight into the school ground.

  And then, like a master of bad timing, Ian pulled into the car park. Sarah saw him get out and stride, with one hand outstretched, towards Madison, who held up a flat cease-and-desist palm to him and kept going. Then he was adrift in the playground, with Mack glaring at him, and obviously unsure whether he should follow her or get back into his ute and hope that no one else saw him.

  Right then, she knew if ever there was an omen from the gods or message sent in the clearest, brightest colours, this was it. Ian was the worst sort of person and she was done with him.

  She walked out of the classroom and through the COLA without saying hello to anyone. She stopped at the end of the concrete, and Angela, her friend, was there, putting a hand on her shoulder, the gardening gloves almost magical in their powers of support. Jennifer was striding across the lawn to her car, buffered by the mad whispering of the working bee. She got in, slammed the door and then, after a fluster of hand movements and head shaking that suggested the keys weren’t in the ignition, got back out and looked around threateningly. Angela gave Sarah’s arm a squeeze. And then Ian, that snake, sidled up to Jennifer and she could hear Jennifer saying she needed a lift home. Ian put a hand on her back to guide her towards his ute and said triumphantly: ‘No worries.’

  Sarah was gasping at the sight and the thought of Ian and Jennifer together, even though it was nothing more than a lift, even though it couldn’t possibility happen. She realised the time for action was not over.

  MADISON

  What had happened was the worst of all outcomes. Watching her mother stand in that room and take responsibility for the fire made Madison feel simply awesome. Her mother’s strength was the envy of the others. She had more guts than anyone else in the room, than anyone she knew. They looked so small alongside her. Madison wanted to give her both sets of flowers, hoping that she might have some of her mother’s courage. It was a win for character and morals and she half-expected the others to break into applause. Outside, there was a crowd, a real crowd, who were digging up the front garden bed or at least pretending to. Angela Crown kept peering in. It was very strange.

  And then her mother, as always, took it to another place, publicly declaring her love for Brock as if she was reading from the script of some terrible TV drama. Of course Brock and her father put her right in it, stepping swiftly aside to let her fall. Her father was clearly drugged by the soap-opera narcotic, making his unexpected announcement, and then the principal was talking about the importance of the school and the children and how they should be the priority, not politics or parent relationships. It was a heartbreaking mess. And her mother had few options: slap the men, trash the furniture, throw herself on the floor, or bolt. She bolted.

  And Ian turned up. What a fuckwit.

  Madison’s intention—to keep the community and the school together and end the fighting—had succeeded. The only thing that was broken now was her own family. Everything else would go back to its peaceful normal state. No good turn goes unpunished, as Mack liked to say. Right again, Grandpa.

  When it appeared there was nothing she could do to protect her mother, it was Mack she went to. He was seated at the bench near the swings and the soft fall, calmly watching Jennifer’s attempt to leave. Madison stood with him and neither said a thing.

  As Ian went past, he turned and gave Madison a cat-that-got-the-cream look, winking licentiously over Jennifer’s shoulder. He might as well have yelled out: ‘You said no but, yahoo, your mother hasn’t.’ Mack growled beside her. Then Sarah Howard, least likely hero, padded down the lawn and saved the day.

  By the time Sarah got to Jennifer, Jennifer was in Ian’s ute and he was in the driver’s seat with the motor going. Jennifer was staring resolutely ahead, away from the crowd, so Sarah had to rap on the window to get her attention. Jennifer wound the window down, looking ready to bite someone, and Sarah said sweetly: ‘How about I give you a lift? It’s on my way.’ (Which it wasn’t).

  The detective, Brock and her father came out onto the verandah. Madison could see the crowd watching and listening in, trying to edge a little closer. Ian graciously protested, saying he was happy to do it and it really was no trouble. In demonstration, he put the ute into gear and let it creep forward. But Sarah was already opening the door and, when Jennifer got out, she closed it firmly behind her. The two women began to walk to Sarah’s car, as Ian sat in the idling ute shaking his head in furious disagreement.

  Then the strangest thing happened: the P&C members, who by now had all come away from the building and across the concrete, closer to the car park, began to applaud. Maybe two people at first, a few uncertain claps, and then everybody got into it.

  Ian sat ramrod still with his back to them. She could almost see him twitching, an animal in the wild who has heard a possible threat. He turned, confusion on his face. For a moment his confusion held and then it was overthrown by understanding. He jammed the ute into gear and speared it out of the carpark, screeching the tyres and waving a finger in the air as everyone else banged their hands together in unison, laughing their approval.

  BROCK

  He stood on the verandah outside his office, looking across at the new demountable classroom that had just been put in. Over the year, the pupil numbers had increased to the point where t
hey could justify a second classroom and with it a new teacher. Sarah said that when people heard a school was going well, parents found new and creative excuses to transfer children and divert bus runs. The growth made him feel good. And the new teacher, Miss Christodoulou, seemed efficient and confident and appeared to like children.

  The school garden was also thriving. What had been planted in that working bee had made a bright, colourful statement about the future. He had taken the time to learn about the crops grown in the area and was building his knowledge of local trees and wildlife. He now knew a few different varieties of gum trees and, if pressed, could probably lead a nature walk himself.

  It felt like a long time since there was disharmony in his community. P&C meetings were convivial and sometimes fun. Mothers came in for reading and parents came to working bees and sports days without much cajoling. He often saw Andy in town or at local get-togethers and always enjoyed his company. A friend of Andy’s, a nice woman, had moved to the village. People didn’t move to Stony Creek unless they came for a farm job or cheap housing and Andy’s friend didn’t appear to need either of those things. It generated speculation of course, but no one had come up with any evidence of anything so far. Everyone guessed she would explain herself in due course.

  Ian had the place on the market, but he was still living there until the sale went through. What he planned to do was anyone’s guess. Sarah had taken the children to live on a smaller farm block, in a good house, closer to Fresh Well. She was close enough for her kids to catch the bus to Fresh Well Primary but she had kept Damien and Julia at Stony Creek, which Brock took as a vote of confidence. And they were great kids so that was a bonus. She’d developed a nice little sideline selling biscuits and slices to the various workplaces and coffee shops in Fresh Well. It was a sideline generating the sort of demand she was having trouble keeping up with. And Brock had a constant supply of Afghan biscuits in his cupboard.