by Dale, Lindy
Perhaps…Perhaps
Lindy Dale
Smashwords Edition
Copyright ©2011
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter 1
Sometimes life isn’t fair.
It was Friday morning, 7.30 am. Flora Owens was standing in front of the full-length mirror contemplating her semi-naked form, whilst wearing only white lacy knickers and a skin tone push-up bra. She was experiencing something of a dilemma. She was not a happy girl.
Squinting into the mirror without the benefit of her glasses, which were sitting, like a beacon of imperfection on the vanity in the bathroom, Flora wrinkled her nose in distaste. This was not good. Her underwear always matched. She never went out unless it did because she was paranoid that she would be in a car crash and the doctors would have to cut off her clothes. Heaven help her that they should see she was not matching. It would be an utter disaster. The ultimate disgrace.
Flora did not cope well with surprises and spontaneity. She survived on the stability of things that came in sets. Socks, track pants and tops, a series of books, cups and saucers, bras and knickers. The world was so much nicer when everything matched and was in its rightful place. It made getting out of bed in the morning so much easier. So, her dilemma was thus…
That morning, Flora had taken her smalls off the line only to discover another pair of her knickers had disappeared. Being the third pair in as many weeks, she found the whole situation mysterious and she wasn’t sure if it was happening during the wash or when they got to the line but her guess was the latter. Her guess was that the troll, who lived next door in Number Two, was covetous of her collection of frilly knickers and was pilfering them one by one in the dead of night. Of course, Flora would never confront her and demand to view the contents of her knicker drawer to prove the point; she wasn’t that type of girl. But if the troll couldn’t afford a decent haircut she probably couldn’t afford cute undies either. It was the perfect excuse to snowdrop all the cute ones from other people’s lines. That was the theory, anyway.
Turning sideways to the mirror, Flora inspected her form. The missing underwear posed a new problem. It meant she would have to ditch yet another bra and go and buy a whole new set, which on her teacher’s salary she could ill afford. It also meant she would have to resort to hanging her undies in the bathroom which was not good at all. It had taken months to arrange the furniture so that her good fortunes were not flowing out the door. The positive chi of the house would be wrecked if her personals were flopping around like a Chinese laundry.
Taking another look at the mismatched set and, resigned to the fact that she would never see her undies again unless she stooped to the level of other tenants, Flora opened the door to her wardrobe.
I hope I don’t get run over by a bus on the way to school, she thought, testily. If I end up in hospital wearing underwear that doesn’t match I may have to sue that knicker-stealer for emotional distress.
She smiled a little to herself at that. Flora could never sue anybody. She wasn’t the kind of girl to speak out of turn. She was a self confessed wallflower. Just liked her name.
Choosing a skirt - floral and the same A-line style as every other skirt she wore during the week - Flora pulled it over her slim hips and zipped it. She added a crisp white shirt with puffed sleeves, which she buttoned to a respectable level, above her gently rounded cleavage. She slid her feet into a dainty pair of coordinating, baby pink, patent pumps. Semi-satisfied, Flora stepped into the bathroom to dry her honey blonde hair and whip it into a bun at the nape of her neck. She liked buns. They made her feel professional, like she belonged to the teacher crowd. Plus, they kept the glue and paint out of her hair. Her Year One class were not known for their dexterity with craft implements.
She stopped for one final twirl in the mirror. Her legs, long and lithe, the type that made men stare in awe, were hidden by the fall of her skirt; and her curves, enough to awaken envy in every female in the staff room, were disguised by the shirt that clung not too tightly around her ribs. Not that she had ever noticed these assets. Flora was far too busy being organised to notice the adoring attentions that her form released in the opposite sex and those of her own alike. Besides, Louise said men only told you how pretty you were when they wanted sex; though Flora wasn’t sure about this. She’d never been told she was pretty.
That’ll have to do, she thought, sliding her glasses onto the end of her nose and taking another quick look in the mirror. Maybe she should leave the glasses at home, today? Her friend, PJ, was always urging her to ditch them. Uncertainly, she took them off and studied the result in the mirror. Definitely not, she decided, and put them back on. Life was so much safer when she had her glasses and clothes to hide behind. It meant she never really had to engage on any level other than a superficial one.
Humming with a contentment born of security, Flora walked the eighteen steps to her kitchen and began the routine of breakfast. Yes, Flora Owens had an ordered, predictable life. She was never late for work. She washed her hair on Tuesdays and Fridays. She had gorgeous friends and a job she adored. She had a faux-Mediterranean roof over her head and, usually, matching sets of underwear. She ate her food with precision to speed up her metabolism and always swallowed after the tenth chew. Everything had its place. Nothing ever intruded and that was the way she liked it.
All this was true.
But all this was about to change.
Chapter 2
The staff of St Bernadette’s School for Girls (and boys under the age where they could cause any trouble) sat in the library looking like a wayward bunch of children awaiting a date with the cane. For most of them it was not a good day and, as Flora took a seat with her colleagues, she attempted to push their negative energy aside.
Carol, the social worker, was huffing into her glass of green tea and James, Year Six, was cracking his knuckles, an annoying habit he only displayed when frustrated. His blond mop of hair fell over his eyes and he paused for a second to force it back in place. Seeing Flora, he gave a roll of his eyes and a small smile. Her mouth tilted in reply. He was always so pleased to see her but so very hard to read.
Flora looked over at Louise and PJ, her fellow teachers and friends of some six years since she had moved to Perth from country Western Australia. Their pens were tapping in unison on the tabletop, which only added to her conviction that they were spending way too much time together. Having synchronised menstrual cycles was bad enough but hearing the rhythm of each other’s souls was plain weird. With careful precision, placed her satchel on the carpet to the left of her seat, put her pen into a position exactly two centimetres from the right side of her page and sat straight, folding her hands in her lap. She didn’t notice the eyebrow raise that floated along the table between her friends.
At the front of the room, Miriam, the Assistant Principal of St Bernadette’s, began droning on in her usual sleep inducing style about urgent changes to staffing which had occurred during the two week break, hence the reason for the meeting. Flora sucked in a cleansing breath and tried to concentrate but, for some reason, her mind didn’t want to play. It had been the same all morning, ever since that thief had done the deed.
‘To cut a long story short, Jeff slipped and fell on a beer bottle at the Northbridge Festival last weekend,’ Miriam said. ‘His
leg is broken in five places and he’s in traction for eight weeks, so he won’t be able to work again until next year, leaving us well and truly in the lurch. I have no idea who will take charge of hymn singing now, so don’t bother asking about that extra time out of class. It won’t happen.’ She glared around the table, daring anyone to question her decision.
Hiding her astonishment that her boss would even be at a festival listening to the Chemical Brothers or some such, let alone doing God knows what to slip on a bottle; Flora watched as Miriam’s mouth continued to flap up and down. She looked a bit like one of those terriers, the ones with the huge eyebrows. Her flush of strawberry blonde hair, which they all knew was faker than the ‘Monet’ she had on her office wall, sat cap-like on her head. It didn’t even move as her head nodded.
‘Our temporary Principal has been appointed and will be starting on Monday,’ Miriam continued, her eyes sparking in annoyance. ‘He’s from Queensland, so be sure to make him welcome.’
Well, that said it all. Obviously, he wasn’t welcome. Obviously, Miriam had had her own eye on the prize. No wonder she was looking more stressed than usual under her non-surgical facelift. She had wanted Jeff’s job while he was indisposed.
‘If he’s anything like Sunday, he’ll be about as welcome as Hitler at a Jewish wedding,’ scoffed Louise. She didn’t get on with Sunday. In fact, he made her life hell. She would be pleased he was absent for entire term.
Trying not to smirk, Flora picked up her pen and looked furtively around the group before scribbling along the margin of her minutes. What’re you doing tonight?
Out. Coming? came the quick reply.
Lips pursed, Flora studied the wall display, so lovingly put together by Liz the Librarian, while she considered the idea. ‘Out’ might be fun.
‘Flora?’
‘Hmm?’
‘I said… do you want to come?’ Louise hissed through her teeth, her eyes darting towards Miriam, who was giving them the evil eye.
Flora sat a moment longer. Where?
Her decision on whether to join them or not was reliant on the ‘where’ because if it was another trip on a party bus they could forget it. The last time they had conned her into an evening like that she had almost ended up in Fremantle lock-up and Flora was not the type of girl who thought of a criminal record as a colourful story to relay at parties. The thought of sitting next to unsavoury people she didn’t know made her feel nauseous.
Louise glanced surreptitiously at Miriam. She had given up glaring at them and had turned to eyeballing Edith, one of the senior staff members who looked as if she’d dozed off. Edith’s false teeth had begun to slip from her open mouth and her head was drooping perilously close to that precipice where you fall asleep and then wake yourself up with an embarrassing start.
Karaoke. PJ needs cheering up.
Flora raised her brow in question. What now?
Dylan said her arse was saggy.
Oh for, Pete’s sake, Flora thought. What was with him? She’d have killed for a bum like PJ’s, toned from tri-weekly workouts at Zest and five litres of water a day.
‘Okay,’ she whispered, ‘I’m in….… but I have my Latin Dancing class until nine-thirty. Can you meet me there and we’ll go to Karaoke together?’
It’d be nice to have someone to meet her, because even though she signed up for these courses to improve herself, Flora didn’t seem to be getting any better at making small talk with strangers.
‘Latin as in samba, rumba and salsa Latin dancing?’ Louise said, staring at Flora as if she’d just announced she was taking up stripping.
‘Of course.’ What else would she be talking about? She’d told them about it last week.
‘You won’t find a man at a dance club, Flora. Only gay men like dancing.’
‘Or men that are trying to hide their indiscretions from their wives. Anyway, if you’re coming with us afterwards, you’d better make sure you frock up,’ PJ whispered. ‘And for God’s sake leave those glasses at home, they’re an absolute tragedy. You never know who might be there.’
At a karaoke night? Flora thought. Not likely.
****
Having decided that there was no point in trying to cram the rest of a day off into an hour, Flora decided she may as well employ the time wisely by preparing for the following Monday’s lessons. So, with an armload of resources, she set off down the corridor towards Louise’s classroom on the way to her own. PJ and Louise had been friends since forever and Flora felt privileged being included in their little gang of two, being the small town girl that she was. They had gone to the same private girls’ school, made their debuts together, sailed through University and even managed to score jobs at St Bernadette’s School when they graduated, much to their delight, or PJ’s daddy’s money. Flora, on the other hand, had spent her teenage years working behind the counter of her dad’s Fish and Chip shop. It wasn’t that they were poor but after her Mum had up and run off with Gerry the butcher, Flora’s Dad had relied on her. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it himself. It was just that being organised came so easily to Flora. And after her Mum left, it became the best way she knew to create a barrier against the world. If everything was where it should be, nothing would ever go wrong again.
On the first day of their first real job, Flora had met Louise, sitting on a bench behind the bushes during lunch, looking worried about the whole idea of actually having a job and being responsible. She was also trying hard not to smoke because she knew it was banned within two hundred metres of the school. Flora, also a first year teacher, had dusted off the bench and sat down beside her.
‘I’m Flora Owens,’ she’d said, an anxious smile forming.
Louise had reached out her slender hand, covered in rings and furnished with massive gold bangle. ‘Louise O’Driscoll. You new as well?’ she asked, putting her cigarette to her lips.
‘Yep. I’m so nervous. I don’t know the first thing about teaching.’
‘Me neither. I spent most of my tutorials asleep or in the bar, but we shouldn’t let that stop us from having a good time, should we? As long as we remember to make the Sign of the Cross at the right time, everything’ll be fine.’
That had been almost six years ago. Since then, Flora learnt a lot about teaching, PJ was beginning to learn that every man was not a suitable candidate for Father of the Year and Louise had still not given up smoking.
Flora stuck her head around the door of the Year Three classroom and Louise motioned her to come in. She was holding a dress against her body for PJ’s approval. It was the deepest emerald green Flora had ever seen, a perfect foil for her auburn hair.
‘O.M.G, Flower, NASA could set their watches by you,’ she giggled, glancing down at her watch and stuffing the dress back into the shopping bag. ‘You said you’d be here in ten and look…’
Flora grinned and walked around the group of tables looking for a clean desk lid to sit on.
‘So,’ PJ said, ‘What’s this about bloody Latin dancing? Have you gone completely bonkers? You do realise that you’re going to look like a desperado slothing around with a bunch of gay guys who are trying to impress their boyfriends.’
‘Yep.’ Flora took a sip from her water bottle. She didn’t care how much they teased. She’d wanted to learn Latin dancing for ages but had never had the courage to do it. And they wouldn’t all be gay men, she was sure. There were bound to be lots of other people like her, who merely wanted to learn how to dance. She decided to ignore the jibe. ‘Do you think Miriam’s getting worse?’
‘Short woman syndrome,’ stated PJ. ‘What she lacks in physical size she attempts to make up for with dictator skills and massive stilettos. Did you see the heels on those pumps she had on today? They looked like the light towers at Subiaco Oval.’ Taking a lip gloss from the pocket of her dress, she smacked it over her lips. ‘Her nose is out of joint because she didn’t get the Principal’s position while Sunday’s in hospital.’
‘And thank God for t
hat,’ Louise said. ‘I’d go mental if she was in charge. All that rubbish about a dress code for staff. I don’t need a list to tell me how to put on my clothes. As if anyone’s going to volunteer to be on that committee.’
‘You’d be asking people to hate your guts,’ PJ nodded.
Louise sat down, arranging herself in the chair as if she was preparing to have a portrait done. ‘The new Principal will be on it.’
‘What do you think he’s like?’ Flora asked.
‘Ten bucks says he’s one of those old dudes they’ve dragged out of retirement. You know, the type with a tweed jacket with elbow patches.’
‘He might be hot….’
‘Hmm, and I might be the natural born child of Brad and Angelina. Really Flora, have you ever known any Principal to be remotely near normal let alone hot? Hot men do not become teachers. They become sports stars.’
Flora agreed that she probably had a point.
‘Anyway, enough of the work stuff,’ Louise laughed. ‘Let’s go home. I have to pick up those jeans I had on order from Wayne Cooper and warm up my vocal chords. If we don’t win that karaoke trophy tonight, I’m selling my 90’s mix albums on eBay.’
‘We don’t own a 90’s mix, Lou. You didn’t even like the 90’s. You weighed seventy seven kilos and had pimples and braces.’
‘Enough.’ Louise held up a hand. ‘We will not delve into my tragic past.’
‘Don’t forget to pick me up,’ Flora said, as she walked to the door with them.
‘Nine-thirty on the dot,’ Louise answered, which was ridiculous in itself. It was a well-known fact that Louise would be late for her own funeral.
Chapter 3
An unlikely looking dancer, Flora stood agog in the doorway of Enrico’s Latin Dance Club at 7pm that evening. Yes, she’d been to dance classes in the past, and there had been men, but not like this …. This was nothing short of amazing. Pulling off her glasses and rubbing them with the glass cloth she kept in her purse, she scanned the room, blinking in disbelief and realising she’d spent far too much time with only a Marion Keyes novel for company when she really should have been out. The room was teeming with men. Not only that, quite a few of them looked sensible and straight and they were all under the age of thirty-five. Well, almost all of them, the portly balding guy next to the window was fifty, if he was a day. Still, Louise and PJ would have a fit when she told them. They would have hated to miss out on a man-perv opportunity like this.
