Lessons in Love

‘That’s certainly not how I intended it to sound,’ he said. ‘Not at all. I simply expressing that I didn’t think we needed to label anything, that it could just be one fantastic night as it was.’

I glanced up over my shoulder. ‘Look, we need to be in class in about five minutes. You need to leave.’

‘So that’s it?’ he asked again. ‘I use one wrong word, and I’ve blown my chance?’

‘Do you teach your students to choose their words carefully?’ I opened my office door and swept my arm towards the outside world. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t happen, and it’s not happening again.’

‘So, what you’re saying is just rewind to four o’clock Friday?’

‘Exactly. None of it happened. Whatever, right?’

‘All right then.’ Marcus backed out of my office slowly. ‘Onion.’

‘Smug bastard.’ I reached for my lesson plans.

So, that didn’t exactly play out how I’d hoped. For all the imaginary arguments I’d won over the weekend, I suddenly had about as much bite as sweet tomato relish. But I didn’t have time to worry. In fact, I didn’t even want to worry about it. The bell had barely rung when Jemima appeared at the door of the library.

‘Everybody say good morning to Miss Manning.’ Jemima held the door open for her small army as they raced through the door, elbows akimbo, already fragile friendships teetering on the fall of seating arrangements. They sang a sweet greeting and, before I could grab her, she’d vanished. Fair call, I thought.

‘All right.’ I clapped my hands and looked out at the faces before me. Kids. They were so readable I could tell their level of disinterest a mile off. ‘Today, we’re going to be reading one of my favourite books. Then, I want you to use the tools in front of you to retell the story of that book back to me.’

They looked bored stiff. Great.

‘Miss Manning, are you going to take the roll?’

Fuck.

‘Just testing.’ I grinned and shook a finger. ‘Good pick-up.’

Thankfully, things got better. I remembered roll call at the beginning of classes, worked through retellings with younger students, character profiles with some of the older ones, and word associations with the ones in between. I pushed my return cart around at lunchtime and, on Wednesday, Penny and the Prep teachers (that really should be a band name) took me for lunch at the closest sandwich shop we could find, where I avoided any and all questions about my love life. I did not have one, no matter what secrets the universe was keeping for me.

On my way back, I walked into the library with a fist-sized blueberry muffin in tow to find Phil waiting for me. He looked deep in discussion with Mick, both wearing expressions that told me they were plotting someone’s demise; likely mine. I hoped like hell Marcus hadn’t said anything. Surely, he wouldn’t.

‘Eleanor.’ Phil held out a hand to stop me before I could disappear too far into my office.

‘Phil.’ I backtracked cautiously. All I wanted right now was to destroy this muffin and ride the sugar wave out for the afternoon. I peeled back the paper patty case and nibbled as I waited for him to finish mumbling at Mick.

‘How’s everything going?’ he asked. ‘All under control? Settling in well?’

I nodded slowly. ‘I think so, yes.’

‘No problems at all?’ he asked. ‘Getting along all right with everyone?’

I froze. Throat, meet vomit. Vomit, sit back down. ‘Sorry?’

‘It’s just, I’ve got you in mind for a project. I was just wondering if there were any issues I wasn’t yet aware of?’

I shook my head and glanced at Mick, who offered nothing but a nervous smile. ‘No, everyone’s been great. Very supportive. Thank you.’

‘And you’re ready for the Book Fair coming up? That’s always a huge day.’

Not really. It was still weeks away. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Excellent. Good.’ Phil rubbed his hands together, surveying the library like he was looking for something out of place, then disappeared with Mick in tow.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what they were planning.

Chapter 8

If anyone were to ask me to sum up my first two weeks at Apollo Bay Primary School, I’d probably tell them it had been a bag of Allen’s Party Mix. Friendships with most colleagues came easily, helped by shared stories of class tantrums and breakdowns over the death of fictional characters. As a book lover, I could sympathise with that far too easily.

We bemoaned workloads that held hands with a lack of funding and, just when I thought I’d climbed to the top of my To Do List, I’d received so many boxes of books for this upcoming book fair that I wished I’d seen them being delivered. Watching them arrive would have looked like that meme with the Amazon truck; oh, look, my book order has arrived!

When it came to Marcus, we had no need to see each other. Like a clip from Yellow Submarine, he’d walk in one door, I’d leave from another. I might have thought keeping him out of sight was the key to keeping him out of my mind, but it was only going to last for so long before I had to deal with him, and his class.

On Friday afternoon, with his Grade Six students in tow, he walked into the library. His navy suit and grey tie brought my winning streak to an end. I sighed so heavily my fringe tickled and left me scratching my forehead.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Manning.’ He grinned so hard, so smugly, that I thought his head might tip back and reveal he was secretly a PEZ dispenser. If he then proceeded to spit out a couple of chill pills, I’d be more than happy to deal with him for the afternoon. Instead, he left nothing more than large handprints on my freshly Windex’d door, because using door handles was so 2005.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Blair. So positively wonderful to see your face again.’ I smiled coquettishly and turned away.

His class stampeded past him like wild brumbies, dispersing in every direction known to woman and proceeding to tear up the landscape. They were way too boisterous a bunch for a Friday afternoon. I don’t ever remember being so intense when I was their age. My friends and I were more likely to be dragging knuckles and yawning out the last of our jam sandwiches but, here they were, raucous and large as life.

‘All right, remember what I said.’ Marcus strode across the learning zone. ‘Let’s mix up our reading style a bit and step out of our comfort zones. Max, that means something other than comics for you and, Sarah, get off the Sweet Valley High.’

‘Nothing wrong with Sweet Valley High,’ I grumbled.

‘And I’d like to see a few of you in the non-fiction section. Caroline, I know you’ll just love to read about French revolutionary history. Napoleon is not just an ice-cream flavour.’

He wasn’t even that. What on earth was he teaching these kids?

I cringed. ‘What?’

‘That’s it, every corner. Spread on out. That way, when Miss Manning puts all these books back tonight, she gets to familiarise herself with the library, and we do want to help her get acquainted with Mr Dewey and his system.’

I glanced up from the small piles of books forming on the returns trolley. ‘I’ll have you know I’m very familiar with Mr Dewey and his system. We’re old friends, dinner on Friday nights.’

Marcus leaned back against the loans counter, and I wondered if I could slap his elbows from underneath him with a ruler. Funny bones were never comical when on the receiving end of a sharp stick or doorframe.

‘A refresher never hurt,’ he said.

Hell, I’d worked in libraries for the last ten years. If I knew one thing better my own monthly cycle, it was the Dewey Decimal System. It had got so bad in my previous job that, at one point, I could direct other staff to the aisle number and shelf location.

Looking for a book about Mozart? Somewhere around 780’s, aisle twenty on the second floor, right-hand side. I sighed. Oh, for the simple days.

I watched as Marcus ambled around the room, ducking and weaving between children and stacks, congratulating them all on their fine reading choices. ‘Concorde plane? Well done, Danny.’ ‘Tudor History for Children? Good on you, Emily, you’ll love it.’ I gave him a filthy look and retreated to my office. The sooner I got rid of him, the better. If only he thought the same. He wasn’t done, and followed me straight through the door, his aftershave following him like the slightly appealing smell of lazy Sunday mornings in bed with a man who knew his way around a woman’s body.

Urgh.

‘Do you have the lesson plans I emailed you?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ I picked one of the display folders from beside my PC. ‘See? I, the capable teacher that I am, are prepared.’

He plucked the folder from my hand and flipped through the contents. ‘That was grammatically incorrect, just so you know.’

My eyes widened. ‘Sorry, what?’

‘You basically just said, “I are prepared”.’

‘Oh, sod off,’ I grumbled.

‘Let’s not fight in front of the children, hmm?’ He smirked. ‘Not good for their mental health, is all.’

‘What?’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Now, do you want me to stay and take this first class? Or have you got things under control?’ he asked.

‘Of course I’m capable. I just said I was, didn’t I? Go away.’

‘Ooof! Bitey like cheese.’ His tongue rolled about in his cheek pocket. ‘Cracker barrel.’

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