Belinda Missen - Lessons in Love

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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