Belinda Missen - Lessons in Love

I shuffled back to my office to find a password tacked to the top of the computer screen. That was nice. Exactly where was I supposed to begin? I imagined my inbox would be backing up quicker than a toilet stuffed with paper and cherry bombs. I pushed my planner to the side for a moment to try and tidy the room.

As I moved about, familiarising myself with everything, my brain threw out questions. Was I supposed to fire up the borrowing system and run a report for overdue books? Maybe I needed to do a complete stocktake before doing that, just in case. But school wasn’t back yet, so it was kind of pointless. I thought back to what I’d done previously and decided I would do that tomorrow, once students were back and the school was alive again. Curriculum first, got it.

It was amazing how quickly things began snapping back into shape. Still, with each email I deleted, ten more popped up in their place. I almost wanted to kiss Grace when it turned out her four o’clock email was nothing more than a ladies’ lunch invite because, by that time, I’d started to reconsider every life choice that had brought me here.

I reached for Cathy’s reference guide and paced the office while I read. I scribbled notes and re-stuck Post-it notes, jammed a pen behind my ear, and repeated things aloud as if that would jog my memory. And that was how I spent the few hours I had left, quietly on my own – and not changing the library roster.

* * *

‘Okay, I’ll admit it.’ I pulled the last of the steak from the barbecue and slapped it down on Penny’s plate. ‘I’m curious.’

All the way home, I could smell the last of the school holiday barbecues. The only way to stop my mouth watering was to have my own cook-up. It was never going to be as elaborate as the ones we had on the beach as kids, around a hastily fashioned driftwood fire where everyone brought a plate, but with a supermarket coleslaw and pasta salad, we had Prosecco tastes on a Passion Pop budget.

Penny popped her last two bottles of beer and slid one across the outdoor table to me. Leaning back, she peered at me curiously, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ‘About? Boys? Sex? Women? You should definitely try women.’

‘Marcus,’ I said. ‘What’s his story?’

She took a swig and gave her head a delighted shake. ‘He doesn’t really have one. He’s just one of those impossibly lovely people.’

‘You’re not giving me a lot to run on.’ I peered down my nose at her as I tipped my head back. ‘He can’t be all sunshine, rainbows and kittens.’

‘All I know is he keeps to himself a lot. He’s not a bragger, he’s super passionate about his job, and is delightful to look at.’ She peered at me through narrowed eyes and an accusatory look.

I mimicked her look and gave my head a little shake. ‘Not really.’

‘He’s kind of that …’ she flourished her hands ‘… he’s a bit of an everyman. Men want to be him; women want to be with him.’

‘And I suppose you’re of that opinion, too?’ I asked.

I’d stayed back at work later than Penny. There were just too many loose ends for me to leave, and I didn’t want to risk the dreaded 3 a.m. wake up, eyes pinging open like a dancer at a rave while my brain worked overtime to process the list of what I hadn’t done. Just as I was packing up for the evening, blinds pulled low in the office, and lights switched off, a small dusting of women appeared from Marcus’s office. I’m sure he was somewhere in the middle of the cloud, his name held aloft on a palanquin.

She shrugged in defence. ‘I would not kick him out of bed.’

‘You sound like Nanna.’

‘And she was a smart lady.’ Penny pointed at me with her fork. ‘I loved her wardrobe.’

‘Anyway.’ I shook my head, savouring my steak-melting-in-mouth moment. ‘Like I said, just curious.’

‘He’s definitely gorgeous.’

‘More like a painful reminder,’ I said, scraping the last of the garlic butter from the tray. ‘With his suit and tie and the “I’m such a wonderful businessman” demeanour.’

‘No, Ellie.’ Her face fell. ‘If he was a dick, I would tell you. You know I would.’

I glanced at her quickly, silently.

‘Just give him a chance,’ she sighed. ‘It was your first day and, you being you, you’re probably running around with a chip on your shoulder, anyway.’

‘What?’ I scoffed. ‘That’s not true.’

‘The only way it could be truer would be if you crumbled like that rock-biting creature in The NeverEnding Story .’ She fixed me with a sardonic look. ‘What was his name?’

‘Rockbiter.’ I rolled my eyes and, though our beloved grandmother would be mortified, spoke with my mouth full. ‘What, so be nice to him because he’s a smug idiot who thinks people are just there to do his bidding?’

‘No, just let people into that gravelly little chest cavity of yours.’

‘A, it’s not gravelly, that was just a chest infection. And B, I’m not here for that.’

Of all the things I could be accused of, not having a heart was not one of them. It stung a little that it was the first thing Penny thought of. I reached for the pasta salad and dessert spoon, so I could stuff those feelings down with glue-tasting mayonnaise and carbohydrates.

‘Then why are you here? It can’t be just for my good looks and tropical tastes.’

‘It really can be,’ I said.

‘But it’s not, otherwise you would have done more about visiting while you were busy being a rich Melbournian.’

I winced.

Ouch.

That one hurt.

People seem to have this idea that living by the beach is sun, surf and sand on constant rotation. They were joined by lifesavers with washboard abs and swim caps, ready to save the day at a second’s notice. Not so much this morning, though. It was the first day of school, and the weather was putting on a performance matched only by my stomach.

Grey skies rolled in over a fog-covered bay, light drizzle threatening a heavy downpour. If it was anything like the weather of my youth, it’d hang around until about nine o’clock. The sun would then come out, drying up everything in sight, leaving everyone to think they’d perhaps imagined this morning’s need for a thick coat. As for me, I ducked under the awning of the local bakery and stepped inside.

It was pure, yeasty warmth. The smell of sticky strawberry iced doughnuts mingled with the burned crusts of a raisin loaf that looked like it was going to be our breakfast for the next week. But, again, there were so many varieties of bread lining the racks now that I wanted to take them all home. I plucked a sample of apple scroll from the plastic box on the counter and let the cinnamon warmth come alive in my mouth.

‘That’s so good,’ I groaned in appreciation.

‘Seriously, this place is just amazing,’ commented the woman next to me. She was about my age, with rusty-red hair, and the toddler on her hip was preoccupied shoving a Vegemite scroll in his mouth. We exchanged pleasant smiles, until her face dropped. ‘Wait …’

‘Yes?’ I said slowly. I hoped like hell I wasn’t wearing half of the little apple scroll portion.

‘Eleanor Manning?’ Her smile was broad and bright.

My smile was a little slower to form. I could not place this woman standing in front of me, as many memories as I tried to recall. You’d think redheads would be hard to forget, but this woman did not register at all.

‘That’s me,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t …’

‘Sally Fairburn.’ Her only empty hand outstretched in something that might have been excitement. ‘I remember you so well. Mick Buckley’s Grade Six class.’

Her name triggered all kinds of memories. Sally Fairburn was part of our primary school posse that sat together at lunchtimes. We had our favourite spot picked out, under a teetering pink and grey gumtree in the far corner of the playground. She was one of two Sallys in our year level. Dad had nicknamed them Burnt Sally (Fairburn), and Long Tall Sally (Winters). After she ran into our front door, Dad changed her name to Blind Sally.