All Saints: Love and Intrigue in the Stunning New Zealand Wilderness (The New Zealand Soccer Referee Series Book 1) (6 page)

Alysha’s mother scooped me up, taking my meltdown as
yet another stepping stone in her busy day as a nurse at the general hospital.
She seated me in her kitchen with an ice pack on my face and a drink of warm
lemonade sizzling in a glass next to my hand. Alysha twittered around until Pam
got fed up and sent her home.

“Did you
put ice on that at home?” Pam asked and I shrugged.

“I only
had peas.”

“Well, I
trust they were frozen and not tinned,” she said, shifting the ice pack to one
side to examine my bruised cheek. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I shook
my head and slapped the pack over my cheek, harder than I intended, but I tried
not to wince in her peripheral vision as she busied herself at the sink. As she
looked away I screwed up my face and stifled a groan. My cheek felt as though a
million needles were embedded under the flesh, being pressed by an unseen hand.

“I know
it hurts,” Pam said, without turning around. “You don’t need to pretend with
me.”

My
shoulders sagged and I dropped the brave facade. “I said something about Peter
and Uncle Terry gave me a slap. It bloody hurts.”

“It will
do. Drink your lemonade. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

I sighed
and took a measured sip, feeling the cut smart inside my mouth. Pam gave me a
nod of approval. “What did you say about Pete?” she asked and I cringed.

“I can’t
repeat it,” I said. “It was mean and I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Perhaps
it was a home truth he needed to hear.” She poured hot water over a tea bag and
squished it with a spoon, bringing her mug with her as she sat opposite me at
the table. “They let that boy run riot; Margaret and Terry. They wouldn’t be
told. I know he left you in debt.” Pam narrowed her eyes and watched me. “We’d
all have helped you, sweetie.” She leaned forward and stroked my hand with hers
and I felt my chest tighten.

“Don’t
be nice to me, Aunty. It doesn’t help and I don’t deserve it.” My mind wandered
back to Terry’s face as I threatened his son’s good name with my knowledge. I
cringed and she saw.

“I think
you’ve been punished enough, sweetie,” she said, her voice soft. “There’s
nothing you could’ve done to deserve losing the love of your life.”

I gaped
and fixed my eyes on a bookcase in the corner, stilling my body and forbidding
it to react. I swallowed and waited until I could guarantee the solidity of my
voice before speaking. “Yeah, Pete dying was a kick in the guts.”

Pam
shook her head. “Now we both know I’m not talking about Pete,” she said, her
tone soft. “Jordan had no right making you marry him. You should’ve come for
help instead of going along with it. Larry always said you were made for each
other but I guessed the truth. It wasn’t a love match by any standards.”

“I
didn’t see a way out,” I whispered. “It’s not like I had a queue of hot guys
lining up to whisk me up the altar and make cute babies.” My eyes strayed to a
photo of Alysha and Mikey and Pam tracked my gaze.

“It’s
not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said, smoothing her fingers over the top of
my hand. “Alysha often looks at you and wishes she could swap lives for a day
or two.”

I
snorted and shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s got Craig and Mikey, a
nice house, decent car and you. Why would she want to swap that for a dingy
flat, standing for half an hour on the bus twice a day and the sound of my best
friend, the TV night after night?” I heard the resentment in my voice and the
vehemence shocked me. Pam kept stroking my hand, not put off by my anger.

“No. She
looks at you with your lovely figure, boobs where they’re meant to be and a
good night’s sleep within reach every night. Once you’ve got Pete’s debts
sorted your money will be your own and you can spend it on holidays to Fiji or
ice cream.”

“Probably
not the ice cream.” I smirked and my lip split again. “Don’t want to go back
there.”

“Yeah,
well you need to work with what today brings you, instead of craving what
tomorrow might have up its sleeve. There are no guarantees in this world,
sweetie. So, you’ve been stung in the past but it doesn’t mean you get to lay
down and die. Grab your opportunities and get moving.”

I
pressed the ice to my cheek and gave a slow nod in acknowledgement of Pam’s
truths. “Yeah. I felt cheated not getting pregnant. It’s probably too late
now.” I felt the tears prick behind my eyelids and let go, allowing them to
surf the contours of my jawbone. I didn’t add the minor detail that it took
more than two attempts at sex for some women to conceive, figuring she didn’t
need to know that. Her steady stroking motion against my skin comforted me and
I closed my eyes, placing my mother there instead of Pam. I swallowed. “I miss
Mum.”

“Yeah, I
know.” Pam’s voice wavered too. “She was the best sister anyone could ask for.
It wasn’t fair; losing her so young.”

I nodded
and a tear ran over my fingers and embedded itself in the cloth around the ice
pack. Pam leaned forward. “You said Alysha had me, Ursula. But you’ve always
had me too. I’ll be there for you as long as I have breath in my body. It was
the last promise I made to Karen before she passed and I mean to keep it.” I
heard the catch in her voice. “I’ve done a poor job so far though. She’d be
really mad at me. I let your father dispose of you like a possession and I
regret that. I wish you’d be honest about why you sold the house and car and at
least let me help you.”

I shook
my head. “It’s sorted,” I replied, hoping it would be. If not, I’d got the name
of the magazine journalist and I’d drag my husband’s name through the mud. I
knew the journo wouldn’t pay me but I’d make sure the Saints went down like a
lead balloon. There would be nothing left of Saint Peter’s memory by the time
I’d finished.

Trouble
is, I suspected the only person who’d end up hurting was me.

Aunty Pam fed me, loved me and cosseted me until
Sunday evening when my uncle drove me home to my flat. He stopped on the street
outside and waited as I opened the passenger door. “Hey, Ula,” he said, his
tone serious. “Why don’t you move in with us? There’s room and Pamela would
love it.”

I nodded
and smiled, picking at the pretty blouse she’d lent me after my shower. “I
know, Uncle Larry. She’s said it once a week since I sold Pete’s house. I just
need to find my own way at the moment.”

“Well,
the offer’s there,” he said with a wink. “And it won’t be going away so we’ll
keep asking yer.”

“Thanks,
Uncle Larry.” I waved as he drove along the road and wondered if he’d still
want me to live with them when he found out I’d blackmailed my mother-in-law
and slept with the referee who gave my dead husband his last red card. The
notion made me bite down hard on my sore lip, but as my sanity hung in the
balance, I made time to see the funny side.

The air
inside my apartment felt stale and I walked around opening windows. My spare
keys sat on the kitchen counter and I fingered them, wondering if Teina would
ever dare come back after my ugly meltdown. I knew I wouldn’t. There were no
signs of his sandwich making and I figured at least he was house trained. The
flat exemplified my empty life and I contemplated moving nearer the beach. I
missed my marital home in Devonport and wished I’d been able to hold onto it.
Walking and running along the beach helped with my fitness and the sea offered
a kind of calm not available elsewhere. I stared at the neutral paint in the
lounge and imagined renting the sanitised box until I reached retirement. The
shiver which worked its way along my spine caused a physical ache and I gave
myself a mental and physical shake, focussing on Aunty Pamela’s wise words. I
recited them to myself as I loaded my washing machine and tidied around,
readying myself for school tomorrow. “Work with what today brings you, instead
of craving what tomorrow might have up its sleeve.” So typical of Aunty Pam’s
brand of advice, it brought me comfort as evening slipped into night and I
crawled into bed.

My last
glance in the bathroom mirror didn’t bode well and I doubted makeup could cover
the swollen hand mark on my cheek, the cut under my eye or the bruise along my
jawbone. I dragged out a tube of foundation and practiced dabbing it over the
marks. “Reasonable,” I sighed to my reflection, regretting my foolhardiness as
I faced the painful prospect of washing it off.

Sleep
came late and only after I laid on my back with an education policy manual
raised at arm’s length. It was boring enough to tire me out but after dropping
it on my face twice, I admitted defeat and fell asleep by myself.

It felt
as though five minutes after closing my eyes, the deafening blurt of the alarm
clock rocked my world and jabbed me from sleep like a jousting knight with a
sharpened prong. I groaned and smacked the alarm clock on its already damaged
snooze button and sank into the pillows. I executed my first task by counting
how many hours it had been since Terry slapped me and praying the healing
abilities of my body had worked a miracle while I slept. If I looked in the
bathroom mirror and still saw the hand mark, I’d know God resented my absence
from church the night before and intended to punish me for my romp with Teina.
Stalking to the bathroom, I faced my destiny.

“Not
bad,” I mused, pressing the area beneath my eye. Less pink and more white, only
the nasty cut from Terry’s ring remained and the long bruise across my jawline.
It gave me hope for a day without awkward explanations. I showered, dressed and
applied foundation like any self-respecting plasterer and hoped it wouldn’t rub
off before home time. Working with Year 1 children, the day held no guarantees
I’d arrive home in the same state I departed.

I
breezed into the staffroom at Mount Kearnon Primary School with half an hour to
spare and chewing gum on the bottom of my sandal. “Bloody kids!” I grumbled,
digging at it with a knife over the sink.

“Stick
it in the freezer and it’ll peel off,” the Year 4 teacher said, yanking my
sandal out of my hand and shoving it into the ice compartment of the fridge.
She gave me a sympathetic smile and her brow creased as she took a second
glance at my cheek.

“My
lunch is in there!” the Year 6 teacher grumbled. “Ursula, I don’t want your
feet all over my sandwiches.” His protestations distracted my saviour as she
eyed him with disdain.

“Colin,
her foot isn’t in there; her shoe is.” Maddie eyed his portly stomach like a
horse breeder studying a disappointing result of interbreeding. “I don’t think
you’ll starve.”

“Not the
point!” Colin reached in and dragged out my sandal. He flopped it in my face.
“Put it in a bag.”

With a
sigh, I pulled open the drawer next to the sink and numerous shopping bags
burst out as though having waited all weekend to break free. I seized one of
them and shoved my sandal into it. Maddie snatched it out of my fingers and
popped it back into the freezer box, slamming the door with undue force. She
pointed an elegant finger towards the seating area and Colin backed away at
speed and hastened over to his favourite chair next to the principal’s usual
spot. He’d marked it by leaving his cell phone on the seat cushion and backed
up with confidence, pitching himself over the arm and into the lap of my
teacher aide, who’d moved the phone and appropriated the seat.

“You dirty
bugger!” she yelled, slapping him on the back of the head. “I’m telling my Bert
you made a pass at me.” Her Northern English accent rang out like a claxon and
the staffroom ground to a halt as everyone stopped brewing tea or chatting to
watch the spectacle unfold.

“I did
not!” Colin bounced up with incredible energy and knocked a full mug of coffee
out of the grounds man’s hand, sending the liquid cascading down his own back.
The strange little primary school teacher hopped around swearing with a series
of words not found in the Oxford dictionary.

“Enough!”
Vanessa Cathcart’s shriek cut through the air and she levelled her manicured
brows at Colin. “See me after briefing!” she said, watching as his complexion
passed through a series of interesting reds and settled on fuchsia pink.

Maddie’s
pretty lips quirked up at the corners and Helen, my teacher aide masked her
smugness with a cough and avoided my eye. The principal of our small
educational oasis seated herself in her preferred chair and waited while we
milled around and settled about her like various shades of scattered confetti.
Colin sulked in the far corner and kept his damp shirt pulled away from his
hairy back.

“The
fire service visit is still happening,” Vanessa began, brushing imaginary specks
from her clipboard. She glanced across at me. “Unless there’s a call out and
then they’ll have to cancel.”

“We’re
baking cookies for them this morning,” Helen interjected, her Birmingham accent
like fingernails on a blackboard. “We could always make sure the call out’s
here.” She snorted at her own joke and the rest of the staff pinned serious
looks on their faces, betraying her without a second glance.

“Not
necessary,” Vanessa intoned, saying the words with emphasis. “This is a busy
week with lots to get through. I want the Year 2s ready for their provisional
testing by Friday and this drama production’s taken long enough.” Vanessa
eyeballed the Year 6 staff with meaning and Colin cringed, adding sweat to his
coffee stain. “Show the parents and shut it down.” Vanessa jabbed the air with
her red finger nail and squinted in his direction. “If they want their children
to join the cast of Annie, they can send their darlings to stage school.”

Colin
nodded and whimpered like a squeaky toy.

“Ursula.”
The principal’s eyes roved towards Helen and then me, dancing across heads as
she found my steady gaze. “Is the unfortunate bout of diarrhoea now out of our
system?” she asked with deceptive sweetness.

“As far
as I can tell,” I replied with honesty. “It’s not like they give much notice
before they...”

“Yes,
thank you for your update.” Vanessa raised a hand for silence and I swallowed
the rest of my sentence. I contemplated asking for a phone number for our
newest board member who worked as a lawyer in down town Auckland. It could lead
to a potential indictment if I knowingly contaminated a fire crew with essence
of Norovirus, delivered via chocolate chip cookies. I shuddered at the notion
of alternatives to the chocolate chips and focussed on Vanessa’s moving lips as
her red lip gloss moved through the timetable for the week and finished off
with a rousing congratulations for Maddie, whose impending wedding loomed like
an albatross in the near future.

“You’re
all invited,” Maddie said, glancing at Colin and regretting her generosity. Her
pointed glance in my direction made me cringe. Another wedding reception sans
plus one made me reach for ready excuses before the invitation hit the bottom
of my post box.

My mood
felt flat after the briefing and I rallied long enough to help Helen set up the
classroom for the baking session. “How do you wanna do this?” she asked. “I can
get three trays of cookies in the staffroom oven so we could do one group of
five each at a time.”

“Yeah,
good plan.” I plopped three spatulas next to mixing bowls on the tiny tables.
“Petra’s coming in to sit with the others and read a story. She can keep them
in the library corner while we make a mess here. How long for each group?”

“Half an
hour.” Helen shrugged. “Depends on who turns up today.”

“Can you
manage Lawrie?” I asked, chewing my lip. “If he kicks off, we’re screwed.”

“He
won’t kick off,” Helen assured me. “We had a chat on Friday and I told him I’d
work with someone else if he had another meltdown like last week.”

“What did
he say?” I asked, picturing the silver-rimmed spectacles and stubborn face, the
child’s lips pulled into a grimace.

Helen
shrugged. “He said he’d try. I know he struggles with his fine motor skills and
most of his problem is frustration.”

I
nodded. “We’re so lucky to have you, Helen. There’re some days when I know I
couldn’t manage thirty children and Lawrie by myself.” I stared out of the
window where three hundred miniature people bounced around larger copies of
themselves.

“Yeah,
you would.” Helen punched me in the arm and draped a mini cooking apron over
the back of a chair. “You’re awesome. Look at Penny from last year. You managed
her just fine and she’s gone off into Year 2 as happy as a sand fly.”

I
watched Helen’s sandy hair swish around her jaw as she bustled to the other
side of the classroom and tidied up the library books in her inimitable way,
all capability and self-assurance. I smiled at the Year 6 monitor as she
dropped the register on my desk and gave me a grin and a wave. Working in a
school offered a finite glimpse of time as children arrived as babies who
couldn’t hold a pencil one minute and went off to intermediate with dyed hair
and piercings in what seemed like the blink of an eye. I’d taught at the school
for nine years and rued the day when the children of my pupils bounced through
the door. I promised myself I wouldn’t become one of the fluffy haired old
ladies who’d stayed in the same classroom, eating the same sandwiches for lunch
their whole lives. Helen turned to face me and cocked her head.

“What’s
with the musing?” she asked. “And why are you hiding a damn big hand mark under
a shed load of foundation cream? You look like you laid it on with a trowel.”

“Oh.” I
touched a finger to my cheek and then removed it; I needed the makeup to remain
glued to my face until three-fifteen at the earliest. It didn’t matter what my
bus compatriots thought of my wounds; it was none of their business. “Stupid
incident at the weekend,” I said, playing it down. “I got in the way of things
and ended up with a slap.”

“Who
called the cops?” Helen asked, concern on her face.

I
shrugged. “My cousin. But they didn’t show up, so it’s over as far as I’m
concerned.”

Helen
shoved the last library book on its shelf and straightened the bean bags. “All
set?” she asked, moving the conversation away from my mishap. I figured she saw
my discomfort but knew she’d revisit the subject at the earliest opportunity.

Birds sang
in the trees around the playground as autumn leaves scattered to the floor and
Helen and I led our merry band of skipping children into the classroom. Their
eyes lit up with excitement at the sight of the two tables set up for cooking
and the thrill spread like an infection.