The Teacher's Secret (13 page)

It wasn't Adam's fault it had broken. And it wasn't her fault she was so bloody fertile. Now she laughs about it. But she wasn't laughing then. Not when she twigged that something was up. Even that took a while.

No way was she going to buy the test herself; she made Adam do it. They couldn't go back to her house or even his house, so they took it with them up to the headland. When he handed her the specimen jar, she'd just stared at him.

‘Pee in it,' he told her. ‘You've just got to pee in it.'

But she wouldn't. Not until he'd turned his back, walked away and promised not to look. It was an awkward thing to do, there on
the headland, squatting over that stupid jar, her pants around her ankles. The instructions said to dip the stick in and wait three minutes. But within seconds, there were two strong lines.

Perhaps she'd got it wrong, she thought. Perhaps just one line meant yes and two lines meant no. But Adam was holding the instructions and when she held up the stick, she saw his face drop.

Fuck
, he was saying,
oh fuck
.

Telling her parents was always going to be tricky; they didn't even know she had a boyfriend. So they didn't tell them. They told Adam's mum instead. And Fran, God love her, she hadn't screamed or shouted or cried. She'd simply turned on the kettle, put her hand over Mel's hand, and said, ‘Oh dear, love, that's a bit of a surprise now, isn't it?'

And when Mel, shaking hard, said she couldn't tell her parents, she couldn't possibly—Fran had nodded for a bit then said, ‘Well, love, why don't I take you to the doctor so we can find out what's what?'

What's what was a fifteen-week pregnancy, and a belly that, now she knew about it, seemed to be swelling by the second. She wasn't going to have an abortion. She wouldn't even consider it. Adam didn't try to talk her around.

Which meant that Mel's parents would have to be told, and soon. Adam came with her. Fran, too. Because it might be easier that way, she said, for the mothers to talk together.

But the conversation was brief and afterwards there was only silence. From everybody. Thick, thick silence that gave Mel the urge to whistle through her teeth. Instead, she tapped her foot under the table.

‘Stop,' her father said finally. ‘Stop tapping.'

So she did, she stopped tapping. But once Adam and Fran were gone, leaving her there in a silent, angry house, again she started to tap and tap. This time, her father didn't tell her to stop. This time, he just looked across the table at her and said, ‘You disgust me.'

She saw the year out—there were only a few weeks left—but when school started back the next year, she stayed away. She moved out of home, too, and in with Adam and Fran. And after Ethan was born, they became a household of four. And if it was a bit tight at times, it didn't matter so much.

When Mel turned sixteen, they got engaged. Adam bought the rings together—the engagement ring and the wedding ring. Fran didn't think it would be lying to wear them both before they got married. It would be a shame not to, that's what she said, seeing as they'd been designed to be worn that way.

They were married just after her eighteenth birthday. The wedding was small—neither of them wanted to make a fuss. She didn't wear white and her father didn't give her away. Afraid of a refusal, she hadn't asked and he hadn't offered.

After Josh was born, by chance, a house came up for sale at the end of the street. It was old and it was rundown but, though the bank took a bit of convincing, almost affordable. And that's where they've stayed, right there in Brindle. Now, people are even calling it the new hotspot. That always makes Mel laugh. Brindle, by the jail, a hotspot. Who'd have thought it?

Adam is off her now, lying on his back beside her, still catching his breath. ‘Thanks for that, Mrs Thompson.'

She smiles as she walks her finger from his belly button down to his groin. ‘My pleasure, Mr Thompson.'

There are noises outside. ‘Quick,' Adam whispers, ‘they're coming.' With a giggle, Mel covers them both with the quilt. Arms wrapped around each other, they wait for the onslaught.

Josh is first in. Theirs is a low bed and even though he is small for a seven-year-old, he can still make it on top of them in one leap. This morning he lands on Adam's groin. ‘Go easy, mate,' Adam groans. ‘Don't kill your chances of having a sister.'

‘What sister?' says Mel. ‘I thought we were done.'

Adam makes a popping noise with his mouth. ‘Maybe we'll change our minds.'

Now Ethan is launching himself onto them, too. He misses Adam but lands on Mel's legs. ‘What are you trying to do, you little monster, break my knees?' She turns to Adam in mock despair. ‘How could we possibly bring another child into this madhouse?'

As soon as she says this, the three of them—Adam included—start to grunt and make stupid faces. Pushing them all away from her, she pretends to get up. ‘In five seconds,' she says, ‘I'll be getting up and—I'm warning you—I'm naked.'

It's the only thing guaranteed to get the kids moving. Now she laughs as she watches them scrambling out of the room, eyes squeezed tight to make sure they won't catch even a glimpse of her.

Adam leans over to kiss her. ‘If it's any consolation, babe, I love seeing you naked.'

Nina

It's the middle of March. At the club, that means Aloha time and everywhere Nina looks there are leis linked together to make giant paper chains. Large Chinese parasols hang from the ceiling and giant pieces of papier-mâché fruit are piled on either side of the bar.

Nina enters the room alone, dressed up in a tacky Hawaiian shirt she picked up in an op shop. She recognises no one.

Steve is already here, somewhere.
Steve
, she calls in her head, hoping this will be enough for him to look up and call her over to him.

But there's no sign of him. She could phone him, but the music is so loud he'd be unlikely to hear the ring. Besides, he could be with a client—this is a business function, after all—so he might not even answer.

As it happens, she finds him at the far side of the bar. He, too, is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, but unlike hers, his is the real deal: the cotton is thick and, instead of palm trees, pineapples form a border along it. He wears it with light cotton jeans and a pair of slip-on
sandals he must have scored from his father. He looks great, she thinks, like a movie star from the fifties.

Once she has spied him, she picks up her pace. When she reaches him, she stretches out a hand to tap him on the arm. He is in conversation with the barman but when he feels the pressure on his arm, he turns around, his party smile wide. When he sees it is her, his smile seems to drop a little.

In front of them, the barman is pouring a light pink concoction into a cocktail glass. ‘Better make it two of those,' says Steve, and she feels happy when he gives her arm a rub.

The drink comes in a martini glass with a short black plastic straw and a paper umbrella pushed into a glacé cherry. Aloha Sunrise, that's what it's called.

Beside her, Steve has dispensed with the straw and is drinking his cocktail straight from the glass. When he has finished, he picks up his umbrella between two fingers and bites into the cherry. She flinches: there is something about a glacé cherry that reminds her of an eyeball. As he starts to chew it, she has to look away.

Once she's finished her drink, she fishes out her umbrella and carefully separates it from the cherry. For Emily, she thinks, as she folds the little umbrella closed and tucks it away into her handbag.

When she looks up again, Steve is reaching into her glass for the cherry. His fingers are too thick for the glass and it takes him a couple of goes before he has it. Quickly, he throws the cherry back into his mouth. She forces out a smile although the action repels her.

With a tilt of his chin, Steve motions to the dance floor and reaches for her hand. She shakes her head but he tugs her towards him anyway. Once they are on the floor, he starts to swing her in and out, in and out. Hot with embarrassment, she tries to resist. She
doesn't dance well, especially not rock-and-roll. He does, though, and on their next turn, he gives her a smile as he pulls her back to him. ‘Nice moves, Mrs Foreman,' he whispers into her ear. That's enough for her to snuggle into him, but still she's glad when the band stops for a break.

The place is crowded now. Moving through the room are women in grass skirts and bikini tops. They are each carrying small round baskets and one of them is heading for Nina and Steve. From a distance, she is young and beautiful: her hair dark and wavy, her stomach flat and her legs long.

But as she comes closer, Nina sees that the woman is older than she'd first thought and that her face is sun-weathered and lined. When she reaches Nina, she says something Nina doesn't catch.

‘Sorry?' Nina mouths. In response, the woman moves in closer, so close Nina can smell the stale tobacco on her breath. ‘Choose some tombola tickets,
'
she says, her voice dry and deep and throaty.

But when Nina starts to search through her handbag for her wallet, the woman shakes her head. ‘They're free, you don't have to buy them—just choose them. You can take six.'

And so, sticking her hand into the basket, Nina pulls out six tiny rolls of paper that, when unfurled, each have a letter and a number.

Sliding an arm around Nina, Steve gives the woman a smile. ‘Do I get some too?' he asks.

The woman starts to answer before she stops, blinks and stares hard at him. ‘You're Steve Foreman, aren't you?'

He nods slowly and, putting his head to one side, purses his lips. ‘God help me if it isn't you, Sue Rankin.' At that moment, the music stops and Steve's voice rings out across the room.

The woman keeps staring at him. ‘Well, well,' she says. ‘Steve Foreman, can you believe it?'

Steve just smiles as his arm slowly slips away from Nina's waist.

Nina has no idea what has them both so transfixed. It is the woman, rather than Steve, who remembers she is still there.

‘Sorry, love,' she says. ‘Steve and I were at high school together. We haven't seen each other, since . . . when?' She looks to Steve for help.

He has an expression on his face Nina can't quite describe: it's a mixture of fascination and bewilderment. ‘Since 1986,' he says. ‘December 1986.'

‘Not since 1986,' Nina repeats lamely. ‘That's a while.'

The music starts up again and it's a song that makes Steve and Sue cry out in recognition. Sue pats Nina's hand as she passes her the tombola basket. ‘Gotta dance to this one. Just gotta do it.' She leaves, then, and Steve follows her.

When, after too long, neither of them returns, Nina pushes her way through the party until she's next to the dance floor.

In front of her Steve is playing air guitar, right beside Sue, who's leaning into an invisible microphone, mime-shouting something Nina can't make out, her hair over her face as she shakes her head up and down.

Once the song is over, Nina raises her hand, to show them where she is. When Sue comes to retrieve the tombola basket, she is apologetic.

‘Really sorry,' she says. ‘Get me on the dance floor and it's just about impossible to get me off again.' She dips a hand into the basket and, pulling out a fistful of tickets, gives them to Nina. ‘Here,' she says, ‘that's for hanging on to them for me.'

Nina smiles but she doesn't want any more tickets. She just wants to go home.

Sue gives her hand a pat. ‘Better get back on the job again. Tell Stevie Wonder I enjoyed catching up.'

It takes Nina a moment to realise she means her Steve. ‘Sure,' she says with a weak smile. ‘I'll tell him.'

But when she sees him, this isn't what she tells him. ‘We shouldn't be too late,' she warns him, ‘with the babysitter and everything.'

His eyes are small and glassy. ‘The party's just starting, babe, just starting.' And when he puts his arm around her, he leans into her too hard, so hard she thinks she might topple.

Pushing him back, she shakes her head. ‘It's already late,' she whispers.

He lets out an annoyed laugh. ‘No, babe, the party's just starting.' So she waits, and when the music stops for good, she could weep with relief.

Except the party's not over yet. Instead, Sue carries a microphone onto the dance floor.

‘Well,' she says, ‘it's the time you've all been waiting for. It's
tombola
time!' As the room fills with applause, she does a couple of Hawaiian dance moves. Steve raises his hands above his head to keep the crowd clapping. ‘Go, Suzi Q!' he shouts. ‘Go, Suzi Q!'

She smiles in his direction as she holds the microphone up to her mouth. ‘Tonight we have a fabulous selection of prizes for our tombola winners, so dig out those tickets and cross your fingers.'

In all, Nina has sixteen tickets. To her surprise, a quiver of excitement runs through her. With so many tickets, she thinks, she must be in with a chance, especially when there are ten prizes to be won.

But the first five tickets drawn are blue and Nina's tickets are
all red. The next four are red but none of them are Nina's numbers. She's not a winner after all. So when Sue calls out the final number—red 34—and Nina sees that it is hers, she stares at the ticket in disbelief. Steve reacts before Nina does. ‘Here!' he shouts, grabbing the ticket from her hand and rushing onto the dance floor. ‘Here's number thirty-four.'

Sue confirms the win. ‘And the final prize winner is Mr Steve Foreman,' she announces, handing him a bottle of Cointreau wrapped in cellophane. With a shout of victory, Steve lifts it up in the air. ‘The Cointreau's on me,' he tells the crowd.

By the time the party's finally over it's close to 3 am. Outside the club, Sue fumbles with her phone. ‘I'm trying to call a cab,' she says, ‘but I can't remember the bloody number.'