The Teacher's Secret (36 page)

Only then does he realise the room isn't empty: the new teacher is still there, sitting at the desk.

He's not sure who jumps higher—him or her.

‘Sid,' she says, ‘you scared me.'

‘Thought you'd have knocked off for the day,' he says, trying not to puff. He notices, then, that she's done something with the classroom. Finally. ‘What's this,' he says when he's got his breath back, ‘a jungle or something?'

She looks up at the ceiling. ‘Rainforest,' she says. ‘What do you think?' She sounds nervous, which surprises him. He'd had her picked as one made in Laurie Mathews' mould—tough as nails—what with the way she'd set about demolishing Terry's classroom without so much as an if-you-please. He's been avoiding her ever since.

The jungle or rainforest or whatever it's supposed to be—well, that's something. It's a start.

His ladder is in the middle of the room and he walks over to retrieve it. ‘You finished with this?'

She looks embarrassed. ‘Sorry,' she says, ‘I was going to drop it off on my way to the car.'

She sounds tired and when he takes another look at her, he can see she's exhausted. Maybe she's coming down with something. Always one lurgy or another doing the rounds. They used to joke about it, Terry and him: about how they'd both been at the school so darned long they'd become immune to any of the bugs. But the newbies, they always come down hard in the first couple of years.

‘You okay?' he asks.

Immediately, her face crumples. Waving a hand across it, she tries to smile but already there are tears streaming down her face. ‘Sorry,' she whispers.

Blimey. What's he supposed to do now?

‘The week,' she says, her voice choking up, ‘it's been a hard week. I'm finding it a bit difficult. The kids, they seem so, I don't know—so
angry. And I know it's hard to have to change teachers mid-year, but I'm trying my best, I really am.' Wiping her eyes, she looks across at him. ‘What is it, Sid? What am I doing wrong?'

Sid pulls at his ear. She can't seriously be wanting an answer from him.

But she's staring at him expectantly.

What's she doing wrong?
For starters, it's not his place to tell her. He's made a point of never poking his nose into other people's business and he's not going to start now.

‘Sid?' she repeats, and this time, it's like she's begging him for an answer.

So what's he supposed to do? Tell her how to do her job? He's not even sure where to begin.

‘Look,' he says finally, ‘I understand why you might have done it, but clearing the classroom out like you did—everything out—well, it would have come as a shock to the kids. You've got to imagine how it was for them: first Terry's gone, then everything they had in the classroom is gone, too.' He tries to keep his voice steady but it still upsets him to think about it.

She straightens up in her seat, defensive-like. ‘I was told they needed a fresh start, after everything that happened. I thought it would make things easier.'

He's got no idea why she would have thought that. ‘But you threw out all their work. You didn't even tell them, you just threw it out. Don't I know it,' he adds. ‘I had to haul it all down to the bins.'

He's out of line now—he knows he shouldn't be talking to her like that—and he waits for her to slap him down, to tell him to mind his own business. Instead, she just gives him a sad look.

‘You're right,' she says. ‘I shouldn't have thrown out their work. I should have kept it for them. I was so focused on getting things ready, I just didn't think.'

Hearing it like that, he can see how it might happen.

‘The kids and Terry, they went back a long way,' he tells her. ‘Years. Terry going like that, it came as a shock to them. To all of us, really.'

She doesn't reply, but it doesn't matter. He's said what he wanted to say, that's the main thing. He's said his piece and he feels better for it. He's not sure she does, though. From the look of her, he'd say she's about to start crying again. That's not what he wants to see.

He looks up at the ceiling. ‘The animals look good,' he says. There's a group of gorillas hanging down beside him and he gives one of them a bit of a tug. ‘He's the silverback, is he?'

She gives him a tiny smile. ‘Kurt Ward's masterpiece.'

This makes Sid laugh out loud. ‘Doesn't surprise me, either; he's been the ringleader since kindy. Any trouble and if you follow it long enough, chances are you'll find Kurt's behind it. Either him or one of his mates.'

‘I don't think he likes me much,' she says softly. ‘I don't think Ethan does either. Or Elsie. In fact, I don't seem to have hit it off with any of them, really. I think they blame me for what happened.' Sid considers this. ‘Maybe they do,' he concedes, ‘but they'll get over it.'

‘And Ethan's taken a set against Sebastian and I've got no idea how to solve it.'

Sid raises his eyebrows like he doesn't know either. In truth, he knows exactly how she should tackle it; he's just not sure it's up to him to tell her. But what the heck. ‘The thing is,' he says, ‘Ethan
thinks it's Sebastian's fault he got moved from Kurt's table. That's the root of the problem, far as I understand it.'

She stiffens, but he'd expected she might. ‘I just wanted to separate Ethan and Jade so they wouldn't muck around all lesson.'

‘I don't think that's how Ethan sees it,' he tells her, ‘and now he thinks Sebastian is taking all his friends, too. That's why he doesn't like Sebastian.'

‘So what do I do about it?'

‘You could put him back on his old table.'

She shakes her head. ‘There isn't a spare seat.'

‘Not if you keep four to a table. But if you put two of the groups together, you'd be right.'

‘What, and have one big group and two little ones? That'd be a bit strange, wouldn't it?'

He takes a look around the room, trying to figure out how she could do it. ‘You could have two big groups. That way you could run one long table down each side. Or have it in a horseshoe, even.'

She looks doubtful. ‘And leave a big gap in the middle of the room?'

‘Well, at least you'd have room for a rug, then. The kids always liked it when Terry had his rug. Liked the feel of it—bit of a change from being in their seats all day.'

He waits to be told to pull his head in. Instead she grimaces. ‘The thing is,' she says, ‘I threw his rug out, too.'

Now he's not sure what to do: whether to say nothing or tell her the truth.

‘I've made a bit of a mess of things, haven't I?' she says quietly.

Instead of answering her, Sid clears his throat. ‘As it happens,' he tells her, trying to keep it casual, ‘I've been holding on to the rug.
Thought it might come in handy. If you like, I could dig it out and bring it up. Wouldn't be a problem.'

By the time they've finished, he's completely knackered and that hungry he could eat a horse. Once or twice his stomach rumbled so loudly he was sure she must have heard him. But rumblings or no rumblings, he doesn't regret staying back. Doesn't regret hauling the rug back up again, either, or regrouping the desks into two long lines. Doesn't even regret telling her to get on home while he stays behind to give everything a wipe-down and a vacuum before he pops the stepladder back in the storeroom and heads home himself.

Rebecca

They arrive early, close to an hour early. At eleven o'clock they are greeted by a thin man who wears a suit but no tie and they follow him into a small room with a table and three chairs. Once they are inside, the man motions for Rebecca and Emmanuel to sit together while he takes a seat on the other side of the table.

He has papers and a file in front of him. In front of Rebecca, there is a pen and a writing pad. In front of Emmanuel, there is nothing.

To one side of the table is a recording device and before he says a word, the man flicks a switch on the machine. A red button lights up. Only then does the man introduce himself. He is Mr Robert Parker, from the Department of Immigration. He is Rebecca's case officer. Emmanuel's, too. But because Emmanuel has made no claims himself, it is Rebecca's story he wishes to hear. Emmanuel can stay, if that is what Rebecca would like. Alternatively, Rebecca can ask to be interviewed alone.

She tells him she would like to have Emmanuel with her.

Mr Robert Parker is, it seems, a very busy man, and although he doesn't exactly rush her through the questions, neither does he encourage her to take her time.

So when he asks her why she left her country, she gives him only the salient points. She says that she is well known in her country. She tells him this so he will understand why she cannot, now, simply slip back into the country unnoticed, unseen. Because everywhere she goes there, she is seen, and noticed.

He meets this with some scepticism. How then had she been able to leave the country at all, if, indeed, she is so well known? She starts to tell him about her passport, her name, the hairstyle, the clothes, but none of these things seem to interest him.

Instead he asks her if she is a religious woman. No, she replies, and this is the honest answer. And when he asks her about her political affiliations, her political activities, there is nothing she can tell him. All she can do is explain, as simply as she can, why it was she had to leave her country and why it is she cannot return there. She tells him everything she has already told Emmanuel: she had been arrested, she had been questioned, she had been released.

Only once does she hesitate, at the very end of the interview, when he asks her if there is anything more.

‘No,' she says eventually, ‘there is nothing more.'

Terry

For a hardware shop, it's a big one, and Jim Williams has owned it for as long as Terry can remember. Terry likes Jim, always has: likes the way he keeps the place well-stocked, likes that he's happy to order in anything he's asked for. And Terry's always been a good customer, so he knows the shop well. Which comes in handy now.

It's the uniform he doesn't like so much: a bright yellow polo shirt with
Jim's Hardware
embroidered on the pocket, teamed with a pair of navy King Gees. He can see why Jim thinks having a uniform is a good idea. It keeps the staff looking neat during shifts, even if they dress like slobs at home, and it's easy for the customers to find someone when they need help. Bright yellow is good as a beacon, too, he'll concede that much. Although that's about all it's good for.

That first week, they gave him three eight-hour shifts. No big deal, he thought at the time, but by the end of the week his legs were killing him. Three weeks down, and with two extra shifts thrown in, he's slowly starting to get used to it. Although there are still things that leave him floundering. Being on the cash register, for example:
trying to locate the blimmin' barcode on whatever item he's got in front of him, and starting to panic when he can't. That's when he's supposed to ring the bell beside the register and wait for Matt—or whoever's working with him that day—to grab the product, work out where it's from, then hightail it back with a replacement that's got a working barcode. That's the theory of it, except Matt isn't the brightest cookie in the jar, or the quickest, and half the time, Terry just ends up eyeballing the customer while they both wait and the line of customers gets longer.

When he's not needed on the register, he spends his time on the floor, and he likes that: keeping the shelves stocked up; answering whatever questions come his way. Generally, they're dead easy, and if they aren't, he makes it his business to find out the right answer.

It's not what he'd have chosen, working at Jim's, but it sure as hell beats pacing the lounge room. And he's got Sid to thank for it: Jim was looking for someone, and Sid suggested Terry. Well, Jim had him on the books before Terry had a chance to say,
Give me a day to think about it
. Which is just as well because with his head the way it's been, chances are he'd have got spooked and turned it down.

Instead he spends the day with a tape measure in his back pocket. But it's a decent job—close to home, too—and he's grateful to have it.

Today, the time's gone quickly. When he checks his watch, it's already three o'clock, which is his break time. There's a lunchroom at the back of the shop, and that's where he heads now. It's nothing to write home about, the lunchroom: no windows, no natural light even, and some might find it claustrophobic. But Terry doesn't mind. It's got a table and chairs, sink, kettle, microwave. And because they all take their breaks in shifts, mostly he has the place to himself.

He sits down to check what Michelle's packed for him. Today it's a muffin: raspberry and white chocolate. Terrific, he thinks. Terrific.