‘Eleanor!’ Phil had appeared from the admin block, dragging a lectern along behind him like a dead body. He yanked at the cord trailing behind him, and the buzz from the public address system died. ‘What do you know about these damn things?’
What did I know about lecterns? I knew that I set them up about four times a week at the city library, in cases of public talks and author visits. Some people just loved to hear themselves speak, but my small collection of autographed books was proof that some people made sense when placed in front of a microphone.
‘We got this last term,’ he admitted. ‘At least I don’t look like Letterman delivering a monologue anymore.’
I grinned. Phil was far too nervy to ever be Letterman, but a boy could dream. I plugged in the power, swapped a cable over, and stood back as he tapped at the end of the microphone. The sound of tapping fingers echoed loudly. Success.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ his voice boomed across the school from a series of speakers dotted around buildings and grounds. Like the Pied Piper, more children raced into the quadrangle. Parents dotted themselves on seats around the edges, and teachers tried to herd their students, though it was quite like watching them try to herd cats.
I stood back on the sidelines and enjoyed the fact I didn’t have a designated class of my own.
‘Mr Blair, what did you do on your holidays?’ a voice came from behind me.
‘Well, they weren’t really holidays,’ Marcus explained. ‘I marked all of your assignments, got some new work ready for you, and then I worked for my friend Patrick.’
‘The builder?’ asked another. A small crowd of students had gathered around him, each of them eager for a sliver of his spotlight. It was a tiny push and pull, give and take of attention as they swarmed him like moths to a lamp, barely feet away from me. After yesterday, he could stay in his corner.
Marcus sat on a bench seat as his audience closed in, some of them jostling for the prime real estate of space either side of him.
‘That’s him,’ Marcus said. ‘Good memory.’
‘Did you take your dog for a walk?’ asked another.
‘Daisy went for plenty of walks down by the beach, which meant I had to wash sand out of her coat quite a bit, too.’
‘But she loves the beach.’
Marcus chuckled. ‘She does love the beach. She loves swimming while I run.’
‘Did you get pictures of her in the water?’
‘I got a few.’ Marcus was quiet for a moment. I didn’t dare look at him for fear of being drawn into the conversation. From the cooing that resulted, there were plenty of dog photos being passed around his students, who seemed to multiply in number with each new question that was asked. So did the mothers around him. ‘And that’s … yeah, that’s a house we were painting, just at the end of the main street … and, yep, that’s my mum making a cake.’
‘Did you get a girlfriend over the holidays?’
Marcus laughed. ‘They’re not like a bag of crisps. I can’t just go to the shop and pick one out.’
‘That would be easy,’ said a boy with sandy hair.
‘It would be,’ he agreed with a quick sniff. ‘But, no, I don’t have a girlfriend.’
‘What happened to Lady X?’
I snorted. If anyone was going to refer to his girlfriend as Lady X, it was going to be Marcus.
‘Lady X moved to Adelaide for work, so that’s the end of that.’
‘Very sad,’ chirped another voice. ‘You know, you really should get married, then she can’t move away. Unless she’s like my dad, but Mum says he’s an arse. You have enough suits to get married. You could wear this one, and she would think you’re pretty enough to not leave. And your mum can make the cake. My mum makes all my cakes.’
‘Good morning, Mr Blair,’ a mother chirped as she, and her crowd, began circling his general area.
‘Morning.’ He nodded politely amidst the teasing laughter of his class.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing and, despite myself, chanced a look at him. In classic black and white, he could very well have turned up to the church at recess and be married by the first ring of the bell. I was sure any number of the fan club now hovering about his area would line up for the honour.
Weekly school assemblies were a non-negotiable, a rite of passage for teacher and student alike. We mumbled through the national anthem, listened to Phil make rapid-fire announcements and, when my name was announced as a new teacher, a hand from behind propelled me towards the crowd.
When the word ‘Dismissed’ was finally uttered, it was like jamming a pin in an overfull balloon. Sound rose from the floor, a cacophony of shuffling feet and pent-up voices as bodies got lost in the scramble to stay in class groups. The mystery hand springing me forth into the world? That was Penny.
‘You can’t run now,’ she teased. ‘You’ve been officially introduced.’
‘The pet has been named,’ I teased. ‘And once they’ve got a name, they’re not going back.’
Beside Penny, someone laughed. ‘It’s good to see you again, Eleanor.’
Sandy hair in a messy bun, and a beard that hadn’t been trimmed in weeks? It had to be …
‘Jack!’ I exclaimed.
‘Oh, shit, you haven’t been introduced yet, have you?’ Penny bounced excitedly.
‘No.’ I looked at Jack. ‘Yesterday was mayhem, and I didn’t get around to your classroom.’
‘Okay, well, Ellie, Jack, Jack, Ellie.’ Penny waved her hands about. ‘Jack’s going to have a new piano delivered in a few weeks and, yes, he does remember you.’
‘You do? You have?’ I asked. My ears pricked up. ‘A new piano? What brand is it? Can I come and see it? When we’ve both got a free moment, that is.’
For some people, a new mobile phone or widescreen television gets their go-go-gadget fingers tingling. For me, new pianos evoked those feelings. From the tinkle of shining keys, taut strings under a gloss black hood, to the shy reluctance of new pedals, there was nothing I didn’t love about them. I longed for the day I had a place big enough to buy myself a new one.
‘Ah … it’s a Brodmann upright, and absolutely you can,’ he enthused. ‘My door is always open. But we should catch up before then. I think we’re all doing Friday night drinks, if you’re in?’
‘Yes! Friday night,’ Penny chimed in.
‘Okay, that sounds great,’ I enthused. ‘I’d love to catch up.’
We moved slowly with the tide, me towards my library, Jack towards his side of the school.
‘I’ll send you the details!’ he called. ‘It’ll be great!’
Before I made it anywhere near the other end of a Friday night martini glass, I had to wade through the rest of the week. With only a few days’ grace before I began taking classes of my own, I didn’t have long to get myself in order.
For most of the week, I was pent up in my office. New folders, printouts, an overheated shredder, and an overabundance of spray cleaner and kitchen towel. So far, I’d torn down streamers, football posters, and artwork. A co-worker once remarked to me