Lessons in Love. Belinda Missen
beside the bed without a second thought. The brittle glass finally gave way and cracked, feathery webs spread almost faultlessly down the centre of the photo, across smiles and up-dos, vows and promises. Perfection be gone.
‘Nice shot.’ She gave me an upside-down smile and left the room. ‘Well done, you.’
* * *
While I busied myself sorting belongings onto shelves, clothes on hangers and shoes into racks, Penny kept herself occupied with dinner. I thought of suggesting takeaway after all, but a quick check of my banking app suggested it may be best if I skipped the credit abuse and waited until payday.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, we set ourselves up on our small deck. It was just off the side of the small dining area and sat smartly above the carport. In one corner, a single-serve barbecue, and a faded wooden table in the middle. All the rattling and cursing that came from the kitchen had given way to steak, garlic butter, and a pineapple infused coleslaw.
‘I do at least have a bottle of champagne.’ Penny gave the bottle a violent shake. I cowered as it popped with little more than the excitement of a dead toaster. Warm cola had more fizz.
‘Oh well.’ I took the glass from her. ‘It’ll do.’
‘Sláinte.’ Penny chinked the edge of her glass with mine.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s Scottish for health,’ she explained proudly. ‘Learned it from my Mr December, Richard.’
‘Your who now?’ I laughed.
She gave a wistful Hallmark sigh and gazed up at the heavens as if they’d suddenly part and drop this magical Richard back into her lap. ‘Richard, aptly named for what I was using him for, was visiting the area, surfing, travelling …’
‘Shagging,’ I laughed, glass pressed against my bottom lip. ‘You’re … I have no words for you.’
‘A multicultural woman of the world,’ she declared, finger poking at the air. ‘Speaking of which, let me catch you up on the people of our world.’
Had I really been gone that long? It certainly hadn’t felt like it. I still came back for Christmases, birthdays, Easters, long weekends when I could wrangle Dean away from his job. Then again, when you’re busy inside your own bubble, it can make the outside world a little hazy. Because, as Penny began rattling off happening and incidents, it became apparent just how much I had missed.
Our cousin Sam was married to Mary. I was sure I’d been at that wedding. It involved a rustic barn in Dean’s Marsh, hurricane lamps and an oversized Polaroid frame fit for the hashtag #SNMWedding on Instagram. Not surprisingly, it hadn’t caught on. But now he had kids? I really was out of touch. The realisation was sobering, and I quickly downed the contents of my glass.
‘One, with another on the way.’ Penny pushed her steak around the pool of garlic butter on her plate. ‘And Sophie, his sister, has had three boyfriends in the last twelve months. Each of them were “The One”, mind. We were rolled out every time for dinner to meet Huey, Dewey, and Louie.’
‘That old chestnut,’ I grumbled. ‘How about your parents?’
‘My parents are as they are.’ She shrugged. ‘Nothing really changes with them. Dad wants to retire, but I don’t think he wants to spend all day with Mum. Not that I blame him, of course. Mum has a new hobby every second week.’
‘What is it this week?’
‘Sewing. I’m not so secretly loving it, because she’s making me a heap of dresses.’
‘I would be, too,’ I agreed. ‘Do you think she would make me some?’
‘I think she would be thrilled.’ Penny refilled her glass and waggled the empty bottle about. ‘Want me to grab another one?’
‘No more tonight.’ I placed a protective hand over my glass. ‘I’m not sure bloodshot eyes and reeking like the back end of a wine barrel is a great look in front of the principal.’
‘Come on, he’s a lush from way back. You remember all those Friday mornings, watching teachers smuggling bottles of wine and slabs of beer into the staffroom. It was like a reverse walk of shame. No, kids, we’re totally not getting wasted after the 3.30 bell. No, siree.’
‘I do remember that.’ I nodded. ‘Very well.’
‘Are you prepared?’ she asked. ‘How are you feeling? Excited? Anxious?’
‘Positively shitting myself,’ I laughed nervously. ‘Please tell me it won’t be too painful?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Penny soothed. ‘You’ve survived worse.’
She was right. If I had managed to get through the last nine months without having myself committed, this next week was going to be a walk in the park. I mean, I’d taught before. How hard could it be?
‘Perry?’ Penny narrowed her eyes at the name scribbled on her takeaway coffee. ‘I didn’t say Perry,’ she whispered, thrusting the offending cup with orange marker scribble under my nose.
‘That looks like a Penny to me.’ It really didn’t. ‘And this says Eleanor, so it’s definitely the right order.’
‘And, look, he even drew you a car.’ She pointed at mine. ‘A car!’
‘Oldest trick in the book.’ I took a sip and checked my watch.
If I’d heard it once, I’d heard it a thousand times. It was a lucky year when someone didn’t question the origins of my name. No, I wasn’t named after a car. My Dad, however, had a massive political crush on Eleanor Roosevelt, so that was something. At least it wasn’t Eleanor Bradley, nude model. Imagine explaining that to people. At this point in life, I was happy to take the small wins where I could get them.
‘Come on, this looks like a penny to me.’ I pointed out the squiggles beside her name. ‘See, you have a coin there. He drew a coin.’
‘I thought it was a smiley face.’ She leaned in and whispered, ‘Do you think we should stay for breakfast?’
I shook my head. ‘Nah, I’m okay.’
‘All right then. Are you ready?’
I’d been ready for hours. Awake long before the rest of the world, I’d sneaked a few slices of toast and watched the sunrise while curled up in the egg chair on the deck. Breakfast television was out of the question; Penny’s Elvis obsession stretched to her television, which looked like it would have been new when the King ate his last sandwich. That meant subtitles were out, and I could not lip-read for shit.
Had my brain been in gear, I might have nicked the bathroom before she got out of bed. As it ended up, we squashed ourselves in front of the mirror, shoulders over elbows and hairdryers in each other’s eyes as we did our best to not look like Game of Thrones extras. Oh, and we agreed that perhaps it would be best if one of us showered at night, and not in the morning. I volunteered for night shift. A clean body in clean sheets? Yes, please.
My mousy-brown hair had more pins in it than an angry woman’s voodoo doll. One wrong move and I’d either scalp myself or pull my brain out through the back of my Nordic braid. But, combined with my very favourite navy wrap dress and heels, I was ready to take on the day.
School was a twenty-minute walk from home, thirty minutes if we went via the café. The first trickle of nervous sweat made its way down my back as we traipsed through the rippling bitumen of the car park. It had seen better days; shrubs had grown from weeds and created tectonic rifts in the surface, and the once vivid white lines were nothing more than faded rubble.
A time capsule