Lessons in Love. Belinda Missen

       Chapter 4

      People seem to have this idea that living by the beach is sun, surf and sand on constant rotation. They were joined by lifesavers with washboard abs and swim caps, ready to save the day at a second’s notice. Not so much this morning, though. It was the first day of school, and the weather was putting on a performance matched only by my stomach.

      Grey skies rolled in over a fog-covered bay, light drizzle threatening a heavy downpour. If it was anything like the weather of my youth, it’d hang around until about nine o’clock. The sun would then come out, drying up everything in sight, leaving everyone to think they’d perhaps imagined this morning’s need for a thick coat. As for me, I ducked under the awning of the local bakery and stepped inside.

      It was pure, yeasty warmth. The smell of sticky strawberry iced doughnuts mingled with the burned crusts of a raisin loaf that looked like it was going to be our breakfast for the next week. But, again, there were so many varieties of bread lining the racks now that I wanted to take them all home. I plucked a sample of apple scroll from the plastic box on the counter and let the cinnamon warmth come alive in my mouth.

      ‘That’s so good,’ I groaned in appreciation.

      ‘Seriously, this place is just amazing,’ commented the woman next to me. She was about my age, with rusty-red hair, and the toddler on her hip was preoccupied shoving a Vegemite scroll in his mouth. We exchanged pleasant smiles, until her face dropped. ‘Wait …’

      ‘Yes?’ I said slowly. I hoped like hell I wasn’t wearing half of the little apple scroll portion.

      ‘Eleanor Manning?’ Her smile was broad and bright.

      My smile was a little slower to form. I could not place this woman standing in front of me, as many memories as I tried to recall. You’d think redheads would be hard to forget, but this woman did not register at all.

      ‘That’s me,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t …’

      ‘Sally Fairburn.’ Her only empty hand outstretched in something that might have been excitement. ‘I remember you so well. Mick Buckley’s Grade Six class.’

      Her name triggered all kinds of memories. Sally Fairburn was part of our primary school posse that sat together at lunchtimes. We had our favourite spot picked out, under a teetering pink and grey gumtree in the far corner of the playground. She was one of two Sallys in our year level. Dad had nicknamed them Burnt Sally (Fairburn), and Long Tall Sally (Winters). After she ran into our front door, Dad changed her name to Blind Sally.

      Excitement popped my mouth. ‘Sally!’

      ‘That’s me!’ she tittered, moving in for a bone-crushing hug. ‘This is wonderful. I heard you’d moved away. Are you just visiting?’

      ‘Nope.’ I shook my head. ‘Moved back here.’

      ‘Bring your husband with you? Surely, you’ve got kids now, yeah?’

      I shook my head, smiled politely, and ordered a loaf of raisin bread. Ah, I thought, those lovely societal expectations of women in their mid-thirties. ‘Just me.’

      ‘Oh.’ Sally followed me out of the bakery and onto the sidewalk. Her curly-haired child buried himself in her neck. I didn’t blame him, that wind was awful. ‘So, what brings you back?’

      ‘I’m actually teaching,’ I said. ‘Term starts today at our old school, so there’s that. I’m really looking forward to it. How about you? I can see you’ve got your hands full.’

      She jiggled her toddler about and smiled wistfully at him like he was the third coming of Christ. ‘Well, as for me, three kids. Barrel of laughs and fun. I married Ben Finlay.’

      ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Ben, wow. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Used to play football?’

      ‘Still does.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Makes for a busy weekend between the kids’ swimming and his sports, but we do what we have to do, right?’

      ‘Speaking of things we have to do.’ I drew my sleeve back. ‘I really oughta get going. Don’t want to be late.’

      ‘Oh, no, no, don’t let me hold you up.’ Sally rubbed at my upper arm before reaching for her phone. ‘I tell you what. Let me get your number. We should catch up. There are so many of us old girls still around. They’d love to see you.’

      ‘Sure, of course, yes, that’d be great,’ I enthused. I could see that as a very fun way to spend the afternoon. Memories, a few drinks, and old friends. What could be better?

      With little more than a nervous wave to see us off, we swapped numbers, promised each other we’d catch up soon and got on with our mornings. Me, with an extra spring in my step, and I suspect Sally had one, too. Her first text message came through just as I walked into the administration block at school.

      ‘Where’d you disappear to this morning?’ I rounded Penny’s desk and made a beeline for my pigeonhole. Already on autopilot, my brain was screaming at me for breakfast, if only I could get all my chores done first. ‘I came looking for you as I left, but you were already gone.’

      ‘Mission from God.’ She unrolled a coffee scroll like a snail, dangling it above her mouth. ‘Want some?’

      ‘No, thanks, I’ve got breakfast right here.’ I held my bag aloft. ‘Toast.’

      ‘Butter’s in the fridge in my pineapple tray!’ she called after me. I was already halfway to the staffroom.

      With toast dripping with butter and coffee strong enough to perm my hair, I egg-and-spoon raced myself to my office, which was already lit up and waiting for me to jump into the day. My computer whirred away as I sank into my chair and took my first desperate bite of toast.

      After the whirlwind that was yesterday, I don’t think I’d registered just how much of a mess my office was in. The best thing I could do for myself, I thought, was to clean and start at the top of the list. I was already behind thanks to a lack of PC access for most of yesterday, but with a list to work through, I pulled a chair up to my desk and began.

      ‘Let’s do this.’ I clapped and rubbed my hands together.

      I didn’t look up again until I heard the first book being dropped through the returns chute. Those were the magic books that had been found during school holidays. They’d either been buried at the bottom of a backpack along with old permission slips and squashed sandwiches or hidden in the darkness under a bed. If I didn’t have to wipe mouldy banana from the insides of Dear Zoo again, I’d happily take whichever books were being offered this morning.

      Like popcorn in a microwave, the closer we got to nine o’clock, the more books appeared. One at a time, and then all at once. Clap, clap, clap went the steel door on the returns chute, and I took that as my cue to get up and head outside