The Good Teacher Read online

  And he could go to parties that Mum would’ve banned. If she’d known about them.

  When the police had arrived at the beach party last night, Felix had freaked out. Fully freaked. Darcy had got some weed and that was going around the circle. Along with a bottle of vodka. They’d teased Felix when he refused both. You’re such a fucking pussy. When the girls stripped to their bra and undies, he’d told them not to go for a swim. Too dark, too rough. But they hadn’t listened. And then, when it’d all gone down, Felix didn’t even use his lifesaver skills—he’d bolted in the opposite direction. A freaking coward. So many dumb thoughts flashing through his head. I’m not strong enough. What if they drown me? Even though he’d been going to the gym for a few months, Felix hadn’t bulked up. Mum said that he must be strong because of soccer and surfing, but his arms and legs were scrawny. Especially compared to the bodybuilders strutting around the weights room. Pearl hadn’t been at the party and was annoyed with him for going; she’d probably dump him if she found out he’d run. Darcy said a policeman had rescued the girls—acted like the hero that Felix should’ve been. Years and years of surf lifesaving training and he’d legged it.

  Scared of drowning. Scared of being caught with drugs. Scared of what Mum and Dad would say.

  The others had no idea how tough it was to be the son of a teacher and a lawyer—paragons of the Wirriga community. Although their crowns might’ve slipped a bit with the break-up.

  Felix tried to focus on the blank page. Jealousy, manipulation, racial prejudice, love or betrayal. If he was with Mum, she’d find a DVD of Othello, cook some popcorn, and watch the film with him, explaining the story as it happened on screen. Or maybe not; these days, she was all over the place.

  And so bitter. He’d seen the threatening letter Mum had written to Helena. Dad had accidentally left it in the printer after he’d scanned it. Presumably piling up evidence to send to the police.

  You are an evil, despicable woman who has stolen my husband and my son. I will do everything in my power to get them back. I will not let you be until your relationship with Tony is dissolved. I will expose you and all your lies. I will track you down. I will not stop until my family is back with me. I will be watching you. Look over your shoulder and I will be there. If you show this to Tony, you will make the situation worse. Keep it to yourself. You know what a treacherous, deceitful bitch you are. You know it in your heart. Leave this week or harm will come to you.

  He’d never heard Mum talk like that, but she’d been with Dad for so long, and the break-up was so sudden. They hadn’t been arguing or anything. As far as Felix could see, they were all good on New Year’s Eve and finished on New Year’s Day.

  Mum was in shock. And now he’d made it worse by spilling the beans about the baby. Getting back at her for accusing him of stealing the cash. Why’d she done that? Mum had always trusted him before. Maybe that was part of the reason he’d run away last night at the party—he couldn’t face Mum falsely accusing him of smoking and drinking when he’d been trying his hardest to behave.

  Felix thought Mum would’ve rung Dad about the baby straight away. But she didn’t. Still hadn’t.

  Dad was going to be so pissed off with him.

  Police. That word down the corridor again.

  Groaning, Felix picked up Othello, then slammed the book back onto his desk. The themes listed were dumb anyway. He’d just write about murder. Was murder a theme or plot or what?

  As he pushed up out of his seat, the office chair rolled against the edge of the desk, catching his fingers in between. Frickin’ hell, he should’ve brought his own chair from home. Sucking on his fingers, Felix stalked into the lounge room. The lights were off and the two of them stood motionless at the end of the main window, peering through the blinds.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Felix demanded.

  ‘Nothing.’ Dad turned around to face him. ‘Have you finished your homework?’

  Stepping closer to the window, Felix scanned the dark street. A couple walking a yappy little dog. The 136 at the bus stop, its internal lights glowing like a UFO in the darkness. Across the road, the schmick double-storey place was black apart from its technicolour TV screen, which took up almost an entire wall. He’d still never seen who lived there. Finally, he spotted it.

  ‘Is that Mum’s car?’

  ‘Yes, she’s here again.’ Dad sighed, long and loud. ‘I’ve warned her …’

  ‘You’re not really gonna call the police?’

  ‘I already did. And still she won’t stop.’

  It was Felix’s fault for telling her about the baby. Now, she’d be waiting here every night. Felix was at the front door, twisting the key in the deadbolt. But before he could step through, Dad jerked him back by the shoulder.

  ‘You don’t understand, Felix.’

  ‘She’s my mum. She misses me.’

  Misses us. That was what he’d been planning to say but that would make Dad even angrier.

  ‘The police have warned her—’

  ‘Let me go out and talk to her.’

  ‘You can call your mother on the phone,’ Dad said. ‘I don’t want you on the street.’

  No-one was supposed to know they were here; and Felix was supposed to be the smoke screen—an unknown teenager.

  Shit, why had he blabbed? Dad kept complaining Mum was endangering Helena and the baby, but now he’d done exactly the same thing.

  13

  ALLISON

  The guest of honour shimmied through the playgroun in a silver fairy tutu. For once, Gracie was not wearing her Princess Elsa costume. She stood out amid the superheroes in red and blue and black. Batman. Wonder Woman. Superman. Really, Gracie was the superhero—enduring the treatment and coping without a mother. Some of the school mums called Luke a superhero but he was just doing what all parents would—going to any lengths for their sick child. Gracie was the stoic one who had to put up with all the drugs and medical interventions.

  Gracie Day, the thirtieth of March, had arrived after an insane week of organisation by the teachers, the parents and the P&C. If Luke had agreed earlier, they would’ve had more time. But hopefully the money would start rolling in now, despite the competition. There was so much fundraising these days for so many causes. Allison had seen a post on Facebook: a friend’s twenty-year-old daughter fundraising for a spiritual trip to India. Allison had to stop herself from typing out a snarky comment: Get a job! Pay your own way! HOW will you get through LIFE? And then she’d laughed at herself and wondered if she should set up a Getting Dumped & Divorced Fund with the tagline: Please help save my house!

  The raffle was the hardest to pull together. The list from Felix and his friends had been a good starting point. From that, Zack’s mum and Summer’s mum had worked their way around the local shops, cobbling together some decent prizes—vouchers from the cafes, a pass for the gym, pool cleaning products, a hamper from the deli, and beauty products from the salon. The Wirriga shops had been as generous as ever.

  ‘How much do you think we’ll raise?’ the principal asked as he helped lay out the raffle prizes on a table.

  ‘Hard to say. Maybe two thousand for today and another one for the raffle,’ Allison guessed. A drop in the ocean—they needed a hundred and forty. ‘Hopefully, when the story hits the paper, we’ll get more.’

  The year Declan had started as principal at Wirriga was the same year his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. A tough time for him. From the way he’d balanced his work and his leave, Allison knew he was a good man. Over the past week, Declan had encouraged the whole school to get on board for Gracie Day. His wife, now in remission, was helping at the canteen.

  Declan had also met with Luke in his office to discuss the clinical trial and other treatment options. Offered to put him in touch with another cancer specialist and his wife’s counsellor. Offered him a shoulder to cry on. That night, Luke had raved about Declan’s support, said he had actually cried in his office: ‘We need more men like Declan in
the world.’

  Sniffling, Allison searched in her pocket for a tissue. She’d been trying to keep her sore throat and runny nose away from Gracie but it was tricky. The girl loved a cuddle each night and liked helping her in the kitchen. Allison hadn’t mentioned her cold to Luke. She just couldn’t after she’d caused the allergic reaction. When he was around, Allison swallowed her cough and went into the bathroom to blow her nose. She’d been dosing up on cold-and-flu tablets. Perhaps she should give Gracie some as a precaution? In the middle of the night, her thoughts spiralled around the fear that she’d harmed Gracie once without realising, and she could do it again with this cold.

  But it was the worst possible timing with so much to do for Gracie Day. Allison had fired up the fundraising, she could hardly just disappear off to bed. The Wirriga Wombats had taken home raffle tickets, along with every class in the school. Parents were selling them at their work in other suburbs and in the city, spreading the financial load from the school community. Felix had even taken some for his friends and for Tony’s work to sell.

  Allison hadn’t discussed the baby with Tony, nor with Felix. While her son had helped set up Gracie Day, he was still frosty with her. He hadn’t forgiven Allison for implying that he’d stolen the money but who else could’ve taken it? On Tuesday, she’d finally confided in Nadia, after swearing her friend to secrecy (‘You can’t even tell your husband’). The shame of Tony running off with a woman and having a baby was too much. And the pain. Allison had tried for so long to fall pregnant. Tony knew how she’d feel—was that why he hadn’t told her? Allison’s desperation to see the new woman had evaporated completely. Now she avoided going near the house in Curl Curl. Avoided the possibility of seeing the baby. Instead, she was focused on getting Gracie to Chicago.

  Tony only communicated by text, presumably so he could record it for the police. Stop stalking us. I’ll get an AVO. Her reply: I’m not. Busy with fundraising. I can give an alibi to the police. Maybe she should call the police about his harassment. Not only the texts but a typed letter requesting they sell the house, regardless of Gracie’s illness. Tony’s compassion seemed to have disappeared suddenly in the wreckage of their marriage. Allison decided to ignore the request altogether. As if they could move in the middle of the fundraising campaign.

  And now, here they were, at school on a Saturday afternoon. A mini school fete all for Gracie.

  The supermarket had provided the food for the sausage sizzle and drinks for the lemonade stand. The fathers were on the barbecue. The mothers had baked cupcakes and slices for the cake stall. Allison had already bought a vanilla slice for her mum, and a big chocolate gateau for Felix to share with his mates—a peace offering. Evelyn’s mother had created a special sugar-free marble cake for Gracie.

  Allison surveyed the playground. A lucky dip, a tombola, a trash and treasure, a book table, a craft stall … whipped up by so many people in such a short space of time … would it make any proper money? Cheers echoed from the oval, where they were paying two dollars to kick a soccer ball into a goal with a smiley face. The gym instructor, Maz, had set up a weightlifting competition for the older kids. All week, Maz had been at her house, making purple bracelets with Gracie, working on the website and eyeing up Luke. Allison could see the attraction between them but when she’d mentioned it to Luke, he’d said, ‘It’s not the right time.’

  Luke was leading a group of year four boys towards the hall for the paper aeroplane competition. As he passed by her table, he gave a thumbs-up.

  ‘This is extraordinary! I don’t know how you did it.’

  ‘It wasn’t just me,’ Allison said. ‘The P&C and a whole team of parents—well, mostly mothers.’

  In the lead-up to Gracie Day, Allison had worried about how the little girl would cope with all the attention. She’d suggested a different name for the fundraising event. But Luke had said, ‘Gracie’s already had so much unwanted attention. This is good attention. It’ll be fine.’ As a child, Allison would’ve hated it; even at twenty years old, maybe even now, at forty-nine.

  The little girl was at the art stall, colouring in rainbows.

  ‘I got to be the judge,’ Gracie told her. ‘I chose first and second and third.’

  ‘A real art critic! That’s very grown up, Gracie.’

  ‘I chose that one.’ She pointed at a drawing of a dog. ‘I wanted my rainbow to win, but they said I couldn’t have a prize.’

  Her bottom lip quivered. Allison automatically drew her into a cuddle. Damn, she shouldn’t be getting so close to her, but how could she comfort the girl otherwise?

  ‘The whole day is a prize for you, Gracie. For your treatment.’

  ‘I don’t want treatment.’ Gracie pouted. ‘I wanna go to Disneyland. Selina’s going in the holidays!’

  ‘How about I take you to Luna Park next weekend?’

  ‘YAY!’ Gracie kissed her cheek. ‘You’re the best, Lally.’

  The nickname was perfect for their relationship—not a Mummy, not a Nanny nor a Granny but a Lally.

  The journalist from the Northern Beaches News arrived just before the kids’ disco. Tall and confident but he seemed so young. Maz had asked him to come; she’d known him at school.

  Introducing himself, Curtis grabbed Allison’s hand and pumped it up and down.

  ‘I hear you’re the mastermind of all this, Mrs Walsh.’

  Allison’s natural instinct was to tell him to speak with Luke or Declan. But today, she aimed to get the message out for Gracie, although she hoped she wouldn’t have to be in a photograph.

  ‘We’re doing a triple celebration for Gracie—the fundraiser, her birthday next week and she’s just finished her last round of chemotherapy.’ Allison smiled. ‘We’re so lucky that Gracie has this chance to go to America because the drug is only in a trial stage and not available here.’

  When Luke and Gracie arrived, Curtis made the questions straightforward for the little girl: What do you like about school? What fun things are you doing today? How often do you go to the hospital?

  ‘They’re nice at the hop-i-tal.’ Gracie giggled. ‘But I don’t have to go next week.’

  A chance for her body to recover before the trial.

  ‘Dr Rawson is great,’ Luke added. ‘I’ll give you his number and he can explain the immunotherapy. Exciting stuff. It’s changing how the disease is treated.’

  For the photo, Curtis wanted Gracie surrounded by her friends. Allison had assumed they’d send a photographer but Curtis doubled up in the role. With fewer and fewer pages in the local newspaper these days, Allison knew they were lucky he’d come at all. As Curtis snapped away, Gracie laughed with four other girls dressed up as fairies.

  ‘What’s the collective noun for fairies?’ Curtis asked the adults. ‘A flock of fairies? A charm of fairies?’

  They made some guesses—a spell, a wing, a garland. They decided upon ‘a flight of fairies’.

  ‘Now, can I get a photo of Luke and Gracie together?’

  ‘Mate, I’d rather focus on Gracie.’ Luke smiled at his daughter. ‘She’s the star. You don’t want me ruining the photo.’

  Gracie giggled and wrapped her arms around Luke’s waist.

  ‘How about a shot of you giving Gracie a piggyback. I’ll take it from behind and we won’t see your ugly mug,’ Curtis joked. ‘Just Gracie looking back at the camera.’

  The pose was perfect—it showed the strong bond between father and daughter.

  As Curtis finished up and packed away his camera, he said, ‘I’d really like to help out with this campaign. What can I do?’

  The offer was so unexpected that Allison had to turn away, stare at the queue for the lucky dip. She could almost hear the accusation from Shona—You’re too judgemental with that age group, Allison. They’re far more altruistic than the Boomers and Gen X.

  ‘We’d really appreciate that,’ Luke said. ‘I’d love some photos of Gracie down at Manly beach sometime. That’s where she remembers going with her mum
…’

  Curtis went to shake hands but Luke pulled him into a hug.

  ‘Thanks so much, mate. Welcome to Gracie’s Gang!’

  Allison prayed that Curtis’ article—and his skills—could bring in some donations towards their out-of-reach goal.

  By the time they got home at six o’clock, Gracie was exhausted. She sneezed as Luke took her up to bed. Oh shit, she’d caught it.

  ‘Do you think she should have some cold-and-flu medicine?’ Allison asked.

  ‘Not tonight. She just needs a good sleep.’

  While Luke was upstairs, Allison checked the day’s takings. The canteen volunteers had put the coins through their machine and handed over bags counted into ten, twenty and fifty dollars. It was surprising that one- and two-dollar coins could add up to so much. Each stall had collected their own cash and Allison now spread it out across the dining room table.

  ‘Wow, what a day.’ Luke collapsed into the chair opposite her. ‘I’m as tired as Gracie.’

  ‘It’s incredible! We’ve made over ten thousand dollars and that doesn’t include the raffle.’ Allison glanced up at Luke’s face. ‘The raffle should be another five. That’ll be at least fifteen thousand dollars.’

  ‘Awesome.’

  He was trying to sound enthusiastic but his voice was flat, his face pale. If Allison concentrated on the money, she could put the fear about Gracie’s future out of her mind. Clearly, Luke couldn’t ever forget—the past or the future.

  Or was he getting sick too?

  ‘Let me look at the website. Everyone has been sharing the link on Facebook.’

  She clicked it open on her phone. Studied the number. Pressed refresh in case there was some mistake.

  ‘Oh my God, Luke. There’s another eight thousand donated online. We’re going to get Gracie there, I promise you.’

  Luke went up to bed while Allison stared at the bundles of notes and coins. Money handed over by kids and their parents. Ten thousand, four hundred and thirty-nine dollars. Astonishing. Lifting up one bag of coins, she felt the weight of it in her hand. A bag of golden coins for a miracle. She needed another miracle to keep the house. How on earth could she afford the weekly mortgage? A thump from outside the back door made her drop the coins on the table. A possum or wallaby? Or something else? Shit, she should have left the money at school in the safe. Too many people knew where she lived.