The Good Teacher Page 2

  Each time Allison walked through the front door, she expected to see her son’s black sneakers kicked off in the hallway, his schoolbag dumped on the couch, a dirty cereal bowl on the kitchen benchtop. Instead, it was as tidy as when she’d last vacuumed.

  And silent.

  Without the ordinary background noise she used to take for granted. Felix strumming a new song on his guitar. The shouts of teenagers in the pool, splashing and somersaulting. In the evenings, Tony cheering at a soccer match on television.

  Pouring herself a large gin and tonic, Allison tipped out the last few drops from the duty-free bottle Tony had bought on his way back from the funeral in England.

  Should she drive down and check on him now?

  He’d refused to give her his new address. It’s a legal matter, he’d explained haughtily. Nothing to do with you and me. Refused to tell her anything. And so, the second time she’d dropped Felix off near Tony’s new place, Allison had driven around the corner and parked. Sneaked back to see where Felix went. Now she watched the house whenever she could, desperate to catch a glimpse of the woman with no name.

  The whirlwind of his departure had left her gasping for breath. And he was so fucking civilised while she ranted and raved, and bawled and blubbered. This was supposed to be her year—celebrating her fiftieth birthday in August with a trip to the Great Barrier Reef. Instead she was sobbing on her best friend’s shoulder.

  Eating dinner alone.

  She’d never lived alone before.

  Standing in the kitchen, Allison looked past the back deck to the pool. Still warm enough for a swim but the water was murky green. Tony had been the one to check the levels and add chemicals. As she closed the kitchen blinds to banish the accusing colour, a dark shape moved at the end of the garden. Too big to be a brush turkey jumping the fence. Allison locked the door and called Nadia.

  ‘Stop worrying.’ Her best friend’s voice was a balm down the line. ‘Probably just teenagers hanging out in the bush.’

  The reassurance stayed with Allison until the pinky hues descended and the shadows lengthened. Even with neighbours on either side, she was conscious of the bushland behind the house. At dusk, the forest came alive, filling each room with its cacophony: kookaburras cackling, bats shrieking, frogs croaking in a deep bass line. Before, she’d loved the bush backdrop. Now, she dreaded switching off the downstairs lights every evening.

  In their queen-sized bed, Allison avoided that cold empty space where Tony had slept.

  Her mother had suggested audiobooks to help her fall asleep. Nadia offered sleeping pills. Shona said: ‘Drink more gin.’

  Instead, Allison lay awake until one in the morning, trying to ignore the numbers glowing red on the clock radio, her thoughts on a constant loop: How did it come to this?

  At three-sixteen, she jolted awake to the sound of banging. The southerly had blown in and the house creaked with each gust. Could it be a branch whacking against the roof? None of the trees were that close.

  When she’d spoken to Nadia earlier, neither of them had mentioned the break-ins around Wirriga. One at the school over the summer holidays. One at the beauty salon. And the most recent—on Allison’s street, half a block away.

  Where was Tony when she needed him? Or even Felix. Goddamn it, Allison called herself a feminist, and now she was wishing for the safety that came with a man. Scared of the dark in her own house. She’d fallen into another cliché.

  Reach out and switch on the light, she told herself as the thudding continued.

  Now that she was properly awake, Allison realised the noise was coming from above. A possum on the roof or inside the ceiling? Whatever it was, she wouldn’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.

  She hadn’t told Nadia her real fear.

  I think someone is spying on me.

  Stop being paranoid, her friend would say.

  But Allison was projecting her own guilty conscience—her obsession with watching Tony’s new house.

  Who else was living in that house? Did the new woman know—or care—that she had destroyed Allison’s happy family?

  2

  After the soccer match, Allison congratulated Felix on his goal that had won the game. Her son pushed his sweaty fringe off his forehead, smiled briefly, then tapped Tony on the shoulder.

  ‘Dad, did you see that tackle I did on their number four?’

  ‘Perfect, mate. And that fancy footwork got you around the number seven. You’ll be a shoo-in for the top team in winter.’

  Her husband flung an arm around Felix’s shoulder. They were almost the same height. Had that happened in the last two weeks? Angry red pimples dotted Felix’s chin. Was he using the medicated face wash she’d bought? His hair needed a cut, and she’d heard him swearing on the field. What had happened to her little boy? The one who used to sing to her while they baked cupcakes; the one who came to her first for comfort and approval.

  Her aim tonight—apart from seeing Felix—was to discuss him coming home during the week. Her son had spent most of the summer holiday at Tony’s place, surfing every morning and evening. He could walk to the beach from there, he’d explained.

  As they entered the Italian restaurant, Allison began.

  ‘Now that Felix is going into year ten, he needs to concentrate on his studies. He should be living at home.’

  Her heart actually hurt when she said the word home.

  ‘But at Dad’s I can still get a surf in before school,’ Felix countered. ‘The waves are great.’

  Tony didn’t answer. Instead, he called for the waiter and ordered panzanella, rather than his usual veal parmigiana.

  ‘It’s a tomato and bread salad,’ he explained, even though she hadn’t asked. ‘I’ve been eating healthier. Gotta keep the body fit.’

  Allison wanted to stick her fingers in her mouth and make a gagging sound, like she had as a teenager. Was Tony keeping himself fit for the new woman? These days, Allison’s emotions came fast and intense, as if she were a teenager again. They seemed to be on the surface of her skin, fully exposed, ready to flare in an instant. Without looking at the menu, Allison ordered veal parmigiana with extra roast potatoes. And garlic bread.

  ‘Felix needs to come home,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t even know the name of the woman he’s living with.’

  ‘Don’t start that again, Allison. I’ve told you—it’s for legal reasons.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I deserve a better explanation than that after twenty-four years of marriage, Tony. I can’t deal with this secrecy.’

  ‘Mum, please don’t,’ Felix interrupted. ‘Dad’s just trying to keep everyone safe.’

  Tony, the bloody white knight. Trying to keep everyone safe. Somehow, he’d brainwashed his son as well, and Allison had become the villain by asking the questions.

  ‘How can I know that our son is safe,’ Allison snapped, ‘if I don’t know who he’s with?’

  ‘I can assure you that she’s of good character.’

  Tony and his pompous, lawyerly words. He had an answer for everything. That was what made him a good solicitor.

  ‘Just tell me her name!’ Allison had already asked so many times; she couldn’t stop asking.

  A pause, and then Tony finally answered, ‘Call her Helena.’

  Obviously a false name—one that meant Allison wouldn’t be able to find the woman on social media. She thought about it for a moment.

  ‘Helena … Like Helen of Troy, the most beautiful woman in the world, who men fought wars over?’

  At least Tony had the decency not to respond.

  Helena. A clue? Ellen was the name of his young secretary; Helen one of the soccer mums; and Heather a recently divorced friend. It had to be someone Allison knew, otherwise there’d be no need for this crazy secrecy.

  While they waited for their meals to arrive, Tony switched the conversation to the English Premier League and Felix gave his opinion of which teams would win on the weekend. Allison let them talk, aware that thei
r son should not be caught up in their arguments. In her head, she tried to recall every acquaintance whose name started with the letter H. Once she’d done that, she worked out which names rhymed with Helena: Serena, Melina, Trina, Sheena.

  Tony thanked the waiter as his tomato and bread salad was placed on the table.

  ‘Can’t wait to try something different!’

  And then they were all silent as they tucked into their meals—the only sounds Felix chomping on ice from his lemonade and Tony scraping his plate. Allison had to grip her knife and fork tight, fingernails biting into her palms, to prevent the fury from erupting. How dare Tony do this to their once-happy family?

  Perhaps she should suggest Felix see the school counsellor. Although, unlike her, Felix seemed to be taking it all in his stride. Was it bravado? She’d phoned his best mate, Darcy, to ask how he thought Felix was doing. ‘He’s all good,’ came the short reply.

  Allison finished off her veal, noting that Tony had stolen a piece of roast potato from her plate and had taken a big hunk of garlic bread. This man she loved had two faces—the old familiar Tony and an unrecognisable stranger. She took another gulp of wine and steeled herself to raise the subject of Felix’s living arrangements again. But before she could speak, Tony put a hand on her wrist.

  ‘I was hoping we could talk about selling the house,’ he said.

  Snatching her arm away, she tried to remember how to breathe. ‘The market’s good at the moment,’ he continued. ‘And it’s such a big place, we’ll get a great price. You could buy an apartment with ocean views, like you always wanted.’

  The last time Allison had mentioned an apartment with ocean views was seventeen years ago. Before Felix. When she was worrying that she’d never fall pregnant and that they should choose a different type of life.

  ‘I …’

  I thought this was a temporary madness.

  I thought we could get through this.

  I thought you were coming home.

  Allison coughed. Swigged the rest of her wine down her throat to clear it. Focused on her son’s face. Of course Tony had raised the subject in a public place so she wouldn’t be able to scream.

  ‘You won’t have to bother about the upkeep of the pool then,’ Tony said, as if by talking and talking he could make it happen. ‘Have you spoken to the blond guy at the pool shop? He’s really helpful.’

  She kept her eyes on Felix, waiting for his reaction. Surely he’d be as upset as her; it was the only house he’d ever lived in. Until now.

  Her son was staring at his lap, presumably on his phone, texting, snapping, whatsapping, whatever he did on there.

  The fury from earlier doubled and threatened to overwhelm her. Swallowing hard, Allison bent down to reach under the chair for her handbag, turning her face away from her husband. She considered the bill. Were they supposed to split it now? Like a reverse first date; the first date towards divorce. She could feel Tony watching her.

  Ignoring him and the bill, she dropped a kiss on her son’s head.

  ‘Well done on the goal, Felix.’ She tried to make her voice normal. ‘Sorry I’ve got to go. I have a student who’s sick. I need to do some work for her tonight.’

  Allison stormed out of the restaurant and drove slowly, slowly, flipping through the radio channels. When Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’ trilled through the speakers, she stabbed at the button to silence it. Yet another reminder of a date with Tony in their early years. The song made her slam her hands against the steering wheel. She parked in the garage and sat there, considering the empty, silent family home.

  If only her fury could keep the fear at bay each night.

  3

  ‘We’re going for drinks at Manly Wharf,’ Shona said after school on Friday. ‘To celebrate surviving the first week back and to welcome Elena. Are you coming?’

  ‘Who’s Elena?’

  ‘The new ESL teacher. Haven’t you met her?’

  Allison recalled a face she didn’t recognise in the staffroom yesterday. Elena. A young woman wearing black glasses and an intense expression, with thick dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. The department had given them a new acronym now—what was it? EAL/D: English as an additional language or dialect.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I think they’re all in the front office, discussing who’s driving.’

  Allison rushed out of the library and across the courtyard to the office. Her colleagues were standing in the entrance way, the new teacher slightly to one side.

  ‘Elena, where do you live?’ Allison demanded.

  ‘Sorry?’ The woman turned towards her. ‘You are … ?’

  ‘Where’s your house?’ Allison was almost shouting. ‘Where do you live?’

  The other teachers stopped speaking and turned to her.

  ‘Are you okay, Allison?’ one of them asked. ‘Have you met our new ESL teacher? She moved here from Melbourne.’

  ‘Why did you move here, Elena? Was it because of a man?’

  She knew they were watching, wondering what was going on, but Allison couldn’t stop herself. Was this the reason for Tony’s secrecy? Could his new girlfriend really be a teacher at her own school?

  The door opened and shut behind her, and Shona was at her elbow, pulling her towards the corridor.

  ‘Let’s get a cuppa, hen. I’ve got some of your favourite teabags.’

  Even as Shona dragged her off, Allison asked the question once more. ‘Where are you living, Elena?’

  The shell-shocked girl answered softly. ‘Mona Vale.’

  Oh dear God, what was she doing, yelling at the new teacher? Just because her name sounded like Helena. While Allison hadn’t actually accused the woman of sleeping with her husband, the staff would now all be gossiping about the usually calm Mrs Walsh.

  Bloody Tony, sending her mad.

  ‘I guess you’re not coming to drinks then?’ Shona said, as she made the cups of tea.

  ‘No, I’ve got book club anyway.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell them what’s going on? They’ll all be asking now.’

  Allison felt she didn’t have much choice. But what if Tony’s new woman was a teacher or parent at her school? How could she possibly turn up to work each day?

  After Shona finished her cup of tea and headed off to join the others, Allison hid in her classroom. She hadn’t actually lied to Shona—her book club was on that evening. The book focused on a wife murdering her unfaithful husband. Allison wasn’t attending.

  By five-thirty, when Allison walked into the staff car park, her silver hatchback was the only vehicle on the hot tarmac.

  Unlocking the Mazda, she glanced at the car door. Rubbed at a mark underneath the handle. Was that a reflection from the wispy clouds? She rubbed again. Bloody hell—a scratch extended all the way from the bonnet to the boot. Staring around the empty car park, Allison felt the night-time fear rush through her body. Someone had keyed her car.

  It couldn’t be her colleagues, not even Elena—they wouldn’t do that to her.

  Allison dumped her folders on the passenger seat, desperate to get out of there. Switching on the ignition, she heard a soft click. What the hell? Allison tried again and again. Normally, she’d check under the bonnet but not today. With the doors locked, she rang roadside assistance for help. We’ll be with you in thirty minutes. She couldn’t sit in a hot car for that long. Should she go back into the staffroom, lock herself in there? Or ring Nadia to come and wait with her?

  Be brave. Don’t sit and sweat in the car.

  She got out of the car, slamming the door. ‘Fucking hell,’ she growled to herself. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘Mrs Walsh?’

  Allison turned to see Gracie and her father walking through the car park. When she’d been hiding in the classroom, she’d noticed them in the playground with a few other children. Luke had been holding his daughter’s waist as she swung her arms along the monkey bars. Despite the white socks she’d put in Gracie’s
schoolbag, the girl had come to school in blue socks. Allison guessed that her father hadn’t unpacked her bag. This morning they’d had a quick chat about the next round of chemo. We’ll send out an email reminding children with any infectious disease to stay home, she’d assured him. We’ll respect your privacy, of course. Although everyone would know exactly who had cancer because of the purple bandana.

  ‘Sorry, I’m having car trouble. I’m waiting for the NRMA.’ She prayed that they hadn’t heard her swearing.

  From the frown on Luke’s face, though, it was clear that he had.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You seem a bit … upset.’

  ‘Thanks for your concern.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s been a long week.’

  Oh no—now, she’d made it sound like Gracie’s arrival was the cause of her exhaustion. Should she try to explain or would that make it worse?

  ‘I’m sure it has,’ Luke said, smoothing over her gaffe. ‘We were hanging out with some kids in the playground. Meeting other families.’

  A single dad going through a tragedy—Allison was sure that the women of Wirriga would take him into their fold. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be scared off by the sick child. Allison hadn’t been very attentive to Gracie today, not to any of her class; her thoughts focused on Tony wanting to sell the house.

  ‘Where are you living?’ Allison asked. ‘You probably have some school families in your street.’

  ‘Actually, we’re still in a holiday flat in Manly. It’s opposite the beach, which is great, but now the holidays are over, we’ve got backpackers upstairs. I’m trying to find somewhere to rent in Wirriga. There’s not much available.’

  ‘It’s because people move in and never leave.’

  Apart from Tony.

  Gracie pulled at her father’s hand. ‘Can I go on the slide again, Daddy?’

  ‘I guess we can stay a bit longer,’ Luke said. ‘Do you want to come to the playground with us, Mrs Walsh?’

  She followed them over, grateful for the company. Had someone tampered with her car? Was it Tony’s new woman? But why? Helena already had Tony; she’d won.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Luke asked as they watched Gracie clambering around the play equipment.