The Teacher's Secret (50 page)

‘What if I forget?' she murmurs. ‘What if I forget what I'm supposed to say?'

Nina reaches out to hold her. ‘You won't, sweetheart. As soon as you're up there, the words will just come out. And if they don't, Sebastian's mum will be there to prompt you. Okay?'

Bridie bites at her lip. ‘Okay,' she whispers.

Bridie is in the wings now, too: all decked out in her silver narrator's cape. Silver shoes, too, she sees.

‘Love your shoes,' Nina tells her. ‘I really, really love your shoes.'

Bridie smiles. ‘Mr P got them for me,' she says, ‘when I told him about the cape. He got them for me so they were matching.'

Nina can't suppress a grimace. Why does he have to keep popping up, why can't he just disappear? And even though she doesn't say anything out loud, still the little girl's smile fades. Nina takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘They're beautiful,' she tells her. ‘They're absolutely beautiful.'

Terry

He's taken the day off work and now he's sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, just waiting. When the call finally comes through, he answers it on the first ring.

‘Terry, mate,' Sid whispers, ‘I've got to keep it down. Can you hear me okay?'

He can. In fact, Sid's coming through crystal clear.

Sid sounds pleased. ‘Rightio.
The Wolf
's about to start so we'll do it the way we did it with
The Bears
, okay? I'll just hold the phone up again. That should do the trick.'

It does the trick, all right. As soon as Terry puts the phone on speaker, he can hear them all loud and clear. And by God, does that make him smile.

When it's Bridie's turn, his palms start to sweat; twice he has to wipe them on his trousers. Listening hard, he wills her to remember the lines, wills her to bat on, no matter what happens. God love her, she does. She keeps on going, her voice clear, her voice strong, her voice loud.

But not nearly as loud as Elsie, who yells her lines. Hearing her makes Terry want to laugh and cry and clap, all at once. It seems he's not the only one because from somewhere in the distance—from the back of the hall, he imagines—comes a cheer and a foghorn call.
Perfect, Else, that's perfect
. In his mind, Terry sees her up there, waving to her father like a maniac, as she hollers out the rest of her lines. Once again, he's got it right, has Len: she
is
perfect, she's a perfect orator; the only kid in the school who doesn't need a microphone to broadcast her words.

Except perhaps Kurt, who gives her a run for her money as he belts out his final lines:

There's a yell from the audience then.
Way to go, Kurt, way to go
. For a moment Terry thinks Sean's stopped island-hopping long enough to give his son some support. But when the yell goes out again and the words are slightly slurred, he realises that it's not Sean; it's Cody's dad, Scott, who's cheering the boy on. He's a good egg, that one. Terry's got to hand it to him.

And all at once, there he is again: right back in the classroom, all of them there in front of him, eyes to the front, smiles on their faces.

The thought of it.

God, the thought of it—it fills him with a sadness so piercing he has to draw breath.

From down the phone comes the sound of clapping: loud, raucous clapping that keeps on going and going. When, finally, it starts to die down, Sid comes on the line again. ‘I think that's about it, mate,' he says.

Terry can't answer him. He has to inhale a couple of times before he can get anything out at all. ‘Thanks, Sid,' he says finally. ‘Thanks for that.'

‘No problem, mate,' says Sid. ‘No problem at all.'

And with that, he's gone—they're all gone. Every one of them.

Rebecca

They're still clapping. Clapping and clapping. The hall is filled with the sound of it. Rebecca is clapping, too, her hands outstretched in front of her.

Onstage, the kids are holding hands and bowing, Sebastian right in the middle of them.
Look at him
, she wants to shout.
Look at him
. At that moment, she is close to euphoric. They have done it.

The show is over and they have done it well.

So.

So now it's time.

Beside her, Emmanuel's eyes are on the stage. He doesn't even know the letter has arrived.

It is still unopened. All day, it has lain in her pocket, unopened. Now, with a small tug, she tears at the back of the envelope. Inside is just one piece of paper.

Once again, it is little more than a form letter.

And once again, she flinches as her eyes fix on the opening words.

This time, the words are different.

For a moment she just stares at them, unable to properly comprehend what they are saying. Only slowly does it register.

Carefully, she refolds the letter and passes it to Emmanuel. ‘Read it,' she whispers.

When he is finished, he, too, refolds the letter before he passes it back to her. If she were to look at him, she knows she would dissolve, so instead she looks ahead.

All around her the clapping continues, strong and loud and joyful. And now, she joins in with it once more.

They will stay.

This is where they will belong.

And as she thinks of this, and all it might mean, she catches a glimpse of Mel, who is standing in the aisle, her camera pointed at the stage. All afternoon she has been taking photographs, this woman who is fast becoming her friend. She must have hundreds of them, hundreds of pictures of the show. It will be good, she thinks, to sift through them together. She will look forward to this with great pleasure.

A little closer, only a couple of seats down from her, are Sid and Joan. Rebecca smiles to watch them: their eyes glued to the stage, both of them transfixed. How delightful, she thinks. How lovely, too, that they have both made such an effort for the show: Joan's dress is a rainbow of colours and, in her hair, she's wearing a clip that sparkles. Sid's hair, as usual, is carefully slicked back and today he is wearing a tie. It's like they're out on a date, she thinks. It's like they're an old married couple out on a date.

It is only then that she notices it: Sid is holding Joan's hand.

No, it can't be.

But it is. It is. Sid's hand is clasped around Joan's and their shoulders are touching.

Imagine that, she thinks. And for some time longer, she keeps watching them until slowly, almost reluctantly, she turns her gaze back to the stage.

Nina

When the applause has died away and the children have disappeared down into the audience, Laurie comes on stage. Watching from the wings, Nina remembers, with a jolt, that it's her last day. She kicks herself for having forgotten. She could have at least bought her flowers.

Laurie keeps it brief. She talks about the year and about the school's achievements, and how she'll be sorry to leave.

There is applause when she finishes, but it is muted, and when Nina scans the audience, she sees that Tania isn't clapping at all. From somewhere in the back of the audience comes a shout:
What about Terry Pritchard, why'd ya sack him?
It's so loud Laurie must have heard it. But if she has, she gives no sign of it. Only when she walks back down the stairs to her seat does Nina see that her hands are trembling.

As soon as Laurie sits down, Tania stands up and makes her way to the stage. She waits until the hall falls silent.

‘To prepare for Ms Thomas's return next year,' she says, ‘I thought we should start exercising our vocal cords again. Brindle Public
School students, you won't need the words. Brindle Public parents, you probably won't either. Anyone else, just try your best. All right?'

There is only a faint response. Taking a step forward, Tania puts a hand behind her ear. ‘Can't hear you, Brindle Public,' she says.

From the audience comes a sprinkle of laughter.

Tania takes a second step forward. She's at the edge of the stage now and when she takes a third step, she keeps her foot in midair. Another step, and she'll fall off the stage. ‘Still can't hear you, Brindle Public!' she shouts.

Loud laughter fills the hall now. Still with her foot up, Tania calls out to the audience, ‘I said, Brindle Public, are you ready for some music?'

This time, the response is overwhelming.

Putting her foot down, Tania looks pleased. ‘That's more like it,' she says. To the left, Belinda is waiting by the PA system. Tania gives her a nod. ‘Ready when you are, Ms Coote.'

A silence, then, before music starts to trickle through the system. It takes Nina only a couple of bars to recognise the song: ‘Blame It on the Boogie'. She struggles to hold back a chortle.

The music gets louder then, louder and louder, and soon it's not just coming from the PA system, it's coming from everywhere.

Onstage, Tania is singing hard, pumping each word into the microphone, so that her voice reverberates throughout the hall. When the chorus comes, the audience erupts.

There are actions for the chorus. Fabulous actions, and onstage, Tania leads the audience through them: half-circles, stretched arms, twinkling fingers, twisting.

And although Tania is keeping time, there are problems in the audience. Some are stretching, some are twinkling, some are
twisting, some are doing nothing. It's a fiasco. To one side of the hall, everyone from
The Wolf
is grouped together. They're all standing up, they're all facing Tania and they're all doing the actions, each one of them. Nina splutters with laughter when she sees them. Not because they can't do it, but because they're trying so hard: their faces earnest while their arms fly everywhere. And when they start to boogie, each of them twisting vigorously, each of them pointing a hand to the ceiling, each of them still absolutely serious, she can't hold back.

God, she laughs.

She laughs and laughs. More than she has in years. She laughs so much she starts to choke. And when she tries to control herself, a giggle catches in her throat, and still she keeps on laughing—how she laughs—even after the music is over and the dancing has finished.

Acknowledgements

I have long admired Jane Palfreyman and her stable of innovative and talented writers. To now be one of them still makes my heart leap. Thank you, Jane, for all your advice, care and support.

Ali Lavau's editing gave the book a clear and cohesive setting in time and place, Sarah Baker was meticulous with her suggestions and changes, Sarina Rowell was a careful and thoughtful proofreader and Alissa Dinallo designed a beautifully striking cover. Thank you, too, to the rest of the team at Allen & Unwin.

My agent, Margaret Connolly, is wise and practical and encouraging and always available. It's a delight to be her client and friend.

Claire Scobie read many early drafts of the work and her feedback was invaluable.

Richard Glover, Kathryn Heyman and Joanne Fedler were so very generous with their time and their feedback.

Megan Tipping (née James) read the manuscript with the eyes of a teacher and helped me navigate the world of primary schools.

Mandy Mashanyare's thoughtful suggestions were instrumental in making the work more credible and more authentic.

Juliet Lucy was a scrupulous proofreader and Kelly Barlow, queen of social media, organised me, revamped me and sent me out into the digital world.

My father, Barry Leal, has instilled in me a love of language and stories, and my mother, Roslyn Leal, has been an ever-present support to me.

Alex, Dominic and Xavier are my beautiful sons, and Miranda, our lovely little latecomer, completes us. I'm so very proud of you all.

David Barrow is my great love. As a husband, father and stepfather, he is caring and funny and generous and wise. How lucky we are to have you!

About the author

Suzanne Leal began her career as a criminal lawyer with the Legal Aid Commission of NSW and has since held appointments to several tribunals, including the Refugee Review Tribunal. A former legal commentator on ABC Radio, Suzanne is an experienced interviewer at literary functions and events.

Curiosity about hidden stories and secret lives drives Suzanne's writing. It sparked her interest in the lives of her Czech landlords, Fred and Eva Perger, who inspired her first novel,
Border Street
, commended in the Asher Literary Award. Curiosity, too, prompted Suzanne to explore the intrigues of the schoolyard and bring them to life in this, her second novel.

Suzanne lives in Sydney with her husband, David, and her four children, Alex, Dominic, Xavier and Miranda.

suzanneleal.com