Authors: Liane Moriarty
P
arent reading was done outside in the playground. Today Jane was in Turtle Corner, named because of the giant concrete turtle sitting in the middle of a sandy play area. There was room for an adult and a child to sit comfortably together on the turtle’s neck, and Miss Barnes had provided two cushions and a blanket to put across their knees.
Jane loved listening to the children read: watching them frown as they sounded out a word, their triumphant expressions when they untangled the syllables, their sudden bursts of laughter over the story and their random, off-beat observations about the story. Sitting on a turtle with the sun on her face, the sand at her feet and the sea glittering on the horizon made her feel as if she were on holiday. Pirriwee Public was a magical little school, almost a dream school, and the thought of pulling Ziggy out and having to start again somewhere else without a Turtle Corner or a Miss Barnes filled her with regret and resentment.
“Beautiful reading, Max!” she said, double-checking as she did that it was indeed Max and not Josh who had just finished reading
Monkey’s Birthday Surprise
. Madeline had told her that the trick to differentiating Celeste’s boys was to look for the strawberry-shaped birthmark on Max’s forehead. “I think to myself, Marked Max,” said Madeline.
“You used
great
expression, Max,” said Jane, although she wasn’t sure that he had. The parents had been told to try to find something specific to compliment after each child read.
“Yep,” said Max coolly. He slid off the turtle’s neck and sat down cross-legged on the sand and began digging.
“Max,” said Jane.
Max sighed theatrically, sprang to his feet and suddenly ran back toward his classroom, his arms and legs pumping comically, like a cartoon character running for his life. The twins both ran faster than Jane would have thought possible for five-year-olds.
Jane checked his name off her list and looked up to see who Miss Barnes was sending out next. It was Amabella. Max nearly collided with her as she walked through the playground toward Jane, her curly head lowered, her book in her hand.
“Hi, Amabella!” Jane called out cheerily.
Your mother and her friends are petitioning to have Ziggy suspended because they think he’s hurting you, honey! So do you think you could tell me what’s really going on?
She’d become fond of Amabella since she’d been doing the reading this year. She was a quiet little girl with a serious, angelic face, and it was impossible not to like her. She and Jane had had some interesting conversations about the books that they read together.
Of course she would not say a word to Amabella about what was going on with Ziggy. That would be inappropriate. That would be wrong.
Of course she wouldn’t.
Samantha:
Don’t get me wrong, I love Miss Barnes, and anyone who spends her days wrangling five-year-olds deserves a medal, but I do think letting Amabella read to Jane that day might not have been the most sensible thing in the world.
Miss Barnes:
That was a mistake. I’m human. I make mistakes. It’s called human error. These parents seem to think I’m a machine and they can demand a refund every time a teacher makes a mistake. And look, I don’t want to say anything bad about Jane—but she was in the wrong that day too.
Amabella was reading to Jane from a book about the solar system. It was the highest-level book for kindergarten children, and as usual Amabella read it fluently, with impeccable expression. The only way that Jane felt she could add any value for Amabella was by interrupting and asking her some questions raised by the book, but today Jane was finding it difficult to muster any interest in the solar system. All she could think about was Ziggy.
“What do you think it would be like to live on Mars?” she said finally.
Amabella lifted her head. “It would be impossible because you can’t breathe the atmosphere, there’s too much carbon dioxide and it’s too cold.”
“Right,” said Jane, although she’d actually have to Google it to be sure. It was possible that Amabella was already smarter than she was.
“Also, it would be lonely,” said Amabella after a moment.
Why would a smart little girl like Amabella not say the truth? If it was Ziggy, why wouldn’t she just say it? Why not tell on him? It was so strange. Children were normally such tattletales.
“Sweetheart, you know I’m Ziggy’s mum, right?” she asked.
Amabella nodded in a “duh” sort of a way.
“Has Ziggy been hurting you? Because if he has, I want to know about it, and I promise I will make sure he never
ever
does anything like that again.”
Amabella’s eyes filled with instant tears. Her bottom lip quivered. She dropped her head.
“Amabella,” said Jane. “Was it Ziggy?”
Amabella said something Jane didn’t catch.
“What’s that?” said Jane.
“It wasn’t . . .” began Amabella, but then her face crumpled. She began to cry in earnest.
“It
wasn’t
Ziggy?” said Jane, filled with desperate hope. She felt an urge to shake Amabella, to demand the child just say the truth. “Is that what you said, it wasn’t him?”
“Amabella! Amabella,
sweetie
!” Harper stood at the edge of the sandpit, holding a box of oranges for the canteen. She had a white scarf tied so tightly around her neck, it looked like she was being garroted, an effect enhanced by the fact that her long, droopy face was now purpling with rage. “Whatever is the matter?”
She dumped the box at her feet and walked across the sand to them.
“Amabella!” she said. “What’s going on?”
It was like Jane wasn’t there, or as though she were another child.
“Everything is fine, Harper,” said Jane coldly. She put her arm around Amabella and pointed behind Harper. “Your oranges are going everywhere.” Turtle Corner was at the top of a small slope, and Harper’s box had tipped on one side. A cascade of oranges slid down the playground toward where Stu was listening to another kindergarten child read near the Starfish Wall.
Harper’s eyes stayed fixed on Amabella, ignoring Jane in such a pointed, deliberate way, it was almost laughable, except for the fact that it was also breathtakingly rude.
“Come with me, Amabella.” Harper held out her hand.
Amabella sniffed. Her nose was running into her mouth in that heedless, disgusting way of five-year-olds.
“I am right here, Harper!” said Jane as she pulled a packet of tissues from her jacket pocket. This was infuriating. If she’d had just another minute with Amabella she might have been able to get some information out of her. She held the tissue over Amabella’s nose. “Blow, Amabella.”
Amabella obediently blew. Harper finally looked at Jane. “You have obviously been upsetting her! What have you been saying to her?”
“Nothing!” said Jane furiously, and her guilt over her desire to shake Amabella only made her angrier still. “Why don’t you go collect a few more signatures for your nasty little petition?”
Harper’s voice rose to a shout. “Oh yes, good idea, and leave you here to keep bullying a defenseless little girl! Like mother, like son!”
Jane stood up from the turtle and kicked at the sand with her boot, just barely managing to stop herself from kicking it in Harper’s face. “Don’t you dare talk about my son!”
“Don’t you
kick
me!” yelled Harper.
“I didn’t kick you!” yelled back Jane, surprising herself with the volume of her voice.
“What on earth . . . ?” It was Stu, dressed in his blue plumber’s overalls, his hands full of the oranges he was rescuing from the playground. The little boy who had been reading with him was standing next to him, an orange in each hand, his eyes saucer-like at the sight of two mothers yelling.
At that moment there was a high-pitched yelp as Carol Quigley, hurrying back from the music room with her spray-and-wipe bottle held aloft, slipped over a stray orange and fell slapstick-style on her bottom.
Carol:
I had a very badly bruised tailbone, in fact.
Gabrielle:
Next thing I hear, Harper is accusing Jane of assaulting her in Turtle Corner, which seems unlikely.
Stu:
Harper carried on like a pork chop. She didn’t look like she’d been assaulted. I don’t know. I’d just gotten a call about a blown water main. I didn’t have time to deal with two mothers fighting it out in the sandpit.
Thea:
And that’s when some of the parents decided to report matters to the Department of Education.
Jonathan:
. . . which obviously freaked poor Mrs. Lipmann out. I think it was her birthday too. Poor woman.
Mrs. Lipmann:
I will say this: We couldn’t possibly have suspended Ziggy Chapman. The only time he’d even been accused of bullying was at the orientation day, when he wasn’t even a student. After that it was all just conjecture on the part of the parents. I have no idea if it was my birthday. That is of no relevance.
Miss Barnes:
Those parents were crazy. How could we possibly have suspended Ziggy? He was a model student. No behavioral issues. I never had to put him on
the Sad Chair. In fact, I can’t remember even giving him a red dot! And he certainly
never
got a yellow card. Let alone a white one.
The Day Before the Trivia Night
M
adeline worked on Fridays, which meant that she mostly missed the Friday-morning school assembly. Ed normally made an appearance if one of the kids was performing or receiving a merit award. Today, however, Chloe had begged Madeline to come because the kindergarten class was reciting “The Dentist and the Crocodile” and Chloe had a line to say all on her own.
Also, Fred’s class was performing on their recorders for the first time. They were going to play “Happy Birthday to You” to Mrs. Lipmann, which would be a painful experience for all concerned. (There was a general feeling around the school that Mrs. Lipmann might be turning sixty, but no one could confirm or deny.)
Madeline had decided to go to the assembly and then work late next Monday afternoon, something she didn’t used to be able to do on a Monday because she took Abigail to basketball practice while Ed took the little kids to their swimming lesson.
“Abigail probably doesn’t need to go to basketball training anymore,” she said to Ed as they got out of the car with their take-out coffees. After they’d dropped the children off they’d zipped down to Blue Blues, where Tom was doing a roaring trade from all the Pirriwee Public parents in need of caffeine to get through a recorder performance at the assembly. “Maybe Nathan is coaching her now.”
Ed chuckled warily, probably worried she was about to launch into another rant about the cancellation of the math tutor. Her
husband was a patient man, but she had noticed a glazed look on his face as she’d talked, admittedly for quite a long time, about Abigail’s difficulty with algebra and the fact that Nathan had never been there to help Abigail with her math homework and therefore had no idea how outrageously bad she was at it, and yes it was true that Nathan had always been good at math, but that didn’t mean he could
teach
it, and so on and so forth.
“Joy e-mailed this morning,” said Ed as he locked the car. Joy was the editor of the local paper. “She wants me to do a piece on what’s going on at the school.”
“What? The trivia night?” said Madeline disinterestedly. Ed often wrote short articles about school fund-raising events for the local paper. She could see Perry and Celeste crossing the street to go into the school. They were holding hands, loved-up gorgeous couple that they were, Perry walking slightly ahead, as if he were protecting Celeste from the traffic.
“No,” said Ed carefully. “The bullying. The petition. Joy says ‘bullying’ is one of those hot-button issues.”
“You can’t write about that!” Madeline stopped abruptly in the middle of the road.
“Get out of the road, you bloody idiot.” Ed grabbed her elbow as a car came whizzing up from the beach. “One day I’m going to be writing a story about a tragedy on this road.”
“Don’t write it, Ed,” said Madeline. “That’s so bad for the school’s reputation.”
“I am still a journalist, you know,” said Ed.
It had been three years since Ed had given up a stressful, high-grade job with longer hours and much better pay at the
Australian
so that Madeline could go back to work and the two of them could evenly share parenting duties, and he’d never once complained about the intrinsically sedate nature of work at a local paper, cheerfully going off to surf carnivals and fetes and one-hundred-year birthday
celebrations at the local nursing home. (The sea air seemed to preserve its residents.) This was the first time he’d ever hinted at the possibility that he wasn’t entirely satisfied.
“It’s a valid story,” said Ed.
“It’s not a valid story!” said Madeline. “You
know
it’s not a valid story!”
“What’s not a valid story? Gidday, Ed. Madeline, nice to see you.” They had caught up with Perry and Celeste. Perry was in a beautifully cut suit and tie; bespoke, Italian, worth more than Ed’s entire wardrobe, Madeline guessed, including the wardrobe. She managed to caress the silky fabric of his sleeve with her fingertips as Perry leaned over to kiss her and she breathed in the scent of his aftershave.
She wondered what it would be like to be married to a man who dressed so well. If it were Madeline, she would take such pleasure in all those lovely textures and colors, the softness of the ties, the crispness of the shirts. Of course, Celeste, who didn’t have much interest in clothes, probably didn’t even register the difference between Perry and rumpled, unshaven Ed, with his old musty-smelling, olive-green fleece over his T-shirt. Watching Ed and Perry talk, though, she felt an unexpected surge of affection for Ed, even though she’d just that minute been feeling aggravated with him. It was something to do with the open, interested way he listened to Perry, and his graying, stubbled chin, in contrast with Perry’s shiny-smooth jaw.
Yes. She’d much rather kiss Ed. So that was lucky.
“Are we late? We dropped the boys off first at kiss-and-drop because there was no parking,” said Celeste in her flustered, worried way. “The boys are so excited about Perry being here to see them perform this poem.”
“We’re not late,” said Madeline. She wondered if Celeste had said anything to Perry yet about his cousin possibly being Ziggy’s father. She would have told Ed by now.
“Have you seen Jane?” asked Celeste, as if she’d read her mind.
Perry and Ed had walked ahead of them.
“Have you told him . . . ?” Madeline lowered her voice and inclined her head at Perry’s back.
“No!” hissed Celeste. She looked almost terrified.
“Anyway, Jane isn’t here,” said Madeline. “Remember, she’s got the thing with the thing.” Celeste looked blank. Madeline lowered her voice. “You know. The appointment.” Jane had sworn them to secrecy about the appointment she’d made for Ziggy to see the psychologist. “If people hear I’m taking him to a psychologist, they’ll think it’s proof that he’s doing something wrong.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Celeste tapped a finger to her forehead. “I forgot.”
Perry slowed down so that Madeline and Celeste could catch up with them.
“So Ed has just been telling me about this bullying controversy,” said Perry. “Is this Renata Klein’s daughter? The poor little girl who is being bullied?” He said to Madeline, “I sort of know Renata through work.”
“Really?” said Madeline, although she already knew this from Celeste; it always seemed a safer policy not to let husbands know just how much information their wives shared.
“So should I sign this petition if Renata asks me?” asked Perry.
Madeline drew herself up, ready to go into battle for Jane, but Celeste spoke first. “Perry,” she said, “if you sign that petition I will leave you.”
Madeline laughed with uneasy surprise. It was obviously meant to be a joke, but there was something wrong with Celeste’s delivery. She sounded perfectly serious.
“That’s telling you, mate!” said Ed.
“It sure is,” said Perry, and he put his arm around Celeste and pressed his lips to her head. “The boss has spoken.”
But Celeste still didn’t smile.
To: ALL PARENTS
From: YOUR SOCIAL COMMITTEE
The much anticipated AUDREY AND ELVIS TRIVIA NIGHT kicks off tomorrow in the school assembly hall at seven p.m.! Put your thinking caps on and be ready for a night of fun and merriment! THANK YOU to Year 2 dad Brett Larson, who will be our MC for the night. Brett has been busy preparing some tricky mind-benders to keep us on our toes!
Fingers crossed the weather forecast will be wrong (90 percent chance of rain—but, hey, what do they know?) and we’ll be able to enjoy cocktails and canapés on our beautiful balcony before the night begins.
THANK YOU also to all our generous local sponsors! Raffle prizes include a FAB MEAT TRAY kindly donated by our friends at the wonderful Pirriwee Perfect Meats, a scrumptious BREAKFAST FOR TWO at BLUE BLUES (we love you, TOM!) and a SHAMPOO AND BLOW-DRY at HAIRWAY TO HEAVEN! WOW!
Remember, all money raised goes to buy SMART Boards for the education of our little folk!
*Hugs!* from your friendly Social Committee,
Fiona, Grace, Edwina, Rowena, Harper, Holly and Helen!
xxxxxxx
P.S. Mrs. Lipmann reminds us all to be mindful of our neighbors and to keep noise levels to a minimum when we’re leaving.