The Bus on Thursday Page 10

  And suddenly I realize that the children are weeping. Just quietly weeping. Big tears rolling silently down their cheeks as they gaze up at the screen. Because of course their beloved, decent, good-hearted teacher is being dragged out of the Pondage even as we sit there.

  How could I have been so insensitive?

  So I jump up immediately and grab the remote and try to turn the DVD off. But it doesn’t want to shut off, it just freeze-frames on a shot of Miss B. smiling at the camera, which induces a fresh bout of weeping from the littlies. Then, as I hit more buttons, it begins fast-forwarding in fits and starts, and stopping and playing in random spots, always featuring Miss Barker, then fast-forwarding again. Meanwhile I’m pressing the stop button like a maniac, but nothing I do seems to make any difference. I just about fling the remote at the television screen. But instead I control myself and run up and crawl under the desk and pull the plug out.

  I get up and I turn and look at the kids, all gazing up at me with their big wet eyes and their sad, sad faces, and I literally do not know what to say to them. So I say, “Where’s Ryan?” in a sharp voice, because I suddenly notice he’s missing. And Camille says, “He’s outside, Miss.” I’m so relieved to have a reason to get away from all those judging little faces, I run outside like it’s a matter of utmost importance that I find Ryan. And he’s sitting on a seat, looking down toward the Pondage, where the police are still congregated. And he’s sobbing, absolutely sobbing his heart out.

  Immediately, my whole attitude to Ryan does a complete unexpected one-eighty. Frankly I’d always found him borderline repulsive, but now I see how grief-stricken he is and my heart goes out to him. I sit down beside him and put my arms around him, and I gently rock him while he sobs into my breast. We sit like this for I don’t know how long, with me stroking his hair and him sobbing these great hacking sobs. Poor kid, I think. No parents to look after him. Just Gregory—and let’s face it, Gregory is not exactly the motherly type. No wonder Ryan became so attached to Miss Barker. She was probably the only person who was ever nice to him. “Ryan,” I say, “if you’re feeling sad at any time, or if you’re lonely this weekend, come and visit me.” And he looks up at me with these big fat glistening teardrops hanging off his eyelashes, and he says: “Can we make cupcakes?” And I’m like, “Sure, we can make cupcakes, if that’s what you’d like to do.” And this seems to cheer him up a bit and then the recess bell goes so I give him five bucks to buy himself some chips from the shop. I realize then that the whole front of my blouse is literally sodden with Ryan’s tears. And this blouse goes see-through when it’s wet, which is kind of embarrassing.

  So I’m in the bathroom trying to dry my blouse with the hand dryer when Glenda materializes, all teary and resentful. She’s like, “The police are here, and they want to talk to you.” Very steely, very accusatory in her tone. Immediately I panic. I am absolutely not ready to talk to the cops. I’m like, “I’m too busy, recess is about to finish.” And she’s like, “They don’t care, they want to talk to you right now. They’re waiting for you in my office.” And I’m like, Seriously, your office? That’s embarrassing. Because that is where I had sex with Gregory the night before.

  Glenda’s office is really, really small. It’s basically a cupboard. It’s so small it’s actually quite difficult to have sex in. Gregory is a very physical lover—he likes to try all sorts of positions, and he particularly likes to simultaneously gaze at himself in the mirror, and Glenda has a tiny little hand mirror, which he found in one of her drawers, and I am not joking, he literally held that up at various angles so he could better observe how fantastic he looks while having sex. And because he had trouble getting a good angle on himself with this tiny mirror, he kept arranging me in various different positions—doggy-style on the desk, straddling the chair, up against the filing cabinet, down and dirty on the carpet with my head rammed at right angles against the bookshelf. I wouldn’t say he was a considerate lover, because frankly it is all about Gregory. But in its own way it is quite exciting, especially if you don’t mind a bit of carpet burn.

  So here I am with my love bite and my see-through blouse, thinking about having sex with Gregory while simultaneously being interviewed by the police in the actual love den. I notice a bunch of incriminating tissues in the wastepaper bin, and a strand of my hair entangled in the metal handle of the filing cabinet. But of course, the cops are so hopeless they don’t pick up on any of that, although I do wonder about Glenda. She’d notice, for sure. Plus, we did leave her desk in a bit of a mess.

  Anyway, so I’m being interviewed in the love cupboard by this detective from Tumut named Binder. And he’s got some offsider whose name I didn’t catch, and Senior Sergeant Saunders has invited himself along too. So I’m sitting on the chair, and these guys are all basically leaning up against the wall, arms folded, trying to look intimidating. But I’m just sitting there smirking because all I can think about is having sex with Gregory, and if only they knew.

  Anyway, Binder launches in, asking me how I came to discover the body. So I start to tell him how I like to go for an early-morning walk, and I was leaning down to pick wildflowers near the edge of the Pondage when I saw the body just floating there. And I notice as I talk that I am omitting completely a lot of the actual true details of the story—like Gregory, for example. I just totally refrain from mentioning him at all. And they’re asking me if I touched or interfered with the body, and I’m like, “Nope, absolutely no way,” because of course I know they are probably alluding to the missing hand. That is, the hand that Gregory broke off, the hand clutching the clump of stalks. And then Binder says, “Sergeant Saunders tells me you identified the body as Miss Barker.” And I’m like, “Yes.” And then he says, pretending to be all confused, “But I understand you came here to replace Miss Barker?” And I’m like, “That’s right.” And he says, “So how well did you actually know her?” I’m like, “What? I never met her.” And Binder says. “Then how come you instantly identified the corpse?” And Saunders pipes up, “Pretty frigging decomposed corpse at that.” And I’m like, “Well, I just assumed. I put two and two together.” And Binder stares at me for a solid minute and then makes a long, long note in his notepad.

  So then, when he’s finally finished, he asks me if I can offer them any other details about Miss Barker. I’m like, “I thought we just established that I never knew her.” And Binder says, “Don’t get smart with me. And while you’re at it, wipe that smirk off your face. This isn’t funny, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  So I say, “Well, I only know what some of the parents have told me. Which is mostly about her menstrual cycle.” And Binder says, “Yeah, we’re fully cognizant of her menstrual cycle.” So I say, “Okay, but are you cognizant of the fact she had a miscarriage?” And he raises an eyebrow at this, and says, “That’s a new one. I haven’t heard that.” So I say, “Well, if you’re looking for a reason why she jumped—” And he says, “Jumped? You think she jumped?” And I’m like, “Didn’t they discharge water from the Reservoir last night? I’m assuming that’s where the body came from.” And Binder says, “Jumped off the Ridge, is that what you think? Sluice gates open, water discharged, body released into Pondage?” So I say, “Well, it certainly seems possible.” And Binder closes his notebook. He’s like, “You’re very full of surmises for someone who didn’t even know her.” And they all get up to go, and as they’re filing out of there, Saunders turns and smirks at me. “I’ll tell you what, she was similar to you in this one respect,” he says. “She was always with the love hickeys. But at least she used to try and cover them up.”

  And the guys have a bit of a chuckle.

  And then it hits me—Miss Barker and her floaty scarves. I thought it was her middle-aged dress sense. But in fact she was covering up her love bites.

  I actually go cold. The hairs on my forearms stand on end. Because another thought suddenly dawns on me.

  Miss Barker was on with Gregory.

  Gregory
gave her those love bites.

  And in the same instant, I remember what he’d said only hours earlier in the Charger when he was going on about me having casual sex while intoxicated.

  He said, “The other one was just as bad.”

  Meaning Miss Barker.

  Of course.

  I literally die a hundred times.

  To be honest, I think I actually go into shock. I come over all clammy. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I feel sick—sick in the pit of my stomach. I think to myself, Okay, well, Miss Barker was on with Gregory. Also, Delores is having Josh’s baby. Everything bad that could possibly happen is happening to me.

  Immediately the cops depart, I run and lock myself in the toilet and sit there hunched over, rocking back and forth, until Glenda starts banging on the door and yelling at me to get out of there.

  I fling open the door and I’m like, “WHAT?” And she looks at me and she obviously realizes I’ve been crying, and she suddenly envelops me in this big suffocating hug. And she says, “I’m sorry, Miss Mellett, this must be so hard for you. In the midst of our grief, we’re forgetting that you’re affected by it too.” It was very awkward and kind of sweaty and smothering, but I let it happen and actually it felt kind of nice that someone was finally considering how I felt about things. And then she says, “Look, I’ve called the Department and a grief counselor will be here on Monday. But someone really needs to speak to the children. And I just … I just don’t think I can do it.”

  And of course, cue the waterworks. So I pat her on the shoulder and I’m like, “Don’t worry, Glenda, of course I will talk to the children.”

  And now she reverts to form and starts waving some Education Department guidelines at me like she doesn’t entirely trust me with the task, and she’s saying, “Just explain it to them in a developmentally appropriate way. Be completely upfront and honest, but don’t tell them more than they need to know. Let them know it’s okay to cry or be sad or be angry—what’s important is that we recognize our feelings and talk about them.”

  And I’m like, “Yup, yup. Thanks very much, Glenda, leave it with me.”

  I have no idea how long I spent locked in the toilet, but somehow now it’s after lunch, and the children are filing back into the classroom looking all mopey and forlorn and subdued. So I say to them, “Okay, kids, gather around, form a circle, let’s all sit on cushions on the floor. It’s time we had a big, big talk about Miss Barker.”

  So the children all come over and sit on the big, funny animal cushions that no doubt Miss Barker lovingly stitched by hand on her weekends. I get the little ones to come and sit really close to me, just so I can keep an eye on them, and to my surprise little Madison actually clambers onto my lap, which is sweet. And when everyone’s settled, I begin.

  “Kids, today is a very, very sad day for us. Miss Barker has been found in the Pondage. I’m afraid to say she is dead. Miss Barker is dead. Do you children all understand about death? Has anyone had a pet or a grandpa or a grandma or someone that has died?”

  And so Ryan puts his hand up and says, “My mum and dad died in a car crash, Miss.”

  Thanks a lot, Ryan. Way to derail a class discussion. So I say, “Actually, Ryan, I was really more asking the little kids, not you, but thank you for sharing.”

  And then little Jaden puts his hand up and tells us a long story about his dead mice with lots of unnecessary detail about their tumors which has everyone completely grossing out, and all the time there is snot pouring out his nose and finally I can’t stand it and I cut him off and tell him to go and get a tissue.

  And then Rose and Brody want to talk about the massacred chickens, basically so they can whip themselves up into a state of competitive tweeny hysteria, so I nip that in the bud and say, “Yes, but really, they were only chickens, and let’s face it, you probably eat chicken every night and don’t even think about it.”

  So then I say, “Let’s get back to Miss Barker. Is anyone wondering what on earth she was doing in the Pondage in the first place?”

  The kids just stare at me, but finally little Benjamin says, “Swimming?”

  Which just totally cracked me up. Totes inappropes, I know, but his timing could not have been more perfect if he was Jack Benny. I am laughing so hard, I am clutching my stomach, I am practically weeping. Finally, I manage to compose myself, and I say, “Thank you, Benjamin, but I don’t actually think Miss Barker was swimming.” And then I look around and I say, “Any other thoughts?”

  And Sarah, one of the older girls, says: “Did she drown?”

  To which I respond, “Duh. Obviously she drowned, Sarah. But my question is, why was she even in the Pondage? I mean, I actually saw her body and she had clothes on. Normal clothes.”

  And Oliver says, “Maybe she fell in?”

  And I’m like, “Bingo! Give the boy a banana. Did everyone hear what Oliver said? He said maybe Miss Barker fell in. I think we’re getting warmer. Any other ideas? Like, maybe if we try to think where she could have fallen from?”

  I am trying to lead the conversation around as delicately as I can to suicide. But the kids absolutely won’t take the bait. They keep proposing more and more ludicrous ideas. She fell from a tree, a plane, a hot-air balloon, a rocket ship. I mean, it was nuts. Finally I cut them off and I say, “Maybe she fell from the Ridge. Did anyone think about that?”

  And this thought seems to genuinely shock them. I guess they all know the Ridge, they know how scary and high up it is and what a long way down to the dark, cold water. So now I put on a pretend-puzzled face, and I say: “But why would she fall from the Ridge? Everyone knows you have to stay away from the edge, right? Do you think Miss Barker knew she had to stay away from the edge? Of course she did—she’s a teacher. So why would Miss Barker, a fully qualified primary school teacher, have gone too close to the edge if she knew better than anyone that you have to stay away from the edge? It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  Cue a hundred increasingly implausible suggestions as to why Miss Barker went too close to the edge. She was trying to get better phone reception. She was taking a selfie and wanted to see more of the water. She dropped a lolly wrapper and as she went to pick it up, it blew over the edge. A lion was chasing her. A meteorite was hurtling toward her. And then finally Ryan says, “Maybe somebody pushed her.”

  Well, all the kids just completely turn on him. Totally shout him down. Why would anyone push Miss Barker off the Ridge? Everybody loved Miss Barker! That is the craziest idea they’ve ever heard! Ryan is a stupid idiot! And so finally I intervene, and I say: “Guess what, kids? You’re all wrong. Miss Barker actually jumped off.”

  They all turn to me then, their little faces puckering in disbelief.

  “That’s what the cops think. They said Miss Barker was sad because her baby died, and sometimes women get a bit unhinged, a bit crazy, when things like that happen. I think it’s partly the hormones. And because she was sad, she jumped off the Ridge.”

  But some of the kids cry out, “Miss Barker didn’t have a baby!”

  So I explain: “In her tummy. A baby was growing in her tummy, but it died.”

  But still the children protest—they would not believe me. Miss Barker couldn’t have had a baby in her tummy, because the Riley-Campbells’ mummy has a baby inside her and she has a big fat tummy, and Miss Barker didn’t have a big fat tummy. So finally, worn down by all those shrill voices, I lose patience and say: “Look, don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just repeating what the cops said. But there’s lots of things about Miss Barker that you kids don’t know the half of. I’m not going to go into details because that’s not appropriate, so let’s just leave it at that.”

  I glance at Ryan then, because I’m thinking about Gregory—in particular, I’m thinking about Miss Barker and Gregory and Miss Barker’s love bites. And Ryan is looking at me, very direct, straight in the eyes, and we hold that gaze between us for several long moments until finally I look away. Because suddenly I realize
that Ryan knows a lot more about things than he lets on. I can’t describe it, but his look seemed to convey a silent message of understanding and support. It was as if he was trying to communicate to me: I know. I know everything. It’s all right. It’s all right.

  So anyway, the bell finally goes and the kids file out, and just as I’m tidying up a bit, who should suddenly descend on me but the Praying Mantis. That’s right, Friar Hernandez pays a pastoral visit, just to cap off a great day. He sweeps in, closes the door behind him, and says, “I came as soon as I heard. How are you? Are you all right?” And I’m like, “I’m okay,” and he’s like, “Are you sure?” and I’m like, “Yeah, really, I’m fine. I mean, it’s been pretty harrowing, but yeah, I’m okay.” And he’s like, “Can I say a prayer or something?” And I’m like, “Uh … no thanks.”

  And then he flops down in a chair and buries his head in his hands. He seems absolutely distraught. He’s groaning and rocking and muttering to himself, and then finally he lifts his head and he says, “Oh, Eleanor. I’ve been struggling, really struggling, with whether or not to tell you this.”

  Immediately my hackles go up. I’m on full alert. I’m super wary. So I say, “Tell me what? Is this about Miss Barker?” And for a nanosecond, I glimpse a flicker of confusion as if he has no idea what Miss Barker has to do with anything. Then he says, “Oh, Miss Barker, poor thing, how sad, no. No, it’s nothing to do with her. It’s to do with me. And you.”

  And then he says, “There’s nothing for it but for me to come right out and say it. I am infected. You have infected me.”

  This is actual fact. I am quoting him verbatim.