The Bus on Thursday Read online

  I have to keep reminding myself that all my last scans were clear. So what’s with the twinging? Maybe I should ring Doc up and ask him …

  * * *

  So I rang him up and left a message, and good old Doc, he’s so fantastic, he gets back to me straight away. And I explain the whole twinging thing to him. (I didn’t mention the tiny disappearing lymph node because it suddenly felt a bit ridiculous, and I’m conscious of not wanting to look like I’m just trying to get his attention, especially after the lunging incident.) And he’s like, “How long has this been going on?” And I’m like, “Maybe a month?” And he says, “I’m pretty sure it’s just your tissue healing itself—it takes a long time after surgery, and patients often experience strange sensations.” And I’m like, “What tissue? Do I even have any tissue in that breast? Isn’t it all just implant?” And he gives me a lengthy, detailed description of what sort of tissue and nerve endings surrounding the implant could be twinging, and finally I interrupt and I say, “I’ve just got a bad, bad feeling about this in my gut.” So then he says, “When are you due in to see me again?” And I’m like, “Four months.” And he says, “Well, we could bring you in earlier, but I think we should just see if it settles of its own accord. Let’s give it a couple of months.” And I suddenly feel this wave of anxiety that maybe he doesn’t want to see me because he’s worried I’m going to lunge at him again. So I fall silent. And he’s like, “Eleanor? Are you there?” And I say, “Yeah, I’m here,” and he says, “Would you feel better if we booked you in to see George Clooney again and you talked it through with him?” And I’m like, “No, I do not want to see George Clooney again, he will just want to lop the other one off.” And he laughs, because we always joke about George Clooney and his terrible interpersonal bedside skills.

  And then, I don’t know what possessed me, but I suddenly blurt out that I’m sorry I lunged at him at my last appointment, and I hope he didn’t think I was just dreaming up excuses to come and see him and lunge at him again, and he says, “Of course I don’t think that,” and I say, “I really am twinging, I’m not just pretending I’m twinging,” but somehow the very fact that I say this out loud makes it seem like that’s exactly what I am doing, and finally I am so struck by how tragic and needy I sound that I hang up on him.

  So of course, good old Doc, he calls me back right away. And he says, “Are you doing okay, Eleanor? Emotionally? I’m just a bit concerned about you.” Whereupon I immediately burst into tears, as I always do whenever anyone’s nice to me. And he says, “Do you need to go and talk to your GP again?” which is code for “up your antidepressants asap,” and I’m blubbering, “I just want my old life back!” And in the background on his end, I can hear his secretary saying something to him, and I imagine him covering the receiver with his hand and gesturing at her that he has a crazy one on the line (not that he would ever do such a thing) and suddenly I have this vision, this vision of all those women in his waiting room in their headscarves and beanies, waiting for him right now as he tries to deal with me; women who have it in their bones and brains and livers, women who are coming to the end of the line of possible chemo cocktails that will do anything for them, and when they walk into his office and find him staring at their terrible scans, the tumors all coming back, different organs this time, poor harried Doc will have to tell them that he’s finally run out of options, and unfortunately he’ll have to pass them on to Palliative Care.

  I feel so ashamed of myself, I apologize for wasting his time and hang up on him again.

  A small miracle, just when I most desperately need it! I have a job, and a kind of dream job, the answer to all my prayers!

  So … the story is that it’s a tiny school (eleven students!!!) in a place called Talbingo, miles away from anywhere! I just googled it. Unbelievably picturesque, to judge by the photos. “In the foothills of the Snowy Mountains, on the shores of the Jounama Pondage…” Population—get this—241!!! Except now it must be 240, because the teacher’s gone AWOL.

  I am not sure why they have so carelessly misplaced their teacher in the middle of the school year, but anyway, they need a replacement pronto. Like, they rang me this morning, and they asked if I could possibly get there by tomorrow. I said, “Tomorrow? I’ll be there this afternoon!!” And then I said, “Just kidding,” because it’s actually a six-hour drive away. (Jesus, I hope the Corolla can manage it. It’s totally overdue for a service, also the clutch keeps slipping.)

  These sorts of events, when they happen, make me almost believe there is a God or some kind of larger force that looks after me. I mean, this job could not be more perfect for me right now. Eleven students. Clean mountain air. How stressful could that be? The best thing is I get my own house! Hooray! (Just tried to see what the house looks like on Google Maps, but failed. It’s so fucking isolated, Street View hasn’t made it there yet.)

  Mum came in just before with some clothes she’d ironed for me, and then she hung around watching me pack, and I could tell she was worrying and I said, “Mum, I’m going to be fine!” And she said, “I’m just worried you’ll get lonely.” But frankly, I am so over everyone right now that I basically can’t wait to get away from them all. Except Mum, of course, but she can visit. I mean my “friends,” in quotes. I’m still not talking to Sally, obviously, after the Harry the Harelip fiasco. And the other night I went to the pub with Fee and Nicki and a few other chicks from school, and Nicki basically said to me, when we were talking about the causes of breast cancer, she actually said to me: “Well, you have always been a stresser.” And I sort of stiffened and said, “What do you mean?” And she said, “Well, you know, you just always get wound up over things.” And I know she’s saying this because earlier I asked her if she could blow her smoke away from me because it was making me feel ill. So I said, “You mean, like now? Because you keep blowing smoke in my face when I’ve just had cancer? What you are basically saying to me is that I had it coming?” And I just got up and walked out of there. She messaged me the next morning, very apologetic, with about a zillion sad faces and xxxxx, and I responded, No problem forget about it, with one x and a winky face, but truly I’m so over the lot of them, I really am.

  So anyway, I am frantically trying to get my shit together, but I just wanted to take this moment to collect myself and gather my thoughts. Give myself a bit of a talking-to. Yes, I had a spot of cancer, but I am well now and it is time to STOP WALLOWING and look to the future. I have been given this opportunity, the sort of posting I’ve always fantasized about, even before the cancer, and it’s important that I don’t succumb to my usual issues, but instead make the most of it. Also, try to be more positive, less judgmental about people. Eat healthy, get fit. Also, I’m packing my yoga mat. All that mountain air will be so good for me. I am really going to try to get into some kind of routine with my meditation.

  Well, that was awkward! Also a little weird.

  Okay, so I get here after this six-hour drive, and the last thirty minutes were like the opening titles in The Shining except no snow, just kangaroos and lakes and rivers and mountains and the sun getting low and flaring through the windscreen—just all so exhilaratingly beautiful, I could actually feel my heart almost bursting in my chest. And then you come around the corner and there’s Talbingo, and sure enough it’s this tiny little collection of cottages nestled in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains, and it’s dead quiet, like NO ONE around. I mean, it’s so small and so deserted that I can hardly believe it actually warrants a school?! Anyway, I find my house no worries, and it’s in a prime position overlooking what I think might be a golf course (though I haven’t seen any golfers), which in turn overlooks the Pondage, which seems to be a fancy name for a pretty little lake. The house itself is this nice little weatherboard, very plain, very simply furnished, all a bit Nanna but clean and tidy and kind of sweet. Neatly pressed tea towel hanging from the oven. Old-fashioned chenille bedspread on the bed. Embroidered cushion in the living room: Let your smile change the
world but don’t let the world change your smile! Anyway, I’m feeling pretty happy unloading the car, enjoying the mountain air really crisp and cool on my face, when suddenly this woman comes careening up the driveway carrying these shopping bags, and it’s Glenda, who apparently works in the office at the school. And she’s like, “Are you Miss Mellett, the new teacher?” and I’m like, “Yes, but please call me Eleanor,” and she’s brought all this milk and bread and stuff, even a chicken casserole for my dinner tonight, which was really nice of her, and she starts telling me how grateful they are that I’ve come at such short notice, etc. etc. And I’m trying really hard to be super friendly, which is part of my new positive life strategy (let your smile change the world!), so I say, “Come in and have a cup of tea,” and she presses her lips together and shakes her head, then she goes all red in the face and starts to cry.

  And she’s saying, “Nothing against you, Miss Mellett, I’m sure you’re lovely, but just being here with a replacement teacher, it’s all very, very distressing.” This is all blubbering through her tears while I’m just standing there like an idiot, holding the chicken casserole. And she’s going, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just that we all loved Miss Barker so much!” and I’m going, “Of course, of course, please, won’t you have a cup of tea?” and then she shouts, “IT’S TOO SOON! IT’S TOO SOON!” Like, she literally shouts it at me, and she has a look on her face like she could hit me. Then she immediately launches into this apology which goes on for about five minutes and it’s all about how she hasn’t been herself since Miss Barker left, etc. etc., and I’m thinking, Could we maybe not talk about Miss Barker and how wonderful she was the entire time you’re supposed to be welcoming me? Anyway, she composes herself a bit and starts telling me about the school, and what time to rock up tomorrow, and then all of a sudden she blurts out, “I’ve got all her belongings packed up in our spare bedroom. That’s all we have of her—six boxes!—but it’s ready—it’s ready for her when she needs it!” And then she takes off, like she actually hurtles off down the driveway.

  So that was my welcome to Talbingo.

  Obviously the wonderful Miss Barker—she who has seen fit to suddenly abscond in the middle of the school term—used to live in this house too. Can I blame the decor on her? Probably not. But someone has certainly been very paranoid about security, because there are about a zillion locks on the doors.

  Well, my first day went pretty well.

  The school is just beyond gorgeous. I mean, hats off to Miss Barker—she must have been an absolute legend. I have a lot to live up to there. Sustainable vegetable garden (gray water only)—check! Sustainable chickens in charming coop constructed from recycled locally sourced timber—check! Mural depicting Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, designed by the children themselves—check! Self-published book Tommy the Talbingo Turtle, starring classroom pet turtle—check! Three-foot-high maze (once again I’m reminded of The Shining) planted by Miss Barker and the kids three years ago—I mean, what kind of dementedly zealous teacher plants a maze? And for what possible fucking purpose? Even as they were showing me around, one of the littlies got lost in it and started howling and it took me twenty solid minutes to calm her down. No—thank you, Miss Barker!

  The school itself has one large classroom, a small yet well-stocked library, an indoor games room for rainy days, and an office in which Glenda lurks, like a large, dumpy passive-aggressive spider (stop it!). The classroom is festooned with the children’s artwork and lovingly hand-crafted posters: SAVE OUR PLANET; OUR DAILY ROUTINE; BE HAPPY, BE BRIGHT, BE YOU! And labels! She’s labeled everything that couldn’t get up and run away from her, as far as I can see: door, chair, potted plant, fish tank, electric sharpener. All carefully inscribed in blue marker in her nice round hand, then laminated. She’s an absolute fiend with the laminator.

  Seriously, she’s clearly one of those “Teaching Is My Life, and the Children Are Everything to Me” kind of teachers, and I didn’t mean that to sound as mean-spirited as it came out. She’s just super dedicated. And obviously the kids are very bonded to her and are not coping brilliantly with her departure. They’re a bit shy, a bit standoffish, but I guess that’s understandable given they’ve only ever had Miss Barker in their lives, and whatever has gone down, it’s happened pretty suddenly and unexpectedly. So I guess I just need to give it time. Meanwhile, I’m being super fun and super nice! Like this morning I spent all this time chatting and playing games, and letting them show me around the school, and we did “Fun Facts” and “Find a Word” and read the bum jokes book, which usually always goes down a treat but they didn’t actually laugh that much, and then this little girl (Brody) puts up her hand, and I say, “Yes, Brody?” and she says, “When is Miss Barker coming back?”

  Never, I hope, because I want this job.

  I didn’t actually say that. But I thought it. And it was a bit awkward, because it seems like the children might be under the impression that she’s coming back soon. I don’t think anyone’s explained anything to them. Because when the guy from the Dept. rang me up, it wasn’t like, “Oh, can you fill in for a month or two?” I was definitely given the impression that this gig was permanent.

  So after school, I tackle Glenda on the subject—carefully, of course, because I’m fully expecting the waterworks. I say, “Glenda, I don’t mean to pry, but could you tell me what’s the story with Miss Barker? It’s only that the children are asking me when she’ll be back, and I don’t know what to say.” And sure enough, the waterworks commence immediately. “We don’t know, that’s the trouble! We don’t know what’s happened to her! She just vanished! Up and left in the middle of the night!” And I’m like patting her on the sleeve and mumbling about how sorry I am. And she says, “We miss her terribly! She was just the most inspirational person!” And then she goes on about how Miss Barker used to suffer with her period pains. “I’d tell her, stay in bed! Take the day off!” And she’d say to me, “I can’t do that, Glenny, I can’t let the children down.”

  To which I’m thinking: big deal. Doesn’t take a day off when she gets her period. Her and seventy billion other women. Still, I nod sympathetically, and Glenda takes a deep shaky breath and pulls herself together, and then she turns to me, and says brightly: “But enough of that—what about you? How can I support you? What do you need? Just tell me!”

  So I ask her about the wi-fi situation, because I’ve noticed there’s no wi-fi in the house, and sure enough, although the school boasts several computers, one exclusively for my own use, THERE’S NO WI-FI AT THE SCHOOL EITHER!! They’re on some antiquated dial-up system, which Glenda considers perfectly adequate. Apparently, rather than usher the children of Talbingo into the twenty-first century by updating their communications, Miss Barker elected to spend the entire Schools Bonus on a sustainable watering system for the veggie garden—I kid you not.

  So then I ask Glenda about phone reception, because I don’t seem to have any bars at all on my phone. And she gets all bewildered, and says, “No phone reception?” because she thinks I mean the landline. And when I say mobile reception, she gets all short with me. Apparently, there is no mobile reception in Talbingo, nor will there ever be BECAUSE LANDLINES WORK PERFECTLY FINE. By this point, I am in absolute disbelief, and I say straight up, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I suddenly feel like I’m in a reality show where they withdraw all electronic privileges and see how long before you crack. And she gets all shrill and she’s saying, “What difference does it make? You have a perfectly decent landline! A phone is a phone is a phone!” And I say, “Yes, but all my friends only contact me on my mobile!” and she shrieks, “Well, I don’t know what kind of friends they can be if they’re that fussy!” To which I think, Well, yes, point taken, they are not the greatest friends in the world but they’re all I have currently. And then she says, “If you’re really that desperate, there’s a spot up on the Ridge where you can sometimes get reception.” And I say, “Where is this Ridge? Can I walk there?”
And she says, “Oh God, no, you’ll have to drive—that’s what I mean, you’d have to be desperate.”

  Not wishing to sound paranoid, but I really get the feeling she doesn’t like me.

  Anyway, we calm down and we chat about other things, and I tell her how much I enjoyed the chicken casserole, and that seems to please her, so by the end of it we’re quite civil with each other. And then I come home and I get in the car and I drive straight up to the Ridge.

  The Ridge is this spot high up overlooking the Reservoir, where, judging by the amount of empty vodka cruisers lying about, Talbingo’s teenagers (not that I’ve seen any) go to party, or maybe just go to try to make contact with the outside world. It’s a little bit eerie because the sun is getting low by now, and it’s very deserted and some strange bird is making these odd cries that spook the bejesus out of me. I take a few steps toward the edge and I peer over. And I think, Fuck, it’s a long way down, because way, way below, there’s the water. Why isn’t there some kind of railing? What stops those drunken teenagers from plummeting over? But anyway, I find a nice rock and I sit down and I look at my phone, and seriously, there is a tiny bar or two of reception wavering away. It’s a very dicey thing, and it seems to entirely depend on a critical set of climatic conditions, because it changes by the moment. So I sit there and I think, Who am I going to call?

  And for a moment I feel this sudden intense rush of loneliness, because there is no one, no one I really want to talk to right now except Doc, and I can’t very well call up Doc just because I’m lonely. I mean, he always says to call him if I need anything, but can I just ring him up because I’m sad?

  I know I should call Mum and let her know I’m okay, but for some reason I just don’t feel like talking to her, so I figure I’ll call her tomorrow. And I think about Josh. Once upon a time I probably would have called Josh, but ever since he started going out with Delores or whatever the fuck her name is, things aren’t the same between us. I get the distinct impression he is Establishing Boundaries with me, as per Delores’s instructions. Quite often, especially after 8:00 p.m., he just won’t take my call anymore. Well, in the words of the great song, Josh: “Fuck you, and uh, fuck her, too.”