Chapter 34
ALL HELL brEAKS LOOSE
It was raining in Auckland on Tuesday morning, and six-fifteen had never come earlier.
The plane had landed at three yesterday afternoon, but by the time they’d gone to the supermarket, she’d got everybody unpacked and all their clothes washed and hung out while the kids took showers, and she’d made the easiest dinner possible—and if it was one of those gourmet meat pies, she wasn’t apologizing for that—she’d taken her own blessedly hot shower, got into her PJs with the very last of her energy, and basically face-planted onto the bed.
She’d had the kind of adventure she’d never had in her life—and that she’d prefer never to have again, thank you very much—had actual sex with a man and had not one but two orgasms, first time out of the chute, and had possibly lost her heart. And all she felt was tired.
She should’ve done her workout in the morning to get energized.
Instead, she dressed in her easiest outfit—pull-on slim navy trousers, a overshirt, and flats—and got through the rest of the morning routine more or less by rote.
She had to have enough energy left, after all, to greet the new pupils who’d be starting school this term, the ones who’d turned five during the past three months.
There were four of them, and every one would be some mixture of anxious and excited.
So she did some very last-minute prep, put on her smile and her efficiency like a cloak, made everything seem as normal as possible for her own kids, told herself she’d address any trauma later, felt guilty about that, and went to school and paired the new arrivals off with her kindest current pupils.
Georgia was one of them, but that wasn’t favoritism; it was because Georgia was one of the kindest.
After that? She got on with her day.
Lunch arrived in a flash—first days of term were like that—and she’d just sat down at her usual table with Jess and was opening her lunch—leftover meat pie and salad—when Missy Hawkins, a ten-year-old prefect with tight plaits, an impossibly neat uniform, and the air of a drill sergeant, came to a stop before her, all but clicked her heels, and said, “You’re wanted in the principal’s office, Ms. Fairburn. ”
“Thank you,” Skylar said, and put away her lunch with a sigh. Missy nodded once and turned to go. Missy made Scarlett look like a slacker.
“Bother,” Jess said. “And here I am, gagging to hear the whole fascinating story.”
“Yes, well,” Skylar said, “it’ll have to keep.” What would she tell Jess? She still had no idea.
Down the corridor and into the main office, where Stacey Thompkins, George’s teacher, was just coming out. Stacey looked startled at seeing Skylar, mumbled a “Morning,” even though it wasn’t, and hurried on her way.
Wait. Was this a teacher thing, or a parent thing?
Was it George? How could it be George, who’d been born sweet and stayed that way?
She could barely even remember a tantrum!
But the earthquake had been terrifying, and who knew what could happen to a child under that kind of stress?
She needed to talk to him. She needed to talk to all of them. Tonight.
“Come in,” came a voice at her knock. No George inside the principal’s office, to her relief.
Instead, it was just the principal, Monica Rumsfeld, a rather starched lady who could have been anything from a somewhat tired forty to a well-preserved sixty.
Nobody knew, because Monica was a closed book.
She also never seemed to age. Skylar should ask her for her skin-care regimen, except that she’d never actually had anything that reached the level of a “regimen,” and probably wouldn’t start anytime soon.
“Hello,” Skylar said, in as pleasant a tone as she could manage.
Couldn’t you have let me eat my lunch before we got into this, whatever it is?
she did not say. Even if it was another Educator of the Year gong, it would’ve gone down better with that pie in her stomach.
It had had to be the leftover pie, deliciously rich crust and all, because she hadn’t had time for food prep yesterday, obviously. She’d get on track again tonight.
Well, probably not. Tomorrow night, maybe.
It wasn’t an Educator of the Year gong.
Monica said, “Hello, Skylar. I’ve called you in because there was some interesting gossip on the playground today, and it involved one of your pupils.”
“Oh, dear. Who is it?” Lonnie Partridge?
She’d swear there was something wrong at home there.
Lonnie’d missed too much school, he wasn’t always clean, and he had a shrinking way about him she didn’t like at all.
She’d tried calling his mum three times in the past few months, but she hadn’t rung back.
Should’ve done a surprise home visit, she told herself. Well, we can get him some help now.
“Georgia Mahuta,” Monica said. “She and your son George told numerous other pupils that you and Georgia’s father had holidayed together in Wellington, and described the earthquake in very vivid terms. A bit outlandishly, in fact, because they seemed to think you’d been some sort of hero.”
“Oh,” Skylar said. “Well, you know. Kids.” Really? She was going to have to talk about this again? She didn’t even want to think about it, at least not now. Not during lunch!
“Yes,” Monica said. “They also explained that the earthquake was why both families missed the start of term yesterday. When you rang and said you’d been unavoidably delayed, and I had to get a reliever in to take your class, I thought, ‘It happens.’ And was concerned about you, obviously.
But they seem to think that the two of you are a couple.
Engaged in a romantic relationship, that is. In fact, marriage was mentioned.”
“Ah,” Skylar said, keeping her cool with a major effort.
“Stacey Thompkins was just in here reporting that, was she? You do realize she doesn’t like me.
For some reason, she believes we’re romantic rivals.
I’d have moved George from her class, but she doesn’t take her dislike out on him, and she’s a good teacher.
But you’re believing what she tells you? ”
She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as she said it, and she was right.
Monica’s lips thinned, and she said, “I’m not interested in these sorts of petty disagreements.
I’m interested in my teachers following our clearly stated code of professional conduct.
So I’ll ask you again: are these allegations true? ”
“You didn’t ask the first time.” Again, the wrong thing to say.
She was a ginger, yet she never acted like one.
She didn’t have a temper, or not one she couldn’t control.
Or so she’d thought. Unfortunately, steam seemed to be coming out of her ears.
It was the earthquake, probably, and not having her equilibrium back yet.
Not the sex, because how could a little sex shake her up like this?
She went on, “But I’ll answer now. Zane Mahuta and I are not getting married. That’s ridiculous.”
“And yet you holidayed together.”
“No. Yes. Partially.” Skylar had her hand in her hair now.
“Look. His grandmother and my grandfather help look after our kids. They got to know each other meeting up here at school, and they’re romantically involved.
If marriage is in the cards, that’s who’ll be doing it.
But, yes, I took my kids to Wellington for a week or so this holidays, because Granddad was down there already with Zane’s Nan.
I took all the kids on outings and basically acted as …
well, as the nanny. That isn’t prohibited, but I realize it has some potential for a conflict of interest. As I said, though, we’ve only just started navigating this.
I saw Zane precisely three times down there: on Sunday for a few hours, on Tuesday, his day off, and then on Sunday again.
Well, Saturday night and Sunday, because of the earthquake.
The disruption. It was all pretty … pretty fraught down there.
I’m not sure if you’re aware, but he’s an All Black, which means he was staying in the training facility in Wellington, except for those visits to his kids.
Could some of the kids be seeing romance there?
Possibly. They may also be doing a spot of wishful thinking.
The grandparents certainly are. That doesn’t mean it’s happening. ”
Did she feel good about lying? Or was this just obfuscating? Well, probably lying, or dangerously close. No, she didn’t feel good, but it had been one time! How could your career be jeopardized for a … a momentary lapse during a crisis?
You knew this could happen, her sober mind tried to tell her. Kids talk, and you know it.
But George and Georgia didn’t even see anything! her weasel mind protested. Not so much as a kiss! How can I be dragged onto the carpet for that?
Oh. She’d better not let Monica see her carpet burns.
Monica folded her hands on her desk. It looked ominous. “And that would be why,” she said, “I had Zane Mahuta in my office this morning, asking for Georgia to be moved to another classroom.”
“Y-you did?” Deer in the headlights. That was how she must look. It was certainly how she felt.
“I did.”
“But he must have told you why,” Skylar said, reaching for any fragile reed. “That he was concerned about her … her development, or something. Or the earthquake. She’s a sensitive child.”
“Are you saying,” Monica said, “that you’re not competent to teach her?”
“No. Of course not. She’s a lovely child. But if her father feels—”
“If her father comes into my office,” Monica said, every syllable articulated perfectly, “and tells me that he wants to change out his child’s teacher because he wants to date said teacher and he’s heard that isn’t allowed, what am I to think?
I find it hard to believe that he’s assumed the two of you will be having an intimate relationship just because he wants it, All Black or no.
I’d have to conclude that there’s interest on both sides, wouldn’t I?
And when I hear the children talking about the same thing, I—”
“He didn’t.” It was all Skylar could say.
“He did indeed.” Monica straightened the folders on her desk.
“But in fortunate news for you, he also said that your relationship was one of acquaintanceship only, due to that involvement of your grandparents. He said, ‘But I’d like to take her out, and I understand she can’t, so please move my daughter to another class so we can move this thing on.
If you’d bung her into Skylar’s son George’s class, that’d be good, because they’re mates.
Georgia will be upset otherwise. She’ll likely be upset anyway, because she loves Skylar, but I’ll explain.
’” She looked straight at Skylar. “I’m not saying I believed him.
On the other hand, I have no proof he wasn’t telling the truth.
It would’ve been better if you’d come to me, though, when this …
acquaintanceship first arose. It looks a bit dodgy now, doesn’t it?
Stacey Thompkins will certainly think so. ”
“I—” Skylar said. “I—” Well, her lucrative career as a confidence artist was off to a fine start. She couldn’t manage a lie, and she couldn’t tell the whole truth, either.
“Yes,” Monica said. “I imagine you’re having a hard time coming up with an answer for that.
” She put the folders down at last, put both palms flat on the desk, and sighed.
“You’re an excellent teacher, Skylar. And a principled woman, I believe.
I’m assuming you were going to tell me this yourself today—that you’d met the parent of one of your pupils through whanau ties, and feelings were developing between you, so it would be better if Georgia were moved to another classroom, as long as her father agreed.
Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”
“Y-yes,” Skylar said. “That’s—obviously that would have been the right thing to do.”
“I thought so,” Monica said. “Now please go enjoy the rest of your lunch break. And Skylar?”
“Yes?” All she wanted was to get out of here.
“Feelings happen,” Monica said. “We’re not machines. We just have to follow proper procedure in dealing with them. You’ll remember that, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Skylar said. “Of course.” And got out the door.
Somehow.