Page 174 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Liv

Blurry eyed from writingreports and getting through the last of the parent-teacher interviews, thoughts drift to my dear friend, Nat.God, I miss her. She’s been on maternity leave for three weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. She kept in contact the first fortnight, more out of boredom than anything, but it’s dropped right off. I keep checking my phone like crazy, busting for the message confirming her little one has arrived.

Between Nat, Daynah, and I, we’ll have an awesome mother’s group. With any luck, my baby will sleep, at least a reasonable amount, so I can be put together enough to show up for a morning tea, a picnic in the park, or maybe for wine and nibbles.God, I miss wine. Cold, a little sweet, not too dry, with a nice wedge of creamy blue Costello cheese and crackers.Heaven.

To say I’m nervous about my last meeting for the week is an understatement.

Ms Masters.

Have I saved the worst for last? I’ve been on such a high from the interviews held so far.I’m really making a difference. Will my confidence come crashing down after speaking with her?

As if on cue, Ms Masters enters my classroom. Tortoiseshell glasses, sleek black bob, charcoal pin-stripe pants suit. She strides purposefully towards me, a slight scowl on her face as she sidesteps the children’s tables and chairs as if they’re a nuisance being in her way.Does she want a damn red carpet rolled out instead?

I swipe my damp hands down my long skirt before offering my hand. I’m a sweaty mess now that the weather has warmed up. “Ms Masters, welcome.”

As we shake, she forces a brief smile. “Thanks.” She turns her attention to the child beside her who proudly wears a Spiderman costume.

I lean over, unable to crouch down like I used to, and place my hand on his shoulder. He pushes out his chest and hooks his hands on his hips.

“Well, hello there. I wasn’t expecting a superhero this afternoon. Must be my lucky day.”

“It’s me, Miss Rosehill,” he whispers and lifts his mask a sliver to reveal his cheeky grin. “Lucas.”

“Ohh,” I say, feigning ignorance. “You’re right on time. Would you mind showing your mum to a seat at your table?”

Ms Masters blinks rapidly before her son tugs on the cuff of her jacket and directs her to the green table by the window.

The worn tips of her stilettos snag on the carpet as she lowers herself into the small-moulded chair, which she’s far too tall for. Lucas angles the mask on his head, and sits in the seat beside her, back straight and hands clasped in his lap.

As I do at all parent-teacher meetings, I explain the interview is a three-way conversation, giving Lucas an opportunity to answer questions and offer input about his learning.

“Looking back at a snapshot of where Lucas was at the beginning of the year,” I say and smile, “I’m really pleased with how far he’s come.”

I display her son’s workbooks in front of her and flip through various pages, referring to my carefully written notes so I don’t leave out any detail. It’s no surprise that spelling and Math are advanced for his age. I prepare myself for backlash when I explain how, on occasion, Lucas interrupts his classmates, not giving them an opportunity to finish what they’re saying, but leave it on a positive note, discussing how he’s working hard to ensure others have a fair go. Ms Masters nods, as if this is nothing new. I did bring it up at the end of term two, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.

“As always, Lucas is eager for more take-home readers, and it really shows in his writing and comprehension.”

“His grandmother reads with him,” she says, her voice monotone. “I usually get home around his bedtime.”

On closer inspection, hidden by the frames of her glasses, dark circles sit beneath her lashes. Now that she’s separated, perhaps she has to work more hours to make ends meet. That must be tough.

“I love reading with Nan,” Lucas says. “Sometimes we read later, until we hear Mum’s car in the driveway.”

His mother bumps her shoulder against his and smirks. “I thought you two were up to some funny business.”

Lucas giggles and grips his mum’s shoulder. “Nothing funny, Mum. It’s only so we can say goodnight to you, silly.”

Oh, my heart.

I swallow and tell myself to check my emotions. This boy will have me in tears with his sweet gestures, but this is not the time nor place. “Lucas, we’ve talked about a lot of things today, is there anything you want to discuss?”

He simply shrugs.

“Do you think you did well at school this year?”

He nods.

---