A little bell dinged on the top of the door when I pushed it open at the start of first break. A clever early-warning system for the canny school secretary.
The office was hardly any bigger than a storeroom. It just managed to squeeze in a reception counter that doubled as a modesty panel for Mrs Newton and her desk. Thanks to that chest-high barrier, our school secretary was invisible from the doorway. She could be doing anything behind there – reading trashy magazines, catnapping, watching daytime television – and that little dibber-dobber bell would give her heaps of time to hide the evidence.
I peered over the neatly stacked pile of school newsletters.
Just as I suspected.
Mrs Newton had been quick off the mark. She was on the phone now, nodding and taking notes as though she had been at it the whole time. She glanced up and pointed a pen at the open door behind her left shoulder.
I decided to let her get on with her double life, and nodded politely as I edged past the reception counter and into the doorway behind her.
Mr Paulson bounded up from his chair, hardly any taller on his feet than he had been when seated. ‘Henry, come in, come in.’
I was already in. If I came in any further I’d be on top of him.
‘Please, have a seat.’ He gestured expansively at the single chair squeezed up against the corner of his desk. It was angled so the principal could chat with a visitor without an intimidating expanse of desk between them.
I sat down, squirming, wishing that Mr Paulson valued the traditional symbols of power and hierarchy a little more. I would have much preferred to be on the other side of his laminated computer desk. I needed a barrier, a buffer zone, between us. I was exposed out here in the open, my knees wrinkling the razored crease of Mr Paulson’s trouser leg.
‘Henry, I just wanted to touch base with you after speaking with your mother this morning. She phoned in her new contact details, so we had a chance to have a little chat.’
I stifled a moan and tried not to slump in his visitor’s chair, wishing fervently that I were a visitor, so that after a suitably polite interval I could smile, nod and walk away, never to return.
‘Naturally, we are both concerned with how best to ease your transition into OLPS–’
Naturally.That would leave my mum free to work long hours without feeling guilty about me, and it would allow the head of Perpetual Suckers to relax, knowing that he wasn’t importing any new problems into his school.
‘So I thought we should run through what’s coming up on our agenda, so that you will have the opportunity to participate fully in the raft of activities we have scheduled for the remainder of the term.’
I liked that. The raft of activities.Sounded like something that Mum and Principal Paulson had dreamed up to keep me afloat in the dangerous waters of Year Seven. Something that would stop me from sinking without a trace, while one hundred and twenty-six Perpetual Suckers looked on from the comfort and safety of the lifeboats.
Little did they know that I didn’t need a raft of activities. I was the self-inflatable Blowy Blobson, able to float like a cork since I was protoplasm, the boy who had never outgrown his gills. Mum had photos of me grinning underwater before I had teeth, before I had hair. I didn’t need a raft of activities. I could float like a butterfish, sting like a ray. I would do swimmingly on my own, I would–
‘So, how does that sound, Henry?’
Mr Paulson’s face floated back into focus. Blood flared in my cheeks as I tried to frame an answer that wouldn’t reveal I hadn’t been listening, and at the same time, wouldn’t commit me to whatever he’d been talking about for the past minute or so.
I settled for the time-honoured shrug, figuring it covered me for an each-way bet.
Mr Paulson looked disappointed, as though he’d been hoping for more.
‘Your mother seemed to think you’d be pleased that you hadn’t missed it, she said it was the highlight of the sporting year for you–’
I snapped forward in my chair; there was only one highlight in the sporting year as far as I was concerned. ‘Wait a minute – are you talking about the swimming carnival, Mr Paulson?’
A line appeared between his brows. ‘Well, yes, Henry. That is what I’ve been telling you about.’ The frown quickly winked out as his natural good-humour reasserted itself.
‘OLPS has its swimming carnival coming up, just before the City Districts inter-school meet. Everyone else’s times have already been registered. I was asking your mother whether she had any times for you from your last school, or from club, so we can place you in the correct heats and, more importantly, see if you qualify for Districts.’
I shook my head. My school times from last year would be way out of whack, especially after my recent growth spurt. And I’d never joined swim club; it was too expensive and too hard for Mum to get out of work for the meets. Instead I’d just hung around the public pools every afternoon in summer, eavesdropping on the drills at squad training and trying to keep up in the adjoining lane. Mum didn’t mind. A few dollars to get into the public swimming pool was a lot cheaper than after-school care.
I hadn’t had much time to train lately with the move and all, and I hadn’t yet found my bearings in the new neighbourhood. ‘Is there a pool around here? I could time myself after school this afternoon – do you want fifty metres of each stroke? Or do you swim hundreds here?’
Mr Paulson’s eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘Fifties will be fine, and the hundred-metres freestyle if you’re up for it’ He leaned forward. Even his lashes were ginger.
‘As I told your mother, the local pool is only about ten minutes’ walk from here. If she can arrange to get times for you this afternoon, or tomorrow afternoon at the latest, we can enter them in our school database and see if you qualify for the District Schools Competition.’
Sounded like Mum had let him think that she’d be taking me to the pool. No point in disillusioning the poor man.
‘Could you write down how to get to the pool, please, Mr Paulson? Mum’s hopeless with directions, and I don’t want her to get us lost.’
While he jotted down the details, I allowed myself a momentary flare of pleasure. I knew what I’d be doing after school from now on. I might be a Nigel-No-Friends at school, but at least I now had something to keep me busy through the long afternoons till Mum came home from work.
‘Here you go, Henry.’ Mr Paulson handed me a very clear mud map showing the location of the pool in relation to the school, and the pool’s street address printed clearly and underlined three times in black. My mother spent her days covering more kilometres than a cabbie, crisscrossing Brisbane in search of real-estate gold. She wasn’t the one who needed help with directions.
‘Thanks Mr Paulson, we’ll get those times to you tomorrow.’ As I braced myself to stand, he raised a hand, stopping me from levering myself up and out of the seat.
‘Not so fast. We’re not done here yet, Henry.’ He settled back in his chair and made a hand gesture that indicated I should do likewise.
‘As I explained to your mother, the pool has official time sheets. We need these to see which students qualify for the District Meet that leads on to Regionals and States. She has to fill it in, sign it and drop it back here by Thursday morning at the latest.’
I made a mental note to collect the time sheet, fill it in and get Mum to sign it. Mr Paulson leant forward, lacing his fingers on the desktop.
‘There is one other matter that your mother and I did talk about, that I’d like to discuss with you as well...’
He paused, as though needing to choose his next words with care. I wound up my paying-attention dial, which was a bit dodgy at the best of times.
‘Each year, in first term, we have Boys’ and Girls’ Weekends at Stradbroke Island. Camping, learning to surf, that kind of thing. For Years Four to Seven. The Girls’ Weekend was last weekend. The Boys’ Weekend is coming up next month.’
I nodded non-committally. It sounded like fun, but like all things in life, I guessed it would depend how much it would cost and whether Mum would be working that weekend.
‘There is a basic fee, which we waive in special circumstances, so everyone who wants to take part is able to do so.’ I stiffened, but Mr Paulson kept right on talking, like his ability to mind-read was no big deal.
‘Our Parents and Friends Association introduced it a couple of years ago as part of our proactive program to help boys, in particular, achieve their full potential at OLPS right through to the end of Year Seven. We would like to retain as many boys as possible until the end of primary school, and we’ve found it to be a highly successful annual event. It’s a great bonding experience for the boys and the significant males in their lives – not just for fathers and sons, but for the older brothers, uncles, grandfathers and family friends who have taken part.’
My chest tightened. I could zone out right now because I knew where this was heading. I just didn’t know how much Mum might have told him.
Would she have shared the complete absence of ‘significant males’ in my life with my new princi pal? Would she have told a complete stranger, even one this transparently well-meaning, that I had no brother, father, uncle, or grandfather? That I had no family at all, apart from my mother? Were these the types of things she blurted out to a man she had met only once? During a phone call to leave her emergency contacts?
Come to think of it, just who had she nominated as an emergency contact this time round? We didn’t know anybody around here. At my other schools, we usually called on the neighbours in times of need; someone conveniently retired or housebound, so they were available during school hours.
My mother had a gift for attracting Nanna-substitutes, old ladies who fussed over me on the odd occasion when I was too sick for school. Or overwhelmed young mums who were relieved to have me play with their babies on pupil-free days.
One thing I was fairly confident about was that Mum wasn’t going to embarrass either of us by foisting a weird Wally on me, just so I could qualify for a weekend at Stradbroke. For that, at least, I was grateful.
‘–so you’ll let me know, Henry? After you’ve talked to your mother?’
I refocused on Mr Paulson’s face and nodded, despite the fact that I had not the foggiest idea what he had been talking about while I’d zoned out.
I was going to talk to my mother, all right. I was going to find out what she’d been telling the principal about our tight-knit little family of two.