The next day, since she had no lesson to teach in last period, Mrs Long excused herself from school early, and drove her car around to Mount Street in North Sydney, which was near the high school that Hart had once told her he would be attending. She waited, watching the boys walking from the school to the bus stop. None of them looked like Hart. Looking through her car windscreen, Mrs Long was about to give up and go home, having seen that there were now no more boys walking along the footpath at all.

Then she saw a boy who must have been Hart. He was taller than the primary school boy she remembered of three and a half years earlier, but his face was unmistakeable.

"Why he's absolutely gorgeous!" thought Mrs Long.

She rolled down her window, and waited until he drew closer, and then put her face to the window and smiled.

"Hart Dale?"

"Yes? ... Mrs Long, I haven't seen you for years!"

"I changed schools after my husband died. He lost his life saving mine on a bushwalking expedition."

"How awful," said Hart.

"It was nearly a year ago," said Mrs Long, "Say, you haven't been in detention today, have you?"

"No. I haven't had one for years. Why?"

"All the other boys went home half an hour before you came by."

"I was finishing a short story I've been writing. I had to redo the last chapter, because some bullies tore it up."

"That's disgraceful. If I'd been there, they would be in serious trouble for ruining your work."

"They don't like me, because I don't play sport at lunchtimes. They make fun of me for not having muscles like theirs too. They told me I should go to the gymnasium and do some body building."

"Well don't pay any attention to that nonsense at all, Hart. Writing is a rare gift, and you look fine the way you are."

"One of the boys said that a large body is a good first impression for a girl, if I wanted to ask her out on a date."

"Well my husband was slim, like you, and had a nice handsome face like you. That made a good first impression to me. I wasn't interested in big boys. The ones who asked me out were bullies too, as I recall. I'd seen them doing it to smaller boys. It doesn't impress me in the slightest. The fact that you can cope with year ten work and write a story of your own is what counts. I'd like to read your story."

"I could lend it to you for tonight, or longer if you needed it. It goes for twenty-one pages."

"I can get through it tonight. I'm not doing anything. I teach at a nearby Prep School now."

"You're still fairly close to North Sydney then."

"Yes. I came back to look at my old teaching school from the car window. Would you like me to drive you home?"

"Yes, thank you. I live at Pymble now."

"That's well on my way. I'm at Turramurra."

"Pop round and get in then," said Mrs Long, and reached over to unlock the passenger door.

Hart stepped into the car, thinking that Mrs Long looked even more beautiful than she had done so as his teacher.

"So what subjects are you doing for the school certificate this year?"

"Maths, Russian, Greek, English, History and Science."

"Russian and Greek? How are you finding learning two languages on top of your own?"

"I came first in Greek and first equal in Russian last term."

"You must have a gift with foreign languages."

"I used to make codes and ciphers with my best friend in fifth class."

"Oh yes. He left, didn't he? I remember you seemed very unhappy about it for a while."

"Then your musical excursion cheered me up, once I got to like it. I enjoy learning Russian and Greek, because it's just like learning the codes off by heart."

"Maths and science were the subjects I studied at teachers college level. I'm a widow. I've been going to a singles club on Saturday nights. They have parties at members' houses, but I don't really fit in. Most of them are older than me, and are single because they're divorced. So they don't have happy memories of the last few years of their marriage. As a widow, I find that all my memories of my marriage are positive. The divorced ladies are unwilling to go out on dates, because they fear that anything that develops will have an unhappy ending similar to their first marriage. Because I don't have those emotional restraints, I just needed a year or so to be on my own, and now I'm ready to think about being with somebody again."

In her world, he was a baby by comparison. Still she had shown a keen interest in reading his story. 

Mrs Long stopped her car just around the corner from the address that he had told her, so that he could leave it surreptitiously.

"I could pick you up after school in the back street at the other end of the alley, and give you some feedback on your story. Would you like that?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Long."

"Alright. I should be there by half past three. If anything goes wrong, and we miss each other, here's my telephone number."

*          *          *          *

The next day, he got into her car, with no risk of being seen by anyone else from the school.

"Your story was well written. I'm not an English teacher, but I enjoyed the plot, and the traces of humour as well."

"Oh good."

"Do you break up for term one holidays at 11:00 am tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to walk down to the Lavender Bay area, just beyond North Sydney? We could sit in the tiny park at the bottom of the steps and have a picnic. I'll bring enough lunch for both of us."

"Could you show me on the map how to find it? I've never been there."

"Sure... Here, you can see on this page of the street directory. The part we're using is at this end, at the bottom of a pedestrian walkway with trees growing on one side. It's small and enclosed by plants and shielded from the sun by a large tree. It looks out beyond the disused Lavender Bay train line and across to Sydney Harbour. I'll wait for you, while I spread out the picnic rug and open some food containers."

*          *          *          *

When he reached the park, he saw just how romantic a location it was. Mrs Long invited him to sit on the rug, and he watched her remove the lid from a plastic container of strawberries, and lick the juice from the top of it. This was his special time alone with her, while she was between her first marriage and whatever developed into her second marriage. None of the bullies who had made his high school life unpleasant would know about the precious time that he was now able to spend with Mrs Long.

They talked for a while, and ate as well, sharing experiences from the last three years.

"So have you had many girlfriends?" asked Mrs Long.

"I've never had any so far," said Hart.

"Why ever not? You're a handsome boy."

"But all the ladies I see on the bus are older than me, and usually married. I wish I was your age."

"I'm thirty."

"I won't even be fifteen for another few months."

They were seated beside each other on the picnic rug.

"So you've never kissed a girl then," said Mrs Long.