Page 37 of Wild Horses

Christy sat in the staff room at Currawong Creek, the hum of the fan mingling with the faint rustling of papers.

The room was filled with the smell of fresh coffee, and the morning sunlight slanted through the blinds, casting stripes of light across the table.

She was often a little bored by planning meetings, being more of a practical person, but this particular meeting was going to be heaven.

Across from her, Clare was flipping through a binder.

‘I still can’t believe it,’ Christy said. ‘I’m officially a drama teacher again.’

Clare looked up with a grin. ‘Correction – you’re the drama queen! It’s about time your dream got back on track.’

The words filled Christy with a warm, almost giddy feeling.

‘We should start with the basics,’ Clare said, jotting down notes.

Samson jumped up, putting his big front paws on the table and peering curiously at what she was writing.

Clare kissed the dog’s nose then pushed him down.

‘School hall sessions could also include art, music, maybe even dance if we can find a teacher.’

Christy nodded, her mind already speeding ahead. ‘And we can tie them in to other subjects too. English literature, for one. The students can study classic plays and then perform scenes. The hall could provide perfect opportunities for public speaking and debating too.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Clare. ‘And the cabaret show proved we can incorporate event planning and marketing. The kids can learn how to promote their shows, handle ticket sales and manage budgets. Real-world experience.’

‘Don’t forget technology,’ added Christy. ‘Remember what an expert sound technician Alex became?’

‘I love it.’ Clare heaved a big, contented sigh.

‘We can integrate so many subjects by using the hall – make learning hands-on and exciting.’ She leaned back, playing with her pen.

‘Tom had a good idea as well. He said that designing sets could provide practical applications for maths skills. Measuring, arithmetic, geometry – it’s all there. ’

Christy chuckled. ‘Trust our resident science and maths nerd, but it’s actually a great idea. The kids would be learning without even realising it.’

‘Exactly!’ agreed Clare.

Christy could see it all coming together and felt a swell of satisfaction. The sense of purpose was intoxicating. For the first time in a long while she felt truly hopeful. And during the busy daytime she could avoid thinking about the financial hole she’d dug for herself.

That night Christy sat at the table in her little room staring at her laptop. She’d pulled up the updated loan agreement and most recent statement from Fantastic Credit Solutions. The numbers stared back at her, stark and unforgiving.

Christy reached for her calculator. The reality of her situation needed to be faced head-on.

Her fingers moved mechanically over the buttons, punching in the numbers with a grim determination.

The result made her heart sink – payments would swallow more than half her income.

She stared at the calculator, disbelief mingling with the cold grip of alarm.

She brought up the loan statement to view the repayment amount due at the end of the month.

It was entirely composed of interest, leading to no reduction in principal at all. What on earth had she got herself into?

Christy thought of her parents and how debt averse they’d always been. Her mother hadn’t even owned a credit card until the last few years. ‘Spend within your means, for debt is a heavy cross to bear,’ she used to say. Christy was ashamed to think what her mother would say to her now.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to ward off a growing headache. Could she manage the debt? She supposed that she’d have to. Free bed and board came as part of her current salary package, but that salary was far less generous than she’d received back in Sydney.

As a residential program for troubled teens, Currawong Creek operated on a tight budget with funding coming mainly from government grants, donations and means-tested tuition fees.

The school took any court-ordered teen, irrespective of parental capacity to pay.

By contrast, St Luke’s College was a prestigious private school offering competitive salaries to attract top-tier teachers.

Christy had taken the job at Currawong Creek out of a sense of urgency, untroubled by the modest income offered.

Her gaze drifted to the window. The night was a black velvet curtain, sprinkled with stars.

The tranquillity outside was a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her.

The thought of future bankruptcy loomed like a dark cloud.

What would happen if she couldn’t make the payments?

The consequences would be dire – losing the hall, her credit rating, and possibly her place at Currawong Creek.

The shame of it made her feel physically ill.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to quell the nausea.

Christy forced herself to look at the numbers again, hoping for some miracle solution to present itself.

But there was no escaping the harsh truth.

She was overextended, trapped in a financial web of her own making.

And the gloomy figures shown didn’t even include the outrageous penalty interest for any late payments. Was that even legal?

Christy leaned back and clasped her hands behind her head.

‘It is what it is,’ she murmured philosophically to herself.

She could manage for a few months by using her humble savings and the money in the crowdfunding account.

There’d be no new clothes for a while, and she’d have to forget about that new phone and laptop, but it was okay. The hall was worth it.

After the auction Christy kept to herself.

She didn’t want to waste money on nights out at the pub or bottles of wine to bring to Astrid’s movie nights.

So, in the evenings she read, or watched glitchy, lagging YouTube videos on her ageing laptop.

She’d cancelled her streaming service subscriptions, and in any case the wi-fi in her bungalow wasn’t good enough to binge.

Christy toyed with the idea of sharing her predicament with her parents, or even her brother, Evan, who lived in San Diego. But her parents would be disappointed in her, and she didn’t want to worry Evan when he lived so far away. So instead, she just bottled up her misery and let it fester.

Christy’s sudden aloofness mystified her friends, who thought she should be basking in the success of her hall acquisition.

Clare was the only one who broached the subject of loan repayments.

‘If the kids are going to use the hall, it’s only fair that we contribute to the costs – say five hundred dollars a month? ’

Christy managed a wan smile. Her current repayments were more than seven times that amount, not including her credit card payments. But she knew the school was strapped for cash, and anyway, every little bit helped. So she thanked Clare for her generosity and held on to her secret.

During this lonely time Christy found herself thinking of Tyler more and more.

She missed his steady presence, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the inexplicable joy he found in making her breakfast. This missing him became a constant, background ache, a reminder of what she’d lost and what she couldn’t allow herself to hope for again.

One evening Christy was in her room, trying to coax a Taylor Swift YouTube video to play on her laptop, when the phone buzzed.

Andrew’s name flashed on the screen. She hesitated before answering.

There was a time, not too long ago, when she’d have been thrilled to see his name come up.

But her romantic feelings for Andrew had died – unattainable Tyler now held that special place in her heart.

‘Hello.’ It had been months since she’d last spoken to her ex. Christy had let go of her anger at him for not supporting her after the false allegation, but their conversation still stirred a whirl of emotions.

‘Hey, Chris.’ Andrew’s familiar voice crackled through the line. ‘How have you been?’

‘I’m managing.’ She could hear the undercurrent of weariness in her voice. ‘How are things at St Luke’s?’

‘There’s been quite an upheaval. Bradshaw’s resigned under a cloud. He was caught uploading misogynistic posts on social media – really off stuff.’

Why wasn’t she surprised?

‘Anyway, we have a British principal now: Bill Mannix. You’d approve. He used to be on the board of the Royal Shakespeare Company.’ Andrew paused, as if he half-expected that she might have hung up.

‘I’m still here,’ said Christy. ‘And I like the sound of this new man.’

‘You’d love him. That’s why I’m calling you, actually. Mannix has started a mentorship program covering various areas of the curriculum. And he asked me to contact you. He’s after some background info on one of your former drama students. I know it’s a bit of a cheek, but would you mind?’

‘Okay, shoot.’

‘Do you remember anything specific about Donald Cutler’s strengths or challenges in the field of performing arts? He’s a candidate for a mentorship.’

Christy remembered the small, bright-eyed boy who’d often stayed back after class to discuss the plays they were studying. ‘Donny has a flair for drama, with plenty of confidence and an instinct for timing. He’ll be a great candidate.’

St Luke’s had certainly moved in the right direction since she’d left. There was a comfortable break in their conversation, a reminder of the ease that had once existed between them.

‘So, what else is happening back at the college?’ she asked, her curiosity piqued.

‘Well, Sandra’s still up to her old tricks. Her latest victim is the new science teacher. Gossip is that she fancied him and he didn’t fancy her back. Anyway, she registered a complaint with the curriculum coordinator about him.’

Christy gasped. ‘But she is the curriculum coordinator.’

Andrew laughed. ‘That didn’t stop her from making an official accusation about him – setting chemistry questions that weren’t covered in class, she said. It was all a beat-up from some disgruntled students who’d failed their tests.’

Christy’s grip on the phone tightened. ‘Bloody Sandra,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t believe how much trouble she’s caused me. It’s like she has a vendetta.’

Andrew sighed. ‘Sandra has a knack for making things difficult for others. But enough about her. How’s Currawong Creek treating you?’

Christy was about to give an automatic response, such as I’m fine , but something gave her pause. She was sick of being strong. ‘It’s ... challenging. The work is rewarding, but I’ve taken on a lot. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning.’

‘Sounds tough,’ said Andrew.

Sympathy was just what she needed, and she considered telling him about the crippling personal loan. Everyone else was too close to the situation for her to feel comfortable sharing.

‘I’ve made a risky financial decision,’ she admitted, still not ready to fully explain. ‘It’s to do with my love of drama – an investment that might prove to be unwise.’

Andrew was silent for a moment, absorbing her words. ‘Christy, you’ve always been passionate and determined. Those are your strengths, but sometimes they can lead you into trouble. Have you considered talking to a financial counsellor?’

The concern in his voice touched her. ‘Thanks, Andrew. I’ll look into it.’

They talked for a while longer, reminiscing about old times and catching up on mutual acquaintances. Christy found herself laughing more than she had in weeks.

As they wrapped up the call, Andrew’s voice softened. ‘I’m glad we talked, Christy. Don’t be a stranger, okay?’