She smiled and glanced at the dumbstruck Bob, who was looking at Dolly with undisguised adoration. ‘We just need to clean the place up a bit,’ she said, as she got to her feet.
‘No worries,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll come down later and sort it all out.’ He nudged Bob. ‘I think you’ve seen enough, mate. How about a hand with the stuff?’
Bob reddened and followed Joe into the cabin. The dogs continued their mad dash from side to side, clearly eager to jump down and give chase to any small creature lurking in the bush, but Joe told them firmly to stay put, and they sat panting. Within minutes, everything was neatly stacked and tied down in the back of Bob’s ute.
‘Isn’t it dangerous to have them running around when you’re on the move?’ asked Lulu as she carried her overnight bag down the steps.
‘Nah, they’ve been doing that since they were pups. They only have to fall off once to know not to do it again.’ He grinned and opened the door. ‘Hop in. Ma’s got breakfast on the go, and it would be a shame to let it get cold.’
Lulu joined Dolly on the front seat and clutched her bag to her chest as Joe set the utility into a jolting dash across the rough track and up the steep hill. The dogs barked and whined and adjusted their stance like sailors on a rough sea, clearly enjoying this unexpected jaunt – but she could see Dolly was not nearly so happy.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked quietly, beneath the roar of the engine.
‘I will be when I reach terra firma,’ said Dolly grimly. ‘Promise me, Lulu, don’t let me eat so much chocolate again.’
Lulu grinned. Chocolate came a very close second to high heels in Dolly’s list of passions, and this latest plea was one she’d heard before. Experience had taught her to ignore it.
As the utility gained the crest of the hill and thundered towards the homestead, Lulu felt a squirm of unease at the thought of meeting Joe’s mother. She glanced across at him, saw the tic in his jaw and realised he was just as tense. It would have been most interesting, she thought, to have been a fly on the wall during what must have been a fraught scene the night before.
She had no more time to contemplate it, for they had arrived. Joe switched off the engine, the dogs leapt down and the front door was opening.
Lulu followed Dolly out of the utility, dusted herself down and regarded the woman waiting in the doorway. Short and plump, with greying, unruly dark hair and a weathered face, Mrs Reilly appeared to be the quintessential farmer’s wife. Whether she could be trusted or not remained to be seen.
Lulu took a deep breath and strode towards her. ‘Good morning, Mrs Reilly,’ she said coolly, shaking the work-roughened hand. ‘Lulu Pearson, and this is my friend, Dolly Carteret.’
There was a glint of humour behind the curiosity in the dark eyes, but the smile was tentative. ‘Welcome to Galway House,’ she murmured.
‘Thank you,’ replied Lulu.
‘I’ll leave the bags and things until after breakfast,’ said Joe, breaking into the awkward silence. ‘Go on in. Ma’ll show you your rooms and where you can freshen up before you eat.’
Lulu was grateful for his intervention, for Mrs Reilly’s disconcerting gaze had remained on her for too long. They followed her into the square hall and climbed the uncarpeted stairs. The long corridor ran the breadth of the house, and it was clear there were at least four bedrooms, which proved that lack of space wasn’t an issue.
Molly opened one of the doors and they stepped into a large, sunny room that had double doors leading out on to the veranda. There were two comfortable-looking beds, a dressing table and stool, and a rug on the wooden floorboards. The chintz curtains matched the counterpanes, and from the window she could see across the paddocks to the valley. Compared to the shed in the valley it was a palace.
‘How nice,’ said Dolly with a large pinch of sarcasm. ‘A comfortable bed at last.’
Molly’s lips formed a thin line as she folded her arms. ‘It’s the best we can do in the circumstances,’ she said gruffly. She shot a glance at Lulu, reddened when their eyes met, and turned away. ‘Breakfast in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘The bathroom’s next door.’
The bathroom turned out to be a narrow space between two other bedrooms. The enamel tub stood on clawed feet beneath the window, the brass taps polished to a gleam. The lavatory had to be flushed by pulling the long chain that hung from a wall-mounted cistern and the floor was covered in livid green linoleum. Towels had been draped from hooks close to the tiny basin above which hung a fly-spotted mirror.
Lulu washed her hands and stared at her reflection. Yesterday’s sun had gilded her skin, bringing out the freckles across her nose and making her eyes appear bluer than usual, but the headache and palpitations she’d suffered the night before had left dark shadows her freckles couldn’t hide. Her hair was a tangle of coils and curls, and quite impossible to brush, so she gave up the attempt and followed the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon down the stairs and into the kitchen.
*
‘That was a delicious breakfast, Mrs Reilly. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do it justice.’ Lulu nudged the plate of half-eaten food away and cradled the thick china mug of hot tea.
‘Are you still feeling crook?’ Molly frowned, her concern clear.
Lulu saw no reason to let her off the hook with platitudes. ‘I still have a bit of a headache,’ she said evenly, ‘but it will pass.’
Dolly put her knife and fork together with a clatter and leant back in contentment. ‘That was lovely, Mrs Reilly.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was.’
‘Glad you liked it,’ Molly said grudgingly. She eyed them both over her mug of tea. ‘Everyone round here calls me Molly, by the way,’ she added.
‘Really?’ said Lulu. ‘Is that short for something?’
Molly’s gaze wavered under Lulu’s steady scrutiny. ‘Margaret,’ she replied.
‘Such a sensible name,’ Dolly said with a brittle smile. ‘Dolores sounds as if I should be behind the bar in some dangerously seedy nightclub.’ She shivered with relish. ‘Mummy and Pa must have had a brainstorm when they named me after my great-grandmother. She was Argentinean, you know, married to a gaucho – frightfully romantic of course. They had a ranch just outside Buenos Aires.’
The eyebrow twitched and a smile lurked in the corners of Molly’s mouth, but she made no comment.
‘Mummy has often spoken of their wonderful hospitality, for although they lived on the pampas, their guests were housed in the most marvellous little houses, with every luxury.’ Dolly’s light tone was tinged with cattiness. ‘Perhaps you should consider doing something with your shed? The position is ideal, but the accommodation leaves a lot to be desired.’
Molly reddened again, Dianne’s eyes widened and Joe shifted in his chair. Lulu glanced at Dolly, who was holding Molly’s gaze as if daring her to reply. The tension was electric.
‘How very nice for your great-grandmother,’ said Molly, her gaze unflinching, her voice dangerously calm. ‘Perhaps you should consider visiting Argentina instead? I’m sure I could arrange the tickets.’
‘I have no doubt of it,’ retorted Dolly, ‘but this is Lulu’s homecoming, and although her welcome hasn’t exactly been warm, she intends to stay.’
‘I was sorry to hear what happened on the quay,’ said Molly, her gaze settling on Lulu with an intensity that was unnerving. ‘It must be difficult to have a mother like that.’
‘I’ve learnt to live with it,’ Lulu replied. ‘We aren’t in contact any more.’ The atmosphere was poisonous, and unable to stand it any longer, she pushed back her chair. ‘I’d like to come with you on the ride-outs each day,’ she said to Joe. ‘Do you have a quiet horse I could ride?’
The relief in Joe’s face was clear as he turned to her. ‘There’s Sadie, my old mare. She’ll appreciate the exercise.’
She smiled and nodded her thanks. ‘There are things I want to do today, so perhaps tomorrow?’
‘What about you, Dolly? Do you ride?’
>
‘Since I could walk,’ she replied, ‘and I’d appreciate a horse that would give me a challenge.’
Joe’s mouth twitched. ‘Oh, I think I can find you something to give you a memorable experience.’
Lulu realised that Molly was watching her again with that same unnerving combination of curiosity and thoughtfulness. She touched her chin. ‘Do I have something on my face?’
‘No,’ muttered Molly, looking away hastily. She cocked her head at the open-mouthed and clearly fascinated Dianne. ‘Come on, we’ve got work to do.’
Lulu noticed how her hostess’s hands shook as she gathered up the plates, dropping some of the cutlery on the floor. Molly Reilly was as affected as everyone else by the tension in the kitchen. There was little doubt she regretted her invitation to the house, and Lulu was beginning to feel rather sorry for her. Dolly could be acerbic at times, and although she was only getting back at Molly to defend Lulu, Lulu wished she would ease off.
She turned to Joe again. ‘Could we borrow a ute today?’
At his nod, Lulu thanked him and, with a meaningful look at Dolly, left the kitchen.
Dolly followed her into the bedroom and firmly shut the door. ‘What is it with that woman?’ she whispered. ‘She couldn’t take her eyes off you. I wonder why.’
Lulu gathered up the thick cardigan and woollen beret from the chair. ‘Probably looking for similarities to my delightful mother,’ she said flatly. ‘Come on, Dolly, let’s get out of here.’
Joe was tying the dogs to a post by their kennels when they met him outside. ‘If I don’t do this, you’ll have unwanted passengers,’ he said with a shy smile. He picked up the crank handle and eyed the two women doubtfully. ‘You might find it a bit of a struggle to use this.’
Lulu smiled reassuringly and took the handle from him. ‘I drove buses in London during the war,’ she explained. ‘I think I can manage to crank-start a ute.’ She slotted the handle into the shaft and gave it a sharp turn. The engine roared into life and she swept back her hair in triumph – she didn’t know what she’d have done if it had proved beyond her.
‘No worries,’ he murmured, the laughter dancing in his dark eyes. ‘You’re obviously tougher than you look.’
Lulu threw the handle on to the seat and climbed up to join Dolly. ‘Thanks for the loan, Joe. See you later.’
‘Where are you going?’ He tipped back his hat, unaware that his scars were cruelly lit by the sun.
‘To the beach.’ She turned the wheel, pressed her foot on the accelerator and headed for the gate.
*
Joe scratched his head and grinned. Despite the willowy figure and delicate features, she was a tough little thing and no mistake. He rammed on his hat, realised Bob had done a disappearing act, and tackled the first of the cases. The more he saw of Lulu Pearson, the more he liked her, but he wished wholeheartedly that she didn’t feel so uneasy in his home. The atmosphere at breakfast could have been cut with a knife.
As he went back and forth with their luggage, he mulled over his impressions of both young women. Dolly was quite a character, with a sharp wit and a readiness to fight fire with fire. His mother had already discovered she’d met her match in Dolly. As for Lulu – she was simply perfect in every way.
He dumped the last trunk in the middle of the bedroom and glanced at his watch. It was already past seven, daylight was wasting, and he’d spent far too much time mooning over the gorgeous Lulu Pearson – who was so far out of his league that he might as well try to fly to the moon. He stomped out of the bedroom, furious that he was acting as daft as the lovesick Bob.
*
‘Are we really going to the beach?’ asked Dolly, as they bounced and rattled along the hardened ruts of the dirt track.
‘If I can find it,’ muttered Lulu, who was concentrating on avoiding any pothole that might snap the axle. ‘I wish I’d thought to buy a map, but I didn’t expect to be out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t recognise anything.’
‘Don’t you think it’s rather cold for the seaside? I know the English can be stoic, huddled against the wind, eating sandy sandwiches and pretending to enjoy themselves, but I’m not like that.’
‘Neither am I,’ Lulu replied, ‘but this is a very special beach, and it’s been too long since I’ve seen it to worry about the weather.’
‘Now I understand,’ said Dolly, who’d heard all about this beach years ago. She fell silent, clinging to the door handle as the utility tackled a particularly rough piece of track. ‘Look,’ she exclaimed moments later, ‘a signpost.’
The engine idled as Lulu tried to make out the words on the four weathered wooden arrows. ‘It’s this way,’ she said, ‘and closer than I thought.’ She put her foot down and the ute rattled and complained over the final stretch of track until they reached the smoother tarmac.
They had travelled about thirty miles by the time they reached the outskirts of the seaside town. It hadn’t changed much, and as they followed the winding coastal road, Lulu’s emotions welled. There was the timber-yard and the train tracks, and the road that went from the river up to where she’d attended school. She decided to leave the school for another time – she was in a hurry.
Yet she paused to look at the low, undulating hills of the eastern shore of the Mersey River. There had once been a boat to take her over there, she remembered. It was a funny wooden boat, with a red-faced jolly captain who sang shanties as he rowed his passengers across. The fare had been a half-penny – a quarter of her pocket money – but the cost had never deterred her, even though Clarice would have been horrified if she’d ever discovered this minor weekly adventure.
‘Oh, do look at that. How sweet.’
Lulu laughed in delight as she saw the doughty little ferry chug towards the landing steps. The master at the wheel was probably the original captain’s grandson, and the ferry was a vast improvement on the original. ‘I’m so glad it’s still running,’ she said, and explained why, before driving on.
With the river on her right, and the town to her left, Lulu followed the familiar narrow lane that had been metalled since she’d last seen it, through the tunnel of ancient pines and out again into the sun. The house she’d always admired was still on the corner, gleaming white, the latticed verandas now smothered in a dormant climbing rose, the garden as manicured as ever beneath a vast monkey-puzzle tree.
Her heart began to thud in anticipation as she followed the long bend in the road. The grassy area between lane and shore was still there, but the thick shrubs blocked her view of the sea. She leant forward, gripping the steering wheel as the bend flattened out and she saw the sports field – the paddocks, and playground – and finally – the beach.
She steered the utility on to the grass and turned off the engine. ‘Oh, Dolly,’ she breathed through threatening tears. ‘I’m home – I’m really home.’ Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and climbed down.
The wind whipped at her hair, the salt spray stinging her face. She could hear the lonely cries of the plovers and gulls, and smell salt and pine in the air. The tide was coming in, the waves racing up the dark yellow crescent of sand. Like a sleepwalker, she moved towards it.
Her gaze combed the beach, past the tiny kiosk where Clarice had bought ice cream and chocolate bars during the long, hot summers, to the dangerous glossy rocks of the ironstone bluff. The sea was crashing against it, the spume tossed high, to be blown away by the wind that bent the pine trees growing on its headland. She could hear the boom as the tide rushed into the blowhole on the far side, and with it came an outpouring of the yearning she had contained for too long.
Her tears were of joy and relief that nothing had changed – that nature in all its majestic glory had not failed her – for she had held the image of this beach in her heart like a precious, secret jewel, and now she could look upon it openly and rejoice.
She sat on the grassy bank with her back to the swings she had played on as a child and took off her boots and soc
ks. Her toes dug tentatively into the soft sand, finding it chill, but, oh, so memorable. This had been her real playground, making castles in the sand – her first, tentative sculptures – as she dreamed her dreams, the grittiness clinging to her knitted swimsuit and wet skin as she’d let her imagination take her into a private world.
Lulu wriggled her toes and smiled, then walked towards the sea and the hard-packed wet sand where the plovers tiptoed along the water’s edge. Looking behind her she could see her footprints, and she watched as they filled with water and slowly disappeared. It was as if she was newly born in a world yet to be discovered, and her solitude made it the rarest of gifts.
The sea was even icier than she recalled, and she shivered as it swirled around her ankles and sucked at her feet. Chilled to the bone, she reluctantly headed back to the grass, her smile wry. It seemed age had brought an awareness of the cold that hadn’t appeared to touch her as a child, for she’d swum in that sea throughout the spring and autumn. She dried her feet with her socks, rammed on the boots and dragged the knitted beret over her ears. The bluff beckoned and she was impatient to be on the move again.
She tramped along the sand, glanced across at the track that would take her past the little house where she’d been raised and knew she was not yet ready to go and look at it. Instead she began the steep climb that would take her into the heart of the pine forest.
Its familiar gloom surrounded her as she slowed to catch her breath, and her boots stirred the pine needles, bringing their sharp scent to remind her of the times she’d been well enough to play here. Looking about her, she could almost hear the childish laughter as she and her friends had raced down the hill, swung from the trees or clambered over the rocks, daring one another to go nearer and nearer the blowhole. She closed her eyes, those echoes from the past fading in the sough of the wind through the trees. It was like a beautiful lullaby faintly remembered.
She opened her eyes and slowly went on up the steep hill. The golden wattle was past its best, but in the darkness of the forest the citrus rain of their yellow flowers still shone like beacons, their scent delicate and evocative. She walked quietly on, almost afraid to disturb the profound contentment of being alone in nature’s cathedral.
Ocean Child Page 20
