Ocean Child

by Tamara McKinley

  Feeling adrift and forgotten, he pushed back from the table and left the kitchen. Tugging on the thick waterproof against the night’s chill, he wandered out to the yard to do the nightly rounds. His smile was wry as he tramped past the bunkhouse and checked the bolts on the feed store and tack room. Love was in the air, but not for him. Lulu had stirred his heart, making him want something he could never have. After tomorrow she wouldn’t give him another thought.

  All was quiet in the yard but for the scamper of a possum on the stable roof and the sleepy chirrup of a bird. He walked across the cobbles, checking each stall until he came to Ocean Child. ‘It’s just you and me now, mate,’ he murmured, as he stroked the fine head. ‘I reckon we’ll soon be forgotten.’

  ‘I’ll never forget either of you.’

  He turned at the sound of her voice, his heart hammering. The moonlight caught her hair, turning it into spun gold, and her lovely face was touched by the glow. ‘You’ll be having too good a time in Queensland to think about me and the Child,’ he said.

  ‘Do I detect a note of jealousy?’ Her smile was teasing. ‘You are silly, Joe. I won’t be gone for ever – not now I have family here.’

  He had to fight the urge to kiss her. ‘So, you’ll come back?’ he asked tentatively.

  She regarded him wistfully. ‘One day,’ she said, ‘but it might not be for a long time. When I do, I promise to drop in for a visit and see how you’re getting on.’ She hesitated, stuffed her hands in her trouser pockets and looked at Ocean Child. ‘You must keep me up to date with his progress,’ she said, ‘and I’ll write and let you know how things are going for me.’

  He studied her in the moonlight, hearing her words and understanding their underlying meaning. His spirits plummeted, leaving him feeling bereft. She was offering him friendship, not love, not the promise of a life together.

  ‘I’ll keep you posted on the Child,’ he said almost formally, ‘and I look forward to reading all your news. I hope Bertie won’t be too cross about you extending your stay.’

  ‘Bless you,’ she said, brushing her soft hand fleetingly against his cheek. ‘Don’t worry about Bertie – I can handle him.’

  Joe saw the tears glisten on her face and his resistance crumbled. He crushed her to him, burying his fingers in her hair, capturing her sweet lips and breathing in her scent. ‘Oh, Lulu,’ he groaned against her trembling mouth, ‘I wish …’

  ‘I know,’ she murmured, her fingers tracing his face and the line of his lips before she pulled regretfully away. ‘But it’s just not meant to be.’ Turning from him, she rubbed Ocean Child’s ears and rested her damp cheek on his forehead. ‘I shall miss both of you very much,’ she said with a sob, before running off into the darkness.

  Joe wanted to follow her – to tell her she was mistaken – that it was meant to be, and that he would follow her to the ends of the earth and love her for ever. But practicalities and reason were cold and swift, staying his feet and silencing him. Only fate would determine what happened next.

  *

  ‘It’ll take about two hours to reach Warrego Station,’ shouted Peter over his shoulder. ‘Sit back and enjoy the ride.’

  ‘What an extraordinary journey,’ yelled Dolly, as the small plane raced along the dirt runway in Queensland and lifted off. ‘I never expected to be up in one of these. Isn’t it utterly thrilling?’

  Lulu wasn’t finding it thrilling at all. She closed her eyes, hunched down and gripped her seat. It was a very small plane, seemingly held together with string and sealing wax. She and Dolly were jammed in behind Peter in a seat meant for a solitary rear gunner. There was no roof and the noise from the engine was deafening.

  As they soared miles above solid ground the wind made her eyes water, despite the goggles. Peter had flown throughout the war without crashing – the injury to his knee caused by a stray bullet during a dogfight – but no amount of reassurance could convince her that this redesigned fighter plane was a safe mode of transport.

  Lulu groaned and huddled even further down. She must have been mad to agree to this. Why on earth didn’t she go with Frank in the utility? The journey would certainly have taken longer, but it couldn’t possibly be as terrifying.

  Dolly nudged her and held out a silver brandy flask.

  Lulu gasped as the brandy hit the back of her throat. She took another drink and handed back the flask with a weak smile of thanks. Closing her eyes again, she forced herself to think of anything other than where she was.

  Leaving Galway House and Joe had been harder than she’d imagined. The last few words they’d exchanged still lingered, as did the warmth of his embrace and the passion of his kiss. She’d thought of him every day since, and often lay awake at night remembering the quiet moments they had shared around the stables and the electrifying emotion of that last moonlit night. Those memories were precious, but the regrets for what might have been were painful.

  Huddled against the buffeting, freezing wind, she determinedly kept her thoughts on the past rather than the present. They had been travelling for days. Frank tired easily and it had been necessary to stay in Melbourne until he recovered from the sea-crossing. From there, they had driven across country to Sydney, where they’d loaded Peter’s ute on to the train that would taken them north to Brisbane.

  She had loved that part of the journey, for it gave her the chance to see so much of the majestic country and the dramatic eastern coastline. It had been fun to sleep on the train in the tiny, curtained-off compartments as they chugged through the night, and interesting to note how different the Australians were to the English when they travelled. Conversation was lively, food and drink happily shared, and their English accents brought forth stories of relatives and memories of ‘home’, even though most of them had never been to England.

  They had stayed in a comfortable hotel in Brisbane so Frank could rest and wait for the drover who was bringing a mob of cows to the market. He arrived almost a week later, and was now driving Frank home in the utility. The clinic had forbidden him to fly for at least a year, and despite him railing against this advice, Peter had finally forced him to see reason.

  The engine noise abated somewhat as they levelled out, and the combination of the continuous drone, the energy-sapping fear and two hefty slugs of brandy sent her to sleep.

  ‘Oh, do look, Lulu. Kangaroos – and ostriches – and cows. Lots and lots of cows.’

  Lulu stirred as Dolly’s elbow dug in her ribs, and without thinking, she looked over the side. ‘They’re emus,’ she said sleepily. ‘Ostriches are African.’

  Peter was flying much lower now, the wind was warm and she forgot her fear as she stared in awe at the scenery below them.

  The land stretched from horizon to horizon in an amber swathe that encompassed craggy copper mountains, dusty brown valleys and scrub-grazing, where solitary men on horseback looked up and waved their hats before returning to their lonely vigil over the cattle. The glint of waterholes peeked from beneath stands of delicate gum trees, and the snake of a river meandered through towering canyons and acres of pale yellow grass. Mobs of cattle wandered through the scrub, kangaroos bounded with surprising swiftness as the shadow of the small plane chased them across the vast landscape and emus waggled their tail feathers as they lolloped away from the noise.

  Far from desolate, this Outback land was teaming with life – and Lulu felt a tug of something akin to love as she realised it probably hadn’t changed since man first walked upon it. She felt tears prick as she embraced it, for it was an ancient land – a land of dangerous beauty – her country.

  ‘Hold tight,’ shouted Peter some time later. ‘We’re coming in to land.’

  Lulu gripped the seat and shut her eyes as they hurtled towards earth and landed with a thump. She fearfully opened one eye, but could see nothing as they raced along the ground, for they were at the centre of a whirlwind of red dust.

  ‘Righto,’ said Peter, when the dust had settled and he’d switched off the eng
ine. ‘Welcome to Warrego Station.’

  Lulu and Dolly were stiff after sitting so long in the cold, cramped seat, and Peter had to lift them down. The heat hit them like a furnace blast, and they had to shield their eyes from the glare.

  They had landed on a strip of earth that had been cleared through a vast field of tough yellow grass. Beyond the railing fence stood the homestead. Built of wood, with a tiled roof, it was positioned to avoid the sun. Sheltered on the east and west by stands of tall trees, its veranda looked cool and welcoming behind the fly-netting. In the clearing beside the house were barns and outbuildings and a series of corrals and animal pens. Several utilities and farm vehicles were drawn up near these pens, and Lulu could see men and horses moving about, stirring up the dust. A metal windmill creaked as it pumped water from the sluggish river, and there was a flock of white cockatoos screeching in the trees. And yet, despite those sounds, there was an awesome silence that seemed to fill her with peace.

  ‘I hope you like it,’ said Peter, as he came to stand beside her. ‘It’s pretty basic, but it is home.’

  Lulu stood and drank it all in, her mind already working on the drawings she would do. The sky seemed so big; bleached of colour by the heat, it encompassed the Outback land like a great pale dome. ‘Home,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, I like the sound of that.’

  ‘It is quite extraordinary,’ said Dolly, ‘and terribly Australian.’ She turned to Peter, her face alight with excitement. ‘Will I get the chance to wrangle a steer or go on a round-up with real cowboys?’

  He tipped back his hat and scratched his head as he grinned. ‘This isn’t America,’ he chided softly, ‘but I reckon we might make a jillaroo out of you before you leave, no worries.’

  ‘At last. I never thought you’d get here.’ The screen door opened and a vision in pink and orange chiffon stood on the veranda. ‘What kept you, Peter, and how’s Frank?’

  ‘He’s on his way,’ Peter said, as he took off his flying helmet and shook out the dust. ‘What are you doing here, Aunt Sybilla?’

  ‘Brisbane is full of tourists,’ she replied scornfully. ‘It’s impossible to work in peace.’ Paint-spattered fingers flicked her hair out of her eyes, making her earrings swing and her many bracelets jangle. There was a paintbrush behind one ear and a smudge of vermilion on her cheek, and her feet were encased in gold bejewelled sandals. She finally acknowledged Lulu and Dolly, but her expression was unwelcoming.

  Lulu knew she was staring, but couldn’t help it. But for the age difference and the silver in her hair, it was like looking into a mirror of the future. ‘I’m Lulu,’ she breathed. ‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you, because I so admire—’

  ‘I know who you are.’ Frank’s sister eyed her coldly. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

  ‘Strewth, Aunt Sybilla. Can’t you even pretend to be polite for once?’

  ‘Why should I?’ she retorted. ‘I speak as I find. That way everyone knows exactly where they stand.’

  They had entered the house and were now standing awkwardly in the shadowy hall.

  ‘Give her a fair go, Syb,’ he said. ‘She’s one of us.’

  Sybilla’s nose became pinched and her eyes narrowed as she tossed back her mane of hair and looked at Lulu. ‘That she might be, but she’s Gwen’s daughter. What’s she after? A share in the station – or a pay-off?’

  ‘I want nothing from you,’ retorted Lulu, ashamed and trembling with rage at the woman’s lack of charm. ‘Peter instigated this reunion – not me. And I certainly don’t want money or a share in this place. I am not Gwen, and if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I suggest you shut up.’

  There was a shocked silence.

  Sybilla’s eyes flashed. ‘I suppose I asked for that,’ she said stiffly. ‘But at least you know how to call a spade a shovel, and I suppose one should be grateful you aren’t a whinging Pom, despite the accent.’ She turned to Peter. ‘I’ll be in the studio for the rest of the day.’ With a toss of her head she walked away, the garish chiffon floating around her, gold sandals clacking on the wooden floor.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Peter said hastily, ‘but Aunt Syb has always spoken her mind, and if I’d known she’d be here, I would have warned you. She’ll be fine once she gets to know you better.’

  ‘Let us hope so,’ muttered Lulu, ‘because if she carries on like that I won’t be staying.’

  *

  Clarice was suffering from a cold, which had annoyingly gone to her chest. She was swathed in cardigans and a scarf as she sat in the drawing room by the fire, feeling rather sorry for herself on this bleak December day.

  Lorelei’s letters had been devoured so many times Clarice could almost recite them, but she opened the box she kept them in and settled down with a glass of sherry to enjoy them again.

  Frank White had proved to be an irascible old man, easily frustrated by his impaired ability to ride with the mob of cattle, and quick to find fault if his orders weren’t instantly obeyed. Lulu found him difficult to get on with, but as the weeks had passed, she’d learnt to accept he would never change, and they had begun to form a close friendship.

  Peter was a hard-working, patient man of few words, who rarely left the cattle station now his father was incapacitated. He was still single – romance being hard to find when the population was spread over thousands of miles – but he and Dolly had taken a shine to one another and were getting along famously.

  Lorelei had written reams on Dolly, for her friend had changed since their stay in Tasmania. She’d matured, grown quieter and more thoughtful as she’d become used to the routine of Joe’s yard and witnessed the realities of Lorelei’s past. On arriving at Warrego Station, she had enthusiastically thrown herself into the Outback life, the high heels and make-up abandoned for boots, shirt and riding breeches. She wore one of Peter’s old bush hats, rode out with him to check the stock, helped with the branding – and didn’t even complain that the bath water was a strange green colour and sometimes contained dead insects, leaves and even tiny frogs.

  Clarice had laughed at that, and she smiled now as she read on. Frank’s sister, Sybilla, had thawed somewhat when she discovered Lulu wouldn’t take any nonsense from her, and was a gifted artist in her own right. And although she still spoke without thinking, and was as demanding and irascible as her brother Frank, and a hard taskmaster, she had insisted upon teaching Lorelei to paint in oils. They had ridden out at sunrise each day to paint waterholes, trees and mesas, and through their art, they had learnt to respect one another.

  There were charcoal and pencil drawings enclosed with the letters, and Clarice looked at them again in admiration. Lorelei had captured the house, the corrals and pens, even the sense of the vastness of the Outback station, in those sketches, and Clarice felt she’d been there and could feel the heat and hear the great silence that had impressed the girl.

  A protracted coughing fit was soothed with a sip of sherry, and she tucked the letters and pictures away, feeling quite exhausted. She’d been disappointed when Lorelei postponed her return until the New Year, but it was clear the girl was having the time of her life, so she shouldn’t really be surprised. The letters and pictures kept her in touch with what she was doing, and she felt she was sharing her adventure. She remembered the debilitating heat and the dust and flies of a Sydney summer, and almost envied her as she listened to the wind blowing the rain against the windows.

  She gathered up the precious box and slowly rose from the chair, her joints aching with the chill she could never seem to banish. As she turned to head for the bureau, her foot caught the edge of the ancient Turkish rug and she stumbled. Making a grab for her chair, she missed it and went flying into the small table beside it. The table tipped and the sherry bottle shattered into a thousand pieces as everything crashed to the floor.

  Clarice went headlong into the grand piano, cracking her cheek against a sharp corner. Her leg twisted awkwardly beneath her, and as she fell to the floor her bony hip
thudded against the unforgiving boards.

  She lay there stunned and breathless, surrounded by splintered glass and Lulu’s letters.

  ‘What you done?’ Vera rushed in and squatted beside her. ‘It’s all right, Mum, I’m …ere. Does it …urt anywhere?’

  ‘My hip,’ groaned Clarice. ‘The pain is unbearable.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ said Vera bossily. She hurried off to gather things from the couch and, with surprising gentleness, eased a cushion beneath her head and covered her with a blanket. ‘I’m going to telephone the doctor,’ she said. ‘Don’t you try and do anything while I’m gorn.’

  Clarice battled with another coughing fit that intensified the agony in her hip. She closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding, she felt nauseous, and despite the roaring fire and the blanket, she was chilled to the bone.

  ‘Right,’ said Vera, as she came back, ‘I’ve spoke to …im and …e’s coming straight over.’ She patted Clarice’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, Mum – I’ll clear up the sherry before …e gets …ere. Don’t want …im thinking you’re tipsy, now do we?’

  Clarice’s protest was cut short as the pain seared through her hip and down to her toes. How could she have been so careless? What a stupid, stupid thing to do. Her eyelids fluttered as black swirls filled her head and she fell into blissful oblivion.

  *

  The prick of a needle in her arm roused her and she opened her eyes, confused by the bright light and the white walls.

  ‘You are in the cottage hospital, Lady Pearson,’ said Doctor Williams. ‘We have managed to manipulate your dislocated hip back into place, but unfortunately there is also a fracture of the acetabulum.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘It is the socket into which your thigh bone fits. It is only a hairline fracture and I foresee no reason why you should not make a full recovery once we’ve tackled your chest infection and high temperature.’

  ‘How long will I have to be in here?’ She was finding it hard to stay awake.