Dark Oasis
Page 8
He pulled her closer. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“I want to go home.”
He freed her. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not!”
“Sure, you’re not.” The moon glinted in his laughing eyes.
“I’m not!”
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s only a dance. Take a chance. Enjoy yourself.”
She should leave.
He took her hand. “I’ll behave. I promise.”
The music was slow and sensuous. There was no reason to leave. She moved into his arms.
“That’s the girl,” Jake whispered. “Let go.”
Relaxing, she moved to the music.
Skilfully moulding her body to his, he led her to the edge of the dance floor.
“That’s the girl.” He eased the thin straps of her frock from her shoulders.
She stiffened.
“Sh … sh … let go. Let go.”
He unclipped the fastenings of her brassier. A surge of blood stiffened her nipples.
“That’s the girl.” He eased her down, onto the lawn.
Spiked grass, dry, abraded her bare skin. Reflex arched her body upwards.
“Good girl.” Misunderstanding, he loosened his belt buckle.
She fell back, down into the abrasive grass. “No, Jake. No …”
He laughed, pressing heavily.
She resisted. “Get off me!”
Thrown off balance, he fell at her side.
She refastened the brassier. “I’m not that easy!”
“You could have fooled me.” Amused, he slowly rebuckled his belt.
Angrily readjusting the shoulder straps, she started for the light from the fernery.
“Watch where you walk!” he called.
Not looking back, she threaded a path between dancers and intertwined couples into the fernery. The light was dim, shaded lanterns the only illumination. She could barely see. There was neither light nor sound nor sign of life. Someone had to be here. Someone had to take her back to the Sunview.
Pointless contemplation in the ill-lit fernery was not going to get her there. Peering across the verandah to the inner house, she could still make out neither light nor sound, nor any sign of life. If there was anybody there, they didn’t want to be found. It didn’t matter. She had to get back to the Sunview.
Opening the wire-screen door into the lounge, she softly called, “Is anybody there?”
The cat ran to her, brushed against her bare legs. She leaned down.
“Where are they, Fred? Where are they?”
The cat wound itself around her legs.
“Amy?” She stepped into the moon-shadowed lounge. On its far side, open, was the door to the interior. Her steps hushed on the thick carpet, she crossed to it.
Fred’s yellow eyes, vigilant in one of the wide chairs, again provoked suspense. Outside, the feverish gramophone player blared louder than ever. She could not go back there. She could not stay here. Someone had to take her home. She entered the narrow interior passage. The sounds of hysterical music were muffled. In their place, gradually becoming more audible, were the muted sounds of a symphony orchestra.
Classical music. It had to be Rick in there.
A door opened, a light shone into the passageway, and Amy blinked into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me. It’s Gail. I’m sorry. I’m intruding.”
“Gail! I thought you were with the young people.”
“I’m really sorry.” She felt like a naughty child.
“It’s just Gus and me in here. It’s not at all exciting, I’m afraid.”
“The music … I thought it must be Rick.”
“Isn’t he out there?”
“He left. I thought he might be here.”
Amy switched on the passage light. “I expect he’ll be in the cottage.”
She was impatient to be away. “Where’s the cottage?”
“Best not to bother him. I’ll …”
“Who’s that?” Gus called from within the room.
“It’s Gail. It’s all right.”
“What’s she want?” His voice rose above the music.
“Excuse me.” Amy left the passageway.
Through the open door she saw a small room furnished with deep lounge chairs, the softly playing record player, shelves lined with books, and a pink-shaded reading lamp.
“What is it?” His florid face glowing in the lamp’s light, Gus was watching his wife refill his empty glass of beer. “Is the party over?”
“Not yet. It’ll be another hour. Don’t let them bother you.”
“Damned kids. Why the hell do you put up with this?”
“You mustn’t let them bother you, Gus.”
“Damned kids! A man has to hide in his own home!”
“I’ll just be outside, Gus.” Closing the door, Amy returned to the passageway.
“I’m so sorry I bothered you.” Again, she apologised. “Where’s the cottage? I’ll find it.”
“Why do you want Rick?”
“I was expecting him to drive me back.”
“Best not to bother him tonight, Gail.”
“But surely Rick …?”
“I’d drive you myself,” Amy offered “But … I’ll phone a taxi.”
“You shouldn’t have to! Really, I’ll find someone.”
Not directly answering, Amy reopened the door. “Just another minute, Gus.”
No chance tonight to beg for a loan. Wisdom was screaming she cut all ties with the Campbell family.
CHAPTER SIX
She hadn’t heard from Amy Campbell. So, unless the Railway Station came good, there were still two more painful weeks to go. Meanwhile Millie Anderson and her grandparents, who regularly spent their annual holidays at the Sunview, had replaced the honeymooners and Bea at the dining table. The Anderson’s knew the ropes.
Twenty-year-old Millie was fair, pretty, talkative and lively company. Necessity made them friends. They spent their days dawdling through the shops, resting up in the midday heat after lunch, and preparing for the evening because, according to Millie, anything worth doing in the City of Belleville would happen in the evening.
For the men there were two hotels, the Farmers’ Club, The Returned Soldiers’ Club and whispers of illegal men-only pastimes. Back lane games of two-up, back room gambling, outback game hunting by spotlight, brothels. Men’s pastimes tailored to the desires of men who’d fought for their country in two wars and were fighting for their families in the desert.
More generally, there were amateur theatre productions, an occasional concert from a visiting celebrity, swimming meets, indoor sporting events and movies at the two movie theatres. On the evenings when they could find nothing they wanted to do they joined the grandparents and house guests in the lounge room of the Sunview. Ill-lit, unaired, stuffed with heavy brown furniture and smelling of the day’s meals, it was inevitably a last resort. Activity consisted of the choice between joining the group singing songs to the accompaniment of Millie’s granddad thumping a tuneless yellow-keyed piano or playing euchre with her grandma and Bea. In the Sunview lounge room, even Millie’s bright light was dimmed. Usually, they stayed for an hour and went for yet another walk in the cooking night to nowhere in particular.
On Friday night of the third week, she was persuaded to prepare for the weekly Town Hall dance. Millie promised that, even if it was too hot to dance, the boredom would be relieved for a couple of hours. She didn’t believe it.
Yet Millie insisted, “That’s about the best entertainment there is here.”
Setting out while the sun was still a fierce fire-ball in the western sky, they walked past locals gasping for breath on skinny lawns and low verandahs. On the nearly hundred degree Fahrenheit nights, which had been close to every night since she’d arrived, it seemed that no one remained in the airless insides of the timber and corrugated iron houses.
“Is that the Town Hall?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Millie laughed. “It’s a private club. Where the posh people go.”
Skirting the gardens, they crossed the double highway and passed the statue of the soldier and the large red-brick building he was guarding.
“Nearly there.” Millie pointed ahead.
Large and stolid and down at heel, the Town Hall’s high-peaked corrugated iron roof was unpainted and its sun-seared weatherboards flaking. Stepping into its hot and steamy cavernous interior, she was amazed to find the dance floor crammed. At least a hundred couples were dancing on a highly polished parquetry floor. Another surprise.
Though the exterior was outrageously ugly, the interior, despite the heat, was actually attractive. Reflected in the floor’s mirror were the whirling colours of the girls’ bright dresses. Multi-coloured balloons and looping strands of streamers were hanging from the high ceiling. The white, recently painted, grooved timber walls were covered with garish movie posters. On the high front stage, black-and-white gnomes in a garden of multi-coloured paper flowers, were the dress-suited men of the three piece orchestra.
The music stopped, and the dancers flooded back to the benches lining the walls.
“Quick!” Racing ahead, Millie secured two narrow spaces.
For the next ten minutes, squeezed between Millie and a line of excited youngsters, she took stock. As each dance ended the Master of Ceremonies, also wearing formal suit and black bow tie, tackled his steamy assignment. Perching at the edge of the paper garden, he announced birthdays, recited jokes, proclaimed coming events and introduced the next dance. The orchestra swung into action, a group of couples started dancing, and the unaccompanied boys left their seat to inspect the remaining girls. Merchandise on display, the nervous young women awaited selection like dumb cattle on market day.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Don’t be silly.” Millie preened at a pair of approaching partners.
Hanging her head, she let her hair hide her face.
“You like to dance?” One of the young men paused.
She shrivelled, hunching stiff shoulders against the wall at her back.
“I’d love to.” Millie left her side.
She peeped through her hair. The second youth was already walking on, and the seats were quickly emptying. She did not to belong here. The cruising young men were no different from the disapproving strangers on the incoming train. They saw difference and they recoiled. They sensed discomfort and they were ill at ease. They moved on to the friendlier faces at the end of the hall. There was nothing to do be done. The same face and manner that had attracted Jake Campbell’s interest was repelling them. It happened. It had happened before, often; it would happen again.
People instinctively liked Barbara, and Millie. Millie was not a threat. Pretty girls were not a threat. Men were comfortable with Millie. She should not be here.
The music stopped, the dancers returned to their places.
“You didn’t dance!” Millie puffed.
“Nobody asked me to.”
“They will. Cheer up. Smile. Pretend you’re having fun.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s …”
“Take your partners!” The interruption was from a group bursting through the front entrance.
“Next dance please!”
“Here we come, girls!”
To the thunder of hoots and heavy boots, a prowling mob was storming into the hall.
The sweating M.C. grabbed the microphone. “Everybody stay calm! Stay in your seats! Stay calm!”
She started up.
“What are you doing?” Millie held her back.
“I’m leaving!”
Someone hissed, “Sit down and shut up.”
“They’ll leave,” Millie whispered. “Just don’t DO anything!”
The youthful intruders, mocking the frightened dancers, churned belligerently in the middle of the empty floor. The dancers did nothing. The M.C. stood at the microphone.
“Where’s the police?” she whispered. “Why doesn’t someone call the police?”
“They probably have.”
Fists raised, a leather-jacketed youngster left the group and advanced towards the front platform.
The dancers quailed.
“Charlie! Cut it out!” The cry came from an unseen voice in the mob.
The youth hesitated.
“Leave him alone, Charlie!”
The youngster climbed the stairs of the stage and started towards the M.C.
“Charlie!”
The boy paused, lowered his fists, looked back.
The M.C. did not move.
In the hall there was not a sound.
“We ain’t doin’ that, mate,” the voice from the group threatened.
“You’ll be on your own.”
Slowly, the boy turned away.
A small surge of movement swelled through the intruders. The youngster left the stairs.
“Right!” the unseen leader yelled. “Let’s go!”
The mob left, as suddenly as they’d arrived.
The M.C. turned to the orchestra. The music started, the dancers did not respond.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the M.C. held the microphone. “The police are on the way. Don’t let this lot spoil your night out. Take your partners for the Barn Dance.”
The orchestra introduced the Barn Dance. No one accepted the invitation. The side benches hummed with the aftermath of threat. Some left, in groups.
“They’ll be back,” Millie warned. “Gran was worried about us coming here.”
“What’s the problem? They’ve gone.”
“They’ll be back,” Millie shuddered. “You’ll see.”
“You can’t say that for sure.”
“They’ll be back! They’re pickers!”
“That doesn’t mean they’re coming back.”
“They make awful trouble. Every year they make more trouble.
It’s getting more violent.”
“But they didn’t hurt anyone. They just wanted to upset us.”
“You saw for yourself. They will. They want to.”
“You should have warned me!”
“I didn’t expect them to actually come inside.”
“I’m leaving …” She was halted by the sounds of renewed commotion at the front entrance.
“We shouldn’t have come.” Millie dragged her back down to the bench. “We shouldn’t have come.”
Leading the returning band of pickers was the leather-jacketed youngster who’d been intent on attacking the M.C. Storming in, he raced towards the stage, his mates for the dancers. The girls huddled in terrified groups. The boys confronted the intruders. The orchestra stopped. The M.C. shouted unheeded orders.
“Get the police!”
“Stop them! Stop them!”
The antagonists engaged. The dance floor was a battle-field. Outside, a siren shrieked. Police poured into the hall, dived into the melee. Bodies scrambled for doors and windows. The Law followed. A few pickers, quickly overpowered, were escorted to waiting paddy wagons. Most escaped.
A policeman called from the front entrance. “Carry on, kids! That’s it for tonight. We’re keeping watch!”
The members of the orchestra, not noticeably shaken, resumed playing. The M.C., noticeably shaken, plummeted to his chair and mopped the
sweat from his florid face. The bloodied boys washed in the washroom, returned and crowed. The girls mobbed them. Millie wept and shook. Taking control, she led Millie outside and away from the deceptive safety of the bright exterior lights of the Town Hall.
The heavy air stole their breath; the moonless street was illuminated only by pools of thin light under lamps planted at inadequate intervals. The abrupt absence of hysteria was eerie, the threat of violence that lingered in unlit pockets terrifying. Too fearful even to whisper, they stretched every sense for danger.
The sounds were of distant music, and laughter, a dog barking, a lone police siren, and transports off to tomorrow’s market. The smells were of petrol fumes and red dust and Millie’s cheap perfume. When they reached them, the shops were shadowed, their displays barely visible. They hurried on, past pale lights in low houses, dim street lamps, and an occasional bright headlamp that captured fleeting figures scurrying from the light. Suspense intensified.
They crossed the road.
“I’m scared,” Millie whispered.
“Don’t be so stupid.” She was determined not to admit her fear to Millie.
“We should go home.”
“We could go back to the movies. We’d see the last half.”
“It’ll be full,” Millie whined. “I want to go home.”
“For God’s sake! Go! I’ll go back on my own.” She retreated towards the double roadway.
Catching up, Millie trotted at her side.
A patrolling police car slowed. “You kids okay?”
“No problems.” She pointed to the distant theatre. “We’re heading that way.”
“Watch it! There’s a bad lot out here tonight.” The police car gathered speed, disappeared.
“The copper’s right.” The voice came from the building guarded by the soldier’s statue. “You girls should be indoors.”
Startled, they stopped.
“Heard about the Town Hall brawl?” His face shadowed by the light behind him, a man was standing on the broad expanse of shallow steps. At the top of the steps were heavy timber doors, one open. Inside, a bright light shone on dark polished timber and a wide expanse of mottled carpet.
“We were there.” Millie was oddly unafraid of the stranger. “It was awful.”
“The coppers are right,” he urged. “It’s no night to be wandering around town.”