by Alison Booth
Maybe that was not surprising given her past. You might manage to survive an impossible situation but you wouldn’t be unaltered. Bits of you were mutilated, bits of you were destroyed. Though the damage might not be visible, it was there all the same.
Yet there was some quality of her face, her expression, that wouldn’t let go of him. That mixture of vulnerability and challenge. He’d noticed that at their first meeting on the beach and had revisited it again and again. Now his first impressions had been confirmed; she was looking for confirmation of the worst in people. Or perhaps only in men; it was clear she adored her daughter. The girl Zidra, with those sharp eyes that missed nothing and that air of wanting to please. ‘She gets like that when she’s tired.’ He’d liked the way she’d said that.
And he’d especially liked her appreciation of spotless Spot, who now gave a short yap as Peter pulled up at the first gate on the drive into Ferndale. Once free, the dog raced ahead of the car to the next gate and then back again. Only after Peter had driven through the last gate did Spot stop running. While Peter sat on the running board to roll a cigarette, the dog lay down at his feet and salivated onto his shoes.
Later, after feeding the dogs lumps of mutton, Peter ate cold lamb chops and a few potatoes left over from the night before. He should really have begun to work through the unpaid bills waiting in a pile on the kitchen table but instead he went to bed early, too tired even to draw the curtains. The bills could wait. Everything could wait apart from making sure the animals were looked after, and he always did that.
It must have been after midnight when he woke screaming from that old dream of falling. Falling into an abyss with no bottom; falling knowing there was no way out. Falling, fearing that he might have chosen the abyss from other alternatives that he could no longer recall. It took some seconds for him to realise where he was. Not falling out of a plane over occupied Europe but in his bedroom at Ferndale. Bright moonlight streamed through the window and illuminated the mother-of-pearl inlay on the old brass bedstead. The dream was wrong. There was no way out of his life but forward. Second following second, hour following hour.
Getting up, he washed his face in cold water. His reflection in the bathroom mirror looked like that of a stranger, and one who was years older than he. Outside, the dogs stirred but only Spot followed him around the verandah and across the paddock to the cliff edge. He sat on the top step of the stone stair leading down to the beach and watched the breakers roll in. Strange how that regular motion could drain all thought from your mind, leaving it vacant if not soothed. That was why he had to be close to the sea, but close to the land too. He had to have something to anchor himself firmly to.
Eventually Spot got tired and lay down at his feet. At this point he remembered Zidra sitting on the floor next to him while she described her games, and he smiled. Meanwhile the moon moved imperceptibly across the sky and when it had vanished behind the pine windbreak, he returned to the house. He was tempted to let Spot inside to sleep on his bed but dismissed that impulse as sentimental.
Cherry Bates felt shaky and unwell. Half the night she’d spent fighting with her sheets and pillow, trying to get comfortable, and the other half in complicated dreams of great urgency: she had to get somewhere, she had to do something, and everything was conspiring to stop her. Because of this she was ready far too early. Although she had plenty of time for tea and toast, she was so nervous she couldn’t eat anything. After Bill left – he was going to pick up Les Turnbull’s boat and take it round to the jetty to collect the children – she put on a sundress and her make-up and headed towards the lagoon. Probably looking as if I don’t have a care in the world, she thought; amazing what a nonchalant stride and a bright red lipstick can do. In her beach bag were sandwiches and a towel. While Bill didn’t know it yet, she’d decided to accompany him on this boating expedition.
Passing by Ilona’s cottage, she heard voices from inside. Ilona was shouting something in her foreign lingo and Zidra called back in her high clear voice. Cherry slowed to a leisurely walk and looked around. The sky was opalescent and the air was cool and fresh. The early morning light accentuated the folds of land forming the northern headland, which crumbled down into the sea, frilled at the cliff base by white foam. The morning was so still that between the thudding of breakers she could hear the faint hissing of waves. Tranquillity everywhere except in her head. There’d been no peace there since Ilona had told her about the boat trip and that was a few days ago now. Yesterday Cherry had mentioned it very casually to Bill and he’d laughed at her. Asked if she wanted to pack a hamper for the kiddies. When she agreed he said Ilona was going to do it and told her to spend a nice relaxing Sunday with her feet up. As if.
There were several dinghies moored at the jetty but no sign of anyone yet. She sat on the railing and glanced at her watch. Twenty-five past eight. The lagoon water slapped and sucked at the underside of the boats and a black cormorant stood on a spit of sand at the beach end of the lagoon. It had spread its wings out to dry, like a rampant eagle on some flag she’d seen, a Russian or German flag perhaps, or a flag from one of those other European countries that she was never going to visit.
At last she heard the sound of voices. Turning, she saw Zidra and the Cadwallader boys running down the hill, followed at a slower pace by Ilona. Then the putt-putt of a motor and there was Bill rounding the bend of the lagoon in the launch. He didn’t see her at first, didn’t see her till he’d tied up the boat. Then his smile faded.
Looking away at once, she glanced at Zidra’s bright little face aglow with excitement. She glanced at Andy’s freckled face squinting up against the glare, and at Jim’s darker face that looked almost guarded, as if he didn’t want to be here either. Giving his shoulder a quick pat, she smiled and said, ‘Rather be sleeping in, Jimmo?’
Seeming more like the carefree boy she was used to seeing running about the place, Jim smiled back. ‘I’ll wake up once we get going,’ he said. Then he looked at Zidra and she saw the smile erased from his face like a chalk drawing wiped off a blackboard. He was worried about something, that was clear. It couldn’t have been much fun having Eileen for a mother, so up herself she was unable to see what a terrific hand life had dealt her. That boy would be out of here as soon as he could. Scholarship lined up to a boarding school in Sydney, and Cherry wouldn’t be surprised if he never returned to this dump of a place after that. She wished she could get out too.
But Bill would have to be dealt with first.
She looked around her, at the points of light dancing on the surface of the lagoon, at the unsurpassable loveliness of the morning, and felt a sudden emptiness.
Turning to Ilona, she said, ‘I hear you’re going to provide the music for the Christmas dance.’
‘Mrs Turnbull asked me. I am delighted at this honour,’ Ilona said in that funny way she had of speaking. But she wasn’t stuck-up like Lady Muck from Woodlands, who spoke as if she had a fishbone wedged in her throat. With Ilona it was just that she hadn’t got the hang of the language yet. ‘Daphne Dalrymple and I will take it in turns to play the piano, so that in between we can dance. If we are asked. As well, somebody from Burford is coming with an accordion.’
‘That’ll be Billy the Fish. Used to be a fisherman until he lost his foot to a shark in a freak accident. Pulled the shark on board and it snapped his foot right off at the ankle and swallowed it whole.’ Cherry saw how shocked Ilona looked, and added, ‘There aren’t any sharks in the lagoon though. And Billy’s got a lovely pink plastic foot that he’ll show to anyone who asks him and some who don’t. Ruined his fishing career though. He works in the fish and chip shop now. Getting his own back on the sharks by chopping them up and battering them.’
Laughing as if she didn’t believe Cherry’s story, Ilona climbed onto the jetty railing to sit next to her. ‘Are you going on the boat too?’
‘Yes,’ Cherry said loudly.
‘First time you’ve mentioned it,’ said Bill, looking up at her. His
eyes were a hard blue, like the sky on the hottest of summer days.
‘It’s such a lovely day and we never go out together,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.’
‘No room for any more than four,’ he said at once.
How could she not have thought of this? She inspected the boat. He was right. Deliberately he’d hired a boat that would only take four and for an instant she wondered if he knew of her discovery in his study. No, that was impossible; she’d left everything just as she found it that day.
Maybe yesterday she should have told him she was going to accompany them; she’d agonised about that countless times, but she’d known he wouldn’t let her; that was precisely why she’d left it to the last minute to announce she wanted to go. Now it was too late, she could see that. It had never occurred to her that there wouldn’t be enough space on the boat.
‘Bad luck, old girl. If only you’d told me yesterday that you’d wanted to come. Then I could’ve tried to get hold of a bigger boat.’
Then you would have done nothing of the sort, Cherry told herself. She glanced at Ilona, who didn’t appear to have noticed anything.
Bill added after a moment’s thought, ‘Otherwise I’d love to have the old girl on board, but we can’t spoil the kiddies’ fun now, can we?’
‘So good of you to take them out,’ said Ilona. ‘You must be a bugger for punishment.’
The children laughed while Cherry began to chew one of her fingernails.
‘A beggar for punishment,’ Zidra said. ‘You mustn’t use bad language. You know it isn’t nice.’
So excellent was Zidra’s mimicry you might have thought Miss Neville was on the jetty with them. Cherry gave the girl a sharp look but she saw on Zidra’s face only amused affection for her mother.
‘It’s a long time to be out on the water,’ Ilona said anxiously.
You might have thought she’d only just noticed it was going to be a long day. Cherry wondered again if she should warn Ilona; if even now she should try to call a halt to the day’s outing. No, she couldn’t. What could she possibly say, here on the jetty with Bill listening to her every word? She should have made a stand earlier. Days ago she could have said something to Ilona. It needn’t have been about Bill; it could have been about the weather or the heat or the bushfire threat. Playing up any one of those dangers might have been enough to stop the trip.
What could possibly happen when the Cadwallader boys were going along too? She clung to the thought that the children would be together all day. No harm could possibly come to them then. ‘Keep an eye on the younger ones,’ she whispered to Jim. She meant Zidra of course. Keep an eye on the little girl. ‘You all stick together.’
‘We’ve got Mr Bates to look after us,’ said Jim, loudly enough for Bill to hear.
In that stupid way of his, Bill grinned. ‘We’ll be back by five sharp,’ he said to Ilona. ‘And I’ll make sure we spend some of the time in the shade. We won’t get too hot then.’
‘You will keep your hat on, won’t you, darling?’ Ilona said, but Zidra wasn’t listening any more. Chased by Andy, she was racing up and down the jetty and the entire structure shook with their motion. ‘You will keep your hat on!’ Ilona cried out again.
‘Yes, Mama,’ Zidra shouted.
An overexcitable girl like her mother was how Miss Neville described her. Bright but slightly spoilt. She was wrong though. For a fleeting moment Cherry felt a pang of envy for Ilona. A lovely daughter and no husband; she could go anywhere; she could choose what she did with her life. Quickly she pushed that mean-spirited thought away. You couldn’t envy someone who’d been through what Ilona had. Taking Ilona’s arm, she squeezed it, as if to apologise for her unstated thoughts. Ilona looked surprised but pleased too, and squeezed Cherry’s arm back.
‘Your husband is so kind,’ she said. ‘I worry about so much.’
‘The kids will have a lovely day,’ Cherry said. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’ It was herself that she was reassuring though. She added, ‘Jimmo’s going too and I think we can rely on him, don’t you?’
When she winked at him, he didn’t wink back although he smiled again. For an instant she wondered if he was humouring her but put that idea out of her head. My worries are over, she told herself, at least for the time being. There isn’t anything Bill can get up to, provided the kids stick together, and they’ll have to. They’ll be together all day in the boat.
Zidra sat in the bow facing backwards, so she could wave at Mama and Mrs Bates. Mama’s hand went from side to side and Mrs Bates’ up and down. Then Zidra felt silly sitting backwards and swung her legs over the bench so she was facing forward. Her sandaled feet rested on the damp coil of rope. Once around the bend in the river and out of sight of the jetty, she took off her hat.
‘Hat on!’ shouted Andy.
‘I can do as I please.’
‘You promised,’ said Mr Bates, but nicely though. ‘And I promised your mum too. She’ll never forgive me if I take you back looking like a boiled lobster.’
‘I don’t go red,’ Zidra said, but she put on the hat again and secured the elastic under the hair at the nape of her neck.
‘You go a lovely golden brown,’ said Mr Bates. ‘You’re so lucky to have olive skin in this climate, you and Jim both. Poor Andy and I are the ones who should have been left behind in northern climes.’
‘What are climes?’
‘Northern parts,’ said Jim, keen as always to show off his knowledge. ‘Europe, where we all came from.’
‘All except the coons,’ said Andy.
‘Don’t call them that. They’re Aborigines,’ said Jim crossly.
‘Don’t snap my head off. Otherwise we’ll dump you ashore, like they used to do with people who mutinied, didn’t they, Mr Bates?’
‘They shot some of them,’ said Mr Bates. ‘But I don’t think we need to do that with Jim just yet.’
‘How come you never had any kids, Mr Bates?’
‘Not allowed to say how come,’ said Zidra. ‘You’ve got to say “How was it that you never had any kids?”’
Mr Bates didn’t seem interested in such distinctions. ‘Never happened that way. Wasn’t meant to be. I’m very happy when I’m allowed to borrow other people’s, but.’
‘Probably best,’ said Jim, who seemed to be thawing at last. ‘Then you can send them back home to their parents when you’ve got sick of them.’
‘And you don’t have to feed them either,’ said Andy. ‘Mum said kids are a terrible expense. Eat you out of house and home. Did you bring any lunch, Mr Bates?’
‘We’ve got lunch,’ said Zidra. ‘Mum made enough sandwiches for everyone. On proper white bread from the baker’s and with Burford Cheddar.’
‘I’ve brought along a cake too,’ said Mr Bates. ‘A proper bought cake from the baker’s, none of your homemade stuff.’
Although Zidra loved bought cake, she bristled on Mrs Bates’ account. ‘Mrs Bates makes lovely homemade jam,’ she said. ‘And Mrs Jones out at Woodlands makes yummy homemade biscuits.’ Mentioning Woodlands shut everyone up for a bit. She’d noticed this before. Just drop the name into the conversation and no one could think of anything to say.
Remembering Woodlands made her think of Philip and his toys, and that led naturally to the little green elephant that she’d given Lorna. Putting one hand in the pocket of her shorts, she felt for Lorna’s pale pink shell. She missed Lorna, whose absence had left a great empty hole in her life. Wherever she was, Lorna would still have the elephant with her. It had gone into her pocket that fast when Zidra gave it to her; the best gift ever, she’d said.
Last night after midnight, Zidra had woken up feeling as if Lorna were right next to her in the bedroom and trying to tell her something. She’d turned on the light to check if Lorna had somehow managed to get into her room but there was no sign of her. Nothing under the bed apart from an old hairball and nothing in the little wardrobe either, apart from
clothes. She’d gone into her mother’s room. Although Mama said she never got any sleep, she was in the deepest of slumbers. At first Zidra hadn’t wanted to wake her but she did in the end. If she didn’t tell her mother she knew she’d never get back to sleep again.
‘That was telepathy,’ Mama had said at once, almost as if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to bring out this word. ‘One person communicates with another without their being anywhere near each other.’
‘Like a telephone?’
‘Just like a telephone. Only without the handset. Mental communication. Your Papa and I sometimes felt we’d communicated telepathically, but that was before he had become so cut off with his illness.’
Zidra didn’t want to hear of Papa’s illness again; it made her feel uncomfortable and sad. She wanted Mama to focus, to pay full attention to what she was saying. Then Mama added, ‘Perhaps it’s because of Lorna’s move. Mr Jones said she’s moved from a humpy to pickers’ quarters on a farm. I expect she’ll turn up soon and no one will tease her any more, because she’ll be able to wash herself like all the other children, in a proper bathroom instead of in the river. You’re probably worrying too much.’ Mama put her hand on Zidra’s forehead as if she might have a temperature. ‘Perhaps you felt this telepathy simply because she was thinking of you, and thinking that she loved you.’
Zidra shut her eyes and concentrated hard to send a message back. Lorna, I love you. Lorna, I love you. After that, she started to feel better: Lorna loved her enough to telepath her and she’d telepathed back. She snuggled up to Mama, who put her arms around her and held her tightly. Eventually she carried her back to her own bed again and stayed until who knew when: she must have dropped off to sleep not long after.
Now, cruising up the lagoon, these thoughts of Lorna fluttered again across the surface of her mind, like the flickering sparks of light that danced across the surface of the water. She sighed. The day was lovely but it would be better with Lorna here.
