Jack had changed into shorts and an old shirt and borrowed a bike from the bellboy at the hotel. Together they rode out of town towards Frances Bay, bumping off the road and over the fields.
They stacked the bikes together and Poppy tied Honey up to the handlebars. Honey whined pitifully, looking up at Poppy and Maude with round, liquid eyes. Jack bent and scratched between her eyebrows.
‘It’s not safe for her to come closer to the water,’ explained Poppy. ‘A croc would gobble her up in no time.’
Maude looked nervous, scanning the mangroves for dog-and-girl-eating crocodiles.
‘We’ll be okay if we’re careful,’ Jack assured her. ‘Every year, someone gets taken by a croc, but it’s usually out-of-towners or young kids who don’t know what they’re doing. Just don’t wade out into the water, and don’t crouch down.’
They hoicked their rods, bucket and knapsack, and picked their way through the mangroves. They forced their way through to where the trees were thickest, a gnarled forest of twisted, writhing roots and salty branches. From the knapsack, Poppy took a folded throw net.
‘First we have to catch some bait,’ Poppy explained to Maude. ‘Then we bait up the hooks and see if we can catch some big barramundi. It’s the best fish you’ll ever taste.’
The three took off their shoes and socks and stood on the bank.
‘There are crocs around,’ observed Jack, pointing to a wide slide mark in the muddy sand. ‘Crocs are hard to see in this muddy estuary water. They love to hide out of sight, then jump when you get too close. I reckon they’d think you were a perfect, tasty mouthful, Maude.’
‘Thanks a lot! I’ll take that as a compliment!’
‘I don’t think crocs are that fussy,’ Poppy joked, pushing Maude in the side.
‘Who’s going to have a go with the throw net first?’ asked Jack. ‘Midget, why don’t you show Maude how to throw like a true Territorian?’
Poppy rose to the challenge, hurling the net out over the water and hauling it in. In her first cast she collected a baby stingray, a collection of mullet and a small barramundi. The net thrashed and jerked with its catch.
‘Watch out for the stingray’s tail, Maude,’ warned Poppy as she carefully opened the net to examine her haul. ‘They have a nasty barb.’
‘Not bad, Midget,’ observed Jack. ‘We’ll keep the mullet but let the other two go to grow up.’
Jack had a throw, catching some more mullet for their bait bucket, then helped Maude try. Her first two attempts were clumsy, but in her third throw she also hauled in a few small fish. When the bait bucket was full of wriggling mullet, they baited up the hooks and cast out.
Maude was first to have a bite, the fish nearly ripping the rod out of her hand. Jack had to help her reel it in slowly and carefully, a little at a time. Finally, Maude hauled it up on the bank – a perfect barramundi, nearly a metre in length, its scales sparkling silver in the sunlight. Maude held it up by its jaw, admiring it proudly.
Jack whistled. ‘It’s a beauty.’
‘Well done, Maude,’ Poppy congratulated her. ‘It’s nearly as big as you!’
Half an hour later, Poppy’s rod jerked violently as a barramundi swallowed the bait whole. Poppy pulled back, regaining her balance, then concentrated on reeling the fish in slowly. Poppy was just about to haul the fish onto the bank when it jumped out of the bay, followed by the huge body of a saltwater crocodile. The reptile was massive – nearly six metres long – and it leapt clear out of the water, crunching the barramundi in its jaws.
Maude screamed and jumped backwards. Poppy was jerked forward by the line and nearly dragged into the water after the beast. Jack lurched forward, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her back up the slippery bank.
The prehistoric reptile thrashed and rolled, taking Poppy’s fishing line with it.
‘That was my barramundi,’ Poppy complained loudly. ‘And my fishing line.’
Jack laughed. ‘Better he eats your barra and line than you, Midget!’
The crocodile sank below the muddy water, just a flick of his knobbly tail showing where he lurked.
‘My heart is thumping like crazy,’ confessed Maude. ‘That’s one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen! I think I’ve had enough fishing for one day. Can we get out of here?’
The others agreed, letting the rest of the bait fish go and packing up the remaining rods, all the while keeping one eye out for the huge predator.
‘I was thinking we should go to Mindil Beach for a swim and a picnic,’ suggested Poppy as they picked their way back through the mangroves. ‘It’s much prettier on the ocean side.’
‘Great idea,’ agreed Jack. ‘Did you bring the lemon cake?’
‘Yeees,’ Poppy replied, smacking Jack on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure the only reason you came today was to get your hands on Daisy’s lemon cake.’
‘Nooo,’ said Jack in mock horror. ‘How could I refuse the invitation to go fishing with two gorgeous girls and a fish-stealing croc?’
Poppy tossed her head and then busied herself making a great fuss of Honey, who was jumping up and down as though she thought she’d never see any of them again.
Jack rode his bike through the potholed streets of Darwin, carrying the metre-long barramundi by its jaw with one hand. They received plenty of jokes and calls of congratulation. A Chinese cafe proprietor offered to buy it from them.
At the beach, they gathered a pile of firewood, which they set alight on the sand under the shade of the palms. While the fire was burning down to form hot coals, they all dived into the water to wash away the sweat of the muggy afternoon. They jumped, chased and tackled each other, splashing and falling in the small waves. Honey raced back and forth along the water’s edge, barking.
Exhausted, they swam in to check the fire. In the knapsack was a bag of flour that Poppy and Maude mixed with water to form a dough, then Jack carved the big fish into thick fillets. Poppy laid them straight on the coals, together with the damper. The fish charred, filling the air with its fragrant aroma. They had to go for another swim to take their mind away from the food while it cooked.
When Jack and Poppy agreed it was ready, they sat cross-legged in the sand around the fire in their swimming costumes. Each one took a hunk of damper and a chunk of fish, scraping the ash and coals off it, then squeezing a slice of fresh lemon over the top before tucking in.
Maude looked at it doubtfully, trying to flick tiny grey ash out of her bread with her fingernail.
‘Stop fussing, Maude,’ advised Poppy, when she’d swallowed a large bit of fish. ‘It’s delicious, I promise you.’
Maude wrinkled her nose and then took a tiny, tentative nibble. Honey came over and sat up on her hind legs, begging, her pink tongue hanging out. Maude laughed and fed her a chunk.
‘Mmmm, that is good.’ Maude took another bite. ‘How did you learn to cook that?’
‘Daisy showed me,’ said Poppy, feeding Honey another morsel, ‘although Daisy normally stuffs hers with leaves she picks from the swamp.’
Jack lay back in the sand, hands behind his head.
‘You just can’t beat swimming in the sea and eating outdoors, can you? That was great, thank you. I’m full.’
‘Aaaah,’ teased Poppy, leaning over to the knapsack. ‘Then you won’t want any lemon cake? I’ll feed yours to Honey.’
‘Not so fast, young lady,’ Jack retorted, grabbing her hand to steal the cake. ‘Honey’s not getting any of my cake. I didn’t come all the way to Darwin to miss out on that.’
After the sticky, bittersweet dessert, they all lay back in the sand resting, then had another swim to wash off the crumbs, sand and ash. Finally, they dressed, covered the fire with sand, and packed up for the short bike ride back to Myilly Point.
In the evening, the Trehearnes were to meet the
Shanahans at the Hotel Darwin for cocktails at six o’clock, followed by dinner and dancing. At four o’clock, Maude arrived at Poppy’s house, freshly showered, hair damp and carrying a big bag. She found Poppy feeding a bottle to Christabel on the kitchen step, Honey eagerly licking up any stray drips that were spilled.
‘Come on, it’s time to get ready,’ Maude suggested.
‘Ready for what?’ asked Poppy, checking her watch.
‘Ready for the party, silly,’ Maude said, dragging Poppy to her feet.
‘It’s only four o’clock – we’ve got ages,’ argued Poppy, making sure Christabel finished the last drops of the bottle. ‘Plus, it’s not a party; it’s just dinner with the Shanahans.’
The milk finished, Christabel hopped away to browse for some fresh green grass. Poppy wiped her sticky fingers on her shorts.
‘Yes, but it’s at the Hotel Darwin, which is supposed to be very ritzy, and I’ve never been. There’ll be music and dancing and fun! So we should get dressed up.’
Maude skipped along up to the verandah, Poppy following reluctantly.
‘So, what do you have in your bag?’ asked Poppy.
‘Dresses and rollers and bobby pins and brushes and make-up and all sorts of goodies,’ Maude said, counting on her fingers. ‘Now, have a bath and wash the salt off, while I start getting ready. I’ll meet you in your room in a few minutes.’
Poppy obediently went to have a bath and wash her hair. When she returned to her room, a towel wrapped around her head, she found Bryony and Maude deep in conversation, poring over nail polishes and lipsticks. Both girls had their hair curled up in rollers and were wearing slips.
‘No,’ said Poppy, ‘you’re not doing that to me.’
‘Stop making a fuss, Poppy,’ chided Bryony with a grin. ‘Sit down here at my dressing table. Maude and I have a lot of work to do.’
Maude giggled and started pulling all the beauty paraphernalia out of her bag. Bryony pushed Poppy down onto the frilled stool in front of the dressing table.
‘What do you think, Maude?’ asked Bryony. ‘Up or down?’
Maude looked critically at Poppy in the mirror. ‘Half up, half down,’ she decided, pulling the towel turban from Poppy’s head. Bryony nodded, filing her nails.
Poppy thought she looked like a drowned rat with limp, wet hair and a grubby, stained bathrobe on over her underwear. Maude set to work, combing the tangles out of Poppy’s hair. Poppy winced as the comb snagged a big knot at the back of her head.
‘Sorry about that,’ Maude apologised, working quickly and efficiently. First, she parted Poppy’s hair over her left eyebrow, then she sectioned off segments of hair, which she carefully curled onto a fat roller and pinned into place. Within fifteen minutes, Poppy looked a bit like a hedgehog, with rollers and pins all over her scalp.
‘Gorgeous!’ Poppy said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. ‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Give me your hand,’ ordered Bryony. She examined Poppy’s hands – the chapped fingers covered in cuts and scratches, fingernails torn and broken. ‘Awful . . . I think clear polish?’ Maude nodded.
Bryony rubbed cream into Poppy’s hands, then she used an emery board to file her nails until they were short but even. Lastly, she painted them with clear nail polish. Maude did her own nails at the same time, painting them pale pink.
‘Now, close your eyes, Poppy, and turn this way,’ ordered Maude with a giggle. Poppy could feel Maude powdering her face and brushing make-up about her eyes, cheeks and lips. Poppy relaxed and let herself enjoy the sensation of being fussed over.
‘No peeking,’ warned Bryony as Poppy’s eyelids fluttered open. ‘Now, stand up and put your arms in the air.’
Poppy felt the old, damp bathrobe being tugged away and a silky fabric being slipped over her head and tweaked into place. Then the girls began unrolling the curlers and fluffing out her hair, pulling back segments and pinning them. She was enveloped in a cloud of sticky hairspray, which made her cough, then a puff of sweet-smelling perfume.
‘Just be patient a moment,’ Maude instructed. ‘We’re nearly ready.’
Poppy sat fidgeting, impatient to peek after all this time. She could hear the other girls getting dressed.
‘Now, pucker up for the final touch,’ ordered Bryony, colouring in her lips with lipstick.
‘Tada! ’ squealed Maude. ‘Open your eyes.’
Poppy opened her eyes and stared. In the mirror were three faces: two with dark hair, one with fair. Each girl had her hair elaborately coiffed on top of her head, twisted into rolls, then falling in soft waves over her shoulders, a flower pinned in a different spot. Their faces were flawless with pale powder. Dark eyeliner and mascara rimmed their eyes, and their lips pouted with bright-red lipstick.
‘We . . . we look beautiful,’ stammered Poppy.
Bryony and Maude grinned at each other.
‘We do, don’t we?’ crowed Maude.
‘I don’t think Dad is going to like the lipstick,’ Poppy muttered.
‘We’ll see,’ Bryony said. ‘It is a special occasion.’
Maude twirled around the room, the soft drapes of her skirt swirling out. Bryony wore a long pale-green dress with sheer, capped sleeves, gathered at the waist with a narrow belt of the same material. The colour made her green eyes gleam like a cat’s. She posed in the mirror, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and pinning a red hibiscus firmly into place.
The younger girls wore Maude’s knee-length dresses of soft chiffon – Maude’s blue and Poppy’s cream, sprigged with tiny flowers. Poppy had a cream frangipani pinned above her right ear, which glowed against her dark hair.
Bryony tossed Poppy some sheer stockings. ‘Put these on – roll them up gently and please don’t put a hole in them. Then you can try on some of my shoes – I don’t think your flat Mary Janes are quite the right look for tonight.’
Bryony handed her a pair of black velvet evening shoes with silver straps around the ankle and across the top of her foot, like the rays of a setting sun. The heel was mid-height but sturdy for dancing.
Poppy felt glamorous and grown-up – something she had never felt before. She sashayed across the floor in Bryony’s shoes. Maude tweaked her skirt, ensuring it draped perfectly.
‘Ready to go, girls?’ Cecilia called from the hall, before sticking her head around the doorway. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she exclaimed. ‘Don’t you all look so gorgeous. Poppy, I would never have recognised you.’
The girls followed Cecilia out to the hall and into the sitting room. Mark was there, listening to the radio, wearing a white dinner jacket and shirt with a black bow tie and trousers. He switched it off when the girls came in and started in surprise. ‘Poppy, Bryony, you look –’
‘Gorgeous,’ Cecilia finished firmly.
Mark nodded. ‘Just what I was going to say.’
The Hotel Darwin was only a little more than a mile away on the Esplanade, so the family strolled together. It was a lovely walk in the relative cool of the evening air, straight down Mitchell Street, past the new hospital, the Larrakeyah Barracks, the old hospital and the parkland along the foreshore. Maude, Bryony and Poppy were conscious of a group of young soldiers elbowing each other, whispering and admiring the girls as they walked past.
The opulent Hotel Darwin was considered to be the Raffles of the north. It was a two-storey white building surrounded by lush, tropical gardens of palms and poinsettias overlooking the oval to the harbour. Mark and Cecilia led the way through the garden courtyard towards the terrace.
A waiter showed them to where the Shanahans were sitting, enjoying the view and evening sea breezes. Jack stood up with his brothers, Danny and Harry, all wearing the formal attire of the tropics: white dinner jackets and shirts, black bow ties and trousers. Everyone stood up to shake hands and exchange greetings.
/> Jack took Poppy’s hand, his eyes twinkling. ‘Hello, Miss Trehearne, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before. I hope you’re enjoying your visit to Darwin.’
Poppy blushed and held her head high. ‘Lovely to see you again, Jack.’
The adults had gin and tonics with lemon and bitters, or beer, while the young people had lemonades. Mrs Shanahan was determined to be bright and cheerful, encouraging everyone to have fun. Jack’s brother Danny flirted with Bryony. She blushed and lowered her eyes.
After an hour or so of chatting and admiring the view, they moved inside to the dining room, a decadent room with starched white tablecloths, gleaming silver and glassware, and potted palms. Despite the war restrictions, the Hotel Darwin still managed to serve a fine feast: steamed mud crab, roast chicken with gravy, boiled potatoes with sour cream, and roast beef and mustard, all with minted carrots and peas. These courses were followed by creamy, whipped mango parfaits that melted on the tongue.
For the final stage of the evening, everyone moved into the Green Room, the famous Hotel Darwin ballroom decorated with palms in brass pots, comfortable cane chairs, round tables and a polished timber floor. A brass jazz band was playing in the corner around the piano. Ceiling fans whirred overhead. The gay lights spilled out through the French doors into the gardens beyond.
A stirring swing tune played. The oldies chatted about the war and traded opinions on how Prime Minister Curtin was dealing with the problems of the wharfies’ union. The younger set tapped their feet, humming and smiling, until Danny asked Bryony to dance – they were soon joined by Maude and Harry. Outside, the sun had set and stars blazed in the deep night sky.
‘Would you like to dance too, Poppy?’ asked Jack. ‘I’m not much of a dancer but it seems like a good night to try.’
The band played a jazzy swing tune popularised by Glenn Miller called ‘In the Mood’, which soon filled the dance floor with motion and laughter. Saxophones, trumpets and trombones duelled and harmonised to keep the dancers swinging in and out, round and round, accompanied by the piano, double bass and drums.
The Forgotten Pearl Page 8
