Love and Other Battles

by Tess Woods

  She read the message three times with the sickening realisation that she’d made a monumental mistake.

  19 APRIL 1970

  Flower Child,

  It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve been back here but I miss you like mad already. The other blokes warned me about going home for my R&R. They said it was harder to come back the second time, once you knew what it was like here. They were right, it’s been ten times harder to settle in this time. But it was worth being home for those two weeks anyway because I got to spend time with my girl!

  Seeing you in that sexy summer dress at the airport is the best thing that’s happened to me in the last six months!

  I just wish I wasn’t so darned depressed now, though. The reek of the place, I’d forgotten how bad it was. And how boring it is, how slowly the days pass. It feels like forever until September comes around and I can finally come home again.

  What’s strange is that we’re all bored witless but we can never relax. It’s still a war, even if we are trapped here inside the wire, playing children’s board games.

  Never thought I’d say this, but I’m missing the locals from Dat Do now that I’m back at the barracks. It’s crazy, I know, but it’s the truth. Even though they were mostly VC sympathisers over there, I grew fond of some of those little street urchins.

  I forgot to tell you this when I was home — the kids in Dat Do started calling me ‘Bac Si’. That’s their word for doctor. I know you’ll be laughing at that because of how basic my skills are compared to yours, but I was still more of a doctor to them than they’ve ever had before, especially when I knew how to treat the street kids for snake bites. There’s a saying here — ‘One hundred types of snakes in Vietnam. Ninety-nine will poison you and the last one will crush you to death.’ I stopped keeping score of how many snake bites I’ve had to treat after the first hundred.

  As much as I know you’d hate to hear this after what happened last time with Mick when I was out in the jungle, I still hope they’ll give me another stint outside the wire. Just to feel like I’m actually useful here one more time instead of wasting the next half of my tour rotting inside, achieving nothing.

  To end on a more cheery note, I’ve got a funny yarn for you.

  Remember I told you about the morning and night line-up we have to do for the anti-malaria medication? A couple of smart-arses thought it would be funny to swap the drugs with heavy laxatives they got in Saigon that look exactly the same. Most of us spent the day yesterday on the loo. It wasn’t pretty, let me tell you. But it also wasn’t tough to figure out who was behind it. There were only two fellas who didn’t need a change of uniform yesterday and who seemed to be getting a good laugh out of it all.

  So today we took turns monitoring the dunnies. The way it is here is that they’re drop holes in a long trench with water running along the length.

  When the two blokes who had given the rest of us the runs finally needed to go sit on the loo, we gathered around the top of the trench, lit paper boats with combustible fluid and sent those burning ships downstream to singe their bum hairs. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. I reckon they won’t be making any more purchases like that on their next RIC.

  Speaking of which, I’ve decided I’m not going into town again for RIC. I’m sick of being the only bloke there who doesn’t go around spreading his seed. They’ve taken to calling me Saint Francis of a Sissy. Did I tell you about that name already?

  Anyway, best be off now.

  Love,

  Frank

  17 MARCH 2018

  CJ held her breath as she followed her mum through the back door into the house. It had been only a little over two weeks since she’d been here. It felt more like two years. She looked around the kitchen and dining room as if seeing them for the first time. She was never supposed be in this house again, it was meant to end that night. And now here she was, back home, with her mum smiling expectantly and her nan rushing towards her with her arms flung wide open.

  ‘Welcome home, my precious girl.’ Jess squeezed her tight.

  CJ hugged her back, comforted by the familiar patchouli scent.

  ‘Why don’t you put your case away and then I’ve got a big surprise for you.’ Her mum rubbed her hands together.

  ‘K.’ She made herself smile. She’d been so happy about coming home until a minute ago. The idea of being out of the psych clinic and back in her own space had seemed too good to be true. She’d barely slept the night before from all the excitement.

  But then, when her mum pulled the car up into the driveway, CJ had been hit with a sudden and unexpected ball of anxiety in her gut.

  She walked towards her room slowly. It had been cleaned up (of course). There was a brand-new rug on the floorboards identical to her old one. But apart from that, everything was unchanged. She sat on her made-up bed, clutching a pink frilly cushion, and looked around.

  Everything was familiar and strange all at once — the netball trophies, the collection of teddy bears, the bookshelf crammed with paperbacks that didn’t all fit so they had to be stacked on top of each other, her guitar case leaning against the wall lined with posters of country pop stars — including three of her dad. God, they’d have to go. How embarrassing would it be if he saw those when he arrived?

  None of her things felt like they belonged to her anymore, none of it fitted. The room and everything in it belonged to the old CJ. She wished she could get rid of the lot and start over again — paint the walls a different colour even. Because all it did was make her want to cut.

  She opened her underwear drawer, even though she knew the scissors wouldn’t be there. She slid her hand under the neatly folded knickers. Nothing.

  She closed the drawer again, shut her eyes and took a deep breath, channelling the calm she’d been taught to manifest during counselling. From the front zipped section of her backpack, she pulled out a pink Sharpie, and on her right forearm she began to shakily draw a butterfly wing.

  ‘CJ! Come and get your surprise, sweetheart!’ her mum sang out from the kitchen.

  She sighed and put the Sharpie away. ‘Coming!’

  Megan had told her to always tell her mum, or to at least tell someone when she had the urge to cut. First she had to go see the surprise, whatever it was, and then she’d talk to her mum about how weird she felt in the house, in her room. She would ask if they could redecorate it.

  But when she stepped through the doorway and saw Scott Gunn standing there with a huge grin on his face, she forgot about everything else.

  22 MARCH 2018

  Jess stood up and straightened her shirt while Grace pleaded her case to the magistrate.

  Jess had almost come to blows with Jamie about the need to shop for ‘proper’ clothes for court. It had been many years since Jess had been confined in a tailored outfit and pointy shoes that pinched her toes and made them throb. How had she coped with the tight nurse’s uniforms she’d worn for much of her life? She wished she could tear everything off. It was no wonder Jamie was so highly strung. Who wouldn’t be stressed when you couldn’t lift your arms up, cross your legs or even stand from a chair without having to readjust everything you were wearing, and with a bra and pantyhose cutting off circulation? Even her hair hurt with those sharp bobby pins Jamie had used to pin her curls into a bun that she’d then sprayed with enough lacquer to make Jess lunge for her Ventolin inhaler.

  The three charges had been read out by the clerk and Grace had entered the plea of guilty on her behalf to all of them.

  ‘Not your first time on the wrong side of the law, I see here, Mrs Stone.’ The magistrate — a broad and formidable-looking woman who appeared to be around her own age — stared down over the top of her bifocals.

  Jess cleared her throat. ‘No, it isn’t, your honour.’

  ‘No need for that kind of formality, Mrs Stone. Please address me as Mrs Leed,’ she said in a bored tone.

  ‘Right you are, then, Mrs Leed.’

  ‘Inciting a riot
in 1971, violent protest in 1974, possession of cannabis in 1980, cultivating cannabis in 1980,’ the magistrate read from her notes, before staring unblinking at Jess again. ‘Quite the rebel, Mrs Stone. That’s seven criminal charges you’re up to now.’

  Jess poked at one of the pins in her hair. ‘My husband and I were rather annoyed with the government’s treatment of Vietnam vets after the war.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain the drug charges,’ the magistrate quipped.

  ‘To help us be less annoyed, I suppose.’ Jess met the magistrate’s eyes and gave her a pleading look. ‘Mrs Leed, my husband never recovered from the war. He saw some horrific things, he did some horrific things that still torment him. He lost someone very dear to him in Vietnam. He had a bad case of survivor’s guilt. Still has. Life wasn’t easy for us. The marijuana, well, that was the only thing that helped soothe his frayed nerves back then. And mine. Then when he became ill with Parkinson’s disease, the medical dose he was allowed — it just wasn’t enough. He was getting worse all the time. I had to do something. I couldn’t stand by and watch him deteriorate in front of my eyes. My intentions were pure, I assure you.’

  She felt her voice crack but she didn’t let herself cry. This magistrate didn’t look like the overly sentimental type and she couldn’t risk irritating her. Not when there was this much at stake.

  ‘Well may that be, Mrs Stone, but we have laws in this country. And everyone is expected to follow them. It’s part and parcel of living in a civilised society. You can’t just decide the laws don’t apply to you when they don’t suit you. Imagine the anarchy if everyone did that.’

  Jess hung her head and said nothing.

  ‘You’re a repeat offender, Mrs Stone. Obviously you didn’t learn your lesson all those years ago when you were convicted of drug possession. Here we are with you cultivating marijuana all over again. And supplying drugs to your husband, no matter how well intended, is a gravely serious offence.’ She sighed irritably. ‘What am I supposed to do with you now?’

  ‘Please don’t take me away from my husband,’ Jess begged. ‘I give you my word that I will never go near marijuana again. My husband’s very sick, he needs me. I can’t be taken away from him. Please.’

  The magistrate clicked her tongue and shuffled her pages.

  Jess didn’t dare breathe.

  ‘Mrs Leed, if I may interject,’ Grace said.

  ‘You may not,’ the magistrate snapped. ‘You’ve had your go.’ She looked down at the papers on her desk for what felt like forever, before finally looking up again and announcing, ‘I have reached my decision. Mrs Stone, you’ve pleaded guilty to the charges of cultivating a drug of dependence, trafficking a drug of dependence and negligently introducing a drug of dependence to another person. For the charge of cultivating a drug of dependence, I fine you three thousand, five hundred dollars. For the charge of trafficking a drug of dependence I fine you three thousand, five hundred dollars. For the charge of negligently introducing a drug of dependence to another person, I fine you ten thousand dollars. If you fail to comply with these fines, you’ll be brought back here and you may find yourself facing a jail term. I hereby also warn you to stay away from all illicit drugs in the future or I shall have no choice but to place you behind bars. Have I made myself clear?’

  The tears streamed freely down Jess’s cheeks. ‘Perfectly clear. Thank you, Mrs Leed. Thank you for your kindness.’

  The magistrate gave her a brief smile. ‘You’re free to go back to your husband now, Mrs Stone. Give him my best. I’m married to a Vietnam veteran myself. I agree with you, it isn’t easy.’

  Jess turned and made eye contact with Jamie for the first time since the hearing had begun. Jamie was standing in front of her seat with her hands over her heart. The relief on her face matched how Jess was feeling.

  It was over. The nightmare was over. It was nearly time to let him go peacefully now.

  26 MARCH 2018

  The school bell had sounded an hour earlier but with so much catching up to do, Jamie was only now ready to call it a day. She leaned back in her chair. She’d survived her first day back at work. Over the years, when she’d imagined how she would spend her long-service leave, she certainly hadn’t pictured using it to host her ex in her home while driving her daughter to and from therapy. How did the saying go? If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.

  She’d not only coped with her first day back at school, she’d thrived. She’d forgotten how much she loved this job, how she relished being surrounded by the students, how she drew energy from them.

  She was surprised by the way they’d welcomed her back too. She’d always tried to maintain the right balance of authority and approachability and she often worried that she got it wrong. But when she’d walked through the school gates there was a rush of students running towards her. She was crushed in hugs from the younger ones and warm greetings of ‘Welcome back, Miss’ and ‘We missed you, Miss Stone’ from the senior students.

  Her wonderful staff had kept everything running like clockwork, and were so organised she was able to spend the day catching up on emails and paperwork without interruption. Nobody had criticised or judged her about CJ being expelled. If any staff members mentioned CJ, it was only to pass on their love or to ask after her health. Jamie had always known she was blessed with amazing staff, but today her love and respect for them had risen to a whole new level.

  And then of course there was Andrew. He’d been lovely and professional and kind. Of course he had. The man was a saint! He’d even broken the tension as soon as she’d turned up.

  ‘You know I never really liked country music,’ he’d joked when he’d walked into her office that morning with open arms to give her a hug. ‘Load of whiny crap if you ask me.’

  Later, after Andrew left, she’d overheard the admin girls talking about how he had a date this weekend, and how he’d asked them if taking flowers to the restaurant was the done thing or not.

  ‘I mean, I just wanted to say, why the hell are you looking for love online, Corelli, when I’m right here?’ Annabelle, one of the receptionists, had joked.

  Jamie had been so irritated by that, she’d stood up and closed her door so as not to hear the rest. And then she’d sat down at her desk and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. It wasn’t like she and Andrew were together. What right did she have to be annoyed?

  Sighing, she slid her feet into the heels under her desk and picked up her bag. When she pulled out her keys, Finn’s letter floated to the floor. The letter wasn’t addressed to her, but she had seen Finn walking away from their letterbox this morning. She’d stuffed it into her bag and had already read it three times.

  ‘Hey, what are you still doing here? It’s late.’ Andrew’s appearance in the doorway made her jump. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I did knock.’

  ‘Oh no that’s fine.’ She collected herself. ‘I was a million miles away. I thought everyone had gone home.’

  ‘You look a bit wound up. You all right?’

  She desperately wanted to get his advice about Finn’s letter.

  ‘I’ve been stewing over something but . . .’ She stopped.

  ‘But what? Come on, out with it.’

  ‘I feel bad telling you my problems after I . . .’ Again she stopped, not knowing what to say next.

  ‘After you threw yourself at your ex and forgot that I was in the room and then never replied to my text?’

  She felt herself turn red. ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘That’s old news. I haven’t given it a second thought. In fact, I went out last Saturday night with a lovely lady by the name of Wendy.’

  ‘Oh?’ She tried to feign being casual. ‘How was it?’

  ‘Well.’ He grinned. ‘As much as I enjoyed watching her suck the marrow out of a chicken drumstick at dinner, I had to refuse her offer of pleasuring me in the back of an Uber on the way home. So don’t you worry about me, boss. I’m doing just fine.’ He sat on the
edge of her desk and crossed his legs. ‘Now tell me what’s wrong, I’m all ears.’

  She showed him the letter. ‘Finn sent this to CJ. I found it this morning. I know I shouldn’t have opened it. And now I don’t know what to do with it. On the one hand, she has the right to see it. And I know I’m doing the wrong thing keeping it from her. But on the other hand, she’s doing so well. I don’t want to unsettle her with it.’

  He nodded, the grin gone. ‘Can I read it?’

  She handed over the letter.

  Dear CJ,

  I guess you heard I was expelled.

  I’m seeing a school psychologist at my new school. She told me it would help my ‘mental health recovery’ to write to you and say sorry, so here I am, writing and saying sorry. I did really love you, you know. I thought we’d be together forever. Me and you, Maxwell and Stone. I was pretty upset when you broke up with me for no reason out of the blue like that.

  Anyway, I just want to say I’m sorry for sending Mia the video with that text and making you bring dope to school and all of that. It wasn’t like I even meant it, I was just upset, you know?

  I heard you left school. Hope you’re doing okay. If you ever want to hang out and just write songs and stuff, I’d be up for it. We could start fresh?

  Finn

  Andrew blew air out of pursed lips and handed the letter back. ‘Whoa.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I don’t want her to see it. How can that not upset her all over again?’

  ‘You have to show her. You have no choice, Jamie. She needs to see this.’ He didn’t leave room for any buts. ‘Look what happened last time you kept a secret from her to protect her?’

  ‘You’re right.’ She folded the letter and tucked it back into her handbag. ‘Why are you always right? It’s infuriating.’

  He smiled.

  ‘It’s not even a genuine apology,’ she huffed. ‘Does he sound sorry to you?’

  He guffawed. ‘Nope.’

  ‘And the whole “I heard you left school” when he would know full well she was expelled thanks to him. He’s such an . . . ugh!’ She couldn’t finish.