Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  Edith Powell looked flustered, her eyes bright, her cheeks unusually flushed. She was dressed, as always, in rusty black, the overcoat almost swamping her skinny frame. No one knew how old she was, but he guessed she was the wrong side of fifty. ‘What can I do for you, luv?’ he asked in his friendly way. He didn’t like Edith very much, but he felt sorry for her. Some women were born to be spinsters and Edith was a typical example.

  ‘I need to report a theft,’ she said as she sat down on the hard chair in front of his desk. ‘And I know who did it too,’ she added sharply.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds serious,’ he rumbled, looking down at the pinched little face. He brushed his luxuriant moustache with a finger and sat down. ‘You’d better tell me all about it.’

  Harold leaned back in his chair, thumbs in waistcoat pockets as he listened to the rambling tale. There probably had been a theft in the hotel, but Edith’s concerns were deeper than that, he realised. She had set her cap at Demetri from the moment he’d arrived on the Tablelands. She was a woman scorned and now Demetri had shot through she was determined to lay the blame on someone. But a woman scorned was a ruddy nuisance as far as he was concerned, and the sooner he got rid of Edith the better.

  He stroked his moustache between thumb and finger as she rambled on, and he heard the bitterness in her voice as she described Kane and Velda and the child. She obviously hated them all, but her jealousy of Velda was almost painful to witness. ‘So, what do you want me to do, Miss Powell?’ he asked finally.

  ‘I want you to find Demetri,’ she demanded. ‘And I want you to hunt down that Mr Kane and arrest him for theft and fraud.’ She stifled a cough with her hand.

  Harold stared back at her thoughtfully. ‘But you say you no longer have the account books, Miss Powell,’ he said. ‘And without them you have no proof. As for Demetri, he’s probably out in the middle of the Territory somewhere. It will be impossible to find him.’

  ‘What about the missing silver?’ she demanded.

  ‘There’s no proof that Kane or the woman took it,’ he said. ‘After all, you’ve already found some of it. The rest might have been put away for safe-keeping during the Wet.’

  ‘I demand you find Kane and bring him in,’ she spluttered, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.

  Communications were poor at the best of times, and because of the flooding they were even worse. ‘There isn’t much I can do,’ he said. ‘I can put out a message on the two-way radio, but I don’t hold out much hope of finding him. They could be miles away by now.’

  ‘Then find Demetri,’ she said, close to tears. ‘He has to know what’s happened.’

  Harold handed her a large clean handkerchief. ‘Fair go, Miss Powell. I’ll do my best, but I wouldn’t keep your hopes up. He’s probably down a mine somewhere in the Never-Never, or tramping the tracks and out of communication with the rest of the country. You know how he is, Miss Powell. He’s a drifter.’

  She blew her nose and tucked the handkerchief in her pocket as she nodded. ‘What shall I do?’ she said finally.

  ‘Go back to the hotel and get it cleaned up,’ he said kindly as he stood and came around the desk. He helped her to her feet. ‘Demetri trusted you to look after it, and I’m sure you’re very capable of running it until he returns.’

  Edith was overtaken by a fit of coughing and she pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and covered her mouth. ‘I haven’t been well,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t think I could manage on my own.’ She raised fevered eyes to Harold. ‘You must find Demetri,’ she pleaded.

  Harold bit down on his impatience. ‘Then close it up and keep an eye on it,’ he said. ‘I’ll write up a report of what you’ve told me and set the wheels in motion to find Kane and Demetri.’

  He watched her leave on that old bone-shaker of a bike and closed the door. She obviously wasn’t well, and riding that bike was doing her no favours. He shrugged and returned to his desk. After a long moment’s thought, he picked up a pen, checked the nib and began to laboriously fill in a report of their conversation. It would do little good, he realised, but the force expected everything to be written down, and if Demetri did return at least it would prove he’d done something.

  *

  Catriona and Velda had left the hotel within days of the murder. They carried a bag each – it was all they could manage. Kane’s disappearance would have to be explained, and they had decided to tell anyone who asked, that he’d shot through because he had another, better job down south and they were on their way to join him.

  The rains had calmed enough for them to make the long, tortuous walk across the Tablelands to Kuranda. From there they began the winding descent to Cairns by foot. The little steam train was still not in service, but it was better not to be seen and questioned, and they avoided the work-crews who were labouring to replace the tracks and clear the paths. By the time they reached the city they were exhausted.

  Velda forced one foot in front of the other, determined to keep her fragile hold on reality. They had to escape, had to begin again. Perhaps, when they reached Brisbane they could put the horror behind them and start a new life. Catriona hadn’t wanted to take Kane’s secret cache of money. She’d said it made her feel as if she was taking payment for her services; made her feel dirty. But Velda had to be practical. They would need the money for food and lodgings as well as travelling expenses. Blood money or not, it would see them through until she found work.

  From Caims they caught a bus to Townsville. It was cheaper than the train and took three times as long. The bus was a big white charabanc, at least it had started out white many years before. Now it was pitted with rust, the windows so heat-blasted it was difficult to see through them. The damn thing wheezed and groaned and creaked and amazed everyone at its ability to keep going. There were ten passengers and they all had to get out on a regular basis to wait for the engine to cool and for the driver to top up the radiator. It became almost a game, and Velda noticed how Catriona’s spirits lifted as she chattered with the others and shared their tea and sandwiches. Yet her own spirits were dulled, her thoughts returning constantly to that dark, wet night. It seemed that no matter how far she ran, she would never escape.

  They caught another bus in Mackay, and then a train for the rest of the journey. Velda found a little house to rent in Brisbane’s southern suburbs, and persuaded the owner of a wool exporter to give her a job. It seemed her plans for the future were coming to fruition – but she was worried about Catriona. The child was sickly, her animation dulled, her spirits low as she wandered around the cottage and spent most of the day in bed. Velda tried not to be impatient with her, but she was tired from the long hours at work and didn’t appreciate coming home to a wan and tearful Catriona.

  ‘I need to see a doctor,’ she said that morning. They had been in Brisbane for two months and the sickness and terrible pain in her back hadn’t eased up.

  ‘Doctors cost money,’ snapped Velda. ‘I’ll get something from the pharmacy.’

  Catriona shook her head. ‘The pain won’t go away, Mam, and there’s blood when I pee.’

  Velda realised she had to do something. ‘If the doctor has to examine you, he’ll know what’s been going on,’ she muttered.

  ‘I don’t care,’ stormed Catriona. ‘I’m in pain, Mam.’

  They went to a surgery on the other side of town and Velda gave a false name and address. The doctor was a middle-aged man who listened carefully to Catriona’s catalogue of symptoms before examining her.

  Catriona squeezed her eyes shut as he poked and prodded. It reminded her of Kane, and she had to fight to stop screaming at him to stop. When he’d finished he gruffly told her to dress.

  ‘Mrs Simmons,’ he began, his expression cold with disgust. ‘Not only has your daughter contracted an extremely unpleasant urinary tract infection, but she is also at least four months pregnant.’

  The stunned silence was finally broken by the sound of Catriona’s sobs. Velda’s shock
made it almost impossible to hear the rest of what he was saying. Kane’s legacy lived on. Dear God in Heaven, were they never to be free of him? And Catrionas, what of her? She was only thirteen. What was all this doing to her?

  The doctor made out a prescription. ‘Due to her age, I suggest she is admitted immediately to the home for wayward girls,’ he said coldly.

  ‘We’ll not be needing that,’ Velda snapped as she plucked the prescription from his hand and stood up. ‘My daughter’s suffered enough without being called wayward.’ She grabbed Catriona’s hand and swiftly left the surgery.

  On the long journey back to the house in the suburbs, Catriona tried to accept the terrible news. Thank goodness they weren’t going back to that doctor. She hadn’t liked him, and his instant assumption that she was wayward had made her feel sick and deeply ashamed. She looked across at Velda as they sat in the bus. They had barely spoken since leaving the surgery and although she yearned for comfort, she knew Velda would maintain her icy silence. Their relationship had never recovered from that awful night, despite what they had shared. Perhaps it would never again return to the way it had once been, for they were scratchy with one another, always walking on eggshells, fearful of saying or doing something which could be interpreted as a slight or accusation.

  Catriona regarded her mother’s profile as she stared straight ahead. Her expression gave nothing away, but Catriona knew she had to be dealing with her own demons. For since that night, Velda had become distant, hard and driven, her ambition to see Catriona succeed on the stage where she’d failed was now an obsession. They had moved around each other in that little house, never quite managing to say what they were really thinking. Emotions were tightly harnessed, Kane was never mentioned. Now this. The cruellest blow of all.

  The wide suburban street was lined with palm trees that clattered and rustled in the breeze which came from the sea. Each little wooden house was painted white, with two windows and a door at the front and at the back, and resembled boxes rather than houses. A narrow verandah with a curving iron roof offered shelter from the sun, and the small front garden was neat behind the white picket fence. There was one bedroom, a kitchen that doubled up as a lounge, and a miniscule bathroom. The wattle tree had been planted too close to the back of the house, and the golden rain of its blossom shifted and sighed against the window of the bedroom Catriona shared with her mother.

  It was late afternoon four months later, and Catriona was stretched out on the bed in her petticoat, attempting to garner relief from the heat. The ceiling fan hummed above her and the window was open so any breeze could come through the fly-screen. She lay there staring at the fan, her vast stomach blocking out the view of her feet. Her ankles were swollen and she was feeling uncomfortable. The baby had been kicking all day, as if impatient to be born, and Catriona winced as a particularly sharp little knee or elbow prodded her in the ribs.

  She put her hands over the mound of her stomach, as if by touching it she could calm the growing baby inside her. This baby was a part of her now and she was longing for it to be born so she could hold it and love it. She began to sing a gentle lullaby, her soft voice drifting into the sweltering, sticky heat as her thoughts turned to the things she’d bought today and hidden in the bottom of her suitcase.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Velda came into the room and began to strip off the smart suit and white blouse she always wore to work.

  ‘I’m singing to my baby,’ Catriona replied dreamily.

  Velda kicked off the peep-toed shoes and peeled off her stockings before pulling on a cotton wrap and sinking down onto the bed. ‘It’s not your baby, Kitty,’ she said with a weary and rather impatient sigh. ‘There’s no point in getting sentimental about it because the minute it’s born it’s going to be adopted.’

  ‘It is my baby,’ she retorted as she struggled to sit up. ‘And I don’t want it to be adopted.’ She edged off the bed and stood before her mother. ‘In fact,’ she said firmly. ‘I won’t let you give it away.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ snapped Velda. ‘You’re carrying Kane’s bastard, and the sooner it’s out of our lives the better.’

  Catriona had had this argument with her mother before, but as the months had dragged on and the baby had grown, she’d realised she had begun to love it. It didn’t matter any longer how it had come to be – it was – and she was determined to keep it. ‘It’s a little baby, Mam,’ she said hotly. ‘And it’s mine. I love it. I’m going to keep it.’

  Velda glared at her and stood up. ‘You’re still a child yourself,’ she said firmly. ‘And have no say in the matter. The kid goes the minute it’s born, and that’s final.’ She wrapped the cotton dressing-gown around her thin frame and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Catriona put her hands over the swell of her belly, the tears running down her face. ‘Don’t worry, little baby,’ she whispered. ‘I’m your mummy, not her, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t take you away.’

  *

  She went into labour two weeks later. It was long and painful and the doctors at the hospital looked worried. She was too young, too slightly built, there could be complications. Catriona, alone in the hospital room that smelled strange and glared too whitely in the bright lights, was terrified, not only at what was happening to her, but for her unborn child. Mam was still determined to have it adopted, but she was equally determined, and told everyone that came near her she wanted to keep it.

  The tiny little girl was finally born and Catriona reached out her arms to hold her. The nurse bundled her into a blanket and glared down at Catriona. ‘Perhaps this will be a lesson to you, young lady,’ she said with a sniff of disapproval.

  ‘I want my baby,’ screamed Catriona. ‘Give her to me.’ She begged and sobbed, and tried to clamber out of bed, but the straps holding her feet imprisoned her. Her pleading was to no avail. The nurse whisked the tiny bundle out of the room, and all Catriona saw of her baby was a wisp of black hair peeking above the blanket.

  Velda was permitted to visit for a few minutes later that day. Her face was ashen, her mouth set in a determined line as she sat by the bed and took Catriona’s hand. ‘You have to understand I’m doing all this for you,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s no good crying and making yourself ill, what’s done is done.’

  ‘But I love her,’ sobbed Catriona. ‘Please let me at least hold her.’

  Velda sat back in the chair. ‘An illegitimate child is a disgrace. Society will not accept her or you, should you keep her. She will blight your life and your career, and although you played no willing part in her creation, society will tar you with the same brush.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Catriona’s voice was a whisper.

  ‘Safe,’ she replied.

  ‘I’ll make the doctors and nurses tell me where,’ she muttered. ‘They can’t just take my baby away and hide her.’

  ‘They already have,’ said Velda. ‘It’s over, Catriona.’

  ‘How could you be so cruel?’ Catriona stared at her with eyes filled with tears.

  Velda fiddled with her handbag and gloves, and after a long moment of silence seemed to come to a decision. ‘There are a great many things for which I’m ashamed,’ she said finally. ‘I should have known what Kane was doing, should have been a better mother so you could have confided in me. I cannot forgive myself for that, and probably never will.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But to keep his baby? Never. It would be a constant reminder and I couldn’t bear it.’ She took Catriona’s hand, her expression softened by the anguish she was obviously feeling. ‘You’re thirteen, with your whole life ahead of you. Let her go, Kitty.’

  Two weeks later they had packed their bags and were on the road again. Velda had made the decision to settle in Sydney.

  Catriona sat next to her mother in the train and stared out of the window. She would never forget that wisp of dark hair peeking from the blanket, and she knew she would think about her always, wondering if she was safe and well
and happy. For now, she would have to find a way to live with what had happened. It wouldn’t be easy, but there were few options open to her. Velda seemed determined to have her way and all she could do was obey her mother and wait until she was old enough to begin the search for her baby.

  *

  Doris Fairfax ran a tight ship. She was the widow of a sea captain, and the owner of a boarding-house in the back streets of Sydney. The death of her husband had come shortly before the onset of the Great Depression, and although times were hard, Doris had been determined to maintain standards of cleanliness and respectability. She had chosen her lodgers carefully, and now, as prosperity once again seemed to be on the horizon, she was looking forward to a comfortable retirement in a few years time.

  She was a plump little woman, well past her prime, with a penchant for flowery dresses, large earrings and lots of jangling bracelets. Once a month the house stank of the peroxide she used to bleach her hair brassy blonde, and it was whispered that she had enough cosmetics to stock a shop. Her constant companion was a rotund and bad-tempered Pekinese dog called Mr Woo, which snarled and wheezed and was likely to take a sharp nip out of an unwary hand or ankle.

  Doris lived on the ground floor where she could watch the front door and those of her neighbours. She had strict rules about female visitors, and in the cosiness of her over-furnished and much-frilled sitting room, she could keep an eye on the comings and goings of her male lodgers. She was delighted with the arrival of Catriona and her mother, and was only too happy to accompany the child on the piano when she was practising her complicated songs and running through those endless scales her mother made her practice. Yet she was concerned at the stillness in the young girl, at the lack of emotion between mother and daughter. Doris had been around the block enough times to realise they were harbouring a secret, but as curious as she was, she decided not to pry. They were clean and respectable and obviously worked long hours in that hotel – why rock the boat when they had proved over the past year to be such good tenants?