‘I – I don’t know…’
‘Rory,’ the captain said, dropping the pretence of formality, ‘you know Michael will just go home and try to join again anyway. This way you are guaranteeing him another year away from fighting until he turns nineteen.’
‘You won’t stop him going to war.’ The major spoke with finality and Rory knew it was true. ‘But you can possibly stop him from never coming back.’
‘Aye,’ Rory said, nodding slowly, his father’s voice echoing through him. He knew what he would say: God helps those who help themselves.
Davey entered his thoughts, rounding up the yearlings on horseback, innocent of the horrors before him. Rory knew he would have given anything to help his elder son in this way. A whole year of training. Maybe it would have saved him.
‘Shall we call Michael in?’
Rory looked at the major. ‘Aye,’ he said again.
‘Wait,’ the captain said, ‘I think this calls for a toast.’ He poured from his decanter and they raised their glasses. ‘Gentlemen, to the Elite.’
‘The Elite,’ said the major.
‘The Elite,’ Rory echoed, looking at his glass and sending a promise to Mavis. This time I’ll try to be a better father. I’ll try not to hit the bottle and be a soldier once more.
And I’ll do everything I can to save our boy.
Seven
December 1941
Burning Palms, New South Wales, Australia
Junie walked along the ocean’s edge, marvelling at the feel of sinking sand under her soles for the first time and looking back at her dissolving footsteps in fascination. She stopped and let her feet be buried in golden swirls, wiggling until she was ankle deep then lifting their heavy weight out to run from the waves. A frothy wall chased her, finding her bare legs and splashing her swimsuit – but she was already wet so she didn’t care. Surely she couldn’t care about anything much today.
Junie had never been to the beach before this holiday and it felt as if the waves were literally washing across her mind to soothe her. She’d spent much of her time so far rambling through the bush and along the hillsides to just watch and breathe it all in. But today she wanted to immerse herself in the sea on her own, to be part of this magnificent southern lady as she flung her foamy petticoats across the sand.
Junie had never known anything so intoxicating, having only seen the sea twice before, each time resting in Sydney Harbour during the brief visits she’d made there. She’d thought it beautiful then, but now she realised viewing the sea in a harbour was like meeting the great lady glittering in a parlour, well-mannered and calm. Now she’d witnessed her wildness and her power as she lashed the cliffs, her anger when the storm came and she’d turned green. Junie had watched her be calmed by the blue sky afterwards, and display her glorious love for the sun as she welcomed and farewelled it each day in a million jewelled colours.
And each day Junie welcomed and farewelled the one she loved too, sending out pieces of herself to wherever Michael was now, under that same sun. No-one could deny her that right; she could still love. It was her heart.
The thought offered comfort if not cure.
The girls were waving and calling out from the shack and she saw Bob Burgess’s brother Ernie emerging from the steep bushland, awkwardly trying to negotiate his way with a range of building materials strapped to his back. Everything had to be carried down the thickly vegetated hillside on foot as the huts on the beach at Burning Palms were inaccessible any other way. The contents of Ernie’s shack, which boasted an icebox, four bunk beds and a cast-iron stove, were a wonder of perseverance and optimism. There was even an actual kitchen sink with taps that ran water from a small rainwater tank.
She watched Ernie unpack as she approached, noticing a door handle and quite a bit of timber, and thinking the only thing missing from this shack was some privacy for – Junie burst out laughing as Bob Burgess stumbled from the scrub. He was very red in the face and no wonder, as he lugged a toilet. He set it down then collapsed in the sand.
‘Dad, how the blazes?’ Katie said, incredulous.
‘A mate…had a spare one. Can’t have…the young Hollywood starlets without…a powder room.’
Ernie grinned proudly, reaching into his pocket and holding up a gold wooden star. The girls thought it a great joke, making Junie hold it, and she did so gladly, happy to see Beryl and Dorn smiling for a change. Maybe the ocean was healing them a little too.
As the men set to work digging a very deep hole, the girls started making lunch, ham sandwiches and orange juice squeezed fresh from the fruit off the tree behind the shack. Junie loved how sweet it was, seeming even more so when sipped in the open, salty air.
The hole was halfway dug by the time the group sat on blankets on the sand to eat and Katie quizzed her father on his plans for his trip to Sydney the following day.
‘Will you still go overnight?’
‘Should do.’
‘But will you have it all done by the time you leave?’ she asked, nodding at the hole. ‘What if it rains and it fills up with water?’
‘It’s gonna have water anyway. Ocean runs under the sand, you know – soaks in,’ Ernie told her. Junie was curious, wondering at the fact.
‘Ernie’ll build the frame this afternoon and I’ll finish digging. Just a matter of sticking the fibro on then,’ Bob said between mouthfuls. All the shacks were mostly made of fibro and the men had a good stack of it leaning against the back wall. It was the lightest building material to carry down the hill. ‘Should all be done by tomorrow morning, then our young stars can have all the privacy in the world while we’re away.’
‘You might even get Mum and Aunty Maureen here at this rate.’
‘Think they’d expect one that flushed,’ Ernie said doubtfully.
The afternoon stretched beneath sunny skies and the girls passed the time exploring the spectacular rock pools at the end of the beach. Sparkling in shades of pale green and blue, the water in each was so clear they could make out schools of tiny fish darting at the bottom where chains of seaweed swayed, casting intricate shadows on the light-patterned floors. Little starfish clung to the walls and Junie held one in her hand very gently, the sun glistening on the delicate markings on its back.
Each pool was like a treasure chest and Junie and the girls made slow, happy progress across rocks that were warm beneath bare feet, avoiding the sharp periwinkles and patches of algae, slippery where it lay in bright green carpets. It was warm but the breeze cooled their faces and the occasional sea spray found their skin.
Then Dorn made the discovery of the day.
‘Mr Burgess! Mr Burgess! Look at this!’ she called out, pointing beneath a rock shelf. The men came over to investigate and Ernie pulled out a massive crab, claws snapping in protest.
‘Dinner!’ he announced happily, holding it in the air.
‘What a beaut!’ Bob exclaimed. ‘Let’s get him in the bucket.’
Junie felt sorry for the unfortunate creature as they placed it inside, perhaps because she understood how it felt to be trapped. She wondered how much trouble she’d get in if she let it go. ‘Poor fella,’ she said.
‘You won’t say that when you eat him,’ Bob promised. ‘Crab’s damn good tucker – I couldn’t let you miss out on this experience, young lady.’
Junie frowned doubtfully as the crab tried in vain to climb the sides of the bucket. ‘But I’ll never know the difference if I never try it. Why don’t we let him go and I’ll make you something else?’ she said as coaxingly as she could.
‘Nuh, crab’s on the menu tonight – nothing better,’ Bob announced as he moved back to his digging.
Junie tried again, following him. ‘But there’s not that much meat to go around. How about I help with the digging while you go fishing and hook us some nice flathead instead?’ Somehow the thought of eating a fish didn’t seem half as cruel as letting this magnificent animal suffer in a bucket all day before it was boiled alive.
&
nbsp; ‘Huh! This is man’s work. Go and enjoy yourself,’ Bob said, picking up his shovel.
Junie watched him, thinking hard. ‘Pipis would be just as good, wouldn’t they? They’re also crustaceans so surely they have a similar taste to crab? What if I collect enough to make you a big, delicious batch – then will you let him go?’
Bob stopped his digging in exasperation. ‘Strike a light! You really don’t give up easily, do you?’
‘Pipis are good eating,’ Ernie said from his makeshift workbench. ‘Stubborn as a mule that one,’ he said, nodding at Junie. ‘I’d give in if I were you.’
‘Ever caught a pipi before?’ Bob asked.
‘No. But I can figure it out.’
‘All right,’ he said, looking at the shoreline with a knowing grin. ‘You catch me a bucket of pipis and I’ll let him go. I think you’ve got Buckley’s, though.’
Junie lifted her chin. ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’
A few hours later the girls were all ready to give up on helping Junie. In fact, Katie was making them rather hungry for crab, describing the taste in rapturous detail.
‘A delicate flavour, a bit like lobster, and with butter and salt…’
‘What was it you said about using your toe like this?’ Junie interrupted, tracing wide semicircles in the wet sand.
‘That only works for beach worms. I told you, you’re flogging a dead horse. Speaking of which, did I ever tell you girls I ate horse once? Rubbishy stuff…not at all like crabmeat which is light and juicy…’
‘They must be here somewhere,’ Junie said. ‘It’s just a matter of thinking it through.’
‘Oh God, it’s school all over again,’ Beryl said.
‘Come on, Junie, you’ll never find any,’ Dorn moaned. ‘It’s been hours.’
Junie looked at the three of them, tired and despondent, then studied the shore yet again. ‘Must be some.’
‘That’s it, I’m heading back,’ Katie said and the other girls followed her. The wind had come up, blowing their hats and flapping at their shirts, and Junie watched the movement, realising the wind seemed to come most afternoons – she’d noticed it when Ernie was teaching her about the tides yesterday. Her mind-rabbit stopped in its tracks. The tide. Of course!
She ran down to the rocks, back to where they had been when the tide was high on the sand. The water had receded quite a bit by now and there were little arrows in the shallow water as it ran away from the shore. Junie began picking her way through the patterns, discarding shells and rocks until she found her first prize.
Then her mind slipped over to its far larger relative in the bucket across the sand and she felt a wave of satisfaction wash over her.
It shouldn’t matter so much, she supposed. She was still as trapped as she’d been when she woke up this morning – and as trapped as she’d still be when she went to sleep tonight, but she’d won a tiny victory for freedom today.
It didn’t alter a thing, but the thought made her smile.
Eight
‘When do we start?’
‘Monday. You’re on leave until then.’
Michael nodded at his father as he got his head around the fact that he was still in the army, though wouldn’t be going to war for some time. That and the fact that his father was his drill sergeant.
His father wasn’t really drinking, sitting on the one, almost untouched, beer the whole hour they’d been here. Michael wanted to ask why. He wanted to ask a lot of things – questions about his mother and questions about Davey – but he supposed they would answer themselves eventually. Besides, right now he felt too numb to ask them. However, there was one question he did feel compelled to ask now, although the answer was bound to be painful.
‘How are the girls doing?’
Rory almost smiled. ‘They’re on a Hollywood Holiday, apparently.’
‘A what?’
‘Katie Burgess has taken them to her uncle’s shack at Burning Palms. Bob and Ernie are there for most of the time. I wasn’t sure about your mother being on her own but she wanted them to go.’ Rory shrugged. ‘Said there’s not much happiness in life, they should grab it while they can.’
‘True enough.’ Michael struggled to ask the next. ‘Are you… is she…’
‘She’s a good woman and I’ve let her down,’ Rory said in a quiet voice. Tears formed in his father’s eyes and Michael watched him blink them away, unable to absolve the guilt that caused them. ‘But never again.’
There was something in his tone that Michael recognised from earlier years and, for the first time since Rory’s arrival, he reached out to shake his father’s hand. ‘I’ll hold you to it.’
‘Make sure you do,’ Rory said, and there was so much promise in his words, Michael believed him.
Rory rose to leave. ‘Best be off. Train leaves in ten.’
Michael nodded and stood to watch as his father made his way to the door. ‘Dad,’ he called. Rory turned and Michael hesitated before blurting, ‘I’m glad you’re going to be here.’
Rory rewarded him with a fleeting smile, the first he’d worn these past few days. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Get those mates of yours and have a good break. I’m not going to be soft on you lot come Monday.’
‘I’d better grab some happiness while I can then.’
Rory smiled again, then he was gone, and, as he watched his father disappear onto the city streets, Michael wondered exactly where on earth that could be found.
Beryl was halfway down the beach but even so, Junie could tell she was crying. She wanted to comfort her but there really was nothing she could say to make it better – losing a brother was a pain that couldn’t be cured. Besides, Beryl probably needed a good cry. Dorn had done so earlier, when Katie said something about Anzac biscuits; they were always Davey’s favourite. Seemed they all needed time to mourn and what better place than here, at the great lady’s side?
Junie had to hand it to Katie, she was certainly doing her best to make everything as much fun as humanly possible. Bob and Ernie had left an hour ago and already she was rummaging around inside, planning some kind of party for tonight when it would be just the four girls on their own.
There was a loud thump and Junie raised her eyes at Dorn across the card table they had set up outside.
‘Sure you don’t want any help?’ Junie called.
‘I’m fine! Oh bugger…’ came the reply.
Dorn giggled, picking up a card. It was hot but the afternoon breeze was picking up once more. Ernie had told Junie it was to do with the air over the water heating differently to the air over the land. He knew a lot of interesting things about the ocean and had piqued her interest to the point that she was looking forward to devouring whatever information she could find on the subject in Ernest’s library.
Thinking of her fiancé made her feel depressed, and she let out a deep sigh.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Dorn said.
‘Owing the pennies is the whole problem. That’s what’s got me in this mess.’
‘Ah.’ Dorn nodded in understanding. ‘Still, if you don’t mind me saying so…well, if you have to marry him, at least it’s some small comfort to have money and be able to help your family. I wish I could. I’ve lived without it my whole life and it’s a hard road.’
Junie didn’t like to consider that. She didn’t like to consider there was anything redeemable about the whole nightmarish situation. ‘Can’t see what difference it really makes in the end,’ she said.
‘It’s actually very different. You don’t know what being poor is like, Junie. Not really. Having to save coupons for dresses isn’t real poverty. It’s…it’s watching your friend be allowed to finish school when you have to go to work and…having to ask the butcher for the ham bone to make a soup to feed the family. And keeping the peel on the potatoes to stretch a stew – or just going hungry. I’ve watched Mum – it’s hard, like I said. You don’t want it believe me.’ She was almost crying and Junie’s annoyance faded to be
replaced by a sense of shame. She’d been vaguely aware of what the Rileys had been through over the years but now it seemed she’d also been far too indifferent.
‘I don’t really know, that’s true. I’m sorry Dorn, I should have…’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ Dorn said, holding up her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to say so much. I’m just missing Mum I think – never been away from her before.’ Dorn wiped at her face and Junie found a handkerchief, passing it to her.
There was a crash from the shack and a very unladylike exclamation that changed the mood, causing them both to laugh a little, but as they continued playing, Junie couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being ashamed. After all, God had provided. She just didn’t want to pay the price.
‘Slow down!’ Michael yelled, rolling to the side with the luggage as they turned another hairpin bend. ‘Bloody hell – floorboard!’ He grabbed the piece of timber as it bounced into the back of the car and handed it to Jake, who placed it back under Cliffy’s feet, but not before all of them had copped a lungful of dust from the road.
‘I told you we should have gone to the Blue Mountains,’ Jake spluttered, coughing over the straining engine. ‘At least there’s sealed roads.’
‘You said your cousin only works as a waiter at the Hydro Majestic. There’s no way he would have got us a room for free,’ Michael yelled back.
‘Well, at least it’s a fine hotel. Even if we slept in the bloody kitchen. This is Woop Woop!’ Jake called with disgust as they passed a bunch of fishermen whose truck looked almost as dilapidated as the car they were driving, an old Austin borrowed from Cliffy’s uncle.
‘You’re a drover, for chrissakes!’
‘Not on holidays. A man likes a few comforts then.’
‘I told you,’ Michael said, ‘there’s a shack –’
‘Probably the Fibro Majestic by the sounds of it.’
Michael and Cliffy laughed.
‘Very funny. You should be in show business,’ Cliffy said, turning to look at him.
Worth Fighting For Page 6
