Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Bah, ridiculous bringing our men away from Europe. Our first allegiance is to the Motherland,’ Miles muttered dismissively.

  Junie placed her glass on the table and faced him, fury in those beautiful eyes now, but her voice was light and calm. ‘I had three brothers fighting for England: Archie, Bill and Frankie – only Frankie is lying dead in a desert now. He went willingly to help our British friends, but I hate to think what he’d make of us sacrificing Australia to the Japanese for this Motherland of yours.’ Her composure was admirable as she stared at Miles and added quietly, ‘What of my mother? What about her?’

  A very uncomfortable silence followed before Miles seemed to realise an apology was necessary. ‘Forgive me. You must think me insensitive –’

  ‘I’d have to care enough to have an opinion of you to think that. Excuse me.’

  As she walked away, Marlon had to hand it to her – country she may be, but Miss Junie Wallace had just given the biggest snob at this city party a lesson in class.

  She was in trouble. Anyone could see it, even from a distance, as private as he was obviously trying to be.

  ‘Ernest Farthington,’ Eliza explained, coming to stand next to Marlon as he watched the arguing couple down by the fence line. ‘He won’t be pleased with that little display. Nasty rumour mongers in this set, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What business is it of his?’

  ‘Miles is one of Ernest’s chums, although she obviously didn’t know that.’

  ‘And he cares because?’

  ‘She’s marrying him next month.’

  Marlon swallowed his disappointment with his champagne.

  ‘Sorry, old chap,’ she said, reading his expression.

  ‘Wouldn’t have thought she was old enough to be getting married.’ Marlon was usually better at hiding his feelings but he was feeling a little drunk and for some reason this girl had gotten right under his skin. ‘Why didn’t you introduce her as Ernest’s fiancée?’ he asked as an afterthought, wondering at her motivations.

  ‘Thought it might be a bit of fun to see what they made of each other, to be honest. Besides, I only met her today,’ Eliza replied, pushing her hair back in the afternoon breeze. ‘Only met a dashing American pilot today too but he doesn’t seem too adept at reading a girl’s mind.’

  Marlon studied her pretty face. ‘And what’s on your mind, Miss Eliza?’

  She grinned at him and twirled once. ‘Dancing.’

  Marlon looked back over at the couple, still in heated discussion, and decided he didn’t need to be involved in any of that. Putting on his hat, he offered Eliza his arm. ‘Let’s say we blow this malt shop.’

  She laughed, putting one glove around his elbow. ‘Now that’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard all day.’

  Sixteen

  February 1942

  Manly, New South Wales, Australia

  The bus was airless and Junie felt her legs begin to stick to the seat through her cotton skirt. It didn’t help that she felt slightly hungover from the champagne she’d consumed yesterday, or maybe it was the fight with Ernest that had left her nauseated this morning. Either way, this was no place to feel the need to vomit, and she took out a mint, trying to think about something else.

  But the argument stayed.

  She hadn’t meant to be hostile towards Miles Harrington but that comment about not bringing the troops home had really rattled her. Pompous ass. It seemed everyone associated with Ernest’s world was absurd in some way; none of these idle rich seemed to have any idea about the rest of the country or the realities of the war. A bunch of pen-pushers with their heads in the sand, her father would say. With the possible exception of Eliza Chamberlain. That woman had definite friendship potential.

  The driver swerved and Junie clutched at the seat in front, counting down the minutes until she would see Michael – fifty-three by her watch. She sighed as she stared at it, a gift from Ernest’s parents at Christmas, ornate and rather garish, but she’d needed a watch today and it was the only one she had. Just another trapping inside the trap, she thought, watching the ocean come into sight as they began to descend the hill. It was a deep blue today, and the Norfolk pines lining Manly Beach held out their feathered arms before it, stretching between sea and sky.

  The view disappeared behind buildings as she alighted at the bus terminal and she made her way down the Corso, eager to see more. It was quite an experience, with a swathe of American and Australian servicemen dipping their hats and sending her admiring looks and comments. The mall was alive with buskers and vendors and she was exhilarated by the atmosphere of it all as Sydney showed off its beach culture with cosmopolitan flair. The wafting scent of hot fish and chips vied for the soldiers’ money, in competition with colourful mounds of ice cream in milk bar windows and flapping beachwear on shopfront walls. It was all very enticing but Junie rushed on by, impatient now. There was only one thing on her mind today: her rendezvous with Michael outside the Steyne Hotel.

  She arrived at the corner where the old pub sat overlooking the beach and the full force of Manly welcomed her in an extended expanse of gold sand, curling blue water and clear skies. It was crowded, unsurprisingly, and there was a sense of peaceful rebellion here as she took in the beachgoers lying on their towels and being buffeted by the waves, intent on escaping the war for a day.

  She was intent on that idea too.

  Junie perched herself on the sandstone ledge that ran beneath the giant pines to drink it all in and wait for Michael, memories of Burning Palms assailing her on the salt wind. Taking off her shoes, she let that breeze tickle her feet and it was easy to fall into a sensual place of anticipation until he materialised in the flesh. She felt no guilt in doing so, nor did she feel guilty in the knowledge that she would be in Michael’s arms again today. Ernest would soon have everything else of her, and judging by yesterday’s argument, it was going to be far harder to have any kind of freedom after they were married. He had threatened her with all sorts of restrictions if she didn’t toe the line and start acting the part of the perfect politician’s soon-to-be wife.

  ‘Just tell me now if you want out of this, Junie. I can cut your parents off whenever you say.’

  Junie had wanted to fling words back, shout that he could go to hell, but he had silenced her with that threat. It was his unbeatable ace and they both knew it.

  Only the white lie of spending the day with Katie, visiting from home, had got her out of the house today. And they had arranged to meet, late in the afternoon, when Katie would accompany Junie home and make an appearance for the Farthingtons’ sake – so it wasn’t a complete untruth.

  No, she felt no guilt at all over deceiving Ernest. But she couldn’t get past the stone that dropped sharply into her gut whenever she tried to face her deception of Michael. The truth would have to come out soon but, please God, not today.

  A seagull landed nearby, tilting its head at her quizzically, and she mirrored it, tilting her head back too as it hopped closer. Lucky she hadn’t thought to bring Digger. He would have been beside himself in puppy delight trying to chase it. She reached into her bag and gave the bird a bit of the sandwich she’d packed and found herself immediately inundated with a dozen more gulls.

  ‘Bugger,’ she muttered, taking another bit and attempting to throw it far enough away to get rid of them. It was a poor throw and the birds doubled in number again. This time one landed on her head and she jumped up with a squeal.

  ‘Junie?’

  She had imagined the moment they saw each other again many times, but never would she have thought he’d find her screaming, hair upside down with a flapping seagull stuck in the tangle and about twenty other birds squawking in alarm around her.

  ‘Bloody hell, get out! Ouch!’ Michael was trying valiantly to help her but the bird was quite panicked and to be honest, so was Junie. It took several attempts and quite a few finger pecks before it was released and Junie could stand up, hair in God knows what kind of state, to lo
ok at him with wild eyes as the birds flew away around her.

  ‘It got stuck,’ she said unnecessarily.

  ‘Yes, I noticed,’ he replied, his mouth beginning to twitch. Suddenly they were doubled up with laughter, tears streaming down their faces as onlookers who had paused to watch gave them a round of applause. They took their bows comically. ‘Come on,’ he said, putting his arm around her and leading her over to the front parlour of the Steyne. ‘Powder room for you, I think. Let’s find a door with a gold star.’

  Michael was still smiling when she emerged and crossed the room to a booth he’d secured near the wall.

  ‘You know, you can’t blame the seagull. He just has good taste,’ he said as he patted the seat next to him and she sat alongside.

  ‘To think how long I thought about what to wear so you’d see me sitting there all demure and ladylike,’ she confessed, brushing at the pretty blue flowered cotton skirt and white blouse that now sported several dubious marks. ‘I don’t even want to know what that is,’ she said, pulling a face.

  ‘I wouldn’t care if you came wrapped in brown paper,’ Michael said, and she met his gaze, her hands stilling. He leant forwards, capturing her mouth in a kiss. There was no hesitation, just a sudden rush of heat that had built up for too long. Desire erupted into urgency and Junie pulled back to still her racing pulse, drugged by him.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, curling her hair around his finger to hold her face close.

  ‘No,’ she said, staring at his lips with longing. ‘I just want you.’

  ‘I could…get a room,’ he said, tugging at the curl to draw her lips in once more.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘So polite.’

  ‘Not always.’

  Michael tore himself away to pay for a room and Junie waited at the door, aware of several interested stares but uncaring, then Michael returned and they went upstairs, hands held fast. Once inside the room, they barely even registered anything about it save for the bed, which they fell on in desperate need. He pushed the cotton skirt to her thighs and kissed his way up.

  ‘God, you’ve been driving me crazy.’

  She unbuttoned his shirt, almost tearing it, and he flung it from his arm impatiently, ripping his singlet over his head and pulling at her blouse and under things until she was bare against his chest.

  ‘Take them off,’ she panted, pulling at his trousers and soon they were both naked.

  He entered her quickly. It was hot in the room and Junie felt as if she would explode from the intensity of each thrust, urging him on until they both cried out. At that moment he held her so close and so tightly, she felt they’d become one person and she clung tightly back.

  ‘Oh God, I love you,’ he said, kissing her. ‘I love you so goddam much.’

  ‘I love you too,’ she gasped, holding his head against her breasts in the steamy, shadowed room.

  She stroked his hair as they lay, listening to the great lady dance in rhythmic waves outside the window as their heartbeats calmed to her tune.

  ‘I love you too.’

  The bus rumbled its way along and Katie watched Junie in silence, something she’d been doing for a good minute, and it was getting on her nerves.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re going to have to tell Ernest. It’s no use pretending you’re going ahead with it.’

  ‘I am going ahead with it.’

  Katie stared at her, shocked. ‘You can’t possibly mean it.’

  ‘I don’t have any choice,’ Junie said, desolation settling in with each mile that separated Michael from her once more. ‘What would you have me do? Let Mum and Dad be destitute?’

  ‘You can’t be responsible –’

  ‘Yes, I can. I have to be.’

  Katie folded her arms and gave Junie the look she reserved for when she was really fired up. ‘Junie Wallace, your parents would not let you do this if you were bloody well honest with them.’

  ‘That’s why I’m lying.’

  ‘I saw the way you looked at Michael today, the way he looks at you – you can’t break his heart like this.’

  Junie stared out the window, the trees and houses blurring. ‘Dad’s sick, Katie.’

  There was a pause. ‘How sick?’

  Junie shrugged. ‘Mum won’t tell me, but I know he isn’t good. You can tell. I’ve known for a long time I suppose…it’s the drink, I think.’ Tears welled in her throat and she stopped talking to swallow. ‘It just takes away the last piece of hope, you see. It’s impossible now…’

  ‘Oh, Genie-Junie,’ Katie whispered, putting her arm around her and Junie’s head came to rest on her shoulder. ‘Oh, my poor girl.’

  They sat for a while, each searching for any kind of answer.

  ‘You have to tell Michael then. You owe him that,’ Katie finally said.

  ‘I know I do. I just couldn’t today, it was too perfect,’ Junie replied as she straightened up. ‘I’ll tell him next week. We’re meeting again, hopefully.’

  Katie frowned, looking like she wanted to say something else.

  ‘What is it?’ Junie asked, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.

  ‘Junie, have you…er…and Michael…you know?’

  Junie looked down, blushing, and nodded. ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Well, it’s just…how are you going to hide that from Ernest on your wedding night?’

  ‘What do you mean? He doesn’t know. How could he?’

  ‘You do realise that men can tell…if a woman is a, um, you know, a virgin or not.’

  ‘What? How?’ Junie’s mouth had dropped open and she looked at Katie in disbelief. The expression was mutual.

  ‘How the hell can you not know that?’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  ‘My mother, of course.’ They stared at each other, each digesting the fact that Junie’s mother was too much in her own clouded world to have thought about telling her such things.

  ‘How can he tell?’ Junie was pale now, and more than a little afraid.

  ‘Well, the first time it’s apparently a bit harder for the woman because there’s some kind of barrier and then there’s some blood,’ Katie told her. ‘Maybe you could just…act like it hurts.’

  Junie nodded, remembering that night on the beach at Burning Palms. It had hurt briefly.

  ‘And maybe, I don’t know, pour some blood on the sheets afterwards? Make sure he’s good and drunk so he doesn’t notice?’

  ‘How much blood?’

  ‘Bloody hell, how should I know?’ Katie said, exasperated. ‘We need to look it up somewhere.’

  ‘The library,’ Junie said faintly. ‘Yes, I’ll go to the library.’

  ‘There you go,’ Katie said, trying to sound confident. ‘It should all be fine.’

  Only it isn’t fine, Junie thought as the bus continued to Mosman. Every single part of this is horribly and terribly wrong.

  Seventeen

  It was an ordinary kind of Wednesday night, with Constance and Ernest discussing the wedding guest list that was growing out of control under Constance’s social ambition – although Ernest was hardly one to criticise. He had half the politicians in New South Wales on it, even ones he didn’t know. He was particularly irritable tonight, and restless, seeming to only half listen to his mother and going outside to look across to the city at least half-a-dozen times. The doors had been left open due to the heat and Junie was managing to sneak Digger some pats as he sat near the door in his basket.

  The wireless played in the background, on almost permanently since the invasion of Singapore had come to pass, all fears confirmed, and the Japanese were on the advance.

  There were an estimated eighty-five thousand Allied troops ready to defend the island and confidence was fairly high that the enemy would be held at bay. But since the attack on Pearl Harbor, such confidence was always tainted. Without Singapore, there was no other major fortress of defence between Japan and Australia and everyone was nervous. No-one
liked to consider life under the rule of the reputedly ruthless Japanese, and each news broadcast sent the room into immediate strained silence, even more so than usual, from Junie’s point of view. The Farthingtons were emotionally involved now, with Ernest’s old university chum Cecil Hayman in Singapore at High Command Headquarters, and Junie was worrying about her brothers. They were on their way home with the 6th Division from the Middle East and she was praying they hadn’t been diverted.

  The household had settled into a routine by now. Constance ordered everyone about and organised their calendars, the newly arrived Colonel puffed on his pipe and generally agreed with the radio commentator and Isabel and Ursula played cards, flicked through magazines and whispered as they’d always done. Meanwhile, Ernest got on with the self-importance of being Ernest, as Katie liked to term it.

  And Junie read. In truth, she might as well have been invisible in the household if not for an occasional attempt by Ernest to kiss her when he came to visit, which she tolerated but did not respond to. He made light of this, probably to protect his own ego, dismissing it by saying she was an innocent, but that would soon change. She hoped he wouldn’t see through the ruse she’d play on their wedding night and learn just how wrong he was. Life with Ernest desiring her was unbearable enough – life with him despising her would be far worse.

  There was a knock at the door and Junie looked up from her book in mild curiosity. Probably one of Ernest’s horrible friends. Hopefully not Miles Harrington.

  ‘Eliza,’ said Constance, beaming as Maria, the maid, let her in. ‘What a pleasant surprise. I’m afraid you’ve caught us quite unprepared for visitors.’

  ‘Yes, forgive me. I was in the neighbourhood and I’m just popping in for a minute.’

  Digger erupted into an excited flurry of barking and Constance hissed at him to be quiet.

  ‘Oh, who is this little fellow?’ Eliza took off a glove and tried to pat him, laughing as he tumbled over backwards in his excitement.