Sleep was elusive. When she did drift off it was to an unpleasant dream, the roads out of Paris full of refugees, relentless dive-bombers shooting helpless people, the frightened face of the old woman in her black mourning dress who complained it was like the first war of 1914 all over again, and had said this just before she was killed by machine gun bullets from the Stukas. Claudia saw again the desperate mothers with their crying children, the crowded truck on which she, her parents and brother had hitched a ride to Cherbourg, her glimpse of bodies dead in the ditches, the truck jolting as it hit bomb craters, all of them feeling sick, regretting the loss of clothes and precious family photographs, paintings and all their belongings, everything they owned and treasured left behind.
She woke sweating. It was not yet five o’clock; she’d never get to sleep again. The other dream was better: the one with the wail of air raid sirens, the way she and her family had obediently gone to their shelter, the Maida Vale tube station packed with hundreds of people. All of them secretly afraid, but refusing to show it, joining in silly songs like ‘We’re Gonna Hang out the Washing on the Siegfried Line’, making rude jokes about Hitler, and in the morning people going home to find out if their homes were still standing. The stolid and brave Londoners. That was a good dream.
In the pre-dawn she lay awake trying to imagine what sort of secret existed in his family, and why Luke didn’t know whatever dark history her own parents knew. Unable to work it out she tried to think of other things. She’d been debating about a job, a choice between the women’s land army and nursing, but the land army would mean she might be sent anywhere, even interstate. It could be far away, like Western Australia. Whereas Manly Hospital had said they’d accept her and there’d soon be a new intake. It kept her close to home, and close to Luke — which made all the difference, she confessed to herself in the privacy and comfort of her warm bed.
FOUR
Louisa Elliott watched thankfully as her husband put his golf bag in the back of the car. She felt nervous, as if he might change his mind.
“What time will you be home?” she asked.
“The usual time,” he replied, as if it was a stupid question.
Louisa realised it was a stupid question, almost stupid enough to make him suspicious for asking it. His every Sunday was programmed like clockwork: a late breakfast while reading the papers, followed by two hours of drill at the Narrabeen parade ground with his ludicrous ‘People’s Army’ in which he was an honorary major, a shower and change of clothing before a snack lunch, then at 12.45 on the first tee with his regular partners. After the game there were leisurely drinks in the bar, better known as the 19th hole. Like a metronome he returned home at 6.30 in order to listen to the evening news.
In all the years since he’d brought her back to this house, it had never varied. She had loved the location at first sight, its position on the beach, a simple weatherboard with three bedrooms, a modest but comfortable home; how could you not be happy in such a place? But it was not the house that had made her unhappy; it was the martinet she lived with. She had wanted to run away many times, but there was Luke. It was what Sue was coming to discuss, she knew, and the knowledge was what had made her nervous. She felt like a conspirator. One day, she thought. One day.
“Mum, relax.”
She was startled, hadn’t realised he was there until he put his arm around her. She sometimes forgot how tall he was. She’d been considered tall, a few inches above most of the ballet students, but he was half a head higher, the same height as his father.
“I’m relaxed, darling. Can’t wait to see my best friend again. Chat about old times. Of course I’m relaxed.”
“Good. They’ll be here soon. Claudia’s coming, but we’ll have a surf and leave you two to talk.”
Conspirators, she thought, we’re both conspirators. She felt sure Luke knew the reason for Sue’s visit. Louisa herself certainly knew, as Sue had phoned when she knew Richard would be at work, and spoken about it. If she wanted to leave him, she could move in with them for a time, until she was able to find somewhere more permanent to live. And there’d be room for Luke if that was what they both desired. Sue said she’d spoken because she wanted to give Louisa time to think it over.
“What’s the matter, Luke?” He was staring at her.
“You’ve got a bruise.”
“Oh, that. I tripped last night before you came home. Hit myself on the bathroom door. It’s nothing.”
“There’s a cut, Mum, and it’s a fair sort of a bruise.”
“Don’t fuss. I’ll slap some makeup on.” She headed for the bedroom and sat at the dressing table. She could see in the mirror that he’d followed her to the door, and at the same time realised it was no wonder he’d noticed, the bruise was darkening and slightly swollen. She gazed at his reflection in the mirror. A young face without pretension, a nice uncomplicated face. No wonder Sue had said her daughter was enamoured. “How was the picture you two saw last night? What was on?”
“Woman of the Year. Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn.”
“Enjoy it?”
“We both did. I think that’s their car now,” Luke said, and hurried out to greet them.
He’s in love, Louisa thought. I hope it works out better than it has for me. She did her best to conceal the marks on her face before Sue noticed.
After they’d surfed Claudia changed into shorts and a sun top, and she and Luke left both mothers to their private discussion. Being a warm day the town was full of visitors. As the area between the flags appeared crowded, they decided on a walk around the rocks to Fisherman’s Beach instead, then skirted the golf club and climbed to the top of the Long Reef headland. It was there they came across a gun emplacement and a cannon, a leftover relic from World War One, the kind of gun displayed alongside cenotaphs or in suburban parks to be played on by children. Little more than a token of security, they both agreed, hopeless for defence against anyone, let alone the Japanese army now on the Owen Stanley range in New Guinea.
But, despite the proximity of war, the afternoon had an element of magic. Not even parental problems could intrude on the perfect summer day, with the ocean a sharp blue mirroring the bright sunlight, and a yacht far out with full sails and spinnaker, looking like a picture postcard. Thin wisps of cloud passed lazily above, and below them was the busy golf course with groups teeing off at each hole. Luke had never had his father’s passion for the game, who was doubtless one of the distant figures down there playing with grim intensity.
“Does he come home in a good mood if he wins?” Claudia asked, as they paused to watch the golfers.
“Mostly. And a foul one if he loses. One never knows what kind of father will come through the door. You’re very lucky.” He grinned and added, “Your dad’s a hell of a nice bloke.”
She nodded agreement, and took Luke’s hand to press it against her face. It was a surprising gesture that made his heart accelerate. They lingered for a while by the gun emplacement, feeling warm and close, as though aware something special was happening. It was unnecessary to express it; the touch of her hand and her look seemed to say it better than words could. If the future was uncertain, the present felt wonderfully eloquent.
It was a day for confidences, and later, when they walked down the track to the empty beach and sat on one of the small sand hills, he told Claudia what he’d never been able to tell anyone until now about the hostility between his parents. He told her of the angry row he’d heard some nights ago. “She’s afraid of him. And he behaves as if he can’t stand her. Some nights at dinner they don’t exchange a single word. It’s an ordeal to just sit there and feel the animosity.”
Claudia was quiet, trying to imagine that kind of angry, silent dislike, and unable to do so. “Why did it get like that?” she wondered.
“I don’t know. There must’ve been an attraction once. Their whole marriage baffles me. They just don’t like each other. Sometimes it keeps me awake at night, trying to work it out.”
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“I think,” Claudia said eventually, “there’s a problem from the past between your parents. I overheard something I shouldn’t have heard.” She explained what Sue and Gordon had said. “They felt you should be told.”
“I do know Sue wants her to leave him,” Luke said, startling her.
“What? Do you mean, my mother said that?”
“Yes. When you were changing into the spectacular cossie.”
“Not bad, was it?” Claudia was diverted, but only for a moment. “She shouldn’t have said it. I mean, I love Mum, but she does have a motormouth. She needs to clam up at times.”
“Let’s forget the whole thing,” Luke said. “He wants me in the bloody army, charging off to war like they did in 1914. Mum’s on my side, says I’ve got to live a bit first. Anyway, to hell with it and him.” He smiled at her. “You know something? I can’t believe we only met again so recently. I feel as if I’ve known you forever.”
“Well, you have, in a way. After all, we had adjoining cradles in the maternity ward.” Luke laughed at this, and lay full length on the sand that warmed his back as he gazed up at her. “Adjoining cradles?”
She nodded. “We did. If I felt like I feel now, I’ll bet I was trying to crawl into yours.” She gazed intently at him, her hands braced either side of him for support. Then she bent down until their faces were touching and kissed him long and lovingly on the mouth, her tongue seeking out his, her breasts, her legs and thighs pressing tightly against him. His skin, his entire body seemed to be on fire.
It was late when they left the empty beach; the sun had gone down in the west behind the hilltop, and the sand was in deep shadow. Luke walked back to Suffolk Avenue with her, stood outside the gate to kiss her once more — a gentler kiss this time because their lips were tender now — then stood to watch her turn and wave one last time before she went inside.
It was almost dark when he reached home, having spent the walk in joyful memory of the passionate few hours, and speculation on what changes Sue’s visit might have produced. Whether there’d be a confrontation that could affect the future. Even a family break up. By the time he entered the house his mind was a turmoil of expectation.
His mother was in the kitchen preparing what she called supper on Sunday evenings. In the living room his father was pouring drinks for them both: whisky for him, gin and tonic for her. That alone was unusual. He gave Luke a surprisingly cheerful nod of greeting, said he’d caught some sun, but hadn’t it been an absolute bottler of a day. ‘Bottler’ was not a word he normally used. Something else unusual, Luke thought. He found out when he was handed a beer and his father announced he’d had a triumph on the golf links. He and his partner had won the competition at the last hole; quite a dramatic moment because his chip from a bunker had reached the 18th green, where it had spun back into the hole for a decisive birdie.
There was no animosity in the house that night. If Louisa was under stress, she covered it with an occasional nod and obedient smile as they heard and re-heard details of the victorious golf round. Two great shots to reach a par five, and he’d just missed a putt that would’ve been an eagle.
“Some days are like that. You’re in the groove. It just happens.” And how, he asked, sounding almost avuncular, had she spent her day?
“Just quietly, like most days,” his mother said, adding deliberately, “but I did have a visitor. Sue Marsden dropped in.”
“Oh?” He seemed unconcerned, but watched her intently, trying not to make it obvious. “And how are they, the Marsdens? Funny, coming back, after all these years. Been in England, haven’t they?”
“Mostly France.”
“Living the good life then. Seeing the world on our taxes.” When neither spoke he continued, “Well, I mean, diplomats. Top salaries. We pay for their travel, rent them good homes overseas.” As if the lack of response had begun to irritate him, he asked, “Stay long, this afternoon, did she?”
“A while. Long enough for a chat.”
“Hmph. Good at chats, you and Susan,” he said.
“Claudia came with her,” Luke intervened, because the atmosphere had begun to feel brittle. “She and I went surfing.”
“The daughter, you mean? Little fat girl?”
“Not any longer. Grown up slim and very pretty.”
“Beautiful,” Louisa added, “just like her mother.”
“I wouldn’t recognise her, then.” He promptly changed the subject, talking about cricket and sports results with Luke during supper, so his wife was excluded. He eventually said he intended to listen to the Sunday Night play on the Macquarie Network. Did either of them wish to join him?
“I might,” Luke said. His mother decided to have an early night.
After his father went into the spare room he used as a study, Luke remained at the table in case she wanted to say anything.
“Sorry about the tinned meat for supper,” she finally spoke. “But we’ll have to get used it because our rations will be cut. Australia has to send more food to Britain. They’re being starved by the U-boats.”
“Did Sue tell you that?” It was an attempted cue for her to talk of their meeting, but did not produce the expected answer.
“It’s been in the papers, darling. Sue and I talked of other things. She told me about their lovely flat in Paris, and visits to the theatre and ballet. I must say, they had an exciting life there.”
“They did,” he agreed.
He helped her wash up and she kissed him goodnight. “They want to help, but it’s impossible,” she whispered, then went into the bedroom.
He sat with his father and tried to listen to the play starring a new actor called Peter Finch. There’d be no confrontation. No domestic change. Life would continue in the same dismal way. Luke could only assume that leaving was a step too far, and one she feared to take.
A month later Luke and Claudia were on the Long Reef golf course. The players had dispersed, it was early evening, the bar was closed and the clubhouse locked. They had the whole night in front of them because he’d told his parents he was staying at Claudia’s place, and she’d told hers she was staying at Luke’s. Their mothers had not seen so much of each other since the Sunday visit, but, if by mischance they happened to meet or phone and find out, the pair were prepared to face it. They’d reached a stage where feelings could no longer be contained. As Claudia said, “It’s more than time,” which meant the way they felt for each other had to be released in the only manner possible. So Luke had taken the bus to Narrabeen, to a chemist where he was unknown, in order to buy a packet of French letters. He braced himself to approach the elderly pharmacist rather than his young blonde female assistant, unaware the chemist was deaf.
“A packet of WHAT?” his reply to Luke’s muted request. The assistant looked up. A couple waiting for prescriptions turned to listen.
“French letters,” he mouthed, edging closer and enunciating as softly and clearly as possible. When the chemist still looked blank, the blonde came to murmur in his ear.
“Contraceptives. Then why not say so?” the chemist loudly responded. “That’ll be four and sixpence.”
Luke fumbled for the money, dropped coins and scrabbled to retrieve them. The blonde smirked. He paid for them and fled.
For weeks they’d been possessed by moments of delicious torment. Love was proving to be a stressful mix of ecstasy and anguish, with a price to pay for this rapture. Often he had to walk home crippled with the painful condition crudely known as lover’s balls. Claudia said her own frustration was equally upsetting. It was erotic hell, but at last they’d made a pact and she’d set a date for it to happen. So it was with tangible expectation that Luke left home with a satchel containing a blanket, a fresh change of clothes and a beach towel. Plus, of course, the purchase from the chemist.
They met behind the clubhouse, and by the time they’d walked up the headland and reached the gun emplacement it was deep night, with just a crescent moon and a sky full of stars enabling the
m to see each other. Since discovering the antique cannon, they’d learnt there was no army patrol. Only the gun, unlikely to ever fire a shot in anger at the enemy so close across the Torres Strait. This proximity and the chance their lives could soon be in danger made them reckless, fuelled an arousal that neither could nor wanted to control.
A trace of moonlight lay on the gun barrel pointing out to sea. With such a diminutive moon the ocean was dark, but the spumous waves were brightly visible against the scattered reef. It was a tranquil sight, but they had no time for serenity. Descending the steps cut into the gun emplacement pit, they started to undress in a nervous silence. Beneath her blouse and skirt Claudia was wearing only a pair of lace panties. No brassiere; the breasts he’d glimpsed and often felt but never properly seen until now, were small but beautifully formed and excitingly firm. Luke had an immediate desire to fondle them, but spread the blanket instead, then unwrapped a condom and fitted it while she stood watching him do this without speaking. It felt strangely asexual being observed like that; for a moment he feared his proudly extended prick might droop in shame and disappoint them both, thwarting her, humiliating him.
The stillness of the night itself was daunting. Luke had the uneasy feeling of being afraid to speak, that if he said ‘maybe we’d better not’, she might agree and they’d both get dressed and go home.
“What’s the matter, Luke?” she asked.
“Nothing. Not a single thing,” he insisted.
“My brother told me about French letters,” she suddenly said. “He claimed the Frogs got their revenge by calling them English overcoats.”
I mustn’t laugh, he thought fiercely; it would be fatal to laugh.
She didn’t speak again, just reached down to hold both his penis and testicles in her hands as if assessing their weight. All at once this fondling felt indescribably sensual. He took a deep breath, put his arms around her naked body, felt her breasts against his skin. Together, they fell onto the blanket.
Above the Fold Page 3
