No Ocean Deep

by Cate Swannell

  “Vicks second, clothes first,” Cadie insisted. She helped Jo stand and together they got her out of her drenched nightclothes and into the cool, clean cotton. “Better?”

  “Much,” Jo agreed as she crawled back into the fresh sheets. Cadie picked up the small jar of ointment and sat down next Jo. She unscrewed the lid and dipped her fingers in, coating them with the slippery, aromatic cream. Jo lifted the edge of the t-shirt and Cadie slid her hands underneath, rubbing the ointment over Jo’s upper chest.

  “I think you’re enjoying this,” Jo observed, a tiny smile touching the corners of her mouth.

  “Looking after you, or rubbing your chest?” Cadie asked mischievously.

  “Yes,” Jo replied.

  Cadie grinned. “You’re right,” she agreed. “You’re so good at looking after yourself that I don’t often get the chance to pamper you.” She withdrew her hands and patted Jo on the arm. “How does that feel?”

  Jo closed her eyes and let the warmth from the menthol and eucalyptus oil soak in. The sharp aroma immediately cleared her head a little and she sighed softly. “Better,” she said hoarsely. “Thanks.”

  “No thanks necessary, love,” Cadie replied. She leaned down and kissed Jo’s fevered brow. Still hot as hell, she realized. Just then there was a light tapping on the door. Good timing. “Come on in.”

  Maggie pushed open the door and stepped inside. In one hand she held a liter-sized bottle of spring water, and in the other she carried a large bowl of steaming soup.

  “Luckily I keep a few tubs of this stuff frozen for just such an emergency,” she said cheerily. She looked down at her suffering daughter. “Well, Josie, looks like you’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  Jo scowled at her mother. “Not my fault,” she grumbled.

  “I wasn’t attributing blame,” her mother chipped back. She placed the bottle of water on the bedside table. “You ready for some soup, sunshine?”

  “Not hungry.”

  Maggie sighed and looked at Cadie, who shrugged.

  “She’s been a really good patient so far,” the blonde said.

  “That won’t last,” mother and daughter said together, provoking a laugh from Cadie.

  “Here you go,” Maggie said as she handed the soup bowl and spoon to the American. “Maybe you can persuade her to get a few mouthfuls down.” She smiled knowingly at her daughter’s partner. “I have a feeling you can get her to do almost anything.”

  For the second time in less than an hour Cadie felt the flush of a blush across her skin. “Tch, Maggie. How do you do that?” she complained.

  “It’s a mother thing,” came a croaky retort from the bed. “Get used to it.”

  Maggie leaned down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Be good, Josie.” She straightened. “I’ve got some baking to do,” she said to Cadie. “David should be back in a couple of hours if you’re still interested in going into town with him.”

  Cadie nodded. “Mhmm,” she replied. “Tall, dark and diseased here wants me to go watch Jack’s rear end get a kicking.”

  “Hey!” Jo grumbled. “I’m still in the room, y’know.”

  Cadie and her mother-in-law exchanged amused glances. “I’ll leave you to it,” Maggie said cheerily. “Yell if you need something.” And with that, she left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

  Maggie withdrew the metal skewer, satisfied that the freshly-baked loaf of bread was done to perfection. She wrapped it in greaseproof paper and slid the loaf into the bread bin sitting on the counter. She looked up when she heard the familiar sound of David’s truck pulling into the yard.

  He looks pretty fresh considering he was up all night and has just driven an hour each way, Maggie decided. David walked slowly towards the house, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and his hands buried in his trouser pockets. She smiled quietly. He still scrubs up pretty well for an old fella.

  “Hello, love,” she greeted him as he walked in the kitchen door. He dropped his jacket over the back of a convenient chair and kissed her. “How was the service?”

  David sighed. April 25 was always a day of mixed emotions for him. It was Anzac Day, a day for commemorating Australia and New Zealand’s war dead and those who had survived their times in battle. As a Vietnam veteran, David had always taken part in the services and marches whenever he could, even through the awful times in the 70s when he was more likely to have been spat upon than cheered. These days taking part was a more pleasant affair. Even as the numbers thinned among the ranks, it was always heartening to see the large groups of young people who took part in the day’s activities.

  After the dramas of getting Jack Collingwood arrested, David had opted out of sleep and instead had made the long drive down to Cobar to take part in the dawn service at the small town’s war memorial. It was an annual pilgrimage for him, a chance to catch up with other veterans who were normally scattered widely around the region.

  “Not too many of us left,” he said in response to Maggie’s query. “Remember Scoby Jackson?” A member of David’s platoon in Vietnam. Maggie nodded. “He’s gone,” David said sadly. “His wife was there. Said the cancer came back about six months ago.”

  Maggie reached out and took her husband’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry, love.” He shrugged fatalistically.

  “That’s the way it goes,” he murmured.

  Maggie watched as he eased himself into the chair and reached for an apple from the fruit bowl on the table in front of him. She had never enjoyed Anzac Day. She knew it was something David needed, a connection to friends and comrades and memories that she would never be able to share. That wasn’t what bothered her about it though. It was the sadness she could see draping itself around her husband’s shoulders as he sat munching the apple, his eyes faraway in some memory of Scoby Jackson. Sometimes, Maggie thought, I just wish he could let all that go.

  “You’re back earlier than I thought you would be,” she said.

  David nodded. “Thought I’d come back and pick up Josie, and then we could go to the two-up game at the Louth pub,” he said, smiling up at her. “Y’know, like we used to do when she was a kid.”

  Maggie smiled back, hating the fact that she was about to disappoint him. “It’s a lovely thought, sweetheart, but unfortunately Jo’s sick.”

  He frowned, concern warring with disappointment on his face. “Sick? What’s wrong? Is she okay?” He stood up and she stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on his chest.

  “She’s got a bad cold and is running a temperature, but she’s getting some sleep and Cadie is looking after her.”

  David relaxed a little. “Not like Josie to get sick like that,” he muttered, wondering now if he could be bothered going back up the road to Louth, though he did want to drop in at the police station to see what the news was about that bastard Collingwood. And I suppose I’ll have to start looking for a new foreman, he thought glumly. He reached up and loosened his tie, then sat back down again.

  “That’s what I said,” Maggie replied. “But the poor baby’s all wrung out and feverish so she’s not going anywhere today.” One glance at her husband’s face told her he was now in two minds about going to the game. “Here’s an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you take Cadie?”

  David scowled. “She’s American,” he muttered.

  Maggie put her hands on her hips. “And your point is what exactly?” She sat down in the chair next to him. “David, it’s not like they don’t have days like Anzac Day as well. They’ve fought in wars too.”

  David grunted. “Yeah, when it suited them.”

  Maggie reached over and slapped his thigh. “Oh stop that. You know better,” she said, wondering if this wasn’t part of the reason David was so uncomfortable around Cadie.

  Her husband squirmed in his seat. “Yes, I do, but some of the older blokes might not be too friendly around a Yank, Maggie. You know they’re all pretty set in their ways. I don’t want to spend all my time looking out for her.”


  Maggie patted his thigh again. “I think you’re underestimating Cadie, love,” she said. “She’s not helpless, y’know. She can look after herself and from what I can gather, she’s more than capable of holding up her end of the conversation.” She held her husband’s gaze. “And taking her will make her feel like part of the family,” she said pointedly.

  David scowled again. “All right, all right. I’ll take her.” He pointed a finger at his wife. “But don’t expect me to be telling anyone that she and Jo are …” He hesitated. “… what they are.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes at him. “Do you usually go around discussing your daughter’s sleeping arrangements, David?” she said. “It’s not even going to come up. Leave all that to Cadie.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Maggie let herself into the bedroom after her knock brought no response. One glance at the scenario in the bed told her why and brought a gentle smile to her face. Cadie had climbed back into bed with Jo and was fast asleep as she leaned against the wall behind the bed, her partner’s dark head cradled on her belly. The blonde’s arms were wrapped securely around Jo’s shoulders in a protective embrace. Maggie chuckled softly and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reached out and patted Cadie’s forearm.

  “Cadie. Wake up, sweetie.”

  Green eyes blinked open immediately. “Oh, hi.” Cadie grinned sheepishly. “Guess I needed some more sleep too, huh?”

  “I guess so. If you still want to go in to town with David, though, you’d better get up now.”

  Cadie nodded. “Yep, I do.” She glanced down at the still sleeping woman in her arms. “Do you mind keeping an eye on her, for me? She’s still really hot.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, now,” Maggie said, patting her arm again. “I’m not going far from the house today. We’ll be right.”

  Jo stirred, mumbling softly in her sleep, and Cadie took the opportunity to slide out from underneath. “Where you going?” Jo muttered without opening her eyes.

  “Sshhh, sweetheart, go back to sleep. Your mom’s going to be around while I go with your dad, okay?”

  “’k,” Jo replied, barely waking at all.

  Maggie moved out of the way, allowing Cadie to clamber out of the bed.

  “Listen, this trip into town’s more than just a visit to the police station,” she said as the blonde moved around, gathering clothes together. Cadie looked at her inquiringly. “Today’s Anzac Day,” Maggie explained. A blank look from the American made her smile. “It’s the day all the war veterans get together, and walk in parades and sit around in the pubs and reminisce.”

  “Ahhh.” Cadie nodded in understanding. “Like our Veterans Day.” She pulled on her moleskins and zipped them up, before reaching for the shirt she’d chosen. “Are these clothes going to be okay, then?” she asked, suddenly wondering if she shouldn’t be finding something less casual to wear.

  “They’re fine,” Maggie confirmed. “David’s already been to the dawn service, and now he wants to go to the Louth pub and catch up with some old mates, play some two-up.”

  “Two-up?"

  Maggie grinned. “You’ll see.”

  Cadie nodded, accepting that. A sudden flash of insight made her look up at Maggie sharply. “Jo used to spend the day with him, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Maggie replied, quietly impressed with the American’s ability to cut to the chase.

  “So I’m daughter by proxy for the day.” Cadie met Maggie’s steady gaze again. “Oh boy.”

  Her mother-in-law laughed. “Don’t worry. He really is a teddy bear. And he likes you.” Cadie raised a surprised eyebrow. “Trust me, I can tell.”

  It took about 15 minutes for Cadie to screw up the courage to start a conversation with the silent man behind the wheel. David had given her a brusque nod in greeting before pulling on his suit jacket and waiting for her to climb in the passenger side, but his utterances had been few and far between.

  “So,” she said eventually. “Tell me about Anzac Day.”

  Grey eyes flicked over her and then away again. “What do you want to know?” David said gruffly.

  “Well,” Cadie replied carefully. She shifted slightly so she was turned more towards him. “Why is it today? April 25, I mean.”

  David took a deep breath and bit back a retort. Figures this kind of history doesn’t make an impact in America, he thought. Not her fault though, and at least she’s interested.

  “April 25, 1915,” he said. “That’s the day Australian and New Zealand forces landed on the beach at Gallipoli.” He looked quickly at Cadie who kept her face impassive. “That’s on the Turkish peninsula at the entrance to the Black Sea.” She nodded understanding. “Trouble is the British commanders got it wrong and the landing took place too far north. The Turks were sitting at the top of the cliffs waiting for the Aussies and when our blokes landed they were pretty much cut down. Eventually they managed to dig in at the foot of the cliffs. Nine months later they were withdrawn, without making any significant advances. There were 26,000 Aussie casualties, 7500 Kiwis.”

  Cadie let the hot, dry wind from the open window wash over her for a moment. “Sounds like it was a terrible, pointless war,” she said quietly.

  “It was,” David said bluntly. “But a lot of people think it was the making of us.”

  “How do you mean?”

  David rested his elbow on the edge of the window, his fingers pressed against his temple. “Up until then, we’d pretty much followed around after England, doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. I mean, that’s why we were fighting in World War I in the first place, after all,” he explained. “But after Gallipoli we were a lot more skeptical about being at their beck and call. It was the start of our independence as a nation, I guess.”

  Cadie nodded slowly. “Thanks for explaining.”

  “No worries.”

  Cadie did a quick sum in her head. “I guess there aren’t too many Gallipoli veterans left,” she said.

  “None,” David replied. “Last one died last year. There’s only a handful of Great War vets left as well.” He looked at her again. “You’re going to meet one this morning.”

  Cadie grinned. “Cool.”

  Maggie startled slightly as the phone jangled next to her. “I’ve got to figure out how to turn that bloody thing down,” she muttered as she turned away from the computer screen. She had been working on the station’s accounts and, despite her grumbling about the discordant sound, she was grateful for any excuse not to keep looking at the grim figures. “Hello,” she said after lifting the receiver off the hook.

  “Mrs. Madison? Uh, g’day. It’s Ken Harding here.” The gruff voice of the Sydney-based policeman surprised Maggie.

  “Oh, Detective Harding,” she said, smiling to herself. “Hello to you, too. How are you?”

  “Fair to middling, thanks,” replied Harding. He was sitting at his desk in a seedy corner of NSW police headquarters on Charles Street. It was a public holiday, but Harding, himself a Vietnam veteran, preferred to avoid the Anzac Day rituals for a chance to catch up on some paperwork. “Thanks for the Christmas card, by the way. Sorry I didn’t get around to sending one back.”

  Maggie swiveled her chair around till she was facing out onto her back garden. “That’s all right, Ken,” she answered. “We know how busy you get, especially at that time of year.” Aware of her daughter’s presence in the bedroom, just a short walk away, she lowered her voice, even though she knew Jo was more than likely still asleep. “What can we do for you today?”

  “Just checking in really, Maggie,” the cop said. “Haven’t talked to you in a while so I thought I’d see how things are going, see if you had any questions about Jo.”

  Maggie grinned. “Well, actually, I’ve got some news for you, for once,” she said, a little smugly. “Jo is here.”

  There was a suitable silence on the other end of the phone as Harding absorbed that totally unexpected piece of information. Bugger
me, he thought. Madison finally got up the nerve to go home. “That’s great news, Maggie,” he said.

  “We’re pretty happy about it,” Maggie confirmed. “Cadie is here too.”

  Harding wrapped his pudgy, nicotine-stained fingers around his coffee cup and spun the mug idly in his hand. “Yeah?” Jesus, one surprise after another. She went home and she told ’em she’s a dyke. Gutsy.. “She’s a feisty one, that one. She beaten anyone up yet?”

  Maggie laughed. “Yes, actually,” she replied, thinking of the American’s run-in with Jack Collingwood. “She’s lovely.”

  Harding smiled, his memories of the fierce little blonde fond ones. “Yeah, she’s not bad,” he understated. He cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly feeling like he didn’t quite know what he was doing in this conversation. “Does Jo know yet … well … you know?” He hesitated to spell out the extent of his relationship with Jo’s parents.

  “Not yet,” Maggie replied, hearing a quiet note in the policeman’s voice that she hadn’t heard before.

  “Fair enough,” Harding murmured. He felt vaguely disoriented, as if the natural order of things in his world had been tilted strangely. He had been so used to Jo Madison’s self-imposed isolation and the sense of duty he felt towards her parents, that now … Well, if she’s back in the family fold, then I guess they won’t need me anymore, he thought glumly.

  “I hope this doesn’t mean we won’t be hearing from you any more, Ken,” Maggie said, as if she could read his mind. “You know David and I will always consider you a friend of the family. I don’t know what we would have done without knowing you were there to help when we needed it.”

  Harding swallowed around the lump that had suddenly developed in his throat. “Awww, you know I was just doing my job, Maggie,” he said huskily.

  “Rubbish,” Maggie retorted. “You know damn well you went above and beyond what you needed to do for the job.”

  Five years ago, when Jo had turned herself in, Ken Harding had been the Madisons’ contact with the police. He had planned on offering protection for her parents as part of the package in exchange for her testimony. But when the ex-assassin had turned down any form of police help, Harding had taken it upon himself to contact the Madisons and put them out of their misery as to Jo’s safety and whereabouts. Over the years, since he was keeping tabs on Jo anyway, Harding had become the Madisons’ only link to their wayward daughter.