by Nunn, Judy
‘I propose a toast to our son . . .’ Stan shared a smile with Hilda, who breathed a sigh of relief that some form of normalcy had returned to the gathering. ‘After achieving a fine matriculation Alan is about to embark upon his Diploma of Engineering and I know he will do us all proud.’ He raised his glass in true patriarchal fashion. ‘To my son,’ he said, ‘to Alan,’ and they all followed suit.
‘To Alan,’ they chanted.
When the seemingly interminable lunch was over, Henry took his departure with a stilted thank you to his hosts. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain whether Stan would offer the customary handshake.
Stan did. ‘Give my best to your parents,’ he said amiably enough. He could tell Henry was desperately nervous. Good, he thought, insufferable little prick.
‘I will indeed, they’re bound to phone tonight.’ Henry winced at the bone-crushing clasp, which he could swear was even more brutal than usual.
When Henry had gone, the family went their separate ways, Bartholomew returning to his quarters and his latest book, Hilda weaving her way off for ‘a bit of a lie down’ and Stan retiring to his study and his paperwork, leaving the younger members to fill in the remainder of the day as they wished.
‘Well the lamb was good,’ Alan drily remarked.
‘Poor Henry,’ Kate said, ‘he’s so terrified of Dad.’
‘For once I’m on the old man’s side. Henry’s a pompous bore.’
She couldn’t disagree with that. ‘Want to go for a swim in the dam?’
He checked his watch. ‘Not enough time. I’m picking Paola up at half past four.’
‘Ah, of course.’ She should have known. ‘Do you want to borrow the Holden?’
‘No thanks.’ He registered her surprise. ‘Too conspicuous,’ he explained. ‘I always use a Land Rover from the mill. Ted signs one out to me and half the time no one even knows who’s driving the thing, let alone who the passenger is.’
‘That’s smart.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is, but I don’t want to be smart.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t want to sneak around, it’s bloody annoying. I’d much rather be open about everything.’
‘Of course you would.’ She smiled brazenly as she threw out the challenge. ‘Well the offer’s there, Al, if you want to flaunt it on your last day you’re welcome to swan around in the Holden.’
The smile he returned her was wry. ‘Crikey, Kate, I’d be in it like a shot if the choice was mine – I couldn’t give a damn what turn Dad put on – but I’d only be making trouble for Paola. She’s playing a cat and mouse game at home. Luigi doesn’t say anything to her face, but she knows he disapproves. Better we keep things as low-key as possible – for now anyway.’
‘Fair enough.’
Forty minutes later, Alan drove out of the massive garage that housed the pool of work vehicles: the Land Rovers, the Holden utilities, the Blitz trucks and more. He circled around the rear of the towering mill and pulled up behind the nearby sugar shed, where Paola stood waiting in the shadows. It was their customary rendezvous point during the slack season. When he was home on holiday during the crushing the mill and its surrounds was a hive of human activity and finding time alone was far more difficult. They were forced then to meet down near the pumping station and make do with a walk along the track that, during childhood days, had been forged through the tumble of growth beside the river.
She climbed hastily into the passenger side, sinking low in the seat so that she was not visible to anyone they might pass. She would remain that way until they had left the property and were on the Bundaberg–Gin Gin road heading into town.
Like Alan, the need for subterfuge annoyed Paola. She was tired of the game being played out between her and her parents. Whenever she returned home, her father would glower suspiciously at her, while the glances her mother darted him halted any challenge about where she’d been or with whom. If he’d asked, she would have told him – it was clear he knew anyway – but her parents had obviously agreed to avoid confrontation on the assumption that she and Alan would get over their childhood crush now that he was joining the work force and the adult world. Well they’re wrong, Paola thought. They’re very, very wrong.
Pretty little Paola Fiorelli was no longer the shy, insecure girl she’d once been. She’d developed a steely side. Paola was a young woman in love, prepared to defy her parents, her religion and her entire upbringing.
‘How was the farewell lunch?’ she asked, looking up at him from the depths of the passenger seat.
‘The roast lamb was good.’
She laughed. ‘That bad.’
‘Yep, that bad. Henry Krantz talked business, Dad told him to shut up and after that everything went downhill.’
‘Just as well we weren’t invited then.’
‘Yep.’ He drove on a little further and they turned into the main road. ‘Safe now,’ he said.
She sat up and wound down the window, the warm afternoon wind streaming through, whipping her hair into a fierce black frenzy. Scraping the unruly mess back from her face, she reached behind her head, deftly twisted a pony tail and locked her hair at the base of her neck in a knot of its own making.
Alan just loved the way she did that.
They drove over the bridge and upon reaching Bourbong Street turned right, away from the town centre, heading for Queens Park, the favoured haunt of many a young courting couple.
Alan pulled the Land Rover up in the rear grounds of the Hospital and when they’d alighted they took each other’s hand to wander the narrow paths that meandered through the park. They were comfortably silent, words unnecessary, although the ache of their imminent parting rested between them.
Upon reaching their favourite spot beside the river’s steep banks, away from the paths and the eyes of others, they came to a halt and wordlessly gravitated into each other’s arms.
Their kiss was tender, but full of the longing they both felt. Passion was never far away. Alan fought a constant battle to keep himself in check, and he wondered sometimes if Paola knew just how sexual a creature she had become. The fullness of her breasts against his chest, the softness of her lips, the inviting moistness of her mouth . . . God it drove him mad. But inevitably it was he who was the one forced to call a halt – Paola didn’t seem to recognise when enough was enough.
Paola in her innocence may have been unaware of the extent to which she aroused him, but she was not unaware of her own longing. Just turned seventeen, she was undeniably beautiful, but it was love that lent her the confidence she’d always lacked. Far from feeling self-conscious about her Italian looks as she once had, she now revelled in her appearance. Alan loved the way she looked, and if Alan found her beautiful, then she felt beautiful. She was his, her beauty belonged to him, and she yearned to please.
Paola’s desire to please was a continual test of Alan’s powers of restraint and today was no exception. Despite the passion mounting on both sides, he broke away, as he always did, in order to create some physical space between them. She must surely have been aware of his erection.
They stood, a little breathless, looking down the steep banks to the river far below, where the late afternoon light played prettily across the water’s surface.
‘I’ll miss you,’ she said after a minute or so. He nodded; he’d miss her too. ‘It’ll hardly be the same as boarding school, will it?’ she added lightly. ‘You won’t be locked away with hundreds of other boys. I suppose I should worry.’
She’d tried to sound as though she was making a joke, but he sensed her concern.
‘No need,’ he said simply. ‘Why would I look at anyone else? I love you.’ Alan, as always, was a man of few words.
‘I love you too.’
They kissed again, very gently. Then they sat on the grassy riverbank, his arm about her, her head resting upon his shoulder, and gazed down at the glistening water.
A half an hour or so later, as the light faded and the day began its transition to dusk they left the park a
nd drove back to Elianne.
Two weeks after Alan’s departure, Kate returned to Sydney. She was relishing the prospect of fourth year. There were some who found the veterinary science course gruelling, but to Kate, who was academically gifted, it presented little hardship: she enjoyed her studies.
University and the multi-faceted existence she led in Sydney continued to stimulate Kate on every level, but it was her commitment to the fight for human rights that added true purpose to her life, and this year promised a major breakthrough in the campaign most dear to her.
‘They’ve set a date for the referendum,’ she said as she unlocked the front door. She’d arrived home late Saturday afternoon to discover Jeremy sitting on the doorstep of the little cottage in Campbell Street. He’d been waiting for nearly an hour he’d said, disgruntled, but she hadn’t listened, she was too excited. ‘They told us at the meeting this arvo: 27th of May. It’ll be announced to the media on Monday.’
‘Great,’ he said in a manner she found rather lacking in interest.
They stepped inside and he closed the door behind them.
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic,’ she said critically. ‘Charlie Perkins and the gang have been working day and night, Aboriginal rights groups have been campaigning all over the country – you could at least sound pleased that the date’s finally been set.’
‘I am, Kate, I am, I’m very happy for you, honestly.’ His patronising tone annoyed her. ‘But come on now, you have to admit,’ he added, aware she was piqued, which in turn annoyed him, ‘it’s not a really big deal in the scheme of things. Even if the yes vote wins, the referendum’s hardly going to change the face of the nation.’
‘I beg to disagree,’ she said, aware she sounded prim. ‘In my personal opinion amending the Australian constitution is a very big deal indeed.’
‘You know what I mean,’ he said, trying to remain patient when all he wanted to do was take her upstairs to bed, ‘it’s not as if you’re giving Aborigines the vote, for God’s sake – they’ve had that for ages.’
‘Aboriginal people were not granted the right to vote in Western Australia until 1962,’ she replied icily, ‘and Queensland gave them the vote less than two years ago. You call that ages, do you?’
‘All right, all right, WA and Queensland were late coming to the party.’ Bed would have to wait, he realised. She was angry now. ‘I know the facts as well as you do, I worked on the campaign, remember?’
‘Yes I do. What happened?’
‘I believe in the referendum, Kate, truly I do,’ he said, trying to appear earnest as she clearly needed placating. ‘I’m just questioning its importance, that’s all. I mean voting rights were given to all British male citizens including Aborigines in the nineteenth century – there were Aborigines who voted in the first Federal election.’ He reeled off the statistics in his customarily superior fashion, which most found impressive, but which to Kate was now intensely irritating. ‘The Chifley government gave the federal vote to those who’d been granted a state vote in ’49, and the Menzies government gave the vote to all Aborigines –’
‘Yes, yes, in 1962,’ she interrupted impatiently, ‘I know all that. Where the hell is this leading, Jeremy? What exactly is it you’re trying to say?’
God, she’s belligerent, he thought. ‘In bringing up the vote issue, I’m just putting a perspective on the referendum’s historic significance,’ he said with a saintly patience that to Kate sounded more patronising than ever, ‘the suggested amendments to the constitution will hardly alter the Aboriginal condition –’
‘Of course they will,’ she burst out angrily, ‘they’ll change perceptions across the nation. It’s called awareness, Jeremy, awareness! People, both white and black, live in ignorance. Most Aborigines don’t even know they’re allowed to vote. They’re not counted in the census, they’re not treated as equal citizens, the white population is encouraged to think of them as inferior, the referendum will open people’s eyes . . .’
Jeremy watched with admiration as she blazed away, angered by the injustice that surrounded her. She’s magnificent, he thought. How amazing that someone so enraged can look so beautiful. Kate, when impassioned, was terribly sexy.
‘This is the sixties, for God’s sake!’ There was no stopping her. ‘Look at what’s happening in America! Look at what’s happening in South Africa! How can we let that happen here in Australia? There should be no colour, no race issue in this country. We’re a new nation, we should be learning from the mistakes of others, not following in their path!’
‘OK, OK.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘You’ve won me. Calm down, now, calm down.’
She came to an abrupt halt. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I got carried away.’
‘Yes, you did a bit.’ He grinned amiably. ‘We’re on the same side, you know. It’s hardly as if I need converting.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I was impressed, truly I was.’ He took her in his arms and she didn’t resist. ‘You really did win me, Kate,’ he murmured. ‘Now can I win you?’ He kissed her, his hand straying to her breast, and Kate, obeying the dictates of her body, couldn’t help but respond.
They retired to the attic, where their lovemaking was as mutually satisfying as ever, but she knew the affair was over. The affair’s been over for some time, she thought, it’s only been lust keeping us together. Well she could live without sex, she decided.
He stayed the night and they made love again in the morning as they always did. Then, over toast and coffee at the little table, she told him.
‘You’re joking.’ Jeremy didn’t believe for one moment she could possibly be serious. ‘After two years, it’s over,’ he snapped his fingers, ‘just like that.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ she said apologetically.
‘Oh, I get it.’ He gave a knowing nod. ‘It’s because I wasn’t as passionate about the referendum as I should have been – that’s it, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, I should have –’
‘It has nothing whatsoever to do with the referendum, Jeremy. It’s over, that’s all.’
He stared at her in stunned amazement. Good God, he thought, I’m being dumped, I’m actually being dumped. He’d never been dumped before. He was always the one who did the dumping, and usually after three months, six at the outside. He’d never had a relationship that had lasted a whole two years. What on earth had gone wrong?
‘Is there someone else?’ There has to be, he thought. But how come he hadn’t read the signs? How come he hadn’t guessed?
‘Of course there’s no one else.’ Kate couldn’t help but smile. His reaction was one of amazement, not heartbreak, and his disbelief was verging on comical. ‘You’re special to me, Jeremy,’ she said in all sincerity, ‘you always will be. It’s only the affair that’s over, not the friendship. I’m grateful for everything we’ve shared and I hope we’ll remain friends.’
‘Oh we will, Kate, we will, no doubt about that.’ He stood, still dazed and somewhat in a state of shock. ‘Well I’ll just gather up a few things, shall I?’
‘Would you like another cup of coffee?’
‘No, no, best to get it over and done with I think.’
She fetched him a carry bag and, five minutes later, when he’d gathered together his toothbrush and toiletries and spare underpants, they said their goodbyes at the front door.
‘I feel rather pathetic,’ he said forlornly.
‘You don’t look it. You look as gorgeous as ever.’ She kissed him fondly. ‘Thank you for being my first love. I consider myself very lucky, and I really do mean that.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said with his customary panache. ‘So I’ll see you around the campus then.’
‘Yes. See you around, Venner.’
He smiled, and Kate saw in his eyes a regret that she found surprisingly touching. Then he turned away and she closed the door.
CHAPTER TEN
Alan was finding his new life
in Brisbane frustrating. He was not an impatient young man as a rule, nor was he afraid of hard work, but it seemed to him that he was slogging away for extraordinarily long hours and for very little purpose.
It’s a bit like being on a treadmill, he wrote to Paola, where one walks and walks but never actually gets anywhere. They exchanged letters at least once a week, he forwarding his to the Bundaberg post office in order to avoid the eagle eyes of her parents. Of course Dad would say the whole point of the exercise is to gain my qualification as a mechanic and to achieve my Engineering Diploma, but surely I should be learning something along the way.
His education did appear to have reached a stalemate. The apprenticeship he was serving at Evans Deakin & Company’s machine shop in South Brisbane involved endless hard work that he found extremely mundane, and his first-year studies at Technical College were teaching him nothing he didn’t already know. He resigned himself to the fact that the course was bound to pick up over time and made the college library his salve, borrowing manuals and textbooks designed for final-year students and devouring them on Sunday afternoons.
He lived in Woollangabba, a suburb on the south side of the river, in a pleasant boarding house run by a pleasant middle-aged widow who provided most of his meals, including an excellent hearty breakfast, which was just as well for his day was long and tedious. First thing in the morning, he would catch a tram to Evans Deakin, where he would work a solid eight hours, the lunch break provided allowing time only for a quick visit to the nearby sandwich shop. Then upon returning to the boarding house, he would scrub away the grime of the day and, if he had time, gobble down the tea prepared by the kindly widow – if time did not allow, it would be put aside and reserved for his supper – after which he would catch the cross-river ferry from Kangaroo Point to the Alice Street jetty. He would make his way from there to Central Technical College at the Botanical Garden end of George Street to attend his Diploma Course lectures, which lasted most nights from six until nine.
