by Nunn, Judy
‘Don’t tell me,’ she said in triumphant recognition, ‘Madigan’s Plumbing Services, Chalmers Street, opposite Prince Alfred Park!’
‘That’s the one. How come you know us?’
‘I walk in the park at least once a week. I’m always passing your shop – it’s most impressive.’
Having intended no more than a routine compliment, Kate was surprised by the eagerness of his response.
‘Oh it is, believe me. My father’s done an amazing job. The shop’s far more than a retail outlet. Dad has three vans that service the city and eastern suburbs and he employs two other plumbers full-time, together with two office staff. That’s not half bad,’ he said boastfully, ‘for a bog-ignorant Irishman with no formal education.’
The change is amazing, she thought, noting how the reticence to talk of himself had disappeared the moment his father came up for discussion. She found his enthusiasm utterly engaging.
‘How’s your dad’s health since the stroke?’ she asked tentatively, hoping not to appear intrusive, but keen to further the conversation.
‘He’s made a good recovery. Not allowed to do the physical stuff these days, doctor’s orders, but he looks after the shop and that keeps him happy enough.’ Frank studied the glass of beer on the table before him; his father’s stroke had radically changed his own life and the plans he’d had to pursue his teaching career. ‘He’ll be even happier with me around to run things though,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘A Christmas visit is somehow never enough.’ He glanced at her, adding hastily as if to correct any possible misunderstanding, ‘Not that he ever complains, but I know how much he’s missed me these past three years.’
‘Do you have any siblings, Frank?’
‘Nope.’ He picked up the glass, ‘I’m all Dad has, all he’s ever had. But then he was all I had throughout my childhood – mother, father, best mate, you name it.’ He swigged back half his beer in one go, wondering why he’d spoken so openly to this girl he’d just met – he rarely did such a thing – but he refused to feel self-conscious. She was a nice girl, he liked her. ‘My father worked his guts out to put me through school and give me the life he’d never had, it’s only right I come home now.’
Kate longed to ask him what had happened to his mother, but she had a feeling this was as far as the interrogation was permitted to go. She was right.
‘Why don’t you introduce me to some of these people?’ he suggested, looking about at the crowd as if it had suddenly and magically re-appeared.
‘Of course.’ She stood with her glass of champagne, ‘bring your beer and we’ll do the rounds.’
They circulated among the gathering, which had turned into quite a party as glasses were re-filled and finger food handed about on trays. Most of those present were eager to meet Frank, whose speech had impressed them, and he and Kate joined in the discussions and arguments that became steadily rowdier and more animated as the day wore on.
By late afternoon things were winding down. Those with families and Saturday-night commitments left, and the several volunteer workers, of whom Kate was one, embarked on the cleaning-up process. But as dusk crept in a hard-core mob remained, volunteers and members of the student brigade for the most part, still in passionate debate. With them, not competing for attention as most were, but observing with avid interest and offering the occasional astute comment, was Frank Madigan.
Finally, at Venner’s suggestion, they adjourned to Bates Milk Bar. ‘I’m bloody starving,’ he loudly declared to the bunch of fifteen or so, ‘and it’s getting bloody freezing.’
Venner was stating the obvious, they all agreed. The finger food having long since been demolished they were hungry, and with the sun gone the night ahead promised to be a bitterly cold one.
‘Not by Melbourne standards,’ Frank commented to Kate as they followed the troops out of the courtyard and across the main road.
Bates Milk Bar on the corner of Campbell Parade and Hall Street was famous. Established in 1951 by hard-working Greek brothers George and Nick Bagiatis, who’d anglicised their name, it operated seven days a week, often late into the night, and was renowned for the best milkshakes and the biggest ‘mixed grills’ in town.
With Venner leading the way, the rowdy group arrived to find they had the place fairly much to themselves. Being the first week in June, there were no beachgoers vying for the wooden booths with their pink Laminex-topped tables and, as it was barely six o’clock, there were not yet many evening diners, just a few diehard regulars who lived in the area.
Jeremy bagged a booth for himself and Isobel at the far end where he had a good view of the main doors. He hoped to catch Kate’s eye as she entered and wave her over, although he was aware that for Isobel’s sake he must keep any invitation to join them as casual and impromptu as possible. His plan was thwarted, however. Leading the troops, as he always did, had proved his downfall. Larry and Sylvia, ever eager to be in the charismatic presence of Venner, slithered in beside him and were quickly joined by others who claimed every available booth nearby.
Damn, Jeremy thought as he watched the place fill up and saw Kate and Frank, the last to arrive, claim the only remaining empty booth down near the main doors. Damn, he should have dawdled and brought up the rear.
Mary and Chris Bates, the Greek brothers’ wives, who were just as hard working as their husbands, scuttled about taking orders and doling out the milk bar’s ever popular ‘choc-malts’ in metal milkshake containers.
‘Are you up for the mixed grill?’ Kate asked. ‘I have to warn you, it’s absolutely enormous.’
‘Then I’m absolutely up for it, I’m ravenous.’
‘Me too.’
They ordered the mixed grill.
Frank checked his watch. ‘I’ll have to eat and run though,’ he said apologetically; he was catching a taxi direct to the airport for his night flight back to Melbourne. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you joined your friends?’
‘They’re in for the long haul, they’ll still be here when you leave,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I’ll have plenty of people to talk to.’ She smiled. ‘I’m glad for a bit of a breather actually. I’m sure you’ve noticed that as a mob we can be quite exhausting.’
‘Stimulating too: I’ve enjoyed the afternoon’s conversations. You’re a lively bunch all right.’
‘When do you settle back in Sydney, Frank?’
‘About a month I’d say. I’ve been pretty well established in Melbourne for the past three years and with everything put on hold for the last couple of months’ campaigning there’s a lot to tie up. I’ll take my time with the move, but there’s no rush – the old man has a good manager who can hold the fort.’
‘I’ll bet your dad’s counting the days,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I’d put money on that all right.’
As he smiled his easy smile, Kate felt a vague sense of relief that her affair with Jeremy was over. Frank had shown no particular sign of interest, he’d made no suggestion they meet upon his return, but it pleased her now to be unattached. She was not seeking a relationship, on the contrary she was revelling in her current single state, but she would like to get to know this man. Just as a friend.
From where he sat at the rear of the milk bar, Jeremy could see Kate’s reflection in one of the mirrors that lined the walls. The mirrors, with scenes of the beach and of bathers etched into the glass, were a feature at Bates of which the brothers were justifiably proud. He was unable to see Frank, who was masked by the booth in which the two were sitting, but Kate, facing towards him, was clearly visible and he couldn’t help but note the avid attention she was paying to her companion.
She’s not interested in the bloke, surely, he thought with a stab of jealousy. She can’t be! Doesn’t she know about Frank Madigan? Isn’t she aware of the man’s background?
Jeremy knew he was being unreasonable, that he had no hold over Kate and that their affair was over, but he couldn’t help wanting her back, and he couldn’t help hating the
thought of someone else having her. Frank Madigan in particular was quite out of the question. I’ll tell her about him, he decided. Yes easily solved, that’ll put the kybosh on things . . .
‘Four mixed grills.’
His attention was diverted as huge plates of food were plonked one by one onto the Laminex-topped table. The kitchen was churning out mixed grills at an alarming rate.
‘My God,’ Frank said, gazing down at his own chop, steak, bacon, sausage and lambs fry topped with a fried egg, ‘you were right.’
‘I did warn you.’
He ate every skerrick and Kate, who’d always possessed a healthy appetite, very nearly matched him.
‘I don’t suppose you want my sausage,’ she asked, finally forced to admit defeat, but he shook his head.
‘Sorry, you’re on your own there.’
A half an hour later, Frank bade her goodbye and having paid his bill was about to steal quietly away, but Kate decided his departure should not go unnoticed.
‘Frank’s leaving everyone,’ she announced crossing to the booths where the others were sitting, ‘he has to fly back to Melbourne tonight.’
Venner immediately rose to his feet, those with him also standing to make way as he edged out of the crowded booth. He strode forwards and shook Frank’s hand. ‘Good on you for coming, Frank,’ he said, ‘it was a bloody great speech,’ and as he initiated a round of applause the others readily joined in.
‘Yeah, well done . . .’
‘Good to meet you, Frank . . .’
‘All the best mate . . .’
The several regular elderly diners, who’d anticipated a peaceful early meal, traded dark looks. By now they’d had quite enough of this youthful gang that had invaded their territory.
Frank gave a wave to everyone and sloped out into the evening. So much for a quiet exit.
Jeremy returned to his seat, watching as Kate joined two other students in a booth that was half empty. So Frank’s going back to Melbourne, he thought, relieved. Good, that was that, problem averted.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘We’re married.’
Seated at the little round dining table in the little house in Campbell Street, Kate froze, coffee mug mid-air, and stared disbelievingly at her brother. ‘You’re what?’ she said, knowing she sounded stupid, but too dumbfounded to react otherwise.
‘It was a very respectable ceremony,’ he assured her, ‘at the Catholic Church in Gia Long Boulevard right in the heart of town, a most reputable –’
‘But you’re not a Catholic.’ Again she knew her comment was inane.
Neil laughed – an involuntary reaction: he didn’t intend to trivialise the moment – but he’d never seen his sister at such a loss for words. It’s to be expected, he supposed. She’d listened with infinite patience and understanding as he’d told her all about Nguyen Thi Yen and their love affair.
‘Yes,’ she’d said apparently unsurprised by the news, ‘I gathered from the hints in your letters that there was a girl involved.’
The bombshell of his marriage was a different matter altogether.
‘How can you be married in a Catholic church if you’re not a Catholic?’ Kate asked, feeling utterly foolish. There were a dozen or more questions of far greater importance she could have offered up, but in her state of stupefaction it was the first thing that came out.
‘The priest who married us was Vietnamese,’ Neil explained, ‘he’s a friend of Yen’s family. He asked me if I was a Catholic, I said yes and he believed me, or rather he pretended to. The fact that I donated a sizeable sum to the church probably expedited matters. Although to give the man credit, I don’t think the transaction was purely mercenary. I think he agreed to marry us so that Yen would have a marriage certificate, allowing me to bring her back to Australia and a better life. With three daughters and no son to help support the family her father’s pretty poor.’
‘But . . . but . . .’ Kate was astounded by her brother’s calm, matter-of-fact delivery and found herself stammering as she sought answers to the myriad questions that assailed her. The ramifications of Neil’s action were huge, the obstacles surely insurmountable. ‘But what about the war, Neil? You won’t be able to bring her home, they won’t let you.’
‘I don’t intend to bring her home, not yet anyway. Not until the war’s over.’
‘So you’ll live apart until then?’
‘No. I’m going back to Vietnam.’
‘But you’ve served your tour. They won’t let you go back.’
‘They will if I’m in the regular army.’ Another bombshell, she realised. ‘I’m joining up.’
She stared wordlessly at him. You’re volunteering to fight in this hideous war, a voice in her brain screamed, you’re risking your life to return to a battle zone, and all because of a girl?!
‘I don’t like war any more than you do, Kate,’ he said reasonably. God how he adored his sister. Her face was a page with every thought readable, but of course it always had been to him. It’s what I love most about you, Kate, he thought, your lack of duplicity, your utter inability to hide your true feelings; you are the most honest person I know.
‘Please don’t blame Yen,’ he said.
Feeling caught out, Kate wondered whether she should defend herself – the girl was his wife after all – but if he returned to Vietnam and was killed she knew she would never forgive this person called Yen. She said nothing, but again her face spoke multitudes.
‘I would have joined the army with or without Yen,’ Neil continued, ‘it’s where I belong, or rather where I feel I belong.’
The statement made no sense at all to her, and with nothing to contribute she waited for him to go on.
‘I like being in the army,’ he said. ‘I liked it right from the start, even at training camp. It was a way to be free of Dad’s expectations. I liked being one of the boys.’ Her face was clearly saying ‘so what?’. ‘But things have gone much further than that, Kate,’ he went on to explain. ‘The fact is I’m a good soldier. I’ve seen men fall apart in battle, I’ve seen them wrecked in its aftermath, and understandably so, but somehow I’ve survived the experience. I know I can do it again, and I will if it’s required of me. That will be my job.’
She remained staring at him, still confused, still unable to fathom his reasoning, and Neil knew he must dig far deeper into his own psyche in order for her to understand. Her honesty deserved honesty in return.
‘I’ve been living a lie for years,’ he admitted. He’d never spoken like this before, never even dared think like this before. ‘I can be a good soldier, Kate, I know that much. The one thing I know I cannot be is my father. I can never live up to what Dad wants of me. It seems from birth I’ve been groomed to be someone I’m not. I can’t repeat the cycle. I can’t be Stan the Man. I can’t be Big Jim.’
Of course you can’t, the voice in her head said, nor should you ever want to be. Big Jim is a myth. It’s your father who’s been unwittingly living the lie. She wanted to say the words out loud, but she knew she didn’t dare.
‘I’m joining the army because that’s who I am now, Kate, that’s the person I’ve become. And I’m going to Vietnam to be with Yen because I love her more than I love life itself. She means everything to me, as I do to her. My decision is really that simple.’
‘I see.’ She’d finally found her voice although she had no idea what to say. ‘And what does the army think of your marriage?’ Again a banality, she didn’t give a damn what the army thought.
‘Oh Good God, the army doesn’t know,’ he said as if the mere notion was preposterous. ‘We were married in secret; the military would never have allowed it. I told a couple of close mates who acted as witnesses, but they’re sworn to secrecy. And no one else must know, Kate, until I’m able to bring Yen home. I’m only telling you now as a safeguard.’ He took an envelope from the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘You remember I wrote that I had a favour to ask of you?’
She nodded. Words onc
e again seeming to fail her, she felt utterly helpless.
He placed the envelope on the table. ‘This is a copy of the marriage certificate,’ he said. ‘Yen has the original. If anything happens to me, you must send money to support her. The bank details are all there in the envelope. And when the war is over you must bring her home to Elianne.’
Kate stared down at the envelope, thinking how horribly finalised everything sounded, wishing there was some way she could dissuade him from this path, yet knowing she couldn’t.
‘Will you do that for me, Kate? Will you promise?’
‘Yes.’ She looked up and met her brother’s eyes. ‘Yes, I promise.’
Neil stayed that night. They bought take-away food and sat up talking until well after midnight. He spoke openly about the war, the way he never did in his letters. ‘What would be the point,’ he said bluntly. ‘What can you say? You’re there, you’re living it, you just have to get through each day. Besides,’ he added, ‘you’re not allowed to write about burnt-out men.’
He told her of Bobbo and the others he’d seen fall by the wayside. ‘It’s not the physical wounds, Kate,’ he said, ‘it’s the mental scarring. They’re changed for life, fragile or angry, but fractured somehow, different. And there are so many, particularly among the nashos.’ Aware of her concern, he gave a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I don’t intend to be one of them.’
He caught the train north the following morning.
‘Good that I’ll be home in time for Alan’s birthday,’ he said as they parted at the front door; he’d refused to allow her to drive him to Central Station. ‘I will not be responsible for you missing a lecture,’ he’d said, slinging his kit bag over his shoulder, ‘besides, there’s nothing I like better than a good brisk march.’
He grinned now at the thought of his young brother. ‘With the crushing in full swing it won’t be a massive eighteenth, in fact Dad will probably put us both straight to work, but I reckon a new car will more than make up for that.’
