Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  I heard Johnny’s laugh as I quietly returned to Aunty May in the kitchen.

  Evie didn’t appear for tea, but just as we were finishing, there was a knock at the front door. I went to answer it and there was Jack Morrison. I invited him in, but he shoved a letter at me instead.

  ‘This is for Evie,’ he said in a gruff voice.

  ‘She’s still in her room,’ I said. ‘I’ll give it to her as soon as she comes out.’

  He mumbled something, turned and fled into the darkness, probably already regretting it.

  At around nine o’clock, Aunty May was packing parcels for the boys in the lounge room and Johnny was sitting at the kitchen table with me drinking a final cup of tea before he left. He looked up and I turned to see Evie at the door. She made an entrance. It was definitely an entrance because she paused at the doorway until she was sure we were both watching her. She looked oddly grown-up, which confused me until I realised that she had done her hair differently, put it up into the unbroken roll that I so often wore. She was also wearing full make-up, so she must have been in my room, and she had on a pair of marquisette earrings that caught the light as she moved. The very devil was in her blue eyes and her hips were gyrating like Mae West, as she crossed over to where Johnny was seated. With no warning and a neat little pirouette she sat on his lap and put an arm around his neck.

  Johnny shot to his feet with a look of terror that was almost comical. Evie staggered a little, but didn’t fall. When the earrings flashed, realisation dawned. Evie was wearing my earrings! The ones that Rob had given me for my birthday last year.

  ‘Hey,’ she said angrily to Johnny. ‘I almost fell.’

  ‘Hey,’ I said angrily to her. ‘You’re wearing my earrings. Who said you could wear my earrings? And you’ve been at my make-up.’

  ‘Well, for heaven’s sake, there’s no need to yell,’ said Evie. ‘You never said I couldn’t try them on, and you let me use your make-up yesterday.’

  We glared at each other.

  ‘Evie,’ I said, as patiently as I could manage, ‘you should ask before you borrow someone’s things.’

  She favoured me with a look of utter contempt.

  ‘And,’ I continued through gritted teeth, ‘you can’t just come into a room and sit on a man’s lap. You’re not a little girl any more.’

  There was another contemptuous look. ‘No. I’m a flirt. Ask Jack.’

  ‘I’m not surprised he says so, if you pull stunts like that,’ said Johnny in a cold, hard voice.

  He was standing by the sink now and looked very stern, although I strongly suspected that he found it all highly amusing. I didn’t think it was amusing in the slightest. My jaw was hurting because I was clenching it so tightly. I tried to relax.

  Evie looked upset, presumably at Johnny’s tone and the frown on his face.

  ‘Evie, don’t do that again,’ said Johnny, in a slightly warmer voice. ‘You’re a very pretty girl and sure, some guys would like it when you sit on their laps, but not me, okay? And I bet you don’t really like guys my age who do like it.’

  She had brightened at Johnny’s compliment and now she flashed him a look made up of equal parts confusion, calculation and sweetness. His look softened further and I felt a strong urge to yell, Don’t let her suck you in!

  Evie nodded like a chastened child, but I mistrusted her expression. And she was looking at him through her lashes.

  ‘Bet you’d like it if it was Nell,’ she said.

  I felt my cheeks grow hot.

  Johnny poured his tea into the sink and gave her a level look. ‘Do you really think that Nell would come waltzing into a room and sit on some guy’s lap like that? Some guy she hardly knew?’

  It was Evie’s turn to flush now. ‘No,’ she said sulkily. ‘But I’ll never be like Nell. Never. Not in a million trillion years. Because I do everything wrong, all the time. I’m stupid and, and . . . now she hates me. And Jack hates me too. But I didn’t ask those blokes to say those things. I didn’t even like it when they did. I just wanted to be with Jack.’ She finished on a sob.

  As she started to cry in earnest, Johnny looked at me, obviously expecting me to do something. I rolled my eyes at him, but walked over to Evie and gave her a tentative hug.

  ‘I’m not really annoyed. I know that you don’t have much, but you should ask before you borrow things,’ I said.

  Her eyes were awash with tears. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I leaned over behind her to the counter and picked up Jack’s letter. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Jack dropped off a letter for you. I think he’s sorry too.’

  She took it gingerly, obviously scared to open it. Turning those blue eyes onto me, she said, ‘Will you read it to me, Nell?’

  ‘Evie, it’s your letter. I think Jack’s really sorry. You read it.’

  Johnny, obviously hiding a smile, glanced at me. ‘Nell, I’ve got to go. See me out, will you?’

  Evie slid into the chair Johnny had vacated, holding the letter as if it were a ticking bomb. Suddenly she tore open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. As she read, her tearstained face lit up like Boans at Christmas before the war. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now there was a sphinx-like smile on her face.

  ‘Is there any tea left in the pot?’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely parched. And I’m starving.’

  Aunty May walked into the kitchen.

  ‘You can have whatever you want, dear,’ she said. ‘Don’t you look lovely in Nellie’s earrings! Did you get your letter? He’s a good boy, Jack Morrison. I’ve still got a couple of eggs left. If you don’t feel like cold meat and salad, I could make you some eggy toast?’

  She wrapped Evie in one of her warm, wonderful hugs while I followed Johnny into the hallway, shaking my head. Eggy toast was a special treat made only when I was ill.

  ‘Evie’s such a mixture of baby and woman,’ said Johnny, laughing. ‘I wish I’d known you at that age.’

  I glared at him. ‘I was sweet, studious and well-behaved.’

  At least that was how I remembered it. But in a way, I had to admire Evie’s gumption.

  ‘She’s exhausting,’ I said.

  ‘I like her,’ said Johnny. ‘She’s exhausting but very entertaining.’

  Had he actually liked her sitting on his lap?

  ‘No,’ he said, picking up on my look. ‘I didn’t like it when she sat on my lap. But I like her.’

  ‘I don’t know how to handle her.’

  ‘Don’t try too hard. She worships you, you know.’

  I frowned. I didn’t think that quite described how Evie viewed me. Johnny seemed amused.

  ‘Why do you think she’s wearing your things and imitating your hairstyle and even copying your expressions? And her bad behaviour – she’s trying to get a reaction. I suspect that she’s been ignored too much in the recent past, except by men who want something from her. She’d prefer any reaction from you rather than being ignored.’

  ‘Spare me the psychology. You sound like Dr Rountree.’ I was sceptical.

  ‘Nell,’ he said seriously, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me a little, ‘you’re not her mother. Stop acting like it.

  You’ve got a great sense of humour. Use it. Try to see the funny side.’

  I grimaced. It was easy for him. He wasn’t living with the little wretch. And he was standing far too close. I shrugged his hands away.

  ‘Well, someone has to take responsibility – she’s just a child,’ I said primly.

  ‘She’s nearly fifteen. Did you think of yourself as a child at that age? Anyhow, apart from you, your aunt raised six children. Don’t you think she has a handle on Evie? You don’t need to be Evie’s mother, just her friend.’

  All of that made sense. I gave him a considering look while I thought about it.

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ I said, and got his boyish grin in response.

  He shrugged. ‘Evie reminds me of Ginny, my youngest sister. She’s desperate
for attention and pushes the boundaries to see what she can get away with. Evie isn’t really a rebel. I think she just wants a safe, happy household to live in.’

  ‘We can’t take her,’ I said. ‘It’s not fair on Aunty May.’ But even as I said it, I wondered if we should try to keep her. Aunty May seemed very fond of her, and truth be told, I was too.

  He smiled, then he leaned towards me to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. His hand moved around to take hold of my ponytail, pulling it gently so that my face was tilted up. I noticed that his breathing had quickened. He leaned in closer and I closed my eyes.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ he whispered. Surprised, I opened my eyes to see his smile. Then he turned and limped away down the path.

  I watched him until he disappeared from sight, smiling to myself. He could still surprise me, I thought. Not much about John Horvath was predictable.

  In the kitchen Aunty May was whipping up eggs and milk for Evie’s tea, and making the right noises in the right places as Evie told her about the afternoon and her fight with Jack.

  ‘But it’s all better now,’ said Aunty.

  Evie nodded. ‘He wrote that I’m so pretty it’s no wonder that other blokes come on so strong, and that he was wrong to be so jealous.’ Her face was alight with happiness.

  I hid a smile and retreated to my bedroom.

  John Horvath, adviser to the lovelorn. What advice would Johnny give someone like me, I wondered. Naïve Australian girl with a steady, reliable boyfriend has fallen hard for a smooth American. What should she do?

  I looked at Rob’s photo on my bedside table. So what if he was somewhat predictable? Rob was a decent, honourable man. How could I even consider taking things further with Johnny? Kneeling beside the bed, I pulled out the shoebox of Rob’s letters and sat on the floor to flick through them at random.

  I’m in the hospital tent, recovering from my first bout of malaria – not a pleasant experience. It helped me, when I was laid up, to think of you, at home, doing up hats for your column, with May putting in her two bobs’ worth. It’s so marvellously frivolous, your column – I hope you’ve been able to find lots of ways to fix up those old hats.

  I’d forgotten that Rob had written that. He had always seen my column as a bit of fun, never taken my career seriously. Johnny saw journalism as a serious enterprise; it was me he saw as a distraction. And yet, reading Rob’s words, I realised that at least Johnny had never been condescending to me. It wasn’t that he didn’t like my column, it was that he thought I could do better.

  I wondered how Rob would like my new incarnation as an investigative journalist. He would expect his wife to give up her career when she married. I wondered what Johnny thought of the idea of women working after marriage. Then I was annoyed at myself for thinking about him. I shoved the letter back into the shoebox, pushed the box under the bed, and got up to write the weekly letters to my cousins.

  nce Evie was in bed, Aunty May and I met in the kitchen. I made a pot of tea and we sat at the table to discuss what would happen in the morning. My aunt was looking unusually serious and there was a nervous rattle as she replaced her cup in the saucer.

  ‘Nellie,’ she said, ‘I wonder if we should ask to foster Evie. She’s a nice girl, and I hate the thought of her out there without anyone to look after her.’

  I’d been worried that my aunt might feel an obligation to take her on, and I was in two minds about the wisdom of such a course of action. Aunty May was sixty-five years old and she had finished raising her family. She deserved the chance to enjoy a simple life, rather than taking on a disturbed child-woman like Evie.

  ‘I don’t know that it’s a good idea,’ I said, but my voice was uncertain.

  Aunty May stood up and walked to the sink to rinse her cup.

  She started wiping every surface in the kitchen with a nervous energy that betrayed her agitation.

  ‘Terrible things can happen to young girls who have no one to care about them,’ she said. When she turned towards me her eyes were troubled. ‘I’d never forgive myself if something happened to the child. She’s a dear girl.’

  ‘But Aunty May, it’s a lot of extra responsibility. We only just get by now on my salary and what the boys send us. Evie eats like a horse, and because she’s over fourteen we wouldn’t get any payment from the government for her.’

  ‘She could find work, pay us board.’

  I gnawed at my lip as I considered the problems we might face if we took in Evie. The day-to-day responsibility for the girl would fall to my aunt. What if Evie started behaving really badly, bringing home undesirable friends? Drinking? Stealing? I knew from my time as a court reporter what these children could get up to. Aunty May thought that Evie was a sweet girl, but I knew there was another side to her. What I didn’t know was which side was the real Evie.

  ‘I don’t know, Aunty,’ I said slowly. ‘We don’t really know her at all. I honestly think it would be best if we let

  Miss Bonehill find her alternative accommodation, but say that Evie can visit whenever she likes.’

  Aunty May seemed troubled by this, but eventually sighed and said, ‘Let’s wait and see what happens tomorrow, shall we? We can make a final decision then. I won’t let the child be locked up. If they can’t find her a foster home, then I’ll take her myself.’ My aunt’s face became set and determined. ‘I mean that, Nell.’

  The following morning, Evie, Aunty May and I took the tram into town and at nine forty-five we arrived at a modest wooden structure in Irwin Street. Unlike the imposing stone and brick edifice of the Supreme Court, the court for Perth’s children easily could be mistaken for a country church, even down to leadlight windows in the front. In earlier decades it had been the administration centre of the University of Western Australia, before the university moved to the lovely stone premises that had been built by the river in Nedlands. A government mindful of not wasting community money had taken over the derelict buildings.

  Actually, it was appropriate that the court looked like a church, because Special Magistrate Alvin Schroeder, who ruled supreme there, was a Methodist minister without any legal qualifications at all. But he was a sensible, caring sort of man and competent at the job. Dave Gleddings told me that the legal profession had been wholly opposed to his appointment because he wasn’t a lawyer, but he’d surprised them all.

  ‘He’s perfect for the kiddies’ court,’ Dave said. ‘Astute. The little wretches can’t pull the wool over his eyes.’

  The waiting room was crowded with children, parents, police and a few lawyers.

  ‘Eve Harris,’ said the harassed receptionist, when I asked where we should go. ‘Let me see. Oh yes. She’s in the

  ten o’clock list. You’d better see Miss Bonehill. Over there.’

  She pointed across the room to a tall, thin woman of about forty, whose soft brown hair curled around a strong-featured face. Miss Bonehill was dressed in a blue serge suit and was carrying a big red handbag; her hat was blue felt, enlivened by a red feather standing straight up like an exclamation mark.

  As we made our way over to her Evie was uncharacteristically downcast, pressed up against Aunty May and holding her hand. She looked very young and fragile in her new pencil skirt and my old pink sweater, with her socks rolled down to her ankles.

  ‘What are three gorgeous gals like you doing in a place like this?’

  Johnny was at my elbow.

  ‘Hullo, Johnny,’ I said, heart thumping as usual. ‘I didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ he said.

  Aunty May gave him a smile but I could see the signs of tears in Evie’s eyes, and her bottom lip was trembling.

  Miss Bonehill regarded us keenly as we approached and introduced ourselves. She was complimentary about my column, but on hearing that Johnny was indeed John Horvath, the war correspondent, she remarked excitedly that she had read Johnny’s war dispatches, and she was delighted to meet him.

  ‘Mrs Dillon,’ she said
to Aunty May, ‘why don’t you sit over there with Evie, by the door to the court. They’ll be calling her in soon, but I need a few more details about Thursday night from Mr Horvath and your niece.’

  ‘Evie is going to tell the magistrate how sorry she is for the trouble she caused,’ said Aunty May. ‘Aren’t you, dear? And you’re going to agree not to be so silly again.’

  Evie nodded listlessly. They walked over to an empty bench and sat down together. Aunty May gave her a quick hug.

  Johnny and I described the circumstances of how we found Evie to Miss Bonehill, who made some notes.

  ‘We’re not sure where Evie’s father is at present,’ she said. ‘Nor does Evie know. He’s a roustabout and tends to follow the work up north. When Evie wrote to his last known address after her mother died, she had a letter from a colleague of his in reply who said that he had no idea of Mr Harris’s current whereabouts. Her mother worked as a secretary for the manager of the local picture house.’ Miss Bonehill lowered her voice. ‘Apparently she was a lovely woman. Married beneath herself.’

  Johnny murmured. ‘Don’t all women?’

  Miss Bonehill smiled. ‘There is no other family that we can find. As you know, she ran away from the Catholic orphanage in Subiaco. About three weeks ago we picked

  up Evie at a cabaret. She had lied about her age to get in.’ Miss Bonehill sighed. ‘Mr Schroeder put her into the government receiving depot in Mount Lawley while we tried to find a foster home, but she ran away from there, too.’ Again that sweet smile. ‘She’s resourceful; it’s hard to get away from that place.’

  ‘Where will she go now?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a real problem. There’s a shortage of places for girls her age. Evie turns fifteen next month and it’s proved very difficult to find anyone willing to foster children who are over fourteen.’ She glanced at me. ‘Has Evie given you any indication of what she might like to do for employment?’

  ‘She’s mentioned nursing,’ I said.

  Miss Bonehill’s smile was strained. ‘The girls all want to do nursing. They think it’s glamorous.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s not, of course. Lots drop out. I can’t see Evie as a nurse.’ She looked down at her notes.