‘Yes. And the other girl we saw didn’t look much older. Hanlon’s a horrible man. He takes in young girls who have nowhere to go. He’s kind for a while, then tells them that they owe him money for board and have to “work” to earn it.’
Smith grunted. ‘I’ll look into it. You want to be told beforehand if we do a raid?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I’ll leave a message when we’re about to go in,’ he said. ‘Probably next week.’
I felt enormous relief as I hung up, knowing that Willy Hanlon wouldn’t be in business for much longer. And I was delighted to be invited to witness the raid on Hanlon’s place. Describing the raid would make a great introduction to the ‘Lost girls’ article. I allowed myself a wry smile. I was becoming just like Johnny, thinking of everything in terms of a story.
Then I started work on the week’s column.
Mr Gleddings telephoned me at five o’clock, very excited about the notes I had sent him, though he remained circumspect, because calls were never secure. The operators might be listening in, and crossed lines were common.
‘Nell,’ he said, ‘I love the story about the girls. We’ll use it in a future issue. The other story . . . You’re sure about what Susan told you? You believe her?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I know it sounds like a tall tale, but I believed her. So did Johnny.’
‘Then it’s this week’s front page. We’ll force the police to re-open the case.’
There was a pause. ‘See if you can use your, er, feminine charms to stop Johnny from breaking the story to the dailies, will you? He’s very taken with you, you know. Almost had a fist fight with Fred McCartney in the press room because he didn’t like something he said about you. He’s got them all in fear and trembling in there.’
I bit the inside of my cheek as tears filled my eyes; I was very glad that he couldn’t see me. ‘Boss, I can’t make Johnny do anything he doesn’t think is right. He knows the person involved and he’ll do what he can to help her.’
‘Too bad. Well, we’ve got the in-depth knowledge and that’s our exclusive. I think it’s an important story and it’s one we should run, even if we don’t have corroboration yet. And the others might not want it – not without the second girl’s testimony to back up the story. Try to find that girl Lily, make it clear in your article that we think it was a tragic accident, ask her to come to see you, be sympathetic towards her.’
I could hear him coughing. He coughed for too long, and when he came back to the phone he sounded exhausted.
‘You’ve done very well, Nell. I’m really proud of you. It’s good writing and you’ve got a nose for a story.’
He was obviously about to hang up when he said abruptly, ‘Nell, you still there? That girl in gaol. The one who killed her baby. I agree with you. We should start a crusade to try to get her out. We’ll get on to it once this story is done.’
I grinned at the phone. ‘Thanks, boss,’ I said.
All that remained to do for my column now was ‘This Old Hat’. A reader had sent in a plain straw boater and I put it on the desk to consider what I should do. I sighed. I’d take it home to Aunty May. She was much better at remodelling hats than I was. I put it back into the box, tied the box with string and picked it up. It had been a long day. I made my way past Willy Hanlon’s boarding house to the tram stop, dropped wearily into a seat and let the tram take me home.
After tea Aunty May took the hat out of its box. She and Evie wrapped an old scarf around the boater, affixed it with a brooch and used mosquito netting as a short veil. It looked fabulous. I put it back in the box to take to the office tomorrow to be photographed.
By eight o’clock we were sitting around the wireless. Aunty May and I had our knitting. Evie was lounging on the floor and, from the look on her face, she was thinking of Jack Morrison. I was trying not to think of Johnny. We were listening to Jack Davey compere Rise and Shine, the variety show that was broadcast from various army, navy and air force bases around Australia. Members of the services participated in quizzes and led community singing, and professional entertainers provided a show for them. Tonight it was being broadcast from the Townsville air force base and Aunty May was positive that she could hear Mick’s laugh in the crowd. She was praying that he’d be one of the men chosen to take part in a quiz.
‘The boys can earn big money if they outsmart Mr Davey,’ she said earnestly.
‘Aunty, it’s Mick,’ I replied. ‘Do you really think he has any hope of winning a general knowledge quiz?’
I adored tall, handsome Mick; he was good-humoured and canny, and he’d been quickly promoted to sergeant after he joined the air force in 1939. In fact, he was thinking of staying on in the air force after the war, and his superior officers had made it clear that he’d be welcome to do so. But general knowledge? The questions Jack Davey asked were hard.
I got a reproving look from Aunty May. ‘No need for that. He’s no dummy, my Mick.’
I shrugged and went back to my knitting. If there were prizes for off-colour jokes, Mick would romp it in.
There was a knock at the front door and my heart started racing. Evie ran to the door and as she opened it I heard Jack’s voice and Evie’s excited responses. On the radio a woman, backed by a big band, was singing ‘Taking a Chance on Love’. It was the song that had been playing at the Embassy Ballroom, just before I found out about Johnny and Betty Simmons.
Aunty May was watching me closely. ‘Not Johnny then? Were you expecting him?’
‘No,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘Of course not.’
‘Nellie,’ she said, ‘you and Johnny look good together. Don’t throw that away because of what you think your life should be with Rob Sinclair.’
I felt my mouth tighten and I made a quick movement in my chair, which caused me to drop a stitch. I muttered, ‘Drat,’ and shot a reproachful look at Aunty May. ‘It’s much more complicated than you think.’
‘It always is, dear,’ she replied in a comfortable voice, picking up her knitting and settling back in her chair.
I frowned at the wool in my hands. ‘He’s had so many girlfriends,’ I said. ‘How could you ever trust a man like that?’
When I looked at her she was holding the needles still and smiling. ‘Do you think your Uncle Pat was an angel before we met? Nellie, I can only tell you what I told Biddie eighteen years ago: it’s a leap of faith, falling in love. You have to take a chance, like in that song. You have to trust your instincts.’
She went back to the knitting, twisting the wool around and over and digging sharply into the soft yarn with the needles.
‘If you can’t trust your instincts then trust mine,’ she said with a smile. ‘You light up when you’re with Johnny in a way you never have done with Rob or anyone else. And when Johnny looks at you, it’s clear that . . . Nellie, I want you to be happy. I want you to marry a man you really love. John Horvath is a good man. I’d be happy if you settled down with him.’
‘Aunty,’ I said dryly, ‘what he’s offering isn’t marriage.’
The knitting ceased as she smiled to herself at a memory.
‘Frank was a steady boy,’ she said. ‘Started walking out with Kathleen Bowen when he was twenty. Married her seven years later, as soon as he was able to get a proper job.’
There was a soft laugh. ‘Mick was an entirely different matter,’ she went on. ‘Such a wild boy, such a heartbreaker. From the time he was sixteen, Pat had to deal with angry fathers baying for his blood.’ Aunty May’s face was alight as she thought of him; we both loved Mick dearly – lanky, joking Mick. ‘I’d almost given up on him,’ she said, smiling.
‘He used to say that no girl could ever be as good as you, Aunty. Remember?’
‘Hmm. Mick was thirty, but had never been able to stick with a girl for any length of time, was never able to settle down.’ The knitting started again, and soft clicks punctuated her words. ‘Only then he met Nancy Sylvester one evening at the Palais de Dance in Cotteslo
e.’
Mick had been very happily married to soft-spoken Nancy for nine years now. Nancy had the sweetest smile, but she could pull Mick into line with one flash of her green eyes.
‘That night, Mick came home and told me he’d just met the girl he was going to marry. Your Uncle Pat was the same when he met me. And so’s Johnny Horvath, mark my words.’
I wondered if I should tell her about Betty Simmons. Instead, I looked down at my knitting. ‘I’ve dropped a stitch. Can you fix it for me?’
I watched my aunt as she concentrated on fixing my mistake. Aunty May was becoming slightly hunched and the joints of her fingers were swollen with arthritis. Who would believe this tiny, birdlike old woman had been involved in a great love affair? She had, though. She and Uncle Pat had adored each other from the moment they met until he died. She still adored him.
‘I think Johnny’s in love with Lena Mitrovic,’ I said in a slightly strangled voice. It was the first time I’d said it out loud.
‘Codswallop! He’s in love with Nellie Fitzgerald,’ she said, as she passed my knitting over to me. ‘Here it is, all fixed now.’
On the radio the music had stopped and Jack Davey was talking. We both heard the words ‘Sergeant Michael Dillon’ at the same time and froze.
‘Air Force Sergeant Michael Dillon is here with me and he has a joke for us. What’s the joke you have for us tonight, Sergeant?’
Aunty May and I exchanged horrified glances. The only jokes Mick ever told were not fit for polite company.
Clear as a bell came Mick’s voice, and Aunty and I both started to cry because it sounded just like him and we hadn’t seen him for a year.
‘Well, Jack,’ said Mick, ‘it’s an oldie but a goodie. Can I first say hello to my family?’
‘Folks,’ said Jack Davey, ‘we have Sergeant Michael Dillon of Perth, who’s about to tell us his joke, and first wants to say a “hi” to his family. Go ahead.’
‘Hello, Nancy, love,’ said Mick. ‘I’m thinking of you and Jimmy and Billy all the time. And hello, Mum. Love you. And hi to my sister Biddie and to little Nellie and my brothers Frank, Charlie, Gerard and Dan.’
Evie and Jack came into the room and Evie said, startled, ‘What’s happened? Why are you crying?’
‘Shhhhhh,’ we said in unison. ‘It’s Mick. He’s on the radio.’
‘Well, Jack,’ said Mick, ‘now for the joke. It goes like this. A duck walks into a bar and asks the barman “Have you got any grapes?” The barman says, “No,” and the duck walks out. The next day the same duck comes into the bar and asks again, “Got any grapes?” and the barman says “No,” only now he’s pretty annoyed. Next day the duck walks in again and asks again, “Got any grapes?” The barman says, “No! And if you ask me that again I’m going to nail your feet to the floor.” The next day the duck walks in and asks, “Have you got any nails?” The barman says, “No.” Then the duck says, “Got any grapes?”’
The audience roared. Evie and Jack groaned. Aunty May and I looked at each other.
‘It’s probably the only clean one he knows,’ she said. ‘Do you think they paid him for it?’
s we were eating our porridge the next morning at around eight o’clock we heard a knock at the door. There would be only one reason for someone to come so early, and that was if there was a telegram. Aunty May looked at me with frightened eyes and I felt my skin grow cold. Mick and Frank were married, so any telegrams would go to their wives. That left Charlie and Dan.
‘Do you want me to go?’ asked Evie, apparently unaware that we were frozen with fear.
Aunty May nodded and Evie left the kitchen to make her way down the hall to the door.
I heard her exclamation of surprise and then I heard Johnny’s deep voice. Aunty May visibly relaxed but I was filled with horror. Surely Evie knew better than to bring a man into the kitchen when we were eating breakfast? When we were still in our dressing gowns with our hair unbrushed? Their voices came towards us down the hallway. There was no time to run.
‘Good morning,’ said Johnny, coming into the kitchen and smiling. As usual, he seemed to fill the room.
‘Good morning, Johnny,’ said Aunty May, apparently unfazed at being found in her dressing gown. ‘There’s tea in the pot. Would you like some porridge?’
She waved towards the big brown teapot, hidden under a colourful knitted tea cosy, and the saucepan with the remains of the porridge bubbling lugubriously at the bottom.
‘No porridge, but thanks for the offer. A cup of tea would be swell, only I want to speak to Nell first.’
I got up. There was nothing I could do. I was in my old candlewick dressing gown, my hair was a mess and I had on my face not a skerrick of make-up. A surprising feeling of resignation washed through me. This was my worst. He had now seen me at my worst.
I went with him to the back verandah and then out into the backyard. We stood on the concrete paving stones by the laundry and the pale winter sunlight brought out glints of gold in his brown hair.
‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘I never knew you had freckles on your nose.’
‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s an illusion. None of this is real. You haven’t really turned up at my house and seen me looking like this. I’m in the middle of a nightmare and I’ll soon wake up.’
‘You look lovely,’ he repeated. ‘Gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning. Magnificent.’
‘You’re insane, of course. Well, you must be, to turn up at a girl’s house without warning at breakfast.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Will you come with me to Fremantle Prison?’
I felt slightly hysterical, light-headed.
‘Well, it’s not “Come with me to the Casbah”. It’s definitely original. Why?’
‘I want you to meet Lena. I want her to meet you. Besides, it would make good copy for your feature, an interview with the wrongly convicted woman.’ He gave me a searching look. ‘I’m not in love with her, Nell.’
Johnny was holding my gaze steadily. His eyes were very dark that morning, more burnt umber than amber. He seemed tired, but determined. He leaned in towards me and took hold of my hand with fingers that were warm, dry and slightly calloused.
‘I’m leaving here in three weeks, to go back to the Pacific war front.’
Johnny would be gone in three weeks, back into danger. I couldn’t stop myself making a soft sound of misery. He became very serious, and I saw him swallow nervously.
‘I want to marry you before I leave,’ he said. My heart seemed to skip a beat. ‘I know that we haven’t known each other for very long, but sometimes you don’t need time – you just know. Will you, Nell? Marry me?’
I was still staring at him, into his eyes. I didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Gone in three weeks. How could I bear it when he was gone? Marry him?
I opened my mouth to say . . . what? I had no idea what to say. He squeezed my fingers.
‘We’ll talk again later. Just think about it, please, Nell. In the meantime, will you come to Fremantle?’
‘Will they let us visit?’ I asked, feeling slightly dizzy.
‘It’s being arranged,’ he said. ‘Lena’s lawyer is going to see what he can do.’
‘Of course I’ll come,’ I said. ‘Just let me finish getting dressed.’
He nodded absently. Then he reached out to touch the sleeve of my dressing gown, rubbing the thin material between his fingers with a dreamy expression. There was a slight smile now, and his eyes seemed darker. Then his face reddened and he looked down.
‘Uh, I’ll, ah, I’ll go in and have some breakfast.’ And he turned abruptly, leaving me in the sunshine near our old laundry. The sky was clearing and it was going to be a lovely morning.
Johnny chatted to Aunty May and Evie while I got myself ready. Evie came in when I was dressing and gave her views on what the well-dressed journalist should wear to visit a woman in prison.
‘Nothing too stylish or grand,’ she said, ‘otherwise she might get really sad.
I would, if I was in prison and a stylish woman came to visit.’
I raised my eyebrows and gestured towards my wardrobe. ‘You choose, then.’
‘Well, not all black,’ she said. ‘That’s too much like a funeral. Blue? What about this?’ She held up a navy-blue suit with a white-embroidered collar. ‘Did you do the embroidery?’
‘Aunty May did,’ I replied, slipping on the skirt. It was a pencil skirt and fitted snugly. ‘Shirt or sweater?’
She handed me a white sweater with a scoop neck. I pulled it on and tucked it in. It also fitted snugly. Over that went the jacket.
Evie looked at me approvingly. ‘You look very nice. You probably will make her feel sad. Oh well.’
Shortly afterwards, Johnny and I got in the taxi to go to the Marvel offices. I needed to drop off the hat for photographing before we went to Fremantle and Johnny wanted
to pick up Mr Gleddings’ car.
‘You look swell,’ he murmured as the taxi turned into Thomas Street. ‘You’re the cat’s meow, as we say in Chicago.’
I smiled, but I didn’t look at him. I was looking out of the window at the thick bushland of Kings Park, trying to get my thoughts into order. Trying to work out how I really felt about the man sitting beside me. Could I really throw caution to the wind and agree to marry someone I’d known a week? And yet girls were doing just that all over Australia; in wartime everything seemed to happen more quickly, more intensely. I’d have to go with him to America when the war was over. Could I leave my family, my home? But I’d done it before; I’d left Ireland and come halfway across the world to Australia and a new family. Could I ever really trust him? Aunty May said it was a leap of faith, falling in love, and I should trust my instincts, take a chance. My instincts said that he was a good man, but I was so inexperienced in all this.
Could I let him leave me forever? That was the only real consideration, when I came down to it. The thought of losing him was like a knife in my heart. I sighed. All I really knew was that I was very happy just sitting beside him and I couldn’t help but smile. When I turned towards him his gaze was steady and he smiled in response. I felt myself relax.
Taking a Chance Page 25
