Gallipoli Street

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Not today. He and the other chap are too weak. Don’t know how they made the trip to be honest…Hey, where ya goin’?’

  Veronica ran into the building, straining her eyes down the rows of mostly empty beds and recognising one dark and one red head in the corner. She and Tom wove their way through; her heart was in her mouth as she came face to face with them both. Grasping Jack’s hands at last and feeling his brow, she searched wildly for the nurses in charge.

  ‘He’s burning up,’ she told Tom, pulling back the sheets.

  ‘So’s Iggy. Nurse!’ he called out. A solitary nurse came out of her office in surprise.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing? Move away from those patients!’

  Tom silenced her by pointing at the patch on his coat and gave them a quick examination before responding. ‘When did they arrive?’

  ‘This morning. I’m sorry, doctor, I didn’t realise…they were too weak to risk transfer. Dr Sommers was going to send for a second opinion in the morning regarding surgery for Corporal Dwyer. Corporal Murphy’s fever has been high all day. He’s soaking through the towels quicker than I can change them.’

  Tom examined Iggy’s shoulder and arm and turned to the ambulance driver, who had been watching with interest.

  ‘Help me get the stretchers.’

  ‘Righto, Doc,’ he responded, and they rushed outside.

  ‘Is it all right if I help myself to towels, Sister George?’ Veronica asked her former superior.

  She looked at Veronica’s face for the first time. ‘Goodness, is that you, O’Shay?’

  ‘Yes. Do you mind?’ She went to the store cupboard, not waiting for a reply, and fetched some towels and a bowl of fresh water. Now that she’d found Jack she had no intention of leaving his side.

  She stroked his face, love in every touch, and he inhaled the scent of her, knowing it was her by the lingering earthy scent clinging to her hair. She’d been swimming in the creek again.

  Opening his eyes he felt the breath catch in his throat at the sight of her, softened in a golden light. How did she get here? Was she dead too?

  He closed his eyes again. It didn’t matter. If she was here then heaven was fine by him.

  The first thing Jack thought when he awoke was that he’d lost his mind. Was that a ferris wheel overhead? He wished he could go back to the other place, where Veronica was. Then he remembered.

  ‘Iggy…’ His voice felt distant and his throat ached with thirst, but he tried again, louder this time: ‘Iggy.’

  Then she came after all, although she didn’t have the scent of the creek about her. More like soap and fresh linen. But she was bathed in light and so beautiful.

  ‘What happened to…you?’ he asked the vision.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She was crying, but she was smiling too.

  ‘How did you die?’

  ‘I’m not dead, my love,’ and she held his hand. ‘See?’ It didn’t pass through him. It was warm and real flesh. And he could feel it.

  ‘Vera?’ he choked in disbelief. He drew her closer and touched her hair and her face. ‘We’re…alive?’

  ‘Very much.’ She was crying in earnest now, clinging to his hands and kissing them.

  ‘And…Iggy?’

  ‘He’s alive and with two fully functioning flippers, thanks to you,’ Tom told him from behind Veronica. He stared in disbelief at the sight of Tom, Mick and Iggy, the latter lying in the next bed, complete with bandaged but attached arm.

  ‘Am I home?’

  ‘About as close as you’re going to get in Egypt, mate,’ said a grinning Mick, coming in closer to check his pulse and forehead as Veronica poured him some water. He stared at her uniform.

  ‘How on earth did you talk your mother into that?’

  ‘Same way she talked me into driving down to the holding station to search for you.’ Tom shrugged helplessly. ‘Pure stubbornness.’

  Jack shook his head, then looked back at Iggy’s arm. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Oh this little scratch? Fell off a ferris wheel,’ Iggy responded. Jack looked taken aback then burst out laughing. They all joined in until the tears rolled.

  ‘What is it with that bloody thing?’ He gestured at the ride, setting them off again.

  Jerry walked past just then, and Mick called him over, introducing him.

  ‘This is Dr Jerry Rankin, the man who saved Iggy’s arm. Just so happened we had a bit of an expert handy, ’scuse the pun.’ They all laughed again, so happy they couldn’t seem to stop it bubbling forth.

  ‘And…how…what about me?’ Jack managed.

  ‘Typhoid,’ Tom informed him. ‘Somehow you’ve managed to come to the other side of the world and go to war but instead of getting shot you nearly die from a fever.’

  Jack rubbed at his chest. ‘But…but I was shot, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Not quite.’ To his surprise Iggy pulled out a battered tin from his pocket, which Jack recognised as his.

  ‘Reckon we should make these compulsory issue,’ he said, passing it over. Jack traced the deep valley in the centre in amazement. The image of the winged beetle that held the sun was obliterated, and he registered that it had indeed protected him. It had saved his life, stopping the bullet from piercing his heart.

  Veronica stroked his arm as he held the tin, acknowledging his close shave with death. The others shuffled and cleared their throats and ostentatiously left them alone. ‘Vera, I don’t know if they have told you…’

  ‘About Dan? Yes, I know.’ Her face clouded and she looked away.

  Jack looked at her downcast face and felt ashamed. What kind of man covets his mate’s fiancée when he probably isn’t even buried yet?

  ‘I’m so sorry. He was…a good friend.’ Jack eyes clouded with tears. ‘And a damn fine soldier. Bullseye, they called him. Crack shot.’ He wiped at his eyes. ‘I wish…I could have got him back to you safe. I’m…I’m sorry.’ He meant it. He would give anything for Dan not to have died. Even Veronica. ‘I know he would have wanted me to tell you that he thought of you…always.’

  Veronica nodded and they sat for a while, as Jack traced the dent in the tin thoughtfully. Eventually he let himself reach for her hand, squeezing it with what little strength he could muster before his eyelids closed once more, and wishing the barriers didn’t exist that made him have to let it go.

  Eighteen

  London, England, October 1915

  Rose was late for lunch at the Savoy as she pushed through the crowds surrounding the entrance and dashed inside, giving the doorman a brief impression of a daringly short skirt that edged towards her knee as he opened the heavy glass doors. Clarkson rose in greeting, his expression wary as he noted her expensive black coat and matching suit. She gave him her hand and an amused smile before ordering a drink.

  ‘What’s the matter, Clarkson, haven’t you ever seen a woman in black before?’

  ‘Not out of mourning,’ he replied.

  ‘The whole city’s in mourning. It’s considered bad taste to wear bright colours these days, haven’t you heard?’ She sipped at her wine and gave him a once over. ‘You look positively thin. Don’t they feed you boys?’

  ‘We get by.’ He signalled to the waiter for another scotch. ‘Why am I here, Rose?’

  ‘My, my. You’re being a bit frosty today. Can’t a girl just want to catch up with a friend from home?’

  ‘I would hardly say we are friends, considering the way you treated my brother-in-law.’

  Rose paused. ‘Yes, congratulations on your wedding. I was sorry I couldn’t be there.’

  ‘I don’t recall asking you.’ He lit a cigarette and waited.

  ‘Perhaps the invitation got lost in the mail,’ she smiled, ‘regardless, I’m sure you’ll never have a dull moment with Pattie. I certainly didn’t,’ she added dryly, signalling to the waiter for another drink. ‘Were there many there?’

  ‘Just close friends and family,’ said Clarkson. Truth was it had been a very small affair w
ith Tom, Mick and Jack already gone, but he’d enjoyed nearly a full week with his bride at Bondi Beach before shipping out. The memories of it kept the loneliness at bay, especially at night.

  ‘I hear you are getting some flying time. That was very fast. You must be making friends in high places,’ she said with a little laugh at her own joke, but something in her tone made his eyes narrow.

  ‘Who do you need me to introduce you to, Rose?’ He drew on his cigarette, watching her casually.

  She attempted an innocent look before apparently deciding it was easier to be direct.

  ‘Major Hitchcock.’

  ‘Why Hitchcock? Hold on, let me guess. You want to be invited to tea.’ Major Hitchcock was at his base and Clarkson was under his direct command, a fact of which he was sure Rose was well aware. The Hitchcocks had a beautiful estate just outside of Bath and Rose certainly wouldn’t be the first woman to hanker after the social coup of such an invitation. The question was, why did Rose want it badly enough to risk exposure from the only man in London who knew what kind of person she really was?

  ‘Not exactly. I want an interview for a job with his wife.’

  Clarkson was thrown. ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘I want to become a member of FANY. Surely you’ve heard of them by now.’

  He had, of course. The First Aid Nursing Yeomanry were fast building a reputation as a vital medical unit in France, where they had set up a hospital in Calais. Unlike their sisters in the VAD and nursing, who were under the strict supervision of the army, members of the Yeomanry were independent – and renowned for their daring. They were currently taking matters into their own hands in France, having found untended masses of wounded soldiers in desperate need of care. Clarkson stared at Rose, trying to comprehend her undoubtedly ulterior motive.

  ‘I suppose you know Iggy’s joined the Light Horse,’ she began. Clarkson nodded, waiting. ‘It’s useless all of this sitting about when the boys are over there facing goodness knows what, and London has grown so tiresome with all of these ridiculous restrictions. I feel so bored by it all. Elspeth Hitchcock is interviewing women as we speak and, well, being Australian and without the right contacts as yet, I need a recommendation.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Clarkson.

  ‘I learnt a thing or two growing up watching my father and we both know I’m useful in a crisis.’

  ‘A snake bite hardly compares to someone’s leg being blown off, Rose.’ He paused, swirling his drink for a moment. ‘Why do you really want to go?’

  ‘I told you–’

  ‘How’s Gregory?’

  Rose crossed her legs and smiled nonchalantly. ‘Busy. So, can you get me an interview?’

  ‘Seems to me he might have something to say about his wife going abroad and being in the line of fire…And if I know Gregory he won’t be too keen on the idea of you being around all of those men for months on end. Look what happened last time you were out of his sight.’

  She let that one go, draining her glass then tapping it thoughtfully. ‘Are you going to help me or not?’

  Clarkson tilted his head to one side and considered her request, watching her beautiful face, trying to guess at the thoughts racing through her mind.

  ‘I suppose it’s no skin off my nose if you want to go and join the Yeomanry. God knows they’re short out there from what I’ve heard.’ He stood and finished his drink, throwing a few notes on the table. ‘Just do me one favour, Rose: don’t tell anyone I’ve helped you. I have a wife who might not be quite so understanding.’

  She found herself able to take her first deep breath once he’d left, her face clouding over as she considered her next move. One step closer to her goal; she felt her chest constrict with anticipation of the next one she would need to make, the one that would release her from the hell of her own creation.

  Her composure belied her dread as she crossed the room, tossing her coat over one shoulder and causing several heads to turn in admiration, but Rose had long since got past caring. Whatever hope she’d held for happiness lay on the floor of Cabin One aboard The Princess Dream and nothing could ever bring it back.

  ‘Tell my wife I need to see her in my office as soon as she arrives, Collins.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Collins replied, taking his coat. Gregory pushed open the polished oak door and strode over to his desk, throwing his gloves down and pouring himself a drink. He gazed sightlessly out the mullioned windows, his mind racing as he replayed the meeting he’d just had over in his mind. Hiring a private investigator was a mere formality. He’d never expected her to actually dare to court danger and see another man, yet that very afternoon the report had been clear. She had been seen having lunch with no other than Clarkson, in broad daylight at the Savoy of all places. The very place he’d lunched only yesterday with some very important business associates. His hand gripped the desk at the thought of them seeing her there, alone at lunch with another man.

  The front door opened and he waited for her to enter the room. She did so after a few minutes, smoothing her hair with one still-gloved hand.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ she asked.

  He struck her hard across the face, causing her to reel backwards, slamming her left side against the desk before she collapsed to the floor.

  ‘I won’t be made a fool of, Rose,’ he told her, his voice low. ‘If I ever hear of you meeting with another man again you’ll be sent home alone and Elizabeth will stay here with me, away from the influence of her slut of a mother. Do you understand?’

  ‘She…she’s only a baby, Gregory…please. She needs to be somewhere safe. These Zeppelin raids–’

  ‘Elizabeth will remain in London with me. As will you, my wife, as long as you behave as a wife should.’

  Rose pulled herself to her feet slowly, grunting in pain. ‘Gregory, I promise you, I was only meeting Clarkson to ask about home. I would never betray you.’

  ‘What about Jack Murphy, Rose? How can I ever trust a woman who was already pregnant when I married her?’

  ‘She’s yours! Gregory, for pity’s sake, look at her!’ Rose pleaded with him, pointing to the photo on the mantelpiece of a white-haired child wearing christening robes.

  ‘Yet you would have married Murphy and fobbed her off as his. My child. It didn’t even occur to me until later that you must have been lifting your skirts for him right from the start. How else did you plan to get away with it? You never would have told him the truth. Just like you never would have told me…bloody bitch.’ He hit her again, this time grabbing her throat after he slapped her face and squeezing her chin so she faced him. Tears fell down her cheeks.

  ‘I know she’s mine. Unfortunately my child didn’t get to choose her mother, but I choose whether or not you are fit to be in her life, so you’d better start warming my bed again and doing as you’re told. That includes keeping your legs together around other men and staying at home, or so help me Rose I’ll make you pay before I send you away.’ He shoved her backwards before walking out.

  Rose made her trembling way to the nursery and picked Elizabeth up gently from her nap, cradling her close as she sat in the rocking chair beneath the window.

  It was the first time he had mentioned Jack since that terrible night in the cabin on their honeymoon when he’d noticed her rounding belly in the morning light and confronted her about her pregnancy. She’d still felt hopeful enough to confess she was carrying his child until he’d smashed her head hard against the wall, accusing her of tricking him into marrying her as she carried another man’s bastard. He’d kicked her until she was unconscious on the floor, the blood pouring from her head into a dark pool, causing the maid to scream when she’d arrived later with the linen. Gregory was in the bar by then, dismissing the incident as his wife being ‘clumsy’ when called to the infirmary to speak with the ship’s doctor. He never once came to visit her for the rest of the voyage as the older man fought to save both her and the baby, finally coming to inform Gregory that both would probably
survive just days before they docked. Despite the doctor’s protestations, the captain treated the whole affair as ‘an unfortunate accident’, and Rose saw him a few months later driving an expensive new car about town.

  She rocked Elizabeth, her tears drying as she smiled down at the serene face of her beautiful little daughter. Funny how she never cried, this child whose womb had been housed within a body wracked by worry then pain. She had arrived on a Sunday morning, a tiny child but perfectly formed, easily passed off as ‘an early baby’, due in part, Rose was sure, to her own ill-health during the pregnancy.

  Gregory had walked in and taken a long look at the infant before instructing Rose to name his daughter after his mother, Elizabeth. Then he left without so much as a glance in her direction. His so honoured mother, the widow Lady Chambers, was equally cold, arriving one day in her black robes to observe ‘the child’ and inform Rose which schools she would be attending. She stayed all of ten minutes before leaving in a matching black coach, like a malevolent spider crawling back to her lair. It was the only time Rose had met her and she hoped fervently it would be the last.

  Rose had expected him to come back to her bed after the birth but as yet he had avoided her altogether, seeing her only briefly in the mornings at breakfast, or occasionally at dinner, when her presence was required at his table. So it had been until today.

  She knew he would expect it of her now.

  Rose shuddered to imagine how his violence would distort their already borderline dangerous bedroom passion. What was once a game of lust-fuelled domination would surely tip into darkness. She prayed Clarkson could arrange the meeting as soon as possible. Everything depended upon it.

  Nineteen

  It was a bitterly cold day but Clarkson sat outside the hangar anyway, waiting for his flight time. He sipped on his tea for a while, holding it in his gloved hands to warm them before pulling the letter from Pattie out of his pocket and re-reading it yet again.

  Your daughter has a remarkable talent for throwing things. If she weren’t only four months old I would swear she does it on purpose! Only yesterday I was changing her and she grabbed the talc and threw it at my head. I was nearly knocked out, let me tell you. Aside from her violent ways our May is adorable in every way and she does have extremely good taste, as you can see from the photo.