Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  He started down the Arcade towards St Georges Terrace, dodging the Christmas shoppers and tourists. London Arcade, with its mock Tudor design, was a picturesque link between Hay Street and the Terrace and a popular attraction to both locals and visitors.

  The aroma of fresh coffee wafted from a nearby crowded café, and Mike plonked himself at the one vacant table outside. It was crammed next door to a cigarette kiosk and he nearly upset the rack of postcards as he dumped his package on the seat beside him.

  'What'll it be?' the young waitress asked through her chewing gum.

  He ordered a coffee and a toasted ham sandwich, then sat back to watch the passing parade, feeling like a tourist himself. The city and its busyness was a far cry from the outback townships of Roebourne and Dampier.

  As he looked about, his eye was caught by the woman seated several tables away. Of indeterminate age, probably in her forties, she was extremely beautiful and seemed somehow familiar. He was sure he didn't know her, but who did she remind him of? Then he realised, with a shock, that it was Johanna. The woman was an older version of Jo, he thought as he openly stared at her.

  His coffee arrived.

  'The sandwich'll only be a few minutes.'

  He barely heard the young waitress. He remained transfixed by the woman. She was seated alone, several shopping bags piled on the chair beside her, and as she sipped her coffee her eyes were focused on the gift store opposite.

  Mike followed her gaze and through the passers-by he saw a little girl staring into the window, entranced by the display.

  'Allie,' the woman called, and Mike looked back at her. She beckoned to the child. The child joined her.

  'Stay where I can see you, darling,' the woman said.

  The little girl peered around for something of nearby interest. 'Can I look at the postcards?' she asked.

  'Yes. You can buy one if you like.'

  Taking the coin the woman handed her, the child skipped happily over to the kiosk and the rack of postcards beside Mike.

  The woman's eyes, following her, suddenly met Mike's gaze and he felt caught out. Then she smiled. He smiled back, thankful that she apparently presumed it was the child who had intrigued him, and that she hadn't thought he was ogling her. He turned his attention to the child, who was closely examining the postcards, and with another sense of shock he realised that she, too, seemed familiar.

  The little girl, aware that she was being watched, turned and smiled.

  'Hello,' she said, electric blue eyes locking into his.

  'Hello,' Mike replied. He knew this child.

  'Which one do you like the best?' she asked, jabbing a forefinger at the postcards. 'The koala or the kangaroo?'

  'The koala, I think.' Her face belonged to photographs from his childhood. Her face was his face.

  'Me too.'

  She took the card from the rack and held it up to the man in the kiosk, the coin in her other outstretched hand, but he leaned down and ruffled her hair.

  'You can have it for nuthin', sweetheart,' he said. 'Call it a Christmas present.'

  'Thank you.' She turned back to Mike with a happy and all-too-familiar grin. 'He gave it to me for nothing,' she said.

  Mike hadn't moved a muscle, he hadn't even dared think. It was too bizarre.

  She held the postcard out for his inspection. 'See?' she said. 'It's got a baby on its back.'

  'So it has.'

  Allie beamed at the nice man. Then she kissed the postcard. Allie always kissed things she liked, and she very much liked koalas.

  'What's your name?' Mike asked.

  'Alana.'

  He froze.

  'What's yours?'

  'Mike.'

  'I'm named after a boat,' she said proudly. 'A beautiful, beautiful yacht.'

  'Yes,' he heard himself say, 'I know.'

  'Do you really?' Allie looked at him, wide-eyed. She'd thought that no-one else but her mother knew about the boat. 'Have you seen it?'

  'Yes, I have. And you're right, it's a very, very beautiful yacht.' He looked towards the woman, whom he knew to be Johanna's mother, and again the woman smiled at him. 'That lady's your grandmother, isn't she?' he asked the little girl.

  'That's Heely,' she said.

  'Do you think she'd mind if I said hello?'

  'No.'

  The child took his hand, and he stood.

  Hillary shared a smile with her grand-daughter as Allie led the handsome young man over to her table. She'd found their exchange charming.

  'You've made a new friend I see, Allie.'

  'Look, Heely,' she held out the postcard. 'The man over there,' she pointed at the kiosk, 'gave it to me for nothing.'

  'That was very nice of him.'

  'You're Jo's mother, aren't you?' Mike asked, but it wasn't a question.

  'Yes.' Hillary's concentration had been upon the child. Now, as she focused upon the young man, she was startled by the resemblance between the two.

  'I'm Mike,' he said. 'Mike McAllister.'

  She hadn't heard the surname before. 'Of course you are,' she said. 'Hello, Mike.' She extended her hand. 'I'm Hillary Collins. I've been hoping we'd meet some day.'

  They shook.

  'I think you'd better sit down,' she said. 'We have a lot to talk about.'

  In a daze, Mike collected his package and his coffee and joined Hillary, who, after admiring the koala, sent Allie off to buy another three postcards.

  'She's my daughter, isn't she?' he asked, unable to take his eyes from the child.

  'Yes.'

  'One toasted ham sandwich?'

  The young waitress's query was pointed. She was actually saying 'So you're sitting here now, are you?'

  'Yes, thanks.'

  Mike ordered another coffee for Hillary, who refused anything to eat.

  'Allie and I had lunch half an hour ago,' she said.

  The waitress openly smirked as she walked back into the café. What a smooth operator, she thought, it had taken him less than ten minutes to chat up the blonde. Mind you, it was a wonder he'd bothered. Gorgeous-looking the blonde might be, but she was old enough to be his mother. No accounting for taste, she supposed.

  Mike ignored the sandwich while they talked, and twenty minutes later, as they left the café, it remained un-touched. He was no longer hungry.

  The three of them stepped out of London Court and set off down St Georges Terrace, Hillary and Allie hand in hand and Mike, package tucked under one arm, carrying the shopping bags.

  'She's bound to be home by now,' Hillary said as they crossed Pier Street. Then in a whispered aside, she added, 'She went out on her own to get Allie's Christmas present.'

  They reached Victoria Street and Hillary pointed to the block of flats on the opposite corner. 'That's us,' she said.

  Mike recognised the place. It had been outside this very block of flats that he and Spud had watched the Brown brothers and Ivan the Pole divvy up the money from Anthony Wilson's wallet. He could see the five of them now, huddled under the streetlamp.

  'You wait here,' Hillary said conspiratorially as they arrived at the small front porch. 'I'll only be a few minutes.' She took the shopping bags from him and she and Allie disappeared into the flat.

  Every fibre in Hillary's body was tingling with anticipation. She was about to reunite Johanna with the father of her child. What could possibly be more romantic?

  Mike had told his story circumspectly, trying to shoulder the blame, saying that he should have sensed Jo's predicament, but Hillary had drawn her own conclusions. No man ever sensed a woman's needs, she'd thought, and it had been foolish of Johanna to disappear mysteriously without a word. That was the problem with Jo, of course. She was too proud, too single-minded and independent, often with little thought for the feelings of others. Hillary had no idea where she got it from. But her daughter had left that poor boy desperate and broken-hearted with nowhere to turn. It really wasn't fair. And he was so handsome!

  Putting down his package, Mik
e perched himself on the low brick wall that surrounded the porch, trying to look relaxed, even nonchalant, but his heart was pounding. He didn't share Hillary's confidence.

  'Just tell her you love her and all will be forgiven, Mike,' Hillary had said. 'Good heavens above, the father of her child? Her first true love? She won't be able to resist.'

  Mike wasn't sure that it worked that way. Not with Johanna.

  Jo was making a cup of tea when they entered.

  'Hello, Mum, had a good day's shopping?' She winked to say that Allie's tricycle was well hidden away. Allie was a tomboy who wanted to ride a bike like the older kids, so the tricycle had been inevitable. It'd be a bugger of a thing to get back to Sydney, Jo thought, but she'd manage.

  'Look!' Allie raced to her mother, holding out her post-cards. 'This one's my favourite,' she said, sifting through them, 'It's a koala with his baby.'

  'Her baby,' Jo automatically corrected.

  'Yes. It's on her back, see? And we met a nice man, and he likes koalas too, and he's waiting –'

  'Allie and I are going for a walk down to the river,' Hillary interrupted.

  'But you only just got home.'

  'And now we're going out again. You'd like to feed the seagulls, wouldn't you, Allie?'

  Allie nodded vigorously.

  'Go and get some bread then.'

  The child scampered off to the kitchen.

  'Wouldn't you like a cup of tea first, Mum?'

  'No, thank you, darling. I had a coffee, two actually, in London Arcade. Do you need the toilet before we go, Allie?' she asked as the little girl galloped back with a loaf of fresh bread. But Allie shook her head, eager to be on her way.

  'Hang on, I just bought that. I'll get you some stale stuff.'

  Jo started for the kitchen, but Hillary grabbed Allie's hand.

  'No, no, don't worry. I'll buy some more while we're out.' The two of them headed for the door. 'By the way,' Hillary added, 'Allie's nice man is waiting outside.'

  'Bye, Mum,' Allie yelled as she was yanked out the door.

  They were gone, leaving Jo bewildered by the speed of it all.

  'Bye, Mike,' she heard Allie call.

  Mike? She stood motionless. Did this mean what she thought it did? Yes, knowing Hillary. Her mother's passion for romance had got the better of her – how very typical. Damn you, Mum, Jo thought, you could have said something.

  She took a deep breath and walked very slowly to the open front door. He was sitting on the low brick wall just outside, and he smiled when he saw her. The same winning grin, she thought, the same supremely confident Mike McAllister of old. She didn't return the smile.

  'Hello, Mike,' she said.

  'Hello, Jo.'

  Jo looked at her mother and Allie, who were standing barely twenty metres away at the lights waiting to cross Victoria Street. Hillary waved back.

  'I've been set up, haven't I?'

  'It would seem so.'

  'You'd better come in.'

  He followed her inside to the flat and she closed the door after him.

  'I was making a cup of tea. Would you like one?'

  She set off immediately for the kitchen and Mike was obliged to follow.

  'No, thanks. I had coffee with your mother.'

  'Ah yes. In London Arcade.'

  She put the pot of tea she'd planned to make for Hillary aside, took a cup from the cupboard and poured the boiling water from the electric jug over a teabag. She avoided looking at him as she busied herself. The initial sight of him had had a profound effect on her and she felt decidedly unsettled, which annoyed her.

  How detached she was, Mike thought, how indifferent; irritated even. He felt like an intruder who'd disturbed her day. Things weren't going to be as easy as Hillary had predicted, but then he hadn't expected they would be. He longed to take Jo in his arms and tell her he was sorry for who he was. He hadn't meant to close her out, he wanted to say. He loved her – he'd always loved her. But it wouldn't work, he knew it. The best way with Jo was to be direct. At least, it had been four years ago.

  'You should have told me, Jo.'

  'Told you what?' she hedged as she fetched the milk from the refrigerator.

  'You know damn well what.'

  'I see.' She squeezed out the teabag and added the milk to the cup. 'Hillary's been talking.'

  'She didn't need to, for God's sake. One look and it's pretty obvious – you'd hardly need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out.' He found her remoteness infuriating. 'Jesus, Jo, how was I to know? How could I have guessed? You should have told me.'

  The accusatory edge to his voice compelled her to look at him.

  'Why?' she demanded, relieved that they were avoiding sentimentality and getting straight to the point. 'Why should I have told you? What would you have done?'

  'I would have married you, of course.'

  For the first time, she smiled. How simple he made it sound. 'You would have done the right thing, you mean.'

  'Naturally.'

  This time she laughed, but not unkindly, and Mike felt flummoxed.

  'That's what you'd have wanted, isn't it?' he asked.

  She ignored the question. 'You would have willingly saddled yourself with a child so early in your career?' She'd asked Andy exactly the same thing only ten days ago, she recalled.

  'Yes.' She was staring at him whimsically and he started to flounder. 'Well, I would have had to, wouldn't I? I mean, there wouldn't have been any choice, would there?'

  She laughed again, fondly this time. She respected his honesty, she always had.

  Mike relaxed. Emboldened by her laughter he decided to turn the tables.

  'So you didn't want to be a hindrance to my career, is that it? Don't you think that's being a little overly noble, Jo?'

  'Yes, if that had been my sole motive,' she agreed. 'But it wasn't.'

  Mike nodded. He didn't think it had been.

  'I didn't want to marry a man who didn't love me.'

  She'd turned the tables right back on him.