Maggie saluted. She had a wide grin and her eyes were sparkling. ‘Yes, matron,’ she said.
Olivia grinned back and flicked a tea towel at her. ‘Get on with it,’ she said with mock severity.
She watched Maggie pour the last of the tea and organise some of the other women to hand it around. Olivia was impressed at how calm she was – how seemingly unafraid and unaffected by the horrendous noise and devastation the hurricane had brought. But then of course she and Sam had finally acknowleged their feelings for one another, and that must overrule everything.
Disliking the surge of jealousy that tore through her, she put down the rolls of bandage and walked out of the claustrophobic hall into the ladies’ lounge. It was at times like these she realised how alone she was, and although the air was fresher in here, her shoulders remained tight, her nerves stretched to the very limit. If only Giles hadn’t gone off. If only he’d taken the chance to get back here during the lull. Something must have happened to stop him.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and tried not to dwell on the possibilities. Giles was not a man to shirk what he saw as duty. Not a man to hesitate in a moment of crisis – he was no doubt safe somewhere, holed up with Gallagher until the storm had blown itself out. ‘Damn you,’ she muttered. ‘Why do you always have to be the bloody hero?’
Olivia stood there in silent contemplation, realising her anger was aimed at herself, not at Giles. She should have stopped him from walking away the night before. Should have made him listen to her. Then perhaps, just perhaps, he wouldn’t be hurting quite so much, or so determined to show her how tough he was.
The thoughts whirled and she suddenly became impatient with herself. She was doing no–one any good by standing here feeling sorry for herself and worrying about Giles. It was time to pull herself together and get on.
Yet she was loath to return to that crowded hall, and knew there was nothing she could do to help, for thankfully there had been no casualties. Leaning her forehead on the cool glass of the window she tried to see through the boards that had been nailed across it.
The sheer noise of the hurricane had chilled her just as the thunder of enemy bombers over London had done – and by the look of it, the ensuing chaos was just as random. The street was desolate. Water glimmered in a swirling sheet around the shattered buildings and felled trees, and the eerie silence was ominous. There was no sign of life – no sign of Giles.
] *
Irene blinked as the first drops of icy rain splashed on her eyelids. She looked up at the lowering sky and, for a second, wondered what she was doing lying in the stable–yard in the rain. She caught sight of the empty stall and memory returned with brutal clarity.
She tried to sit up. A wave of agony tore through her and with a scream she fell back on to the wet cobbles. Lying there, her body seemed to pulse with the sheer force of pain and she found it hurt to even breathe.
The rain was harder now, the sky darkening as the clear patch of blue moved away. She could hear the moan of the wind and feel it begin to pluck at the hem of her coat. If she stayed here she would die.
Fear over–rode the torture and she tried to move again. But this time, her body wouldn’t obey her. No matter how hard she concentrated, she was incapable of moving even a finger. She lay there in petrified silence as the wind whistled around her. There was something warm and sticky running down her face and the pain in her head was overriding everything. She could barely see, barely think, but instinct told her she was in great danger if she tried to move again.
She lay there breathless, trying to cope with the pain as the rain became needle sharp on her exposed flesh. It was easy to surmise what had happened. Pluperfect had kicked her in the head. Then she’d hit it on the cobbles when she fell. Trying to sit up had probably done further damage. Now there was blood seeping into the runnels of water. But why couldn’t she feel anything from the neck down? What had happened to her?
Irene painfully swivelled her eyes until she could see the homestead and the sheet of water surrounding this tenuous refuge. She was alone. The stable doors were banging now – a monotonous tattoo that seemed to get inside her head and underline the agonising throb of pain that delved so deeply there. The stalls were her only option – her only sanctuary – but how to reach them when she couldn’t move?
Sweat mingled with blood and rain as she lay on the cobbles. But, try as she might, she could not move. The overwhelming agony in her head took her energy, her will, even the instinctive need for survival. But it could not erase the terror of dying out her all alone.
The wind seemed determined to pluck her from her island, however, fate had been kind after all, she realised through the fog of agony. She had fallen in the tenuous lee of the stable wall, and although the wind vented its fury on the stable doors by swinging and banging them, it could not reach her with all its force. The rain beat down, blinding her, chilling her, enhancing every pulse of agony that seemed to grow more intense as she waited for death and blessed oblivion.
She closed her eyes and as the wind howled and the doors banged and the water crept nearer and nearer, she fell in and out of consciousness. In the lucid moments when the agony returned, she remembered Pluperfect’s vicious attack after her fall, and after snatching a glance at her legs, she realised the appalling truth. The blood was flowing fast and had already soaked her moleskins. Her feet were at a strange angle and she thought she could see several glimmers of jagged bone through the shredded trousers. Both her legs had been trampled almost to a pulp.
The stark awareness of her situation kept her conscious and more determined than ever to survive. Yet, as she lay there on the soaking cobbles, the panic rose. The water was edging towards her. If the storm didn’t pass soon, she would drown. And she’d always had a fear of drowning – it was why she’d never learned to swim, why her nightmares were always about water.
Inch by inch the water rose as rivers ran bankers and streams became torrents – all feeding the empty miles of parched flood plains. Inch by inch the island of cobbles was covered and the water began to lap at the stable wall.
19
Olivia stretched out on the mattress, but found she couldn’t sleep. The memories of many nights spent huddled in air raid shelters were too strong. It was as if she was back in the Blitz, for like the Londoners, these stalwart people of Trinity were coping in their own way. Some were trying to sleep. Some were murmuring quietly to one another, and others were weeping. There were no hysterics, no screams, and it was as if they felt humbled in the presence of such power, for everyone talked in whispers.
The hurricane had battered the hotel throughout the night, and although it was still dark in the enclosed hallway, her watch showed it was in fact seven in the morning. Olivia sat up and stretched. She felt she ought to be doing something, but so far they had come through unscathed. Restless and ill at ease with the thought that Giles was still out there, she stood up and paced between the mattresses.
Then suddenly it was over. The silence seemed to fill her head just as the screaming venom of the storm had done. She stood there listening as the others stopped talking, or woke from troubled sleep. A deep sigh ran through them and like sleep–walkers they rose from their mattresses and stood in bewildered silence as if uncertain of what to do next.
‘It’s over,’ breathed Maggie as she gave Olivia a hug. ‘We’re safe.’
Olivia nodded, but her thoughts were with Giles.
‘Better take a look outside,’ muttered Sam as he unbolted the door and flung it open.
Along with the others, Olivia and Maggie emerged into a silent, still world of grey devastation. The destructive hurricane had littered Trinity with palm fronds and fallen trees. Sand had been spun in the vortex and now stuck to everything like pebbledash. Sheets of corrugated iron were embedded in the thick mud of the yard, palm trees were beheaded, fences ripped away and vehicles tossed
like toys into buildings, their under–bellies exposed like beached turtles.
A rusty, slow moving river ran down the main street, and puddles reflected the lowering sky. Water poured from the guttering at the side of the hotel, but the stable was standing, and so was Maggie’s cottage. But only just, for the roof had been peeled back as if by a giant can opener.
Olivia had experienced the shock of emerging into an alien world after the bombing raids in London, and she’d thought she could no longer be affected – but she was wrong, for Trinity no longer resembled the peaceful corner of paradise she loved – it was desolate and ravaged – a war zone.
‘Gunna take a fair bit of cleaning up,’ muttered Sam.
Olivia watched as he splashed through the water to the paddock. His horse was trembling as it stood quietly at the fence. Sam stroked the drooping neck and led him out for a walk around the yard. He seemed uninjured, and she could see the relief on Sam’s face.
‘Better check my place,’ said Maggie. ‘Want to come with me?’
Olivia shook her head. ‘I have to find Giles,’ she said.
Maggie kissed her cheek and gave her a quick hug. ‘He’ll be right, you’ll see,’ she said firmly.
Olivia eyed the flattened buildings and the obliteration of everything familiar and prayed she was right. She turned back into the hotel to fetch the medical bag, got directions from Sam, then headed out of the yard and into the street.
The others had already collected their belongings and were traipsing through the water and past the wreckage of their little town to see what damage had been done to their homes. Like refugees they moved in silence, their haunted eyes the only clue to their thoughts.
Olivia came to a stunned halt as she surveyed the main street. Littered with trees and palm fronds and assorted flotsam and jetsam, it resembled nothing familiar. Some of the buildings had collapsed, leaving gaping holes along the boardwalks, and the disappearance of so many trees had altered the skyline.
She thought fleetingly of the little house on the beach and wondered if it had survived – but there was no time to find out, for she had to find Giles.
Splashing through the water, Olivia climbed over fallen trees and around upturned boats and trucks. She looked away from the corpses of dead animals and the tattered remains of once beautiful birds – aware of the silence, the stillness, the finality of it all. The sky was pewter, still heavy–laden with the promise of more rain, but the air was keener now the awful heat had been banished.
Olivia slowly made her way around the obstacles, climbing over fallen trees, avoiding jagged iron and loops of razor wire that had become enmeshed in the debris, until she reached what had once been Gallagher’s shack.
The little wooden building had collapsed, the chimney standing like a sentinel over the remains. ‘Giles!’ Her voice was shrill and strangely loud in the glowering silence. ‘Giles,’ she called again as she clambered around the rusting hulk of an ancient tractor and began to lift away the piles of shattered timber.
‘Answer me, damn it,’ she yelled as fear took hold and there was no reply.
*
Irene opened her eyes. Something had changed, and for a moment she couldn’t think what it was. Then she realised the wind had stopped and the rain was softer on the tin roof. She blinked as drops fell on her face, and looked up at the sky. It was grey, still heavy–laden with rain.
The cobbles beneath her were stained with her blood, but the sturdy walls had withstood the violent attack, and had sheltered her from the worst of the onslaught. But the water was lapping at her, tripping over the cobbles and soaking her with its chilly fingers. At least the damn door had stopped banging, she thought in a fog of pain One particularly heavy gust had blown it off its hinges and ripped it away, and for a while she’d thought she would follow it.
She lay helplessly on the cobbles, the fear and pain making her sleepy. Yet she knew that to sleep would be the worst thing she could do, for she’d lost so much blood, she would simply slip into a coma. She had to stay awake. Had to keep alert until help arrived. It could be hours before William was able to get to her – that’s if he came at all.
The tears were warm on her face as memories came unbidden and she realised she had lost everything and everyone she had ever loved. Her mother had died, the breach never healed. Her son no longer needed her now he had Sarah, and William was planning a new life with someone else. As for the terrible thing she’d done all those years ago – it still haunted her.
The knowledge she had been responsible for so much unhappiness, didn’t ease her own heartache, merely enhanced the overwhelming sadness for things that might have been. For she was truly alone.
If I get through this, she vowed silently. I’ll try and make up for what I’ve done. Yet her inner voice told her it was too late.
*
Sam let the horse back out in the paddock where he kicked up his heels and raced around as if relishing his escape from the driving wind. The Aboriginal quarters had been obliterated, Sam realised as he stood with his hands in his pockets and surveyed the mess. The only sign anyone had ever lived here were the blackened circles of their camp fires.
‘It won’t take long to build again,’ said Maggie as she came to stand beside him.
He put his arm around her. ‘Ever the optimist,’ he said, his slow smile chasing away the gloom as he looked down at her. ‘How’s your place?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘The rain got in where the roof was lifted at one corner, but it’ll be right.’
He took her hand, still amazed that this wonderful little woman could be so undaunted by what had happened over the past twenty four hours. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here and see what the old place looks like.’
They walked hand in hand out of the paddock and out into the main street. Picking their way around the debris, they headed for the beach, and stood in horrified fascination at the sight that greeted them.
An impenetrable forest of seaweed floated and swayed in the grey sea, and lay in thick tangles that were piled high for several feet beyond the waterline. Graceful palm trees that had once swayed and rustled along the coastal path were no longer there, and the brightly coloured shrubs and trees, that had been so much a part of Trinity had been cut down by the axe of the wind. But it was the sand that had really changed the face of this seaside town. Whipped into a frenzy by the wind, it now rose in vast dunes that smothered the remains of the beach houses. It climbed as high as the roofs, smothered the yards and verandahs and trampled everything in its path.
Sam looked down at Maggie and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s gone,’ he said softly. ‘It can’t hurt you any more.’
Maggie lifted her chin and turned away. ‘It’s a bloody silly place to have a house, anyways,’ she said gruffly. ‘Come on. Better get back and start clearing up.’
Sam nodded. ‘Gotta make a couple of calls on the two–way,’ he said. ‘Make sure Hopalong and Smokey got back all right, and that Ma’s okay.’
Maggie smiled and dipped her chin. ‘I can’t imagine you with a Ma,’ she said.
‘Tough old Sheila, my Ma,’ he said proudly. ‘The best mother–in–law in the world. But not one to cross, believe me. Could stop a stampeding bull at fifty paces with one of her glares.’
The hotel felt strangely quiet after having so many people overnight, and Sam helped Maggie stack up the mattresses before he got on the radio. ‘G’day, Ma,’ he said as he pedalled furiously to maintain contact. ‘How’s it up there? Over.’
‘She’ll be right. Got a bit of water in, but no real harm done. What about you?’
‘Nothing a bit of clearing up won’t fix,’ he replied. He looked over his shoulder. Maggie had gone into the bar and was busy cleaning up where the rain had come under the door. ‘Ma,’ he said. ‘I need a favour.’
‘You’re asking for help.’
It was a statement, not a question, and not for the first time, Sam marvelled at the old girl’s astuteness. ‘Reckon I am,’ he replied. ‘That thing we talked about the other day – it’s getting complicated.’
‘Never was straightforward,’ she replied gruffly. ‘What do you want me to do, Samuel? I’m stuck up here, and you’re down there.’
‘I’ll drive up,’ he said.
‘Fair go, Samuel,’ she replied. ‘Reckon it’ll take a while to clear up first. The roads are impassable this far north.’
Sam grinned. Ma had always refused to call him anything but Samuel, and it made him feel like a little boy again. ‘I’ll come the minute the road’s open,’ he told her. ‘And I won’t be alone.’
There was silence at the other end, which went on for so long, Sam wondered if the connection had been broken. ‘It’ll be good to meet Maggie at last,’ said the old woman at the other end of the line.
‘How did you know it was Maggie?’ Sam stared in amazement at the ugly great box.
‘I might be old,’ she said with asperity. ‘But I’m not senile. You and Maggie were made for each other by the sound of it. But of course, just like a man, it took ages for you to see that.’
Sam laughed, told her a little more about the reason for his visit and promised to travel north as soon as he could before signing off. He’d been very careful of what he said, but luckily Ma was astute enough to read between the lines. The main problem with the two–way was that everyone listened in. Now the whole of Northern Queensland would know about him and Maggie, and would no doubt carry on gossiping about it for hours.
Still, he supposed with a grin, it would give them something else to think about when they were mopping up after the hurricane.
He changed the radio frequency and started to call Hopalong. ‘Are you there, mate? Sam calling. Over.’
The atmospherics hummed and white noise filled the headset. ‘Hopalong, Smokey? This is Sam. How’s it back there? Did you get home okay?’
Undercurrents Page 28
