‘I’m awake,’ she replied, but she didn’t feel like talking and she knew how Betty liked to chat. During the long days, at work, she didn’t mind it, but here in the dark, in the privacy of her own bed, she craved the silence to dream of David.
‘Just wanted to say goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
‘You too, Betty.’
Lily found something comforting about the dry heat of Mildura. She stopped, closed her eyes and breathed it in. It reminded her of Adelaide, this crisp and parched air, the scorched earth underfoot. Mrs Nettlefold had mentioned something about the drought at dinner the night before and she tried to imagine the block lush with grass, but she couldn’t picture it.
She snipped another bunch of grapes and placed them in the metal bucket at her feet. She’d performed so many tasks in so many different places that it hadn’t taken very long to become familiar with this one. Nothing had been as arduous as tugging flax from the ground, that was for sure. She would survive her five-week stint here and then she would choose somewhere else to go to forget.
A fly buzzed at her face and she swatted it away. Once. Twice. Three times, but to her surprise the buzz didn’t disappear, instead growing louder. She looked up to the sky. She felt a sudden ache in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. In the distance, a plane roared and she watched it growing closer, its engines throbbing, until it grew larger and larger and roared overhead, leaving a streak of smoke behind it and her heart thumping like a bass drum.
‘Look at that,’ Betty exclaimed from a few feet away.
For a moment, Lily didn’t remember where she was, didn’t recognise the young woman with the black hair talking to her.
‘It’s so close.’
Every bit of strength drained from her limbs and Lily stumbled backwards against the vines, dropping her secateurs into the dirt.
Betty was immediately at her side. Lily looked up at her new friend, tried to focus and breathe.
‘Lily. Lily … are you all right?’
‘It’s the plane,’ she managed.
Betty chuckled. ‘There’s an RAAF base in Mildura. The pilots train there and get a kick out of buzzing us. When I was at Stocks’ a couple of years ago, we used to salute them. I think a couple of the girls used to flash them too, if I remember.’ Betty laughed at the memory and lifted her hand to wave.
Lily heard a moan and realised it had escaped her mouth.
Betty came close, peered into her eyes.
‘It’s one of ours, Lily. It’s okay.’
Breathe. Her hands shook uncontrollably. ‘My husband is a pilot. He trained here before he went abroad.’
Betty reached for Lily’s shoulder, gripped it hard, steadied her and stared right into her eyes. ‘You’re all right. I’ve got you.’
Lily closed her eyes, waited for the noise of the plane to disappear, for the sky to clear. Betty stayed with her, a firm hand on her arm to keep her from shaking. When Lily found her feet and a steadying breath, she knew in her heart she had also found a friend.
After lunch, Flora had walked over to the drying sheds to spray racks of the grapes picked that day. She had first checked that Lily and Betty were set, reminding them to keep their hats on and to take drinks regularly to keep up their strength. Flora was kind and Lily liked her. There was a steadiness in her manner, in her calm demeanour and in the way she seemed to take responsibility for the two new girls at Two Rivers, just as the matrons had done at many of the other places Lily had worked during the past two years.
When she’d received the news about David, many people had visited the house in Buxton Street to commiserate and bouquets of flowers had arrived with cards attached expressing condolences, as if David were already dead. She’d experienced a different sort of kindness from Flora since she’d arrived at Two Rivers. Her attentions and words weren’t offered out of a sense of politeness but out of a genuine sense of caring. Lily wasn’t the only one at Two Rivers to see that compassion and admire her for it. The Nettlefold girls clearly loved her. They fought for her attention, beamed at her when she ruffled their hair, bounced up and down on the spot when she called their names. Lily understood the adoration. It was easy to feel calm in Flora’s presence.
Lily had fought so hard to be calm. Inside, she was coiled as tight as a spring under pressure, and she coped with it by trying to feel nothing, to smother any thought that wanted to burst out of her. She reasoned that feeling nothing was safer than feeling everything.
Susan had told her that it was to be expected. Her sister had written as soon as she’d received the news about David. ‘Screw your courage to the sticking place, my dear Lily. You must find the strength to go on, even when it’s a struggle. The war has forced us all to be heroes, hasn’t it? No matter where we are. I’m counting on you to be bold. David will do everything he can to come back to you, you must know that. You must believe that.’
Perhaps that was why she’d taken to Flora so quickly. In many ways, she reminded Lily of Susan. Was she the same age? Perhaps older. Thirty perhaps, or thirty-two?
The heat beat down on Lily and sweat ran down her back inside her shirt. She wiped her forearm across her forehead and arched her back to stretch it.
‘Hooroo, Lily.’ Betty was working the other side and bobbed her head up above the leaves.
‘Mm-hmm?’
‘I’ve been thinking about something. Did you say your husband’s name is David?’
‘Yes.’
‘So … let me get this right.’ Betty’s expression was curious. ‘Your husband is David Hogarth from Adelaide?’
‘Yes. Well, not quite. His family is from the south-east but he was studying at the University of Adelaide when we met. He lived near me in the city so, yes, I suppose he would probably say he was from Adelaide.’
‘Did you go to university too?’
‘No, but my sister did. She’s a doctor.’
‘Well, there you go. A doctor for a sister.’
Lily felt a warmth spreading in her chest. Yes, she could feel proud of Susan. That was safe. ‘She’s in the army. She’s been helping all the chaps injured in the war. She was in Egypt but she’s in London now. She got married this year to an Englishman.’
‘Good for her,’ Betty nodded adamantly. ‘Listen, Lily. I was thinking about your David. You said that he trained here and I know this might sound silly but … I think I met him.’
Lily’s arms goosebumped. ‘You did?’
‘I’m sure of it. It was two years ago, back in January ’43. It was my first few weeks in the Land Army and the Red Cross had put on a ball in Mildura. You know the sort, to welcome us to town and raise money for the troops. You’ve probably been to a hundred.’
‘I’ve been to one or two,’ Lily replied impatiently. ‘Tell me more. Please. Tell me everything.’
‘You see, all of us at the Stocks’ were besides ourselves because word had got around that a group of pilots from the RAAF base were coming to the ball. We were thrilled at the idea that we wouldn’t have to spend all night dancing with young boys and all the old men.’ Betty chuckled. ‘Or each other. I hope you don’t mind me telling you but he asked me to dance.’
Lily felt her heart picking up speed. ‘Was he tall with blond hair? Blue eyes?’
‘Yes, I think so. And he was a terrific dancer. Very confident on his feet. I distinctly remember him saying he had a girl back in Adelaide. I was telling him all about Michael, you see, and he told me about, well, you, as it turns out. He seemed quite smitten with you. At least that’s the way it seemed to me.’
Blood rushed to Lily’s head. David was real. She hadn’t imagined him. He had truly existed somewhere beyond their wedding night and the train station from which she’d waved him away, sobbing inconsolably.
She felt a smile crease her face and it was a strange sensation after so many months when she wasn’t sure if she would ever smile again. She reached up with both hands and felt the curve of her
lips, the creases in the corners of her mouth.
‘He wrote to me, telling me about a dance, I’m sure of it,’ Lily said. ‘I’ll find the letter tomorrow and show you.’ Happy memories flooded through Lily like heat from the best sherry. ‘He told me he danced with a girl. I’m so glad it was you, Betty.’
‘Isn’t it funny,’ Betty said. ‘I danced with your husband and now I’m working side by side with you. When did you two get married? Tell me all about him.’
As the day wore on, they filled bucket after bucket as Lily talked about her life before the war, of falling in love, of being loved, of David’s proposal and their marriage. And in that moment, she was able to pretend that he was up there in the skies over Mildura and the winding Murray River, safe, instead of missing somewhere over Europe.
Just saying his name had been enough.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Betty
‘May I have this dance?’ Betty bowed low and held out a hand to Lily, who splayed a hand on her décolletage and giggled.
‘Me?’
Betty looked across the sitting room at her audience. Mrs Nettlefold was sewing something fine on a linen placemat. Violet and Daisy were at her feet with their books, and Charles and Flora sat almost side by side on the settee, watching on. The wireless was turned up nearly as loud as it could go, and Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters were crooning about the Yanks marching into Berlin.
It was Saturday night. Work was finished for the week and Betty needed to dance. She needed to do something with all the restless energy that brewed inside her like bubbles in a bottle of champagne. She stood before Lily, tapping her foot on the rug and swinging her hips.
‘Hop up, Lil. Show me how you danced with David back in Adelaide.’
That was the trick. Lily beamed as she reached up and grabbed Betty’s hand. Betty tugged her onto her feet and into the centre of the room and curtsied and then, with the beat of the music loud in their ears, they launched into a jitterbug so fast that Betty lost her breath as they spun and hopped in their bare feet on the rug, turning and spinning and jumping. If they’d been wearing skirts instead of shorts the fabric would have twirled up around them.
‘We’re hep cats!’ Betty called out as she swung Lily around under her arm, and they laughed and shimmied and smiled together as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
One song ended and another began, a Glenn Miller tune this time, and Violet and Daisy jumped up to join in, squealing in delight, and a moment later Charles had taken Flora’s hand and they joined in, too.
‘Come on, Nan!’ Daisy shouted. ‘You can dance too.’
When Mrs Nettlefold put her sewing to one side and pressed herself out of her chair, her granddaughters each took one of her hands and she led them both in twirls and spins.
Betty watched each of them in turn and was so happy to see Lily smiling, the girls’ delight, Mrs Nettlefold’s pink cheeks, and the warm and loving glance Charles gave Flora, and thought how lucky she was to be in such a place with these wonderful people.
Later that night, Betty and Lily lay in bed, talking. As they’d grown to know each other, Lily had opened up, little by little. Betty was reminded of Gwen, and all she had lost. She recognised the same aching grief in Lily’s sad expression. It pained her to know that so many would lose so much.
‘Thank you for the dancing,’ Lily whispered across the quiet room. ‘It was so much fun. Just what I needed, I think.’
‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’
‘David and I used to go dancing at the Palais Royal in Adelaide. It’s a beautiful ballroom and I can still see it when I close my eyes. No one was supposed to drink alcohol in there, but someone always managed to sneak in a bottle of gin or something disguised in a brown paper bag.’
‘How do I compare with him as a dancer?’ Betty asked. ‘And please don’t remind me that I stepped on your toes. More than once. I know you’d rather be dancing with your husband, Lil, and I wish that for you more than anything, but I thought I might be the next best thing. Especially since Mr Nettlefold only has eyes for Flora and there was no chance that he might ask one of us. He didn’t even dance with his mother, did you notice?’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’
‘I think he loves her,’ Betty whispered, as if the walls might talk. ‘Did you see the way he looked at her tonight? It was so romantic.’
‘I did,’ Lily replied. ‘But he looks at her like that all the time, don’t you think?’
‘She’s not married, is she? At her age, you would think she must be.’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Or maybe she’s a spinster. Imagine being her age and never being married.’
‘One of my aunts is a spinster,’ Lily said. ‘Her fiancé went off to the last war and died at Gallipoli. She never married after that. I suppose there was no one left to marry when so many had died.’
‘We’re lucky, aren’t we? I have my Michael and you have your David.’
There was a long silence and Betty thought Lily might have drifted off to sleep while she’d been talking. Betty wasn’t offended. She had noticed that Lily had been restless, tossing and turning, had heard her tiptoed footsteps in the dark more than once since they’d begun sharing a room. She needed sleep more than anyone Betty had ever met.
But Lily wasn’t asleep. Betty heard the sharp intake of breath, the gasp.
‘Lily?’
‘Oh, Betty. I don’t have my David. I didn’t know how to tell you. It was easier to pretend that he’s … he’s been missing in action in Europe since D-day.’
‘Oh, Lil.’ Betty’s eyes welled.
Lily burst into loud sobs. Betty threw back her blanket, crossed the room and swept Lily up into her arms and held her while she cried.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Flora
‘Thank you for this. It’s really beautiful here.’
‘It’s my favourite spot on the river. I can’t believe I haven’t brought you here before now.’ Charles gave Flora an easy smile.
‘You’ve had us too busy working,’ Flora said, grinning.
When he’d mentioned earlier in the week that they should head down to the riverbank for a Saturday-evening picnic tea, it had bucked up everyone’s spirits. Violet and Daisy had been missing their father, inevitable at this time of year when the picking needed to be done in a hurry, and the mere mention of the word picnic helped them get through the week. It had been searingly hot. Betty was nursing sunburnt arms—she’d insisted on taking off her long-sleeved shirt despite advice not to—and while Lily had never complained, she seemed more worn out than anyone. A northerly had blown every day, kicking up dust, scorching their throats as they worked. The sun had beaten down relentlessly on the workers of Two Rivers, and Betty and Lily had amused Violet and Daisy by tipping buckets of water over each other at the end of the day. Everyone had worked long hours and had dropped into bed every night with tired limbs and grit in their hair.
This was exactly what they needed.
The cool evening breeze caught Flora’s sigh and it floated away across the gently rippling water to the red dirt banks on the other side of the River Murray. From her vantage point on the bank, it didn’t seem that far across, nothing that would deter any competent swimmer.
Unfortunately, she was not one. She’d only ever gone up to her knees at St Kilda beach, rolling down her stockings and hitching her dress to her thighs to feel the relief of cool water on her knees. She was content to watch the river lap at the banks, to listen to the little slap of water on earth, and to lift her eyes to the silver-green gums and the blue and cloudless sky above.
In one direction, the river was a straight line as far as the eye could see; on the other, it meandered and then curled around a bend a few hundred feet away. Under the swaying branches, Flora and Charles were on a rug, lying back propped on their elbows, their bodies facing each other at a discreet distance. Charles wore an old pair of swim trunks, judging by the fade in t
he red fabric, and a cotton shirt half buttoned. The tree provided enough shade that he’d dispensed with his hat, and Flora soaked up the chance to see his face without shadows. He needed a haircut; he was constantly pushing his hair back from his forehead. Since it was the weekend, he hadn’t shaved and the laugh lines around the corners of his eyes were working overtime that afternoon. There was something undeniably appealing about a happy, handsome man.
Flora wore her favourite floral cotton dress, unbelted. It was practical and cool in the heat and somehow the frivolity of it made her feel like a woman whose best years might not have passed her by just yet. It didn’t seem to matter to Charles what she wore, though. He regarded her the same way, no matter if she was wearing her cut-off overalls and her elastic-sided boots, covered head to toe in red dust, or if she was freshly showered with damp hair. How could he cause such a thrill to reverberate in her very bones with a glance, with a teasing look, with his gaze merely settled on her lips? It was curious and magical and still so overwhelmingly unexpected that Flora had to pinch herself at the circumstances that had brought them together.
‘You going to join me for a swim?’ Charles asked her. ‘It’ll cool you off.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m perfectly cool here under the tree.’
‘You are?’ he asked with a teasing tone.
‘Definitely.’
He leaning a little closer. ‘Then why are your cheeks so red?’
Loud squeals from the edge of the water caught their attention. Betty and Lily were up to their knees in the river, flicking Violet and Daisy, who were dancing on the banks in the arcing spray. The late-afternoon sun caught the droplets and they glistened in the air like an array of stars. There was so much laughter that Flora couldn’t quite make out who it belonged to and the entire symphony of it was joyous.
‘Lily’s needed this,’ Flora said quietly to Charles. ‘The poor girl.’
He looked over to his daughters once again, as he’d done instinctively every minute to ensure they were safe on the bank. Flora knew by the grim expression tugging his lips into a frown that he was imagining how he might comfort Violet or Daisy if they were ever in the same position as Lily.
The Land Girls Page 32
