by Lilly Mirren
Kate had smiled, all blind faith and love for the man standing beside her, who in that moment seemed like the strongest man in the world in her eyes, second only to Dad. She’d slipped her hand into his giant paw. “You are, Pop. But don’t worry, I’ll help you.”
He’d laughed at that and kissed the top of her head. “Of course you will, Pumpkin. You’re all the help I need.”
Her heart had swelled with pride at his words and they’d managed it, with the help of a furniture dolly and some bungee cords. Nan had re-covered the old sofa with some leftover upholstery fabric she had in the attic, and until a few months ago, that sofa had rested in the sitting room, a reminder of Nan’s quirky shopping habits and Pop’s faithful love for her. Although by then the fabric was old and faded and had several small holes where hundreds of rear ends had worn through to the cushions encased within. She’d wanted to keep it, but Reeda had said they couldn’t keep everything. So, each of them had selected one or two small things that reminded them of Nan, and of happier times, and stored them in the attic, everything else was gone.
Kate’s eyes smarted at the memory of that sofa, and the way Pop had sighed, then kissed Nan’s weathered cheek when she climbed from the truck with a shout of victory. Paul Summer hadn’t been who she thought he was, but he was the only grandfather she’d known. He’d adored Nan, and he’d loved her. That much she was sure of. And it was all she needed.
Kate wiped the stove with a cloth, then smiled at the gleaming surface. There wasn’t anything more satisfying than a brand-new kitchen wiped clean until its surfaces shone. Well, not much anyway. She’d never had children, she imagined that would probably bring with it a sense of satisfaction she had yet to experience, but surely a clean kitchen came close.
She tossed the cloth into the sink, crossed her arms over her chest, and leaned against the counter.
Would she ever have a family of her own? She’d never been like other girls, dreaming and longing for marriage and family. She’d always assumed it would happen but hadn’t given it much thought. Still, now that she was twenty-eight and single, the idea that maybe she’d never have children loomed on the edge of her mind.
Of course, there was Alex, but at this early stage in their relationship it was so difficult to tell where it might go. They had amazing chemistry, but was he looking for a serious commitment, a family? They’d hadn’t yet spoken about it.
A shout came from the office, startling Kate from her reverie.
She straightened, her brow creased, waiting to see what the fuss was about.
Soon, Reeda marched into the kitchen with Bindi trailing in her wake.
“What’s this?” she demanded, tossing several pieces of fax paper in Kate’s direction.
Kate jerked, caught the paper before it drifted to the floor and held it up to read.
From the office of Howard Keneally
Kate inhaled a sharp breath. The developer hadn’t been in touch with them again since his visit to the inn all those weeks ago, and she’d almost forgotten about him. She’d hoped that would be the end of it, that he’d listened when she told him they weren’t interested and had decided to leave them be.
Apparently, he hadn’t.
Reeda crossed her arms over her chest, her face red. She tapped a foot, waiting for Kate to speak. Bindi stood beside Reeda, her lips pinched together.
“It’s from a developer,” replied Kate, in a calm voice. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“A developer who wants to buy the inn,” replied Reeda, waving one arm. “He says here, that he visited back in October and made you an offer that he’s now following up on. Is that true?”
Bindi’s eyebrows knit together, and she shook her head in a quick, abrupt motion. Kate ignored her.
“Yes, it’s true. He came here and said he wanted to buy the place. We told him we weren’t interested.”
“We?” Reeda’s voice rose to a new pitch.
“Bindi and I.” Kate wasn’t about to get sucked into Reeda’s flair for the dramatic. She’d spent a lifetime in her sister’s tornado of emotions, she knew how to manage a blow up — stay calm and on point.
“So, you’re both in on this?”
“We didn’t mean to upset you,” began Bindi. “But we thought we’d wait… you know, to see how things went.”
“Wait? We could’ve skipped the entire renovation and sold the inn. I could be back in Sydney right now with my husband, keeping my business afloat instead of here in the middle of nowhere picking out wallpaper patterns.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “You don’t seem to be in a very big hurry to get back there.”
Reeda crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Just don’t turn this into something it’s not, Reeda.”
Reeda’s head shook from side to side and she blinked. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“I can’t believe you still would’ve sold it — look at this place. It’s magical, you should be proud of what we’ve done. We all should,” replied Bindi, her eyes glimmering.
“You didn’t give me the chance to decide,” snapped Reeda.
“Do you want to sell?” asked Kate.
Reeda’s nostrils flared. “I don’t know. It’d be easier…”
“No, we’re not selling,” cried Bindi. “We already decided.”
“It’s not right that you get to decide for all of us,” replied Reeda, her eyes flashing. “What about what I want?”
“You don’t care what I want. Why should I care what you want?”
Kate’s mouth gaped. She’d never seen Bindi so angry before, or so ready to give Reeda a piece of her mind.
Reeda’s eyes filled with tears, she exhaled a quick breath, then turned on her heel and stormed inside, letting the screen door thud shut behind her. Kate hugged herself, then offered Bindi a wry smile.
“Don’t worry about it. She’ll calm down, and everything will be fine.”
“Stop trying to protect me,” blurted Bindi. “I’m not a child anymore.”
Bindi’s feet slapped up the timber stairs and across the verandah. Again, the door banged shut.
Kate found herself alone. Kookaburras laughed in the distance and a lone curlew called a mournful tune as the sun blinked behind the branches of a tall gum tree, casting her and the inn into shadow.
She scrubbed her face with both hands and sighed. Then, climbed the stairs with reluctance. This was the family dynamic she remembered. It was familiar and jarring all at the same time and made her wish for a hideaway. Somewhere she could run to, a place to calm her thoughts and fears.
Upstairs she changed into her bikini, thinking for a moment that it was high time she went shopping for a new swimsuit. This one was beginning to lose its shape and had faded from bright yellow to a pale, lemon colour under the harsh summer sun.
As she slipped on her wetsuit, she considered what Nan would say. Would she tell her to make amends? Or perhaps she’d say they should part ways and forget the whole thing. No, she could almost hear Nan’s voice in her head: “Give Reeda some space. She’s a passionate one, your sister, like your old Nan. She’ll come around. She needs to know you’re on her side.”
Kate bit down on her lip as she tugged the zipper on her wetsuit. She missed Nan’s wisdom, missed hearing her voice and having her there to make the peace. Still, she knew what she had to do.
“Family’s hard,” Nan often said. “But everything in life that’s worth something is difficult. It’s the things we have to work hardest for that bring the most reward.”
Kate hurried down the wide, smooth staircase, appreciating the newly polished floors and spacious open living areas of the downstairs. She could see it all from the second level. She glanced up to take in the large, crystal chandelier she’d fallen in love with and had to talk Reeda into buying. Now Reeda loved it as much as she did.
If Reeda really wanted to sell the place, perhaps they should go along w
ith her. She didn’t want to be in business with someone against their will. Then again, it’d break Bindi’s heart, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to part with Nan’s dream yet. The inn was beautiful, she was certain it’d attract plenty of guests now that they’d remodelled it. What was going on with Reeda that she couldn’t see that? Or didn’t want to?
She jogged across the yard to the garden shed and retrieved her surfboard from the corner. Then, she set it on two sawhorses Jack had left out and rubbed wax over the surface for a few minutes, before tucking it beneath her arm and heading for the beach.
The inn had become her home again all these years later. Was she ready to move on? To go back to her old life? Something within her rebelled against the idea. She’d tried living in the city and going after her dream to be a renowned chef, engaged to one of the city’s up and coming young businessmen. And now that it was in her past, she felt a sense of relief that it hadn’t worked out. It was everything she thought she wanted, but she couldn’t remember why.
Now she had the inn and she and Alex were seeing more of each other. She was happy, or at the very least, content. But the thought of what Reeda might want stirred the nerves in her gut. She stood on the shore, watching as the waves rolled in. They beckoned, as though whispering a welcome, and she ran into them.
27
March 1944
Sydney
When Edie arrived in Sydney, Mima had squeezed the breath out of her then promptly taken her out dancing. For the first time in her life she was free to do as she pleased, and she revelled in that freedom.
She’d been issued a bed in the same dormitory as Mima, and a job as a Nursing Orderly Grade Three at the Yaralla Military Hospital, or 113 Australian General Hospital, a brand-new facility built on the old Yaralla estate. Everything was new and clean, and the two-thousand bed hospital was one of the tallest buildings in Sydney and the largest of its kind in the Southern Hemisphere. Edie was proud to work there, although she quickly found she’d had no idea what she was getting herself into.
She was immediately put to work washing walls, lights and floors with Lysol, scrubbing enamelware with monkey soap or sandsoap, cleaning copper sterilisers with oxalic acid and shining them with monkey soap and Brasso, filling autoclaves, sterilising gloves, cleaning bedpans, and sorting linen.
The ward Sister inspected everything she did, and if she wasn’t happy with how something had been completed, she’d make Edie do it all over again, regardless of how many hours Edie had spent at the task or how long it’d been since her last meal.
She’d found herself exhausted and sore at first, then over time her strength and stamina improved. She was fortunate. Some of the women she worked alongside had fallen ill with tuberculosis or other ailments and had to leave the hospital in those first months, but she’d managed to keep going.
The entire nursing staff worked long hours, doing back-breaking tasks, and as an orderly she had much less to do with the patients than she’d wished — other than to give them sponge baths and help move them when needed — and more to do with scrubbing, shining, and washing things.
Still, she kept her chin up. Mima had been at it longer than her, and always sported a smile on her round face. When she first saw her at the train station, Edie had been flabbergasted at how slim and muscular Mima had become in the short time since she’d left Bathurst. But within a few months on the job, one glance in a mirror revealed to Edie that she looked much the same.
However, it wasn’t until the two of them were sent to rookie training that they really understood the meaning of pain. Somehow Mima had managed to avoid it until then, but neither of them were able to get out of it once the Sister had it in her mind to send them. The amount of route marching they did gave both girls blisters on their heels and they fell into bed, overcome with fatigue, at the end of each day until Mima devised the ingenious plan of bagging a bath right when it was time to do the route march each day. Still, Edie wondered if they wouldn’t shrink, taking so many baths day after day.
After rookie camp, Edie and Mima returned to the hospital and resumed work. Edie was glad to be back and took to the work with gusto. Major Swanson seemed pleased with how she was doing and offered her a place in the training programme to become a full-fledged nurse, though she’d have to attend the lectures during her own time outside of her work hours. She agreed and found that she enjoyed learning about anatomy, physiology, dressing wounds and the dangers of infection.
She still hadn’t received word about Charlie. She’d written a letter to Mother to ask for news, and Mother had told her that no one had heard anything more. She did her best to push down the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. She could only keep working, keep moving, if she believed he was still out there, alive somewhere, doing his best to get back to her. And as soon as the war was over, he’d be home and they could start their lives together.
Although, whenever she pictured them together, a stone of regret would form like a lump in place of her heart, since Keith wasn’t with them. In her imagination he was still on the farm near Bathurst with Mother and Father.
She couldn’t think about that either. So, she went to work, studied, read everything she could get her hands on, and spent any spare time she had going to the newsreels or out with Mima.
Mima had talked her into singing and dancing for the troops on furlough or recovering from injury, and so the two of them often went out, around Sydney, performing for the men. Mima played her piano accordion and Edie sang. She learned to ham it up for the crowd, especially when she drew wolf whistles and shouts from the men watching, pulling a performer from within she hadn’t realised was there.
Over the sadness and the stone in her chest, she tugged a blanket of liveliness, warm smiles, and laughter that didn’t reach beneath the surface, but was enough to fool most.
Only Mima didn’t buy it, though she knew what it was that ate at Edie, so didn’t say much about it. Only every now and then she’d wrap her arms around Edie’s thin body, squeeze her and plop a wet kiss on her forehead.
“We’ll get through this, you and I. One day this bloody war will be over, and life will go on. You’ll see.”
Edie couldn’t speak when she did that, but she’d give Mima a peck on the cheek in return. She knew that Mima understood her in a way that no one else in her life ever had. They bickered like sisters, then made up with hugs and smiles until Mima would braid her hair and Edie would thread her fingers through Mima’s and tell her stories of how it would be when the war was over and all the young men came back for good.
Edie ran a hand over her hair, poking stray pieces beneath her white hat. A film of sweat coated her palms and she rubbed them down the front of her apron. Her shift was almost over for the day and she’d promised Mima they’d entertain the recovering troops outside on the green. Some of the men without serious injury gathered outside in the afternoons to play cards, exchange small talk, or listen to the radio when the weather was fine.
She hurried down the long hallway and into the emergency ward. The Sister had called for her. They’d had an influx of local and American casualties at around the same time, since the US Army Hospital had been overwhelmed with patients, and now they were shorthanded as well.
Since she was training to be a nurse, and Sister Durham was the one who’d recommended her for it, she liked to give Edie what she called opportunities to grow. In other words, she gave Edie more than she knew what to do with, and then hurried off to attend to her own tasks.
Edie scanned the room and drew in a sudden breath. The place was abuzz with activity. Bloody bodies lay prone on every surface, men groaned and cried out for help. Her stomach tightened into a knot and the air caught in her lungs.
“Nurse, here, help me with this,” said Sister Durham.
The Sister’s hands moved swiftly to examine a young man, who to Edie’s eyes looked more like a boy. The uniform he wore had gaping holes in it and blood seeped out of each wound, but his head had fare
d the worst. He rocked it from side to side, moaning out his agony.
“Can you hear me?” the Sister asked, close to his ear. “I’m Sister Durham, and you’re in a hospital. We’re going to take care of you. Can you tell me your name?”
Edie hurried to the other side of the bed and began cutting the soldier’s clothes away.
“I’m Sam Spencer,” he said, between moans. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I see anything? Is it dark?”
Edie’s throat tightened and she tugged the remnants of clothing free, leaving him stripped on the bed in only his undergarments. She was relieved to see the wounds to his body looked to be superficial and given a few stitches would heal. She bathed him quickly while Sister Durham continued asking him questions.
He was from Wagga Wagga, he said. Eighteen years of age, he’d been a truck driver before he enlisted. He’d barely begun to sprout a beard and his body, now wiped clean, was thin, hairless, and pale. He hadn’t received more than the most basic rookie training when the Army sent him to Borneo to beat back the advancing Japanese forces. He’d stepped off a landing barge at Balikpapan and had a hand grenade thrown in his face. Pieces of shrapnel stuck out from all over his face like echidna spines.
Sister Durham told him to lay flat and still on the bed. Then she asked Edie to run and find two sandbags. Edie brought them, one at a time, balanced over her shoulder. Huffing under the weight of each bag on the wide staircases, she set them on the bed, against either side of his head.
“You shouldn’t move,” the Sister explained to him with a gentle voice. “We’ll take out as much of the shrapnel as we can, then we’ll have to wait for the rest of it to work its way free. In the meantime, these sandbags will keep your head steady. Do you understand?”
He said that he did. Sister Durham turned to Edie. “Nurse Watson, please remove the pieces of shrapnel you can see — but leave his eyes. Then bathe him. Be gentle, there are pieces lodged deeper than we dare attempt to remove.”
