by Lilly Mirren
“Yes, Sister.”
“Please, can I have a drink of water?” asked the boy.
Edie poured him a cup and held a straw to his lips for him to sip from.
He smiled at her. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’m sorry if this hurts.”
His lips pursed. “Never mind.”
She did her best to extract the pieces of shrapnel she could see. And Sam winced and bit down on his lip but didn’t say much of anything. He moaned once or twice, but it was a marvel to Edie how well he held back from complaining or crying out.
“We’re almost to the end of it,” she said, tugging softly at the last piece.
“Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
Her throat ached at his words. How could he be polite? Why didn’t he cry out and rail against the injustice of it all? He’d likely never see again. Tears threatened and she swallowed them down.
“Do you think I’ll see anything soon? I’d like to know where I am, look around, and see if any of my mates are here with me.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you.”
“No worries.”
“The eye specialist will be here to see you as soon as he can. There’re a lot of people needing his attention right now, so I’m not sure how long he will be.”
“I can wait,” he replied. He linked his hands together over his chest.
“I’ll finish your bath and get you something to cover up with,” said Edie. “Then, we’ll see about finding you a ward so you can have a bit of peace and quiet. It’s like a zoo in here.”
By the time her shift was over, Edie felt as though she needed a cup of tea, a Bex, and a lie down. Perhaps she’d cancel on Mima. Besides, all the blood and gore she’d encountered in the emergency room, not to mention Sam’s swollen but earnest face, had made her think about Charlie and she couldn’t shake the lump from her throat. The image in her mind that Charlie was lying injured somewhere, with no one to help him, no one to bathe his wounds or tell him everything would work itself out, made it hard to breathe.
She found a chair in the hallway and sank into it, pressing her hands to her head.
Deep breaths.
He’d been shot down. The horror of that gave her nightmares, still, during the day she tried to think of things other than the picture of his face in her mind’s eye as his plane fell from the sky; anything other than that.
Oh Lord in Heaven; what if he’d crashed into the deep, dark ocean?
Was there anything worse than the image of him gasping for breath as the waters swallowed him whole?
She couldn’t catch her breath. No matter how hard she tried, the air wouldn’t fill her lungs.
Mima bustled past her, stopped, skipped back, and grabbed her up. She linked her arm through Edie’s with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go and entertain some troops.”
“I don’t want to,” replied Edie with a sigh, as she stumbled along beside Mima.
“You always say that and then you feel better after we do it. It’ll be fun. I promise, we can go back to the dorm and you can curl up in bed and turn the lights out when we’re finished.”
Sometimes Edie really hated the way Mima pushed her around. Still, perhaps Mima had a point — all Edie really wanted to do was curl up in bed and get lost in the memories swirling through her head. Something inside her knew that wasn’t any way to live. So, she followed Mima to their room to shower and change.
She’d go with Mima, she’d sing, she’d dance, and she’d pretend to the world that everything was grand. But she didn’t want to do it. Not when Charlie was out there alone somewhere, maybe dead, and Keith was living in Bathurst with Mother and her aunt. Mother had written he’d taken his first steps right after she left for Sydney. She’d spent the rest of that morning in bed, until Mima dragged her out to go to the beach with a group of friends from the hospital.
She’d become good at pretending. And perhaps that was all there’d ever be. A smile plastered to her face; her eyes dull behind the cheap sunglasses she’d bought from a stand at the newsagents.
When they reached the green, recovering soldiers were already scattered about the lawn in chairs and on picnic rugs. If they didn’t have either, they sat on the grass and risked the wet seeping through the seats of their pants. Sunshine warmed their faces as they played cards, chatted, smoked, and laughed together. Some stared into the distance, blankets pulled over motionless legs, others wrote letters, faces pinched and pale, or read books or letters, forgetting all they’d seen and done for a short time as they travelled in their minds to distant lands or small hometowns.
They were convalescing, the men who were almost well, or had lesser injuries. Many would be returning to the fight before much longer, their time at the hospital a respite from the storm. And while Edie and Mima sang, danced, and played for them, their faces brightened, even if only for a little while. Seeing them light up that way was the reason Edie was there instead of curled up in her bed, the curtains pulled to cover the light shining in through the dormitory window.
They walked amongst the group, several of the men calling out greetings as they went. Edie smiled, patted shoulders, asked questions about how certain patients were progressing and then joined Mima on the edge of the lawn. Mima had taken her piano accordion out of its case and was warming up her fingers by playing a few notes, humming softly as she did it.
She winked at Edie, then broke into a lively rendition of The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. The men who could stand, jumped to their feet and smiles swept across faces. The song was always a crowd pleaser. Edie joined in, singing the melody and dancing along to the song, flipping the skirt of her red and black polka dot cotton dress around her nylon-clad legs as she moved in time to the beat. Her strong voice built until it soared and echoed over the lawn. Men cheered and hooted, and those who could clapped along.
Edie’s heart warmed and the smile she’d faked slowly turned real. There was some truth to Mima’s words — she always ended up enjoying it. No one could bring joy to another without feeling some measure of it herself. She knew it was true, and yet when dark thoughts swamped her at the end of a long day, she couldn’t seem to fight the desire to run, to hide, and to give in. Singing, dancing, and watching the faces of the men as they forgot their troubles for a precious few minutes was the salve she needed to bring comfort to her soul.
The next song Mima played was a slower one and Edie took the opportunity to grab a cup of water from a tray brought around by one of the orderlies. She seldom drank enough water during her shift and was often desperately thirsty afterward. As she gulped down the last mouthful of water, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.
She spun about to face a man, at least a head taller than her, with dark brown hair, wide green eyes, and thin cheeks.
He blinked. “Excuse me, ma’am, I was wonderin’ if perhaps there’d be any dancin’ today?”
His thick American accent wrapped around her like a wool blanket.
“Dancing?”
“Yes, dancin’.”
She nodded. “If you like.”
“Would you dance with me?”
It was the last thing she felt like doing, but his eyes were so eager, his grin so shy, and as he crushed a white naval hat between his hands, she smiled and reached for his hand.
“Of course, why not?”
His eyes brightened. “Thank you kindly, ma’am, it’s been so long since I danced with a girl… a woman… I’m afraid I won’t be much good.”
He tapped the cast that wrapped his leg from his toes to his hip in white plaster. He wore a pair of blue hospital issue pyjamas and one leg of the pants had been shorn off, leaving the plaster exposed.
“Then, you’ll match me just fine,” she replied with a chuckle. “Because I’ve never been much good at it.”
He laughed, took her outstretched hand, and pulled her toward the middle of the lawn. A few of the men wolf-whistled, others ca
lled out that it would be their turn next. Her cheeks flamed as he spun her around and she landed with a gasp against his strong chest.
One hand pressed to the small of her back, the other grasped hers and he moved, or more like bobbed, along to the music, his eyes fixed on hers.
“I’m Paul Summer,” he said.
“Edie Watson, Edith really, but nobody calls me that except my parents when I’m in trouble.” Her cheeks warmed further still.
“Is that so? I’ll remember to call you Edie, then,” he replied.
“You’re American?” she asked.
He laughed. “I guess there’s no hiding it. Yep, I’m from North Carolina. I was on the USS Brooks when we got the stuffing… excuse me, ma’am, we were shelled by the Japs. The leg will recover, I’m told, so I guess I got off light. And likely they’ll have the Admiralty Islands all taken care of by the time I get outta here.” His face clouded over for a moment.
“I’m happy you’ll be all right,” she said.
His eyes sparkled. “I’m glad I got to be here, else I’d never have met you.”
“Have we met before now?” she asked. She didn’t always remember the faces that she passed in the wards.
He laughed. “I saw you earlier when I came in. You were busy fussin’ over someone, but I couldn’t help notice those pretty eyes and that sweet smile.”
Her heart pitter-pattered at his words, but she wondered if he said the same thing to every girl he met. Sydney women were falling in love right and left with every Yankee serviceman who came to shore, but he couldn’t know her heart was already taken.
Still, it felt good to be held, to dance, however awkward it might be, and to hear pretty words fall from such a handsome mouth.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I think I should get back to Mima. I’ve left her all alone, and she’ll be needing my help on the next song.”
She stepped out of his embrace. He dipped his head, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Paul Summer.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Edie Watson,” he said.
By the time Edie made it back to Mima, the piano accordion had fallen silent and been abandoned in the grass. Mima sat on a brick retaining wall, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette hanging from one hand as she guffawed over something one of the men whispered into her ear.
“Are you ready…?” asked Edie.
Mima shook her curls, her red lips pouting. “I need a break, take a seat, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Edie folded her skirts over her legs as she sat on the cold, hard bricks beside Mima.
“Edie, this is Oliver. He’s from America,” said Mima, her eyes wide.
“Pleased to meet you, Oliver.” Edie shook his hand. He was handsome with sandy blond hair, brown eyes, and dimples. His muscular arms bulged beneath the sleeves of a plain white T-shirt.
“Pleasure, Edie. Your friend here has already told me so much about you.”
Edie’s mouth puckered. Mima never could hold her tongue. She’d blurt out every little thing to anyone who came along. It was what made people love her, but sometimes it was too much. Especially when Edie was holding tight to her feelings, clutching her own story to her chest, not wanting anyone else to see how vulnerable she really was.
“Oh? Mima, shouldn’t we keep playing…?”
Mima shrugged. “I think they can do without music for a little longer. Oliver here was telling me all about California. Can you believe it? He’s from California! He’s been to Hollywood.”
“That’s astounding,” replied Edie in a monotone.
Mima had always wanted to go to Hollywood and found anything and everything about the place enthralling in a way Edie didn’t understand. In fact, the way she was feeling, she couldn’t understand anyone or anything. How could they sit around, eating, singing, dancing, and acting like nothing was wrong when her heart and the whole world was a pit of horror and despair?
“I’m going back to the dorm, then,” said Edie.
Mima nodded. “Righty-oh, I’ll see you back there later.”
Edie’s heart hurt, her head pounded, and her throat ached. She stood and staggered across the lawn toward the dormitories. When she glanced back over her shoulder, she saw Mima leaning in close to the American. He whispered something and she threw back her head to laugh, like a kookaburra on a branch. She pressed her hand to his arm, her eyes focused on his, her cheeks flushed.
Edie sighed, spun on her heel, and marched up the wide, concrete staircase. She’d never felt so alone.
28
January 1996
Cabarita Beach
Kate brushed the tears from her cheeks and set Nan’s journal on the bedside table. She could feel Nan’s pain, the depth of her grandmother’s mourning sprang from the page and twisted Kate’s heart into a knot.
So, it was true. Mima knew all about Charlie and Dad. She was there when Nan and Pop met. And yet when Kate had asked her about it, she’d hemmed and hawed like she could barely remember that period of her life.
But she’d been there. Right beside Nan when she danced with Pop on the green.
Kate had heard the story before, of how Nan and Pop had met at a hospital when Pop was injured in the war. Still, reading about it brought it to life in a new way. Hearing her grandparents tell their stories when she was a girl, was like listening to something that’d happened to strangers in another time and place she couldn’t relate to in any way. But reading it in Nan’s journal, she was given a glimpse into their lives as though she was watching it play out on the big screen.
Tears continued to streak down her cheeks and wet the pillow beneath her head. She rubbed her eyes.
Poor Nan.
She’d been mourning Charlie when she met Pop for the first time. That was certainly something she’d never related as part of the endearing meet-cute anecdote before.
Charlie was gone and she had no place in her heart for another. And yet somehow Pop had won her over.
She wasn’t sure she could keep reading. Everything she’d thought she knew about Nan, Pop, and their family was a lie. Each journal entry she read shook her world in a new way. She couldn’t take it anymore.
It wasn’t fair for Nan to lose Charlie that way. She’d loved him, better than Kate had ever loved anyone until she met Alex. Her eyes widened. Did she love Alex? Sweat broke out immediately all over her body. She loved him. It’d come on so suddenly she hadn’t been aware of it. Her breath caught in her throat. The impression swept over her, stronger than any feelings she’d felt for Davis, or anyone before him for that matter. She exhaled; a sharp release of the air held tight in her lungs.
The first time she kissed Alex was the beginning of understanding. It had given her a taste of how Nan must’ve felt about her childhood sweetheart. Still, she hadn’t known Alex as long as Nan had known and loved Charlie, nor did she have a baby, or the rushing hormones of teenaged angst driving her.
And what was she doing with Alex, giving her heart to a man who was obviously mourning a loss of love the way Nan had mourned Charlie? Nan’s words opened her eyes to the way Alex must feel — he’d lost the love of his life. Now Kate had come along, kissed him, essentially pushed him into a relationship. Maybe he didn’t want it or want her. But she was there, and his wife wasn’t.
Could that be enough for Kate? It wasn’t. She wanted to be someone’s first choice, not like Pop, twirling Nan on the green, falling in love while Nan’s heart broke over her lost fiancé.
The gloom of dusk settled over the inn. When Kate stepped outside, cicadas sang a loud chorus that overwhelmed almost everything else.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets and hunched her back to walk to the garden. She’d forgotten to water everything earlier, though in the heat of summer she preferred to leave the watering until almost dark, so the wet leaves didn’t burn beneath the scorching sun.
She unwound the hose from around the tap and turned the handle until water dammed
up behind the nozzle. Then she faced the garden and spun the nozzle until water spurted out in a long arc, wetting the dry plants. The dusty soil darkened beneath the spray, and Kate drew in a long breath, letting the sadness leech out of her.
She’d pushed Nan’s journal back into the box and shoved it beneath her bed. It was too hard to keep reading, too emotional. She needed a break.
Was that how it was between her and Alex? She was Pop in their relationship. The one Alex would settle for since he’d lost the true love of his life. Poor Pop, how had he lived with that? Had he even realised?
Kate stretched her neck, leaning her head to one side, then the other, until her tired muscles released the tension that’d built there with everything that was going on. Between the argument with Reeda and Bindi, reading Nan’s diary, and questioning her relationship with Alex, her shoulders had drawn higher with the stress of it all, until they seemed almost even with her ears.
She dropped her shoulders, squared them, and inhaled another slow breath.
She’d been to a counselling session once, at a particularly anxious period in her career. The counsellor suggested a technique for reducing her stress levels — she should look around and name the things she saw.
Kate glanced to one side.
Beans, peas, strawberries, carrots.
Then to the other.
Cucumbers, tomatoes…
Her brow furrowed. Bloody possum!
Half the plants had been eaten level with the earth. Bare stalks jutted up through the ground, cut jagged and leafless.
Her nostrils flared and she marched back to the tap to turn it off. With angry jerks she looped the hose around the post, then stalked in the direction of the stables.
She still had to check on the horses, make sure Alex had fed and watered them, before she returned to the inn. Then, she’d figure out what she was going to do about that nuisance of the possum. In the morning, she’d inspect the garden fence and netting to see how it’d wriggled through. It was too dark to see much of anything now. And knowing that the possum would likely return that night to finish what he’d started only stirred a burning anger in her chest.
