“Don't do it,” Pete said suddenly. “It's not a good idea.”
“I can't afford to go to university, Dad,” Storm replied. “I barely get paid enough to save anything at all.”
He turned to his old man and saw with a start Pete's eyes were tearing up.
“Keep thinking,” Pete told Storm, and he cleared his throat. “Don't you be like I was at your age. You don't need the Army. You can ruin your life with one rash decision.”
Then, Pete straightened up and stared fiercely at Storm.
“Don't you ever give up on yourself!”
Part II
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15
Road Trip
As soon as Penny suggested he accompany her to Sydney to see her graduate from the Academy, he desperately tried to think of a way out. He told her he hated traveling any great distance in a car. To simply doze off in the back seat and to wake once they arrived would be one thing. Driving there and back—well that was another thing again.
“Oh, come on!” She said with a snort.
“Why can't you take a bus like most other people who don't like to drive?” He asked.
Penny was planning to be a sleeping beauty for virtually the entire trip, curled up in the back seat, he thought. Expecting him to do the driving.
“The bus?” She giggled. “You have to be joking. Hey, we could fly there, if you had a pilot's license.”
“And a plane,” he reminded her. “And not to forget money for the fuel!”
“So, why not accept Mom's offer?” she asked. “And I pay for the gas. And all you need do is drive. How hard is that?”
“Aren't doctors supposed to have a car?”
“She has bought a new one. Oh—c'mon, Storm! Just say yes. We'll have a good time. I promise! Please!”
“What if I fall asleep on the road?” He asked. “It's a long trip.”
“You won't. I'll keep you awake with endless funny stories. Mom said the hotel room has a view of the Harbor! Doesn't that sound fantastic?”
“Are you sure she knows I will be with you?”
Penny rolled her eyes. “Of course she does,” she replied. “And—she has booked a room with a double bed,” she whispered loudly and broke into giggles. “Can you imagine my face when she told me she had done that?”
“What about Michael?” He asked her.
“He thinks I'm taking the bus,” she said with a shrug.
“Oh, you think you have it all worked out, don't you?” Storm said, shaking his head. “What will Michael say when Franchette tells him we went to Sydney together?”
“He probably knows already,” she said. Then she blushed at the thought.
Storm sipped his slushy noisily as he turned the idea over in his head. “You finished with your chips?” He asked her, pointing at the untouched carton of french fries he had ordered for her.
“Take them away from me,” she said pushing the tray across the table. “Quick!”
“You would prefer a muffin and a coffee made by some poncy barista, right?” He asked as he opened a sachet of tomato sauce and squeezed the contents out over the greasy fingers of potato.
“Barista? I've not heard you use that word before.”
“I do read, you know?” He told her and scowled when he saw the smug smile on her face.
“I'm going to buy you an awesome espresso when we are in Sydney,” she said cheerfully. It was an attempt to maintain the lightness of the moment.
“Fantastic,” he sighed.
Penny was full of pretensions. So many that Storm found it annoying. He was sure she was totally aware her world was, for the most part, closed to the likes of him. He also suspected the novelty value he must hold for her would not last forever.
He decided it was best to avoid Stella for a few days until she got used to the idea that he was going to enlist. He was not quite sure why, but he decided to leave off telling Penny for a bit.
It was Summer who became the mediator between her brother and her mother, and she soon found the role of a go-between to be largely thankless.
Things worked out more or less fine at first, but Stella's house was small. By the time he arrived at Franchette's front gate on the day he and Penny were to leave, he was only too happy to be hitting the road. So much so, he barely blinked as Franchette handed the car keys to him.
16
Taut
The Manly ferry was cutting its way through the chop of the harbor. The robust wooden boat almost graceful glided past the restaurant below the window of their hotel room. He found it difficult to take his eyes off the ever-shifting sea. It was beautiful. Only when the wooden-hulled vessel passed by the pointy white shells of the Opera House did he turn around.
“Were there any girlfriends while I was at away at school?”
“What?” He asked with genuine surprise.
She lay on her stomach making sultry, seductive eyes at him on the king-sized bed. She was doing her best to entice him from the window, but he was stubborn. She was starting to feel a little irritated because of it. Penny didn't like to be ignored. “I said—did you see other girls while I was away from Coona?”
He turned back to the window. “Of course not,” he muttered. Well, there was the one-night spent with Macey, a British tourist spending her holidays exploring the outback. He wondered whether a one-night stand would count. He thought it did not, but Penny might think otherwise.
She had promised to keep in touch. She sent him a postcard without a return address, and he remembered how relieved he was that he didn't have to reply. After all, it wasn't like he would travel the world anytime soon.
There was Katie, but she didn’t count. They had met when he worked for her father on the family farm, cropping the shitty butts of sheep. He was thankful the mulesing didn't last long because cleaning up flystrike was horrible work. The farmer had asked him to repair the sheds damaged by a season of high winds. Fixing farm sheds was positively fun by comparison, or at least it might have been fun if it wasn’t for Katie.
There was no easy way for him to avoid her. She constantly attempted to corner him between bridles and tractor tires. Then he was fending off her persistent kisses and urgent fumbles. He shuddered when he remembered Katie's plaintive hopefulness on his last day. She hung around the entire afternoon giving him puppy dog eyes. Then, finally, had told him she was looking for the right man and she could see it now that it wasn't going to be him.
He sat down on the dark brown quilt beside Penny and kissed her on the lips.
“You did see someone, didn't you?” She asked as she pulled away with a frown.
He rolled off the bed. “No, I didn't!”
The words came out without conviction, and he found he was unable to meet her gaze. He swore under his breath, because now she knew for sure.
“All right,” he said, leveling with her. “So, I kissed Katie Howard when I was working for her old man. That's all I did!”
“Oh, kissing is nothing,” Penny said with a roll of her eyes, but she was disappointed with the answer. “Are you sure that was all?”
“Jeez, Pen,” he mumbled. “You and me—we are only ever together when you are home for your holiday. It's not like I come with an on-off switch.”
“I guess you can do whatever you like when I’m in Sydney,” she snorted. “I don't know what competition I have in Coona, and I don't care. I just wanted an honest answer.”
“You don't have any competition,” he told her.
“Well—of course not,” she replied. She was no longer certain where she was going with her questions. She stared at him a long moment. Then sat up, pulled off her top, throwing it over to him.
“Catch!” She giggled. “Now, come here and get your reward for saying the right things.”
He did not need to be asked twice, and he launched himself at her.
Penny shrieked with delight.
“Is that how you kiss those poor girls? No wonder you never got any further.”
She giggled. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah! And—what if she was really crazy about me?” He asked. He saw her eyes widen then, and something else in them. It was the hint of hurt, and suddenly he laughed. “Nah, come to think of it, she was just plain crazy.”
She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. “You are a bastard,” she said quietly. “I was beginning to believe you. Well, too bad for me, because I'm crazy about you.” She crinkled her nose to show him there were no hard feelings, then she wiggled out of her jeans and flung them to the floor. “If you don't get naked right now, I will definitely rip those clothes off you!”
Later, as they lay together, they watched the lights flicker around the harbor. Neither said much. They were content to be close and sharing each other's warmth.
“You know, you're impossible to wear out,” she said.
“You can talk!” He said, but he laughed with delight at the compliment.
“You know something?” She asked, rolling onto her stomach. “You don't need anyone else now you have me.”
He was running his fingers lightly over the striations of muscle on her back. “No, I don't. Not when I have my own Greek goddess.”
She rolled her eyes at his words. Storm could be so uncool. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a throaty chuckle. “Oh, sweet thing,” she said, and she rested her head on her forearm and gazed at him. “You haven't met any of my friends yet, have you? Your jaw will scrape the floor when you meet Abigail. She’s really beautiful.”
“Another dancer, huh?”
“She studies languages, and she's damn near fluent in all of them. She’s fluent in Chinese, Russian, and French. Tu me comprends?”
“Oui,” Storm answered without a moment’s hesitation.
Penny sat up and stared at him. “Est-ce que c'est vrai? Parlez-vous francais?”
“I studied French at high school, but you know how I can memorize whatever I see or hear if I want—it doesn't have to be English.”
“Wow!” Penny replied, arching her eyebrows. “That's right.”
“You should never underestimate a country boy,” he muttered. He should not have mentioned the memorizing thing. Now she'd never let it go. His amazing memory was, for him, just one horrific problem. One he had learned to live with one day at a time.
Penny saw his face and knew better than to pursue it. “I'd never have kept coming back to you if you were just another local yokel,” she said. She brought her hand to her mouth and giggled, surprised at how easily the word had popped out.
“You're a snob,” he told her.
“Sor-rr-ry,” she managed between snorts of laughter.
He swiveled off the bed and stood beside her. Once again, trying to work her out.
“Oh, come on,” she said, unable to stop giggling. “Don't be like that. C'mon, Storm. Please!”
“What about you?” He asked, not completely sure why her reaction irritated him so much.
“What about me?” She asked.
“Are you seeing anyone else?” He asked.
“It isn't as though we're married, is it?” She said, her gaiety vanishing.
“If I told you I went out with other girls while you were in Sydney, you would get in a huff. You wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the night.”
“No, I would tell you to take a bus back to Coona.”
“There you go!”
“Not telling is a woman's prerogative—not a bloke's,” she said quietly.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It's different for women.”
“Awl, come on!”
“Let's eat out tonight,” she said. She gave a wave of her hand. It was as if to wipe an invisible board clean of all former declarations.
“The restaurant in this place wouldn't be too bad,” he said.
She pulled her fingers through her hair and yawned. “Boring!”
He watched the rise and fall of her breasts and her taut stomach muscles working as she stretched her arms above her head. He suspected she was teasing him and fought the urge to leap back on the bed.
“Let’s find a good pizzeria,” she said with a smile. She was pleased with the effect she was having on him. “Then, we can come back here and start all over again.”
He did his best to ignore her as he pulled on his clothes. “It must've cost Franchette and Michael to put us up in a place like this for three nights.”
“I would have preferred they had come to my graduation,” she said with a scowl. “They allow me these three days with you because they feel guilty.” She pointed to the suitcase. “Throw me over the yellow checked shirt.”
He watched her pull the shirt over her head. What a drama queen! But was he mad at her or at himself? It was too complicated to think about. He sighed. “Let's get outta here.”
17
Meeting the Masses
The next morning, they set off for Penny's graduation. As they left the cluster of hotels behind them, they found the footpaths filled with people holding furled banners and painted signboards. Stella had talked about the protests taking place across Australia, as they were in every country, and Storm was more than a little curious to see one. Today looked to be as good an opportunity as he was ever going to get.
“We have to meet my friends for breakfast before we head off to the ceremony,” Penny reminded him as she checked her text messages.
“Sure, Pen. A quick look. That's all.”
“Okay. A quick look, then we head straight for Martin Place Station and catch a train,” she said, fixing him with a steady gaze. “This is my day,” she reminded him.
“Got it,” Storm replied.
The rain had been falling in a light mist when they left the hotel, but it had since stopped, and they felt buoyed by patches of blue above their heads. A short time later, and they felt the Sun sizzle their skin and saw steam rise off the drying road. It was going to be a hot day.
They passed a dusty stained blanket tossed over a sleeping bag lying on the sidewalk between the two stone columns of a bank. The outline of a resting body was visible in the makeshift bed. A dog-eared and torn copy of Rolling Stone Magazine lay open on top of the blanket.
Blue and red police lights flashed in the grill of a patrol car easing its way down the busy street. The occupants of the cab eyed the protesters on the sidewalk and the banners held high. The police officers looked grim and full of intent. They were expecting trouble. Close behind the police came a white armored van with a company logo on the side. In the cab were two men wearing a uniform Storm and Penny had never seen before.
They fell in with the moving mass that spilled into Macquarie Street. They were within sight of the main gathering. Protesters covered the street from one footpath to the other, the crowd gathering before the high wrought iron fence in front of the ochre stone of the old New South Wales Parliament House.
It was not only the size of the crowd that stunned the Storm but the mix within it. There were young and old alike, men and women, and he saw that there were even a few school children. Workers stood shoulder-to-shoulder with university students, and the able-bodied stood beside chanting demonstrators in wheelchairs. They were workers of all descriptions, some wearing the garb of their trade and others not.
There seemed no organization of uniforms. Small groups of firemen, nurses, and government servants milled among one another. And they numbered in the thousands. The crowd extending both ways up the street almost as far as the eye could see.
A row of black police in full riot gear had formed a protective barrier before the speaker's podium, their backs to the spiked iron fence surrounding the government buildings.
Were they protecting the stonework or the trade union speakers who bellowed their lists of complaints through bullhorn megaphones? It was not clear. Explicit enough to the protesters was the manner that the police
intended to do their job.
Expanded metal batons struck leather-gloved palms and boots stamped the ground in unison. The black-clad line attempted to stare down the jostling front line they faced, barely containing their nervous anticipation.
When the first speaker stepped onto the podium, a hush fell over the crowd. But the restraint of the audience ended with the first words of the address.
“Please demonstrate in an orderly manner. We haven't come here to cause trouble. Our aim is to influence a change in government policy. We can do that by showing solidarity with the unions.”
A growling, grumbling sob rose up from the among the people. The swirl of banners, flags, and placards quickened and the line of police, locked together in a hopeless chain, took a single step forward. The outcries against the organizers were haphazard at first, but the scattered accusations quickly became statements of purpose, and the noise grew louder.
“Down with the unions! The working class rules!”
The short line of representatives came from a number of unions, all of them ready to take the microphone and call for calm. Now they wavered before the fence when they saw the protest had morphed into something well beyond their control. Their pleas grew increasingly desperate while the cries of dissension grew steadily stronger and more ferocious by the minute.
“You are traitors! Hang the bastards!”
A half-eaten burger still in its brown paper bag hit the chest of a burly man with a megaphone to his mouth. Cabbage, beetroot, and mustard burst across the trade union logo on the front of his nylon zip-up jacket. Staring down at the mess in surprise, he stepped aside to wipe uselessly at it.
Three large officers separated themselves from the line of black. They strode up to the elderly culprit and pulled him out of the crowd.
Jubilee Year Page 8
