Stillwater Creek

by Alison Booth

  Now Eileen had agreed that Jim should be educated in Sydney, he could start talking normally to her again. Maybe the armistice that they’d just reached would mean they could rub along together a bit better in the future. Of course, she’d have to be told everything that had happened, or nearly everything. Maybe not right this minute, he didn’t think he could face that yet, but certainly tonight.

  Unbidden, an image sprang into his mind. It was the advertisement he’d seen in the Burford Advertiser the previous Saturday. The newspaper would have gone already, probably wrapped around the garbage that he carried out to the bin each evening after tea was over. But he could recall every detail of the advertisement, including the telephone number. The six-inch telescope was quite a few years old and needed some work. Nevertheless, as soon as the lines were repaired, he’d telephone the owner about it. The telescope was probably in pieces and that’s why it was so cheap, but if he put his mind to it and had all the parts, he reckoned he could have a go at fixing it. He didn’t think Eileen would try to prevent him from doing that now.

  Cherry, sitting on the sand next to Miss Neville, struggled with a range of conflicting emotions. Fear that someone in Jingera knew about Bill’s inclinations when they didn’t need to now he was dead. Pity for Bill and the terrible way he’d died. But most dominant of all was the feeling of relief that he and his photographs had gone. Weeping was all she could manage for the moment to reconcile these feelings.

  That morning, after she’d awoken from a brief restless doze, she’d crept out of the hotel and down the dunny-cart lanes to Miss Neville’s house. Seeming both joyful and surprised at seeing Cherry with her small suitcase in her kitchen, Miss Neville had said, ‘Stay here as long as you like, dearest. Treat it as your home.’ Soon afterwards she’d dashed out the front door to open up the school. Although Cherry had planned to catch the next bus to Burford, due to depart at two o’clock, the fire had put an end to that.

  When the alarm had sounded she’d hurried out of Miss Neville’s house but hadn’t immediately seen that the hotel was on fire, so distracted had she been by the activity in the square: the fire engine, the milling people, the impression of panic. Once she’d realised that the pub was blazing she wasn’t in the least tempted to return. The few material things that she cared about were in her case at Miss Neville’s. Never for even an instant did it cross her mind that anyone would still be in the pub, least of all Bill. At that point the large blue letters painted on the side of the hall had seized her attention. MR BATES IS A PERVERT. Somebody else must have known what he was like and this meant that Bill must have done something. Shown his disgusting photographs to someone probably. That person had painted those letters onto the wall of the hall only this morning. Once the townsfolk were allowed to leave the beach and go back to their homes it wouldn’t be long before they’d all be gossiping about it. Maybe sooner, if they’d seen what she’d seen.

  And she’d known about it, she’d known about it for weeks and hadn’t told anyone.

  ‘Dearest Cherry, please don’t cry,’ whispered Miss Neville, putting an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I’ve got nothing left.’ This wasn’t at all what she’d intended to say, especially as she still had her suitcase and her make-up.

  ‘Bloody hell, Cherry, you’ve got me.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got you,’ Cherry said, smiling now.

  ‘And you can live with me forever and ever.’

  Cherry took Miss Neville’s hand and squeezed it.

  ‘And we can buy you new clothes and say you’re my lodger. And maybe I can apply for a transfer to somewhere bigger than here, where people won’t gossip and where you can forget about all this.’

  ‘Sydney perhaps. You should have done that years ago.’

  ‘But then I wouldn’t have met you, and once I’d met you, how could I leave?’

  ‘I might have gone with you.’

  ‘But you might not.’

  ‘You never asked me.’

  ‘You never suggested it either,’ Miss Neville said.

  ‘We’ve kept too much from each other.’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a brief pause before Miss Neville added, ‘This question might seem a bit callous, but were you insured?’

  ‘No idea. Bill looked after all that. We probably were, and I’m pretty sure he had some money stashed away in the Commercial Banking Company.’

  ‘Dry your eyes, pretty one. We’ve got a great future ahead of us.’

  But Cherry was now remembering those blue letters and what she had to tell Miss Neville. Perhaps she should just sneak out later that night with a tin of paint to go right over them. It would take several coats. That bright blue would be hard to cover up. Bill was dead now so there was no need for people to know. ‘Do you have any house paint?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, but what the blazes do you want that for? Not planning to paint my house, are you?’

  ‘Someone painted something nasty on the side of the hall. You know, that corrugated iron thing opposite the pub. I want to cover it up.’

  ‘Bill didn’t set the hotel on fire deliberately, did he?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Someone just painted the words ‘Bates is a pervert’ in blue letters a foot high. People will know it meant Bill.’

  ‘People can think of really nasty things. Bill mightn’t have been all that sensitive but he was the last person anyone would think of as a pervert. I’d know. Being a teacher makes you very aware of those things.’

  ‘You’re wrong there. He had all sorts of obscene pictures and drawings.’

  ‘Really? You can’t just buy these things, you know, Cherry.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. There’s a black market out there for dirty postcards. Haven’t you read about all those raids the police have been carrying out in Sydney? Anyway, he might have got them in the war.’ Pat had led a sheltered life, she decided, and realised that, for the first time, she’d been able to think of Miss Neville as Pat.

  ‘Well, bloody hell, I find that quite shocking. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was going to a few weeks ago and then just couldn’t. I should have, I know. Then I was going to tell you today. That’s why I came around this morning, but there wasn’t time.’

  ‘Of course you bloody well should have told me! Just think of all those kids in my charge. You should have told me as soon as you had any suspicion. Now I come to think of it, he was always hanging around outside the pub when school came out. I thought that was just part of his “hail-fellow, well-met” stuff. It never even occurred to me he could possibly be that way inclined.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, so am I, the bastard.’

  ‘As soon as we go back into town, I want to paint over the letters.’ She wanted to blot the pictures out of her head too.

  ‘Leave them there, Cherry. It really doesn’t matter now that he’s dead.’

  Perhaps Pat was right, and, with Pat by her side, she would be strong and she would no longer need to care about what people might think. Indeed they should know her husband was a pervert. It might make them more watchful in general and that would surely be a good thing.

  Zidra, standing with Jim on the hard sand next to the surf, stared at the thick haze of smoke over the ocean. The water looked more grey than blue. If Mr Bates hadn’t died in the fire she’d still be feeling frightened. She shuddered. She didn’t like thinking about him, dead or alive. But being dead meant he couldn’t ever return, so she was safe now.

  ‘I wish Lorna hadn’t gone away,’ Zidra said. She fingered the pink shell that she carried in her pocket ever since Lorna had given it to her.

  ‘She’ll come back one day,’ Jim said.

  Zidra wondered if she would. Mrs Bates had told Mama yesterday that it might be possible for them to visit the Gudgiegalah Girls’ Home. Thinking of Mrs Bates reminded her of Mr Bates again. She still found it hard to believe that he was really dead. ‘Mr Bates was a horrid man,’ she said. She paused. May
be it was the shock that was making her feel so strange, so numb.

  ‘Quite horrid,’ Jim said.

  ‘Mama said you shouldn’t say that of the dead. They can’t answer back.’

  ‘It’s hypocritical to say that you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘Hypocritical?’ He just couldn’t resist a long word when a short one would do and Mama wasn’t hypocritical whatever that meant.

  Jim shrugged. ‘Hard to explain. Say one thing when you mean another. Or when you think you’re above criticism but you’re too lazy to form an opinion.’

  ‘Mama always has an opinion.’

  ‘No, not your mum. It’s a saying, stupid. That you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. It’s like a proverb. Or an old wives’ tale.’

  ‘I’m not stupid.’ But she knew Jim didn’t mean it. Without him she couldn’t have got through the past few weeks. Protecting her was something he’d done ever since the time she and Lorna were being stoned. ‘Anyway I’m glad he’s gone.’

  ‘So am I.’

  The tide was turning. She retreated as a wave advanced towards her bare feet. Jim stayed in the water though, letting it wash his grubby legs. ‘You don’t have to worry about all that stuff any more,’ Jim said. ‘And neither do I.’

  ‘I know I don’t have to worry.’ Now that she’d said it aloud, the fear that she’d been living with for days began to seep slowly away. ‘But why were you worrying?’

  ‘I was worrying about you, obviously.’

  She felt pleased by this. While knowing that Jim looked after her, she hadn’t known he worried about her. That was something rather more special.

  ‘And I was worrying about what would happen to you after I go. Now I don’t have to bother so much.’

  ‘You’ll be coming back for the holidays, though. You can worry about me then.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be grown up by then, though.’

  ‘You’ll be able to worry about me even more. That’s what grown-ups do. Just think of Mama.’ Glancing in her direction, Zidra saw that she was still sitting with Mr Vincent. That was nice. ‘And anyway,’ she told Jim, ‘I’ll be pretty grown up myself.’ She felt her old spirit returning. She wasn’t going to let Jim come over all superior just because he was nearly two years older. ‘I’ll be ten by then.’

  Jim laughed. ‘Very grown up,’ he said.

  And then she forgot about Mr Bates and ran into the waves after Jim, splashing him with water.

  Ilona and Peter were sitting side-by-side on the sand. On her lap, Ilona held the baby kangaroo cradled in the towel that created the illusion of a pouch. The joey might not live, Peter had warned her. As if she did not already know the dangers of getting attached to anyone, but she would try to keep the baby kangaroo alive.

  Peter now began to tell her everything that had taken place since he’d gone to look for Jim. When he had finished, she said, ‘It’s hard to believe such a thing could happen in Jingera.’

  ‘Jim’s a brave boy,’ he said.

  ‘So the pictures were pornographic?’

  ‘Probably not what you’re thinking of, Ilona. The pictures were of men and young girls.’

  ‘But how disgusting!’ The shock made her feel quite nauseous and her mouth dry. Surely jovial respectable Bill Bates would not have such tastes. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Jim was quite certain of that, but I’m afraid it gets worse, Ilona.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Her voice cracked and she licked her dry lips.

  ‘Bates showed Zidra the photos.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes. That’s how Jim knew.’

  ‘She told him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s easier to say those words to another child.’

  A horrible thought crept into her head and almost made her retch. ‘Did he touch her?’ If Bates had interfered with her daughter she would have killed him personally. He was dead though, and she was glad of it. Glad of it.

  ‘I asked Jim that too. He said no. Bates showed her the photos and then she ran away.’

  She ran away. She was a fast runner. That was just as well. Maybe seeing the photos had caused her nightmares. No wonder the poor child had woken up with bad dreams. Ilona clenched and unclenched her hands.

  Later, when she felt less agitated and they were alone, she would talk to Zidra. ‘I wish she’d told me,’ she said at last.

  ‘She probably will. Try not to worry, Ilona, he never touched her.’ Putting an arm around her shoulders, he gently pulled her close.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘That’s what Jim told me.’

  For a moment she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he said, ‘Jim went off to the pub at lunchtime. He had some idea of finding the photos and using them as evidence against Bates.’

  ‘Brave boy.’

  ‘A very brave boy – and Zidra so brave too. She’s a strong character like her mother.’

  Suppressing a sigh, Ilona watched Zidra and Jim standing at the edge of the breakers. When she spoke to Zidra about all of this she would have to be very careful. She shouldn’t make too big an issue of it. After all, Zidra was safe from Bates now. He could never harm her. Never.

  ‘Things happen to kids,’ Peter said, ‘and they walk away from them and put them behind them.’

  ‘The ones that survive do,’ she said.

  Now she knew that Jingera wasn’t quite the sanctuary she’d been looking for. It hadn’t turned out to be a safe haven. Perhaps there was no such place and she would have to stop looking for it.

  ‘Zidra’s a survivor, Ilona, and we’ll look after her.’

  She noted the plural and turned to look at him. Gazing at the ocean, he seemed tired and there were fine lines around his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. The lines moved her deeply. They made him seem vulnerable. When she reached out to touch his cheek, he took her hand in his. It was warm and dry. Perhaps he was a safe place: she was going to find that out.

  She also kept a watchful eye on Zidra, still standing with Jim above the line of the surf. They seemed sober, like middle-aged folk, but today almost everyone was subdued. Subdued by the heat; subdued by all that had gone wrong; subdued by the fire and then by the death of Mr Bates. As well, the knowledge that Bates was a paedophile was probably even now beginning to circulate among the evacuees. Whether or not it would be believed was another matter.

  Shortly she would go and get Zidra. But for the moment she stayed where she was, watching the waves and the dense smoke that was very slowly dispersing.

  Now she noticed that Zidra had begun to push at Jim and they were flicking water at one another. She is a little better now, Ilona thought. For a moment, she has forgotten her troubles, but she will need to be closely observed.

  Peter said, ‘I came to see you today. That’s why I was in Jingera. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to come out to look at Ferndale.’

  ‘I should love to see Ferndale,’ she said gently. ‘It sounds very beautiful, from what you have told me. Although on no account am I to swim in the sea on your beach.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Perhaps you will show us how to care for Joey who has lost his mother. A big loss. So many will have lost so much today.’

  ‘But the town is saved and the bridge is still standing. The fires moved around Jingera without affecting any of the buildings except the pub. Incredibly lucky, but the power will be out for a day or so and the roads to the south are still shut.’

  ‘How is your farm?’

  ‘Seems as if the fire didn’t get that far north. I’ll be driving back this evening, I hope.’

  ‘Perhaps you would like to have something to eat with us first. If we can go back home tonight. It is too far for you to drive without first having the meal of the evening, and you can show Zidra how to feed Joey.’

  ‘You could do with a baby’s bottle. The Burtons might have a spare. Or if they don’t, an old eye-dr
opper might do.’

  Together they watched the waves slowly advance up the beach. ‘It’s coming,’ Peter said after some minutes.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The southerly change. You’ll feel it any minute.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Instinct.’ Smiling at her expression of disbelief, he pointed south. An army of purple and black clouds was advancing north, driving in front of it the pall of smoke. Then the wind hit them, a blast of cool air. ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘The southerly change.’

  ‘It will pour in a few minutes. That will put out the last of the fires.’

  The temperature dropped so rapidly she started to shiver and hugged Joey to her. All over the beach people began to cheer. Zidra and Jim ran up the sand. ‘I’ll take Joey,’ Zidra said. ‘Jim and I’ll look after him. Jim said his mother has a bag we can put him in.’

  Ilona handed over the little creature, still sleeping in the towel. As the children hurried along the beach to find George and Eileen, she felt the first heavy drops of rain on her bare arms and face.

  ‘It’s over,’ Peter said. ‘And now for some wonderful, wonderful rain.’

  Warm thanks to Peter Bishop, Catherine Blyth, Karen Colston, Beverley Cousins, Chris Kunz, Sara Maitland, Kathy Mossop and Lyn Tranter for their many helpful suggestions, and to the staff at RHA. I am especially grateful to Maggie Hamand and Kirsten Tranter for their perceptive comments about the structure of the manuscript. Part of the book was written while I was on a Varuna Long-lines Fellowship, awarded by the Eleanor Dark Foundation.

  Background reading came from the book by Mark McKenna (2002), Looking for Blackfellas’ Point: An Australian History of Place, Sydney: UNSW Press, as well as from the Australian War Memorial research website for the history of Australian pilots’ involvement in the Second World War.