‘Shall we?’ asked Alice, as they watched him get smaller and smaller. ‘Before it’s too dark?’
Jilly sighed. ‘I’ve got to do the milking.’
‘Oh, of course, sorry. I’ll come and help you. It’s always faster with two.’
Since Jilly’s papa and big brothers had gone off to fight in the Great War in Europe, she was the only one left to do the heavy chores, and her mother was terribly, horribly strict. It didn’t seem fair to Alice – her mother didn’t mind in the least about waxing the floorboards and milking Honey, their brown cow, at exactly six o’clock, and learning bits of the Bible by heart. And though Alice’s father, who they called Papa Sir, had been at war for three years now, they still had Teddy to watch over them.
‘No, really, it’s fine,’ said Jilly. ‘I’m pretty quick now. Will I see you over the weekend, Alice, or do you have extra dancing?’
‘Only for some of it. Come round tomorrow afternoon. Little’s baked shortbread.’
Jilly looked at the ground. ‘Sorry, Alice – Mother’s hosting the Red Cross ladies tomorrow and I’m to take all the knitting to the depot when they’ve finished.’
Now it was Alice who was blushing. Peppermint Grove was filled with ladies who knitted and sewed for the soldiers, and put on fetes and balls to raise money. But since the war had started four years ago, Alice’s mother hadn’t stitched a sock or rolled a bandage, and everybody knew it. Mama said she didn’t believe in fighting – that it all came to no good for anyone – and even when Papa Sir had gone to war, she wouldn’t change her mind. Jilly’s mother said that was a disgrace.
‘Go and see Teddy,’ said Jilly. ‘You mightn’t be able to for much longer.’ As soon as she said it, Jilly winced as if she wished she hadn’t.
Alice stopped sharply. ‘You’re not talking about the war, are you? You know Teddy doesn’t believe in fighting.’
‘Sorry Alice, I overheard Mother talking, that’s all. Teddy’s seventeen soon, and, well . . .’
Alice started to walk very quickly, not minding the thump of her ballet bag against the backs of her knees. ‘That’s just rubbish.’
‘But your father went – Papa Sir, I mean.’
‘Not to fight, Jilly. He’s a doctor – he went to help people, not kill them.’
Jilly looked uncomfortable.
‘As if Teddy would hurt anybody,’ Alice continued. ‘And he’s too young, anyway – you can’t enlist before you’re eighteen.’
‘But lots of boys do and no one seems to mind,’ panted Jilly earnestly, trying to keep up. ‘My brothers did. And you know how people treat cowards round here – white feathers in the mail and whatnot.’
‘No. Teddy’s staying here to take care of us.’
And though it made her heart hurt to think of Jilly milking alone, the idea of life without Teddy was so unbearable that Alice sprinted off into the twilight, hoping that if she ran fast enough, she’d leave it behind forever.
Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Ruby
RUBY felt trapped. The pale green walls of the classroom seemed to be closing in on her, and the warm, stuffy air was making her feel quite sleepy. If only she could run away! She glanced sideways at Brenda Walker, in the desk across the aisle. Brenda was sitting up very straight and looking interested. How could she? There wasn’t a single thing about maths that was interesting. And the very worst thing about it was Miss Fraser’s droning voice.
Ruby tried to imagine what it would be like to be Miss Fraser. Everything about her was grey. Her grey hair was pulled back in a tight little bun, and she wore a grey skirt and a long grey cardigan and horrid thick grey stockings.
Marjorie Mack said that Miss Fraser had once had a sweetheart: he was a soldier, and he’d died in the last year of the Great War. But Ruby didn’t believe that any body could ever have loved Miss Fraser.
‘Open your books, girls. We have time for some quick mental arithmetic before the bell goes. Page twenty, problem one.’
Ruby groaned and turned to page twenty. Sixteen currant buns at a penny-ha’ penny each . . . Picking up her pencil, she began to draw a plate of buns in the margin of the page.
‘Perhaps you can give us the answer, Ruby Quinlan? Yes, Ruby, I’m speaking to you. Stand up, please. What is the answer to problem one?’
Ruby stood up. Oh my hat, she thought. I should’ve known she’d ask me.
‘I don’t know, Miss Fraser,’ she said at last.
‘Well, work it out. Sixteen times one-and-a-half pennies.’
Ruby stared at the ceiling. The answer didn’t appear there. She stared at the floor. Not there either. She stared at Brenda Walker. Brenda was scribbling something on a piece of paper, partly covering it with her hand.
Ruby tried to read what Brenda had written. ‘Um, one pound and four shillings?’
Miss Fraser’s lips set in a thin line.‘Good heavens, child, use your head. Would you pay one pound and four shillings for sixteen currant buns? I hope you don’t do the shopping for your family.’
‘Of course I don’t, Miss Fraser. Our cook does it.’
Miss Fraser sighed. ‘Sit down,Ruby.Brenda,perhaps you can help us.’
Brenda stood up, smoothing down her school uniform. ‘Two shillings, Miss Fraser.’
‘Thank you, Brenda,’ Miss Fraser said, with an approving smile. ‘Now for something a little more difficult. Hilary Mitchell? Your answer to the next question, please. If it takes three men five days to dig a ditch . . .’
Ruby saw the startled look on Hilary’s face. As usual, Hilary had been gazing dreamily out of the window. I’ll bet she was thinking about her new little sister, Ruby thought. Baby Cecily was just three weeks old, and Hilary had promised that Ruby could meet her soon.
Sometimes Ruby wondered what it would be like to have a sister or a brother, but most of the time she enjoyed being an only child. It meant she had Dad and Mother all to herself. Tomorrow was her birthday, and she knew they would have chosen something special for her present. Last year they’d given her a shiny blue bicycle with a wicker basket.
At last the bell in the quadrangle rang for the end of the day’s lessons. Ruby jumped up and grabbed for her homework books, knocking her wooden pencil-case to the floor with a crash. As she bent forward to pick it up, the end of her plait dipped into her inkwell.
‘Gently, Ruby, gently!’ called Miss Fraser. ‘There is no fire, and our building is not about to collapse. This is a college for ladies. Let us have a little decorum, please.’
‘Sorry, Miss Fraser.’ Ruby stood still for the tiniest moment, tiptoed to the door, and ran.
Ruby both loved and hated school. She couldn’t see the sense of school work. When she was about twenty she’d probably get married and go shopping and wear nice clothes, like her mother did. Why did she need to know about isosceles triangles, or the primary products of Brazil? Things like that bored her silly. But as for the school itself – the old stone buildings, the cosy library tucked away at the back of the boarding house, the Moreton Bay fig trees lining the long driveway – she loved it all, and she loved the fun she had with her friends.
Now, as she set off down the shady drive, past the smooth green expanse of the school oval, she felt free and happy. It was Friday afternoon, and her birthday party was tomorrow! Then she heard running feet behind her, and turned to see Brenda Walker.
Brenda caught up with her, panting. Her owlish spectacles glinted. ‘Can I walk with you?’
‘If you want to.’
‘You’ve got ink on your shirt.’
‘I know.’
Ruby didn’t exactly dislike Brenda, but she didn’t like her very much either. She’d known her for most of her life because their fathers were in business together. Ruby’s father built houses, and Brenda’s father was his accountant.‘Donald Walker is a genius with money,’Dadhad once told Ruby. ‘I couldn’t possibly run the business without him.’
Ruby knew that her father was hopeless with numbers, just as she was, and h
e was happy to leave the money side of things to Uncle Donald. Dad was only interested in houses. Ten years ago he’d built their house – a big California bungalow not far from Ruby’s school. It had a fishpond with a fountain in the front garden, and coloured leadlight in the windows, and an indoor lavatory. It was Ruby’s most favourite place in all the world.
Brenda walked faster to keep up with Ruby. ‘You’re not wearing your hat,’ she said. ‘Or your gloves. You’ll get into trouble if anyone sees.’
‘Who cares?’ said Ruby. ‘My hat makes my head feel hot. And I’ve lost one of my gloves. I think Baxter might’ve eaten it.’
‘Baxter is so naughty.’ Brenda ran a few steps. ‘I wish I had a fox terrier too, or maybe a cocker spaniel. But Mama thinks dogs are too expensive to keep, with all the meat they eat.’
‘Baxter doesn’t eat meat. He just eats my clothes. And my books. And my shoes.’
‘Really?’ Brenda pushed back her spectacles, which were beginning to slide down her nose.
‘I’m only joking.’
‘Oh.’ Brenda looked relieved. ‘What are you wearing to your fancy-dress party tomorrow?’ she asked, after a pause.
‘It’s a secret,’ Ruby said. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘I’m going as a rose. I really wanted to be a mermaid, though. I saw some green spangly material at Myer’s that would’ve made a good tail, but Mama thought it was too expensive.’
I’d never choose to be a mermaid, thought Ruby. If you had a fish tail you couldn’t use your legs, could you? You’d just have to sit around. Even now she felt impatient to move faster. She wanted to skip and jump and run.
‘Brenda, I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve got heaps to do. See you at my place at two o’clock tomorrow!’ She made a dash for the gate, only to be stopped by a school prefect.
‘Where is your hat, Ruby Quinlan? And why aren’t you wearing gloves? You know you are not to leave the school grounds improperly clothed.’
Ruby pulled her battered straw hat from her satchel. ‘Here’s my hat. I don’t know where my gloves are.’
‘Final warning, Ruby Q. If I catch you without gloves again, you’ll be explaining yourself to Miss Macdonald.’
The thought of explaining herself to her tall, elegant headmistress didn’t appeal to Ruby one bit. ‘Sorry. I’ll look for them, I promise.’ She scowled as Brenda, neatly hatted and gloved, walked past her with a smirk.
‘Told you,’ Brenda said.
‘Oh, Brenda,’ Ruby burst out. ‘Don’t you ever get sick of being right all the time?’
Here’s a sneak peek at Meet Lina
LINA woke to the sound of the old rooster crowing in the backyard. It can’t be morning already! she thought, peering out through the curtains at the velvety grey sky. In the distance she could hear the rumble of the delivery trucks on Lygon Street and the clip-clopping of the milkman with his horse and cart.
Time for chores, I guess. Sighing, she quickly slipped a jumper over her nightdress and, standing barefoot on the freezing linoleum floor, teeth chattering, hunted for a pair of warm socks in the chest of drawers she shared with her grandmother.
At the back door, Lina pulled on a pair of her father’s work boots and the padded jacket that had once belonged to her brother. Her older brothers were already outside doing their chores in the long narrow garden of their terrace house in Carlton. In the pale morning light she could just make out the hunched-over shape of her eldest brother, Pierino, turning over the frosted earth around the broad beans and broccoli.
Lina fed the chickens then marched back to the house, stomping her feet against the cold. She prised off her muddy boots and went inside. The stove was on and the kitchen was warm and Lina could smell the oily metallic smell of her father’s work clothes. Dad must be home, she thought. Sure enough, her father stood at the sink, scrub-scrub-scrubbing at the grease compacted under his nails. No amount of soap could ever completely bring back the smell he’d had before he began working at the car plant – of olives and sunshine and coffee.
‘Hey, cara mia,’ Lina’s father said wearily. ‘How you doing this morning?’
‘Good thanks, Papa,’ Lina said, leaning in to receive a kiss.
‘Mama’s already left?’
Lina nodded. ‘And Nonna’s in the garden.’
‘You make me a coffee, love?’
‘Sure,’ said Lina. ‘Aren’t you going to bed?’
Lina’s father gave her a slow cheeky smile. ‘You think I forget? Today is your assembly performance, no?’ His eyes crinkled at the corners.
‘Oh,’ said Lina, her cheeks stinging pink. ‘That. I didn’t mean you had to come and watch, Papa. It’s not important. Kids read stuff out in assembly all the time.’
Her father’s face dropped into a frown. ‘You sounded like it was important the other day.’
Lina’s cheeks burned hotter. She wished she hadn’t mentioned it at dinner last week. ‘I know, but you’re tired, Papa. You’ve worked all night . . .’ Lina’s voice petered out. How could she tell him she really didn’t want him to come? With his grease-stained hands and his shabby suit jacket and thick Italian accent. What if the girls at school made fun of him?
It’s not that I don’t love him, Lina told herself. Lina loved her father so much that sometimes she felt her heart might burst. I just don’t want to stand out any more than I have to – than I already do, she thought desperately.
Lina hung her head and a lie crept out over her lips. ‘Actually, it’s been cancelled. I just remembered. They only told us yesterday. They said they weren’t doing performances in assembly anymore.’ Her voice came out ashamed and small.
Lina’s father stood quietly for a while, his hands still foamy in the sink. ‘All right, love,’ he said slowly. ‘Another time. Go wake your little brother and I’ll be off to bed, then.’
Lina slunk down the corridor, relieved to escape her father’s eyes, but with a cold dark lump of badness lodged in her gut. She slipped into the stuffy dimness of her brothers’ bedroom and jerked back the curtains.
‘Get up,’ Lina told the pile of blankets.
Lina’s little brother, Enzo, peeked his sleepy face out of the muddle. He stuck out his arms towards Lina. ‘Cuddle?’ he said in a baby voice, but Lina wasn’t in the mood. She pulled his clothes off the chair and tossed them onto the bed.
‘Up, Enzo!’ she repeated.
Enzo sat up obediently, blinking. Lina huffed and yanked his pyjama top over his head.
‘Ouch!’ Enzo squeaked and scrunched up his forehead. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. Despite her grumpy mood, Lina couldn’t hold herself back from giving him a cuddle. He was so warm and soft in the mornings, with his skinny white arms sticking out of his singlet like sticks of spaghetti. Enzo squeezed Lina tight and she buried her face in his downy neck, and as she did, she felt that black lump in her stomach soften and melt away.
‘Thanks, Enzo,’ she whispered in his ear. Then she tickled him until he squealed. ‘Come on! Nonna will spank you if you’re late for breakfast.’
Lina helped Enzo put on his clothes then chased him down the corridor.
When they entered the kitchen, Nonna was already busy, kneading the dough for the evening’s zeppoli, up to her elbows in flour.
At the other end of the wooden table, there were three neat bundles tied up in Papa’s big cotton handkerchiefs. Lina took a peek at her lunch for the day. Inside was a hunk of crusty white bread, a wedge of Parmesan cheese and a hard-boiled egg. ‘Nonna! I told you I can’t take Parmesan to school anymore,’ Lina complained. ‘The girls don’t like it. They say it smells like vomit.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Nonna, kneading furiously. ‘They don’t even know what is cheese. They eat that yellow plastic stuff they call cheese. That’s not cheese. You eat what I give you, all right? Here,’ she said, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘Take your zio his coffee and tell him to get up. He’s not going to find a job in bed!’ Nonna handed Lina a
tiny white cup of steaming black liquid.
Never mind, thought Lina. I’ll just throw out the cheese on my way to school and tell Miss Spring I forgot my lunch again. Getting in trouble is still better than that horrible Sarah Buttersworth telling everyone I vomited in my school bag. Lina breathed in the coffee fumes and wrapped her cold hands around the cup. How can coffee smell so good when it tastes so awful? she wondered. And Parmesan smell so awful when it tastes so good?
Lina walked down the hallway and knocked on the door of the room where her uncle slept. Before he had arrived from Italy, three months ago, this had been the sitting room. Now the only place to sit was in the kitchen or at the long wooden table outside, under the grapevines. In winter it was too cold to sit out there and the vines were spindly and bare, but in summer they became a dappled green shelter, dripping with plump ruby and emerald fruit, like clumps of sweet jewels.
Lina knocked again and when there was no reply, she pushed the door open a crack. ‘Zio!’ she called quietly into the dark. ‘Your coffee.’
Lina could just make out the shadowy bulk of her uncle asleep on the couch under a mound of flowery bedclothes. ‘Zio,’ she called again, a little louder, but not so loud that she might wake her father, who had just got into bed. Her uncle’s only response was a snuffle and a snort, then one arm snaked out from under the blankets and waved towards the dresser. Lina frowned and plonked the little cup onto the furniture by the door. ‘Drink it cold then,’ she hissed under her breath.
Lina closed the door and hurried back into the warm kitchen, where Enzo was dipping bread into a bowl of hot milk. Lina helped herself to a chunk of old bread and dropped it into a bowl. Then she took the saucepan of milk from the stove and poured it over the bread to soften it.
Pierino stomped into the kitchen, school bag slung over his shoulder, shirt ironed into sharp creases. ‘Aren’t you even dressed yet?’ he growled at Lina. ‘It’s nearly seven o’clock. You’ll miss your bus!’ He picked up the lunch Nonna had prepared for him and allowed her to kiss him on both cheeks.
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