by Di Morrissey
‘I’m not used to a rod like this. I’ve done a bit of fly casting for trout at home,’ she said.
Tommy cast his line out and slowly began to wind it back in. ‘Barra go after live bait, they’re not bottom feeders, so you have to make it look like a little fish swimming along,’ he explained.
‘It’s easier when you have a motor and can just trawl slowly,’ said Ian.
‘I reckon the engine puts ’em off,’ said Tommy.
‘Oh well, it gives you something to do rather than just sit holding a line. How will I know if I get a bite?’ Sally asked.
The boys laughed. ‘It’ll almost pull you out of the boat, then run like billyo,’ said Tommy.
They drifted, casting and reeling in, chatting casually as the two boys in the canoes kept pace with them.
‘I hope they don’t get a big one,’ said Sally. ‘Those canoes look very flimsy.’
Before the boys could answer, Tommy’s rod jerked and bent low to the water as the line went taut. He clicked the reel and began winding in as fast as he could. The other boys wound up their lines to help him.
He strained against the bending rod. Ian picked up a large steel hook from under a seat and crouched close to the water, ready to gaff the fish and bring it into the boat. Marty kept his distance to give them room. Sally just sat and watched, stunned at the strength of the fish on the end of the line, oblivious to her own line.
‘A strike,’ yelled Marty.
The surface of the water cleaved and there was a flash of silver as the fish appeared to shake its head, trying to get rid of the hook.
‘A beauty,’ shouted Ian. ‘C’mon, Tommy.’
All eyes were on the stretch of water in front of Tommy, waiting to see what came to the surface. At that instant Sally felt her arm almost yanked from its socket, and the instinctive reaction was to pull her rod backwards to save losing it. She began reeling in.
‘Cripes, it’s a big ’un,’ shouted Marty to Tommy. ‘Fifteen pounds, I bet.’
Ian leaned over to sink the hook into the fish as they had no net in the boat, when with a surge the fish spun, there was a ping as Tommy’s rod straightened and the line went slack.
‘Oh bugger. He’s gone!’
‘I missed him.’
‘How’d he get off? He was so close,’ cried Marty.
‘Must’ve ripped his mouth off,’ said Ian, sounding disappointed.
There was a grunt from Sally as she panted and wound in her line with difficulty. The boys now spun around to her. ‘You got one, Sally?’
‘Yeah, hooray,’ cried Marty.
‘Get it in the boat first, bring it round the side here,’ Ian told her. ‘Can you see it?’
Sally shook her head and then her heart leapt as she saw its yellow-white belly. ‘Oh my gosh, what’ll I do?’
‘Throw it in the boat, just bring your rod here.’ Ian reached for her line and together they lifted the gleaming barramundi into the boat.
Sally was shrieking in delight as Tommy and Ian grabbed the fish, releasing the lure.
‘Cast back in, same spot,’ said Ian and Tommy threw his line back in.
‘I have no idea where it was. Maybe back there a bit opposite that leaning tree,’ said Sally, determined to catch another.
Ian jammed his rod into a wedge on the side of the boat and grabbed the oars. ‘I’ll row back there. Keep the lines out.’
Tensing his muscles he pulled strongly on the oars, picking up a bit of speed as he hit a slight current. The two boys and Sally cast again and began slowly winding through the water as they moved.
Marty got a strike, Tommy handed his rod to Sally to hold and Ian shipped the oars to help him, but Marty brushed them away. ‘No, no I want to do it.’
They let him struggle. It seemed to take forever, as it had for Sally when she was pulling in her fish. Finally a six-pound barramundi was landed.
‘Only half the size of yours,’ said Marty. He brightened. ‘But it’s your first one.’
‘I hope I get many more. This is fun!’
The boys in the canoes caught some small fish including a couple of catfish.
Ian glanced up at the sun. ‘We’d better get going.’
‘Oh, what time is it?’ Sally had been enjoying herself, and dinner time had gone out of her head.
Tommy squinted at the sun and held up his fingers. ‘After five.’
The three boys and Sally went ahead, leaving Frankie and Ginger to tie up the boats and make their own way home carrying the cleaned fish. Cantering through the late sunlight, Sally was elated. The afternoon had been a real break-through with the boys and she hoped there’d be more times like it. As the homestead came into view, the horses broke into an impromptu race, but Sally pulled Dancer back, feeling uneasy as she slid in the saddle. The horse wanted her head, but obeyed her rider’s restraining touch. Sally could tell this horse had a lot of power in her small frame.
John Monroe was several drinks ahead of Lorna and Sally as they gathered in the living room, and he roared in delight as she related the tale of their fishing expedition. Lorna sat quietly sipping her drink.
‘So where are these monster fish?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t seen barra until you get out in the Gulf. We’ll do that one day, go into Karumba and get out in the Gulf. Unless we find some mate with a boat big enough to take us down the river and out to sea. Then you and the boys will know what fishing’s all about.’
‘And how was the horse?’ asked Lorna.
Sally bubbled over with enthusiasm. ‘She’s magic. Just great. She’s so well behaved for hardly being ridden in so long.’
‘Rob does a bloody good job breaking a horse,’ said John Monroe, downing his drink as Lizzie brought in the food and the boys filed to their table. Sally was disappointed dinner had been prepared as she was looking forward to eating their catch.
‘You’re honoured to have a horse like that,’ said Lorna to Sally. ‘A lot of the men, even the boys, had their eye on her.’
There was something in her voice that caught Sally’s attention but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Monroe brushed it aside with a magnanimous gesture. ‘Too small. She’s a good little lady’s horse. Too bad you don’t ride, Lorna.’
There was a short sharp glance between them, John Monroe was still smiling, but there was no warmth in his expression. Lorna was saved from answering by the runners and Gloria banging into the kitchen. Similar expressions of distaste flashed across Lorna and John’s faces.
‘I hate them bringing that woman into the house,’ said Lorna in a low voice.
‘Well, there’s not much we can do. Can’t send her down to the blacks’ camp. Mind you, she probably goes there anyway. She’s not fussy.’
‘John!’ admonished Lorna. ‘The boys.’
He turned to where the boys were discussing the fishing trip. ‘So you caught a few, eh? Enough for a feed?’
‘You bet, Dad. They’re in the fridge. Sally caught a good size. Maybe twelve pounds.’
‘Is there no end to the governess’ talents?’ demanded John Monroe with a proud smile at Sally. ‘And Ian? Nothing huh?’
Lorna made no comment and passed the plate of vegetables.
‘Marty got a decent fish too. Ian helped us land them,’ said Sally. Monroe’s attention was making her feel uncomfortable.
There was now so much noise coming from the kitchen, mainly Gloria’s raucous laughter, that John got up from the table and walked out, and they heard him bellow, ‘Keep it down, won’t you? We’re eating tea too. We can’t hear ourselves shout.’
The boys talked quietly and John, Lorna and Sally finished their meal in silence as the voices in the kitchen soon rose again.
‘Can’t help themselves, can they?’ said John.
‘They’ve been drinking. She drinks more than the lot of them,’ said Lorna.
Sally suggested the boys do a bit of homework after dinner and they settled in the living room with their exercise books.
John Monroe turned the wireless on to hear any local gossip and Lorna retreated to the verandah to watch the last of the day fade behind the peppercorn and palm trees.
Sally sat with the boys checking some school work and occasionally picking up one of Lorna’s many Home magazines to flick through. The flyscreen doors banged and Gloria – with the bore runners, Dougie and Harry – left the house. Lizzie and Betsy flew inside to clean up the kitchen.
Later, when the boys had gone to sleep, Sally noticed with pleasure that her bed had been moved closer to the boys’. She was being subtly welcomed to their inner circle.
She changed into her nightie and cotton housecoat and decided to take a short walk around the garden. It was cool and refreshing as night settled but she was surprised to see Lorna still on the verandah where’d she been since dinner. Sally went and sat down beside her.
‘It’s lovely in the garden at night, isn’t it? You should wear covered shoes though, Sally. You could tread on something nasty.’
Sally glanced down at her feet in her pastel scuffs. ‘These are more for the bright lights of Surfers Paradise, I suppose.’
‘Are you missing the bright lights?’
‘No. I’m not, really. I like it here. Today was especially nice, with the boys.’
‘They like you. I’m pleased. John is too.’
‘Yes, well, I mean the horse and all. That was such a nice thing to do. It will give me more to do with the boys.’
‘He tried to get me interested in riding. I’m just not comfortable. I’m a city girl.’
‘Do you miss the bright lights?’ asked Sally, suddenly.
‘Indeed I do. More than I care to admit.’ Lorna sighed and Sally wished she hadn’t asked. ‘I knew it would be lonely out here and I thought I knew what it would be like. But things don’t always turn out to be quite what you expect.’
‘How did you meet John?’ asked Sally, hoping she wasn’t venturing into sensitive territory. But Lorna seemed relieved to talk.
‘Don’t ever think you can run away from problems, they come with you. I was having a fling with a married man, it took me some time to realise he wasn’t going to leave his wife. So I decided to go as far from Melbourne as I could and got a job at the Cloncurry hospital as a nurse. I met John up there, he was doing some droving and mustering and got banged up so he was in the hospital. I couldn’t help liking him, he can turn on the charm, you know.’ Sally nodded, she could believe that. ‘Anyway he kept coming into Cloncurry and we saw a lot of each other. Too much.’
‘Oops,’ said Sally. ‘You mean?’
‘I was so mad at myself for getting pregnant. I decided to go back to Melbourne. I knew doctors who could help me . . .’
‘You didn’t tell him?’
‘No. But you know what, and to this day I don’t know if it was accidental, but guess who had the seat next to me in the plane? John.
‘After a few days in Melbourne I told him and he insisted we get married. The full works – King’s chapel, his old school. A quick honeymoon in Fiji. Then I had Ian in Cloncurry. We bought into this place with a mate of John’s. We bought him out later. So here we are.’
She fell silent and Sally wondered whether to pursue the topic.
‘You like music, don’t you?’ said Sally. There was a pile of LPs by the gramophone, which was powered by the generator, and during the day in the schoolhouse Sally could hear classical music playing loudly.
‘I do. I’m afraid my taste doesn’t fit in with John’s. He’s more a country music fan.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I miss symphony concerts. I used to go all the time. And to the ballet and theatre.’
‘Do you get the chance to go when you’re away on holidays?’
‘With the boys and John? It’s the beach, big hotels, noisy restaurants.’ She was silent a moment. ‘I think Tommy would like to see a show or a concert. He’s a bit of a performer. He loves to sing and dance.’
‘Oh.’ Sally filed this away. Maybe she could persuade the boys to put on a show; do a short play perhaps. ‘Do you play the piano? I noticed one in the study the other day.’
‘Why do you think it’s tucked away? I can play, though not well. But well enough to teach the boys.’
‘I haven’t heard them play. Do they practise?’
‘They’ve never had a lesson. John thinks it’s sissy, no use to them. Tommy taught himself the harmonica and that’s all right. Ian has no interest in anything much outside the station. Marty is too young.’
‘Maybe when they go away to school their horizons will broaden,’ said Sally.
‘Then they’ll be mixing with other boys off the land most of the time. Ian already has his own views about this place. He clashes with his father when he’s allowed to speak up. John always knows best, of course. I wonder how the three boys are going to sort things out between them. John doesn’t want to see this place broken up.’
‘Can’t the boys run it together, eventually?’ asked Sally. ‘Anyway, it’s a long way off, surely.’
Lorna rose. ‘I suppose so. I’d better go to bed. I have a feeling there’s going to be a bit of partying going on in the single men’s quarters tonight. I hope the noise doesn’t bother you.’
‘After all that riding and fishing, I’m going to sleep like a log. Goodnight, Lorna.’
‘Night, Sally.’
Sally stayed on the verandah waiting for Lorna to finish in the bathroom. How sad and defeated she’d sounded. Sally wondered if Lorna would still be here if it weren’t for the boys. She rarely talked about her family in Melbourne. Sally felt sorry for her and now had a deeper understanding of why Lorna was like she was – a perfectionist, house proud, coming from a more cultured background that she couldn’t indulge at Barra Creek. And not sharing a bed with her husband except when he demanded. No wonder she was lonely.
Sally did sleep soundly at first, but there was no way she was going to sleep through the mayhem that was unleashed outside. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed as she tried to work out what was going on. There was shouting, screaming, banging coming from a distance. The workers’ party. Except it sounded violent.
Tommy, who was the only one awake, whispered to her, ‘Don’t go outside. Mum will sort it out.’
Sally didn’t think there was any way Lorna would be involved in the fracas. ‘Stay in bed. I’ll just peep out from the kitchen.’ She certainly wasn’t going to set foot anywhere near the men’s quarters. Sally passed Lorna on the verandah. She had her housecoat wrapped around her and her boots on.
‘Go back to bed, Sally. Do not leave the boys and don’t go out.’
‘You’re not going down there?’
‘I’ve handled this before,’ she said grimly.
Sally wondered where John was. He was probably either out cold in a drunken sleep, or in the middle of it.
Lorna tightened the belt of her housecoat and hurried across the darkened grass thinking, I knew that wretched woman was trouble. As she reached the men’s quarters – a long basic shed, raised on stumps above the ground with single, two-, four-and six-bunk rooms, with a wash block at one end – two men stumbled out of a doorway, throwing punches, grappling and pulling at each other. They fell into the dust at the bottom step, rolling and punching wildly. Snowy appeared in the lighted doorway, swaying and shaking his fist.
‘You silly bastards. Have a go then, go on.’
Lorna walked over to the men on the ground, lifted her foot and with all her might kicked it into one man’s ribs and the shoulder blade of the other. ‘Stop that brawling, this instant!’
‘Christ, is that you, Missus?’ Snowy, drunk as he was, tried to focus. He staggered and went out to drag Harry and Dougie to their feet. Lorna stepped onto the narrow verandah, nudged him aside and walked into the lighted room. Bedding hung from the bunks, bottles, tin cans and cigarette butts littered the floor. A card table and four chairs were overturned. Gloria, dishevelled and wearing a grubby ripped petticoat, was sitting on the ed
ge of a bunk dragging on a cigarette. She didn’t lift her head as Lorna marched in.
‘What’s going on? You causing trouble, Gloria?’
‘They’re drunk as skunks. Nothin’ to do with me,’ she mumbled.
‘You’re all drunk. What set those two off? I want answers or the lot of you are out of here tomorrow. I mean it.’
Although she was a slight build and still looked every inch a lady, Lorna Monroe’s tone of voice brooked no arguing.
Snowy appeared in the doorway again. ‘It’s her fuckin’ fault. Slut.’
‘You didn’t mind a piece of it,’ shouted Gloria suddenly.
Lorna wheeled on Snowy. ‘Talk. Straight and quick.’
He began to crumble. He didn’t want to face John Monroe, let alone Lorna, and he wanted to keep his job. It didn’t matter so much to the others, they were drifters. ‘Dougie and Harry got pissed, slagged off at Gloria. They had a blue. Anyway one thing and ’nother, she hopped in the sack with me. The buggers came in and it was on. That’s it.’
Lorna stepped in front of the slatternly lump as Gloria hitched her petticoat strap back on her shoulder, hoisting the sag of her pendulous breasts. ‘You’re a whore. And a filthy one at that. I don’t want you in my beds or under any roof of mine. Get your gear and get out. Go to the blacks’ camp or throw your swag outside.’
Lorna turned on her heel and pointed at Snowy. ‘Get her out of here and tell those men if they want work, see John tomorrow morning. And keep her out of sight. She is not welcome here.’
‘You think you’re so high and mighty,’ shouted Gloria to Lorna’s back. ‘I could tell you a thing or two about your old man, you frigid bitch . . .’
Snowy reached her in two strides and whacked her hard across the mouth. ‘Shut up, bitch.’
Lorna didn’t look back, but as she walked, slowly this time, to the main house, she threw a glance towards the blacks’ camp and back at the single men’s quarters, where further along, a door opened and a man stepped outside buckling his belt. Lorna knew who it was.