by Judy Nunn
David was taken aback. Not just by the girl’s beauty, which was certainly extraordinary, but there was something startling in her gaze. Something confronting. He didn’t know what it was, but where he had expected timidity, or at the very least uncertainty, he saw in the unwavering green eyes that met his something he could only define as fearlessness.
They sat in the lounge room with their customary tray of pickings, having their customary pre-dinner drinks, Bev and the men beer, Maria a glass of red wine, Jalila opting for orange juice, and the following half-hour was devoted solely to small talk, led in principal by Maria with occasional input from Bev. How had Jalila been enjoying the sights? Where had she and Paul visited? Which was her favourite?
Seated side by side on the sofa, Paul answered monosyllabically now and then, but Jalila held her own in the conversation. She loved the Pinnacles and the big, big cliffs that she’d seen today. She loved the Waiting Woman, looking forever out to the sea, and she loved the Dome where seagulls of steel remained in perpetual flight.
‘All birds is spirits of dead men,’ she said. ‘Is sad, but beautiful also.’
‘Yes,’ Maria agreed, ‘the memorial is very beautiful indeed.’
The frostiness between father and son was palpable as the women kept up the conversation; even Lou failed to join in. When the hell is someone going to introduce the topic that’s on everyone’s mind? he was wondering.
‘And Paul take me water park also.’ Jalila turned to Paul and clasped his hand. ‘Many times we go water park. I like water park very, very much. Yes, Paul?’
Her hand in his, the joy of her smile, Paul couldn’t help but respond in kind. ‘Yes, Jalila, you like the water park very much,’ he said, ‘we both do.’
The moment shared between the two was not lost on any of those present.
Maria couldn’t help but warm to the love her son so obviously felt for this young woman, and to the love this young woman appeared to feel in return. Her husband’s reaction, however, was something altogether different.
David Miller was on instant alert, alarm bells sounding. What if this girl was manipulating his son? What if this display of affection was an act on her part? David could think of nothing else. Is she using Paul? he wondered. Dare I accuse her? And if I were to do so, what would be her reaction? Would she give herself away?
His face must have betrayed his thoughts, because Maria suddenly jumped to her feet.
‘Enough chat,’ she announced, ‘time to serve up. Darling, will you come and carve the lamb?’
David reluctantly stood.
Bev stood also. ‘I’ll help you, Mum,’ she said, and all three disappeared to the kitchen.
‘Somebody’s going to have to bring up the subject, Paolo,’ Lou suggested quietly. ‘You and your father are on the verge of exploding.’
‘I know,’ Paul agreed. ‘I was sort of hoping we could leave it until after we’d eaten. I didn’t want to fuck up Mum’s dinner party.’
‘I don’t think you’re going to be able to wait that long, either of you,’ Lou said. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll introduce the topic as gently as possible. Although,’ he added wryly, ‘I don’t suppose there is a gentle way really, is there?’
Five minutes or so later, they were called into the dining room.
Lou waited until they were halfway through the meal, the women having successfully eked out small talk about the food, while David and Paul remained focused on their plates and conspicuously silent.
‘Well, I suppose,’ he said, during a lull, ‘we should have a bit of a chat about the current situation.’
Silence reigned, apart from the scrape of cutlery on china while Bev and Maria continued bravely to eat as if there was no attendant drama to the suggestion.
But David and Paul were no longer eating. Both had put down their cutlery. Battle stations had been drawn.
‘I presume we’re all clear about the story we’re going to put around,’ Lou continued pleasantly, ‘that Jalila is the younger sister of Bev’s friend in Perth?’
Maria, Bev and Paul all nodded; David gave no such indication.
‘One thing we’ve neglected to cover,’ Lou went on, ignoring the ominous reaction, or lack thereof from his son-in-law, ‘and that’s the name of your mate, Bev. We should have a name for Jalila’s fictitious sister, don’t you reckon?’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Bev agreed and then hesitated, trying to come up with a suggestion. She didn’t know any Yazidi names.
‘Paraza,’ it was Jalila who spoke, ‘my sister name Paraza.’
‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ Paul asked, concerned. Paraza was her murdered sister, the sister about whom only he knew. Was Jalila prepared to have her sister’s name bandied about?
‘Yes,’ she replied firmly to the table in general, ‘I want do this.’ Then leaning in to him she quietly whispered, ‘Paraza alive, she live in Perth. I like this, Paul. I can remember her now. Is good I remember her.’
‘Paraza it is then,’ Bev declared. ‘Jalila’s sister is my friend, Paraza Domle.’ She looked at Jalila, who nodded and the two young women shared a smile.
‘Right,’ Lou said, ‘everyone happy with that?’
‘No,’ David loudly announced, ‘everyone is most certainly not happy.’
All eyes turned to him. Oh shit, Lou thought, here we go.
‘I will not lie,’ David said. ‘I have never lied in my life and I do not intend to start now.’
‘So what particular story are you going to tell?’ Paul’s voice was deathly calm.
‘The truth, of course.’
‘You’re going to report the refugees?’
‘They’re not refugees, as you’re very well aware. Both of you,’ David snapped, including Lou in his address. ‘They’re illegal immigrants, and you should have reported their presence. You should have notified the authorities the moment you discovered them.’
‘What the hell would you know, Dad?’ Paul countered, fighting back his anger and frustration. ‘You haven’t met these people. You don’t know who they are. You don’t know where they come from. You don’t know what they’ve been through. You know nothing about them!’
‘I know their status, Paul,’ David replied.
‘Oh for Christ’s sake, you pompous prick, you know fuck all!’ Paul exploded; he couldn’t help himself. More than ever he longed to punch his father’s lights out.
‘Now, now, calm down, calm down.’ Lou’s was the voice of reason. ‘Your father is only stating the obvious, Paolo: you forget that your reaction was very much the same when I first told you about the refugees. You accused me of aiding and abetting illegal immigrants, remember?’
Paul nodded, aware his grandfather was right and that a further outburst would serve no purpose other than to ruin the evening for his mother, and most particularly for Jalila who, having expected no form of confrontation, was looking from father to son, confused and concerned.
‘I do believe though, David,’ Lou went on, turning his attention to his son-in-law, ‘that we should leave our friends on the island in peace. Paul is right. They’re good people who have suffered enough, and they’ll be discovered any time now. I don’t think we should report them.’
All eyes were now on David, as if in judgement.
‘I didn’t say I was going to report them,’ he replied stiffly.
‘Oh no?’ Lou queried.
‘No, that’s not what I said at all. I simply said I will not lie.’
‘Then if you’re asked, what story will you tell about Jalila?’
‘I will say that she is the girl with whom my son is in love and that they live together. No more than that, which is the truth. Whatever conclusions others may draw from the lies the rest of you tell,’ he said, ‘is not my concern.’
He glanced at his wife, who nodded. It was the plan they had agreed upon when she had reminded him, and most forcefully, that to report the refugees would be to lose their son forever.
&n
bsp; ‘The people on the island will be discovered,’ Maria had said, carefully avoiding the word ‘refugees’, which he seemed to find annoying, ‘and when they are, so will the girl.’
Maria had been wise in her choice of timing. She’d brought up the subject just after they’d made love. The passion they still shared remained the great leveller it always had been between two people who otherwise might have had little in common.
‘Let Paul and Jalila have this time together, my darling,’ she’d said. ‘They’re very much in love, I believe, and they’ll be parted soon enough.’
David now looked around the table, his reluctance patently obvious. ‘I will still be lying by omission of course,’ he admitted, ‘but I suppose I shall just have to live with that.’
He glanced once again at his wife, and this time she smiled. Maria knew how difficult it was for her husband to act against his very strict principles.
One thing was still of the greatest concern to David Miller, however. Did the girl love his son? He turned to her.
‘Jalila,’ he said, referring to her by name for the first time that evening, ‘what are your feelings for my son?’
She met him with that same fearlessly direct gaze. ‘Paul is my life.’
Jalila meant the words quite literally. If she were to be separated from Paul she would end her life. She had said nothing of this to Paul himself, of course: he might not understand and she would not wish to burden him. But she would leave this world with no more blackness surrounding her, with only love and joy and the happiest of memories. Should they be separated, this was her plan.
‘Your son is my life,’ she said to the man who was scrutinising her so closely.
And David believed her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Paul lost no time introducing Jalila to Shoalhaven, or rather, introducing Shoalhaven to his new wife. He started the following morning at the marina where he sought out the Laaksonen brothers, knowing they’d be working on their fishing vessel, which was now off the slip and back in the pen. He didn’t take Jalila with him to the marina, but the plan was nonetheless an introduction, the idea having strangely enough come from Jalila herself, albeit unknowingly.
‘G’day, Jukka, Hekki,’ he called from the jetty on approach.
It was a bright spring day in early November and the brothers were seated in Annikki’s cockpit taking a coffee break.
‘G’day, Paul,’ Jukka called back, standing and raising his mug by way of salute, ‘want a coffee?’
‘No coffee thanks, mate,’ he said as he reached the pen, ‘but I’d love a bit of a chat if you’ve got the time.’
‘All the time in the world,’ Jukka gave a wave, ‘come aboard.’
Paul climbed aboard and joined Hekki, who was seated on top of the cockpit’s giant, gleaming freezer; everything about Annikki was impressively big and shiny. The brothers’ work on the vessel was really more a labour of love than necessity.
Hekki, who had a bowl of sugar cubes cradled in his lap, grinned a welcome and shuffled along a little as he swigged from his mug.
‘You sure?’ Jukka queried, holding up the thermos flask, ‘plenty left, and we’ve got another flask anyway.’
‘No thanks.’ Paul always avoided coffee with the brothers who, although Australian to the core in all aspects of behaviour, had inherited the Finnish habit of their parents when it came to coffee, as had their younger sister. The whole of the Laaksonen family drank coffee incessantly, and they drank it black and very, very strong, sucking the lethal mix through cubes of sugar, which they placed on their tongues. It was a taste and a practice Paul had never acquired.
‘What can we do you for?’ Jukka asked. Jukka was invariably the spokesperson of the two, and besides, Hekki had just embarked on a fresh cup of coffee and was contentedly sucking through his sugar cube.
‘Well actually I do have a favour to ask,’ Paul admitted. Given the opener, he decided he might as well get straight to the point.
‘Fire away.’
‘I was wondering if I could borrow Anni again. No rush,’ he added, ‘whenever it’s convenient, say, some time over the next few weeks.’
The brothers looked at each other and nodded in unison.
‘Sure, mate,’ Jukka said on their joint behalf. Then he smiled suggestively. ‘Getting real serious, eh? Same girl – your sister’s mate?’
‘Yep. Same girl and real serious. She’s my wife now.’
Hekki nearly choked on his coffee.
Jukka stared at Paul, jaw agape. ‘She’s what?’ he exclaimed.
‘My wife.’
‘You gotta be joking, mate.’ It was Hekki’s turn now to voice his amazement.
‘Nope,’ Paul said calmly, ‘we got married in Gero last week.’ He splayed the fingers of his left hand, flaunting his wedding band.
The brothers shared a look of astonishment, which, if it contained an element of disbelief, did not in the least bother Paul, who didn’t care whether people believed him or not. He had decided not to bring up the subject of a registry office marriage or to go into any form of detail, as he’d originally intended. Why should he? If some chose to believe he was pretending marriage for propriety’s sake then their views were their prerogative. As far as he and Jalila were concerned they were married and that was all that mattered – let others think what they wish.
Paul was thankful to his father for leading the way in this regard. He remembered vividly David Miller’s reply when asked what he would say about Jalila should he receive enquiry.
‘I will say that she is the girl with whom my son is in love and that they live together. No more than that, which is the truth. Whatever conclusions others may draw from the lies the rest of you tell is not my concern.’
Paul had very much admired his father in that moment. He’d actually found himself liking the man.
‘Well, you’re a quick mover, mate – I’ve gotta give you that much,’ Jukka said.
‘Yep.’ Paul grinned. ‘Didn’t want to lose her.’
Hekki offered his hand. ‘Congratulations, Paul.’
‘Too right,’ Jukka agreed and they shook hands all round. ‘As far as Anni goes, just give us a yell,’ he went on, ‘you can take her out any time.’
‘Yeah,’ Hekki said, ‘consider it a wedding present.
‘That’s great; thanks, guys.’ Paul stood. ‘Hey, are you going to the pub when you knock off?’
The brothers shrugged, they hadn’t made plans.
‘I’m taking Jalila along late this arvo, introduce her around a bit, have an early dinner maybe.’
‘In which case we’ll definitely be there,’ Jukka said.
‘Good. We won’t be staying long – Jalila doesn’t drink – but it’ll be good for her to meet my mates.’
The brothers didn’t look at each other, they didn’t dare. They were both thinking along the same lines. Everyone in Shoalhaven drinks – well all the mates do, that’s for sure – has Paul married a wowser?
‘We’ll look forward to meeting your wife, mate,’ Jukka said as Paul climbed onto the jetty. ‘See you at the pub.’
They watched as he walked back towards the marina.
‘Do you reckon they’re really married?’ Hekki muttered.
‘Nah, probably not,’ Jukka said, ‘they probably just want things to look proper because they’re living together. But shit, why bother,’ he shrugged nonchalantly, ‘who the hell cares these days?’
‘Some of the old fogies around town might,’ Hekki warned. ‘I reckon we should pretend to believe him, don’t you?’
‘Course we will. Goes without saying. Hope she’s not a bloody wowser though.’ Jukka popped another sugar cube into his mouth, picked up the coffee flask and poured another round.
Paul returned home and informed a delighted Jalila they would visit the island in the next week or so. Then together they walked into the centre of town to embark upon the shopping trip he’d planned, their first port of call being Marston’s Clot
hing and Drapery Store.
‘Morning, Freda, Geoff,’ he said to the elderly couple, who looked up from their work as the tinkle of the shop’s bell sounded.
‘Good morning, Paul,’ they replied more or less in unison.
‘I’d like you to meet my wife,’ he said, ushering Jalila forwards, his arm about her.
‘Good heavens above,’ from Freda and, ‘Oh my Lord,’ from Geoff.
They both bustled out from behind the counter; he from his ledger, she from the bolt of cloth she’d been measuring.
‘This is Jalila,’ he said. ‘We were married in Geraldton just last week.’
‘Oh my goodness, how wonderful,’ Freda said. She kissed the young woman warmly on the cheek, thinking what an exceptionally pretty girl she was. ‘Congratulations, my dear.’
‘Indeed,’ Geoff echoed, offering his hand first to Paul, then to Jalila.
‘How do you do, Mrs Marston, how do you do, Mr Marston,’ Jalila enunciated perfectly. Paul had told her all about the Marstons and how nice they were.
‘Oh, Freda and Geoff, my dear, please,’ Freda insisted. ‘We’ve known Paul since he was a baby. Izzie,’ she called towards the rear of the shop. ‘Izzie darling, come and meet Paul’s lovely new wife.’
A smart, well-dressed woman in her late forties materialised from one of the curtained-off changing cubicles, where she’d been looking after a customer.
‘G’day, Izz,’ Paul said as she approached them. ‘This is my wife, Jalila. Jalila, this is Isobel Marston, otherwise known as Izzie.’
‘Hello, Jalila.’ Izzie, like her mother, gave the girl a warm and welcoming kiss on the cheek. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ Jalila replied.
‘Well, well, well, a married man, eh?’ Izzie hugged Paul affectionately. ‘You’re a fast mover, sweetie.’ She wondered why the Millers hadn’t spread the word around and why it had happened so quickly, but what the hell, she thought, none of her business.
‘Yep,’ he agreed, ‘love at first sight. For both of us, fortunately,’ he added with a smile to Jalila.
Geoff and Freda beamed happily at one another. They saw no reason at all to doubt Paul’s speedy marriage. Young people moved so quickly these days.