Sanctuary

by Judy Nunn

  The reaction was the same when they entered the general store and post office, where Paul introduced Jalila to Tillie, the girl who served as a shop assistant on the days his mother was teaching at the junior school. Today being a Monday, Maria was not in the shop and Tillie was stacking the shelves.

  Having acknowledged his father, who was working behind the post office counter, Paul carefully avoided David Miller’s gaze as he made the introduction.

  ‘Jeez, married, eh?’ Sixteen-year-old Tillie wondered why Mr Miller hadn’t said anything to her, but she grinned as she shook hands with Jalila. She was a gangly, dusky-skinned girl of Aboriginal-Scottish descent, her grandmother being a Yamatji woman, her grandfather a Scot who had died some years previously. The current extended family of cousins and aunties and uncles lived on the outskirts of town and, although Tillie’s older brother worked at Kelly’s Garage, they were known to do it hard. David Miller’s employment of young Tillie had possibly been one of the true links between father and son. Paul had been proud of his father for taking time out to train the girl and give her a future.

  ‘That’s right, Tillie,’ Paul said, ‘we tied the knot in Gero last week.’ He continued to avoid looking at his father, but he could feel the baleful stare of disapproval.

  ‘Gee, you sure know how to pick them, Paul.’ Tillie’s grin widened even further. ‘You’re very pretty, Jalila.’

  The girl’s grin was so incredibly infectious, Jalila had to smile back. ‘Thank you.’

  They spent the next half-hour shopping for groceries, Paul introducing his new wife to a number of other customers who arrived, all of whom were warm and congratulatory, just as everyone had been throughout the day.

  Several of the customers had included David when offering their congratulations.

  ‘You must be very proud, David,’ they’d said jovially, ‘a beautiful new daughter-in-law.’

  David Miller had been extremely busy with his postal duties, or so it had seemed. ‘Yes,’ he’d said, looking up briefly from his reams of paperwork, ‘Jalila is a fine young woman; they love each other very much.’

  Paul had had to be content with no more than that. He was aware there were those who might suspect his marriage was merely a ploy for propriety’s sake, but he was aware also that his father’s detached attitude was not likely to be a giveaway to those who did not harbour suspicion. Everyone knew that David Miller, while being respected by all, was a stitched-up sort of bloke, remote at the best of times.

  When they’d finished their shopping, Paul arranged for Tillie to store their bags including those from Marston’s Clothing in the back room.

  ‘I’ll come and pick them up later in the car,’ he said.

  They were about to leave when the store’s front door opened and a familiar figure stepped inside.

  The little woman gave a respectful nod to David then did a double-take on his son. ‘Oh hello there, Paul.’ There was a look of surprise in her beady eyes as she took in Jalila.

  Paul mentally groaned. Oh God no, he thought, where are you when you’re needed, Bev?

  ‘Hello, Thelma,’ he said.

  Thelma transferred her handbag and shopping bag to her left hand and stood waiting for the introduction.

  ‘I’d like you to meet Jalila,’ Paul started out. ‘Jalila is my –’

  ‘Wife.’ Thelma got the word out even as he said it, her eyes trained on his mouth, lip-reading intensely, head nodding bird-like. ‘Wife, dear me, what a surprise, wife, yes, yes, of course.’

  ‘Jalila, this is Mrs Lyttleton.’

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Lyttleton,’ Jalila said.

  Thelma extended her spidery hand. ‘How do you do, dear, yes, yes, how do you do.’ Then to Paul, ‘And where were you two married?’

  Paul sped up in the hope he might beat her to the punch, although he knew it was a lost cause. ‘In Geraldton,’ he said, ‘just –’

  But there she was again, that fractional beat behind him. ‘Just last week, yes, yes … just last week. And what are your plans for the future?’ Thelma was prepared now for a good old chinwag.

  Paul turned to Jalila, avoiding the woman’s fierce focus upon his mouth, which was so intensely irritating. Thelma rarely looked anyone in the eyes, and certainly never during conversation, when anticipation was of tantamount importance.

  ‘Well we’ll settle –’

  ‘In the cottage, yes, yes, of course,’ came the echo. Even with her subject in profile, Thelma’s lip-reading talents were phenomenal.

  ‘We don’t plan to –’

  ‘Leave Shoalhaven, no, no, well that’s very good to hear, Paul. We wouldn’t want to lose a fine upstanding citizen like you. Now tell me –’

  Then out of the blue a voice came to the rescue. ‘I’ve cleared the mail from your postal box, Thelma. Would you like to collect it now?’ David called across the shop.

  ‘Thank you, David, yes, in a little while,’ Thelma replied, her gaze still firmly fixed upon Paul.

  ‘I also have your postbox renewal form here, which needs to be filled out and sent off as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that shortly, too.’

  ‘Better we address the matter now,’ David said with a headmaster, no-nonsense edge. ‘Your renewal will shortly be overdue and if I don’t get the application through in time I’m afraid you’ll have to reapply altogether.’

  ‘Oh dear, well in that case, yes, yes of course.’ Thelma bustled off to the post office counter.

  Paul flashed a look of gratitude to his father, who returned a nod before focusing on the totally unnecessary form he’d dug out of a drawer.

  During the twenty-minute walk home, they bumped into several more townsfolk, who were all most welcoming to Jalila upon introduction.

  ‘I meet so many nice people,’ she said when they finally arrived back at the cottage.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘Nina was quite right, they’re good people in this town. And tonight when we go to the hotel you’ll meet others too, some of them fishers like me who live on the island during the season.’

  His remark prompted Jalila to ask the question that had earlier played on her mind. ‘Nina’s son, Boris,’ she said, ‘what hut he live in, Paul?’

  ‘He and Pete, the young bloke who crews for him, live in the smallest one, the lurid sort of pinkish hut at the end.’

  Massoud’s hut, Jalila thought.

  A little while later, as they sat at the dining table having a cup of tea before Paul left to collect the bags they’d left at the store, Jalila plied him with more questions. She demanded to know who lived in which cottage and asked him to repeat the name, committing each to memory, just as she had the townspeople when he’d taken her on the guided tour of Shoalhaven.

  Then that night, on the pub’s verandah being introduced to Paul’s friends, she was able to apply many of the new faces to where they belonged. There was Mac, he had the fishing store, Archie from the marina, Ian from the Tuckshop, but of far greater import to Jalila were those whose names she now associated with the island. Jukka and Hekki had spread the word about, and a number of fishers had turned up in order to meet Paul’s new wife.

  ‘This is Kath and Bill Buckley,’ Paul said, ‘but Bill’s known as Buck.’

  Yes, Jalila thought, the elderly couple who have lived on the island longer than anyone. Theirs is the yellow hut, Rassen’s and Hala’s.

  ‘And Jukka and Hekki Laaksonen,’ Paul said, ‘who have very kindly agreed to once again lend us their speedboat, Anni,’ he added with a smile.

  Yes, the brothers, Jalila thought. Theirs is the blue hut, Hany’s and Sanaa’s, where we meet for our meals.

  ‘And this is Manos Papadakis,’ Paul said, ‘but he’s Manny to everyone.’

  The grey hut, Jalila thought. Manny’s is the grey hut with the white front door. Manny’s is my hut.

  Young Pete was there too, Boris Adrejic’s crew mate.

  The magenta hut, Jalila thought, recalling how Massoud had
explained to her that in English the colour was called ‘magenta’.

  Lou had turned up also to lend support and to show his approval of his grandson’s new wife.

  Lou and Paul the green hut, of course, Jalila thought, completing her inventory, Karim’s and Azra’s hut, the workshop where Karim does all our repairs.

  There was another of the island fishers present, a young Italian-Australian called Nat Franelli, but Jalila didn’t know which of the huts was his.

  Paul was aware of all that was going through Jalila’s mind as she met these lobster fishers, the people who lived much of their lives out there on the barren island she and her fellow refugees had come to call home. He’d been aware of her interest the moment Nina had mentioned her son Boris, and he’d known exactly why, upon their return to the cottage, Jalila had wanted the names and details of these island hosts who had unwittingly saved her life and the lives of her companions.

  The people she was meeting tonight accounted for six of the island’s eight huts, he thought, and it was quite possible she might even be wondering about those who owned the other two.

  But Paul was wondering about a great deal more. He was wondering what all these people, fishers and townsfolk alike, would do when they found out the truth.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Paul’s new wife was quite the talk of the town.

  ‘She’s exotic, you’ve got to give her that much.’

  ‘Bloody oath she is. Where did he say she comes from?’

  ‘Iraq, evidently. Family’s been out here for quite some time.’

  ‘Well she’s a looker all right.’

  The blokes at the pub were all in agreement. Jalila was not only bloody good-looking: she was a nice bird to boot. She certainly had the seal of approval from the Laaksonen brothers.

  ‘You can see why he got hooked as quick as he did,’ Jukka said. ‘And who cares if she doesn’t drink. She’s not a wowser – she doesn’t cramp his style.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s a really nice bird,’ Hekki said. ‘I like her a lot.’

  The others agreed, however, any woman who was that good-looking would automatically have the Laaksonen brothers’ seal of approval.

  There was a little gossip in some quarters about whether or not Paul and Jalila were really married, but the general consensus was nobody cared. And nobody chose to raise the subject or challenge the point with the more conservative of the town’s citizens. ‘Live and let live’ was Shoalhaven’s motto; no one wished to disturb the peace.

  But less than one week later, the subject of Paul Miller’s exotic new wife was no longer the town’s hot topic of conversation. On 9 November, the final result of the long-running American election campaign astonished the nation and the world at large. Donald Trump was now President Elect of the United States of America. Who cared about Paul Miller’s new wife?

  As promised, Paul took Jalila out to the island. It was several weeks later, the end of November, a hot day but breezy, the wind flicking the ocean’s surface into white-tipped waves as they left the marina.

  They set off in Anni, ostensibly for a couple of hours’ run-around, but caught up with Lou, who was ostensibly out fishing on Principessa, the two vessels meeting in the deep swell of the ocean just several kilometres from the island.

  They made their approach together, the sleek speedy Anni slowed down to a crawl and the sturdy old Princess chugging along at her customary pace, to be greeted by the familiar sight of the group gathered at the end of the jetty, waving their customary welcome.

  The reunion was emotional on all sides.

  The others could not believe the change they saw in Jalila. This could not be the same girl who had landed with them on this island just three months earlier, the mystery girl with no name, the girl who never spoke, the girl with the lifeless eyes.

  Jalila was overjoyed to be reunited with those whom she had come to regard as true friends. She sensed them marvelling at the change in her, which she did not find surprising. She was only too aware herself that she had changed over the past month or so since she’d seen them. But she didn’t know how much. She had no memory at all of the dinghy and of the group’s arrival on the island. She did not remember the girl she had been then.

  As they circled about her offering greetings, she hugged them one by one, speaking a mixture of Arabic and English, stumbling over her words. Then finally she knelt on the jetty to hug little Hamid, who had been waiting patiently for the special attention he knew he was about to receive. He was not disappointed.

  ‘I have missed you, Hamid,’ she said in Arabic.

  ‘I have missed you also, Jalila,’ he replied in English, determined to show off to her. He would be four soon and felt very grown-up. ‘I have missed you very much.’

  Jalila laughed. ‘You speak English more good than me,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed and they hugged each other fiercely.

  The group unloaded the fresh provisions that Lou had brought out on the old Princess, Hany and Karim delivering the bag of ice and the items in need of refrigeration to the green hut and stacking them carefully into the icebox.

  The others gathered as usual in the blue hut, and while Sanaa brewed tea Hala and Azra unpacked the supplies and stored them in the pantry.

  The men sat huddled together in a corner, Rassen and Massoud eager as always for the delivery of news from the outside world. Their astonishment upon hearing that Donald Trump was to become the 45th President of the United States of America echoed the reaction of many around the globe.

  ‘This is not a joke?’ Rassen queried incredulously.

  ‘Nope, no joke,’ Lou assured them.

  ‘You are really serious?’ Massoud, who had laughed out loud at the news, was equally incredulous – he’d been sure the old man was playing a game with them.

  Paul nodded. ‘Yes, he’s serious,’ he said.

  As the men talked and the women worked, Jalila was spending her precious time with Hamid, painfully aware she might never see him again. Paul and Lou had both told her this was to be her last visit to the island, until the group was discovered in any event. Who knew what would happen after that?

  ‘If we’re to somehow keep you in Shoalhaven,’ Lou had said, ‘we must avoid all suspicion. That goes for you too, Paul. You mustn’t visit the island again until this is all over, not even aboard the old Princess with me. When the group is discovered no one must suspect there has been any connection with the mainland. But if by some chance they do find out, then that connection must be me, and me alone.’

  Lou now brought up the subject of discovery with Rassen and Massoud, warning them that the likelihood of their detection grew ever more imminent.

  ‘The lobster season doesn’t really take off until a month or so into the New Year,’ he said, ‘but families sometimes come out to holiday in the huts over Christmas, or fishers might lend their huts to mates or relatives over the Christmas–New Year period. Your time could well be running out, my friends.’

  Rassen looked across the room to Jalila, where she was seated on the floor in earnest conversation with the boy. She was telling Hamid a story and the child was spellbound.

  ‘And when we are discovered,’ Rassen said slowly, ‘there will be eight of us, not nine. There were only ever eight of us who managed to make our way ashore after our dinghy sank.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Rassen and Massoud exchanged looks. ‘We will inform the others of this,’ Rassen said, ‘and we will rehearse our story well, every single one of us.’

  Hany and Karim had returned from the green hut, and the group sat around companionably drinking tea and eating biscuits from the cardboard box little Hamid passed around. Inside were the gingerbread men Jalila had bought from Nina’s Bakery. She’d presented them to the boy as a personal gift, but Hamid would never have considered keeping them for himself. On the island everyone shared.

  It was Jalila who kept the group entertained for the most part. She told them
in Arabic all about her adventures, and they listened in amazement to this girl who had had no voice. She told them of Geraldton and of the water park’s magical fountains; she told them of the memorial and of the beautiful dome where the sailors’ souls flew; and she told them of the Pinnacles that were as old as time itself.

  As she spoke of the Pinnacles, Hamid closed his small fingers around the stone she’d given him, just a pebble really, a rough, orange-hued nugget no bigger than a marble, but it held a special significance.

  ‘This comes from an ancient place, Hamid,’ she’d told him, ‘a place where the spirits have lived since the beginning of time. The spirit that still lives in this stone will protect you.’

  Jalila had believed this herself when she’d gathered up the stone. She’d said nothing to Paul as she’d slipped it into the pocket of her dress, thinking it was surely wrong to steal a memento from this sacred site. But the stone was far more than a memento to Jalila. The stone represented hope, a connection to the past should she and Paul be separated, a spiritual link that she could take to the next world when she departed this earthly one. In giving such a gift to Hamid she was sharing something very special.

  ‘You must keep this stone close to your heart,’ she’d instructed him, ‘and the spirit that still lives in this stone will link us forever.’

  Now, his eyes trained on Jalila as she spoke, Hamid carefully placed the stone into the breast pocket of his shirt, where it would sit close to his heart.

  Sanaa was about to commence her ritual lunch preparation, but when she and the others implored them to stay, Lou was adamant.

  ‘No, no,’ he said to the group in general, ‘Paul and Jalila must return to Shoalhaven. If they’re out in the speedboat for too long people might suspect they’ve stopped off at the island and that would put them in danger when you’re discovered.’