‘It’s your eyes,’ he said. ‘I’d never forget that vivid blue.’
‘They stand out because of her dark hair,’ observed Jean. ‘My mother’s eyes were like that.’
Julia could feel them all staring at her. She stood and pulled up a stool. Sat down. Took a deep breath.
‘I used to live at Lakes Entrance,’ she muttered.
Instead of looking at Rick, she concentrated on a huge mirror on the wall. She could see herself reflected in it. Sure, she had great eyes – they were her best feature – but her curly shoulder-length hair was defying this morning’s hair-iron, she had no make-up left on and was generally bedraggled from the rain.
‘Lakes Entrance, hey?’ said Charlie, drawing out each syllable. ‘Nice little place. Love getting fish straight off the boats there.’
‘Hmmm … any more info?’ asked Rick. ‘Can’t say I remember you. There were a few girls …’
She bet there were. Julia let him ponder for a few more minutes while she worked through her options. She had to get to that appointment with the real estate agent on Monday. He’d told her the cafe on the beachfront was a much sought-after property. It didn’t look like the place she’d dreamed about opening – it was just a bland shopfront rather than a quaint country cottage set in its own garden – but it was by the ocean and she was very good at decorating. Or so Rupert had said. If she wanted to make the appointment, she needed Rick to fix her car. So perhaps it might help if he knew who she was.
‘Try this,’ she said, coolly. ‘A boat ride to Metung twenty years ago.’
He stared at her.
‘A midnight swim at Boole Poole. Green Ginger Wine. A tartan rug.’ She didn’t need to add the word ‘sex’.
Rick’s grey eyes widened. ‘Hell’s bells, that Julia?’
She nodded.
‘But … but … you’ve changed.’ He waved his hands up and down his body. ‘The glasses … everything … Man, you’ve changed.’
Laser surgery had put paid to the glasses. She’d never been skinny, but not fat either. Voluptuous, Rupert had called her. Hours on the treadmill had made sure her muscles were toned and elongated. She wasn’t in bad shape for thirty-seven really.
Rick plonked down on the stool recently vacated by the tea-drinker, Ernie. A deep frown creased his forehead. ‘And so after all these years, somehow you land in my town?’
Suspicion hung in the air like dirty washing. Even his nose was twitching. She remembered that little quirk from when he’d first stepped onto the party boat all those years ago.
Chapter 4
Julia had had a tough upbringing. Her father, a devout evangelistic minister, had been more concerned with saving souls than earning a living. Her mother, once pretty but now a washed-out shadow thanks to sheer hard work, had a job as a night-cleaner with a few local businesses. It was her wages that put food on the table and paid the rent; and Julia’s after-school job as a waitress and dishwasher in a local cafe helped too.
It hadn’t taken Julia long to realise that, thanks to her father, her family was different to those of the other girls at her East Gippsland school. Julia had made sure she disappeared into the background, staying on the periphery of a group who were nice enough but not particularly popular. She’d succeeded so well that it was a shock when she turned sixteen and boys started to notice her developing body. She got invited to parties, but of course her father was dead against her going to any of them.
‘Drunkenness and debauchery!’ Henry Gunn thundered every Sunday from his makeshift pulpit in a local hall. ‘Alcohol and parties are at the root of our youth’s moral depravity and wickedness. It must stop! Parents must lead their children into a life of piety and prayer. Repent and do not deviate from the way of the one true God!’
Teenage parties especially were a road to ruination according to Henry Gunn. That had made Julia’s burning curiosity all the deeper, and one New Year’s Eve she’d snuck out to see for herself what was so bad about a few drinks and a fun time. There was a big eighteenth birthday party on that night and the whole school had been issued a blanket invitation. Everyone she knew was going.
She’d gone to her room straight after dinner, with the excuse of an early-morning start at the cafe. Her father was ranting to her mother about all the money being spent on fireworks downtown. She’d shoved some pillows under her bedcovers, plumping and pushing them around until she was satisfied they would allay suspicion. With her party clothes in a backpack, she climbed out the window at nine o’clock and frantically pedalled her bike down to the foreshore, terrified the boat would have already left. It hadn’t. The Party Time, a hire vessel for all kinds of social functions, was still at the dock awaiting its passengers.
Julia was early, which she quickly realised wasn’t cool. Not sure what to do, she loitered around the gangway and was spotted by a fellow waitress from the cafe. Miranda was moonlighting as a barmaid to earn enough money for a Contiki trip overseas. She hauled Julia onto the boat and over to the bar with her.
‘Christ, Julia, you look amazing. I almost didn’t recognise you in that get-up. You look nineteen, not sixteen.’
Julia self-consciously pulled at her black top. It was too low. She’d bought it at the local op-shop and had stuffed it into her backpack without trying it on. She didn’t want to risk her parents seeing it.
Mrs Duffy, the elderly lady who ran the op-shop, had given her a knowing but sympathetic glance and handed over a short, flounced skirt. ‘You might need this too,’ she’d said.
‘Hope your father didn’t see you dressed like that,’ said Miranda, her tone dry. ‘Does he know you’re here?’
‘No.’ Julia shuddered at the thought. Her last thrashing had been bad enough. She’d had to hide the bruises under a long-sleeved top. ‘I snuck out and got changed in the toilets at the surf beach.’
She’d also had a shower, dried her hair and applied a ton of make-up, before wobbling on high heels over the footbridge and onto the jetty where the party boat was moored.
‘Brave move. You go, girl.’ Miranda pulled at her long jangling earrings as she considered Julia. ‘Here, pull the top down a bit and suck in your waist. That’ll show off your great boobs.’
Julia blushed. She’d never been told she had a great anything before.
‘With your hair all done and everything, you really are gorgeous, you know, even with those glasses. About time you broke a few of your old man’s rules.’
Julia didn’t want to think about what would happen if her father found out. She was relying on the absence of responsible adults at this party – aside from the boat driver, a local hippy-surfer – to dob on her. The boat was owned by the parents of Ben Norten, the party-giver, a wild Lakes boy who pretty much did as he pleased.
‘Now you’re here, I need you to mind the bar for a few minutes,’ said Miranda. ‘You look old enough, and I’ve got to dash to the bottle shop to grab some more grog. I’ve made up all these shots already, as instructed by the party boy over there,’ she nodded towards Ben, who’d appeared from downstairs with his arm around a girl from Julia’s school, ‘but I’m going to run out of spirits at this rate.’
‘But … but … what do I do?’ Julia stared in panic at the full-to-the-brim tiny plastic glasses lined up on the bar. She’d barely even tasted alcohol, let alone served it!
Miranda shoved a brightly covered book into Julia’s left hand and a glass filled with an amber-coloured drink into her right. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll be back in fifteen. In the meantime, if anyone comes to the bar just read this. It’ll tell you what to do.’ She grinned. ‘And if all else fails, pretend you’re already drunk.’ Then she was gone, trailing a scent of patchouli.
Julia stashed her bag, then stared at the book. The Idiot’s Guide to Bar-tending was its title. What on earth had she got herself into? The psychedelic colours of the book’s cover blurred into a single bright pinprick of light. She sucked in a deep breath. Wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? A night to
remember. And books she could cope with after years spent in the local library, a handy escape from the forbidding atmosphere at home. The drink on the other hand …
She sniffed its contents … and nearly gagged on the fumes. People really thought this stuff was good? She shook her head and steeled herself to take a tiny sip. The liquid burned her lips and her tongue. The taste was vile. She quickly put the tumbler down. She’d just have to hope no one turned up.
Rick Halloran was the first, and the forever.
‘Does the little bookworm know how to drink?’ he’d asked, pointing to the book she was reading, then to the still full tumbler beside her arm. ‘You don’t look like you’re one of those …’ He flicked his gaze to where some of the ‘in’ girls were climbing aboard, laughing and joking. ‘… babes who rock the boat.’
She wasn’t, but how did he know that? She was wearing the same sort of clothes, showing as much flesh.
Throwing all caution to the wind, she said, ‘How do you think I made all these amazing cocktails?’ She gestured towards the shot glasses, barely believing what she was saying.
‘Lucky guess?’ he suggested.
The shift in his expression wasn’t much but it was enough to know she’d pricked his interest. The wonder of it! She simply couldn’t believe Rick Halloran was talking to her. He was the leader of the pack, the most handsome boy she’d ever seen. She’d watched him furtively as he’d strutted up and down the Esplanade and mucked around on the beach. He was staying in one of those holiday houses on the thin spit of land that separated Cunninghame Arm from the Southern Ocean, and his friends were rich kids judging by the money they seemed to throw around on grog and other stuff. She’d had no idea about his family back then. All she knew was that Rick Halloran was the guy all the girls wanted to snag that summer. It was all she could do not to stand there and simply ogle. Here was her chance to transform herself into a ‘babe’ for one magical night. To stop being the straight daughter of an evangelical minister and pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
‘You haven’t drunk your drink,’ he said with a raised eyebrow and a quirk of that delicious mouth.
He nodded at the amber liquid in the tumbler and she found herself staring at his hair. For some reason her fingers were aching to thread themselves through those short dark curls, draw his handsome face closer …
He pushed the tumbler towards her with a long, tanned finger. She could imagine that finger stroking parts of her that had started aching recently. Her cheeks burned and she gazed mutely at the glass. When she chanced another glance at him she was captivated by those grey eyes, saw laughter in their depths. Her throat felt as parched as dry sand. She picked up the drink and tossed it back, then swallowed hard, trying not to let her eyes water.
‘Haven’t I?’ she said, as soon as she could speak.
His laughter was slow and low. ‘A seasoned drinker, I see.’
She could tell he didn’t believe her by the way his nose twitched like a rabbit’s. She’d show him. She grabbed two of the shot glasses and handed one to him. She challenged him with her eyes: who says I can’t drink?
‘On the count of three,’ he said, grinning.
‘One … two … three.’
Together they gulped down the shots and then spluttered. Julia didn’t know whether to swallow or vomit.
‘Christ almighty, what the hell did you put in them?’ he asked.
‘You having a go at my shots?’ Miranda came up from behind and gave a still-coughing Julia an almighty slap on the back, which pushed her straight into Rick Halloran’s arms.
He grabbed at her to keep her upright on her heels. ‘Well, hello, baby,’ he said, looking surprised and delighted. ‘I’m Rick.’
Julia nearly said ‘I know’, but at the last moment sucked back the words. Instead she said, ‘Hello back. I’m Julia.’
They stayed like that, his arms wrapped around her body. It felt so good. His hand stroked the small of her back. It felt like a sweeping iron, burning into her flesh.
‘If you don’t mind,’ said a voice that sounded like Miranda’s.
Julia was too busy enjoying the feel of Rick’s muscular body hard against hers to take any notice.
‘Earth to Julia!’ the voice said again.
‘Huh?’ Julia dragged her gaze from the square chin above her head. She looked at her friend, completely unaware of the rosy glow she exuded.
Miranda smirked. ‘If you two lovebirds could move away from the bar, some of the others might be able to get a drink.’
‘Hey, Halloran, you don’t muck around,’ said Ben, the birthday boy. He gave Julia an appreciative but quizzical look. ‘Hey, do I know you? You look familiar.’ She saw the moment he recognised her because his eyes bugged. ‘Hey!’
But Rick was already leading Julia away from the crowd, grabbing one of the bottles Miranda had just bought. ‘Gotta fly, Benny boy. C’mon, Julia, you’re with me. Let’s go find a quiet spot.’
It had been an incredible night, and an extraordinary week to follow – until Julia’s utopia had come crashing down the following Sunday.
Ben Norten’s father, an important local businessman, attended Henry Gunn’s service to see for himself whether the rumours were true. He arrived just in time to hear the minister denounce the Party Time boat as nothing but a floating brothel.
‘You’re a bloody hypocrite!’ he yelled, interrupting Henry’s diatribe. ‘Your daughter was on that boat just last weekend!’
A very public scuffle followed, which ended with Norten threatening Henry Gunn with an assault charge if he didn’t leave town immediately.
A day later the Gunns were on the road to northern Victoria, a furniture truck following.
The terrible beating both Julia and Dorothy Gunn had copped from the wild, almost demonic evangelist was worse than anything they’d ever endured before. The bruises had lasted for weeks. Julia couldn’t think of those months even now without shivers of fear.
Over the years since, she’d occasionally read about Rick and his sculptures, seen him on TV or heard him interviewed on the radio, but she’d never contacted him. Thanks to her father, she’d left Lakes Entrance without any explanation. There hadn’t been time to call him, and besides she hadn’t known his number.
That incredible week of her life had become only a memory.
‘Helloooo, anyone home?’ Jean waved her hand in front of Julia’s face.
‘Reckon she could be concussed,’ said Charlie. ‘What do you reckon, Ernie? You’re the doctor.’
‘I’m retired,’ said Ernie.
‘Doesn’t mean you’ve lost your marbles.’
‘Charles, I’m no longer allowed to treat patients.’
‘She ain’t a patient though, is she?’
Rick stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘She could still be a journalist trying to inveigle her way in here. You know how cunning they are. I had one this morning pretending to be an art collector.’
‘But I’ve already told the others that I didn’t mean to be here,’ Julia protested. ‘My car broke down on the way to Lakes Entrance. I’m booked into the resort there.’
‘You mentioned you knew her before?’ Ernie asked Rick.
Rick frowned. ‘Yeah, my folks had a holiday shack at Lakes when I was growing up. That’s where we met.’ His face was unfathomable.
‘It was a very long time ago,’ said Julia, hoping to sound dismissive, as if she hadn’t gone over every second of their week together in minute detail in the years since, wishing with all her heart things could’ve been different.
‘Yeah,’ said Rick. ‘I barely remember it.’
Julia wanted to die. Again.
‘I can hardly believe that, boss,’ said Charlie. ‘I reckon I’d remember her if she’d been my chicky-babe.’
‘I am not a chicky-babe,’ said Julia.
‘But you did want to be a journalist, if I remember correctly,’ said Rick. ‘Actually, I think you said,’ he sketched quote marks into th
e air, ‘I love words so I’m going to be a journalist. It’s my dream.’
So he did remember something.
They’d been sitting at the stern of the Party Time, legs dangling over the water as the boat chugged towards Metung. Rick was laughing at Ben as some of their mates threatened to throw him overboard from the deck above. He’d nearly gone in, until a shout from the skipper got them hauling him back over the rail.
As the noise died away, Rick had asked into the quiet, ‘So, what do you want out of life, Julia?’
She’d glanced at him, startled. Up until then the night had been full of fun, innuendo and anticipation. Nothing serious. She pushed her glasses up on her nose, deciding whether to share what was in her heart. Rick’s profile was crisply outlined, thanks to the reflection of the bright moon on the swirling water below. His brow was wrinkled and he peered across the dark lake at something she couldn’t see. She felt safe with him, intimate almost, so she blurted it out.
‘I love words so I’m going to be a journalist. It’s my dream!’
It had been true. Then.
‘I am not a journalist,’ she stated emphatically now.
‘So you say.’
His obvious disbelief made her cross. ‘Why have you got it in for journos anyway? What have they ever done to you?’
The change in his expression was immediate. Disbelief. Anger. Indignation. ‘What have they done?’ he said, his voice low and clipped. ‘I’ll tell you what they’ve done. My father would still be alive if those bastards hadn’t hounded him after my mother died.’
‘Steady on,’ said Ernie, placing a soothing hand on Rick’s arm.
Rick shook it off. ‘She asked. I’m telling her. Those scumbags hounded him. Sent him over the edge with all their accusations. Their fucking photos, the dirty innuendo. Digging up the past like it was loaves and fish for starving people to eat.’
Lake Hill Page 4