Above the Fold

by Peter Yeldham

  “Killed? My father?” It seemed incredible! “How?”

  “Apparently shot dead. It might’ve been an accident, I don’t know the details,” he said, “but the orderly room is trying to get you on an air force plane leaving Brisbane this afternoon. Needless to say, you have my deepest sympathy. I’ve arranged for compassionate leave — two weeks — and if you need longer then contact me personally. That might avoid red tape.” He stood up. Luke stood and they shook hands.

  “Thank you, sir,” was all he could say. Shot dead. But by whom? He tried to stop his imagination running riot, but had a dreadful feeling, and a trickle of cold sweat running down his back was transmitting alarm.

  ELEVEN

  It had been a fearful few hours, the transport by jeep to Brisbane airport, and his first-ever flight in a plane. He might’ve enjoyed the view over the Myall Lakes and Hawkesbury River, if not for an increasing feeling of panic. Who could have shot his father? Had his mother been involved? Had he broken his promise and bashed her again, and could she have … But how would she get a gun?

  This tension seemed more acute when the plane followed the coast and flew above Narrabeen. With the day so clear he could see the shopping centre, after that the houses that fringed Collaroy Beach, then their own house on the corner — while wondering what had happened there, and dreading the answer. There was no way he was going to take buses and endure an hour or two of public transport; he used his available money on a taxi, direct to the police station.

  “I sent your mother home,” Sergeant Len Richmond said.

  “Sent her home?” Luke was unsure what that meant. “Is she … I mean, was she …”

  “Relax, Luke. It was a shock to her. She didn’t know about the rifle.”

  “What rifle? How did it happen? Was he shot at home?”

  “Of course not.”

  The relief, when he found out the strange details of his father’s death, was palpable.

  “It was an army issue, a Lee-Enfield assault rifle, the same as he’d had in France. He took it with him to the People’s Corps. You knew he was a member of that bunch, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. An honorary major.”

  “Well apparently someone didn’t take his rank very seriously and when he turned up with the rifle they started to jeer him. He lost his temper and fired a shot — over their heads, but close enough to scare them. So a couple of men tried to take the gun off him. It’s a matter for investigation, but one of the trainees was shot in the arm, and in the struggle for the rifle your father was shot and it proved fatal. I’m sorry, Luke.”

  Luke nodded in reply, still feeling his relief. “If I’m honest I can’t be, Len.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. Louisa made a statement, but I’m not releasing it to the press.” He showed Luke a typed statement with her signature.

  I was frightened when he came down from the attic with a gun. I had no idea it was there, and for a moment I thought he might shoot me. I’m upset, but to be truthful I can’t be sorry he’s dead. I’d be a liar if I said so.

  Luke read it and handed it back. “He used to hit her.”

  “She told me.”

  “Well, if if I’m not needed here, Mum will be waiting.”

  “She is,” a familiar voice said, and he turned to see Helen. “I’ve come from there. Claudia was on hospital shift, so I spent last night with Louisa.”

  “Thanks for that,” Luke said and kissed her. “Is she okay?”

  “It was a shock, but … yes, she’s fine now. Do you know what she told Dad?”

  “I’ve just read it,” he said. “The message I was given was he’d been shot dead. No names. I thought Louisa might’ve … you know. I was scared. He treated her very badly.”

  “It’s over, Luke,” Helen said. “Now she can get on with her life.”

  “Thank you, again,” he said to them both. They watched him walk down the street to his home only a few minutes away, a tall slim figure with his kitbag hoisted over his shoulder.

  “Sounds like it was a blessing,” Len Richmond said.

  “There’s one shock still in store, I’m afraid,” Helen said, “but he’s a big boy. He can handle it. I’m not sure if Louisa can.”

  Len Richmond glanced at her, wondering what she meant.

  Luke spent the afternoon with Louisa, both of them trying to come to terms with the sudden death that would make such a difference to her life.

  “I won’t pretend to be a grieving widow,” she said. I was afraid of him, and now I feel free. But I can hardly say that to the neighbours.”

  She’d made arrangements to spend the night at the Marsdens, because she didn’t know if the army would release him.

  “So if Claudia is not on duty tonight, the house belongs to you two. But before that the family solicitor will be here at six o’clock for a meeting.”

  “You should be here for that,” Luke said.

  “He only wants to meet you,” she answered, as Sue Marsden arrived to pick her up, leaving him puzzled by the reply.

  Alistair Tate, his father’s solicitor, arrived promptly at six. Luke had never met him but knew Helen had worked in his office as an article clerk during vacations. He brought with him a bulky file, and the startling news that three months ago Richard Elliott had changed his will.

  “Did your mother explain?” he asked.

  “She said you would. I think she found it difficult to discuss.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Tate replied. He was in his forties, a small man with thinning hair, who was relieved to hear they’d be on their own. He opened his briefcase. “This is his new will. Your father left everything to you.”

  “What?”

  “The house, and his entire estate all go to you.”

  “But … that can’t be right. What about my mother?”

  “When he changed it,” Tate said, “he left her out entirely.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Luke said angrily.

  “It was his wish, Luke. Nothing I said could prevent it. I’ve made a list of his assets …” he began to take out documents.

  “But just a moment, Mr Tate,” Luke interrupted, “my mother can’t be left with nothing. I’ll transfer the contents of the will to her.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t,” the solicitor told him. “When your father did this, he gave me a letter to send her by registered mail. A rather unpleasant letter, but his instructions were explicit. A clause donates it all to the funds of the People’s Army if you should attempt to subvert his wishes.”

  “Good God.” Luke was not sure where Alistair Tate’s loyalties lay, but he couldn’t keep quiet. “That’s vicious. He must have been in one of his rages against her. This time instead of hitting her he was vindictive enough to leave her penniless.”

  “He was a difficult man,” Alistair Tate said after a moment, “but I’m appalled to hear about the physical abuse. I had no idea.”

  “Nor did most people. I find it hard to believe he’d choose to leave it to me, Mr Tate. We weren’t the best of friends. He’d have probably changed that if he’d lived.”

  “Very likely,” the solicitor agreed. “Last week he spoke of meeting to discuss a change, but he didn’t make an appointment. So, like it or not, you’re the sole beneficiary of a significant share portfolio, two bank deposit accounts, and ten thousand in government bonds.”

  Luke could hardly absorb it. His father, who’d disliked him, and whom he’d equally disliked, had made him comparatively wealthy. And left him the problem of how to assist his mother.

  Claudia and Luke spent the night together, but he said nothing about the inheritance. Not until he could sort out what to do about it. They could hardly wait to strip naked and make love within minutes of her arrival, then cooked themselves scrambled eggs and went back to bed again. At four in the morning he woke to find her fully dressed, on duty in an hour. They arranged to meet that afternoon, and Luke slept until the phone woke him again. He weaved his way into the livi
ng room to answer it.

  “I’m trying to contact Luke Elliott,” an unfamiliar voice said.

  “That’s me,” Luke replied.

  “Harry Morton,” the caller gave his name. “First, my sympathy on your loss. I’m ringing from office of The Herald, regarding the article you sent.”

  “Oh,” said Luke hopefully, but had his hopes dashed a moment later.

  “I’m afraid it won’t be published, but if you have time I’d like to meet and discuss it. May I ring in a few days to arrange that?”

  He sounded so polite that Luke agreed. Details were exchanged and Harry Morton hung up, leaving Luke puzzled. If someone at The Herald didn’t like the article, what was the point of meeting to say so? He decided when Mr Morton rang again he’d tell him.

  He heard the doorbell, thought it might be a reporter and tried to ignore it. It kept ringing until he went angrily to fling it open and shout at whoever was there, only to see it was Barry together with Steven.

  “Shit, we’ve woken the sleeping beauty,” Barry said, while Luke just grabbed Steven to hug him. On seeing this Barry added, “I never realised you two poofters were so fond of each other.”

  It was like old times, but that meant Barry and Steven were soon noisily arguing. My fault, Luke thought. He’d told them about his strange call from Harry Morton, and let them read a copy of the article The Herald did not want to publish. Immediate sides were taken, Steven in agreement with the article, Barry strenuously opposed.

  “No wonder they knocked it back. I mean, who gives a flying fuck how many were killed? The Japs started the bloody war. They deserved it.”

  “C’mon, Bazza, the ones who died were civilians, women and kids,” Steven said. “They didn’t start the war.”

  “Sentimental crap, Steve. The bombs had to be dropped, and they forced Hirohito to surrender.”

  “They were rooted anyway,” Steven insisted. “The second bomb was unnecessary, inhuman.”

  “Totally agree,” Luke intervened. “Now if you shut up, both of you, I’ll go and organise a few beers.”

  “Good thinking, mate,” Barry nodded approval. “Show’s over. Burn your shithouse article, and crack open a bottle before we all die of thirst.”

  They took glasses and cold beers out to the beach and flopped down there. All of a sudden it really was old times, Luke felt. They talked of their concern for his mother, and Luke felt able to tell them it would free her from an unhappy marriage. Barry confessed his ambition to get into politics when he finished his degree. Steven nearly started another row by slyly asking how Helen was doing, but Baz didn’t take the bait.

  “She’ll win honours, but there’s more to uni life than being top banana. Sport, the social side, the debating team and useful network contacts for the future, that’s what I’m getting out of it. So, what are you going to do,” he asked Steven, “now you’ve saved civilisation from the yellow peril?”

  Steven grinned; so did Luke. Baz just couldn’t help stirring the pot. “Not going to join the family firm, I take it,” he persisted. “Chips Pascoe will not take his rightful place cutting down tall timber.”

  “Definitely not,” Steven confirmed. “Not in the firm, nor am I in the family home any longer. I moved out, sharing a flat with an army mate.”

  “Left home?” This was news to Luke. “Your choice, Steve?”

  “My choice,” Steven assured him. “Neither of us had much luck with our fathers. A couple of difficult bastards. But at least you’ve got a great mum. And I hope she’s going to be happy from now on.”

  “Second that,” said Barry sincerely.

  Luke felt his eyes moisten with emotion. It felt good to be again with his two closest friends.

  It was Helen who cleverly solved the problem of how to deal with the will. She suggested Luke set up a foundation, a legitimate strategy that could employ Louisa as its secretary, and therefore she could be paid a regular salary. Tax would be deducted to add credibility. She had run the idea past Alistair Tate who’d agreed it was a solution.

  Until then Louisa had never had a bank account, which astonished Luke, but Helen explained many wives were in exactly the same position. Apparently lone women had difficulty in being accepted as clients by the banks. So Louisa and Luke, along with Tate, went to the local Commonwealth Bank where he told the manager his mother had come to open an account.

  “Your … er … mother?” His eyebrows shot up, but before he could say another word, Alistair gave him a list of shares that were to be sold, with the proceeds to be placed on deposit for the Foundation.

  “With your branch,” Luke promised, “unless of course there’s a problem with my mother as a widow having her own account. In which case we’ll go across the road to the Bank of New South Wales.”

  “My dear fellow,” the manager rushed to assure him there could be absolutely no obstacle to whatever arrangements they wished to make. He assured Mrs Elliott she would be most welcome. So, for the first time in her life, Louisa had a bank account and the right to control her own money.

  “And I want it in my maiden name of Louisa Sherman,” she told the manager, who frowned at first, then seeing Luke’s scrutiny, swiftly agreed this was possible.

  With just two days left on Luke’s compassionate leave, there was a phone call from Harry Morton asking could they meet as a matter of urgency.

  TWELVE

  The first surprise was the uniform he wore, and his rank. He was Major Morton, and before enlistment had been a former assistant editor with The Age in Melbourne. Morton was in his late thirties, a cheerful man with fair hair, hazel eyes and an open, relaxed manner, who explained he was on leave before sailing for Japan where he was to edit a Commonwealth Forces newspaper. The next surprise was when he produced a copy of Luke’s unpublished article from his pocket.

  “I’ve been spending time at the Fairfax office, lining up things before I sail, and was there when this arrived. My choice would’ve been to publish it, Luke. You don’t mind me calling you Luke, do you?”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  “In fact, there was some debate about it. Several journalists in favour, but the editor felt it was critical of the American President at a time when we were all trying to be best friends.” He shrugged. “A pity, but I was impressed, so I did a bit of checking on you and your radio plays. The British story editor at Macquarie spoke very highly of you. You know, of course, that Australia is contributing to the Commonwealth occupation force.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ever thought of signing up, to see Hiroshima first hand?”

  “I did think of it, but …”

  “Didn’t appeal?”

  “It did, in a way. But I felt I’d had enough drilling and saluting. And then there’s my girlfriend …”

  “About the drilling, there wouldn’t be any. I would’ve liked you to join the newspaper, only I’ve got a full complement at present. But I did wonder if you’d go with the radio unit. They’d be keen to have you, and later when there’s a vacancy you’d transfer to my outfit.”

  Luke stared at him. “To become a journalist?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’ve had no experience, no training.”

  “I don’t believe in it. I train people on the job. Experience comes from working on a newspaper. Being part of it. Did you know about the radio unit?”

  “Hadn’t the faintest idea, sir.”

  “Try to stop calling me sir. My name’s Harry. It’s to be based in Kure, not far from Hiroshima. Broadcasting to the troops. There’s a spot available to write and do some announcing. Rupert Meredith- Lacey gave me your scripts and I showed them to Ben Warren who’ll run the station. He’d like you to join them, until I can employ you.”

  Luke could hardly believe it. From his rejected article this man had tracked him down and … “Golly!” he said, and saw Harry Morton grin.

  “You’d be a sergeant. Now let’s talk about the girlfriend.”

  “Her name’s C
laudia.”

  “And she’s obviously important. Well, the sign-up period is two years. Would that be a problem?”

  Two years, Luke thought. Oh, shit! Two bloody years.

  He realised the Major was waiting for an answer. “Two years? I didn’t know that … I’d have to think about it and … when do I need to decide?”

  “Ben has to know very soon, like yesterday.”

  “Oh, hell. Sorry, sir …” He shook his head. “In that case …”

  “My fault it’s such short notice,” Morton said, “but I didn’t want to approach you until after the funeral. And try to call me Harry, will you? I’m not a real officer,” he grinned, “just a journo with an inflated rank.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Luke told him, feeling this unique chance was about to become a chimera. He thought of how often he’d lain awake dreaming of it, but never imagining it could happen like this. “I just can’t give you an answer so quickly,” he said. “I suppose that’s the end of it.”

  “They leave in three weeks time. Hence the urgency. If you seriously do want to think about it, and talk to Claudia about it, Ben might be able to stretch a point and give you a little time to consider.”

  “How much time, sir? I mean Harry.”

  “On his behalf I’ll have to say not long. Like tomorrow.”

  They had dinner at the Greek restaurant in Dee Why, and walked back arm in arm. Their favourite place, but neither had enjoyed the meal, because of the problem that had dogged them all day. Desperate pauses in between words, their minds occupied with trying to solve the insoluble.

  “My darling,” Claudia broke the silence, “I hate to say this, but you really should go.”

  “It’s too long,” he insisted, “being apart for two years.”

  “I know it’s a long time,” she said, “but how can you turn it down? It’s what you’ve dreamed of. How the hell, my love, can you turn it down?”