The Ghost by the Billabong

by Jackie French

  ‘But I need to rewrite them?’

  ‘Do you really need them at all?’ She sorted through the pages quickly. ‘See? You can begin here. Tell a few other bits in flashbacks, so the reader knows she’s from the orphan labour pool, forced to go to Mars, and he’s the Moon Marshall’s grandson. The early bits are okay. But once you go to Alpha Centauri . . .’ She grinned at him. ‘I want to tie you to the desk to write more so I can keep reading.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘That wasn’t bias, was it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay. Back to the beginning.’

  ‘Or keep writing, remembering you’re going to change the beginning. Then write the beginning again.’

  He looked at her for so long she began to blush. ‘Thank you,’ he said at last.

  ‘I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Thank you for that too.’ He glanced out the window. ‘Would you mind if we went somewhere else? I’m pretty sure Matron noticed you come in here. She’ll probably come storming up if we’re alone in here much longer.’

  ‘You’re an adult!’

  He grinned. ‘Bad example for the kiddies. Okay if we go along the river track?’

  ‘Of course.’ She followed him down the ramp, then began to walk beside the chair.

  ‘How are you? I should have asked that first, instead of about the book.’

  ‘Going quietly bananas. If I have to wipe one more snotty nose, I’ll . . .’ He grinned again, his face so alive that she felt like soaring up with the pelicans above the river. ‘I’ll go away and sulk. Not much else I can do. I’m still not strong enough to go far by myself, even if there were footpaths that would take a wheelchair. Might get stuck in a wombat hole again.’ The grin widened suddenly.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘I just imagined an enraged wombat trying to bite my foot off, then finding I didn’t have one to bite. It’s good to see you,’ he added quietly. ‘Will you come back each weekend now?’

  ‘If I can. Scarlett ordered me to this morning. She’s really coming along, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah. You know Miss Sampson actually told me I needed to work as hard as Scarlett?’

  ‘Not exactly tactful.’

  ‘But right, all the same. Scarlett really wants her body to get stronger.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘The book feels more real than life, sometimes.’ He glanced up at her. ‘But not today. Not with you.’ She flushed as he added, ‘You have no idea how good it is to get away from kids and butterflies.’

  ‘Happy to help, any weekend.’ She wondered suddenly if Nancy’s pregnancy would mean no more lifts back and forth to Gibber’s Creek. She might even have to hitchhike back to Queanbeyan the next day.

  She stepped forwards to open the paddock gate. The sheep looked at them briefly and then ignored them. Even the lambs were sedate now, turned into sheep: they weren’t tail wrigglers any more. She waited until Nicholas had wheeled himself through, then shut the gate and caught up with him.

  ‘So, you’re working at Honeysuckle Creek?’

  ‘Yes. Have you been getting my letters?’

  He nodded. ‘I wrote a reply when you put your address on this week’s one. You’ll probably get it next week.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  He hesitated. ‘You seem to think Apollo 11 matters a lot.’

  She stared at him. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It depends on what they do up there. President Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon — they’re just trying to beat the Russians. It’s the Cold War being fought in space.’

  ‘But they’re not doing anything military yet. It’s like when they compete at the Olympics. It doesn’t mean anything except the glory.’

  ‘But it might in the future. Think of the moon colonists in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, using the moon’s lower gravity to launch missiles at Earth. A space satellite could view the entire planet. Imagine atomic bombs up there. Plague spores, like in Wyndham’s The Day of the Triffids.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I can’t think of it that way. Even if President Nixon is doing this to beat the Russians, people are going to see the world differently now. As one planet, not warring nations.’

  ‘What do the people at the tracking station think about the Russians?’

  ‘There was this big Russian rocket that blew up this week,’ she said slowly. ‘Did you hear about it?’

  ‘No. Doubt the editor of the Gibber’s Creek Gazette would be interested. I don’t listen to the news on the wireless much these days. Were many hurt?’

  ‘There weren’t any astronauts in it. But it was so big that people on the ground must have been hurt. Maybe many died. Yet some of the people at Honeysuckle thought it was great news, because it will keep the Russians out of the race to the moon for a while. But just about everybody else was horrified. Worried. Everything they’re doing is for the first time. They can’t really know if it will work until they try it. If the smallest thing goes wrong, people die.’

  ‘The astronauts have volunteered,’ said Nicholas. ‘They must think it’s worth their lives.’

  ‘Did you, when you volunteered for Vietnam?’ She looked at him anxiously, wondering if she had blundered again. ‘Sorry, you didn’t volunteer, did you?’ But he answered with no hesitation.

  ‘I could have said “no” and done my army service in Australia. Or wrangled myself a job away from the fighting. But no. I didn’t think I could die. Other people could, not me. Even at Long Tan, with the bullets flying, I didn’t really feel that they could touch me. But your blokes,’ she liked the way Armstrong and Aldrin and Collins were now ‘hers’, ‘they know about Apollo 1. They’re not eighteen years old either. I reckon they know what they’re up against. What’s the place like where you’re staying?’

  ‘What? Oh. It’s all right.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  She laughed. ‘All right. It’s a squat, a derelict house. Sort of half a house in Queanbeyan. The roof’s off most of it, but the study is sound, and there’s water from a tank at the back.’

  He looked at her with such horror that she was glad she hadn’t mentioned sleeping on an elderly sofa. Or the rat. ‘A squat? That’s illegal.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She wondered what he’d say if she told him she’d shoplifted packets of biscuits and cheese. ‘But no one’s using it. If anyone turns up and asks me to leave, I will. They won’t call the police for that.’ She hoped.

  ‘Can’t you get a flat?’

  ‘Not on nineteen dollars fifty a week.’

  ‘Is that all they pay you? That’s crook. I get the basic wage, just for these.’ He tapped his knees. ‘Fifty-two dollars a week, I think.’

  ‘How much do you think women usually get? Mine’s better pay than most. It might even be enough to rent a room once I can save up some bond money.’

  ‘How much would you need for a bond?’

  ‘Two or three weeks’ rent I think, maybe a month. Twenty-five or forty dollars. I’ve been looking at the To Let ads at the library.’

  ‘I’ll lend you the money.’

  ‘No. Thank you,’ she added.

  He swivelled the wheelchair towards her, blocking the track. ‘Why not?’

  Because it’s safer not to depend on anyone, she thought. Because that way you could never be let down. Because I have to show Tommy, the Dragon, myself, that I can do this, alone. Because if you found out what I was really like, you might not want to help me. ‘I can manage by myself,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m sick of asking for help, anyway. Speaking of which . . .’ He nodded down to the river. ‘See the swing in that tree?’

  Jed nodded. It wasn’t much of a swing, just a thick rope over a branch, attached to a tyre. ‘Do you think you could help me down there? I could use the rope to lift myself up. It�
��d be wonderful to sit on the grass for a while, instead of this chair. I can’t remember the last time I sat on grass.’

  She calculated. ‘Do you have brakes on that thing?’

  ‘So I don’t roll into the river? Yes.’

  ‘Then I think I can do it.’

  ‘Do you think you can haul the wheelchair back up the bank with me in it? Because if you can’t, I’m stuck there.’

  ‘No, you’re not. I could go and get help.’

  ‘I’d rather not risk a rescue party. Okay then. Let’s go for it. It’d just be good to feel the grass again. It’s been more than two years since I did.’

  She couldn’t imagine not being able to feel grass prickle against your legs whenever you wanted to. Had never even thought how many small deprivations must make up his life now. She grabbed the handles of the wheelchair.

  ‘Not so fast! You’ll tip me over.’ He was grinning though, not worried.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Just keep it steady, will you? Don’t let it tilt too far. I should be able to manage.’

  He did, mostly, bullying it across the slope of the grass. She only had to steady it a few times. At last he reached the swing. ‘Here goes.’ He grasped the rope with his right hand and looped it around the left, so that it could take his weight without needing to grip it. He lurched forwards as the chair turned over behind him.

  She waited for him to swear. He didn’t. His lips were squeezed shut with effort as he lowered himself, letting himself fall the last foot or so. ‘Made it!’ He glanced back at the upturned chair. ‘Good thing you’re here though.’

  She righted it, then sat beside him. She expected them to be the same height, as when they sat at the table, but he sat with his stumps of legs in front of him, while she automatically kneeled, so she was still taller than he was. She sat back, curling her legs around her, hoping he hadn’t noticed her change.

  He had. He looked at her, wordlessly challenging her. His legs looked even more not there than in the chair, when it was easy to look no further down than his lap. Or had she just grown used to it?

  ‘Bloody hell!’ He shifted suddenly.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m sitting on a bloody bull ant’s nest.’

  She began to laugh. He laughed too, but ruefully, using his arms to edge away fast. ‘It isn’t funny!’

  ‘Yes, it is. Ow! There’s one on me too.’ She swept the ant off her foot and moved as well.

  ‘Hurts, doesn’t it?’ He began to lurch from side to side, an almost crawl. ‘Damn. I can’t get far enough away.’ He looked up. ‘Can you drag me?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Hands behind my arms. Yes, like that.’

  She began to pull and was shocked by how much lighter he was than she’d expected. How much of the weight of a man was his legs? She got him a few yards along the grass, then stopped. ‘No sign of ants here. How many bites?’

  ‘Three. Any bracken around?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The juice of young bracken stops the stings.’

  Her own bite burned now. She looked around. ‘Is that bracken?’

  ‘Yep — that’s it. Don’t you know bracken?’

  ‘Only from the Famous Five. They always made beds out of it.’ She looked at the scratchy stuff. ‘I wouldn’t want to sleep on this.’

  ‘It’s okay if you have enough of it and a thick sheet. Look for the fronds that are just uncurling.’

  ‘Like this?’

  ‘Yep. Pass it over.’ He broke the stem in a couple of places and squeezed out a smear of juice. ‘Rub this on.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘There’s enough for me too.’

  Jed spread the sticky sap over the sting. At once the worst of the pain vanished. ‘It works.’

  ‘Of course it works, you drongo.’

  ‘Hey, I saved you from a nest of savage bull ants.’

  ‘You let me sit on them too.’

  ‘You sat on them yourself.’

  He grinned. ‘I did, didn’t I? You going to sit down again?’

  She lowered herself next to him. She had already got used to his legs. He reached for her hand, held it in his, looking out at the river. ‘Nice,’ he said.

  It was more than nice. His hand was warm. Safe. For the first time she could remember, she didn’t feel awkward touching another person. Maybe it was different with a man. A man you liked. Anyway, it was just holding hands.

  ‘Jed.’ He looked fixedly at the river.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Everything else works. Just not my legs.’

  ‘What? Oh.’ She flushed as she realised what he meant. ‘I . . . I never thought it mightn’t.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ His tone was wry. ‘I did.’

  Another silence. Was he going to tell her how he lost his legs? Instead he said, ‘Will you keep working at the tracking station once they’ve landed on the moon?’

  She looked at him, surprised by the change in subject. ‘I don’t think so. It’s not just for Tommy now. I want to be part of it too, even if it’s just a fraction of an inch of it. But washing up forever? No. And there’s nothing else I’m qualified to do there. I’ll leave as soon as we’ve made it to the moon.’

  ‘You still plan to do your Leaving and get a scholarship to uni?’

  ‘It’s the HSC now. If I can. I hoped I’d manage it this year, but I’ve left it a bit late to start. I’m pretty sure I could pass already, but I need to do much more than that to get a Commonwealth Scholarship that’ll pay the fees and give me enough for textbooks as well as a living allowance.’

  He looked at the river, not at her, his voice too casual. ‘The army will pay me the basic wage if I want to go to uni. And if I decide I want to write full time, I have my pension. I’ve been saving too. Nothing much to spend it on. And I’ve got some money from my grandfather, enough for a pretty good deposit to buy a flat. One on the ground floor, with no stairs, that can be fitted out with lifting bars.’

  What did he mean? She tried to sort through the implications, as he turned to her, then bent slowly, till his lips met hers. It was the first kiss she had ever had on the lips, the first kiss of any kind she could remember. Neither of her parents had been one for kissing, or hugging, at least not her, though she supposed they must have carried her when she was small.

  His hands touched her shoulders, strong hands that had held the rope. She found herself returning the kiss, leaning into it, sorry when it broke.

  He sat back, his face twisting with something she couldn’t read. ‘We could get a flat together, near the university.’

  ‘Live together?’

  He nodded. ‘You wouldn’t have to have a scholarship then. I’ve got enough to pay your uni fees too, and anything else you need.’

  She stared at him. ‘I . . . I couldn’t ask you to do all that for me.’

  ‘You’re not asking. I’m offering. It wouldn’t be one sided,’ he added. ‘I’m going to need help for a while, even after I get the legs. I don’t want to live with my parents again, with Mum fussing like I’m ten years old. And a nursing home or repat hospital would be even worse, everyone about a hundred except for me.’

  ‘What would your parents say about you living with a girl?’ Especially me, she thought.

  ‘Lots of people do, these days.’

  He didn’t say, ‘It’ll be better than living in a squat. Better than washing up. A chance for a future.’

  And it would be. A new university, where no one knew her past. A ready-made family, because surely his parents would accept her, the girl who helped their son. Day after day, living with Nicholas.

  He didn’t say, ‘I love you.’

  ‘I . . . care a lot about you, Jed.’

  The vision she’d been building came crashing down. ‘You don’t know me.’

  Nancy’s words came back to her: ‘You should tell him.’ But if she told him, he wouldn’t care for her. Couldn’t ever come to love her. No man could.


  Either way there was nothing for her. Nothing.

  She was not a coward.

  ‘I know you enough —’ he began.

  ‘I’ve been pregnant,’ she said flatly.

  He stared at her, silent. She heard her heart beat, ten times, twenty. Most men expected their wives to be virgins on their wedding night. Nice girls did not have sex before marriage. He’s thinking, slut, she thought.

  Instead he said at last, ‘Did you love him?’

  ‘The baby?’

  ‘The father. Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Don’t care. As long as I never have to see him again. Feel him again.’ She heard her breath become ragged in her throat. No. She could do this. She could. ‘His name was Merv. Merv the Perv, that’s what I called him. He was Debbie’s boyfriend. She was my stepmother.’

  ‘Was? She’s dead?’

  ‘No. Just not my stepmother any more. She formally renounced me.’ I’m no relation of yours, she’d said, shoving her forwards in the police station, as if it were she who’d broken the law. Which they said Jed had. The magistrate said she was pregnant below the age of consent, claimed she’d refused to give them the name of the father, because when Jed told the magistrate who the father really was, Debbie had told them she was a liar. She could still hear Debbie’s screams when she first told her about the pregnancy, about Merv. Liar, liar, liar, destroying every little hope I have for happiness. But at the police station, Debbie had been ice calm.

  ‘Janet’s always been a liar,’ she’d said. ‘Been sleeping around for the past year, refuses to say who the father is now. Came up with a wild story about my fiancé. He’s never even been alone with her.’ And the police had believed Debbie, not the wild-eyed teenager sobbing and screaming about rape. The magistrate had believed Debbie, and so had the warden at the reform home. They’d looked at The Beasts and thought: the girl asked for it.

  But she didn’t have to tell Nicholas all of that.

  ‘He raped you?’ His voice was strange.

  ‘Just once. I got away the other times. I locked my door at night, but that night he came in the window. I was asleep or I could have got away again.’

  ‘Didn’t you scream?’

  The police had asked her that. The magistrate. If no one hears you scream, it couldn’t have been rape. Must be your fault, always your fault. But what if no one paid any attention to the screaming, if your stepmother was drunk, if the neighbours didn’t want to be drawn into someone else’s filthy mess? ‘No one heard anything,’ said the constable flatly. ‘We asked your neighbours, your stepmother. How can you explain that, heh?’