by Lisa Bigelow
‘You tease. I can’t trust a thing you say, can I? You’d make a perfect little spy.’
‘Mata Hari had better watch out.’
‘Indeed. My very own femme fatale who is also the perfect mother.’
‘Speaking of babies, how did you go feeding Katie? Does she need another bottle or a nappy change?’
‘All done before I left Mum’s place.’
‘Did you do it yourself or did you leave it to your mother?’
Harry blushed. ‘Well, Mim was dying to have a go. I couldn’t disappoint her, could I?’
‘Harry Parker, you’re the end.’ Mae giggled. ‘Brave enough to go to war but you can’t change a baby’s nappy.’
‘Not true. It’s just that, well, other people offered. I didn’t want to be disagreeable.’
‘All right then, next nappy change is yours. No excuses.’
‘Whatever you say.’
The tram stopped opposite the wrought-iron gates of the zoo. Harry bought tickets then the little family passed through the turnstile into the park with its sculpted lawns and paths winding past the giraffe and monkey enclosures.
‘Birds or beasts?’ Harry asked.
‘I brought your sketchbook, darling. What takes your artistic fancy today?’
‘Hmmm. I feel like visiting the leopards. It’s definitely a day for spots, don’t you think? Then maybe the platypus tank, and we can show Katie the seals too.’
A few minutes later they settled on the soft lawn near the big cats’ enclosure. Two lions roamed the fence line, roaring as though they could smell the lamb sandwiches. Mae set out the thermos and the food while Harry lifted the baby out of the pram and took her for a stroll around the cages, naming each of the animals. Mae watched as Katie tried to lift her head to look at Harry, more interested in his voice than what he was saying. As he pointed out the cheetah, Katie stared at him as though he were the strangest thing she’d ever seen. Harry turned at that moment, his nose wrinkled as he held Katie away from his chest. ‘Nappy time.’
Mae laughed and lifted the baby bag. ‘Well you’d better get on with it before you eat.’
‘Do I do it here, or do I go to the toilets?’
‘I don’t think they have change tables in the gents’. You’ll have to do it here then empty the nappy in the toilet.’
‘Oooh!’
After Harry’s nappy debut and a strong cup of tea, Mae sat back against a tree and fed Katie her bottle while Harry made quick sketches of leopards lying, sitting, prowling and licking their young. He would use the sketches to do more detailed drawings later, Mae knew. She loved watching him draw. He got the same faraway look on his face as when he played his violin. He never looked more alluring than he did when sitting on the grass like that, his legs stretched out, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, his back slightly hunched over his sketchbook, and making such beautiful pictures.
Despite the awkwardness of the previous night, she felt desire stir in her chest, in her stomach. She longed to be home with him, lying in his arms, getting things back on track. She’d be happy to stay awake all night, holding each other, until he had to leave for the ship in the morning. But would that be enough for him? What if he tried again? She hoped he’d be happy to wait a bit longer. After all, they had the rest of their lives to make love.
Through the trees, Mae heard the sound of a band starting; clarinets and trumpets. Harry looked up from his drawing and grinned at the same time as Mae recognised the first tune: ‘Moonlight Serenade’ by Glenn Miller. Harry stood and brushed grass off his pants.
‘Are you in the mood for a dance, Miss Sunny?’
Mae laughed and put Katie in her pram, then let Harry pull her close as they swayed on the lawn, other couples nearby following suit. Although the melody was beautiful, Mae always felt there was something a little wistful about it too, but she couldn’t be sad in Harry’s arms on such a perfect day. She let herself relax against his chest, happy to be led across the small lawn and onto the pavement beneath a giant Moreton Bay fig. Bats squawked and monkeys screeched, there was even some trumpeting from elephants in the background. The music had woken all the zoo’s creatures and visitors from their mid-afternoon rest. She closed her eyes and let her mind dwell on the sounds and the smells. It was one of those lovely moments that she wanted to imprint in her mind and her heart forever.
That night, after a leisurely meal with Mae’s family, she and Harry returned to their bedroom.
‘Et loved it when you had a third helping of her lemon delicious,’ she said, surprised that she felt a little shy.
‘Mmm. I don’t think I’ll be moving for a week.’
‘I wish that were true.’
Light from a candle on the mantelpiece flickered across their faces.
‘It’s so hard to leave you,’ Harry said, stroking her hair. ‘Three days is nowhere near long enough. Every time we sail past the entrance to the bay without turning in towards home I feel like jumping over the side and swimming ashore. But at least we have the end in sight. I’ve promised to stay till the crew is ready to go overseas, but that’s only a few more months. Each trip, I think, Well that’s one nearer to leave, one nearer to Christmas.’
‘Are you sure you really want to be on dry land again?’
Harry dropped his chin to her shoulder and rested his face against her neck. ‘I loved being at sea when I was younger. But everything’s changed now. I can’t stand the thought of being away from you and Katie one second longer than necessary. After this is over, I’m never going anywhere without you again. We have a house to build, don’t forget.’
‘Our own home,’ Mae said dreamily. ‘Do you think we should have two bedrooms or three? We’ll probably need a spare room for visitors like Alice and Jim and the boys. And we’ll have a sitting room and a separate dining room with space for a buffet—like the one we saw in that shop, remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ Harry said, stroking her shoulder and kissing her neck. ‘We’ll need a big garden where Katie can play with her friends.’
‘And garden beds so I can grow roses and vegetables.’
‘And a garage, big enough for the car and my motorcycle.’
‘Albert says we should get started building as soon as the war is over, when more workers are available and it’s easier to get materials.’
‘He’s probably right. But we haven’t bought the land yet. It takes time to find the right place.’
‘We can build on my mother’s block here in Yarraville.’
‘But we agreed to build closer to where I’m working, down near Frankston, so I can get home a couple of nights during the week.’
‘If these last few months have taught me anything, it’s that I can’t live forty miles out of town where I don’t know a soul. I can’t be so far from my family.’
‘You can catch the train if you want to visit and we’ll come up to Melbourne on weekends to stay with my mother or here with your family.’
‘So we’ll never spend a weekend alone? You want me to live a two-hour train ride from my family? And what if you get sent overseas? What am I supposed to do then?’
‘I just assumed you’d want to be near me. My mother always followed my father.’
‘And there it is: your mother!’
‘What about my mother? What’s she done now?’
‘Nothing, Harry. Did she remind you of that fact today, about following your father? I can never live up to her standards, can I?’
‘For God’s sake. Can’t we have one night without a bloody argument? This whole leave I’ve been walking on eggshells. What’s wrong with you?’
Mae bit her lip and turned away, tears welling in her eyes. After everything she’d been through and he was only thinking of himself. She’d feared his feelings for her would change now she was a mother, and now it seemed it was true. The way things were going, he’d probably decide to spend more time at sea, leaving her home alone for years at a time. She couldn’t blame him. She
couldn’t give him her body or more children, she wasn’t perfect any more. Maybe he was going to be like her father after all, moving on to a better life.
‘I’m going outside for a smoke,’ he said, pulling his dressing-gown tight around his waist.
‘Don’t wake me when you come back.’
Minutes became an hour and then another. When he finally returned, Mae turned her face to the wall, pretending she was asleep. Her anger grew as his breathing deepened into sleep.
He rose at five-thirty the next morning and showered and dressed, returning to their room to cuddle Katie before laying her beside Mae.
‘It won’t always be like this,’ he whispered to Mae, who kept her face hidden rather than meeting his gaze. ‘I never knew it was possible to love two people so completely, but you’ll always be my number one girl.’ He kissed her goodbye and walked out of the bedroom.
Mae got up and put Katie back in the pram as she heard the front door close. It was dark outside. She listened to his steps fade and pictured him turning the corner towards the station to catch the early train. She rolled over to his side of the bed and breathed the scent from his pillow through her tears. Katie began to cry.
CHAPTER 9
* * *
October 1941
FADDEN OUT, CURTIN IN screamed the front page of the first edition. Nine subeditors pounced on the bundle that had been dropped in front of Sam’s desk by the copyboy. The men thumbed through the pages, quietly commenting on smudges that looked like commas and full stops, checking for mistakes. When they had agreed the copy was clean, they lit cigarettes, drained their mugs of tea and returned to their typewriters to work on the next edition updates.
Prime Minister Fadden had been voted out of office after just forty days in the job. Labor leader John Curtin was set to be sworn in as prime minister the following week. Most of the coverage was handled by Don Porter, The Tribune’s chief political correspondent in Canberra and Sam’s best friend, but three other Tribune reporters were covering different aspects of the story, interviewing backbenchers, members of the Opposition, lobbyists, the numbers men. They worked together seamlessly. Grace was continually impressed by the skill and professionalism of the news team, and the way Sam filled the paper four times over, every day except Sunday. He was like a musical conductor, drawing contributions from every part of the newsroom to cover the stories of the day. It might be a major sporting event one day, a police story the next. Today the stars were the political reporters.
‘Grace, can you get Don for me, please?’ Sam requested. ‘I don’t care where he is—I need him on the phone now.’
Grace called Don’s direct line but it rang out. She tried his secretary but got the engaged signal. She tried again and again, imagining she was chasing down a major story, close to deadline, trying to land an important interview. She’d have news editors, maybe even Sam, watching as she tried to get through to her source, to get the critical quotes that would complete the story. It was exhilarating but frustrating too. She tried Don’s phone number again, then all the other Tribune numbers in the press gallery, but no one was answering. After ten minutes she looked up at Sam and shrugged.
Determined not to let him down, Grace decided on a new tactic, calling the Gazette secretary in Canberra to see if she could help. Although they were officially the opposition, the two papers shared an office. Surely it would be all right, just this once.
She got through immediately.
‘They’re all in a press conference with Mr Curtin, dear. I don’t know how long they’ll be.’
‘It must be exciting up there, today,’ Grace said, hoping to keep the woman on the line until the reporters returned.
‘Oh, we’ve had plenty of exciting days here recently, but this one’s more hectic than most, I suppose.’
‘It must be hard to keep up with what’s going on; who’s leading and who’s voting with whom?’
‘The reporters keep us all informed, so we’re always first with the latest.’
‘Maybe they should interview you.’
‘I’m not very interesting, dear. The reporters are much better at explaining all the strategies and alliances. Here they come now. Nice talking to you, Miss Fowler.’
Grace got Don on the first ring then put him through to Sam. She’d been in the newsroom seven months now. Barbara wasn’t leaving for another four months, so Grace was writing up as many story ideas as she could for her portfolio and pitching them to Sam whenever she got the chance. Her latest idea was compiling a list of profiles of women being deployed into war jobs at factories making munitions and uniforms. ‘You could use my stories in the women’s pages,’ she’d suggested to Sam the previous week. ‘I could do the interviews after work so they don’t interfere with my job.’ He’d actually smiled, as though perhaps he approved, then a ringing phone diverted his attention. She hadn’t got an answer. Maybe she should just go ahead and write the first few and give them to him on spec. If he liked them they might get a run. If he didn’t, well, at least she’d know where she stood.
‘Hello, Miss Fowler. Can you get me a few minutes with Sam today?’ Phil asked, startling her from her thoughts.
They’d barely even spoken in recent weeks. She’d wondered more than once if he was avoiding her, entering and leaving the newsroom through the back of the building. Occasionally she’d noticed him looking in her direction again. Could he tell she was daydreaming about him? Had Del said something?
Grace slowed her voice, keeping it free of emotion, thankful that at least the flush in her cheeks didn’t feel as though it had spread to her neck and forehead.
‘He’s really busy with Don and the Curtin story. Do you want me to pass on a message?’
‘No, that’s fine. I’ll catch him later.’
‘Is everything all right?’
Grace watched Phil consider his response. ‘Sam’s asked me to think about how the paper should continue to cover sport, now that so much is winding back. I might have to hand over some of my reporters to the general round.’
He was interrupted by a sharp voice saying, ‘Well, well. I wouldn’t have thought this one was your type, Taylor, knowing what you’ve got waiting at home.’
Alan Swain, one of the paper’s photographers, was walking towards them. Alan’s black hair was so slick it was almost reflective. He had a Clark Gable–style moustache, trimmed to the thinnest line possible, but that was where the comparison ended. While the movie star was tall and handsome with an attractive smile, the photographer had small dark eyes that absorbed light instead of sparkling, a beaky nose and a permanent sneer.
‘What did you say?’ Phil demanded, turning to face Alan.
‘No need to slum it with the help—although you big shot society types always like a bit of rough on the side, don’t you?’
‘Don’t say another word, you little weasel!’ Phil snapped. ‘And you should apologise to Miss Fowler.’
‘I’ve got nothing to be sorry about. You’re the one who needs to apologise for swanning around town like an entitled brat, not doing anything useful like joining our boys overseas!’
Grace shrunk down in her chair. A bit of rough on the side? Was that how the newsroom thought of her? She scanned the room but no one was watching the exchange. They were all busy with their stories.
‘Get out of my sight now, Swain,’ Phil warned.
‘Or what?’
‘I’ll report you to Sam and have you thrown out.’
‘Miss Fowler, always a pleasure,’ Alan said, nodding as he stepped past her desk and continued towards the darkroom. ‘Taylor, please let your lovely fiancée know that I’m looking forward to her modelling shoot next week. Best part of my job, entertaining the models all alone in my studio.’
Phil flexed his hands then balled them into fists, anger squeezing his lips tight and making his nostrils flare. As Swain sauntered away he turned to Grace. ‘Are you all right, Miss Fowler?’
‘What did he mean?’ Grace said
as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
‘Nothing at all. Don’t listen to any of his rubbish.’
Grace felt her heart pounding, as though she’d been chased. ‘Is he always like that?’
‘He’s got worse over the last few months. I heard he tried to join the army as a photographer, but he was rejected.’
‘So he’s taking it out on us?’
‘Swain’s too much of a coward to do anything, but if he gives you any more trouble, let me know immediately. I’ll sort him out.’
Grace studied Phil’s face. He really did seem concerned. But that was just his way, she realised. He was a nice fellow looking out for the new girl, nothing more.
‘Well, if you’re sure you’re all right, I’d better get going,’ he said finally. ‘Let me know if Sam has a moment tomorrow.’
The following morning, Phil arrived at Sam’s desk for their meeting. Grace had glanced in his direction a few times during the day; most times he was hunched over his phone taking notes, but a couple of times she’d seen photographers and reporters slapping him on the back or shaking his hand. They were congratulating him on something; he was all smiles.
‘Have you had a chance to think about my request?’ Phil said to Sam, his back to Grace as though trying to block her from their conversation.
Sam nodded. ‘It’s a big step. How does your family feel about it?’
‘My father’s all for it. Mother, well, she’ll go along with whatever the old man says.’
‘And what about—’
‘No other considerations.’
‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’
‘It won’t affect this.’
Though she was pretending not to listen, Grace was desperate to see Phil’s expression. She couldn’t tell from his voice whether he was happy or sad. And what was he asking for? Sam’s face gave nothing away.