by Lisa Bigelow
There was no answer. She glanced at Phil but his eyes were closed.
‘See, you’re still the best reporter around, even while you pretend to sleep.’ Grace watched for a flicker of reaction, but his expression stayed blank. ‘You’ll still be able to work, you know; write features or work on the subs desk. You could even be a news editor like Sam.’
His bony chest hardly moved. She wondered how he could bear sleeping on his side; his shoulder seemed so sharp, any contact with the mattress had to hurt. Her touch might have hurt as well. He flinched whenever she tried—or maybe after all this time he just didn’t want her near him.
‘We could go and work on Dad’s paper,’ she whispered. ‘Both of us, together.’
Phil whispered without opening his eyes: ‘I need to sleep now.’
CHAPTER 39
* * *
October 1946
MAE DIPPED THE BRUSH in the paint, wiped the excess on the side of the bucket and lifted the brush to the wall. She was so tired, she longed to lie down and rest.
Come on, Sunny, you’re almost done. Just a few more feet and you’ll be there. It was as if he was beside her, whispering in her ear, his voice was so clear.
‘Mummy, can I have some more paint?’ Katie stood looking up at Mae, paint spatters on her overalls and through her hair. She’d been painting the skirting boards behind where the couch and buffet would sit, places that wouldn’t be seen but that kept her busy while Mae did the walls.
‘We’re nearly finished now. You don’t need any more paint.’
‘But I want some, there’s still a hole.’
‘A gap?’
‘A hole in the painting.’
‘Just a minute; I’ll look when I finish this.’ To Mae’s surprise, five-year-old Katie had proven to be quite the little helper. ‘Daddy will be so proud of you.’
‘And Santa?’
‘Yes, Santa Claus will be impressed too.’
‘How many sleeps?’
‘There’s still lots—about sixty sleeps till he comes.’
‘Will he find us here?’
‘We’ll send the letter in plenty of time so he knows exactly where you are.’
Our first Christmas in the new house, darling; hurry home to us. Be our Christmas miracle.
Mae was only vaguely aware of the sound of the car as it hurtled around the corner; the loud crash as its axle hit the stormwater drain was the first indication she had that something unusual was occurring outside her home. A deafening smash. Splintering wood. Metal twisting and grinding. A fog of dust. Car exhaust. Steam from the radiator. Debris raining from the ceiling. Mae dashed over to shield Katie.
The car’s headlights shone in her eyes through the hole in the dining room wall where a window had been moments earlier. The car’s bonnet and windscreen were draped with branches and splintered palings from the fence. Steam rose from the engine as Mae lifted her head to see if the car was still moving. She felt Katie move then heard her whimpering. ‘Katie, don’t move, darling. Stay still.’
Lifting Katie and holding her tight to her chest, Mae bolted towards the hallway and the street, imagining the roof caving in, the walls falling down. Smelling gas, she yelled silently: Don’t let it explode, Harry, don’t let it explode.
‘Get him out of the car before the house collapses,’ Mae heard someone calling in the distance.
‘The car’s gunna catch fire.’
‘Someone call the police.’
‘Get an ambulance.’
‘Give him space. His head’s bleeding.’
Everyone was concerned about the young man in the car but no one seemed to have noticed her. Mae looked up as a woman ran out of the house across the road.
‘Oh, you poor dear, were you in the house? We didn’t know anyone was inside.’
Mae ran to the corner still clutching Katie then sat down in the gutter to examine her. She checked her head then her arms and legs. No blood. Nothing seemed broken. Katie blinked up at her without making a sound. Trembling with shock, Mae wrapped her arms tightly around Katie again. She was safe; they both were. That was all that mattered.
Fire trucks, tow trucks, police, ambulance. As each arrived the rest of the neighbourhood followed in their wake. Mae and Katie were checked by the ambulance men, while the driver, a young man, was rescued from the car.
‘You really need to come with us, Mrs Parker. The doctors need to examine you and the little one.’
Before the ambulance driver closed the doors, she surveyed the accident scene. The car was wedged firmly halfway along the wall of the house. Seeing the damage, Mae shook her head in disbelief. Look at that, she said to Harry. How could we possibly have walked away? Were you watching over us? That’s it, isn’t it? You helped us escape. Our very own guardian angel, aren’t you, my darling? It’s all right, everything can be repaired. Mae hugged Katie closer. ‘You’re safe now. Daddy’s looking after us.’
‘Santa’s chimney’s broken.’
‘We’ll fix that too.’
CHAPTER 40
* * *
February 1947
‘PUSH THE STARTER BUTTON, Grace.’ Phil called from the back of the printing press.
Grace leaned forward and pressed the button but nothing happened.
The gears and drums roared into life. ‘Look, it’s our paper, Simon. Isn’t Daddy clever, fixing the printer like that?’
She stepped back and held the baby tight as paper fed through the inked plates and rollers. The entire room rumbled as the printer settled into its powerful rhythm.
‘I don’t know how long it’s going to last. Hopefully we’ll get through this edition,’ Phil said, wiping grease from his hands on a tatty old rag. ‘The gears are pretty worn.’
‘Can we get second-hand parts?’
‘It’ll take more than a few parts. We’ll need a new press if we want to keep going. We have to decide once and for all…’
Phil limped towards the control panel and adjusted one of the dials. In the eighteen months he’d been home, he’d had three operations on his leg to cut out the remaining infection and clean up his stump so he could be fitted with a wooden leg. Then he’d learned to walk again, surprising everyone when he hobbled down the aisle without crutches during their wedding in Benalla early the following year. Nev gave Grace away but didn’t tell anyone during the wedding that he was feeling unwell. The night before Grace and Phil arrived home from a week at Bright, Nev collapsed in the pub from a heart attack and died in hospital.
The staff kept the paper going over the next few weeks while Grace and Phil finished up on The Tribune and moved to Benalla. They’d agreed to take over for two years to see whether it would pay its way. It had broken even under Nev, but since the end of the war, several papers had expanded in neighbouring towns and the competition for advertising had to be shared with new radio stations as well.
‘It’s in his bones, isn’t it?’ Phil said, smiling tiredly at his infant son, who stared as the paper whirred through the rollers.
‘If we don’t stay here, we’ll have to find another paper for him to play with,’ Grace said, smiling at the little boy. ‘Do you want me to stay and do the inserts?’
‘Time to get him home,’ Phil said as Simon squirmed to get down on the dirty concrete floor. ‘I’m meeting some of the cops for a beer after I finish here. June can do the inserts in the morning.’
‘It’s no trouble, it won’t take me long, then the driver can get going first thing.’
‘I said no. Jesus, Grace, do you have to argue every point? Get the boy home and fed. I don’t need him screaming when I get there.’
The press rattled and clunked, whirring to a halt as the paper roll tore.
‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Phil yelled, whacking a spanner against a metal casing. ‘Worthless piece of crap!’
Grace stroked Simon’s back as he started to cry. ‘There, there, Daddy’s not yelling at us.’
‘Get him out of here, I can’t hear myself t
hink.’
‘All right, I’m going. See you at home.’
As she hurried to the car she murmured, ‘It’s all right, Daddy didn’t mean to yell.’ Was she trying to reassure Simon or herself? she wondered. ‘He can’t help it. He’s just tired.’
Settling Simon in the back seat, Grace sat quietly in the car with the engine running to soothe him. Phil’s just tired, she repeated to herself, always tired. It was no wonder, given his nightmares. Night terrors her mother called them. Your father came home with them too. Grace asked how long they’d lasted, and Rosie replied that they’d never really disappeared completely—though they were worse when Nev drank. Well, at least her mother was getting some rest now that Nev was gone. But Phil was waking several times each night, drenched in sweat, shaking, sobbing. Grace often woke to find Phil clinging to her like he was drowning and she were a life buoy keeping him afloat. They were both tired, but how was she going to fix him, to take away his anger? It was exhausting for him and for her.
She drove slowly along the street running parallel to the main road so she didn’t have to stop and chat to anyone as she passed the shops. Some days it was just too hard to pretend she was half of a happy couple, especially when she felt fear gnawing a hole in her stomach. At least her stomach pain wasn’t caused by another baby. Phil said he wouldn’t have any more until they’d sorted the paper out. But as time wore on it seemed like just another excuse not to make love.
When Phil first came home he was quiet and withdrawn, especially as he recovered from his operations. But then he’d seemed to come good. He told her how much he’d missed her, how much he loved her; how the thought of her had carried him through his worst times in the prison camp. But even in his best moods, he refused to say anything about what had happened in Changi. I don’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it with someone who wasn’t there. You’d never understand. Her mother advised her to let him be; he’d tell her when he was ready or he might never say much at all. But he was moving further and further from the Phil she adored. Her Gary Cooper was gone, replaced by a sullen, angry stranger. Worse, he was turning into her father, yelling about the most trivial things, blaming her whenever things didn’t go his way.
Her mother had seen Phil’s temper too; one day when Rosie had popped around to the house unexpectedly, she’d heard Phil in full flight. Grace still cringed at the thought of what her mother had heard. Rosie had brought strawberries and ice-cream for their tea and was slipping them into the ice chest on the back porch when Phil slammed through the front door, unaware that his mother-in-law was outside.
‘Well, I’ve just heard how you got all your prison break exclusives, you unfaithful bitch!’ he shouted.
Simon screamed from his playpen in the lounge room.
‘Stop it, Phil. It’s not true.’
‘Don’t you lie to me, you whore. Jacko told me all about it.’
‘Jacko’s just annoyed because he was too busy drinking with his mates.’
‘Mates, hey? I know all about you and that copper and how you slept with him every night to get your scoops.’
‘It’s not true, he’s just a friend,’ Grace had sobbed as she saw her mother try to sneak past the window towards her car. ‘It’s not true.’
The next day, Rosie had tried to console Grace, assuring her that Phil would get better, but she couldn’t hide the sadness in her voice. It just takes some men longer to settle back into their old lives. After all, he’s one of the lucky ones. Grace knew he was lucky; they both were. He could still walk, he could work, and they had Simon.
Grace slowed the car as she passed the cinema. Torchy Gets Her Man. She gripped the steering wheel as her stomach ached again. Taking a deep breath, she waited for the stabbing pain to ease. Life will be good, she told herself as she exhaled. No, life is good. Life is good and Phil loves us. She leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel. Life is good and he loves us.
CHAPTER 41
* * *
April 1947
MAE COULDN’T HAVE ORDERED a better day for moving into her new house. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter than usual, birds sang louder and a warm breeze blew away the overnight chill of autumn. Children playing in the street parted to let cars drive slowly past the row of new California bungalows painted in different combinations of blue, cream and grey. Et flitted from room to light-filled room plumping pillows and placing ornaments.
‘I think they’d be better in the buffet,’ Mae said, pointing to a small collection of Wedgwood plates Et was arranging on a side table.
‘Are you sure, dear? I think they look quite the thing here beside the chair.’
‘They’ll just catch dust if we leave them out.’
Mae’s house was painted a rich cream inside and out. It had a large verandah with double doors opening onto a wide hallway, making it easy to move the outdoor furniture inside. The doors at both ends of the house were open to air out the paint fumes. Two bedrooms sat on the right-hand side of the hallway, and the lounge and dining rooms were joined by French doors on the left. A sunny, north-facing kitchen ran along the back of the house opposite a bathroom. The back door led out to the toilet and laundry and a generous yard dominated by a large, corrugated-iron garage.
Surrounded by boxes, William sat at the kitchen table polishing cutlery. Mae joined him for their first pot of tea together in the new house.
‘Well, dear, you’ve finally done it. Albert would be proud.’
‘I suppose he would,’ Mae said, imagining him sitting at the table, reading the paper. Her heart still skipped a beat when she caught herself thinking of him or of Harry.
‘Now you and Katie can spend more time at picture shows and the like. You mustn’t waste so much time with us oldies. Have a few people of your own age over for dinner and cards. Your lovely dining room is made for parties.’
A clock ticked on the mantelpiece over the stove. ‘It already feels like home, doesn’t it?’ she said, trying to keep her mood light as she handed William a pile of teaspoons.
‘Albert would have been so pleased to see you and Katie here; they both would.’
Mae silently thanked Albert for leaving her the money for the house. She caught a shine in William’s eyes more likely caused by sadness than joy. She knew William missed his older brother just as much as she missed her uncle. He was quieter these days, spending more time listening to the radio and reading. Et said she sometimes caught him commenting on something the radio announcer said as though he were speaking to Albert, then he’d glance at his brother’s favourite chair and his smile would drop, he’d blow his nose and go back to listening.
‘Mummy, can I take this to school?’
Katie walked into the kitchen clutching Mae’s framed picture of Harry in his uniform, fingerprints all over the glass. ‘I have to take something for show-and-tell.’
Mae reached for the picture then forced her hand into her apron pocket. Katie’s face shone with excitement but Mae wasn’t ready to let the precious picture outside in such small hands. ‘How about you take a different picture? I’ll find one for you.’
Mae crouched on the dining room floor in front of the buffet. She took out a box of photos, and found a small black-and-white photo of Harry holding Katie on the steps of his mother’s church. Elizabeth had taken it on his last visit home.
‘See? That’s you,’ she told Katie. ‘You have to be very careful. We’ll put it in a card and then an envelope so it doesn’t bend.’
As Katie skipped off to show Et and William, Mae stacked the dinner setting on the upper shelf and the silverware and tablecloths in the drawers. She’d embroidered all the linen before her wedding, but Harry had never seen them on a table. She was saving them until they had a proper dining setting. Mae had caught him poking through the tea chest one night. He’d pulled out a napkin and held it close to the light, inspecting the fine stitches.
‘There’s more than one artist in this family,’ he’d said, runnin
g his finger along the edge. ‘I love watching you do this.’
Mae fought a wave of sadness. No, today was a day of celebration. Spending the last few weeks painting the house in her spare time, she’d felt Harry close by, willing her on. She spoke to him each night in her head. No one knew; it was just their private time together. Over the last couple of years she’d felt her hope slipping away like a slow, gentle exhale. But she wasn’t prepared to let go of him completely. And as long as she pretended to accept that he was gone, no one could judge her.
Mae took the empty packing case to the back porch then stretched and surveyed the garden. An apple tree and a Hill’s hoist stood side by side on bare dirt.
‘A blank canvas,’ Et said behind her. ‘One day soon you’ll be having picnics on the lawn.’
‘Speaking of picnics, Harry’s family is coming over for lunch tomorrow. The second time this week. Elizabeth brought dinner over while we were painting the other night.’
‘It’s good for Katie to see you two getting along so well. And Mim—what a treasure she’s been for the business.’
‘And for me. She’s come along very well with her work.’
‘Speaking of work, shall I bring the ferns out the back or put them in the garage?’
‘I think we’ll give them some air today. Maybe keep them in their pots but line them up in the shade there,’ Mae said, pointing to the shaded part of the garden along the garage wall. ‘We’ll see if they like it there.’
Mae imagined a fernery or maybe even something more tropical in that area. ‘Harry always talked about the plants he saw on his trips: bromeliads, orchids, cycads. He drew them too. I might frame some of his drawings for the hallway, a sort of gallery.’
Et smiled. ‘That sounds lovely, dear.’
A few minutes later Mae was stacking towels in the linen press when a large crash caused her to freeze. The noise had come from the backyard. She ran into the garden, expecting to see clouds of dirt and dust and another car through her fence. ‘What happened? Katie? Et? Where are you?’