Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  ‘Deal,’ said Johnny.

  When I looked at him, he seemed serious, but I knew now that I couldn’t read that face at all.

  ‘I really do have to get back to finish the column. Ta ta, then,’ I said, turning quickly and walking away.

  Ta ta? I never said that!

  I left the cafe, and as I pushed through the crowds on Barrack Street, I thought about everything that had happened. Was I just fooling myself? Telling myself that I wanted to help Lena Mitrovic, wanted to be a feature writer, when really I was simply unwilling to stop seeing Johnny Horvath? Lola said that I shouldn’t give away anything I couldn’t afford to lose, but maybe it was already too late.

  As I crossed the Horseshoe Bridge over the railway line I tried to analyse my feelings for Johnny. They defied reason. I’d met men before who were just as physically attractive, and who had flirted with me just as shamelessly, but no other man – not even Rob – had ever affected me in the way Johnny did. In fact it was annoyingly like those Hollywood movies: my heart raced, my breathing quickened and there was a sweet sharp pain deep inside when I thought about him.

  I set my face into a frown and quickened the pace of my walk. Surely what I was feeling for Johnny was simply the normal physical response of a healthy young woman who was missing her boyfriend. Of course being near someone like Johnny would affect me. Good grief, he even affected Lola! It’s hormones, I thought. I shouldn’t make more of it than it really was.

  I crossed Roe Street and turned right. A block down to my left was a row of houses of ‘ill repute’; I was well aware of what went on there from my time as a court reporter. Business had been booming since the war, and the Marvel printed many stories about the goings-on in Roe Street. Men took their pleasure in those houses and then walked away without a second thought. It seemed that that was how Johnny saw his love affairs, as a simple distraction from the dangers he faced in the war.

  I wondered if the women he romanced saw things the same way. I knew that I couldn’t do so. There was probably a trail of broken hearts behind Johnny Horvath, all the way from the US to the Philippines to Australia. I would not, could not, be one of them. Lena Mitrovic might be a sophisticated woman who was prepared to throw caution to the wind for a love affair, but I wasn’t like that. If I knew one thing, it was that Rob would not accept it if I had a love affair when he was away with the army. He was the sort of man who trusted implicitly, and would not forgive betrayal. I wasn’t going to threaten what I had with Rob, no matter how attractive I found Johnny Horvath. If I was going to spend time with Johnny, I’d have to make that very clear.

  I turned into Stirling Street and headed for the Marvel’s offices. If I could keep my feelings for Johnny in check then there was no reason why I shouldn’t accept his help in writing my first feature article. If I did a good job on the feature then it would prove I could do more than just write about fashion and beauty; it would show that I could use words to make a difference, just like Uncle Pat had wanted me to do. Johnny Horvath was one of the best journalists around and it would be crazy not to take advantage of his offer of help. More importantly, it would be wrong not to help him in his quest to prove that Lena Mitrovic was innocent.

  I raised my chin and nodded to myself. I could spend time with Johnny and not fall to pieces. Of course I could.

  When I got back to the Marvel office I asked, with some trepidation, if there had been a telephone call for me from my aunt. The fact that there had been no phone call was only partly reassuring, given Aunty May’s strong aversion to using the telephone.

  Work took my mind off attractive American war correspondents and worries about Evie. At five o’clock I finished the column and handed it in to Mr Gleddings. I told him that I would write a feature for him about the ‘lost girls’ of wartime Perth. He was delighted.

  ‘Get Horvath to help you with it,’ he said. ‘He’s one of the best in the business, and he said he’d be happy to show you the ropes.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I will.’

  got home in time for an early tea. We ate black bream, caught that morning in the river by one of the boys in the street, a young entrepreneur who walked from house to house selling his fish.

  Evie was in high spirits.

  ‘Did you have a nice day?’ I asked her, as she tucked in to her battered fish, chips and tinned peas with the enthusiasm she showed at every meal.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she said, nodding furiously. She swallowed. ‘We cleaned the house. But we put the radio up very loud and cleaned to the music. It was fun.’

  I had never heard of house-cleaning being called fun before. But then I thought that the poor girl probably hadn’t been inside a home for a while.

  The best movie theatre in our area was the Windsor Theatre, on the highway at Nedlands. But that would have meant a tram and bus ride. So we set off on foot for the Shenton Theatre, which was on the corner of Derby and Nicholson Roads, about a ten-minute walk away. It was a converted hall with rather uncomfortable seats, but it was close. I shared an umbrella with Evie as we walked carefully along Derby Road, using torches to illuminate the ground in front of our feet, because until the blackout ended on Sunday night there were no streetlights. Aunty May was walking quickly and the bobbing light of her torch was a few paces ahead of us as Evie told me excitedly that the main feature was Invisible Agent, starring Jon Hall, who was the son of a Tahitian princess.

  ‘The other film is a Laurel and Hardy comedy,’ she said. ‘It’s called A-Haunting We Will Go. It sounds grouse. I love Laurel and Hardy. Do you love Laurel and Hardy, Nell?’

  ‘I think they’re very funny,’ I admitted, although I thought that their earlier movies were much funnier than the latest ones.

  As usual the show began with songs. The entire audience rose for the national anthem and sang ‘God Save the King’. Then it was ‘There’ll Always Be an England’, also sung with gusto. The American servicemen in the audience, and there were quite a few, must have thought it amusing that we should be so fervently patriotic towards a country so far away. But we’d grown up seeing ourselves as British, part of what we were taught was the greatest empire in the world. I wondered if things would be different after the war. In December 1941, when he declared we were at war with Japan, Prime Minister Curtin had said that without any inhibitions of any kind, Australia looked to America, ‘free of any pangs as to our traditional links or kinship with the United Kingdom’. America had answered, sending us troops and support in that time of terrible fear. We owed America a lot, and it seemed to me that our attitude towards Britain would be different once the war was over.

  The last notes of the piano on the corner of the stage died away and there was a loud shuffling as we all sat down. The curtains across the screen were pulled open and the hall darkened. Around us the smell of tobacco was almost overpowering as streams of white smoke rose from the audience. The rules against smoking in the picture theatres seemed to have been relaxed because of the war. I hated it, and was pleased that I’d be able to wash the smell out of my hair tomorrow.

  The newsreel was sobering, although as positive as the Government Propaganda Office could make it. Mr Curtin, filmed in his office in Canberra, told us that the Japanese Empire was no longer capable of invading our country. The audience cheered loudly. The scene shifted to a craggy desert in Tunisia which was covered with British tanks that had helped the British First Army infantry to take Tunisia from the Axis forces. Thousands of Italian prisoners were guarded by a handful of Allied soldiers; many of the prisoners smiled and waved at the camera, which made Evie giggle. Next we saw a film of the American air force victorious against the Japanese in the skies over Guadalcanal. We were told that one hundred and seven of one hundred and twenty Japanese planes had been destroyed. There was cheering at this. Finally, we saw our Aussie diggers in the AIF, still fighting doggedly in New Guinea. The cheer for that bit of film was deafening. I thought of Frank and Charlie and Dan. And I thought of Johnny, who so badly wanted to g
o up there again, back into that danger. Then I told myself to stop thinking of him.

  The Laurel and Hardy film was not one of their best, but Evie spent the entire movie in fits of laughter, and the rest of the audience seemed to be with her. At intermission we walked outside under the awning to get some fresh air. I left her and Aunty May standing there, sheltering from the rain, and went to buy some sweets. It was when I returned that I remembered what a liability Evie could be.

  Across the road was the Shenton Park Hotel, a favourite of US servicemen. Although it had closed at six o’clock, the road and footpath around the hotel seemed to be filled with servicemen, slightly drunk and out for a good time. By the time I returned Evie was at the centre of a group of American sailors, all very young and perhaps slightly inebriated. She was chattering away to them all, laughing, touching her hair, looking from under her lashes, pouting, smiling and doing all the things that women did to be noticed. Not that she needed to. She was very pretty in my blue dress and warm coat, her face framed by a cloud of blonde hair under a blue beret. Three Australian servicemen, also very young, were watching from a short distance away. Given their glowering looks it appeared that they were not happy with the situation. Aunty May was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘So, where d’ya live, Evie honey?’ The sailor had very short fair hair and a cheeky grin and he was looking at her hungrily.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ was her reply. But as she said it she tilted her head to the side and smiled.

  ‘There’s a Fourth of July show on at some racetrack on Sunday,’ he said. ‘Will you come with us? C’mon. It’d be fun. We’d show you a real good time.’

  ‘Aw, please, Evie – say yes,’ said a stocky dark-haired boy with melting dark eyes.

  She threw him a pretty smile, but replied in a sad little voice, ‘Oh, I don’t know that I’d be allowed to.’

  One of the Aussies, small but muscled, pushed back his slouch hat and said loudly, ‘That’s right, love, you stay away from the Yanks. They’re bad news.’ He was standing with his chest puffed out like a rooster, and was obviously itching for a fight.

  ‘Why d’ya say that?’ This American sailor was older, heavier set. He threw the Aussie boys a belligerent look. ‘What’s the matter with us?’

  ‘Because you bloody Yanks are always trying it on with our sheilas,’ said a second Aussie laconically. He was a lanky boy with a wide mouth. ‘Come out with us instead, love. We’ll show you a grand time. Better than those Yanks, anyway. They’re all mouth and trousers.’

  Evie stood in the centre of it all, eyes wide, smiling first at the Americans, then at the Australians.

  The boys seemed to be arcing up for a fight. I knew from the stances and from the tone of their voices. I’d seen it often enough with my cousins. Enough was enough. I pushed through them, and took a firm hold of Evie’s arm.

  ‘Come on, Evie, the movie’s about to start.’

  I turned to the boys. ‘I’m sorry, but Evie’s only fourteen, so she won’t be going out with any of you.’

  I smiled tightly, to take away some of the sting, but I got some nasty looks.

  ‘Where’s Aunty May?’ I hissed as I dragged her into the lobby.

  She shook at my arm angrily as I continued to drag her through the crowd towards the entrance to the cinema.

  ‘She’s inside. She went back to her seat. Why did you do that? That was so embarrassing. How could you do that?’

  She stopped dead in the crowded lobby and whirled to face me. ‘I wouldn’t have told any of them where we lived and I wasn’t going to go out with any of them. I’m not stupid, you know. I was just having some fun.’

  Her pout was real now. ‘Can’t I even talk to anyone? You’re worse than Boney. You’re not my mother, you can’t tell me what to do. Aunty May knew I was talking to those American boys. She was with me when they came up to us and she just said to join her inside when I was ready. I hate you, Nell.’

  She shook off my hand and walked into the cinema.

  I followed her slowly. Perhaps I had behaved high-handedly. I couldn’t stop her from talking to servicemen and I shouldn’t have embarrassed her like that. There were better ways to get her away from them. When I sat down next to her she ostentatiously turned away from me. I had expected that. But when she refused the bag of sweets I tried to pass her, I realised just how upset she was.

  ‘Evie,’ I whispered, because the credits for the main feature had started. ‘I’m sorry. Really. I just got scared for you, because I thought about the sailors last night.’

  ‘Those American boys just wanted to flirt,’ she hissed. ‘I know the difference, Nell. Men are always trying to talk to me. I’m used to it. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with them, I wanted to see the main feature.’ Her voice dropped to a faint whisper. ‘And I wanted to go home with you and Aunty May.’

  She refused to talk to me for the rest of the film or on the way back to Violet Grove, and insisted on walking with Aunty May and sharing her umbrella. I could hear her telling my aunt what had happened and the words ‘embarrassing’ and ‘treated me like a little girl’ and ‘not fair’ floated back to me. When we got home she went straight to her room without a word to me.

  As we were having a cup of tea in the kitchen before going to bed, I told Aunty May my version of what had happened. I asked her why she had left Evie alone with the American sailors.

  ‘Nell, she was fine. Evie was just talking to those boys, and they were very polite. There were lots of people around. She wasn’t in any danger.’

  ‘But they were starting to argue with some Aussie servicemen. The situation was getting difficult,’ I said defensively.

  ‘Even so, to tell them she was fourteen and march her off like a little girl was very embarrassing for her. She turns fifteen in three weeks’ time. Don’t you remember how angry you would get if we treated you like a child when you were fifteen?’

  I knew she was right.

  Aunty May touched my arm gently. ‘The worst thing to do is to make Evie think that we don’t trust her. That’ll drive her away. She’s a nice girl, really. And she’s enjoying being here.’ There was a gentle laugh. ‘I’ve had experience with fifteen-year-old girls, remember. You were a good girl, on the whole, but Biddie was a nightmare. It’s a difficult time for parents, when a girl reaches that awkward age, not woman nor child.’

  Aunty May laughed again, softly and a little sadly. ‘Pat used to say we should lock her up in a box for a year or two. Biddie’d climb out of her bedroom window and not come back until late – once not until dawn. Your uncle would scream at her that she shouldn’t think she was too old for a whipping, and we tried all sorts of punishment but nothing worked.’

  Aunty May finished her tea and rinsed out the cup in the sink. ‘She was our oldest child, our only daughter and we were worried sick for her. Eventually we worked out that all we could do was let her know that we loved her and trusted her. And it all worked out in the end. She settled down.’

  She shook her head as if to clear it of the memories, and smiled at me. ‘Evie’s a lonely girl who is longing for affection. She wants to please us. We had a lovely time today, cleaning the house. We laughed a lot together.’

  It was a while before I managed to sleep. I kept thinking about Evie and about Johnny and Lena Mitrovic, and about Rob.

  Gasping for air, I tore myself out of the nightmare. Jolted awake, I was disoriented for a few seconds.

  Then I realised what had wakened me. The moaning and crying was coming from the room next to me, and was not part of my nightmare after all. It was Evie. There was the thump of feet on a floor, then footsteps running down the hallway. I pushed aside the bedclothes, pulled on my dressing gown and was trying to find my slippers when I heard the front door open. Slippers half on, I clumsily ran into the hallway and out onto the porch.

  It must have been just after six o’clock, on a chilly winter’s morning. I could see Venus, bright as a diamond opposite the nearly full m
oon. Although it was still a way before dawn, moonlight flooded the yard and Evie was clearly illuminated, a pale figure in an old nightie of mine that was too big for her. A wraith, with silvery blonde hair floating around a white face. Her eyes seemed huge and her mouth was an open gash, from which came heart-rending cries. She was staggering around our small patch of front lawn, sobbing piteously.

  I stood on the front porch watching helplessly, unsure what to do. Aunty May joined me, looking ill and worried, and wringing her hands like a bad parody of Lady Macbeth.

  ‘Save us and guard us,’ she said in a shocked voice. ‘I think it started as sleepwalking or night terrors, but now it’s turned into full-blown hysteria. Nellie, do something.’

  ‘What can I do? What if she is sleepwalking? You’re not supposed to wake a sleepwalker.’

  Aunty May shook her head hopelessly as Evie’s howls became screams.

  ‘At least put this over her,’ she said. ‘It’s freezing out there.’ A dressing gown was shoved into my hands. Then there was a soft moan. ‘Oh, Nell, the neighbours.’

  Sure enough, some of our neighbours had appeared in the street, dressed in gowns and slippers, anxious to see what was going on.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said loudly to no one in particular. ‘She’s an orphan who is staying with us for a while. She’s a bit confused.’ I started to move slowly towards the hysterical girl. ‘Evie, please be quiet,’ I said softly.

  The awful screaming stopped abruptly and she turned to face me, but when I moved towards her she shrieked, ‘Stay away from me. You don’t want me here. Nobody wants me.’

  ‘Evie—’

  ‘I want my mother,’ she sobbed. ‘I want Mummy.’

  I felt tears flood my eyes, hot and stinging. Evie was so very alone. Behind me, Aunty May made a soft sound between a gasp and a sob and I heard her mutter, ‘That poor child. Nell, see if she’ll come inside. I’ll go in and put on the kettle. I think we all need a nice hot cup of tea.’