Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  I tried again. ‘Please come inside, Evie. Or at least wear this.’ I held up the dressing gown. The goose bumps on her skinny arms were clear from where I was standing.

  Mrs Edmeades was in her yard next door. Although she was barely visible in the gloom, I could see the light of her torch and hear the concern in her soft voice. ‘It’s all right, dear. You go inside with Nell.’

  Evie’s sobs continued.

  ‘Stop acting the goat, you silly girl,’ said Mrs Malloy from number 31, a ghostly figure with a dark dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. I tensed with irritation. This was not helping.

  ‘She needs a good strapping.’ That was old Bob Wheaton.

  Evie screamed, a piercing shriek that split the air. ‘You stay away from me, you horrible old coot. You all keep clear. I hate you all.’

  ‘Fine language,’ I heard Mrs Malloy say. When Mr Wheaton started to respond as well, I cut him off.

  ‘She’s fine. Please go home, everyone,’ I said tersely, annoyed at their unthinking condemnation.

  To my relief, they all moved away, back to their houses. I well knew that Aunty May would pay the price for my rudeness in the days to come, but when I turned towards her, Aunty May had also disappeared.

  ‘Evie,’ I said gently, ‘they’ve gone now. Please put the gown on. It’s very cold.’

  The front door of the house opposite opened, spilling light onto the porch in contravention of the blackout. Mary Morrison appeared in her doorway, rubbing her eyes and holding a sleeping baby. Her husband Lance was away in the army and she was raising six children alone. Jack, who at sixteen was the eldest, pushed past her. The two girls clung to their mother, eyes wide, while Fred and Alan watched from the porch as Jack marched to their front gate. I realised with some surprise that young Jack had grown up a lot over the last year. He was now a tall, well-built boy with tousled brown hair.

  The air around us had started to lighten; the moon was losing its luminous brilliance and becoming a chalky circle in the sky, but the sun was still only an orange hint on the horizon. Evie could be seen more clearly now, a fragile little figure moving restlessly in our front yard, tears wetting her face. She was sobbing loudly again.

  ‘Hey, Blondie, put a sock in it,’ said Jack.

  Evie’s cries stopped. She seemed to pull herself together, gulping in air as if she were suffocating. Then she turned to Jack.

  He looked at her levelly. ‘What’re you doing making such a row? You woke the kids up. Woke me up, too. I’ve got to go to work, I need my sleep.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ said Evie. ‘Get lost.’ She started to cry again, soft hiccupping sobs.

  ‘Aw, just shut it.’ His voice was sour, irritated. ‘You were screaming like a little kid having a tantrum. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Nobody cares about me,’ she said brokenly. ‘If they don’t want me they should just let me go.’

  ‘Go where? Who’s stopping you?’

  ‘She is.’ Evie pointed at me.

  He seemed confused. ‘Nell’s all right.’

  ‘She thinks I’ll go off with Yanks.’ Then, in a smaller voice, ‘The Yanks like me.’

  His lip curled. ‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘You’re just a kid.’

  Evie stopped crying to scowl at him, matching his sneer with one of her own. She said slowly and deliberately, ‘I am not a little kid.’ There was a measuring look. ‘Want me to show you?’ She moved her hands towards the front of her nightie.

  Horrified, I made some quick calculations as to whether I could bring her down in a tackle before she could undo the first button.

  ‘I’ve seen it all before,’ said Jack. ‘Pull your head in, Blondie. That stuff might impress the Yanks, but it doesn’t impress me.’

  I noticed Mary’s eyes widen. She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and stayed silent. Sensible woman, I thought.

  Evie’s hands fell away and her chin came up, but her voice was again small and uncertain. ‘I’m so scared.’ She bit her lip and bent her head to watch as her bare white foot rubbed at the heavy dew on the grass.

  Jack frowned again, so that a deep crease appeared between his eyebrows. He shook his head firmly. ‘What’ve you got to be scared of?’ His voice was dismissive, but he had a slight smile. ‘It’s you that’s frightening the horse.’ He nodded towards the corner.

  There was a clopping sound in the street. Mr Tyron, the local milkman, had started using a horse and cart to do his rounds as soon as petrol was rationed. Evie’s head jerked up and she looked towards Mr Tyron and Dobbin, who had just come into view, clip-clopping slowly along. Her face lit up at the sight of the old horse pulling the milk cart.

  ‘So shut it, Blondie,’ said Jack, but he was smiling more broadly now. He looked over his shoulder at his mother. ‘She’s fine, Mum,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take the kids back to bed?’

  Mary Morrison’s face showed indecision, but she shepherded the younger children into the house. The front door closed behind her.

  Orange had given way to white on the horizon and it wouldn’t be long before we saw the sun. Now that it was lighter, the scene was more sharply focused: the tall boy in striped blue pyjamas standing at the gate, looking across the narrow roadway to the girl on the dew-wet grass in our tiny front yard. A slight breeze had got up, and it ruffled the pale hair that was like a nimbus around her head.

  ‘Where do you work?’ Evie said lightly, still looking towards Dobbin.

  She seemed very calm and I wondered again at how mercurial her nature seemed to be. From hysteria to flirting in a few heartbeats, that was Evie.

  ‘Tomlinson’s garage, on the highway. I’m apprenticed there.’ There was a note of pride in his voice, but his expression was now slightly confused.

  ‘Like it?’ Her head was bent forward, and she was watching him through her lashes.

  ‘It’s all right.’ He was still frowning, but he had straightened his back and pulled his shoulders back slightly. He was quite muscled, I realised. Then I felt embarrassed for noticing.

  ‘I’m thinking of doing nursing,’ said Evie with a quick movement of her head, tossing her hair slightly.

  That was the first I’d heard of it.

  Jack laughed a little. ‘You? Do they take twelve-year-olds?’

  ‘I’m fifteen.’ Her chin was up again.

  ‘You sure you could handle nursing?’ said Jack, rather pompously.

  She looked incensed. ‘I could handle it if I wanted to. I’d be a beaut nurse. I can handle anything.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Full of yourself, aren’t you, Blondie?’

  ‘Shut your face.’ Evie glared at him. ‘And don’t call me Blondie,’ she said sullenly.

  Jack shrugged. ‘Maybe you could handle it at that.’ He grinned. ‘What’s your name, then?’ he asked her in a careless tone, running a hand through his hair.

  ‘Um, Evie.’ Her voice sounded younger now, slightly breathless. ‘Evie Harris.’

  ‘I’m Jack Morrison.’

  He was still smiling and Evie seemed transfixed. Then, in a strangely mirroring gesture, she ran a hand through her hair, puffing it out. I thought I caught her quick glance to see if Jack was watching. He was.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jack, nodding towards the milk cart. ‘Meet Dobbin.’ He glanced at me, holding the dressing gown. ‘I think you should put on a dressing gown, though,’ he said. ‘It’s freezing.’

  Evie turned towards me. I passed her the dressing gown and she shrugged it on.

  ‘Here,’ I said, and slipped my feet out of my slippers. She put her feet into them and although her face was stained with tears, her eyes were bright.

  My bare feet were becoming numb; I dashed back to the porch to find Aunty May had returned and was watching Evie and Jack with a smile. She handed me a cup of tea. I murmured a ‘thank you’ and sipped it with real pleasure.

  Evie walked through the front gate towards Jack. They went over to the horse together, and
spent a while patting his head and scratching his ears. There was a quietly intense conversation, before Mr Tynon made it clear that he was moving along, so Jack and Evie walked slowly back to our house, still talking together in low voices.

  ‘I’ll come over in a little while,’ he said to Evie as they arrived at the porch. ‘Before I head off to work.’

  ‘All right,’ said Evie. She was looking at him steadily. Her chest seemed to be pushed forward slightly, much as Jack’s was.

  Jack shrugged. ‘See you then.’ He turned and sauntered back to his house, showing off a straight young back and long legs in blue striped pyjamas. Evie watched him until the door closed behind him, then she turned abruptly and walked into our house.

  ‘Evie,’ I said as I entered the hallway, ‘why don’t you go back to bed for a while?’

  For answer she curled her lip at me. Apparently I was still not forgiven.

  I said, ‘And if you keep making that face the wind will change and you’ll end up looking like that forever.’

  It was what my aunt had told me; I was just passing on wisdom. Aunty May smiled, but Evie stopped sneering. Now she just looked sulky – and so tired that her eyes were almost sunk into her face.

  ‘Come on, Evie,’ I said. ‘Please come to bed, you’re exhausted.’

  She nodded wearily. ‘All right.’

  To my surprise, she let me put an arm around her as I led her down the hall to where she was sleeping, in my old room off the back verandah. I pulled back the covers and put her into bed. Despite the blackout blind, I could easily make out her face, eyes heavy and mouth drooping. When she laid her head down, her hair spread around her on the pillow. I sat on the bed and gently smoothed it back from her forehead in the way my aunt did when I was ill or upset. She closed her eyes and her face softened.

  ‘How old is Jack?’ she asked, turning her head away slightly.

  ‘He’s sixteen.’ I kept stroking her forehead. ‘His birthday wasn’t long ago.’

  ‘He seems all right.’

  ‘He is. More than all right.’

  ‘I ran away from the orphanage because it was so horrible,’ she said, turning back towards me. ‘We had to get up at six every day for prayers and Mass, and then do all this work. Washing and cleaning and looking after the little kids.’ Her eyes seemed huge in her pale face. ‘I don’t mind working, really I don’t, Nell. But they were never nice to me, never kind, not once. Sometimes they were cruel. And I missed my mother so much that it made me angry and sick and miserable, all at once.’

  My heart seemed to twist. I knew exactly what she meant. Even after all these years I vividly recalled the dreadful months at St Brigid’s Orphanage in Dublin, when I was one of hundreds of unwanted girls; the bullying and the terrible loneliness, the constant striving to do the right thing in order to avoid sharp blows and harsh words.

  She turned her head away again. ‘So I ran away and lived on the streets. But it was really hard out there. Some of the blokes – you know – they were mongrels, like that sailor on Thursday. And some were really mean. And they were all old.’ She moved her head away from my hand and turned her face into the pillow, murmuring something I couldn’t catch.

  ‘Sorry, Evie, I can’t hear you.’

  She spoke more loudly, still into the pillow, before turning her head back towards me. Her eyes were tightly shut but there were tears on the lashes.

  ‘Usually they just wanted to touch me a bit.’ She swallowed convulsively and screwed her eyes up even tighter. ‘I could always get away. Once I almost – you know. I was hungry and he said he’d pay. He was a Pommy sailor and he took me to a place in Stirling Street. But I couldn’t do it.’ Her face hardened. ‘He was too drunk to notice. He fell asleep and I took the money anyway. He really stank,’ she said, opening her eyes. Her expression was bleak.

  A feeling washed through me. A strong, angry feeling; was it horror, pity or protectiveness?

  ‘You know, Nell,’ she whispered, ‘I really like Jack.’ Suddenly she seemed very young, very vulnerable. ‘You can keep stroking my hair, if you like. Mummy used to do that every night until I fell asleep. But then she got really sick.’

  She turned over, away from me, and hugged her arms into her chest. I couldn’t work out if she was crying again, but I kept stroking her forehead gently. A few minutes later she was asleep.

  here was a knock on the door at seven thirty, and Jack appeared, looking very grown up in dark trousers, grey shirt and tie and polished shoes. A black jacket, obviously belonging to his dad, was over his arm and he was carrying a battered Gladstone bag. He was the very picture of the respectable tradesman off to work. Jack’s outfit was simply for the journey to and from the garage. Once there, he’d put on some dirty blue overalls. A greasy rag would soon be hanging out of his back pocket, there would be a smudge of oil on his face and at smoko he’d have a cigarette hanging from his lips.

  Jack was smart, dependable and good-natured. I knew that he was well thought of at the garage, but if the war was still going when he was eighteen then he’d be conscripted to fight the Japanese.

  ‘Evie’s still asleep, Jack.’ I was apologetic, but firm. ‘She’s exhausted and we don’t want to wake her.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Jack, though there was a flicker of disappointment on his face.

  ‘Come over after work,’ I suggested. ‘It’s a half-day today isn’t it? I’ll let her know you’re coming. Or you could write her a note to explain.’

  Jack looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll write.’

  But faced with a blank page it was a different story. He frowned, sighed, put the pink tip of his tongue between his teeth and finally started to write. After a short while he had filled the top half of the page with neat, clear writing.

  ‘I’ll read it to you,’ he said. ‘It’s not soppy or private or anything.’

  Picking up the paper, he read out in a rather stilted voice: ‘Dear Evie – it’s got an ie hasn’t it, Nell?’ I nodded. ‘I came to see you but Nell said that you were still asleep and I thought it was better not to disturb you, as you need your sleep.’ He paused. ‘Then I put in brackets, as we all do, because I thought I’d get a dig in about her waking everybody up like that.’ He glanced up at me, worried. ‘Do you think that’s okay?’ I nodded again. ‘Then I say, I must be off to work now, but I will come over after I get home at lunchtime, so that I can see you and we can talk some more. If you like, we could walk to the river, because it’s really pretty there. With sincere best wishes, Jack Morrison.’

  He paused in the doorway before he left and his face was very serious.

  ‘Evie thinks they’ll send her to a detention centre and she’s really worried about it. She’s all alone and she’s scared. Is there anything I can do? Should I talk to Father Tierney, see if the church can help?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jack. We won’t let her go to a detention centre,’ I said, although I didn’t know what I could do to prevent it. ‘I’ll be talking to the probation officer on Monday. We’ll think of something.’

  After Jack left I helped Aunty May to clean up the breakfast things, had a bath, washed my hair with the small amount of shampoo left in the bottle, and felt human again.

  ‘I missed Jack.’ Evie looked upset when she came in to breakfast at nine o’clock. ‘You should have woken me.’

  ‘He wrote you a letter.’ I held it out to her and when she took it her eyes shone. She scanned it eagerly.

  ‘He’s coming back after work,’ she said to me, excitement evident in her voice. ‘And he wants to show me the river.’

  Then she stopped talking because Aunty May gave her a bowl of porridge, again with the cream off the top of the milk, and she attacked it enthusiastically. Eating was more important than talking for a while.

  While she was eating, I sipped my tea and smiled to myself at the thought of Jack’s letter. That led me to the uncomfortable realisation that I hadn’t yet read Rob’s letter. With all that had happened, I’d forgotten ab
out it. I knew what would be in it; it would contain what was in all the letters I’d got from Rob since he had arrived in Melbourne – not much information, because everything he did was top secret, but some descriptions of dinners or parties he had attended with various friends I didn’t know and it would end with All my love, Rob. His letters had never been particularly romantic, but at least the ones from New Guinea had a real sense of urgency and danger about them. Lately they seemed to have fallen into a pattern of detached friendliness. Nor were my letters to him much better. I told him about work and the things I was doing, and always finished with All my love, Nell.

  I had a sudden, desperate wish that he was here now, smiling at me. When Rob smiled at me I felt warm and safe and happy. Johnny’s smiles affected me very differently; they made me feel hot and uneasy. And why are you thinking about Johnny? I shook my head as if to clear it, but was shocked to hear Aunty May asking, ‘Will you be seeing Johnny again soon? I really liked him.’

  ‘No.’ I said quickly. ‘You know I’m with Rob. I might have to meet up with Johnny professionally, but that’s it.’

  ‘I think that Nell likes Johnny but she’s worried because he’s an American.’ Evie had paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

  ‘Lots of Australian girls are marrying Americans,’ said Aunty May.

  ‘I’m seeing Rob,’ I repeated. ‘Can we please stop talking about John Horvath?’

  I might have spoken a bit too loudly, because Aunty May and Evie exchanged glances.

  ‘Nellie darling,’ said Aunty May, ‘would you mind popping down to the shops with Evie’s coupons to pick up some groceries for me? We need more food with Evie in the house.’ True to her word, Miss Bonehill had arrived yesterday, when I was at the Marvel offices, and provided Aunty May with food coupons for Evie.

  At the local shops I had to put up with a lot of chivvying about Evie. Mrs Towler at the bakery told me a terrible tale about a family who had taken in an orphan girl who murdered them all in their beds and set fire to the house to hide her crime. I smiled weakly and said that Evie was a lovely girl who’d had a bad dream this morning and wasn’t herself.