‘Have I…been here…long?’ he asked, flinching as she removed a bandage.
‘Two days,’ she replied. ‘Hold still.’
‘My mind…feels foggy…’
‘I just gave you some morphine to ease the pain. We’ll start weaning you off, don’t worry. There,’ she finished, easing him back down and straightening his sheets. ‘Can I get you anything?’
He shook his head, happily drinking in the sight of her again and deciding she was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but something else was nagging at him.
‘Have we met…before?’
Simon gave a cough in the background that she thankfully didn’t consider suspicious as she answered him.
‘Not that I recall. Now get some more sleep and try not to talk too much.’ She patted his chest lightly as she turned away and he closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her touch before slipping off again.
‘Good morning,’ she said the next time he opened his eyes, feeling it was almost worth being in hospital if she was the first thing he got to see each day.
‘Have you been here…all night?’ he asked, noting the blanket draped over her shoulders.
‘Favouritism,’ Simon said, smiling at her over his spectacles from behind a book before making his blushing way back behind it.
‘You should…be getting…your own rest,’ he protested. He seemed to be able to manage only a few words at a time before needing to take a shallow breath.
‘Oh no, no, I’m fine. You’ve a letter from home,’ she said, looking excited as she placed it in front of him. ‘Somebody managed to find you even in the jungle.’
‘Probably my…mother…bit witchy…like that,’ he said, lifting his hand and holding it weakly, every part of him hurting if he moved. ‘You sat up…all night…to tell me that?’
‘How about I give you some breakfast then read it to you?’ she suggested, ignoring his question and taking the letter from him gently.
‘First things first…do you have…a name?’
‘Theresa,’ she answered as she prepared to feed him. Catholic too, Pete observed, noticing the saint’s holy medal about her neck. Perfect.
Pete managed to swallow some banana and porridge, after which Theresa opened the letter.
‘It’s from your mother,’ she confirmed, looking at the bottom.
‘Told you,’ he said. She gave him a little amused glance then began.
Dear Pete,
I’m writing this to you from down at the creek. Kelly and I decided we needed a bit of air and there’s nothing quite like a good ride to clear the senses.
‘You have horses?’ she asked, pausing in surprise.
‘Just for…racing…mostly.’ She looked a bit taken aback so he added, ‘Not country hicks…we have…cars too.’ That didn’t seem to reassure her.
I’m dipping my toes as I write and you won’t believe it but a crayfish just swam by. I wonder if I should try to catch him and make him Pete the Crayfish number seven?
Theresa raised her eyes. ‘Your mother names crayfish after you?’
‘Brother.’
‘Oh,’ she said, continuing, wearing a twitching smile.
Your sister has been checking the post for days and driving me slightly mad until finally this morning the good news arrived, and she burst into the dining room announcing she is marrying Simon. What miracle occurred to make him realise how she felt at last we can only imagine, although I suspect you might have had a hand in this. Matchmaking from the jungles in New Guinea…is there any end to your talents?
‘Simon is marrying your sister?’ Theresa asked, looking over at the same, who was blushing again.
‘I’m as shocked as you are,’ Simon confessed.
‘Close neighbourhood,’ Pete offered.
‘I see.’ Theresa smiled at Simon before continuing.
Please bring him home safe and yourself included. Your father and Iggy can’t wait for the wedding.
Theresa looked up, waiting for an explanation.
‘Our dads are best friends. Served in…the Great War together.’
‘Close neighbourhood.’ She nodded.
‘Typical Catholics,’ he grinned. ‘You…should know,’ he added, nodding at her medal. ‘Wasn’t your…neighbourhood…like that?’
Theresa held it in her fingers. ‘I didn’t actually have one really,’ she said. ‘I was raised in an orphanage.’
Pete stared at her in surprise. ‘That must… have been…lonely.’
He said it with such kindness that she couldn’t deny it. ‘Yes, it was really.’
Pete held her eyes with his. ‘Whoever your parents were…would have been…very proud…of you.’
Theresa looked suddenly vulnerable, something she immediately hid. ‘I have Missy, my best friend. She’s my family,’ she replied, pulling her shoulders back and reading on.
Dad wants to have it at their place and it promises to be quite a party. Pattie said you’d better get practising for some dance-floor numbers.
‘Who’s Pattie?’ Her head snapped up.
‘Aunt,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Pete watched her face. She sounded jealous, which pleased him enormously. ‘Did you think…she was…a stage dancer?’
Theresa blushed and Pete wondered what he’d said wrong. ‘I…don’t have…any of those…waiting for me…promise.’
‘I was a dancer at one stage,’ she confessed.
Pete’s eyebrows raised and he grinned a little wickedly. ‘Looking at those pins…I can…believe that.’
‘When have you been looking at my pins?’
Pete glanced down at them then back at her face, stating quite clearly, ‘Whenever I can.’ Theresa said nothing but there was a look in her eyes that made his mouth go dry.
They were interrupted by the arrival of Two-Bob who nodded and smiled as they carried in the fresh linen to make up the beds. Theresa folded the letter and handed it to Simon, who promised to finish it for her when they were done.
As she walked away it wasn’t hard for Pete to choose what to focus on.
It was mid-morning by the time Simon finished reading the letter to Pete and they each lay, thinking about the contents. The rest of it was mostly about May, who had just returned from Queensland and a visit to Larry Naismith, their old cricket mate and May’s now fiancé. Apparently Pattie hadn’t been too keen to hand back her daughter’s motorcycle upon her return. Pete and Simon had been laughing at the image of her flying along in her old fur hat, scandalising the town.
But the last few lines sobered them again:
I have some sad news to finish with I’m sorry to say. We have found out that Larry’s brother Vince has been taken prisoner of war. His poor parents are worried sick and I don’t blame them. We hear such stories.
We know there is heavy fighting up there and I’m praying every day. Please come home safe to us my dear, dear boy. Your father and I think of you always.
‘Do you think they know…we are injured by now?’ Pete asked Simon, hoping they would take the news all right when it came.
‘I’m not sure. What do you think, Nurse Theresa?’ Simon seemed to have finally mastered the effort of not blushing every time he spoke to her. Theresa obviously had that way about her of making people feel comfortable.
Pete turned at the mention of her name and his heart skipped a beat.
‘Yes, they would definitely know. Don’t worry, I’ll get a telegram off when you are discharged from here, which should be soon I think.’
‘You’d better hurry or my nana might turn up and then we’ll all be wrapped in mosquito nets and dosed up with cod liver oil,’ Simon warned her.
Theresa laughed as she moved some supplies onto a chair.
‘Let me help…you,’ Pete said.
‘No, really, I’m fine. The best help you can give me is getting more rest instead of pushing yourself so hard. What’s this I hear about you trying to walk over to the cupboards this morning?’
&nb
sp; ‘I was looking for an apron…so…I could help you serve lunch.’
Theresa laughed again, the sound echoing in the ward, near empty as it was save for him and Simon, who was now pretending to read again.
Pete attempted to prop himself up to look at her more easily, grunting against the tightness in his chest and back, to be rewarded by an excellent view of those pins as she stood on a chair, sorting equipment into the storage cupboard in the corner.
‘There’s a chessboard…in there. How about…a game later on?’ he suggested. She pushed a large box of netting into a corner, shaking her head with a smile at his invitation. ‘When do…you get…any time off?’
‘What’s that?’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I can’t seem to recall the concept.’
‘Time off, you…remember. Doing…something enjoyable…for yourself? With someone…charming and…irresistible?’
She glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm, I wonder where I could find someone like that?’
‘Ready, willing and…able.’
Theresa sent him a look. ‘Perhaps willing but hardly ready or able,’ she said briskly, moving over to the empty beds. She stripped the sheets as Pete’s eyes trailed after her. He loved that she was a good Catholic girl and holding him at bay. It made him even more determined to win her over.
‘It’s only…a little game of chess…surely you could…spare enough time for that?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t get time off.’
‘You get time…to sleep…don’t you?’ he pressed.
‘Rarely,’ she replied drily, gathering the sheets into a pile and dumping them in the basket next to a box of fresh limes Two-Bob had gathered for her. He knew now she liked to add lime juice and honey to the sheets, believing it helped ease the men’s breathing in the thick tropical air. She did a lot of little things like that for the patients.
‘You said…I’ll be transferred soon. Just want a little…time…with you.’
She sighed, placing her hands on her hips. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘Psst,’ said Simon from across the room. ‘I should have warned you earlier, Theresa: he’s a lawyer.’
‘Is that so?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I suppose that’s where the stubbornness comes from?’
‘No that comes from cricket. Pete is the opening batsman for New South Wales.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. But all the annoying persuasiveness comes courtesy of the law courts,’ Simon continued helpfully. Pete decided he really preferred it when Simon was painfully shy.
‘How’s the book?’ he said to him, pointedly.
Theresa gave them both an amused look then addressed Pete. ‘You’re asking a lot. Time is the most valuable thing I have…’ she began, then gave in, sighing at his expression. ‘I’ll probably finish around nine tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow,’ he repeated, relieved.
‘Now get some sleep before I change my mind,’ she ordered and he obeyed, offering her a weak salute before she went.
Theresa giggled as she walk outside, then shook her head. What on earth was she doing? Flirting with a sick man, a patient in her care. It was breaking all her personal rules, the honour code she adhered to of serving without thought for self.
‘He’s a looker,’ a voice commented from behind.
Theresa turned to see Daphne smoking on the steps, taking a rare break. She sighed, sat down next to her and took one for herself.
‘That he is,’ she said. They stared out at the jungle together, flicking ash in silence.
‘One in a long, long line, love,’ Daphne reminded her.
‘I know, I know. He’ll be gone in a few days. There’s no point,’ Theresa shrugged, frowning.
‘So why play games?’
Theresa stood, brushing off her skirt before picking up her basket. ‘It’s only chess.’
‘Watch out the queen doesn’t lose her head,’ Daphne replied, crushing her cigarette into the ground.
Forty-one
The morning was grey and mist-filled as Pete watched the doorway, waiting for the best part of his day to walk in as the rain began to tap the roof in a loud, sudden drum. The tightening in his chest was much better today and Nurse Daphne had him sitting up, propped against several large pillows, to keep his lungs as clear as possible. It allowed him to see around the sides of the shuttered windows to the jungle outside. Today it was full of movement as the wind and rain buffeted the waxy curves of the palm-tree fronds, forcing them to bow and bounce against one another.
‘Good morning, men,’ Dr Kindred said briskly, striding into the tent, Theresa in tow. ‘How’s everyone feeling this morning?’ He addressed the four patients as one without looking at their faces, busy as he was with scrawling notes on his clipboard and checking charts. Simon and Pete watched as the two new patients were examined first, one fellow with a badly injured foot from a sniper shot and the other with a bandaged eye and shoulder who’d been breathing very heavily all night.
Pete watched Theresa as she removed bandages and applied fresh dressings, mesmerised by the stray white curl that kept escaping onto her lovely neck only to by pushed back up into that damnable cap.
‘Sergeant Murphy,’ the doctor said brusquely as he arrived at his bed. ‘How’s the chest feeling today?’
‘Much better,’ Pete replied.
‘Hmmm.’ Dr Kindred concurred as he listened to it and examined him. ‘A far cry on a few days ago, isn’t it? Have you attempted to walk at all yet?’
‘Only to fetch my apron.’ Pete grinned, winking at Theresa, who turned a delightful shade of pink.
Dr Kindred shot him an amused look and made a few notes. ‘Try a few stretches if you can today. Not too much, mind. The nurses will help you. Dwyer, you can get a bit of exercise too. I’ll need you as fit as possible for tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Simon queried.
‘Transfer party are on their way up. You’re being moved to Port Moresby. Who knows? You may even get to go home for a while.’
‘Home?’ Simon repeated, his face lighting up. Pete’s eyes never strayed from Theresa. Was that disappointment he glimpsed?
‘Yes, I should think so. Although with the rapid recoveries you’re both making they may just send you back into the fight. Try not to look too healthy, won’t you?’ He gave them both a quick smile then turned to the nurses to issue instructions before striding out once more.
‘Theresa?’ Pete said, halting her departure. ‘Are you…are we still on for chess tonight?’
She seemed to hesitate against the decision but to his relief she nodded. ‘Just a quick game.’
He settled back against the pillows as she left, trying to digest the fact that he was leaving her tomorrow, then pushing that thought firmly to the side. Nothing was over until the game had played itself out. He would take this one move at a time.
Pete waiting impatiently, tapping his hand against the chessboard and looking at his watch again. Five minutes to nine. He stared at the doorway then out at the night, willing her to arrive.
The moon moved between the high skidding clouds like a brilliant white pearl dancing with feathery veils, a golden ring surrounding it in a vast halo. A lover’s moon. Pete cursed his injuries, wishing he could make love to Theresa in the moonlight, her dark eyes beckoning as he lay her down, like Adam and Eve. Just a man and a woman crying out to the stars, primitive and wild like the jungle itself.
Time was skidding along with those clouds and suddenly he only had tonight to capture her heart. Who knew when he would see her again? Or whether he would? Coming so close to death had made him desperate to live every second and more than anything right now he wanted those seconds, those precious hours of living, to be with her.
He thought about Australia, about going home at last. Pete was shocked to realise that a part of him didn’t want to go. As much as he longed to see his family and friends again, he could al
most prefer to sit in this stinking bed in this stinking jungle with Theresa. Maybe it was love at first sight, or maybe he was just a cliché: a typical wartime patient with a thing for his nurse. Maybe the jungle had finally sent him mad. But there was something about her, a familiarity that resonated from her eyes; it was like an old truth that she was always going to be the one, as if she were made for him. Impossibly and illogically, it just felt so right.
He turned to the door, willing her to appear again, and this time she did, filling the space, everything around her fading to nothingness. The gramophone from Dr Kindred’s quarters nearby filtered ‘Moonlight Serenade’ across through the trees and Pete felt every note as she moved towards him in the soft light.
She had changed out of her usual nurse’s uniform and into a soft white blouse and pants, a yellow cardigan draped casually about her shoulders and her hair freed from its usual cap. It was even softer and fairer than he had imagined and it seemed to Pete to be made of moonlight as she walked towards him.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, the words hanging between them.
She sat down on the chair next to the bed and smiled, pulling at the cardigan a little self-consciously. ‘Just felt like being comfortable. I haven’t worn anything but my uniform for months.’
‘I’ve been wondering what you looked like without it.’ He gave her a look that was half longing, half devilish delight, which made her blush and smile in return. Pete decided he would spend the entire time they had tonight trying to recreate that delicious response.
‘Black or white?’ she said, turning up the lamp and picking up the chessboard, placing it between them on the blanket.
‘Lady’s choice,’ he responded and watched as she picked up the white pawn, moving it two squares forward.
He moved in kind and waited as she frowned, planning her game.
‘Who taught you to play?’ he asked, watching her fierce concentration in amusement.
‘One of the nuns at the orphanage,’ she replied, jumping her knight. ‘Sister Carmel. Nicest lady in the world but terrifying when armed with a miniature army.’
Gallipoli Street Page 31