‘Ya gotta be kiddin’…’ Bluey exclaimed as the radio played ‘Moonlight Serenade’ right on cue. ‘Right. Either you’re comin’ with me or I’m flushing that bloody thing down the crapper. What’s it gunna be?’
Half an hour later they walked out into the night and Pete breathed in the warm, moist air. Simon’s nana was right. Someone needed to move this bloody war out of the tropics and this perishable heat.
When she awoke it was twilight and Daphne was humming to herself as she brushed her dark hair, looking almost unrecognisable with her curled locks, red lipstick and a crisp, clean uniform. ‘Fancy a walk?’ She winked.
‘Goodness. When did Jane Russell arrive?’ Theresa teased.
‘About one minute ago and she’s waiting for Lana Turner,’ she replied, throwing her a lipstick.
‘I think Lana is having a quiet night in.’
‘To pine the time away thinking about a certain lieutenant? Not tonight she’s not. Come on!’
Theresa laughed. Daphne’s playfulness was infectious. ‘Maybe just some dinner…’
She put on a new uniform, feeling fresh and rested for the first time in many weeks, and let Daphne curl her hair before they headed out together, marvelling at the smells, sounds and sights of a wartime base at night. The air was thick with a sticky sweetness that clung to them: a mixture of sea salt, earth and rain with a good dose of fumes and garbage thrown in. There were uniforms everywhere they looked – marines, infantry, cooks, officers, nurses like them. Some rushed about, intent in purpose, others lazed against the walls and called out as the two women moved through the throng, causing them to laugh more than once. It felt good to just be a girl, Theresa reflected, realising she was actually having a real ‘night off’ and enjoying the distraction from her constant thoughts of Pete and the war.
They saw light spilling out from one corner building, the music drawing them closer as they peered inside. The rest of the port might be organising a war but this room seemed to be intent on forgetting it. It was loud and raucous, the native band playing over the din as soldiers danced, sang, yelled and laughed, the beer flowing.
‘Over here!’ beckoned a few of the lads, and Theresa and Daphne recognised some of the marines from the convoy earlier that day. They made their way amid several loud catcalls and appreciative comments, soon finding themselves inundated with drinks and surrounded by admirers.
‘This is quite a party.’ Theresa laughed with Jerome, the young man they had been talking to on the truck.
‘A few crates didn’t make it to the Officers’ Mess,’ he yelled back. ‘You can thank the Aussies for that!’ he added, pointing to some very cheerful Australians, swaying near the band and singing an enthusiastic, off-key version of ‘Ac-cent-tchu-ate the Positive’.
She laughed, drinking the beer she was handed thirstily as the Australians serenaded the room.
‘Care to dance?’ Jerome asked.
‘Why not?’ she responded, feeling the effect of the first real drink she’d had in weeks begin to take its pleasantly fuzzy effects. There were roars of approval as they began to jive. Jerome turned out to be a wonderful dancer and her old stage routines came flooding back so she could match him. Daphne and another soldier joined in and, what with the definite shortage of women in the room, they were soon surrounded by would-be partners. As the band began to play ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ they caught each other’s eyes and laughed. They’d both forgotten what fun felt like.
‘Strewth, what a turn-out,’ Bluey exclaimed as they approached the crowded doorway, dozens of soldiers cramming to see the scene inside. ‘Come on move aside, move aside, officer in the house.’
A pathway was forced as Bluey pushed and bossed his way in and Pete followed him, distracted by the sight of some marines hooting and singing from atop a pile of crates in the corner.
‘What’s all the commotion?’ He laughed, turning to Bluey just as the scene ahead came into view.
‘Cor…’ breathed out Bluey in one long exclamation. But Pete couldn’t speak. There, on a table, was Theresa, dancing for all she was worth with a grinning marine, flashing the legs that kept him awake at night to the whole room and a long, long way from a small hospital in the middle of the jungle.
Theresa was flying. The music pumped in her veins and her legs kept responding, remembering all those hours on stage.
Jerome picked her up and swung her about and the crowd cheered, handing her drinks, which she drank, and smiles, which she returned.
She laughed with the blur of faces, waving at Daphne who was dancing and cheering too. Everyone was happy. No one was hurt or sad. This was the way life was supposed to be. Everyone smiling. Except that man. That man looked like he’d just been slapped.
The information registered and her steps faltered, slowing her to a standstill.
That man was Pete.
Theresa stood frozen, dropping the drink she’d been holding; it crashed to the table, the noise lost in the din as the throng cheered for more. Jerome stopped too, following her line of vision as the crowd began to realise something was going on with the gorgeous blonde as she stared across the room at a tall Australian officer.
A pathway began to form between them and Pete walked towards her slowly, finally coming to stand in front of her, still staring in shock.
‘Pete!’ Her face broke into smiles and tears at the same time and she threw herself off the table, into his arms and into his kiss. The room erupted but neither cared or noticed because as soon as their lips met that was all that mattered any more.
‘It’s a…beudderful thing. Beaudderful,’ Bluey was saying as he waltzed on the street with Daphne.
‘I loove this tune,’ she sighed, pressing her cheek against his shoulder.
‘Moonlight Serenade’ played from the radio inside; Bluey pulled back to look at her face. ‘So do I!’ he lied emphatically before kissing her.
Theresa and Pete pulled apart from their long, blissful kissing in an alley nearby and he smiled. ‘So do I,’ he whispered. ‘It’s the song that played the night I realised how hopelessly in love with you I was.’
She kissed him softly. ‘And I realised I’d fallen in love with a man I’d never see again…which was hopeless…hic.’
‘Told you I’d find you. I’m the Golden Digger, remember? Blessed? Lucky? All that stuff?’ he murmured, kissing her neck.
‘Mmm…you didn’t find me, I found you.’
‘How do you figure that? From what I could see you’d forgotten all about me.’
‘I was creating a diversion to…hic…attract you to me.’
‘Attract every man in Port Moresby more like it,’ he muttered, kissing her behind the ear and making her shiver with delight.
‘Jealous?’
‘Horribly. Don’t ever do that to me again.’
‘S’jussa little dancing…’
‘Hmmm…it seems to me alcohol clouds your judgement as to what is dancing and what is putting on a show.’
‘I told you I used to…be on stage…’
‘Hmmm…I think we’d better stick to not dancing on tables from now on though, agreed?’
‘Agreed!’ She smiled, saluting him.
‘And while you’re in such an agreeable mood, I think I’d better ask you to marry me.’
She gaped at him in surprise before wrapping her arms around him tightly. ‘Agreed,’ she said, tears filling her eyes.
He kissed her again, laughing as Bluey’s voice reached them from the street.
‘Who’s up for a midnight…schwim…?’
‘I’ll schwim!’ cried Daphne.
‘I think we’d better get them home before they catch their deaths.’ Pete laughed.
‘I don’t know…sounds like fun…’ Theresa said playfully.
‘Temptress.’ He grabbed her hand as they walked out of the alley. ‘It’s way too freezing.’
‘What are you talking about? It’s so hot. S’always hot here,’ she said, yawning.
&n
bsp; ‘It was boiling before but it’s got really cold now. Come on, I’ll see you home and we can meet for breakfast in the morning and make plans. Agreed?’ he said, huddling closer to her, his teeth beginning to chatter.
‘Agreed,’ she said happily.
‘I sure hope you stay this agreeable as a wife.’ He grinned.
‘Only in the bedroom,’ she said, feeling outrageously sexy as she said it.
He stopped walking and took a deep breath. ‘There goes any hope of sleeping tonight. Remind me to give you plenty of drinks at our wedding.’
She giggled, realising she was actually more than a little tipsy or she never would have said something like that, especially considering her secret, but also figuring her past didn’t matter right now. It was all too perfect an evening. Tomorrow would suffice. Tomorrow she’d tell him everything about herself so there were no secrets, and he would understand because he was the Golden Digger with the golden heart.
They made their way home with Daphne and Bluey, the streets echoing with their laughter, and, when she finally dragged herself away from Pete and his blissful kisses and fell into bed, she did so with the knowledge that life would be better from now on. God had forgiven her all her sins and she’d never be alone again.
He was late. Very late. Theresa checked the clock on the wall against her watch. He’d said outside the hospital at ten. It was half past. Where was he?
‘Theresa.’
She turned at the sound of his voice, her smile fading. ‘What is it? Oh God…you’re sick.’
‘Sorry I…just couldn’t seem to get up and then…I felt so dizzy walking over here…’
He collapsed and she clung to him, arresting his fall. His face was pasty white and his clothes were soaking wet, fever burning through his body. She cursed herself for having been too drunk to take notice of the telltale signs the night before as she dragged him over to the hospital doors, calling for help.
As she sat by his bedside later she couldn’t help feeling that maybe some of her sins weren’t quite forgiven yet, especially the one that remained unconfessed. God seemed to have a few more points to make before he was done with her, but surely striking down her fiancé with malaria was being a bit blunt.
Forty-four
Sydney
She watched the pattern of his breathing, the stuttering fall and the rise that was blessedly less shallow than a few days earlier, but still laboured. Theresa patted his chest gently as he slept, glancing over towards the window. They were approaching Sydney at last and she stood and stretched, deciding to see it in all its glory. The bunks in the plane were close together and she checked patients as she went, glad of the comfortable pants nurses were allowed to wear during aerial transit. She hoped she could get transferred to this role after the wedding. It was more rewarding, happier work, bringing the men home, despite their injuries. Helping them to feel warm and comforted even before they hit Australian soil was a great privilege. Assuming Pete would still let her work.
What am I thinking? Since when does a man tell me what to do? She shook her head. It was hardly a normal engagement. She didn’t know his opinion on having a working wife any more than he knew she was coming to him minus her virginity. She sighed. There was plenty of time to sort all that out later. Focusing on his survival was all that really mattered after all. She’d been doing the right thing, she told herself.
Gazing at the Harbour Bridge lit by the glorious dawn, Theresa felt the relief catch in her throat. She wished she were bringing every soldier home from war, feeling for all the families whose sons would never come flying in over her shores, safe once again in this glittering, wonderful place.
‘Want to watch?’ she asked one very young soldier who was nursing a badly injured arm.
She helped him over to the window and they drank in the sight together. The dotted grey-green of the bush among the sandstone and city, the sapphire blue of her waters, where boats bobbed about like little corks in their happy harbour; all were watched over by the great bridge, a reminder to those who visited that Sydney was a place of hope. The graceful arch, built during the desperate years of the Depression, had pulled them all forward to her completion, a metaphor for their collective, ultimate triumph over adversity as the city was united and better times arrived. And so it was, ten years later, that Sydney’s arching heart watched over them still, the symbol of hope standing strong during these days of war. A promise that dark days have endings and that good times come once more.
She felt safe and welcomed home as a renewal of strength flowed into her. Here there was an abundance of nurses and doctors, workers and families. Here there was a country to take them and hold them again, a place where the guns were silent and the invisible enemy absent. Here, in this country, she could marry the man she loved, and, when the war was over, have a family with him and live in a real home together.
How extraordinary it seemed that she could ever have felt trapped here when this place had given her every opportunity she could ever desire. Here she was limited only by her own strength – she knew that now, because in Australia they were free. It had taken a great deal for her to realise that and she would never forget it now. No orphanage, no church, no nightclub owner and no war ever really held her fate. The choices were hers to make. Free. With one goal in mind: to get Pete well, for without him even freedom meant nothing at all.
She looked over at her young patient, grateful that this soldier at least was spared from battle for now.
‘Got someone waiting for you?’ she asked the youth.
‘My mum,’ he said, trying to hide the tears that had welled in his eyes.
She smiled at him gently. ‘I’ll bet you’re looking forward to her cooking.’
‘Sure am. She’s promised me some of her banana cake as soon as I get there. And Dad said I can have a beer with him down at the pub. First time,’ he said looking excited.
‘I’m sure he’ll be bursting with pride,’ she assured him.
He looked at her shyly. ‘Want to come too? I reckon they’ll let a good sort like you in the main bar. You look like a pin-up girl.’
She laughed. ‘And here I was thinking you were a little innocent. You just save those cheeky comments for girls your own age.’
She helped him back to his bunk then looked over towards Pete. He had woken up and was sending her a look of such tenderness it made her stop for a moment to hold it, soaking it in before she made her way over to him.
‘Thought you’d jumped off and left me.’ He smiled, holding her hand.
‘I can’t swim.’ She smiled back, smoothing his hair.
‘We’ll have to do something about that then. I bet you’ll look ravishing in a swimsuit,’ he whispered hoarsely. He craned his neck to see the view from the window as she gave him some water then lay back weakly. ‘Beautiful sight,’ he said.
‘Funny to think last time I came into this harbour I was just a toddler on a ship, all alone. Not that I remember.’
‘Not this time. This time you’re coming home to be my wife,’ he said proudly and she felt his love engulf her, warm and safe. ‘Can’t wait to show you off at the big Christmas party at Greenshades. Hope I’m well enough.’
‘Greenshades?’ Theresa echoed, something tugging at her memory.
‘My great-uncle’s estate in Wahroonga. Massive joint with a nice pool and tennis courts. They have a Christmas do every year and the nuns bring over the orphans from the parish up that way. It’s a big affair, marquee, dancing. You’ll enjoy it: lots of singing and carrying on…what’s the matter?’
‘I…I remember.’ She stared at him, stunned.
‘Remember what?’
‘Greenshades. I…I went there once. As a little girl. Sister Carmel took me because her cousin worked at that orphanage and she decided to take me along.’
He stared at her in surprise. ‘Seriously? But that means we would have met once upon a time…and you’ve met my family too.’ He chuckled, shaking his head and kissing h
er fingers. ‘I knew we were meant to be.’
‘It was…magical there,’ she whispered, still incredulous.
‘Yes, it’s good fun.’ He yawned as he drifted back off. ‘Good fun…can’t believe you were there. Told you I thought you were familiar when we met.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Destiny.’
She watched him fall asleep, processing this new information. So that was the family she would be marrying into. It hardly seemed possible. The one family she’d had a glimpse of: a privileged, wealthy family. A family she had envied from afar and fantasised about, this family would be hers now. She felt slightly sick as the prospect of meeting them loomed closer. All they knew of her so far was whatever Pete had told them in his letters from Port Moresby and a few lines she’d sent in a telegram before the transport journey. She could be anyone on the street to them.
What would they make of her? A girl with no family, little money and no concept of their way of life? And she was two years older than Pete. The list of possible grievances seemed endless. How was she supposed to slot into their world? What if she picked up the wrong fork or said the wrong thing? No, the nuns had been very strict in that regard. She knew she wouldn’t disgrace him in manners or etiquette. But there was still the issue of not understanding how to be one of them. She had no idea of how to be in a family or how to handle life as a one of the wealthy. She enjoyed her work and had no intention of becoming a member of the idle rich, chit-chatting about fashion and knitting for the poor orphans. She was the poor orphan. For the first time in her life she was actually worried about what people would think of her, seeing herself as falling very short of what they would consider a suitable match for their eldest, marvellous son.
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