Floodtide

by Judy Nunn

  Inspired as she'd been by many a conversation with Geoff and Nora, Jo was looking forward to the debate, and when straws were drawn to determine the teams, she was delighted to score final speaker for the negative. It gave her ample opportunity to be provocative.

  The Great Hall was packed with students who'd been cheering and jeering each speaker in turn, and heckling at each point that was made. The debate was coming to its conclusion and Jo was nearing the end of her argument.

  'The truth is we are a sporting nation. What need do we have for a home-grown culture at all? Australians have been happily served by American and British culture for years! The final speaker for the affirmative has talked of such luminaries as Robert Helpmann and Joan Sutherland.' The final speaker on the opposing team had been Andy Gaden. 'Luminaries indeed, but I ask you, where do they stand in the affections of the general populace when compared with the likes of Dawn Fraser and Rod Laver?' More cheers and jeers.

  'There is no place for an opera house in this country!' Jo raised her voice above the din. 'What we need are more swimming complexes and tennis courts, more cricket grounds and race tracks. It is our bounden duty to nurture tomorrow's Frasers and Lavers, to discover our future Don Bradmans and to breed our new Phar Laps!' Winding the audience up, she punched her fist in the air with theatrical emphasis. 'This country is not interested in the arts, and why should it be? Why bother with an Australian film industry when we have Hollywood? Why bother with the opera and the ballet and the theatre when we have our football and rugby and cricket? Who needs the Sydney Opera House?' She was pitching her voice above the crowd now. 'Not Sydney! Not Australia! Of course we're against the Opera House. Any opera house. It's not part of our identity! The Sydney Opera House is un-Australian!'

  She left the podium to resounding applause and returned to her seat amongst the other speakers who were lined up either side of the stage. The adjudicator then called upon each speaker, one by one, to rise to his or her feet. The outcome of the debate, as always, was to be decided by the sheer volume of audience reaction.

  The crowd gave voice wildly, adding whistles and the ferocious stamping of feet, and, as was to be expected, the negative team won hands down. Every one of the students, even the most sports-devoted, was in favour of the Opera House, and they'd enjoyed the send-up approach of those speaking against it. Jo Whitely received the loudest ovation of all, even from the A grade rugby team.

  *

  'Oh, come on, Jo,' Andy urged half an hour later. 'You're not doing your disappearing act tonight of all nights – we won't let you.' The gang, fifteen in all, was going to the Dolphin Hotel in Surry Hills, and as usual Jo appeared to be backing out. 'Break the rules, be a devil.'

  Jo's hesitation lasted only a second. 'Just one drink,' she said. She was on a high and Nora had told her not to rush home.

  'Let your hair down for once, kiddo,' she'd said. 'This is your big night, and Alana'll be fast asleep anyway.'

  It was a balmy November evening and the gang took over the little vine-covered courtyard at the rear of the hotel, the middle-aged couple seated there quickly retiring to the lounge upon the students' rowdy arrival. Tables were pulled together, jugs of beer and bowls of chips fetched from the bar, and then they settled down to chatter at the tops of their voices, each trying to top one another as they relived the night's event. Jo wasn't the only one on a high; the great debate had been an unmitigated success.

  'I'll get my own thanks, Andy,' she said when he asked her what she wanted to drink. 'I'm only here for the one.'

  'It'll be the end of our friendship if you don't let me shout you a drink, Johanna,' he insisted. 'Now what'll it be? Are you happy with beer?' She gave an apologetic shake of her head. 'What then? White wine? Gin and tonic? Rum and Coke?'

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Port and lemonade?'

  He raised an eyebrow and went to the bar.

  Jo ended up staying for two drinks. Having eked out her port and lemonade for as long as possible, she slipped away to the bar to buy herself another, together with a jug of beer for the table. She was having too good a time to leave. She didn't actually want a second drink herself, but she knew if she sat with an empty glass in front of her someone would inevitably fill it up with beer. As she stepped back into the courtyard she collided with Andrew.

  'Oh,' he said, his relief evident, 'there you are. I thought you'd gone.' He'd been heading out into Crown Street, hoping to catch up with her, presuming that she'd be looking for a taxi.

  'Why would I go without saying goodbye?' She plonked the jug in his hands. 'My round.'

  They returned to the gang. The group conversation had died down now, every angle of the debate having been discussed. A bunch remained chatting animatedly at one end of the table, but the others were having quieter discussions in twos and threes, and one couple had moved to another table altogether, where, in the darkest corner of the courtyard, away from the fairy lights, their mouths were no longer engaged in conversation.

  Andrew put the jug of beer on the table and manoeuvred Jo to the chairs at the far end, which had been vacated by the couple. He wanted to suggest they find another table themselves, but she appeared in such a party mood that he decided not to risk it.

  'So what are you doing over the holidays?' he asked, engaging her one on one before she could tune in to the others. There was only a fortnight of uni to go and desperation dictated that this was the night he must make his move.

  'My mother's coming over from Perth. We're going to the Blue Mountains.'

  The dilemma of the holidays had been easily solved. Old Uncle Ted hadn't seen the baby yet, although he'd been ringing demanding a 'private audience' as he called it, and Hillary herself had suggested she make the trip east, agreeing that Alana was far too young to travel. She'd be coming alone, she'd said, Darren was busy, and she'd welcomed the idea of visiting old Uncle Ted. 'Good heavens above, I haven't seen him since I was a child.'

  'The Blue Mountains – that'll be nice,' Andrew remarked casually. 'For the whole of the holidays?' He hoped not.

  'No, Mum's only here for a week.'

  'Right. So you'll be in Sydney then . . .?'

  'Yep.' She sensed he was going to ask her out so she got in quickly. 'What are you doing for the holidays, Andy?'

  'Well, they're not really holidays for me, are they? This is my final year. I'll be looking for a job.'

  'Hardly.' She laughed. Andy Gaden was a brilliant law student, everyone knew it. He'd probably have the pick of any law firm he wished. 'It's an exciting time for you, isn't it?'

  'Yes, I suppose it is.'

  She had no idea how beautiful she looked, he thought, her fair hair catching the glow from the fairy lights strung amongst the vines, her eyes sparkling vivaciously. She was so animated. The remote Jo Whitely had certainly been transformed. But then that was just the barrier she put up, he'd known it for some time now.

  'I'll miss uni,' he said, swilling back a mouthful of beer, 'it's been a lot of fun.'

  'You mean the extracurricular activities have.' She grinned, 'I don't know when you ever got the time to study.'

  'Well, they do stimulate the mind, don't they,' he said, frowning at her with mock severity over the rim of his beer glass. 'I hope you'll continue with the debating society next year when I'm not there to boss you around.'

  'Oh, I will,' she promised, 'absolutely. I'm so grateful you got me involved. I love it.'

  He put the glass down. 'Do you know what I'm going to miss most of all about uni, Jo?'

  'What?'

  'You.' He took her hand in his. Whether he scared her off or not, it was time to have it out. She didn't pull away, which he found encouraging. 'I want to keep seeing you, Jo. Not just at debate meetings and lunch in the canteen. I want to get to know you better than that. Why won't you go out with me? I'm not coming on heavy – just dinner, that's a start.'

  A start to what, she wondered. She'd been waiting for this to happen, knowing that she couldn't keep avoiding t
he inevitable, and she felt sad at the thought of losing his friendship: it had meant a great deal to her.

  'I like you Andy. I like you a lot. Apart from family, you're the only friend I have in Sydney. Well, let's face it,' she admitted wryly, 'you're about the only friend I have full stop.'

  'Then why? Why do you keep closing me out?'

  She clasped his hand firmly, a gesture of both friendship and apology. 'I'm not interested in a relationship. I'm sorry.'

  'I'm not asking you for one.'

  Oh yes, you are, she thought, and she smiled as she withdrew her hand. 'I have to go.'

  'You haven't finished your drink.'

  'I didn't really want it. I came for just the one, remember?'

  She was already on her feet. He stood. 'I'll find you a taxi.'

  'No, you stay with the others. I can find one myself.'

  'You're determined to emasculate me, aren't you?' He smiled, dimples flashing. 'Come on,' he said as he took her arm.

  Jo said her good nights to the others, and then the two of them were out in busy Crown Street, cars zooming past, but no sign of a taxi.

  Andrew was glad of the opportunity to buy extra time. 'There's a rank at Taylor Square,' he said, taking her arm once again, prepared to walk the several blocks with her.

  'Go back to the gang, Andy.' He refused to budge and she laughed. 'I'm not trying to emasculate you, honestly.

  I don't even need a taxi, I can walk to Victoria Street from here.'

  Victoria Street, well, that was a start, he thought.

  'Through Darlinghurst? I wouldn't hear of it, you'd be mugged. Besides, I've had enough of the gang. I prefer your company, let's go.' Arm in arm, they walked down Crown Street. Arriving at the broad intersection of Taylor Square, where nightclubs and restaurants flashed gaudy neon signs, they crossed over Oxford Street to the lone taxi parked at the rank beside the all-night newspaper and cigarette stand.

  'Thanks, Andy,' she said as he opened the car's rear door for her, 'you've saved me from a mugging and I'm deeply indebted.' She kissed him on the cheek.

  'I'll drop you home and take the taxi on.' When she hesitated briefly, he added, 'It could be ages before another one turns up.'

  'Oh. Of course. Sorry.'

  They clambered in, Andrew hoping she wouldn't notice the For Hire signs on the two approaching taxis behind them. She didn't.

  'Potts Point, thanks,' she told the driver. 'Victoria Street.'

  They travelled in companionable silence. Or so Jo thought. She never felt the need for unnecessary social chat herself. But Andrew had decided to go for broke. Why not? He had nothing to lose. She was obviously prepared to disappear from his life, and at least he had the right to know why. As the lights of Kings Cross appeared directly ahead, he turned to her.

  'Why do you find me such a threat?' he asked.

  The question was as confronting as he'd intended it to be and she struggled for the answer.

  'I don't find you a threat, Andy,' she hedged.

  'No? I'm about the only friend you have full stop, that's what you said. And yet you want to throw that friendship away. Sounds a bit threatened to me.'

  The taxi driver turned into Victoria Street. 'What number, lady?'

  'Eighty-five, thanks, down towards the end.'

  She knew Andy was waiting for an answer, and he deserved one, it was only fair. But what was the answer? No-one at university knew she was a single mother, and she intended to keep it that way. She'd been honest when she'd told him she wasn't interested in a relationship; she couldn't afford to let anyone into her life. Besides, she wasn't in love with him, she didn't wish to sleep with him. But she greatly valued his friendship. What was she to say? She decided to trust him.

  'Here's fine,' she said abruptly. The taxi had just passed Nora's terrace.

  They pulled up several houses further down the street and Andrew helped her from the car. She took out her purse to pay the taxi fare.

  'No, don't, I'll look after it,' he said.

  'I'm not asking you in.'

  'I know that. Keep the meter running,' he told the driver. 'I'll be going on to Randwick.'

  'Right you are, mate.'

  He walked her to the front door of eighty-five. 'So what is it, Jo? Tell me.' Her introspection had been obvious and he'd sensed that she'd been trying to come to some form of decision.

  Oh well, she thought practically, the truth would seal the matter: he'd certainly stop pursuing her once he knew about the baby. But she hoped it wouldn't mean the end of their friendship. She decided not to beat around the bush, what was the point?

  'I have a child,' she said. 'No husband, there never was one, just a child.'

  He was too stunned to reply.

  'She's over a year old now. Her name's Alana.'

  She'd never seen him at a loss for words before. Finally, he cleared his throat. 'Well ... um ... that's certainly a bombshell.'

  'Yes, it is, isn't it?'

  She wondered why she felt so terribly disappointed; it was unreasonable of her. Of course he'd be shocked – how had she expected him to react? But she also realised it had been foolish of her to expect any continuation of their friendship.

  'I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone, Andy.'

  'Of course ...naturally ...I mean, of course I won't tell anyone.'

  'Good.'

  Well, that was that, she thought, and she left him standing in the street.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The huge upstairs verandah was crowded and noisy as yet more drinkers jostled their way out from the jam-packed bar, protectively nursing their jugs of beer. The verandah's dozens of tables and chairs were occupied and standing room was at a minimum with barely enough space to throw a punch. But before long there'd be punches thrown nonetheless. The Mermaid Hotel was a rough place on a Saturday night.

  Despite the crowd, the heat was not unpleasant. Beneath the corrugated-iron roof, large ceiling fans whirred, and a breeze drifted in from the sea. It was late July, the middle of the dry season.

  Mike and Dan had found a spot in the far corner by the wooden-latticed railings, where they'd been drinking steadily for the past hour with a bunch of miners from Hamersley Iron. Mike hadn't met the men before, but then, apart from Dan, Mike didn't really know anyone in Dampier. His trips into town were rare, and he would normally have avoided the Mermaid, but this time he wasn't merely after supplies – he'd run out of funds and was looking for a job. The pub had seemed as good a place as any to make enquiries.

  Amongst the hard-drinking men were several equally hard-drinking women, which sometimes spelled trouble – the shortage of available women in Dampier could lead to fierce competition. But tonight the crowd's raucousness was good-natured with little evidence of frayed tempers. Everyone seemed bent on having a good time.

  Then the Swede arrived.

  Her name was Mia. She was very, very blonde, tanned, figure-perfect and extraordinarily good-looking – a true Nordic beauty. She and her two companions, a man and a woman, cut a swathe through the crowd, men openly ogling as she crossed from the bar door to Dan and the miners at the far end of the verandah. One or two in the crowd greeted the man with her, who was carrying two jugs of beer. 'G'day, Eric,' they said, but they weren't looking at Eric. Nor were they looking at the other woman, despite the fact that she was bosomy and the sort who would normally attract a good deal of attention. All eyes were on Mia. Even those who'd seen her before and knew she was Eric's wife.