by Janet Tanner
‘No – I’m …’ But his lips were too close and she broke off. His arms slid around her, holding her there, then as their bodies touched with nothing but the thin clinging wet layers between she felt a tremble run through the length of him and an answering thrill echoed deep within her own body. She stood quite still while he kissed her, his lips warm after the coldness of the lake water, though the sensations she was experiencing made her want to cling to him as closely as the sodden clothing. His hands moved from her back, tracing the curve of hips and thighs as a blind man might and everywhere his hands touched came to tingling, singing life. Her lips responded first, moving beneath his and parting slightly, then her hands, tracing the lines of his back which felt clean and hard beneath the wet cotton. Their hands reached hip level simultaneously and he pressed her to him. The sizzling desire exploded then and she melted, the softness of her body moulding to the hard strength of his.
Their lips became hungrier now, kissing not only each other’s mouths but any bit of flesh they could find and Alys felt the breath catching in her throat as the water had done a few minutes ago. Half panicking, she twisted her head and her breath came out with a sobbing sigh.
Without speaking Race bent to slip his arm beneath her knees and scoop her up. Her arms went around his neck and for a moment he stood quite still, kissing her again before wading towards the shore with her. On the bank he lowered her gently to the ground, sinking down beside her.
Beneath the pressure of his lips and body she lay slowly back into the scratchy bush. It gave to admit them then closed around them once more. It seemed that already they were not two but one, glued together by their soaking clothes.
‘Oh Alys!’ It sounded like a moan of pain, and strangely it injected a note of harsh reality.
‘Race – no, we mustn’t! Stop it, please …’
‘Just a little, Alys. I won’t hurt you. It’ll be all right …’
‘No! Mummy would kill me if she knew …’
He rolled away from her a little though their heads were still close.
‘I don’t suppose they’d let us get engaged, would they?’ he said.
‘Umm?’ She had heard what he said, but thought she must have imagined it.
‘Engaged – married. Do you think they’d let us? Oh, I want you, Alys!’
She could not answer. He wanted to marry her. She had ruined everything, spoiled his chances of Daddy backing him and still he wanted to marry her. She felt herself melting, relaxing beneath him and even when the pain came, so sharp that it made her tense and arch her body and dig into his back with her nails, she did not care. She loved Race, loved him, loved him – and he loved her. He must do!
Afterwards she lay with her eyes half closed looking at the clear blue sky above the gently waving tracery of brush. The pain still throbbed between her legs, dulled now to a burning sensation. Race lay beside her but not touching her and a tiny finger of fear pierced her through. She turned her head so that she could see him.
‘Race, did you mean what you said about us getting married?’
He did not answer. ‘Race?’ she said again.
He shifted a little impatiently.
‘Of course I want you, Alys. And getting engaged seemed the only way, But …’
She stiffened. ‘But what?’
‘It’s not that easy, is it? This is real life, not a fairy story. To begin with I don’t suppose your parents would agree to it.’
She rolled towards him, frightened suddenly and wanting the comfort of his nearness.
‘I don’t care what they say! Oh, they would probably disown me, it’s true. They already said as much, because they’ve got this terrible idea that you are only using me to get at Daddy’s money. But they can’t keep us apart if we love each other.’
‘Christ, Alys, if they cut you off what the hell do you think we would live on? I can’t keep myself, let alone a wife.’
‘I’d live anywhere with you, Race, I’d do anything …’
He broke away from her, sitting up abruptly.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about Alys. You’ve always had everything you wanted. You haven’t got a clue what it’s like to have nothing.’
‘Race!’ She sat up too. ‘Don’t you understand? I’ve had money and possessions all my life and none of them has made me half as happy as I am with you. The way we feel is something money can’t buy.’
He reached for a blade of springy grass, snapping it between his fingers and staring straight ahead of him.
‘Race, you do feel the same way I do, don’t you?’ she said. A light breeze whispered through the brush and as it touched her wet back she shivered. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do!’ But his tone was impatient and he made no move to touch her. Suddenly, she was painfully aware that he had never said the magic words she so desperately wanted to hear. She leaned towards him urgently.
‘Say it, Race, please!’
‘Say what?’
‘That you love me.’
There was an awkward pause. He threw the twisted grass away. ‘I love you.’ But it was stilted, cold. She looked at him, hurt, and he said apologetically, ‘I’ve never said that to anyone before.’
Oh, she wanted to believe him, wanted to believe he loved her and was embarrassed to say so. But she didn’t know anything any more. Tears stung her eyes and she turned away, pressing her hands to her mouth. After a moment she felt his arm around her shoulder.
‘Alys, I’m sorry. It’s just – it’s all such a bloody mess; isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ she said through her fingers.
‘Yes, I didn’t mean to hurt you, honestly …’
She jerked her head up, blinking the tears away.
‘That’s all right then isn’t it? Race … I think perhaps we ought to be going home.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
They walked back to the car in silence and Alys could feel the great pool of sadness deep inside because something that should have been special had somehow gone wrong and there was no way that she could ever turn it around and make it different.
Alys raised her head from the basin, wiping the bile off her lips with the back of her hand. As she straightened she caught sight of her reflection and was shocked by it – cheeks drained of colour, hair lacking its usual bright lustre and great dark smudges beneath her eyes. Hardly surprising really – in addition to the nausea and sickness she had scarcely slept for the last week, not since she had realized that her period had not come. At first she had lain awake willing herself to feel the first niggling ache which usually warned of its onset, then as the days went by her brain had begun chasing in great terrifying circles. But still her period, never usually late, had not come. When the nausea had first begun she had told herself it was because she was so worried, but as it continued she was unable to deceive herself any longer.
Pregnant. The very word frightened her. There was such an awful finality to it, like the clanging of a dungeon door, shutting out light and air and leaving her in a morass of terrifying darkness.
Alys ran some warm water into the basin and washed her face, trying to will the sickness to go away. Yesterday it had not. It had persisted all day. And when she felt so dreadul there was no way she could even begin to think what she had to do. Every ounce of concentration had to be used up in pretending that everything was quite normal. But it could not go on like this. It was early days yet, because her period was usually so regular and because of the sickness she had discovered the truth much sooner than she might otherwise have done. But that did not alter the facts. Sometime, somehow she was going to have to tell someone.
The thought sent a fresh pang of nausea through her and she bent over the basin retching again. Oh God, it was horrible, horrible! Just like a nightmare. And she was so terrifyingly alone. If she had been able to see Race and tell him it would not have been so bad. But she had not seen Race since she had been certain. He had sold the Morgan now so he had no transport
to get over from Yallourn to Melbourne and in any case he was working every spare moment on his racing car to get it ready for the Grand Prix.
And when she did tell him – what then? Another shudder ran through Alys as she remembered what Race had said that day in the Dandenongs – the day it had happened. Suppose he still reiterated that he could not afford to support a wife? Worse – suppose he was simply using that as an excuse because he did not want her for his wife? The niggling fear was constantly there now at the back of her mind that perhaps there had been some truth in what Mummy had said – he had only used her as a way of getting at Daddy’s money. Unwillingly, Alys found herself remembering how reluctant Race had been to talk about how he had come by the Morgan. Could it be that he had cultivated its owner in the same way, ‘wormed his way in’ as Mummy had put it so that it was bequeathed to him in the old man’s will? If so and if the same was true for her, then …
At this point Alys always tried to pull her train of thought up short because to let it go on led her to something quite unthinkable. That Race had not only used her for her money but for other reasons too. Why had he mentioned marriage that day by the lake if it seemed so truly impossible to him? Because he had momentarily fooled himself into believing it could work? Or because …
A tap at the bathroom door interrupted her reverie.
‘Alys? Are you all right in there?’
She grabbed a towel, holding it to her mouth for a moment, then gulping deep breaths of air into her lungs.
‘Yes. I’m fine,’ she called back.
There was a little silence and she thought that Mummy had gone away and the awkward moment had passed. Then Frances tapped once more.
‘Open the door, Alys.’
‘No – I’m all right, really.’
‘Do as I say. Now!’
Alys ran a quick, tidying hand through her hair. She could not disobey. There was no point. Frances would simply stand there and knock until she got her way. Alys turned the key and stepped away from the door, turning her back and bending to busy herself arranging the towel on its rail. The door opened and Frances came in.
‘What have you been doing in here all this time?’ she asked suspiciously. Alys shrugged without turning round. ‘What do people usually do in bathrooms?’
For once Frances did not chide her daughter for impertinence.
‘That towel is perfectly tidy, Alys. You may turn around and look at me. I’m not Medusa. I won’t turn you into stone, you know.’
Slowly Alys turned. Though she did not raise her eyes she was aware of her mother’s shocked expression as she took in Alys’ ravaged face. ‘ For heaven’s sake, child, what is the matter with you?’ she demanded. Alys did not answer. She could think of nothing to say. ‘The way you look anyone would think you were …’ Frances broke off, catching herself as the full meaning of what she had been about to say came home to her. ‘Alys,’ she said more quietly, ‘you’re not pregnant, are you?’
Still Alys could not reply. It was not only her tongue which seemed frozen but the whole of her thought processes. She stood with her arms hugging herself as if to protect that tiny life which she wanted so little.
‘My God!’ Frances said. ‘You are pregnant, aren’t you!’ she stepped forward, involuntarily bringing her palm up to strike Alys a swingeing blow on the cheek. ‘You dirty little whore!’
Alys’ head jerked up, her eyes wide and staring. She lifted a hand, pressing her fingers to her stinging face, and as she did so the nausea stirred again. The bile rose, bitter and burning in her throat, and she dived past her shocked mother to reach the basin.
Alys jammed the gearstick of the Morris into top and pressed her foot hard down on the accelerator. Ahead of and behind her the road was ribbon straight and open – any other traffic could be seen miles away – but Alys kept checking her mirror nervously all the same, half expecting to see a police car following and closing in on her. But mile after mile of the road came and she began to relax a little.
Perhaps she – and the Morris – had not been missed yet. And even when they were there was no reason to suppose Daddy would set the police on to her. They did not know where she was going, after all. They would probably simply think she had decided to go out for a drive. It would never occur to them that she had been out on the highway since long before dawn, heading as fast as the car would take her towards Bathurst and the Mount Panorama motor racing circuit.
Steadying the wheel with one hand Alys glanced at her watch. It would take her another two or three hours nonstop motoring yet to reach Bathurst. Would she make it in time? She did not know. She was not even sure when the Grand Prix was due to begin. But even if she did not make the start at least she would be there some time today. The important thing was to see Race. And she did not intend to tell him until afterwards, anyway. He did not want something like that on his mind when he was driving.
What was he going to say? she wondered anxiously. But whatever it was, even if he disowned her, she had to tell him and tell him soon, otherwise matters would be out of her hands and her chance gone.
She pushed the accelerator even harder into the floor and as the car surged forwards to its maximum speed she seemed once more to hear her mother’s voice in the roar of the tyres on the road. ‘We have decided, Alys, the best thing to be done with you.’
She had come to see Alys in her room; since admitting the truth Alys had scarcely left it. Frances had stood with her back to the window looking at her daughter who sprawled miserably on the bed. ‘We are going to send you to Darwin.’
Darwin! The top end of the continent with the whole dead centre between her and Race. Alys had jerked up, bringing her cushion with her, to gaze at her mother with horror-filled eyes.
‘Your father and I have decided it’s the best thing. I’ve been in touch with Sylvia and James Crawford and asked if they would be willing to have you until it is all over and then …’
‘You’ve told Aunt Sylvia about me?’ Alys had interrupted, shocked.
Frances had given a tight little laugh. ‘My dear girl, if we don’t get you to Darwin and out of the way, before very much longer everyone will know. No, I’ve spoken to Sylvia, told her of the predicament we are in and begged for her help. As you might expect, she has been marvellous. You are to go there now – next week. I shall tell people that you are travelling. Sylvia has promised to arrange for the adoption – in her position as organiser for the Red Cross it’s something she knows all about – and you will be able to come home again in a year or so and no one here will be any the wiser.’
Alys had hugged her pillow.
‘Adoption?’ she’d repeated. ‘You mean you want me to give my baby up?’
Frances’ lips had tightened. ‘What other choice do you have? You don’t seem to realize the position you are in, Alys – a young girl, unmarried, having an illegitimate baby. The practical considerations are enormous, and leaving those aside, think of the shame of it!’
The shame, Oh yes, she had hardly been able to avoid thinking of that, what with Daddy not wanting to look at her and Mummy talking about ‘letting herself down’ and Beverley in floods of tears saying she had ruined the wedding and she, Beverley, would never be able to face any of her friends – or Louis’ family – ever again.
‘No, by far the best thing is for you to go to Darwin – right away,’ Frances had said firmly.
‘And what about Race?’ Alys had asked.
‘Him!’ Frances snorted. ‘The least said about him the better!’ Then, as she saw Alys’ face crumple, she sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hand in a way which oddly Alys found more embarrassing than comforting. ‘Forget him, Alys. See the unhappiness he has caused you. Just accept that I know what is best and everything will be all right.’
Alys had said nothing. She knew from past experience it was useless to argue with her mother who, as usual, had come up with a solution which, looked at logically, was as foolproof as any could be in the circumstances.<
br />
Except that it did not take account of her feelings. It did not take account of the terrible way her heart dipped at the thought, even now, of giving up her baby. And it took no account of Race at all.
He had to be given the chance to have some say in the matter, Alys decided. After all he was the father. And oh – it gave her the excuse to see him again if nothing else.
The thought spurred her on now and keeping her foot flat to the boards she raced the Morris on towards Bathurst.
Mount Panorama, Bathurst, had been a New South Wales beauty spot long before motor cars had been invented let alone raced, but now the scenic driveway which skirted it had become a road racing circuit, host for the first time ever to the Australian Grand Prix. The rises, shaded through every imaginable hue from palest yellowy green to the deep rolling turquoise of the ocean, echoed to the sound of engines revving and tyres squealing and the kookaburras had a new range of sounds to imitate as they scornfully watched proceedings from the branches of the gums. At the highest point of the rise, some 800 feet, the air was normally thin and clear; today it was weighed down with the smell of petrol and oil, scorched rubber and hot metal.
In the area set aside for the pits the cars had pride of place and the men who had brought them crawled around them like worshippers doing homage, tinkering with an engine to bring it to the finest last minute tune, changing a wheel, checking an axle, revving a motor. They looked hot and dirty in their overalls and the smell of grease emanated from them. Alys picked her way over discarded spare wheels and various tools lying on the road and scanned the cars and the waiting trailers looking for Race. He was nowhere to be seen. One or two men looked at her curiously but no one asked who she was and she guessed rightly that they were all too preoccupied to be interested in anyone else, even a lone woman.
Suddenly a shout claimed her attention and looking around she saw Jeff Holder waving to her. Enormously relieved she picked her way over to him. ‘Where’s Race?’
Jeff rubbed his face with an oily hand and indicated towards the track. ‘Gone for a practice lap. He won’t be long. What are you doing here?’