The Turning Tide (26 page)

Anna took a breath and wiped her face. She sat up straight. ‘And I didn’t even have the guts to come and see you last night, I was so ashamed. I’m sorry, Mike.’

‘You’re here now. It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Really, sis, it’s all right. Betty understood. She loved you.’ To my surprise, I was suddenly helpless, sobbing.

Chapter 24

In January 1953 I got a job with a small civil engineering firm in Perth. It was dull but it was work. There was no question of selling my interpreting skills: Australians had not the slightest interest in communicating with anyone who spoke Japanese.

I felt numb. There were moments of anguish, usually in the middle of the night, but I kept my sorrow to myself. Liam tried to help. He set me up with a nice woman and we went out to dinner. She was pretty but I didn’t see her again. I feared if I touched another woman I’d forget how Betty had felt.

At work I developed my own interests. After the war, semiconductors and transistors had started revolutionising electronics. It was an exciting period and I began to feel real intellectual curiosity for the first time in years.

I kept in touch with Alan and Marion in Melbourne. They’d had a son, Terry, early in 1953 and seemed happy. Alan said I’d almost certainly get a job with the firm he worked for if I went to Melbourne, but I felt too much of an obligation to my family to go away again.

Mum was happy. Her beloved lugger
Sparrow
had been returned after the war, so she had leased it to a fisherman. When
Sparrow
was at the Fremantle wharves for her annual lay-up, Mum would go and sit under an umbrella and supervise, content that all was well.

South of the Fremantle wharves were some nice little beaches where Anna, Liam and I would go swimming and sunbaking over the summer of 1953. Liam sometimes brought a girlfriend along, a different one each time. One day he brought Jenny, a friendly dark-haired woman who hailed from Broome.

We chatted about mutual acquaintances and familiar places and the town’s slow decline. Jenny was in her thirties, older than most of Liam’s girls, and Anna, chuckling, said to me under her breath, ‘Good heavens, he’s going out with a grown-up.’

Liam and Jenny went for a swim. When they returned and lay down on their towels I nudged Liam’s wet back with my toe and said, ‘You’ve put on a bit of weight, my lad.’

‘No I haven’t,’ he said. ‘Pure muscle, Mikey.’

Anna laughed. ‘Your flying jib looks like more a spanker now, Lee.’

Jenny was puzzled.

‘It’s the family stigmata,’ I said. ‘We’ve all got it, courtesy of Dad.’

‘A birthmark, Jen,’ said Liam. ‘Look, that little brown triangle in the small of my back. Mum and Dad always joked it was like a flying jib.’

‘But what’s that?’ said Jenny. ‘And a spanker? Sounds a bit perverted.’

‘They’re both sails, but one’s considerably larger than the other,’ I said pointedly to Liam.

‘Did Mum ever tell you the story behind it?’ he said.

‘No,’ said Anna, ‘but they’d always start smiling and go off for a siesta whenever it was mentioned. Who needs a siesta in winter? I didn’t understand why for years.’

‘Really? I always thought they were just sleepy,’ I said.

‘Oh
Mikey
!’ Anna and Liam said in unison. ‘Such an innocent,’ Anna confided to Jenny.

‘Okay, tell us, Lee,’ I said, laughing.

‘Well, they were separated for a long time, by the Great War and afterwards too. Apparently things weren’t going very smoothly when they met up, but talking about me and the birthmark broke the ice and got them back together again.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ I said, surprised.

‘Nor me,’ said Anna. ‘Fancy them never telling us.’

‘Well, I was the oldest kid, the responsible one, so of course they’d tell me,’ said Liam, grinning, and Anna and I laughed in derision and kicked sand at him.

‘Your family sounds lovely,’ said Jenny. ‘You’re lucky kids.’

‘Yes, we are,’ said Anna thoughtfully. She looked from me to Liam. ‘Something I was going to tell you. I’ve made a decision.’ She took a breath. ‘I want children. I never did before and now I do. But soon I’ll be thirty-three. I can’t
keep waiting for some marvellous man to come along. I’m going to find a nice ordinary bloke and have a bunch of kids as soon as I can.’

‘Oh, sis,’ I said. ‘You’ll be a great mother.’

‘Have you someone in mind?’ said Liam.

Anna said shyly, ‘There’s a chap, an accountant in the hospital office. I’m not sure, but,’ she smiled to herself, ‘I think he likes me. He’s nothing flash but I have a feeling he’ll do.’

Anna’s grand plan came to fruition. Her quiet accountant bloke, Andrew, turned out to be a gem: a passionate sailor and swimmer, a lover of books and conversation. He wanted children and, by God, he wanted Anna. They decided to marry in November 1953, six months after their first date, in an old stone church at Fremantle.

My sister looked beautiful. Her dark hair piled up under a veil, she wore a long white lace dress with a narrow waist and flared skirt. Mum was lovely too, in an elegant olive-green silk dress, and Dad in a formal suit was a revelation to us all. He was so proud of Anna as he walked her down the aisle.

Liam brought Jenny, pretty in blue. They sat to one side of me holding hands and I was glad he seemed to have settled down with her. On the other side was Auntie Rosa and dignified Uncle Anton. Rosa’s red-gold curls might have turned to silver but half the men in church still couldn’t take their eyes off her.

I didn’t look too bad myself, neatly groomed and in a new suit: the only thing missing, of course, was Betty by
my side. My eyes stung. I diverted my thoughts to the letter I’d just received from Alan. His firm was expanding, they were desperate for someone like me and the salary was excellent; would I go to Melbourne? You’re needed here, I told myself firmly.

Later at the reception I went to sit beside Mum. We drank champagne and as she watched Anna and Andrew, laughing as they danced, she said quietly to me, ‘Darling, sometimes the first person we love isn’t necessarily the only one. You’ll have love again in your life, I’m sure of it.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said.

‘You know Rosa married several times, don’t you? Sam Lee was her great passion, but I don’t think she’d ever have been as happy as she is without dear Anton. He gave her the balance and freedom she needed.’

I thought, I had balance and freedom with Betty, I wanted nothing more. I said aloud, ‘Several marriages? Who else was there?’

‘Oh, some dreadful man after Sam, made everyone’s life a misery. But he died in the flu epidemic,’ she said with what seemed to be satisfaction, if that hadn’t been so unlike my gentle mother.

‘I’ve had a letter from Alan,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Offering me a good job in Melbourne.’

‘Darling, that’s wonderful! When will you go?’

‘I can’t go, Mum. You and Dad need your family here.’

Mum laughed softly. ‘Is that holding you back? Oh, my darling boy. You’re not staying in Perth to keep us company, are you?’

‘I spent so long away before …’

She turned to me and took my hand. ‘Your Dad and I … you might think we’re old and over it, but we’re not. We love our time together. We’re happy you children have your own lives, it’s how it should be.’ She smiled to herself. ‘But we do rather like being by ourselves.’

Dad came over and Mum said, ‘Mike’s going to take a job in Melbourne, Danny. Isn’t it wonderful?’

Dad’s eyebrows went up and he gazed at me in delight.

In early 1954 I moved to Melbourne and took up a position with Alan’s firm. They were expanding into areas of the new electronics and I loved it, especially the way it pushed me to develop skills beyond any I’d used before. One of the managers said that if I went back to uni and did some postgraduate work I’d probably reach the top of my field. I was pleased at the compliment but didn’t have the slightest interest in academic study.

I met Marion for the first time at a poolside barbecue at a house she and Alan were renting in Kew. She was small and curvaceous and as pretty as she’d looked in the black and white photo. Now I could see she had thick, medium-length auburn hair, freckled shoulders and large green eyes. She was wearing a sarong over her swimsuit and a stylish broad-brimmed hat.

Alan introduced me, saying, ‘This is my old mate Mike. He tells the worst jokes in half of Asia.’

‘Only half?’ I protested. ‘Jeez, Al, you know how to hurt a guy. Hello, Marion.’

‘Hello, darling,’ she said and kissed me on the cheek. ‘White or red?’

She poured me a glass of wine and offered me a cigarette. I took the wine but not the cigarette. I’d never got hooked in the war like a lot of the other blokes.

‘Now, you’re Alan’s clever commando friend, the one from Japan,’ she said, then looked past me and yelled, ‘Susan! Do
not
drop your brother in the deep end.’

I saw a small, scowling red-haired girl holding a baby over the pool. I quickly put down my glass and grabbed the baby. The little girl gave me a look of hatred and jumped in the water, splashing me. The baby stared at me with large grey eyes and burst into tears.

‘Bloody children,’ said Marion, taking the baby, cooing, ‘Come on, sweetie, let’s go have a bottle.’ Aside to me she said, ‘I should fill it with gin.’

Alan handed me my glass of wine again. ‘Welcome to family life,’ he said, grinning. ‘Come here, Susie. Come and say hello to your Uncle Mike.’

The little girl – she must be over three by now, I calculated – wrapped herself in a towel and regarded me with suspicion.

‘He’s not my uncle,’ she said.

‘Well, he’s like a brother to me, young lady, so what do you think of that?’ He swept her up in the air and she screamed with delight.

Susan’s mood improved and the baby slept, so things were a little quieter, on the child front at any rate. Some of the other guests got pretty loud as the afternoon wore on, but by then I was enjoying myself loudly too.

Marion was wickedly funny, a chain-smoker who swore like a sailor. She mothered everyone at the barbecue, from wealthy clients to a small paint-speckled crew of artists,
insisting they drink and eat everything in sight as she darted around, cigarette in hand.

‘Her gallery’s doing well,’ said Alan, biting into a piece of steak. ‘She’s got a superb eye, doesn’t give a damn about the old boys of the art scene.’

I shook my head in boozy contentment and finished a sausage. ‘You seem to have landed on your feet, Flynn,’ I said. ‘They’re a great family. Congratulations.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s good. Not easy, mind, but good.’

‘And now, what, nine years after Johnny, you’ve been able to leave that all behind?’ I was wondering how long I’d go on aching for Betty.

Alan gave a tired laugh. ‘It’s never gone away, Broome, yearning for him. But I was someone different then. All in the past, it’s got to be.’

He sighed, then looked at me and ruffled my hair affectionately. ‘There’ll be someone new for you too, one day.’

I nodded. ‘Hope so. Don’t want to go on, half-dead like this.’

‘Marion’s got some nice friends. We’ll get you dating again.’

He was as good as his word. I had some of the best meals of my life in their dining room, partnered with a stream of attractive, amusing women. The first time in someone else’s bed I mentally apologised to Betty, but it was two years since her death and celibacy had become a burden. To my relief I found touching another woman didn’t make me forget her.

At parties I’d look at Alan and Marion and feel happy for them. With his dark curls and grey eyes, Alan looked as well as I’d ever seen him. Quite a few women seemed to
think as much too, but apart from gallant flirtation he was faithful to his wife.

Marion was always stylish, from high fashion to bohemian, and a generous, energetic hostess. She put the same passion into her art gallery, hanging pictures, reassuring artists, holding opening nights, cultivating buyers. She was witty and kind and I became fond of her. I wasn’t sexually attracted, but I could see how warm and sensuous she was and how much she loved Alan, and I liked her for that. Over the next couple of years our friendship grew deeper.

I rented a flat and enjoyed my work and social life. I did a lot of swimming, which was good for my scarred shoulder. Time passed in what was almost contentment. Then, about two years after I’d gone to Melbourne, everything began to change.

I started to notice Alan wasn’t his usual lighthearted self. He said he wanted to leave the company we both worked for, branch out on his own, but he and Marion didn’t have the money to do that. He’d never liked the company as much as I did and I saw him growing increasingly dissatisfied.

His home life wasn’t as easy as before either. Marion’s mother, known to all as Gran, used to look after the kids while Marion worked, but now she wasn’t well, so various babysitters started coming and going. The topic of money seemed to be a sore point, but I started to wonder if there was more to it than that.

At a party one night it became obvious something was not right between them. Alan was drinking a lot and when Marion put an affectionate hand on his shoulder he shrugged it off. She made a small joke about it but he turned away. I saw confusion in her eyes.

Little Susie came out in her pyjamas to say goodnight and he hugged her till she scolded, ‘Daddy, you’re squishing me.’ He kissed the top of her head and watched her walk away as if he’d never see her again.

Finally, at another party, I asked him what was wrong. He looked at his glass (yes, we drank a lot in those days) and sighed.

‘Dunno. I’m bored with work. I can’t seem to please Marion. I feel like a failure and keep thinking, Is this it? All that training and excitement a decade ago and now this … greyness. I’m sick of myself, I’m scared, I feel like I’m drying up and quietly dying.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Apart from that I’m fine. Nothing at all to complain about. I’ve got a life anyone would envy. You envy me, don’t you, Broome?’

‘You’ve got a great woman, you’ve built a life together for seven years. Yes, I envy you. I only had a short time and I’d give my right arm to have it all over again.’