Territory (20 page)

She opened the second bottle of champagne. Aggie normally drank very little and the alcohol had gone straight to her head. Emboldened by its effects, she decided to tell Henrietta her own story, to use herself as an example in order to help the young woman.

‘Did I ever tell you about my marriage, Henrietta?' she asked filling her own glass. She went to fill Henrietta's but it was untouched. ‘You're not drinking,' she remarked.

‘I've already had three glasses,' Henrietta smiled, ‘another one and I'll be on my ear. I didn't even know you'd been married.'

‘For five years, I was very young at the time, just twenty-two.'

‘The same age as me,' Henrietta remarked, ‘I was twenty-two when I married Terence.'

‘Yes.' Aggie had known that, just as she also knew that Henrietta had been married for five years. ‘It wasn't a happy marriage from the outset,' she continued, ‘but I wouldn't admit that, least of all to myself. It took five years for me to realise that things would never change and that he was destroying my life.'

Why was Aggie telling her this, Henrietta wondered. Why did she feel the need to talk about her marriage, it had been years ago? It was probably the effects of the alcohol; Aggie certainly wasn't accustomed to the amount of champagne she'd drunk, and now she was draining the glass.

‘I blamed myself,' Aggie barged right on as she reached for the bottle. ‘For years I thought I was responsible in some way for his moods and irrational behaviour.' She poured herself another glass, the taste already souring in
her mouth, but the alcohol was certainly giving her Dutch courage. ‘Even when he hit me I blamed myself.'

‘He hit you?' Henrietta was shocked.

‘Oh yes, quite often, when he was drunk. Of course he'd be full of remorse the following morning.' Aggie realised that Henrietta's shock was genuine. Well that's something, she thought, at least Terence doesn't hit her; she and Paul had wondered if he did. ‘Strangely enough, though, the physical violence wasn't the worse part. I'm actually grateful for it now.'

Aggie suddenly realised that she was rather enjoying her one-sided conversation. She had never spoken this way to anyone and, after ten years, it was interesting to analyse her past. ‘I left him because of the violence. Perhaps if he hadn't hit me I'd still be with him,' she took another swig from her glass. ‘I'd still be thinking it was my fault, still being manipulated, forced to play his games. The games are the worst part, Henrietta. The mental games, when a man plays with your mind and makes you feel insecure and uncertain of yourself.'

Henrietta felt distinctly uneasy. This was sounding too familiar, was Aggie trying, in a clumsy way, to compare their respective marriages?

‘I'm sure women can do the same thing to men,' Aggie rambled on, ‘but I'm not talking about other women, I'm talking about us.' She threw caution to the wind as she drained another glass, convinced that Henrietta's attentiveness was a sign of her recognition and agreement.

Anger surged through Henrietta. ‘We're not talking about us at all,' she said coldly, ‘we're talking about you, Aggie. At least
you're
talking about you. How dare you make such a presumption.'

At the sound of his mother's voice, raised in anger, Malcolm looked up from his arrangement of stones.

‘My husband doesn't beat me,' Henrietta said a little more quietly, her eye to the child, ‘I have a happy marriage
and I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.'

It was Aggie's turn to be shocked. She'd assumed that Henrietta had been following her train of thought, identifying with her, even agreeing. ‘I'm sorry, Henrietta,' she said, ‘I only wanted to …'

Malcolm started to cry. ‘He's tired.' Henrietta rose from her chair, end of conversation, her tone said.

‘I'm sorry,' Aggie repeated, cursing herself for her stupidity.

‘I'll give him his feed, he'll soon be ready for bed.'

When the child was asleep in the spare bedroom, the two women shared an uncomfortable meal, eating little, awkward in each other's company, and then they too retired.

Both had a sleepless night. Aggie, aware that she'd gone too far, felt wretched. And Henrietta, recalling Aggie's words, was filled with doubt. Did she indeed have an unhappy life? She hadn't wished to see it that way, but Terence did play mental games, and she often felt insecure and unsure of herself. But he loved her, she told herself. And he'd certainly never hit her, surely that meant her marriage was not on a parallel with Aggie's. She couldn't afford to listen to such innuendo.

Beside her in the bed, Malcolm woke several times throughout the night, and she comforted him and waited for him to go back to sleep. In the morning she awoke, exhausted and strangely depressed. She wished she was back at Bullalalla, on her own; what value were her friends if they made her feel like this? It was a conspiracy, she realised, and Paul had been part of it. He and Aggie were convinced that she needed rescuing, well damn the both of them.

When she emerged in the morning, she discovered that Aggie had been up for a good hour or so. Aggie was always an early riser, and the house was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread.

‘I popped out to Eddie Quong's.' Aggie sliced through the hot crusty loaf. Eddie Quong's bakery in Smith Street was famous, she said. ‘I bet you've never tasted bread like this.' She chatted all the while as she cut up a mango and set out the jam and marmalade beside the sliced bread, and she carefully avoided any mention of the previous night, which she deeply regretted. And Henrietta made pleasant conversation back, wishing that she could put aside the doubts that Aggie had raised and shake off her depression. It had been the champagne, she told herself, Aggie hadn't meant any harm. But the harm had been done nonetheless.

Immediately after breakfast, Aggie left to set up the decorations and the presents for the children's party. She declined Henrietta's offer of help.

‘No, no,' she insisted, ‘I have a half a dozen volunteers who'll be there already. The party is supposed to be as much for the parents as it is for the children, so you stay here with Malcolm. Paul's picking you up at eleven.'

Mid-morning they gathered in droves outside the old Town Hall. A handsome stone building of intricate design, the old Town Hall faced Smith Street but was set well back from the road, shaded by trees and surrounded by a white picket fence. In bygone days it had been a picturesque and popular venue for many a function and historical event but, during the war, it had served as a drill hall and training centre for the navy. Although it was currently being converted into a museum and art gallery, Aggie had fought tooth and nail for permission to use the old Town Hall as the venue for her children's party. In keeping with her ‘consolidation campaign' it was the perfect choice, she'd maintained. ‘The old Town Hall is the spirit of Darwin,' she'd loudly declared. And as usual she'd won.

Parents and children, teachers and friends now flooded through the main doors. Upwards of a hundred people gathered in the welcome cool of the hall with its high ceilings and cypress pine floors. Aggie's team of helpers
had done a fine job, streamers and balloons festooned the walls, small wooden tables were laid out with kiddies' treats, jugs of cordial and party pies, buttered bread colourfully sprinkled with ‘hundreds and thousands', and in the corner of the hall, piled high on a white-clothed trestle table were gifts wrapped in glossy paper.

Standing by the table, doling out the presents, stood Foong Lee and his son Albert. Foong Lee had donated the trinkets from his new store, charm bracelets and hair ribbons and tiny dolls for the girls, miniature cars and aeroplanes and toy soldiers for the boys, and little mesh bags of sugared almonds for everyone. Albert had sat up half the night individually wrapping each and every one.

The day was an unmitigated success. The children wore party hats and played games and the adults mingled, catching up on the gossip and comparing notes. Henrietta spent most of her time with Paul, who left her side only when Aggie, who was tirelessly working, called for his help.

‘Are you all right?' he asked when he returned from rigging up the pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey board. ‘You seem very quiet.'

‘Of course,' she replied, trying to dredge up a vitality she didn't feel, ‘just a bit tired, Malcolm kept me up half the night.'

When the presents had been given out, Foong Lee and Albert joined them. Foong Lee was a very busy man of late. One of the founders of the Chung Wah Society, established to unite the Chinese community upon their return to Darwin, he had nonetheless found time to build a fine new house in Mitchell Street. And his new store and his tailor's shop were doing very well, Paul told Henrietta.

‘And Albert has had the excellent idea of our opening a restaurant,' Foong Lee added, while young Albert, towering handsomely beside his squat little father, beamed with pride. ‘It's been a slow process,' Foong Lee said, ‘but things are coming along nicely.'

‘A slow process?' Henrietta shared a smile with Paul. Foong Lee had obviously moved faster than anyone in Darwin to re-establish his businesses, whilst most others were still struggling.

As the party was winding down, Foong Lee asked Henrietta and Paul if they'd like to come to his house. ‘I like showing off my new house,' he said, his eyes disappearing into slits as he smiled happily, ‘and Lin Mei will make us some tea.'

‘That's very kind of you, Foong Lee,' Henrietta replied, ‘but I think I'll take Malcolm home to Bullalalla.' Beside her, she was aware of Paul's surprised reaction. ‘It's been a long day and he's tired.'

‘Of course,' Foong Lee agreed, ‘another time.'

‘I thought you were staying tonight at Aggie's,' Paul said, quietly easing her aside.

‘I was, but I …'

‘And I thought we were having dinner together.'

‘I didn't say I would, if you remember.' She realised that she sounded brusque. She didn't mean to, she wasn't angry with Paul for his complicity, she wasn't even angry with Aggie anymore, they both meant well. But she needed to be on her own. ‘I'm sorry if it's a disappointment,' she said, ‘but …'

‘It is.'

‘… but I'd prefer to take Malcolm home, we're both tired.'

‘Are we all going back to my place?' They were interrupted by Aggie, dishevelled, her hair a mess from being tugged at by tiny children, her clothes in disarray from playing hide and seek with the older ones, and her eyes sparkling with the success of her party.

‘Henrietta says she's going back to Bullalalla,' Paul said. ‘She won't listen to me, it's up to you to convince her otherwise, Aggie.'

Aggie was instantly deflated. A look of concern replaced
the sparkle in her eyes. ‘Oh Henrietta …'

‘Forgive me, Aggie, I really must,' Henrietta immediately interrupted, she couldn't bear to hear another apology. She hated seeing the regret in Aggie's eyes and she hated the knowledge that she was ruining the woman's moment of triumph. ‘Malcolm didn't sleep well last night, he'll be much more comfortable in his cot at home.' She tried to make her excuses sound as reasonable and sincere as she could. ‘And quite frankly, so will I,' she smiled. ‘I was saying to Paul earlier, Malcolm kept me awake half the night, I really am exhausted.'

Aggie nodded guiltily and she looked so unhappy that Henrietta hugged her. ‘I'm sorry, Aggie, really I am.'

‘So am I,' Aggie said quietly.

‘Don't be,' Henrietta whispered in her ear. ‘I'm not angry anymore, thank you for caring.'

Paul looked at the women, bemused. What the hell was going on? But as Henrietta went off to collect Malcolm, Aggie refused to acknowledge the query in Paul's eyes; she wasn't ready to share confidences yet.

‘I'll be here for hours cleaning up, Paul, you drive Henrietta back to the house, I'll get you the key.' She fetched her front door key from her handbag. ‘Just tell her to leave it under the doormat,' and she disappeared.

They talked about the party on the drive back to Aggie's, Paul aware that Henrietta didn't want to discuss what had happened and Henrietta grateful for his sensitivity in not asking.

He packed her suitcase into the Landrover, strapped Malcolm into his seat and embraced her as he said goodbye.

‘Don't forget, Henrietta,' he said, ‘if ever you need me …'

‘Yes I know, Paul. Thanks.' She kissed his cheek and got into the car.

Malcolm slept during the two-hour drive home to Bullalalla and he was still sleeping when she pulled up in
front of the house, it was four o'clock in the afternoon. Gently she lifted the child from the car and carried him inside, she'd get him settled and come back for the suitcase later.

The house was deserted. Of course, Henrietta realised, Nellie would be at the storeroom near the slaughter yards handing out the rations, Pearl was no doubt helping her.

Henrietta carried the little boy upstairs and into the nursery, and he half woke as she undressed him and put him in his cot, but he was fast asleep again as she tip-toed to the door. Perhaps it was just as well she'd come home, she thought, the child was utterly exhausted.

As she quietly closed the door behind her, she heard muffled noises coming from the room next door. The master bedroom where she and Terence slept. Had he come home from the muster? She turned the knob and pushed open the door.

The black and white of their skin was shocking, it was the first thing that struck Henrietta. They were standing by the bed, both naked from the waist up, and Terence's sleek, tanned body looked strangely white against Pearl's blackness as he grasped her to him. In their struggle, neither saw Henrietta. Terence's back was towards her and he was ripping at Pearl's skirt. It came away and he threw it to the floor. Pearl's eyes were tightly shut and she was gasping as he pushed her towards the bed, tearing at her panties, his mouth at her throat as if he wanted to devour her.