Gallipoli Street (36 page)

‘Put it away Peter Murphy or I'll tell your mother!'

Pete pulled a face then stuffed the jumper back in his bag, taking out the potatoes instead.

‘How 'bout these then? You can't object to actual food.'

May sighed. ‘All right, but only after we bake the bread. Have you got your loaf, Katie-bird?' She smiled at her as Katie very carefully unwrapped it and brought it over. They all watched as May put the bread in to cook, the embers burning nicely under the black tray, then May produced a breadboard and she and Pete sliced up the potatoes.

‘Pity we haven't got any butter.' May frowned and Katie jumped up and went to her basket, holding out her pots.

‘I've got some!'

May told her she was a clever girl to think of bringing it and Katie, encouraged by her success, spread out her tablecloth on the ground and placed the jam pot in the centre, earning another smile from May and praise from Simon.

‘Quite a home-maker, our Kate!'

She felt very pleased about that comment. One day she hoped Simon and she would get married and she could bake her own bread in her own oven for him and he could play her lovely songs on the piano. She was sure he was going to be famous like his dad. She just hoped he didn't meet someone else before she grew up; after all he was five years older than her.

She could smell the fresh-baked bread and May took out the loaf, letting them eat while it was still nice and hot, with melted butter and jam. The potatoes baked to a delicious golden brown and soon they ate all of those too. Katie decided Pete had been right about that idea.

‘Come and get some water with me, Katie,' Simon suggested and she followed him down to the creek to fill the bottles.

‘Why are there always dragonflies down here?' she asked him, watching as one hovered nearby.

‘They like water 'cos their babies live in it. Why? You scared of them?'

‘Oh no, I think they look like fairies.' She watched the little rainbows on its wing, then ventured to ask, ‘Are they fairies, Simon?'

‘Nuh. Dad says they're just insects and they're pretty ugly too. I saw one through his microscope. They look like monsters up close.' He screwed up his nose, trying to see it properly through his spectacles. ‘See? Six legs.'

She leant over and squinted. ‘I don't think it's ugly. I think it's beautiful.'

‘Nuh, it's ugly. So's the praying mantis. Dad reckons he should pray to be less of an ugly-looking mug.' Simon grinned at her.

She giggled. Simon knew so many things. She wished her dad had a microscope. Still, she knew she was very lucky because she still had two grandfathers. Simon had only ever known one.

She knew he was sad that his Pop was in heaven now but Mummy said he wouldn't be too lonely because his daughter lived there as well. Her name was Rose so Katie supposed she must have been very pretty.

She was glad her grandfathers weren't in heaven yet. Da played the violin and held wonderful parties and Pop made toys, plus he had an apple orchard nearby which was filled with flowers at the moment.

‘Can we go and see the orchard after?' She jumped up, splashing a bit of water on her skirt.

‘What do you want to go over there for? There's no apples this time of year.' He picked up the bottles and started walking.

‘It's so pretty.' She sighed dreamily as she skipped along next to him.

Looking down at her, he shook his head. ‘You really are a girl, you know that?'

‘Yes.' She was confused. ‘What else am I supposed to be?'

He didn't answer because an angry voice – her dad's – reached their ears.

‘Get home. Home!' he roared at Pete, who ran across the field, her dad marching after him.

May was crying and they hurried towards her.

‘What happened?' Simon asked.

‘Nothing. Take Katie home. Actually, don't…Bring her up to my house.' She was packing the picnic away sniffing and Katie went over to put her arms about her.

‘Don't cry, May,' she whispered, starting to cry herself.

‘I'm all right Katie-bird.'

But Katie knew she wasn't. ‘Why was he so angry?'

May cried hard then and told them. ‘Pete…Pete put some soldiers in the fire. I was cleaning up and I didn't see him and then…his dad came and saw them burning and…got really angry and yelled at him and…and hit him…'

‘Daddy hit Pete?' Katie was horrified. He got cross sometimes, especially when he drank the whisky, but he never hit them.

‘It's all right, darling, I'm sure he didn't mean to. He slipped I think.'

Katie knew May was lying and felt very sad as they made their way across the field.

Simon kicked at a tuft of grass. ‘I'm going to cop it too. I didn't tell Nana we were playing with the ant oven. She never would have let me come. And now she'll hear about this for sure.'

‘Maybe Daddy won't tell anyone,' Katie suggested helpfully, but they knew that he would.

‘Well, if this is your last day of freedom for a while let's make the most of it,' May decided. ‘What do you want to do?'

Simon stopped and looked at Katie. ‘I hear the blossom trees are very pretty in the orchard. How about a climb?'

Katie ran as fast as her little legs would take her to the orchard as the others followed.

‘Pretty trees, huh?' May teased. Simon shrugged in his way, laughing as she added: ‘Girl.'

Veronica saw her son as he ran home across the paddock, his fair hair bright in the sun. Something was up. Then she saw Jack following at a distance and knew something was definitely wrong. She could feel his anger from where she was sitting.

‘What happened?' she demanded as soon as Pete reached the verandah.

‘Nothing,' he mumbled, trying to walk past, but she held his arms and turned him to face her.

His face had a nasty red welt across it and she gasped. ‘Did you fall over?'

‘Just leave it, Mum.' He shoved onwards, walking through the door and into his room, trying not to cry as he went.

She waited for Jack, her arms crossed nervously. ‘What happened to Pete?'

‘That boy has no respect!' he spat, slamming into the house and pouring himself a drink. ‘I've a good mind to send him away to military school. Teach him some discipline.' She watched him as he threw back the whisky and poured another, but said nothing.

‘You know what he did? Remember those soldiers Dad made for him when he was a little tyke? Hand carved? He burned them in that damn ant oven! Threw them in to see what it would look like. Well I know what it looks like goddamnit and let me tell you, it isn't much fun to watch. Absolutely no respect for what diggers did for this country. Where is he? I haven't finished with him yet!'

She closed the door behind her and stood to face him. ‘He's just a boy, Jack. Calm down now. They were just toys to him.'

‘They w'more than toys. Dad carved them himself. They were bloody Light Horse…had the hats and all.' He downed his drink again.

Veronica was torn between sympathy for Jack, who was obviously remembering the terrible day he saw Tom die, and the anger she felt over her son being hit.

‘Where's he bloody gone?'

‘He's nursing a swollen face, which I take it you gave him.'

‘Don't tell me how to raise my sons, Vera,' he warned her darkly. ‘This is between me and the boy. I'm going to teach him how to act like a man and show respect to men who've been to war.'

‘What? You're going to take him down to the fields and shoot things, are you? Shoot him?'

‘Shut y'mouth!' He swung his arm to slap her but she held his hand.

‘No. You don't,' she warned, shaking. ‘
You do
n't.
'

He stared at his hand then back at her, crumbling as he realised what he'd been about to do. ‘Oh God. Oh God, Vera, I'm so sorry…'

She let his hand drop. ‘You will be if you ever hit my sons again. Or Katie. Or me. The war is over, Jack. Don't make another one here.'

He stared at the door long after she'd left, turning to fill his glass. That was the problem.

The war wasn't over at all. Not for him.

Veronica couldn't sleep and it wasn't because of the baby. Little James slept peacefully in his cot as she stole out onto the verandah and watched the moon rise. The home they had built next to Highview might have been a paddock away but she swore she could hear her father's snores as she gazed over at her former home, wishing she could go and crawl up in her old bed and tell her mother all her woes.

Hugging her arms to herself, she wondered how it had ever got this bad.

It had been wonderful at first, when he'd come home and they'd had a life together at last. Gone was the constant threat of being ripped apart, gone was the endless waiting and gone was the heartache she'd felt every day she was away from him. They made love every night and sometimes in the morning too before he headed off to work. He drove in and out, the ownership of an automobile making it possible for him to live at home during the week as well, in the beautiful house they had built between their parents' farms. They had painted it themselves, choosing cream and light blue, and little Pete enjoyed stirring the tins for Daddy, entranced by the coloured paint he called ‘funny mud'.

Then, as life settled back down, he started staying in town occasionally, telling her he had to work late. She didn't mind too much, spending the time with Pete whom she felt she'd been neglecting a bit anyway. But then she fell pregnant and he started staying in for days at a time. She tried to tell herself it wasn't because he didn't want another baby, after all he was managing the business end of things for both their families now, but she wondered. He was very proud of his son but he hadn't found much time for him, falling straight back into business and the commitments of his former life. Fatherhood had not caught his full attention.

Then she woke up one morning with terrible cramps and, within a day, knew the baby was lost.

Devastated, she sent him a telegram and waited for him to come, but the days came and went and still there was no sign of him. Finally she took matters into her own hands, driving into the city and walking to his office. Never actually having been to his work before, she was surprised by how young and pretty his secretary Susan was, and how uncomfortable she became when Veronica asked about Jack's whereabouts. Suspicious, Veronica went across the street to wait in a teahouse and, sure enough, Jack came swaying down the street and straight up the stairs to the apartment he kept above his office. Drunk. Not that she was surprised that he was drinking; she'd expected he was indulging too much, given his constant stays in the city. It was more that fact that he was drunk at eleven o'clock in the morning that irked her. And that he hadn't bothered to come home in five days, despite the fact she'd just lost their baby.

Something shifted inside Veronica that day. She was done with turning a blind eye and pretending they didn't have a problem and she decided that when he finally did turn up at home, sober and sore, she would sit down and tell him exactly what she thought. The next day he did just that and she sat, wearing a black dress, her hair pulled back, waiting for him in the parlour.