Gallipoli Street (46 page)

And he had no idea how long he would lie there until the gaping hole in his back spilled enough blood into this hungry, unforgiving animal, and he became just another part of the rich brown mud that gave it life.

Pete stared up at the canopy, a space in between the thick eaves framing a view of the sky. He drifted out of consciousness, reflecting that it was comforting somehow that it stayed with you no matter where you were, this calm, clear, endless blue with its armies of slow-marching clouds. It had been months since he'd looked up and noticed it, the giant dome that covered them all.

As the armies gathered in grey mass he slipped into nothingness, wondering how the sky looked above Gallipoli Street, and if it would rain there too when the telegram came to tell them he was gone.

Veronica woke in a sweat and Jack stirred.

‘What's wrong?' he asked drowsily.

‘Nothing…go back to sleep.'

She rose out of bed shakily and went out onto the verandah, her head pounding.

‘What is it?' Jack came up beside her, wrapping her in his arms as the moonlight lit the fields around them.

‘It's Pete. I…I dreamt he'd been hurt.'

‘Well, my darling, that's understandable…'

She nodded, wiping at her tears. ‘I suppose. It just seemed so…so real.'

He smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek, holding her close. ‘Problem is it is real for us. We don't have to imagine what it's like.'

‘I wish I didn't know,' she whispered.

‘Me too.'

They stood together and stared out into the night, their hearts stretching across the miles to a jungle far away to the north, holding on to one another as they prayed for their son.

Field Hospital, New Guinea

Theresa shook her head, trying to stay awake as she bathed his face. This one had lost a lot of blood and it was still touch and go. He and the other fellow were the only survivors of the ambush though both of them had been shot. She couldn't say for sure at this point whether either would make it. Looking over at the one who wore spectacles she noticed his colour was at least good. He had been shot in the chest but Dr Kindred had managed to get the shrapnel out and, as long as he didn't get a post-operative infection, his chances weren't too bad.

He stirred and she went over to him as he opened his eyes briefly, disoriented.

‘It's all right,' she said quietly, feeling that she recognised him for a moment, then realised it was just that his eyes were the same colour as hers, a very dark brown. He closed them again and she waited until he slept, then moved back to the fair-haired man.

The gunshot had been removed from his back but he had a perforated lung and was weak from lying so long and bleeding out. The natives had found him in a dark pool and she feared he wouldn't make the night. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, his handsome face pale against the sheets. She sighed, realising she was admiring a possibly dying soldier and thinking how pathetic it was that this was the only way she got to meet men these days. There weren't too many pool parties going on around here.

Theresa settled herself between their beds and prepared herself for a long vigil, praying they would both make it.

It was sunrise when the blond man finally stirred and to her enormous relief opened his eyes.

‘Welcome back.' She smiled. His eyes were as blue as the midday sky.

He seemed to try to focus but closed them again and Theresa smoothed his forehead, continuing to wait. Willing them back open.

‘Am…I…dead?' Pete asked, looking at the woman's beautiful face bathed in morning light and wondering if she was an apparition.

‘No, Lieutenant Murphy, you are alive. Someone must be looking after you up there though.' She took his wrist and checked his pulse as he continued to stare at her.

‘You'll…do.'

She patted his arm and asked him if he was hungry.

‘Thirsty.'

She poured him some water and lifted his head slightly to drink as he watched her every move, trying to force his eyes to stay open, but failing. As he fell into the black again his last thought was that she looked vaguely familiar.

When he awoke again she was gone, but someone else was mumbling from the next bed and it was a voice he'd feared he'd never hear again.

‘What's a man got to do to get some bloody rubber leaves around here?' Pete heard slapping as the man searched for the offending mosquito.

‘Like moths…to the flame.'

Simon swung his gaze. ‘You're awake.'

‘Seem…to be.'

‘Last time I saw you, you were busy getting shot. How'd you learn to run like that with a bullet in your back?'

‘Cricket. Strict…coach.'

Simon laughed, his eyes filling as he looked at his closest friend, soon to be brother, and almost lost to them forever. ‘I think we might have to retire hurt.'

Pete smiled. ‘Wait…for drinks.'

‘My shout, Turps.'

‘Turps is it? And here I was thinking you looked like a gentleman.' Theresa had appeared carrying her medicine tray and Pete's head turned slightly at the sound of her voice. ‘How are you feeling?' She felt his forehead as his eyes shut for a moment.

‘Good,' he lied, trying to force as much clarity and strength into the word as possible.

‘Hmm,' she said. ‘Take these.' He swallowed his pills dutifully as she held up a needle before injecting it into his arm. He took in every detail of her figure as she straightened his bed and pulled at the blinds in the large bamboo structure that made up the hospital. She was taller than average and willowy with long arms and legs that moved gracefully with every exertion, but she also had curves and his eyes were drawn to those areas in particular as she reached high for the rods.

‘Careful you don't strain yourself,' Simon said under his breath and Pete saw his friend watched him with amusement.

‘Oh it isn't very difficult, just a bit awkward,' she grunted, pushing the last blind free and tucking a fallen white-blonde curl back into her cap. Pete found himself wishing he could see her without it.

‘Now, let's take a look at your dressings.' She was gentle as she did so, and he found himself focused on the scent of her, deciding she carried a mix of honey and lime about her. His mind felt fuddled as he tried to think of something to say and he wondered how much time had passed since he'd been shot.

‘Have I…been here…long?' he asked, flinching as she removed a bandage.

‘Two days,' she replied. ‘Hold still.'

‘My mind…feels foggy…'

‘I just gave you some morphine to ease the pain. We'll start weaning you off, don't worry. There,' she finished, easing him back down and straightening his sheets. ‘Can I get you anything?'

He shook his head, happily drinking in the sight of her again and deciding she was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but something else was nagging at him.

‘Have we met…before?'

Simon gave a cough in the background that she thankfully didn't consider suspicious as she answered him.

‘Not that I recall. Now get some more sleep and try not to talk too much.' She patted his chest lightly as she turned away and he closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her touch before slipping off again.

‘Good morning,' she said the next time he opened his eyes, feeling it was almost worth being in hospital if she was the first thing he got to see each day.

‘Have you been here…all night?' he asked, noting the blanket draped over her shoulders.

‘Favouritism,' Simon said, smiling at her over his spectacles from behind a book before making his blushing way back behind it.

‘You should…be getting…your own rest,' he protested. He seemed to be able to manage only a few words at a time before needing to take a shallow breath.

‘Oh no, no, I'm fine. You've a letter from home,' she said, looking excited as she placed it in front of him. ‘Somebody managed to find you even in the jungle.'

‘Probably my…mother…bit witchy…like that,' he said, lifting his hand and holding it weakly, every part of him hurting if he moved. ‘You sat up…all night…to tell me that?'

‘How about I give you some breakfast then read it to you?' she suggested, ignoring his question and taking the letter from him gently.

‘First things first…do you have…a name?'

‘Theresa,' she answered as she prepared to feed him. Catholic too, Pete observed, noticing the saint's holy medal about her neck. Perfect.

Pete managed to swallow some banana and porridge, after which Theresa opened the letter.

‘It's from your mother,' she confirmed, looking at the bottom.

‘Told you,' he said. She gave him a little amused glance then began.

‘You have horses?' she asked, pausing in surprise.

‘Just for…racing…mostly.' She looked a bit taken aback so he added, ‘Not country hicks…we have…cars too.' That didn't seem to reassure her.