The Secret Years Read online

  Welcome home! So sorry I couldn’t make it. C U tonight?!!! xxx

  It was a huge relief to hear from him, but somehow his message didn’t cheer Lucy quite as much as she would have liked. Silly, because she knew that she was never completely relaxed about Sam until she actually saw him again, until she looked into his eyes and they talked and touched and made love. And she knew that despite the wonders of email and the internet, most defence-force couples had similar experiences after being separated for months. Readjustment always took a little time and patience.

  She sent him a reply. Can’t wait to see you. Love you. xxx

  Actually, it was probably a good thing that Sam couldn’t meet her now. It gave her a chance to change out of her army gear, to wash her hair and get into something feminine and sexy before their reunion.

  For a moment or two Lucy mused over what she might wear and by the time she looked up from the phone, she realised that her mother had driven through Belgian Gardens and North Ward and was about to head over the crest of Denham Street into the city.

  It was rather a roundabout way home, but she didn’t comment until they reached the lights and her mum steered into a centre lane.

  ‘Shouldn’t you turn right here?’ she suggested gently, not wanting to sound like a back-seat driver.

  This was met by a surprisingly coy smile. ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  With an almost giggly shrug, her mum drove on, over the bridge that crossed Ross Creek and into South Townsville. When she turned down Palmer Street, the city’s restaurant strip, Lucy frowned. ‘It’s a bit early for lunch, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hang on.’ Her mum was grinning broadly. ‘Not far to go now.’

  The penny dropped, making Lucy gasp. ‘You haven’t bought an apartment?’

  But already they were turning into a car park with tall gates that rolled open in response to her mother’s swipe tag, and then they were driving beneath a massive concrete apartment block. ‘Wow, Mum, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I only moved in last week and I thought it would be a nice surprise.’

  Lucy gulped as she absorbed this new shock. ‘Does this mean you’ve sold Mango Avenue?’

  ‘Yes, love, but you wait till you see this place. You’ll understand why I fell in love with it.’

  Lucy might have worried about how her mum had funded the move if she hadn’t been concerned with her own sense of loss. She knew that a woman who’d been away on active service and was now on the brink of marriage should not hanker after the home of her girlhood, but she felt a wash of sentimental yearning.

  She was remembering the bedroom she’d known all her life with floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with her favourite books, green shag-pile rugs on the scratched timber floor, and a view out the window into the shady branches of an enormous African rain tree.

  Now – the house might as well have been destroyed by a bomb. It felt weird that she would never see inside it again.

  At least her army training had taught her to adapt and, anyway, she would soon be living with Sam. Flashing a smile to match her mother’s, Lucy hefted her weighty pack from the boot and they headed for the lift. She could sense her mum’s barely contained excitement and she kept the smile in place as the lift rose to the eighth floor.

  For one crazy moment, as her mother hurried ahead down a blue-tiled corridor, sorting through keys, Lucy wondered if this was something she and Sam had cooked up between them. Would he actually be waiting inside the apartment?

  Her mother, unlocking the door of No. 67, sent a beaming smile back to her. ‘Come and see.’

  Sam was not inside. Well, Lucy hadn’t really expected it, had she? But the apartment was indeed stunning. Very white, very new and gleaming, and very spacious, with sleek, pale granite benchtops in the kitchen and sliding shutters in the living room that revealed stunning views down the sweep of the river, right to its mouth and out to the sparkling sea.

  ‘Wow!’ Lucy couldn’t help but be impressed, although she felt rather out of place in her battle dress and heavy boots amidst all the pristine newness. She wasn’t sure if she should set her dusty pack on the floor and she looked back to make sure she hadn’t left dirty marks on the shining white tiles. ‘So all the furniture’s brand new, too,’ she couldn’t help commenting as she looked around her at pale green leather lounges, a glass dining table with stylishly slim white chairs.

  ‘The old stuff would have looked too shabby here.’

  ‘I guess . . . but have you saved anything from home?’

  ‘Not any of the furniture, love. It’s all gone to St Vinnies and that second hand place at Rising Sun.’ Her mother looked worried. ‘Why? Did you want something?’

  Lucy shrugged. A bit late to ask that now, Mother dearest.

  ‘Well, hello, there,’ boomed a masculine voice and Lucy whirled round to find a strange man coming out of what looked like the main bedroom. Beefy, red-faced, with faded ginger hair turning white, the man wore a navy and green striped polo shirt and chinos. He looked super-relaxed and at home and he smiled extravagantly as he extended a solid, freckled hand to Lucy.

  Oh, Mum, not another one.

  Lucy almost groaned aloud. This was one surprise too many. Damn it, how many men was it now? Four? No, this must be the fifth guy who’d moved in with her mother since she’d divorced Lucy’s dad when Lucy was in preschool.

  ‘Lucy, this is Keith Hayes,’ her mother said almost defensively, and she gave his elbow a proprietary pat.

  ‘Hey, there. Pleased to meet you.’ Keith pumped Lucy’s hand vigorously. ‘Ro’s told me so much about you —’ He glanced quickly at the pips on Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Captain Hunter,’ he added and he gave her a playful salute.

  ‘Hi, Keith.’ I’ve heard zilch about you.

  For her mum’s sake, Lucy tried to crack a warmish smile. She knew how desperate her mother was to have a solid, lasting relationship. All they had left of Lucy’s father was his surname, and she was unhappily familiar with the pattern of her mum’s repeated failures. Things usually started off well with each new man, sometimes really well. Lucy could remember some fabulous holidays in the early months of her mum’s new romances, but eventually the new man became a huge disappointment. When it came to relationships, her mother seemed to have a knack for making bad choices, but Lucy had never really pinned down why.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ her mum said now, her hands fluttering nervously. ‘And I’ve bought scones. Date scones from Woolies, Luce, your favourite. I’ll just pop them in the microwave. We can have them on the balcony and enjoy the view.’

  ‘Sure, sounds great. Where should I stow my gear?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, love. Your room’s through here.’

  Lucy crossed to the doorway indicated and found a room with off-white walls and thick beige carpet, plain beige vertical blinds on the windows, and a wall of sliding mirrored doors. The double bed was covered by a quilted bedspread in champagne and cream.

  It was all so . . . tasteful and bland. So different from the bright tropical corals and teals and the cheerful yellows of their old place on Mango Avenue, and a world away from the four-to-a-room shipping container that had been Lucy’s ‘private’ space in Tarin Kowt.

  She saw her reflection in the mirror – her heavy pack, her long dark hair scraped back from her face and pulled tightly into a bun, her camouflage-patterned combat gear and boots. Mere days ago, her world had been grey desert and dry wind, the rattle of helicopters and regular bursts of distant gunfire. Today, white-and-cream-carpeted luxury, mirrored glass and views of an aquamarine sea.

  Tentatively, she set down her pack in a carpeted corner and slid open one of the wardrobe doors. The space was filled with piles of cardboard cartons and on the sides were labels scrawled in marker pen: Lucy’s books, Lucy’s CDs, Lucy’s winter clothes, Lucy’s photo albums.

  Her whole life had been put into boxes. Yet another weird experience. So far, nothing about her homeco
ming had lived up to her expectations.

  She felt suddenly exhausted. Her deployment had been a long six months of hard, hard work with sixteen to eighteen hour days and no time off. Now, all she wanted was to drag off her boots and belt, hurl herself onto the immaculate bedspread and sleep till it was night-time, till she could go to Sam.

  ‘Coffee and scones are ready.’ Her mum was in the doorway, watching her with an anxious smile. ‘I didn’t think there was much point in unpacking your gear, love. I mean, you’re getting married, so I wasn’t sure —’

  ‘No, no, that’s fine. You’re right. It probably wouldn’t be worth it.’

  Lucy had agreed with Sam that it was sensible to wait till the end of her deployment before setting a date for their wedding. They hadn’t moved in together yet, but that would be the next step. No doubt Sam would want to discuss it tonight. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and join you,’ she said.

  ‘You have your own bathroom.’ Her mum pointed to another doorway.

  ‘Oh, lovely, thanks.’ Lucy was sliding the wardrobe door closed, when she noticed a smaller carton on a shelf with the word Dad scrawled on the side. She frowned. ‘What’s this, Mum?’

  ‘Oh.’ Her mum gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Just some of your grandfather’s things. From his war days, I think.’

  ‘Medals?’

  ‘I guess. Medals, photos, a couple of letters. He went into a flap when he had to go into hospital and he wanted me to keep them safe for him. I’ve been so busy with the move I haven’t got around to taking them back to his place yet.’

  ‘I can do that. I want to see him as soon as I can. Maybe I should give him a call?’

  ‘Sure, but not now, Lucy. Come on. We don’t want the scones to go cold.’

  2

  Afternoon shadows stretched across the room. Lucy had slept for a couple of hours and then soaked in the bath, washed her hair and shaved her legs. She’d applied lotions to her skin, adding extra layers of balm to her lips, since they’d become quite chapped in the unforgiving Afghan winter.

  Now, changed into a pair of hip-hugging floral jeans and a pale-pink sleeveless top, with her dark brown hair clean and bouncing around her shoulders, she found a very different reflection in the mirror. It was weird to be back in civilian clothes after all this time, and she was pleased that she hadn’t seen Sam yet. She imagined him peeling these clothes off her almost as soon as she arrived at his flat and a delicious shiver ran through her. Tonight’s reunion was going to be special.

  Right from the start, the chemistry with Sam had been damn near explosive, despite the French girlfriend who’d been with him when he first arrived in Townsville. He’d met Camille in Europe when he was working as the marketing and PR guy for a Formula One team. Camille had come back to Australia with Sam, first to the ACT where he’d worked on the Canberra Times, until the ADF had headhunted him and sent him to Queensland.

  From day one in the Townsville barracks, Sam had flirted with Lucy. She had tried to ignore his so obviously cute blue eyes and beautiful smile, but he’d pursued her with a flattering doggedness – had charmed, beguiled and eventually won her – and when they finally got together, the chemistry had been breathtaking. Incendiary.

  By the time she’d learned about Camille, Sam had already broken it off, assuring Lucy that she wasn’t the cause. He and Camille had been heading for the rocks . . .

  Since then, Sam and Lucy had come a long way. Yes, his proposal had come out of the blue, but Lucy hadn’t hesitated to say yes. She’d quickly changed her plans to travel to England with Kaz during their leave. She was going to be far too busy househunting, making wedding plans, making love . . .

  At times it almost seemed too good to be true, especially now, when she’d been away for so long.

  Lucy shook off a niggling worry. Everything would be fine. She knew from past experience that her worries always evaporated as soon as she saw her gorgeous guy again.

  Still, she had a bit of time to fill in now, and she wasn’t inclined to head for the living room where Keith was watching the cricket while her mum fussed in her new, atypically tidy kitchen. She’d already rung her grandfather, so perhaps this was a good time to ring Anna Duncan. Anna would know their unit was back in town, so it was best to make contact without delay.

  Lucy took a moment to compose herself. Communicating by email with the widow of one of her fellow soldiers was one thing. Actually speaking on the phone was trickier. Anna would be feeling especially low today, knowing that all Mitch’s mates were safely home.

  Deliberately blotting out her memory of the day Mitch had been killed, Lucy dialled.

  ‘Hello?’ piped a childish voice.

  Crikey. Lucy couldn’t be sure if it was male or female. ‘Is that Jack?’ she guessed.

  ‘No, I’m Maddie.’

  ‘Oh, Maddie, sorry. I didn’t recognise you. You’re sounding so grown up.’

  ‘I’m free.’

  ‘Three? Wow.’

  In the background Lucy heard Anna’s voice asking for the phone.

  ‘I’m talking to a lady, Mummy.’

  A beat later, Anna was on the phone. ‘Hello?’ she asked caut­iously.

  ‘Anna, it’s Lucy Hunter.’

  ‘Oh, Lucy, how lovely.’ Her voice was instantly warmer. ‘It’s so good of you to call. You must have only just got in.’

  ‘I wanted to say hello, to see how you’re faring.’

  ‘Thanks, that’s thoughtful.’

  It was the least she could do, Lucy thought. She was alive, after all.

  ‘I’m keeping my head above water,’ said Anna. ‘And I’m so relieved that all of Mitch’s mates have made it home safe and sound.’

  Such a brave thing to say, but there was a shake in Anna’s voice.

  ‘We miss Mitch,’ said Lucy gently, and then, because Anna didn’t or couldn’t respond, she went on brightly, ‘Maddie’s sounding very grown up.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Little Miss Independent.’

  ‘And how’s Jack?’

  ‘Growing faster than buffalo grass in the wet season. He’s in primary school now and he’s started playing soccer.’

  ‘Fantastic! I used to be mad about junior soccer. I must come and watch him play.’

  ‘He’d love a cheer squad. Why don’t you come over for coffee some time? I’d love to see you, Lucy.’

  ‘That would be great. I’m on leave, of course, so I’m free any time. Name the day.’

  ‘Tuesday? Come for afternoon tea around four, after I pick up Jack from school.’

  ‘Wonderful. See you then.’

  After Lucy hung up, she considered throwing a few clothes in the wash, but she wasn’t in the mood for housework. Then she remembered the box in the wardrobe with her grandfather’s things.

  Harry had hardly ever talked about his war experiences, not even after she’d joined the army. She’d often wondered how many of his mates had died and how he’d been affected by it.

  Curious, she crossed the room and slid open the wardrobe door. The carton wasn’t very big and it wasn’t sealed. She lifted a flap and saw an old Arnott’s biscuit tin inside.

  That was all – just a black, rectangular tin with a picture of a green and red parrot holding a cracker in its claw and Arnott’s Famous Biscuits printed in white block capitals. The tin was old and battered with a few rust spots. Lucy ran her hand over it, feeling the scratches. She was pretty sure she could remember seeing it in the past, on a shelf at the back of her grandfather’s pantry.

  For a moment she was back in Harry’s kitchen, sitting at the old scrubbed pine table, drinking sugary tea and eating thickly sliced bread with butter and golden syrup. She could see his wrinkled, angular face and soft, white hair, the gentle love in his faded grey eyes.

  Oh, Harry-pa.

  It was hard to think that he might leave them soon.

  Memories burned, making her throat ache. She remembered the many times as an adult when she’d sat with Harry to
watch a Cowboys game on TV, munching hot chicken wings from the dodgy shop around the corner and drinking rum and coke from ancient scarred tumblers. She would have to make time to be with him now, in spite of her new life with Sam. The next few months would be precious.

  Besides, she needed to debrief with Harry. No one else, not even Sam, was as keenly interested in her job in Afghanistan as her grandfather was. When she’d first joined the army, Harry had been upset, claiming he’d seen enough of war to last him ten lifetimes. But he hadn’t said she was crazy, the way her mum had, and in the end he’d supported her career choice, had even told her he was proud of her.

  Lucy genuinely appreciated the way the old guy gently probed her with tactful questions, and then listened, apparently engrossed by her answers, nodding with that understanding, doting smile of his. It didn’t seem right that she knew nothing about his time in the army.

  Emboldened by this thought, she lifted the tin out of the box, testing its weight. It wasn’t heavy and when she gave it a shake, she heard the soft shuffle of paper and a metallic clink.

  What sorts of things had been important enough to her grandfather that he’d wanted them, above all else, kept safe?

  The hinges squeaked a little as she lifted the lid. There seemed to be quite a few army medals, medals that she would have investigated had she not been completely distracted by a photograph lying on the very top.

  The photo was old, a black-and-white portrait, slightly battered and dog-eared, of a beautiful, glamorous woman.

  Lucy stared at her, entranced. She must have been no more than twenty and she was as lovely as any of the famous movie stars from the thirties or forties. Her face was oval, beautifully shaped, her chin neat but determined, while her complexion had the flawless alabaster quality that was so perfectly captured in black-and-white.

  It was hard to guess the colour of her hair, but it was fair, possibly light brown, swept back from her forehead and styled in elegant waves. She wasn’t smiling, yet a lively, almost challenging impishness shone in her eyes.