Moonlight Plains Page 4

From the carriage windows people called tearful farewells.

  ‘Goodbye!’

  ‘Stay safe!’

  Arms waved madly as the train pulled slowly out of the station.

  A hand tapped Kitty on the shoulder and she jumped.

  ‘Gosh, Andy!’

  Andy Mathieson lived in the street behind her and she’d known him for years, but it was a surprise to see him in uniform midweek. Like most of the boys his age, he’d joined the local militia, training on weekends down at the army reserve at Kissing Point, but here he was now, with his slouch hat turned up at the side and a stripe on his shoulder.

  ‘I’ve signed up with the regulars,’ he said with a shy smile. ‘I convinced my parents I have to do my bit.

  ‘Gosh,’ Kitty said again, softly. In all the confusion and tension of the past week she hadn’t heard the news.

  ‘Mum said I might find you here, Kit.’

  ‘Were you looking for me?’

  Andy nodded. ‘I’m heading off tomorrow morning.’ Now his Adam’s apple worked overtime. ‘I wanted to make sure I said goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, Andy.’ She tried, unsuccessfully, to smile. ‘The only thing I seem to say lately is goodbye.’

  ‘Well, I can’t miss out then.’ He squared his shoulders. He was a tall fellow, nice enough looking – lanky-limbed and sandy-haired, with friendly blue eyes. ‘Can I walk you home?’

  The earnest way he asked this was a surprise. They’d known each other for almost ten years, since she’d first come to live with her grandparents, and they’d walked home from the pictures once or twice, casually, as friends, but Kitty sensed this was different somehow.

  Of course it would be, wouldn’t it? Everything was different now. ‘That would be nice,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Thank you.’

  As they left through the station’s rather grand, white-tiled entrance, the warm tropical night pressed around them, close and humid. Outside, new rows of evacuees were lining up, ready for the next train in two hours’ time. They looked tired and nervous, as if they feared something might go wrong and stop them from leaving.

  Opposite the station, a slice of Castle Hill’s rusty-pink rock face was caught in the beam of a searchlight. Andy took Kitty’s hand and, because she couldn’t think of a good reason not to, she let him hold it. She was wearing lace cotton gloves, and she could feel an unsettling heat coming from him through the open-weave fabric.

  ‘So what happens after tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘Do you have to do more training?’

  ‘I go to Enoggera first. After that –’ Andy gave a carefully nonchalant shrug. ‘I’ll be a real digger. Who knows where I’ll end up?’

  Indeed. Who knew? There was talk of men being needed in Malaya. Kitty tried to put herself in her friend’s shoes and she felt a hot surge of fear. But then she couldn’t help wondering if staying at home and waiting to be invaded might be almost as bad as heading off to fight.

  ‘I’m planning to write to you, Kitty.’

  She struggled to hide her surprise. Quite good friends at times, she and Andy weren’t sweethearts. Recently they’d played tennis together, and once or twice Andy had taken her to the pictures, and they’d danced at church socials.

  But she’d danced with other fellows too. Kitty liked boys, as a general rule, and she was popular, although her grandfather’s stern eye rather cramped her style.

  ‘You won’t have time to write to me,’ she suggested. ‘You’ll be too busy writing to your family.’

  ‘I want to write to you too.’

  ‘Well, if you have time, I’d love to hear from you,’ she assured him as they headed along Flinders Street, where the shop windows were full of the war, filled with posters for war loans, V for Victory flags and displays of the gear needed for air raids.

  In a few short weeks, their sleepy tropical town had become a garrison. The post office clock tower had been dismantled so Japanese pilots couldn’t use it to navigate. The graceful palm trees and pretty gardens in the centre of Flinders Street had been dug up and filled with sandbags and ugly concrete air-raid shelters.

  ‘What do you think about all this talk of a Brisbane line?’ Kitty asked. ‘Will the government really abandon us up here?’

  ‘Nah, I reckon it’s tommy rot.’ Andy shook his head, full of new importance and superior knowledge. ‘You watch. Townsville will be an important Allied base. It’ll have to be defended at all cost.’

  ‘My grandfather’s not so sure. He says Curtin and the politicians abandoned Rabaul. They didn’t evacuate anyone or reinforce the soliders.’

  ‘But Townsville’s different and the Yanks are here now.’

  ‘I guess.’ His confidence was comforting.

  At the top of Denham Street they crested the hill and their suburb lay below them, nestled at the foot of Castle Hill and fringed by the still waters of Cleveland Bay. Offshore, the dark silhouette of Magnetic Island floated in the purple dusk, but the beauty and serenity of the view was marred by three huge steel landing barges moored in the bay, and rolls of ugly barbed wire strung along the beachfront.

  Always, everywhere were reminders of the war.

  They went down the hill and the delicate scent of frangipani drifted from shadowy gardens. The front verandahs of the houses were dark and secretive – everyone had obeyed the council’s instructions to remove their verandah light bulbs – but Kitty was sure she could feel curious eyes watching them as they walked, still holding hands.

  At her front gate, Andy gripped her hand more tightly. ‘Are your grandparents home tonight?’

  She shook her head. ‘Grandfather has a churchwardens’ meeting and Grandma’s there to help with serving supper.’

  As she said this, she saw a mysterious tilt to Andy’s smile and she wondered if she’d been foolish to be quite so forthcoming. ‘But I suppose they might finish early. They could be home any minute.’

  She pulled her hand from Andy’s, pushed the squeaky front gate open and hurried through, but before she could close it, he followed her. He’d taken his hat off and his blue eyes flashed with a determined brightness that was just a little alarming.

  At the bottom of her front steps Kitty stopped with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. ‘What time does your train leave in the morning?’

  ‘Half past ten.’

  Another goodbye. ‘I – I’ll make sure I’m there.’

  Andy looped the strap of his hat over the stair post and then, without warning, gripped her elbows and mounted the first step, drawing her to him. ‘Just in case you can’t make it tomorrow morning, why don’t we say goodbye now?’

  ‘Well, all right, but I promise I’ll be there.’

  He climbed two more steps, pulling Kitty with him. ‘I want to say goodbye properly, Kit.’

  Her insides jumped, partly with alarm, partly with excitement. With grandparents as strict as hers, her experience of kissing boys was sadly limited. There’d been one or two boys who’d stolen kisses at dances, but they’d been rather furtive and not exactly passionate. Andy had only kissed her once before and that had been years ago when a group of them played spin the bottle down behind the sand dunes. The bottle she’d spun had actually been pointing at Donny Roper, but Andy had elbowed Donny out of the way.

  Now they reached the darkness of the verandah and his grip tightened.

  ‘It might be ages before I see you again,’ he said.

  That was true enough. The thought of his heading off into unknown horror made Kitty soft with sympathy, and she was caught off guard when he pulled her roughly against him and pressed his mouth over hers.

  It was strange to be held so tightly. The buckle of his belt pressed into her stomach. His lips were cool and hard and tasted of cigarettes overlaid by peppermint. But it was rather exciting in a strange way. Not wonderful exactly, not romantic, but exciting nevertheless.

  ‘Oh, Kitty.’ Andy sounded out of breath.

  She stood quite still, glad of the darkness, not sure what to say, wishin
g that she wanted this as much as he seemed to.

  His lips found hers again, more gently this time, and it was quite nice, really. But then his tongue pushed between her lips and he squeezed her breast.

  ‘Andy!’ She struggled to be free of him. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘You know what I’m doing.’

  ‘But you can’t. Not that.’

  He caught her hands, gripped them so tightly she couldn’t move. ‘You don’t understand, Kitty. I really like you. I’ve never been game to tell you before, but I’m crazy about you. And – and I’m going away tomorrow. If I’m going to fight for my country, I should be brave enough to tell my girl how I feel.’

  His girl?

  It was oddly flattering. And very confusing. She wasn’t his girl.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’

  Kitty knew he meant if. He didn’t know if he would ever see her again. Poor fellow. He was the same age as she was – they’d been to the same primary school and shared endless sessions of backyard cricket and swimming in the rock pool at the end of the Strand, Sunday school picnics and church socials.

  Years ago, in grade seven, Andy had thrown prickly burrs in her hair and the other girls had said it meant he liked her. If she was honest, she’d always known he was a bit keen on her. Now he was heading off for war and he was trying to hide how scared he was.

  Kitty understood that too. They were all scared these days.

  Her throat hurt, as if she’d swallowed a fishbone, and tears burned her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine, Andy. You’ll come home. And now that the Americans are here, the war will be over before you can say Bob’s your uncle.’

  ‘Kitty.’ There was a sob in his voice as he slipped his arms about her waist and pulled her harder against him. She could feel him shaking. ‘We’ve got to do this.’ His voice was hoarse and urgent. ‘I’m going away and we’ve got to. Everybody’s doing it.’

  She stiffened with shock. ‘But –’

  He was holding her so tightly now, pressing hot kisses into her neck and using his body to shepherd her back into the darkness, towards the daybed at the end of the latticed verandah.

  Kitty knew what he’d said was true. Well, maybe not everybody was doing it, but Val Keaton had confided that she’d let her boyfriend go all the way with her before he left for the front, and she’d hinted she wasn’t the only one who’d been so daring.

  Kitty had always planned to ‘save herself’ until she was married. She wanted the first time she made love to be romantic and beautiful, but already, the arrival of war had muddied her thinking, smudged the lines around ideas that had always been sharp and clear before.

  All around them, the world was changing. The air-raid shelters and the new displays in the shop fronts, the landing barges in the bay were outwards signs of the war, but she’d already sensed the changes taking place in people’s heads and hearts too.

  ‘You’re my girl, Kitty.’

  I’m not, she almost told him. I’m not anybody’s girl. They were friends. Old friends, yes. Mates, chums, but they were not lovers. Once, when Andy had tried to cuddle up to her at the theatre, she’d dug him in the ribs with her elbow and told him not to be silly.

  But now . . .

  The poor fellow was going off to fight for King and country.

  He might die.

  Heaven help her, Kitty could actually imagine him being shot. To her horror, she could picture it in vivid detail. She could see the sudden, wide-eyed shock in his eyes; see his sandy head flung back, his mouth gaping in a silent scream, his lanky body crumpling.

  In a rush of sympathy she wound her arms around his neck and she smelled the oil he’d combed into his hair.

  Emboldened, he lunged across the last bit of verandah, taking her with him, making her stumble into the gloom in the corner, till the backs of her knees bumped the cane daybed where her grandmother took her afternoon naps.

  Andy kissed her so passionately now she couldn’t breathe. Her legs caved beneath the pressure of his weight and a heartbeat later she was on her back, with Andy on top of her.

  She felt a flare of panic, but then, unexpectedly, she knew she wasn’t going to put up a fight, and a strangely cool resignation settled over her.

  When his hand slipped beneath her skirt and skimmed her thighs then closed on the elastic of her bloomers, she told herself that many, many girls had done this sort of thing in wartime. It was probably sentimental and selfish to cling to romantic dreams when young men were sacrificing their lives and the whole world was falling apart.

  She tried to think sensibly. ‘Andy, have you got something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Protection?’

  ‘Yeah. French letter.’ He sounded scared.

  ‘So you planned this?’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘Do you know how to use it?’

  Instead of answering, he kissed her and thrust against her, grinding his hips, and Kitty closed her eyes and told herself over and over that this was terribly important to him.

  He was trembling and breathless as he fumbled with his clothing and she with hers, and she felt like crying when she felt him, hard yet silken, shove blindly between her legs. Was this how it was supposed to be?

  She was grateful for the darkness. It helped her to distance herself from her body. Kitty held her breath, waiting for the pain she knew must come, but then without warning, his violent movements ceased and he collapsed on top of her. Her relief was mingled with surprise and mild disappointment. Had they really done it?

  Was that all it was? So desperate and awkward?

  She was sure it was supposed to hurt more than that. Had he actually been properly all the way inside her?

  She had no chance to find answers to these questions. Beyond the verandah, the front gate squeaked.

  ‘My grandparents!’ Kitty hissed. ‘Get off! Quick!’

  Andy swore softly and Kitty’s heart galloped as she pushed him roughly away and grabbed at her bloomers, yanking them up her legs.

  Already footsteps were coming up the concrete path. Frantically, she smoothed her skirt and fastened her blouse. Beside her, Andy, in a panic, fumbled with his trousers and with his belt.

  The footsteps reached the front steps.

  ‘What in heaven’s name?’

  Her grandfather’s tall frame loomed towards them, topped by a shock of silver hair.

  Andy groaned and turned away, trying to hide the front of his trousers and the belt buckle still hanging loose.

  With a cry of outrage, her grandfather grabbed Andy by the shoulder.

  ‘You bastard, Mathieson!’

  Kitty had never heard her grandfather use such bad language. To her horror, he put his foot in Andy’s back, and propelled him forward. Andy stumbled, almost lost his balance, and had to grab the railing to stop himself from falling.

  ‘Get out of here,’ her grandfather snarled.

  ‘Alex!’ Her grandmother’s voice came from the dark near the steps. Kitty had forgotten she was there too. ‘Alex, please. What would Reverend Johnson think if he heard you?’

  Andy stood his ground, shoulders squared. ‘You don’t understand, Mr Martin. It’s okay. We’re getting married.’

  Kitty stifled a gasp. This was a nightmare spinning out of control.

  ‘Kitty’s my girl,’ Andy insisted. ‘She and I – we’re getting married.’

  ‘The only thing you’re getting is out of my house. Don’t you ever show your face here again.’

  Andy had the sense to give up. Kitty was grateful for the dark, so she couldn’t see the look on his face, but she heard the heavy tread of his boots descending the steps.

  She had no time to work out whether she felt sad or mad. Her grandfather turned his attention to her and she braced herself for the full force of his venom.

  She expected shouting and righteous outrage, but when he spoke, his voice was menacingly quiet.

  ‘You didn’t resist,’ h
e told her coldly.

  ‘But I –’

  ‘You’re a daughter of Eve. You’ve shamed us, girl. You’ve shamed your family and you’ve shamed yourself in the eyes of the Lord.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Grandfather.’

  ‘Sorry? Is that all you can say?’

  It was all she dared to say. He wouldn’t listen to excuses and she wasn’t about to lay blame. How could she explain the muddled thinking that had led her to give in to her friend?

  ‘How could you shame us, Kitty? After everything your grandmother and I have done for you?’

  His words seared her, and she remembered the first time she’d met her stern North Queensland grandparents when they’d come to collect her from the children’s home in Sydney. Her parents had both died of tuberculosis and these people were her rescuers! How she’d loved them – and despite their strict ways, they’d always been caring and kind. For the past ten years she’d been happy.

  There was the sound of a key in the lock. Her grandmother was opening the front door. Grandma turned on the hall light and it spilled over her, revealing to Kitty her crimped grey hair, her aging, pale face and wide, worried blue eyes.

  ‘Come inside, Alex,’ she said in her quiet, no-nonsense Scottish accent. ‘You don’t want to share this with the whole street.’

  Grandfather’s narrowed eyes glinted as he glared at Kitty. ‘I’ll have no temptress in this house.’

  There was a shocked gasp from the hallway and her grandmother hurried forward and pulled at her husband’s coat sleeve. ‘For heaven’s sake, Alex, you can’t throw our granddaughter into the street.’

  He blinked at his wife, taking in her words, then drew himself up tall, hooked his thumbs beneath the lapels of his coat. ‘Maybe not tonight, but the girl needs to be put away from temptation. And in his own time, God will punish her for this.’

  6

  Moonlight Plains, 2013

  Sally slept and dreamed of Josh.

  They were together on Magnetic Island, on the Forts Walk, one of their favourite tracks, which wound through bushland and pockets of rainforest. Every so often the track offered spectacular views of the blue and white bays and the Coral Sea below, dazzling in the sunlight.