Stillwater Creek (15 page)

‘I popped into the post office this morning,' said Miss Neville eventually. ‘It was only to buy some stamps but you know what Mrs Blunkett's like, especially when there's a bit of a queue. Bally woman becomes slower than ever and plays up to the crowd. Gossiping like mad about all sorts of silly stuff. Anyway, what she had to say today I actually found quite
interesting. Seemed that Ilona woman was looking for a dressmaker. She'd asked Mrs Blunkett to ask Mrs Jamison next time she came in. Needed to have a swimming costume altered and a couple of dresses taken in.'

She paused, eyes still fixed on the wall behind Cherry's head. Cherry could guess what was coming but waited just in case she'd got it wrong. A small bird flew into the closed window pane behind Miss Neville's desk and fluttered down onto the wide sill where, slightly stunned, it rested a while before flying off towards the radiata pine trees on the far side of the school yard. Miss Neville continued to stare at the wall. Perhaps this pause was carefully judged to give Cherry enough time to blunder in with a lie should she be stupid enough to want to try, or to attempt an explanation. But she wasn't going to do that. Her years at Burford Girls' High had provided too good a training and besides, there was no reason why she shouldn't help Ilona with some sewing if she wanted to.

‘Anyway,' Miss Neville continued at last, ‘Ilona turned up at the post office last thing yesterday afternoon, just before Mrs Blunkett was shutting up shop. Seemed she'd found a dressmaker. Seemed that kind woman Cherry Bates had offered to do the alterations for her today. Seemed she was going to pop around to her cottage and pin the swimming costume for her.' Here Miss Neville broke into a perfect mimicry of Mrs Blunkett's way of talking. ‘Take it in down the seams and shorten it too, for that Mrs Talivaldis is such a little wisp of a thing and that Cherry's so clever, she can turn her hand to anything.'

Miss Neville stopped but Cherry continued to say nothing. Miss Neville was going to have to come clean without any help from her: The truth of the matter was that she was jealous. Jealous of Cherry because this morning she'd had her
hands on lovely Ilona's body. Then an unwelcome thought sidled into her mind. Maybe Miss Neville was jealous of Cherry making friends with another woman not because she wanted to see more of Cherry but because she wanted to see more of the other woman. What a ridiculous prospect, there was no evidence for this at all! She was becoming irrational and should drive this suspicion from her mind. There was no point fabricating extra things to worry about. Bloody hell, her whole life would unravel if Miss Neville cared for someone else.

‘You're making something out of nothing,' Cherry said, her voice shaking slightly. To steady herself she took hold of the edge of the desk.

‘How can you say that? You spend hours with her having lessons and now you're sewing for her as well. You never spend time with me. That's not right and you know it.'

‘That's unfair and
you
know it,' Cherry said, her momentary doubt of Miss Neville vanquished.

‘I know nothing.'

At this instant the clock began to chime the hour. Cherry knew she'd have to go, or Bill would be complaining again. Complaints here and complaints at home, it was all too much; however Bill complained the loudest and she'd got so much work to do and that other thing to worry about too. Although she couldn't bear to leave the situation with Miss Neville unresolved, she stood up to leave. ‘I love you the most in the world. Believe me, I really do,' she said. ‘But I've got to go or Bill will kill me.'

Delicate lines creased Miss Neville's forehead and Cherry longed to caress them away. Instead she planted a quick kiss on her tousled hair. ‘I'll come around late tonight,' she said. ‘Leave the key under the back doormat.'

Then she hurried out, slowing only when she was visible from the street. Today it was a struggle to assume the carapace: Cherry Bates, the good sort. Cherry Bates, the cheerful wife of the publican, sauntering home after practising the piano at the school and ready for another evening pulling beer in the hotel.

Miss Neville being difficult was almost more than she could bear but she didn't want to have to give up seeing Ilona just because Miss Neville was jealous. She needed her friendship more than ever and Ilona needed friends too. Cherry would just have to work harder at reassuring Miss Neville of her affection. The incident upset her though. If Miss Neville could be so easily destabilised it was not at all clear how she would cope with learning about Bill's nasty little secret.

After closing time and the last of the drinkers had gone home, Cherry fabricated a headache and went up the back stairs to their private quarters. She shut the bedroom door and lay down on the counterpane to wait. Soon she heard Bill's heavy tread and the creaking of the floorboards as he blundered around in the bedroom next to hers. Then there was silence. After ten minutes or so she got up and tiptoed into the hallway. Putting an ear to Bill's door, she could just discern the heavy breathing that signified he was asleep. Although going out now meant she wouldn't be able to monitor him, she had no doubt that he would sleep right through the night. Back in her own room, she put a couple of pillows under the bedclothes just in case, although it was unlikely that he would look in her bedroom even if he did wake up; he hadn't done that since they stopped sleeping together years ago.

The night was still warm but she pulled on a dark coat that completely covered her pale dress and squirted some of the scent Miss Neville had given her onto the pulse points behind her ears and on her wrists. Then she picked up a stocking. After
pulling the bedroom door, so that it was open only a couple of inches, she put a hand through the opening and deposited the stocking on the floor just inside the door. If it had moved when she returned she'd know Bill had checked on her, although she didn't really believe that he cared enough to do this.

The stairs creaked a bit but nothing would wake Bill once he was asleep. She took the back route to the school mistress's house, through the lane behind Cadwallader's Quality Meats. There was no one around, apart from Old Charlie who was wandering along the lane behind the butcher's, and who paid her no attention even though they passed within several yards of one another. Cherry was used to him and thought no more of it. He often wandered around at all hours, just as she did in her clandestine comings and goings.

She turned into the lane running behind Miss Neville's house. The yellow disc of the moon was so bright that the stars looked almost pallid in the velvety indigo sky. After unfastening the back gate and stepping quickly into the yard, she secured the catch behind her. The dog next door barked several times then subsided into silence. In the distance a mopoke cried. She stayed completely still beside the old timber outhouse. This was where the dunny used to be before people started installing septic tanks, when the cottages were serviced by night-soil men who collected the cans twice a week and carted them off in a stinking truck that you could smell from a mile away. But the dunnies were no longer used and all she could smell was the sickly scent of honeysuckle climbing over the outhouse.

The light was on in Miss Neville's bedroom although it was shielded by the drawn curtains. Cherry moved stealthily up the path and lifted the back doormat. There was no key. Damn it,
Miss Neville was still angry, or worse, had forgotten about her and she began to feel anxious. Hoping not to intercept an insect, she ran a hand over the rough concrete surface. Eventually, just as her anxiety was turning to despair, she found the key under the doorsill. She fumbled for the keyhole and turned the lock. The door opened easily. She stepped inside and then crept up the stairs.

Wearing pale blue pyjamas, Miss Neville was propped up in bed and deeply absorbed in a book. Her glasses lay on the bedside table and the book was only a few inches away from her eyes. Oblivious to Cherry's silent ascent, she turned a page while Cherry stood there watching. Not wanting to frighten her, Cherry descended half a flight of stairs. Here she burst into song and stepped more noisily on the treads. Then she bounced into the room and there was Miss Neville smiling and holding out her arms.

Later Cherry decided that this was the time to tell Miss Neville about the photographs she'd found in Bill's office. There should be no secrets between them. She looked at the dear face resting on the pillow next to her. Surely Miss Neville would know what to do. So practical, she always had a solution for everything. Good no-nonsense advice, that's what was required. Miss Neville opened her eyes. Cherry braced herself for a description of what she'd seen in Bill's office. Struggling to sit up, she at once began to feel nauseated. She gulped and took a deep breath before saying, ‘There's something I have to tell you.'

Miss Neville turned away, as if annoyed. ‘It's about Ilona, isn't it?' Her voice was sharp.

‘No, it's about Bill.'

Miss Neville looked at her again. ‘Bill doesn't matter,' she said gently.

‘But he does.'

‘No, he doesn't matter. We won't let him hurt us. Just forget about Bill.'

‘He's dangerous,' Cherry said.

‘Listen, Cherry. No one cares about women like us. They don't believe we exist, most of them. There's absolutely nothing to worry about.'

‘But what if Bill found out about us? He could blackmail us. Or me.' Cherry attempted a smile before telling Miss Neville about Mr Ryan the maths teacher, thrown out of Burford High because he was a poofter corrupting the morals of children. ‘That's what they'd say about you,' she concluded.

Miss Neville considered this. ‘Of course we have to be careful,' she said. ‘But Bill hasn't got the imagination to blackmail you. Anyway, why on earth would he want to? You're a great little barmaid in his pub, so why spoil that happy arrangement?'

‘But what if I found out something bad about him and had to tell someone?'

‘Like what?'

Now was her opportunity. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to begin. But it was impossible to unburden herself yet to Miss Neville, she just couldn't do it this soon. Tomorrow she'd do it, or the day after. She said lamely, ‘We mustn't do anything to jeopardise your job.' Her voice sounded weak. She
was
weak.

Miss Neville laughed. ‘We're not. Don't fret. No one knows about us, but one day I'll apply for a transfer to Sydney and then we'll be together. That is, if you're willing to leave your old man first. No point my being sent somewhere else with you stuck here.'

This was the first time Miss Neville had been so explicit about where their relationship was heading. If Cherry hadn't
felt so worried about Bill she might have seized on these words that were more a declaration than a statement. ‘We've got to be together,' she said, but she couldn't walk out on Bill yet. He was too dangerous to be left alone. Suppressing a sigh, she knew that she wanted nothing more than to spend all night lying next to Miss Neville in this soft bed, with arms entwined around each other, and the only sound the distant thud of the surf breaking onto the beach.

She left the house by the back gate as usual. Once in the lane, she stopped briefly to listen. She thought she heard footsteps but was mistaken. It was only the silky sound of leaves rustling in the breeze, so she hurried on. Most of the houses were now in darkness, except for the Cadwalladers, where there was still a light shining in one of the rooms, and the Burtons, who had all their lights blazing. Through their uncurtained back window she could make out the figure of Mrs Burton pacing to and fro, clutching a bawling baby to her chest.

There were no lights on in the hotel. Quietly she opened her bedroom door a few inches and stepped in. The stocking was on the floor exactly where she left it. She undressed and slipped between the sheets.

Although it was well after midnight, George Cadwallader knew he had to get out of the house to clear his head. Eileen was already in bed but he couldn't bear the thought of joining her yet. Instead he went onto the back verandah and peered up at the almost full moon. It wasn't a good night for stargazing but it would be lovely out on the river. He would take his dinghy out of the boathouse and row up the lagoon, away from all the houses, away from all his cares. There he would cast out the anchor, or simply drift with the currents, while contemplating the stars.

It hadn't been much of an evening. Over tea, Jim and Andy had quarrelled about some silly thing and Eileen had taken the younger boy's side without first finding out the facts. Afterwards George had sought out Jim, who was sitting at the bottom of the yard, and sat down next to him on the grass.

‘She hates me,' Jim had said.

‘No she doesn't. She loves you. She loves both of you.'

‘Why does she pick on me all the time then?'

George had weighed his words carefully before replying. ‘You're older so she expects more of you.' But he suspected it was more than that; he suspected it was because Jim took after
his father. Not in intellect, of course, but in character. Having two of them in the one family was too much for Eileen. They looked similar and they had similar temperaments. Slow to anger, logical and steadfast. Qualities that he used to think were good until he'd learnt that Eileen thought otherwise.

‘She's very proud of you,' George had added, extemporising. While she didn't seem proud of Jim now, she would be proud of him in the future. She would be proud of him when he'd won a scholarship, as he was almost certain to do, and ended up achieving all those things that George had never accomplished and that Andy, good boy though he was, lacked the ability to attain.

‘We're both really proud of you,' George had added. He would have liked to give Jim a big hug but he'd thought he was probably a bit too old for that. So he had contented himself with patting him on the shoulder.

Now, looking up at the stars, he sighed. So much space and beauty up there, and yet down here the four of them were living in disharmony. He couldn't understand Eileen sometimes. She had her priorities wrong, no doubt about it.

He went inside to get a torch from the laundry cupboard. The house was silent except for the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. The little book about the constellations of the Southern Hemisphere, tucked snugly into one of his pockets, bumped reassuringly against his left hip as he walked down the backyard to the lane. The trouble with Eileen was that she just didn't realise that Jim was going to do remarkable things with his life. She needed to have more faith in him, and the boy needed to know now that his mother was proud of him; before it was too late.

Just as he was about to open the back gate, he chanced to see Cherry coming along the lane. He stopped quite still. The
last thing he wanted, when he was out for a bit of peace, was to bump into someone he knew. People thought he was a convivial man but that was just part of the job, and anyway it derived more from a willingness to listen rather than from any tendency to gossip. Sometimes he wanted a break from it all, that endless bonhomie with his customers, day in, day out.

In the dark shadow cast by a gum tree, he waited until Cherry had passed by, turning up the hill towards the hotel. Only then did he continue on his way. Perhaps she'd been watching out for the pair of boo-book owls that were nesting in a hollow of one of the gum trees; only the other day he'd heard Ilona telling her about them. It comforted him to think that others might need to spend some time on their own at night. This sighting certainly wasn't something to mention to Eileen though; she had a poor enough opinion of barmaids already.

He made his way along the lane that curved around to join the road down to the lagoon. On the narrow bridge he stood for a while listening to the water lapping against the piers. He wasn't conscious of hearing the breakers beating on the beach, a sound that was so much a part of his life that it was only noticed in its absence, on those rare occasions when he had to go away from the coast. Over the bridge, he turned along the track leading to the boathouse. The moon was so bright it could almost be sunlight were it not for the fact that everything had been robbed of colour. Even his own ruddy hands looked pale and washed out. He switched on the torch anyway; there was no sense in colliding unnecessarily with a kangaroo.

After launching the dinghy, he rowed up the lagoon perhaps half a mile south of Jingera. There he shipped the oars and let the current almost imperceptibly take him back towards the settlement, only occasionally using an oar to guide the craft.

His favourite star was Alpha Gruis, the brightest star in the constellation of Grus. The whooping crane, it was such a lovely translation. He could gaze at that constellation for hours and never grow tired of it. It had been charted on the first Dutch expedition to the East Indies and he liked to think of the sailors on that voyage, seeing stars they'd never seen before, seeing oceans they'd never seen before; what a journey that must have been. The technical details of Alpha Gruis were well known to him: its spectral type and its astrometry; its mass, and its radius, and also its luminosity. But the star meant more to him than a mass of statistics. It meant peace and the insignificance of his own worries, the insignificance of his own imperfections. It meant harmony too, in some way that he couldn't define, and that he'd never attempted to explain to anyone, not even to Eileen in those early days when he'd held such high hopes for their marriage.

He knew better than to tell anyone of things that really mattered. It wasn't just Eileen who'd taught him not to reveal himself. It was also those other earlier collisions when he'd been growing up, those times when he'd exposed his dreams, only to have them shattered by the artillery of that army of realists, his family. That he lacked the academic ability to become an astronomer he'd never doubted, although he hadn't been given the chance to prove this. By his fourteenth birthday, he'd been apprenticed to a butcher, and soon after realised that there was artistry in meat. He'd also learnt to keep dreams to himself. Secrets and dreams were always safe with George, whether they were his own or anyone else's.

Tonight Alpha Gruis was not as brilliant as usual, it was true; that was because of the brightness of the moon. Yet the vast dome of the sky was soothing; he felt comforted by the sense of his own insignificance in the boundless order of
things. After about an hour, having drifted back almost to his starting point, he rowed into shore and dragged the dinghy into the boathouse.

On returning home, he undressed in the bathroom and put on the pyjamas that Eileen had left out. He tiptoed into the bedroom and climbed into the double bed. Eileen woke up enough to mumble something about his werewolf-like habits before lapsing back into a sound slumber. Snuggling up to her would have to wait until next Saturday night, although he would have liked nothing better than to hold her in his arms before drifting into sleep.