The Italian Romance (19 page)

‘Oh, well,' Vince said. He held the letter up in his hand and it, too, became insubstantial. ‘Give us your glasses, will you, love?' He laid open his hand.

‘Bit more news than we got from Frankie,' Mae said as she carefully lifted the spectacles from her face.

‘Oh?' Lilian said. ‘How's he?'

‘Still in training up in Queensland, love,' Vince said. ‘It'll all be over by the time he gets there.' He jerked his head quickly towards his wife, his eyes on Lilian.

Lilian said immediately, ‘Oh, yes. Probably will be.'

‘Far too young,' Mae said, almost to herself.

‘Swimming in the lagoon!' Vince read. He laughed loudly. ‘I should have joined up myself.'

‘I'd drive you back, but I got a lot of work on my plate today. These Eyetie blokes are good, but you gotta train 'em up,' Vince said to her. ‘They'll be sweet in a couple of months, then I can sit back and relax.'

She laughed as she was supposed to.

He said, his voice low, ‘She's sick with worry about the boys.'

‘Yes,' Lilian said.

‘Frankie just came home one day and said he'd enlisted. If he'd waited to be called up, the bloody war could be over. I don't
know. Can't wait to get into it. Ah, well, that's his education gone. He'll never go back. She wanted him to go on. He could've been a solicitor, or anything.'

‘Yes, I know,' she said. She had never really spoken like this with her father-in-law or, more accurately, he spoken to her. She was self-conscious. She folded her arms. Her bag bounced against her.

‘Anyway,' he sighed. ‘They seem to have pushed them back in New Guinea. Terrific boys. Saved our bacon. Terrific boys.'

Her head was bent. She watched her sandals making prints in the dust. He blew his nose beside her, trumpet-like, and she looked up, surprised. He dabbed his red and white handkerchief, grimed with the dust of the day, at his eyes. She looked away. She sensed him as he burrowed the handkerchief back down into his shorts' pocket.

‘She doesn't know how bad it is up there. I don't want her to know.'

‘No,' she said.

‘Sorry, love,' he said. He stood still, and she stopped too, though she didn't know why. ‘I'm a silly old bugger. Talking to you like that.'

Lilian looked at his shoulder, the khaki green shirt soiled with sweat. She didn't know what he was talking about. But she said, ‘That's all right.'

He started off again and she fell into step. ‘I suppose you hear it all, anyway. You reporters know all about it. You're different, see, love. You're not like Mae.'

‘No,' she said.

They walked in silence, neither having anything left to say to the other. They came to the men's quarters. Wooden posts supported the overhang of the red tin roof. The grass there was in shade, worn in spots but green, and soothing to the eye. An old rusted tin pot sprouted nasturtium; someone had placed it near the drainpipe. The buildings were very quiet. Vince pushed a red
door. ‘Hello,' he said. ‘Anyone there?' Lilian saw a bunk bed, the grey blanket folded neatly at its base. A fly buzzed by her face, making a beeline for the empty room.

‘Nice and tidy,' she said.

‘Oh, yes, well they're army men. They keep the place spic and span, all right. Never had any trouble with 'em. No. Nobody here. Thought they might be back by now. Never mind, I'll take you in myself.'

And it was then that the Italian came. He was strolling, his hands in his pockets, and he whistled a tune she thought she might have heard somewhere before. He had appeared from behind the barracks; they saw him before he noticed them. He halted, and just stood there. Vince walked towards him. Lilian couldn't get her feet to move. Or her eyes. Until Vince cut across, she looked right into his eyes. Her heart seemed to wait a beat, the gong of a bell swinging in unbearable slowness.

‘G'day, Tony,' Vince said. ‘Where are the others?'

‘They're behind me. Any problem?'

‘No, no. Just looking for you. I need someone to drive into town. Mrs Malone has a package coming in on the train at five o'clock. And you might give my daughter-in-law a lift in.'

‘Certainly,' he said.

‘Lil,' Vince said. ‘Tony will drive you. I think he's got used to driving on the right side of the road, haven't you, mate.' He laughed an old laugh.

‘The wrong side,' the Italian said, an old joke.

Vince put his arm around Lilian's shoulder and squeezed her. He wasn't looking at her. ‘Take good care of our girl,' he said.

‘With pleasure,' the Italian said. He bowed his head.

‘You see, Lil, Tony's an aristo. We don't get many of those around here.'

‘Well-trained, well-trained,' the Italian said. Both men laughed. They had practised.

‘Ah, well,' Vince said. ‘Look, I got a lot to do. Bobby Gleeson,
the station-master, will have the parcel for you, Tone. Tell him I sent you to collect it.'

‘Very well.'

‘The keys should be in the ignition. All right, love, don't leave it so long the next time. I know you're busy, but Mae loves to see you.'

‘I will.' Lilian had not said a word until then. ‘I just got today off because I've worked a lot of overtime.'

‘Yeah. And thanks for bringing that out.' He seemed to want to keep the business of the letter, of the sons perhaps, private from the Italian. ‘That was real good of you.' He tapped her elbow.

The Italian turned and walked away, towards the open-walled hay barn where the black Ford was sitting in the shade of a high roof. She walked after him. She looked down at the footprints he'd made. They were sharp. She tried to step exactly beside them, though for what reason she had no idea. She felt as full of concentration as a child.

He opened the passenger door for her without speaking. Her shoulder touched his arm as she slid down into the seat. She closed her eyes for just a moment. The leather was warm. He leaned and picked up a trail of her hem, tucking it in beside her leg, though he made sure not to touch her this time. He shut the door.

He started the engine, reversed out, turned the nose towards the avenue. They drove along in silence until they were in sight of the double gates. He said, ‘I didn't realise. I should have. Malone.'

‘I knew you were there,' she said.

He bumped the car over the cattle grid. The road into town was empty as he swung to the right. He didn't say anything.

It took her a while to say, ‘Do you like it there?'

‘Anywhere is better than the camp,' he said.

‘Yes, I suppose so.'

‘Vince is a good man.'

‘Yeah.'

He looked at the side of her face. ‘You don't like him?'

‘Oh, no, I do. I don't really know them; well, only in a way.'

‘A daughter-in-law way.'

‘Yes.' She kept her eyes straight ahead on the road. It stretched for miles.

‘I've heard them mention Bernie. Is that him?'

‘Yes, that's him.'

‘Frank is the younger one.'

‘He hasn't even finished school yet,' she said.

‘It's hard to be the ones left at home, too. Hard for mothers, and wives.'

‘What about your wife?' Lilian hardly believed she'd asked.

‘What about her?' he said.

She felt herself bristle. ‘Do you miss her?'

He put his hand up and lowered the sunshade. The western sun was burning low and big in the sky. He said, ‘No, I don't. I don't think about her.'

She said quietly, ‘That's terrible.'

‘Would you prefer me to lie? Very well, yes, I write every day. I dream of her every night. Is that more acceptable?'

Though they sat still in their seats, looking ahead, eighteen inches between them, she felt them tangling. She wanted to push at his shoulders, to set him staggering backwards. She said, ‘I miss my husband.'

He rolled his window right down, hard. ‘Good,' he said. ‘What an acceptable person you are.'

She crossed her arms and held her elbows. They didn't speak until they arrived in town. He dropped speed and crawled along Main Street. Finally he said, ‘I don't know where to leave you.'

‘At the corner. I just live down the road.'

He said, ‘I'll take you to your door.'

‘No,' she said, ‘don't. I'll just have to explain.'

He pulled in. He barely had to brake. She opened her door immediately and swung her legs out. ‘Thanks,' she said. She didn't
intend to look back at him. His dark eyes stared at her. She held the door handle.

‘I'm sorry,' he said.

Her eyes welled with tears. She didn't know where they'd sprung from.

He said, ‘Are you all right?'

She closed the door. ‘I'm fine,' she said to the air. Then she bent to the open window. ‘I'm sorry, too,' she said, and she pulled away. She did not hear the car move as she walked down the road towards her parents' house. She tugged at a flowered twig of the Christmas bush as she came through the gateway.

I don't know which of us is more embarrassed. He's sitting on my bed this morning, where yesterday my daughter sat so near to me that I could have touched her. It's almost noon. I slept, after all that. He's brought up a cup of tea. He knocked, opened the door and sheepishly said, ‘Can I give you this, or should I just pack my bags and go?'

‘You might as well come in, now you're here,' I said.

And so he did. He passed me my cardigan, for decency's sake. My glasses. Plumped up a second pillow that I had discarded to the floor during the night, settled me. He's a trier. And finally picked up the cup and saucer from the bedside table and handed them to me. I sipped at the tea before I could look him in the eye.

The tea is hot. He must have heated the cup, even, desperate man. I say, ‘If I owe you an apology, I'm sorry.'

‘There's no great mystery to it, Lilian. I haven't lied to you.'

I sipped again. ‘Well, then I am sorry. I overreacted.'

‘I understand that you're concerned for your daughter. I have a daughter myself.'

I am prickling with shame. My concern was for myself, I fear. I'm shamed that I have been caught out, interfering in others' lives, pulling the strings, falling down steps. And that I want her to like me.

‘Yes, your daughter, Jane.' I can see a pale reflection of a face, mine unless I've strayed into a fairy story, in the honey-coloured tea. I am not good at meeting gazes this morning. ‘Is there a problem there?' I ask.

He shifts himself on the bed, sits further back.

‘Quite a big one,' he says.

I feel even worse. I take a peek at him. His face is squashed up. He's not looking at me. I have gone down on the scale of issues to be dealt with.

‘My wife and I, we had a difficult marriage. I don't know whose fault it was anymore. I used to blame myself, for years. Then her. And now, well who knows? Different energies together, you know what I mean?' He catches me watching him.

I nod. ‘Yes, I know,' I say.

‘I used to drink. For a long time.' His eyes are frank.

It crosses my mind that he must be a Catholic. They say that confession is good for the soul. Personally I feel rather a fraud to be on the other end of it. I take a few gulps of my tea. My glasses steam up. ‘I'm so sorry,' I murmur.

‘I'm over that now,' he says.

‘Well, that's ... that's good then, isn't it?'

He takes a long look at me. I don't suppose he can see much, the cup over my nose, my glasses fogged up. ‘You don't want to hear this, do you?' he says.

I clear my throat. I push the cup and saucer away, along the bedside table. ‘Tell me about the wife bit, Jim. Are you married, gay, a Buddhist monk, or what are you?'

‘In fact, we're divorced. She's not very happy about it, that's all. She wasn't very happy about being married to me, either.'

‘So you're snookered either way.'

He nods. ‘But my daughter ... that's another matter.'

I take the ridiculous glasses off. ‘And you say there's quite a problem there,' I prompt.

‘My wife says...' He stops himself. ‘I mean my ex-wife, you
know. Evidently they had a row. My daughter caught the bus down to Sydney. She did ring her mother, from a public phone. She went to my office.'

‘She didn't know you were away?'

He can tell that I am amazed, not to say horrified. Which is a bit rich. He can barely make himself say, ‘No.'

‘Jim!' I say.

‘I did try to ring to tell her, but she was gone. She'd just finished her term exams, and they took off up the coast, four or five of them. I wasn't very happy about it, but what can you do? I'm sure I mentioned before that I was going.' He scratches his head. ‘Helen, my wife, said there's a problem with school. She doesn't want to go back. So, evidently, a row erupted the minute she walked in through the door after her holiday, and Jane just turns around and marches off. I
have
given her a card to use in case of emergencies, so she probably went to the bank.' He scratches his head again, frantically.

I say, ‘Do you know where she is now?'

‘Well, she went to my office and my secretary told her I was away and, God bless her, took the little monkey home for the night.'

‘Have you spoken to her?' I ask.

‘Oh, yes.'

‘Not a happy conversation.'

‘She cried. I shouted. The usual, you know.'

‘Not really,' I say.

‘What?' He looks at me as though he has missed something.

‘The usual. I don't know it. I didn't bring up a teenage daughter.'

‘Oh. No.' He stands up. ‘Sorry.'

‘Listen, I'm going to raise the dead here.' I move my legs in the bed to indicate my intention.

‘I'm sorry, Lilian. I'll leave you in peace.'

‘Just a minute, before you go rushing off. What are you thinking of doing?'

‘I'll try again,' he sighs. ‘I'll ring her and say she has to go home to her mother. And if she won't, I suppose I'll have to fly back.'

‘What about getting her over here?' I say.

‘Over here?'

‘Why not?'

He puts one hand on his hip, the other scratches at his head again. ‘Hadn't thought of that,' he says.

‘Couldn't your secretary get a flight for her? Then you could have some time together. It doesn't sound as if you've had much lately.'

‘No. That's for sure. Between everything. She has a passport. Had to get one for a school trip to Fiji.'

‘Some school trip.'

‘Yeah.' He laughed. ‘Her father grows money on trees.'

‘Fortunate girl.'

‘She hasn't been that fortunate,' he says. ‘Anyway, thanks. Thanks, Lilian. I'll think about that.' He goes to the door. ‘Can I take your cup?' He steps towards the bed, picks it up. ‘I'll um ... do you want me to send Francesca in?'

I laugh, in a manner of speaking. ‘Let's not push our luck,' I say.