Above the Fold Read online

  On the Northern Beaches Luke and his friends rarely saw the influx of Americans. A military staff car came past one day, containing US officers and a couple of girls. It stopped to ask if they were on the right road for Palm Beach, which had become a popular playground for them.

  “It’s the only road. Just keep going till you reach the sea,” Steven helpfully told them.

  “Then go underwater till you reach Terrigal,” Barry suggested.

  “Ha-bloody-ha,” responded the girls, both of them young and pretty, enjoying flaunting themselves. It got a swift reaction from Barry.

  “Bunch of tarts.” He cupped his mouth this time to make sure he was heard: “Just hang on to your pants, ladies. Don’t forget — one Yank and they’re down!”

  There were minor encounters like this but the serious clash between armies was something most people didn’t know about until long afterwards. The Battle of Brisbane began one day after the pubs shut, when a sharp exchange of words led to brawls throughout the city for the next two days, with hundreds on both sides wounded and an Australian soldier killed. It was pitched combat so violent it created bedlam between the armies supposed to be fighting the Japanese. In their spare time they were fighting each other. Meanwhile in Sydney Americans flooded the bars and brothels of Kings Cross, where it was said they bought orchids for their girls, and the girls promptly sold them back to the florists the next morning.

  Claudia and Luke had problems. The loss of The Shaggery was a setback. The chill of winter and damp beaches did little to resolve the libido issue. They snatched rare indoor occasions when either of their parents went out for the evening, but there was tension about chancing this after what had happened one night at Luke’s house. They were both tucked up in his bed together, deciding it was so much nicer than al fresco sex, when they heard the sound of the front door being opened and slammed shut.

  They froze on hearing his father’s voice loudly complaining the play was the greatest load of twaddle he’d ever suffered, and moments later his mother opened the bedroom to see if Luke was home. By this time, with the most extraordinary speed, Claudia had slid beneath the bed and out of sight, in the process forgetting to grab her underpants. They lay in full view at the foot of the bed, the lace trim pointedly denoting female ownership. While trying to give an impression of being woken, Luke saw his mother see. She gazed at the panties, gazed at him, then, as they heard his father approach, she picked them up and quickly tossed them beneath the bed. A hand reached from below and took them. Luke heard a small voice whisper ‘thank you’ and by then his father was at the door, switching on the light and asking, “Is he awake, Louisa?” as he entered.

  “Well, he is now,” she said tersely.

  “Terrible play,” he announced, and promptly left the room. “Waste of bloody time and money.” They heard him shout as if blaming his wife for it, followed by the clink of bottles as he poured himself a scotch.

  “I liked the play,” his mother said softly as she bent to kiss him on the cheek, “but he insisted we leave at interval.” She turned out the light, but not until she touched a hand to her lips, blowing a kiss with a smile before closing the door.

  Luke let out a deep breath, and waited a moment to make sure neither of them would return. “You can come out now,” he whispered.

  “I’m not sure I want to,” came the small voice from below.

  He reached down to grab her hand, and after a moment she slid out clutching the pants, and hastily put them on.

  “Do you think she knew it was me?”

  “I’d say it’s more than possible. Don’t worry, I think she’s on our side,” he promised, but Claudia was not comforted.

  “I’ve got to get home. Help me to climb out the window.”

  “I will. But, Claudia darling, don’t you think it’s best to put on the rest of your clothes first?”

  “Oh God,” she said grabbing her skirt, “I suppose so.”

  At breakfast the next morning his mother surveyed him calmly and asked if he’d managed to go back to sleep after being woken so abruptly. It was a sly acknowledgement of their shared secret. Behind the pages of the morning paper his father muttered that The Herald’s drama critic must be insane for liking the play, and remained oblivious to the collusion in his home.

  Several weeks later, it was early one morning before breakfast that the phone rang, and Louisa Elliott, still in her nightgown, answered it.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “Yes, I think he’s awake. Just a moment.”

  “If that’s for me, tell them to ring at a more sensible hour,” came a bad-tempered voice, as her husband emerged from the bathroom.

  She ignored him and called, “Luke. It’s for you.”

  His father gave vent to his feelings with an irritated admonition as he passed Luke. “Why the hell is she on the blower at this hour? Tell her it’s far too early.” He went into the spare bedroom slamming the door unnecessarily.

  It was the first indication to Luke that his parents were occupying separate bedrooms. His mother handed him the phone, noticed his surprise and nodded an answer. “Yes, some new domestic arrangements,” she said. “And by the way it’s not Claudia ringing, it’s Steven.”

  “Couldn’t you sleep?” Luke asked when he took the receiver.

  “Can’t waste time. I’m on a public phone, and the coins will run out,” came Steven’s hurried voice, “so listen carefully.”

  “What’s happened? Where are you?”

  “Marrickville recruiting centre. My family don’t know, but I’ve joined up.”

  “Steve, when?”

  “Yesterday. I’ve got the medical soon, then on the way to Cowra after we’re kitted out.”

  “What about the parents? Any little problems?”

  “They don’t know yet.”

  “Oh?”

  “I turned chicken, mate. Couldn’t face it. Hysteria from Mum, shouting from Dad, so I told a few pork-pies.”

  “Where do they think you are?”

  “At your place,” Steven said.

  “Oh, shit,” he glanced around but no-one was within hearing.

  “Luke, I’m sorry to drop you in it, but I need to be at Cowra and signed up before they find out.”

  “And how does that happen?” But he already knew the answer.

  “Well,” Steven said, “that’s the trouble with being my best friend. How would you feel about breaking the news, say sometime tomorrow when I’m officially sworn in?” There was a pause as Luke tried to think of a reply. “Luke are you still there?”

  “Still here. But, mate, can I just point out something?”

  “What?” He sounded impatient.

  “Put it this way. You’re the hero who can’t face his dad and mum. I’m just a pacifist who wants the war to end tomorrow. Why me?”

  “Who else can I trust? Just give ‘em the message,” he pleaded.

  “You know they sometimes shoot messengers.”

  “I know you’re playing silly buggers, and I’ve got no more coins.”

  “Of course I’ll do it,” Luke said, “But for Christ’s sake don’t take risks and don’t get killed.”

  It was all he had time to say before the line went dead, and he felt worried his last words might’ve been a jinx. Not the kind of thing you’d say to a brother off to fight in that steaming New Guinea jungle, and in many ways Steven was closer than a brother.

  The timber mill was on Tumbledown Dick Hill, with a panoramic view. The sea below was spread out to the horizon, while in the foreground was the Garigal National Park and glimpses of Narrabeen Lakes. It seemed a miracle no-one had been allowed to chop it into quarter-acre blocks and build rows of brick houses with tiled roofs, but the serenity was offset by the high-pitched sound of power saws as they cut down trees and ripped hardwood.

  Luke had come by pushbike, the three-mile ride up Powder Works Road, past the Elanora Country Club and the small fruit and vegetable farms with their roadside stalls containing offer
ings for sale. It was a steep and tiring climb; Louisa had offered to drive him, but he thought there might be fireworks when he broke the news, and didn’t want to involve her.

  Her request to call his mother ‘Louisa’ was new. An abrupt change had occurred in their house; she seemed more assertive, less inclined to obey his father or be intimidated. He thought it had begun after the night she found him in bed with Claudia and shared their secret. Or was it Sue’s influence? Whatever the reason, it was certainly a difference, a small revolution, and he liked it. Not only did he enjoy calling her Louisa, he also relished seeing his father’s raised eyebrows. Luke was asked why he was cheekily calling her that, but, before he could answer, Louise sharply retorted, “Because it’s my name, and I requested it.” It brought a shrug of indifference from Richard Elliott, and no further questions.

  Luke remembered what one of his teachers had said about coercion in the school yard. “If you stand up to a bully you’ll often find he’s all bluster and bullshit.” They’d had a good laugh at him using a swearword in class, but there was some truth in it. Louisa was like a new person.

  He was shown into Mr Pascoe’s office, where Steven’s father was busy at a desk covered with papers. The building had good insulation, for the clamour of power saws hardly intruded here. He was made to stand and wait, no offer to sit down, while Pascoe carefully scanned a letter and signed it.

  “Oh, it’s you, Luke,” he said at last. “Did you bring that son of mine with you?”

  “Er, no, Mr Pascoe.” He felt nervous, aware he was about to toss a grenade into this man’s well-ordered life. Jerold Pascoe was a big man, thickset with bright red hair, known to have a short fuse if upset.

  “Well, where the bloody hell is he?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you,” he began to say, but was interrupted.

  “Was there a party? Some reason he spent the past few days at your place? Did he get drunk and couldn’t find his way home?” he said sarcastically, while staring impatiently at Luke. “In fact, if he’s not with you, then why the hell are you here?”

  “I’ve come to explain where he is.”

  “Well, explain then. Get on with it.”

  “I’m trying to, Mr Pascoe …”

  “Making a long-winded job of it, son. Stop wasting my bloody time.”

  Who’s wasting time, Luke thought resentfully, as the other’s voice rose impatiently. “C’mon, why are you here? Where the devil is he?”

  “He’s left university and he’s joined the army,” Luke said abruptly, in order to put an end to this hostile interrogation. Pascoe’s face turned brick red with shock, and his hands clenched into tight fists.

  “Don’t talk crap, Luke.”

  “It’s true, Mr Pascoe. He passed the medical and is in training camp.” He tried to be conciliatory. “I’m sorry, but he asked me to come and tell you.”

  “The stupid prick’s still under twenty-one. He needs my permission.”

  “The army don’t seem to think so,” Luke said.

  “How dare he drop out of uni like that. You were a part of this conspiracy, were you?”

  “No. I hadn’t the faintest idea.”

  “I think you’re a fucking liar.”

  Luke had had enough of his aggression. “You think whatever you like, Mr Pascoe. I’m just the messenger, so there’s no point in abusing me, even if it does make you feel better. I promised him. Now I’m out of here.”

  “Good, go before we kick you out. Go on, fuck off,” he shouted.

  “Gladly,” Luke replied, realising why Steve didn’t want to spend the rest of his life beholden to this man. He found the ride home a far happier journey. The promise had been kept, and the bike was on a downhill slope all the way. Later, he told Louisa about it, but asked her not to tell his father. She smiled and said that was no problem; they weren’t speaking much since her declaration of independence.

  SEVEN

  Early in the new year when the Australian brigades drove the Japanese back along the Kokoda track, Luke kept wondering if Steven was among them. There hadn’t been much in the way of news in all this time, just a brief note of thanks. Rachel had received one letter, nothing else. Luke made an attempt to ring his home and ask if they’d heard from him, but his timing was astray; it was answered by his father who shouted abuse at him and hung up.

  Life was different now. Quietly spoken Steve had a sense of fun that few outsiders knew about, and Luke missed it. His fond memories included the night when he, Barry and Steve sat on the beach with a few bottles of beer, Barry moaning about his young brother Felix, whom he called ‘the little swine’. Felix was a prodigy with things electrical, able to rig a device to make a car horn blare from a long distance away.

  “Bugger kept watch when I was on the nest in the car with a girl whose identity we won’t mention,” Barry had complained. “No names, no pack drill.”

  They both knew he was talking about Helen.

  “Baz, you’re not shagging a certain young lady on the back seat of your dad’s new De Soto sedan, are you?” Steven sounded shocked.

  Barry told him to shut up, and went into a long story about making progress towards his objective when the little swine had hit a remote device to set off the horn. “It started blaring, frightening the hell out of us. She pushes me off, the old man comes charging out of the house yelling like a whale on heat as he thinks it’s local yobs, she’s in strife trying to put on her dress, and I run for cover without my trousers.”

  “Bit of a disaster, Baz,” Steven had commented, looking deadpan.

  “Total fuck up, because the young swine did it the next week, after we tried again. Diabolical. The result is, she’s fed up to the back teeth, the old man’s ringing the dealer claiming he’s got a crap car, and you two are lucky you don’t have kid brothers. Felix goes around telling friends he’s in love with her, and doing his best to protect her virginity from his randy elder brother,” Barry grumbled.

  “Anyone get caught?” Luke enquired.

  “Bloody nearly. Touch and go.”

  “You touched and she went,” Steven said. Luke stifled his laughter and Barry told Steve to belt up if he had nothing more sensible to say. Luke had watched Steven during this, and made no comment until the two of them were alone the next day.

  “How much did it cost you to bribe Felix?”

  “Only two quid,” Steven said, and roared laughing. “Mind you, the kid reckoned he would’ve done it for free, worth it to see Baz try to run and hide with only one leg in his trousers. Funnier than Charlie Chaplin. But the bit about protecting her virginity, that wasn’t in the script. That was Felix.”

  “He’s a bright spark. Thank God he’s not my brother.”

  “Or mine,” said Steven.

  Luke tried not to look at casualty lists, worried he might find Steve’s name there. By now he’d been in New Guinea for at least six months, and casualties were heavy. “I hate war,” he told Claudia. “I hate the idea of people killing each other because politicians or someone like my father says it’s our duty.” He could only voice these pacifist sentiments to her.

  But as Claudia pointed out to him, the small advances on the Kokoda Track, of which Steven may have been part, were little victories where there’d been none before. The tension of the past two years, when it seemed so certain Australia would be invaded, had begun to ease.

  “And I’ll tell you something else,” she said. “I don’t know if the rich are returning from their bolt-holes, but I reckon the lucky ones who bought their houses on the waterfront for a song, must be grinning all the way to the bank.”

  It was no wonder he loved her, when she said things like that to ease his mind and make him laugh.

  Luke’s part-time job at the Arlington golf range was coming to an end; the premises had been sold. It was then he met Alfie Metcalfe, an old school friend, and finally found a job he wanted. He chose a family breakfast to break the news, aware that it was going to cause uproar.
/>   “A job?” His father immediately looked up from the morning paper. “When did this happen?”

  “Two days ago. I applied and got it.”

  “That seems like progress. But what sort of job?”

  “A messenger boy,” Luke said.

  “Oh. You mean another of your useless casual jobs?”

  “No, it’s full-time.”

  “This is a joke, Luke.” He stared at him. “Isn’t it?”

  “No joke,” Luke assured him. “Starting Monday I run messages for radio station 2GB. It’s part of the Macquarie Network.”

  “I know what it is. But you really can’t be serious.”

  “I’m perfectly serious,” he said.

  “Then you must by raving mad. A career as a bloody messenger boy!” A flushed face presaged anger, and Louisa, recognising it, rose to clear the plates from the table. “Just sit down and listen to this lunacy,” he demanded of her. “At least you could show some interest for a change.”

  “Louisa already knows all about it,” Luke announced, which did little to alleviate his father’s temper.

  “You thought it fit to tell her, but not me?”

  “Because she listens and understands, whereas you blow your top like you’re doing now. You never give me a chance to explain why.”

  “Radio 2GB. What the hell do you know about radio?”

  “I know they make more serials and drama programs than anyone else in Australia. And if I work there I can watch and learn.”

  “Learn what? How to run messages?”

  “That’s just a way of getting a job there. My friend Alfie Metcalfe worked as a messenger, and he’s been promoted to the sound effects department. So, I got advance warning of the vacancy. It gives me a chance to learn about radio scripts, how to write them.”

  “You want to write the stuff we hear on the radio. You mean like Big Sister and all that garbage? That is pathetic and ridiculous!”