Jake’s company had been on patrol in the western districts. Whilst crossing the Fly River, his canoe hit a floating log and capsized, trapping him underneath. Phillip, travelling in another canoe, watched in horror as a crocodile slid off the opposite shore. With no thought for his own safety, he dived into the murky waters, freeing Jake from under the canoe. Together, they scrambled to the shore, just beating the croc by seconds.
Most batmen didn’t drive. But after the incident in the Fly, when Jake discovered Phillip could, he managed to swing a deal with the commanding officer, securing him as a driver as well as batman. On this posting, he’d requested Phillip again. Conversing in a mixture of English and pidgin, Jake noticed Phillip’s English improving nearly as much as his own pidgin. At the same time, their friendship strengthened, transcending race and colour. In fact, on the way out to the airport, Jake even filled him in on who they were really picking up. He trusted Phillip completely—and felt the need to tell someone.
At first he didn’t see Merryn. The other passengers had all disembarked before she emerged at the top of the stairs. Interestingly enough, he found himself shaking as he watched her walk across the tarmac. What was he going to say? And why the hell had she come? Christ, what a stuff up! Yet he had to admit she looked good. For an instant, he felt a small pang of regret as his gaze travelled the length of her body, from her long auburn hair to the white strappy sandals on her feet. She was browner and thinner than when he last saw her, the moist fabric of her short cotton shift clinging to her full breasts.
He pulled a leather cigarette case from his pocket and removed a Chesterfield. After placing it nervously in his mouth, he took out a gold lighter and held it to the end.
As Merryn walked across the tarmac, the hot tar squelched under her high heels, making it difficult to walk. Despite a stiff breeze, the heat was so intense she fanned her face with her hand and wiped her forehead, pushing a piece of stray hair behind her ear.
The first thing she noticed inside the huge iron terminal was the smell of sweat and dust. People were everywhere, wandering, smoking, drinking, slumping, or sitting on the cement floor. To Merryn it looked as though she was gazing at a giant box of Cadbury’s mixed chocolates—some very dark, some a rich brown, and others a milky white. It took her a moment to adjust to the dimmer light as her eyes skittered from side to side looking for Jake. But all the faces she saw were strange to her.
A number of indigenous men, some in colourful lap laps and others in shorts and T-shirts, peered out of a grimy window chewing gum; others clung to the cyclone wire, gaping in awe at the aeroplane. One turned and smiled at Merryn. Later she was to discover it was betel nut that coloured his teeth an alarming red. A bare-breasted woman sat on a long plank in the centre. On one breast she suckled a tiny fuzzy-headed baby, on the other a small piglet. Merryn looked in amazement. Surely it must hurt? Does she save one breast for the baby and the other for the piglet, or do they share? She clasped her own breast, feeling the moistness of her cotton dress.
Next to the woman and seemingly oblivious to the suckling pig sat the singer, Dusty Springfield—bottle blond pelmet hair, eyes black sockets, gone overboard with the eyeliner, brown eye shadow, and thick black mascara. But of course, it wasn’t Dusty Springfield. She was still cracking up a storm in England as far as Merryn knew. This girl smoked a cigarette, swigged from a can of Coca Cola, and read a magazine (the Women’s Weekly by the look of it) all at the same time.
Further on, a group of runny-nosed children squatted on the dusty floor with bright shell bags and carvings at their feet. A pair of grubby hands pushed one of the bags in Merryn’s face.
‘Yu laik, Missus?’
‘No thanks,’ Merryn said, pointing to the leather bag hanging from her shoulder. Two enormous black eyes stared back forlornly. Merryn moved on but then, feeling guilty, rummaged in her handbag for fifty cents, which she suspected was a lot more than what a bag was worth. After placing the coins in the young girl’s hand, she was rewarded with a huge grin and a multicoloured shell bag, which she placed around her other shoulder.
Moments later, clinks of champagne glasses made her turn her head. In the corner, near the boarding gate, a group of Aussie expats stood together; the men in shorts and open neck shirts, a couple in safari suits; the women wearing cotton dresses, culottes, or brightly coloured caftans. There was much hugging and kissing, shaking of hands, and cameras clicking. It took Merryn only a moment to realise they must be farewelling a family back to Australia—the family with the tall thin woman wiping tears from her eyes, two tiny blond girls clinging to her skirt, and the husband smoking a pipe.
Now a green tractor, towing the luggage from the plane, roared into the terminal distracting her. She walked over to collect her suitcase. When she picked it up and laid it on the ground, it felt even heavier than when she had packed it.
Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Her heart lurched as though the earth had given way. Without warning, she felt tears fill her lower lids and she tried to blink them back. After a moment, she rounded slowly and looked straight into Jake Hawkins’s blue eyes.
‘Hello Merryn,’ he said, inclining his lips towards her cheek, ‘how are you?’
She averted her face, not wishing to be kissed and shifted her gaze to the blond woman on the wooden bench, now joined by a friend in pink shiny pedal pushers and a skimpy halter neck top.
He put out a hand and touched her wrist—the touch so unwanted she stepped back.
‘Merryn,’ he said again, ‘how are you?’
Having come against her better judgment, she could not speak. For a moment, she thought her jaw had locked. It hadn’t.
‘How am I?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
She swallowed, her face hard now and the queasiness gone. ‘How do you think I am, Jake?’
He studied her face, and there seemed an awful pause. ‘I’m sorry, Merryn. I was just wondering...you know. But you look great. Lost weight?’
‘Thank you, Jake. Yes...I have...not surprisingly.’
They stood facing each other—not sure what to do next. She noticed his olive skin was even darker, making his hair blonder, teeth whiter, the dimple in his right cheek more obvious. She could smell his aftershave.
‘Did you have a good trip?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it was fine, thank you.’
It was as if she was talking to a perfect stranger, a person she had just met. Not someone she knew so intimately. She brushed a piece of sodden hair from her eyes. Her hand quivered, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Stooping down to pick up her suitcase, he pointed to a car waiting outside the hangar. ‘This way,’ he said, ‘through those doors, ‘Phillip’s waiting with the car. You stay here and I’ll go and get him.’
For a second Merryn let her eyes focus on the nametag on Jake’s shirt. Captain Jake Hawkins. As she stood in the scorching heat, waiting for him to return, she remembered the day she had first heard that name. Little did she realise how from that moment on, her life would change so incredibly.
As usual, it had been a fickle summer in Tasmania. The day before was freezing cold and pouring rain. That day was warm with not a cloud in the sky.
Michael, the head apple picker, stood up and leant over to grab his haversack off the ground, showing all and sundry the huge plumber’s crack he was so famous for. ‘Don’t be long, you lot,’ he said. ‘We need to pick three bins before lunch.’