‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ her mother asked.
Merryn shrugged ‘No. I’m not sure it’s the right thing. But it’s the only thing.’
‘Well, don’t go if you’re not sure.’
‘It’s too late now. I’ve relet the unit, sold the car, and paid for my flight.’
‘Well, if you change your mind, you can come and stay with me,’ her mother went on in a worried voice.
Merryn had gazed around the dark living room of the two- story federation home, where her mother had lived on her own since Merryn had convinced her to finally sell the old homestead at Wattle Creek. Merryn couldn’t envisage being part of the chintz covered chairs, Waterford crystal, and heavy Irish furniture for the rest of her life, much as she loved it.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said with determination, ‘but I’ve made up my mind. I can’t let Barty Harman down. Not many airline operators are prepared to give a woman a go. And at the end of the day, despite what you feel, flying’s what I want to do more than anything else, particularly now. I’ve no other choice than to go to Moresby and get my hours up... even,’ she added softly, ‘if Jake’s there too. As you well know, it’s the only place that will have me.’
‘Well, I’m sure when he sees you again he’ll realise what a mistake he’s made,’ her mother said confidently, ‘but if it doesn’t work out...well...there’s always here.’
‘I’ll make it work out,’ she assured her mother, attempting to reassure herself.
Secretly, Merryn had her own doubts. However, she gave a smile that was meant to ease her mother’s mind. ‘I’ll be all right—you’ll see.’
Yet as she sat in the car with Phillip driving, she wasn’t at all sure she would be all right.
‘Your mother?’ Jake asked.
Merryn turned her eyes from the desiccated dusty road outside the car window. She had no idea it would be this dry. She’d expected the heat, but not the dust. It was as if rain had never fallen on this parched land, scattered with litter and teeming with locals seemingly idling to nowhere.
‘Yes, I heard,’ she said, pursing her lips tightly. Looking over at him, she tapped her finger on the ashtray. ‘She’s fine... sends her love. Thinks we’ll sort it out...all some kind of misunderstanding or such...’
‘Oh...’
Yes, well...’ She broke off, feeling the salty sting of tears threaten her eyes. Her eyebrows gathered, and she studied the back of Phillip’s head. Such tight hair!
She glanced out the window again and then back at Jake. She wasn’t sure which emotion was winning inside her head. Loss? Hatred? Humiliation?
Yet what had thrown her the most was the huge rush of pure want that travelled her body when she first saw him at the airport. Somehow she’d imagined the anger she was feeling would kill that desire. It had only made it worse, even now.
In awkward silence, they drove on—up and down hills skirting through small neighbourhoods, some more well to do than others, and on to where the road ran along the beach. On any other day, Merryn would have asked Phillip to stop the car so she could stroll barefoot on the long stretch of white sand and dip her toes in the sparkling water. As it was, only a short time later the beach fell behind, and Phillip turned the car right into Moresby’s main street. In the middle of the road, a policeman in full blue uniform with long white gloves, contrasting to the blackness of his skin, stood on a podium under a huge clock directing the traffic. At the end of the street and opposite the tower on the Burns Philip store, Phillip pulled the car into the curb.
If this were Singapore, the Bottom Pub would no doubt be an establishment where only the genteel partook of long lunches and high teas. Being Moresby, however, it was more of a frontier pub, where Saturday elevens at the bar turned into twilight happy hours followed by a rowdy counter meal. Built of weatherboard, its white paintwork peeling, dark trim bubbling, it fell away in the back from brick foundations.
Deep flower-filled verandas, covered in huge yellow buttercups of an allemande vine, wrapped around two sides. It reminded Merryn of the old ‘Queenslander’ in the outback ranges, owned by a relation of her mother’s, where they had spent their first Christmas in Australia after arriving on the P&O ocean liner from Ireland. Without warning, she was assaulted with memories of the scorching sun blinking a final farewell, before sliding behind the barren sunburnt hills, the adults drinking beer on the veranda whilst Merryn and her sister, Amy, swam with the ducks in the water hole. So different from the white Christmases they’d known in Tipperary, when they would go to Mass in the pony and trap and then sit by the roaring fire in the front room at Derrybawn, their home on Lough Derg, with the early morning light filtering through the vast bay window as she and Amy opened their presents excitedly whilst her parents sipped on hot toddies. Afterward, all rugged up in their Aron pullovers and thick woollen scarves, they’d trudge through the snow to the edge of the lake and skate on the glistening ice.
‘Here we are,’ Jake said, snapping her back to where she sat in the army car. ‘It’s better inside. The rooms are big, and the dining room’s not so bad.’
Merryn actually liked the outside of the pub too, but said nothing, just smiling weakly at Phillip when he pulled the door open for her. He smiled back, and as she read his smile, she knew he knew. He feels sorry for me, she thought. How awful.
Jake ushered her up onto the veranda and through the front door. Inside it was dimmer and cooler, with dark oak panelling.
Although it was shabby, chairs with tattered covers, torn Oriental rugs on the stained timber floor, it had a certain atmosphere, a strange blend of the exotic and neglect. Arrows up on the walls pointed to the veranda, the dining room, and a bar that was raucous with drinkers, even at this hour.
A young woman with long dark hair tied in a chignon and wearing a blue cashmere cardigan, which amazed Merryn in this heat, sat behind a high counter checking something in a ledger. She looked up when Jake approached, giving him a broard smile.
‘There should be a booking for Merryn O’Neill,’ he said.
‘Yep, sure is,’ the girl identified as Jo on her nametag beamed. ‘I’ve been expecting you. The plane was on time then? Some of the blighters get in hours late...days even.’ She lifted her tall miniskirted body off a cane stool and turned her smile on Merryn. ‘Bet you’re finding the heat the pits.’
‘It’s certainly humid all right.’
‘You get used to it, though. Soon you’ll be wearing a cardie like me.’ She slid a large key, tied to a speckled clamshell, over the counter. ‘Anyway,’ she explained, with a sweep of her hand towards a swinging door, ‘I’ve given you the big room on the top floor. It’s got a whopper of a fan and not a bad view of the harbour.’
She described it with such pride that Merryn felt sure it must be their very best room. ‘Thank you, it sounds great,’ she said, leaning forward to pick up the key.
‘My pleasure,’ Jo said cheerily. ‘Enjoy your stay.’
Jake bent down for Merryn’s case, and together they walked through the foyer towards the door. Outside, a wooden staircase led to the top floor. At the end of a long veranda, he put the key in the door of number eight. Holding it back, he let Merryn move through to a large room with louvered windows overlooking Fairfax Harbour. The heavy fan, rotating from the ceiling above two wicker chairs, made it cooler than outside. An orange Chenille bedspread covered the large white wrought iron bed. On the stained timber floor was a seagrass mat in the centre, and hanging in deep folds above the bed was an enormous mosquito net. A carved wooden hat stand stood in front of