One Way Ticket by Susan Love

1

Susan Love ONE

WAY

AUSTIN

TICKET

MACAULEY

Copyright © Susan Love The right of Susan Love to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. ISBN 978 1 84963 106 8 www.austinmacauley.com First Published (2012) Austin & Macauley Publishers Ltd. 25 Canada Square Canary Wharf London E14 5LB This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed herein are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Printed & Bound in Great Britain

Prologue

The beach photographer hadn’t had a very good day so far and it was already noon. A bright, sunny April day but with a sharp breeze blowing in off the sea with the incoming tide. He shivered as he scanned the beach once more for likely customers. “Enough to freeze a brass monkey as my ole Dad used to say,” he muttered. But early in the season yet, he reminded himself. Be better after Easter hopefully. Hunched into his ex-RAF bomber jacket the tips of his ears over the top of the collar glowed red with the cold. The Pier was often a good bet, he decided, as he pushed his way through the turnstile. Then he spotted them, Mum, Dad, and two kids. The woman was obviously pregnant, her flowery dress stretched tightly across her bump. He hurried round in front of them and started walking backwards. “Hello folks,” he began cheerily, “how about a photo for the family album. You’re in luck, two and six off today. Prints ready by tomorrow.” The family slowed down to a halt in front of him. “No thanks” said the man, urging them forward. “Oh yes, please do let’s have one Matthew, it’s the best kind of souvenir.” Joyce Bennett, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and putting her arm round Eric and Kaye, the two children, she pulled them to her. “Oh all right, have it your own way” said her husband grudgingly, “but it had better be good, or I’ll not pay for it, half a crown off or not. Bloody expensive anyway I expect.” The photographer jostled them into position so that they were squinting into the sun, and adjusted his light meter. “That’s great, hold still now, big smile.” Click, and it was done. “That’ll be lovely” he said as he scribbled on a ticket from the pad in his pocket and handed it to Matthew. “After two o’clock on Saturday for the prints,” he said over his shoulder as he retreated rapidly having spotted a young couple,

arms round one another, sauntering up the pier ahead of him. Honeymooners, he thought, if I’m lucky. Another good bet. “Come on kids,” said Joyce, “it’s time for our picnic, and let’s get out of this wind.” She ushered the children round into one of the covered shelters and began unpacking a basket. She handed the children paper cups and serviettes. There were marmite and tomato sandwiches and some with Shipham’s fish paste. There were Chelsea buns and cream horns and some apples. Tizer for the kids and a flask of tea for Joyce and Matthew. Eric, wearing his school uniform, floppy short trousers, long grey socks now wrinkled round his ankles and a fair isle tank top would really liked to have had egg and chips and a banana milkshake to follow at one of the cafés dotted along the front. But his father didn’t approve of spending money in cafes and restaurants on dubious meals as he called them. Eric would also have dearly loved having a go on the penny slot machines in the amusement arcade on the pier and furtively finding out what the butler really saw as you turned the handle of the machine and the black and white images flickered round, but he was forbidden. “Lots of rough types in a place like that, and anyway gambling is illegal,” his father said with finality, and not bothering with the illogicality of this statement. “But George, at school told me that he won five shillings once,” said Eric plaintively. “I don’t give a tinker’s cuss what George said, its no.” However, when the picnic was over Matthew took them all into the darkened aquarium, adults a shilling, children six pence, where they admired the brilliantly coloured tropical fish swimming in and out of the bubbles of their oxygenated water. Later Joyce let the children linger near the exit fascinated by two huge sharks circling morosely in murky water and occasionally brushing against the glass sides of their tank. “They can’t get out can they?” said Kaye timidly clutching at her mother’s skirt. “Don’t be silly,” Joyce said with a chuckle, “of course they can’t get out. In any case they would die if they did.”

“Oh,” said Kaye “I’m glad, I think they’re really scary.” Their father went outside saying that he needed a smoke. He was a forty-a-day man. A practice he didn’t approve of but couldn’t seem to break. Joyce had been in the Girl’s Land Army when he met her and had enjoyed a ‘Craven A’, now and then, with her pals in their communal digs. But Matthew said it was ungracious for a woman to smoke and, in spite of the jeers from the other land girls, she had managed to give them up. He shook a cigarette out of its packet and made three attempts to light it, his hands cupped round the guttering flame of his Zippo lighter. Once lit he inhaled deeply with satisfaction and with his elbows on the Pier railings he looked along the coastline. He noticed some coastal defences, now redundant, that had still yet to be demolished. A half submerged notice warned ‘Danger Keep Clear’. Bladderwrack seaweed swished round the barnacled encrusted iron poles of the scaffolding, now reddish brown with rust, that had been constructed all along the south coast to stand defiantly against any German attempted landings during the war. Thank God the Gerries never made it, he murmured to himself. But he felt flat, bored and restless. I can’t grumble though, can I? he thought. The family’s growing, we wanted another baby, didn’t we? The motor repair shop is doing well now that more and more cars are coming back onto the market since the end of the war. But food is still rationed, margarine on the bread, no sweets for the kids and bananas a distant memory. Where were the spoils of war, he wondered. Austerity measures everywhere instigated by a Socialist Government and doggedly accepted by the population. But he had an idea forming in the back of his mind. He turned back to the family with a sigh as they came out through the exit of the aquarium. He had felt more alive during the war he was ashamed to admit. The adrenalin he supposed. Joyce sent Eric to put their paper and crumbs into the nearest litter bin, then they made their way back along the Pier to the entrance. “What is it this afternoon, then?” asked Matthew, “it’s the waxworks again isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” shouted the children in unison. “I like the torture chamber best,” said Eric grinning. “You would,” said his father cuffing him lightly across the head. Joyce thought that a week in Broadbeach was just long enough as they had to find something to amuse the children every day, the sea being too cold for swimming or even paddling. Why they couldn’t have come in the middle of summer she didn’t know but Matthew said that that was the time when he did the most business. Mrs. Barraclough their land-lady had made it clear that after breakfast – strictly 7 – 8.30 a.m. – her guests were expected to leave until the evening meal at 6.30 p.m. despite there being a little sitting room at the front of the house ostensibly for guests. The family had booked a week’s half board at her boarding house situated two streets away from the front. No sea views but it was clean and quiet and she was a very good cook. The children had so far enjoyed the cartoon cinema when it rained one afternoon. And time spent at the children’s playground with its newly erected helter-skelter. Then there was the Crazy golf course and the paddle boats on a lake in the nearby park. The family had all spent one afternoon with Matthew’s sister Rachel who lived in a Victorian terrace house in the heart of the town. Brother and sister had very little in common but they had never fallen out. Matthew found Rachel eccentric. She dressed like an old bag lady and was surrounded by too many cats and dogs. Happily unmarried now but once married, briefly, to some South American chap or other Matthew told Joyce. Then to George an N.C.O. in the army who came back disabled and died soon after, leaving her widowed. Rachel found Matthew stuffy and strait-laced. But he was family and Rachel duly welcomed them, especially Eric and Kaye. Now it was the evening of their last day. Mrs. Barraclough had promised to keep an ear open for the children and Joyce and Matthew went out to the Multiplex cinema to see ‘Funny Face’, with Audrey Hepburn who Joyce admired for her gamin beauty and elegant style. Matthew would have preferred the

other film showing ‘Paths of Glory’ with Kirk Douglas, but he let Joyce decide. As they came out of the cinema it was still not dark and they walked in the twilight to the nearest pub for a quick drink. But their minds were already on the journey home and Joyce was anxious to get back to get everything packed and ready for an early start. Directly after breakfast the next morning Matthew went off and found a garage where he filled the old Hillman Minx car with petrol. He allowed Eric to sit in the front seat beside him and they set off. As they approached the outskirts of the town Joyce suddenly remembered that they hadn’t collected the photo from the kiosk at the Pier, and she insisted that Matthew turn back to collect it, which after a lot of grumbling he agreed to do. He had to admit when Joyce showed it to him that it wasn’t half bad and if it made her happy then he was happy as well.

Chapter 1

It was Christmas Eve. A hot and sultry afternoon. Kaye Bennett, sixteen years old, silver blonde, blue-eyed, tall and a bit gangly, sat cross-legged on the veranda of the family bungalow, idly scratching her bum. Yet another mosquito bite to add to all the others she grumbled to herself She was reading an old and tattered copy of Time Magazine which she had furtively taken from the dentist’s waiting room that morning. She had been having her teeth straightened over the past year and she was relieved that it had been her last appointment. She had saved some of her school dinner money and bought her first lipstick at the chemist to celebrate. Her mother had agreed that she could stay away from school for the rest of the day while her jaw thawed out. The late afternoon sun glinted off the small swimming pool making her squint. She pulled the brim of her straw hat further down over her eyes and sighed, because according to Time Magazine London was swinging, “and I’m not there swinging with it,” she said to herself and sighed again. How she longed to get away from Australia to where it was all, apparently, happening. Nothing much happened in Carstone where the family lived. Perhaps if they lived in Melbourne or Perth, or one of the other large cities things might be different, but no, her father had chosen this small backwater to start his business. She had never known why and she wasn’t very popular for moaning about nothing to see and nothing to do. Like a lot of teenagers she felt that real life was happening somewhere else without her and she longed to go away and find it. They weren’t even near the sea, she reflected, and it was a good two days’ drive away. She had already swum in the pool twice that day but minutes after she was as hot as ever. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the eucalyptus tree and stirred the dust but it did nothing to cool the air. A kookaburra flew

overhead seeming to mock her discontent with its cackling laugh. She watched as a jet passed overhead leaving a long vapour trail, but so high in the cloudless blue sky that no sound could be heard. She tried to imagine the rows of passengers all on their way to somewhere, and longed to be among them. Anywhere but here. Why wasn’t she happy here? Everyone else was, meaning her two brothers, mother and father and their several Pommie neighbours. Matthew Bennett, fed up with post-war austerity, had emigrated with his young family in the nineteen fifties, and taken advantage of the Australian Government’s generous assisted passage scheme. On the sea voyage out the food had been lavish to the amazement of the emigrants and they, and the other British families, had arrived after the long journey to the sun in a relaxed and very cheerful mood. Joyce, Kaye’s mother had kept some of their old ration books from England as souvenirs. But on arrival in Australia they had found the reality harsh. Many of the families were billeted in conditions worse than the homes that they had left behind. Even those from the bombed and impoverished East End of London, of which there were many. Neither were they always welcomed by their new hosts who laughed at their funny accents, different habits and quite soon resented their grumbles. Some, particularly the women, couldn’t stand the summer heat and others felt terribly isolated in their outback locations. In the beginning life was hard for many of the immigrants, but Matthew Bennett was an energetic and commercially minded man. He had sold his business in England and he had savings. Land was cheap and they were soon able to move out of the temporary accommodation provided by the Government and build their own little bungalow amidst dozens of others with a back yard big enough for a small pool and a few trees. He opened a hardware store in the predominately rural area and was soon making enough money for a comfortable living. Kaye’s elder brother Eric was now already married and happily settled into the Australian way of life with Sheila and

baby Kylie. I’m Aunty Kaye, Kaye muttered to herself as she moved further into the shade, and I’m going to die of boredom. I’m leaving, she promised herself, just as soon as I get my Diploma and can support myself. Away from Bungalow city as she secretly called it. Away from the scorching heat of summer to somewhere where Christmas was not just another barbecue and where people had fires in December and Christmas trees and it looked like the cards that Aunt Rachel sent every Christmas. What was the use of the sun anyway, her pale skin made it impossible to sunbathe for long without burning and looking like a tomato. Her dog Dingle lay panting at her side. She fondled his soft ears. “I’ll miss you Dingle when I’m gone,” she said, “but it can’t be helped.” A slight movement in the parched grass growing near the side of the house caught her eye. Dingle trotted down to investigate. Kaye froze but it was only a lizard not a snake. She watched the little brown lizards that skittered about round the pillars of the veranda among a desiccated creeper. As long as they’ve got legs I don’t mind them, she thought. Kaye adored animals but she was mortally afraid of snakes. Her father had killed a particularly poisonous one only the other day when it had slithered out from under the veranda. Leather gloved and with a pronged metal rod, he held the snake’s head down in the dust. In a flash and with a hiss of anger and terror it curled itself up the rod as far as Matthew’s wrist. Once decapitated the tail writhed for a while where it was tossed onto a pile of rubbish at the side of the yard. It soon dried into a papery strip in the heat. It hadn’t rained for months. Her father had laughed when she shuddered at the sight of it. “You’ve got to take a positive attitude Kaye,” he said. “It’s quite a fragile thing really and it eats mice so it’s useful.” That evening, writing in her diary, Kaye added snakes to her list of why I want to leave Australia. The sun was beginning to set, turning from yellow to orange in the heat haze and the sound of the cicadas was becoming more insistent. She got up, tucked the magazine into

the pocket of her shorts and pushed open the fly screen door into the house. Kicking off her sandals she walked over the cool tiles and entered her bedroom. Supper would be at seven sharp as her father insisted but she wasn’t hungry. She took off her shorts and put on a skirt as her father didn’t approve of shorts at the supper table Then she looked in the mirror and applied a little of the lipstick with her finger. It didn’t show too much she thought. Joyce, Kaye’s mother was busy in the kitchen preparing food for the Christmas Barbecue the next day. She was singing as she filled some pastry cases with mincemeat then slid the tin into the oven. She began cutting meat ready to store in the fridge and started peeling a mountain of potatoes. She had a good voice and before their emigration to Australia she had had one or two hopeful auditions for pantomime and once for a local theatre group doing Gilbert and Sullivan. But there were no such opportunities in the small town where they had settled. However, if she was disappointed with life she didn’t show it. Expressions of emotion other than impatience or bad temper were unusual in the Bennett household, and in addition her mother seemed to have a contempt for what she called ‘all that lovey-dovey business’. Whether this was a reflection of her father’s views, which was often the case, Kaye didn’t know. Thus she had grown up a dreamer. She couldn’t imagine why her parents had got married. It wasn’t as if they weren’t in harmony, at least most of the time. Her father was definitely the boss and her mother ran round him like a mother hen in Kaye’s opinion. She had never seen them show any sign of affection for one another and she couldn’t imagine them having sexual intercourse, as she had belatedly learned it was called, while acknowledging that they must have done it least three times, nor did she want to, as the idea seemed repugnant to her. Was their marriage just a form of convenience she wondered, just a civil contract. Their example didn’t make it seem very worthwhile. Even their friends weren’t very different. Kaye decided that she wasn’t going to get married, unless she wanted children, of course.

She was intelligent and a precocious reader. She could read well at four years old, and by the age of seven she often had her nose in a book. But at school, due to her lack of attention and a tendency to gaze out of the classroom window during lessons, she came into the ‘could do better’ category. Her teachers thought of her as a pleasant sociable girl, but lazy. This was not really so but, like so many others, she found it difficult to retain any information that didn’t really interest her, and she made little attempt to do so. She loved history, especially Ancient and European. Australia’s beginnings she found dull by comparison but would not have dared voice such an opinion. Her school reports were predictably mediocre, but her parents were not ambitious for her. Her father thought that education was wasted on a girl anyway. He was not an unfeeling man but he was strict and thought that in a country where men outnumbered women by a large percentage you couldn’t be too careful with a daughter. All her friends were vetted and mostly rejected, except for a rather dull girl called Clarissa, the daughter of his friend Jack Mullings, and with whom Kaye had nothing whatsoever in common. Of the others one was too bold, another looked tarty, another had unorthodox ideas and so on. Boy friends were predictably scared off. She stopped bringing friends home after a while. As supper time approached that evening Kaye told her mother that she wasn’t hungry. “Well you have to eat something, you hardly had any lunch, come and sit at the table anyway,” said her mother as she went to and fro with plates of food. Kaye sat down and put the book that she had been reading on her lap. On the table there was ham, meat loaf and pickles, potato salad, tomatoes and cold sausages. Her younger brother Ian and her father were already seated. “Can’t we have chips,” whined Ian. “No we can’t,” said his father as he tucked a napkin under his chin, “You can’t live on chips, you know.” “Bet you could,” murmured Ian under his breath.

“I heard that,” his father said as he cuffed him lightly round the head, “now get on and eat the good food your mother has provided.” Kaye took up her book which was Wuthering Heights that she was reading for the second time, and laid it open on the table beside her plate. “Not at the table, if you please Kaye,” said her father, “enough time this evening for reading, though at the rate you are going you’re going to strain your eyes.” Kaye sighed and closed the book. “And before we begin,” continued her father “Go to the bathroom and wipe that stuff off your mouth.” “But Father I am sixteen years old and all the other girls at school…” Matthew held up his hand, “What has that got to do with it. Do as I say and be quick about it.” Kaye, nearly in tears left the table and came back hurriedly and sat down in her place. “That’s better,” said her father, “Now who says grace?” “I will,” said her mother finally joining them from the kitchen carrying a bowl of salad and taking her place at the head of the table opposite her husband. “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful, amen.” And the meal began in silence. After a few minutes Ian pushed back his chair. “Permission to leave the table,” he said looking at his father. “Yes, after you’ve finished that meat you’ve left on your plate.” “But I don’t like the fat,” Ian grumbled. “Eat it or you’ll see it tomorrow. Money doesn’t grow on trees you know, we can’t afford waste,” snapped his father. Ian looked despairingly at his mother who looked sympathetic but said nothing, so he closed his eyes and with a grimace complied. Afterwards Kaye sat down in one of the worn old armchairs that made up the suite in the living room and once again took up her book. “Go and help your mother,” said her father, looking up from his newspaper, “I won’t have you lazing around while your mother works.” Kaye got up

obediently. Why didn’t he say the same to Ian who was watching something or other on the black and white television set, she wondered. But she knew the answer, it was only women in the kitchen. Her mother was drying cutlery as she entered. Kaye picked up another cloth and started on the crockery. Her mother put the knives and forks into a drawer and then wiped the Formica topped kitchen table over with a damp cloth. “You go back now, Kaye,” she said. “I’ve nearly finished.” In fact Joyce rather preferred to have the kitchen to herself. Thankfully Kaye returned to the living room. She stood in front of her father, took a deep breath and said “Father, I want to go back to England.” “Certainly not,” he barked, looking over the top of his newspaper. “Whatever put that idea into your head, you are far too young and in any case how would you earn your living young lady.” He went back to his paper as if he didn’t expect an answer, then, “stay here and find a nice young man to marry when you’re grown up, you’ll soon forget about leaving when you have a baby or two.” Yes, and to someone you approve of, Kaye said to herself, and when I’m grown up, and Dad’s going to set the date because I won’t know till he tells me, it’s pathetic. She felt exasperated, she knew it was no use arguing so she went off to do some homework. “Geography again,” she groaned inwardly. “At least I can look at England in my atlas and dream,” she said to herself. Thank goodness it’s my last year of school.

Chapter 2

The next morning, when it was barely light, Mathew banged on Kaye’s door. “Up you get girl, help your mother. There’s plenty to do before everyone arrives.” “Merry Christmas, father,” Kaye called back sleepily. “Merry Christmas to you too, Kaye, breakfast’s on the table, so get a move on,” he called back as he banged on Ian’s door. The plastic Christmas tree stood on its stand in the corner, its coloured baubles winking in the sunlight from the window. At the breakfast table gifts were exchanged as was their usual custom. A remote controlled model plane kit for Ian. A wide brimmed hat for Matthew whose old battered one had mysteriously disappeared from the shop one weekend. A fountain pen from Kaye. A lace blouse for Joyce who had admired one in the window of a small dress shop down town. Kaye gave her some pearl beads. For Kaye there was a set of Jane Austin novels, at her request, which had been ordered and sent up from Melbourne. Presents for Eric, Sheila and the baby were left under the tree for later. Joyce hoped that the newcomers, Jim and Betty Tyler whom they had invited at the last moment, wouldn’t bring gifts as she hadn’t had time to buy them anything. Jack wasn’t a worry as he usually brought them a leg of lamb or some steak from his diner, and Joyce had bought him and his wife Gail a pretty tea-set. She had heard Gail say that they had broken several of the pieces of the set that they had originally brought from England. The choice in Carstone was very limited and it had taken her a while to find something suitable. Joyce sometimes regretted that they didn’t live near a big town, but the nearest was a day’s drive away and then, with the overnight stay and meals, there had to be a very good reason for going and a small tea-set wasn’t one of

them. But, all in all, Joyce liked the friendliness of their little town where the shopkeepers knew you by name. “Looks like being another scorcher,” said Matthew cheerfully as he stood up from the table. “Joyce, I’ve got to make a quick trip to the Depot, something I forgot yesterday, Eric will be waiting there for me.” “Mat., its Christmas day for goodness sake,” said Joyce, still eating her toast. “I know, I know, don’t worry I’ll be back in time to light the Barbecue.” With that he snatched up his new hat and hurried out. I bet Eric isn’t pleased to be working on Christmas day, thought Kaye, but father won’t have given him any choice. After her father had left, the family atmosphere became more relaxed. Joyce began to hum as she cleared the table and Kaye took her books to the bedroom where she could hardly wait to begin reading. Ian began to assemble his model with concentration. A trestle table had been set up on the veranda with a white paper cloth held down at the corners with metal clips, though there was little breeze. It was too hot to eat in the garden as there was not enough shade. Matthew had tried to plant some more trees when he had built the house, but water was scarce and expensive and he couldn’t or wouldn’t spend much time in the garden. Only the large older trees originally on the plot had survived. Joyce had some flowers ready in the fridge, which she was going to put on the table at the last minute, meanwhile there were some artificial sprigs of holly with red berries that looked very nice, as a centrepiece, she thought. She heard a car draw up outside and Jack and Gail entered carrying parcels. There were smiles and greetings all round. Joyce brought out some iced lemonade and some beer and watched as Gail began to unwrap her present. “Oh, that’s absolutely lovely,” she said. “How did you guess we needed a new set, look Jack.” “Smashing,” he said.

“I don’t think that’s the appropriate word,” said Gail amid laughter. “Thank you very much Joyce, I love it.” Joyce glowed. Christmas day had begun.

Chapter 3

“Take this tray of meat out to your father, please,” said her mother. “Hang on I’ve got some sausages in the fridge, you can take those out as well. But tell them there’s still steak in the fridge if we need it.” Kaye crossed the garden across the parched grass to where her father and uncle Jack were chatting by a glowing brazier, beer cans in their hands. “Ah, here she is,” said her father, “Right on time, the fire is just about ready.” Kaye put the tray on a rough wooden table standing nearby. “I hear you want to leave Australia Kaye,” said Jack, “whatever for?” For a moment Kaye felt tongue tied. She thought about her list. If I say I don’t like snakes and spiders, he’ll think I’m crackers, quick think up something. “I want to see the town in England where I was born,” she said lamely. Jack laughed. “Better get someone to send you a postcard then, all that way for a bit of nostalgia? Come and work for me at the ‘Bushwhacker’, we’ve been doing a roaring trade since they opened that new textile factory, and I need some extra help, specially at lunch time.” Not likely, thought Kaye, what a boring idea but she knew that the offer was well meant. “No thank you, Uncle Jack,” she said. “Its very kind of you but I’m going to try my luck in England, when I’m old enough.” Uncle Jack smiled indulgently. “Supposing you don’t like it when you get there,” he asked, prodding one of the enormous steaks sizzling on the barbecue with a long handled fork. “Well the plane flies in both directions, you know,” said Kaye. “Don’t be so cheeky,” said her father quickly.

“Nah,” laughed Jack. “She’s got a quick tongue, probably stand her in good stead.” “Or get her into trouble,” growled her father. “Ah well, get it out of your system, I suppose m’dear, come and see me when you get tired of all that rain and fog and want to come home. Bet they don’t have steaks like this there either.” “Dead right,” added her father. “Can’t think why she wants to leave this sunny land. Her brothers have settled alright. But, there we are, she’ll soon get tired of it I expect, if she ever gets there.” Kaye felt irritated. They think it’s just a whim, she thought. But it doesn’t matter they don’t know how serious I am. I’m never coming back, never. Jack and Matthew began discussing the latest cricket scores and Kaye went back to help her mother who was putting the last touches to the festive table. The men brought the meat from the Barbecue and Joyce stood on the veranda and clapped her hands. “Come on everybody dinner’s on the table.” And they all sat down to eat. Later in the afternoon when the Christmas pudding had been eaten and the wine drunk, and crackers, bought from a mail order catalogue, had been pulled, everyone went back down into the garden. Ian and Kaye splashed about in the pool. Sheila, Eric’s wife was sitting with Kylie in her lap talking to Betty Tyler. Betty was wearing a halter-neck dress and already her shoulders and arms were turning an alarming pink. It was still very hot and quite soon baby Kylie began to get fretful, her little round cheeks rosy red. “I’m going indoors,” said Sheila, as she stood up with Kylie on her hip. “Good idea,” said Joyce. “I’ll come with you, we can settle the baby in the back bedroom, it’s the coolest.” Betty got up from the day bed where she had been lounging and all three women entered the house which was only a few degrees cooler than the shade where they had been

sitting. The ceiling fans, all set at maximum were at least moving the warm currents of air around giving the impression of cooler air. In the kitchen Sheila went to the fridge and took out a baby’s bottle half full of orange juice. She added some tepid water from the kettle and stretched a teat over the top. Kylie’s cries subsided as she sucked greedily at the juice and Sheila carried her off to the bedroom. Outside flies had started to buzz around the fragments of meat left on the dying embers of the charcoal brazier. Dingle lolled on the parched grass gnawing a bone. Matthew and Jack were talking to Jim Tyler. The Tylers had only been in Australia for six months. They had come from the north of England and Jim had found work at the textile factory. Betty was pregnant although it had not yet begun to show. They were young and eager to please. “It was good of you to invite us for Christmas day Mr. – er, Matthew,” Jim began. “Betty and me, we really appreciate it. Of course we’re loving it here but Christmas was always a big do back home in Scunthorpe, so Betty was feeling a bit home sick.” “Only natural,” said Jack, hitching up his baggy shorts which had a tendency to slip down below his beer belly, “we all felt like that at first.” Matthew thought privately that he had never looked back once they had set foot in Australia. Perhaps being away during the war had cured him of any such emotional attachment to England. As for family, well there wasn’t one anymore, he thought ruefully. “How’s the job going, Jim?” asked Jack. “Seems like you’ve fallen on your feet alright.” “Fine thanks,” said the young man momentarily forgetting Jack’s name and blushing. “I wanted to ask you chaps about the Pommie social club, Bett and I are keen to join, you know, to meet people.” “No problem,” said Matthew. “I’m the secretary and I’ll propose you.” So they continued chatting until they realised that the women had all retreated indoors. Matthew doused the

last pieces of charcoal still glowing and followed the others into the house. Betty and Sheila were talking babies. “Kylie is such a darling,” Betty began, “who do you think she takes after?” “Well, no-one from my side of the family, except for the brown eyes,” said Sheila, “and certainly not Eric with his ugly mug,” she smiled fondly at her husband who, beer can in hand, was oblivious to everything except the rugby match he was watching on the television, his feet up on a low table. Joyce, overhearing, thought that she had a good excuse to get out the family photo album. She sat down on the sofa and started slowly turning the pages. Kaye sat down on one side of her and Betty on the other. Sheila leant over the back of the sofa. “No, mother, start at the beginning,” said Kaye as Joyce was pondering over photos of Kaye and her brothers as babies. “It’s those old ones I like to see.” “I was trying to avoid those,” said her mother. “I looked so frumpish and old fashioned back in the fifties.” “No you didn’t,” said Kaye loyally, though secretly she agreed. “Who is that then?” she asked, peering more closely at a black and white snapshot of a tall upright man in a three piece suit and a pale woman standing at the gate of a semi detached house. The woman was wearing a low waisted dress with long sleeves and Sally Anne shoes with straps over the ankles. She had thin plaits coiled into circles either side of her head and her thin lips were pressed into a tight smile. There was no writing in white ink under the photo as there was under all the others. “Aunt Rachel gave it to me when we visited her once on holiday. That,” said her mother quietly, “is your Grandmother and Grandfather Bennett.” “Good thing Kylie doesn’t look like her,” said Kaye, and they all laughed. Joyce stared ahead for a second as if in thought then she smiled. “I see what you mean,” she said. “I’m afraid they didn’t approve of me , so I never got to know them very well.”

Just then the men all entered. Matthew glanced down in passing. “That old photo still there, I thought I said chuck it out.” Joyce turned a couple of pages of the album over quickly. “Right, whose for some mince pies and a glass of wine?” she asked brightly. There was a chorus of approval. She got up and went to the kitchen where there was a rich aroma of the pies warming in the oven. Kaye remained leafing through the album with the others while they looked for the family resemblances. Later, when she was on her own, she thought, I didn’t even ask if Grandmamma is still alive. But she had the impression that there was tension in the air concerning the old lady, so she didn’t ask. That night when the rest of the family had retired to bed, Kaye was restless. She lay under a single sheet, watching the fan whirring overhead. She was hot and thirsty. She got up and made her way on careful tip-toes along the passage to the kitchen to get some mineral water. As she passed her parents bedroom she heard her name, she paused to listen. Her parents were talking in bed. “She’s just an awkward teenager going through a phase,” she heard her father saying. “She’ll grow out of it once she gets a decent boyfriend and the offer of a job. I told Jack Mullings up at the roadside diner that she is going to do a cookery course, and he seemed interested.” “I don’t think she will grow out of it, Mat,” said her mother. “She’s very determined you know, quite stubborn in a way, the more we oppose her the worse it will get.” “Well, we’ll see, she won’t be eighteen for another two years, no use worrying until then,” said her father finally. Kaye heard the light switch click and she passed on her way to the kitchen. She opened the wardrobe sized fridge and poured herself a glass of water. No, she said to herself, I won’t grow out of it, I feel more determined than ever. She went back to her room and added a few more words to her diary before getting back into bed and ending with the sentence, I have a

grandmother who I know nothing about. Perhaps I’ll see her in England one day’. She still felt too hot to sleep. I’m determined to leave as soon as I’m eighteen, she said to herself. It will be January in England when I arrive. I’ll leave just after Christmas if they’ll let me. It was hard to imagine January and February as being bitterly cold, though she relished the thought, since those months signified the searing heat of summer to her. She wondered if many things were going to be the opposite of Australia, like water going down the plug hole in the reverse direction and she couldn’t wait to find out. Large moths dashed themselves relentlessly against the window. A blur of brown powdery wings as they were drawn towards the light still on in her room. The cat jumped onto the window sill and started batting at the moths with its paw, then began to mew. “I can’t let you in Panda, if I open the window the mossies will eat me alive,” she whispered. Are there mosquitoes in England, she wondered. I’ll have to look it up. “Oh alright, Panda, just shut up,” she said getting off the bed and quickly opening the window. The cat, tail aloft, jumped up onto the bed and started kneading a pillow before settling down purring contentedly. Kaye lay on the bed reading for a while before turning over on to her stomach and falling into a restless sleep full of dreams.