Don't Tell My Secret Read online

  JAMES CAREFULLY placed one of his suitcases on the bed. Unzipping the front, he pulled out his laptop, walked over to the table near the window, placing it near the middle. He stepped into the small kitchenette to rummage through the bar fridge. He found a few small bottles of white wine, popped the cork of one and poured half a glass. Stepping out onto the balcony, James took in the view, inhaling the fresh sea air. Overhead a seagull squawked. A slight grin wrinkled his brow when his gaze fell upon the calmness of the bay and the cargo ship slipping past on its way to the Port of Melbourne.

  “Why on earth did Amanda Daltry insist I come to this place? There’s no romance here. Thirty-six days to write a novel. What a joke.”

  Slightly to James’ right, where the vertical cliff face butted up to the road, he discovered a narrow dirt trail leading from the hotel to the stairs and onwards to the beach. A tall, grey-haired woman wearing a long white dress stood on the top stair. She lifted her left hand and waved at James.

  Again, the cogs of his imagination started to turn.

  James stepped back through the open balcony doorway, placing the wine glass on the table next to his laptop. He ran across the room, lunging for the door, pulling it almost off its hinges. He descended the stairs to the ground floor, two at a time, navigated his way through the pool area and down the short cobblestoned lane. At the narrow road, he waited for a car to slip past before sprinting to the stairs. Studying the beach near the base of the steps he spied the woman standing at the water’s edge.

  James subconsciously counted the fifty steps to the sand before running towards the water. He slowed to a walk the moment he closed in on the woman. She seemed to have waited patiently for him to arrive.

  “Hello there,” called James.

  “Hi to you,” replied the woman.

  James stopped walking when he was at arm’s length. The warm wind blew sand against his bare legs as the head wind strengthened. Looking directly at the woman he caught her smiling.

  “I’m James Buxton,” he announced.

  “I know who you are,” the woman hinted. “I’m Eloise Swartz.”

  “You have a nice name.”

  “Thanks, James.”

  “So, you’ve heard of me?” he questioned.

  “Yes of course. You’re the famous crime writer. I recognized you from the photo in your books. You have good plots.”

  “I’m happy you’ve read at least one of my books.”

  “I’ve read them all,” confessed Eloise.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet a fan,” whispered James.

  “Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  James pondered her question for a few seconds before shaking his head. “I haven’t, I’m sorry.”

  “What about if I told you I write novels too?”

  “I still don’t recognize your name.”

  “It’s okay. My looks aren’t the same as in the photo in my books.”

  “What sort of books do you write?”

  “Romance adventure or if you like to say adventure romance.”

  “You’ve picked a large subject.”

  “Yes, it is. I also know why you’re here.”

  “How can you?”

  “There are things about life you have yet to know, but you will,” said Eloise, smiling.

  “Why am I here?”

  “To write a romance novel.”

  “Did my publicist put you up to this meeting?”

  “No. Amanda Daltry doesn’t know me.”

  “How did you know the reason why I’m here?”

  “For now, I want to keep it a secret.”

  “Why?”

  “This is your first lesson in suspense.”

  “I know about the word. I’m a suspense writer.”

  “That’s where you make your mistake.”

  “I’m not following you!” exclaimed James. He could feel his blood beginning to boil. He’d ticked off many people for less. Over the years, a few close associates took it upon themselves to make him their enemy. Amanda instructed him on how to brush them aside. She explained they were probably jealous of his early achievements.

  “You need to look at yourself as an author, not a writer,” suggested Eloise.

  “I do.”

  “You don’t. Deep down you view yourself as a writer. It’s why you have a bout of writer’s block. Be confident. You’ll overcome the blockage.”

  “How do you know about the writer’s block? Nobody knows.”

  “Suspense James, it’s all about suspense. If I told you everything, there’d be no surprise.”

  The couple slowly walked along the shoreline. James felt intrigued by the woman. Feeling his blood pressure returning to normal his imagination began to kick in again, which in turn allowed him to slot facts into place so he could start to form more of his next crime novel.

  James studied the woman walking next to him. She looked elderly; possibly in her early eighties. Her salt and pepper hair touched her shoulders. She looked slim, tall and dressed modestly. She smiled at James. He grinned back.

  “I have a favour to ask you,” blurted Eloise, breaking the silence.

  “Name it,” replied James.

  “I have one more novel to write. I thought we might be able to complete it together?”

  “What exactly do you mean?” asked James, thinking Eloise might be in her last days.

  “I’m not dying,” advised Eloise.

  “How do you know what my thoughts are?”

  “It’s written on your forehead. The signals you’re sending are like reading a book. You see the same facial expression on most of the people walking past the café you sit at each day.”

  “It’s uncanny how you seem to know everything about me, yet I’ve never seen you before.”

  Eloise took a breath before continuing. “Getting back onto the subject of the manuscript, are you willing to help me?”

  “Yes definitely. I take it you’re considering a romance novel?” quizzed James, kicking a small mound of wet sand.

  “Sure, why not?” said Eloise. “I’ve already thought up a working title you might like.”

  James stopped walking. Eloise had caught him off guard. She seemed to draw him in. If she’d only been fifty years younger, he might have changed his mind about wanting to live alone and date the woman. The idea took him to a place of fantasy. His imagination started picking up speed. Another idea entered his mind. He shelved it next to the other ideas. The crux of his next crime novel seemed to be taking shape.

  “Don’t tell my secret,” mentioned Eloise. She gazed at James, waiting to see his first reaction.

  “I love the title,” he replied.

  “Good, I did hope to start today.”

  “Let’s go back to my hotel room so we can plan what we’re going to write,” hinted James.

  “I have the plot already mapped out,” confessed Eloise.

  “You’re one step ahead of me.”

  “It is early days. Any input from you will be gratefully received. You should place the information you’re collecting for your next crime novel somewhere safe. You won’t need the ideas for quite some time.”

  James frowned at Eloise’s smile as he led the way back along the beach. They climbed the stairs and walked across the narrow road to the hotel. Eloise waited for James to open the metal gate to the pool area. He marched to the hotel’s back door, opening it before Eloise could look at him expectantly.

  James walked ahead of Eloise and pressed the lift call button. By the time, she got to the end of the corridor, the lift door had opened. In less than a minute they were standing outside room 101.

  The moment Eloise stepped inside the small room she strolled to the glass balcony door to look out over the pool area.

  “The view is nice. This whole room has a warm feel to it,” Eloise reported.

  “It’s comfortable,” replied James. “Care for a drink or a snack?”

  “I’m fine thanks.”

  James wal
ked into the kitchenette and pushed the start button on the side of the kettle. “Are you sure, it’ll be no problem? I’m going to make myself a coffee.”

  “No thanks,” said Eloise.

  James carried his hot coffee to the table, sliding onto the seat in front of his laptop. Swiping up the wine glass he left half an hour before; he swallowed the remainder of his drink. Placing the glass next to his coffee mug he looked up at Eloise, poised to begin.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Where’s the typewriter?”

  James pushed the ‘on’ button at the front of his laptop, looking at Eloise’s startled face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he chuckled.

  “I had you guessing for a full minute.”

  “You did. I’m starting to see where the suspense is. Seeing how we’re getting along so well with plenty in common, if it’s possible, I’d like to see you more often other than when we’re here writing the novel?”

  “What you’re suggesting is impossible,” said Eloise.

  “Why? You don’t seem to be the shy type.”

  “For now, let’s leave things the way they are.”

  “Can I buy you dinner or walk you home when we have finished for today?”

  “I value my privacy,” insisted Eloise, firmly.

  James held up his hands to signal he surrendered. Focusing on the laptop, he typed in the title. He looked up in time to see Eloise staring out of the glass balcony door, a far-away look in her eyes.

  “Is your grandson a sailor?” he asked.

  Eloise glanced at him over her shoulder. “Why do you ask?”

  “The way you’re staring out over the bay I thought you might be waiting for a family member to come home.”

  “The less you know about me, the better.”

  “Why, what’s the harm in knowing something about you?”

  “Time is short,” urged Eloise, stepping over to the table. “Are you ready to start writing James?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “I hope you can keep up while I dictate?”

  “Not a problem. The faster you talk, the quicker I type.”

  “Good. There are a couple of more favors you must agree on before we begin. When we have finished writing the novel, feel free to take the manuscript to your publicist. I want you to have all the royalties.”

  James’ jaw dropped open. He was about to blurt his protest when he saw Eloise raise an eyebrow at him. “I agree,” he said with a sigh.

  “Excellent!” exclaimed Eloise. “Before we start I need you to write the novel in the third person.”

  “It’s a strange request, seeing how you’ll be dictating the novel.”

  “I must insist.”

  “What chance do I have in knowing the reason why?”

  “Suspense James,” said Eloise, smiling at his frown.

  Under his breath, James chuckled at the idea. Good fortune seemed to have dropped into his lap. He wrote a sub note reminding him to type the novel in the third person. He even changed the text to bold midnight black letters to highlight the fact.

  Eloise nodded her approval.

  James watched her step over to the window to stare out on the pool area again. The woman slowly turned until she stood sideways.

  “The world has changed quite a bit,” Eloise started.

  James looked up from the keyboard. He watched her chest rise then fall as she inhaled and exhaled.

  “My story begins in the summer of 1939AD. Lilly had only been married for two weeks when Jack Barrett, her husband, came home early. It was a Wednesday. He walked up to her, showing Lilly a smile.”

  “Darling, I have some important news to tell you.” Jack leaned against the bench top, watching Lilly walk around the kitchen. “Forget about preparing the dinner. It can wait.”

  Lilly wiped her hands dry on her brown apron, an expectant look in her eyes. “Have you any news about the job you went for last week? Working at the newspaper factory might be good. It’ll be better than the horse stables; more money too. Maybe one day we could fix this two-bedroom house, sell it, buy a larger piece of land so we can grow more vegetables and sell them at the local market.”

  “Before I tell you my news, I’ve bought you a present.”

  “Jack, you shouldn’t have. We can’t afford it,” complained Lilly, watching her husband running into the lounge.

  In seconds, Jack returned carrying a large brown paper bag.

  Lilly didn’t know what to make of it. She loved the idea of receiving a present, but their budget remained tight. She glanced at the pile of unpaid bills stacked up on the bench.

  Jack handed over the bag. Lilly opened the top, looking in. She flopped onto the closest chair the moment she saw the contents. Lifting the dress as she stood, Lilly held it against her.

  “We can’t afford this,” she choked.

  “Do you like it?”

  Lilly looked seriously at her husband. “Take it back.”

  “No way and you didn’t answer me.”

  “This long white dress is beautiful.”

  “Nothing except the best for my wife,” retorted Jack, seriously. “Try it on.”

  Lilly changed her clothes in front of the full-length mirror at the foot of the bed. The white ballroom gown clung to her waist, making it look narrower. Jack came up behind her. Pushing his arms around Lilly’s waist, he twirled his wife around. He gave her a gentle loving kiss.

  “You look gorgeous,” commented Jack, moving her to arm’s length. “Before you say another word, we can afford the dress. I’ve joined the Navy. I leave tomorrow morning,” he blurted, emphatically.

  Fear instantly flooded Lilly’s mind. Using her left hand to grope for the side of the mirror she needed to push her trembling right hand against the wall so that she could remain standing. Staring at Jack through water soaked eyes Lilly didn’t have the courage to let go of the wall or the side of the mirror to wipe her tears away. She stammered a blunt reply.

  “You can’t join the Navy. What about us? What if there’s a war?”

  “There won’t be a war,” snorted Jack confidently, dismissing her words. “Besides, the pay is double what I’m earning at the newspaper factory.”

  “You can’t go. Please, I can’t stand the thought of not seeing you for months on end.”

  “It’ll be fine. The Navy man informed me when I signed up maybe one day I’ll even make Captain of my very own ship. At any rate, I’ll have a permanent job. After our parents barely struggled through the great depression, I’m happy knowing I’ll have a steady income for the remainder of my life.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I’ve decided. It’s final,” insisted Jack, his voice deepening.

  “Tell them you’ve changed your mind,” cried Lilly, struggling to get her words out.

  “There’s no discussing the subject.”

  “Why didn’t you talk to me about this idea?”

  “I knew you’d disagree.”

  Lilly couldn’t stand any longer. She flopped noisily onto the bed. “Why do you want to make the Captain of a ship?”

  “The bloke in charge of the new recruits conned a few men into signing up. He also pushed a few away when they confessed they only wanted the job for twelve months. The only way I could convince him of my loyalty was to persuade the old man into thinking I wanted to make Captain. Lilly, once I’ve done ten years in the Navy, I’ll retire. My mates have told me when I leave the Navy getting a job is easy. I’ll be able to name my career. Ex-navy men are first to get a job. We’ll never have to struggle to find money. I’ll be able to buy you a new house. Having kids won’t be a problem. I’ll even be able to afford to buy you a nice dress each month. I don’t want you to end up like the woman across the road. I swear she wears the same clothes every day.”

  “I suppose a few new dresses will be nice!”

  “I knew you’d come around to what I want.”

  “So, there’s no way of talking you out of this i
dea?”

  “No. My mind is made up. You’re looking at a Navy man.” Jack stood at attention in front of her, puffing out his chest. He saluted before sweeping his wife from off the bed.

  Lilly managed to paint a smile on her face. “Having enough money all our lives will be good.”

  Jack waltzed Lilly around the edge of the bed humming a love song. He reeled her in close. “There’s one thing I need you to do?”

  “What?” whispered Lilly; still trying to digest the idea her husband joined the Navy.

  “Kiss a sailor.”

  Lilly stood on her toes so she could kiss her tall husband. Before she could protest, she saw his shirt floating to the floor. He stepped out of his pants and helped Lilly out of her dress. Jack gently lowered Lilly onto the bed. He kissed her tenderly before reaching out to massage the nook of her neck. He knew she loved the touch. He lowered his head to nibble her earlobes.

  “I love you,” whispered Jack.

  Lilly replied on a sigh she loved him too.

  The whole-time Jack made loved to her she couldn’t bring herself to be fully persuaded on the idea her husband should have joined the navy. Still, like he said, it was his decision. Somehow, she needed to bury her doubt and trust his judgment.

  While Lilly dressed, she decided to give Jack one hundred percent support. In the few remaining hours, she wanted him to see her as someone; he could lean on so when he closed his eyes at night and thought of her she wanted him to remember her confident look. After he left for the Naval base and when she was away from prying eyes, she could lose it then.

  After dinner, they sat outside soaking up the rays of the full moon and watching the stars. At almost midnight Lilly led Jack back to the bedroom. She needed to show him how much she cared.

  Lying awake listening to Jack’s breathing, Lilly patted herself on the back over her acting skills. Slipping out of bed, she wrapped her naked body in a pink dressing gown on the way to the kitchen, filled her glass with water and walked slowly outside, lost in her thoughts of how she might cope alone. Lilly sat on the step watching the moon sink towards the horizon.

  “I dare not lose it now,” Lilly whispered to the next-door neighbor’s cat after it scampered across the grass to be by her side. She scratched behind the ginger cat’s ears. It pushed against her legs, purring, hoping to get fed.

  When the sky began to lighten, Lilly swiped her glass from off the verandah step and walked back into the kitchen to start breakfast. She had almost finished scrambling the eggs and cooking the toast when Jack entered the room.

  “I woke. You weren’t in bed.”

  “I thought my sailor man should have scrambled eggs for breakfast. I’ve poured beer into a glass. It’s touching what’s left of the ice. I’m hoping it might be cold enough to enjoy.”

  “What a thoughtful thing to do. No wonder I married you.”

  Jack walked over to give Lilly a thankful kiss.

  “It’s the least I can do seeing how today you become a sailor.”

  Jack sat at the table watching the smile on Lilly’s face. All the while she hid the butterflies in her stomach from him. He didn’t know her knees were knocking from fear she might never see him again.

  Jack scraped up the last of the breakfast. He swiped the plate from the table and he stood.

  “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later,” Lilly protested. She walked over to the kitchen bench and dropped the plates into the sink. She opened the small ice chest, taking out the glass of beer, handing it over.

  Jack raised the glass to his lips and drank the amber liquid. After placing the empty glass back on the table, he leaned over to stroke Lilly’s cheek. Staring directly into her eyes he said in a condescending voice.

  “Make sure when I’m gone no other man entertains you in our bed.”

  “I’d never play up on you,” remarked Lilly, frowning.

  “I’m just mentioning what I fear. The bloke who sells the blocks of ice seems extra friendly.”

  “He’s friendly to almost everyone. He’s a married man.”

  “How do you know he’s married?”

  “I’ve seen him and his wife when they go for a walk on a hot night.”

  Jack snorted. “I’ve seen him look you up and down too many times to count.”

  “He probably does it to all the ladies. Don’t worry. I’m married to you.”

  Jack stood, hovering over his wife. Lilly swallowed the lump in her throat. For the first time since she’d known Jack, she felt frightened of him. Already she could see a change in his attitude. It wasn’t one she liked.

  “It’s time for me to go.”

  “Can I walk you to the train?” asked Lilly. She hoped he’d refuse, but knew if she didn’t ask he might think she couldn’t wait for him to leave so she could knock on another man’s door.

  “I’d love you to see me off,” replied Jack.

  In silence they held hands, walking to the station. Lilly felt as though they were in the middle of a funeral march. Instead of ending at the cemetery, Jack was about to leave on an adventure. He’d get paid to see the world, while she stayed home keeping house.

  Jack knew he needed to calm his excitement on what lay ahead for Lilly’s sake. He looked sideways, studying her sad expression.

  “It’ll work out, great,” he announced, stepping into Lilly’s path so he could give her a kiss.

  Lilly hoped Jack never brought up the subject again about her seeing another man. It would make her feel worse than being a prostitute. Even though her nerves were making her feel sick she played it cool by returning Jack’s kiss.

  “I guess there’s no way out of this now?” mentioned Lilly.

  “I’m committed. The moment I get paid, I’ll send the money to you.”

  “I promise to bank the lot.”

  “Don’t forget to pay the bills.”

  “I won’t. I’ll pay the bills the moment the postie delivers the cheque.”

  “You’re my girl,” blurted Jack. He pulled his pocket watch out to read the time then handed it to Lilly for safe keeping. “The train will be here in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll give the watch back when you return.”

  Jack and Lilly stepped up to the narrow window at the ticket booth. They were greeted by a short, thin man with a black tie hanging from his neck.

  “Name and where are you going?” the man jeered brusquely.

  “Jack Barrett. I’m off to join the Navy.”

  Lilly saw the man slide off the stool he’d been perched on and step to the other side of the office. He sorted through a pile of white envelopes sitting neatly on a narrow table. When he found Jack’s, name written on the front of an envelope he put it aside, neatly restacked the pile before swiping the envelope off the table. Staring directly at Jack, he returned to the window.

  “In this envelope is a ticket. It’ll get you to Richmond. From there you will be picked up by a bus and taken to Footscray where you’ll have a medical. If you pass, you’ll be brought back to Port Melbourne to board a ship. I’ve been told to tell the new recruits it’ll be a training cruise.”

  “How long is the training?” asked Lilly.

  “Five weeks. Your husband leaves in two minutes,” reported the man looking down his nose at her.

  The man handed Jack the envelope then looked over Lilly’s shoulder at the person behind her.

  Jack and Lilly stepped to the side. She overheard the man asking if he could buy a train ticket to the beachside suburb of Frankston. He explained he was working on his daughter’s house for a few weeks while she rested in hospital after giving birth.

  Jack ripped open the envelope, studying the contents. Lilly read the small print. It coincided exactly as the man in the ticket office stated. She certainly needed to hide the fact she still felt sick to the stomach over what might lay ahead.

  Clutching the ticket tight in his hand, a small overnight bag in the other, Jack gave Lilly a tender loving smile. She leaned in, giving him a kis
s as the red rattler slowed on its approach.

  Lilly heard the doors of the train slide open. She also heard footsteps getting on and off the train and several doors pulled shut, but she refused to take her eyes off Jack’s.

  Close to the front of the train a whistle shrilled.

  “All aboard,” yelled the train guard.

  Jack inched Lilly closer to the edge of the platform. She didn’t want to take her arms away from Jack’s shoulders. A single tear dropped from her left eye. Jack lifted his hand to gently wipe it away.

  “Don’t be sad. Just think, in a few years, we’ll be able to look back on this day and say I made the right decision. When other people are struggling for money, we’ll have more than enough to see us through to old age.”

  Jack leaned in, pushing his body into Lilly’s. She lapped up the contact. They kissed for the last time.

  “Five weeks is a long time before I see you again,” whispered Lilly trying to stop her voice from quaking.

  “It’ll go quick, I promise,” said Jack in her ear. “Just remember, when I see you again I’ll be a fully-fledged sailor.”

  Lilly managed to show him a weak smile.

  “Fella, all aboard,” called the guard over the shrill of the train’s whistle. His gaze bore into Jack. “If you don’t get onboard you’ll be left behind.”

  Inwardly Lilly willed Jack into changing his mind at the last moment. The only thing she wanted was to walk home wrapped in his arms.

  The steam train started to pull away from the station. Its whistle shrilled for the second time. Jack ran, jumping onto the step of the last carriage in the nick of time. Wearing a broad grin, he waved.

  “I’ll write you a letter each week,” called Lilly.

  “I expect you to,” yelled Jack. He blew her a kiss before settling himself on a seat in the carriage.

  Lilly couldn’t comprehend his enthusiasm though she patted herself on the back for keeping up the happy act. When the train vanished around the first bend, she could no longer hold back her tears. They fell from her eyes faster than rain. She crumpled onto the dirty train station sobbing uncontrollably, hoping Jack would jump out of the window and come running back so she could snuggle into his arms.

  He never came back that wretched day. Even the sun slipped behind a dark cloud, eclipsing the station.

  Lilly rubbed her bare arms from the sudden drop in temperature. Finally, she turned her back on the station. Dragging her feet, she slowly walked home. It took fifteen minutes to walk to the station holding Jack’s hand. It took Lilly forty-five minutes to walk home, alone. When she finally closed the front door, she flopped onto a chair at the kitchen table sobbing, barely having enough strength to lift her head.

  The remainder of the day came and went in a blur. Even sleep evaded Lilly. By midmorning the next day, she forced herself out of bed. Sitting on a chair in the lounge room she watched for Jack’s return.

  The shrill of the postie’s whistle forced Lilly to drag her aching muscles towards the letterbox. The postie got off his pushbike when he saw her step off the front verandah. He waited patiently for Lilly to walk to the front picket fence. When he spoke, his greeting sounded friendly.

  “Lilly Barrett, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “Thanks for caring Mr. Whitaker. Jack left for the Melbourne Naval base yesterday morning. I won’t see him for five weeks. He’ll be home for no more than two days before leaving me again to go to sea for God only knows how long.”

  “It’ll be okay. Always look on the bright side.”

  “I’ll try. At the moment, I see nothing except darkness.”

  Mr. Whitaker put his hand on Lilly’s shoulder. “What you need to do is keep yourself busy. Time will go extra fast if you immerse yourself in a project.”

  “Do you have any ideas?” Lilly didn’t want to know if he did or not, let alone think about a project. Again, she rejuvenated her acting skills so as not to upset the postie.

  “Maybe you could grow vegetables and sell them at the local market? Or, I’m sure there are lots of things you could do around the house to make it more presentable to Jack when he arrives home. I’m positive he’ll be impressed by what you’ve achieved.”

  “I’m a woman. There’s not a lot I can do. I don’t have the skills a man does.”

  Mr. Whitaker looked down his nose at Lilly. Leaning his pushbike against the fence, he took her by the shoulders.

  “Lilly Barrett, let me say this. You can achieve anything if you give it a go. Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you can’t do things which are usually done by a man.”

  Lilly dropped her gaze to her feet. Using his fingers, Mr. Whitaker gently lifted her chin.

  “Look at me, Lilly. Don’t ever think you can’t do something. If you can keep a secret, I’ll tell you something no one else except my wife knows.”

  Mr. Whitacker removed his fingers from Lilly’s chin only to place his hands against either side of her head. The man’s vice-like grip held her a prisoner. She didn’t have enough strength to even begin to escape.

  “A few months back I asked my wife if she could teach me to cook. After we conversed for a short time she agreed. I’ve been an eager pupil. I cooked for the first-time last week. I dished up a roast lamb dinner. I insisted I clean the dishes. I even swept the floor. Edith is such a treasure saying the meal tasted amazing.”

  “You cooked?” questioned Lilly.

  “I sure did.”

  “I don’t know of any man who can cook.”

  “Now you do.”

  “I won’t tell your secret to anyone,” whispered Lilly.

  “I’ll say another thing which still surprises me,” Mr. Whitacker continued. “After the dinner, we were sitting in the backyard watching the sunset. My darling wife leaned over, tapping me on the arm to get my attention. She said, seeing how you can cook, I want you to teach me how to mow the lawn using the hand mower.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I agreed.” Mr. Whitaker picked up his pushbike. Looking directly at Lilly’s eyes, he winked. “Thanks for keeping my secret.”

  “Thank you for giving me some confidence. You always say the right thing at the right time.”

  “I don’t care who a person is. The only thing you have to do is give the idea a try.”

  Walking back into the house, Lilly thought about what Mr. Whitaker told her. She found a pencil and a scrap piece of paper in a drawer and sat at the kitchen table writing a list of things that needed doing around the house. Of course, she was frowned upon when she tried to buy paint down at the local shop.

  “A lick of paint for the front weatherboards might look nice,” contested Lilly, staring at the tall, thin, balding man who owned the paint shop.

  “It’s a man’s job,” he growled. “A woman has no right to paint a house. She is supposed to cook and clean; nothing more.”

  “If you don’t sell me the paint I’ll take my business elsewhere,” argued Lilly. She dropped the money on the wooden counter, glaring at the man. “My money is equivalent to my husband’s. Take it, or else I’ll be marching to the next paint shop.”

  Lilly walked out of the shop carrying a gallon of blue paint. On the way home, she started planning exactly how to go about painting the front of her house. Two weeks before Jack left she recalled seeing a man standing on top of a ladder, painting. The house in question was built three streets from where she lived. Lilly decided his home might be a good place to start searching for a ladder.

  A thirty-something year-old woman greeted Lilly when she knocked on the front door. The woman didn’t look too friendly.

  “Hello there is your husband home?” asked Lilly.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Lilly Barrett. You don’t know me. I need to talk to your husband.”

  “You’re right I don’t know you. I’ve seen you, though, walking past parading your youthful figure while your husband is at work. Don’t look so surprised.
I know what goes on around here. Everyone’s talking behind your back about your husband joining the Navy and leaving you home alone. Let me warn you, if I find out you’re pregnant with my husband’s baby I’ll get the hammer from the garage.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” blurted Lilly, abruptly.

  “Brian, some woman wants to talk to you,” the woman called.

  A man in his late thirties trudged up the hallway to the front door. He pushed his wife to the side before speaking.

  “Well, hello there. I saw you walking up the drive. Are you here for some help?”

  “I’m in need of a long ladder so I can paint the front of my house,” explained Lilly, eyeballing the man’s wife.

  “Not a problem. I’ve one in the garage.”

  “Don’t you dare offer to carry the ladder to where she lives,” spat Brian’s wife.

  Lilly followed the man around to the other side of the house. The outside of the garage looked a mess. The wooden boards not only needed painting they’d all have to be replaced. She spied a motorbike in pieces when the man swung open the front wooden doors. Garden tools were strewn across the compacted dirt floor. Engine parts littered the only bench in the narrow room.

  “My ladder is hanging on the wall,” announced Brian, stepping over to the sidewall. He swiped the wooden ladder from two sturdy hooks and handed it to Lilly. “I’d give you a hand, but my Mrs. will get a bit upset.”

  “I can manage,” advised Lilly, not wanting to spoil what little peace might remain between Brian and his wife. “I’ll return it when I’ve completed the top half of the wall.”

  Lilly waved to Brian’s wife staring at her between the parted curtains hanging over the window. Lilly tried to make carrying the ladder look easy. She just managed to walk around the first corner before dropping the ladder on the ground. Under the shade of a large Elm tree, she massaged her aching arms all the while watching for any nosy people watching her.

  “This old wooden ladder must weigh a ton,” she grumbled.

  Lilly struggled for another five minutes before lifting the ladder so she could lean it against the wall of her house. Deciding not to have a rest, she climbed the ladder, gave the weatherboards a quick scrub using the rough sandpaper and painted the top half of the wall.

  When she finished, Lilly returned the ladder and ran home to paint the bottom half.

  Finally, after five long weeks, Jack marched up the driveway. He looked proud wearing his crisp white sailor’s uniform. Instead of forty-eight hours, Jack told Lilly she’d have him home for eight glorious days. Jack glanced at the newly painted weatherboards at the front of the house and mentioned they never looked so good. Holding his wife tight in his arms, Jack kissed her passionately. Each night Lilly enjoyed their union.

  At the end of the eighth day, Lilly’s world crumpled again.

  The headlines on the front page of the newspaper completely shattered her world.

  ‘THE WORLD IS AT WAR.’

  Jack left Lilly to go to sea. She felt as though he’d been conned into signing up to join the Navy. Not for ten years; for how long the war lasted. Even Mr. Whitaker thought the same.

  At first, the monthly pay cheque came by post regular as clockwork. However, by the seventh month, Mr. Whitaker waited for Lilly at the letterbox. He didn’t look his usual happy self.

  “Nice morning,” chirped Lilly, marching up the driveway.

  “It is. I’m sorry I have to say there’s no pay cheque today.”

  “There has to be!” exclaimed Lilly. “It’s the end of the month.”

  “No one is getting a cheque today,” announced Mr. Whitacker.

  “I can’t understand why not? It has never been late before.”

  “It must be the war slowing things up. Take heart Lilly; maybe I’ll be able to deliver the cheque tomorrow.” Mr. Whitacker turned his head to view her handy work. “The tulips you planted in the spring look nice.”

  “I’m glad someone is around to comment,” said Lilly with a sigh. “I was hoping Jack might be home in time to see them in full bloom. I dare say he won’t.”

  “On the back of my sad news about no cheque I have a letter from Jack,” announced Mr. Whitaker, handing over a white envelope.

  “Thanks for being so diligent.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Lilly leaned against the picket fence watching the postie go about his round. When he was gone, she started to walk back up the driveway.

  “Hello Lilly,” called Mr. Hutchins. He’d waited patiently for her to finish talking to Mr. Whitaker before leaning over the side fence, trying to get her attention.

  “I apologize for not seeing you,” said Lilly, stepping over. “My thoughts took me away.”

  “It’s quite alright. I have a request to ask. Is it okay to mow your back lawn? I don’t mean to pry; I’ve noticed the grass is ankle high. I’ve just re-sharpened the blades on my hand mower. My grass is short. I’d like to give the blades a good test run.”

  “Yes of course,” said Lilly. “You can mow the lawn anytime. I’ll bake a cake for your trouble. If I don’t see you, I’ll leave it on the kitchen table. Let yourself in.”

  “I’ll remember to shut the door after I leave. I don’t want the flies to get in.”

  Lilly sat at the kitchen table reading the letter from Jack. After re-reading the letter a dozen times through about which country he’d seen, she placed the letter in an old biscuit tin for safe keeping and slipped it back onto the top shelf in the pantry.

  Every night Lilly fell asleep believing the next day the pay cheque or another letter might come from Jack. Each morning the postie told her the same thing. He said the same thing for a whole month. Eventually, Mr. Whitacker handed her a letter.

  Again, Lilly sat at the kitchen table. For over five minutes she stared at the envelope too frightened to open it. She suspected the contents contained bad news. When curiosity finally got the better of her she swiped up the envelope. Lilly’s fingers trembled the whole time she ripped the top edge away. Glancing at the paper inside, her fingers started to tremble worse. Placing the envelope back onto the table, Lilly stepped over to the sink and picked up the soup ladle, dipped the end into the metal billycan hanging over the open fire and scooped up hot water. She dropped four coffee beans into a mug and poured the hot water over the beans before sitting back at the table. Snatching up the envelope again she watched the letter drop onto the table. Sighing profoundly, she opened the letter and read it through to the end.

  “Hi Lilly, I’m being transferred to the HMS Watermen which is birthed in England. When the ship is fully loaded, we’re going to the Mediterranean Sea; love Jack.”

  For over an hour Lilly cried. When she could cry no more, the postie’s words came back, flooding her mind. ‘If you keep yourself busy the time will fly.’

  Lilly stepped out into the sunshine. She didn’t want to, but she wandered down to the veggie patch at the rear of the house. Dropping to her knees, she pretended to weed the ground.

  For the next eleven weeks, Lilly did the same thing, cooking, cleaning and hoping the next day the pay cheque might be delivered.

  By the end of the twelfth week and still no pay cheque, Lilly’s savings were down to a few pounds. Groaning at seeing the pile of mounting bills on the table, she walked to the bank.

  Lilly pushed on the door. The few people inside looked at her. Lilly closed the door before stepping to the rear of the short queue, listening in on the same conversation she’d heard for weeks.

  A middle-aged woman filed in behind Lilly. “Good morning.”

  Lilly turned to face the woman. “Good morning.”

  “I take it you’re here for the same reason I am?”

  “Probably,” replied Lilly, digging up a smile. “Pay the bills using what little money I have.”

  “I received a letter yesterday. It’s from my son. He works for the Government. He wrote they have stopped the pay of every sailor and army soldier.”


  “Why do such a thing?” Lilly questioned. “Don’t they understand the men’s wives have bills to pay?”

  “The war is getting worse. The Government wants the money to make more weapons.”

  “How are we expected to live? Pay bills?”

  “I’ve heard the banks are paying only in food vouchers,” answered the woman.

  When the teller beckoned Lilly over, she handed over her bank book. The young man stamped the book before handing it back. Lilly noticed he didn’t seem happy. She sensed he wanted to be anywhere except the bank. His brown hair looked in need of a cut, and his clothes didn’t sit well.

  ‘They could do with a good iron,’ she thought.

  “I’d like to withdraw my last three pounds,” declared Lilly.

  “Sorry. The Government has put a freeze on everyone’s bank account. Unless you have a pay cheque from working the only thing I can give out are food stamps. Before you comment about how wrong it is, please read the poster on the wall behind me.”

  Lilly read the poster out loud. “To the women out there, do your part, start working. Get paid for your toil.”

  “Sorry about your three pounds. The Government wants it. When the war’s over, they’ll give it back.”

  Lilly left the bank feeling worse than when she walked into the building. On her way home, she strolled past the paperboy. His shouts echoed throughout her brain.

  “Get a job. Get paid. Buy the paper now.”

  Feeling embarrassed about not having enough money to buy a paper from the lad, Lilly walked across the road. Every day the fourteen-year-old woke early and walked to the newspaper building in the dark. He’d place a bundle of newspapers in a small wooden cart and stand at the corner near the milkbar trying to sell them. The cheerful expression on his face never faltered. Lilly wondered whether he understood how hard life was becoming. When the lad turned his back on her, she tried to count how many newspapers still in his cart. The number of unsold papers made her feel nauseated. He’d only sold one.

  Staring at her feet, Lilly slowly trudged past the milkbar, stopping for a few seconds to view the cake display in the window. The palm-size cakes looked mouth-watering. Pushing her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a sixpence. With a sigh, Lilly decided a few apples at the local fruit shop were more important than one cake.

  Lilly walked down the narrow lane next to the milkbar. At the far end, she turned right and walked along the main street. Fifteen minutes from her home Lilly strolled past a factory. The large warehouse close to the Port of Melbourne used to be busy when the trucks came and went in a steady stream to drop off and pick up goods for local deliveries. The once attractive factory now looked a derelict due to its leaking roof, rusting metal walls and a tall weed infested garden. The warehouse had been transformed overnight into a weapons and ammunition making factory.

  After the workers, had finished rolling out barbed wire along the top edge of the rusty chicken wire fence in an attempt to stop anyone from entering the factory grounds unannounced, someone tied a large hand-written sign in the exact middle of the gate.

  ‘Job vacancy. See the person inside for details.’

  Lilly didn’t have to weigh her options. It certainly didn’t take her long to decide whether she should venture in or not. She needed a job to restock her pantry, estimating at a stretch there might be enough food for six days.

  Not knowing how her decision might change her future Lilly pushed the rusty gate open. She marched along the weed covered path to the front door, yanking it open. Stepping inside the place for the first time she could smell the musty air. The interior of the factory looked sterile. Grey walls greeted her. Not a friendly picture of a sunset or a painting of children enjoying themselves at the beach hung from the walls. The narrow area she’d entered didn’t even have a seat.

  When Lilly stepped up to a square hole in the wall, she pushed her head through the gap. The small inner office did nothing to improve her opinion of the place. If the young woman seated at the desk didn’t look up, nobody would’ve known she had entered the building.

  Lilly changed her mind. She wanted to leave. Something about the place didn’t feel quite right. Goose bumps erupted on her arms. A shiver shot down her spine. She didn’t like the feeling and wasn’t going to stay long enough to discover the reason. There were plenty of other places she could look. Lilly felt positive she’d find work even if it took her the entire week. She turned her back on the twenty something-year-old-woman a full second too late.

  “Morning,” said the woman.

  Despite the factory’s bleak appearance, the young woman’s voice sounded friendly.

  Out of respect, Lilly whirled around. “Same to you,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m leaving.”

  “Is there something important you came for?” The woman stood. She straightened her dress, walking over to the square hole in the wall.

  “No nothing important. Goodbye.”

  Before Lilly could take two steps, the woman put her hand on Lilly’s arm.

  “Don’t go. You must have come in here for something? We don’t get many visitors wanting to have a look around. I’m Stella Johnston. You are?”

  “Lilly Barrett.”

  “Stay right where you are, I’ll come out of the office. It’ll feel good to stretch my legs. I’ve been sitting all morning.”

  Lilly saw the side door open. Stella stepped out, swinging the door closed. Lilly studied her appearance. The woman was blonde, average height and wore a long grey dress and held a small paper bag in her hand.

  “This is my morning tea,” mentioned Stella, seeing Lilly staring at the scrunched bag. “The morning smoko whistle is about to sound. I always go outside in the fresh air to eat. The air inside the factory leaves a stale taste in my mouth.”

  “I must admit I tasted the musty air the moment I stepped into the factory,” complained Lilly.

  “What did you say you came in here for?”

  “I didn’t. I just happened to be walking past the gate when I saw the sign. I’m wondering if there are any jobs going?” Watching Stella’s friendly expression fall, Lilly quickly added. “It doesn’t matter if there aren’t. I’m sure I’ll discover work elsewhere.”

  “It’s not that there aren’t any jobs available here, every factory is the same. If I were you, I’d leave. Go ask the post office for a job.” Stella took hold of Lilly’s arm and pushed her towards the front door.

  A man’s voice stopped both ladies in their tracks.

  “Stella, is there something the young lady wants?”

  Lilly looked back over her shoulder. The voice belonged to a tall, balding man wearing long black pants, a white short-sleeved shirt, and no tie. His facial features gave away he might be at least triple Lilly’s age. He seemed a little annoyed, walking along the corridor towards them. At another office door, he stopped to look Lilly up and down.

  “I’m here to find out if there are any jobs available?” Lilly blurted. Glancing sideways, her question seemed to infuriate Stella. Still suspecting she shouldn’t be in the factory, Lilly wanted to give her ankle a kick for being seen in the place. She hoped her request would be denied. To smooth things over Lilly sent Stella a wiry grin.

  The man let go of the office door knob and continued to walk towards Lilly. At arm’s length, he stopped. Again, he studied Lilly’s womanly figure.

  “Stella, why didn’t you inform this lovely young woman we have an opening?”

  “The smoko whistle is about to sound. I didn’t want to interrupt your usual consuming of a cigar.”

  The man thrust his hand out. His stern expression melted the moment he shook Lilly’s hand.

  “I’m known as Big Joe. My full name is Joseph Carlisle. You can call me Joe. You are?”

  “Lilliana. I prefer to be called Lilly.”

  “Follow me,” urged Joe over the shrill of the smoko whistle.

  Lilly followed Joe down the narrow corridor to a small office. Upon e
ntering, she watched him close the door then walk over to a table.

  “Come sit so we can have a chat,” Joe insisted, smirking.

  The untidy office looked confusing. Papers littered the tabletop. The remnant of a salad sandwich sat in the middle of a dirty plate. The sides of the white coffee mug the man held in his hand were stained brown.

  “Thanks for at least seeing me,” said Lilly, trying not to sound overly enthusiastic at her rash decision to enter the building. Even though a loud whistle had sounded, somewhere deep inside the factory the constant boom of a machine could be heard.

  “No problem,” mentioned Joe. “I always have time for a pretty woman asking for a job. Do you have any experience?”

  “I have, to be honest. No.”

  Joe leaned back in his chair, sipping the hot tar-like brew. Placing the dirty mug on the table, he stood. “Follow me.”

  Lilly felt completely lost inside the hot factory. The further they walked along the narrow corridor the dirtier the air tasted. When they came to a closed door, Joe opened it and stepped through, holding it open for Lilly. After walking past Joe, she glanced around at what resembled the main production area. Large old machinery dotted the grimy concrete floor. Each machine had a filthy narrow bench next to it. A single light globe hanging from a lead hovered above each bench. Over near the windows on the east side, Joe led Lilly to a round dark green machine with a dome top. The old thing looked to have a circumference of four feet.

  “This is the bullet making machine,” explained Joe. “This old machine is easy to operate. You take a handful of short hollow copper tubes out of the box and place them in a vertical position on the narrow conveyor belt. Make sure the blocked end is underneath. The copper tubes move along the belt to the machine. As the machine rotates, each copper tube is filled with gunpowder then the head of the bullet is screwed on. It’s imperative the gunpowder box is full at all times. We don’t want a bullet to go out of here with no gunpowder in it. By the time the machine does a full circle the bullet drops down the chute, falling into the wooden box. When the box is full, signal young Des to take it and get you another box. The job starts at 6:00am in the morning. The whistle blows to go home at 5:00pm. Smoko is at 9:00am; noon is lunch. You work six days a week. Payday is every Wednesday at 2:00pm.”

  “Are you saying I have the job?”

  “Yes, of course!” exclaimed Joe. “The last girl who worked this machine decided to leave a week ago. I’m down to one machine. Now I have you; I’ll be able to make my full quota for this month.”

  “Thank you so much for giving me the job.”

  Big Joe smirked, eyeballing Lilly up and down for the third time. He kept up his grin while he talked. “Of course, you can work on a few more comforts; if you’re interested, come see me?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  March 1st 2013