Page 42 of The Island Girls

‘Not me, Mum. Nora is a bit keen though. But she’s shy, and would rather know a bit more about him before showing him any signs,’ Peggy said, thinking on her feet.

Peggy knew this was all she needed to say to prompt her mother on her own mission of investigations. Anyone who came from out of town and was entering the world of her girls andtheir friends was to be treated with suspicion, and Mrs Symonds would dig out any information there was to be mined on Charlie’s story.

After lunch, Molly helped their mother with the washing up while Peggy went outside to help her dad with some work in the vegetable garden, which was beginning to really take off now that spring was advancing. There were pea sticks to put in and seeds to sow at their bases, carrot and radish seeds to sow, and tomato and lettuce seedlings to plant out. The leeks were coming along, and there were some new potatoes to harvest already. As Peggy gently felt for them in the soil under her gloved hands, she could almost taste the rich butter they used to melt lavishly on these delicious morsels, back when butter was freely available.

‘When this war is over, Dad, and we don’t have to live under rationing any more, I’m going to buy a pound of butter, and a pound of sugar every single time I go to the shops, just because I can!’ she said with longing in her voice.

Her father laughed heartily, but the look he gave her showed her he couldn’t agree more.

Peggy rested for a while and leant on the back fence, looking across the harbour. The flames on Brownsea Island had died down somewhat but there was still an awful lot of smoke coming across the water.

‘Strange to think how close all those bombs were to us the other night. The decoy over there seems to be working well,’ she mused.

‘It certainly is. Sad to sacrifice the village, but better that than the lived-in homes here in town,’ he said, and Peggy was grateful afresh for the pragmatism that had grounded her as she had grown up. She went back to her planting, resting on her knees not far from her dad, thinking all the while.

‘Dad,’ she said at length, ‘I was given an interesting task this morning. I can’t tell you or anyone else anything about it, naturally, but I’m worried about Darrell.’

‘Why would you be worried about that strapping lad, love? I’m sure he can look after ’isself.’ Her father chortled.

Peggy smiled, belying the anxiety that was growing inside.

‘I have no doubt he can look after himself perfectly well, Dad. I’m just worried about what he might think of me. I’m going to have to spend some time away from him, because of work, and… it is going to seem… as if I were growing cold on Darrell. And I’m not! I think he’s the loveliest man I ever knew, and I’m worried he might get the wrong idea. That’s all,’ she said, wondering if she was digging herself a hole that it might be hard to climb out of without using the details of her mission as rungs on the ladder.

Mr Symonds stood up, brushed the soil from his knees and hands, and perched against the fence, taking a good look at his daughter.

‘Peggy, you’re a bright girl. You always have been capable of anything. If you’ve been trusted with a job that you can’t share with any of us, then it’s an important one, and one I’m sure you will do very well. Darrell is an intelligent man, Peggy. Explain to him what you’ve said to me, and I’m sure he’ll understand,’ he said, patting her on the arm and bending back down to the rows of new plantings. ‘Come on, Peg. These vegetables won’t plant themselves.’

After the work was done, and their tools and hands all scrubbed clean alike, Peggy and her dad went back inside for a welcome rest and a cup of tea. Peggy had been thinking about how she would talk to Darrell and what she might say, but she still had a knot of worry in her stomach about carrying a secret that could mean some people – Darrell especially – might thinkless of her. She would look for a chance to see him again, and soon, to show him how much she cared for him.

21

BRISBANE – DECEMBER 1998

Rebekah leant against the airplane window, peering eagerly at the beautiful landscape below. They’d crossed landfall somewhere near Darwin several hours ago and the rugged red landscape of outback Queensland had gone on, and on, and on, without a cloud in the sky to break up the view. She glanced back at Paul, who was dozing with his earphones in. If he slept much longer, she was going to have to wake him up so he didn’t miss the view of the coastline from this glorious height.

She’d grown used to watching him sleeping, and sharing all the little moments of life with him. And though she had never expected this, Rebekah couldn’t imagine a life without Paul beside her. They’d spent virtually every weekend together since July, either in Poole or in London, and occasionally further afield, even taking a weekend trip to Paris in the autumn. She’d bought herself a mobile phone too, so they could stay in contact wherever she was, especially as she was so often outdoors and away from a desk. And now they were on this journey together, home to Brisbane.

The air stewards started raising all the window shields and bringing out the breakfast trolley. Soon, the general hustle andbustle of the plane, or perhaps it was the smell of coffee, roused Paul from his long and much-needed nap. He’d barely slept at all from London to Singapore, and so he’d caught up on the Singapore to Brisbane leg of the journey.

‘We’re over Queensland now, babe,’ she said and couldn’t help but do a little jiggle of delight, she was that excited. Once the coast came into view, she swapped seats with Paul for a while so he could see the gorgeous turquoise colour of the ocean, and the insanely large areas of completely unspoilt beaches.

‘I can’t wait to get down there and explore it all with you. You’re my perfect tour guide – and have been since the moment I met you,’ he said, kissing her hand.

As the plane dropped altitude over Brisbane, Rebekah just about squealed as she saw the Story Bridge over the Brisbane River in the city centre, and the newer, bigger Gateway Bridge much closer to the airport. The flight path took them out over Moreton Bay and she showed him some national parks that were easily identifiable from the air: Moreton Island and North Stradbroke Island, two of the largest sand islands in the world. Then the plane dropped low over the water and as they headed towards the runway, she showed him the mangroves that made up an important layer of the ecosystem all along the coast wherever there were mudflats. She gripped the armrests as they bumped in to land.

‘Rebekah!’ she heard the familiar voice of her mum cry, as they pushed their luggage trolley out through the frosted glass sliding doors to the arrivals lounge. Rebekah left Paul with the trolley and ran to throw her arms around her, not realising until this second how much she’d missed the feel of Mum’s hugs.

‘Oh, let me get a good look at you, love! Your hair’s grown so long!’ cried her mum as she held Rebekah out at arm’s length again. ‘And this must be Paul,’ she said reaching out both hands to pull Paul into a hug too.

‘Hello, Mrs Martin. Lovely to meet you,’ he said with his broadest and most handsome grin, Rebekah noticed, although he was looking about as smooth right now after this long-haul flight as he had done the very first time she’d set eyes on him – exhausted, unshaven, and in need of a good shower.

‘None of this formal business please, love; I’m just Helen to my friends,’ Rebekah’s mum told Paul warmly.

At home in Barrawondi Street, they settled with coffee and cake on the back deck, and both enjoyed wonderfully long showers and dressed into cool linen clothes, much better suited to the humid heat of a Brisbane December. Feeling refreshed, and ready for the adventure ahead, Rebekah had started with a walking tour of the backyard, showing Paul the red bottlebrush, the gigantic gum trees, the yellow grevillea, and explaining to him where the incessant shrill sound was coming from.

‘That’s the cicadas. They’re a flying bug that comes out of the ground in the hot, humid weather, and some of the Australian cicadas are among the loudest in the world,’ she explained.

‘I don’t doubt that for one second.’ He laughed, just as a flock of rainbow lorikeets chattered overhead and landed in the bottlebrush tree to eat nectar from the red flowers hanging there.

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