Wilkes’s plane had been delayed. It didn’t touch down until nearly eight pm. He hadn’t phoned Annabelle during the day to tell her that he’d be back for the evening. He’d wanted to surprise her. But when he did phone, he was the one who’d received the surprise. Annabelle hated going to bars, but that’s apparently where she was. And there was something strange, almost guilty, in her voice.
Wilkes strolled into the dimly lit bar at around 2030 hrs, but he felt like it was closer to three in the morning. Meetings did that to him, and he’d had a day of them. Annabelle was perched on a high stool, legs crossed, sipping a cocktail. Men were gathered around her and she was enjoying the attention. This mightn’t have been her style, but she seemed to be lapping it up anyway.
‘Hey, Belle…’
‘Hi,’ she said with a wave through the gathering. She appeared pleased to see him, but there was that something else, unsure and unspoken. She kissed him quickly on the lips when he managed to squeeze through, just as another man joined them.
‘Tom, this is Steve, Steve Saunders. Steve – Tom. My fiancé.’
‘You’re a lucky man, Tom,’ said Saunders, holding out his hand.
Tom shook it automatically. It was pudgy, and Saunders had just returned from the bathroom so the hand was also wet. Saunders was around forty-five, with perfectly combed hair, a tanned face and a pink shirt with white collar, the two top buttons undone revealing a nest of grey hair.
‘Yes, very lucky,’ Tom said, his other arm around Annabelle’s waist.
‘Steve’s up from Sydney. He’s the ANTV Network News executive producer.’
‘Ah, the big kahuna,’ said Tom.
‘Exactly, Tom, so we have to be nice to him,’ said Annabelle, playing the part and rewarding Saunders with her best smile. Annabelle was wearing her usual preferred style of clothing, something stretchy and tight that showed off her figure. Wilkes didn’t like the way Saunders looked at her, as if he was about to tuck into a banquet.
‘I’ve just been congratulating Annabelle, Tom. She’s got a big future in the network. She could go all the way,’ said Saunders, toasting Annabelle with a bright green cocktail. ‘Get you something?’
‘Ah, just a beer, thanks,’ said Wilkes.
The beer arrived pronto. It tasted good, so he drank half straight away.
‘Thirsty,’ said Annabelle, giving his leg a reassuring squeeze.
Tom forced a smile.
‘So, have you told Tom yet?’ asked Saunders.
‘Told Tom what?’ Wilkes asked.
Annabelle took one of his hands in both of hers, like she was about to propose. ‘Tom, as I said, Steve’s the network producer. He’s here because, well, they want me in Sydney.’
‘Hey, that’s fantastic, Belle,’ said Wilkes, putting his beer down to give her a bear hug and a kiss to go with it. He knew she was the best and this was recognition that everyone else thought so too.
‘Yeah,’ said Saunders, raising his glass for yet another toast. ‘We want Annabelle in Sydney to read the morning news, following on from the cartoons. It’s a big move up. And we also want you, Tom. Annabelle’s told me what you do – hey, just in general terms, mate, no secrets because then you’d have to kill me, right?’ he said mock seriously.
Don’t tempt me, thought Wilkes.
‘And the network needs a defence expert – a consultant. In Sydney, of course. God knows there’s enough going on around the world these days. That’s something we should have had – full time – a long time ago.’
It was a strange moment for Tom. He heard what the producer was saying, but all he could focus on was the man’s shirt. People stopped wearing them back in the eighties, didn’t they? Weren’t they called power shirts? And the tan looked fake. Tom Wilkes didn’t like being ambushed. It made him want to fight back. But against who? And how? And what did Annabelle expect? That they’d just up and leave Townsville? And what about the army? He couldn’t exactly give two weeks’ notice. Hadn’t they talked about this? Wilkes tried to recall the conversation. If he remembered correctly, they’d decided he wasn’t leaving the army. ‘Um…I don’t know what to say, Steve.’
‘That’s okay, Tom. No need to thank me. We’d do anything to get Annabelle down to Sydney.’
I bet you would, mate.
‘You okay, Tom?’ asked Annabelle. Tom was smiling, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile. Saunders had turned away to order another round of drinks, and had struck up a conversation with the bar girl.
‘Look, Belle, I’m proud of you, you know that. But this, now…well…shouldn’t we talk a bit more about it without Donald Trump here to moderate?’
‘But this would be good for us.’
‘Look, it’s great for you, but can you honestly see me hanging around the TV station in Sydney?’
Annabelle took a long sip of her drink, her cheeks flushed red with anger.
‘Jesus, don’t pout. We need to talk about this.’
‘How about tomorrow?’
Bloody hell, thought Tom, he’d just been ambushed again. ‘Belle…I’m going away tomorrow.’
‘Right,’ she said, nodding her head slowly. ‘Care to tell me where? Oh, I forgot, you can’t tell me.’ The words dripped with sarcasm.
‘Belle, that’s not exactly –’
‘If you’re going to tell me it’s not fair, don’t bother,’ said Annabelle. ‘I want a husband who’s going to be there when I come home at night. I read the headlines, I don’t want a husband who makes them.’
‘So what are you saying here…?’
Steve turned back and felt the tension between Annabelle and Wilkes. He’d seen it coming. A raucous laugh caught his attention. It was the producer he’d been introduced to earlier, having some fun with a few other people he’d recognised from the station – a cute cadet journalist amongst them. He made his way over. ‘Hey, Barry…Barry Weaver, isn’t it? Loved that Papua New Guinea piece, mate…’
‘Belle? Speak to me, please.’ Wilkes was uncomfortable with the brooding silence.
‘Look, every time you go away, I don’t sleep.’
‘You never told me that before.’
‘We weren’t getting married before. And when footage comes in from some crisis somewhere or other, I live in fear that I’m going to see you as I read the bloody news, getting shot, right in front of my eyes.’
‘Look, that’s not going to happen.’
‘It’s already happened. In Papua New Guinea. I saw the out-takes. It was you right there in the background. After the battle with the highlanders…’
That bastard… Wilkes concentrated his anger in a glance at Weaver. The producer looked up and toasted him, smiling.
‘So what? You expect me just to pack everything in and move to Sydney?’
‘Do you expect me not to go to Sydney?’
Both Tom and Annabelle could see they were getting nowhere. Annabelle drank the rest of her drink, and felt it warm her stomach. ‘Are you going to stay with me tonight?’
‘No,’ said Tom, wishing he could have said something different. ‘I leave at four in the morning. Have to stay on post.’
‘Fine, then.’
‘Look, Annabelle –’
‘Just go. You have to anyway.’
Tom didn’t know what to do. He had to get back to post, pack his gear and get a final briefing, but he didn’t want to leave the woman he loved when she was feeling so awful about the future. He wanted to shout that he had an important job to do, that the job he did helped keep the world in which she lived safe, but it wasn’t the time or the place for anger or a lecture. The fact was, at that moment Tom knew he would not leave the regiment to work as a TV consultant no matter how good the pay was. It was not his style. Quite what that foretold for their relationship he wasn’t sure, but the twist in his gut told him that the prognosis wasn’t good. ‘Goodbye, Belle,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘See you when I get back.’
‘When will that be?’ she said, eyes watering, her face full of disappointment. ‘Oh, I forgot, you can’t tell me that either.’