March 1971
Catherine
The sound of wheels on gravel confused Catherine for a moment. No one ever drove up this way. She stood on the verandah and shielded her eyes from the late-afternoon sun. A familiar car came into view. Could it really be Erica Jane? How long had it been since she’d watched the car hightailing it off their property with a bleeding Tim at the wheel? Catherine ran her fingers through her hair and regretted her work clothes of shorts and a faded blouse. Then she caught her thoughts. It didn’t matter what she looked like, not any more.
A figure emerged from the old Holden, leaner and more tanned than she remembered. His hair was still bleached by the sun, but longer. Miss Downie would never approve. And was he wearing an earring? He looked up at her and waved. ‘Hi ya, babe, long time no see.’
She shook her head at the incongruity of his words, but was surprised to feel a frisson of excitement.
‘Didn’t want to go near the new place,’ he drawled. ‘Not after last time. But I saw the Hillman parked up here. So here I am.’
‘Here you are.’ She smiled despite herself. Could she actually be pleased to see him? ‘Come on up.’
‘You sure? The old man’s not around, is he? Don’t want to cause any hassles.’
‘No. Just me, the chickens and a cat.’ Catherine had felt lonely when she’d first moved back into the old cottage. The solitude had wrapped around her day and night. She’d needed more than the breeze blowing through the trees and the screech of cockatoos as they helped themselves to another feed of apples for company. She’d come to love the chickens, each with unique personalities and strange little quirks, but with them came rats which in turn attracted snakes. A cat was the logical answer. Mickey was not only good company, he was also a stone-cold killer, depositing proof of his prowess on her doormat every morning.
Tim hoisted himself up the steps. ‘Cool.’
They stood face to face, a little shy.
‘This is kinda weird,’ Tim said. ‘What do you say to a chick when the last time you saw her everyone was a bit unglued?’
‘You start by telling her what on earth you’re doing back in the valley. Come and sit down.’ Catherine indicated the two wicker chairs. In her grandmother’s day they had been pristine and white, now the paint was all but gone and the wicker missing in places.
He sat beside her and casually touched her hand. ‘No rings. Thought you’d’ve got hitched by now. That ex-pop star seemed a bit keen. What happened to him?’
Catherine shrugged. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Mark.
‘That’s right, he was married. Wife disappeared or something.’
She was suddenly restless. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘Nah. Just wanna drink you in.’ He gave her the lazy grin she remembered so well.
Catherine laughed. It sounded strange, in a place where there’d been so much silence. ‘What are you doing here, Tim?’
‘Gotta job at the wharf.’ He nodded towards the river. On the opposite bank to Wattle Grove lay Port Huon, where ships from all over the world waited three deep to load their holds with Tasmanian apples.
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Got my stevedoring ticket through a mate whose old man’s a wharfie. We’re both doing a season to save up some dough. I’ll be here for months.’
‘A girl in every port.’
‘Nah, just this one.’ He smiled at her, his tanned skin crinkling around his sea-blue eyes.
‘Who’s the lucky girl?’ Catherine relaxed into the harmless flirtation.
‘You might know her. Pretty. Obsessed with apples. Makes me wish I was an apple.’ He chuckled.
Catherine hadn’t missed Tim, hadn’t even thought about him over the past few years. But now he was here, sitting next to her, she found herself remembering the good times they’d had together, before he became jealous and obsessive.
‘There’s something different about you,’ she said.
His face became serious. ‘I’m real sorry about when we were together. I stuffed it up. Kinda went a bit crazy, you know? All those magic mushies.’
Catherine nodded silently. That explained Tim’s strange behaviour. She’d heard about magic mushrooms, a kind of hallucinogenic available for free in the fields. The information had come with a warning. They were dangerous and best avoided.
‘After what I said that day …’ Tim touched his nose. ‘Don’t blame your old man for having a go at me. But I was right about Vietnam.’
Catherine chewed her lip. She could barely bring herself to follow the news with its endless depictions of the suffering in the war.
‘I was there at the marches.’ His eyes burnt with a zeal that both scared and excited her. ‘They were unreal, massive. People waking up, coming together. And it made a difference. Our troops are coming home. We should be out of this shithouse war by next year. Shoulda never been involved in the first place.’
‘It’s horrible, for both sides.’ Catherine had thought about going to Hobart for the moratorium march last year. Over 200,000 people had marched, Australia wide. After what had happened to those women in My Lai, and countless others, she’d wanted her voice to be heard. But the thought of what her parents would think, especially her father, had stopped her.
‘I’m stoked to hear you say that. Got this idea in my head you’d be more tuned in these days.’ He leant in, his eyes searching hers. ‘You should come to Bali with me.’
‘Where’s that? In Vietnam?’ She’d heard of Saigon, Hue, Khe Sanh and Long Tan, but Bali?
‘Nah, Indonesia. An island off the east coast of Java. Went there over summer with some dudes I met on the march. Blew my mind. That’s why I’m here, working on the wharf. Saving up my bread to go back. You can live like a king there for next to nothing. The surf’s radical, rolling barrels all the time. And it’s paradise. Just narrow dirt roads and shacks on the beach. Living on fish, rice, and the most amazing fruit you’ve ever eaten. Pineapples, bananas, mangoes and things called dragon fruit – bright pink and purple. You scoop out the flesh and eat it, tiny black seeds and all.’
‘Dragon fruit?’ She’d never heard of such a thing.
‘Yeah, and coconuts so fresh you just knock the top off them and drink the juice. Unreal. But you probably wouldn’t like the place. No apples.’
She laughed. ‘You’re probably right. What do you do there?’
‘Surf, babe. What else is there?’
Catherine raised an eyebrow; there was a lot more to life than surfing. ‘And you’re going back?’
‘Yep. Reckon I can save enough to live over there for the rest of the year. The waves are unreal and the water, it’s so warm, not like here. You can surf all year round without freezing your bits off. Hardly anyone else out there surfing. A few Yanks, some Aussies and that’s about it.’ His eyes grew distant. ‘There’s something about the place, you know. The people are real cool. They leave these little offerings outside their homes every day – fruit and flowers – as gifts for the spirits. They’re happy all the time and it rubs off on you. So different from being here where everyone’s so aggro. Working on the wharf? Well, enough said.’
Catherine was hypnotised by his words. This place called Bali did indeed sound magical.
‘Once the cold season hits, I’ll be gone. It’s perfect there in winter.’ Tim grasped her work-roughened hands. ‘Come with me, if only for a holiday. You’ll be warm, and far away from the frost and ice and sleet.’
‘But I don’t surf.’ Much as she was enjoying his attention, the idea was ludicrous. ‘What would I do there?’
‘Do? Nothing. That’s the point. Relax, eat, swim. You gotta be respectful of the locals, they’re a modest bunch, but there are spots where the only creatures watching you are the monkeys. You can strip off and swim, sunbake on the white sand without a stitch on, just as nature intended. We’d be like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.’ His thumb gently rubbed the back of her hand.
His blue eyes were so clear. She’d forgotten. ‘Adam and Eve didn’t come to a happy end.’
‘Ah, but remember what I said about Bali? No apples.’ He winked.
The picture he painted of a tropical paradise, his hands on hers and the closeness of his body stirred something she’d suppressed since Mark had left.
‘I’ve never forgotten you,’ he said. ‘Or the day of the fire. How could I?’ She pulled away, remembering his fixation on her as his saviour.
‘Hey, don’t worry.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips brushed her skin, setting off tiny sparks of electricity through her body. ‘For sure, I was a bit crazy back then. Guess I freaked you out. That’s history. The Balinese have taught me about respect for others, for nature and for myself.’ He was still holding onto her hand. ‘That’s not to say I don’t want to kiss you right now. What do you say? Come to Bali. You’d fall in love with the place. And me.’
She leant back in her chair. ‘You certainly are a charmer. How many girls have you spun this line to?’
His face fell. ‘None. Only you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
It was getting late. She should be locking up the chickens and feeding the cat. But it was nice here, with him. It had been so long since she’d been flattered or admired. ‘Well, in that case, I’ll think about it.’
He sighed. ‘I know you, Catherine Turner, and that means no.’
Did he know her? They’d been together, if you could call it that, for little over a year, one of the hardest years of her life. So much had changed since then.
‘And I know that look,’ he said. ‘Can’t blame you. Here’s me lobbing up out of the blue and saying come away with me.’ He shifted closer. ‘Tell you what, I’m going to change your mind. Being on call at the port, the hours are crazy, but every chance I get, I’m gonna be here with you. I want you to be my lady. Sure, I’ve met a lot of fine women, but none I dig as much as you. You’re a fox and you’re strong. You gotta be a bit tough in Bali. It’s blissful but basic. What do you say?’
Most women would jump at the chance to live in paradise with a handsome man. And here was Tim – with his brilliant eyes, winning smile and golden tousled hair – throwing himself at her. Still, she hesitated. He said he’d changed, but had he? He’d once thought of her as an angel keeping him alive. His fixation had scared her and pushed them apart. Now he’d waltzed back into her life assuming she’d want to be Jane to his Tarzan, in some place called Bali. He hadn’t seen her for years and yet had already mapped out her future. Wasn’t this the very thing she was trying to escape? Men deciding what she could and couldn’t do?
Catherine and her father had come to an awkward truce. There was no avoiding each other, even with her living up the hill in the cottage. Without ever mentioning that day and the harsh words spoken, they’d managed to come to a working agreement. Catherine knew she was stubborn. She and her father were the same in that regard. Peter had been more like their mother, gentle and dreamy, with a tendency to waver between joy and melancholy, but always seeing the beauty in everything. Catherine was tougher – not physically stronger, but definitely stronger in mind and spirit.
Tim reached over and caressed her cheek. ‘What are you thinking? Am I in with a chance?’
‘Maybe.’ Catherine knew she was taking a risk. Tim had made it clear that everything was on his terms. He’d only be able to see her when he had a break from the wharf and, she reminded herself, if the surf wasn’t pumping.
‘Let’s see if I can make that a yes.’ He pulled her closer and kissed her neck.
She took a steadying breath, fighting the sensations that swamped her body. But why? Tim was offering an escape from the drudgery her life had become. Since Mark and Charlie had left, her life had seemed little more than a husk – dried out and brittle. She needed something more. In a blink she made up her mind. He wanted a strong woman? She’d show him one.
Catherine kissed him back, hard.