The Year It All Ended (8 page)

‘But without Louis, it’s as if there’s a big hole in the middle of our family, in the middle of me. My chest hurts all the time, as if my heart’s been torn out.’

‘Don’t, Tiney! If I think too much of Louis, a great black cloud swallows me up.’ Minna suddenly looked much older, her whole body limp with grief.

From the back of the house, they heard Nette calling for Tiney. It was time to go and meet the train that was bringing Nette’s fiancé, Ray Staunton, home to Adelaide.

‘Will you come with us to meet Ray?’ asked Tiney.

‘No,’ said Minna. ‘I have students this afternoon and besides, I couldn’t bear it. Every soldier that comes home reminds me that Louis never will. But it’s important that you go with Nette. She’ll need you. You may be our baby sister, but you know we all count on you, Tiney.’

The station was crowded with people, mostly women: sad old ladies, plump mothers and glamorous flappers. Dozens of children darted excitedly up and down the platform. The stationmaster looked exasperated, as platform passes were supposed to be banned because of the flu quarantines. Everyone had been instructed to not throw confetti, in case the soldiers were still suffering shell-shock. Nette and Tiney pushed their way through the throng and stared along the tracks to see if the train was in sight.

Ray’s ship had docked at Fremantle weeks before but all the men had been quarantined. When Ray finally got a clean bill of health, he and the other soldiers had to travel by train to reach Adelaide as the ports were closed.

Some men had dozens of family members and they waved welcome banners high. Others, like Ray, had only one or two people waiting for them. Tiney was glad she was there. Ray had no family to celebrate his return.

Three years ago, Ray had proposed to Nette in large scrawly
handwriting looping across crumpled pages. He’d written from the trenches, just before he was about to go ‘over the top’.

Minna had tried to stop Nette from accepting. ‘You can’t marry him!’ she’d said. ‘You barely know him.’

Nette replied that she could hardly refuse a man when he might be about to die. Percy McCaffrey had been dead a year and Nette wrote her reply without knowing whether Ray had survived the charge.

Tiney remembered the exact moment when Nette had opened Ray’s letter announcing that he’d survived the battle and was glad she was promised to him. Nette’s expression had been hard to read. She had neither smiled nor wept, but simply folded the pages neatly and tucked them into the pocket of her apron. Then she’d looked up at her parents defiantly and said, ‘Ray and I are engaged to be married.’

Now, waiting on the railway platform for Ray, there was a wide-eyed anxiety in Nette’s face. ‘I don’t even know if I’ll recognise him,’ she whispered.

Nette had dressed carefully in a pale green frock with white batiste at the collar and cuffs, and a new close-fitting cloche hat with a dark green bow on the side. Around her neck she wore a simple necklace with a brown chiastolite stone pendant set in silver. One of the other Cheer-Up girls had told Tiney that chiastolite was good luck. Nette proposed that each sister chip in to buy one of the stones and then they could take turns wearing the pendant, as they couldn’t afford to own one each. The sisters agreed it was only right that Nette should wear it for Ray’s return but Tiney thought the black cross at the centre of the stone looked onimous rather than lucky.

‘It feels like a party, doesn’t it?’ said Nette, anxiously
smoothing down a strand of fair hair that had escaped from her cloche hat. ‘Perhaps we should have simply married on the railway platform!’

‘Maybe you should wait,’ said Tiney. ‘Ray can go ahead and build his house and then you can get married next year, after he’s sorted a home for you both.’

‘Ray wants to get married straight away. He wants us both to be in Cobdogla by the end of the month. He signed on to the scheme even before he left London.’

‘I can’t believe you’ll leave us so soon,’ said Tiney.

Nette put an arm around Tiney’s shoulders. ‘I know what the others think,’ said Nette, touching the chiastolite pendant. ‘But Ray is good and kind. I don’t care if he’s not the brilliant man Pa thinks I should marry. I will help make him whoever he wants to be.’

‘But you don’t have to do it straight away. You could tell him you’re still in mourning for Louis.’

‘Tiney, you don’t understand. Marrying Ray will bring me one step
closer
to Louis. Through Ray, I can make up for all that we lost when Louis died.’

Tiney couldn’t quite see the logic in this line of thinking. She pressed her lips together to stop any contrary words escaping. It came again, that wilful, irrepressible thought, crowding in on her – the longing to drag Nette away, to take the whole family on a ship to Europe.

A shout of welcome went up from the crowd, drowning out the screeching of the train’s brakes. Then men began pouring onto the platform, larger than life in their slouch hats and uniforms, their kitbags on their shoulders. Families surged forward to embrace their sons and wives their husbands.

Ray was easy to spot, his craggy face looming above the crowd. His eyes skidded over the Flynns at first but Nette tore off her hat and waved. Her blonde hair shone like a beacon. Ray’s face broke into a smile of relief and he shouldered his way towards them.

For a moment, Nette and Ray stood awkwardly staring at each other and then Ray put his arm around Nette and hugged her. Tiney saw that Ray had lost three fingers on his left hand and she looked away, ashamed that she should be thinking of what it would feel like to be caressed by a fingerless man. At least Ray had all the fingers on his right hand, and his thumb and ring finger on the left had been spared, even if they were scarred and twisted. Tiney wondered if he’d choose to wear a wedding ring.

Cod’s heads and kerosene lamps

Mama had set out all the ingredients for dinner on the scrubbed timber benchtop. Suet, pork forcemeat, thyme, parsley, lemon rind and juice, and a great big ugly cod’s head.

It was Tiney’s job to stuff the fishhead. She sat on a stool and jammed a kitchen needle into the cod’s leathery skin to sew the stuffed head shut. Cod’s head, offal and pigs trotters were among Mama’s favourite dishes. Tiney knew it was because they were inexpensive and could stretch to feed the whole family cheaply. Mama made sure they tasted delicious but Tiney longed for roast chicken. Before the war, Papa had taught German at Adelaide High School and in the evening he had tutored private students. Back then, the Flynn family enjoyed roast chicken every Sunday. But when the teaching of German was banned, Papa lost his job. Louis’ soldier’s pay had helped cover some of the family expenses during the war years but now that had stopped with his death and there was even less to spare.

Thea and Ma sat at the kitchen table, household accounts spread out before them, tallying up columns of figures. Thea took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘Mr Ashton said he’d employ me to take the outdoor painting classes but he doesn’t
pay very well. I wish the Wilderness School would invite me back to teach painting. A few extra shillings would make such a difference with the wedding expenses.’

Nette’s wedding was going to be a simple affair, but everyone in the family was anxious about what to give Nette and Ray for a wedding gift. There were so many extra expenses, not least the food for the guests at the reception. Tiney jabbed the cod’s head and prayed that Mama wouldn’t put fishheads on the menu.

If it wasn’t for Mama’s trust fund the Flynn family would never make ends meet. Wolfgang Schomberg, Tiney’s grandfather, had been a wealthy man. Mama would never say exactly how much the trust sent each month but Tiney remembered how much better life had been when Opa was still alive. Opa would have understood her plan to go to Europe. He would have helped. She remembered going out to her grandfather’s property in the Barossa, and riding beside him in a trap along a dusty country road while he went to visit his patients. On the ride back to his house, he would sing in German and make Tiney sing along. He always spoke German to her, though he was born in Australia and could speak perfect English. And then, back at her grandparents’ sprawling Barossa home, the whole family would gather around the table to eat roast pork and steamed potatoes and dumplings and applesauce. But that was before the war, when Opa and Louis and Will had been alive.

Tiney put the stuffed cod’s head into the Kooka oven and set potatoes to boil on the stovetop. She scrubbed the fishy smell from her hands with cut lemons and then sat down beside Thea.

‘I’m sorry to ask, but I need a new dress,’ said Tiney. ‘Not just for the wedding. There’s the Cheer-Up Victory Ball in July,
and once the flu epidemic is over and quarantine restrictions are lifted, there’ll be so many dances and I have nothing to wear.’

‘But you have a new one,’ said Mama. ‘I cut down Minna’s blue cotton dress for you last month.’

Tiney put her head in her hands and sighed. She didn’t want to point out that Minna’s old dress was so worn-out it couldn’t possibly be thought of as ‘new’. All through their childhood, Nette’s dresses were cut down for Thea, Thea’s for Minna, Minna’s for Tiney. Her clothes weren’t simply second-hand, they were fourth-hand. Some days Tiney rubbed the fabric of her skirt between her fingers and wondered why the material hadn’t grown translucent with wear.

‘We will see,’ said Mama, as if acknowledging Tiney’s despair.

‘Ask Minna for ideas,’ whispered Thea.

Tiney found Minna in their bedroom, standing in front of the cheval mirror. Minna was trying on her new dress.

‘Do you like it?’ she asked. ‘Is it dainty enough for a “sister of the bride”?’

Mr Timson, a cloth merchant whose daughter was one of Minna’s students, had given her a length of deep blue crepe de Chine after his daughter passed her preliminary clarinet exam. Minna had set to work with needle and thread, cutting and stitching. She had folded the fabric over and over in deep pleats and pressed it carefully, then sewn it into a three-tiered tunic that fitted her like a sheath. Beneath the dress she wore a close-fitting white satin shift with full-length mitten sleeves and, for contrast against the dark blue fabric, a long strand of artificial pearls.

The pleats rippled as Minna pirouetted on her toes.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Tiney, feeling admiration mixed with envy.

Minna stopped spinning and rested her hands on Tiney’s
shoulders. ‘There’s enough fabric left over for me to make you a blouse.’

‘A blouse would be nice, but I need a dress. A dress for the wedding.’

Minna looked at Tiney appraisingly. ‘The good thing about making clothes for you is that I don’t need a lot of cloth. I could talk to Mr Timson and see if he would give me a few yards of something interesting. But I want to ask you a favour in return. My shoes. They’re so drab and ordinary. Do you remember those brooches, the matching diamante ones that Paul gave us for Christmas? Could I swap one of my other brooches for yours? So I’ll have a pair of them, you see.’

‘Nette says they’re too gaudy to wear. You don’t have to swap them for anything.’

‘But I want to do a swap. And Paul has very good taste, really he does. He just doesn’t know about girls, that’s all.’

Tiney opened the small wooden box in which she kept her meagre collection of jewellery. The diamante brooch looked loud and ugly sitting beside the tiny cameos and beaded floral brooches. Tiney handed it over and Minna deftly removed the pin. Then she took the two brooches and fixed them to her black day shoes.

‘That’s so clever, Minna!’ Tiney realised that with the large silver and black diamante brooches winking, drawing attention to the slenderness of Minna’s ankles, the drab black leather shoes were scarcely noticeable.

‘Come here and I’ll give you one of my brooches in exchange,’ said Minna.

‘No, that’s all right,’ said Tiney. ‘I never would have worn the diamantes.’

Minna laughed and opened her jewellery box.

‘I know you think things like dreams and spirits aren’t to be trusted, but I dreamt about you last night so I know you must have this brooch. Come here and let me pin it on you. When you see it, you’ll know why you have to wear it.’