New Guinea Moon Read online

  ‘No, thanks.’ She is repulsed, and she lets it show.

  ‘Shit, I was just being friendly. No need to be a stuck-up little bitch.’ He gives her a dirty look over his shoulder as he waddles away. Julie whisks inside and slams the door shut.

  The room is clean. Clean-ish. A fluorescent tube flickers and buzzes. The double bed is covered with a crooked tartan rug. A drawing of a Highland warrior scowls down from one wall, a poster of a fluffy kitten is pinned to another. Julie wiggles the doorhandle. It seems very flimsy — She almost falls over as the door is pushed open.

  It’s Simon. He looks embarrassed but determined. ‘I think I should sleep in here, on the floor. Just in case . . . I saw the way that sleazy creep was looking at you; I don’t trust him.’

  Julie feels weak with relief. ‘Yes, please. Please, do stay.’

  They bring in the bags and food from the Jeep. Julie locks the door, and pushes a bedside table up against it for good measure. She switches on the reading lamp and turns off the harsh fluorescent light, and the room at once seems cosier, more friendly. Simon folds a rug from the car and sits on the floor, his back to the wall. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  Julie investigates Dulcie’s basket. She’s been too nervous to eat all afternoon, but now suddenly she feels ravenous. ‘Ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Tomatoes, bananas, hard-boiled eggs . . . Oh, and cake.’

  ‘I feel as if I’m in the Famous Five,’ says Simon.

  For a moment Julie feels as if she’s a little kid again, blessedly free from all her grown-up worries — Tony’s death, Helen, Caroline’s looming arrival, her own forced departure from New Guinea. It’s as if they’re playing cubbies in their own hidden den: cosy, safe and secret. She says, ‘Your mother is cool.’

  Simon is silent, unwrapping the greaseproof paper around the sandwiches. The soft light strikes his face so that the shadow of his eyelashes sweeps down his cheek. At last he says, ‘It’s taken me a while to appreciate her.’

  Julie is quiet, waiting.

  ‘I used to wish Dad had married a normal woman. A European woman. It really pissed me off. It made our lives so hard, you know? We’d go into town, people would cross to the other side of the street. And Mum’s life, too. It’s been harder for her.’ He looks at Julie. ‘It would be hard for Helen, too, you know. If she was parachuted into Australia. Not knowing anyone . . . It’s such a different world. She’s just a kid. It’s a lot to ask.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Julie. ‘Okay, I get it.’ She shreds the sandwich paper, not looking at Simon. ‘I thought we were talking about your mother.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Simon sighs. ‘She misses the village; she gets lonely, especially when I’m away at school. She never got to go past Grade Three; she can hardly write her name. It’s not fair . . . She’s smart; she could have done anything.’

  ‘I thought you said it was the best of both worlds,’ says Julie.

  He smiles. ‘The worst of both worlds, too.’ His face splits in a giant yawn. ‘Sorry. I’ve been up since six.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise — sorry.’ She watches as he shakes out the rug and spreads it on the threadbare carpet. ‘You can’t really sleep on the floor.’

  ‘It’s okay. It’s not as hard as the beds at boarding school.’

  ‘At least take a pillow.’ She throws one down to him.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Julie reaches over and snaps off the lamp. Light leaks into the room around the edge of the skimpy curtains. She pulls the blankets over herself and lies on her back, staring at the ceiling. Simon, there’s plenty of room up here. I promise I won’t — No, no. She can’t say that. Simon, are you comfortable down there? Simon, this is ridiculous, isn’t it? Come up on the bed.

  He is asleep. She can hear the deep, even rhythm of his breathing.

  She is so tired, but she feels wide awake. She thinks about Helen.

  This is not like paying the motel manager before she’s seen the room. She has all the power in this situation; Helen has none. Perhaps she’ll be able to persuade her to come to Australia, in spite of what Simon says. But what if she can’t persuade her? Could she make her come?

  This is uncomfortable knowledge. It makes Julie feel prickly and miserable. She doesn’t want this power. She wants Helen to want to come with her. What was it Simon said? Run into her arms and weep for joy?

  And how would you feel, she asks herself, if someone turned up out of the blue and wanted to take you away from everything you knew? Think how much you hate it when your mum tries to force you into things you don’t want to do. Now imagine it was a stranger.

  Julie grimaces into the darkness. She wanted this visit to be a wonderful meeting; but she’s messed it up. Far below, sunk in the earth, she senses a slow, faint rumbling. It’s a minor guria, too weak to shake the building; it’s just strong enough to set up an uneasy quivering, rocking deep in her gut, like seasickness. Her hands creep out to hold onto the edge of the bed. Her eyes are wide open, staring into the dark.

  ‘How did you sleep?’

  Simon grimaces. ‘Not very well. Terribly, actually.’

  ‘Me either. I kept waking up and not knowing where I was.’ Julie lets out a sigh as the Jeep rounds the corner and she sees that the green car is still parked underneath Miss Elliot’s house. ‘Oh, good. They’re home.’

  Simon glances at her. ‘Did you think they’d run away?’

  When he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous; but some part of Julie had been afraid that she and Simon would arrive and find them gone.

  Simon parks the Jeep, and once again they climb the steep steps. The front door opens almost before Julie has finished knocking.

  ‘Come in,’ says Miss Elliot.

  The four of them stand awkwardly in the living room. Helen looks at the floor, her hands clasped in front of her. Today the clips in her hair are tiny birds.

  Julie feels herself smiling nervously. Simon rubs the back of his head.

  Miss Elliot says softly, ‘Helen? Don’t you have something to say?’

  Helen keeps her eyes lowered. She murmurs, ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I was upset. But I shouldn’t have behaved like that. It was rude and I apologise.’

  This speech has obviously been carefully prepared. Julie can imagine Miss Elliot sitting Helen down and rehearsing it. Her stomach churns. This is all wrong. She, Julie, was the one who behaved like a spoilt brat yesterday — why would Miss Elliot make Helen apologise to her?

  Miss Elliot shoots her a swift, worried, sideways glance, and in a flash Julie understands. It’s because Julie is white, because she is rich, because she controls Tony’s money now. This is horrible: to see Miss Elliot and Helen feeling forced to almost grovel to her, to stop her from abandoning Helen completely, so she isn’t thrown out of the school . . . It shouldn’t be like this. Julie is only offering what Helen is owed, what should be hers by right. Tony was her father, too. She is just as entitled to his inheritance as Julie is.

  Julie flings out her hand. ‘Don’t! Please don’t. I should be the one apologising. I shouldn’t have snatched your reports and stuff. That was just — rude. I’m sorry. Can we — can we start again? Please?’

  Miss Elliot and Helen look at each other. Then Miss Elliot turns to Simon. ‘Perhaps you and I should go and sit in the kitchen? Would you like a coffee?’

  Julie shakes her head.

  ‘I’d love one,’ says Simon, and he follows Miss Elliot into the kitchen. The door closes firmly behind them, and Julie feels a sudden unexpected twist of jealousy. What if Simon fancies Miss Elliot? She is shocked at how sick this thought makes her feel.

  Helen and Julie are alone together.

  Julie clears her throat. ‘I really am sorry about yesterday.’ There is a brief pause. ‘I hope your head’s okay.’

  ‘No,’ says Helen. ‘I have a big lump. Here.’ She touches her temple, and stares at Julie accusingly.

  ‘Oh, God!’ says Julie. ‘Sorry!’

  Helen puts her hand to her mouth an
d begins to giggle, and then Julie starts to giggle too.

  ‘Let’s sit down,’ says Julie, and they settle side by side on the sagging brown couch.

  Helen smoothes her hair, and Julie looks at her carefully. ‘Your face is the same shape as Tony’s. Your chin and your nose. I can see it.’

  Helen nods. She says, ‘Do you have a picture of him?’

  ‘No.’ Julie feels stricken. ‘I’ll get you one.’

  ‘I never met him,’ says Helen.

  ‘I only met him a few weeks ago,’ says Julie. ‘He and my mum split up when I was three. Just before he came up here. Just before —’ She takes a breath. ‘Before you were born, I guess.’

  Helen nods again. ‘My mother has a husband now,’ she says in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘A new family.’ She lowers her eyes and says softly, ‘But it’s better if I live here now.’

  ‘Do you miss them?’ says Julie. ‘You must miss them.’

  Helen shrugs. ‘I do. But I can’t live with them. They live far away. There’s no school there. I have to go to school.’ She shoots Julie a quick, intense look.

  ‘I know,’ says Julie. ‘I know how important it is. I’ll make sure you can keep going to school. Whatever happens. I promise.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Look, it came out all wrong yesterday, but I meant what I said — if you wanted to, I’d really like you to come and live with us. With me and my mum. We live in Melbourne. It’s a big city. We live near the sea, near the beach. You could go to my school . . .’

  But Helen is shaking her head, gently but firmly. She says, ‘I like my school. I want to stay at my school. I live with Miss Elliot in the holidays. She is like —’ Helen bites back a word, then changes her mind, ‘— like a sister,’ she finishes shyly.

  Julie doesn’t know what to say. ‘That’s — that’s good. Good. It’s good that — that you’re happy.’

  Helen nods. She seems relieved, as if a great danger has passed. ‘I want to go to teachers’ college one day,’ she confides. ‘Then I can be a teacher, like Miss Elliot. There is the teachers’ college here in Goroka. Or perhaps I can go to the university in Port Moresby. Miss Elliot says I would be a good teacher, or a journalist for the newspapers, one day. We have our own newspaper, at school. We can put in stories. One of my stories was in the newspaper last term.’

  Now it’s Julie’s turn to nod. ‘That sounds great. You sound like you’ve got a better idea of what to do with your life than I do.’

  Helen smiles, and tucks her hair behind her ear. She looks confident and self-possessed, and for a moment Julie envies her.

  ‘If you change your mind about coming to Australia, just tell me, okay? I’ll try to find a way to make it happen. But if you’re sure you want to stay here, then I’ll make sure your school fees get paid. After that —’ She hesitates. ‘I don’t know, we’ll have to see. I’ll have to talk to my mother, and — there are other people I can talk to.’ She is thinking of Allan Crabtree, and Patrick and Dulcie. ‘But I promise I’ll do everything I can. Because we’re family now.’

  Helen nods. She holds out her hand, and Julie shakes it. Helen’s hand is small and cool and dry.

  ‘Maybe I could visit you in Australia, one day?’ suggests Helen. Julie senses that she is suggesting it as a kindness to her, Julie.

  ‘I would really like that,’ says Julie. ‘You could visit me and I could visit you.’

  ‘I would like that, too,’ says Helen.

  Simon and Miss Elliot come out from the kitchen. Helen rises, and slips her hand into Miss Elliot’s.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘We’ve been talking. Julie says I can stay at the school. She will pay. It’s all right. We’re wontoks now.’

  ‘That’s right,’ says Julie. ‘We’re wontoks.’

  ‘Mr Murphy and I have been talking, too,’ says Miss Elliot, and for a second Julie thinks that Patrick must somehow have magically arrived in Goroka while she and Helen have been sitting on the couch. ‘If you’re sure your family will take responsibility for Helen’s education . . .’ Miss Elliot glances at Simon. ‘I wonder if perhaps you could set up a trust fund?’

  ‘I can’t be in charge of a trust fund,’ says Julie. ‘I’m not old enough.’

  ‘I’m sure Allan Crabtree would be willing to be a trustee,’ says Simon. ‘And my dad would do it, I’m sure. And perhaps someone from the school?’

  Miss Elliot nods. ‘I will speak to our headmistress.’

  Julie says to Simon, ‘Couldn’t you be one?’

  Simon looks startled. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Please,’ says Julie. ‘Because I won’t be here, you see.’ She blinks, horrified, because there are tears in her eyes. She says, ‘I wish I had a photo of you, Helen. To take home with me.’

  Helen shoots a glance at Miss Elliot. Then she runs out of the room, and returns with the bulging yellow envelope. She rummages inside and pulls out the tiny black-and-white photograph. ‘I have another copy of this one.’ She holds it out to Julie. ‘You can keep it.’

  ‘Do you mean it? Thank you.’ Julie folds her hand around the little photo, careful not to crease it. ‘I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. Even though Tony’s gone. I want you to know you can rely on me.’

  Helen lays her hand on Julie’s arm. ‘Please, don’t worry about me. You don’t need to rescue me. I’m all right.’

  Julie looks at her half-sister. There are many things she wants to say to her. Helen is so young, but she is braver than Julie. Julie knows she could never have left home at twelve to go to school, and been so determined to stick to it, so clearly focused on the future. Julie wants to tell her she admires her; she wants to make her all kinds of promises.

  But all she can bring herself to whisper is, ‘Will you write to me?’

  22

  Miss Elliot takes a couple of photographs of Julie and Helen, in the garden. Julie and Simon eat lunch with them and then, politely but firmly, they are shown out into the early afternoon sunshine.

  ‘Helen needs to rest now,’ Miss Elliot says. ‘She didn’t sleep well last night.’

  Julie can’t help herself; she puts her arms around her sister and squeezes tight. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Julie holds onto the handrail as she descends the steps. The sun seems dazzling, the birds yelling in the trees. She says to Simon, ‘What should we do now?’

  Simon rubs his hand across his eyes. ‘There’s a park we could walk in, I think — or — listen, would you mind if we went back to the motel? I think I need an afternoon nap too.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  Back at the Paradise Lodge, the bed has been made, Simon’s pillow replaced and his rug neatly folded. For some reason this makes Julie feel embarrassed. She pulls the curtains closed and kicks off her shoes. Without speaking, without discussing it, they lie down on the bed, side by side. The springs creak and sag; they are not touching, but Simon’s body is so close to hers she can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

  Julie gazes up at the ceiling. Damp stains have traced a map on the fibro sheeting: hills and valleys, lakes and islands. A whole foreign country, drawn on the sky.

  ‘You should be prepared,’ says Simon. ‘Some people are going to give you a hard time over this.’

  ‘Over what?’

  ‘Signing away Tony’s money to a half-caste bastard.’ She hears his head shift on the pillow as he turns to glance at her. ‘That’s what they’re going to say, Julie.’

  ‘Who’s going to say that?’

  ‘Maybe your mother. People like the Crabtrees. Most expats. They’re going to think you’re a sentimental idiot.’

  ‘I don’t care what they think,’ she says. ‘It’s the right thing to do. She was his daughter, too.’

  ‘Yes.’ There is a pause. ‘Just be prepared, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Good.’

  There is another silence. The room is warm and shadowy. Outside, a bird’s call r
ings out, echoes and dies away.

  ‘Helen told me she wants to be a teacher,’ Julie says. ‘Or a journalist.’

  ‘I can imagine that. She seems as if she’d keep her cool, doesn’t she?’ says Simon. ‘So that’s her future all planned out . . . what are we going to do with you?’

  Julie sighs. ‘I’m supposed to be a lawyer. That’s what Caroline wants me to do. Become a lawyer and fight for Women’s Lib. Or human rights, or legal aid, or something.’

  ‘You don’t sound particularly enthusiastic.’

  ‘That’s not what I want. I’m sure about that now. I want to stay here, in New Guinea.’

  ‘Plenty of work for lawyers up here,’ says Simon. ‘Those raskols we met on the road. The guy who broke into your house. Even Helen. They could all do with a good lawyer.’

  ‘But I don’t think I’d be a good lawyer,’ says Julie. ‘That’s the point.’

  ‘So what do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He is quiet for a moment, then he says, ‘You know, if you’re serious about wanting to be an administrator, there are things you could do. You could learn bookkeeping, for a start. Then anyone would give you a job. There are probably courses you could do. You should find out.’

  ‘Mm.’ She knows he’s right. What he says makes sense. But she’s impatient. She doesn’t want to slog through a university course or a training college. She wants to be here now.

  Simon is saying, ‘I’m sure we could find something for you to do. If you do come back.’

  ‘I don’t have to come back,’ she says. ‘If I never leave.’

  Simon shifts beside her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what if — what if I stayed here? I could go to Wewak or Madang, and get a job waitressing at one of the hotels, and then I could visit Helen sometimes.’

  A kind of snort escapes from Simon. ‘You think dropping out of school is a good idea? And what would your mother say to that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have to tell her where I was. If I went now — today, or tomorrow — before she gets here, she’d never find me. I’d ring her,’ she adds quickly. ‘And tell her I was okay. Obviously. I wouldn’t want her to worry.’ Simon shifts onto his side. It’s dim in the room with the curtains shut, and Julie feels, rather than sees, his eyes searching her face. He says, ‘You can’t be serious.’