The Winter Sea (28 page)

‘There are six rooms. Some have single people, like Ruby, others have more in them, like Patrick and me.’

‘That’s very crowded.’

‘Look, Joe,’ said Ruby, ‘some of us think that having a roof over our heads, even if it comes with bedbugs, is better than sleeping rough.’

‘A lot of people think we’re lucky,’ said Bridie gently. ‘Some people have to live in caves and out at La Perouse there’s a whole township of huts made out of tin, cardboard and canvas.’

‘Yeah, and the governor’s wife went out to have a gander and said that some of them were so nice that she wouldn’t mind living there at all. Then she went back to her posh Government House,’ said Ruby, chuckling disparagingly.

‘It was an unfeeling and patronising thing to say,’ agreed Joe.

‘Well, nice to meet you, Joe. See ya, Bridie,’ said Ruby, subtly winking at Bridie.

‘No, Ruby, it’s not what you think,’ whispered Bridie as she closed the door behind her friend.

‘You’re very quiet, Patrick. How was school?’ asked Bridie. ‘You should see the things we’ve bought you today.’

‘Mum, Father O’Malley came around to school today and you know what? We all had to line up and he gave everyone in the school an orange. And we were allowed to eat them straight away. Boy, it was good.’

Joe’s heart sank. He never thought about what his boys ate. They had plenty of food but here was this little boy, thrilled by an orange.

Patrick became even more excited when Bridie showed him the clothes Joe had bought for him, but all Joe could think was that he had to do something to get them both away from this squalor. Finally he said, ‘Bridie, my heart is breaking. You can’t raise a fine boy like Patrick in a place like this. Surely he deserves something better. I know I rushed you this morning expecting us to get married. I can see that now. My offer to take you both down to Whitby Point to live still holds. But this time there are no conditions. It’s a great town for Patrick to grow up. Lots of fresh air, places to explore and it’s so clean compared with these slums. No bedbug would dare to show itself there. There’s an excellent boarding house. If you won’t move for your own sake, please think about my offer for the sake of the boy, and if, say, after six months, you want to come back, I’ll understand and I won’t stand in your way.’

*

They sat side by side on the train, while Patrick looked out of the window, so excited to be on a steam train he could scarcely speak.

Joe talked to Bridie about the fishing business at Whitby Point and his dreams about the future. ‘I wanted a loan to start up a fish cannery. My father-in-law thought that the bank wouldn’t lend the money on such a speculative venture, and he was right. Mr Braxton told me that it was not a propitious time for new ventures like that. He did, however, agree to a loan that will allow me to replace our boats’ coal-fired steam engines with diesel.’

‘Is that good?’

‘Of course. Diesel is cleaner and I won’t be tied to coal bunkers or need to hire a man just to load fuel, so it will keep our overheads down. We have to watch every penny in these times.’

Bridie shook her head. ‘Fishing is something I know nothing about. But it sounds interesting.’

‘It can be exciting too. You wait. I’ll take you and Patrick out with the boys sometime.’

As the train steamed south, Patrick sat silently looking out of the window, seemingly mesmerised by what he could see, the string of Sydney suburbs giving way to a sprawl of bush through which he could see glimpses of a magnificent escarpment.

Joe watched him and noticed that the little boy constantly put his hand into his pocket, as if checking to make sure that something important was safely tucked inside it.

Joe smiled at Patrick. ‘What have you got there? A lucky pebble? I always used to keep a shell in my pocket.’

Slowly, a trifle reluctantly, Patrick withdrew his hand from his pocket and showed Joe what he was carrying. Joe stared in amazement. It was the small wooden elephant he’d bought for Bridie in Colombo all those years ago.

‘That is very special indeed,’ he said softly. ‘A lucky elephant. Keep it safe.’ He curled Patrick’s fingers over it and watched as the little boy placed it carefully back in the pocket of his short pants.

Joe looked at Bridie. ‘You kept it, all these years,’ he said.

‘It was a souvenir of a very happy day. I haven’t had a lot of those and now Patrick has something that he can play with. He doesn’t have any toys but he loves his little elephant.’

Joe said nothing more, but was filled with joy at the thought that Bridie had kept the little wooden elephant all this time. Surely this was a sign he was more to Bridie than just her English pupil.

Joe watched Bridie as she chatted quietly to Patrick. He looked at her glorious red hair and thought how lucky he was to find her again. He had always been content with Evalina. She had been a placid, dutiful wife and he certainly had no complaints about their relationship, but Joe knew in his heart that he had never felt the passion for Evalina that he’d felt for Bridie, a passion that had not diminished in all the years since he had first seen Bridie in the ship’s little recreation room.

As the journey continued, Bridie started to ask him a lot of questions about his family and his sons and about Whitby Point, especially the school.

‘I’m sorry, Bridie. I don’t know all that much about the school, but the boys all seem to be happy there. They can read and write, at least Ricardo and Pietro can, Carlo only just started, but I’ve no complaints.’

‘Joe, tell me about where Patrick and I are going to live.’

‘I propose that you and Patrick move into Mrs Ambrose’s guesthouse. I will introduce you as my old friend, now widowed, which is exactly what you are,’ he said. ‘And we’ll go from there. You’ll like Mrs Ambrose, she’s a kind soul.’

Bridie was silent for a moment then asked, ‘How is your family going to take to me?’

‘Bridie, you are a lovely person and everyone will love you, wait and see.’

‘You make it all sound so simple,’ said Bridie, sighing. ‘I feel like I’m in a dream. Everything has moved so fast. I just hope I don’t wake up.’

‘Bridie, it will be simple, trust me.’

But of course, it wasn’t.

*

A few days after her arrival, Joe brought Bridie home to meet his mother and his sons. Bridie and Patrick had moved into Mrs Ambrose’s guesthouse, where Patrick had a room of his own for the first time in his life, and he was enrolled at the local school. Joe visited Bridie and Patrick, meeting them in the front parlour so that there could be no gossip. Joe found that he and Bridie had no trouble finding things to talk about and they enjoyed each other’s company, but little Patrick was harder to get to know.

Joe judged that Patrick Sullivan was a boy who had seen too much hardship, pain and fear in his short life, although he seemed to retain an innocence and sweetness about him as if he believed that the world was a better place than it appeared. He was a quiet boy, with a reserved manner, always well behaved and polite. His mother didn’t spoil him, which made a change from his own children, who were, as far as Joe was concerned, overindulged by their grandmother. Indeed, he frequently had to remind his own family that in an Italian household, the father’s word was law.

Upon his return from Sydney, Joe had sat his mother down and explained that he was bringing someone home whom he’d met years before, and who was now widowed and had a young boy about Carlo’s age. Emilia peered at him.

‘Where is she from? Her family? Do we know them?’

Joe had feared that this was going to be a problem. ‘Mamma, she is not Italian. She comes from a good family in Ireland. She is kind and good but she has suffered a lot. Her husband died and she has no family in Australia, so it has been difficult for her. She has just moved here to Whitby Point and I thought it might be nice for her boy to meet my boys.’

His mother gave him a shrewd look. ‘Why did she not go home to her family?’

‘Times are very hard in Ireland, like back in Italy. There’s no money for such a trip.’

‘Why is she here?’

‘Because, Mamma, Whitby Point is a better place to live than where she was living in Sydney.’

‘Does she speak Italian?’

‘Only a few words. But she taught me to speak English. Perhaps she could teach you English, too.’ Joe smiled.

His mother bristled. ‘I have no need to speak
Inglese
. Bring her and the child to visit if you must. I hope you know what you are doing.’

‘I’m just being a good friend.’

*

Bridie’s first visit did not go well. Emilia made little effort to get on with her. The older boys were polite enough to both Bridie and Patrick, but they soon grew bored and fidgeted until all the boys were sent outside to play while the three adults sat down to coffee and Emilia’s homemade crostelli.

Bridie courteously asked Emilia how she had made the sweet biscuit, and Joe translated the answer, but it was an unsatisfactory conversation.

Eventually Emilia looked at Joe and asked, ‘How long must I sit here pretending to be nice to this girl?’

She may have spoken in Italian but Bridie looked as though she understood the intent of her words.

‘Mamma, could you go outside and keep an eye on the boys, please?’ suggested Joe, giving her a frown.

‘You have never asked me to do that before,’ replied his mother, but nevertheless she took the hint and left the room.

‘Oh dear, she doesn’t approve of me at all,’ said Bridie, sighing.

‘Nonsense, of course she likes you,’ said Joe emphatically.

At that moment there was a yell from Ricardo and Carlo came racing into the house and disappeared into a room, banging the door behind him.

Joe strode outside. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It was Carlo,’ cried Ricardo. ‘He’s locked Patrick in the woodshed. He said he’s going to chop his legs off with the axe! But he’s just pretending.’

Joe and Bridie went running over to an old shed where Emilia was battling with a rusty bolt.

‘Patrick, are you all right?’ called out Bridie.

‘Yes, Mum. But it’s really dark in here. That boy said there’s a snake.’ Patrick started to cry.

‘There’s no snake, Patrick. Here, let me.’ Joe reached past Emilia and yanked back the bolt. He entered the spidery darkness of the shed and lifted Patrick out.

Bridie hugged him, but Patrick pushed her away and, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffed, ‘I wasn’t scared.’

‘What happened? Why did Carlo do such a thing to Patrick?’ demanded Joe.

‘He said, he said . . . he said Patrick was telling lies. Patrick said that you came and visited him and his mother and that you really liked him. That’s not true. We’re your boys, not him,’ said Ricardo.

‘Now, now, don’t talk like that. Of course you’re my boys, but Patrick is new to your school and I was friends with his mother a long time ago, so I want you to be his friend, too. He doesn’t know anyone and he doesn’t have brothers like you do. I want you to be kind to him, do you understand?’ said Joe in his firm voice.

The boys knew it was better not to argue.

‘I will go and speak to Carlo. Pietro, take Patrick down to your grandmother’s chickens and see if you can find some eggs.’

Patrick glanced at his mother and whispered, ‘Carlo doesn’t like me. He’s mean.’

‘He’s probably very nice when you get to know him,’ said Bridie.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ protested Patrick.

But Pietro took his hand and said, ‘I’ll show you the chickens.’

That night, after Patrick had gone to sleep, Joe and Bridie sat in Mrs Ambrose’s parlour talking quietly.

‘I feel terrible. Your mother doesn’t like me. Maybe she thinks I’m chasing your money. And the boys aren’t very comfortable with us either.’

‘Nonsense. If Mamma is suspicious it’s because you’re not a so-called nice girl from our village. Anyone who doesn’t fit that description is going to have trouble with her at first. Things will change when she gets to know you. And the boys will be fine. I know that Carlo was unkind to Patrick but you have to remember, he’s the baby of the family so he likes to be the centre of attention. Ricardo and Pietro liked Patrick. I’m sure.’

‘I hope so,’ replied Bridie.

*

Joe took Bridie and Patrick to his house several more times. Emilia always cooked a wonderful meal, and Bridie always complimented her on her cooking, but the conversation never went any further. However, the two older boys began to take an interest in Patrick, even though, as they pointed out to their father, he was really too young to be bothered with. Nevertheless, they seemed to like playing football with him in the backyard, and they even went as far as praising his tree-climbing skills.

‘See,’ said Joe, ‘the boys are coming around.’

‘Only Ricardo and Pietro,’ replied Bridie. ‘Carlo doesn’t seem to have changed his mind at all.’

‘He will, he will. Give it time.’

A few weeks later as they sat in Mrs Ambrose’s front room, Bridie told Joe how difficult it was for her to fit into the life of Whitby Point. ‘It’s a very pretty place,’ Bridie said, ‘but it’s so quiet. When Patrick’s at school, I go for a walk and I can’t find anyone to talk to. Your mother seems to have friends, but they won’t speak to me. I’m not Italian.’

‘But Bridie, there are a lot of people in Whitby Point who aren’t Italian. What about the church? Is there no one there to talk to?’

‘I suppose so, but people here are so different from Surry Hills. I know that everyone lived on top of each other there. I know it was a slum. But if you wanted to talk to someone, you just opened your door. Here, it’s different. You have to go and find someone in particular.’

‘Give it time. Things are bound to be different from the city here, but you’ll get used to the place.’

‘At least Patrick is happy at his new school. He’s made some friends and he’s certainly learning. And the school is much nicer. Not so cramped and he loves having that huge playground to run around in.’

‘Whitby Point is not all bad then?’

‘No, Joe, it isn’t.’

That evening before he left the guesthouse Joe had a quiet word with kind Mrs Ambrose and when he visited Bridie again a couple of days later, she told him that Mrs Ambrose had taken her to a Red Cross meeting.