Dastardly Deeds (6 page)

Greetings were offered by all except Enid, whose eyes were closed. Nick sat down heavily, putting his beer on the table and then staring at it.

‘Nick’s a man of few words,’ said Ashley. ‘Nick, this is the famous Nell Forrest. You may have heard me mention her.’

‘Hardly famous,’ I demurred, giving Nick my best smile.

He nodded. I wasn’t sure if this was in agreement or not.

‘Nick’s been living in Queensland for the past fifteen years,’ explained Ashley. ‘He only just moved down to Victoria with his family a few months ago.’

‘You don’t have a purple suitcase, do you?’ I asked. ‘With a sparkly tag?’

He flushed, the colour clashing horribly with his hair. ‘It’s the wife’s.’

Others had started to flow into the restaurant now, the waiters working hard to fill wineglasses and deliver menus. I could see Phoebe sitting by herself at the table on the lower level. I took a sip of wine and then glanced up to find Nick watching me. He flushed again. The colour really didn’t suit him.

I spoke quickly to break the discomfort. ‘So you’re taking a holiday together?’

‘Yep,’ said Ashley. ‘Apparently someone only wanted the first two days of the cruise and we wanted the rest, so it worked out perfectly.’

I sent evil thoughts in Lyn Russo’s direction. Given she had been boring me stupid with her family’s plans for months, surely she could have also shared this little tidbit. Unless she didn’t know, in which case I blamed Lew. Again.

‘So Nick here’s been given a leave pass by his lovely wife. See, our grandfather was at Gallipoli. He had his eighteenth birthday there. We’ve always wanted to go. Pay our respects.’

‘Oh, he was killed there?’ I looked at them both with sympathy.

‘That’s right,’ said Ashley. ‘But fortunately he’d just posted enough sperm home to father both our dads.’

Nick spat beer across the table. A straight line of foam soaked into the tablecloth.

‘Very funny,’ I said disdainfully.

‘Well, think about it Nell. He was our
grandfather
.’

‘And for all I know, he might have impregnated half of Melbourne before he left. Seventeen-year-olds are like rabbits.’

‘Which would make my father about one hundred years old. He would have been past fifty when he fathered me.’

‘A reaction to the promiscuity of his own father. He wanted to be the opposite.’

‘She’s got you there,’ said Nick. He shot me an appreciative glance.

‘Why is the cloth wet?’ asked Enid grumpily. ‘Did someone spill my wine?’

‘You finished them yourself,’ I said, swallowing a smile.

Right on cue, a wine waiter materialised to replenish our drinks. She was closely followed by the stocky waiter to collect orders for the meal. We all hurriedly make selections. Petra and Lew arrived in the middle of this, the latter immediately causing a fuss over the rearrangement of the table to accommodate his wheelchair. Petra gave Ashley a hug and was introduced to Nick.

As everybody settled, I glanced across at Ashley and he gave me a broad wink. I raised an eyebrow.
Man flirts with woman on cruise. Sociologists baffled.

The truth was that I was feeling seriously chuffed. When I was young, about the same age as my daughters were now, I had assumed that flirtation, and being obviously admired, was something that lost much of its allure as one aged. I was an idiot. It was as enjoyable, and ego-boosting, as it ever had been. Perhaps even more so. My ego
really
needed some boosting. Ashley could be infuriating beyond words, and sometimes our conversations were more joust-like than I would have preferred, but I never felt that I wasn’t at the centre of his attention. This trip, already quite amazingly wonderful, had just gained a whole new layer of interest.

Morning found us back on the same bus, with the same driver, and with Ali standing once more in the centre aisle speaking about olives. I was even wearing the same outfit as the previous day, except I had replaced the floral hat with plain black felt. There was still a lot of traffic in Canakkale, with a line of buses waiting for the ferry that would carry us over the Dardanelle Straits. As we drew closer, it became obvious that the ferry itself was huge, with room for about five buses closely parked in the hold. The Russos stood nearby waiting, all of them smiling except Griffin.

Once aboard the ferry, we were allowed to sit upstairs, where we were surrounded by hawkers whose speciality appeared to be multi-coloured slippers. Tepid sunshine kept the weather mild, with even the breeze noncommittal. It had a tranquillity that suited my mood perfectly. This was due in no small part to the enjoyment of the previous evening. After dinner we had adjourned to the piano bar for drinks. Even Enid had joined us. The easy conversation had revealed several interesting pieces of information. For instance, Nick had a wife and a pigeon pair of children back home, Lew thought Scott was a poser and Donald a wet blanket, Enid had worked as a nurse for fifty-two years before retirement, and Ashley was quite definitely keen. On me.

The ferry chugged smoothly into the port. Disembarking took a while and then the buses formed a convoy as they drove along the coast towards Gallipoli. The skill of the drivers was put to the test as the road narrowed; other buses had parked haphazardly along the verge. Our driver steered into the tightest of spaces and I tucked my handbag under the seat before piling off the bus to join the swelling crowd.

The amount of people both added to and detracted from the impact. I took off my hat and made my way along the beach, stepping carefully over the large pebbles, shading my eyes as I gazed at the looming cliffs. I tried to picture the young men spilling from the boats, already under fire, and then scrambling towards a safety that was deceptive at best. I felt a surge of anger towards the military bigwigs who had sat out the conflict in relative peace, manipulating the lives of others as if they really were just pins on a board. And all for nothing. Gallipoli was the most fruitless of campaigns.

I turned and retraced my steps towards the broad steps that led to the road. I could see Ashley and Nick standing by the cenotaph nearby. I knew that they had already spent the previous day, while we had been at Troy, touring the Gallipoli peninsula, so today was really just an encore.

Ashley glanced across and gave me one of his half-smiles. It said: ‘I can’t express pleasure, not in this place, but it’s bloody nice to look up and see you. Perhaps we can talk later, do some more of that flirting from last night. I like your hat.’ There was every chance I was reading a little too much into it, but my interpretation brought a pleasant little flutter. And I was on holiday, so why the hell not.

I looked around for my daughters and found them standing with their grandmother and having their photo taken by Petra. Ruby was in profile, her brown hair caught up in a ponytail that fluffed in the breeze. She held her shoes in her hand and as soon as the photo was taken, she walked away, her bare feet leaving temporary prints in the damp sand. She was beautiful, a perfect blend of Darcy and me – but taken up a notch.

‘Spoke to her last night about her plans,’ said Darcy, coming up by my side. ‘While you were … busy.’

I ignored the latter part of his statement. ‘What did she say?’

‘She’s going back to Cornwall with your sister. She wants to stay there.’

‘Stay there,’ I repeated stupidly. I felt my stomach twist, like a flannel being wrung. Why hadn’t Petra told me?

‘She says everyone always compares her with Scarlet and she’s fed up.’

‘Nobody compares her with Scarlet!’

‘Maybe what she means is that she compares
herself
with Scarlet,’ said Darcy gently. ‘Anyway, she thinks she needs to forge her own path. Away.’

‘I see. And how does she plan on supporting herself?’

‘Apparently she’s lined up a job with your father.’

I stared towards the horizon. My father had deserted his family when I was quite young and founded a new one in the south of England. Even though contact had been maintained, I hadn’t actually seen him again until last year. He seemed a nice enough man, but in some ways I preferred it when he’d kept his distance. Bad enough that my sister was spending time over there, now he was kidnapping my daughter as well.

‘It might be good for her,’ said Darcy, putting a hand on my shoulder.

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t be too rough. She’s worried you’ll think she’s being irresponsible.’

‘How did she get the money for this trip?’ I asked abruptly.

He put his hand back in his pocket and cleared his throat.

‘You lent it to her!’

‘Well, yes. I wanted to see her.’

‘Darcy, she owes
me
money for her charity stint. I’d bet my bottom dollar that she owes Petra money for the last few months, and now she owes you money as well! She has absolutely no assets, has started but never finished a handful of university courses, and now has landed some menial job courtesy of a man who’s not exactly renowned for fulfilling his parental responsibilities.’

Darcy gave me a flat grin. ‘Can’t understand why she’s worried about telling you. It’s beyond me.’

‘And I suppose you bought her that new camera too?’

‘No, I believe that was your father. Apparently it was a belated birthday and Christmas present.’

‘What? For the past twenty-five years?’

‘Am I interrupting?’ asked Tessa with a bright but nervous smile.

‘He’s all yours.’ I turned away, starting in the direction of Ruby but then changing my mind. Best to let things settle before we spoke. Instead I made my way along a rocky ledge and stared out to sea. I tried to recapture the scent of history, or the frisson of Ashley’s presence, but they were now overlaid with anger. Mostly at Petra and myself. Ruby and I had been on this cruise for three days now, and together for some time in Rome before that, and I hadn’t made the time to speak to her. But Darcy had.

‘Nell!’ yelled Deb. ‘Over here! We’re leaving!’

I shaded my eyes. Our group seemed to have left. I hopped across the rocks and crossed the sandy shore towards Deb.

‘C’mon, everyone’s already up at the road.’

‘Nice of them to let me know.’

‘I
am
letting you know.’

There wasn’t really an answer to that so I jammed my hat back on and followed her up to the road. The Russos were still outside the bus, taking photos, along with Phoebe and Petra, who were bartering for commemorative scarves with a couple of youthful entrepreneurs. I bought one also, not just as a memento but because it seemed rather fitting to inject some money into the local economy.

Ali began waving his arms excitedly, so we all boarded the bus for a short trip along the coast to a quaint little cafe for lunch. As one of the last people on, I ended up sitting at the front by myself. This was just as well, as I was very annoyed with my sister.

The cafe was not just quaint but popular, with another two buses already parked in the forecourt. I ordered coffee at the counter before following the signs outside to the toilets. There was a line there, and I recognised three of the
Absolutely Fabulous
ladies. One of them was waving a Turkish ten lira note.

‘So I got him to write it here!’

The Edina lookalike grabbed the note and held it up. There was a scribbled phone number on the margin and the name
Clint
. The owner of the note reclaimed her prize. She was the shortest of the trio, and was wearing a soft velvet hat that I rather admired. She was also quite loaded down, with a rather elaborate camera hanging from her neck, and a small knapsack on her back.

‘I’ve always admired the name Clint,’ said the Edina lookalike. ‘It sounds so female-friendly. Suggests great potential.’

‘Which one’s Clint?’ asked the third woman, a tall blonde, clearly impressed.

‘The cute one with the goatee. He’s flying back to Melbourne the day after tomorrow. I’ve said I’ll give him a ring when I get back.’

Edina sighed. ‘Oh, you’re so lucky, Kim. The things you can do when you’re single. See, if I went around picking up strange blokes from foreign countries, my husband would get all snippy. He’s funny like that.’

They all laughed as Kim tucked her ten lira note back into her wallet. She managed to knock me with her knapsack and apologised profusely. I was just wondering if the toilet cubicles were all jammed when the line began moving. A major problem with middle age was the heavy reliance on regular toilet breaks.

By the time I exited, the
Absolutely Fabulous
lot were gone. I washed my hands briskly in a brown-stained sink and returned to collect my coffee, which came with a nifty little panda-shaped chocolate.

Our group had commandeered a long table at the back of the room. Lew had ordered platters of flat bread with various toppings. They smelt delicious. He was in his element, holding forth on the various chapters of the Gallipoli campaign. Everybody was listening except Lyn Russo, who was scrolling through her mobile, and Enid, who was adjusting her hearing aid. Probably turning it to silent.
Scientist hypothesises correlation between hearing problems and tedium of conversation. ‘Huh?’ say Ethel and Shirley and Bertram.

I took the nearest spare seat, which was between Scott and Donald. Scott pulled over one of the platters and we each selected a piece of bread. Judging by the crusts on his plate, it looked like this was his third.

He grinned at me. ‘So, enjoying yourself?’

‘Enjoy is probably not quite the right word for this place.’

He nodded. I thought the highlights in his hair were probably blond tips.

Ruby was sitting opposite, beside Petra. I glared at my sister, but she was watching Lew with a faraway look on her face. I was pretty sure she wasn’t listening to a single word he was saying. I ate the half of the flat bread and then put it down on a napkin.

‘Not fond of it?’ asked Donald. ‘Can I get you something else?’

‘No thanks. I’m just not overly hungry.’

‘Got to keep your strength up!’ said Scott, finishing his off. He looked at me curiously. ‘I heard you’re a journalist then?’

‘Yes. That is, I write a weekly column. What do you do for a living?’

He grinned. ‘Guess.’

‘Um …’ I wasn’t really that interested. ‘Chef?’

‘No!’ This seemed to give him a great deal of amusement. ‘I’m a psychologist!’

‘Really?’ I looked at him doubtfully. I thought of April, depressed enough to be suicidal. It didn’t seem much of a recommendation. ‘Are you married then? Kids?’

‘Not any more, and yep. Three. Two boys and a girl.’

‘How nice.’

‘No kids for me,’ said Donald. He took his glasses off to polish them with his napkin. His eyebrows seemed a little more normal without them. ‘So, you looking for material on this trip then?’

‘Always.’ I smiled grimly. ‘I need something to resurrect my career. Any tips?’

‘Sorry, no. But I’ll give it some thought.’

‘Well, I’ll just keep my ear to the ground then. Never know what’ll turn up.’

‘
I
could tell you some stories,’ said Scott enthusiastically. ‘They’d make your hair curl.’ He flicked a glance at my hatted head. ‘More.’

I felt a little like a sideshow clown, having to turn my head from one side to the other as the two men bid for my attention. This was not a usual situation for me, and I rather thought it was more about their competitiveness than any irresistibility on my part. Apart from anything else, Donald had sounded pretty committed to whoever he had been speaking to on the phone the previous day. On his other side, Phoebe was picking the crust from her bread. She looked up and gave me a tight smile.

Out of Deb’s three friends, Phoebe had been the biggest surprise. First, because her alternative clothing and hippy hair were such a contrast to Deb’s penchant for business suits and clean lines. And second, while these choices suggested a casual and self-assured character, she appeared to be neither. Nor was she particularly social, and I got the feeling she would have preferred Lew and his group to be anywhere other than here. But maybe out of all of them, she was the one who had taken April’s death the hardest. Maybe she was simply blunted by grief.

Scott asked me a few inane questions and I gave short answers. After a few minutes he began talking to Donald over my head. Polite chitchat always did my head in. I drank my coffee as I gazed around the restaurant. It was starting to empty now. The Ab Fab girls had gone and there was no handsome goateed stranger giving out autographed banknotes. At our table, Ashley and Nick were now having a heated discussion with Lew about battlefield strategies. They were using the salt and pepper shakers, along with pieces of bread, to illustrate their argument.

Ali began waving his arms from the counter. This seemed to be his standard hurry-up gesture. I finished my coffee and then joined the others as we organised payment and trooped back out to the bus. I sat by myself again. I wasn’t quite ready to confront Petra. Clouds had scudded across the sky, with a silvery tinge that suggested rain to come. We set off on a tour of the Gallipoli peninsula, stopping for a while at first the Turkish memorial and then the New Zealand one. Finally we lumbered up the rise towards Lone Pine, joining a jam of buses attempting to find somewhere to park. Here our driver showed his worth once more, performing a remarkable manoeuvre where he reversed down a narrow dirt track inches away from another bus.

I walked down to the memorial alongside Yen, fending off questions as to why Lucy was so slow in answering emails. Uncle Jim had slowed to accompany his sister. They had an uncle buried in the cemetery here. We passed some ramshackle souvenir stands then rounded the corner to be faced with row upon row of neat white headstones. They were like teeth rising from the soil. The impact lay not just in the numbers, but their identicalness. The only differences were the ranks, names and ages. PTE John Sinclair, aged eighteen; CPL James Evans, aged twenty-four; PTE Henry Castleton, aged nineteen.