New Guinea Moon (8 page)

She stalks from the room and Ryan chuckles as he pulls Julie down onto the arm of his chair. ‘She's pissed off now. She makes out she doesn't want to do the work, but she doesn't want to lose the glory either. Poor Mum.' His arm snakes around Julie's waist and he presses his face against her back.

‘Yay!' Nadine jumps up. ‘Now I have to figure out what to wear. Come and help, Julie.'

Julie wriggles out of Ryan's embrace. ‘Just for a minute,' she says apologetically. ‘Girl stuff.'

Ryan scowls and strums a chord. ‘Don't take too long.'

Two nights later, Julie walks with tentative steps into fairyland. Teddie and Andy's garden glows with Chinese lanterns of scarlet paper, and garlands of white flowers looped between the trees. Soft music and golden light stream from the windows, echoing the tangerine flush of the declining sun.

Julie is the first to arrive, because the Spargos' house is just two doors up from Tony's. Her father rang, mid-afternoon, from the HAC terminal. ‘Looks like I'll be stuck here for a while, mate. If I'm not back in time for Andy's Christmas whatsit, don't wait for me, you go along and I'll meet you there. You'll be right, won't you?'

Julie said it didn't matter, that she didn't mind at all, but as she picks her way up the Spargos' steep driveway, she wishes she'd stayed at the Crabtrees' house after all, and arrived with them. Even though she's wearing her best party dress, and a necklace borrowed from Nadine, there is something forlorn about arriving at a party alone.

Teddie draws her inside. ‘I'm
glad
you're early. Come and sit on the bed while I put my face on.'

Julie follows her into the bedroom, feeling suddenly childish in her pale blue floaty dress. Teddie is wearing a tight, high-collared Chinese dress of creamy silk, her long copper hair knotted at the nape of her neck. Julie can't stop staring at her, wondering how such a demure outfit can be so incredibly sexy. She catches sight of herself in Teddie's dressing-table mirror, her hair hanging loose on her shoulders, and feels disconsolate. Her light-brown hair is messy and limp; it's nothing hair. Nothing colour, nothing length. Maybe she should just cut it all off.

‘Hey, Juliet!' calls Andy from the kitchen. ‘No Mac? What have you done with him?'

‘He's still at work, with Curry. He said to come without him.'

Julie perches gingerly on Teddie and Andy's unmade bed while Teddie sweeps a cotton ball languidly across her face. Andy pokes his head round the door and whistles.

‘Wow, Juliet, you look gorgeous.'

Julie murmurs something, flushing, but he's still talking. ‘Guess who I ran into in town? That guy Simon, the one we flew up from Moresby. You two seemed to hit it off, so I invited him to come along tonight; I thought you might like to see him again.'

‘Oh!' Julie twists around on the bed to face him. ‘Do you think he'll come?'

‘Of course he will.' Teddie dusts her nose with powder. ‘It's a
party
.'

Julie wants to ask,
did he mention me
? But she can't. Her face feels hot. Andy leans back in the doorway. ‘I thought it was interesting what you were saying the other day, about us not having any friends among the nationals. It does seem a bit ridiculous when you think about it. So I hope he comes, too. Should be interesting, anyway.'

‘I'm glad you asked him,' says Julie, though she isn't exactly sure if Simon Murphy counts as a national.

Teddie surveys her face critically in the mirror. A cloud of faint perfume hangs in the air. Julie breathes in cautiously. Her mother believes in the natural look; she doesn't often use make-up, and Julie doesn't often use it either.

Teddie says, ‘Would you like me to do you, too, when I'm finished?'

‘Oh! I don't usually —'

‘Go on, let me, I love doing it. I always thought I'd like to be a make-up artist, you know, for TV, or films.' She sweeps a deft stroke of eyeliner beneath each eye. ‘Not much scope for that, up here, except when the Drama Club puts on a play. So you should let me practise, to keep my hand in.'

‘Well, if it's doing you a favour
. . .
' Suddenly Julie is desperate for Teddie to transform her into a movie star.

‘If you don't let her, she'll practise on me.' Andy grins and disappears.

‘Your turn.' Teddie sits Julie at the dressing table and sets to work.

When she's finished, Julie can feel the mask of foundation on her skin, smoothing away her spots and freckles, the sweep of mascara heavy on her lashes; she can taste the lipstick on her mouth. She stares at the unfamiliar reflection in the glass, a smoky-eyed, palelipped girl.

‘Your eyes are quite pretty, actually,' says Teddie dispassionately. ‘I love hazel eyes, you can bring out all sorts of colours in them. Now, one more thing
. . .
' She twists Julie's hair up onto the top of her head and jabs it with pins, then teases out two wispy curls to frame her face. ‘Perfect.'

The gold necklace at her throat glints as Julie turns her face this way and that. She doesn't look like herself any more; it's a relief.

Julie steps out into the garden, feeling like a princess entering an enchanted kingdom. The brief Highland dusk gathers softly in the corners of the yard, the lanterns glow from the trees. Andy has set up a table with a bucket of punch, and Julie helps herself to a paper cup of the sweet, fruity brew.
Just one cup
, she argues with the phantom of her mother,
it's a party
.

‘Juliet!' Andy wolf-whistles as she shyly twirls in front of him, and he seems to really mean it this time. He takes a drag of a cigarette, then holds it out to her. She shakes her head. ‘Sure?' he says. ‘It's hand-grown.'

She smiles vaguely, thinking of the sheaves of tobacco at the market; then she smells the sweet smoke. ‘Is that from Gibbo's garden?'

Andy laughs, and shakes his head, refusing to answer. A gang of rowdy pilots from Colditz arrives, and they swarm over the garden. Clutching her paper cup, Julie retreats. She bumps into Gibbo, who materialises like a wraith at her shoulder.

‘Silence is a friend who never betrays,' he says.

Julie nods, and gulps, and edges around the side of the house. The front garden looks out over the street from the top of the hill. Three spindly gum trees stand sentinel along the fence of bamboo stakes. Teddie and Andy haven't decorated out here; perhaps they ran out of paper lanterns. Julie leans her elbows on the fence and stares at the primary school across the road. She can see it from Tony's place too, but because the Spargos live at the top of the hill, the view is clearer here.

‘That's my old school.'

Julie turns and there is Simon Murphy. Her heart gives a skip. He comes to stand beside her at the fence, and in the fading light he points out one building, raised on stilts, by itself on one side of the grounds. ‘That was my building, the A stream building.'

‘So you were in the A stream? They told me that was just for —' Julie skids to a halt.

‘Just for expats?' Simon looks her directly in the eye. ‘You don't have to be European. If you speak English at home, you can go into the A stream. It's just that not many Highlanders qualify.'

‘But you do. Obviously
. . .
'

‘Obviously,' he says dryly. ‘My father's Australian. Irish-Australian. My mother was born in the village. I can speak her
plestok
— her tribal language, Pidgin, and English. Oh, and I did some French at school. But that's pretty rusty now.'

‘Are you at uni now?' Julie grabs eagerly to change the subject.

Simon gives a deep sigh. ‘I'm supposed to be on holidays. But I don't think I'll go back. Dad's not getting any younger. He hasn't said anything, but I think it's time I learned how to manage Keriga so I can take over when the time comes.' He raps the fence. ‘Touch wood, he's got a good few years left. He's a tough old bastard. 'Scuse my French.'

‘Could I come and visit your coffee plantation some time? I've never seen a plantation; it sounds so romantic.'

Simon laughs. ‘Nothing romantic about it. Just bloody hard work.' He leans on the fence so he's half-turned toward her. It's almost dark now, she can hardly see him; he's just a voice in the shadows. He says proudly, ‘My father was one of the first Europeans to come into the Highlands, back in the nineteen-thirties. He arrived just after the Leahy brothers.'

‘Wow,' says Julie respectfully, and makes a mental note to ask Tony who the Leahy brothers were. Maybe they're related to the Leyland Brothers who have that cheesy TV show
. . .

‘Dad's never been back to Australia,' says Simon. ‘Not even to visit me at school. He loves this place. God's own country, he calls it.'

‘Is that why he married your mum?'

‘Well,' says Simon after a moment. ‘They didn't exactly get married.'

Julie's cheeks burn. ‘Well,' she says at last. ‘My parents didn't
stay
married — so that's kind of the same thing, isn't it?'

‘Your name's McGinty, isn't it. Sounds as if you're Irish, too.'

Julie feels caught out. ‘I don't know. I don't know anything about Tony's family. We've only just met, really. He and my mother split up when I was little, and he came up here. This is the first time I've visited him.'

‘You don't know
anything
about your people, about where you've come from?' Simon sounds shocked. ‘That must be rough.' His voice is so gentle, she realises that he feels genuinely sorry for her.

Suddenly the darkness makes it easy to talk to him; or perhaps it's the punch. She says, ‘It must be rough for you, too. Caught in the middle.'

Simon is silent for a moment. ‘Sometimes,' he says. ‘But in a way I feel lucky, you know? I've got the best of both worlds.'

‘My mother thinks I should change my name,' Julie tells him. ‘She's gone back to her maiden name, and now she wants me to take it, too.'

‘But you'd rather keep your dad's name?'

‘It's not that so much. But I
can't
take her name.'

‘Why not?'

She lowers her voice. ‘It's
. . .
Dooley.'

They both laugh. Julie feels a sudden sharp pang of homesickness for her mum, for their empty house, for the beach, for her friends — but then, like a cloud crossing the face of the moon, it passes away. She stands next to Simon in the darkness, not speaking, but comfortable in the silence. At their backs, the noise of the party is building steadily: music, laughter, the clink of glasses, all wrapped into a muffled roar. Above their heads, the stars are beginning to wink into the velvet sky.

Simon says in a low voice, ‘Did you make your friend invite me tonight? You can tell me the truth. I want to know.'

‘No,' says Julie honestly. ‘It was nothing to do with me. He just ran into you and he thought — he thought you might like to come.'

‘I don't normally get invited to this kind of thing. My social life took a bit of a hit after the primary school birthday parties dried up.'

‘Well, that's crazy.'

‘Yes. It is.'

‘I'm glad you came,' says Julie impulsively. ‘Andy and Teddie —'

‘There
you are! What are you doing hiding back here?'

It's Ryan Crabtree, storming out from round the corner of the house. He grabs her hand. ‘I've been looking for you everywhere! I thought you hadn't come, I nearly went down to Tony's to see if you were still dressing up or something. Come on, I want to get a beer.'

Julie is pretty sure he's already had at least one. She pulls her hand from his. ‘Ryan, this is my friend Simon Murphy — Simon, this is Ryan Crabtree
. . .
'

‘It's all right, Julie, we know each other,' says Simon. ‘We were at school together, weren't we, Ryan?'

‘Yeah,' mumbles Ryan. ‘Yeah, Simon was two grades ahead of me. How's it going, mate?'

‘Had a year at uni, but I'm thinking I might come back and work at Keriga, learn how to take over. What are you up to?'

‘Still got a year of school to go.' Ryan shuffles his feet. ‘Mum and Dad are making noises about uni, too — engineering, maybe.'

Julie says, ‘I thought you wanted to be a musician, Ryan?'

‘Yeah, well, maybe, we'll see.' The quick annoyance in his voice tells Julie that she's betrayed a secret. ‘C'mon, Jules, let's get a drink.'

He drags her back around the house and grabs a stubby of South Pacific from an esky.

‘Are you supposed to have that?'

‘Come on, Julie, it's a
party
. It's
Christmas
. Loosen up.'

He sloshes more punch into her paper cup, and before she knows it, they're dancing. The magical canopy of the rotary clothesline stretches above them, threaded with streamers, with gashes of star-sprinkled sky beyond. They dance close, not touching, but close enough that Julie can feel his hot breath on her cheek, her ear. The tendril of hair brushes her neck. She gulps her punch and lets the music sway through her.