The young man took her elbow and guided her up on to the veranda whilst the large woman surged out of the house, flung both arms round Debbie, and gave her an affectionate hug. ‘D’you know who I is?’ she said, in a rich, friendly voice. ‘I’s Violet and you must be little Debbie Ryan what the missus said on the radio that we was to look out for and make welcome. The missus said you’d come all the way from England which must be a million miles, so I reckon a cup of tea would go down well.’
This rush of words almost bowled Debbie over but she responded immediately. ‘Oh, Violet, I’ve heard all about you in Mrs Sullivan’s letters. How d’you do? It’s lovely to meet you and a cup of tea would be wonderful. I don’t know about a million miles, but I’ve certainly had an awfully long journey and I’m very glad to be here at last.’ She turned to the young man who was about to carry her trunk into the house. ‘Hang on a minute, Jamie; I guess your mother did get my letter. I’m longing to meet her in the flesh . . . if she’s here, that is?’
The young man put her trunk down and turned towards her. ‘I’m afraid she’s not here and I’m not Jamie. I’m Phil McGuire and I’m looking after the Walleroo while the Sullivans are in Cloncurry. But it’s a long story so if you don’t mind I’ll take your trunk to your room and then come back and explain, over that cup of tea Violet mentioned. She has made up the bed in Jamie’s room since he won’t be coming back for a while yet.’
‘And – and Pete?’ Debbie asked, unable to remain in ignorance any longer. ‘Is Pete back? I was sure he would have been demobbed some time ago.’
Phil, who had picked up her trunk once more, turned back. ‘He was demobbed all right, but he got a deferred passage home because he was worried about a young lady he’d lost touch with. He wanted to meet up with her again, make sure she was all right before leaving her half a world away.’
‘Oh, right,’ Debbie said feebly, feeling the hot blood rush to her cheeks. She was certain that Pete must have been searching for her and it was just her luck that she had decided to search for him at the same time. But she had told everyone in Lavender Court where she was bound, had even told Uncle Max, so if Pete did manage to trace her he would realise at once whereabouts in Australia she was to be found. She felt herself beginning to smile and said, idiotically, to Phil’s receding back: ‘He’s not married then? Not engaged, or anything like that?’
Phil laughed. ‘Not that I’ve heard,’ he said. ‘But if he finds his young lady, I reckon that’s just what he’ll do; marry her, I mean. You don’t go deferring your return home for a girl you don’t care about.’
By now, Debbie’s grin must be positively Cheshire Cat like, she thought, but she simply could not help it. So this delightful young man believed that Pete really liked her; if, of course, it was she for whom he was searching. She felt joy bubbling within her and was still trying to sober up when Violet came heavily on to the veranda, bearing a huge tray upon which stood teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug and cups, as well as an enormous fruit cake and a plate of delicious-looking biscuits.
‘Here y’are, missy,’ she said heartily, setting the tray down on a cane table. ‘Now I reckon Mr Phil will tell you what’s been happenin’ and why the boss and the missus ain’t at home right now.’
It did not take long for Debbie to be told all about the arrival of the mail, the dropping of the letter, Andy’s dive under the veranda, and the subsequent snake bite. When she heard, Debbie could not help shooting a quick glance at the veranda beneath her feet. Phil saw it and smiled. ‘It’s all right, Debbie; I organised some of the staff to go under there and clear everything out. They put down a deal of Jeyes fluid, which will discourage the critters, we hope. But Andy didn’t stop to think, that was the trouble. He just saw the page of the letter go under the veranda and dived after it. It’s not like Andy to act impulsively, but he’s crazy about Nancy and never gave the danger a second thought, I reckon.’
‘And is he going to be all right?’ Debbie asked anxiously. ‘When did all this happen? And where is this Cloncurry place you spoke of?’
Phil explained, adding that the Sullivans should be back soon, but assuring her that Violet and Aggie would look after her until Nancy could take over. ‘They’re grand women and know the ropes,’ he told her. ‘I reckon the Sullivans will be back here in a week or so because Andy is very much better, quite like his old self. And if you want to use the radio, either myself or one of the gins will show you what to do. Everyone on the Walleroo will help you to settle in and understand our ways. If you need anything, you only have to ask. Can you ride?’
Debbie admitted that she could not and did not know whether to be pleased or apprehensive when Phil said he would get one of the stockmen to teach her. ‘You never know when you may need to get somewhere fast, and since you can’t drive Andy’s truck you’d be better off learning to ride,’ he pointed out.
After a week of watery sunshine, the storms set in again but by now Debbie was growing accustomed to the vagaries of the weather. Together with Violet and Aggie, she began to plan a party for the Sullivans’ return. ‘If the rain eases off and the storms give us a break, then I reckon most of the neighbours will come,’ Phil said. ‘But of course if the weather’s real bad it’ll be just us and the staff. They’re planning a corroboree to end all corroborees.’
‘What exactly is a corroboree? Just a specially good sort of party?’ Debbie asked curiously, but Phil just grinned and would not enlighten her.
‘It’s a good deal more than that,’ he said. ‘But I won’t spoil the surprise. Now tell me, how are you getting on with the riding?’
Pete went straight to Long Lane and almost immediately was directed to the factory where they assembled radio sets for aircraft. Pete asked to see the manager and presently found himself seated in a tiny office opposite a small, elderly man who looked tired to death but nevertheless gave him a warm smile and held out his hand. ‘Ah, Mr Sullivan, how can I help you?’
Pete explained his errand and the manager pulled an enormous book out of the top drawer of his desk and spread it out upon the blotter. ‘Deborah Ryan, Deborah Ryan,’ he murmured. ‘I remember her; a thoroughly nice girl, hard working and reliable. Her address will be . . . ah, here it is! Number four Lavender Court, off Lawrence Street.’
‘I suppose I couldn’t see her for a moment, could I?’ Pete asked, rather surprised that he had been given her address and no other information. ‘You see, I don’t have much time . . .’
‘But I thought you must know that Miss Ryan had left the factory . . . oh, some while ago,’ the little man said. ‘However, if you go round to Lavender Court, and if she’s still in the city, I’m sure you’ll find her. But there was talk of her going abroad.’
Pete thanked him and stood up, feeling distinctly uneasy. Going abroad? If she was in France, or Spain, or Germany, however would he find her? And why should she go abroad? But he was being foolish. She would have left a forwarding address with the landlady in Lavender Court – he assumed that she must have been in lodgings – and once he had her address he would find her, no matter how long it took.
He was about to leave the factory when a stream of girls and a few young men began to push past him and one of them tapped him on the arm. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said shyly. ‘But the manager spotted me as I were leaving me bench and said a young feller had come enquirin’ after me old mate Debbie. Were it you, sir?’
‘Yes, it were – was, I mean,’ Pete said quickly, his heart giving a hopeful lurch. ‘Do you happen to know where she’s gone? Only we lost touch and I’m very anxious to meet up with her again.’
‘Well, you ain’t likely to do that, unless you was thinkin’ of emigrating,’ the girl said cheerfully. ‘She’s gone to visit an old pal of her mam’s what lives in Australia. She meant to work her way across the country, she said, to some place with a queer sort of address, a sort of mixture of wallabies and kangaroos, I thought, when she telled me.’
Pete stared at her for one unbelieving moment, then he gave a whoop and lifted her off her feet and kissed her resoundingly. ‘I don’t know who you are but you’re the nicest girl I’ve ever set eyes on,’ he found himself babbling. ‘She’s gone to the Walleroo! Why, she might be aboard the very ship I’m booked on next week. Oh, my word, I’ve as good as found her!’
Millie gazed at him open-mouthed, but she had no opportunity to ask him just what he meant by his last remark, for he plonked her down on the ground, pushed his way out of the crowd and made off down the road at what she could only describe as a fast gallop.
She turned back to her friend Tess, who was staring at her open-mouthed. ‘What were all that about?’ Tess asked, round-eyed. ‘Who were he? And what did he want with Debbie? And fancy kissin’ you in front of everyone!’ She giggled. ‘You’re a shameless hussy, you! I always suspected it but now I know for sure.’
Millie shook her head and took her friend’s arm, and together they began to make their way towards the tram stop. ‘I dunno,’ she said, hearing the puzzlement in her own voice, and frowning over it. Then her brow cleared. ‘Oh, of course; wharran idiot I am! Debbie were keen on some young Australian feller what looked after her for a few days after her mam died, only they lost touch. I reckon it were him . . . come to think of it, I’m almost sure Debbie said he were her Aunt Nancy’s son.’
‘Then he must be her cousin,’ Tess said, having wrestled with the problem for a moment. ‘And they’ll meet up again when he gets back home, I suppose. But I thought her cousin was called Max.’
‘Oh, you!’ Millie said, giving her friend’s arm an affectionate shake. ‘That were her uncle, the one she didn’t like much. And now let’s drop it. Are you comin’ to the flicks this evening, or have you other plans?’
Andy and Nancy arrived home during a lull in the bad weather and were welcomed rapturously by everyone on the Walleroo. They drove up in a battered old truck and were immediately surrounded. Debbie, standing on the veranda, went hesitantly down the steps, but the moment Andy caught sight of her he looped an arm round his wife’s waist and fought his way through the crowd until they reached her. She opened her mouth to explain who she was and found herself being seized and kissed. ‘Even if I’d not known you had arrived, I’d have recognised you as Jess’s daughter,’ Nancy said, holding Debbie back from her whilst her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, my love, you are the very image of your mother. She had just such beautiful chestnut hair, the same dark blue eyes . . . but I mustn’t be foolish. I’m just so glad that you came to me, as your mother wished.’
Debbie found herself blinking back tears as well but said in a rallying tone: ‘Now that isn’t quite right, Aunt Nancy, because my mother’s hair was a mass of curls, and mine is straight as any poker. But you are just as she described you and I’m sure you look young enough to be my sister. And Mam would be so happy if she could see us now, because I think, in her heart, she wished she had had the courage to accompany you to Australia – at first, that is,’ she added hastily. ‘Afterwards, when she met my dad, she was glad she’d not gone away.’
Then it was Andy’s turn. He shook her hand, then laughed and kissed her cheek. ‘What a diplomat,’ he said, with mock admiration, ‘saying she looks young enough to be your sister! But you aren’t far off; I always tell people Nancy was a child bride, but then she goes and spoils it by admitting that she was a nurse throughout the First World War. But we’d better go inside because that big black cloud is coming closer every minute and we don’t want to get soaked.’
Debbie, climbing the veranda steps and re-entering the homestead, thought they were both delightful, though it also occurred to her that a stranger might easily have taken them for brother and sister. They were both tall, both very fair indeed, and both tanned, though Nancy’s skin was pale gold and Andy’s a rich russet brown. Both were blue-eyed with even features and beautifully white teeth, but when they spoke the resemblance ended, for Andy had the typical Australian twang whilst Nancy had retained the soft tones of middle-class England.
As they entered the living room, Nancy turned to Debbie once more. ‘Aggie tells me that tucker will be ready in half an hour so Andy and I will go and wash and get into some clean clothes,’ she said. ‘I dare say you could do with a cool shower, so if you’d like to use the bathroom first . . .’
Debbie laughed. ‘I’ve not wasted my time here; I’m quite a useful member of the household now,’ she said. ‘I helped in the preparation of the meal and I mean to go on helping because it’s some small return for the hospitality I’ve already received. But one thing before you disappear. Have – have you heard from Pete?’
Nancy pulled a wry face. ‘Not for weeks; in fact, he doesn’t know his father’s been in hospital,’ she admitted. ‘We had the mail intercepted so it came straight to Cloncurry instead of the Walleroo, but there was nothing from Pete. Andy and I believe it’s because he’s already on his way home, so he may turn up at any moment.’ She looked curiously at Debbie. ‘You only met him the once, didn’t you?’ She chuckled. ‘And if I remember rightly, you were only fourteen or fifteen at the time, so he’ll get quite a shock to find the child he knew has turned into a young woman, and a very pretty one at that.’
Debbie felt her cheeks grow warm but she was spared the necessity of replying when Aggie appeared in the doorway. ‘Missy Deb, is it time to take that fluffy stuff you made out of the icebox?’ she asked. ‘Violet says it is but I ain’t so sure; can you come?’
Saved by the bell, Debbie thought, hurrying gratefully in Aggie’s wake. She had no idea what Pete had said to his parents regarding herself and no wish, she realised, to be asked questions which she might find difficult to answer. At one time, Pete had believed her to be Chloe’s mother, had thought her a bad girl, and though she had disabused him on this score, Nancy might still believe Debbie was not the sort of person she wanted her son to be involved with. Then she chided herself for being foolish. At the time of the bombing, Pete must have had a good many things on his mind more important than one young girl whom he scarcely knew. Obviously, he would have told his mother that her friend had been killed, described how he had helped rescue Debbie from the shelter, but other than that . . .