Bobby, by Alison Theresa Gibson

The engine was whining louder again as you slowed down and turned off the highway. The headlights picked up a sign that said Welcome to Byron Bay. We meandered through small, dark streets. The nocturnal birds were loud, even over the truck. I wondered what had happened to the birds in Sydney, and if there were any watching over the burning harbour.

‘Where should I leave you?’ you said, and I wanted to say nowhere, let’s keep driving, but instead I said,

‘Oh, anywhere is fine.’

‘But where is your husband? Where are you staying?’ You were heading towards the beach. I didn’t know if you realised that the darkness ahead of us was the Pacific Ocean stretching to the horizon.

‘You know, the thing they don’t tell you when you get married is that you don’t actually have to live with your husband.’

‘But don’t you love him?’ There was something about how you said the word, love, that made me realise you had never felt it. It held only the sentiment of novels, a dash of Gone with the Wind, nights spent dreaming alone.

‘I love lots of people, darling.’ I reached over and you let me squeeze your hand where it lay relaxed on the gearstick. You were more comfortable here, in the small streets of a small town, than on the open highway.

‘I’m staying at the CWA hall, it should be down here.’ You peered through the windscreen.

I saw the hall a moment before you did. It was dark. No one had waited up for you, or even left a dimmed lamp on.

You turned off the engine and in the sudden silence you said, ‘I’m leaving early in the morning, but will you bring a pair of socks first thing to replace those ones?’

There was a shout and you jumped as a few figures hurried past on the darkened street. It was a shout of fun though, of mirth not danger.

‘Sure, darling, whatever you’d like.’ Perhaps you believed me, but I suspect not. You surely had me figured out at that point. I’m an open book, unlike you with your pale hands and monstrous truck.

We pulled ourselves from the truck and in the tangy, salty wind I held out my hand.

‘Thanks for the ride, darling.’

‘You could stay here, if you like,’ you said. You kept a grip on my fingers. Your mouth was a black blur in the pale moon of your face. ‘If you’re not staying with your husband, I mean. We could – talk – some more.’

‘Talking isn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight.’ You tried to pull your fingers away as a red flush crept into your cheeks but I held on. ‘You could come with me, if you’re not ready to go to sleep yet.’

Music and voices were drifting over to us from the street where the figures had wandered down. I knew the way. I knew what was waiting for us down there, but you didn’t. You glanced into the darkness, your fingers had turned limp in mine.

‘It’ll be fun,’ I said, keeping my voice soft so as not to startle you.

‘I didn’t know people still had fun.’

My heart broke a little for you then. So young, your adolescence spent in wartime, a country held by fear, driving highways you had no business navigating alone.

‘Oh darling, now you have to come with me! I can’t let you drive into a warzone without a night of wonder.’ I pulled you along and you came willingly. We linked arms and you let us walk slowly as I negotiated the road in my feet, clad only in hand-knitted wool.

The music and voices grew louder. Most of the houses on that street had open doors and windows and there were people, more people than I’m sure you had ever seen at eleven o’clock at night. Women and men in loose clothing with cigarettes dangling from their lips. A familiar voice called to me from a balcony and I called back but didn’t stop. The open doorway beckoned. I knew you would feel better once we were enclosed somewhere safe.

The Blues Shack was the first bar I ever went to, and I wanted to show it to you. I wanted you to experience it the way that I had, as somewhere exciting, oozing joy, and a safe place to experiment with who you might want to be.

The single room was packed with people and the three balconies were open to the night air. The sound of the ocean was a constant thrumming under the crowd. Hands clasped at me as I pulled you through the room, and I smiled and greeted and smiled again but I never let go of your hand, do you remember that? I kept you close to me. The air pressed in on us, thick with musty body odour and sweet alcohol. Jeremiah was thumping hard on the piano, his fingers making the noise of six hands instead of two. He caught my eye and winked. You started coughing from the cigarette smoke hanging over our heads and I wanted to blow it away from you, to let you breathe easier.

‘Will you have a drink?’ I asked, my mouth close to your ear so you could hear me.

‘Sure.’ I couldn’t hear you but I saw your lips make the shape of the word. One of your hands crept up to cover the CWA logo on your chest.

‘What will you drink, darling?’ I asked, tugging at your hand so the world could see the logo.

‘Oh,’ you looked panicked. ‘I don’t know!’ Some people would have faked nonchalance but not you.

A young man was nearby, facing us, and he caught my eye. He was closer to your age than mine, and had red hair. I lay a few fingers on his forearm and drew him closer.

‘Two sidecars, darling. If you wouldn’t mind.’

He watched my teeth as I smiled and then he turned to push his way towards the bar. A man appeared in the parting crowd and winked at me. I felt you looking at him, intrigued, but you became flustered when he winked at you. Your hands flew to your hair as though the wisps needed fixing.

‘Relax,’ I said, taking one of your hands in mine. Jeremiah had started a new song and I clicked along, knowing he had chosen it for me.

‘How do you know so many people if you don’t live here?’ you asked.

‘I visit a lot.’

‘Because of your husband?’

‘Because I like it here.’ I hummed along, hoping you would stop talking.

‘Doesn’t your husband mind you knowing all these other men?’

‘Too many questions, Silvie, just relax.’ It came out harsher than I intended, and I knew using your name instead of darling was an obvious rebuff. I felt guilty and kissed the back of your hand, but that made you look even more uncomfortable, and you pulled away.

‘Here you are!’ The young, red-haired man was at our side with our drinks.

‘You’re an absolute treasure,’ I said.

We cradled our drinks and surveyed the crowd. I saw a white shirt and green bowtie through the mass of bodies and was relieved to be distracted from your discomfort. ‘Gerald!’

There is something about Gerald’s height that means he always makes a good first impression, and that night was no different.

‘Bobby,’ he said, kissing my cheek. ‘You look delightful as always.’ He looked me up and down. ‘I particularly like the socks. And who’s this?’

‘Silvie is my newest friend.’ I took your hand again. ‘She’s driving to Sydney tomorrow and needed a final wild night before heading into battle.’

‘A final wild night?’ Gerald raised his eyebrows, his eyes travelling over your CWA uniform. ‘Or, maybe a first wild night?’

You blushed and stammered something we couldn’t hear, but Gerald laughed anyway.

‘Gerald is my husband,’ I said.

‘It sounds so serious when you say it like that!’ he said.

‘It is serious, darling, haven’t you heard?’

He extricated your hand from mine and held it close to his chest.

‘Ignore her, she takes nothing seriously!’

‘That’s not true at all! Don’t listen to him, Silvie, I take having fun very seriously.’ Gerald and I roared with laughter but you didn’t seem to get the joke. You sipped your drink and looked away.

‘She’s precious,’ Gerald whispered in my ear so that you couldn’t hear him. ‘Don’t ruin her.’

‘As if I would,’ I said, grateful for the heaving noise blanketing our voices. My glass was empty and I tapped at yours to prompt you to finish it. You did, like the good girl I knew you were. Your eyes were on Jeremiah at the piano, who was playing faster, more brash, than ever. A woman slinked onto the stage and whispered in his ear, and in only a moment he had switched to The Way You Look Tonight. Your mouth opened in surprise, in delight.

‘So, what would make Silvie’s night more memorable?’ Gerald asked, dropping an arm around each of us.

‘Let’s see,’ I said. ‘She’s driving alone, for days on end, to deliver hand-knitted socks to troops in Sydney. Those troops will carry those socks to Singapore, or Papua New Guinea, where it will be too hot to wear such carefully crafted wool. What could possibly make her feel better about a situation like that?’ I laughed.

‘That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard!’ Gerald exclaimed. I thought you would be hurt by our words, thought I would need to comfort you, but you grew taller, squared your shoulders as though ready to fight me and I knew your pride was getting in the way of understanding what we were trying to do. I slipped my hand into yours.

‘Imagine Sydney is bombed again while you’re there. What will you wish you’d done?’ I knew even as I said the words that you wouldn’t answer me, but your eyes darted to the stage where that unknown woman was singing. Your eyes gave you away. A loud man stinking of whiskey fell against us but I pulled you away from him. ‘Come with me.’

I led you onto the stage as the song ended and the woman slipped away. You clutched your empty glass like you could hide your nerves behind it.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ I called over the crowd, but it only increased the general roaring. ‘My apologies for being out of town but I was scouting the east coast for the most talented singer I could find. And look…I found her!’ I held your hand above your head so everyone could see you. They cheered. ‘She might be disguised as a CWA volunteer, but tonight, for one night only, she’s going to sing for us!’ Your face was frozen. I pulled you around to face me. ‘Tell me you don’t want to and we’ll leave the stage right now,’ I said in your ear. You looked at me so intensely with those pale eyes glinting in the darkness.

‘I’ll do it,’ you said, leaning forward so your cheek almost pressed against mine. ‘But only if you sing with me.’

I hadn’t realised how much I had hoped you would say that. I turned to Jeremiah and whispered the song title to him. He launched straight into it and we were off. At last. Your voice was higher than mine, and sweet, but we melded together. Our voices flew stronger and the crowd became quieter, listening to us. We stood together, my arm around your waist, and we swayed to the music. At the end of each line, the crowd cheered. Most of them had separated into couples, holding onto each other, moving to the music. It was a room of love, or lust. When the song ended you fell into my arms. There was sweat across your forehead, damp wisps of hair stuck to your skin.

Gerald was calling us down from the stage, handing us drinks, pulling us into the crowd where we were cheered and jostled and hugged by warm smiling bodies. Your face shone and your hands held me close to you.

‘Thank you!’ Your breath was hot on my cheek.

‘This doesn’t have to be the end, you know,’ I said.

‘The end of what?’

‘Happiness.’ I didn’t know if you knew what I meant and before I could be sure, Gerald threw his arms around us and we were all dancing. Jeremiah thumped out tune after tune and we sang until our voices grew raspy.