Page 29 of Return to the Waratah Inn

Three weeks later, Mima woke up late to the sound of a magpie warbling its mournful tune outside Luca’s window. She froze for a moment until memories of the previous night washed over her, making her blush. She pulled the sheets up beneath her chin and turned her head to see Luca sleeping peacefully beside her, mouth slightly ajar, snoring lightly.

What had she done?

She pressed a hand to her forehead, eyes wide. She’d had too much to drink. Even now, the pounding in the back of her skull reminded her that she couldn’t recall exactly how many Scotches she’d downed, but she’d never drunk the liquor before, and the stale taste of it gave her mouth a dry, cloying feeling. Plus, he’d given her something to smoke. Why hadn’t she asked him about it? What was it?

It’d given left her with a heady feeling and had made it seem like she was flying. There were colours—so many bright colours—when she’d finally fallen asleep. It must’ve been grass, dope, reefer. She wasn’t sure what the kids were calling it these days. She didn’t exactly run with that crowd, and she’d never seen it in person before in her life. Would she fall into addiction now? Her parents had warned her about exactly this. Why hadn’t she listened?

With slow, deliberate movements, she sat up in bed. Her head spun, and she grasped it between her palms for a moment as if to slow it down. One glance at Luca showed he hadn’t moved, so she stood to her feet and quickly pulled on her clothing.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, his eyes blinking open. She stood stock still, her breathing shallow.

“Hi,” he said with a lazy smile. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Uh, hi. I have to get home.” She blushed again, her cheeks flaming with heat.

He rolled closer to her and reached out to grab her around the waist, pulling her to him with a grin. “Don’t go. Not yet. I was going to make you breakfast.”

“You cook?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Toast… Does that count?”

“I’m not sure it counts as cooking, but if you have Vegemite on hand, it might be considered breakfast.”

“You’re in luck.” He winked, then tugged her onto the bed.

She squealed as she fell, and he tickled her ribs until she begged for mercy with tears gleaming on her cheeks.

They ate toast with Vegemite on the outside balcony with a view of a large gum tree and the street beyond it. People scurried by on the footpath on their way to work, or home, or shopping. They all had things to do and places to go, but Mima didn’t. She was scheduled for an evening shift that day. The morning was hers to do with as she pleased, although Sister Jones wouldn’t be happy that she’d missed curfew. She’d have to come up with a story before she made her way back to the dormitory.

“What are your plans for the day?” she asked Luca.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed one lanky leg over the other. “I thought I might go down to the beach for a stroll. Do some fishing.”

“Fishing? I can’t picture that. Will you wear your zoot suit?” She smirked around a mouthful of toast with salty Vegemite and thick, soft butter. It was delicious and exactly what she and her sore head needed, along with the cup of steaming tea that sat on the metal table in front of her.

“Hey, I’m more than a zoot suit and hair gel. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He reached out a hand to hold hers. “But I hope you’ll remedy that because I want to know everything about you.”

After breakfast, while Luca got his fishing gear together, she strolled down to the post office to post a letter to her parents. She hadn’t heard from them in a while and was beginning to think she might need to catch the train out to Bathurst to check on them. She missed them. Having Luca in her life now made her think about family, and she wished she could have a close relationship with them the way Edie did with her parents. But it’d never been like that for her. They’d taken good care of her as a child, but they didn’t talk about things. They’d emigrated from England as a young married couple and brought the stiff upper lip of the pommy culture with them.

As she left the post office, she noticed the large rectangular red box of a public phone booth. She hadn’t used telephones often, but her parents had recently installed a telephone in their kitchen. Mother had written about it in her last letter. It was just like them to want to show off to the neighbours. There weren’t many private telephones in Bathurst yet, but her father was a successful businessman in the bustling rural town, and he liked to stay abreast of the latest technology, as he put it.

She stepped into the booth and foraged in her pocket for two shillings. She picked up the earpiece, slipped the coins into the slot, and dialled the long-distance switchboard. A tone sounded on the line, and an operator answered.

“What number, please?”

“The trunk line to Bathurst 195, please.”

“Please hang up. I’ll call you back once the connection has been established. Thank you!”

Mima hung up the phone and waited, leaning against the wall and twirling her hair around a finger. She ran over the events of the previous evening in her mind’s eye. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she bit down on her lower lip. She’d had no idea that’s what it would be like. She still couldn’t believe she’d done it— she shouldn’t do it again. Really, it wouldn’t be long before the secret was out. But who would it hurt? She was a modern woman. There was no one looking over her shoulder. At least, not if Tilda would help her keep the matron off her back. Her parents had no idea what was going on in her life. They didn’t much seem to care what she did. And who else did she answer to? Her life was her own, and she was in love with Luca.

The phone trilled, and she held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“I’ve got Bathurst 195 for you, Miss.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

There was a pause and click, then she heard her mother’s tentative voice on the other end of the line. “Who is this, please?”