Australian Affairs: Wed. Barbara Hannay
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breathing catch. ‘I guess this can’t be easy for you now. Coming back from the war and everything.’
When he didn’t answer, she tried again, ‘Was it bad over there?’
A telltale muscle jerked. ‘Sometimes.’
Ellie knew he’d lost soldier mates, knew he must have seen things that haunted him. But Special Forces guys hardly ever talked about where they’d been or what they’d done—certainly not with ex-wives.
‘I was one of the lucky ones,’ he said. ‘I got out of it unscathed.’
Unscathed emotionally? Ellie knew that the Army had changed its tactics, sending soldiers like Joe on shorter but more frequent tours of duty in an effort to minimise post-traumatic stress, but she was quite sure that no soldier returned from any war without some kind of damage.
I haven’t helped. This hasn’t been a very good homecoming for him.
Quickly, bravely, she said, ‘For the record, Joe, it isn’t true.’
He turned, looking at her intently. ‘What do you mean?’ His blue eyes seemed to penetrate all the way to her soul.
Her heart began to gallop. She couldn’t back down now that she’d begun. ‘What you said before—that I can’t bear the sight of you—it’s not true.’ So not true.
‘That’s the way it comes across.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. Really sorry.’
She could feel the sudden stillness in him, almost as if she’d shot him. He was staring at her, his eyes burning. With doubt?
Ellie’s eyes were stinging. She didn’t want to cry, but she could no longer see the paddocks. Her heart was racing.
She almost told Joe that she actually fancied the sight of him. Very much. Too much. That was her problem. That was why she was tense.
But it was too late for personal confessions. Way too late. Years and years too late.
Instead she said, ‘I know I’ve been stupidly tense about everything, but it’s certainly not because I can’t stand the sight of you.’ Quite the opposite.
She blinked hard, wishing her tears could air-dry.
Joe’s knuckles were white as he gripped the veranda railing and she wondered what he was thinking. Feeling. Was he going over her words?
It’s certainly not because I can’t stand the sight of you.
Could he read between the lines? Could he guess she was still attracted? Was he angry?
It felt like an age before he spoke.
Eventually, he let go of the railing. Stepped away and drew a deep breath, unconsciously drawing her attention to his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Then he rested his hands lightly on his hips, as if he was deliberately relaxing.
‘OK, here’s a suggestion,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Why don’t we declare a truce?’
‘A truce? For Christmas?’
‘Why not? Even in World War One there were Germans and our blokes who stopped fighting in the trenches for Christmas. So, what do you reckon?’
Ellie almost smiled. She really liked the idea of a Christmas truce. She’d always liked to have a goal. And a short-term goal was even better. Doable.
‘I reckon we should give it a shot,’ she said. If soldiers could halt a world war for a little peace and goodwill at Christmas, she and Joe should at least make an effort.
He was watching her with a cautious smile. ‘Can we shake on it?’
‘Sure.’
His handclasp was warm and strong and, for Ellie, just touching him sparked all sorts of flashpoints. But now she had to find a way to stay calm. Unexcited. Neutral.
Her goal was peace and goodwill. For Christmas.
Their smiles were uncertain but hopeful.
But then, in almost the same breath, they both remembered.
‘Jacko,’ they exclaimed together and together they hurried down the veranda to the lounge room.
There was no sign of their son, just his teddy bear lying abandoned on the floor near the empty cartons.
Ellie hurried across the room and down the hallway to the kitchen. ‘Jacko?’ she called, but he wasn’t there either.
Joe was close behind her. ‘He can’t have gone far.’
‘No.’ She went back along the hallway to the bedrooms, calling, ‘Jacko, where are you?’ Any minute she would hear his giggle.
But he wasn’t in his room. Or in her bedroom. Or in the study, or Nina’s room. The bathroom was empty. A wild, hot fluttering unfurled in Ellie’s chest. It was only a small house. There wasn’t anywhere else to look.
She rushed back to the lounge room as Joe came through the front door.
‘I’ve checked the veranda,’ he said.
‘He’s not here.’ Ellie’s voice squeaked.
‘He must be here. Don’t panic, Ellie.’
She almost fell back into her old pattern, hurling defensive accusations. How could you have left him?
But she was silenced by the quiet command in Joe’s voice, and by the knowledge that she’d been the one who stormed out.
‘What was Jacko doing before you came outside to talk to me?’ she asked with a calmness that surprised her.
‘He was playing hide and seek with the bear. Here.’ Joe swished aside the long curtain beside the door.
Ellie gasped.
Jacko was sitting against the wall, perfectly still and quiet, peeping out from beneath his blond fringe, hugging his grubby knees.
‘Boo!’ he said with a proud grin. ‘I hided, Mummy.’
They fell on him together, crouching to hug him, laughing shakily. United by their mutual relief.
It wasn’t a bad way to start a truce.
* * *
Dinner that night was leftover Spanish chicken. For Joe and Ellie the atmosphere was, thankfully, more relaxed than the night before, and afterwards, while Ellie read Jacko bedtime stories, Joe did kitchen duty, rinsing the plates, stacking the dishwasher and wiping the bench tops.
By the time he came back from checking the station’s working dogs and making sure the chicken coop was locked safely from dingoes, Ellie was at the kitchen table, looking businesslike with notepaper and pen, and surrounded by recipe books.
‘I need to plan our Christmas dinner menu,’ she said, flipping pages filled with lavish and brightly coloured Christmas fare.
‘I don’t suppose I can help?’
She looked up at him, her smile doubtful but curious. ‘How are your cooking skills these days?’
‘About the same as they were last time I cooked for you.’
‘Steak and eggs.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘I was hoping for something a little more celebratory for Christmas.’
‘Well, if you insist on being fussy...’ He pretended to be offended, but he was smiling as he switched on the kettle. ‘I’m making tea. Want some?’
‘Thanks.’
At least the truce seemed to be working. So far.
While Joe hunted for mugs and tea bags, Ellie returned to her recipe books, frowning and looking pensive as she turned endless pages. As far as Joe could tell, she didn’t seem to be having much luck. Every so often she made