‘Dunno what you mean, mate.’
‘Oxford Street goes two, maybe two an’ a arf miles.’
‘Paddington? We’re goin’ to Paddington, know where it is?’
The cabby tries not to look insulted. ‘Cost you sixpence each and another zack for the luggage,’ he says, looking down on them from his high seat, seeing them for what they are.
‘How far is it, mate?’ Joe now asks.
‘Nearest point?’ The cabby rubs his chin. ‘Arf a mile.’
‘Near the barracks, the Victoria Barracks, in Paddington. We got the name of a boardin’ house, Mrs O’Shane.’
‘About a mile, then,’ the cabby points, ‘up thataway.’
‘You know Mrs O’Shane?’ Joe asks in surprise.
‘Nah, mate, the flamin’ barracks, about a mile,’ the cab driver says impatiently.
‘Thank you, we’ll walk,’ Joe says, lifting his hat to the cabby.
‘Nah, don’t be bloody silly, catch the electric tram. Cost ya a deener the lot o’ yiz.’ He points to the tram stop. ‘Waverley tram goes right past.’
At the boarding house Mrs O’Shane is a big woman with hands and face red as boiled lobster. She seems all heat and fuss, with a voice rough as the sound of a wood rasp. But she remembers Dolly well enough and, it seems, with some favourable feeling, for she shows them a tiny room for Hester and Meg and a bed for Joe in the single men’s quarters out the back.
The room isn’t clean, but then it isn’t dirty either. It has the pungency of human wear and tear but not of cat’s piss and fried kippers, the redolent smell of just about every cheap English-speaking boarding house in the world. Hester has brought her own sheets and a thick blanket together with a bottle of eucalyptus oil so the bed bugs and fleas are more or less taken care of. The room is declared tolerable, its two major attractions being a stout door with a good lock and a brass key and furthermore, it is what they can afford.
They are all bone-weary from the train trip through the night, where they sat up all the way in a secondclass carriage. Behind the door is a notice which spells out the rules for Mrs O’Shane’s establishment.
NO SLEEPING PAST 7 A.M. IN THE ROOMS AND NOT AGAIN UNTIL SIX O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING.
Mrs O’Shane later explains it’s to stop double dipping, that is, nightshift and dayshift workers sharing the cost of a room between them.
DURING THE DAY, IF THE OCCUPANTS ARE IN THEIR ROOMS, THE DOORS ARE TO BE KEPT OPEN.
This, she says, is to prevent any hanky-panky and so forth and so on.
UPON LEAVING THE PREMISES THE ROOMS MUST BE LOCKED AND THE KEY HANDED IN TO THE LANDLADY.
ALL CARE AND NO RESPONSIBILITY TAKEN. FRONT DOOR WILL BE LOCKED BY TEN O’CLOCK, NO VISITORS ALLOWED AFTER NINE IN THE EVENING.
‘I know yiz are respectable folk from the country an’ all, but I can’t make no exceptions,’ Mrs O’Shane explains. ‘Them’s the rules and it’s one in, all in, I ‘opes you understand? At night keep yer door locked and yer purse under the pillow and don’t open for no one ‘cept if you recognise their voice. Don’t have eyes in the back o’ me ‘ead now, do I?’ She looks sternly at Meg. ‘No soldiers allowed, no sa
ilors neither. Best to talk to no one, ‘less they’s introduced by me. Breakfast at seven o’clock sharp, porridge and tea, no toast. Dinner yer finds yerself outside, cafe on the corner, fish ‘n’ chips two doors down. Tea at six o’clock, ternight it’s Irish stew or bangers ‘n’ mash or savoury mince, take yer choice, rice pudding to finish, all the tea yiz can drink, no intoxicating fluids to be brought to the table.’ She glares at them, one eye closed. ‘Does I make meself clear?’
It is mid-afternoon by the time they’ve settled in and Joe goes off to the barracks a block away to find out how they might go about contacting young Jack Thomas. Hester and Meg are off window-shopping in George Street and Meg finds herself the subject of many an admiring glance, even though she has chosen to leave Aunt Dolly’s velvet roses, bowed and ribboned extravaganza in the boarding house and wears her second-best plain brown bonnet instead.
There are soldiers everywhere and they see several officers on horseback who look so grand Meg thinks the younger ones must be captains and the older, with their curled moustaches, at the very least generals in command. Eventually they end up in the Botanical Gardens, where they rest on the clipped green grass under a large Moreton Bay fig. They take off their boots and share a vanilla ice cream together while they watch the mallard ducks floating on a small pond covered with lilac waterlilies.
At tea that night Joe announces that they’ll see Jack Thomas at four o’clock on the following afternoon for an hour by special permission of his squadron commander, Lieutenant Ormington. They’re to meet at the main gate of the barracks and Jack is allowed out but must report back by five-fifteen sharp.
‘We’ll need to bring him back here,’ Joe says, ‘so we can speak to him private, like.’
‘What about the rules, Father? Door open and no soldiers,’ Meg says, her heart pounding at the thought of the confrontation to come. There has been no mention of their little conspiracy since the first night. She has planned and waited for Jack Thomas so long that what they’re doing now seems almost normal. It is the thought of seeing Jack that makes her nervous — she’s seen so many handsome young men in uniform that she hopes he stacks up. She wants her man to be as good as the others.
‘We could go by tram to Hyde Park, talk to him in the open?’ Hester suggests. ‘Best that way, he’ll be more at ease.’
Joe grunts, ‘Fair enough.’