hadn’t shrunk with age; he was still a good two or three inches taller than me, but his grip wasn’t as strong as it once had been. ‘All right, lad? Glad you’ve come.’ He kept eye contact to make sure I knew it.
We finished shaking and Hazel took over. I put an arm around Silky’s shoulder and introduced her to them both.
‘My name’s really pronounced Silk-a,’ she corrected me. ‘But Nick calls me Silky. It’s maybe easier if you do the same, otherwise you could confuse him.’
Hazel still had the same long, dark brown hair, and very clear, untanned skin. Her eyes had wrinkled with laughter when she was younger; I remembered her beaming behind the counter in Dixons in the precinct, always happy to use her employee discount for any Regiment guy who came in. They looked older and wiser now. Maybe sadder, too.
Hazel started to hustle us into the house. ‘Sure you can’t stay more than a night?’
‘No, we’ve got to move on. There’s a boogie in Melbourne on the ninth.’
Silky took Charlie’s arm as we hit the steps up to the veranda. ‘Do you still parachute? Nick said you used to.’
‘No.’ He gave me a questioning stare. ‘Not any more.’
2
‘While she’s freshening up, lad — what does she know about work, besides the parachuting?’
It was a question Charlie had to ask. He didn’t want to put his foot in it.
‘Nothing. She thinks I’m a panel-beater.’
‘With a boss who lets you take the year off? Or did you tell her you’re retired? She’s obviously got a bit of a soft spot for the elderly.’
I returned his grin just as Hazel came back into the living room with a tray of orange juice and glasses.
‘I hope he’s not trying to sell you a horse, Nick?’
A few notes of German drifted down the stairs as Silky relaxed under the shower.
‘Nah, he’s been giving me a hard time for not following his example.’
‘But you’re too young to retire…’
‘I mean about not getting my hooks into a gorgeous girl like he did.’
Hazel smiled as she put the tray down. ‘Has he told you about the lovely life we have now?’
‘Not yet, but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time!’
Hazel fussed around like a mother hen as she rearranged all the things neatly on the coffee table. Eventually she poured three glasses and we clinked them in an unspoken toast.
I pointed out of the window. ‘Was that Julie I saw riding?’
Hazel’s face lit up. ‘She’ll be over soon. She phoned to say she’d seen you.’
‘The pair of them — like that, they are.’ Charlie went to cross his fingers to show how entwined the two of them were, but couldn’t quite manage it. His forefinger seemed to have a mind of its own. He brought his thumb and little finger into play instead, as if he was on the phone. ‘And when they’re not together, they’re never off the blower. And Hazel emails the kids every day after school.’
‘Maintenance, my darling.’ Hazel looked me in the eye. ‘If you don’t keep checking the roof, then next time there’s a storm… Don’t you agree, Nick?’
I looked at the family gallery on the sideboard; the usual mishmash, some black and white, some colour, in a variety of silver and wooden frames. Wedding photos with ’70s hairstyles; then their two kids, Julie and Steven, at all the different stages: big ears; no teeth; zits… Then the ones of Julie’s wedding, and her own children; by the look of it they had about four of them. The air round here was obviously good for raising more than just horses.
My gaze fell on one of a young man in a Light Infantry beret and best Dress Number Twos staring proudly into the camera, the Union Jack behind him. Steven’s passing-out parade must have been about 1990, because Charlie and I had still been in the Regiment; I’d thought he’d burst with pride when he told me. I didn’t know much about him though, beyond the fact that he’d been seventeen and the spitting image of his dad.
‘How’s your boy doing? He still in?’
Hazel’s eyes dropped to the floor.
I wondered what I’d said, then I noticed: there weren’t any other pictures of him.
Charlie leaned across and took Hazel’s hand in his. ‘He was killed in Kosovo,’ he said softly. ‘Ninety-four. He’d just got promoted to corporal.’
He put his arm around his wife. I sat back in my chair, not sure what to say to avoid adding to the wreckage.
‘Don’t worry about it, lad, you weren’t to know. We kept it to ourselves pretty much. Didn’t want GMTV round, filming us going through the family album.’
Hazel looked up and gave a brave smile. She’d probably got over the worst of it during the last ten years, but it must have been a nightmare.
Silky drifted in, breaking the moment, smelling of soap and shampoo. She’d put on a pair of pale blue cotton trousers and a white vest, and her wet hair was combed back.
There was an awkward silence. Hazel busied herself pouring another glass of juice. ‘I bet you feel a lot better for that.’
‘The shower or the singing?’ Silky smiled as she came and sat beside me. Whatever she was about to say next was drowned out by the blare of a car horn.
Hazel looked relieved. ‘Julie.’
Seconds later, a flurry of feet and young voices bomb-burst into the house, shouts and shrieks echoing off the wooden floors. The door flew open and four boys with sticky-up crew cuts and untanned skin ran into the room. The older two, about eight and seven, came up to me and thrust out their hands. ‘You’re Nick, aren’t you?’ They had strong accents. Their two little brothers ran back outside.
I bent down and shook. ‘And this is Silky.’
‘That’s a funny name.’
‘You pronounce it Silk-a really. Nick calls me Silky because he’s not very good with complicated words.’
Silky loved kids. Her older sister kept sending pictures of her twin seven-year-old boys to Silky’s PO box in Sydney. Every time we stopped in anywhere for more than a few days she got her mail forwarded and I would have to sit and listen to Karl and Rudolf’s latest adventures.
‘Where are you from, Silky? You talk funny!’
‘Funnier than Nick? I come from Germany. It’s a long way away.’
Julie and her husband Alan came in with Charlie, the two younger kids hanging off his leg. We made the right noises as we shook. Alan’s hands were big and rough. He was a bushman to his marrow, and wasn’t particularly fussed up about the visitors.
Charlie took charge. ‘Right! I’d better get that barbecue lit, hadn’t I? Who’s coming to help me?’
It was obviously the standard call to arms. All the kids jumped up and down with delight and charged outside.
3
Two hours later, everybody was stuffed full of chicken, steak, prawns and Toohey’s. Silky sat with Julie and Hazel on the settee; conversation flowed like they’d known each other all their lives. Alan sorted out a DVD for the kids, who were flaked out on cushions on the floor. He threw it in and, maybe sensing Charlie and I could do with some private time, sat down to watch it with them.
‘Why don’t you jump any more?’
Charlie was standing with me by the jug of coffee on the sideboard. We weren’t ready for it yet; we were
