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pictures, and they’d danced at church socials.
    But she’d danced with other fellows too. Kitty liked boys, as a general rule, and she was popular, although her grandfather’s stern eye rather cramped her style.
    ‘You won’t have time to write to me,’ she suggested. ‘You’ll be too busy writing to your family.’
    ‘I want to write to you too.’
    ‘Well, if you have time, I’d love to hear from you,’ she assured him as they headed along Flinders Street, where the shop windows were full of the war, filled with posters for war loans, V for Victory flags and displays of the gear needed for air raids.
    In a few short weeks, their sleepy tropical town had become a garrison. The post office clock tower had been dismantled so Japanese pilots couldn’t use it to navigate. The graceful palm trees and pretty gardens in the centre of Flinders Street had been dug up and filled with sandbags and ugly concrete air-raid shelters.
    ‘What do you think about all this talk of a Brisbane line?’ Kitty asked. ‘Will the government really abandon us up here?’
    ‘Nah, I reckon it’s tommy rot.’ Andy shook his head, full of new importance and superior knowledge. ‘You watch. Townsville will be an important Allied base. It’ll have to be defended at all cost.’
    ‘My grandfather’s not so sure. He says Curtin and the politicians abandoned Rabaul. They didn’t evacuate anyone or reinforce the soliders.’
    ‘But Townsville’s different and the Yanks are here now.’
    ‘I guess.’ His confidence was comforting.
    At the top of Denham Street they crested the hill and their suburb lay below them, nestled at the foot of Castle Hill and fringed by the still waters of Cleveland Bay. Offshore, the dark silhouette of Magnetic Island floated in the purple dusk, but the beauty and serenity of the view was marred by three huge steel landing barges moored in the bay, and rolls of ugly barbed wire strung along the beachfront.
    Always, everywhere were reminders of the war.
    They went down the hill and the delicate scent of frangipani drifted from shadowy gardens. The front verandahs of the houses were dark and secretive – everyone had obeyed the council’s instructions to remove their verandah light bulbs – but Kitty was sure she could feel curious eyes watching them as they walked, still holding hands.
    At her front gate, Andy gripped her hand more tightly. ‘Are your grandparents home tonight?’
    She shook her head. ‘Grandfather has a churchwardens’ meeting and Grandma’s there to help with serving supper.’
    As she said this, she saw a mysterious tilt to Andy’s smile and she wondered if she’d been foolish to be quite so forthcoming. ‘But I suppose they
might
finish early. They
could
be home any minute.’
    She pulled her hand from Andy’s, pushed the squeaky front gate open and hurried through, but before she could close it, he followed her. He’d taken his hat off and his blue eyes flashed with a determined brightness that was just a little alarming.
    At the bottom of her front steps Kitty stopped with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. ‘What time does your train leave in the morning?’
    ‘Half past ten.’
    Another goodbye. ‘I – I’ll make sure I’m there.’
    Andy looped the strap of his hat over the stair post and then, without warning, gripped her elbows and mounted the first step, drawing her to him. ‘Just in case you can’t make it tomorrow morning, why don’t we say goodbye now?’
    ‘Well, all right, but I promise I’ll be there.’
    He climbed two more steps, pulling Kitty with him. ‘I want to say goodbye properly, Kit.’
    Her insides jumped, partly with alarm, partly with excitement. With grandparents as strict as hers, her experience of kissing boys was sadly limited. There’d been one or two boys who’d stolen kisses at dances, but they’d been rather furtive and not exactly passionate. Andy had only kissed her once before and that had been years ago when a group