"He's a friend of Jackie's," the blonde responded, and Annie scoffed as if to say: of course he is. Ginny looked up at her mother, her eyes filled with stars and hope and shielded by rose-tinted glasses in favour of the Americans and the glamour of it all. She gushed, "I think he might carry a torch for me, mum, but he's stoic. I don't think he'd tell me even if he did."
Her mother lofted a brow. "And how old is this man?"
"Twenty-one."
"Parents?"
"I don't know about his mother," she admitted earnestly, "He's never mentioned, but his father's a veteran from the First World War."
"Has he been checked for syphilis?"
Her cheeks reddened profusely with the classing blush that she hadn't donned for a while. "Mother!" she chided, glancing around to see if anyone had heard, as they were still stood on the front porch.
When her daughter tried to duck past to get inside, Annie reached down and grabbed her daughter's wrist, hissing through gritted teeth, "Virginia, how on Earth are you going to explain this to your father?"
"It would be nice to get to know an American soldier," Ginny defended, sifting through the numerous arguments she'd already formed days prior for when the dispute actually occurred, "We're fighting with them, not against them. He needs to stop treating them like they're the enemy. Bill's going to be sent away soon, and I said he could do with a hot meal before he goes. I'll cook, if you like, I don't even mind. Or, I can just ask him to go back to the MCG —"
"No, Ginny," her mother sighed in defeat, letting go of her daughter's arm, "There's not much we can do now, is there? He's already inside, so we might as well. We'll show him how the Aussies do it, shall we?"
"Oh mama, thank you," Ginny gushed in a sudden change of attitude, cracking a silver-screen kind of smile and hugging her mother tightly around the waist for a moment or so. Over the moon, she slipped past and into the house, her mother following shortly in tandem with another roll of her eyes.
Luckily, when they entered the living room, there was a lack of Sam Gloyne; only Hoosier, who was cradling Otto like one would a baby. He cooed at the sheltie, too, and laughed when it went to lick his face. When he looked up, he saw Ginny, and smiled. "I looked after a dog, y'know, on Guadalcanal," he announced, "It was only for a couple of days, and he didn't have a name or nothin', but he looked awful like your Otto. There was this one night when the Japs lit up the sky like the Fourth of July, and that little scamp came running into our foxhole, scared out of its mind. I scooped him up and held him 'til it was all over."
"Well, our Otto's taken very kindly to you," Annie speculated, gliding towards the kitchen to remove her yellow washing-up gloves and put them on the side, "Forget man's best friend — Marine's best friend!"
"He takes very kindly to anyone who gives him a shred of attention," Ginny interjected, almost challenging her mother, who ignored her comment. She scratched gently beneath Otto's chin and played with him endearingly, speaking in a baby voice. Hoosier watched her, his eyes focussing closely on her smile. After a moment, she looked up at him and asked those words that watered flowers: "Want Coffee?"
Hoosier chuckled. "Always."
Herself and Bill stayed based down in the living room that evening, where Ginny sat in her father's cushy armchair and the American man sat opposite her, sipping his coffee and relishing in the bitter taste of the brew and the sight of the laughing blonde which would haunt him for months after his departure from Melbourne. They talked about a medley of different things, mainly Bill recalling various stories from Guadalcanal about him his buddies, some that she'd heard before, and some that she hadn't.
Chapter Eleven: MARINE'S BEST FRIEND
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