OLIVE: Aaahhh.

She flings herself into ROO’s arms and they embrace.

NANCY: Well! [As BARNEY advances on her] Up there, Cazaly—

They too embrace, in a half-mock, half-smouldering union, any animosity forgotten in the emotion of the moment. BUBBA looks at the two couples in a physically rapt world of their own, and collects her schoolbooks from the table in happy embarrassment.

BUBBA: I—uh—I’ll go home and get my tea. Might pop in a little later?

She waits for a reply, but none is forthcoming, and she slips out through the French windows. Nobody is aware of her going. The accord within the room is eventually broken by OLIVE.

OLIVE: Oh, God. [Touching ROO’s cheek] When you weren’t down at the pub, I thought you might’ve had an accident.

BARNEY: [still nuzzling NANCY] Typical. Get yourself blown up or shot at, doesn’t turn a hair. All that worries her is that you’ll get bowled over by a tram in Swanston Street.

A general laugh and the mood quickens to one of eager excitement.

OLIVE: We ought to start to plan things—when is it you’re gettin’ out?

ROO: Friday week. We cock ourselves up there that mornin’ for the medical, and ’less we have some trouble—Barney’s feet—they check us out by the end of the day.

OLIVE: Righto then, that’s it. [Immediately busy] Friday week it is. [To NANCY] We have to organise, let people know.

ROO: [straight-faced] Hey now—wait a sec. Barn and me are the ones that’s gettin’ out. Reckon we should have the say-so—

OLIVE: [hastily] Of course, I wasn’t—you’re the ones. Anythin’ you fancy. You just tell us.

She and NANCY wait in expectant obedience as ROO and BARNEY take up a dominant position, side by side, before the fireplace. ROO outlines his plans on a definitely masterful note, with verifying nods and checks to BARNEY. A routine, with both of them completely ignoring the girls.

ROO: We’ll start off first with what? A little family party here, just us?

BARNEY: To celebrate our gettin’ out—yeh. After that, a big one at the Morrises’?

ROO: The Victory shindig that they promised us—

OLIVE: [accusingly, to NANCY] You told them?

NANCY: Didn’t—

ROO: [pressing on] Then I reckon that the four of us should take a holiday?

BARNEY: Somewhere in the country?

ROO: Like that place at Selby? With them roarin’ wood fires—

BARNEY: —and the nice long country walks—

BOTH: Terrific!

OLIVE: Bubba—it was Bubba.

She runs to the French windows, and moves onto the back verandah to call into the gathering darkness:

Little tinker. Why didn’t you say you were goin’ to let them know? We could have given you a whole lot more to tell them—

EMMA: [a nettled voice in reply] ’S enough now. What d’you think you’re up to? Yellin’ out like that?