Sugar Town

by Robert Nicholls

“I also think, in the spirit of friendship, Ruthie, that I have to tell you this! Before Les could be taken into custody, he was murdered! Beaten to death, the rumour was! I’m sorry. I know it’s brutal and ugly to talk about. But the very dangerous and unstable man who did that . . . was Isak Nucifora!”

  Now I found myself swallowing hard. I’d told Amalthea that I saw no hope of any new information from Johnathon. But perhaps I’d been wrong!

  “Why isn’t he in prison then?”

  “He’s not in prison because, in a back-handed kind of way, he did the law a favour, I guess. Sometimes, in little towns like ours, local justice . . . just seems more convenient! So he was never prosecuted! And there’s something else, Ruthie.”

  He stopped talking, his eyes locked on mine. And for the first time, I thought I saw a little emptiness there; a place where something else – I couldn’t tell whether it was something better or worse – had once been.

  “Nobody else knows this,” he said, closing my hand between the two of his. His hand was soft and warm, a little damp, despite the hospital’s air-conditioning.

  “Nobody else knows this but, before your father left on his overseas mission, he asked me to watch over his kids. To be a sort of . . . godfather to you, I guess . . . for want of a better word. He was a great man, your father . . . IS a great man . . . and I, of course, was honoured to take on the role. I know I’ve never made a fuss or been public about it; mostly because I respect Bridie’s need for dignity and independence. But I want you to know that I’ve always made sure things worked out for you three. And I’m going to keep doing that. Even now, I can tell you that I have started plans to get you re-housed – something, bigger, nicer, newer.”

  He suddenly grimaced and, letting go of my hand, tried to adjust his outthrust leg.

  “I don’t think I’ve gotten into this chair properly, Ruthie!” He laughed uncomfortably. “There’s a cushion here, just under the edge. I wonder . . . if I hoist myself up a bit, could you pull it a few centimetres forward for me?”

  So I found myself reaching around under his cast, under his thigh, finding a small cushion and needing to get both hands on it to tug it free of his butt. I’d gone down on one knee and when I looked up to ask if it was okay, he sighed contentedly.

  “That’s fine, Ruthie. Thanks.” Then he brushed a finger very fleetingly against my cheek. “Beauty runs in your family, doesn’t it Ruth. Your father would be very proud.”

  I stood up, flushed with embarrassment, and backed toward the door.

  “I’d better get going.”

  “Yes, you should!” he laughed. “I haven’t got time to be sitting around gas-bagging all day, after all. Busy, busy, busy!” Then he turned serious. “But think about what I’ve told you, Ruth. I know it’s hard but . . . there’re true friends and there’re false friends, mate. You know? The butcher, the baker and so-on and so-forth. Your true friends in Sugar Town . . . we just want what’s best for you. And all we ask in return is that you want what’s best for Sugar Town. That’s not much to ask, is it?”

  * * *

  Johnathon backs his chair to the door of the room and leans out to watch her go. She’s tall, slender, boyish. The ponytail and the ever-present backpack make her seem even younger than she is. But something in the way she held his eyes when they spoke, some aura of defiance, stirs him.

  The same qualities your sister once had, he thinks. And your mother. And look where it got them.

  Johnathon wonders if he’s been too subtle in warning her off. But if the fire wasn’t enough, and the planted suspicions weren’t enough, what else can he do? Whatever it is, it must be circumspect – clear but not too direct – like the steps he’s already had enacted to discourage Bessie Crampton from lingering in Sugar Town.

  And old Isak is another complication. He’d thought, as everyone else had, that the old man had done them all a favour and taken himself off to die. But then, while patrolling the halls in his wheelchair, he’s heard the first outcry of Asael McFarlane’s story. The old geezer is still in circulation! Alive and mobile . . . and armed! Unbalanced too, of course! Perhaps, Johnathon thinks as Ruthie disappears from his sight, there could be a more direct remedy for someone like Isak.

  * * *

  So that’s what I had to think about as I sat at the old table in the yard, waiting for Dale Sutton. Once out from under the blanket of Johnathon’s immediate charm, I felt just a tad weird about the hand-holding thing and getting me to reach under his butt; touching my cheek and pretending that I might be as attractive as Bridie. But then, he was only three days out from a near-death experience in the Moth! And I was proud of him for seeing me as someone he could finally tell the truth to! And the thing about being close to the Reverend did ring true. Especially, considering the cryptic references in the Reverend’s sermon! So on the whole, I was feeling pretty warm about him.

  * * *

  The house was basically rubble. The concrete stumps still stood and spars of blackened timber poked up here and there. Sheets of roofing iron lay scattered about the yard where the volunteers had thrown them during the final damping down. I could easily have stepped under Sergeant Morrow’s crime scene tape and had a look for mementoes, but I didn’t. As far as I could see, it was all gone and, like Bridie, I was totally fine with that.

  I was there for close to half an hour before Dale came lumbering along the footpath. He was so big – it wasn’t until you recognised the school uniform that you realised he wasn’t a man.

  “Dale, Dale, DALE!” I scolded as he came into the yard. “Skipping out on school again? How’re you ever going to better yourself?”

  I’d had to ring his mother to get his mobile number. We’d had a nice chat, she and I. She’d asked after Bridie and tsk-tsked about the fire and I’d deliberately kept the conversation as light and pleasant as possible.

  “Of course you’re not at school today, dear. So much to do, I’m sure. And tell me, dear. This space object! It was all the talk at the CWA meeting last night. Some extraordinary connection with your brother, they say! Has he . . . is it . . . terribly imposing?” She was a nice lady. Not her fault her boys were drongos.

  “Whaddya want?” Dale demanded. “Your text said you had something for me.”

  “Yeah, I do have something. How’re your ears, by the way? No ringing going on in there? Still firmly attached, are they? I notice your black eyes are healing up nicely!”

  He looked at me expressionlessly for a few seconds then turned his big, bearish self around and headed back toward the street.

  “Your knife!” I called after him. “I have your knife!” He turned and looked, waiting. I knew I had him. “Or should I say Mister Williams’ knife? Not nice to steal from your employers, Big Guy! You could lose your precious apprenticeship . . . as a butcher!”

  Expressionless was Dale’s default setting and that’s the way he stayed.

  “Are you with me? Are you in there? The knife you used on Rosemary? Amalthea’s goat? Last night? The butcher’s knife you probably stole from Mister Williams? The one Dumb-ass Darryl brought to the house the other day to use on Garlic? You left it on the roadside! Dumb is as dumb does, that’s what I always say, Dale.”

  He made a little mouth and blew a breath of air out, as though shooing a fly, then ambled back toward me. He sat at the table opposite and folded his big arms on it. If he was hoping to intimidate me, I wanted him to know it wasn’t going to work and I stared him right in the eye. That wasn’t something I’d done often with Dale and I was expecting to see one of those little empty spaces where cruelty lives – or maybe even a hint of shame. But I didn’t. There actually was something a little soft and wounded-looking in there.

  “Why’re you like this?” he asked; hardly the question I expected.

  “Like what? Pissed off? Disgusted?” I threw an exaggerated look at the ruins of the house. “Geez, I dunno Dale! Why’re you as dumb as a duck?”

  He sighed. “So you got the knif
e. It was stupid, what we did yesterday, and I’m sorry. But yeah. I borrowed it. I was gonna take it back but I lost it. Do what you want with it.”

  “You lost it, did you? On the roadside after catching a trusting little animal and cutting its hamstrings? Is that when you lost it, big brave Dale? Hey, why don’t you to tell me how it felt, crippling that harmless little animal! Did it make you feel like a big man? And maybe you could really stretch yourself and tell me why! Or hey! Why not go for broke and try telling me what you had to do with this!” I gestured at the charred ruin of the house. He didn’t seem to be following me.

  “I always tried to be nice to you,” he said. “There was a time I even thought I liked you. But I can see now you’re just way too smart for the likes o’ me. So how ‘bout we agree not to bother each other anymore.”

  And he got up to go! It was all I could do to keep from throwing myself on his back and boxing his ears again!

  “Come on, Dale! What sort of chicken-shit does stuff like that and won’t own up to it?” He stopped, stared at me, rapped the table with his knuckles; strangely calm.

  “Ruth, I have no idea what you’re talking about. We came around for the dead goat, sure. We were pissed and stupid. But I don’t know anything about hamstringing animals. And I sure as hell don’t know anything about this!” He flicked a gesture at the house. “So you do what you want with the knife, little girl. And good luck to you.”

  He pushed the bench in deliberately, carefully, ready to walk. This hadn’t gone the way I pictured it at all.

  “Mind you,” he said before leaving, “if I was you and I was wondering why my house got burned down, I’d start by scratching around amongst the ashes for a mirror.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Why ask me? I’m as dumb as a duck! Remember?”

  Half-way out of the yard, he stopped and looked back. “You sure it’s the same knife?”

  “Oh yeah! I’m sure alright!”

  He cast a long, thoughtful look at the ruin. “You stayin’ at the goat lady’s place?”

  “Yeah. And we’ve got guns. And we’re all mad as hell!”

  He twitched a little smile at me then; quite a nice smile, actually. “No argument from me on that score!”

  When he was gone, I sat for a long while, looking across the ruins out to the street. At least two new things were annoying me. One was that, against all my better judgement, I actually believed the big, dumb gonzo! I suppose I just couldn’t imagine anyone being low enough to do what had been done to Rosemary and not be shame-faced when challenged over it. A second thing was the suggestion that I look in a mirror for the trouble-maker. Like I was the problem here!

  And a third thing that came back to me was his, ‘I even thought I liked you’ crack! What was that about? I mean, aside from bumping into me and poking me and calling me names, what had he ever done to show that he liked me? Even that sloppy kiss on the back of the Ute in the marshalling grounds was sheer provocation! Wasn’t it?

  * * *

  I checked the time on my phone. Only 10:15. It seemed like the day should be nearly finished. But then, I’d been up since shortly after three. I thought of going around to Kevin’s for coffee and a bread roll but knew I should get back to Asael and Bridie. Taking photos of the ruins – a couple from the yard and a couple more from the street – was almost an afterthought.

  When I passed through reception at the hospital, Matron was still there, and her long watch period was definitely starting to wear on her. She summoned me with a tired gesture and told me that a ‘deputation of do-gooders’ – Frieda Hoggitt and some of her acolytes – had been and gone. The dual message being that, firstly, she was not totally sold on Bridie having ‘outside’ visitors just yet at all and, secondly, that even the ‘insiders’ – the family – needed to make themselves scarce. Bridie was overdue for some ‘quiet time’. Which was fine by me. I promised her that I would stay just long enough to collect Asael and I headed off down the hall. My intention was to step softly and quickly past Johnathon’s room but I couldn’t resist pausing to see if he’d actually been allowed to go home.

  He was back on the bed, the wheelchair pushed into a corner. Obviously today wasn’t to be his day. I sped up but he’d already spied me and called out.

  “Hey! How did you go? Come tell me the news!”

  I hesitated, not really wanting to go in. “Not much news, I’m afraid. Everything’s gone.”

  “Oh-waa! Sorry to hear that! Did you take pictures? Come and show me! I’m going stir-crazy here. Or are you frightened people will start to talk?”

  “Well. I guess that’d still beat having them light matches.”

  “What? Oh hey now! You don’t want to be jumping to unhealthy conclusions, Ruthie! Accidents can happen, you know? The world is full of stray sparks!”

  I nodded. Right at that moment, I was thinking, only one person in Sugar Town would have better reason than me to jump to unhealthy conclusions – and that person would be my sister.

  “That’s just how it is!” Johnathon went on. “Sometimes you’re the pigeon, sometimes you’re the statue. That’s what my old man used to tell me. Luck of the draw. Nothing personal! None of it means anything!” It sounded surprisingly like Philippa’s dying mantra: Nothing matters, everything counts.

  “No? Well, nothing against your ‘old man’, Johnathon, but I’m not sure if I agree with him! Sometimes it seems very personal”

  He smiled sympathetically. “Yes, yes. Of course.” Then he winked and nodded. “Tell you the truth, Ruthie, I never agreed with him either. You know why? Because I learned long ago that I can do something about what happens. I never let myself be the statue. Never! I feel myself seizing up, I fly out and shit on something.”

  I guess sometimes, when you’re a kid, the effort to seem worldly-wise and sophisticated can make you just unquestioningly accept crazy stuff. But I was so stunned by the sudden assertiveness in Johnathon’s voice and the narrow focus in his eyes that I just nodded blankly.

  “One of the things I learned growing up, Ruthie . . . bad stuff is out there in the world! Sometimes you run into it by accident. But sometimes bad people bring it directly to your door! And what are your choices then, eh? Maybe you can shrug it off, like your sister’s been able to. Maybe you can get strong, like I’ve been able to! Or maybe you can just get with strong people and hope trouble doesn’t notice you. You know what I mean? But don’t ever be a statue, Ruthie. Whatever else you do!”

  “Count on me!” I said, as if I understood what he was talking about.

  Dumb, I know. But once again, in a perverse kind of way, I was very flattered. This was like, a strong person, talking to someone who he thought might also be capable of being strong! At the same time, though, I was thinking of Bridie, whose door had been knocked on by some very bad people! And maybe she’d been able to ‘shrug it off’. But as for me, I was beginning to think, a little longingly, that life was probably much less complicated for statues.

  “Hey!” chirped Johnathon, changing the topic and the tone. “You want a job?”

  “What? A job?” That made me laugh, almost for the first time that day. “I am going back to school, you know! And I’m way too young to be a barmaid. What kind of job?”

  “Oh I don’t know! Something after school, I was thinking. Only for a few weeks, ‘til I get this cast off! Maybe come in and straighten up the flat, that kind of thing! I mean, I could get someone else on staff to do it but I thought maybe you could use the spare cash.”

  Again, I hesitated. “It’d keep you out of trouble,” he said. “And give us a chance to get to know each other – as employee and employer, of course!” His wink was hard to decipher. “Could work into something more permanent, you never know!”

  “Well, thank you! Thank you for the offer! I’ll . . . I’ll talk to Bridie about it.”

  * * *

  Asael was lying on the bed beside Bridie, both of them half aslee
p. She woke when I came in and suggested that I take him back to Kevin’s or Amalthea’s so we could all get some sleep. She and Matron, it seemed, had the same idea and it was obviously not the time to be broaching the subject of me working for Johnathon Cranna.

  I hauled Asael back down the corridor, weighing my options of where to go. The one thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want to walk the streets yet again. Not that any place was far but a walk meant a barrage of inquiries and sympathy from all sides and I just didn’t feel like facing it. That’s why I was glad when I saw Hoggs, leaning on his car, smoking a cigarette in the parking lot.

  “Hey Hoggs! Whatchu doin’ outta bed? I thought daylight didn’t agree with vampires?”

  “Yeah, very funny. You wanna lift?”

  The secret to getting on with Franz Hoggitt was to accept him for what he was – one of those very little ‘successes’ that unambitious people can become. He was the same age as Dale Sutton, whose crowd he hung out with, but had already been a school drop-out, much to Frieda’s and the mayor’s disgust, for nearly a year. So he had freedom, which heaps of kids envied him for. He also had money (from his work at Kevin’s bakery) and a car. If you didn’t look too closely, his life looked pretty sweet. When you did look closely, you could see that he’d still be doing the same thing – leaning on cars, smoking, trying to pick up teenaged girls – in twenty years time.

  Nonetheless, we had a pretty good relationship going, from all the time we both spent at Kevin’s – a big brother/little sister-ish kind of thing. And I had a whole new respect for his mum after her help at the bakery and coming to visit Bridie and all. So even without Asael as a chaperone, I’d have had no problems grabbing a lift with Hoggs.

  “Don’t tell me! You were hoping to pick up a stray invalid, but you’ll make do with us?”

  “Jus’ for that, you can ride in the back. Come on, As’! Us men’ll ride shotgun up front, eh? Whaddya reckon?”

  We got all the way through town, Asael nattering away about this and that – mostly about Queenie – before Hoggs suddenly pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to me. Actually, he only half turned to me. Like he wanted to talk but he didn’t want to have to look at me.