by C J Brown
CHAPTER 3
October 1969
Tess Newell ran along Beach Road, scattering stray cats and apologising to the many people who got hit with her wildly swinging schoolbag that, through sheer weight of books, was transformed into a dangerous weapon. She swung open the Post Office door and let it slam behind her. The bell rang loudly and the Open sign bounced, turned 180 degrees and now showed Closed.
“Whoa, slow down!” called the postmaster walking from behind the counter and over to the door to rearrange the sign. “What’s the big hurry? And, while we’re at it, Good afternoon.”
“Oh hi, Dad. I’m late and I promised Fudge I’d give him a hand this afternoon.”
“What about your homework? You have that exam on Friday. You said yourself if you did well in this one you had a good chance of being dux of the graduating class.”
“I have, I did. I studied all afternoon. Our Maths teacher went home sick and we had free time.”
“And of course helping that dropout fix old cars is going to ensure good grades and a place at university isn’t it? Doesn’t it mean anything to you, Theresa? You have the chance to be one of the few students from Clowder Bay to go to university in the city. The whole world will be at your feet. You could meet a medical student and marry a doctor or maybe even a lawyer. You have such potential.”
Tess wished she had sneaked in through the back door and upstairs to their flat above the post office. Too bad she had left her key at home that morning. She made a mental note to get a spare one cut and to hide it somewhere out the back where her father would never find it. Maybe in the peg basket.
Tess didn't give Albert Newell time to object further. She hurried upstairs, changed into jeans, t-shirt and sandshoes before running back downstairs.
"Don’t worry, Dad. I'll be home in time to make dinner."
"Well,” he grumbled, “since you're going that way you might as well check if there's any mail for him.”
Tess went behind the counter and looked at the pigeon-holed wall that separated the public area from the sorting room. She took a handful of envelopes from the compartment labelled M.
Matthews, Malvin… there, Mr C J McFudgen!
The envelope was imprinted with the Australian Coat of Arms. Now why would the government be writing to Fudge? Maybe he forgot to pay some tax. He doesn't really pay a lot of attention to the finances of the business that his father left him. Maybe I should help him more with the money side of things instead of getting involved with what's going on under the bonnet.
Folding the letter and pushing it into the hip pocket of her jeans, Tess hurried from the post office, drew in a delicious, deep breath as she passed the fish and chip shop next door and ran north along the road towards the Clowder Bay Garage and Workshop.
Timothy Reynolds was in the process of shutting down the fuel pumps for the day when Tess reached the garage. He gave a wide smile and smoothed back his thick, blonde hair.
“Hi, Tess.”
Tess looked at the exceptionally tall service station attendant and wondered again why he wasn’t playing basketball with the national team. “Hi, Shorty. Fudge in?” She didn’t have to ask, of course. She knew he would be where he always was.
“Yep, in the workshop. Where else?” Despite his size, Shorty was one of the shyest boys Tess knew and it seemed to her that he always wanted to say more than he did. But she couldn’t for the life of her think what it might be.
“Well, I’d better get back to work, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Shorty watched Tess disappear quickly around the side of the building.
When Tess puffed her way into the big shed beside the service station, Charlie McFudgen was just a pair of legs protruding from beneath his brand new 1969 HB Torana. A cat that had laid temporary claim to the workshop sat curled up on the car roof. The car’s radio was blasting at full volume. The Rolling Stones’ You Can’t Always Get What You Want was causing the small vehicle to vibrate to the music.
“Just about finished swapping over the muffler,” Fudge shouted as he recognised the legs that appeared at the doorway. “Holdens are good, but way too quiet!”
“Fudge, you really have to make sure you pay your bills or you’ll end up in a lot of trouble.” Tess’s best impression of a cranky parent really wasn’t that impressive at all.
She heard a laugh come from beneath the dusty Holden utility. “Okay, Mum?” he joked.
“It’s not funny. Now the government is after you. What’ll happen if you lose this business and go to jail?”
“Well for one thing,” he slid himself out from his hiding place, smiling broadly through a handsome, oil-smeared face, “I won’t have to listen to your twenty-four-hour-a-day nagging.”
He stood to his full height just as Tess launched herself off the ground into his arms. “I’ve missed you today.” She combed her fingers through his copper curls, brushing off imaginary fluff. “I can’t stay long. Dad’s in a bad mood and I have to cook him a good dinner to cheer him up. I’ll save you some if you like and bring it over tomorrow after school.”
“Oh don’t worry about me,” he said creasing his forehead, “I’ll eat scraps again, I don’t mind.”
Tess smiled. She knew Fudge was a better cook than she was and never skipped a meal.
“Now what’s this about me going to jail?”
Tess reached into her back pocket and retrieved the important-looking letter.
“Oh, a letter from the government. The Prime Minister probably wants me to hot up his limo.”
Fudge walked over to the sink and washed his greasy hands. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about, Miss Tess Noodle.” Tess smiled. Three years earlier when, in particularly awkward circumstances, they had first met on the beach, the popular Charles “Fudge” McFudgen, with his ears full of sand and sea water, had mistakenly thought, or maybe just pretended, that Tess had introduced herself as Tess Noodle.
“Newell,” she corrected, handing him the envelope, “If you can’t even say your girlfriend’s name properly what hope have you of running a business.”
Tess reached into the car and turned down the radio as Fudge tore open the envelope, extracted the letter and read it aloud. As he proceeded his voice slowly lost all traces of humour and Tess felt sick.
