They carry their lunchboxes
swinging by their sides
and their heavy boots tramp down Main Street.
Everyone keeps their head bowed
as if they’re scared they’ll see the killer
in the eyes of a neighbour.
The O’Connor house has a ‘For Sale’ sign out front
and we’re all doing our best not to notice it.
I’ve taken to sitting in the Sunset Café,
stirring my tea slowly,
looking for solace
somewhere between the Bible
and Banjo Paterson.
Unless Pete Grainger finds the guilty soon
I fear the angry silence will snap,
with a horde of miners looking for retribution.
Mrs Kain is quiet as she stands behind the counter
wiping the perfectly clean bench top.
Her eyes drift to the door
and it hurts me to realise
she waits to see Colleen walk through the entrance,
smiling and ordering a milkshake.
Mr Carter
Eddie Holding buys a bottle of milk
and walks across to my corner booth,
looking at my books on the table.
‘Sit down, young fellow.
You’re making me nervous.’
He shakes his head
and glances to see if Mrs Kain is listening.
‘Thanks for what you wrote, Mr Carter.
About Colleen.
It needed to be said.’
He shuffles from foot to foot,
eager to leave.
‘Why, thank you, Eddie.
Can I buy you a milkshake?
Please, take the weight off.’
I gesture to the booth
and I’m about to call to Mrs Kain
when Eddie interrupts.
‘No, Sir.’
He holds up the bottle.
‘Dad will need this when he gets home.’
He walks to the door, stops and comes back,
‘I wasn’t saying it for a reason, Mr Carter.
So you’d think better of me.
It was good someone wrote those things
about Colleen.
All everyone says is how pretty she was.
Not everything else.’
Eddie walks down Main Street
and I can’t help but smile.
Praise be!
A Holding, of all people,
makes me proud to live in this town.
I open the notebook
with my list that fills two pages
and draw a line through Eddie’s name.
Sally
Eddie and I share our sandwiches
and ignore everyone sniggering
and talking about us.
After what we did on Jaspers Hill
I’ve decided – no more hiding,
no more worrying what this town thinks.
We might die tomorrow.
I want to be with Eddie,
our legs touching on the seat.
God can’t condemn something that feels so right.
I’ve watched my school friends
arguing over who was Colleen’s best friend,
each trying to claim some memory.
And I’ve heard the rumours about Colleen
and a secret boyfriend,
meetings at the river.
It made my head swirl
because it’s not true.
It’s just inventions by people
scared to admit there’s a killer in town.
Colleen didn’t have a boyfriend.
She had a stalker.
Eddie
I’ve started going out after sunset,
wandering the town
between Main Street,
where Mr Butcher lives,
and Sally’s place.
I keep my eyes and ears open,
staying away from the light,
making sure I’ll see him first.
Sometimes I hide in the bushes near the park
and sit for ages,
waiting,
expecting he’ll walk by,
so I can follow him
and expose him.
If Sergeant Grainger doesn’t find the killer,
we’ll all go on living with this
and I’ll spend my whole life
watching Mr Butcher,
suspecting,
but never knowing.
Sergeant Grainger
My phone calls found only two families
related to Butcher.
One of them was a cousin
who told me that Butcher’s mum died years ago
and they never see him any more.
To quote,
‘He lives in some God-forsaken dump
and doesn’t come into the city.’
I told the plonker he was wrong on both counts
and hung up.
There’s a chap who stares at me
in my bathroom mirror
with bags under his eyes,
lines across his forehead,
hair getting thin on top.
He looks a hell of a lot like me,
only a fair bit older.
Mr Butcher leaves for school at eight.
Today, he’ll be late.
Sergeant Grainger
Butcher keeps looking downstairs
as we stand in his flat.
He doesn’t offer me a seat.
‘I was sorry to hear about your mother.’
He almost drops his hat,
nervously fiddling with the brim.
A group of school children
call to each other on the footpath below.
‘What did that Holding boy tell you?
I will not be intimidated.
That boy should be charged for threatening me.’
He steps forward, raising his voice,
‘So what if I have someone in the city?
If a man has to pay for a touch of female company.
It’s no one’s business.’
I had a shower this morning,
but may need another
after I’ve finished with this grubby man.
‘You were rushing for the train on Friday.’
His eyes dart to the street below
as if the town can hear what I’ve said.
‘Not especially.’
The longer I keep silent,
the more he’ll talk.
‘Ernie Kain burnt my grill.
You know how Mrs Kain never shuts up,
well, they both forgot the food.
Kain insisted on cooking me a new dinner.
By the time I finished,
I had to run for the train.’
He puts his hat on
and picks up his bag.
‘That Holding boy had no right.
No right whatsoever to follow me.’
Stepping in front of him, I say,
‘When this is over.
I expect you’ll leave town.
One way or the other.’
I don’t want him teaching our children.
‘How dare you . . .’
I move aside,
‘Eddie isn’t the only one watching you.
Understand?’
He looks like he does.
Larry
Sergeant Grainger waits in the park
near the school, watching.
He calls me over
before I jump the fence.
He nods for me to sit beside him.
‘I’ll be late for school, Sarge.’
He scoffs and says,
‘I’ll give you a note for Butcher, if you like.’
We both listen to the kids playing red rover.
‘You got drunk on Friday, Larry.’
He’s not telling me anything.
‘So did half the town, Sarge.’
He flicks at a speck of dust on his trousers,
fingering the stiff crease.
‘You and Eddie have been hunting before.
Right?’
What’s he getting at?
‘Sure. Rabbits for food.
No law against that is there?’
He turns to face me
and stares until I can’t look him in the eye.
‘So you’ve seen a dead animal, Larry?’
‘Who hasn’t?’ I shrug.
He waits a long time before speaking.
‘Let me tell you this.
It’s not the same as a human.
A young girl.
Someone who laughed
and maybe sang when they were alone,
sure no one could hear.
Or walked down Main Street
thinking of what she might do
when she got home.
You know, listen to the radio
or read a book.
Maybe sit in the sun
and feel its warmth.’
My hands are shaking
as I remember Colleen in the library
and what I used to imagine.
Sergeant Grainger stands
and looks across at the school.
‘When you’ve seen that, Larry.
It stays with you for ever.’
SIX
Cowards
Sergeant Grainger
I drop by The Guardian office
on my way home.
Mr Carter offers me tea
and ginger nut biscuits.
We sit in the old lounge chairs
at the front of the shop,
watching the miners walk past.
‘Those men won’t wait much longer,’ I say.
He closes the door,
shutting out the noise of the printing press
in the back room.
‘I’ve made a list, Mr Carter.
In five days, I haven’t got very far.’
I place my notebook on the coffee table,
open at the names.
Mr Butcher.
Albert Holding.
The Johnston brothers.
Larry Holding.
Other teenage boys?
He reads the names and smiles.
‘I’ve made my own list, Pete.’
He taps the notebook in his shirt pocket.
‘You know,
Eddie Holding came up to me
at the Sunset Café yesterday
and thanked me
for writing Colleen’s obituary.
As he walked out,
I had a hunch
that it’s not a young bloke.
It’s a man.
You’re looking for a man, Pete.
Not much of one, I admit.
But it’s not a boy.’
I sip my tea,
wishing for something stronger.
‘Albert Holding says I’m looking for a coward.’
Mr Carter heaps a spoon with sugar
and watches it slide into his tea.
He takes a long time to answer.
‘Albert’s no fool.
He could be right.’
We sit in silence
watching the sun set
and the streetlights flicker on.
‘How many cowards do we have in town, Pete?’
That’s easy to answer.
‘One.
One too many.’
Sergeant Grainger
An icy breeze blows down from the hills.
The pub is deserted,
like it’s been all week.
Albert Holding sits alone.
I step inside and feel the warmth of the fire.
When I was a young lair
the front bar and me were best mates.
Albert’s eating hot chips,
adding extra salt from the shaker.
He sees me enter and nods.
I order a beer and offer Albert a refill.
‘Sure. A copper buying beers.
I wouldn’t knock that back.’
There’s no reason to tip-toe around him.
‘I reckon you’re right, Albert.
A coward.
That’s who I’m looking for.’
He takes another chip
and swallows it in one bite.
‘Look, Sarge.
It ain’t Larry.
If a son of mine did that,
well . . .
you wouldn’t need to lock him away.
He’d be dead.’
It’s obvious he doesn’t know about Eddie
following Butcher into the city.
If I told him that,
he’d flatten Butcher with one punch
and then do the same to his son
for nicking off.
I’ll keep my silence, for now.
‘You don’t need to go picking on my boy.
Open your eyes.’
He wipes the salt from his mouth
with the back of his sleeve.
‘Cowards don’t always hide.
Sometimes, they’re so gutless
they need to stand out.
You know what I mean?’
Holding looks at me,
to make sure I understand.
I scull my beer,
say goodbye
and step into the cutting wind
that almost blows my hat down lonely Main Street.
The cryptic bastard is playing me for a fool.
Larry
Mates at school called my dad a chicken
for refusing to go down the mine
and earn a real wage.
All he did in the war was drive trucks.
While they talked about their dads
lost in the jungle somewhere,
or captured by the Japs,
me and Eddie kept quiet
about Dad on some highway up north.
Since the funeral
Dad’s the only one who stops at the bar.
The other men buy a bottle or two,
and take them home in a brown paper bag,
to be with their family.
Not Dad.
He sits at the bar,
like nothing’s happened,
like nothing’s changed.
Everyone’s saying what a cold bastard he is.
I’m sitting opposite the pub,
smoking a fag,
waiting to walk home with him.
When he comes out he sees the durry.
‘Beer and smokes.
They’ll both kill ya, son.’
He’s not the cheeriest bloke in town.
‘Better than dying of boredom, Dad.’
Geez, I almost got a laugh out of him then.
‘No one at the pub again tonight?’
He takes his hat off
and bends the brim back into shape,
pulling it low over his eyes.
He says,
‘All that beer going to waste.
Someone’s gotta keep Johnno company.’
I say,
‘I reckon it takes a lot of guts
to do something no one else will do.’
Dad stops and tries to get my meaning.
‘You saying your dad’s got guts, son?’
‘Sure. Why not.’
He stops and shakes his head,
‘Do me a favour, Larry.
Head on home and tell your mum
I’ll be a little late, okay?’
He starts walking back to the pub
even though it’s closing time.
Mum will be as mad as hell.
And me?
I’ll be an old man myself
before I understand one thing about my father.
Eddie
I know their names off by heart,
from the First World War.
Sixteen blokes from the area died
and the town lays wreaths on
ce a year
for their supreme sacrifice.
I’m sitting beside the white stone memorial
at the top of Main Street.
It’s cloudy tonight
and I can smell the rain blowing in.
Footsteps echo down the street.
A man in an old jacket and khaki trousers
walks through the alley,
a hat shielding his face.
He lights a cigarette
and flicks the match into the gutter
as he walks towards Valley Road,
where Sally lives.
I wait until he turns the corner
then I sneak from the memorial and follow.
My head is spinning.
It can’t be him.
He’s out for a walk,
nothing more.
Innocent.
Totally innocent.
He moves ahead of me,
like he knows where he’s going.
I close my eyes and hope
he’ll go into another street
before he reaches Sally’s place.
He passes Wheelers Lane,
Brunton Street,
and stops opposite Valley Road.
He stubs the cigarette out with his boot,
walks across the bitumen
and disappears out of sight.
I run as fast as I can,
afraid I’ll lose him,
and equally afraid
I won’t.
There he is.
Standing under the street lamp
looking at each of the houses
on the high side of Valley Road,
right near Sally’s.
He stays there for a long time,
his hands in his pockets,
not moving or calling out.
Just standing.
Then he walks down the road
before entering the bush
and heading home.
I kick the hard ground
and the dirt flies from my boots.
Why didn’t I have the guts
to move out from the shadows
and let him see me?
Albert Holding
The frost in the air
settles in my bones.
I don’t know what I’m doing here,
what I’m expecting to happen.
I look at all the houses
on the poshest street in town.
Their gardens are neat,
the trees pruned,
the driveways swept of leaves.
I can smell the wood smoke from the chimneys.
Each house has a painted timber fence
with a shiny silver gate, shut.
The lawns are like carpet,
Cold Skin Page 9
