By the Currawong's Call

by Welton B. Marsland

  ‘Very well,’ Matthew agreed. He watched Jonah run his gaze to each of the room’s three windows, no doubt making sure the coverings were securely in place. Apparently satisfied with their privacy, Jonah approached the table and set his helmet down heavily, sparing a glance into the box where Matthew had hastily thrown together his more treasured objects.

  ‘Hm,’ Jonah said and looked away again, starting to unbutton his tunic. Taking his jacket off, Jonah hung it over the back of the chair at the table, then set about the buttons of his white shirt.

  ‘You kissed her.’ Matthew was surprised to let the words out. They’d been searing little troughs of ugliness into his mind for at least the past hour, as time ticked longer into the evening, but he hadn’t planned on giving actual voice to them.

  Jonah looked up at him as he removed his shirt and flung it on top of his jacket. ‘Well, technically,’ he said, ‘she kissed me.’ For a moment, it looked like he was about to grin, but the expression died before any of his features could commit to it.

  Matthew swallowed and tried to keep his breathing calm. His memory flashed back to the kerfuffle in the main road that afternoon, how firmly Jonah took control of the situation, soothing the giant horse and catching Miss McMillan in his arms as she swooned. How obviously and understandably impressed she must have been with the gallant policeman who’d come to her aid. Of course she kissed him.

  Jonah swore softly at his boots as he fumbled with them. He unbuckled his holster and laid the gun and baton on the table. Onto his trousers next, he swiftly unbuttoned them and slid them down his legs and off, letting them fall over the back of the chair with the rest of his uniform. He steadied himself against the table and lifted first one foot and then the other, removing his thick woollen socks and haphazardly stuffing them into the tops of his empty boots.

  ‘You were her dashing hero today,’ Matthew said softly, his words coming out on a shallow sigh. ‘Just like you were my dashing hero during the fire.’ He looked at Jonah standing before him in nothing but his union suit. ‘I, of course, understand her compulsion in wanting to kiss you for it.’ He tried to say it as dispassionately as he could muster.

  Jonah squared his shoulders, standing his ground there beside the table as he took in Matthew’s words. ‘I hope you remember,’ he said, ‘when you kissed me in yer sacristy that day, how when you went to pull away, I grabbed at ya and dragged ya back in for more?’ Matthew stayed silent, so Jonah went on. ‘Just want you to know, alright? When she pulled away? I let her.’ And with that, Jonah turned his back and walked over to the washstand.

  Beneath his crossed arms, Matthew’s heart banged a tremulous staccato, letting Jonah’s quietly defiant statement sink in. He watched, in the dim light, as Jonah bent at his washstand, brushing his teeth. Such a mundane act, yet it was an action Matthew had never before seen him perform. The casual intimacy of the moment, of the fact Matthew was sitting here in Jonah’s cottage, on Jonah’s bed, the knowledge that the two of them were actually about to sleep in the same room together for the entire night, even wake up in one another’s company—it all suddenly felt momentous.

  ‘I thought you might’ve slept with her,’ he said towards the fire.

  ‘I might’ve done,’ came the gruff response. ‘Hell, six months ago, I would’ve done. But with the way things are now …’

  Matthew looked back towards him as Jonah paused. ‘The way things are now?’ he prompted.

  Jonah threw a swift glance Matthew’s way, then splashed some water on his face. ‘You could call me a lot of things,’ he said as he groped for a towel. ‘But cheat isn’t one I’d let ya get away with.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Matthew responded softly. ‘I’ve never really experienced jealousy before. This is all quite new. Distressingly so.’

  Patting at his face with the towel, Jonah straightened and peered across the room at Matthew. ‘Daft bugger,’ he declared in a fond tone, setting the towel aside and padding back towards the bed. The fastenings of his union suit were open to his navel and Matthew couldn’t help casting an appreciative glance over him.

  ‘You haven’t sat here all night stewing in ya guts, have ya?’

  Matthew motioned towards the periodical sitting beside him on the bed. ‘I read your Strand Magazine.’

  ‘Some good stuff in that one.’ Jonah smiled and ducked his head a little. ‘Pity we won’t both fit in there, eh?’

  Matthew glanced briefly down at the narrow bed and back up again. ‘So who’s sleeping where?’

  ‘You’re the house guest,’ Jonah reminded him. He stepped back half a pace and crouched down, reaching one hand under the bed and dragging out a bolster of cloth. ‘I’ve got me bedroll.’ He walked to the hearth, kicking the other seat, the simple wooden stool, under the table as he passed it, and shook the bedroll out in one smooth, obviously well-practised motion.

  Matthew stood up from the bed quietly, and when Jonah rose from arranging his roll and turned back towards him, the two of them were suddenly standing very close. Jonah quirked one eyebrow as he took Matthew in from bare feet to uncollared shirt.

  ‘What’ve you done with ya cassock?’

  ‘On that hook with your greatcoat.’ Matthew tipped his chin in the requisite direction.

  ‘Ah.’ Jonah returned his gaze to Matthew’s face, eyes shining in the firelight. ‘Seems sorta right that.’

  Matthew smiled. ‘Strangely, yes. It does.’

  ‘About as right as this, too.’ And Jonah leaned in closer and pressed their mouths together.

  Matthew tasted toothpaste and, beneath that, the obstinate lingering of beer. Overwhelmingly though, he tasted Jonah. No trace of Miss McMillan.

  Jonah slid his mouth away from Matthew’s and mouthed along his jaw, bringing his lips to Matthew’s ear, breathing there. ‘Can I suck you?’ Jonah’s hands held firm about Matthew’s waist, bracketing his sides and pressing, thumbs instinctively finding the jut of his hipbones through his clothes. ‘Wanna suck you off, Matthew. Lemme?’

  ‘Is my jealousy forgiven?’

  Jonah caught Matthew’s hand and placed it squarely on his cock through his union suit. ‘There now. She didn’t do that to me.’

  Matthew tilted his chin, presenting the line of his throat to Jonah’s mouth and groaned softly. Teeth grazed the side of his neck a brief moment before Jonah leaned back, appraising, leering in his peculiarly fond way.

  ‘Mm,’ Jonah hummed, thumbs smoothing from Matthew’s hips, along the top of his trousers.

  ‘How much have you had to drink?’

  Jonah grinned, sharp, huffing a tiny laugh. ‘Enough for me to not feel at all embarrassed about telling ya how bad I wanna get my mouth on ya.’ And he dropped to his knees, graceful even with a skinful of drink, not seeming to care about landing on the compacted earth of the cottage’s floor as he started in on Matthew’s trouser fastenings.

  Matthew awkwardly shuffled the two of them around so he could lean against the table, allowing Jonah to ease his trousers down his thighs. He rested his bottom on the tabletop and let Jonah push a demanding hand into his clothing to find his already straining prick. Let Jonah press closer and engulf him in one swallow, one disarming show of hunger.

  It was careless and rough, Jonah’s inebriation stark against Matthew’s soberness, but the raw enthusiasm with which Jonah worked Matthew’s flesh overshadowed the sloppiness of his intoxicated technique. Matthew cupped his hands over the solid curves of Jonah’s shoulders and held him steady, dropping his chin low and watching, enthralled, as Jonah worshipped him. His self-consciousness began to recede as sensation washed over him, as Matthew allowed himself to let go and simply receive the moment. His hands tightened on Jonah’s shoulders and his hips tilted in eagerness. Jonah opened his eyes to gaze languidly up at him and Matthew’s breath caught sharply. Feeling emboldened, Matthew pulled Jonah incrementally closer and began to thrust shallowly into his friend’s wet and open mouth.

  He luxuriated for some blissful mo
ments, Jonah’s tongue swiping away his control. The sight of Jonah’s full bottom lip glistening against him, however, made Matthew’s own mouth fall open.

  ‘Up,’ he said lowly, voice almost a growl. ‘Get up here.’ His hands flew to his shirt buttons even before Jonah had regained his feet. There was some mad grappling, buttons and fingers and garments getting in each other’s way, but they soon crashed together, bare torso to bare torso, and ground hard against one another, table groaning beneath them.

  Jonah’s mouth tasted of Matthew’s body now, and Matthew moaned into it, pleasure flooding through him. His ecstasy spilled onto Jonah, painting his cock and his flat belly, and Jonah followed him with a short cry.

  ‘Ohfuckmesober,’ Jonah exhaled against Matthew’s temple, making Matthew chuckle. Jonah pulled back a small way, smiling tiredly. ‘I’ll grab us a towel.’ He did so and wiped himself clean, then turned to Matthew. He didn’t hand the towel over immediately, but instead set about cleaning up the worst of the mess himself.

  Matthew watched his gentle ministrations a moment before rousing himself to ask, ‘Are you truly planning to sleep on the floor?’

  Jonah glanced up. ‘Me bed’s barely more than a stretcher, Matthew. How are two grown men gonna fit in there?’ His smile was soft as he finished towelling Matthew’s torso. ‘One of us’d have to lie on top of the other.’ He winked and pulled his union suit back into place, buttoning it only to his navel and leaving his chest on view. ‘Doubt we’d get much sleep that way, eh?’

  ***

  Matthew was surprised to wake early the next morning and find he’d awoken before his host. The first shafts of sunlight were slanting into the room from beneath the curtains, providing just enough light for Matthew to watch Jonah sleeping for a few minutes.

  ‘Some folk might find it disturbing,’ Jonah suddenly spoke, eyes still closed as if in repose. ‘Being watched in their sleep like that.’

  ‘But clearly you’re not asleep,’ Matthew countered.

  Jonah opened his eyes, grin hazy. ‘Mornin’, sunshine.’

  ‘Morning.’ Matthew smiled back. ‘Did you sleep alright down there?’

  Jonah stretched his arms over his head. ‘Fine,’ he said around a yawn. ‘Many’s the time I’ve kipped on the ground. You’ve gotta quit yer worrying.’

  Matthew sat up in bed, resting his arms on his bent knees. ‘I believe you’re built of far sterner stuff than I.’ He winced in sympathy as he heard one of Jonah’s shoulders make a cracking sound. ‘I’m city-soft, I suppose.’

  ‘Yer not as soft as all that.’ Jonah sat and immediately began poking at the fire, adding some kindling to the embers he uncovered. ‘I haven’t got much to offer for breakfast, sorry. But I’ve got one of Fiona’s teacakes. And I’ll make us a brew, of course.’

  ‘That sounds fine,’ Matthew assured him. He got out of bed and groped for his trousers and socks.

  By the time the kettle whistled over the fire, both men were mostly dressed, only cassock and tunic still to don of their respective uniforms. Matthew sat at the table and watched Jonah wrangle cups and kettle and cake.

  ‘Quite decadent, really,’ he mused as Jonah unlatched the door and finally took the seat opposite Matthew at the table. ‘Teacake so early in the day!’

  Jonah passed him a knife, handle-first. ‘You can do the honours, Father.’ He then placed the strainer over Matthew’s teacup and let his grin get wider. ‘I’ll be Mother.’

  Matthew groaned at the joke but chuckled at it anyhow.

  They were a slice of cake and half a cup of tea into their breakfast when there was motion at the door, followed swiftly by two sharp raps and the door knob turning. ‘Everyone decent?’ George’s voice called just before his head appeared around the door. ‘G’morning, Father! Sarg.’

  Jonah nodded curtly. ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘Alright enough,’ George replied. ‘Just that the lady was pining for you.’

  Matthew swallowed a rather too-large bit of teacake at the blithely proffered information, recalling suddenly his jealousy of the night before and the cause of it who had spent the night in his own bed at the rectory.

  ‘Shall I let her in?’ asked George, and Jonah was agreeing before Matthew could even start to try communicating anything to him with just a look.

  George opened the door properly and stepped inside. Into the room bounded the police station dog, immediately making a beeline for Jonah.

  ‘Queenie!’ Jonah exclaimed, holding his arms open to accept a slobbery canine cuddle.

  Matthew breathed out evenly and reached for his cup.

  ‘What do you wanna do about our guests, Sarg?’ George wanted to know, still hovering by the door.

  Jonah pulled lightly on Queenie’s soft ears and looked up. ‘Has she roused herself yet?’

  George shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen her.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Jonah held a hand flat over Queenie’s head and the dog sat heavily at the side of his chair. After a moment’s respect, she ventured her muzzle forward to rest her chin on Jonah’s knee. ‘If ya could see about getting her horse ready,’ Jonah continued, ‘I’ll swing by the rectory in a bit and get Her Highness moving. Alright with you? Should have ‘em outta town by half-nine, I reckon.’

  Breaking off a small piece of teacake on his plate, Jonah casually fed it to Queenie. His attention was still on George. ‘How was the snake?’

  ‘Katy said it was better than chicken!’

  Jonah nodded. ‘Snake’s good eating.’ A pause and then, ‘See ya soon then, George.’

  ‘Yeah, Sarg.’ George stepped into the doorway once again. ‘Father.’ He knocked a forefinger to his helmet brim in a small salute and left the cottage, closing the door softly as he went.

  Matthew sat quietly as Jonah ate his last few bites of cake and downed a good gulp of tea. There was a different charge in the air now, somehow. The comfortable domestic bubble of their morning had been encroached upon by the outside world, Matthew supposed. He wasn’t at all prepared, however, for the next words to fall out of Jonah’s mouth.

  ‘George has his suspicions.’

  ‘Suspicions?’ Matthew repeated. ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of us, of course.’

  Matthew actually felt his eyes widen. ‘But, but how? How could he possibly—?’

  ‘He’s a damned good copper. That’s how.’

  Elbows on the table’s edge, Matthew slumped. ‘How do you know?’

  Queenie made a soft whining noise and Jonah laid a hand on her head blindly, absent-mindedly soothing her. ‘Cos I can see what he saw just now. Watched him take everything in. He might’ve been suspicious for a while already, even.’

  ‘Saw what just now?’ Matthew’s voice hitched higher at the end of his sentence with a dull rising panic. ‘There’s nothing to see!’

  Jonah leaned back in his seat and jerked one thumb towards the front windows. ‘We’ve still got the curtains drawn.’ His thumb jerked again over his shoulder towards the wash stand. ‘You’ve left yer toothbrush lying against mine.’ He switched to a finger to point near the door. ‘Yer cassock’s on top of me greatcoat when there’s a perfectly good spare hook right next to it.’ He lowered his hand again, palm falling gently onto Queenie’s velvety skull once more. ‘And I’ve left me bed roll out, as though saying “Here, see! Definitely two beds used last night!” Sloppy of me, that. Fuckin’ sloppy.’

  ‘But … there were two beds used last night.’

  ‘Yeah. But why am I advertising the fact, eh? Unless I wanna make damn sure that George knows that? And why would I want George to know that?’ Jonah barrelled on without waiting for Matthew to reply, his questions clearly rhetorical. ‘Because I’ve got something to hide,’ he answered himself. ‘All makes sense when you think.’

  Matthew rolled his eyes. ‘To you, maybe.’ He sighed, trying to think quickly. ‘Well, then. We have to change our ways. Don’t we? Throw him off somehow?’

  Jonah was already shaking his hea
d. ‘Nah, that’s the worst thing to do. Nine outta ten crims make that mistake, just before they’re nabbed. No, we don’t change a thing. Carry on exactly as we’ve been. Nothing to hide.’

  ‘But, uh, we do have something to hide, Jonah.’

  It was Jonah’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘Yeah, but the last thing we wanna do is go acting as if we have!’

  ‘I don’t think I understand how policemen think.’

  Jonah pushed his chair away from the table. ‘That’s ‘cos you haven’t got a criminal mind, luv.’

  Chapter 6

  Munt were paying Dinbratten back for winning the flag the previous year. It was the first “big” game of the local football season, the last Saturday in April, Dinbratten hosting Munt in a hard and vicious rematch of the previous final. Munt were determined to be victorious this time, Dinbratten were equally determined to stop them. Matthew doubted he’d ever watched a game so hard-fought, even among the city teams back in Melbourne. The Rats’ star forward, Lachie Jackson, kicked six goals, even with one eye swollen shut for most of the game. But the battle was ultimately in vain, Munt took laurels, finishing two goals up on the home team at the last bell. A scuffle broke out on the final whistle, players and spectators alike rolling in the mud in front of the goals at the oval’s church-end. Matthew watched from the scrub-end, gaze never leaving the figure of Jonah, wading into the fray, picking other men up by the scruff of their necks and unceremoniously hauling them out of the fight.

  Matthew smiled.

  ***

  The two musicians playing at the Victoria Hotel that night chose slower, more sombre songs than they might otherwise have played on a Saturday evening. Even though the Dinbratten team and most of their staunchest supporters drank at the other hotel, the Commercial, the mood all through town after such an important loss was keenly felt. Added to this, there were several players and fans from Munt drinking in the Victoria that night, and self-respecting Ratty musicians weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of enjoying triumphant music.

  Breaking from his team mates, Lachie Jackson chose to have his post-game drinks in the Vic with Jonah and Matthew. He’d had a letter, an expression of interest, from a team in the city, and wanted to pick Matthew’s brain about Melbourne. The poor kid was knackered, his swollen black eye distorting his normally pleasing features, and he was clearly finding it hard to work up much enthusiasm, even for the envelope peeping out of his breast pocket.