Kevin Cassidy The Cassidy Chronicles

by Lindsay Johannsen

  “Well,” said Sa… Erm; one of my associates, “He was asleep, see, so we didn’t think we should bother him.”

  “Too bloody right! …Gawd but, I hate t’ think what’ll happen if ‘e finds out. He’ll just nail your bloody hides right across the front gate, I reckon. —An’ proberly with youse blokes still in ‘em!”

  He produced three large bottles of beer without the usual pretence of indecision and took our money, then reached up to the shelving behind and retrieved a small hip-flask bottle of rum. “You know I won’t sell y’se no spirits,” he said as he put it on the bar, “an’ I’m not changin’ me ways. But it occurs ter me, like, that fer any hope of survival y’ll have ter git that ute back in the shed, an’ you won’t know if he’s waitin’ there fer y’se or not.

  “This here is ter boost yer courage, like … and later to help kill th’ pain – HAW HAW HAW!!”

  He collapsed against the bar laughing helplessly. “...It’s on the house,” he added eventually, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’ll see y’se at the funeral.”

  “Gees, Horrie,” I said (more by statement than question). “You wouldn’t dob us in, would you.”

  “Y’se can rely on that,” he confirmed, “on the one condition.”

  “What’s the condition?”

  “So long as youse boys gits that car back in the shed where it bloody belongs, ay, without gettin’ caught. If they turn up here askin’ questions it’ll mean you’re already done for, an’ me sayin’ otherwise won’t do none of us no good. …And fergit about them other two,” he added. “I’ll see they keep their traps shut. Now git goin’ before somebody else sees y’se.”

  We took our refreshments and headed for the door. “An’ don’t fergit t’ drink th’ rum first,” he shouted after us. “I don’t want ‘em back ‘ere trackin’ down yer boozy breaths, neither.”

  We tumbled back into the ute and headed off toward Gower Abbey at a leisurely pace, sampling the spirits of the manor in a spirited manner. About a kilometre short of the school we pulled off into the canefields to finish the beer – the tension of the coming test not yet showing – then disposed of the bottles by tossing them into a culvert under the road.

  The sound they made indicated that many of their brethren already resided there, explaining perhaps, why the water always flooded across the road at that point. The conduit must have become gradually choked from bottles deposited there via the many years of Senior boys’ contributions. It was, after all, the last culvert before the school gate.

  We drove on quietly for the next half kilometre, without any lights. This proved difficult, as all we had to see by was starlight … and it was so dark. Then, time not being of the essence – and being apprehensive of Father’s whereabouts – we decided it best to leave the car a little way short of the school and reconnoitre ahead on foot.

  Silent and wraith-like we drifted through the trees alongside the driveway, at every moment expecting the hand on the shoulder and the voice of doom. Yet everything seemed quiet.

  Was it a trap? Had we been discovered?

  If so, what would we do? What would we say? …And what would our parents say?!!

  Back on the roadway we agreed that the most fateful moment would be when we returned the car to the shed. If Father O’Long was waiting for us that was where he would be. One thing was certain: we had to return the car to the shed. No amount of pussyfooting around would get us past this necessity.

  So this was it then: the mountain we had to climb, the torrent we had to ford, the car we had to push and, in all likelihood, the expulsion from school we’d have to face.

  But how to negotiate this utter darkness and thread the narrow doorway without being able to see? Should we risk the lights for a moment perhaps? …Or even just the parkers?

  We walked back to where we’d left the car, mulling and muttering over our predicament … and suddenly found ourselves blessed with the most outrageous good fortune. The moon had begun to peek above the ranges, its position and timing almost miraculous. Soon it would be shining along the driveway and illuminating the shed. And we’d never given it a thought.

  This certainly changed our outlook. Now the mood of our little band was buoyant.

  I would drive, we decided, and the others would ride on the back. When the car was moving I’d cut the ignition and let it roll. Then, once on the driveway, they’d jump out and push to keep it rolling as I steered it into the shed – all of it done quickly and quietly.

  So, once more into the breach it was, dear friends. For better or for worse, in darkness and in silence, together even as one, we three brave souls ventured forth to meet the destiny that was ours.

  Thankfully the night was still fairly dark, the moonlight all thin and fragmented by the trees. The wind was now favourable as well, its gusting helpful to our progress along the drive.

  As the shed drew nearer the doorway became visible in the moonlight, and my companions leapt out and began pushing. At the same time I aligned the ute and steered it in through the opening. Then, when the rear wheels topped the little step-up to the floor, I hit the brakes and stopped … and, with my compatriots behind me, we waited for the sky to fall.

  A timeless eternity passed, with none of us drawing the faintest breath. Rigid with terror we were, certain in our expectation of the lights coming on, Father’s catatonic rage and the terrible call to account.

  And such was the tension of those terrifying moments that I’m certain of having willfully and consciously arrested my essential cardiac process, while at the same time holding my onto bladder – though some may be skeptical. In any case, I just sat there, soaked in sweat and scared utterly witless, my fingers crushing permanent indentations into the steering wheel.

  Waiting.

  …And waiting … as Father tortured our wretched souls by drawing out the moment – giving us time to think we were home safe before declaring his presence and tearing the living flesh from our bones.

  Finally, from behind the car, came the faintest of whispers.

  “What do you think?”

  “Gees, I dunno. I don’t think he’s here.”

  “Come on, Casey. Let’s get.”

  I opened the door and slid out, then rested it back on the latch. At the same time I checked the position of the car against a reference noted prior to our departure: a broom leaning against the wall, visible courtesy of the moonlight. The ute’s back wheel seemed reasonably close to its original position, so I set the handbrake and quietly snicked the door closed.

  “Run!” I whispered, then kicked over the broom in my haste to get away.

  The clatter as it hit the floor lent us the flight of wing-ed feet, so to speak, and we absolutely tore through the darkness toward the dormitory. My previously-arrested heart was now trying to escape its confines by battering its way out, pounding away furiously under the influence of a suicidal adrenal gland and about four litres of excess adrenaline.

  We pulled up near the back door of the dorm, all gasping for breath. “Let’s go … inside … one at a … time,” I said unevenly. “I don’t think anyone … will be waiting … for us. —But look … if any of the … other kids wake up … just say you … went out … to the toilet.”

  “Yeah … but I’ll … tell ‘em … in … Ingham,” rasped Doogle. (OOPS!) (—Bugger.)

  “In Ingham! Why in Ingham?!!”

  “Cos I’m so … out of breath. …It’ll save … explaining.”

  Suddenly we were bolting for the lawn area behind the new shower block, all three of us trying to smother our laughter. And there, hilarity laughed out, we just lay on the grass and let the previous hours’ tension drain pleasantly away. The only thing we could get into trouble about now was our being outside after lights-out – in itself quite a serious offence, though in comparison to our recent foolhardiness it was little more than trifling.

  And it was such a beautiful night. The moon was now a little higher and the wind which had
aided and abetted our adventure was, from behind the shelter of the buildings, just a gentle breeze.

  Doogle rolled over and propped himself on one elbow. “Hey Casey,” he said. “We shouldn’t have worried so much about Father being in the shed.”

  “What are you bloody talking about?!! My guts will never be the same. That was the worst thing I ever experienced.”

  “Maybe so; but look. If Father’d been waitin’ for us he’d have been so burning angry we’d have seen him glowing in the dark, ay – from halfway along the drive!”

  “Yeah? And what would you’ve done then?”

  “I dunno. —Gees, don’t even think about it. Let’s get inside.”

  I lay awake for a while, wondering if there’d be a terrible confrontation in the morning. It seemed unlikely, I reasoned. The dorm was too quiet; if the ute had been discovered missing and the culprits identified by checking the beds it would have woken some of the boys, and they would have stayed awake to tell us when we returned.

  It was beginning to look as if we might actually have gotten away with it.

  Our nightmares were briefly rekindled the following afternoon when Doogle and the other boy were called to Father O’Long’s office after lessons. Like a lamb to slaughter I wandered along behind them, mentally preparing myself for a demonstration of “moral fibre” should the indictment be delivered to those two only.

  “Hello boys,” said Father cheerfully – while we just stood there with our teeth rattling in terror (how come he didn’t hear them I’ll never know). “I had a flat tyre on the utility yesterday and had to use the spare. I wonder if you lads would be helpful enough to mend it for me. It shouldn’t be anything serious; I probably just picked up a nail somewhere. —You might like to give them a hand, please Kevin … if you’re not too busy.”

  He looked at me closely for a moment. “Are you feeling all right, lad? You certainly look a bit pale on it. Why don’t you go and see Mrs Finnegan instead and ask her to take your temperature. I’m sure the others can manage.”

  “…Yes Father,” I croaked faintly … on the second attempt.

  After exchanging wan smiles with my two equally pale compatriots I wandered off toward the presbytery. On top of everything else it would seem we had driven all the way to Lannercost and back without any spare, with the ramifications should we have suffered a flat tyre simply beggaring the mind.

  Some time later it was noticed that Father O’Long was no longer leaving the keys in the ute whenever it was parked in the shed. What might have prompted him to do this was never discovered.

  …And let me just say, that I, for one, had no intention whatever of enquiring as to his possible motives.