The River Baptists

by Belinda Castles

  It was busy—there seemed to be a bit of a holiday crowd—and she could hear people talking about the fires; maybe that was what had brought them all out. She stood up straight and dared anyone to judge her, then reminded herself that no one knew her and no one cared. Kane walked towards her at last, and behind him was Danny. She nodded at him and he joined her, just after Kane. He was the local version of dressed up—wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt rather than a T-shirt. ‘How’s it going, Rose?’ he asked as he leaned on the bar and made eye contact with the landlady. ‘I’m sorry about startling you earlier. You OK?’

  ‘Must stop passing out drunk in public.’

  Danny laughed. Kane was standing very close to her, all of a sudden. Danny took his drink and noticed someone further down the bar. ‘Have fun,’ he said, glancing at Kane, and left them to it.

  ‘I know something about that bloke,’ Kane said quietly.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ she said, handing him his beer. She was expecting a tale of his latest escapade with some out-of-towner. She heard snippets on the ferry, saw how the blokes teased him at the marina. No one seemed to begrudge him.

  ‘His mate owns that yacht out from our place.’ She glanced at him. Our place? she thought. He took a quick gulp of his beer. ‘I heard them talking.’

  ‘Oh, maybe you shouldn’t tell me, if it’s private.’

  Kane pushed on. ‘He’s hiding from someone. His dad, I reckon.’

  ‘That seems a bit odd. Maybe you misheard.’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  She shrugged. ‘Guess it’s none of our business.’ She glanced at Danny. She could see he’d had a haircut now his back was to her; he had a white stripe between his hair and the sliver of tanned neck showing above his collar. It made him look vulnerable, boyish. He was joining the girl from the café at a table. She looked thrilled to see him. Maybe Kane had taken a shine to the girl from the café, too. ‘Can we sit down?’ she said, rubbing her back. ‘Come on, we’ll boot some old lady out of her spot.’

  There was the girl, sitting alone, beaming at him from along the bar. Bare shoulders, gleaming lips. Oh dear, Danny thought. Young. He smiled back. ‘What are you drinking?’ he asked as he took the stool next to her.

  ‘Bourbon and coke, please.’

  He ordered her drink. ‘She old enough?’ Doug, the grotty old landlord winked.

  The girl laughed. ‘Old enough for what, you old bugger?’ Been here a while then, thought Danny.

  After the first drink, a bit of chitchat about the fires, a body found at one of the wharves up at the point a few weeks back, he took her out to the poolroom, settled in on a table after a little wait. Nice night. A few people about, drifting over, getting themselves introduced to the new face. Her name, he found out, was Jesse. She laughed loudly and often, swore like an oysterman. Good bit younger than him. Still, she seemed happy to be here. He wasn’t twisting any arms.

  After four schooners, he was about ready for a quiet row home, half an hour of his book and bed, unless Jesse had other ideas. She was touching him a lot. His hand, his shoulder. But she was that kind of girl. Shared her excitement at being her. He opened his mouth to say something, test the water—he never planned these things, said whatever came to mind—when there was a crash of broken glass from the front bar. The sound travelled along his arms from his fingertips, vibrated for what seemed like a long time before dissipating. Then, rather than the usual cheer, a moment of silence, and a drunken voice shouting: ‘I won that meat tray fair and square, Shep.’

  There was a swift migration of the twenty or so people in the poolroom through to the front bar; Danny and Jesse were swept along with them. The room was silent. Everyone was still, turned towards the bar. At a poker machine there was an electronic jingle and then a noisy spewing of change. ‘Fifty bucks!’ a young man with long hair shouted as he began to scoop it up, and then turned to see a room bristling with anticipation. One of the older blokes who had a permanent stool at the bar—Vern—was squaring off with a fellow from out of town. There was broken glass around his feet. Danny was hemmed in on all sides by an expectant crowd. He felt a strong urge to make for the door, the river, his boat.

  Old Tom, a known enemy of Vern’s from an incident from another age involving non-payment for some white-anted lumber, had been raring to go at the out-of-towner’s shoulder. Shoving the stranger to the side, he threw a punch that caught Vern on the chin. For a few moments the room remained caught in a stunned pause, watching a series of punches and shoves between the two old fellas, and then the landlord broke the silence from behind the bar. ‘Take it outside, you blokes!’ A red-faced, meaty woman in a little knot of people close to Danny poked her finger into the chest of a large man next to her. ‘You shoulda left it alone, fuckwit. Now look what’s happened.’

  Danny glanced around the room. There were similar stoushes erupting in three or four groups. Behind the bar the barmaid was shoving the landlord, and in front of it Tom was a blur of clumsy blows while Vern, the much bigger man, was pushing him in the chest every few seconds to try and fend him off without actually hitting him. Behind Danny, some of the boys who’d been playing pool in the back room until a few moments before were landing a few punches on each other, and suddenly he and Jesse were surrounded by jostling, shoving and shouting.

  Beyond the group immediately in front of him, where the woman was now crying but still shouting, he saw a cluster of people who were still, a little island amid churning seas. He took Jesse’s arm and steered her between the flailing bodies. Blood roared in his ears. He saw Rob in the little crowd at the centre of the pub; he was chatting intently to his wife and glancing around him, a look of amused astonishment on his face. ‘Danny, mate,’ he called to him as he approached. ‘Come and be with the sane people.’

  ‘What the hell happened?’ Danny asked him.

  ‘You wouldn’t read about it. Weekender won the meat raffle. Vern reckoned he had the winning number but lost his ticket. Took the meat tray from out the back and stashed it at his place. Then Doug realises it’s gone and starts having a go. Next thing Tom rounds up a posse and they go and get it from Vern’s. Quarter of an hour later Vern’s back and the rest you can see for yourself.’

  Danny looked up at the bar in time to see the first stool flying through the air. It hit the optics in front of the mirror and there was an almighty crash. There was a pause, and a cheer, and then the room erupted again. ‘Come on, Jesse,’ he said. She was glowing, taking it all in. ‘I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me!’

  ‘I’m going. You stay if you want.’

  Her face froze for a moment, her eyes still glossy from the drink, the excitement. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll come too.’ Then her eyes were back on the fights erupting like mines around her. He steered her towards the front door. Right next to it they almost stumbled over a couple of young blokes, one punching another repeatedly in the head. The one bearing the brunt of it went down—it was the Indian guy from the petrol station—and the other kicked him in the back. Danny grabbed the attacker’s arm—it was sinewy, tough—and pulled him around to face him. It was Kane, the muscles in his jaw clenched, his face almost purple with adrenalin and exertion, wild at being stopped.

  ‘Cool down, fella,’ Danny said. Kane spat in his face.

  ‘Fucken hell,’ said Jesse behind him. He shoved open the door to the terrace and pulled her out after him. The hot night smelled of smoke. ‘I know him,’ she said as the door slammed shut behind them and the fracas in the pub dulled to a muffled roar.

  He was marching her swiftly across the terrace to the road, wiping his face with his sleeve. ‘What? How come?’ he said. Behind them, the shouting in the pub surged into the street as someone opened the door.

  ‘Listen!’ Kane called. Danny kept going, propelling Jesse along by her wrist. ‘I know something about you.’ His voice wavered. ‘I know what you’re hiding from.’ Then the door closed and the pub was quiet again behind
them.

  ‘What was that all about?’ she asked.

  ‘Christ knows. Listen. How do you know him? Not a mate of yours, is he?’

  ‘No way. He was up the river for a while. He seemed all right at first—bit odd but people liked him, seemed to fit in OK. But he was dodgy.’

  ‘What do you mean, dodgy?’ He could feel the sticky skin where he’d wiped the spit off his face. The blood was pumping in his legs and arms. He wanted to punch someone.

  ‘He had a girlfriend up there. She got bruises. And one of the kids said he gave them drugs for free, then the next time you had to pay. The story was, one of the dads went looking for him, but he must have caught on because he’d already gone.’

  ‘Does he know you?’

  ‘Don’t think so. I only recognise him because someone pointed him out when he was hanging round school.’

  ‘School. Christ. How old are you?’

  ‘I’ve left now, OK. That was last year. Why’d you let him spit at you?’

  Danny looked into her face. ‘I don’t fight.’ If he’d been in front of him now, though, he felt like he’d hit him until he stopped moving.

  ‘Fair enough,’ she said. They reached the marina stairs.

  ‘Coming up?’ she smiled.

  He paused. ‘Another time, Jesse. Really, mate. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow? At the café?’

  After leaving her at the stairs up to the flats above the marina Danny untied his dory from Alf’s boardwalk and dropped into it. He rowed out hard into the channel, his breathing ragged. What was he talking about? How could he know anything? He asked himself these questions over and over again, in rhythm with his rowing, but beneath them lay an insistent answer that he could only ignore for a little while. Kane had been there, down in his tinny, when Rob had told him about his dad. He’d heard it all, or enough to make a pain in the arse of himself about it. What’s he going to do? Danny asked himself. Who gives? But Kane was trouble. He couldn’t tell himself he wasn’t.

  He stopped rowing and watched the phosphorescence disintegrate around his oar. The island was a black shape on the inky river. His heart slowed while he sat on the water. He picked up his oars again and kept on past the point that usually marked a left turn and the last push for shore—onwards to the beach beneath the sandstone cliff. After another ten minutes, in which he willed himself to think only of the next clean stroke through the milky water, he reached Rob’s yacht. He tied the dory to the ladder and clambered on deck silently. He took a torch from his pocket and shone it down below, making his way down to the galley. Returning with a beer, he took Rob’s chair, faced it towards the shore, and made himself comfortable.

  He didn’t know why he’d come; couldn’t face the shed, wanted to be on the water, the air on his face, until he’d cooled off a bit. But he was right opposite Rose’s place, and just off to the left was Kane’s shed. Was this really going to calm him down? He’d have his beer and row home.

  There was a lamp burning in Rose’s living room. He hadn’t seen her when the fight broke out. She’d either been in the toilet or had left early, caught the last ferry. He was on his second beer when he heard the low drone of a tinny behind him. He’d been close to dozing, but now he was wide awake, a guard dog growling low at the sound of the softest footfall. The noise of the motor grew as it rounded the yacht, then cut out suddenly as it reached her jetty. There was a half-moon, high in the sky. He knelt on the deck and inched forward to the balustrade, keeping his head low. It was two men; he could hear their voices clearly now the motor was off. The passenger was Tom. His gravelly voice sounded close, as though he was standing right beside him rather than twenty metres across the water. That was the way on a still night. The things you heard, when people thought they were in private. He’d made that mistake himself, hadn’t he?

  ‘They’ll be taking our money again by the weekend, Kane. Don’t you worry about that.’

  Kane said something softly, too quiet for Danny to pick up.

  ‘Don’t see many like that these days,’ Tom replied. ‘Nice to see the river boys have still got it in ’em. Made my Chrissie.’

  There was a silence, then Kane said, ‘Night, Tom. You all right to use Rose’s jetty? I’ll just tie off here.’

  ‘OK, young fella. Thanks for the lift. Appreciated.’

  Tom’s figure rose creakily up the ladder and along Rose’s jetty, while Kane sat in the boat, his dark shape motionless. Next door, the dog began barking. Then there was the squawk of a screen door, a slam, and a light went on. At this, Kane left the boat and made not for his shed but for Rose’s verandah. Oh, she couldn’t, Danny thought. He heard voices again. It seemed she’d been sitting out there the whole time.

  ‘Hi, Kane,’ she said. ‘How was the rest of your evening?’

  ‘Bit of excitement. There was a fight over that meat tray business.’

  ‘God, really? I’m glad I left. I hate fights.’

  ‘Yeah. Got a bit out of hand.’

  ‘You didn’t get involved, did you?’

  ‘Oh, no. Got sideswiped in the mess, you know.’

  ‘You all right? Does it need looking at?’

  ‘Nah. Just a bit of a bruise, I think.’

  ‘Do you want a drink? I was just going to go in.’

  ‘OK. Yeah.’

  He saw their shapes—her tall, the round of her belly silhouetted in the lamplight spilling through the glass door; him appearing after her, wiry, angular, hesitant. Danny stood from his chair, as though there was a way to stop her. But there was nothing he could do. He went down below where he knew the bed was made and was his to use. He’d crashed on the yacht many a time on a stormy night when he couldn’t get back to the island in his dory. Even shared the bed with Rob after more than a few beers; in the morning he’d wake up in a room barely bigger than the bed, the air stale with farting and socks, and take his hangover up on deck where he could breathe. He’d brought girls here, too, on the odd occasion, until the one time Rob and his missus turned up, hiding from the kids, keen for a bit of fun themselves, and ruined the party. Maggie had not been impressed with the sight of his pale-moon arse in the air and a spectacularly naked French tourist in her bed. Rob had told him to keep his use of the boat discreet and decent from then on. Or that had been the official line, anyway.

  He closed his eyes and ordered himself not to spend another second of today on that waster over at Rose’s place. What is she thinking? he wondered in spite of himself, and fell asleep, water lapping gently on the wood next to his head.

  Rose brought a dusty bottle of red, a corkscrew and two glasses over to the low table between the sofas, and sat down. Kane was peering out into the night over by the glass doors, hands deep in his jeans pockets, fiddling with something in one of them.

  ‘I’ve got a joint, if you want some?’ he said. He turned and looked at her belly for a moment. ‘Maybe not, hey.’

  ‘That’s all right. We’ll sit on the verandah. You have one. I’m going to have a drink. Haven’t had one for months. Figure the baby’s about done now.’

  She brought the things outside and she opened the bottle while he rolled his joint, quickly, expertly. ‘Been a long time since I had one of those,’ she said. ‘Oh well, nearly there. How’s it going on the Durham house?’

  ‘You know. OK. Boss is a bit of a slavedriver. Might not do it for much longer.’ He was fiddling with matches, lighting them, stubbing them out on a saucer, rolling his joint back and forth between finger and thumb.

  ‘Can you manage, without the work?’ The wine was good; it was James’s and it was expensive. She hadn’t tasted wine for a long, long time.

  ‘I’ve got a bit tucked away.’ He was quiet for a few moments while he smoked. He seemed to be breathing in peace, ridding himself of the jitters. It was hard to tell in the dark; maybe he’d really got hurt in the fight. ‘What about you?’ he said eventually. ‘You’re always at that computer. What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Making a fortune on eBay?’
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br />   She laughed. The wine was going straight to her head. She took another sip. ‘I write, kind of.’

  ‘Really? What? Books?’

  ‘Yes, books.’

  ‘What? I won’t laugh. Writing anything is cool.’

  She looked at him. She was tired of shutting people out. ‘Well, it’s erotic fiction. You know, sort of rude novels for women.’

  He laughed. ‘Those pink things with women in black knickers on the front?’

  ‘That kind of thing, yeah.’

  ‘So how does somebody start doing that?’ He took a drag on his joint, blew the smoke out over the river.

  ‘Well, I used to be a subeditor for a men’s magazine. You know them. They’re not porn exactly, they’re just about beer, tits and earning a lot of money. I interviewed this publisher once, for an article. Well, she’s my publisher now. She said I should give it a go. And once you get the hang of it, it’s easy, and kind of fun. Well, sometimes it’s boring, but I can do it from home. And maybe it’s practice, you know, for writing properly.’ He was looking at her, his usual shyness gone. ‘You think I’m an idiot, don’t you.’ She laughed. God, laughter. She’d forgotten what it felt like. She finished her wine. I could drink a bottle of that, she thought.

  ‘I think you’re really cool, actually.’

  She reached over and took his hand without thinking. ‘You’re a sweet guy, Kane.’