He thought about his brother as he rowed across to Alf’s. He’d heard his voice when he read the note: He’s got the shits bad. Watch yourself. He was not a man of many words. They both got that from the old man. But with his dad it was belt first and ask questions later, if he remembered to get round to it when he sobered up. With Trev and Danny it had always been safer to keep quiet, just in case, and then you were in the habit of it.
Trev had been the one to go first. The last time Danny saw him he’d still been a boy himself—twenty-one, his brother twenty-two. They were both doing odd jobs for the old man, working on the rig, making deliveries of knocked-off gear from the depot: trainers, women’s underwear, crappy Chinese toys. That last day, Trev had made a delivery and let the bloke talk the price down. Trev wasn’t worried, Danny could see when he came back. He knew his dad would sort it out. Probably just made a mistake, pissed as usual. Danny and his dad were checking the tyres. His dad was on a run that night. It was his longest run—down to Adelaide then back up to Brisbane before he came home. Danny and Trev and his mum reined in their excitement, but there was always something in the air just before he left. The promise of relief, a quiet day or two when she’d cook the boys’ favourite meals, and get the baby albums out, maybe even have her neighbour over for a Bacardi and Coke. She wasn’t allowed to drink when he was around; he didn’t like it in a woman. Said she got maudlin. And anyway, they couldn’t afford it.
Trev appeared from around the back of the truck on his pushbike, whistling, and let the bike clatter to the drive while their dad stood from checking the front wheel and waited. Trev gave him the money and punched Danny gently on the shoulder, grinning, letting a little of his excitement leak out. The old man counted it, twice, his face turning red, little white flecks of spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. Danny’s stomach sank. ‘What the fuck is this?’ his dad said, thrusting the wad of notes in Trev’s face.
‘Oh, he said it was only two hundred you’d agreed. Said you’d buggered it up.’
Oh, Trev, Danny thought. Trevor was older than him, but he had a death wish. He’d let his natural cheeriness get the better of him and it just seemed to obliterate any sense of caution. His dad had cuffed Trev’s ear before there was time to know what was happening. First Danny knew about it was Trev standing there holding the side of his head, his face screwed up in pain. Then he did something Danny had never seen him do before. He punched his dad in the face with a gristly crack, looking surprised himself for a moment, then scrambled onto his bike while his dad held his bleeding nose, and wobbled off down the driveway. Danny looked back at the house instinctively. At the kitchen window, he saw the net curtain fall back into place. That was the last Danny had seen of Trev, and it had taken him another year to bugger off himself. It was always her—couldn’t bring himself to leave her behind. And they reckoned Danny was the smart one.
Now he got Christmas cards, which he read hurriedly and binned. They always mentioned his mum, how she was doing. Apparently she always asked after him. He’d told Trev to tell her, early on, that he was all right. Trev and his mum had some arrangement where he made sure she had his number if he moved and she went to a phonebox when their dad was on a run, and then Trev’d call her back at home so there was no record of it on the phone bill. Sometimes it seemed to Danny it would be less complicated for all concerned if they just killed the old bastard. He wondered what sort of a hard time he’d given his mum, when he found out he was alive. He’d know she knew— always did know that stuff. Came of believing the worst of everyone.
He liked to hear about Trev’s kids, though—two small boys. He had a little fantasy going that these two kids were living a replacement childhood for him and his brother. He’d seen photos; they looked like them as boys. Freckles, wild hair, cheeky grins. Trev would bring them up right, with a good, strong woman who loved them, and these boys would have a childhood so happy and carefree it would somehow balance things; it would fill the hole in the world his and Trev’s childhood had left.
Over at the marina the first person he saw was Kane, up on the boardwalk with Tom. Standing in the sunlight, laughing, he just looked like a young bloke who didn’t take anything too seriously. As he walked past them, Kane looked up. ‘Howdy,’ he said, and nodded.
Danny stared at him. Kane had done his worst; he had nothing on him now. ‘Watch your back, fella,’ Danny said under his breath, and carried on up to the chandlery to find Alf.
Rose had walked a few circuits of the track that led in a figure eight around the island, her irritation slowly dissipating as she pushed herself up the hills and trudged her heavy feet along the short sandy beach. High up on the shady track she saw no one. Through the trees were yachts, the railway bridge, the pale, flat water. She thought about Kane, his hesitation, the way he seemed to lift his head above the parapet before he moved forward, like a soldier in enemy territory, or a meerkat. He’d really stirred Danny up, one way or another. Maybe it was the pot. Some people were funny about it. And how did Danny know what she’d been doing, anyway? But everybody knew everything here, except for her. What did it matter? She knew no one. No one knew her. Nothing she did made any difference to anyone else.
An angophora, its knobbled fork shaped like a rhino’s head, surprised her, leading her away for a moment from her thoughts. She saw the odd-shaped tree and stood still, catching her breath. Danny had seemed agitated—about something else, not her, not necessarily Kane. Usually, he was different. There was something warm and sunlit about his skin. Something in him was attuned to women, not any particular woman, just femaleness in general. He had a tenderness towards it. It was in the way he’d spoken to her when he picked her up, drifting out to sea. It was in the way he spoke to that girl from the café, Jesse. A sort of focus. Ben was like that; her dad was, too—but with him it was about beauty. She missed Ben suddenly. She’d been so busy with herself, isolating herself from judgement, always looking inward and back. She spent her days surrounded by wide expanses of flat water, acres of gleaming space, and yet she had spent most of a year burrowing down the dark tunnels of the past. What she wouldn’t give for a long boozy lunch listening to Ben crap on about the bar, imitating his dotty old mum, making her laugh.
She heard the ferry coming around the point. She looked at her watch; it was due to leave in five minutes. She hurried, as much as she was able, down the hill towards the water. When she arrived at the wharf the ferry was just about to go. Steve was unlooping the rope. He grabbed her hand and pulled her across the gap, and she panted onto the bench, fumbling with her purse, trying to catch her breath. There were no other passengers on this weekday morning, and he dropped her off at her wharf rather than leaving her at the public jetty to pick her way between the houses and sheds to get home.
She was on the verandah before she realised there was someone sitting in her chair, a man who had watched her approach. She saw with a jolt that it was James. He was like a creature from another world, another life. She said nothing while she waited for her heart to slow.
‘Rose,’ he said, trying not to stare at her belly.
‘Well there it is,’ she said. ‘Pretty much ready to blow.’
He shook his head. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’
‘So,’ he said, staring around him at the changes she had made to his parents’ house, his childhood home. ‘You still haven’t told Billie. Planning to?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t want to land you in it.’
‘Reckon you can keep it up?’
She looked up from the bench where she was organising the tea things. ‘I guess I could. But this is the sort of secret you have to keep your whole life. The baby’s going to want to know who her dad is. I can’t ask her to keep it secret.’
‘I know, I know. Look . . .’ He fiddled with change in his pocket. ‘If I’m honest, I don’t really understand why you kept it.’
‘Her, James.’
‘Her, OK, good.’
‘I wanted her. It never really occurred to me not to. I mean, I asked myself the question, obviously, but you know. I’m on my own. Maybe I’ll always be on my own. Maybe I won’t get another chance. And she’s part of my family. I thought my family was over with my dad. But it’s not. It’s still going. It’s her.’
‘What about Billie?’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s your family.’
She put down a mug of tea in front of him at the dining table, chewed her thumbnail. ‘Well, where is she? She hasn’t even called since that day you guys came over.’
‘She’s under the impression you can’t bear her.’
Rose rubbed her eyes and sat down at the dining table. Fuck, she thought. In her head, it was a long, drawn-out syllable.
He sighed, took a seat next to her. ‘This isn’t why I came round, anyway.’ She watched his hand approach her face. He laid it on her neck, beneath her hair. She glared at it until he removed it.
‘You need the house back?’ She thought about moving again, about packing boxes when she was so tired, so cumbersome.
‘No. Really, stay as long as you want. Forever if you like. No one else needs it. I was only going to sell it.’
‘Well, surely you’ll need the money, then.’
‘It’s not a great time to sell. Think of it as my contribution, for as long as you need it. There’s Kane’s rent now as well. Just worry about it later. Honestly, I’ve got no plans for the place.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ll deal with Billie. Don’t worry about it.’
She nodded into her tea.
‘No, I just wanted to check in. How have the neighbours been treating you?’
‘You mean Tom?’
‘Yeah.’
‘There’s always something. He’s nuts. He shouted at me at the doctor’s. And someone took a dump on the deck. The police said it was an animal, or kids. They wouldn’t even come over. And the other night, there was tapping on the windows. I haven’t done a thing to him. Why are you asking now?’
‘I was just picking up Kane’s rent from the PO box—I saw the doctor’s receptionist over there. She told me what he said to you. There’s a bit of history with my family and him. I never thought he’d bring you into it. There was an old feud. I can’t believe he’s still going on about it.’
‘He wouldn’t actually do anything, would he? I mean, anything I should worry about? I’m having a baby any second.’
‘No. I don’t think so. This house was empty for years, since I was a kid. Dad was back in Italy, and Mum wouldn’t come back, or sell it, or anything. When I started using it he was mostly fine, just kept out of my way. But every now and then he made a nuisance of himself. Left his garbage on my wharf, hassled visitors. You know, no big deal. If he’s giving you trouble, though, you might be able to get an AVO out on him.’ He laid a hand on her belly, studied her face. ‘I could sort it for you. I feel like you need protecting.’
‘James. Please—don’t touch me.’ If this was his idea of a deal, she’d rather be homeless. He took his hand away. ‘I don’t want to get an AVO out on some old bloke who’s lived here forever. I’m not Miss Popularity around here as it is. Anyway, Danny reckons no one worries about him.’
‘Danny?’
‘The water-taxi guy.’
‘Right.’ He gave her a look.
She felt a little match-flare of anger. ‘What was the feud about?’
‘I’d rather not say. But I can talk to him.’
‘You’re worried enough to come and check up on me but you won’t tell me what it’s about? I’m not supposed to get stressed, you know. God knows what you’re doing to my blood pressure.’
‘Rose, it’s all right. It’s family stuff. It’s personal. It’s about my dad, and he’s dead now, so it’s not really up to me to talk about it. And no one ever believed what Tom said about what happened, anyway, according to Mum.’
She felt water prickle behind her eyes. Why cry now? she thought. She ordered herself to stop.
‘But I thought I’d check in on you, anyway,’ he said. ‘Maybe go and have a word with him, now I’m here.’
Ben had told her once that men couldn’t be blamed when it came to sex. They were universally crippled with a biologically inescapable stupidity. If that was true, then what they’d done had been all her fault, because she was the only one with any brains. She caught the look on his face: sheepish, in damage control—and could he really still be hoping for some action? Or was he just checking her responses, that he could pull her strings? She should hate him. He was an arrogant, reckless boy, trying to emerge from this mess smelling of roses. But what did any of it have to do with him? Who messes around with their sister’s ex? Who? Thank God her dad would never know; thank God she wouldn’t have to see his face.
‘I don’t care what you do, James. Go and see him, if you think it’ll make any difference.’
Tom, for once in his life, had set the old radio alarm clock before he’d gone to bed. Some goose was talking in his ear now, it sounded like a traffic update—out there in the world there were lane closures on the freeway, trucks spilling their loads—but then suddenly the bloke was spouting the wonders of a surf shop up the coast. Was he even awake? What was going on with the world?
He slowly came to himself and got his head a little straighter. He had a doctor’s appointment at ten, and had to catch the 9.30 ferry because he’d run out of petrol on the way home from the pub. He’d got himself a tow from an oysterman but he’d been drifting around on the river for a good hour first. There was a scratchy tiredness there behind his eyes now. He shuffled into the kitchen and poured some biscuits into Dog’s bowl. Dog devoured them in slavering seconds. ‘Steady, Dog. Don’t hurt yourself.’
Tom made himself a cup of tea and began to talk himself out of going to his appointment. If he was doomed he was doomed. Might as well get on with his life in the meantime. Who wanted to know if you had six weeks? Or two?
There was a knock at the door at the other end of the house. He thought at first he was hearing things, but there it was again. Dog, bowl empty, went very still and alert for a second, then began barking for all he was worth. A knock at the door was more excitement than he’d seen for months.
He opened the door, realising as he did so that he was stark naked. Ha, he thought. If it’s that pregnant sheila, she can write me into one of her stories. But it wasn’t her; it was a man. It took him a moment to realise who it was standing in the shade of the bit of iron roofing over the door, stepping back at the sight of Tom without a stitch on.
‘I can come back later,’ said James.
‘Bugger me backwards. What the fuck are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to talk to you about Rose, and the baby.’
‘So it is yours, you mongrel. I see you Mancini blokes are still taking your responsibilities seriously then.’
James let out some air. Nervous, are you, young fella? thought Tom. You should be. Dog growled at his ankle.
‘Dad’s been dead a long time now. Rosie just wants things nice and calm so she can look after her baby.’
‘What do you think I’m gonna do to it?’
‘I’m sure you’d never do anything to a child. I just don’t want her to have to worry.’
‘Look, sunshine. I don’t know what she’s been telling you. I don’t go round interfering with people’s kids, unlike some I could mention. Now fuck off before I throw you in the river.’
James put his hands in the air, a piss-weak gesture of surrender in Tom’s opinion, and scuttled off his verandah back in the direction of his old man’s place. He couldn’t keep up with that woman and her gentleman callers.
So, Mancini was dead. No one had told him, but then he didn’t suppose anyone round here knew. Not like they’d be keeping in touch with the old crowd. Maybe he would keep his appointment. He was out in front already now, by a long way it seemed. He hoped it had been something nasty and slow and de
meaning. It made Tom feel positively cheerful, for a man who was quite possibly off to hear his own death sentence.
After dressing, he came out of the house and saw Kane starting up his little fibreglass dinghy down the end of Mancini’s wharf. It gave him great pleasure to stride along the jetty, in full view of the little scumbag’s lounge room, and ask Kane for a lift. ‘No worries,’ Kane said. ‘Hop in.’
‘So,’ Tom ventured as the small boat with its load of two men and a dog made its slow journey across the wide river. ‘Not worried about the return of the old man, then?’
Kane appeared to have settled into a comfortable little post-pot haze as he steered the boat in the vague direction of the opposite shore. He stared out over the water, didn’t seem to have heard. ‘What?’ he muttered after a moment.
‘The bloke that knocked your bird up. He’s back in the house. Thought you’d have seen him, way you mope around that place.’
Kane turned his watery gaze on Tom. ‘I thought he was out of the picture.’
‘She’s certainly an enigma, that young lady of yours. That’s for sure.’
‘She’s not like that,’ Kane said, turning the handle to full throttle. The boat sputtered along marginally faster.
Dear oh dear, thought Tom. What have I started now? He reflected on what an eventful morning it had been so far. With all these promising signs, maybe the news at the doctor’s wouldn’t be so bad after all.
It had taken Danny the best part of the afternoon to clean out Alf’s shed. It was a job Alf only seemed to remember at New Year, so it had been a while, and Alf was not an orderly man. He seemed to use the boatshed not only as a place to clean and fix boats and keep parts but, judging by the porn mags, TV and rotting sofa and blankets in one corner, as a little hovel away from home as well. There was also a bar fridge full of little surprises: the usual mouldy cheese and soft carrots, but also a layer of gristly grease along the racks inside that made Danny gag. And that was before he’d got to the horrors of the toilet.
The River Baptists Page 13
