Long Gone the Corroboree

by Tony Parsons

  “That’s a somewhat inadequate description of your performance, Clay. And I must say, I feel a whole lot better too. No knots this morning,” Glenda said with a smile.

  “So, you’re going to let me look after Billy?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t think of anywhere he’d be better off than here with you, Clay. He can stay here while we see what happens about his mother,” Glenda said.

  “Thank you. I shall do my very best for him,” Steele said.

  “I know you will. Billy is a very lucky boy. In the ordinary course of events, I’d have to send him to a home. He’ll be much better off here,” Glenda said. She stretched and sighed. “As much as I hate the thought of getting up, I’ll have to. But if you keep playing with my nipples, I know what will happen and I can’t be late to work today. Now, throw me your dressing gown and I’ll have a shower then we’ll get some breakfast,” she said.

  Later, before she left, he held her hands and kissed her. “Thank you for everything. You’re some woman, Glenda Butler. I believe you would be very good for me, and I wouldn’t give our slight difference in age five second’s concern,” Steele said.

  “You’ll probably be my last fling, Clay. You’ll certainly make it tough for any other man to follow you,” Glenda hesitated. “You will let Debbie down gently if she comes here, won’t you?”

  “You have my word, Glenda.”

  “I’ll see you when I see you,” she said. She put her arms around his neck and her fingers lightly caressed him there. “If you had a phone, I could ring you when Debbie wasn’t around.”

  “Yes, Your Worship. But people could look me up in the phone book, Your Worship,” Steele said, straight-faced.

  “I think you’ve got a bit of devil in you, Clay.”

  “I think you’re bringing it out,” he said. He gave her an affectionate tap on her bottom. “There, I’ve given a female magistrate a tap on her bottom. What’s the penalty for that?”

  Glenda looked at him and shook her head. “You have got some devil in you.” But as she got in her car, she wiped away the errant tears that came quickly as she contemplated what her day would be like without him.

  Steele leaned in through the window of her car and gave her a final kiss. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. Go get ’em, Your Worship.”

  By the time she’d driven up the drive and out on to the road, she was weeping copiously. For the first time in her life, she wished she was several years younger.

  Chapter Twelve

  So Glenda departed, leaving only the scent of her perfume to remind Steele that she’d spent the night with him. He thought again that she was a remarkable woman and felt blessed that she cared for him. Women continually surprised him. They could be wonderful and they could be malicious. If a woman liked you, she’d go to great lengths to demonstrate her affection. Glenda Butler was proof of that.

  It wasn’t easy to settle down and write after Glenda had driven away. After their night of lovemaking, he felt lethargic and unable to concentrate. He backed away from his computer and changed into a pair of swimming trunks so that he could have a swim.

  The creek water refreshed him initially, though after a while, he felt sleepy again and lay down, thinking of Glenda as he drifted off. He didn’t wake until early afternoon. It was close to visiting time at the hospital, so he changed into long trousers and a sports shirt and went off for his daily visit to Billy.

  Steele found the boy looking much brighter.

  “I can leave here in a couple of days, Mr Clay. Will I be allowed to come and live with you?” Billy asked.

  “Yes, you will, Billy. The magistrate says you can come and stay with me for the time being, at least. Mrs Butler inspected the house and she’s satisfied that it’s suitable. Actually, she and her daughter had dinner with me and after that, we sat on the back veranda and that’s when I sang her the song I wrote for you. She cares about what happens to you.”

  “That’s beaut, Mr Clay. What’s happening about our place?” Billy asked.

  “Josh Evans is keeping an eye on it. In the longer term, it’ll depend on whether your mother will be able to go back there. She’s been badly hurt, Billy.”

  Billy’s chin dropped. “They told me. I’ll try not to be a nuisance while you’re writing.”

  “You could never be a nuisance, Billy. Don’t imagine that for one moment. I can write while you’re at school. I’ve had another idea, too. I talked to Josh about building me a study or work room where the old outhouse is now. Once it’s built, there’ll be a quiet, more permanent place to work than the kitchen. Eventually there’ll be a covered walkway from the house. The bougainvillea can grow over the study and walkway. The red and the purple are spectacular the way they’re entwined. It’ll be useful and beautiful. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great, Mr Clay,” Billy agreed.

  “I think so. I’ll put in a table and a couple of chairs and we can work there together on our music. Or if I’m writing in one place and you’re playing music in the other, we won’t annoy each other,” Steele said with a smile. He wasn’t sure how long Billy’s stay would last, but given Lilly’s condition, he suspected it might be longer than the few weeks he’d first imagined. And while Billy was staying at Jerogeree, he needed something to do, and something else to think about. Perhaps music could help fill the void of living away from his home and mother.

  So Billy Sanders came to live with Clayton Steele while his mother remained in a coma. Steele had no idea of the extraordinary decision Glenda Butler had made to enable Billy to come to him and he was not to know about it for some years.

  The day that Billy came out of hospital, Steele decided he should mark the occasion with a special meal. “I think this calls for a celebration, Billy. What do you say we have lunch in town?” Steele suggested.

  “Whatever you like, Mr Clay,” Billy said with a weak grin.

  They had lunch and Steele introduced Billy to the delights of a milkshake and got a kick out of seeing the froth from the foaming drink form a kind of moustache above Billy’s lips. “Like it, Billy?” he asked.

  “It’s really good, Mr Clay,” Billy said with obvious enjoyment on his face.

  After lunch, Steele purchased some extra items of food including a large bucket of vanilla ice-cream. “Anything else take your fancy, Billy?”

  “I’ll be right, Mr Clay. I’ll eat whatever you eat,” Billy said.

  After Billy had seen his room, they drove up to the Sanders farm and packed up some of Billy’s clothes to take back to Jerogeree. It was a silent place now with no Lilly in the house. Billy packed quickly and Steele wondered whether he was relieved to be leaving. It couldn’t have been a happy place to grow up with Dooley Davis ever ready to give him a hammering when he was on the booze. Perhaps it’d been even worse than Billy had let on; Steele had long wondered about Billy’s desire to quit the farm as soon as he was old enough to leave school, given his long-term attachment to the place.

  Steele found that Billy was almost pathetically keen to please him. Steele adjusted his writing schedule so that he gave Billy his full attention, both before and after school. He wrote during school hours and worried how he would be able to keep Billy occupied at weekends. He was determined that Billy would read books because they would give him a better feel for words and the audience he so desperately wanted to entertain. It seemed that up to now, Billy had read very few books.

  Steele found that some aspects of Billy’s development had been badly neglected. The boy was very reluctant to voice his thoughts because he’d become accustomed to being snarled at by Dooley Davis if he ventured an opinion on anything. Steele encouraged the boy to speak his mind on a wide range of subjects but he found he had the same problem when it came to food. There were foods Billy didn’t like or had never eaten but he would try to eat them rather than risk Steele’s displeasure. Steele, aware of the need to eat healthy foods, felt that what was good for him ha
d to be good for Billy. Matters came to a head during one meal when Billy exhibited a noticeable reluctance to finish his rhubarb dessert.

  “This is no good, Billy. If there’s something you don’t like, you must tell me. I won’t roar at you. You don’t have to eat things you don’t like just to please me. I eat some things because they’re supposed to keep me healthy. Likewise, if you have any other problems, I want you to discuss them with me. Will you do that?” Steele asked.

  “I’ll try to, Mr Clay,” Billy said.

  “Good. Now, do you like rice?” Steele asked.

  “Not much. It’s better with milk and some sugar but I don’t like it otherwise,” Billy said.

  “Do you or don’t you like vegetables?”

  “I like spuds, especially baked spuds. And chips. I like chips. And I like mashed potato with that green stuff in it. I don’t like pumpkin and carrots and some of the green things,” Billy said.

  “I suppose you mean broccoli and cabbage?”

  Billy’s face contorted. “Yeah, I don’t like them.”

  “What about beans?”

  “I like beans but I don’t like peas,” Billy said.

  “What about meat? Which meats do you like?” Steele asked.

  “I like chops and steak and I like sausages… sausages and gravy. I like fish. Mum used to make fish cakes and I like them,” Billy said.

  “What about puddings?” Steele asked.

  “I like some puddings, and I don’t like others. I like fruit salad and ice-cream best of all,” Billy said.

  Steele nodded. “That wasn’t too hard, was it? It’s a start anyway and gives me some idea of your likes and dislikes. Never be afraid to speak your mind, Billy” Steele said.

  “I don’t want to be a nuisance, Mr Clay. If you’re having things that are good for you, I’ll try and have some, too.”

  “What about eggs?”

  “I like eggs, okay. Mum and me used to have boiled eggs and toast for tea some nights.”

  “Next time I go shopping, you can come with me and we’ll have a look at what’s on offer,” Steele said.

  “All right, Mr Clay.”

  Steele soon discovered that what Billy liked most was for him to begin work on the lyrics for a new song. He would write down a couple of lines and Billy would sing them and improvise with his guitar. The boy was a natural musician. So, when Steele threw a couple of lines at him and said, “See what you can do with this, Billy,” the boy’s face would light up and he would rush for his guitar. Together, Steele and Billy would work at a song until they were satisfied it sounded all right. Steele was both surprised and delighted at this extension of his writing skills and doubted that it would have eventuated if Billy hadn’t come into his life.

  It was also clear to Steele that although Billy had once told him that he’d run away when he turned fifteen, which meant leaving his mother, he was in fact missing her. So Steele decided that he should encourage Billy to write his own song, one especially for his mother. He wrote down a couple of lines and handed them across to Billy.

  “What’s this, Mr Clay?” Billy asked.

  “I realise you’re missing your mother and I can’t replace her. I think it’s time you wrote a song yourself and the first one should be about your mum. Those are the first couple of lines to get you started.”

  Billy read the words and his eyes lit up. “They’re real beaut, Mr Clay.”

  “Righto, let’s see what you can do about finishing the song,” Steele said.

  Billy sweated over the song. Steele had never seen him concentrate so hard on anything, which was just what he’d hope Billy would do. After some hours, and with some help from Steele, Billy had the song finished.

  “What will I call it, Mr Clay?”

  “I should think you could call it ‘Billy’s Song’, don’t you?” Steele suggested. “Going to sing it through for me?”

  Billy nodded and sang it through then sat back and looked at Steele with shining eyes. “Will you sing it now, Mr Clay? I’d like to hear how it sounds when someone else sings it.”

  Steele took the song from Billy and sang it right through. He thought it sounded pretty good and that Lilly would like it, too.

  Steele took Billy’s copy from him and typed it out.

  Billy’s Song

  Beautiful woman with haunting face;

  With perfect figure of fluid grace.

  Always so caring and loving too,

  The cards fell badly when dealt to you.

  Ditched by my dad,

  You raised me alone,

  Yet never once did I catch you sad.

  You taught me to play and sing along;

  Happiest when we were sharing a song.

  You could have done great things with your voice,

  But Fate intervened…

  You made the wrong choice.

  It seems so unfair that your lovely face

  Led to your fall from grace.

  How we laughed and joked as we searched for a rhyme,

  Your voice an echo from a long-ago time.

  Come back soon and tell me anew,

  The legend of Marjaru…

  Steele read it through and nodded. “We’ll record it first chance we get, Billy.”

  “Could we sing it together, Mr Clay?”

  “You mean as a duet?”

  “That’s right. As a duet,” Billy said.

  “I think you should sing it solo, Billy. It’s your song and you’re singing about your mother. It’s not the right song for a duet. We’ll write other songs that we can sing together,” Steele told him.

  “All right, Mr Clay. And thanks a lot for starting this one off and helping me with it.”

  Steele tousled the boy’s hair. “I enjoyed it, Billy.”

  Billy didn’t like homework but Steele ensured that it was done. He helped the boy with things he didn’t understand and taught him a system of organised thinking so that he could write better essays. “You look at the subject or question and ask yourself: What can I say about it? You pick out three or four headings and build your essays about them. It might be the key points of a town or even why you like country and western music. Do you follow me, Billy?”

  “I think so, Mr Clay,” Billy said diffidently.

  “Next time you have to do an essay, I’ll show you what I mean and then, you’ll get my meaning,” Steele said.

  After Billy’s ribs healed, Steele took him down to the coast where they surfed together. They camped a night on the beach and caught whiting and a flathead, cooking and sharing their feast beneath the stars to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. As they drove back to Jerogeree, Steele could see that Billy had enjoyed their excursion and vowed that he’d repeat it as soon as possible.

  Steele and Billy settled into a comfortable routine and both found their life fuller for sharing it with each other. Billy suddenly had the father figure that his real dad and Dooley had never been, and Steele had a child in his life, something he thought he’d never have after his diagnosis and treatment. The first argument Steele and Billy had was over sport, though it wasn’t so much an argument as a disagreement. Billy was keen to play rugby league in the winter and cricket in the summer. Steele demurred. “Ordinarily, I’d agree to you playing footy, but I’m concerned that you might get hurt, Billy. The same applies to cricket. It’s your hands that concern me. I think you have a great career ahead of you as a vocalist and musician but if something happens to your hands, or fingers, it could put the kybosh on it. And we can’t rule it out. What about swimming in summer and athletics in winter? Josh Evans tells me that you can run like the wind.”

  “I can run okay,” Billy said without any great enthusiasm.

  “I’m thinking about your future, Billy. There’s heaps of boys who can play cricket and footy well but they don’t have your voice or your musical ability. I sympathise with your preference for these sports, but I’d be much happier if you were doing something else. If athletics and
swimming don’t appeal to you, is there anything else you’d like to do?” Steele asked.

  “Aw, I reckon not. There’s no money in those other sports. A fella could do a lot of training and get nothing out of it. I like cricket and footy best. The sports teacher says I could be a crackerjack winger and maybe play for Queensland one day,” Billy said with a grin.

  Steele shook his head. “I thought you wanted to be a singer and musician. You’ve got the looks and the talent if it’s really what you want. If you want to play football for Queensland, you’ll probably have to give away your performing plans. You can’t really do both at a high level.”

  Billy reached for his guitar. “I want to perform, Mr Clay. More than anything.”

  Steele nodded. “It’s your choice, Billy. I’ll back you no matter what you choose.”

  All of these discussions took place over several weeks as Billy gradually adjusted to his new life. His mother remained in a coma, though her general condition hadn’t worsened and Glenda Butler came every month to ascertain that Billy was happy with Steele. Billy assured her that he was and he certainly appeared well.

  Billy regarded Glenda with some awe and thought she had to think a lot of Steele to allow him to live with the writer. One bonus that came out of these visits was that the magistrate always brought something good to eat. Something that Mr Clay wasn’t likely to buy or cook.

  The first months of Billy’s stay were a happy and productive period for Steele. He’d made good progress with his current book and with learning the theory and practice of music to support Billy. Deborah Butler was the only fly in the ointment. Though only seventeen and inexperienced with males and the wider world beyond school, Deborah took after her mother in the brains department and she had no difficulty understanding that she’d been sent to Townsville to separate her from Clayton Steele. It wasn’t that she minded going to Townsville because she always had fun with her cousin. What irritated her was the fact that she’d been sent away like an errant child, whereas she considered herself quite grown-up and mature enough to be treated as an adult. There were several boys bursting to take her out and as deputy-school captain, she was one of the school’s elite students. In fact, Deborah considered herself so grown up that she felt she was ready for a real romance. This view was reinforced every time she looked at herself in the mirror, on a couple of occasions without clothes. The picture of the beardless Clayton Steele on the back cover of his second novel burned brightly in Deborah’s mind during her sojourn in Townsville.