by Sue Lawson
“Oh.” Mrs Gregory patted my hand.
“Why not?” Barry’s words were a trumpet blast. “They’re your family. You–”
“Barry,” warned Mrs Gregory, “don’t pry.”
I twisted the napkin in my lap. “Nan said they never contact me, letters or cards or calls or anything, so why should she go out of her way for them?”
“How old were you when your mother died, Robbie?” asked Barry.
Mrs Gregory made a noise in her throat.
“Nearly three.”
Barry’s nod was slow. “Do you remember much about her?”
I tried to conjure up something about Mum. The smell of dusting powder, sweet and soft, the warmth of a hand brushing my face, the sound of sobs muffled in the inky night, the weight of blackness pressing against my shoulders. Dark hair? Blue eyes? Or did I just hope that she looked like me? My voice croaked when I spoke. “Not much, really.” I leaned back in my chair. “Too young, I guess.” My smile felt thin.
“Would you like dessert?” asked Mrs Gregory.
“I couldn’t, thank you.” I patted my stomach and instantly regretted it. Dad did that after a meal.
“Righto, Robbie, back to the salt mine.”
I must have looked puzzled, because Mrs Gregory explained. “It’s an expression for hard work, Robbie.”
“Oh, right.” I smiled, even though I still didn’t understand. As I stood, I spied the pots stacked on the sink. “The dishes …”
“Leave them,” said Mrs Gregory, gathering our plates.
“Thank you for lunch.”
“My pleasure, Robbie.”
CHAPTER 9
For the rest of the afternoon, Barry and I painted the men’s shower and toilet doors, then scrubbed the laundry. Barry chatted about the places he’d seen in London – Buckingham Palace, the Thames and Big Ben – and the pubs where he worked and drank. They all had strange names like The Blind Beggar, The Lamb and Flag and Ten Bells, which according to Barry had something to do with Jack the Ripper. The most normal name of the lot was The Station Hotel, the pub where he saw the Rolling Stones play.
“You’ve seen the Rolling Stones?” I squawked like a chook who’d just laid an egg. “In concert?”
“Couple of times. Great band.” Barry stopped pouring soapy water into the gully trap. “Sorry, mate, I’ve been talking your ears off.”
“No, you haven’t. It’s been interesting. Incredible.”
“It sure was. Pam’s still over there. Should be back in April.”
“She your girlfriend?” I asked.
Barry beamed. “Most beautiful girl ever. She’s a nurse. Met her in Sydney. Well, I met her brother Trev first and he introduced me to her at a dance. You’ll love her.” He gathered the scrubbing brushes and buckets. “You’ll have to go to London when you finish school.”
“Not if Nan has anything to do with it.”
“She’s not a fan of overseas travel?”
“Not a fan of anything outside of Walgaree, especially anything foreign. Wish I had a penny for every time she told me flying makes your brain bleed and that concerts are ‘dens of sex and drugs’. Or that criminals with evil on their minds do ‘unspeakable things’ to travellers.” By the time I reached “unspeakable things” Barry was bent over, roaring with laughter.
“And don’t get her started on those lazy, black, good-for-nothing loafers up the road,” I added, quoting her again.
Barry stopped laughing and straightened up. “What do you think?”
“It doesn’t look like your brain bled or foreigners did unspeakable things to you.”
“I meant about the blacks.”
“Oh.” I chewed my bottom lip. “I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to one. I see them around, but …”
Barry shook his head. “You know there are as many Aborigines as white people around here, don’t you?”
“Really?”
Barry sighed.
I shouldn’t have mentioned black people. I’d messed everything up. “They seem nice enough–”
Barry raised his hand to stop me. “Relax, Robbie. It’s just the way it’s always been around here.”
He looked at his watch. “That’ll do for today.”
Panic gripped my gut. “I have to water the lawns.”
“I’ll do that after dinner. With a beer.”
“But what about that hedge you mentioned? We haven’t cut it back yet.”
“That’ll keep for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Barry smiled. “If you’re keen to come back. I could really use the help.”
“Are you sure? I mean, are you sure it’s okay after what I said? About …”
“On one condition.”
My heart dropped.
“It’s a business deal. You work. I pay. Things get pretty busy over the summer, so I’m hoping you’ll come most days.”
Something fragile and swallow-like soared in my chest. “You want me to work over the holidays?”
“Yes, I do. And maybe weekend work when school goes back.”
My smile felt enormous. “I’d like that.”
“Done.” Barry held out his hand to shake mine. “I’ll drop by the bank tomorrow to ask your father if it’s all right.”
“He won’t care.”
“Still, it’s the right thing to do.” We walked towards the office and my bike. “Oh, and Mum said lunch is part of the arrangement. No arguments.”
I wanted to protest, say that I’d go home, but I liked the idea of spending time with Barry and his mum. “Only if it’s not a bother.”
“The only bother will be if you don’t have lunch with us. Mum has a sweet spot for you already.”
“Barry.”
“What is it?”
“The mulberries. She doesn’t let me eat them. They’re for jam, for gifts. But when she’s not home, I get stuck into them.”
Barry’s rumbling laugh filled the air.
“See you tomorrow, Robbie,” he said.
CHAPTER 10
From the corner of our street, I could see Nan out the front of the house with the hose in her hand. She shielded her eyes from the blaze of the sun.
My heart skidded. She never watered.
I jumped from my bike and wheeled it along the footpath, trying to act like I hadn’t seen her.
“You’re late.”
“Hello, Nan.” I gave her my best smile. “I rode straight home from Barry’s.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Mr Gregory, Robbie. He may be a scruffy fellow, but he is your employer and deserves your respect.”
“He said to call him Barry.” I opened the gate and steered my bike inside. “How was your day?”
“Busy, as always. Idle hands …” She stalked to the tap, twisted it off and coiled the hose on the ground. She followed me down the drive to the back door. “I hope you mowed in a straight line.”
“I did, Nan. Barry has a terrific mower.”
“Do you mean he has an excellent mower, or that it is terrifying?”
I rolled my eyes. “Excellent mower, Nan. Very smooth.”
“What did Mrs Gregory cook for lunch?”
“Sausages. Veggies. It wasn’t as good as your cooking.” Only it had been way better. “Mrs Gregory is …” I flicked through words, as though searching a dictionary. Corker, terrific and beaut were all out. “She’s a lovely lady.”
Nan made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a hum. “Doesn’t mix much.”
“Barry has asked me to work there over summer.”
“Well, I’m not sure that is a suitable arrangement.”
“He’s going to ask Dad tomorrow.” I stowed my bike in the garage, and turned back into the harsh afternoon light to see Nan at the back door, arms crossed, mouth pressed closed.
“I can’t see how the lawns will need mowing every day.”
“I won’t just be mowing; I’ll be emptying bins, cleaning the laundry, keeping the park neat.” I
decided against mentioning cleaning the shower and toilet blocks. That would end in her flapping around like the scrawny hen in our chook yard squawking about the indecency of me, a boy, cleaning women’s showers and toilets. I could do without her moral decay lecture.
“I’ll discuss this with your father tonight.”
I sucked in a lungful of air. “Righto. I’ll be in after I change the chooks’ water and nesting straw.”
Nan’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Without being asked?”
I held out my arms and looked down at my shorts and T-shirt. “Figured I’m already dirty. May as well do it now.”
“Right, well, don’t leave trails of hay all over the backyard.” She watched me for a moment before flinging open the screen door.
As I trudged to the hay stacked under the lean-to behind the shed, I looked up at that massive branch and pleaded, “Drop, please.”
After dinner, I sat cross-legged on the lounge room floor, reading. Dad settled in his armchair, lit another cigarette and twirled his evening glass of Scotch. The ice cubes swirled in the amber liquid. “How did it go at the caravan park, Robbie?”
“Good.”
Nan swooped. “Frank, that man wants Robbie to work for him. Over the holidays.” She reached for her teacup. “You need to put a stop to it.”
The end of Dad’s cigarette glowed red as he inhaled. He blew smoke towards the ceiling before fixing his gaze on me. “What does he want you to do?”
I shrugged. “Help out. Mow, clean up, wash stuff.”
“That’s all very well, but I’ve arranged for Robbie to work for my friends,” said Nan.
Dad’s nod was slow and deliberate. “Which would you rather do, Robbie?”
Cranky old bats who paid in tomato goods or Barry? I glanced at Nan, who leaned forwards in her seat. “I’d rather work with Barry.”
Nan’s eyes hardened.
“Not that mowing for the others isn’t good,” I blathered, “but working with Barry will give me different experience. Maybe even business experience. You know, in the office.”
Dad nodded.
“Barry said he’d drop by the bank tomorrow to make sure you’re happy for me to work with him.”
A flicker of something crossed Dad’s face. Was he impressed?
Nan leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Well, that’s just too bad. I’ve already committed Robbie to helping the girls, Frank.”
“So un-commit him, Mum.” Dad butted out his cigarette. “This is a proper job.” He picked up The Bulletin from the table beside his chair. “They can go back to paying old Cec Watters.”
I smiled and shrank back into Biggles.
CHAPTER 11
Christmas Eve, after we’d tidied up the weeds around the playground, Barry asked me to post mail and buy more stamps. I rode into town with my chest pumped out.
Main Street was busier than usual. Cars filled all the spaces on both sides of the street, bicycles leaned against signposts and power poles, and people strolled and chatted, arms loaded with brown paper packages.
I parked my bike in the lane beside the post office, smoothed my hair and bundled the letters into a neat pile. I slipped them through the slot in the wall.
“Bower!”
I turned to see Keith and Billy stroll across the road. Billy waved, his smile as wide as ever.
“How’s working life?” asked Keith.
I beamed. “Good. Great, actually.”
Billy screwed up his face. “For real? I hate helping Dad. Especially with the sheep.” He held out his open palm, covered in red dots. “On Monday Dad told me to free a ewe stuck in the fence. Grabbed the stupid thing and copped a handful of thistles.”
“Ouch,” I said, wanting to check my watch. “What are you two up to?”
“Billy stayed over last night,” said Keith.
“And,” said Billy, all grin and bright eyes, “Mum brought my bike in.” He pointed over his shoulder to the bike rack near the general store. “I don’t have to ride Keith’s little brother’s bike now.”
Living out of town must have been the most boring existence, judging by Billy’s excitement about riding around town.
“And after Christmas, Keith and I are going to camp on the property,” continued Billy, “where the two rivers meet. You have to come.”
The only time I’d been allowed to sleep over at Keith’s, one of Nan’s spies reported she’d seen us riding around the streets at “all hours making an awful din”. We went for one ride after dinner and were back at the Axford’s by eight. But would Nan listen?
Goodbye sleepovers. My money was on Mrs Dixon, whose living room blinds were open day and night. She watched the street like normal people watched television. I’d never asked Nan if Billy or Keith could stay over. Why would I put them through that?
“Thanks for asking, but …” My words trailed away. Keith and Billy pulled sympathetic faces.
“Yeah, well, you’re invited. Just so you know.”
I nodded and looked up through the gum leaves to the aqua sky. “Well, I guess I’d better buy these stamps and get back to work.”
“Be seeing you, Bower,” said Keith, as I walked through the post office door.
CHAPTER 12
When I returned to the caravan park, Barry and I pruned the lilly-pilly hedge. Barry wiped the hedge clippers on the rag hanging from his back pocket and looked at the branches scattered on the grass. “Do you have many jobs to do at home?”
“More than my friends. I do them Saturday mornings.”
Barry rubbed his chin. “Maybe you could start here on Saturdays at 10.30. Give you time to finish up at home.”
I’d thought about asking Nan if I could spread my jobs over the week, but could never find the “right” time to bring it up. “Really? You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. And I’m betting you go to nine o’clock Mass Sunday mornings?”
“Without fail!”
“Well, you’d better start after ten Sunday too.”
Barry had thought of everything. “That’d be grand. Thanks.”
We loaded the barrows and emptied them onto the bonfire pile near the river. Barry talked about living in London. “Got the shock of my life. Didn’t know so many people existed in the world. And you know what surprised me most? Black people eating, drinking, shopping, even living with white people.”
I just about dropped the wheelbarrow handles. “Out of the reserves and missions?”
“None of those in London. Don’t get me wrong – a lot of argy-bargy and name-calling still goes on, but nothing like around here.”
Dad’s face when he spoke about blacks going to my school flashed through my mind. “Dad said Aborigines are enrolled at Walgaree High next year.”
Barry’s face lit up. “Yeah?” No snorts of disgust or grunts. “That’s a good start.”
“Do you really think …?” I searched for the right words. “Will it work? Blacks and whites together?”
Barry dumped more cut branches onto the bonfire stack. “Can’t see why not, and I reckon it’s past time we tried. All this ‘you’re not allowed here’ and ‘you can’t do that there’ because of skin colour, and not just in Walgaree, all over the country. It’s a bloody disgrace.”
Rubbish cleaned up and tools packed away, Barry stretched and took a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Let’s call it a day.”
Panic rushed from my gut to my scalp and toes. “It’s only 2.30. Did I say the wrong thing about–”
“Relax, man. It’s Christmas Eve, and I think we deserve the afternoon off.”
My breath out was loud.
We reached the office and Barry motioned for me to follow him inside. He opened a drawer behind the counter and took out a buff-coloured envelope.
I’d seen enough of Dad’s discarded on the kitchen bench to know this was my first pay envelope.
“Only a couple of days’ pay, but figured you’d like the coin before Christmas.” He reached a
cross the bench and handed me the envelope. “Thanks, Robbie. You’re a fast learner. You could just about run this place already.”
My face and throat felt hot. “It’s not like work … thanks. For the opportunity.”
Mrs Gregory peeked through the door connecting the house to the office. “Thought I heard voices.”
“Giving Robbie the rest of the afternoon off.”
“So you can go fishing?”
Barry pulled a pretend hurt face. “Never.”
Mrs Gregory laughed. “I can see straight through you, Barry Arthur Gregory.” She came around the counter and hugged me. At first I stood stiff and straight, but after a second I relaxed and soaked up the warmth. “Thank you for your help, Robbie. You’ve made a big difference in such a short time.” She stepped back, hands still on my shoulders. “Have a merry Christmas.”
CHAPTER 13
I sped out the caravan park gates into the bright afternoon sunlight, physically tired, but light and free. Maybe that was why I took the short cut through the Botanic Gardens instead of riding around them to Main Street as Nan insisted. According to her, the gardens were not a place for hooligans to charge about on their bikes.
I weaved through the entrance and made for the gates opposite. Ahead, a huddle of young people sprawled on the rails of the band rotunda. Voices and laughter carried on the air. I recognised Wright’s cackle.
I’d rather spend time with Nan than talk to that mental giant. As I slowed to turn around, he yelled.
“Oi, Bower.” Wright leaned on the rotunda railing. His mates, Rhook and Edwards, stood either side of him like bookends. Keith sat on the top step, smoking. Since when did Keith smoke?
Instead of taking off, as far away from Wright as I could manage, I steered in their direction.
Wright dragged on the cigarette he held between his index finger and thumb. His jaw jutted out as he exhaled. “Doing jobs for your nan?”
“Nup.” I kept my voice light. “I have a holiday job.”
Wright sniggered. “Mowing for fossils isn’t a job.”
Keith grinned, and flicked cigarette ash on the grass.
