Sydney Bridge Upside Down

by David Ballantyne

  ‘What time was this?’ asked Dad.

  ‘After eight o’clock,’ I said.

  ‘Funny time for him to be calling,’ he said. ‘What did he want to see me about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘When you weren’t here, he said he’d go to see Sam Phelps.’

  ‘Odd bloke,’ Dad said, frowning. He saw Cal rubbing his arm and told me: ‘If I catch you hitting this boy again, I’ll lam into you—you bully. I’ve got enough to worry about with your mother away—’ He looked unhappy, not angry, and I was sorry I’d had to upset him, I thought he was right to call me a bully, and I felt annoyed at myself and miserable and frightened.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I said. Before I knew it, I was crying, and this was as much of a surprise to me as it was to Dad.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘It’s not worth crying about.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ I could have had a good howl, but I forced myself to stop.

  ‘How did you hurt your leg?’ he asked.

  That helped to stop my sniffling. ‘I fell over,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t hurt.’

  ‘Looks like a bad bruise under that cut,’ he said.

  ‘It feels all right,’ I said.

  ‘Better go inside and bandage it,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ I said. I saw Cal looking annoyed because I was getting the sympathy he must think he deserved. I would make friends with him, I decided.

  ‘You boys mustn’t fight,’ Dad said sadly as he hopped back to the porch.

  I walked up to Cal and put my arm round his shoulders.

  He tried to pull away, but I held him. ‘It was a mistake, Cal,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I hit you. I think I must be going deaf in one ear. Or it might be too dirty. I’ll have to wash my dirty lug, eh?’

  ‘You didn’t need to hit me,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘That’s why I’m saying I’m sorry. Shake hands on it, eh?’

  We shook hands, though he didn’t seem to want to. He was eyeing me suspiciously.

  ‘You can look at my cigarette cards if you like,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ he said.

  ‘Think I’ll head up to the cave this morning,’ I said. ‘Want to inspect that pistol. I reckon I’ll get a chance today or tomorrow to ask Buster about some ammo. Want to come? You and Dibs. And Bruce Norman maybe.’

  ‘If you like,’ he said.

  ‘Dibs might have some fags,’ I said. ‘You can have a smoke too.’

  ‘I don’t want to smoke,’ he said.

  ‘You can if you like,’ I said. ‘Now I better go and bandage this leg, like Dad said.’

  He said nothing. I guessed I would have to work hard to become as friendly with him as I was in the old days. When, I wondered, were the old days? They must be the days before Caroline arrived. So many things had changed since then. Most of all, I thought, I had changed. I could not exactly remember what I was like before she came. I knew what I was like today. I was scared. I kept trembling I was so scared. But I would get over it, I had got over it before.

  Caroline and Dad were talking in the kitchen. I heard Dad mention Bonnie Brae as I reached the door.

  ‘—and live in Bonnie Brae,’ he said. He was not looking sad now, he was even cheerful. ‘Of course, the boys are used to this school and it mightn’t be a good thing to switch them. We’ll see— Ah, here he is, the young devil.’ He and Caroline looked at me, looked at my leg.

  ‘Poor Harry,’ said Caroline. ‘How did you hurt your leg?’

  ‘I fell over,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t hurt. Be okay in a couple of days. I’ll bandage it.’ I got a bandage from the middle drawer of the sideboard.

  ‘Let me help you,’ said Caroline. ‘You sit on the chair and I’ll put the bandage round your leg.’ She looked up at Dad as she unwound the bandage. ‘No, we didn’t get as far as Bonnie Brae. Buster thought it might be too far for us to go at night.’

  Dad watched her winding the bandage. ‘So what did you do, Caroline? Cuddle by the river? Or go for a moonlight walk to the waterfall?’

  Caroline smiled up at him, not seeming to mind his kidding.

  ‘We went to see some people called Hobson or Dobson, some name like that,’ she said. ‘Buster’s friends. They were nice people.’

  ‘That would be Bill Dobson’s place,’ Dad said, nodding. ‘Yes, Bill’s a good fellow—’

  ‘Hey, it’s a bit tight,’ I told Caroline. The touch of her fingers had been soft and warm, but she was tugging much too hard on the bandage, I’d be a cripple if she made it that tight.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ she said, loosening the bandage. ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  ‘It’s all right now,’ I said. It wasn’t really, but I could loosen it myself later; I mustn’t embarrass Caroline, she was doing her best.

  ‘So you liked the Dobsons, Caroline?’ said Dad.

  ‘They were nice,’ Caroline said. ‘Buster and Mr Dobson had a few bottles of beer. Mrs Dobson and I had a little wine. We chatted. It was very nice.’

  Dad laughed. ‘Sandy Kelly and I had a few too. You know what it is at smoke concerts. Well, you can guess what it is, eh? I had to watch Sandy, didn’t want him taking us over the bank on the way home. But Sandy can hold his liquor. It was a good night.’

  A good night for them, I thought. They would never guess what a horrible night I’d had.

  ‘Now does that feel comfortable?’ asked Caroline as she snipped the safety-pin in place.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Caroline.’

  ‘Where did you take the tumble, son?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Down the road,’ I said.

  ‘Where down the road?’

  ‘That culvert near the school track,’ I said, remembering that I had once seen a kid slip into it and twist his ankle.

  ‘Skylarking, I suppose?’ He smiled at Caroline.

  ‘Yes, it was my own fault,’ I said. ‘I jumped the wrong way. Nobody pushed me.’

  ‘All your own work, eh?’ He smiled again at Caroline. ‘Harry tells me we had a visitor last night. Chick Wiggins. Queer night for him to call. He knew there was a smoke concert on. He knows Sandy and I usually go. Asked for me, did he, Harry?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said seeing Caroline looking at me, maybe worriedly.

  ‘What did he say, Harry?’ asked Dad.

  ‘I told you,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But Caroline didn’t hear.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind not knowing,’ Caroline said.

  ‘What exactly did he say, Harry?’ Dad asked.

  I was sweating. ‘He said he wanted to see you. Then he said he wanted to see Sam Phelps. He didn’t say why, though.’

  ‘And you went for a ride with him?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Just to the railway line,’ I said. ‘I came straight back.’

  ‘Didn’t he invite Cal?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Cal was in bed,’ I said. ‘He wouldn’t play ludo and went to bed early and I was just sitting in the kitchen thinking I’d better go to bed too and Mr Wiggins knocked on the door—and asked for you. Don’t suppose I’d have gone with him if Cal had been up. I thought it was just something to do.’

  ‘A bit of fun, eh?’ said Dad.

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a great lad for your fun,’ he said. ‘Well, I suppose there was no harm in it. You weren’t away long, you say?’

  ‘Only a few minutes,’ I said. ‘Didn’t take Mr Wiggins long to reach the railway line.’

  ‘It’s a wonder he didn’t call on Mrs Kelly,’ Dad said. ‘Soon as he found me away, he’d know Sandy was away too.’ I saw the wink he gave Caroline.

  ‘Eh?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing you need to know about.’

  ‘Can I go and play now?’ I asked.

  ‘More fun!’ He grinned at Caroline, and she smiled faintly at me. ‘Make sure you’re back in time for lunch. Where are you going?’

 
‘Just up the hill,’ I said, moving towards the door, my right leg straight and stiff. ‘Cal’s coming with me. We’ll be back for lunch.’

  ‘A great lad for his fun,’ I heard Dad telling Caroline as I went out.

  My hands were very sweaty. I wiped them on my pants.

  I go now to the time the night before when Cal was in bed and I was alone in the kitchen. Dad and Caroline had been away for more than an hour.

  I was not sorry Cal had gone to bed. It gave me a chance to read Caroline’s autobiography.

  As soon as Cal shut our bedroom door, I sneaked into Caroline’s room and grabbed two of the exercise books from her suitcase. I had been thinking of doing this for a week or so, but I’d never had the opportunity before. I had been hoping, of course, that Caroline would read me more of the autobiography, but she hadn’t—and she had been so dreamy lately that I hadn’t liked to ask her for more. She probably wouldn’t mind if I had a peep. Anyway, it was her own fault for making me so curious about Uncle Pember.

  One of the books was only a quarter full. This must be the latest. I put it aside and looked into the other book. This was filled right up, it was most likely where I would find Uncle Pember mentioned.

  I turned a few pages, looking for his name. I couldn’t see it. I read some lines: ‘Ian, who at this stage hoped to become the credit manager, called to me from behind a grand piano one afternoon. I confess I giggled. Incidentally, he had a nickname for me, this was Blondie-baby. Blondie-baby, he said on the afternoon I refer to, would you trot out with me this evening? Not unless you dress yourself properly, I said teasingly. How do you mean, Blondie-baby, he said, then looked where I was looking. Yes, I said with a giggle, your fly is undone, Ian. At this point, I can mention that it was diverting for me, when I was going about my business in the city, to fix my gaze on men’s flies as I approached them. They were usually disconcerted. I may say that I never did this in the belief that I would one day spy a penis—’

  I quickly turned the pages. Still no mention of Uncle Pember. I risked reading a few lines: ‘On shimmering summer nights, when the scarlet birds flew away from the black serpents and white swans glided under dark bridges etc., I wished Geoff had not been so stuffy. That is to say, I was lonely on such nights. The humidity, I may add, was very high. Sticky weather, people kept saying. As usual, I slept bare. This led to an experience (note from my wobbly writing in this passage how the memory still affects me) to an experience of some interest. First, let me say that another of the salesmen, a gentleman who often appalled Geoff with his coarseness, was reputed to be a lecher. This reputation, as my experience of him illustrated, was indeed well-founded—’

  I turned some more pages. I reached the end of the book without seeing Uncle Pember’s name. I turned back two pages, read: ‘Although I was but seventeen, I was well aware of the pitfalls, having become familiar with them at a much earlier age, indeed as early as fourteen. Nevertheless, I was confident that a giant such as Robert, contrary to general belief, would be extremely gentle. I am not sure what grounds I had for being so confident. Whatever they were, they proved to be mistaken. No, wait a while. I may come back and change this. Robert could be tall, but not precisely a giant. Have to think about him, so often in the basement with the filing-cabinets. Did I ever speak to him? Who am I thinking of? Ronald, was it? Enough for today—’

  I closed that book and took up the other one. Only three pages from the start was my own name! It was so clear it seemed to glow. I looked away from the page, telling myself I shouldn’t read what Caroline had written about me, it would be better if I didn’t.

  After some seconds, I read: ‘I dare say his attempted attentions were flattering, or would have been were he not such a loathsomely hairy little man. Small wonder that sweet young Harry did his best to protect me. I feared at times that Harry’s freckles would pop, so great was the indignation he felt towards this person Wiggins. I recall a day when there was a carnival in a nearby town, and Harry took it upon himself to protect me. There were moments during the day, I confess, when I wished he were not so protective, yet I had to forgive him on reflection. I was sure that if my principal memory of the day turned on a pyramid of absolutely splendid cowboys, all of them deeply tanned and in tight-fitting trousers that threatened to burst open at any moment—if this was my principal memory, I am sure Harry’s was of his duty as my protector—’

  There was a knock on the back door.

  I raced up the passage and put the exercise books in the suitcase. Then I tip-toed along the passage to the kitchen. I waited for another knock before I went to the door. The second knock was louder than the first.

  I opened the door.

  ‘Hello, young fellow,’ said Mr Wiggins, stepping into the kitchen. ‘Anybody home?’

  ‘Only Cal and me,’ I said. ‘Cal’s gone to bed.’

  Mr Wiggins was looking round the kitchen as though he didn’t believe I was the only one there, as though he might see somebody behind the sofa or under the table if he looked hard enough. He wore a navy suit and a white shirt and tie, and the suit-coat bulged with all the toughness it was covering.

  ‘Dad at the smoke concert, is he?’ said Mr Wiggins, walking slowly towards the passage.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Only Cal and me at home.’

  ‘So you were saying,’ he said. He looked back from the passage. ‘Only you and Cal?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Wiggins,’ I said.

  ‘Then you won’t mind if I have a look, will you?’ he said, moving slowly along the passage.

  I did not speak. And I paused before I followed him. I was thinking hard. Although I had known I would have to be strong to tackle Mr Wiggins, I had not been able to work out how I would tackle him. Some day, I’d thought, I would have my chance. I had no idea, of course, when that day would come. It might have taken months to come, even years. Yet I had been certain it would come, sooner or later, and I would be ready for it when it did come. Had it come already? Could tonight possibly be the time? Was I strong enough yet? How could I do it?

  I was shaking when I went along the passage. I had thought of the beginning of a way.

  Mr Wiggins opened our bedroom door. He felt for the light-switch. I was behind him when the light went on. Cal blinked at us from the bed.

  Mr Wiggins looked behind the door, then switched off the light. ‘Good night, son,’ he said to Cal as he closed the door.

  He crossed the passage to Caroline’s room and switched on the light there. He went to the wardrobe and looked in. He looked under the bed.

  I saw him frown in the moment before he switched off the light. I followed him back to the kitchen.

  I stayed in the kitchen while he checked that there was nobody in Dad’s room. I was pretty sure now that I had a way. And I kept reminding myself how strong I was.

  ‘Where is your cousin?’ asked Mr Wiggins.

  ‘Out,’ I said.

  ‘So I gather,’ he said. ‘Where?’

  I looked at him. I felt calm.

  ‘Out with young Kelly, is she?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Well, where is she then?’

  ‘I don’t think she’d want me to tell you,’ I said.

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said. He put on a sort of smile. ‘I have a present for her, son. It’s out in the van. Caroline will love to get it. She loves presents.’

  ‘Well…’ I said.

  ‘She won’t mind if you tell me,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ I said.

  ‘Come on, Harry,’ he said. ‘You know she loves presents.’

  ‘Well, she’s gone for a walk,’ I said. I pretended to think. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Say you take me in the van? I’ll show you where she is.’

  ‘Just tell me,’ he said.

  ‘Best if I go too,’ I said. ‘To show you.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  We went out to
the van. The moon was shining on it. It looked ghostly.

  I got in beside Mr Wiggins. There was a parcel on the seat. I touched it.

  ‘Is this the present?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s right, son,’ he said. ‘Well, where do we go?’

  ‘Only to the works,’ I said.

  ‘We could walk there,’ he said.

  ‘Best not to,’ I said. ‘There’s a secret place.’

  He glanced at me, but said nothing. He started the van and we went slowly along the road to the works, Mr Wiggins looking out carefully in case Caroline went by.

  When we got to the works I told him to drive round the other side. This, I knew, would put the van out of sight.

  He grumbled something about the bumps, but drove the van behind the works.

  ‘This will do,’ I said. I got out quickly.

  Mr Wiggins got out with the present. ‘I don’t see her,’ he said. ‘Where would she be walking?’

  ‘Actually, she’s inside,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a secret place in the works.’

  ‘In there at this hour of the night?’ he said. He sounded suspicious.

  ‘There’s a paraffin lamp,’ I said. ‘Dibs Kelly’s father gave it to him, so we put it in this secret place, and Caroline’s allowed to go in there whenever—’

  ‘At this hour of the night?’ He was still suspicious.

  ‘You can find her if you like,’ I said. ‘I’m going home. My little brother will wonder where I am.’

  ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘Show me where she is. So you have a secret place in the old works, do you, Harry? That sounds exciting.’ He was being very friendly.

  I went ahead of him to the works entrance. ‘I’ll show you,’ I said as I crossed the patch of moonlight near the entrance.

  I hesitated in the doorway, long enough to make sure he was behind me. When he stepped into the patch of moonlight I went fast up the stairs to the first floor.