A Prayer for Blue Delaney (19 page)
‘Is he your boyfriend?’
‘No. He plays saxophone and sometimes I sing at dances with his band. That’s all. We’re friends.’
‘So should I call you Brigida, too?’ he asked shyly.
‘You can call me any damn thing you like,’ she said, quickening her step.
As the tram rumbled towards the city, Colm felt he was no longer in Australia. Australia was desert and sand, mulga and saltbush, the blood-red heart of the centre or the pale gold of the west, not a place of bustling cities. Colm stared out at the grand old buildings, wide streets and brilliant green parks. Somehow, the colours seemed all wrong. They made his eyes feel bigger.
At a busy city intersection, Blue grabbed Colm by the wrist and they stepped down onto the tram stop. Blue set off down the street at a brisk pace. They were walking along Swanston Street when a stylish young man called out to Blue. Colm heard a passer-by snarl and say ‘Bloody Charlies’, and then spit on the pavement, right near the young man’s feet.
‘You coming up for a cuppa, Blue?’ asked the young man, deftly sidestepping the spit. When Colm heard her voice, he instantly realised his mistake. The person wasn’t a man at all. She had on a beautifully tailored suit, a fancy Homburg hat and held a silver-tipped cane in one hand. People in Melbourne were definitely different from people in the Territory.
‘We’ve got to get back to Williamstown before five,’ said Blue.
‘You’ve got plenty of time. Bring your young friend upstairs for some raisin toast.’
Colm followed Blue up the narrow staircase.
‘What’s a Charlie?’ asked Colm.
‘Don’t listen to them,’ said Blue crossly. ‘They just don’t think women should come to town dressed in slacks.’
‘She looks like a man, or at least a boy,’ whispered Colm.
‘Val’s her own person,’ said Blue. ‘And some people don’t like that. If you’re not married with a bunch of kids they think you’re a bloody danger to society.’
Val’s Cafe was as individual as she was. Colm had never seen anything like it. At the top of the stairs hung a large oil painting of Val. The stairs opened out into a room that was hung with black fishnet. The floor was covered with a royal blue carpet and the wooden chairs were painted mauve, but the feature that intrigued Colm was the grand piano decorated with a vase of flowers. He longed to sit down at the keyboard, but Blue led him to one of the little tables. A man came and took their order and they sat opposite each other for the first time since he had arrived. Music played on a radio and the waiter did a little soft shuffle as he carried a tray of buttered toast across to their table.
‘Well, I guess I should read this letter before we go any further,’ said Blue, when they each had a cup of hot tea in front of them. Colm sat anxiously watching her unfold Mrs Mahoney’s letter and read it from beginning to end. When she’d finished, she turned the sheets of paper over and stared at the other side, as if there had to be more than what the letter contained. Finally, she looked up at Colm.
‘You’ve been travelling with Dad for over a year?’ she said, her voice full of disbelief.
‘A bit longer than a year. More like two, I think,’ said Colm. He studiously picked the raisins out of the toast and avoided Blue’s gaze.
‘And you call him Grandad?’ she said
‘He told me to,’ said Colm, crumbling the edge of the toast until the plate was covered with crumbs. How did she manage to make him feel ashamed?
‘And you were on the road, all that time?’
‘No, at first I lived with him in Fremantle but then . . . it was time to move on.’
‘Time to move on,’ echoed Blue. ‘That’s one of Dad’s catchphrases for sure.’ She started reading the letter from the beginning again, frowning as if it were written in another language.
Colm wriggled uncomfortably in his seat. He wanted her to look up from the letter and smile and say, ‘Of course, if Bill is your grandad then you can be like a son to me, or at least my nephew!’ He was glad when a tall blonde woman came over to their table and engaged Blue in conversation.
Quietly he slipped out of his seat and went to the piano. He’d never seen a grand piano, except in pictures. It was huge and satiny black - like a ship, waiting for the sail to be hoisted, a ship that could take him away from Melbourne and all the awkwardness of meeting Blue. He ran his fingers over the keys, careful not to press them though he could almost hear the notes resounding inside his head. He hummed softly to himself as his fingers caressed the ebony and ivory. Almost unconsciously, his hands formed the chords that he had played over and over in the Asylum.
‘Can you play?’ asked Blue, coming up behind him.
‘A little,’ said Colm.
‘Play me something. Something short.’
Colm sat down in front of the keyboard and shut his eyes. From some dark corner of his memory he first mapped out a piece and then began to play. He was relieved to discover that his fingers found their way to the right keys.
‘You have a nice tone,’ said Blue. It was the first time he had heard some kindness in her voice. She sat down beside him and played a few chords, and then suddenly she was humming and playing a loose and easy piece of jazz. Colm watched her hands with fierce concentration. When she played the refrain for a second time, he pulled out his harmonica and played along.
‘You’re very musical,’ said Blue, approvingly. ‘Let’s try another.’
This time, Colm picked up the tune even more quickly. Everyone in the cafe stopped what they were doing to watch the performance. When Blue started singing, her voice was so startlingly rich and full that Colm almost lost the thread of the tune. He shut his eyes and let the music wash over him. When the song was finished, everyone in the cafe broke into applause. Colm turned to Blue.
‘Can you teach me to play that?’ he asked.
Blue’s expression grew clouded. ‘Somebody will teach you. You know Mrs Mahoney wants to pay for you to go to school? Some place called St Finian’s College. She probably only did it to get at Dad - she never understood why he wouldn’t go to mass.’
‘What if they find out where I came from?’
Blue shrugged. ‘Annie reckons she’s got connections there, so I guess she knows what she’s doing. I just hope to God it’s a boarding school.’
‘But aren’t I going to live with you? Until Grandad gets out of hospital, that is.’
Blue looked up at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads.
‘We have to get going. We’ll miss our train,’ she said abruptly.
Colm wished they could go back to playing the piano. He had a feeling music might be a much better language to talk to Blue with than words. Words were impossible, jagged things that both of them stumbled over.
A light rain washed the streets of Williamstown as they walked back to Blue’s house from the station. Walking beside Blue with the wind sweeping off the bay and the smell of the sea sweet in the air, Colm had a flash of the visit to Brighton that he’d made with his mother. He put his hand to his forehead, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of memory.
Blue stopped. ‘I just need to get some bread and milk. You wait outside. I’ll only be a minute.’
She stepped into a corner shop and the bell above the door jangled. Colm stood in the grey afternoon light, staring down the long street, wondering how much further it was to Blue’s house.
A band of children who were playing chasey in the street stopped their game and stared at Colm.
‘Hey, are you with the wicked witch?’ yelled a small girl and the rest of the gang laughed. They moved in closer and Colm looked into the shop, wishing Blue would hurry up and come out.
‘Aren’t you scared she’s gunna take you home and cook you up? My gran says witches always have red hair, so she’s gotta be one,’ said the small girl.
‘Don’t be stupid, Suzy,’ said an older boy. ‘She’s not a witch. She’s a Commie. My dad reckons she’s got guns under her bed. He’s probably a Commie too. A Commie spy.’
The gang of kids moved in closer, encircling Colm until he could feel the heat from their bodies. He kept his gaze down.
The bell above the milkbar door jangled again and Blue stepped out into the midst of the jostling children. ‘C’mon, let’s go. You can come back and play with the kids later.’
As they walked away, one of the boys yelled after them, ‘We don’t want to play with no Commie spy.’
Blue spun around. ‘Piss off, you pack of little cretins.’ The children broke into a run, dispersing in all directions.
Colm’s brain was whirling. What did they mean, ‘spy’? Did Blue really have a gun under her bed? What was a Commie anyway?
Blue caught the look on Colm’s face. ‘Don’t worry about it, kiddo. They’re only trying to razz you.’
‘They said you were a witch and a Commie and that you have guns under your bed.’
Blue laughed. ‘One out of three isn’t bad. I am in the Communist Party. They’re right about that much.’ She was still laughing as she unlocked a gate in the side of an old brick building.
Mutely, Colm followed her up a flight of dark, narrow stairs and into a tiny kitchen overlooking the boatyards. There were books and pamphlets on every surface and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Blue warmed a can of baked beans and made a pot of tea. Colm wrapped his hands around his cup and looked from the jumbled kitchen to the cluttered sitting room, which was no more than an enclosed balcony. The flat was so tiny that even Colm’s small case took up a lot of room. It wasn’t exactly the sort of home that he’d imagined any woman would live in. Blue tipped the baked beans into a bowl and set it down in front of Colm.
‘Crowded, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘But Annie Mahoney wouldn’t care about that, would she? The old cow doesn’t bother to ask if I can fit you in my flat, let alone my life.’
When Colm opened his mouth to respond, Blue raised one hand like a stop signal.
‘I haven’t got time to sit around talking about it with you right now. I’ve a meeting to get to, so you’re going to have to take care of yourself tonight.’
Blue began stuffing piles of leaflets into a big carry-all. As she packed, she went on talking.
‘I don’t know where you’re going to sleep. I don’t know what Annie was thinking. I don’t know how I’m going to explain you to everyone. Honest to God, I don’t know what I’m meant to do with you.’
Colm stared into the cup of cooling tea and wished he could fall into it and disappear.
Next morning, Colm was woken early by Blue. He had slept on an old brown couch in her living room, and his neck was stiff when he sat up. He shivered as he threw off the blankets and fumbled to find his shirt. He’d forgotten what it was like to be cold after months in the north.
Blue was making tea in the tiny kitchen annexe. ‘Quick, get some brekky into you,’ she said, slamming a box of Cornflakes down on the table. She fixed her hat and looked into the mirror above the kitchen sink. ‘We have to get cracking. You’re starting at St Finian’s today.’
Colm put the box of cereal down and stared at her. ‘But what about Grandad?’
Blue winced. ‘Do you have to call him Grandad?’
‘That’s what he told me to call him.’
‘Well, you can’t see him today. He needs time to recover from the trip, and you need to start school. I can’t have you mooching around all day. I’ve got a rehearsal this afternoon. I missed one yesterday and I’m not missing another one for anyone’s sake. So let’s get you off to school.’
She snatched up her bag and threw Colm’s jacket onto his lap. ‘Let’s go.’
There was a frost on the grass as they ran down to the train station. Colm’s knees felt numb with cold. He was glad of the press of bodies in the crowded train.
St Finian’s was an imposing old building on a busy street north of the city. Out in the quadrangle a group of boys in dark blue uniforms were gathering for assembly.
‘Blue, I don’t have a uniform,’ said Colm, suddenly feeling the full weight of what was about to happen.
‘It won’t matter for your first day,’ said Blue. ‘The important thing is to get you started.’
Colm knew she meant the most important thing was to get rid of him. He felt he was falling down a black hole and suddenly he hated her for pushing him into it.
All through the interview with the headmaster, Colm sat silently while Blue described him as her godson and scribbled both their names on all the forms. The only moment Blue looked at him during the entire interview was when the priest told her there was no facility for boarders at St Finian’s. It was definitely only a day school. Colm was glad to see her perplexed frown. He wasn’t so easy to get rid of after all.
As Colm waited for a student to take him to his first class, Blue said, ‘Looks like you and me are stuck with each other for a while.’ She drew an old envelope out of her handbag and scribbled a map on the back. ‘92 Flinders Lane. That’s where I’ll be this afternoon. You catch the tram into town and then walk down this street here. It’s where we got on the train yesterday.’
‘What if I get lost?’ said Colm.
‘You’re a big boy. You’ll sort it out,’ said Blue, folding the envelope and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
The morning dragged by in a blur of shuffling from one cold classroom to another. It made him uneasy to sit behind a desk again with a Brother standing at the blackboard. He had to fight down the bad memories that the lessons brought to him. He watched the hands of the classroom clock, counting off the minutes of each lesson. Colm couldn’t stop thinking about Bill lying alone in the hospital. How could Blue have done this to them?
Third period of the day, all the boys in Colm’s class were taken outside for sport. The other boys had all changed into their sports uniforms, but Colm stood awkwardly in his ordinary clothes as the boys jostled each other excitedly.
‘We’re practising for the Olympics,’ explained one of the boys. ‘Brother Jack reckons we’re going to do our own version of the Games at the end of the year. If you’re the champion of your Form, Brother Jack reckons you’ll get a ticket to a real Olympic event at the MCG. Bosca, eh?’
Colm smiled. It was so long since he’d been in the company of other boys, he’d almost forgotten that it could be fun.