Black Water (27 page)

‘And let me jus’ say –’ Danny lifted a finger, as he allowed himself to be manoeuvred sideways, ‘that there’s no finer thing in this world than a good education. Oh, ’ullo there, Souk.’ Danny lowered his sights to concentrate on her. ‘Told yer, little mate, that I’d be ’ere and ’ere I am.
Bingo
! Legs eleven!
Beaudiful
bowling figures for Danny!’

Farren made it to Julian’s table and put a hand on Danny’s shoulder, who now sat, hands clasped, giving a fair imitation of a teacher, right down to the clean shirt and shaven face.

‘Eh, Danny.’ Farren leaned close, smelling laundry soap, tobacco, and rum. ‘I think p’raps you’d better come outside with me for a minute to get a breath of fresh air. We’ll come back in when you’ve straightened up a bit.’

Danny considered Farren’s request and took a deep breath.

‘Well, orright, if y’ insist.’ He stood, the chair falling away behind him. ‘But only if
all
books is away and
all
bins been emptied. But first I’ll see young Souk’s work, because that’s why indeed I come over ’ere in the first place.’

Farren figured he had to get Danny out.

‘Nah, I think –’

Julian walked over, smiling, which Farren noticed changed his face considerably.

‘Danny’s fine, Farren.’ Julian shook Danny’s hand with warmth. ‘Welcome, Danny, you’re very welcome. I’m sure Souki would like to show you around while I organise a decent cup of tea for everybody.’ He gestured. ‘Go right ahead. I’ll leave you in Miss Cook’s capable hands.’

‘Right you are, Mr D,’ Danny said, lifting a finger. ‘And good luck. You know. Down the bloody track. Watch out for potholes.’

Souki latched onto Danny’s sleeve and began to haul like a tugboat.

‘C’arn, Dan.’ She kept up the pressure. ‘But don’t trip over them kids’ models or Joolan’ll have the freggin’ hide off ya!’

Farren couldn’t stop blushing, although most people were either grinning at Souki, or busy getting out of Danny’s way. With the hint of a smile, Jardy eased in beside Farren, and told him to take it easy.

‘Relax now, Danny’s orright.’ Her voice flowed. ‘He’s already done the hard part just gettin’ ere. I think he’s enjoying himself.’

Cautiously Farren agreed; after all, it wasn’t that rare around Queenscliff to see a bloke who’d had one, or ten, drinks too many. Glancing around, he was pleased to see Robbie ushering his mother in. He waved, Robbie waved back, and Mrs Price smiled.

‘That’s me mate, Robbie,’ Farren told Jardy. ‘And his mum. She’s real nice.’

Jardy accepted Farren’s judgement, watching as Robbie guided his mother towards the tables of student-made models and projects.

‘I’ve never seen anyone in a dress like that,’ Souki’s mother said quietly. ‘Except in a picture. She looks like the Queen of England.’

Farren saw that Mrs Price wore a dress the colour of autumn leaves dipped in gold, and that her hair was intricately coiled and tightly restrained with a thin black band. She looked as breakable, he thought, as a glass ornament.

‘Yeah, she gets done up, all right,’ he said. ‘But she’s nice. And pretty tough, too. In a way.’ He didn’t try to explain.

On one of the tables was a model aeroplane so well-made Farren wondered if it might actually be able to fly. Robbie’s name was on the hand-written card where it rested.

‘It’s a Martinsyde.’ Robbie stepped away from his mother who was talking to Julian Derriweather about Isla’s health. He looked at the aeroplane as if less than impressed by his handiwork. ‘A war plane. English. Unfortunately they’re renowned for catching fire, which is a bit of a drawback, you’d have to say.’

The plane was painted green, its wheels red, its wings made from fabric stretched tight over a light wooden frame. The motor, Farren figured, was also wooden but painted silver to look like metal.

‘How’d you know how to make it?’ Farren thought it was one of the best things he’d ever seen. ‘D’you get some drawings or somethin’?’ Many of the boats around Queenscliff were made from sets of drawings. That’s how it was done mostly.

‘Nah.’ Robbie picked up the Martinsyde and handed it to Farren. ‘I just kind of knocked it up from a few photographs. It’s not really to scale or anything.’

The aeroplane was light. Farren held it delicately, thinking of bird bones because they were light, too, filled with tiny bubbles of air.

‘He did make another.’ Mrs Price had returned to stand next to Robbie. ‘But he wasn’t happy with it. D’you think he’ll be an airman one day, Farren? I dare say I can’t think of anything that might serve to stop him. Although I’ve tried.’

Farren didn’t know how to answer and Robbie pretended not to have heard. Robbie looked around the classroom as if he had somewhere else to go.

‘Anyway, ’Roon –’ he glanced at the model as if it was of no particular interest. ‘You want it? You can have it if you like. I’ve got the other at home.’

Farren would’ve loved to have the plane. In its own way it was as beautiful as a bird. He could make room for it on top of his chest of drawers or hang it from the roof on fishing cord; it would be one of the best things he had. But he knew it would be wrong to take this one, Robbie’s best.

‘I’ll have the other one,’ he said. ‘Your not-so-good one, if you really reckon I could. And I’ll look after it real careful, I swear. It’s fantastic.’

‘It’s yours.’ Robbie made way for Souki and her mother, introducing Jardy Cook to his mother, impressing Farren with the ease with which he conducted the operation.

‘My husband’s a captain in the army, Mrs Cook,’ Mrs Price told Jardy, her hands tightly clasped. ‘He’s missing in action at the moment, you see. And I must say I would prefer that Robbie didn’t want to join the Air Corps, or whatever it’s called, because that sort of thing worries me so.’ Farren saw pain flicker in Mrs Price’s
eyes, as if a too-bright summer sun had caught her unprepared. ‘But, oh, what is it with men? The things that they want to do?’

Jardy gently released Souki, easing her one step away from the table of model aeroplanes, ships, and houses.

‘Yeah, I know.’ Souki’s mum looked at Robbie and Farren, as if comparing their heights. ‘But these two seem smart enough. An’ ’opefully the War’ll be over by the time they’re old enough to get into it.’

Mrs Price nodded, Farren getting the feeling that she was about to say, ‘amen’.

‘Oh, I hope for that,’ she said. ‘I hope for that so very much.’

At nine o’clock on Wednesday night, as Jardy darned socks and Farren was thinking about going to bed, Danny started the slow process of putting on his coat. Farren couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Rain and wind slammed at the house like stand-over men working in tandem.

‘Where are
you
goin’?’ Farren stood up. ‘Whadda ya doin’, Danny? Hey, I’ll come with ya.’

Danny deftly did up a top button, and produced a grin as he might’ve produced a good luck charm, something reserved for special occasions.

‘Nah, you won’t.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Qualified sailmakers only, sport. But don’t worry, I’ll be back in two shakes. Why don’t yer just make Jardy a cuppa tea and tell her how nice I am?’ Danny pulled his old army hat down low over his brow, giving himself the look of a highwayman. ‘See you twose later, eh?’ And he left, blowing Jardy a kiss before shutting the door.

Farren, blushing, took the kettle to the sink, and, in order to
not think too much about Danny’s departing gesture, he thought about the race that was now less than three days away.

He could picture the
Camille
and the
Delia Three
racing side-by-side on the bay, blue water splashed with silver, the boats heeling with the wind, brand-new mainsails reaching for the sky, the two crews concentrating on reaching the far shore and reaching it first. He ached with the wish that his parents could be here to see the
Camille
race, but they wouldn’t be, and the pain of that, of what he had lost and would never have again, was cold, hard, dark, and unrelenting.

‘That Danny-boy,’ Jardy said, looking up from her sewing. ‘Did you know he gave Souki a little bracelet of your mother’s the other day? I tried to stop him but he insisted.’

‘Yeah?’ Farren didn’t even know his mother had had any bracelets. ‘Did she like it?’

Jardy nodded, poised over her sewing. ‘Oh, yeah, she loved it. But I’m mindin’ it for her until she’s older. You know what kids are like.’

Farren did; but he was pleased Danny had given something to Souki, because he reckoned Souki had given plenty to the Foxes, even if it was not the kind of thing you could hold in your hand.

‘He loves Souki,’ Farren said impulsively. Well, it was true. He did.

‘And she loves him.’ Jardy looked at Farren then turned her attention back to her sewing. ‘And I do, too,’ she murmured, or that’s what Farren thought she said, although he couldn’t be sure over the hurrying, harrying sound of the wind.

Walking to the wharf, Farren saw there wasn’t a place that didn’t sparkle. Dew drops clung to each and every thing, and on the bay silvery waves juggled light as if it was too hot to handle. Overhead a stiff southerly breeze was at work clearing the sky, pushing clouds away like a collection of puffy white pianos. Farren was more nervous than he could ever remember. His stomach ached, he yawned constantly, and he wished keenly that the race would be called off.

‘Now
hopefully
Henk and Robbie’ll bring down the new sails,’ Danny said, winking at Farren as they sploshed along the muddy track. ‘But don’t worry, skip. I’ve rolled up the old ones in case of an emergency and stowed ’em on board.’ He stopped to light what Farren saw was a short, torpedo-shaped cigar. ‘And I’ll handle
all
bets, thank you very much. The bets today
is
Danny-boy’s business.’

‘No more bets.’ Farren stopped right where he was. ‘Please. No more, Danny.’

Danny smiled through smelly grey smoke. Around his neck he
had knotted a green silk scarf that had belonged to their mother, and on his slouch hat he had stuck a faded blue paper flower.

‘You just get us pier to pier to pier first, Farry,’ he said. ‘And let me worry about the rest. And cheer up, sport!’ Danny spat happily into the ferns. ‘It wasn’t you who got poked and prodded by that bloodthirsty quack in Geelong last week. So just enjoy yerself, mate. This is just a bit of bloody fun!’

Farren supposed Danny was right. He knew the hard, sweating effort Danny had made to get into Geelong to see a doctor about his injuries. He’d come back looking as if he’d walked a hundred miles and had gone straight to bed.

‘Now all I need –’ Danny took a flat bottle of golden rum from a pocket, ‘is one wee sip to overcome me natural shyness and we’ll be on our way.’

The further up the mast Farren hauled the new mainsail, the more embarrassed he became. He’d never seen a sail cut like it; a tight triangle with a jagged edge, and a strange panel across it like a deep gutter. The crowd on the wharf were silent until somebody started to laugh.

‘That ain’t a bloody sail,’ said Kyle Kendrick, a retired fisherman, renowned for his bad temper. ‘That’s a bloody kite. Whadda ya think yer doin’, you bloody Foxes? There’s people’s good money ridin’ on yers, ya bloody no-hopers. Jesus!’

Farren was stunned. The sail Danny had cut was bizarre. He looked at Henk, desperate for some reassurance, or a way out.

‘Don’t ask me.’ Henk, wearing a clean white shirt the same colour as the new sail, shrugged. ‘I had nothing to do with it. Danny would not let me into the loft while he was working. I just hoped
he knew what he was doing.’ He looked at the sail, his forehead like corrugated cardboard. ‘But this I think is crazy.’

‘A little bit strange,’ Robbie said slowly, head tilted. ‘I’ll admit. But who knows, Farry? It is a bit like an aeroplane’s wing. Maybe it’ll go like the clappers?’

Farren felt like he might vomit; if he could’ve wished himself a thousand miles away he would’ve done it in a second. Beside him Souki looked up, shading her eyes, the sail impressing itself against the blue, windblown sky.

‘It’s funny innit, Farren? How d’yer reckon it’ll go?’

It bloody won’t go, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He felt as if every ounce of energy had been beaten out of him. The air of embarrassment around the boat was crippling, the crowd fast dwindling. Farren thought the sail was a shocker.

‘I dunno how it’ll go, Souk,’ he said, and although it was the last thing in the world that he wanted to do, he hauled it right up the mast and tied it off. ‘But I guess we’ll soon find out. Who knows? It might be all right. But I bloody doubt it.’

Only eight or nine people, apart from Charlotte, Isla, and Maggie, had stayed to watch the
Camille
being rigged.

‘He’s never been quite the full quid since he come home,’ someone said as Farren bent to check the tiller. ‘And now Joe’s gunna get himself some easy money, more’s the bloody shame of it.’

‘It’ll be fine, Farren,’ Maggie called down determinedly. She flicked a hand as if she was sooling a dog onto a rabbit. ‘You blokes get out there and win!’

‘We’re bettin’ on you,’ Charlotte added, her voice flattened by doubt. ‘Yeah, you get out there and win, Farren. Youse c’n do it. Even with them things.’

Farren tried to square his shoulders and get himself right, but he only felt worse when he saw Danny coming through the crowd like a fish swimming the wrong way through a school, a bottle of beer locked in his good hand.

‘Geez, what’s yer problem, blokes?’ Danny arrived, cigar clenched in his teeth to look up at the sail that was as white as a washed hen, its jagged edge like a badly clipped wing. ‘Bet youse ’ave never seen anythin’ like that before, eh?’ He swapped his cigar for his beer, drank, and burped. ‘Yeah, I saw it in a dream, and I swear to God she’ll go like a cut cat. Now gimme a hand down and let’s get this party started.’

Farren didn’t move. ‘Let’s use the old sails, Danny.’ He felt as if each word he was saying stank. ‘I just don’t think this thing’ll go. And neither does Henk. We got fifteen minutes till the start. We can run the old mainsail up, no worries, and maybe work on this new one later. There’s people bet a lot of money on us, Danny.’