Frederick's Coat (6 page)

Slowly the understanding that he and his father were a team of two making their way in a perilous world and must support each other. At times Johno wondered who really gained most from this partnership.

No words could describe the sweet ache, the almost frantic sense of responsibility he owed this child: that he couldn’t let the kid down, must ensure Danny reached his potential, always be there for him.

He knew, too, that Danny had saved him from becoming his old self, or perhaps worse, that he might have drifted back to the easier lifestyle of no responsibility and no obligation. God knows he’d had thoughts of giving up.

Now, watching the eyelids lose their struggle against sleep, the long dark lashes, then one last burst of telling about something from school,
how everyone loved his drawings — ‘and our teacher says I’m going to grow up to be proper artist one day’.

‘You sure will, son. You’ll be famous.’ Sleep finally claimed a boy who could be hyperactive — read hypersensitive — where his art was concerned. Johno daren’t tell him it was time to go to bed, or do any task; yet when Danny’s arms reached up for his father, Johno placed his careful weight in his five-year-old son’s embrace.

Waiting for Danny at the school gates every afternoon, picking out his face in the frenetic crowd of jabbering children, excited at seeing him and hearing of his day. Walking home holding hands, Danny with his own excitement at what he was going to draw as soon as they got home. Food of little interest to him.

This was the same boy who’d once said, ‘You’re
not
my father. I don’t have a father. Now go away.’ Like being hit by machine-gun fire.

Using a car lent by his father, Johno finally got his mind around working for a living, took a job as assistant to a chef in a café called Harry’s Authentic Aussie Tucker — authentic stodge, more like it. A truckers’ cafe when it wasn’t frequented by beer-gutted drunks.

Slave would be a better job description. The pay was twelve dollars an hour for a fifty-hour week of Thursday to Sunday lunches and heavy dinners that catered to overweight workers, to entire families suffering obesity pigging out on ten-buck ‘All U Can Eat’ specials, late-night drunks ordering steak, eggs and chips and spoiling for a fight. Johno was often tempted to come out from the kitchen and sort out some aggro troublemaker, but knew he mustn’t.

The most popular dish was a mixed grill — lamb chop, sausage, piece of steak and a mince pattie, with fried chips and choice of two eggs as an extra. Aussie tucker sold by a Croat. Harry Novak worked the public end of his business, put on a ruggedly affable persona with his Slavic accent and told crude jokes to his regular customers. In the kitchen he was an abusive dictator who screamed at his staff for the smallest reason, or for none at all. He reminded Johno of certain prison
guards who abused their power. The day would come, surely, when he’d thump this bully and walk off the job.

A neighbour, Mavis Wilkinson, looked after Danny when Johno was at work. Widowed at forty-six, she had grown-up kids who lived in other cities. She was country plain with noticeably warm blue eyes, especially when they looked at Danny, who came to really like, even adore, her. But he was just as capable of ignoring her existence if engrossed in drawing or painting. Danny was still young but his father could see the rapid development in his work and wondered when he should get him some professional guidance — not that he could afford it on his wage.

One day Johno bought a big pad of good-quality art paper, a set of pencils and a novelty pencil sharpener that played ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and flashed on and off in fluorescent green when you used it.

Ignoring his father’s gift for an admirable length of time, Danny responded when Johno sharpened a pencil and the familiar tune played. Johno said, ‘I bet you can’t draw me.’

What the child produced was remarkable for his age, though disturbing, too.

‘Is that me?’ Danny nodded. ‘Doesn’t look like me. I bet you can’t do Dad working in the restaurant kitchen.’

To his great surprise Danny drew a plate of food like the one Johno had once sketched when he was trying to win the boy over. Danny had looked at it for about half a minute, torn it up. Danny’s depiction of Harry Novak’s fare was far more precise: a perfect oblong sausage, a very good rendition of a lamb chop, a rectangular steak with a ridge of fat, and a circle for the meat pattie, but textured, as well as numerous chips drawn in three dimensions, with little square ends. Two eggs with yellow yolks carefully coloured in. How did someone so young draw like this?

Presumably Johno was the figure wearing a tall chef’s hat. He’d told Danny that he had to wear one at work. The mouth was turned downward in misery and tears were coming out of the
almond-shaped
eyes.

‘Why am I crying? I like the mixed grill. Remember Daddy cooked it for you.’ Come to think of it, the kid had only picked at the food his father had so carefully prepared.

Danny said, ‘Because Mum doesn’t like you.’

‘That’s sad. Does Leah like me?’

‘Nope. That’s why they left.’

‘Do you like me?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t used to. Mum said you spent all our money on horses. We could have had a house and they would be living with us.’ This was hard to take, coming from a kid.

‘Why did you buy a horse?’

‘I didn’t buy a horse.’ Johno explained betting. ‘One day we might have our own house,’ he said. Got a look that said Danny didn’t believe him.

‘So why am I crying in your drawing? Mean dads don’t cry. They make other people cry.’

‘You made Mum cry. We saw her when you didn’t live here. Why don’t you go away? Then she’ll come back.’

Johno tried again. ‘Adults do things kids don’t understand till they get older. Then you’ll be doing the same with your kids.’

‘Will not.’

‘Okay, maybe you won’t,’ said Johno. ‘You didn’t say why I’m crying.’

‘You’re sad.’

‘At what?’

‘Mum.’ Pulled his lips closed as if stitching them together. Defiance filled his eyes.

But he didn’t resist his father’s embrace, even snuggled into him.

Now that all seemed in the dim past.

I
n a year of working at Harry’s he’d saved precisely nothing. If it hadn’t been for his father, he and Danny would be out on the street. But he no longer considered going back to crime. Selling cars on his own account like his father was doing, he might have to if nothing better than working for Harry came up. Though he was no car salesman.

‘You’ve got that look,’ Johno said to his father, who was standing in the front doorway looking pleased with himself.

‘Does it show?’

‘Grin any more and your face will split. You win something at the pub?’

‘I don’t frequent pubs like I used to,’ said Laurie Ryan. ‘Guess what?’

‘I got over guessing games at about age ten. Just spill it.’

‘That partner I told you I went in with on the property deal?’

‘Shall I pop out while you get the melodrama over with? You can play it to Danny. I’m sure he’ll be impressed.’ Johno not in the mood after another day of unpleasant kitchen tasks that were an affront to a man’s dignity, not helped by a mad boss.

‘To think, it’d been literally sitting under my nose all this time,’ Laurie said. ‘The equity I had in the house — gone way up. Equity, son. Beautiful word that.’

‘You used to say to me a good story is a short one.’

‘Remember my mate Wrighty informing me I had all this equity in the house, so I could borrow against it to invest in some industrial
properties that earned me rent to cover the loan payments? Well, the local shire re-zoned the area to residential, which shot the value of the land way up. Just sold it and I’ve ended up with a surplus of — wait for it.’ He lit a cigarette, the smell no longer one Johno enjoyed. ‘Would you believe I made three hundred and thirty grand?’ The words came out on a slowly expelled stream of cigarette smoke.

‘Jesus. And I doubted when you told me about this so-called investment.’

‘Not me who put the word “so-called” into it. I knew with Wrighty having big skin in the game it had to be a goer. Well, first thing is, I’m buying fifty grand of shares for our Danny boy.’ This was what he called his grandson when he was in a good mood. ‘Where is he?’

‘Out with Mavis,’ said Johno. ‘Shares in what?’

‘A logistics company. Boring, but a safe and steady Eddie growth company. Danny’s annual dividends will be converted to shares. By the time he’s twenty-one …’ Using monetary terms Johno had never heard of, and surprising coming from his father.

Laurie held up his finger to say he wasn’t quite done yet. ‘You said your boss has put his business on the market. Well, I’m happy to put up the dough to buy it. How much does he want for it?’

‘Now I’m really shocked,’ Johno said.

‘Not what I asked. You should be cooler than that.’

‘I dunno. A hundred and twenty grand, as I recall. But—’

‘I don’t do “buts”. That include the building?’

‘Guess it does. But who says I want to own a restaurant, let alone his dump?’

‘I didn’t. I only offered. If you buy at the right price then it could be turned into something good. You’ll still own the building. Wrighty says always pay half the asking for anything, except one of his or my cars.’ A smile revealing nicotine-stained teeth. The charm had always been more in Laurie’s eyes.

‘You mean offer Harry sixty grand?’

‘I’d go lower. You said he’d had no interest. The bloke’s crook. Place’ll
be worth nothing if he dies on the job. It’s past its use-by date, this mixed grill and steak and eggs stuff. Wrighty tells me people want white meat and salads, fish. Not fries with every meal. You need a new clientele. Get the workers with a bit more class and dough. Buy furniture from some restaurant that’s gone broke. Offer him forty-five and see if he’ll settle for fifty. Leaves us some dry powder.’

‘What do I know about running a business?’ Though the idea was taking hold — fast.

‘What does anyone know about anything when they’re starting out?’ said Laurie. ‘You just put one foot in front of the other and get walking. Only the bricks and mortar is worth anything. And only if the tenant pays the rent. Tell this Harry bloke the place needs a massive refurbishing. Stop at fifty and don’t overcapitalise on the do-up.’

‘I’ve never heard you talk like this once in your life,’ Johno said, even as his mind churned.

‘Till I met Dave Wright, I’d wasted a lifetime mixing with the wrong people.’

‘Yeah,’ said Johno. ‘Believing the myth that crime pays and thieves have honour and they hardly ever go to jail.’

‘It’s all drugs now, at any rate.’

‘
If
the place was mine …’ Johno started off tentatively, ‘I’d throw out the entire menu, sit down with Mavis and work out a better one — she can cook. I’d improve the quality of service, and the way the staff are treated. Change the place completely — the décor, lighting. And, like you said, attract a better clientele.’

‘There you go, mate. A businessman in the making. I’ll provide the money.’

‘A loan, of course.’

‘You were too quick. Yes, a loan, but as my only child you’ll get it back in my will,’ said Laurie. ‘Minus the fifty grand of Danny’s shares.’

‘If I don’t pay it back sooner,’ said Johno. ‘Or I’ll leave it to Danny.’

‘Jump into my grave, why don’t you? See if I left anything in my
pockets. My health’s fine, other than a smoker’s cough. Thanks for your concern.’

‘Didn’t mean you were at death’s door. Can’t have you going before your own father, can we?’ Johno got up and rubbed his father’s thinning scalp, teasing, ‘You do look a bit pale, though.’

‘Must admit I didn’t think you’d stick to being a non-smoker. You miss it?’

‘Not one bit,’ Johno answered honestly, his mind elsewhere. ‘I’m thinking there are quite a few offices nearby — we could offer lighter lunches at a reasonable price. Women like to keep slim, so why not get a name for great salads? Even offer free delivery to their offices. How about kids can eat free on Sundays when they come with their parents? Make it a place people want to come for a drink, like some of the pubs on our old circuit.’ More than warming to the idea of owning his own business.

‘Son, I’ve got like you — don’t wanna know those crims bragging about the good old days. What good old days? I never go near my old haunts.’

But Johno’s mind was on only one subject. ‘Get in a two-piece live band Friday and Saturday nights, play the standards — Abba, Elton John.’

‘Glad you didn’t say Motown. We’re white Australians, we don’t do that black music.’ Then they looked at each other and Johno grinned first.

‘I liked black music before I knew my old lady was brown,’ he said.

‘Come to think of it, she was hot on soul.’ Gave Johno a funny look before he said, ‘You can forget her. Throw some imagination at your new joint, like your boy does with his art.’

‘I happened to read a newspaper article about being in the service industry,’ Johno said. ‘Smile till your face aches. The customer is king and queen.’

‘Exactly what Wrighty says. Why he sells more cars than his competition and I sell my own share, too — we smile, and from our greedy little hearts.’

‘This could work, couldn’t it?’ Johno was still far from believing it.

‘Or not, never forget. Th—’

Laurie turned at the sound of footsteps outside. Danny walked in ahead of Mavis.

The boy promptly said, ‘Granddad? Our teacher says adults should smoke outside because of secondary inhaling.’

‘Little bugger, I’m just about to do you a big favour you won’t get till you’re much older and I’m probably dead,’ said Laurie. ‘Tell you what: let’s have a rule says whenever I smoke,
you
go outside. How’s that sound? Gidday, Mavis. Another trying day with the art genius, was it?’

‘He’s a good child with me, Laurie,’ Mavis said. ‘It’s because I never tell him this genius and freak stuff. Keep his feet planted on the ground. He’s only six. And I’d prefer you smoked outside, if you don’t mind.’

‘Bloody Nazis, all of you. Nice day for the beach.’ Laurie winked at Danny, who beamed back, then looked at his father.

‘We’re going,’ Johno said. Loved being with his kid in the surf, though not the first few times, when Danny acted like a tidal wave was about to engulf them. But he’d gotten used to it now, venturing further and further out and only sometimes losing his nerve. Spent hours etching detailed figures in the damp sand, explaining to his father what each depicted.

‘How do you feel about Dad having his own restaurant?’ Johno asked.

Danny gave that some serious thought. ‘Would I still see you quite a lot?’

‘See what I mean?’ said Laurie. ‘What other six-year-old would answer like that, I ask you?’

‘Try his whole school class,’ Mavis said. ‘You’ll give him a swollen head.’

‘You might get one, too, when Johno asks you to write up a
brand-new
menu that’ll have customers queuing at his door.’

‘I’d be happy to help,’ Mavis said, still trying to look stern, but giving them her complete attention.

Later, as he lay in bed, it came to Johno that if he could make this
venture a success then he’d better not forget all his broken promises to Evelyn, his obligation to his other child. This opportunity — if indeed it was one — wasn’t going to come again. Even if success, legitimate and perhaps kind of moral, seemed like something that happened to others.

All right, if success did come, then this time he would give something back instead of taking; now Evelyn had sent Danny a few letters accompanied by gifts, Johno had an address to give her a real surprise by sending her a chunk of money after, say, a year or two. But not for a moment did he believe things could turn out so good.

And there was the promise he’d made to Dixon Kanohi, that he’d try to keep his son Tahu on the right track. He’d met up with the young man a few times, but there had been little he could do in the immediate sense, and anyway it felt like he’d been put in an awkward position. Was he supposed to be a mentor to a strapping twenty-year-old Maori who’d spent most his life in Australia? How Kanohi saw that capacity in Johno he didn’t know.

Naturally, thinking about Kanohi led him to wonder what had become of Shane McNeil. He’d been due out from prison three months after Johno, but not a word. Had to assume he’d got into trouble again. Their friendship now seemed something from long ago and those career criminal dreams felt rather silly.

Once he’d put in the opening offer of forty thousand dollars, under a company name so he couldn’t be linked to it, Johno couldn’t stop thinking about the restaurant, about Danny, about the effect it might have on their relationship if he worked long hours. As long as his boy remained his first priority, he was prepared to drop the whole thing if Danny suffered from his father’s longer absences.

That’s when the name came: Danny’s Drawings. Had a nice ring to it and kind of intriguing, picturing the place with his son’s artwork hanging on the walls, and the customers getting to meet the little artist from time to time. Johno hadn’t been this excited in years.