He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) (21 page)

‘On business.’
 
Murray gave up trying to darn the hole in his sock and threw it on his bunk.

‘And you’ve got to go into the township tomorrow?’

‘That’s the size of it,’ Murray said, farting and scratching his bum.

‘Right, Tone, we’ve got our chance.
 
I told you I’d come up with something.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m talking about going into township to do our bit of Christmas shopping.
 
With the Boss away, we’ll be able to go with Murray and Fergus.
 
We’ll lie low in the truck so no-one can see us leave.’

‘Steady on Ginger.
 
There’ll be hell to pay if the Boss finds out.
 
His orders are that the two of you have to stay put here.
 
And you both know as well I do, you don’t go crossing Eleod Downston if you know what’s good for you.’

‘If he’s not here, how’s he going to know?
 
You said yourself, now he’s started going down south he never goes into the township these days.’

‘Our work won’t get done, for one thing.’ I added.
 
‘And what about the Missus. She might suspect something.’
 
I suppose I could ask Gaylene to cover for us.
 
I was sure she would, but it didn’t seem fair to get her to deceive Downston and the Missus.
 
They were her parents, after all.

‘If it’s work and the Missus you’re worried about, I’ll stay behind.’
 
Fergus lowered his book.
 
‘It’s time you lads got off this place for a whiles.

‘But what about
The Travellers
?’
 
Joe asked.

‘And to be sure, what about the
The Travellers
?’

‘You know how you like your drop of sherbert.’

‘Are you suggesting I can’t last more than a couple of weeks without a drink?
 
Let me tell you, I’m capable of staying sober for a lot longer than two weeks.
 
To be sure, you know nothing about me.’
 
Fergus stalked outside.

The next day, Joe and I hid in the back of the truck, as it bumped up the hill and away from the farm on our way to the township.
 
With the Boss away, the Missus and the kids were probably still tucked up in their beds, Murray had said.
 
I wished that was where I was.
 
I’d been awake most of the night, feeling like a rabbit about to leave the safety of its burrow for the first time.
 
Murray and Austin were taking a mighty big risk for us.
 
If Downston were ever to find out they would probably lose their jobs and only God himself knew what would happen to Joe and me.

When we arrived at the township, I shielded my eyes and looked across at a band of glimmering silver water beyond the township’s main street.
 
‘You never said it was by the sea,’ I said.

‘Nowhere in New Zealand’s that far from the ocean.’
 
Without locking the truck, Murray dropped the keys into a shopping bag.
 
It was older than Mum’s ancient string one that Fred used when he did the shopping.
 
I’d almost forgotten it.

I returned my gaze to the sea that stretched to an empty horizon.
 
It made me feel exposed and vulnerable.
 
I longed to jump into the truck, and drive as quickly as we could back to the security of the men’s quarters.

‘Is this
it
?’
 
Joe looked around him.

‘Too right it is.’

‘But there’s nothing here.’

‘What else d’you want?’

‘Some shops for a start.
 
It ain’t exactly Balham High Street.’

‘There’s Old Witchery’s place.’
 
Murray sounded upset Joe didn’t think the township compared with London.
 
‘Old Witchery’s been here years and his father before him.
 
Farm supplies and the like, groceries, clothes, stuff from all over the world.
 
Old Witchery sells the lot.
 
You can even get a cup of tea and a steak and cheese pie in the back.
 
Grannie Witchery makes ‘em herself.
 
When she’s a mind to, she puts on lamingtons.
 
No-one makes lamingtons like Grannie.

Murray pointed to a two storey building opposite Witchery’s, with a board outside advertising, “
The best beer ever to hit the sides of the throat
”.

‘There’s
The Travellers’ Hotel.
 
Townships crowded today,’ Murray observed as two men entered the pub, and a woman with a small boy crossed the road.
 
‘That place next to
The Traveller’s
is the community hall.
 
They have a monthly dance there with Rangi and the Flax Boys.
 
Reckon half the folk hereabouts did their courting at one of those dances.’

‘Where’s the library?’
 
I asked.
 
The panic that had threatened to overcome me began to die down at the sight of a few buildings.

‘Back of the Community Hall.
 
My word, it’s a credit to the place.
 
That and the school.’
 
Murray pointed to a hill on which perched a building much like the woolshed.
 
‘All for education here.
 
Got the Mission to thank for it.
 
That’s the Mission behind the school.’

It was unusual for Murray to say so much at once, and he gulped for air.
 
His Adam’s apple was like a grey and wrinkly golf ball
  
‘We’ll see what the Mission’s got later.’

I shuddered.
 
I’d never been sure about nuns.
 
There had been a convent close to The Common.
 
When I saw them, I always thought the nuns looked like black ghosts gliding along the road.
 
Once, one of them smiled at me but I stuck my tongue out at her and ran away.
 
No, I certainly didn’t want any nun fitting me for clothes and trying to persuade me that things I knew looked ridiculous were exactly right for me.

‘What about a bookie?
 
Me and Tone want to put a couple of bob on
Wandering Minstrel
.’

‘I’ll do it for you at
The Travellers
.
 
Don’t want to put it on another gee gee, do you?’

‘Nope.
Wandering Minstrel
’s the one.’
 
Joe assured him.

‘How can they call this a town when there’s nothing here?’ Joe grumbled as Murray retreated to the yard behind Witchery’s to pick up some drench.

‘Fergus did tell us not to expect much.’

‘You can say that again.
 
And since when’s there been snow in the summer?’
 
Joe indicated the mock snowstorm made from clumps of cotton wool stuck to Old Witchery’s windows.
 
In the centre angels blowing trumpets surrounded a picture of Father Christmas on his sleigh being pulled by eight petulant reindeers.

‘Blinkin’ snow when it’s boiling hot.
 
What next!’

Inside Witchery’s store, unsteady arrangements of pots and pans, crockery and cutlery filled shelves from floor to ceiling.
 
Boxes lined every aisle so that we had to walk with pigeon steps between the clutter.
 
We held on to whatever we could to keep our balance.

Fly swats and strainers, feather dusters, dustpans and brushes hung like decorations from the few clear parts of the ceiling, while
Good Quality Manchester
was stacked in haphazard piles in every corner.
 
Almost inaccessible counters overflowed with everything from hairnets to little liver pills.
 
Christmas decorations, like the ones we’d made at the orphanage by linking pieces of coloured paper and gluing them together, clung to each other in sticky spirals.

‘I reckon there’s enough here to fill a dozen shops,’ Joe remarked.

‘You wouldn’t think there’d be enough people to buy it.’

‘We should be able to find a couple of things for Christmas.
 
We’ll just have to move the stuff and have a good gander.
 
Old Witchery’s still outside with Murray so we’ve got the place to ourselves for a bit.’
 

Joe lifted a box and stacked it on another.
 
It gave him room to place both his feet together.
 
He picked up a chamber pot, embellished with blue swans.
 
‘We could buy this for Fergus.
 
Save him having to pee round the back of the hut in the middle of the night.’

‘I don’t think he’d be happy with a po for Christmas.’

‘Just a thought.’

I lifted the top from a box marked
Men Only
, and there they were!
 
Underpants like large off-white sails!
 
I looked at the labels marked
Dawkins Finest Menswear
.
 
I searched until I found two smaller pairs.
 
I pulled them from the box and held them against myself.
 
They would do nicely; one pair on, the other in the wash.
 
It was the sort of thing Mrs Dibble would have said.
 
I folded them carefully and placed them on the counter.

‘You want to be careful what you do with your money.
 
Once it’s gone, it’s gone,’ Joe warned.

We were considering a pair of socks for Murray which we found in a box marked
Feet
when Old Witchery entered.
 
He practically hurdled over several rugs rolled up in front of the door at the rear of the shop.

‘You don’t think we should get Murray two pairs?’
 
I asked Joe.

‘He can only wear one pair at a time.
 
We don’t want to spend what we don’t have to.’

‘Skinflint.’

‘There’s nothing wrong in being careful.’
 
Old Witchery walked on his toes between the boxes as if he was a ballet dancer.

‘So you’re the ones working out at Downstons.
 
Heard a bit about you two.
 
Here to do some Christmas shopping, Murray tells me.’
 
Old Witchery rubbed his hands together.
 
They were smaller than Gaylene’s.
 
‘Murray says Grannie and me have to keep our lips tight about the pair of you’s being in the township, or your boss won’t be too happy.
 
Downston’s a cruel bloke, always has been.
 
There’s a few here whose lives he’s ruined.
 
It’ll be a pleasure to keep him in the dark.
 
You can trust me and Grannie.
 
When we’ve a mind to, we can keep our mouths as tight as a donkey’s backside.’
 

He opened a pack of playing cards, took the cards out, fanned them and put them back.
 
‘You can have these half price,’ he offered.
 
‘There’s only a couple missing.’

Joe said we weren’t interested.

‘They say the two of you’s from London.
 
Got an uncle there by the name of Sid Grice.
 
Know him?
 
Big bloke with a glass eye.’

‘Where’s he live?’

‘I told you, London.
 
Need something to clear the wax out your ears?
 
I got some oil somewhere.’

‘London’s a big place,’ I stammered.

‘You don’t know him, then?’

‘Well, no.’

‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’

Irritated, Old Witchery moved to another counter.
 
His feet were small enough for him to walk easily along the rows as if early in life their growth had been stunted.

‘What about a nice handkerchief to go with the socks.
 
Had a shipment not more than ten years ago, quality Irish linen.
 
Nothing to beat Irish linen.
 
Like blowing your nose on a lily.’

We bought two, one each for Fergus and Murray.
 
At the same time we declined a haircut from Old Witchery who, apparently, was also the township’s barber.