Jack & Harry (49 page)

Jack leaned over the table, picked up the photo and angled it to avoid the glare from the overhead lamps ‘Iris. It'd be Iris,' he said emphatically.

Father O'Malley couldn't remember last when he was so excited. He kept glancing at the wall clock in his study and had telephoned the railway station asking for the arrival time of the Pt Augusta train.

‘You mean the
Adelaide
train, sir?' A clerk with a nasal problem had said but as Jack and Harry were boarding at Pt Augusta, Father O'Malley couldn't have cared less if it had originated at Timbuktu.

He began to pace, little doubts niggling at him.
What if they'd been delayed on the way down from Coober Pedy and missed the train? What if they'd changed their minds and were still in Coober Pedy?
He contemplated calling Shaun Logan to check if they had actually left but dismissed the notion and filled and lit a pipe of tobacco, something that always had a calming effect but for some reason didn't work today.

Mrs Lacey, as dour as she was, had bustled about, made up the spare beds in the room where they stayed last time and cooked Anzac biscuits and a peach crumble for sweets. She had also prepared a large leg of lamb that was in the refrigerator, decorated with sprigs of rosemary for the night's main course. Vegetables were peeled and ready for the roasting dish in a water-filled bowl covered with a tea towel.

Finishing his pipe, the priest placed it in a large cut-glass ashtray to cool and looked again at the clock. Very little time had passed so he decided he would get the car out and warm up the motor as he hadn't driven it for a day or so. Slipping behind the wheel and patting the dashboard affectionately he savoured the smell of leather seats mingled with the aroma of pipe tobacco and petrol fumes. He couldn't remember exactly how long he had been driving this car but he loved it and, turning on the ignition switch, he pressed the starter. There was a high pitched churning sound as the battery spun the starter motor, the engine fired twice, backfired loudly, burst into life momentarily then instantly died, a pall of blue smoke filling the shed.

‘You cantankerous old beast, why do I put up with you?' The priest slammed the door and lifted the bonnet, fiddling with the spark plug leads. Timothy O'Malley was in no way mechanical but felt better doing
something,
although he suspected spark plugs were the least of this car's problems.

He was surprised when at the second attempt the motor burst into life, misfired a couple of time but then settled down to a steady purr. ‘You're a beautiful Old Girl, you are.' He patted the dashboard again and reversed from the shed.

The boys were glad the two sisters, Mary and Theresa, were travelling in a different carriage from theirs as, although they were friendly enough, they appeared immature and giggled incessantly. The girls said they would tell Helen Smith that they had met miner friends of her mothers on the train and gave Jack and Harry a Perth contact address. The boys politely said they'd be in touch if they got a chance but knew they wouldn't bother.

‘That Helen looks a lot like Iris, eh, Jack? Except she's better lookin' don't ya think?' They had returned to their seats. Jack realised that Harry was quite taken with the girl in the photo as he had asked for a second look at it before they left the dining car. ‘That's just because she's younger than her mother is, Harry. Looks pretty skinny too, needs a good feed,' he teased.

‘She's not skinny, she's just …' He woke up that Jack was ribbing him. ‘OK, evens,' he said remembering his ‘skinny' comment about Naomi in the bathroom at the Wilson house. ‘You gotta admit though, Jack, she's not too bad,' he persisted.

‘There's no doubtin' she looks like her mother, Harry, and if, like Iris, her face lights up when she smiles then she'd be a bit of a looker for sure.'

‘Wonder if we'll ever get to meet her?' Harry looked wistfully out the window into the passing night.

They slept for most of the journey, emotionally drained from the events of the last forty-eight hours and the speed at which they had made the decision to return to Perth. Small, lonely railway sidings flashed by the train, most of them just rough timber platforms supporting tin sheds and signboards with names like ‘Zanthus', ‘Coonara', ‘Chifley' and ‘Karonie' painted on them.

A man seated across the aisle from them was also reading the signs. ‘Not far to Kalgoorlie now,' he commented to the lady travelling with him as ‘Randell' appeared briefly into view. Passengers, obviously leaving the train at Kalgoorlie, started to pack books into carry-bags, gather their belongings and visit bathrooms to freshen up and the boys noticed that the terrain had changed from the vast openness of the Nullarbor to more undulating mulga-studded country.

With ‘blueys' slung over their shoulders they stepped from the train onto the platform at Kalgoorlie for the second time in six months and dodged people milling around them hauling large suitcases, and groups hugging and greeting each other. They noticed the two sisters leave the train, heading for the cafeteria and were thankful that they were obscured from view by throngs of people as they searched for Father O'Malley.

The priest couldn't believe it. His old black Chev, running like a clock when he'd left the presbytery heading for the railway station, had begun to misfire after travelling a few hundred yards. It had stalled at an intersection and a motorist behind him had started honking impatiently and Father O'Malley could hear the colourful language the driver hurled at the stranded vehicle blocking the road. Stepping from the car the priest was smugly pleased when, noticing his clerical garb, the man left his vehicle with the engine running and walked up to the Chev. ‘Can I help you, Father? The man sheepishly asked.

‘I've got to meet the train to pick two friends up and my old car is being temperamental again.' He gave the Chev a withering look as if it could understand him. ‘I'm going to be late now I'm afraid.'

The man considered the situation for a moment. ‘Let's push her out the way, Father. ‘I'm heading that way so, if you like, I'll take you to meet your friends and give you all a lift back.'

‘But it'd be taking up too much of your time, you seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.' Father O'Malley couldn't help taking a snipe at the man's previous impatience.

What? Oh yeah … sorry. It's no trouble really. I'd be glad to help out,' He replied guiltily.

With little choice, the priest readily agreed. Thanking the man profusely he got into the passenger seat and the driver sped off toward the station, the priest noticing that a number of cars were passing them from that direction. He was concerned that Jack and Harry would be getting anxious, being two small boys arriving at a strange destination with nobody to meet them. He left the man to park his vehicle and hurried onto the station as he heard the train pull out for Perth. The platform was now almost deserted except for some railway employees and a smattering of straggling passengers. Jack and Harry were nowhere to be seen.

Worried now and muttering under his breath, blaming the old Chev abandoned in the street, he walked the length of the platform checking small alcoves and even went into the men's room in case they were there. Deciding to check the canteen he found it almost empty except for three ladies seated at a table and, by their dress and demeanour, two young stockmen leafing through a rack of magazines. He almost walked out before he realised it was Jack and Harry. He stood shaking his head in disbelief as he had been expecting two kids like the ones he'd left at Mt Margaret Mission and instead he was meeting two people he almost mistook for grown men.

‘My goodness, just take a look at you two!' He was beaming as he went to them.

Recognising the rich brogue, the boys spun around to see the tall stooped figure of Father O'Malley, his arms wide in greeting, swooping toward them across the polished lino of the canteen watched by three curious ladies sipping tea at one of the tables.

The boys stood stiffly; slightly embarrassed by the pipe tobacco and cologne hug they received from a delighted Father O'Malley. Recognising their unease, the embrace was brief and the priest stood back to look at them. ‘I declare that you've grown a couple of inches at least or maybe it's the hats that make you look so tall.' He shook his head in wonder. ‘Come on then, the old Chevvie is broken down and a kind man is giving us a lift. Better not keep him waiting.'

They all piled into the man's car and he drove them to where the black saloon was parked. ‘Do you think we can get her started?' he asked the priest as they pulled up behind it.

‘There's a chance, yes,' Father O'Malley said. ‘Perhaps if you lads give her a push she just might start.'

The roadway was level and, although the vehicle was heavy, with the stranger helping them they easily got the car rolling and laughed when the priest let out the clutch and the motor backfired before starting, enveloping them in a cloud of smoke. Letting the motor idle, the priest stepped out and thanked the man for his assistance and the boys transferred their belongings into the Chev.

‘I think you should take her to a garage and get her checked over. Do you know a good mechanic?' the stranger asked.

‘I'm afraid I don't. Been a little while since I had her serviced,' the priest said sheepishly.

‘Hmm, I can tell. Look, I've got a mate that owns a workshop not far from here. Follow me and we'll see if he can take a look at her. He's very good and because he knows me, and you being a man of the cloth, I'm sure he won't overcharge you.'

‘Well … I don't know, it could be a bit of work that she's needing I'm afraid.'

‘You can't keep driving it like it is, Father. At least get an idea what's wrong; might be something simple.' the stranger urged. ‘I can run you home if he has to keep it for while.'

‘Well …' Father O'Malley stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it won't hurt. You're most kind.'

The mechanic lifted the bonnet, checked a couple of things and listened closely to the misfiring motor. ‘Could be a coupla things. Spark, maybe, and it's in dire need of a tune as that carbie's pourin' fuel out …' he tapped it with a screwdriver ‘… and there's oil everywhere … probably needs a coupla gaskets. When was the last time you had her serviced, Father?'

‘Well … I can't quite remember that now … last year sometime I believe. I changed the oil myself and cleaned the spark plugs too, couple of things like that.'

The man lifted his eyebrows. ‘You need a proper service then, Father, and a couple of replacement bits and pieces. Those tyres are nearly down to the rims too.' He kicked the front wheel.'

‘I can't be affording new tyres I'm afraid, on top of everything else.' Father O'Malley looked concerned. ‘How much will the tune up be then?'

‘Hard to say off hand. Depends on what bits I need to put in but I'll do it as cheaply as I can for you seeing you're a friend of Sam here.' He indicated the stranger.

The priest continued to procrastinate about leaving his car at the garage. ‘Lovely car isn't she?' the man said giving the Chev a pat on the hood. ‘Don't make 'em like this any more. Solid as a rock and once she's runnin' sweet again she'll be right for another twenty thousand miles or more I reckon.' Father O'Malley basked in the praise of his car and agreed immediately to let the man work on it.

The priest gave the man his telephone number, instructing him not to do anything major unless he called first, and they walked out to Sam's car.

‘Can you hang on a minute, sorry?' Jack said as they got in. ‘I left somethin' in your car, Father, won't be a second.' He ran back into the garage and walked quickly up to the mechanic. ‘Excuse me, I'd like you to do whatever work needs to be done on this car. Also put a set of tyres on it and anythin' else you feel's necessary.'