Stillwater Creek (33 page)

Cherry, sitting on the sand next to Miss Neville, struggled with a range of conflicting emotions. Fear that someone in Jingera knew about Bill's inclinations when they didn't need to now he was dead. Pity for Bill and the terrible way he'd died. But most dominant of all was the feeling of relief that he and his photographs had gone. Weeping was all she could manage for the moment to reconcile these feelings.

That morning, after she'd awoken from a brief restless doze, she'd crept out of the hotel and down the dunny-cart lanes to Miss Neville's house. Seeming both joyful and surprised at seeing Cherry with her small suitcase in her kitchen, Miss Neville had said, ‘Stay here as long as you like, dearest. Treat it as your home.' Soon afterwards she'd dashed out the front door to open up the school. Although Cherry had planned to catch the next bus to Burford, due to depart at two o'clock, the fire had put an end to that.

When the alarm had sounded she'd hurried out of Miss Neville's house but hadn't immediately seen that the hotel was on fire, so distracted had she been by the activity in the square: the fire engine, the milling people, the impression of panic.
Once she'd realised that the pub was blazing she wasn't in the least tempted to return. The few material things that she cared about were in her case at Miss Neville's. Never for even an instant did it cross her mind that anyone would still be in the pub, least of all Bill. At that point the large blue letters painted on the side of the hall had seized her attention.
MR BATES IS A PERVERT.
Somebody else must have known what he was like and this meant that Bill must have done something. Shown his disgusting photographs to someone probably. That person had painted those letters onto the wall of the hall only this morning. Once the townsfolk were allowed to leave the beach and go back to their homes it wouldn't be long before they'd all be gossiping about it. Maybe sooner, if they'd seen what she'd seen.

And she'd known about it, she'd known about it for weeks and hadn't told anyone.

‘Dearest Cherry, please don't cry,' whispered Miss Neville, putting an arm around her shoulders.

‘I've got nothing left.' This wasn't at all what she'd intended to say, especially as she still had her suitcase and her make-up.

‘Bloody hell, Cherry, you've got me.'

‘Yes, I've got you,' Cherry said, smiling now.

‘And you can live with me forever and ever.'

Cherry took Miss Neville's hand and squeezed it.

‘And we can buy you new clothes and say you're my lodger. And maybe I can apply for a transfer to somewhere bigger than here, where people won't gossip and where you can forget about all this.'

‘Sydney perhaps. You should have done that years ago.'

‘But then I wouldn't have met you, and once I'd met you, how could I leave?'

‘I might have gone with you.'

‘But you might not.'

‘You never asked me.'

‘You never suggested it either,' Miss Neville said.

‘We've kept too much from each other.'

‘Yes.' There was a brief pause before Miss Neville added, ‘This question might seem a bit callous, but were you insured?'

‘No idea. Bill looked after all that. We probably were, and I'm pretty sure he had some money stashed away in the Commercial Banking Company.'

‘Dry your eyes, pretty one. We've got a great future ahead of us.'

But Cherry was now remembering those blue letters and what she had to tell Miss Neville. Perhaps she should just sneak out later that night with a tin of paint to go right over them. It would take several coats. That bright blue would be hard to cover up. Bill was dead now so there was no need for people to know. ‘Do you have any house paint?' she asked.

‘Yes, but what the blazes do you want that for? Not planning to paint my house, are you?'

‘Someone painted something nasty on the side of the hall. You know, that corrugated iron thing opposite the pub. I want to cover it up.'

‘Bill didn't set the hotel on fire deliberately, did he?'

‘Not to my knowledge. Someone just painted the words ‘Bates is a pervert' in blue letters a foot high. People will know it meant Bill.'

‘People can think of really nasty things. Bill mightn't have been all that sensitive but he was the last person anyone would think of as a pervert. I'd know. Being a teacher makes you very aware of those things.'

‘You're wrong there. He had all sorts of obscene pictures and drawings.'

‘Really? You can't just buy these things, you know, Cherry.'

‘Don't you believe it. There's a black market out there for dirty postcards. Haven't you read about all those raids the police have been carrying out in Sydney? Anyway, he might have got them in the war.' Pat had led a sheltered life, she decided, and realised that, for the first time, she'd been able to think of Miss Neville as Pat.

‘Well, bloody hell, I find that quite shocking. Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I was going to a few weeks ago and then just couldn't. I should have, I know. Then I was going to tell you today. That's why I came around this morning, but there wasn't time.'

‘Of course you bloody well should have told me! Just think of all those kids in my charge. You should have told me as soon as you had any suspicion. Now I come to think of it, he was always hanging around outside the pub when school came out. I thought that was just part of his “hail-fellow, well-met” stuff. It never even occurred to me he could possibly be that way inclined.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Well, so am I, the bastard.'

‘As soon as we go back into town, I want to paint over the letters.' She wanted to blot the pictures out of her head too.

‘Leave them there, Cherry. It really doesn't matter now that he's dead.'

Perhaps Pat was right, and, with Pat by her side, she would be strong and she would no longer need to care about what people might think. Indeed they should know her husband was a pervert. It might make them more watchful in general and that would surely be a good thing.

Zidra, standing with Jim on the hard sand next to the surf, stared at the thick haze of smoke over the ocean. The water looked more grey than blue. If Mr Bates hadn't died in the fire she'd still be feeling frightened. She shuddered. She didn't like thinking about him, dead or alive. But being dead meant he couldn't ever return, so she was safe now.

‘I wish Lorna hadn't gone away,' Zidra said. She fingered the pink shell that she carried in her pocket ever since Lorna had given it to her.

‘She'll come back one day,' Jim said.

Zidra wondered if she would. Mrs Bates had told Mama yesterday that it might be possible for them to visit the Gudgiegalah Girls' Home. Thinking of Mrs Bates reminded her of Mr Bates again. She still found it hard to believe that he was really dead. ‘Mr Bates was a horrid man,' she said. She paused. Maybe it was the shock that was making her feel so strange, so numb.

‘Quite horrid,' Jim said.

‘Mama said you shouldn't say that of the dead. They can't answer back.'

‘It's hypocritical to say that you shouldn't speak ill of the dead.'

‘Hypocritical?' He just couldn't resist a long word when a short one would do and Mama wasn't hypocritical whatever that meant.

Jim shrugged. ‘Hard to explain. Say one thing when you mean another. Or when you think you're above criticism but you're too lazy to form an opinion.'

‘Mama always has an opinion.'

‘No, not your mum. It's a saying, stupid. That you shouldn't speak ill of the dead. It's like a proverb. Or an old wives' tale.'

‘I'm not stupid.' But she knew Jim didn't mean it. Without him she couldn't have got through the past few weeks. Protecting her was something he'd done ever since the time she and Lorna were being stoned. ‘Anyway I'm glad he's gone.'

‘So am I.'

The tide was turning. She retreated as a wave advanced towards her bare feet. Jim stayed in the water though, letting it wash his grubby legs. ‘You don't have to worry about all that stuff any more,' Jim said. ‘And neither do I.'

‘I know I don't have to worry.' Now that she'd said it aloud, the fear that she'd been living with for days began to seep slowly away. ‘But why were you worrying?'

‘I was worrying about you, obviously.'

She felt pleased by this. While knowing that Jim looked after her, she hadn't known he
worried
about her. That was something rather more special.

‘And I was worrying about what would happen to you after I go. Now I don't have to bother so much.'

‘You'll be coming back for the holidays, though. You can worry about me then.'

‘Yeah. I'll be grown up by then, though.'

‘You'll be able to worry about me even more. That's what grown-ups do. Just think of Mama.' Glancing in her direction, Zidra saw that she was still sitting with Mr Vincent. That was nice. ‘And anyway,' she told Jim, ‘I'll be pretty grown up myself.' She felt her old spirit returning. She wasn't going to let Jim come over all superior just because he was nearly two years older. ‘I'll be ten by then.'

Jim laughed. ‘Very grown up,' he said.

And then she forgot about Mr Bates and ran into the waves after Jim, splashing him with water.

Ilona and Peter were sitting side-by-side on the sand. On her lap, Ilona held the baby kangaroo cradled in the towel that created the illusion of a pouch. The joey might not live, Peter had warned her. As if she did not already know the dangers of getting attached to anyone, but she would try to keep the baby kangaroo alive.

Peter now began to tell her everything that had taken place since he'd gone to look for Jim. When he had finished, she said, ‘It's hard to believe such a thing could happen in Jingera.'

‘Jim's a brave boy,' he said.

‘So the pictures were pornographic?'

‘Probably not what you're thinking of, Ilona. The pictures were of men and young girls.'

‘But how disgusting!' The shock made her feel quite nauseous and her mouth dry. Surely jovial
respectable
Bill Bates would not have such tastes. ‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes, Jim was quite certain of that, but I'm afraid it gets worse, Ilona.'

‘Tell me.' Her voice cracked and she licked her dry lips.

‘Bates showed Zidra the photos.'

‘No!'

‘Yes. That's how Jim knew.'

‘She told him?'

‘Yes.'

‘But she didn't tell me.'

‘Perhaps it's easier to say those words to another child.'

A horrible thought crept into her head and almost made her retch. ‘Did he touch her?' If Bates had interfered with her daughter she would have killed him personally. He was dead though, and she was glad of it. Glad of it.

‘I asked Jim that too. He said no. Bates showed her the photos and then she ran away.'

She ran away. She was a fast runner. That was just as well. Maybe seeing the photos had caused her nightmares. No wonder the poor child had woken up with bad dreams. Ilona clenched and unclenched her hands.

Later, when she felt less agitated and they were alone, she would talk to Zidra. ‘I wish she'd told me,' she said at last.

‘She probably will. Try not to worry, Ilona, he never touched her.' Putting an arm around her shoulders, he gently pulled her close.

‘Are you quite sure?'

‘That's what Jim told me.'

For a moment she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he said, ‘Jim went off to the pub at lunchtime. He had some idea of finding the photos and using them as evidence against Bates.'

‘Brave boy.'

‘A very brave boy – and Zidra so brave too. She's a strong character like her mother.'

Suppressing a sigh, Ilona watched Zidra and Jim standing at the edge of the breakers. When she spoke to Zidra about all of this she would have to be very careful. She shouldn't make too big an issue of it. After all, Zidra was safe from Bates now. He could never harm her. Never.