Black Water (16 page)

Farren could only nod and look down, seeing Danny’s boots, which he’d cleaned for him, a shiny nut-brown against the speckled gravel. Danny lit up and leant forward, the brim of his slouch hat low over his eyes.

‘I’ll tell yer one thing, mate.’ He broke the match and dropped it, a tiny shattered wishbone of pale wood. ‘You’re about as bloody brave as any of the blokes I been knockin’ around with since this whole mess started. You been in a real tight spot ’ere. And you’ve got through it pretty much all on yer own. I’m bloody proud of yer.’

Farren would not look up. Elbows on knees, he kept his fists up to his face as if resting his head, but it was to hide his eyes.

‘Nah, I ain’t. I just been ’ere. You been where it’s been real hard. Bloody battles and everythin’. You know you have.’

The hard weight of Danny’s arm around his shoulders brought Farren undone. Tears burst loose and he swiped at them furiously, as if he could catch them all before Danny would notice.

‘Fuck
this
,’ he muttered, the sleeves of his jacket scraping his face. ‘
Fuck
this.’

Danny pulled him in close, the soft brim of his hat scrunching against Farren’s temple.

‘Look, no, you ain’t been where I was.’ Danny’s smoky breath was warm on his cheek. ‘But I
know
what you got, mate. And it’s
like bloody granite. You already saved that Isla sheila, didn’t ya?’ Danny laughed and Farren felt it go right through him. ‘Shit, yer pinched a car and everythin’!’ Danny’s hat fell off. He picked it up and tugged down tight and low. ‘The boys’d be proud of ya. I am. And Mum’n Dad – well, p’raps leave the car out of it, but all the rest. You’re a bloody ripper, Farren.’

Danny looked off down the estuary, giving Farren time to wipe his face and blow his nose.

‘It was Pricey’s idea.’ Farren’s throat felt stiff and swollen. ‘He’s bloody wild. I wouldn’a taken it without him. But I’m glad we did. For Isla’s sake.’

Danny’s hand, cigarette between his fingers like the twitching beak of a dangerous smoking bird, hovered in front of Farren’s face.

‘And I’ll bet
yer
,’ he said, ‘he wouldn’a done it without you.’ He glanced down the platform towards the ticket office. ‘Jesus, what’s goin’ on now? Half the bloody pub’s here. Look there’s Maggie ’n’ Charlotte ’n’ bloody Johnny ’n’ Mrs etcetera.’

Half the pub
was
here; Farren guessing someone must’ve seen himself and Danny walking to the station. It was the only explanation.

By the time the train appeared, sending up tight clouds of dense grey smoke, Danny had backed up against the fence, propping his bad foot on the seat, in an effort, Farren reckoned, to keep the well-wishers away. In his eyes Farren could see a trapped look, and in the set of his elbows, anger, as if he’d let fly if someone came too close.

‘Anyway, folks,’ he said, and waved a freshly-lit cigarette at the
train as it clanked slowly past. ‘Train’s here, I’ve drunk five glasses of plonk, and now I must be off. Thanks all, but best I get a move on.’ He limped out from behind the seat. ‘Because it’s back to the jolly old horse-piddle that I must go.’

The train came to a squeaking, steaming, dignified halt.

‘Thank God for the Victorian Railways,’ he muttered to Farren. ‘Another minute of this an’ I might’a been callin’ for the stretcher bearers.’ Danny got hold of Farren’s hand and gripped it hard. ‘Remember what I said.’ His eyes sparked like winter stars. ‘I’ll be back
real
soon.’ His attention swerved to the train. ‘Oi! Eh! Are you two big buggers lookin’ for Private Danny Fox? Because if so, that’s me!’

Farren saw two massive soldiers, alike as twins, step down from the train. Both wore revolvers on their hips and were hard-faced, as if they might have to fight their way through the crowd. But Danny was already on his way to meet them.

‘Military police,’ Johnny Lansdowne-Murphy said. ‘Or Essen-don ruckmen resting in a seaside pocket.’

Farren watched Danny shaking hands with the military policemen who, if not looking friendly, had at least taken their hands away from their guns.

‘It would appear that he’s going to go peacefully.’ Maggie stood beside Farren, her scent of lavender and roses soothing and warm. ‘He’s a wonderful feller, your brother. He’ll be right. And he’ll be back. And look who’s here. It’s Julian. I bet he’ll be wondering what this is all about.’

Farren saw Julian Derriweather step down from the train, look around, smile, then lift a large light-brown envelope overhead like a goal umpire about to signal a point.

‘I’ve enlisted, everyone! I’ve joined up!’ His broad fleshy face made Farren think of a happy Man in the Moon. ‘They’ve agreed to take me. It’s such good,
good
news!’

‘I would suggest that’s debatable,’ Maggie murmured to Farren. ‘Although I am sure no one would agree.’

The coins, five or six, sat in a small sand-encrusted pile on a sheet of paper on the kitchen table. Farren stopped right where he was.

‘Toot toot.’ Robbie was stuck behind him in the doorway. ‘C’mon, laddie. Get a move on. These bottles are effin’ ’eavy.’

Farren, hardly hearing, took a step into the parlour, his eyes never leaving the coppery-coloured coins that gleamed, shyly almost, under scabs of sand. Each was the size of a halfpenny and the thickness of two, but that was where the similarity ended. Already he sensed they held a value that was other-worldly. Something extraordinary had happened and Farren knew Danny was responsible.

‘Oh, boy,’ he murmured. ‘Look at these things, Rob. Danny must’ve left ’em.’

On the sheet of paper Farren saw two lines of Danny’s terrible, tangly writing. He picked up the note as Robbie put down a sack of Captain Price’s beer, the bottles subsiding with a few desultory clinks, their value as contraband suddenly overshadowed.

‘Well, they’re either things he got from
overseas
.’ Robbie
looked sideways at Farren. ‘Or, from somewhere else a little bit more
local
.’

Come across a few of these in me travels
, Farren read.
Keep em safe and everything quiet till I get back
.
Might even be a few more where they came from
.
Your loving brother
,
Danny
.

Farren handed the note to Robbie. A sense of unlimited possibilities, of problems solved, of sheer wonder, expanded and kept expanding as if beyond the bounds of Farren’s body and imagination. Danny had found the treasure! Then, suddenly, as if he had to share the responsibility of Danny’s discovery, as if he had to dilute its power as quickly as possible, Farren gave three of the coins to Robbie.

‘Here. Half and half. And don’t tell no one, all right? That’s what the note says.’

Robbie, holding the note, would not take the coins.

‘Nah. Can’t Farry. You blokes keep ’em. For the future. You know. Just in case.’

Farren was thinking fast. Robbie was his best mate, no doubt about that. And Danny liked him, too. Best mates you looked after. He pressed a coin against the back of Robbie’s hand.

‘Well, just take one, then. For good luck and mates. I mean it. Take it. You have ter.’

Robbie accepted the coin.

‘All right, Farry. Just one. Thanks. I won’t lose it.’ He closed his hand around it. ‘Now why don’t we open a couple of those ’ere bottles? You look like yer could do with a beer. And so could I.’

Robbie flipped the caps off two bottles, handed one to Farren, and sat down on the outside step.

‘Chairs, old chap.’ He grinned. ‘To Faroon and his one million doubloons.’

‘Hell,’ Farren said, still stunned. ‘
Holy
mackerel. What a day. I can’t believe it.’ He leant against the door, looked out into the yard, and imagined a whole dump of rotten old treasure chests bursting with coins. He could imagine scooping them up, cold and heavy, to let them slither down again in a golden, clinking stream. ‘Geez, God, whadda yer
do
with money?’ He’d hardly meant to speak aloud. ‘Like,
lotsa
money.’

‘Spend it.’ Robbie drank, burped, and with his free hand took out the coppery-coloured coin from his pocket. ‘I reckon this thing really is a gold doubloon, you know, ’Roon. From Spain.’ He tilted the dark beer bottle at shirts hanging on the line. ‘Buenos dios, senoritas! Would you like to go to zee bullfight with me and my amigo? Or sail
right
around ze world! As we are
vairy
wealthy men!’

‘You’re bloody mad,’ Farren said happily, the possibility of going around the world more dizzying than the beer. His mind spun like a globe. ‘Geez, c’n you imagine it, Rob? Goin’ to America or somewhere like that? Strike, what do yer reckon Spanish sheilas
would
be like?’

‘Zey would be fantastico!’ Robbie grinned . ‘So what about old Derri, eh? Joined the army. At last. He
has
had a busy weekend.’

Farren hunched against a pushy breeze.

‘Yeah, Maggie thinks he’s mad.’ Farren found it hard to picture Mr Derriweather in army uniform. He wouldn’t wear it like Danny did, carelessly and comfortably, as if it was all he’d ever worn. ‘You know, like just when he’s gunna get married to Isla, and she almost dyin’, and now he’s gunna take off and maybe get knocked himself.’

‘Yep, bloody mad,’ Robbie agreed. ‘As a snake. But what’s the choice, eh? Stay here and live with that. Or go and fight.’ Robbie watched the rabbit lolloping around on the grass. ‘And maybe not come back.’

‘Danny reckons it’s a mess over there.’ Farren grinned at Hoppidy. ‘But he said he’d go back tomorrow to help his mates. And he also reckons the Turks ’ave got every right to shoot yer. Since it’s like where they live or somethin’.’

‘Well, you can’t expect the bastards
not
to,’ Robbie said. ‘It’s just a pity that they seem so keen on keeping it up.’

In an old tea tin he kept hidden in the shed, Farren stashed four of the gold coins. The other, the shiniest, he took with him to work, cleaning and polishing it, trying to make out the date as he walked up over the bridge.

‘Seventeen forty… six.’ He thought that’s what it said. ‘Boy. Strike me. That
is
old.’

Farren looked back at his house sitting on the island, thinking that even though the land was low and pretty flat, it was still mysterious. Narrow paths, used mostly by animals at night, crossed it and there were lots of little coves tucked away around the shore, some visited only by the tides that slipped in and out like smugglers, in daylight and dark. Yes, it
was
mysterious, and Farren knew it was where Danny must’ve found the coins – or the coins’d found him, because he’d only ever left the island once, and that was to go back to hospital.

Farren also knew, without being told, that his brother had been involved in terrible things. But although they were terrible, they were also somehow great – which didn’t make sense but it
did, Farren accepting this and simply hoping that one day Danny would feel better, or just think less about what had happened in Turkey.

Still, things weren’t that bad, he decided, as he came down off the bridge; him and Danny were still lucky blokes. In his hand, warm, round, and real, he had proof of that.

After morning tea, when a bad-tempered Charlotte had gone out to check on the sheets boiling in the copper, Farren showed Maggie the doubloon. He had tried to stop himself but the coin seemed to have a will of its own, surfacing from his pocket.

‘Look what Danny found.’ He held it out. ‘I dunno where, though.’

Maggie put the mugs down and took the coin, turning it, rubbing it between her fingers as if she was judging the quality of a tablecloth she might buy for the hotel.

‘D’you mean he found it around here?’ She held the coin between fingertips. ‘Or did he bring it back from overseas? It’s beautiful. You take good care of it, Farren.’ She gave it back. ‘It looks, well, quite valuable.’

Farren checked out the window to see that Charlotte wasn’t coming back up the path. He could picture her in the wash-house, scowling and poking at the squid-like mass of boiling sheets.

‘I think he found ’em on the island.’ Farren kept his voice low. ‘There’s a few more. I hid ’em in a tin. And I gave one to Robbie. You know, for good luck.’

Maggie’s brow accumulated lines and this worried Farren.

‘It might be an idea to hide this one, too.’ She smiled, as if trying to lessen the seriousness of her suggestion. ‘And perhaps not
tell anyone else, Farren. The same goes for Robbie. Or, you could even take them to the bank or the police. I could go with you. What d’you think?’

Maggie’s concern frightened Farren. It was not a reaction he’d expected.

‘No, I’ll hide ’em. And I’ll tell Robbie to hide his, too. But I don’t want to go to the coppers or the bank.’ Not until he’d talked to Danny he wouldn’t, anyway. ‘Maybe when Danny gets back I might. But not now.’

Maggie produced a smile that he wasn’t convinced by.

‘All right. Good.’ She closed his hand around the coin. ‘Just be careful, Farren. A lot of people have been looking for those things for a long time. And if this is where Danny found them, well. You know.’

Farren swallowed, attempting to replace fear with determination. If Danny found the coins, Danny could keep them. That was the rule. Finders bloody Keepers.

One of Farren’s afternoon jobs was to stoke the pub’s fires and load the woodboxes for the evening. That done, he was sweeping up wood scraps in the public bar when the coin, which he’d transferred to another pocket, fell through a hole and slid straight down his pants’ leg. He slapped at it, missed it, and watched it roll across the floor to stop short of a group of three men, one of whom was Joe Clouty. The sound of the coin spiralling on its rim went on like a drum roll.

Farren went straight after it, but already one of the men at the bar, a bloke whom he didn’t know, had bent down and beaten him to it.

‘Don’t go throwin’ it away, mate.’ The man, who was as big as Joe, was about to flip it back when something about it struck him. He held it as if it was a monocle he was about to put into his eye. ‘Geez, well, how’d yer luck onto this, sonny-Jim? It sure ain’t no silver shillin’.’