Black Water (24 page)

‘I did.’ Danny dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his boot. ‘Bloody smokes. Filthy things. And yer ’ave to pay for ’em.’

‘So what’d he say?’ Farren sat in the bracken. It was warm and snug out of the wind. ‘Anythin’?’

Danny sat arms-crossed, bruises and cuts on a face that Farren always remembered as being finely-shaped and smooth.

‘He swore on a box of bibles and Sneezer’s dog blanket –’ Danny’s hand set off on its usual search for cigarettes ‘that he had nothin’ to do with it. And I b’lieve him. Then he bought me a beer and lunch. He did say that everybody in town, and probably ’alf the world, knew about the coins because a few weeks before old Jimmy went west, RIP, he got a bit muddled-up after the pub, and tried to buy a new hat with a couple.’

This was news to Farren. But perhaps it did explain how some blokes from out of town might’ve heard about the coins. Or when old Jimmy was up in Melbourne.

‘So maybe,’ Farren said, as he watched Hoppidy lolloping around, her lead tied to a fern, ‘those blokes figured you knew where the rest were.’

Danny lit up and poked the match into the ground.

‘Maybe, mate. I mean, Jimmy was over ’ere every second day with his bucket and shovel. Any bloody dingbat would’a seen him and me sharin’ a smoke and a cuppa tea. But anyway, forget it.’ Danny took a deep drag and looked out to where the moored boats met the incoming tide, tiny waves tapping their bows. ‘Besides,
might be the train evened things up in the long run. But what I do know for sure, regardin’ the boat race, is that I got a good little plan that might turn out orright if Joe’s as dumb as he thinks I am.’

Constable Decker drank tea from one of the new mugs Farren had bought.

‘And so we’ll talk to these fellers further when they’re able.’ Constable Decker’s neatly combed and oiled hair reminded Farren of a piece of light brown wood, sanded smooth and varnished. ‘Saved me a lot of footwork, though, that train, I have to say.’

‘They won’t come back?’ Souki stood by Farren’s chair. ‘Will they, mister? Ever?’

‘No, they will not, miss.’ Constable Decker reached into his tunic pocket and pulled out a letter. ‘And I do have somethin’ here for you, as well. It’s from your people, I expect. It came to the police house today. Can you read it? Or would you like Farren or –’

Souki snatched the letter before Constable Decker could offer it.

‘I c’n read. I go ter school, don’t I?’

Danny caught her wrist.

‘Eh, Souk. You don’t go grabbin’ stuff and you don’t talk like that, orright?’ He released her hand. ‘You say thanks and sorry. I’m sure your mum’d want yer to. C’mon. Off yer go.’

‘Thanks ’n’ sorry.’ Souki didn’t hand the letter over but she suddenly smiled, as if she was willing to bet that the big, young policeman liked her. ‘When c’n we go in yer car again? That was bloody good fun.’

As Souki re-read her letter, lips moving as if she were savouring each word, Danny and Farren began preparing tea.

‘Me mum’s comin’ over as soon as me uncle’s boat’s back from King Island.’ Souki put the letter down. ‘Maybe three or four weeks or somethin’. When he’s done ’is work at the sheelite mine. An’ she says to say thanks for lookin’ after me and she’ll give yer some money when she gets ’ere.’

Farren gave the frying pan a shake, sausages hissing.

‘That’s great, Souk.’ He added some cut tomatoes to the pan. ‘Boy, I bet they’re missin’ you a lot. And three weeks’ll go fast. That’s nothin’.’

Souki held the letter in her lap, trapped under her thumbs.

‘But what if maybe I don’ wanna go ’ome ?’ She stared at her boots. ‘What if I wanna stay ’ere with you blokes an’ Hoppidy? And go ter freggin’ school with Edna an’ them for a while?’ She looked up defiantly. ‘Who’s gunna ’elp Danny get a cuppa tea when he forgets ’ow? Or find his smokes? Or his bloody boots? Or help with the boat race? And clean the blackboard? Whose gunna do all that stuff?’

Farren looked to Danny for answers because he had none. He thought Souki would’ve been desperate to get home. Danny, who was trying to cut bread, gave up and put the knife down.

‘Ah, well,’ he said, and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Geez. Look. Why don’t we just wait till the boat gets ’ere? And then we’ll sort everythin’ out. But I can tell yer one thing, Souk. And that is you’ve been the best thing that’s happened to me and Farren forever, so we won’t be lettin’ you go that easy. Anyway, why doncha come over here and slice up a few of them lovely green beans you’re so keen on.’

Souki pushed her chair back. She left the letter on the table.

‘Orright. But I ain’t goin’ anywhere until we bin in that race and whacked them Cloutys. The dirty bludgers.’

Danny accepted this with a quiet laugh. ‘And I’ll make sure you get yer full cut of the winnin’s.’

‘If there are any,’ Farren said, because he was worried about the betting even if Danny wasn’t. ‘Those blokes are good sailors, Danny. They sail every day of the flamin’ week.’

Souki lined up a handful of beans on the chopping board.

‘We’ll bloody win, Farren.’ Her hands were poised like two pigeons about to peck. ‘Danny’s gunna cut us some new sails no one’s ever seen before an’ we’re gunna thrash the bloody pants off them cissies.’

Farren checked Danny’s reaction to this revelation.

‘Nothin’ to add.’ Danny picked up the breadknife for another attempt. ‘And you, Souk, keep yer fly trap shut.’

In the morning, Farren was sent upstairs with an armful of folded sheets for Isla, whose job it was now to make the beds and tidy the
rooms. A silent, glum girl from Ballarat called Gemma, who had broad arms and a missing front tooth, had taken over the wash-house work.

Farren found Isla in one of the front rooms. She stood at the windows, looking at the sea, the bed behind her stripped to show a striped mattress with matching dips like potholes. Farren lifted his hand, succeeding in attracting her attention without giving her a fright. Isla turned, smiling a little as if she was still caught in her thoughts.

‘Fah-ren.’ She eyed the linen he’d brought without interest and then indicated that he come and look out of the window. The water, visible over the foreshore ti-tree, was black as basalt. ‘Ver’ nice?’

Under a grey sky the bay was sombre. A few white sails, like dogs’ teeth, spiked the flat surface and the distant peninsula of sand and scrub looked as unreachable as a foreign land. Isla moved her head, sending her hair, which was now long and lustrous again, swinging.

‘Jul’n go soo’,’ she said. ‘Tha War.’

Farren wished that Julian Derriweather wasn’t going. Not everyone had to; teachers didn’t, fisherman didn’t, farmers didn’t – they were required at home. But the ones who did want to go simply quit, said they were unemployed, and then joined up.

‘I wish he wasn’t,’ Farren said at last, the sentence hovering somewhere between them.

Isla pivoted, a quick smile adding the merest touch of plumpness to the honed features of her face. Her eyelashes, black and fine, flickered.

‘’E
go.
’ She clapped once. ‘’E
gum
pack!’

Farren nodded, his entire body taken over by a desire to agree.

‘I bloody
hope
so!’ Immediately he knew he had to offer more than hope; hope was hardly anything. ‘No,’ he added, sternly. ‘He
will
come back.’ The words felt solid, good to say. ‘He
will
come back, for sure.’

Isla didn’t respond with the enthusiasm Farren had hoped for. Instead she merely nodded then looked away, as if like Danny, she knew there were more truths around the place than just the one.

‘Ya. I ’ope,’ she said. ‘I ’ope.’

After tea, Farren, Danny, and Souki sat around the stove, Hoppidy on Souki’s lap, the wind rising in the yard.

‘I’ve made the bet,’ Danny announced. ‘Joe come over today and we worked her out.’ Danny held up a finger. ‘Ten quid for the first boat to the Portsea pier. And twenty for the first boat back home. Fifteen minute turn-around in the middle. We race a fortnight from Sundy. One on one. The
Delia Three
versus the flying Foxes’ priceless
Camille
!’

Thirty quid! Shock rose in Farren’s throat. They didn’t have anything like thirty quid – and not for one moment did he even think about winning it. All he could think about was losing it, and that they’d be broke for the next thirty years.

‘Danny!’ Farren got hold of the arm of Danny’s chair, although it was really Danny he wanted to grab. ‘Listen! What happens if we bloody lose? We haven’t got anythin’ like that sort’a money!’

Danny tapped his temple.

‘Have faith, old sport. I have an idea. And it might even work.’

Farren jumped up. He felt like throwing punches.

‘You’re not bloody listenin’!’ He smacked the arm of Danny’s chair, the shock of it sharp in his hand. ‘We can’t pay. We haven’t got it. You-have-ter-change-the-bloody-bet!’

‘We aren’t
gunna
lose,’ Souki said, nursing the rabbit. ‘We’re gunna
win
, Farren. Out an’ back. Because Danny’s got a plan and it’ll work.’

Farren ignored Souki. This time he pushed Danny’s good shoulder.

‘Listen, Danny.’ He felt his teeth grind. ‘Are you a bloody idiot or what? Now go’n see Joe and change the bloody bet!’

Danny stood up. Farren stepped backwards, but did not back off.

‘Excuse me, captain,’ Danny said coolly. ‘I have to get my coat as I am intending to go out, although not to see Joe. But before I
do
go –’ He grinned. ‘I’ve got the money, Foxy junior. So we
can
pay if we lose. And we
can
spend up big if we win.’ He tugged Farren’s sleeve. ‘Orright? Orright? Trust me.’

‘Where’d you get it?’ Farren wasn’t about to be fobbed off. ‘You ain’t got thirty quid. How? Where from?’

‘We ain’t gunna lose, Farren!’ Souki said angrily. ‘We’re gunna bloody win!’

Danny retrieved his coat and opened the door, the wind storming in to send a newspaper whirling off the table.

‘I’ll see you pair later.’ At Danny’s back the darkness was like a new world that held no fear for him. ‘Don’t stay up. And lock the door. I got a key. And don’t worry, Farren.’ The scars on his face, like a net, had trapped a touch of his old magic. ‘Old Danny-boy’s not quite had the biscuit yet.’ And he stepped out into the night.

Farren sat, too exhausted to be angry. What was bloody Danny up to? Who knew? No one knew, that was the answer to that; and in reality he guessed that no one ever had.

‘Don’t worry, Farren.’ Souki stroked the rabbit, one hard hand following the other. ‘Danny’s gunna cut us some sails that’ll flog the pants off them Cloutys.’ She waggled the rabbit’s ears. ‘Robbie reckons he’s as clever as anythin’ and he’d know because he’s the smartest kid at the school. Well, him and Nerrie, anyway.’ Souki laughed. ‘Edna’s not too bright, but. But she’s funny because she’s always as miserable as dogs’ guts.’

Farren accepted Souki’s advice, but didn’t try to explain that if they lost the race, and Danny didn’t have the money then Joe Clouty’d claim the
Camille
in a flash. And Farren Fox’s future as a fisherman with his own boat would be sunk without a trace.

On Sunday morning as the town dozed, a group of fishermen and Henk Smackmann, the sailmaker, made their way over the bridge. On the island side they were met by Farren, Danny, Robbie, and Souki. Quiet greetings were exchanged before the group, carrying boat rollers and various cans, scrapers and brushes, set off to where the
Camille
lay moored in a small, misty cove.

‘Now this exercise ain’t really a big secret or nothin’,’ Danny said, as they tramped along in single file. ‘But Joe and his boys don’t
have
to know that the Fox brothers and their mates have chosen to scrape their boat in a place where hopefully nobody ’appens to be lookin’. But it’d be good if they didn’t.’

‘We won’t be tellin’ him,’ said a fisherman in a torn flannel shirt. ‘Them Cloutys don’t mind playin’ a bit of hard ball. Besides, they’ll all be in bed, since Joe went up to Geelong to watch his nephew play for the Cats. Who got a win, I believe.’

Farren carried two tins of coal tar and beside him Souki laboured along, dressed in a pair of ancient black pants, carrying a bucket of brushes and scrapers.

‘Once we scraped and tarred ’er,’ Souki said authoritatively, ‘she’ll go like the clappers. Because a boat knows yer done the work on ’em, and they’ll sail ’arder for yer then, my oath they do.’

‘I think you are right, Souki.’ Henk Smackmann, a slim, scholarly man with wire-framed glasses, nodded. ‘And if we could get her back in the water before Joe gets back to town, even bedder for all concerned.’

Souki knelt at the
Camille
’s side, hair obscuring her face as she scraped weed and barnacles off the planking as fast as she could go, the fine tendons in her wrists as taut as wire, her shirt sleeves hauled up above her elbows. No wonder she needed to sleep ten hours a night, Farren thought. She went full-bore at everything.

As Souki worked, Farren wondered how she’d explained to herself all the serious things that had happened to her. It seemed she accepted each and every one with hardly a backward glance – but Farren knew that couldn’t be true. Souki was only a kid, and kids needed things sorted out.

And when things couldn’t be sorted out, like what happened when someone close to you died, it left nothing but a great big gap and not much to fill it in with, except a bit of talk about heaven, and people looking down from above, which Farren hoped keenly was true but felt was doubtful.

‘How ya goin’, Souk?’ he asked. ‘You orright? Don’t go so hard. Have a rest.’ He decided she needed more care and attention than she let on. He knew he had when his mum had died. ‘Mornin’ tea in a minute, I reckon.’

Souki sat back on her haunches, and with an upward-aimed breath, puffed hair away from her face.

‘Hey, you know Isla?’ Souki’s cheeks glowed, her eyes glittered. ‘What d’yer reckon her an’ old Derri talk about, eh? D’you reckon they talk much? Or they just’ don’t? Because Isla, yer know, she’s deaf.’

Farren was caught by the sudden jump in the conversation.