Nine Days (14 page)

Today will be the hardest. The funeral wasn’t so bad. Dad looked like he was just sleeping and it was good to see everyone so sad for him, shaking me and Kip by the hand, telling us what a great bloke Dad was. At funerals everyone has a job to do and things happen all by themselves. As if we were all in a play and everyone knew their lines.

Back to school, that’s what I’ve been dreading. Boys and brothers and everyone looking at me from the corners of their
eyes. One thing I’ve learned: when your father dies, people are much kinder to you. For a while, anyway.

This will be Cranston’s most difficult assignment yet, indisputable proof of his genius. He’s practised for this, like a cricketer playing his first test.
Thank you for your sympathy, Brother. I’m feeling much better, thank you.

Cranston goes to his room to get his bag. The target isn’t there, but it’s much too early for him to have left already. Where the blazes is he?

‘Ma, have you seen Kip?’

‘He left ten minutes ago. I told you not to dawdle.’

Bugger. The target has thrown off the tail. I bolt out the front door, along Rowena Parade, down Lennox Street. Usually we catch the tram along Swan to the MacRobertson Bridge but it’s that early, odds are Kip’s decided to walk. I cut through Gipps Street then Elm Grove walking fast but there’s no sign of him. Then, as I come around the corner into Mary Street, I see them: the evil Mastermind Shiwan Khan and his two goons, leaning on a fence, smoking.

‘Francis,’ nods Jim Pike.

‘Have you seen Kip? I’ve lost him.’

Pike looks up at the sun and squints and purses his lips, but can’t hold in his giggle. The other two start to laugh as well.

‘Bad couple of weeks you’re having, Francis. If you’ve lost your brother as well,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ says Cray, and all three of them laugh all the harder.

‘Francis, Francis, come here, matey,’ says Pike. He’s a good
head taller than me and rangy: big, but not as big as Cray or Mac. They’re both like a cross between a brick dunny and a gorilla and Mac takes after the gorilla in the body-hair department. Pike vices one arm around my shoulders. ‘Me and the lads are just having a joke with you. We’re sorry to hear about your dad. Aren’t we, boys.’

‘Yeah,’ says Cray.

‘Real sorry,’ says Mac. He comes over and pulls back his fist like he’s going to punch me into the middle of next week, but instead when it lands he takes all the force out of it and he just taps my arm.

‘Ta.’ I think about the sultana cake in my bag, try to calculate its anti-bashing value. It was meant for school but I’ll spend it now if I have to.

‘In fact, we been thinking. Might be you could hang about with us for a bit.’ Pike lets go of me and leans back against the wall.

I swallow. I look at him.

‘We’ve been keeping an eye on you Frankie,’ says Mac. ‘We could use a lad of your talents.’

Really? ‘What talents would those be?’

‘You’re smart and hardworking,’ says Pike, which is true. ‘Sometimes, the boys and me, we make a bit of pocket money doing odd jobs for old ladies out in Hawthorn. Gardening and such. Our good deeds to help the less fortunate.’

This makes Mac smile from ear to ear. ‘We call it our charitable works.’ Cray starts laughing so hard he doubles over and puts his hands on his knees.

‘We think you’d be the ideal boy to join our gang,’ says Pike.

‘What about,’ I start. ‘Thought you blokes prefer to stick with your own kind.’

‘Your religion,’ says Mac. ‘In this instance we’re prepared to overlook it.’

‘All right, then.’

‘Start today after school,’ says Mac. ‘And don’t say nothing to nobody. One word and it’s all off. Once you’re friends with us—well, let’s just say. It’s best to be friends with us.’

‘Friends with us is the best way to be,’ says Pike, and he’s right about that. ‘So shut your cakehole.’

‘Not a word.’

‘Back here, straight after the bell,’ Pike says. I nod.

After they leave, I lean for a while against the heat of the wall and think about my luck. The toughest gang in Richmond! And they want me, Francis Westaway! All right, I’m not as big as them. I’m not as muscly. But I’m wiry, and more to the point, I’m sharp. Give it time, I could be the brains of the whole operation. Officer in charge of all charitable works. They’ve noticed my potential, the big life I’ve got in front of me. No more handing over sandwiches, getting tripped, watching where I sit and where I walk. Could be I’ve been hung from my feet to the hilarity of all and sundry to have my pockets emptied for the last time. Dackings? Forget it. From now on, I’ll be the one doing the dacking. From this minute it’ll be me deciding who does what and who goes where. Francis, is it all right if I sit here? Francis would you like a biscuit? No, no, go
on. It’s the last one in the packet, but you have it.

When I get to school I hunt for Kip from one end to the other, in all his usual spots. Then I remember: the library. Sure enough when I peek through the window I can see him. He’s sitting on the floor in the corner, but he’s not reading. He’s hugging his knees and his head is down. Looking at him there, I forget why I was chasing him.

‘If we told the boys we had scones for breakfast, they’d not believe us,’ I say, when I sit beside him.

He looks up. It takes him a long time to move his head, like it’s extra heavy. ‘Did you see that scone? Split up the middle like that?’

I nod.

‘That’s what they did to his suit coat. His good suit coat. Cut up the back.’

‘They never. How do you know a thing like that?’

‘It wasn’t sitting right. I could see, when I was standing in front of the coffin. The collar didn’t line up properly. Didn’t join. I expect they did it to his shirt as well.’

The bell goes: I can hear it echoing against the walls and ceilings and stairs. We’re supposed to be in class quick smart. History. Yet we’re both sitting here on the floorboards, backs against the rows of books, calm as you like. Gentlemen of leisure, Ma would say. Kip ignores the bell. Or maybe he doesn’t hear it.

‘What do you suppose they cut it with?’

‘Scissors, maybe. Or a knife. He’d be that mad,’ said Kip. ‘That was his best coat. It’s a wonder Ma let them.’

‘No other way to get his arms in, I expect.’

Kip shakes his head. ‘No excuse for it. You’d do it the way Connie used to dress her dolls. Just takes patience, that’s all. I can’t bear the thought of it. Him lying there forever with his best clothes slit open at the back.’

It seems to me that Dad’s beyond caring about clothes, but I don’t say that to Kip. He’s making his hands into fists and if he knew who’d cut Dad’s clothes they’d be getting what for.

‘We’d best get moving. Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.’

‘I’m not going. I thought I could but I can’t.’

Kip’s hair is in his eyes. It takes so little effort to keep your fringe trimmed. Ma’s happy to do it, he just has to ask. But Kip’s just like Dad that way; he always used to come home with ink under his fingernails. Outside in the hall, I can hear boys and brothers hurrying to class, doors shutting. Everywhere else, women are going to the shops and men are off to work and derros are sitting in the park and none of them give a rat’s about Dad.

‘The first day’s the hardest,’ I say. ‘All downhill from here.’

‘I didn’t even say goodbye to him, that morning. I was reading a stupid book.’

Dad and me and Connie, we all laugh at the way Kip reads a book. You could talk right at him. You could sprinkle water on his head and drop a saucepan lid next to him and he’d not look up.
Read through an earthquake,
Dad used to say.

‘He knew that’s how you are,’ I say. ‘It’s how you’ve always been.’

‘Did you not bloody well hear me? I didn’t say goodbye to Dad. On account of a book.’

‘You’ve got to get to class. It’s not up to you. Ma says you’re staying.’

He stands. He doesn’t pick up his bag: just leaves it lying on the floor.

‘What can she do? She can’t kill me.’

‘She bloody can.’ I can tell from the set of his jaw he’s not joking. ‘What will you do?’

He shrugs. ‘If the factories won’t take me I’ll go door to door. I’ll do anything.’ He looks down at me, blinking fast, squeezing his eyes tight then opening them wide. ‘Rise and Fall of the bloody Roman Empire. Us sitting there like good little boys at our good little desks.
Yes brother, no brother,
when he’s dead and he’s never coming home and I never even said a proper goodbye.’

I want to tell him he’s not being practical, that he needs to think of his future, of Ma’s and Connie’s. I want to tell him Dad would understand. Instead I say, ‘Piker.’

He kicks his bag on the floor and makes straight for the door and doesn’t say goodbye and I know he’s heading for Brother Cusack’s room. His bag is lying there where he left it. I don’t know what to do with it. All I can think is how silly I’ll look to the gang if I turn up with two schoolbags. In the end, I leave it there on the floor.

After the last bell, I walk down the stairs as fast as I can. Kip never appeared for history, or for maths after that. None of the brothers spoke to me about him. I expect they’ll give it a
few days, give him a chance to change his mind. They don’t know him like I do. It makes me extra glad I have somewhere to go this afternoon because with Kip and Ma, home will be a good place not to be. Some of the other boys try to stop me but I tell them I’ve got to see man about a dog and I rush past. I can’t let them slow me down. I can’t be late at the very beginning. I don’t know how long the gang will wait.

But when I get back to the wall in Mary Street, they’re not there. Maybe I got the place or the time wrong, or they’re not going to come at all and it’s their idea of a big jape. And then I see them turn the corner, walking casual as you like, with bags over their shoulders.

I lean on the wall straightaway. I nod.

‘Hope we haven’t kept you waiting, Frankie,’ says Jim.

‘Just got here. Thought the brothers might of kept me back.’

‘What for?’ says Mac.

I look to the heavens. ‘Where do I start? All the trouble I get into.’

‘I knew you’d fit right in Frankie,’ says Jim. ‘Let’s go.’

We walk down to Swan Street and I go to get on the tram but I see the boys hanging back. They wait until it’s going again and they run after it and jump on the ledge at the back. Just like that. On the back, hanging on. They’re looking at each other and grinning. Pike takes one arm off the rail and waves at me.
Come on,
he mouths. And I’ve got one second to make up my mind and all I can think about is Dad but then I think about Kip walking out of school and I’m not walking away from anything so I run after them and I jump on too.

I don’t think about it, from then on. Because if I did fall off, my head would crack like an egg and because it’s busy with people and even cars everywhere, not late at night like when Dad did it, I’d probably be run over and end up a big red splodge on the road and they’d slice my coat from the collar down so I hang on sweaty and shaking and keep not thinking about it. All the people on the street stop and stare at us and one man takes off his hat and waves it and yells
Hoy! You boys!
Cray waves back at him with one arm and I keep gripping on with two and not thinking.

‘No sense wasting good money on a ticket,’ says Jim.

‘Optional,’ says Cray.

‘Simple economics,’ says Mac. ‘You all right there, Frankie?’

I can feel every grain of sand on the track. My hands are greasy and slipping. Near the turn into Power Street the tram slows to walking speed and we jump off and my legs are that wobbly I can hardly stand. We walk for a bit but then another tram comes along. This time the connie’s looking at us something fierce so we get on and buy our tickets and I’ve never been so happy in my life.

So we’re standing in the middle of the tram as it squeaks and rattles. When we get to Hawthorn you can tell the difference right away. Hawthorn is grass and swaying trees and hills and houses that don’t even touch each other but have grass the whole way around like a moat. Even the air has a different smell. We hop off near the Burwood Road corner and walk around the side of a milk bar behind a big tree, and then we stop. Before I know what’s going on, I see Mac undoing his buttons. The three of them are taking off their
shirts, right down to their white singlets, right there. And I look at Mac, at the hair under his arms sticking out a good three inches! Even a few tufts on his chest. I hope to high heaven I don’t have to take my shirt off. I look like I’ve been dipped in toffee. From their school bags, they each pull out a plain shirt and cap.