The Godson (41 page)

This brought a smile to Colleen's face and they started for the door. Les told Alan he was going for a few minutes and to keep an eye on the piss. No worries, Alan assured him.

Colleen drove a yellow, Cortina station wagon. As Peregrine climbed in the front seat he apologised once more for being a party-pooper, but he did feel decidedly ill. No sweat, winked Les, probably just a reaction to what happened on Wednesday. After making sure they got safely away, everything was in order and Colleen was of good character, Norton walked back to the dance.

Well, I've got about a dozen bottles of beer and two bottles of Moet left, thought Les. Enough to keep me going, anyway. He opened another Corona as the DJ ripped into some more rock 'n' roll. The place was still jumping and Les was figuring out which way to move when he noticed a young girl standing near the kitchen door eating some sort of a vegetarian curry roll. She was a pretty little thing, straight brown hair, wide, dreamy brown eyes and the sweetest crimson slash of a mouth Norton had seen in ages. Wearing stone-washed jeans and some sort of a double-breasted, blue-checked shirt, she didn't look like a hippy and was definitely no more than nineteen. Norton watched her chewing gingerly at the curry roll. He could smell it ten feet away and tipped whoever cooked it put plenty of curry in it.

‘How's the roll?' he asked her.

‘Bloody hot,' replied the girl quickly.

‘Would you like a cold beer?'

She looked at Les for a moment. ‘Yeah, okay. Thanks.'

Les got her a bottle of Stella Artois. She checked out the label then took a healthy swig.

‘Ooh! That's really nice,' she said, and took another drink.

Norton smiled as he watched her demolish the rest of the curry roll and the beer in what seemed like a matter of seconds.

‘Jesus, you can sure put it away for a little girl,' he said.

‘All that dancing. I'm dried out,' she replied, with a polite belch.

‘Yeah. He's a larrikin, that disc jockey.'

‘Is he what.'

‘Would you like another beer?'

The young girl thought for a moment. ‘All right,' she smiled. ‘Thanks.'

Les got her a bottle of Corona and a fresh one for himself. He didn't bother trying to impress her with the slice of lime. ‘Cheers,' he said, and clinked her bottle.

‘Yes, cheers,' she replied, giving Les a once up and down, her smile now slow and relaxed.

‘What's your name?' asked Norton.

‘Alison.'

‘Not Alison Wonderland?'

‘No. Alison Brisbane. But you can call me Al. Everybody else does.'

‘Well, I'm Les. How are you doin', Al?'

‘Pretty good, Les,' replied Alison. Then she grinned and gave Norton a friendly punch in the chest. ‘How's yourself?'

‘All right,' winced Norton. ‘Till you broke two of my ribs.'

‘You can take it.' Alison took a huge swig of beer. ‘Hey, what happened to the other Arab? Did he go back to Mecca?'

‘He felt crook and went home.'

‘Bullshit!' said Alison. ‘Your mother wanted the tea towels back.'

Alison was as cheeky as she was pretty and the more beer she drank the cheekier she got. Norton couldn't help but like her. It turned out she worked part time as a waitress in Brisbane and had come down to Murwillumbah for the weekend to visit her girlfriend. Her girlfriend had had an enormous fight with her parents and had stormed out in a huff and naturally she had to join her. They'd come to the dance to meet a friend of her girlfriend's and stay at his place for the night. His place turned out to be a caravan about the same size as a biscuit tin with no running water or toilet on five acres of ground going back towards Murwillumbah. She wasn't at all keen on
sleeping on the floor of the caravan and still had her gear in an overnight bag in the friend's car. Alison gave someone on the dance floor a quick wave. It had to be her girlfriend and the friend. The girlfriend was a dumpy brunette wearing a cheap blue dress and an imitation leather jacket. The friend was in his thirties going a bit thin on top and the way he was dancing with the girlfriend it wasn't hard to tell what he had in mind. They stopped groping each other momentarily to wave back then continued as they were. The germ of a wonderful, beautiful idea was beginning to form in Norton's booze-affected mind when the disc jockey threw on Separate Tables — ‘Change Your Sex'.

‘Hey, can you dance Les?' asked Alison.

‘Can a hoot owl hoot? Come on!'

They joined the other dancers and away they went. Alison's style of dancing was a bit like herself: cheeky. She'd dip her body and head at Les, bounce around him, move up close like she was teasing him then spin away and appear behind him. Norton's style was pretty much as Peregrine had described: Dionysiac without stomping on anybody's feet. But whatever, he was going great guns with the little cutie from Brisbane.

After about six dances they returned to the alcove for a couple of fresh Coronas. Alison took hers and said she was just going to see her girlfriend for a minute and find out what was going on. Les watched them talking for a few moments and noticed when Alison walked back she had a disappointed look on her face.

‘Well, Les,' she sighed. ‘It looks like I'm going to have to go.'

‘Yeah? Why's that?'

‘Paul wants to get going and that's my lift.' Alison screwed up her face. ‘Jesus, I'm not looking forward to sleeping on the floor of that caravan. With Paul groping Jane right next to my head all night.'

Norton thought for a moment. His earlier idea seemed better than ever. But he was going to have to be quick. ‘You don't have to, you know,' he said.

‘How do you mean?'

‘You could come back to my place. I'm staying on this huge farm. There's tons of room.'

Alison gave Norton a suspicious smile. ‘Could I trust you, though?'

Les did his best to look hurt. ‘Alison…'

The girl thought for a moment. ‘All right,' she said, then
wagged a finger at Les. Til come back on two conditions.'

‘Sure,' shrugged Les.

‘One, you behave yourself. And two, you drive me into Murwillumbah on Sunday to catch the two o'clock train.'

‘Good as gold.'

‘Okay. I'll go and get my bag out of the car.'

She went back to her friends who were getting ready to leave. They gave Les a brief smile as they walked past.

‘I won't be a minute,' said Alison.

Well, I'll be buggered, thought Les, as he watched them walk out the door. This has turned out the grouse. She's like a little doll. And she's all my way. No need to monster her — just having her back later for a few drinks'll be a million laughs. And if something should eventuate, all the better.

Norton couldn't help but feel pleased with himself as he stood back and sipped his beer while he watched the hippies and the alternatives dancing away, drinking, smoking the odd joint and having the time of their lives in an old, dusty rundown School of Arts hall. Since he'd left Sydney he'd stayed at the grouse and ate and drank the best food and wines available. Now he was at a simple bush dance full of simple bush people and he felt this was the best yet. Millionaire dope dealers, Norton laughed to himself — half these people here would be lucky to own a colour TV and a car less than ten years old. All the millionaire drug dealers were too busy building resorts and high-rises all over what's left of the coastline of Australia. Destroying peoples' lives with heroin and cocaine and laundering their money by destroying the environment; aided and abetted by so-called developers, crooked councilmen and arguably the most corrupt politicians on the face of God's earth. And the only thing standing in their way were the hippies and the greenies — the ones trying to save the environment. The ones who the politicians, and their sycophants on certain radio stations try to shitpot all the time to cover their own smelly, slimy tracks. Norton's mind suddenly flicked back to the huge stumps of those old Cedar trees at Cedar Glen and the roots left rotting in the ground. Christ! When you thought about it simplistically, the only things keeping the planet together were the greenies and the roots of the trees. It was a fact.

Les was standing there awash in the virtue of his own karma, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Alison, holding a battered K-Mart overnight-bag.

‘I got my suitcase. Where'll I put it?'

Norton gave it a quick eyeball. ‘Is there an incinerator down the back?' He put it down next to the garbage-bin, went to get a couple of beers and held up a bottle of Moet. ‘You fancy a glass of champagne?'

Alison looked at it for a moment. ‘Why don't we drink it back at your place? I just feel like one of those beers.'

‘Okey doke,' said Les, and popped another two Coronas.

The DJ stopped and The Hemsemmiches came back on with, of all things, a reggae/rock version of ‘Goin' Up The Country'. Alison dragged Les out onto the dance floor for a bit more slippin' and slidin', dippin' and teasin'.

And that was how they spent the next hour or two, drinking beer, laughing and dancing. Apart from Alan, Les didn't know a soul at the dance and neither did Alison. So they were stuck with each other for a bit of company. Alison was now starting to catch up with Les in being a drunken, laughing wombat. Now and again she'd hold his hand or take his arm, and sometimes when they sat down she'd rest her head on his shoulder. What a way to be stuck with someone, thought Les. He felt like the king of the world.

They were down to one bottle of Gosser when the DJ threw on James Reyne's ‘Hammerhead'. They slow danced to that and the next track then finished the last beer. The dance was beginning to wind down a little.

‘Do you want to go now, Al?' said Les. ‘Have a drink and listen to a bit of music back at the farm?'

Alison moved her head slightly on Norton's shoulder. ‘Okay,' she smiled.

Propped in the doorway after saying goodnight, Alan couldn't help but be impressed as he watched Norton strolling off down the street, the garbage-bin esky under one arm and Alison on the other. I wonder just who that red-headed bloke is? he mused. He's come into town out of nowhere, flattened six of the best fighters in Yurriki plus the biggest bloke in the Valley. Then he arrives at my dance in an army uniform drinking French champagne and imported beer like it's going out of style. And ups and leaves with the best young sort in the joint. Alan shook his head. Don't know who he is. But he's not bloody bad.

Norton was a little surprised to find the house completely in darkness and Colleen's car gone when he and Alison pulled up in the driveway at Cedar Glen. He switched off the engine and turned to Alison.

‘Just wait here for a sec,' he said cautiously.

Norton let himself into the kitchen and nervously tip-toed across to Peregrine's bedroom. He was relieved to find the young Englishman in bed sound asleep, enough moonlight on his face to tell Les he was all right, just out like a light. He watched him for a few moments then tip-toed back out again.

‘Peregrine's asleep,' he said, as he opened the car door for Alison. ‘He told me he wasn't feeling too good.' Les hit the outside light switch and lit up the barbecue area.

‘Hey, this place is really lovely,' said Alison. ‘It's so big.'

‘Yeah, it's not bad, is it?' replied Les, placing her overnight bag on the table. ‘I'll get things organised here, then I'll show you around.'

Before long Norton had the ghetto-blaster playing softly on the table, Alison seated comfortably and a bottle of Moet opened. It was quite cool outside, but after the heat and smoke of the dance hall, it was clear and refreshing.

‘Well. Here's to the Yurriki Humdinger Boogie Woogie Ball,' said Les, clinking Alison's glass.

‘Yeah, reckon,' replied the little Brisbane waitress, still trying to take in everything around her.

They sipped their drinks and exchanged smiles.

‘Anyway, bring your glass and I'll give you a quick guided tour of the bottom half of the house.' Les stood up and got the torch from on top of the fridge.

While he was showing Alison the house, he told her he was a horse trainer in Sydney. Peregrine was thinking of buying the place and turning it into a horse stud and Les was going to work for him. Alison took it all in.

‘And this is some sort of a guest's quarters, I think,' said Les, when they came back to the barbecue area. ‘You can doss in there for the night if you like.'

Alison peered through the double glass door and let out a strange little laugh. ‘Wow. I wasn't expecting anything as good as this.'

Norton looked at her beautiful backside squeezed into the stone-wash jeans. ‘No,' he said. ‘Neither was I.'

They got stuck into the bottle of champagne, listening to the music, not talking about much in particular. As another glass of Moet went down, Les looked directly at Alison and couldn't help but grin. She caught the big Queenslander's grin and a ripple of laughter went through her body. She was more conscious now of Les than she was earlier in the night, conscious not only of his masculinity, but his sense of humour and easygoing nature. It made her relax and loosen up almost like a
small wave breaking over her on a beach. Then again, six beers and half a bottle of French champagne could have had something to do with it too.

Alison looked that good to Les he could have put her on a plate and started eating her there and then, starting with her dainty little toes. They were about to say something to each other when of all things it started to rain. It was only light but steady, making a soothing rhythmic drumming on the timber above their heads.

‘Hey, look at that,' said Les. ‘Rain. I wonder where that came from?'

The August rain was only gentle but it seemed to put an even more pronounced chill in the air. Alison gave a tiny shiver.