Cold Skin (10 page)

‘If you are.

And I hope you are.

Burn a candle for Colleen

next time you’re in church.’

Eddie

Sally and me walk along the banks of the river

without saying a word.

Kingfishers and swallows,

creekdippers and acrobats,

swoop along the surface.

We duck under the branches of the willows

and cross the stream.

The water swirls around my knees

as I grip her hand.

We take nervous steps

through the cold rush,

our feet gripping the stones below.

When we reach the far bank

I struggle out onto the high ground

and help her climb up the track.

On Jaspers Hill

we lie in the grass

under the cliffs,

away from town,

away from the memory of yesterday.

Sally kisses me

and I don’t want to run this time.

I wrap my arms around her.

Then, in one quick movement,

Sally leans back and takes off her jumper,

tossing it behind her.

She’s wearing a thin top

that clings to my fingers

as my hands drift over her body.

Sally grips my shoulders.

Her nails press into my skin

as she moves closer.

I smell her faint perfume,

feel her lips,

soft and welcoming.

My hands fumble under her blouse

exploring, awkward.

Her hand slips into my shirt

and I almost jump in fright.

I don’t know what to do

with her fevered skin tingling

under my big clumsy hands.

She takes my hand,

placing it between her legs,

and the shock of her warmth

surges through me.

She pushes me back

and we are rubbing, touching, fondling,

doing things I’ve only dared think about.

Sally’s breathing, my hands,

her lips, her face, her skin,

her smell, her touch,

fill my afternoon.

Albert Holding

The pub is quiet

with me and Johnno the bartender,

alone,

drinking the bitter brew of a desolate afternoon.

I told Laycock I was finishing early

and walked off before he could respond.

There’s nothing at home for me.

I’m holding a glass of the only friend I’ve got.

Johnno sips his beer

and rabbits on about last Friday

and how everyone drank far too much,

and when Sergeant Grainger came in on Saturday

asking him to name the drunks,

Johnno scoffed and said,

‘Every bloke in town, mate.’

So we’re all suspects, I guess.

I lean close to Johnno,

raise my glass,

swill it down

and say, ‘Thanks.

One more for the guilty.’

He looks at me in horror.

‘Guilty of being drunk on Friday, you drongo.’

He pours another as Fatty comes through the door,

looking pale and bloated,

like a fish tossed up on the bank.

He puffs,

‘Just a shandy for me, thank you.’

He sits beside me at the bar

and starts on.

‘I’m so sorry for the parents.

It’s a bad business for Burruga.

A blight on our future, you could say.’

I down my beer in one gulp,

and say,

‘There’s only one bloke who can make it right,

Fatty.’

I leave my money on the counter

and walk out.

Sergeant Grainger

The clock ticks past two in the morning

and the kettle boils on the stove.

Another cup of tea is better than sleep.

I’ve had a week of stories:

beer on Friday till closing,

rude singing, bad jokes,

and staggering home to a cold dinner

and an angry missus.

Some blokes want to take up a collection

for the O’Connors,

to help with the expenses,

and they asked me to look into it.

Everyone mentions how pretty Colleen was.

They didn’t see her like me,

at the end,

on the sand.

That’s what I can’t shake.

It keeps me awake,

going over every detail.

Particularly the Holding family.

No one saw Eddie on Friday night

and all he told me

is he sat up a tree beside the railway station

watching Butcher run late for the train.

So if I believe Eddie,

I should talk to Butcher again

and make more calls to the city.

Still no mother.

Albert Holding was as hostile as always.

He scowled at each question,

answered with a grunt whenever possible,

and looked off into the distance.

But when I mentioned Larry

he spat on the footpath, growling,

‘No son of mine would do that.

The bloke who did it was gutless.

A coward.

That’s who you should be looking for, Grainger.

A coward.’

Eddie

When Butcher calls her name I stand quickly,

my arm blocking the aisle.

Everyone looks at me.

Mr Butcher sees his chance.

‘I said “Sally”, Eddie,

You don’t look like Sally.

She’s much prettier.’

He’s so proud of himself

when he hears the sly giggles.

It’s all I can do to stop myself

from storming to his desk.

‘Do you like pretty girls, Sir?’

The laughter stops

and I hear my brother curse under his breath.

Butcher grabs his cane,

pointing to the door.

‘Outside, Holding.

Not another word!’

I walk out slowly,

taking each deliberate step

with my eyes never leaving Butcher.

His hand is shaking and he shouts at the class.

‘Chapter Four.

There’ll be questions when I return.’

Butcher leads me to the staffroom.

‘In here, boy.’

He adjusts his glasses

and motions for me to hold out my hand.

‘No, Mr Butcher.’

‘What do you mean, Holding?

Don’t disobey me.’

I take a step towards him

and he starts to raise the cane.

‘I know what happens in the city.’

He steps back.

‘What? What do you mean?’

I’ve been thinking of what to say,

careful not to accuse him of what I suspect.

‘You won’t choose Sally,

or any of the other girls to run errands for you.

From now on. Choose a boy.

My brother, Larry, he’ll do.’

Butcher’s face goes red with rage.

He taps the cane hard against his leg.

‘Sergeant Grainger knows

you almost missed the train.

You can tell him what else happened.’

Butcher says,

‘There’s nothing wrong in what I did.

Nothing whatsoever.

She’s a fine young lady.

In fact, I’d call her my friend.’

I open the door and walk back to class.

Butcher won’t ridicule me again.

Mr Carter

The week stumbles along

with everyone in town quiet, subdued.

The men walk home from the mine in groups.

No one stops at the pub.

They carry their lunchboxes

swinging by their sides

and their heavy boots tramp down Main Street.

Everyone keeps their head bowed

as if they’re scared they’ll see the killer

in the eyes of a neighbour.

The O’Connor house has a ‘For Sale’ sign out front

and we’re all doing our best not to notice it.

I’ve taken to sitting in the Sunset Café,

stirring my tea slowly,

looking for solace

somewhere between the Bible

and Banjo Paterson.

Unless Pete Grainger finds the guilty soon

I fear the angry silence will snap,

with a horde of miners looking for retribution.

Mrs Kain is quiet as she stands behind the counter

wiping the perfectly clean bench top.

Her eyes drift to the door

and it hurts me to realise

she waits to see Colleen walk through the entrance,

smiling and ordering a milkshake.

Mr Carter

Eddie Holding buys a bottle of milk

and walks across to my corner booth,

looking at my books on the table.

‘Sit down, young fellow.

You’re making me nervous.’

He shakes his head

and glances to see if Mrs Kain is listening.

‘Thanks for what you wrote, Mr Carter.

About Colleen.

It needed to be said.’

He shuffles from foot to foot,

eager to leave.

‘Why, thank you, Eddie.

Can I buy you a milkshake?

Please, take the weight off.’

I gesture to the booth

and I’m about to call to Mrs Kain

when Eddie interrupts.

‘No, Sir.’

He holds up the bottle.

‘Dad will need this when he gets home.’

He walks to the door, stops and comes back,

‘I wasn’t saying it for a reason, Mr Carter.

So you’d think better of me.

It was good someone wrote those things

about Colleen.

All everyone says is how pretty she was.

Not everything else.’

Eddie walks down Main Street

and I can’t help but smile.

Praise be!

A Holding, of all people,

makes me proud to live in this town.

I open the notebook

with my list that fills two pages

and draw a line through Eddie’s name.

Sally

Eddie and I share our sandwiches

and ignore everyone sniggering

and talking about us.

After what we did on Jaspers Hill

I’ve decided – no more hiding,

no more worrying what this town thinks.

We might die tomorrow.

I want to be with Eddie,

our legs touching on the seat.

God can’t condemn something that feels so right.

I’ve watched my school friends

arguing over who was Colleen’s best friend,

each trying to claim some memory.

And I’ve heard the rumours about Colleen

and a secret boyfriend,

meetings at the river.

It made my head swirl

because it’s not true.

It’s just inventions by people

scared to admit there’s a killer in town.

Colleen didn’t have a boyfriend.

She had a stalker.

Eddie

I’ve started going out after sunset,

wandering the town

between Main Street,

where Mr Butcher lives,

and Sally’s place.

I keep my eyes and ears open,

staying away from the light,

making sure I’ll see him first.

Sometimes I hide in the bushes near the park

and sit for ages,

waiting,

expecting he’ll walk by,

so I can follow him

and expose him.

If Sergeant Grainger doesn’t find the killer,

we’ll all go on living with this

and I’ll spend my whole life

watching Mr Butcher,

suspecting,

but never knowing.

Sergeant Grainger

My phone calls found only two families

related to Butcher.

One of them was a cousin

who told me that Butcher’s mum died years ago

and they never see him any more.

To quote,

‘He lives in some God-forsaken dump

and doesn’t come into the city.’

I told the plonker he was wrong on both counts

and hung up.

There’s a chap who stares at me

in my bathroom mirror

with bags under his eyes,

lines across his forehead,

hair getting thin on top.

He looks a hell of a lot like me,

only a fair bit older.

Mr Butcher leaves for school at eight.

Today, he’ll be late.

Sergeant Grainger

Butcher keeps looking downstairs

as we stand in his flat.

He doesn’t offer me a seat.

‘I was sorry to hear about your mother.’

He almost drops his hat,

nervously fiddling with the brim.

A group of school children

call to each other on the footpath below.

‘What did that Holding boy tell you?

I will not be intimidated.

That boy should be charged for threatening me.’

He steps forward, raising his voice,

‘So what if I have someone in the city?

If a man has to pay for a touch of female company.

It’s no one’s business.’

I had a shower this morning,

but may need another

after I’ve finished with this grubby man.

‘You were rushing for the train on Friday.’

His eyes dart to the street below

as if the town can hear what I’ve said.

‘Not especially.’

The longer I keep silent,

the more he’ll talk.

‘Ernie Kain burnt my grill.

You know how Mrs Kain never shuts up,

well, they both forgot the food.

Kain insisted on cooking me a new dinner.

By the time I finished,

I had to run for the train.’

He puts his hat on

and picks up his bag.

‘That Holding boy had no right.

No right whatsoever to follow me.’

Stepping in front of him, I say,

‘When this is over.

I expect you’ll leave town.

One way or the other.’

I don’t want him teaching our children.

‘How dare you . . .’

I move aside,

‘Eddie isn’t the only one watching you.

Understand?’

He looks like he does.

Larry

Sergeant Grainger waits in the park

near the school, watching.

He calls me over

before I jump the fence.

He nods for me to sit beside him.

‘I’ll be late for school, Sarge.’

He scoffs and says,

‘I’ll give you a note for Butcher, if you like.’