Cold Skin (11 page)

We both listen to the kids playing red rover.

‘You got drunk on Friday, Larry.’

He’s not telling me anything.

‘So did half the town, Sarge.’

He flicks at a speck of dust on his trousers,

fingering the stiff crease.

‘You and Eddie have been hunting before.

Right?’

What’s he getting at?

‘Sure. Rabbits for food.

No law against that is there?’

He turns to face me

and stares until I can’t look him in the eye.

‘So you’ve seen a dead animal, Larry?’

‘Who hasn’t?’ I shrug.

He waits a long time before speaking.

‘Let me tell you this.

It’s not the same as a human.

A young girl.

Someone who laughed

and maybe sang when they were alone,

sure no one could hear.

Or walked down Main Street

thinking of what she might do

when she got home.

You know, listen to the radio

or read a book.

Maybe sit in the sun

and feel its warmth.’

My hands are shaking

as I remember Colleen in the library

and what I used to imagine.

Sergeant Grainger stands

and looks across at the school.

‘When you’ve seen that, Larry.

It stays with you for ever.’

SIX
Cowards

Sergeant Grainger

I drop by
The Guardian
office

on my way home.

Mr Carter offers me tea

and ginger nut biscuits.

We sit in the old lounge chairs

at the front of the shop,

watching the miners walk past.

‘Those men won’t wait much longer,’ I say.

He closes the door,

shutting out the noise of the printing press

in the back room.

‘I’ve made a list, Mr Carter.

In five days, I haven’t got very far.’

I place my notebook on the coffee table,

open at the names.

Mr Butcher.

Albert Holding.

The Johnston brothers.

Larry Holding.

Other teenage boys?

He reads the names and smiles.

‘I’ve made my own list, Pete.’

He taps the notebook in his shirt pocket.

‘You know,

Eddie Holding came up to me

at the Sunset Café yesterday

and thanked me

for writing Colleen’s obituary.

As he walked out,

I had a hunch

that it’s not a young bloke.

It’s a man.

You’re looking for a man, Pete.

Not much of one, I admit.

But it’s not a boy.’

I sip my tea,

wishing for something stronger.

‘Albert Holding says I’m looking for a coward.’

Mr Carter heaps a spoon with sugar

and watches it slide into his tea.

He takes a long time to answer.

‘Albert’s no fool.

He could be right.’

We sit in silence

watching the sun set

and the streetlights flicker on.

‘How many cowards do we have in town, Pete?’

That’s easy to answer.

‘One.

One too many.’

Sergeant Grainger

An icy breeze blows down from the hills.

The pub is deserted,

like it’s been all week.

Albert Holding sits alone.

I step inside and feel the warmth of the fire.

When I was a young lair

the front bar and me were best mates.

Albert’s eating hot chips,

adding extra salt from the shaker.

He sees me enter and nods.

I order a beer and offer Albert a refill.

‘Sure. A copper buying beers.

I wouldn’t knock that back.’

There’s no reason to tip-toe around him.

‘I reckon you’re right, Albert.

A coward.

That’s who I’m looking for.’

He takes another chip

and swallows it in one bite.

‘Look, Sarge.

It ain’t Larry.

If a son of mine did that,

well . . .

you wouldn’t need to lock him away.

He’d be dead.’

It’s obvious he doesn’t know about Eddie

following Butcher into the city.

If I told him that,

he’d flatten Butcher with one punch

and then do the same to his son

for nicking off.

I’ll keep my silence, for now.

‘You don’t need to go picking on my boy.

Open your eyes.’

He wipes the salt from his mouth

with the back of his sleeve.

‘Cowards don’t always hide.

Sometimes, they’re so gutless

they need to stand out.

You know what I mean?’

Holding looks at me,

to make sure I understand.

I scull my beer,

say goodbye

and step into the cutting wind

that almost blows my hat down lonely Main Street.

The cryptic bastard is playing me for a fool.

Larry

Mates at school called my dad a chicken

for refusing to go down the mine

and earn a real wage.

All he did in the war was drive trucks.

While they talked about their dads

lost in the jungle somewhere,

or captured by the Japs,

me and Eddie kept quiet

about Dad on some highway up north.

Since the funeral

Dad’s the only one who stops at the bar.

The other men buy a bottle or two,

and take them home in a brown paper bag,

to be with their family.

Not Dad.

He sits at the bar,

like nothing’s happened,

like nothing’s changed.

Everyone’s saying what a cold bastard he is.

I’m sitting opposite the pub,

smoking a fag,

waiting to walk home with him.

When he comes out he sees the durry.

‘Beer and smokes.

They’ll both kill ya, son.’

He’s not the cheeriest bloke in town.

‘Better than dying of boredom, Dad.’

Geez, I almost got a laugh out of him then.

‘No one at the pub again tonight?’

He takes his hat off

and bends the brim back into shape,

pulling it low over his eyes.

He says,

‘All that beer going to waste.

Someone’s gotta keep Johnno company.’

I say,

‘I reckon it takes a lot of guts

to do something no one else will do.’

Dad stops and tries to get my meaning.

‘You saying your dad’s got guts, son?’

‘Sure. Why not.’

He stops and shakes his head,

‘Do me a favour, Larry.

Head on home and tell your mum

I’ll be a little late, okay?’

He starts walking back to the pub

even though it’s closing time.

Mum will be as mad as hell.

And me?

I’ll be an old man myself

before I understand one thing about my father.

Eddie

I know their names off by heart,

from the First World War.

Sixteen blokes from the area died

and the town lays wreaths once a year

for their supreme sacrifice.

I’m sitting beside the white stone memorial

at the top of Main Street.

It’s cloudy tonight

and I can smell the rain blowing in.

Footsteps echo down the street.

A man in an old jacket and khaki trousers

walks through the alley,

a hat shielding his face.

He lights a cigarette

and flicks the match into the gutter

as he walks towards Valley Road,

where Sally lives.

I wait until he turns the corner

then I sneak from the memorial and follow.

My head is spinning.

It can’t be
him
.

He’s out for a walk,

nothing more.

Innocent.

Totally innocent.

He moves ahead of me,

like he knows where he’s going.

I close my eyes and hope

he’ll go into another street

before he reaches Sally’s place.

He passes Wheelers Lane,

Brunton Street,

and stops opposite Valley Road.

He stubs the cigarette out with his boot,

walks across the bitumen

and disappears out of sight.

I run as fast as I can,

afraid I’ll lose him,

and equally afraid

I won’t.

There he is.

Standing under the street lamp

looking at each of the houses

on the high side of Valley Road,

right near Sally’s.

He stays there for a long time,

his hands in his pockets,

not moving or calling out.

Just standing.

Then he walks down the road

before entering the bush

and heading home.

I kick the hard ground

and the dirt flies from my boots.

Why didn’t I have the guts

to move out from the shadows

and let him see me?

Albert Holding

The frost in the air

settles in my bones.

I don’t know what I’m doing here,

what I’m expecting to happen.

I look at all the houses

on the poshest street in town.

Their gardens are neat,

the trees pruned,

the driveways swept of leaves.

I can smell the wood smoke from the chimneys.

Each house has a painted timber fence

with a shiny silver gate, shut.

The lawns are like carpet,

and a concrete path leads to the steps

and the brightly painted doors.

I live in a crumbling shack

me and the boys built,

with three rooms for four people.

I light another cigarette

and stand outside his house.

In the army,

fights were as common as parade drills,

only much more satisfying.

My fists haven’t had a good work-out in years.

Mr Butcher

I board the train

in the early evening

and it’s empty, as usual.

We slowly pass farms with run-down fences

and wind-beaten houses.

There’s nothing worth staying for in this town.

They can all go to hell.

I’ll get another job

in a place far away,

where I’m appreciated for my teaching.

I’ll forget what happened here.

Tonight, alone on the platform

as the train pulled in,

I heard a voice shouting at me.

Angry, strangled,

threatening across the fields.

My legs almost buckled as I opened the door

and stepped into this lonely carriage.

Burruga is cursed, haunted.

I take out pencil and paper

and start drafting a letter of resignation.

It’s brief and to the point.

First thing Monday morning.

I don’t care if it looks suspicious.

No one can stop me leaving.

I pat the wallet in my breast pocket

and hope I have enough money

for tonight and tomorrow.

I need comfort, release,

a distraction,

to help me forget.

Mr Carter

It was late at night

when I heard the footsteps

outside my bedroom window.

Albert Holding stood

looking up at the houses.

He was there for a long time

staring at the Holmes house,

or the Paley place.

I couldn’t tell which.

He wasn’t trying to hide.

He was very still, watching,

almost wanting to be seen.

This morning

I think of telling Mr Holmes,

or Mayor Paley,

about their visitor,

until I realise that Eddie and Sally

are friends, good friends.

Perhaps that’s it?

But why would Albert

not want Eddie and Sally . . .

it doesn’t make sense.

I walk slowly into town

going over it in my mind.

Albert’s not the type

to worry about his boys with a girl.

They can look after themselves.

And then it hits me.

Good Lord.

Mayor Paley

That bloody Holding has a nerve,

hanging about my house last night.

I have a right to call Grainger

when I get into the office this morning,

have him warn Holding about loitering

like a common thief.

Wilma hands me my lunch

and kisses me on the cheek.

Well, let Holding come back tonight,

and every night,

for all I care.

He doesn’t worry me.

I’ll do what I did last night:

close the curtain,

pour myself a strong scotch

with no ice,

and drink it in one gulp.

It calms me down.

Eddie

Sally and I start the long climb

up to Jaspers Hill.

I lead her along the narrow track,

overgrown with the banksia and honeysuckle.

We step over rabbit holes

and wallaby droppings.

A chicken hawk fluttering like a kite

casts a perfect shadow across the path.

All our effort is on reaching the top

where the sun heats the granite rocks.

When we finally make it

we’re both sweating.

I lean back against the smooth boulders

and Sally looks over the town.

‘It seems so small from up here.’

She sits beside me

and her hair falls in front of her face.

She leans forward

and wraps the thick locks in her hands,

folding them into a shiny knot.

A long vein throbs in the milk skin of her neck.

She says,

‘It’s good to be away from everyone.

I can’t believe some of the rumours.’

Then she looks embarrassed.

‘About Colleen. Not us.’

Sally asks,

‘Do you think they’ll find who did it?’

I reach for her hand

and pull her gently towards me.

The only answer I can find is to kiss her

and try to forget what I saw last night.

She leans across me and smiles,