Dark Fires Shall Burn (35 page)

Templeton's mind goes white.

Will hops to and lights the lamp again.

‘Well, well. Isn't this a picnic?' Jackie gloats at them. ‘Boys.'

It is over within seconds — Will and Frank have the hunting knife and the truncheon knocked out of their hands and their arms twisted painfully behind their backs.

‘I've always wanted to have a ride of this one. So much spirit. Can I, Jackie?' Frank asks, his whisky breath hot and foul on Dot's neck.

‘I will bite your dick off if you try it,' Dot shouts.

Jackie steps forward and slaps her hard across the face. ‘That's enough. I don't have to put up with your cheek anymore.'

‘When did you ever? You ratfucker.' Templeton writhes and bucks in Will's grasp. Suddenly he's no longer scared of Jackie, as if the light has cured him of the fear of the darkness. Will's giant hand clamps around his neck like he's holding a rabbit for skinning.

‘What are you going to do to us? You son of a bitch.' Dot tries to spit at him but misses. Frank wrenches her arm back again and she grunts in pain. ‘I know you killed Nellie,' she says through gritted teeth. Templeton can see that her arm looks broken. ‘I know what you did to Florence.'

‘Yeah? And what is that? Prove it.' Jackie smiles. ‘Coppers have nothing.'

‘Frances Margaret Reed,' Templeton finds himself shouting. He knows he is going to die and he may as well say it. ‘Does that name ring a bell? The night you bastards cut my hair off. I saw you. You'd just done it. Hadn't you? You'd just killed her. Hadn't you?'

‘What's the little faggot talking about?' Frank looks at Jackie over Dot's struggling head.

Jackie's face is blank. The name obviously means nothing to him. Unlike the way he had smiled at the mention of Nellie and Florence, the sick bastard.

‘The little girl from the street. The one who saw Bob trying to shoot you.' Templeton swings wildly. He cannot believe it's not true. His mind bends back on itself. Could it have been Florence they'd done the unspeakable to that night he'd stumbled in? Florence, not Frances. Never Frances.

But if Jackie didn't kill Frances, who then?

Jackie's brow creases in amused bewilderment. He is lit by the streetlights, the door still wide open. ‘You're cracked. The girl killed in the cemetery? You think that was me? Ha. That's a joke.'

Templeton is about to answer when he notices Bob's good eye open. He is still lying spread out on the floor. They look at each other and Templeton knows he must keep talking.

‘I know you're a vicious animal. I saw what you did to my sister these last few months. I know I would kill you myself if given half the chance.'

‘Is that so?' Jackie swaggers up to him. ‘Let him go, Will. Let's give this little pissant a shot.'

Will's hands come off him like he's been released from a vice, and he can barely stand on his feet. Jackie squares up to him and drops his fists down by his side like in a pantomime.

‘Give it your best. Go on then. One for free. I love a bit of sport.' Templeton can see Bob out of the corner of his eye, propping himself up, inch by inch, against the wall, adjusting the gun's sights. ‘Come on. Show me what you got,' Jackie taunts.

The first bullet pops through the glass just above their heads with a sound like a burst balloon. Then two more gunshots so loud Templeton claps his hands to his ears to stop the ringing.
It's Bob
. It's all he can think, and he is filled with adrenaline. He is not going to die. He had been sure this was it.
Bob's going to kill him.

‘Get down!' In the confusion, Frank has let Dot go, and she wrenches Templeton back by his collar. He slams down heavily on his tailbone, crying out in pain. She drags him under the dining table with her, one-handed, nursing her broken arm to her chest.

Jackie crumples to the floor. Frank and Will look at one another and at Bob aiming the gun at them, and they scramble to be first out the door.

Templeton emerges from under the table. Jackie lies on his back with a hole in the back of his head, blue eyes forever fixed on the ceiling. Blood spatter is all over the doorframe and the walls.

‘You saved our bloody lives!' Templeton claps Bob on the shoulder. ‘You blew his brains out.'

‘I don't know.' Bob shakes his head, sweat pooling off him. He looks searchingly out the door as if he's looking for someone. ‘I'll be damned, but I didn't shoot first. I was going to shoot him but someone else did it first. He raises his hand. ‘My head. Everything's foggy.'

‘What? No. That's not right. That can't be right.' Templeton shakes his head. ‘There's no one around. Who could it have been?'

Dot looks out like a hawk and jogs a few paces into the night, which is just beginning to lighten with the dawn. Through the gloom Templeton sees she has something — somebody — by the shoulder, and she's dragging them back down with her.

‘Look what I found.' She drops Nancy at their feet. The gun knocks out of her hand with a clatter. Nancy looks up at them fearlessly.

Templeton jumps back in surprise. ‘Holy hell. What are you doing here?'

‘Who in Christ's name are you?' Bob bends over, nauseated and in utter incomprehension.

Nancy doesn't answer.

‘Templeton, help.' Dot fishes in Jackie's pockets for the car keys. ‘We need to leave. Now. And take him with us.'

He takes the body by the armpits and hefts it with a grunt.

‘We have to get him into the car. Quickly now!' says Dot.

Bob and Templeton pull Jackie's body abreast with the car and bundle him into the back seat. ‘Cover him up. Cover him up with something. Anything,' Dot urges. She winces in pain at her useless arm.

Templeton takes off his coat and spreads it over Jackie. He and Dot look wordlessly at each other over Jackie's shrouded corpse. After living in fear of him for so long, Jackie is dead. Is it even real?

‘Well, who killed him?' Templeton asks.

‘Who killed him?' Dot echoes, looking at Bob, finding her tongue again.

‘I did,' says Nancy, staring at the gun that Dot kicked out of her reach.

‘I could have,' Bob says, straightening up and smoothing his hair, regaining himself. ‘It's too hard to know for sure.'

‘I did,' Nancy repeats.

‘I think I got him.' Bob's mouth sets in a grim line. ‘I did it. I know it. The first shot just broke the window.'

‘What are we going to do?' Templeton feels a cold floodgate of panic. He notices a light across the street turn on in an upstairs bedroom. They have a dead man in the car, it dawns on him. They are murderers.

‘Where are we going to take the body?' Dot asks.

‘I don't know. Let's just get out of here and then decide. Coppers might be here soon,' Bob says.

‘What are we going to do with
her
?' Dot points.

‘I'm fine,' Nancy says in a small, strong voice. ‘I'll never tell anyone.'

Bob looks at the girl, hesitating.

‘Come
on
,' Templeton beckons Dot and Bob to the car. ‘What else can we do? They are never going to believe it was her. Not in a blue moon.'

‘He's right.' Dot nods.

‘Dot, you get in the front seat with me. Templeton, you sit in the back on top of that bastard and try and cover him as best you can. If the coppers pull us over, you say you're crook and pretend to chuck up or something. Do it like you're going for the Academy Award.'

Templeton looks at Bob's red face, his eye patch slipped to the side, exposing the empty socket. Dot is climbing into the car and Templeton can see Jackie's sad boots sticking out under the coat. It's so absurd. He starts laughing deliriously. Jackie, who he has been so pants-shittingly afraid of all this time, is laid out dead underneath his coat. Then he hears what could be the wail of a siren.

‘Leave the girl,' Bob yells. ‘Here, take her gun.' He grabs the thing and throws it at Templeton. ‘We have to get rid of it.'

‘Why did you shoot?' Templeton takes Nancy by the shoulders and leans in so their faces are barely an inch apart.

‘I heard someone scream.'

‘No.' Templeton looks into her face. ‘Why did you want him dead?'

‘Because he killed her,' she whispers. ‘Frances.'

He needed to hear her say it, and he doesn't correct her. Indeed, he wishes it was true. ‘Go on now, run home. Go.' He slides into the car, sitting on Jackie's lumpy body, and watches as Nancy takes off up the street, legs pumping, her hair streaming behind her.

‘I know where we can go. Drive to South Head,' Templeton leans over from the back.

‘Fast, Bob. Go fast.' Dot puts her hand over his on the gearshift.

‘Bloody oath, or we're all done for,' he says and the car lurches and bursts towards King and beyond into the open streets, leaving the siren behind them, heading eastwards, towards the sea.

THIRTY-THREE

If Kate is surprised by her daughter's sudden submission to the prospect of leaving Sydney, she buries it beneath a thick application of high spirits.

Nancy packs her things dutifully, being especially magnanimous in her decisions about old toys that can be left to the orphanage. She imagines she is St Jerome during each difficult decision.

On the day of departure, all she has is one suitcase of clothes and a backpack containing some books, letters, Winston and the treasured photograph from the night she and Frances saw
Much Ado About Nothing
.

‘We can buy everything new in Ireland,' Kate gushes. ‘When we're settled. You can have lovely new things.'

Nancy shrugs. She accepts her fate with the stoicism of Mary, Queen of Scots. They are leaving. And there is naught to be done.

‘It's for the best,' Mrs Roberts says, staring deeply into her eyes and holding her shoulders before clasping Nancy to her bosom. Her face smothered in the pillowy softness, Nancy feels nothing. She thinks of Jack Tooth lying on the footpath with the hole in his head.

‘It's a fresh start,' Kate says, smiling at Izzy. She is abuzz, her hair set in perfect victory rolls and the colour up in her cheeks. ‘And I feel splendid.' Considering civility for a moment, she adds, ‘Although I'm sorry to leave you, Mrs Roberts. Such a help you've been to us. Through all the … unpleasantness. And you too, Izzy. We'll miss you both, terribly.'

In their cabin aboard the ship, Kate hums and chatters, taking things out of her trunk and arranging them. They must share a bed for the six weeks, Nancy is irked to find out. Kate peels off the standard-issue bedclothes and replaces them with Nancy's red-and-gold quilt, the one that smells of lavender despite washes. ‘It's so wonderful to be able to take this home again. It's come a long, long way with me,' she says. She turns a corner down. ‘Which side would you like, biscuit?'

‘I don't care.'

‘Alright, then,' Kate says, with determined cheeriness. ‘I'll take the left. You can have the side closest to the porthole.'

‘What's the point? You can't see anything out of it.'

‘You can't
now
. Because we're just in the harbour. But soon we'll be at sea! Can you imagine that, Nan? The open ocean. Oh, I remember it from when I came out. Only sixteen, hardly older than you are now. All on my own. I thought Australia's streets were going to be paved with gold.'

‘What happens if the ship sinks?'

‘Don't be silly! The ship isn't going to sink.'

‘The
Titanic
sunk. And people drowned because they didn't think it could, and they didn't have enough lifeboats onboard for everyone to fit in.'

‘Now, there's a gloomy thought. Well, I'm sure they've learned from their mistake and we have all the lifeboats we could ever need.'

‘Hmm,' Nancy mutters, unconvinced. She taps her nails against the porthole glass.

‘Would you like to see where we will be stopping?' Kate asks, taking a large, leather-bound book from the trunk and laying it on the bed.

Nancy is enticed, despite herself, to the drawings of the world across the pages, carved up into different colours.

‘Melbourne first. That won't take very long. And then, right around the bottom of Australia, to Freemantle.' She points to a spot in lower Western Australia. ‘Then …' she affects her actress voice and whispers conspiratorially to Nancy and traces her finger a fair distance. ‘We are going to go right across the Indian Ocean! All the way to the Cape of Good Hope.'

‘Where's that?'

‘Africa.'

‘Africa?' Nancy's eyes bulge. ‘You didn't tell me we were going there.'

‘We might stop a night in Cape Town. We will probably even be able to get off the ship and stretch our legs.'