Settling the Account (42 page)

Amy was suddenly reminded of the inspector’s
examinations she had gone through while at school. Producing the
right answer was more important now than it had been all those
years before.

The word seemed vaguely familiar, as if she
had come across it years and years before. She closed her eyes and
pictured the old schoolroom. Miss Evans stood at the front, holding
open a large book with an engraving of a grassy plain, a lion
stalking across the centre of the page.

She opened her eyes. ‘I know what it means!
It’s what they have in Africa instead of the bush—I think they’ve
got jungle, too, but in the dry bits they have veld. It’s like
hundreds and hundreds of paddocks all joined together, but no
fences or anything. Just open country as far as you can see.’

The intensity of longing she saw in
Malcolm’s face startled her. ‘Just on and on forever,’ he murmured.
‘Just get on your horse and ride forever.’ He was gazing out
towards the sea, but Amy knew it was not the ocean that he saw in
his mind’s eye. ‘And no old bugger thumping you all the time. No
bloody cows to milk day in, day out. You just get to please
yourself.’

‘I think you’d have to do what the men in
charge told you,’ Amy said gently.

‘Bet they don’t break your face if you
don’t.’

‘No, I suppose they don’t.’ It was time to
bring matters to a head. ‘Mal, do you think you’d like to go over
there?’

‘What’s the use of talking like that?’
Malcolm hurled at her. ‘Course I bloody would! I can’t, though, can
I? I’m stuck in this dump with the old bugger. Him and his bloody
cows.’

‘You want to go to South Africa?’ Amy
pressed. ‘You really, really want to go?’

She saw what looked suspiciously like tears
glinting in the corners of Malcolm’s eyes. ‘You think I want to
stay in this dump all my life? Never see anything or do anything?’
He scowled at her. ‘What would you know about it, anyway? You’ve
never been anywhere.’

‘I went to Auckland once.’
Stupid
,
she told herself the moment the words were out, regretting the
childish impulse that had made her rise to his bait.

‘I don’t remember that,’ Malcolm said,
eyeing her dubiously.

‘It was before you were born. Before I got
married. It was a long time ago, don’t take any notice.’ Amy
reached out and put a hand on his arm. ‘Mal, maybe you could go
over there. If you want it that much, I think we should try
and—’

Malcolm shook her arm off. ‘I
can’t
,’
he interrupted, hoarse with emotion. ‘I’m stuck here. You’ve got to
pay money. Dave read a bit about it in the paper. There’s too many
blokes wanting to go, so they only take you if you’ve got money.
You have to pay for your gear. You’re meant to bring your own
horse, too.’

‘I know,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve been reading about
it since I saw how interested you were in the war.’ She watched his
face closely, eager to see what his reaction would be to her next
words. ‘I could give you the money, Mal.’

His eyes opened wide, then narrowed in
suspicion. ‘You? Where would you get money from? The old bugger
wouldn’t give it to you any more than he would me.’

‘I’ve got my own money.’ She held up a hand
to stem the questions she saw poised on Malcolm’s lips. ‘Never you
mind how I got it or where it’s from—it’s my money, and it’s my
business how I spend it. Your father knows I’ve got it, but he
doesn’t like me talking about it to people.’

She frowned in thought. ‘Twenty-five pounds
for your gear, I read that somewhere. And money towards a horse,
too, that’d be even better. I’m sure I haven’t got that much in the
bank. Never mind, I’ll manage. I’ll get the money from somewhere.’
It would be no use trying to borrow money from the bank, she knew;
the manager would want to get Charlie’s permission, since Charlie
would be liable for any debts she incurred.
Frank’ll lend me the
money
, she realised with relief.
He’ll keep it secret from
Charlie, too
.

She smiled at the look on Malcolm’s face,
suspicion slowly being replaced by a dawning hope. ‘I’ll get the
money for you, Mal. You can have your adventure.’

‘But…’ Malcolm opened and closed his mouth
several times. Amy sensed that he did not want to risk changing her
mind by anything he might say. She watched as curiosity overcame
his caution. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why do you want to give me the
money?’

‘Mostly because I want to get you away from
your father,’ Amy said. ‘I’m scared, Mal. Scared of what you two
might do to each other. And I’m tired of being scared and not being
able to do anything about it.’

‘He’s not going to try that with me again,’
Malcolm said, fingering his knife as he spoke.

‘Maybe not. He won’t if you’re not
here.’

She put her hand back on his arm; this time
he let it stay there. ‘There’s another reason, too. I didn’t know
how much it meant to you till just now. It’s really important to
you, isn’t it? You really want to go away and have adventures.’
Malcolm looked away almost shyly, and gave a quick nod.

‘I used to have a head full of dreams, too,
when I was your age. No, that’s not right,’ she corrected herself.
‘When I was your age I married your father. I’d finished dreaming
by then. Well, when I was a year younger than you, say. I had all
sorts of fine ideas about where I’d go and what I’d do.’ Amy made
herself smile in an attempt to ward off tears. ‘I never did any of
them.’ She fell silent, lost in old memories.

‘But you’re going to, Mal,’ she went on more
firmly. ‘You’re going to do what matters to you. And that’s why I’m
going to give you my money.’

She basked briefly in the warmth of
Malcolm’s delighted expression, then held up a warning finger.
‘Except you must promise me two things first.’

A guarded look came over his face. ‘What do
you want?’

‘We’ll have to keep it all secret from your
father, of course, or he’d stop you going. And you must promise me
you’ll never tell him where you got the money from—even when you
get back from the war you mustn’t. There’d be an awful fuss if he
found out.’

‘I won’t tell him,’ Malcolm agreed readily.
‘I don’t talk to him ’cept when I’ve got to. Anyway, he doesn’t
even think we should be in the war,’ he added in tones of disgust.
‘All that crap about Scotland and stuff.’

‘He’s got his reasons. You should ask him
about it one day, if you and him ever get to be friends. About what
happened to his family when he was little.’

‘That was
years
ago. Who wants to
hear about all that?’

‘Well, maybe you’d understand him a tiny bit
better if you did. Never mind that for now, just remember you
mustn’t tell him about the money. All right, that’s the easy one.
Now, I want you to promise me that when you get back you’ll try to
make your father happy. I know it’s not easy,’ she said,
forestalling his protest. ‘No one knows that better than me. But do
your best. That’s all I’m asking.’

‘Mightn’t come back,’ Malcolm muttered. ‘Not
if I can get a job somewhere else. I don’t want to work for the old
man all my life. Him and his bloody farm.’ He spat on the ground to
punctuate his words.

For years Amy had watched Charlie drive
himself almost to exhaustion, breaking in more bush land, building
up his herd, and trying to improve the small patch of land that was
so precious to him. Always his driving force had been ‘It’s for the
boy’. A piece of land that belonged to him, that no one could take
from him, and that he could leave to his son. David was little more
than a bonus; an extra demonstration of his father’s manhood.
Malcolm was the first-born, the son Charlie had yearned for. She
was grateful that Charlie was not there to hear what his son
thought of his inheritance.

‘Maybe you’ll both feel different about it
all when you’ve been away for a year,’ she said. ‘That’s how long
you have to sign up for, you know. You and your father might miss
each other.’

‘Him?’ Malcolm said. ‘He hates my guts as
much as I hate his.’

Amy shook her head. ‘You’re wrong, Mal. Your
father loves you more than anything or anyone else in the
world.’

‘He’s got a bloody funny way of showing it,’
Malcolm said, years worth of bitterness in his tone.

‘I know. That doesn’t stop it being
true.’

Malcolm scowled. ‘He’s given me some awful
hidings.’

‘I know, Mal.’
Me too
, she added
silently.

‘Why’s he so rotten to me, then?’

Amy sighed. ‘Don’t ask me to explain your
father to you. I’ve never understood him properly myself. I think
he’s just not good at showing what he feels.’

‘He’s always been pretty good at showing
me.’

‘Well, not good at showing nice feelings,
then.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I wish you could remember how he used
to be with you. When you were born he was so proud you’d’ve thought
he’d burst with it.’ She closed her eyes and saw again the wonder
in Charlie’s face as he gazed down at the little red-headed bundle
in its cradle. ‘Having you was the one thing I ever did that was
completely right in your father’s eyes. He was pleased when Dave
was born, but not like he was with you. You were the first. You
were perfect. You even looked like him.’

‘Can’t help that,’ Malcolm muttered.

‘He used to love telling people about you
when you were little. He was so proud of you.’

‘He wasn’t,’ Malcolm argued. Amy heard old
pain in his voice. ‘Do you remember that time I won the race?’ he
asked, not looking at her as he spoke.

‘Oh, yes! Racing against all those big boys,
and you with just a little pony like Brownie. And you beat them
all! Your father was so proud. He must have told everyone in town a
dozen times over what a good rider you were.’

‘He never told me.’ Malcolm’s face twisted.
‘He’s never said anything good to me all my life.’

‘It’s just the way he is, Mal. It doesn’t
mean he doesn’t
think
good things about you. It’s just the
way he’s made.’

‘He’s made rotten, then.’

Amy let silence rest between them for some
time. ‘I think you and him might feel different when you get back,’
she said at last. ‘You’ll be older, and… well, he’ll get a bit of a
shock with you going away. You’ll both have a chance to think about
things.’

‘I’ll still hate him.’

‘I hope not. I don’t think you hate him now,
anyway. You’ve just got used to thinking you do. But I still want
you to promise, Mal. Promise me you’ll try and get on with him.
Even…’ She faltered, struggling to accept the idea that Malcolm
might find a life for himself that had nothing to do with the farm.
‘Even if you decide you don’t want to live with us any more. At
least come back and talk to your father, try and explain things to
him. You owe him that.’

‘I don’t owe him nothing!’

‘Maybe you owe it to me, then. Promise,
Mal.’

‘Oh, all right. I promise.’

‘That’s my good boy. And one more
thing—’

‘Hey, you said two things,’ Malcolm
protested.

Amy laughed softly. ‘So I did. Well, you
don’t have to do this one. I’d just like you to. Can I have a kiss?
Please?’

‘Of course you can,’ Malcolm said, taking
her aback with his enthusiasm. He gave her a child’s kiss,
wet-lipped and full on the mouth. Amy clung to him for a moment,
then let him go.

Malcolm flopped down on the grass and
regarded her with bemusement. ‘Fancy you having money and me never
knowing. I used to think your name was “silly bitch”, you know.’ He
gave Amy a grin that was a little too close to a sneer for her to
feel quite comfortable with it. ‘Till I was about five or six,
that’s what I thought it was, ’cause that’s what the old man always
called you. Maybe you’re not so silly after all.’

‘No, maybe I’m not,’ Amy said.

*

Matters moved quickly once the thing had
been decided. Frank readily agreed to lend Amy the extra money she
needed for Malcolm; he was reluctant to call it a loan and not a
gift, but Amy insisted that it would be a proper loan, and that she
would begin paying it back as soon as the next instalment of her
annuity was in the bank. She busied herself with sewing two fresh
sets of underclothes for Malcolm, as well as seeing that all his
clothes were neatly mended.

‘They’ll only have to do you till you get
your uniform,’ she said. ‘Except the drawers and vests and things—I
don’t think they’d have those in a uniform.’ She pulled out a
photograph she had carefully torn from a newspaper, showing a
soldier. ‘Won’t you look handsome dressed like that?’

She saw a tiny look of pleasure on his face.
No one else would call Malcolm handsome; he resembled his father
too much for that, and the ruined nose Charlie had given him had
not improved his looks. Amy could never have come out with such a
thing if love had not coloured her vision of him.

All their planning; all the secret
conversations when Charlie was out of the house and she had Malcolm
and David to herself. Sometimes she hardly dared hope that Charlie
would not guess what they were up to; would not intercept some
telltale glance that passed between her and Malcolm. But Charlie
stayed blind, and the time for Malcolm to go drew nearer.

Amy had all the details mapped out weeks
before the day came. She chose a day when the
Waiotahi
would
be sailing from Ruatane on a morning tide, and would meet the boat
in Tauranga with only a short time to wait. Then Malcolm would go
on to Auckland, stay the night there in a boarding house whose
address Frank had given Amy, and the following morning would make
his way to the army camp. Amy wrote out the times and dates for
Malcolm, and carefully went over the timetable with him until she
was sure he understood it.

She finished packing his things the
afternoon before he was to leave. She had made a bag out of canvas,
large enough to hold his clothes but not so big as to be awkward to
carry slung over his shoulder. The money that he would need to
produce for his equipment she sewed into a special pocket inside
his jacket, while she calculated what his travelling expenses were
likely to be and made him a wallet to hold the necessary money.