We knew he wasn’t serious. Tom wanted to be a fighter pilot. Shortie laughed. “What as, a clown?”
“Nuh, an acrobat.” Tom did a cartwheel.
I tried to clap and almost dropped the kitten. Handing him to Tom to give my arms a rest, we crossed Awaba Road and walked along the footpath. Grandma lives down the road from Kennelly’s, but I didn’t feel like dropping in. It’d be alright, just as long as I didn’t run into her at the shop. She’d expect us to visit her for sure if we did.
I could see the fly strips hanging lifelessly in the heat. Tom handed me back the kitten and took the Sunnyboy wrappers out of his pocket. A scraggy-looking man came out of the shop carrying a loaf of bread and a packet of winnie reds. We stepped aside to let him pass. When we turned to go back in, we came face to face with Andrew Dumbrell. “Sorry,” I said, without even thinking.
He held the fly strips open for us and stood aside to let us pass. “That’s okay,” he said with a smile. Tom raised his eyebrows at me. Andrew obviously hadn’t talked to his brothers lately.
When we stepped inside the shop, Dean was standing there with his arms crossed. He looked as though he was expecting us. His nose was red and swollen and he had two black eyes, making him look more like the thug that he is. I quickly looked to see if anyone else was around. There were two kids buying lolly necklaces and bubblegum at the counter. I was sure Dean could sense my fear. He just stood there leering at me. My impulse was to spit in his face, but I didn’t have the guts.
I didn’t recognise the scraggy man as Mr Dumbrell until I heard him call to Dean. “Jesus Christ! Hurry up will ya, I haven’t got all day.”
As Dean stepped through the fly strips, he turned back to look at us. He ran his finger along his throat indicating that we were in for it. I instinctively shrank back from him at the same time as Tom and Shortie stepped protectively in front of me. Despite the difference in size, he didn’t intimidate Shortie one bit. “Yeah, you and what army?”
“This army and this army.” Dean pointed to one arm, then the other.
Mr Dumbrell started the Ute and threatened to drive off without Dean, causing Dean to turn and run. Using the bumper bar to hoist himself up, he jumped over the tailgate and into the tray. Shortie stepped out of the shop and gave him the finger. Dean looked up and pointed at Shortie before running his finger along his neck one more time.
“Holy crap, that was close.” I hoped my voice didn’t give away how scared I’d been.
“Fucking poofter!” Shortie spat.
The shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter to see where the swearing had come from. Shortie kept a straight face and looked around indifferently. Tom handed the shopkeeper the Sunnyboy wrappers and waited while he checked to make sure they were winners. Satisfied they were, he put them into a box under the counter, slid the freezer lid open, and got four new ones out.
He handed the iceblocks to Tom. “Anything else with that?”
“No thanks.” Tom ignored the filthy look he got from the shopkeeper and ripped open an iceblock with his teeth. He handed one to me, opened another one in the same manner, and gave it to Shortie.
“Thanks,” I said gratefully.
Shortie was just about to shove the iceblock in his gob. “Yeah, thanks, mate.”
***
We walked to Keith Barry Oval and sat in the playground eating our iceblocks. Tom and I sat on each end of the seesaw and Shortie sat in the middle. The kittens played in the sandpit under the swings. Tom was the first to mention the Dumbrells. “Someone should blow them up. We’d be doing everyone a favour, ya know?”
“One day they’ll pick the wrong person and they’ll get the shit beat out of them.” Shortie predicted.
“You mean like you did?” If what he’d done to them yesterday wasn’t beating the shit out of them, then I don’t know what was.
“Nah, worse than that.”
“Hey, did you check out his black eyes?” Tom asked, “you must have hit him a beauty.”
This time it was my turn to brag. “He did. You should have seen him swing that stick. I heard his nose crunch from three feet away.” Don’t get me wrong, I like making fun of the Dumbrells, but I can’t help wondering what’ll happen the next time we see them. There’s no way they’ll just let it go without getting even with us somehow. We can try to keep out of their way, but we never know when we might bump into them. I mean, it’s not as though we knew they would be at the baths last week or at Deefie’s Hill yesterday, or at the shop today for that matter, so I don’t know how we’re supposed to avoid them exactly.
I reconsidered telling Dad about what happened. I figured I could leave a few bits out, but tell him the rest. Maybe he could have a word with their dad. The problem is, I think it’ll make things worse, not better. Mr Dumbrell has a mean reputation. If the boys get into trouble with their dad because of me, they’ll be especially pissed off with us, making them more determined to get even with us.
I know, maybe Tom could talk to Jim about them. Jim and his friends might be able to scare them off, especially if they wear their Army uniforms.
Tom finished his second Sunnyboy and checked inside to see if he’d won another one. He threw the screwed up wrapper on the ground near the kittens and Bluey crash-tackled it. “Let’s go, it’s too hot here,” he suggested.
We reached the intersection where we had to turn off. Shortie suggested we keep walking straight ahead. “Let’s see if there’s any water in the drain.”
The storm water drain is near the high school, which was only a couple of blocks away. It’s a wide concrete channel that gives easy access to the maze of drains under the road. If there’s been no rain for ages, the drains dry out and you can walk inside them. There are stacks of tunnels disappearing in all directions. If we knew the way, I reckon we could walk all the way to my place under the roads. We never go that far though, after a while, all the tunnels look the same and it’s easy to get lost. Besides, Mum would have a fit if she knew.
Last summer, Linda Palmer got lost in the drains and couldn’t find her way back. Someone heard her calling out from a gutter in the side of the road. When they looked down to see where the voice was coming from, they saw her. I thought it was hilarious. Imagine looking into the gutter and seeing a face peering back at you?
I handed Tom the kitten and raced ahead of them. The drain was dry except for a small trickle of slimy water running down the centre. I climbed down the edge of the waterway and walked into the mouth of the pipe. I had to hunch down a little so I wouldn’t hit my head. I must have grown taller since I was there last. I used to be able to walk straight through it without having to duck.
I was still reading the writing on the walls when Tom and Shortie caught up. I wish I had some chalk, I would’ve written something horrible about the Dumbrells. “Walk over to that corner and wait for me,” I said to whoever wanted to take me up on my offer. “I’ll walk through the drains and meet you there.”
Tom and Shortie both walked off in the direction I’d indicated. I ducked my head and walked to the end of the pipe. When I got to the end I turned right and then left. I could see a shaft of light shining down from the opening in the gutter and walked towards it.
Tom called out. “Cooee! Anyone there?”
“I’m coming, hold you’re horses.” When I got closer to the opening, either Tom or Shortie – I couldn’t tell who – reached down and offered me a kitten. I took Bluey off them and turned my face up to the light. I could see Tom and Shortie peering down at me. Shortie got down on his hands and knees so he could get a better look in. I screwed my face up and pointed at him. “Yuk, you’ve got boogies.”
He squeezed his nostrils together and slid his fingers off the end of his nose, checking for boogies. He reached in and tugged on my hair. “I have not.”
“Hah, got ya there.” I took off with Bluey and headed back to the channel. I held him tight so I wouldn’t drop him in the drain. He could easily get lost in t
here just like Linda Palmer. Only, no one would hear him from the road.
By the time I got back, Bluey was meowing frantically. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked Shortie. “He seems upset about something.”
Shortie shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Maybe he’s scared of the dark,” I suggested.
“Don’t be a dill,” said Tom, “cats aren’t scared of the dark.”
“How am I supposed to know that, I’ve never owned a cat?”
“I reckon he’s just hungry, that’s all,” Shortie said. “I’d better take ‘em home and give ‘em something to eat.”
Chapter 12
Wednesday, 13 November 1968
“Hello, Peter Thompson here, can I help you?”
“Hi there gorgeous, it’s me. What are you up to?”
“Um…nothing much,” Peter looked guiltily at Jane, “I was just on my way out.”
“Great. Meet me at the Piccolo in fifteen minutes.”
“The Piccolo?”
“Yeah, you know that little coffee shop you used to take me to after a show.”
“I know where it is, I just thought it was a strange place to meet.”
“Oh, come on now, I thought it would be nice and romantic. But…if you prefer, we could go somewhere else…”
Peter could hear the disappointment in Maggie’s voice and quickly tried to make amends. “No, no, the Piccolo’s fine. I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up the phone and looked at Jane. “I…um…I have to go.”
“When will I see you again?” she asked, much more confident after her recent triumph.
Knowing that he had behaved atrociously, Peter tried to let her down gently. He stood in front of her and held her hands. “I’m sorry Jane, I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
She looked at him accusingly, but never said a word. Her silence made him uncomfortable and she made no attempt to break it. He struggled to find the right thing to say. “Look, I think you’re a wonderful girl. You’re pretty, you’re smart, you could have anyone you want. I’m really flattered and everything, but this was a huge mistake – I should never have let it happen in the first place, I know – but that’s no excuse, I simply can’t let it continue.” Peter knew that he was rambling, but her silence made him persist. “Look, Jane, I really am sorry, but it can’t go on, okay? It’s over. You’ll thank me for it later, you’ll see.”
Jane slowly shook her head. “Oh no, Sir, you’re wrong about that.”
“What? I mean, I beg your pardon?” Peter didn’t know if she meant that it wasn’t over, or that she wouldn’t thank him for it. He tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m wrong about what?”
Without answering, she pulled her hands away from his and straightened her clothes. “You better go then,” she instructed, “you don’t want to keep her waiting.” Her manner became visibly defiant, some of her previous gloating gone. But not so much that the triumphant smile she gave him as she left the office didn’t send a chill up his spine and leave him with a sinking feeling in his gut.
***
Maggie parked the car and walked the short distance to the Piccolo. She could smell the coffee before she had even entered the tiny café. It had been ages since she and Peter had been there, but the moment she walked through the door, the memories came rushing back. Not specifically of the Piccolo – although, they were certainly amongst some of the fondest – but of Kings Cross in general.
Despite its reputation, Maggie loved coming to the Cross. The bohemian atmosphere and sordid notoriety were certainly part of the attraction, but Maggie knew it was more than that. To Maggie, the place pulsed with such radiant energy and life, despite its tawdry inhabitants. No, not despite them, thought Maggie, but because of them. Without the prostitutes and drag queens, artists and crooks, writers and restaurateurs, the Cross would just be another inner-city suburb. And while many were repulsed by the corruption and desperation - mingled with the glamour and ritz, given the choice, Maggie would change nothing. She loved it just as it was.
She ordered an espresso and sat at one of the benches along the wall and waited for Peter. She was glad she’d decided to come. She lit a cigarette and looked around her. The stress of work seeped away as she sat looking at how little the place had changed since the last time she had visited. There were a couple of new pictures amongst the collage of celebrities adorning the walls, but otherwise the only changes were those that had taken place outside. The area was teeming with men in uniform. It seemed that the rest and recreation culture that Maggie knew existed during the Second World War was back in full swing, thanks to Vietnam.
Maggie looked at her watch. She couldn’t wait to see Peter. She was sure he would be as happy to be here as she was. As odd as it sounded, it was one of the first places he had taken her when they started dating. When asked what she wanted to do for the day, Maggie had been quick to suggest they include a visit to Kings Cross on their agenda. Peter had been surprised by her request, it was not the sort of place you took a girl on the first date, he explained.
At the time Maggie had laughed at him. “I have been there before you know,” she taunted. “We Novocastrians are not the philistines you sophisticated Sydney-siders take us for.”
“Oh really,” he said with an invisible plum in his mouth, “I never would have guessed.”
Taking the bait, Maggie went on to explain that she had visited with her aunt earlier in the year. She and Bea had caught a train to Sydney and had spent the day sightseeing and shopping. With a couple of hours to fill, Bea had suggested they stroll down William Street. Before they knew it, they had entered Kings Cross.
Later that day, Bea had confessed that she’d deliberately misled Maggie. She had intended to show Maggie the Cross all along, but was not sure how she would take to the idea. Having previously lived in Sydney for some years, Bea had been to Kings Cross many times and was sure that Maggie was just the sort of person to appreciate its charm.
At the time, Peter seemed genuinely shocked by her confession. “But, who escorted you?” he asked.
“No one, it was just Bea and I.” Maggie couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.
“What were you thinking, two women on your own wandering through a place like that?”
Maggie recalled the event, “…and didn’t we feel deliciously naughty for venturing through the streets alone.” She remembered the initial exhilaration she had felt. She wasn’t sure if it had more to do with the mysterious new world they were entering, or if it was the liberating effect of leaving the old one behind. Either way, she had experienced an affinity with the place that had stayed with her since.
Peter was not of the same mind as Maggie on the matter. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“Well, there was no one to take us.”
“No, I mean, why would you want to go there at all? Did anyone bother you?”
“Now why would anyone want to do a thing like that?” Maggie was beginning to think it might have been a mistake to tell him about her visit to Kings Cross. His reaction was not unlike what she would have expected had her mother found out about their sojourn to the Mecca of depravity. Luckily for Maggie, Bea was just as good at keeping a secret as Maggie was and her mother was spared the details of their adventure. “Besides,” she said, steering the subject away from her trip to the Cross, “I’m glad I came to Sydney that day, or I never would have met you.”
Peter looked at Maggie questioningly.
She shook her head. “Uh huh, that’s right, it was the same day I met you at the bookshop.”
Peter’s face softened at his first memory of Maggie. She had been browsing the shelves of the Theosophical Society’s bookshop with her head cocked to the side so she could read the titles on the spines. Not watching where she was going, she had bumped straight into him. She had been sufficiently embarrassed by her clumsiness that she had blushed and won him over instantly.
After spending the next half hour ex
changing small talk, Bea signalled Maggie that it was time to go. Peter had been so captivated by Maggie’s mischievous blue eyes and pleasant nature that he had brazenly asked her for her address so that he could continue their conversation another time.
Without asking Bea if she minded, she handed over her aunt’s address and made Peter promise he would write. True to his word, she received his first letter a week later.
It was to be the first of many.
After a couple of months of writing to each other, they arranged a day out in Sydney. It was to be their first official date and Maggie had caught the train all the way from Newcastle to be with him. She had hoped like mad that she had not spoiled it before it had even begun by suggesting he take her to Kings Cross.
She was just about to change her mind on the matter when Peter gave in. He reluctantly admitted that he had never been there himself, and despite his unease, he agreed to the excursion. Besides, he told her, he wanted to share some news with her and he wanted her to be in the right frame of mind when he did.
It turned out that Peter was well practised in understatement. Sitting in the Kashmir coffee shop, surrounded by some of the most fantastic murals Maggie had ever seen, Maggie was to learn of Stephen and Michelle. Amidst the exotic images, Peter told her that his kids were the joy of his life and that he couldn’t wait for her to meet them.
She had been somewhat taken aback by his news, and rightly so, too.
Waking her from her daydream, Peter reached down and gave Maggie a kiss on the cheek. “Hi Babe, been here long?”
She smiled up at him, “A couple of minutes.”
“I’ll just grab a coffee. Be right back.” Peter ordered his coffee and sat down opposite Maggie.
“What’s up?” she asked.
Peter picked at his nails. “Nothing, why?”
“You look a bit frazzled, that’s all.” Maggie reached across and tenderly stroked his hand. “You look flustered as well.”
“It’s warm outside,” Peter offered.
“Is it too warm to go for a walk through the Cross?”
“Should be okay if you want.”
“Mmm, that might be nice. It’s been a while since we’ve been here, wouldn’t you say?”
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