In Lonnie's Shadow

by Chrissie Michaels

  He finished up at work, dusted off his trousers and set off to meet Carlo. Here was another promise to keep. Next time he was going to keep his big mouth shut. Not that he really minded helping out Carlo every now and then, if only for the reason in the shape of Rose Payne.

  ‘Do ya reckon she’d ever walk out with me?’ asked Lonnie, when the boys met up outside Carlo’s house. Bella, ready to pull along Carlo’s festively-painted cart with its new blue and yellow canopy, was taking an interest. Her ears swivelled around at the sound of his voice. Lonnie stroked her mane. The cart behind was stacked high with winter fruit – pears to sink your teeth into, oranges with the promise of bursting juice on the first bite, firm yellow bananas and crisp red apples shone to a gloss.

  ‘You’re making her jealous,’ observed Carlo. ‘She’s getting a bit toey. Needs some of your whispering; those horsy things you do. Beats me why the girls all seem to like you, but. Even Bella! But you got no chance with Rose Payne. Too stuck up. Ordinarily that is. Too dangerous a name for the likes of you.’

  ‘She can’t help who her father is.’

  ‘It’s in the breeding. Stick to the girls around here. There’s Daisy for starters.’

  ‘Daise is like my kid sister.’

  ‘Pearl’s sweet on you as well.’

  ‘Come off it, she’s only a mate.’

  ‘Hey, you going blind or what? Why do you think she came to see you about the horse race?’ Carlo couldn’t resist a chuckle.

  ‘Wrong again, mate. I went to her. She didn’t come to me. If she’s so keen,’ Lonnie replied in self defence, ‘why did she stand me up at the oyster bar, and where was she when Daise and I went looking for her?’

  ‘Probably done a bunk. Scarpered for a while. You know how flighty she is. Besides, you can’t look after every skirt in Melbourne, even if they all fall for you. You’d be a bit strapped for cash with the lot of ’em on the go. Better choose one and be done with it.’

  Carlo had a point. Lonnie had to admit he was showing more interest in girls than ever before. Well, if he must, he decided to settle long and yearningly on the unattainable Rose Payne. Out of his league or not.

  ‘I’m telling you, mate, she’s too uppity. Reckon it’d empty the coffers taking her out.’

  Lonnie was not to be deterred. ‘But say I did, where’d I take her?’

  ‘Can’t see you doing the Block with the toffs on a Saturday arvo. And the Federal Coffee Palace won’t let the likes of us through the door. Guess ya could walk around the Eastern Market. But you’d have to protect her from all us riffraff.’

  ‘Take a lot to keep her entertained. I’d have to keep her laughing,’ mused Lonnie, ‘and stop her spending too much of my money.’

  ‘You’re dreaming, mate.’

  Lonnie sighed and picked up a flagon from a stack on the wagon. ‘New line?’ he asked.

  ‘Ginger ale. Heard it’s selling well so thought I’d carry some. See how it goes.’

  Lonnie inspected the stoneware jar with its corked lid. There was no doubting Carlo was a go-ahead.

  ‘With all your enterprising, bet you’ll be living with the toffs yourself before too long.’ Carlo was already an owner-driver and determined to make enough to build an ice works factory. Lonnie fully expected Carlo would take his place on Collins Hill one day, where the houses of the wealthy, three storeys tall, lined the street behind wrought iron railings and raised garden beds. ‘So long as you don’t let those building societies nab your profits.’

  ‘My stash is staying under the mattress. Best bank in Melbourne right now. Rumour’s going around the Macquarie is about to close. That’ll make nearly all of them shutting this year.’ Everyone was having to tighten the purse strings. It was a sobering thought.

  ‘Say I marry Rose Payne,’ Lonnie said. ‘Say we lived at her place on Collins Hill, you could be rich enough to set up next door. Do you reckon the nobs get more sleep than us?’

  ‘Not if they stop off at Mrs B’s.’

  Lonnie laughed. As Bella plodded through the back lanes towards the main thoroughfare he murmured quietly to her. He became aware that Carlo was grinning smugly. ‘Just making sure her heart’s not broken.’ It was a double-edged truth. He had an intuitive understanding of horses, knowing well this was the way to give them confidence. You had to learn how a horse was feeling, anticipate what it was thinking, then work with it to bring out the best. Up until recently the most placid of the Benetti family, old age was catching up with the good-natured dobbin. The time was drawing nearer when after a day’s work Bella would be sent to the glue factory instead of the stableyard. It would be a sad and sorry day for them all.

  They headed for Melbourne’s answer to the boulevards of Europe, an area where roads were lined by young elm trees and cobbled in timber and bluestone; where tramcars rattled downhill; and on a Saturday morning well-dressed young men and women were inclined to shop in the arcades, then stroll in the afternoon along the sheltered walkways, a pastime they fondly called ‘doing the Block’.

  On the street corners barrow boys were already setting up their loads. Coals warmed in their braziers ready for roasting horse chestnuts and potatoes. Flower sellers made ready their posies of pansies tied around with pale ribbons. Large bouquets trailed wild ramblers. There was a clatter of noise as the handcarts and wagons rolled into place and the traders dropped down the timber sides, showing off their heavy-skinned vegetables for sale. Everywhere the fruit was so fresh it could have fallen from the trees straight into the crates. On seeing this fat, rich fare it was hard to contemplate how some folk were already going hungry.

  As they were setting up their fresh produce, Lonnie took the opportunity to tell Carlo about his recent track work on Trident. ‘Reckon I could have beaten Crick,’ he said. ‘There’s more to Trident than meets the eye.’ He suddenly stopped short, as if he’d had second thoughts about something.

  If Carlo picked up any slight hesitation on Lonnie’s part, he failed to show it and the remark passed by without much of a comment, Carlo more concerned with his own prospects. ‘Sure way to lose your job, but could be a good thing,’ he declared. ‘Then you’d have to come work for me full time. ’Bout time we went into partnership.’

  ‘Can’t, mate, may have some new prospects at the

  Glen.’

  ‘So are ya telling me the Glen may steal you first? Talk about loyalty!’

  A surge of customers descended into the main thoroughfare. Rings of young ladies stood twirling their umbrellas. They made a fetching sight, all buttoned up against the wind, their plumped-out bustles making each pinched waist even slimmer. Carlo caught sight of a particular girl heading their way. ‘Here comes Lady Muck.’

  Lonnie shoved Carlo aside, nearly knocking him off his feet. ‘Quick, let me serve her!’ He brushed himself down, put on his brightest smile and started to spit and polish an apple.

  The sixteen-year-old beauty walked towards them. Lonnie could not take his eyes off the few dark curls that escaped from beneath her blue bonnet. A padded jacket of the same colour squared off her slight shoulders. Buttons made of mother-of-pearl pinned the collar tightly around her neck and ran like cameo rainbows down to her tiny, drawn-in waist. On this bracing winter’s morning, she looked like the dazzle of a Melbourne summer sky, warming Lonnie through to his very bones.

  It was hard to believe that a scumbag like Henry Payne could have fathered her. It still made Lonnie furious to think of poor Auntie Tilly having to leave Little Lon because of Henry Payne. That man caused nothing but grief. As Lonnie imagined her as a baby swapped at birth, Rose greeted him with a fetching smile. Lingering in the crisp air around her was a delicate fragrance of dried rose petals and lavender.

  ‘Do you think I should try a red or a green apple today?’ she asked. Her heart-shaped lips shot arrows of desire at him with each softly formed syllable.

  Ping, ping, the arrows hit. ‘The red ones are crisp, freshly pinged, I mean picked,’ he stammered. ‘The sweetest,
too.’ Like you, he wanted to say, but he kept the thought private. He took a bite. ‘See.’ He offered her another of the same.

  She giggled behind her hand then accepted, the tip of her glove making contact with his skin. She bit lusciously into the fruit, all the while staring squarely at him, her eyes sparkling a challenge. Ping, ping, more arrows hit. There and then, as she held the fruit to her mouth with those half-open lips, there was no other girl in the world for him. He was lost to her forever. If it had been summertime and he had offered her ice-cream, it would glisten transparent in the sunshine, and Rose’s rosebud lips would open, and her tongue would lick and melt the cool ice. Ping.

  ‘Delicious.’ She interrupted his daydreams, undid a silver clip on her beaded purse and pulled out a coin.

  Lonnie reached over and lightly brushed a hand that he was certain felt as charged as his own. ‘No cost.’

  She pulled her hand away. ‘You mustn’t do that.’

  ‘What?’ Ping. ‘Do what? Why not?’

  She glanced over at Carlo, who was keeping track of the exchange. ‘You’re supposed to be selling them. Won’t you get in trouble from your boss?’

  ‘He’s not my boss. We’re partners.’

  Carlo’s eyeballs nearly popped out and fell on the ground. He coughed, trying to stifle a laugh, and quickly diverted his attention towards Bella, who was happily shoving her nose into an oat bag.

  ‘Ooh, I see. Well, you’ll never be rich if you give away your fruit,’ Rose said. ‘Or if you eat it.’

  ‘Let’s say we want your valued custom. Once you’ve tasted our apples, you’ll be sure to come back. Carlo calls it marketing. He’s a real go-ahead.’

  ‘How very sure you are.’

  Before Lonnie could think of another clever reply, a snappily suited young gent, the last person in the world Lonnie wanted to see, all butterfly collar and starched cuffs, strolled towards the cart and tipped his hat to Rose. The toffs who did the Block were as elegantly dressed as the ladies. They wouldn’t be seen dead without their top hats or their ebony and silver-finished canes.

  ‘Thomas, how nice to see you.’

  Glumly aware of his own worn trousers, brown waistcoat and workman’s cap, Lonnie wished he could swipe the walking cane right out of Thomas Crick’s hand and whack him hard over the head with it.

  ‘Do try one of these delightful apples,’ Rose chirped. ‘They’re crisp and fresh. By far the sweetest in Melbourne. You’re allowed, it’s marketing.’

  Lonnie spat on an apple and slowly rubbed it into a shine on his sleeve before passing it to Crick. ‘The lady’s right, they’re the best in town.’

  Eyes brown as mud fixed coldly on Lonnie. ‘I don’t care to buy from street vendors.’

  ‘Not even for me?’ Rose asked.

  Thomas scowled. With his white-gloved hand he picked another apple. ‘This one.’

  He glowered at Lonnie and Lonnie glowered back. ‘That’ll be sixpence.’

  ‘A ridiculous price for one apple, McGuinness.’ Rose looked from one to the other in surprise.

  ‘You two know each other?’

  ‘The boy’s a stable hand. Maybe not for long. We don’t allow moonlighting. Can’t afford to have the hired help too tired to put in a decent day’s work.’ He reluctantly handed over a sixpence.

  Lonnie knew a threat when he heard one. So did Rose. ‘Thomas, how very unfair,’ she protested. ‘Mr McGuinness is obviously only helping his friend out as a favour.’ She looked anxiously at Carlo who was busy serving another customer, but was less than amused at the turn of events. Quarrels were not good for business.

  Lonnie had never liked Crick and he liked him even less now that he was trying to humiliate him and move in on Rose. ‘Even if I had three jobs, I could still do my work and ride as well as you, or as well as any other man.’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself. Are you forgetting you’re paid to muck out? You may ride fair for a trumped- up stableboy, but you don’t compare with a true horseman.’

  Rose looked shocked. ‘Thomas, don’t be so rude.’ Lonnie felt his anger rising. ‘The only horse I’ve seen you win on is Lightning. Even a monkey could

  win on the back of a champion like him.’

  ‘If you believe you’re a better man than me, how about proving it in a real race?’

  ‘Which race will that be then?’

  ‘You’re both so quarrelsome. I’m going,’ snapped Rose to neither one in particular. ‘Don’t bother escorting me, Thomas, I shall take myself.’ Without a second look at either, and although it wasn’t raining, Rose unfurled her umbrella and walked off in a huff.

  ‘A race you’d only know about if you could be trusted to keep your mouth shut,’ Thomas said, once Rose was out of earshot. ‘A heavily wagered race.’

  Lonnie gave it some quick thought. It could only be the fixed one. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

  ‘There’s a gentleman’s race coming up shortly.’

  ‘So I’m a gentleman now, am I?’

  ‘I merely want to prove,’ Crick hissed, ‘that a monkey can ride better than you. So I’ll be better than fair. You’ll get a good mount to ride and I swear I’ll still beat you. Let’s see, I’m willing to put you on …’ He paused for a moment as if he was contemplating a list of possible horses. ‘How about Lightning? Then there’ll be no doubt left as to who is the man and who is the ape.’

  Lonnie knew full well from his conversation with Bookie Win that no jockey had yet been named for Lightning. ‘So which horse are you riding?’

  ‘I’ll ride … let me see … I’ll ride … Trident. He’s never beaten Lightning so when I win that should convince you.’

  ‘As simple as that, eh?’

  ‘There is one condition.’ Crick eyed him frostily.

  Surprise, surprise, thought Lonnie. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Like every contestant you’ll have to place a ten pound entrance fee on yourself. Winner takes all.’

  ‘As if I have ten pounds!’

  ‘To prove how fair I’m being, I’ll put it in for you, but if you lose you’ll have to stay clear of Rose, do you understand?’

  It gave Lonnie a smug satisfaction to think Crick considered him a threat. He couldn’t let it pass. ‘And if I win, will you promise to stay away from her?’

  ‘Take it or leave it,’ Crick snarled. ‘If you agree, I may forget about telling my father about this moonlighting job. Still, with all these apple sales you won’t have much need for a winner’s purse.’ He took a bite of the apple. ‘Although I dare say you’d need to upgrade your selection of fruit from this inferior quality.’

  Carlo was not known to react kindly to slights about his produce. Recognising his friend was ready to take a slog at Crick and being of a singular mind in this respect, Lonnie reluctantly shook hands over the deal.

  Once Lonnie had agreed, and thinking he had the upper hand, Crick made an effort to be less snarly.

  ‘The winner’s purse is about seventy pounds, more than you’ve ever seen I imagine. It would put you on the way to buying yourself a horse. Could even snap one up like Trident for a hundred guineas or so.’ Without another word he walked off.

  No sooner had he left than Carlo blurted out, ‘Are you mad? He’s setting you up good and proper.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ Lonnie answered.

  ‘One more word from him and I would have flattened him. He had it coming.’

  ‘He always has it coming,’ Lonnie said. He got to thinking. ‘So I’m on Lightning and Crick is riding Trident. According to Pearl, Lightning isn’t going to win, which means I’m on a loser. Then again, if I did win we’d have more cash in hand than we make in a year. Set us up for life.’

  Carlo wasn’t so optimistic. ‘Only if you win, mate. Besides Crick’s not the only mug you’ve upset. Stop giving free apples away to the customers. You’ll send me broke.’ He held out his open hand. ‘I reckon you need to square up for starters.’

  ‘Do you realise ho
w good it was to get one over on Crick for a change? His sixpence more than paid for Rose’s apple and well you know it.’

  Carlo grinned. ‘So are you serious about coming in partnership with me? I’m not kidding you, mate.’

  ‘I’ve always fancied life in a saddle, or else I definitely would. I’m afraid that’ll have to do for now,’ Lonnie told him as he threw an arm around his friend’s shoulder. ‘So mate, do ya reckon Rose Payne’ll walk out with me?’

  PERFUME BOTTLE

  Item No. 4

  A single decorative container divided into two compartments, one for perfume, the other for smelling salts. Dutch blue glass with gold caps on either end. Purse size.

  Rose Payne was only going through the motions as she paraded the length of the covered arcades that ran off the main street. Like all the daughters of her father’s friends, doing the Block was supposed to be her favourite pastime, but those two battling over a silly apple had gone and spoilt her day.

  The way they both boasted like babies about their horsemanship was thoroughly irksome, each trying to outdo the other while stealing looks at her. Rose sighed at the thought of two suitors vying for her affections. Taking little notice of anything in particular, she stared vacantly into a bow-shaped window displaying its range of feathery bonnets and imagined being swept off her feet. She was sixteen, flirtatious and longing for a declaration of love.

  It took her by surprise that Thomas Crick was not the one who came first to mind. It was that shock of ginger hair, that wicked curl of a lip, those green eyes flecked with tiny brown dares, the face full of mischief. It was how she had looked back into that bold stare from Mr McGuinness for longer than perhaps she should. How she felt his hand send a tremor along her arm when he so sweetly made a gift of the apple. A reckless rush of feeling at the possibilities washed over her until she could barely grab her breath. She leaned against the shop window to steady herself. Whatever was coming over her, when boys as rough as that stable hand or barrow boy, or whatever he was, succeeded in making her heart race so wildly? If only it had been a summer’s day, she could blame the heat stroke.