by Tim Pegler
When I arrive at the centre I can see why the locals refer to it as The Silver City. The two main buildings are massive corrugated iron sheds a bit like aircraft hangars. There’s a small house and garden to one side of the complex and a couple of smaller sheds, one containing a minibus, a ute and various other vehicles.
I spot a sign pointing to reception and, taking a deep breath, open the door and walk inside. ‘Reception’ is a row of green vinyl seats in the passageway. Beside the seats there’s a door with ‘Michael Hartnett — Manager’ stencilled onto the frosted glass.
The door opens and a grumpy-looking lady bustles out, followed by a nuggety, ruddy-faced man. ‘Thanks for your time, Mrs Redpath,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you and let you know.’
As Mrs Redpath disappears from view, the man beams at me. ‘Redpath? More like warpath if you ask me. You must be Erin. I’m Mick. Come on in.’
As I enter the office I notice another male sitting at the back of the room. He’s hunched forward, a mop of dark hair overhanging his eyes. Mick motions towards him. ‘This is Ned. My assistant.’
Somehow I know not to hold out my hand to shake his, as I normally would. Instead, I glance towards him, smile and offer a shy ‘hello’. Ned lifts his head briefly — long enough for me to see his amazing, dark chocolate eyes — then he stares back at the floor.
‘Ned’s a quiet one. Strong silent type,’ Mick grins. ‘Now tell us about you.’
I feel more confident with every minute the interview continues. Mick tells me the position involves working with handicapped people, some severe and others less so. The centre is a sheltered workshop and the job is essentially assistant cook — although I’ll be expected to help with cleaning, washing up and feeding some of the residents.
Next Mick gives me a tour of the centre, watching carefully as I take in the facilities, residents and other staff. Ned follows, shadow-like. When we return to the office he nods towards me, ever so quickly. Then leaves the room without a word.
Mick cocks an eyebrow in surprise. ‘Well, Ned likes you,’ he says. ‘And I reckon he’s a bloody good judge of character. When can you start?’
PART 3
ERIN & NED
CHAPTER 19
ERIN
After a few weeks at the City, I know the routines and I’m keen to know more about the place and its people. I might never get to nursing school but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep learning about what’s involved. Maybe I can do a course or something, once Mum and I are better settled. In the meantime, I walk into town and borrow some medical books from the library. I read about cerebral palsy, Down syndrome — and ask Mick what else might be useful.
Mick’s not much of a one for books. That said, he’s impressed that I’m interested. ‘Books will tell you about “classic cases” but I’m not sure I’ve ever met one,’ he says. ‘Personally, I reckon yer best bet is to get to know the locals. That way you’ll be a step ahead of just about everyone, even some of their families. Most people want nuthin’ to do with them.
‘Take Ned for example. Ned has autism, according to the doctors. Check the books and you’ll see that no two cases are ever the same. Fat lot of good the books are then.
‘They don’t even really know what causes autism. The old textbooks blame the parents fer not giving kids enough love. I dunno about that. I saw a magazine the other day that said the scientists now think it’s a brain disorder … somethin’ wrong with the nervous system. That makes more bloody sense, I reckon … but how does it help Ned? I’ll sit up and pay attention when the books say how to help these kids.
‘I mean, Ned was left in primary school fer years. Left to rot! Just ’cos he doesn’t speak and won’t look you in the eye, the teachers treated him like a vegetable. Since he’s been with us, he’s started to come out of his shell. Seventeen years it’s taken him!
‘He’s certainly not brain damaged, no way. If you speak to him quietly, let him know what you need done, Ned will do it — at his own pace, mind you. But you won’t need to explain twice. His memory is incredible. I can leave a tool just about anywhere in the complex and, if I ask Ned to find it for me, he’ll know where it is.’
Mick chuckles. ‘Actually, it’s best to ask him to go ’n’ get stuff rather than find it. The first couple of times I asked, he found the things for me but came back without them. It took me a while to figure out what was going on. He was doing literally what I asked. I had to explain that I needed him to bring the tools to me, not find things and leave ’em where they were.’
I ask Mick where Ned lives. ‘Yer in Forest Street, aren’t you?’ he replies. ‘He’d be pretty darn close to your joint then — maybe two blocks south.’
The following day, I sit down beside Ned at lunch, murmuring ‘Hi, Ned’ so I don’t startle him. As he lifts his head, his dark fringe parts like theatre curtains, briefly revealing his striking coal eyes. He glances at me, nods and then drops his head, eyes back on his meal. From anyone else I’d probably see that as a brushoff. From Ned, I reckon it was ‘hello’. He needn’t have acknowledged me at all.
‘Umm, Ned, I’ve seen you walking to and from the City … I think your house is pretty close to mine. I wondered if, if it’s OK with you, I’d like to walk together so you can show me the best way, umm, the quickest way to get here. Would you mind? I finish at 5.30 today. We could meet outside reception.’
I pause, conscious I may be talking too much. ‘Umm, if you don’t want to walk together, that’s OK too. If you’re not there at 5.30, I’ll understand.’
At the end of the day, I sling my bag over my shoulder and wander around the admin building towards reception. Ned’s waiting. I’m rapt.
As I reach his side he starts walking. I fall in step beside him. We walk in silence until we get to Forest Street. Ned props beside me, without looking my way. ‘Thanks, Ned, it’s good to have someone to walk with. Will I see you tomorrow morning? Round eight?’
CHAPTER 20
NED
Janine’s left Mick. The Kombi and her stuff are gone. She stuck a note under his office door. Wrote that she wanted to be with someone else — the apprentice sparkie who put the new fuse box in for the workshop. I was with Mick when he found out. His shoulders slumped. Then he laughed. Surprised me. ‘Thank God I haven’t paid the prick,’ was all he said. Then he went out. Bought paint.
He seems relieved. Lighter. A day after the Kombi vanished, we gather ladders and brushes from the workshop. Start repainting his cottage.
‘I never did like this bloody colour,’ he says. ‘Janine chose it. Bloody foul, it is. Duck egg, she called it. Fer cryin’ out loud, Ned! Do I look like a duck to you? Let’s turn the joint into a house, mate, not a ruddy egg.’
As we paint, Mick remembers aloud. ‘Janine was an airline hostess, would you believe? TAA. We met when I came back from ’Nam the first time. One of her girlfriends was going out with a guy from my unit. I’d never seen anything like Janine. Hair like a bloody bushfire! It was on for young and old. Back then, anyway.
‘When I had to go back and finish my tour, I wrote to her every bloody week. That’s a damn fine effort for a mug like me. She wrote back and her letters were what kept me goin’.
‘By the time I got back I was convinced she was the one. True love. Crikey, eh? She was about the only thing that could make me feel good … feel anything back then.
‘So I went ahead and popped the bloody question. She said yes, but I could tell something had changed already. I didn’t find out until later that she had been going to the anti-war rallies — while she was writing to me. Talk about having a bob each way!
‘It felt pretty ordinary at first. Bit like a betrayal. Pathetic, eh? I thought she’d support what I was doin’ … actually, maybe she was stickin’ up for me, come to think of it. Anyway, I decided I didn’t care too much. I wanted Janine and, let’s face it, I didn’t give a stuff about the ruddy war. Might’ve marched against it myself if I’d known a little more about it.
/> ‘We had a small wedding. Just her folks, mine and the clergyman. Janine wanted to stay in Melbourne and keep working. My folks were on the dairy farm up at Stanton. Flattest, most boring farmland in Australia!
‘The farm wasn’t making enough to support me and my folks. I didn’t feel safe there any more, either. Too open. Nowhere to hide. Too bloody quiet.
‘The manager’s job here was advertised in the paper. I convinced Janine that Rushton was halfway between her family and mine and she could get just about everything here that the city had to offer. She agreed, I got the job and here we are … well, here I am.’
He pauses. Chews over memories.
‘Things went OK at first. She liked setting up house. She was studying at the college in town — fine arts or something like that. But she soon grew sick of me waking in the night screaming. When we lost the baby, it felt like we had nothin’ left in common … we’ve been treading water ever since.
‘You know, I look at my folks and see them still happy after forty plus years. That’s solid. It really is. I’d’ve liked that. But Janine and I were more like a Catherine wheel; plenty of sizzle and colour … and then we just fizzled out.
‘If ya ask me, mate, better to go for solid than sizzle. You can build on solid. And yer far less likely to get yer fingers burned …
‘Pass me the long-handled roller, would ya, Ned?’
CHAPTER 21
ERIN
Now that Mick’s on his own, he’s dead keen on a chat. He’s lonely, I reckon. Yesterday he even crammed Ned and me into his Valiant ute and dropped us home ’cause the weather was crook. How many bosses would do that for you?
I wonder if Ned’s grandad is lonely. I s’pose it’s better having someone in the house than no one, even if they don’t make much noise. Speaking of which, Ned and I are getting on fine. We walk together every day. I yammer away to him and he doesn’t seem to mind. He might even like it. I can’t be sure but I reckon I can feel him looking at me as I talk, sorta sussing me out. I’m careful not to stare at him directly, so if I think he’s glancing my way I just keep chatting and look straight ahead.
I tell him about letters from Bron and any news I have from Murnong. I’ve told him about Dad, and how the old man is a trouble magnet. And I’ve even talked to him about Lachlan McMaster. And how much it hurt to be hounded from town for something I didn’t do. That stopped Ned in his tracks — literally. When we took off again, his walk was angrier. I had to skedaddle to keep up. I hoped he wasn’t judging me the way folks in Murnong had.
I’ve just finished baking a batch of scones. There’s more than Mum and I need so I want to take some around to Ned and his grandad. Trouble is, I’m not sure how Ned’ll react. I’ve never been to his place before and I don’t want to intrude. Walking to work is one thing, inviting someone into your home is, well, it’s personal. But I decide to do it. I bet they don’t get too many visitors. That’s my excuse, anyway.
I’m nervous walking there, real jumpy. It’s as if I’m inviting myself on a date. As I scurry down the path, trying to figure out what I’m going to say, some moron wolf-whistles and calls out ‘tasty!’ Startled, I almost drop the scones. I spot him behind an array of ugly grey-blue cacti, gnomes and other concrete creatures, alone on his front porch. ‘Tasteless,’ I fire back. I flounce away, leaving him open-mouthed.
Ned’s grandpa answers the door. He has a kind, creased face, with sad eyes. True to form, my mouth is off and running before he can get in a g’day. ‘Hello, Mr Edwards, my name is Erin. I work with Ned. We live just around the corner, Mum and I. Umm, I’ve been making scones. Thought I’d bring some ’round.’
‘Thank you, Erin, pleased to meet you.’ He sticks out his hand. ‘I’m Vic. Come on in. I’ve just put the kettle on.’
The house is only slightly larger than our cottage at Murnong. Vic disappears into a tiny kitchen, calling back to me, ‘Ned’s out the back, splitting firewood. I’ll get him once the kettle’s boiled.’
I don’t want to wait. Actually, I’m determined not to. ‘That’s OK,’ I answer. ‘I’ll do it.’ Vic gapes as I brush past him, headed for the back door.
At the rear of the house, there’s a small landing with three steps down to the yard. Ned’s at the far end of the garden, with his back to me. He’s wearing jeans and boots. Sweat shines on his shoulders.
I watch as he places a log on the block then swings the axe, splitting the log effortlessly. There’s a power about him I’ve never seen. He’s lean, tanned and appears taller than normal. I realise he isn’t hunched, hiding himself as he usually does. That spooks me a bit. I’m suddenly unsure if I should be here; conscious I’m intruding, thrusting myself into his safe space without warning. Careful, Erin! You don’t want to mess this up.
From the foot of the stairs, I gently call Ned’s name. No response. I inch closer, calling his name every few steps. Still nothing. Eventually, cautiously, I reach for his arm … and he explodes away like a startled cat, retreating, panicked, towards the woodpile.
‘Ned! Ned, it’s me. Erin. Sorry. Damn — I’m sorry I scared you. You, you didn’t hear me call while you were chopping …’ I take a T-shirt from where it hangs over a branch. ‘Here — your shirt. I brought some scones for you and your grandad. Do you want to stop for a cuppa?’
Ned doesn’t move. He’s tensed, ready to flee. Doubt ricochets through my mind. I should have left the scones with Vic, minded my own bloody business. This was a mistake, a big one. Maybe I’d better leave. Dammit! I so wanted this to go differently!
As I begin to back off, Ned moves. Swiftly, he takes the shirt and burrows through it. The Ned that emerges is more familiar — smaller, distant.
He leads me back through the garden, up the steps and into the house. As Vic directs me towards a chair and a steaming cup of tea, I’m lost for words. Vic must witness and grieve for the fear in his grandson every day.
CHAPTER 22
NED
I like Erin. Wish I hadn’t reacted. Jumped when she touched me. Scared her. Scared myself. But I was too far away. Lost in the rhythm of the wood splitting. Dreaming. Felt her and panicked. Too close! Thought she was Janine.
She’s a bit like me, Erin is. She has her mum. I have Grandpa. Other than that, we’re alone. She knows what it’s like to be different, too. Singled out. Bullied.
I’ve never had a friend my age. Not sure I know how to be a friend. All I know is that I enjoy Erin. Look forward to seeing her. Like being with her. The feelings are confusing. As if she’s made it inside. Past one of my walls.
Knowing that she has been hurt though, that makes me want to protect her. Be there for her. Make sure no one hurts her again. But how can someone like me protect her? I can hardly protect myself.
What would Ned Kelly do? Ride into town, make a statement — tie his horse to the railing outside her place. Spin her around the centre of the dance floor? Let everyone in town know he’s with her. And looking out for her. Wish I could be like that. Game as Ned Kelly. Bold.
Can’t do it.
I enjoy our walks to and from The Silver City. Erin always has a story. Even if she doesn’t, she talks anyway. Chatters like the dawn chorus about the weather, people at work, books she’s borrowed from the library.
When I can, I watch her. The swing of her long, honeyed hair. The way she stands. Her smile. The honesty of her movements and dealings with people. There’s a buzz about her. A bustle. A swirl. As if where she is, the sun’s warmer, the colours brighter. Life’s livelier. Heads turn her way.
I see Nigel Collier has spotted her. His grey eyes feast on her. Like leeches.
Grandpa tells me Collier has applied to join the police. He’s been accepted at the academy in Melbourne. Starts training next year. I can’t imagine him being much of a cop. Too much cruelty, too little patience. Too flammable.
Today, as Erin and I are walking home, Collier is out on the porch overlooking his father’s concrete menagerie. He’s drinking beer. Laughing raucous
ly with a bloke I don’t recognise. Calling out as we approach.
‘Good old Neddy, never ready,’ he says. ‘I hear you’ve finally finished primary school. And you’re in at Silly City with the retards …’
I speed up. Hope Erin will follow suit. Collier, fuelled by the beer, persists.
‘Don’t rush off, matey. Tell us what it’s like, the in-sti-choo-shun. Come on, cobber. I can’t hear you!’
My face hot. Angry. Ashamed. I want to be away. Out of earshot. But Erin is slowing down. Collier starts up again.
‘Strike me pink. Neddy-Neddy-empty-heady has a friend. She’s far too foxy to be a spazz, though. Who’s your bird, Neddy? Are you getting a bit?’
Erin stops. Turns towards the chortling pair. ‘Don’t you ever speak like that to him again, you moron! He might not speak but I’m telling you the world would be a darn sight better if gutless wonders like you didn’t either. It doesn’t take much courage to score points off someone who can’t talk back, does it? I suppose you’d pick a fight with a bloke with no arms, would you? You’re pathetic.’
With that, Erin turns. Paces away. As I follow, I hear Collier’s mate: ‘She sure carved you up, Nige. Better practise your debating skills before you take her on again.’ Collier mumbles a reply. ‘Get stuffed. And get us another beer.’
I catch up to Erin. See tears sliding down her cheeks. Jagging through my chest. She swipes at the tears. Tries to erase them, before I see. ‘I’m sorry, Ned. I can’t stomach bullies. They make my blood boil.’
We’re near her gate. Erin shivers. Her freckled face looks pale beside the bakery’s communion-wine-coloured ivy. Her hands, lavender cold.
Feel myself reaching out. Consumed by Erin. Her tears. Her anger. Her courage. Take her hand. Rub it between mine. Release it. Warm the other hand. Take a handkerchief from my coat. Dab her tears.