A Prayer for Blue Delaney

by Kirsty Murray

  ‘But she’s been pretty nice to you lately, hasn’t she?’

  ‘I don’t know. One day she’s great and the next she’s all prickly again. Last night she said that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life kicking me off her couch just so she can sit down.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Keith. ‘I’ll keep in touch wherever they send you and then we could go to Rome together for the 1960 Olympics. I’ll be your manager. You’ll be a legend.’

  Colm laughed. ‘I think I’d rather be a musician,’ he said.

  ‘You can be both,’ said Keith. ‘And I’ll be rich and go to all your concerts and buy all your records.’

  As they walked back to the village, Keith flipped open his newly acquired autograph book. ‘We ought to come out here next week and you do that running caper again. Everyone wanted to know who you were, so I kept getting them to sign. I even got Zatopek’s signature, you know, the marathon runner. He was the hero of Helsinki. And look at this, Alain Mimoun, the French runner. Here, you better whack your scrawl there too. That might be worth a hundred quid, one day.’

  Keith seemed even more disappointed than Colm when the Form One sports prize went to another student.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t win,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I was banking on it.’

  ‘I don’t mind. Joe got some tickets to a track and field event and he reckons I can bring a friend, so we’ll still get to the Games.’

  Keith grinned sheepishly. That’d be bosca, but what am I going to do with your crummy scribble messing up my autograph book?’

  Colm and Keith sat in the back seat as the Holden wound through the streets towards the city. Joe pulled up right outside the MCG and parked close to the concrete wall of the stadium.

  ‘Maybe you should be in charge of these,’ Blue said, handing the precious tickets to Colm. ‘Joe went through hell and high water to get them.’

  ‘C’mon, Colm,’ yelled Keith as Colm fell behind. ‘You reckon you’re a runner and you’re bringing up the rear. Gotta keep pace.’

  They passed through the turnstiles, then climbed endless concrete steps to get to their seats. Their seats were high up near the back of the stadium. Keith had managed to borrow some binoculars and they swapped them back and forth, scanning the track for a glance of the Australian favourite, John Landy.

  ‘There he is,’ said Joe, pointing at a lean, dark-haired young man poised at the blocks.

  ‘That’s not Landy, that’s Ron Delaney, the Irish long–distance runner,’ said Blue.

  ‘Your long-lost cousin?’ asked Joe.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Blue. ‘He’s no cousin of mine. Besides, we’re barracking for John Landy. He’s the Australian.’

  ‘You never know, that Delaney, he might be your cousin,’ said Joe, teasing.

  ‘Delaney?’ asked Keith. ‘Is that your name, miss?’

  ‘It’s an Irish name,’ said Blue. ‘That’s why Joe is having a go at me.’

  ‘And I know what it means,’ said Joe. ‘I know things about Miss Blue Delaney that no one else does. Her name means "descendant of the challenger". I looked it up.’

  Blue laughed. ‘That would be right. Dad is always trying to stick it to someone. So I guess that makes sense of who us Delaneys are.’

  ‘And you, Brigida - you are a true challenge, that’s for sure.’

  Colm felt embarrassed to have Joe and Blue flirting with each other in front of Keith.

  ‘Are there any Chinese athletes in the race?’ he asked abruptly, turning to Keith.

  Keith shot him a smoky look. ‘Why would I care if there was? My family’s been in Australia since the goldrush. I’m barracking for Landy.’

  Brother Julian had told Colm that he had been named for the Irish Saint Columcille, the patron saint of poets. If he had an Irish name did that mean he should cheer for Ireland? Was he Australian or Irish?

  The gun fired and the runners leapt from the blocks. The crowd roared as John Landy took to the lead but as they came to the final stretch, the long lean Irishman leapt ahead. Colm could feel a murmur go through the crowd and then the murmur grew to a roar as the runners drew closer to the finish line. As they approached the ribbon, Colm started shouting like the rest of the crowd. A surge of excitement rushed through him.

  ‘Gold for Ireland!’

  When the roar came over the speakers, Colm could feel tears stinging his eyes. He put his fists against them to make them go away. There was nothing for him to cry about, but the feeling kept growing. He turned away from Blue and Joe, hoping they hadn’t seen. If only Bill could have been there, he wouldn’t feel like this. If Bill had been with them, he could have told Colm whether he should barrack for Ireland or Australia or whether they should go for both. He tried to imagine helping Bill up the stairs of the MCG but as suddenly as he pictured the moment, Colm knew it was never going to happen.

  33

  Goodbye to all that

  Colm whistled cheerfully as he took the steps up to the flat two at a time. Blue had promised they could get fish and chips for tea that night and take them over to eat on the pier as a treat. She was always in a better mood on the rare nights they bought takeaway.

  Blue was standing by the window, looking down over the street. When she turned on Colm, her green eyes had an angry gleam that sent a shiver of alarm through him.

  ‘Colm, I’ve heard from Audrey Matlock that you’ve been flitting around the streets on a Sunday morning attending every bloody church and Sunday School in Williamstown. Can you explain yourself?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with going to church!’ said Colm.

  ‘One church, maybe, but six? Don’t you think about what this sort of behaviour means to me? Everyone around here knows I’m an atheist, and this boy I’m taking care of is racing from one church to the next, making me the laughing stock of Williamstown. You can just hear them: “That mad Red, the poor kid is desperate for a proper mother.” A mother! I’m not your bloody mother.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Colm despairingly. He shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in every inch of his skin.

  ‘I only want to help Grandad. I don’t know what else to do. But it’s not my prayers that he needs. He needs to see you.’

  ‘He’s got along fine without me for years. He can get well without me.’

  ‘But Blue, he’s not going to get well. Ever.’

  ‘You’re just a child. You can’t know these things. He’s got years in him yet.’

  Colm shook his head in disbelief. How could a grownup be even better at pretending than any child?

  ‘Everyone can see it, except you.’

  All the colour drained out of Blue’s cheeks. He wanted her to be angry again, he wanted her to shout at him. Anything was better than her silence. ‘Are you all right?’ asked Colm, almost dreading the answer.

  ‘No, I’m not. Everything, everything is falling apart.’

  Blue sat down at the pink laminex table and put her head on her arms, sobbing. Around her were sheets of paper and clipped newspaper articles. She gathered up all the clippings and threw them across the room. The pieces of paper settled on every surface. Colm bent down to pick them up while Blue went back to sobbing on the table. She had made all sorts of notes over the pages, underlining phrases in bright red pen, scribbling frantic circles around other parts.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Colm, as much to himself as to Blue.

  ‘It’s Kruschev’s secret speech,’ said Blue wearily.

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘He’s Russian, the head of the Communist Party. He made this speech, saying Joe Stalin was a crook and a murderer. But Stalin, he was a great man. Everyone said the speech was a forgery, that it was a scam. And then bloody Joe, he got me a copy. Said I had to look at it and decide for myself.’

  She looked at Colm, her face impassioned, her cheeks streaked with tears. Colm couldn’t understand how anyone could cry over something that was happening in Russia when
so much was happening right here, right now in their own lives.

  ‘Can’t you see? Nothing that you think is happening is really true. Everything you believe in can turn inside-out overnight!’

  ‘But what’s any of this got to do with Grandad?’

  For a moment, he thought Blue was going to throw something at him, but she simply got up from her chair and left the flat. He watched her walk down Nelson Place and cross the road. There was something so small and broken about her that he wished he could run after her and tell her he was going to make everything all right. But he didn’t know what he could do, and their argument hung in the still air of the flat like a cloud of unhappiness.

  Colm walked down to the end of the pier and sat there alone, staring out to sea. Grey clouds gathered over the bay and a red fishing boat chugged past. All around him there was life and movement, but inside him everything felt frozen. He didn’t turn at the sound of footsteps coming towards him along the weathered boards.

  ‘Oi,’ said Joe, nudging Colm with his foot. ‘Where’s Blue?’

  ‘She did her block and stormed off,’ said Colm. ‘I said something she didn’t like and it made her mad.’

  Joe laughed. ‘You’re a good man, Colm. Whatever you said, she probably needed to hear it. But we’ll bring her round, you and me. You can’t be expected to take care of Blue all on your own.’

  ‘She thinks she’s taking care of me,’ said Colm.

  Joe laughed. ‘Well, that’s what all the girls like to think, especially the difficult ones. But it’s the difficult ones that are worth keeping hold of, even if they are prickly. So what’s the hard truth that she didn’t want to hear?’

  Twenty minutes later, Colm sat on the steps of the flat, waiting. Joe was inside, talking to Blue, and Colm felt a weight of responsibility slide off his shoulders. No one had ever told him having a mother could be such hard work.

  ‘Okay, Colm,’ said Joe, opening the door of the flat and calling down. ‘Grab your coat. You’re going for a drive.’

  No one spoke on the way to the hospital. Colm could feel Blue’s resistance but Joe dropped Colm and Blue outside and then sped off into the night.

  ‘It’s not visiting hours,’ said Blue.

  ‘We’re here now,’ said Colm, taking her hand and threading it through his arm. They walked up the steps of the hospital together.

  ‘Visiting hours are over. And Colm knows that children aren’t allowed in the rooms or on the wards,’ said the matron at the desk.

  ‘Oh for chrissake. Not this again. He’s not a child. He’s a dwarf,’ said Blue, viciously. The Matron looked startled but she let them through without another word of protest.

  Colm felt his heart sink when they walked into the room. Bill seemed even worse than the last time Colm had seen him. His skin was translucent and there was a faraway look in his sunken eyes.

  ‘Grandad?’ said Colm, touching Bill’s hand. ‘We’re both here with you now. Me and Blue.’

  ‘Blue and my cobber,’ said Bill, smiling weakly.

  Blue stood a little way away from them. Colm turned around and frowned at her.

  ‘Don’t you look at me like that, Colm McCabe. I’m here, aren’t I?’

  ‘Stand here,’ said Colm, ‘Where he can see you.’

  Blue edged a little closer to the bed and Bill smiled.

  ‘My little Bridie,’ he said.

  Blue put her hand to her mouth, as if to stop herself from saying something she would regret. Then all of a sudden she was crying, her arms folded across her chest as if to shelter herself from attack.

  ‘Come here, chickadee,’ said Bill. Slowly, without unfolding, Blue lay down on the bed beside her father. He put his arms around her and stroked her hair. For a moment Bill seemed to rally, turning his face towards her as if basking in sunlight.

  ‘Blue,’ was all he said but the word was full of love.

  Colm stepped away, walking backwards quietly until he reached the door.

  ‘Don’t go, cobber,’ said Bill slowly. ‘Stay. Blue needs you. Stick together. Delaney and McCabe - a team.’

  They sat by his bed all night. Colm fell asleep in his chair with his head resting on the side of the bed. He woke in the small hours of the morning. Bill’s breathing had changed. Blue had fallen asleep too and her thick red hair was spread out across the bed. Colm touched the old man’s hands but they had no warmth in them.

  ‘Blue, wake up,’ he said.

  She rubbed her eyes, took in the situation, and then got to her feet. ‘I’ll get the nurse.’

  Colm knelt down on the cold linoleum and prayed for Bill. If he could just pray harder, if he could just get God to listen to him and let Bill stay longer . . . He laid his head on the side of the bed and tried to tip his prayers out of his body and into the room. He could see the life seeping out of the old man. Where was it going? — all that life force, all that energy, all that rough magic? Colm looked up at the hollow face on the pillow and knew that Billy Dare was slipping away from him.

  ‘Grandad,’ he said. ‘Grandad. Please don’t be dead.’

  But Billy Dare was gone.

  34

  Guarding the flame

  The funeral procession moved slowly along the gravel paths of the cemetery. Colm felt as if it should be raining, but it was a bright, sunny morning and the sun streamed down on the mourners and the grey tombstones in a burst of summer warmth. The procession stopped on a rise at the top of the cemetery. There was a gum tree nearby, a lone conifer and a mound of freshly turned soil.

  Colm didn’t know any of the old performers from Billy Dare’s theatre days that flocked to the cemetery. He stood a little away from everyone. He felt out of place and alone, as if he were back on the wharves of Fremantle with nowhere to turn.

  One old man had brought a violin with him, and he played it as the pallbearers lowered Billy into the grave. When Colm heard the music, he pulled out his harmonica and joined in, playing sweet and low under the melody of the violin. One by one, the mourners approached the open grave and threw in flowers or a handful of dirt. Each time the soil hit the coffin, Colm felt the sound reverberate through his whole body. When the violinist’s tune came to an end, Colm wanted to play on. He didn’t want the music to stop, as if the silence would swallow them all. He shut his eyes and played every tune Billy Dare had ever taught him. He played the long slow ballads and the jigs that Billy Dare had hummed as they drove across the heart of the country. He played all the songs he’d listened to at night, alone in Blue’s flat, from ‘Just Walking in the Rain’ to ‘Love Me Tender’. He played while the mourners drifted away, until only Blue and Joe were left, waiting for him to finish.

  Finally Blue put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Colm,’ she said softly. ‘It’s time to go.’

  Colm bent down to pick up a flower, a small daisy that one of the mourners had dropped. He let it spiral into the grave. It landed softly, white against the brown earth.

  Keith hadn’t come to the funeral, but he called by the flat later in the afternoon and dragged Colm down to the Crystal to swim. There was no one else but the two boys and a flock of seagulls that circled above them. Colm turned onto his back and felt the sun beat down on his bare chest. With his eyes shut, he could imagine floating for ever. It was only when someone grabbed him by the ankle that he remembered Keith’s presence.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Keith awkwardly.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything but I’m glad you’re here,’ said Colm.

  They floated on their backs, side by side, on the gentle swell of the sea.

  In the evening, Blue went down to the fish-and-chip shop while Joe and Colm walked to the end of the pier and watched the sun sink low over the bay.

  ‘You’re allowed to be sad about your grandad dying,’ said Joe.

  ‘He wasn’t my grandad really,’ said Colm. Tf he was really my grandad, then I’d be Blue’s son or at least her nephew.’

  ‘You’re import
ant to her, mate. She’s changed since you’ve come to Melbourne.’

  ‘But everything’s dark. I can’t see the future. I can’t see what’s going to happen next.’

  Joe turned Colm to face him and looked hard into his eyes. ‘Look at it this way, mate, life is a little bit like the Olympic Games. You know how they light the flame to start, light it from a ray of sunshine all the way over in Greece? Then they guard that flame and make sure it stays alight, no matter what, they keep that flame burning until the last race is run. And when they’re running, those athletes aren’t enemies, they’re brothers. You think John Landy minded when Ron Delaney beat him? I saw him shake his hand.’

  Joe took hold of Colm’s hand and shook it so vigorously that Colm’s shoulder hurt.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Colm, rubbing his shoulder.

  ‘Well, you and Blue, you’re on the same team but sometimes you both act like you’re on opposite sides. She’s trying to keep that flame alight too.’ He tapped Colm hard in the middle of his chest. ‘Inside you, there’s a flame and you gotta keep it burning bright. For you, for Blue, for your old grandad. That’s what he would have wanted. For both of you. Capiche? ’

  Colm put his hand over his chest and felt his own heart beating beneath. He tried to imagine a flame inside him, a flame so big it would keep the darkness at bay for ever.

  After Joe had left, Blue and Colm sat on the floor of the flat surrounded by open suitcases. With Bill’s death, a flood of letters had arrived from old acquaintances along with an assortment of trunks that he had left stored with friends. There were so many bits and pieces, trinkets and treasures. Colm picked up a carved wooden spoon and turned it over in his hands.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Blue. ‘Annie Mahoney gave it to Mum and Dad as a wedding present. I’ve got no idea why. Some "in" joke. There were so many stories they never told me. But come and have a look at this. This was my mum’s.’