Billy Mack's War

by James Roy

  Mr Whaley looked around the room, straight past Danny. ‘Anyone at all?’ he repeated.

  Now Danny started waving his hand. He definitely knew this — he’d seen it on the Discovery Channel two days before.

  ‘Yes, Mr Snell, I can see you leaping about like you’ve got a hornet’s nest in your knickerbockers … ’ (here he paused for the soft laughter of Year 7 boys) ‘but I’d like to give someone else a turn at answering a question.’

  Caleb turned his head and raised his eyebrows. Danny hadn’t answered a single question yet today.

  ‘Mr Wilson,’ Mr Whaley said, turning to a pale, worried-looking boy with very thin red hair and about a million freckles, who was sitting in the front row. ‘Do you know the answer?’

  Simon Wilson shook his head and muttered something that to Danny sounded a lot like, ‘I don’t know that, sir.’

  ‘Coal! Yes! Well done, Mr Wilson,’ said Mr Whaley, his eyes darting in Danny’s direction. ‘You can put your hand down now, Mr Snell. Someone else has already given me the correct answer.’

  Danny lowered his hand and bit the inside of his cheek. He’d thought it was going to be easier now that Shaun and Grant were gone. Maybe he’d been wrong.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Caleb asked as they walked to their next class. ‘That was so weird!’

  Danny rolled his eyes. ‘Weird? I’d say it was just plain nasty. But that’s nothing new, is it? He’ll get over it eventually.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. You want to hope so.’

  Dad frowned and stopped stirring the pasta. ‘He said what?’

  ‘I told you, he said that I could sit anywhere I wanted, because there were a couple of spare seats at the back.’

  ‘Sounds to me like he was having a bit of a dig,’ Dad said.

  ‘I know. That’s what I thought. Then he wouldn’t let me answer a question, even though I knew the answer.’

  Dad dropped the lid back on the pot and put the wooden spoon down. ‘You weren’t imagining it? Sometimes you hear people say things —’

  Danny shook his head. ‘No, Dad, I definitely wasn’t imagining it. He hates me, just because I got his precious Shauny kicked out.’

  ‘Careful, Dan,’ Dad said. ‘After all this business you should know better than anyone that there’s a good and bad side to everything.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Sure. Think about what’s happened to you. First you met a wonderful old man, you made a friend, and you helped him when he begged you to. That’s the good bit.’

  ‘Right,’ Danny said slowly. ‘And the bad bit?’

  ‘Unfortunately that action led to you losing touch with him. Agreed?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Danny, not quite sure where Dad was going with this.

  ‘Also, you were given a wonderful reward, which in turn led to you having to face William McAuliffe.’

  Danny snorted. ‘Yeah, a wonderful reward I had to give back.’

  ‘Correct, but standing up for yourself meant that Shaun and Grant got thrown out, which is good for you, right?’

  ‘Right, even though I got a broken nose out of it.’

  ‘And was it worth it?’

  Danny thought for a moment. ‘I guess it was. Except that’s not why I did it.’

  ‘Of course not. But even so, it was a good outcome, wasn’t it? Despite the broken nose.’

  ‘I guess,’ Danny agreed uncertainly.

  ‘And now you’re getting a bit of grief from some tiny-minded science teacher. Accept it, mate. Nothing worth having comes for free, and nothing bad comes without bringing some kind of good with it.’

  ‘What was good about Mum dying?’ Danny asked.

  Straightaway he wished he hadn’t said it. It was as if he’d slapped his dad across the face. No, it was worse even than that — it was like he’d reached into his chest and pulled out his heart, still beating and bleeding, and held it up to his father’s face. It was like he’d taken some giant vacuum cleaner and sucked all of the life clean out of him. It began to feel even more like that as Dad sat down unsteadily on one of the kitchen chairs. He slumped a little and stared straight ahead out the window at the thinning cherry tree beside the clothes line.

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ Danny said. His voice was low in the quiet kitchen, no other sound but the bubbling pasta pot.

  Dad didn’t answer.

  ‘Dad, I said I’m sorry.’

  Finally Dad looked at him. His eyes were wet. ‘Us.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Us. That was the good thing to come out of that — you and me. Maybe we would have been mates like we are now anyway, but … You and me, Dan. It was the only thing, but it was good all the same.’

  Danny desperately hoped that he wouldn’t regret his next question. ‘Was it worth it?’ he asked.

  Now Dad’s eyes were filling fast, and a tear spilled out and plunged down his cheek. They didn’t talk about Danny’s mother very much. ‘What a question,’ he said, his voice little more than a breath.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

  Dad tried to smile. ‘Okay, mate. Okay.’

  Chapter 3 Danny

  When Danny awoke the following morning, Dad was already gone. There was a note on the kitchen table, folded over once and leaning up against a cereal bowl. Danny opened it. Dan, have a great day, it said. Your mum would have been proud.

  He smiled. Of course his dad was right — his mother would have been proud. He knew this not because he’d known her all that well — he was only seven when she died — but because of what Dad had told him about her. ‘She was beautiful, with the most wonderful cheekbones.’ (Danny knew this much, since he’d seen plenty of photos.) ‘And she was so gentle. Warm and gentle. So even-tempered, your mum.’

  Danny knew that too. His memory of his mum wasn’t entirely made up of photos and Dad’s recollections. He did remember a couple of things about her. Her voice. Yes, her voice in particular. She’d loved to sing when she was working around the house, especially songs from movies. He remembered her singing the theme from Titanic while she was baking cakes in the warm kitchen, leaving a bit extra in the bowl after she’d poured out the thick mixture like lava from a chocolate volcano. She’d scrape out the smallest bit with the end of her finger and touch it to the tip of his nose, ‘just in case you feel like a bit later on’. Then, when he’d finished spooning out the bowl and had forgotten about the bit for later, she’d bend down, cup his face in her hands and lick the smear of mixture off his nose. Danny remembered that best of all, the up-close smile, his mother’s warm breath, and her laugh.

  Yes, she would have been proud. He wondered if she’d have made him return the medal as well. He had no way of knowing what she might have said about all that. It was easy to pretend, though — he did it all the time — so that’s what he did now. He imagined her cupping his face in her hands and smiling into his eyes. ‘You did the right thing, Danny,’ she said. ‘First you did a brave thing, then you did the right thing.’

  Yes, that made sense. She always knew just what to say.

  ‘Hey, Dan the Man,’ someone called from near the cricket nets. Danny didn’t recognise the boy who’d said it, not by name anyway, but he still waved. After all, that’s what celebrities do.

  ‘Do you get a lot of that?’ Mr Cullen asked with a tiny smirk.

  ‘A bit,’ Danny replied. ‘I don’t think Shaun was very popular.’

  ‘He was and he wasn’t. It all depends on who you ask.’

  ‘Well, everyone who talks to me thinks the school is a better place without him.’

  Mr Cullen laughed. ‘Danny Snell, the valiant champion of bully victims everywhere, eh? Who’d have thought it?’

  Danny felt himself blushing. ‘I didn’t really do much.’

  ‘You did enough.’ Mr Cullen picked up an empty lunch box from the grass, read the name on the lid and tucked it under his arm. ‘Anyway, back to the question of the VC. What did you decide to do in the end?’

  ‘I took i
t back.’

  Mr Cullen nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll never see it again, you know.’

  Mr Cullen shrugged. ‘Of course you won’t. But that doesn’t mean you never had it.’ He pointed at some boys kicking a rugby ball. ‘Look at it like this: the Wallabies won the World Cup twice — in ’91, and again in ’99. Then England beat them in 2003. But that doesn’t mean the Wallabies never won it, does it? It doesn’t erase their names from the record books.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘So have pride in what you did, Danny, not what you think you deserve.’

  Danny shook his head. Why couldn’t anyone see it his way? ‘But I don’t have anything to show for it. Not now. Not any more.’

  ‘You mean apart from the admiration of every boy in the school who thinks you took on Shaun Gilmore and beat him?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean I don’t have anything to keep.’

  Mr Cullen stopped and examined Danny’s face for a long moment. Then he reached out one finger and traced one of the dark rings under Danny’s eyes. ‘There’s that.’

  Danny pulled back. ‘It’s just a bruise from my broken nose,’ he replied. ‘Bruises don’t count. Anyway, bruises fade away.’

  ‘So do reputations. Will you excuse me for a minute?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ Danny said, and he watched Mr Cullen cross the quadrangle to sort out a scuffle between two boys.

  ‘Snell, Daniel,’ Mr Thomas read without looking up.

  ‘Present, sir,’ Danny replied.

  ‘Dan the Man,’ several boys murmured.

  ‘Thank you, that’s enough. There’s a letter here for you, Mr Snell,’ Mr Thomas said, waving an envelope above his head. His eyes hadn’t lifted from the roll book. ‘Snow, Victor. Is Victor Snow here?’

  ‘Who’s the letter from, sir?’ Danny asked as he stood up.

  Now Mr Thomas looked up. He regarded Danny sombrely. ‘How should I know? Goodness me,’ he muttered. ‘Mr Snow, are you present?’

  ‘Away, sir,’ several boys chorused.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mr Thomas droned. ‘Spears, Justin.’

  ‘Present, sir.’

  Danny sat at the desk and looked at the envelope. It was addressed to Master Daniel Snell, Student, St Lawrence’s School. There was no stamp. He turned it over. There was no sender’s address either.

  Caleb leaned over. ‘Who’s it from?’

  Danny shrugged. ‘I guess I’m about to find out.’ He tore the letter open.

  Dear Daniel,

  On reflection I realise that I was a little hard on you the other day, and I would very much like to make things right.

  I appreciate that this is not entirely regular, but I feel very strongly that we must meet, or at least talk. Once you’ve shown this letter to your father and gained his permission, you might like to give me a call. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll accept that the matter is at an end. However, if you could get in touch I’d be most grateful.

  Yours sincerely,

  William McAuliffe

  His phone number was written at the bottom of the page.

  ‘Well? Who’s it from?’ Caleb asked again.

  Danny could barely believe what he was reading. He read through the letter again, more slowly this time, and examined the signature closely. ‘It’s from him. It’s from Captain Mack’s son.’

  Caleb rolled his eyes. ‘Great, what does he want now? Is there something else of his that you’ve got?’

  ‘No, of course not. He wants to talk to me, that’s all.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’

  ‘You don’t think he wants to give the medal back to you? Maybe he’s thought about it and decided —’

  Danny shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. He says he just wants to talk to me. Here, read it for yourself.’

  Caleb took the letter. ‘Do you want to talk to him?’ he asked when he’d finished reading.

  ‘I’ll ask Dad what he thinks.’

  ‘Well, I think he wants to give you a reward,’ Caleb said.

  ‘You would,’ Danny replied.

  Dad took the letter and read it all the way through to the end. ‘Well then, you’d better give him a call, hadn’t you?’ He handed it back to Danny.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s asked you to, Dan, why else?’ Dad poured boiling water into his mug. ‘It’s just polite.’

  ‘But what do you think he wants?’

  ‘It could be anything at all, couldn’t it? Maybe he wants to apologise, which is how it sounds to me. The letter’s certainly got a very apologetic tone to it.’

  ‘And you don’t mind if I call him?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. He’s been perfectly up-front about this, so I don’t see what he’s got to hide.’

  Danny took a deep breath. ‘Could you call him first?’ he asked. ‘Just to … you know …’

  Dad grinned. Then, still smiling, he shook his head. ‘You can make the call, Dan.’

  ‘What will I say?’

  ‘That’s up to you, mate. Do you want to see him?’

  Danny stared at the letter. He was looking straight at the words, but they weren’t making a lot of sense any more. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. Just ring him up, talk to him, see if he gives you a hint.’

  Danny nodded. ‘All right. But I’m a bit nervous, Dad.’

  ‘I know,’ Dad replied. ‘But are you more nervous than you were when you took the medal back last week? Or when you helped Captain Mack run away to begin with?’

  ‘No, I was heaps nervous then!’

  Dad winked and tapped the letter with his finger. ‘Make the call, Dan. And before you hang up, I want to talk to him.’

  Danny rubbed his cheek. He could feel his hands beginning to sweat. ‘All right, here I go.’ He sighed as he stood up.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll be right here drinking my coffee.’

  Danny went into the hallway and picked up the phone. He wiped his palms on the legs of his pants before dialling the number. He was halfway through it when he realised that he couldn’t remember whether he’d done it right or not, so he hung up to start again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Dad called from the kitchen.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong! Dad, can you go somewhere else? You’re making me all self-conscious.’

  Dad stood and picked up his mug. ‘All right, I’m going,’ he said with a chuckle. He pushed past Danny and headed up the stairs.

  ‘And no listening in on the upstairs phone!’

  ‘Well! Of all the dastardly suggestions!’ Dad replied. ‘Just make the call.’

  Danny picked up the receiver again. This time he got the number right, and the phone rang. It was a good line, clear and strong and loud. After a few rings the earpiece went clunk and he heard a voice. ‘McAuliffe residence,’ the woman said.

  ‘Hello, is that the McAuliffes’ house?’ Danny asked. Idiot! he thought. She just told you that!

  ‘Yes. Who is this, please?’

  ‘This is Danny Snell. Mr McAuliffe … I mean William McAuliffe … Mr William —’

  ‘I see. Could you hold on, please?’

  ‘Uh … sure,’ Danny began, but by then he could hear faint footseps on a wooden floor. ‘Bill, it’s for you,’ the woman called. Then: ‘Eh? What’s that? I don’t know, love — I think it’s a child.’

  Danny groaned. Is it too late hang up now? Yes, I’ve told them my name. Definitely too late.

  There were more footsteps, then the sound of the receiver at the other end being picked up. ‘Bill McAuliffe.’

  Danny swallowed hard. ‘Mr McAuliffe, this is Danny Snell,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, Daniel. You must have received my letter, then.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very good, I’m glad it found you.’

  ‘Yes, they gave it to me at school.’

  ‘I see. And did it make sense to
you, Daniel?’

  Danny paused. ‘Um … no, not really. It sounded like you felt bad or something … But you didn’t have to, you see,’ he rushed on, realising that he might have just said something insulting. ‘Like I said when I saw you —’

  ‘Daniel, it’s quite all right,’ Mr McAuliffe interrupted. He sounded almost caring. ‘As I wrote in the letter, I was probably a little harsh with you the other day. I wasn’t being entirely fair. I can see that now.’

  Was he actually trying to apologise? If so, Danny wished he’d just say it so this increasingly uncomfortable call could be over.

  ‘Did you think about what I suggested?’ Mr McAuliffe asked. ‘Do you think we could meet, perhaps?’

  ‘I guess,’ Danny replied cautiously. Why couldn’t he just say whatever was on his mind and get it over with?

  ‘Are you still there, Daniel?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I’m still here.’

  ‘So, could we meet? After school, perhaps? There’s nothing peculiar in this, Daniel. It’s completely above board. So tell me — what do you think?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I mean, yes, sir.’

  ‘Very good. How does tomorrow sound, outside the front of your school at half past three? Is that time all right for you?’

  ‘Fine, I guess.’ Danny felt his breath catch in his throat. Tomorrow? He didn’t know if he was ready for this — not so soon.

  ‘Is one of your parents there, Daniel? I think I should talk to one of them, don’t you?’

  Danny nodded. ‘Yeah, my dad wanted to talk to you too.’

  ‘Good, good. Well then, provided your father has no objection, I’ll pick you up at the end of school tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll just get Dad.’

  ‘I’m here,’ said Dad from the top of the stairs, and he came down, totally unhurried. His mug still in his left hand, he took the receiver from Danny and put it to his ear. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Fine, thanks … Yes, that’s perfectly all right … I’m sorry … No, I understand that, and I appreciate it. Thanks for taking an interest … No, he’s a good lad … Well, thank you. Bye now.’ He hung up.

  ‘Well?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Well what?’