by Janene Wood
The silence seemed to intensify.
Five seconds became ten. Ten became twenty. There was still no response.
Just when George was about to give up, thinking there was no possibility of getting through, a sound like a mewling cat, quickly stifled, crossed the link between them. It was the sound of a creature in great physical or emotional pain.
whispered Kate inside her head.
Relief flooded through George; at least Nance hadn’t severed all communication.
There was a brief silence as George processed this new information.
Again George waited, but this time there was no response, just emptiness.
Kate was gone. George sighed. The world was a much lonelier place than it had been before.
It was good to get out of the house at last. Sam didn't know who decided such things, but apparently a decent enough interval had now passed for him to go back to work. With his hands and brain occupied all day, he hoped he might finally be able to take his mind off things. For a while, anyway. The pain would still be there tonight, waiting to crush him under its fist, but until then, he would focus on work and pretend his life was as carefree as ever.
For a while, he would pretend his mother wasn't dead and his world hadn't turned upside down.
If Sam had to endure for a moment longer the quiet, sympathetic words of the well-meaning visitors, expressing their condolences and dropping off a casserole or a cake or a pie, he was fairly sure he'd go stark raving mad. He knew how shocked the small, close-knit community of Fiddlers Creek was at the sudden loss of one of their own (“and so young!”) but he wished they would just let them get on with things. Get on with their lives, which is what Jane would have wanted.
Sam put his foot down and smiled for the first time in two weeks as the 1172cc engine of his 1954 Ford Anglia responded to his touch. She may not be the fastest nor even the prettiest car in the world, but he owned every inch of her, and he loved her as fiercely as if she were a living, breathing woman. He had poured every cent he owned into restoring the beaten-up Anglia, making it arguably the best-performing vehicle in town. He and Frank had spent every spare minute of the last six months working on it together, scouring wrecking yards for cheap parts with which to rebuild the engine, then convincing a panel beater mate of Frank's to help get the body back in shape. Finally, a week before Christmas, his gleaming black machine went on its long awaited maiden run.
Of the three McDermott boys, Sam was probably the closest of them all to Frank, sharing a passion for anything remotely mechanical – especially if it went fast and looked hot. Sam wasn't sure whether the Anglia fit that particular criteria, but a bloke had to start somewhere, right? Their bond grew even stronger after Sam started working part-time at the garage, pumping petrol and helping out in the workshop, which was how he managed to save the money for the Anglia. Frank was quietly impressed, not only with Sam's intuitive understanding of the internal combustion engine, but with his single-minded determination and the ease with which he remembered even the most complicated things he was shown. The garage had always been a one-man operation, but after a great deal of deliberation, Frank decided to take on an apprentice.
At first, Jane was unimpressed with Frank's grand plan for her son, believing at fifteen, Sam was much too young to leave school. A boy needed an education if he was going to get anywhere in this world. But Jane knew in her heart that Sam was an unenthusiastic student, scraping through by the skin of his teeth. She feared she was simply delaying the inevitable. So on the first of September, a day Sam would never forget, she finally let him take up Frank's offer.
That seemed so long ago now. Sam wished he could go back in time and freeze that perfect day when he was finally given the green light to pursue his dream. The whole family had been excited for him, and his brothers and sister were all looking forward to their own golden futures. Futures that were now in real doubt. Sam would give anything to be able to relive that day over and over again, so none of them ever had to suffer the dreadful loss that tormented them now.
What were they supposed to do now? Now that Jane, the glue which held their family together, was gone?
Tears began to run unashamedly down Sam's cheeks as he dared to look for the first time at a future without his mother in it. There was no light or joy in such a world. It was an empty, frightening place that offered no security or succour.
Sam had recently begun thinking of himself as a man: a man of the world; a man with a job and a car and prospects. But now he realised he was nothing but a scared little boy who needed his mother.
Sam turned the Anglia into the driveway of Frank’s garage, driving past the workshop and out the back into the empty concrete lot. He thought it odd that Frank's ute wasn't parked out back, but maybe he'd gotten an early call-out. Often, when customers broke down or their cars wouldn't start, they called Frank to come out and take a look. Nine times out of ten it was a flat battery or a leaky hose or some other basic problem he could fix right there and then. On those rare occasions when the problem required a more comprehensive fix, he would offer the customer a ride into town and tow the vehicle into the workshop.
Sam retrieved the spare key to the office and didn't waste any time worrying about Frank. He went about his usual tasks: unlocking the fuel pumps and switching them on; opening the safe and taking out the change for the cash register; checking the diary to see which vehicles were booked in and for what. The workshop had been closed since before Christmas, so it was going to be a busy day.
10am rolled around and there was still no sign of Frank. Sam was getting concerned now; the jobs were piling up and there was no one to do the work. He could probably fumble his way through the more basic jobs, but the customers weren't paying for a half-arsed job; they wanted Frank Carelli, not Sam the apprentice. If Frank didn't get back soon, he was going to have a lot of dissatisfied customers.
Sam was sitting tensely in the office, checking his watch every five minutes while trying to concentrate on the spare parts inventory, when the driveway bell rang, alerting him to a customer at the pumps. He jogged outside, immediately recognising the white Chrysler Valiant belonging to Don Chester, the father of one of his former school-mates. Chester was a serious man in his late forties, but not unfriendly. Winding down his window, he ordered, “Fill her up, young Sam. Don't forget to check the oil.”
“Yessir, Mr Chester.”
Chester looked curiously around the empty workshop while Sam got down to work. “Frank not here?”
Sam muttered something noncommittal and hoped he wouldn't have to elaborate.
“At the speed he was going this morning, I’d have thought he'd be back by now,” remarked Chester, shaking his head disapprovingly. “I can understand he's a bit distracted, poor bloke, what with everything that's happened, but if he doesn’t pull himself together, he'll be no good for anyone. He nearly got himself cleaned up good and proper this morning.”
Sam jerked his head up and looked at Chester in consternation. “What? What happened?”
“I was driving the wife into Tully this morning when Frank overtook us in his truck. I remember thinking, Jesus, where's the fire? And then he actually ran the stop sign! I couldn’t believe it! He flew out onto the highway and nearly collided with an 18-wheeler flying down the highway. He must have been doing nearly seventy. Good thing the truckie had his wits about him or Frank’d be roadkill.”
Sam had trouble believing Frank would be so reckless. Yes, he liked to push the boundaries sometimes, but he was usually a careful, observant driver. Taking unnecessary risks didn't sound like the Frank he knew. “W
hat time was that?”
“Couldn’t have been much after six. It was light, but barely. Where was he off to in such a hurry?”
Sam had no idea, but Mr Chester, and ultimately the town, didn't need to know that. “He, uh, had an urgent appointment. I'm sure he'll be back soon,” replied Sam, avoiding the man's eye.
Chester nodded, apparently satisfied with Sam’s answer. “The Valiant's due for its 25,000-mile service. Put it in the book for next Thursday, will you, son?” Sam reluctantly met Chester's eye and nodded. “Don't forget now.”
“No, sir.”
Sam finished filling the tank, then quickly checked the oil and washed the windscreen. “That's four pounds, eighteen shillings, Mr C.”
Chester handed him five pounds and told him to keep the change.
Sam watched him drive away, but in his mind's eye he was visualising Frank's speeding ute darting into the path of an oncoming semi, and the inevitable carnage that followed. “Shit, Frank,” he whispered, “what the hell's going on with you?”
Such was Sam's preoccupation he didn't notice the tall, dark-haired figure approaching the garage until his friend was almost upon him. With another two weeks before school went back, Tayo Meunier had plenty of time on his hands and often dropped by to shoot the breeze. Sam greeted him like he was the answer to a prayer.
“Man, am I glad to see you,” said Sam grimly. “Frank's gone AWOL and we've got six cars out back waiting to be worked on. What am I going to do?”
“When you say AWOL...?”
“I mean I have no idea where he is. He’d already left when I got up this morning, but when I got here the place was deserted.” He recounted the early morning sighting by Ted Chester and Tayo agreed it was unlike Frank to behave so recklessly.
“Have you checked the back room?”
Sam frowned. “No, of course not; that's his private space. He doesn't let anyone go back there.”
“What if he left a note?”
Sam gave Tayo a disparaging glare. “If he wrote a note, don't you think he’d leave it out where I'd find it?”
“Maybe he meant to but got distracted and forgot.”
Sam had to admit it was a possibility. If Frank was distracted enough to run a stop sign, he could certainly have forgotten to leave a note out. Hell, he could have forgotten to write the damn note. “I s'pose it's worth a quick look.” An awful thought occurred to him, making him suddenly fearful of what any note he found might say. “You don't think he meant to run the stop sign, do you? Maybe he decided he couldn't go on living without Mum. Maybe us kids remind him too much of her.”
And maybe being responsible for the four of them was too daunting. Well, three of them, really; Simon didn't officially count now that he was eighteen and living away from home. Sam was alarmed and depressed by the possibility.
“Get real bro; this isn't a soap opera. People don't do stuff like that in real life. He's probably just gone to a breakdown. He does that all the time, right?”
“Yeah, but it never takes this long,” agreed Sam uncertainly. He made up his mind. “Okay, let's do it.”
The two boys strode purposefully into the office, quickly making their way to the back, where a door marked “Private” secured the entrance to Frank's inner sanctum. This was where Frank lived before things with Jane became serious and he started spending most nights at the McDermott house. Sam hesitated before reaching for the knob. Surely it would be locked and all their conjecture was moot? But to his surprise it opened easily, and he found himself standing in an unexpectedly large and comfortable room.
The room wasn't grand by any means, but it was clean and tidy. There was a double bed at one end and a small kitchenette at the other. A worn two-seater couch occupied the middle space, opposite a large, free-standing television. The curtains were drawn and the room smelled musty, like it hadn't been lived in recently.
Sam opened the top drawer of the bureau beside the bed. He slammed it shut and quickly checked the other drawers, which were also empty. He moved across the room and opened the fridge door, checking the contents. Frank occasionally spent the night here when he worked late, so it made sense for him to keep a change of clothes and some food here. But there was nothing. The fridge had been cleaned out, and recently too, from the smell of bleach that assailed his nostrils. Turning to Tayo, he said quietly, “The bastard's done a runner.”
Furious, Sam shook his head, unable to believe the man he had looked up to, the man who had mentored him and given him his dream job, had skulked away in the middle of the night like a cowardly dog.
No. He must be missing something. Frank was the most responsible, up-front bloke Sam knew. His mother had had her share of boyfriends before Frank came along, and during that bleak period after they broke up. He knew they came in all shapes and sizes, with principles to match. Frank was nothing like those other men. Frank's code of honour was something Sam and his brothers had always aspired to. Surely he could never do anything so dishonourable?
But that's where the evidence was pointing.
Still shaking his head, Sam stumbled back outside. They hadn't really spoken of it, but they all assumed – Simon, Jack, Kate and himself; probably Holly, too – that Frank would continue living in the house and acting as surrogate father, much as he had done for the past year. Sure, no one had bothered asking Frank what he thought of the idea, but to run out on them now, right when they needed him the most? How could he?
Sam's blood began to boil at the iniquity of it all. How was any of this fair? To lose their mother was a tragedy, one they’d be lucky to recover from, but for Frank to bail on them too? It was beyond unfair. It sucked.
But apparently that was life. If they were smart, they would start getting used to it.
Could Things Get Any Worse?
January 1966
Sam tapped lightly on Simon's door, not wanting to wake Jack, asleep in the next room. Unable to drop off himself, Sam had gone upstairs to check on Kate and was surprised to find the room dark and his sister in bed – and it wasn’t even midnight. Perhaps she was feigning sleep so she wouldn’t have to talk to him, but more likely she was simply exhausted from the endless verbal to-ing and fro-ing and had been unable to keep her eyes open any longer. It had been a tough, emotional night.
After waiting at Simon's door for several seconds and getting no response, Sam turned the knob and crept inside the darkened bedroom. He was about to whisper his brother's name when he heard what sounded like a muffled sob. Not wanting to intrude, he started to withdraw, but then heard a rustling sound as Simon pushed back the covers and pulled himself upright. Simon blew his nose and sniffed loudly. “It's okay, Sam,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You can come in.” He shifted over so Sam could sit beside him.
“You okay, bruv?” asked Sam, knowing already he wasn't. None of them were. Especially after what they learned that afternoon.
“Sure,” lied Simon. “Just great.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a pretty shitty day.”
“I still can’t believe it. I always thought Frank was a really decent bloke.”
“A bloke with no balls, as it turns out,” muttered Sam bitterly.
Just that afternoon, Holly had turned up at the house unexpectedly and informed Kate and the boys that the police had had no luck locating Frank or his truck. With every day that passed, it was looking more and more like he had left town for good, just as Sam first feared. Yet despite having had a week to get used to the idea, it was still a shock to have his suspicions confirmed. With no evidence of foul play or misadventure, the police had no reason to continue searching for him. As far as they were concerned, Frank Carelli had committed no crime and had left Fiddlers Creek of his own free will. Apparently, hundreds of unhappy people, dissatisfied with their lives, simply got up and walked away from them every year. Frank was nothing out of the ordinary. The file on his “disappearance” was now officially closed. The police suggested they get on with their liv
es.
“We don’t need him,” said Simon vehemently, sounding more like his usual self. “As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine. It’s just like Mum always said; family is everything.”
“Sure,” agreed Sam, but he frowned thoughtfully, unseen by his brother in the dark. He hesitated before saying what was really on his mind. “But you know, there are other ways to go about this. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Holly – she’s already got the bit between her teeth – but there’s no reason you should have to give up everything you've worked for and come home to look after us. I know you think it’s the right thing to do, but Kate and Jack would be fine living with Holly, and I can look after myself. Maybe her suggestion that I go back to Brisbane with you isn’t such a bad idea.”
Simon was incredulous. “You think I should just go back to Brisbane and pretend like nothing’s happened?”
“I think you should try! You’ve been living the dream, Si. You’ve got what you’ve always wanted, and you shouldn't have to throw it away. You’ll never get this chance again! By the time Kate finishes high school, you’ll be too old to play first grade footy. And what about the newspaper? You think you’ll want to be a cadet when you’re in your twenties...if they even let you? And have you thought about what you’re going to do if you end up staying? What skills have you got? You’d be lucky to get a job digging ditches.”
“I don’t care!” cried Simon. “I’ve made up my mind.”
“But how are you going to put food on the table and pay the bills?” demanded Sam. Simon obviously hadn’t thought this through.
Simon heaved a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Don’t you understand, Sam? This is all my fault! If I’d taken those boxes downstairs like Mum asked me to... If I hadn’t been such a selfish dickhead, then none of this would be necessary. She’d still be alive, and our lives wouldn’t be in the crapper.”