by Janene Wood
Tayo fell into step alongside. “Yeah, I usually stop by around this time and help him close up.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, but you've been a good friend to Sam. This whole thing with Frank... It's been especially tough on him.”
“So I'm not just an arrogant frog-boy, unworthy of your attention?”
Kate gave a wry smile. “I wouldn't say that, exactly, but there's more to you than I gave you credit for. I think you two might actually be good for each other.”
Tayo's response was typically blasé. “We poor orphans have to stick together.”
A skinny tabby cat leapt onto the footpath in front of them, and bounded away across the road, disappearing behind a black Hillman parked at the kerb outside Dr Friedman's surgery. The car belonged to the Preston family, who were neighbours of Heather's. One of their kids must be sick. The streetscape was otherwise still and quiet. The other shops were all shut up tight for the night. There was still an hour till dusk, but most families ate early and would be tucking into their steak and three veg about now. Only the town strays, with no parents to demand their presence at the dinner table, were out so late.
“How did your parents die?” asked Kate quietly. The spectre of death preyed on her constantly these days, and Tayo did open the door with his comment about orphans. She wondered if they had anything else in common besides having no parents. She doubted it.
A momentary flash of emotion crossed Tayo's face but was gone before Kate had a chance to decipher it, his expression immediately resolving itself into its usual aloof demeanour. He took a deep breath before replying. “My mother died from injuries received during a drunken argument with my father. He died in prison a week later, stabbed thirty-two times by my two uncles, avenging her death.”
Aghast, Kate stopped in the middle of the footpath and stared at him. “Oh, my God, that's the most terrible thing I've ever heard in my life!”
Tayo sniggered darkly. “Then you're even more of an innocent than I took you for.” Seeing the genuine shock on her face, he relented. “You're right; my mother's murder was terrible. The rest, though...that was simple justice. The bastard got what he deserved. He was a drunk and a bully, and if I'd had more guts, I would have killed him myself.”
Kate didn't know how to respond to that; the whole sad affair was so totally outside her experience. The last thing Tayo would want was sympathy, and she knew from her own recent experience of loss that platitudes were of no help whatsoever. To be honest, she was amazed he’d answered her question so frankly. It would have been easier to make something up, to fob her off and say it was an accident of some kind. Sharing such an important piece of himself couldn't have been easy, but for some reason he seemed to trust her with it. She was still missing most of the other pieces, but Kate was slowly beginning to figure out the puzzle that was Théodore Meunier.
Finally, she spoke. “What happened to your mother isn't your fault, Tayo. You were only a kid! If you'd gotten in the middle of things, he probably would have hurt you too. Your mother wouldn't have wanted that, would she?”
Tayo pressed his lips firmly together and looked away.
“Would she?” repeated Kate, demanding an answer.
“No,” he whispered.
Reaching her free hand toward him, she placed it on his arm. “You know, if I could heal your pain, I would.”
Tayo nodded. Their eyes locked together like magnets, polar opposites, yet irresistibly attracted. The honk of a distant horn shattered the moment and Kate looked away.
“Holly's husband used to hit her,” Tayo remarked as they resumed walking.
“Mmm, I know,” replied Kate sadly, realising that their similar experiences probably explained why Tayo spent so much time with the petite shopkeeper, even though it all happened so long ago and Holly was happy now with Bob the baker. She remembered stumbling across the grisly remains of Mr Woodford on the way home from school that day. Even at such a young age, she was aware, from the reactions of Jane, Frank and the rest of the town, that there was a distinct difference between natural justice – that which Holly received as a result of his killing – and the feeble justice she might have received in court, had she ever brought charges against her husband for domestic violence.
Give her natural justice any day.
Kate started walking again, breaking the heavy pall that had settled over them. “What's your aunt like?” she asked, shutting the door firmly on all talk of death and misery. “I gather she lets you do pretty much whatever you want.”
Tayo brightened perceptibly at the change of subject and picked up the pace. “She has other things on her mind, and knows I can look after myself.”
“What other things?”
“My cousin Allie, for one. She was hit by a drunk driver when she was six and she...isn't all there. She can't go to school, so my aunt has to stay home and look after her.”
“That's awful,” said Kate sadly. “Your poor family has gone through so much. Is that why you work at O'Malleys? To help out financially?”
Tayo nodded absently. “Auntie gets money from the government for Alice, but it's not enough for us all to live on. I took the job at the pub to help out, but Auntie's boyfriend moved in a few weeks ago and gives her money for rent and food and stuff, so I'm pretty much off the hook now.”
“What's your aunt’s boyfriend like?” asked Kate, hoping he had a calmer temperament than Tayo’s father.
“He's alright, I suppose. Keeps his hands to himself at least. I try not to get in the way. I eat and sleep there, but that's about it.”
They were nearly at the pub now and neither of them wanted to be caught outside if one of the O'Malleys happened along. They stepped off the path and onto the road and were halfway to the other side when a dark coloured sports car careened around the corner, tyres squealing, and began speeding toward them. It was still daylight, so the driver must have seen them, but he didn't slow down or otherwise make allowance for them. The car flew past, just missing them, then veered across the road into Frank's garage with another loud squeal of tyres.
Tayo took off at a run, leaving Kate to follow after him, wondering what the sudden rush was all about.
By the time Kate had pushed her bike up the driveway a minute later, only slightly behind Tayo, the midnight-blue sports car had pulled up to one of the pumps. The driver, a man around sixty, was out of the vehicle, and apparently out of luck too, since Sam had already locked up for the night and was getting ready to leave. Of average height but solidly built, his age was really only apparent in the deep lines scored into his face and the silver threads of his neatly manicured goatee. In the fading light Kate couldn't tell whether his bald pate was natural or an affectation, but either way, he bore himself with self-assurance. He wore a white business shirt with the collar unbuttoned, navy-blue pin-striped slacks, and the air of a man used to getting his own way. He was in animated conversation with her brother, attempting to convince him to unlock the pumps, when Tayo ran up, yelling furiously.
“Hey! Gramps! Are you blind as well as senile? You nearly ran us down, back there! Just because you've got a fancy car doesn't mean you own the road!”
Kate had never seen Tayo so angry. There had been no real danger of the car actually hitting them, but after hearing what happened to his poor cousin, she understood his anger.
The driver glanced at Tayo but otherwise ignored him, keeping his attention fixed on Sam. “I'll make it worth your while, son. My tank's nearly empty and I've got an early start in the morning.”
“Is that true, what Tayo said?” asked Sam, not at all intimidated by the flashy car, the wallet full of cash, or the man's forceful demeanour. “That's my sister you nearly knocked over, mate.”
The driver sighed impatiently, but didn't bother denying the charge.
Sam frowned. “I think you owe her and my friend an apology.”
The stranger narrowed his eyes, quickly concluding that he wasn't going to get what he needed unless he
first placated the two young men. “Very well,” he relented, his brown eyes hard as flint. “I apologise.” He turned back to Sam. “Now please fill up the car.”
Tayo looked even more furious than before. “That's it? That's your idea of an apology? This isn't the fucking city, you know, Gramps. We don't drive like maniacs around here and if we've done something wrong, we own up to it like men.”
The bald man looked at Tayo properly for the first time, seeing the spark in the boy’s eyes about to ignite. “I would appreciate it if you would stop calling me that, young man. I am definitely not your Gramps.”
“I'll call you whatever the hell I like until I get a proper apology,” growled Tayo, taking a step closer. The man put his hands up, making clear his peaceful intentions. Tayo halted, but the menace in his eyes remained.
“You’ve got quite the temper, haven’t you, son,” the man said conversationally. “If you don’t watch yourself, it's going to get you into more trouble than you can handle – and sooner than you think.”
Tayo reacted like he had been issued a direct challenge. He took two quick steps forward and without warning threw a punch at the older man’s face. Kate gasped aloud, but with surprisingly quick reflexes and far more strength than a man his age should be able to draw upon, Gramps' hand flew up and caught Tayo’s fist before it made contact with his face. Dismay and humiliation crossed Tayo’s face in equal parts as the man held on tight and twisted, forcing Tayo to his knees. Humiliation quickly became pain, but before Kate could cry out in protest, Gramps released Tayo’s hand, having made his point.
Tayo gingerly flexed his wrist and climbed to his feet. He had the sense to look embarrassed, but it took a moment for him to gather the courage to look the older man in the eye. Gramps watched Tayo calmly, apparently satisfied that next time, he might think twice before giving into his baser impulses.
He picked up the conversation where it had left off, as if the last ninety seconds hadn’t happened. “There was no danger. This car is a precision machine, and I’m an excellent driver. I was in a hurry, yes, and driving faster than I should have, and for that I apologise. Young lady, I hope I didn't frighten you.”
Kate met the man's eyes and believed he was sincere. She gave a helpless shrug in Tayo's direction. “I wasn't scared, but you really were going too fast,” she said seriously. Then she smiled mischievously. “Gramps.”
The man chuckled at Kate's presumption and gave her a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, making her feel unexpectedly warm all over. The expectant look he gave Tayo was much cooler. Tayo had no choice but to accept the apology or appear churlish. Tayo nodded stiffly and the tension in the air gradually dissipated.
“I guess I'll fill you up, then,” said Sam, not wanting to antagonize the man any further. Kate knew he would have done it anyway, even if the man hadn’t put Tayo so firmly in his place. Unlocking the pump, he took a long, covetous look at the midnight-blue Ferrari as he inserted the nozzle into the fuel tank. “What sort of mileage do you get out of her, Gramps?”
“That's Mr Ressic, to you, son. Show some respect, lad, I’m old enough to be your grandfather.” The older man winked so only Sam could see and began reeling off an impressive list of facts and figures that only a fellow car buff would be interested in.
An expression of true contentment settled over Sam’s face for the first time in what seemed like forever.
A New Start
August 1966
The ute pulled up at the usual place and Simon climbed out wearily, hefting his rucksack over his shoulder before calling out his thanks to Shep for the lift. Shep's offsider, Baz, who had been squashed uncomfortably between the two other men for the long drive in from the farm, didn’t waste any time sliding across the seat and taking his place by the window. The autumn sun, little more than halfway across the western sky, still had plenty of bite to it despite the season and Simon could feel the heat of it on his face as he stepped began the last leg of his journey home. With another two miles to go before he could finally relax and put the day behind him, he was eager to get started.
“It’s not too late to change your mind, Macca!” called Shep.
“Yeah, mate, come and have a couple of cold ones,” urged Baz, hanging his sun-bronzed arm out the window and grinning. “The Cutter’s got a new barmaid and I reckon she’s just your type: big tits and a nice fat arse. No, wait... that's my type!”
“That's every bloke's type,” retorted Shep. “Come on, Macca, do you good to come out and have some fun.”
It was the same thing every day, and every day, Simon made his excuses. “Can’t today, Shep. They reckon it’s gonna rain tonight and there’s a hole in the roof that needs fixing, right over my sister’s bed. Don't want her drowning in the middle of the night, eh? See ya tomorrow, fellas!”
Shep revved the engine and the ute took off down the well-traveled road to the pub without further delay. Simon raised his hand in a farewell salute but the gesture went unnoticed.
It was getting harder each day to think up a plausible excuse. Eventually he was going to have to accept their invitation and have a couple of beers, or risk offending them for good, but he would put it off for as long as possible. The simple fact was, he could barely afford to stop for even one beer, but he was too proud to admit it. Better to pretend he had a thousand pressing responsibilities at home that couldn’t wait. Which wasn’t entirely untrue.
Simon had been working at one or other of the local banana plantations for the last few months, picking up as much work as he could, doing everything from spraying weeds, spreading fertilizer and bagging bunches of immature fruit, to the actual harvesting itself. It was tough, physically demanding work and he was completely knackered by the end of each shift. It wasn’t the ideal job by any means, and he certainly didn’t intend to be hauling bananas for the rest of his life, but it paid the bills.
Actually, that was only half true. It helped pay the bills, but even with Sam’s small weekly contribution from the garage, they were still unable to break even at the end of each month. Right now their electricity bill was three weeks overdue, Jane's funeral expenses still hadn't been paid off, council rates were due at the end of the week, and they had exactly $5.50 with which to feed themselves for the next fortnight. Simon sighed despondently. It continually amazed him just how much food his two brothers managed to cram into their stomachs every single day – and five minutes after eating, they complained of being hungry again! And Kate might be small but she was no slouch in the eating department.
Then, to put the icing on the cake, Jane’s ancient Holden finally carked it. It had lived a long and productive life and been saved from the scrap-yard at least half a dozen times, but this time it was well and truly down for the count. Sam had an undeniable talent with engines but unfortunately, his limited knowledge put it beyond his present abilities to fix. Perhaps if Frank was still around, he might have resurrected it one last time, but he wasn’t, and that was that. Not that they could have afforded the parts anyway. The end result was that Simon now had to rely on his mates or his brother to drive him around. Or else walk. Which was plenty galling for a lad who had, until recently, prided himself on being a man of independent means.
It was tougher than he had expected, being breadwinner and head of the household. What he’d been quite unprepared for was the stress of it all. Admittedly, most of the worry was about money, stemming from the irregularity of his hours and his crappy rate of pay, rather than the actual job of caring for his siblings. Unsurprisingly, Jane’s death had brought the four of them together in a way that was quite unprecedented, so for the time being at least, they were all making a concerted effort to get along. How long that would last...
As the eldest of the four and the only one who could cook, it was up to Simon to cobble together a decent sort of meal plan at the start of each week, taking into account their extremely tight budget. It was a constant uphill struggle, particularly when he returned home from wo
rk and discovered half the ingredients he needed for dinner had mysteriously disappeared into his brothers’ bellies. Some weeks were worse than others, but even in a good one, there was very little left in the pantry by the time pay-day rolled around, other than the odd tin of baked beans, a bit of stale bread, a few old potatoes and maybe a banana or two (the one and only perk of his current job). It was frustrating not being able to provide for the family the way he wanted to, particularly as his siblings were still growing like weeds and had stomachs with no discernible bottom. The meals he cooked sustained them, but didn't satisfy them for any length of time. There weren’t lashings of food to fill up on like before. There were no leftovers to tide them over from one meal to the next, no endless supply of home-made treats to graze upon when their stomachs growled.
While they had never considered themselves particularly well-off while Jane was alive, they had never had cause to worry where their next meal was coming from. Things were different now; they weren't in danger of starving, but they were hovering a little close to the poverty line for comfort.
As Simon struggled to get the most value out of every dollar, he found himself exercising his creativity more and more. He bought whatever produce was in season (and therefore cheap), disregarding individual likes and dislikes for the most part, in the interests of economy. He figured his siblings would eat whatever he put on the table, or they would go hungry. And so it proved. Their plates were licked clean at the end of each and every meal. Any excess produce was preserved or frozen; nothing was ever wasted, and they all gained a new appreciation for Simon's abilities to turn boring old swedes, foul tasting Brussels sprouts, and vomitus lamb’s brains into edible, if not tasty, fare.
Cooking was the one domestic chore Jane had never had to nag him about, and she had been pleased to have at least one willing pupil. Not that he was quite in Jane's class – she was one of the best cooks around – but then at 18 years of age, he didn't have close to her experience.