The Godson

by Robert G. Barrett

  Tears began to well up in Peregrine’s eyes. No one had ever spoken to him like that before, never. But then again he’d never been in a position like this before, totally alone in a strange country in the middle of nowhere. He felt lonely, dejected and thoroughly miserable. ‘Oh God, what can I say?’ he choked. ‘I feel such a fool. I’m so sorry.’ Then the tears came. ‘I wanted so much to be your friend, Les. I really did.’ Peregrine buried his face in his hands and great sobs racked his body as the tears poured out. Les looked at him with disgust. Then Les began to feel disgusted with himself. Standing over poor Peregrine who was half his size and sick as a dog as well. And abusing him like that. For one little indiscretion that was really only meant as a joke anyway. What about all the fun they’d had together? And what about what he’d done for those two battling lifesavers? Now the poor little bastard’s sitting there crying his eyes out just because he’s not a tough hard nutter like you. Big man, Les. You really showed that Hooray Henry, didn’t you? Why don’t you punch him in the head and be done with it?

  ‘Ahh, don’t worry about it, Peregrine.’ Les sat down next to the Englishman and patted his shoulder. ‘It’s all over now and we’re safe. And that’s the main thing. We’re still mates.’

  ‘I am sorry, Les,’ sniffed Peregrine. ‘I really am.’

  ‘I know you are. And so am I. I shouldn’t have gone on like that. I’m just in a bit of a shitty mood, that’s all.’

  ‘I nearly got you killed.’

  ‘Ahh, forget about it. I’m still here, ain’t I? Happy and smiling as ever.’

  ‘Are we still friends?’

  ‘Bloody oath we are.’ Norton put his arm around Peregrine’s shoulders and gave him a hug. ‘Come on, I’ll make you another cup of coffee. You want one?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  Les put the jug on and got some more coffee going. Peregrine’s tears dried up, though he was still more than a bit upset. But he did realise that what he had done was quite stupid. Norton settled down and was pleased that the rapport was back between them. It was pretty hard to hate Peregrine, even if at times he was a shocking dill.

  ‘So, how’s your back now?’ asked Les. ‘Is it any better?’

  ‘Yes it is, actually,’ replied Peregrine. ‘I still don’t feel quite one hundred percent. But I’m not nearly as stiff and sore as I was. And my headache has completely gone.’

  ‘Good. That’s all the poison sweated out of your system. Anyway, drink this and I’ll have another look at it in a minute.’

  They finished their coffee and Les got Peregrine to take off his dressing gown. The Icthyol and the rough treatment had done their job. The redness was almost gone — all that remained was a nasty-looking small black sore. Les decided to give it a clean with some methylated spirits and apply a bit more black zinc.

  ‘What’s really amazed me,’ said Peregrine, ‘is Ronnie. I wouldn’t have picked him to be a Vietnam veteran.’

  ‘No, me either,’ said Les. ‘Actually it’s a bit of a sad story about Ronnie and his two mates.’

  While he fixed up Peregrine’s back Les told him the story he got from Eddie and why it turned out Ronnie drank so much.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Peregrine. ‘That’s absolutely horrendous. Two days trapped in the rubble with all those bodies.’

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Norton. ‘And it looks like his two mates have got some sort of cancer.’

  ‘Dear me.’

  ‘It’s not the best, is it? And yet we owe our lives to those same three blokes.’

  ‘And what did they want to do? Buy this place and make it into some sore of rehabilitation centre for vets?’

  ‘If they had the money. But between them I don’t think they’ve got a pot to piss in. Evidently they live just over that valley. Ronnie’s got a bit of an old farmhouse. I don’t think it’s anything too flash.’

  ‘Tch!’ Peregrine shook his head. ‘Those poor chaps. What an absolute shame.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Les. ‘But I guess that’s just the way it goes.’

  Norton finished Peregrine’s back and told him to put his dressing gown back on. The Englishman seemed to brighten up considerably and most of the colour had returned to his face.

  ‘Well, that looks all right, mate,’ said Les. ‘Just try and keep it dry and I’ll change it again tonight.’ He rubbed his huge hands together. ‘You feel like a bit of breakfast?’

  ‘Yes. I could eat a little something. But not much.’

  ‘Well, scrambled eggs are off the menu, old mate. The stove’s fucked. But I reckon I could knock up some toasted cheese sandwiches on the barbecue. How does that sound?’

  ‘Splendid. I’ll get cleaned up. Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No, she’s right.’ Les watched as Peregrine climbed slowly up the back stairs, doing his best to avoid the patches of dried blood. ‘Hey Peregrine,’ he called out. ‘I wasn’t pissed off at you for bringing the Irish around.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I just didn’t like you telling your girlfriend I was a wally. That’s all.’

  Peregrine smiled from the top of the stairs. ‘You’re definitely not a wally, Les. Never. Though you can be a bit of a wombat at times.’ He disappeared inside the house.

  Les shook his head and laughed to himself. How can you win? At least he’s got his bulldog spirit back. While Peregrine was under the shower Norton brought the food down from upstairs and got the barbecue going. On the open fire with sliced onion, tomato and chives, the toasted cheese sandwiches didn’t turn out too bad. Now dressed in his fatigues and Reeboks, Peregrine managed to get down two sandwiches, plus more mugs of coffee laced with local honey. He looked completely different from the half-dead creature moping around the farm the day before. Norton was feeling about ten times better than when he had got out of bed that morning.

  ‘So what do you want to do now, Les?’ asked Peregrine. ‘Are we going to stay here a while longer? There’s no real hurry to leave is there?’

  ‘No. Not really,’ replied Les. ‘But there’s not much point in hanging around. And I don’t particularly want to be here if that estate agent comes out. Unless you want to try and explain the damage to him.’

  ‘I concede the point,’ agreed Peregrine.

  ‘So I reckon we might get going sometime tomorrow. Probably at night. If the cops see that car going past they’ll probably pull me over.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Peregrine again. ‘It looks like it belongs to Elliot Ness.’

  They sat around sipping coffee listening to the birds and watching the sun rising higher over the valley; both men lost in their own thoughts. Soon they would be leaving the tranquil beauty of Cedar Glen, a place with which they each now had a unique affinity, and then they would be going their separate ways. It was hard to imagine that it was finally over.

  ‘Ohh yeah, Peregrine,’ said Les. ‘That’s what I meant to tell you. I got a little bit of bad news for you. Your cousin Lewis got hurt in Belfast.’

  ‘Oh dear. What happened? Is it serious?’

  ‘No, nothing too bad,’ lied Les. ‘Just a freak car accident. He broke a leg and he’s in hospital and can’t get around. Eddie told me. Your father rang the Attorney General — your godfather. And he rang Price, my boss.’

  ‘And Lewis is all right?’

  ‘Yeah, sweet. So you never know, Peregrine. Maybe this whole shemozzle has turned out for the best.’

  ‘Yes. Quite possibly.’ Peregrine’s voice faded away slightly. ‘Les, I really am sorry about what happened. I just honestly didn’t think those scoundrels would follow me all the way to Australia. That’s all.’

  ‘No, neither did I, Peregrine, to tell you the truth,’ grinned Norton. ‘I thought this would be a bit of a lark. The last thing I was expecting was six blokes trying to shoot me.’

  ‘Yes.’ Then Peregrine’s face broke into a grin. ‘But by Jove, we’ve had some fun at times, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, we sure have mate,’ agreed Les. ‘We sure have.�
� Suddenly Peregrine’s grin turned into a frown. ‘Ooh,’ he said twisting his face up. ‘I don’t know what’s in those cheese sandwiches. But I have to …’ He rose quickly from the table.

  ‘Got a twenty-five pounder jammed in the breech have you, mate?’ said Les.

  ‘Something like that,’ replied Peregrine, hurrying for the bathroom.

  Les watched him going up the stairs. ‘Just mention my name up there,’ he called out. ‘And they’ll give you a good seat.’

  Smiling to himself Norton took his coffee over to the barbecue and watched the coals glowing as they were fanned by the gentle sou’wester coming across the valley. So it’s finally over, eh? He looked across the gently rolling hills to Mt. Warning standing supreme in the distance. I’m gonna miss this bloody joint. Yeah. I really am. Les was musing on this and watching a couple of currawongs who were staring back at him from the grass, when he heard the sound of cars approaching from the driveway near the main road. Hello, who’s this? Les put down his coffee and walked across to the driveway at the side of the house. He wasn’t there long before two white cars pulled up near the rockeries: a Ford Fairlane and a new Holden. The Fairlane had Commonwealth number plates.

  There were two men in each car. They looked briefly at Norton, said something to each other then got out; two walked towards him, the other two watched him from across the car rooves. All appeared to be in their mid-thirties and were wearing sunglasses with sober suits, sober shoes and almost the same boring striped ties. Norton didn’t need to be a Rhodes scholar to see they had walloper written all over them. Oh well, mused Norton. It had to happen sooner or later.

  ‘G’day,’ he said, as the first two approached.

  The taller, fair-haired one on Norton’s left nodded briefly. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Ledgerwood, Commonwealth Police,’ he said, producing a badge on a wallet. He gestured to his darker, balding offsider, who produced a badge too. ‘This is Officer Renwell from ASIO. You must be Les Norton.’ Les nodded just as briefly. ‘We’ve come for Sir Peregrine Normanhurst. Is he here?’

  ‘Yeah. What’s up? Is he under arrest, is he?’ said Les.

  ‘No. Nothing like that,’ intoned Ledgerwood. ‘We’ve come to drive Sir Peregrine to Brisbane. Is he here?’

  ‘Yeah, he is,’ replied Norton breezily. ‘If you want to wait a second I’ll go and get him. His Highness happens to be on the throne at the moment.’

  Norton trotted up the kitchen stairs into the house where Peregrine was coming out of the bathroom. ‘Hey, Peregrine,’ he said. ‘There’s some coppers downstairs want to see you.’

  Peregrine looked concerned as he straightened his fatigues. ‘Police? What on earth do they want?’

  ‘Fucked if I know. Come on.’

  They went down the stairs to the two cops, who seemed to stiffen as Peregrine approached.

  ‘Sir Peregrine Normanhurst?’ asked Detective Ledgerwood. The Englishman nodded. ‘Your godfather, the Attorney General, would like to speak to you. Would you mind coming to the car, please.’

  Peregrine nodded but still didn’t say anything. Ledgerwood took him to the Fairlane, handed him a car-phone then rejoined Renwell and they both stood looking at Norton.

  Les looked back at them. ‘Nice day,’ he said. The two cops looked back expressionlessly and didn’t reply. Norton twigged what they were on about. ‘You want to take a look around?’ he said, indicating the blown-out windows above him and the patch of dried blood on the pathway. No answer was the pofaced reply. ‘Would you like to take down a statement?’ The two cop’s mouths were starting to turn down a little now. ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ said Norton. ‘Be different if I was selling illegal eggs or something though, wouldn’t it?’ Fuckin pricks, thought Les. There’s been six killings and all you are, is a team of glorified chauffeurs. The two cops stared icily at Norton’s grin till Peregrine eventually returned.

  ‘That was Uncle Laurence,’ he said to Les. ‘He wants to speak to you.’

  Les gave Ledgerwood and Renwell a quick once up and down. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment? I have to speak to the Attorney General.’ Norton walked across to the Fairlane where one of the other cops handed him the phone then stood next to him. Les glared at him then motioned with his head for him to piss off. The cop glared back then moved out of earshot.

  ‘Mr O’Malley,’ said Les into the phone.

  ‘Is that you, Les, is it?’

  Even over the car-phone Norton could recognise the Attorney General’s voice from radio and TV. ‘Yes, it is,’ he replied.

  ‘A mutual friend of ours has told me a lot about you. I think you know who I mean.’

  ‘I think I do, Mr O’Malley.’

  ‘He also told me what happened up there.’

  ‘Ohh, yeah. The holiday cottage hotted up for a while there.’

  ‘From what I hear, that’s putting it mildly. He can be a shocking dill at times, young Peregrine.’

  ‘Ahh, he’s not all that bad.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Les. Even his old man reckons he could do with a good boot right up the arse.’

  ‘I got to admit, Mr O’Malley,’ laughed Norton. ‘He went close a couple of times.’

  The Attorney General laughed back, then his voice took on a more serious tone. ‘I’d like to thank you personally for what you did, Les.’

  ‘I didn’t do all that much,’ replied Norton.

  ‘You’re far too modest, my boy. I owe you one. And I’ll personally see to it, through our mutual friend, that it’s made up to you.’

  ‘Whatever. But I wouldn’t worry about it too much.’

  ‘Anyway, shit-for-brains will be coming back to Brisbane with my men so you’ll be rid of the little prick soon.’

  Norton laughed again. ‘You never know, Mr O’Malley. I might just miss him.’

  ‘Well, if you can be like that, you’re a better man than even our mutual friend said you were. Goodbye, Les. And thank you again.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr O’Malley.’

  Les put the phone down and walked back to Peregrine who was talking to Ledgerwood and Renwell.

  ‘Well, it looks like you’ll be going back to Brisbane with these blokes,’ he said.

  Peregrine made a helpless sort of gesture with his hands. ‘Yes. But it’s not quite what I expected. Or wanted. I was hoping to spend a couple of days in Sydney with you.’

  Norton shrugged. ‘Ah well, mate. You never know, maybe it’s for the best.’

  Renwell made a discreet cough. ‘There’s no immediate hurry, Sir Peregrine,’ he said. ‘But the Attorney General did say to get you back there as soon as possible.’

  Les gave Peregrine a pat on the shoulder. ‘Come on, mate,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll give you a hand to pack.’

  In his bedroom Peregrine appeared lost and confused. There wasn’t a great deal to pack but he was fumbling and mumbling around and it was clear the idea of leaving so suddenly had upset him somewhat. Les made a joke or two as best he could and told him not to worry, he’d soon be back in England with his girl and all his friends, only this time as safe as a mouse in a maltheap. But Les was feeling a bit melancholy too. He would have liked to have shown Peregrine around Sydney under more relaxed circumstances. Before long Peregrine was packed. All that remained was Portrait Of A Chinaman by Ernest Norman Toejam hanging on the wall.

  ‘What about your painting?’ said Les.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Peregrine. ‘Do you think the estate agent would miss these old blankets?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Then I might wrap it in a couple.’

  ‘You’re going to a lot of trouble for a lousy thirty dollar painting, Peregrine,’ said Les.

  ‘It’s just the uniqueness of it, Les,’ smiled the Englishman. ‘Just the uncanny uniqueness.’

  Norton found some thick string in the kitchen and before long the painting was securely bound in the two old grey blankets. Les picked up Peregrine’s suitcase, the Englishman had a last look around his bedro
om of two weeks and they walked down to the Fairlane where Ledgerwood had the boot open.

  They placed everything carefully inside then Peregrine grinned at Les and took out his camera. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘A couple of quick photos before I leave.’

  ‘Okay,’ smiled Norton.

  ‘Would you mind?’ said Peregrine, handing the camera to Ledgerwood.

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘How about in front of the station wagon?’ suggested Les.

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Peregrine.

  Renwell joined Ledgerwood and they both looked decidedly uncomfortable as Les and Peregrine mugged it up in front of the blood-smeared, bullet-holed station wagon. Ledgerwood shot off four photos then Peregrine took his camera back.

  ‘Could you give us a few minutes?’ he said.

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ replied Ledgerwood.

  The two cops walked over and got into separate cars, leaving Les and Peregrine alone in the driveway. There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Peregrine spoke.

  ‘Well I guess this is it, Les,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. I guess it is, mate,’ replied Les.

  In those six words Norton had summed it up simply and succinctly. No deep and meaningful relationship had developed between the two men or any of that bullshit — they had simply become, to use the Australian vernacular, just that: good mates.

  ‘What can I say?’ said Peregrine.

  ‘Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘What can you say?’

  ‘We’ve had some fun.’

  ‘Yes, we sure have,’ nodded Les again. ‘You’ve got me into six fights. I’ve been shot at. Blown up. I’m half deaf in one ear. My ghetto-blaster’s fucked and I’m barred from the local pub. Yeah, it’s been great, Peregrine. Don’t forget to let me know when you’re coming out again.’

  ‘Les, you are absolutely incorrigible,’ grinned Peregrine. Then he extended his hand and his handshake was as warm and almost as strong as Les’s. ‘Promise me you’ll come and visit me in England. I’d love you to.’