Billy Mack's War (15 page)

‘Sure,' I replied. ‘I'll just get dressed and go to the loo.'

‘Good,' he said, taking off his pyjama pants and pulling on his trousers, as if everything was totally normal. ‘I'm plenty hungry.'

He didn't seem plenty hungry when we got to the dining room, though. A woman in an apron — I guess it must have been Mrs Powell — came over to our table and asked us what we'd like for breakfast.

Dad looked at me. ‘What'll you have, Billy-boy?' He nodded reassuringly.

‘Is bacon and eggs okay?' I asked, and the lady smiled.

‘With toast and juice, love?' she asked.

‘Yes, ma'am,' I replied.

She turned to Dad next. ‘And for you, sir? Bacon and eggs as well?'

Dad's hand immediately went to his stomach. ‘Oh no, I don't think so, not this morning. Just some toast and jam, I think. No butter. And tea, weak.'

‘Ah yes, I see,' she said, nodding slowly.

‘Do you?' Dad asked. ‘What do you see?'

‘Army food. More accustomed to a blander diet, I'll bet.' She leaned closer. ‘It's all right — Mr Powell told me.' She said this in a loud whisper.

‘Did he indeed?'

‘Yes. Always good to have returned men stay with us. Wonderful men, all of you. Did you see action?'

‘Aye, I sure did, ma'am,' he replied. ‘Burma mostly.'

‘He won a VC,' I said, which earned me a frown from my father.

Mrs Powell's eyes widened. ‘Is that right? A VC? Well, I must tell my husband.'

Dad smiled and looked embarrassed. ‘I'd really prefer that you didn't,' he said.

‘It's all right. We're very discreet,' she said.

‘That's good.'

‘Well, breakfast won't be long.' She smiled and scurried away.

‘She seems nice,' I said.

Dad nodded and quickly changed the subject. ‘All right, Billy-boy, listen up. Here's the plan for the day. I'm meeting Mrs Tierney at eleven o'clock.'

‘Am I coming with you?' I asked.

‘Aye, of course. I'm not leaving you alone in a hotel room.' He glanced around at the faded dining room. The man we'd seen in the foyer the previous afternoon was reading his newspaper at a nearby table, coffee and ashtray by his hand, and I caught him watching us. ‘Especially not
this
hotel,' Dad added.

‘How long will it take to see Mrs Tierney?'

Dad shrugged. ‘Who knows?' he replied. ‘Might be an hour, might be more.'

‘What will I do?' I asked.

‘We're going to her house. You'll just have to sit quietly and wait, all right? No interruptions, okay?'

‘Of course,' I said. ‘I wouldn't. Then can we go and do something that's fun?'

‘Like what, Billy-boy? What did you have in mind that's fun?'

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘The pictures, maybe?'

‘We can go to the pictures back home any old time,' Dad said.

‘How about the carnival, then? Remember the one we saw on the way into town? Can we go there? I know you think it's a waste of money, but —'

Dad smiled at me. ‘Sure, laddie, why not? If you can sit tight while I talk to Tierney's mother, I'll take you to the carnival.'

This was more like it.
Now
this was a trip to the city.

We went for another walk after breakfast, through the park and down into the city. A few of the shops and office buildings still had their bunting up from V-Day, but it was starting to fade now, and after those few months the colours had run together, turning the red, white and blue into more of a purple and streaky pink.

Most of the other shops had their Christmas displays up in their front windows. I thought back to the last few Christmases in Evansbridge. The shops had had only the most modest decorations, and the town had held carols in the park with Mr Morrie as the MC. I wondered what Christmas had been like in Launceston right through the war. Would it be bigger because this year the war was finally over? I had no way of knowing. What I
did
know was that, with the war finished and my father back at home, Billy McAuliffe's Christmas was promising to be a lot bigger and a lot happier this year.

‘What do you think your ma would like for Christmas?' Dad asked.

‘She's always saying that she wishes she had some new stockings. She's been drawing lines down the back of her legs so it looks like she's got some on.'

‘Aye, is that right?' Dad said. ‘So it looks like a seam?'

‘Yep,' I replied. ‘Lots of ladies do that.'

‘Well! But stockings don't seem like a very romantic gift, Billy-boy.'

‘Then get her some flowers,' I suggested. ‘Or some chocolates, if they're not too dear.'

We stopped in front of a dress shop. Dad pursed his lips as he thought. ‘Flowers die. Chocolates get eaten. Aye, maybe stockings are just the thing.'

So that's what we bought. It's not all we bought — Dad got a bit carried away, and ended up buying a very expensive dress as well, blue with tiny pink flowers around the neck and the bottom of the skirt. ‘So she gets the flowers as well,' he said.

We bought a new pipe made of ivory for Granddad, and a teapot for Nan. For the twins it was a doll each, good ones with china heads and soft bodies. I helped Dad choose them, and I decided that Hattie should have the doll with the golden hair and blue eyes, while Meg should get the one with the black hair and green eyes.

‘There's only one person you haven't bought anything for yet,' I said, hinting strongly.

Dad smiled. ‘Who would that be? Oh, yes, it's my Billy-boy!' he said, ruffling my head until my cap came off. He picked it up and pulled it down hard on my head.

‘What are you going to get me?' I asked, grinning. ‘And how, with me right here?'

‘I'll find a way,' he replied. ‘Come on, it's time we were heading back. Are you right with those parcels?'

‘Yes, Dad, I'm very strong.'

‘I know, Billy-boy.'

Chapter 19 Billy

It took Dad some time to get ready to go back out. He wanted to look his best for Mrs Tierney, I suppose. I can't blame him — he was going to explain to her why her son hadn't come back from the war. It wasn't going to be easy, and I was beginning to wonder if I should wait in the truck, so I wouldn't have to see it.

‘Ready, laddie?' Dad asked as he straightened his tie in the mirror one last time.

‘Yes, Dad.' I'd been ready for almost half an hour.

He put his hat on, adjusted it slightly and blew out a long puff of breath. ‘Then let's go,' he said, taking the brown paper bag from his case. ‘Let's get this over with.'

We drove the short distance up into the hills behind the city, and after a bit of trial and error and map-consulting, Dad finally parked the truck in a quiet street. ‘That's the one, I think,' he said, pointing at a small white weatherboard house on the high side of the street. ‘Aye, number fifty-two. I remember that wee garden there.' He straightened his tie again, picked up the paper bag from the seat between us and opened his door. ‘Well? You coming, laddie?'

‘Yes, Dad,' I said, wondering why
I
was feeling anxious.

At the front door be took his hat off and twisted the doorbell. Again he fiddled with his tie. ‘Cap,' he said to me, and I took my cap off and held it in front of me, just as he was doing with his hat.

The door rattled and opened. I felt my stomach leap as I saw Mrs Grayson standing there. ‘Good morning,' she said with a brief smile. ‘Captain McAuliffe, Billy.' She opened the door wide to allow us into the dark hall. ‘Would you like to come in?'

‘Good morning, Mrs Grayson,' Dad said, handing her his hat. ‘I hope you're well.'

‘Thank you, yes. And it's Eileen, not Mrs Grayson.' She touched my blushing cheek with her hand. ‘Hello, Billy,' she said. ‘Can I take your cap?'

‘Hello,' I replied.

‘Well, Mother's just through here, if you'd like to follow me. Mother,' she called, ‘Captain McAuliffe is here.'

We were shown into the tiny sitting room at the front of the house. Lace curtains moved in the soft breeze from the open window. Along the top of the fireplace were several photos of a man in uniform. I guessed him to be Duncan Tierney. Dad spotted the pictures too, because I saw him glance their way, swallow hard and look down.

‘Ye'll forgive me if I donnae get up,' said the small, frail lady in the armchair beneath the window. Her Scottish accent was much thicker than Dad's. ‘It's me sorry hip, ye see. It's giving me right curry. Would ye like to sit down, Cap ‘n McAuliffe?'

‘Thank you,' Dad said, taking a seat opposite her. He sat on the very edge of the chair.

‘Eileen told me about your medal,' she said.

‘Aye, it was nothing,' Dad replied.

‘Ye cannae bluff me, Cap'n McAuliffe. They donnae give
those
out for shooting ducks in a pond.'

‘Well, it really wasn't much at all.'

‘I might just put the kettle on,' Mrs Grayson said. ‘Billy can give me a hand with the tea.'

‘What's that? Oh yes, of course,' I said. I was a bit preoccupied, I suppose, seeing my father so nervous about talking to a little old lady with a sorry hip.

‘We'll give them a chance to talk,' Mrs Grayson said, as she ushered me into the kitchen. ‘How do you like Launceston? Have you been here before?'

‘No,' I said. ‘And it's good.'

‘That's good.'

I was trying hard to hear what Dad was saying. ‘I was keen to talk to you, Mrs Tierney,' I heard him say, his accent stronger than usual — so strong, in fact, that I was having a bit of trouble understanding him. Especially from another room, with Mrs Grayson trying to keep me distracted. ‘Letter took me all by a shock, you see,' he went on. ‘Quite unexpected, it was. But I'm glad you went to the trouble.'

‘I just want to know what happened to me bairn, is all,' Mrs Tierney replied. ‘We had'nae a word for ever so long.'

‘Aye, I understand,' Dad said. ‘We tried to send letters whenever we could, but the Japs just tore them up. In the end they wouldn't even let us have paper, in case we kept records of what happened in the camps. Terrible business, terrible.'

‘Aye. And though they've told me he's gone, I have to know, Cap'n McAuliffe, how long did our Duncan last?'

‘Oh, he lasted well. He was a brave lad, Mrs Tierney, very brave.'

‘Aye, I know that, Cap'n McAuliffe, I know that very well. But he did'nae die in fighting, did he? Tell us truthfully, sir.'

‘There's no need to be calling me sir,' Dad told her gently. ‘Call me Freddy if you like.'

‘Aye, all right,' Mrs Tierney answered. ‘So tell me true now, Freddy, did he die in fighting?'

Dad shook his head. ‘No, he didn't die in combat. But he was brave nonetheless. Very brave.'

I suddenly realised that Mrs Grayson wasn't trying to distract me any more. In fact she was standing beside me at the kitchen door, one hand resting on my shoulder as she listened along with me. I looked up. Her other hand was to her mouth, the tips of her fingers on her lips.

‘So tell me everything ye know,' we heard Mrs Tierney say.

‘All right then. We were captured in Burma,' Dad told her. ‘It wasn't so bad, being captured, or so we thought. I mean, the Japs were rough with us, but not too badly so. And we thought it mightn't be so terrible, having a bed and food, and not having to sleep in the mud and eat cold bully beef and hard tack. And that was how it started out. Then they took us to the Railway.'

‘Oh, aye,' Mrs Tierney said softly. ‘The Railway. I heard such dreadful things.'

‘Aye. And it
was
hard, Mrs Tierney, very hard indeed, but Duncan was strong, you see. Very strong, like an ox.'

‘He was a good lad,' she replied.

‘Aye, he was indeed. And determined. Determined to escape.'

I felt Mrs Grayson take a deep breath beside me. Then she took her hand from my shoulder and stepped forward, until she was standing in the doorway to the sitting room, looking in. I followed her, half a step behind. Through the open door I could see Mrs Tierney dabbing at her eyes with a small handkerchief. ‘And did he? Escape, I mean?'

Dad nodded. ‘Aye, he escaped true enough.'

‘But they caught him?'

‘No, Mrs Tierney, he came back on his own.'

‘Came back? Why?'

‘He and three others escaped from a work detail one day. I was their CO at the time, but I didn't see them go, even though the Japs were sure I'd planned it.'

‘And
had
ye planned it, Freddy?'

Dad shook his head. ‘No, I'd not planned it, ma'am. I knew no one could make it in that jungle. Even if they found help, the local villagers would sell them right back to the Japs. I'd tried to tell the lads that, told them every time they whispered of escaping, but Duncan and the others … well, they didn't listen, I expect. Mind you, if anyone would ever have made it, it would have been your Duncan. He was very enterprising, Mrs Tierney. True, we were in the middle of some very harsh country, but he'd have made it, perhaps, if one of the lads with him hadn't fallen very ill.'

‘So they came back?' Mrs Grayson asked. ‘Weren't they sure to be killed then?'

‘Aye, perhaps,' Dad replied with a slow nod. ‘But they thought it was best to head back and throw themselves on the mercy of the Japs.'

‘What happened next?' Mrs Tierney asked, her clear blue eyes shiny like marbles.

Dad lowered his head. ‘There's no easy way to tell you this, so I'll just say it.' His voice faltered. ‘They executed him,' he said, barely loudly enough to hear. ‘They executed all of them.'

I heard Mrs Grayson choke back a sob, and Mrs Tierney glanced in our direction. Then she asked, ‘Tell me, Freddy, how did he die? Tell me exactly.'

‘I don't —'

‘Tell me,' she repeated.

Dad took a deep breath. ‘Standing tall,' he replied. ‘Tall and proud, like a Highlander should. He was a Seaforth through and through. You should be proud of him.'

‘And you, sir? Are ye proud?'

Dad looked confused. ‘I don't understand,' he said.

‘All those years ago ye promised me that ye'd look after our Duncan. Ye said ye'd take him back to Scotland, look after him, keep him sa fe. But now he's dead and ye're here.'

Dad swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘I'm sorry you feel let down —'

‘Let down is'nae the start of it, Cap'n McAuliffe. Angry, sad, heartbroken, shattered to me core. Nae just let down, Cap'n.'

‘I tried to look after him, Mrs Tierney, God's truth I did. We all looked after each other as best as we could. I did the best
I
could. So no, I'm not proud of how it turned out, but I'm not ashamed either. We all did our best, and I'm sorry he didn't come back.'

‘We miss him so much, you see,' Mrs Grayson said.

‘I understand,' Dad said. ‘I really do. But that's of no comfort to you, and for that, I am sorry.' He passed the brown paper bag to Mrs Tierney. ‘I kept this for you.'

‘What is it?' she said as she opened it. Then, as she saw what was inside, she gave a kind of little shriek and put her hands to her mouth. As the bag dropped into her lap, I caught a glimpse of tartan and silver.

‘What is it, Mother?' Mrs Grayson asked.

‘It's our Duncan's cap, from his regiment.' Mrs Tierney could hardly speak through her tears.

Dad stood up. ‘Perhaps Billy and I should be going now. We'll not stop for a cup of tea, thanks all the same. Goodbye, Mrs Tierney. I'm so sorry.'

She didn't reply, and Mrs Grayson showed us out. ‘Thanks for coming,' she said. ‘I'm sorry Mother isn't more —'

‘It's all right,' Dad replied. ‘I had to come, and I'm glad I did. Have a happy Christmas.'

‘Thank you. We will try,' Mrs Grayson said.

I followed Dad down the little path to the truck.
We
climbed in, but he didn't start the engine for a long time. He just sat and stared through the windscreen at the city and the river. ‘The Tamar,' he said suddenly.

‘What?'

‘The river — I just remembered its name.'

‘The Tamar?'

‘Aye, that's it.' Then, in a way I'd never known a man's face could, his face crumpled, his mouth went a very strange shape, and he began to cry. I don't mean quiet crying, with tears and the need to blow his nose, but loud, deep-down choking noises, catching his breath, the full picture. He said words too, but I couldn't understand most of them.

‘Dad,' I said. ‘Dad?'

He wasn't able to answer me. All I could do was sit beside him and wait.

After a while his crying changed, and he banged the steering wheel with his fists. I was a bit frightened then, not that he was going to start hitting me, but that he might never stop making that awful, strange sound. That he might just cry forever.

At last he did stop, though. His left eye was red, and he blew his nose noisily four or five times. ‘I'm sorry, Billy-boy,' he said in a weird, strangled kind of voice. ‘I didn't want to come here today, but I had to. ‘I'm sorry you had to see that.'

I wasn't sure if he meant the conversation with Duncan Tierney's family, or the crying, so I just said, ‘It's okay, Dad.'

He blew his nose again, glanced at the house, and started the truck's engine. ‘Perhaps we should go and have some fun after all, Billy-boy.'

It's hard to have much fun when you've been watching your father cry and sob and try to get out three years of sadness and anger and frustration and fear. I was determined to try, however, and I guess Dad was too. We drove straight to the carnival, and we didn't say much of anything on the way. Nothing important, at least.

The girl in the little ticket booth couldn't have been much older than me. She was wrapped up in a light brown overcoat with moth-eaten lapels, and as she tore my tickets off the roll and handed them to me, she said, without emotion, ‘No refunds, no liability, all care, no responsibility.'

‘Thanks,' I said, but she said nothing in response.

‘There's a merry-go-round here,' Dad said, pointing at the carousel. ‘Do you want a turn on that?'

‘Dad, I'm too old for a merry-go-round,' I said. I mean, it looked like it would be fun, and if no one else had been watching I might have had a go, but not there, with city kids around. So instead we bought some fairy-floss on a stick before making our way over to the stall with the clown heads. We must have put almost a dozen balls in the mouths of those clowns, but we didn't win one thing.

Next we went to the coconut-shy. I was usually a pretty good throw with a rock or a ball, but for some reason my aim was off that day, and I couldn't hit those red cans from half a dozen paces away. ‘They should put them on top of a fencepost. I'd hit them then,' I joked.

Then, with one ticket left, I spotted the shooting gallery. ‘Dad, how about that one?' I asked. ‘You‘d be a good shot.'

‘Once, laddie, once I was. Don't know about now,' he replied. ‘Not with my right eye out of action.'

‘Can't you just have a go?' I asked, but he shook his head.

‘That one,' he said, pointing at a game with ramps and balls. ‘We had something similar in one of the camps.' Then he chuckled softly. ‘Had a wee radio hidden in it, we did.'

We strolled over to the stall. ‘Gentlemen, step up and have a bash!' said the spruiker in a bowler hat with a carnation. He held out three balls to Dad, who took them and stepped towards the ramp.

But suddenly Dad's attention was captured by something on the opposite side of the sawdusty path. ‘Here, hold up,' he said, handing the balls back to the spruiker and leading me across to the hammer and bell. ‘Will you take my money here, laddie?' he asked the spotty-faced young man leaning on the handle of the sledgehammer.