Freedom Ride (12 page)

“You’ll have to take that home for dinner,” said Barry, nodding at my fish still lying across the worm bucket.

I shook my head. “Nan hates fish.”

“Can I have it?” asked Barry.

“Sure.”

I figured Mrs Gregory would cook it tonight, or maybe for lunch on New Year’s Day. But that wasn’t what Barry had in mind. When we neared the old couple, the Bakers, still sitting outside their annexe, but now drinking beer rather than tea, Barry handed me his rod and net then passed Mickey the tackle basket. He took the fish from the worm bucket. “Won’t be a minute.”

“You two eat fish, don’t you?” he asked, approaching the old couple.

“We do,” replied the man.

“Good. Here’s a yellowbelly Micky speared for you.” Barry held it towards the man who, with wide eyes, took the fish.

The woman’s mouth opened and closed like the fish on the riverbank.

“Have a good night,” said Barry.

“Enjoy the fish,” said Micky, waving as we walked away.

Nan and the girls were having dinner at Bat Face Fielding’s to celebrate New Year’s Eve and Dad took off to the RSL, even though it was Thursday, not Friday, which left me to see in the new year with the television, Bluey and Biggles.

Last year I’d been with Keith and Billy at Keith’s house. Sergeant Axford, who was on duty, had driven me home straight after twelve, as directed by Nan. This year Keith hadn’t asked me over.

After I’d eaten the Vegemite and lettuce sandwich Nan had left on the bench under a tea towel, I sprawled across the sofa, feet on the armrest. The phone rang. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ten to eight. If Nan had been home, she’d have ranted about the rudeness of calling this late, before stalking to the hall to answer the phone. But Nan wasn’t here, so there was no complaining and just me to take the call.

“Robbie?”

“Keith?” I whispered, even though I was alone.

“Who’d you expect? Genghis Khan?”

I smiled. “Now you mention it, he did say he’d call sometime this evening to discuss his world domination plan.”

Keith chuckled. Beneath the chuckle I could hear the rumble of conversation spiked with laughter. He was at a New Year’s Eve celebration.

“So, anyway,” he said, “wanted to see if you could come to the pool tomorrow. If you’re not working.”

Barry had given me the day off. But did I want to go to the pool with Keith?

“I figure you’ll have your Saturday jobs, so Billy and I could swing by after eleven. That’ll give you enough time to do everything, won’t it?”

I remembered Billy, Keith and I playing cricket and swimming at the pool during the day last New Year’s Eve and having a barbecue with the Axfords’ friends that night. It’d be good to be the three of us again.

“Eleven would be good,” I said.

“Goodo. See you tomorrow, Bower.”

“Sure. Thanks for calling,” I said, but Keith had already hung up.

“Be back later, Nan.”

She kneeled in front of the empty linen press, bucket of hot, soapy water beside her and scrubbing brush in her hand. The towels, face washers, pillowslips and sheets were stacked along the hallway.

She dipped the brush in the water. “Where are you going?”

“Pool with Keith and Billy. I’ve finished my jobs.”

She stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Mind you behave yourself.”

“Yes, Nan.”

A knock on the door carried on the warm air. Excitement bubbled from my stomach to my fingertips. Just me, Keith and Billy, the way it used to be.

“That’ll be them.” I grabbed a towel from the pile outside my bedroom door. “See you this afternoon.”

As usual, Keith and Billy waited on their bikes by the front gate. Keith would have held Billy’s bike while Billy ran down the side path, knocked on the door and bolted back. Billy kept as far away from Nan as he could. Not that he’d ever met her. He’d only heard Keith and me talk about her.

As I wheeled my bike to the front yard, he yelled, “Happy New Year, Bower.”

“Thanks. Same to you both.”

“Yeah, here’s to 1965,” said Keith. “Last year of school for me.”

“Really?” I said, shutting the gate. “Since when?”

“Since now. One more year of school and then me and Wright are going to work at the hardware shop.”

“Sounds great,” I said. But it sounded anything but great. No way was I staying in Walgaree when I finished school.

Keith pushed off from the verge. “Let’s go.”

We pedalled, three abreast, to the pool. Keith and Billy banged on about
Bandstand
, which was “Banned-Stand” in our house. I rode on the gravel, determined not to think about Keith working with Wright at Mathes’ Hardware.

Outside Walgaree Public Swimming Pool, we pushed our bikes into the racks and made our way to the entrance.

Mrs Sneddon sat behind the glass in a terry-towelling dress. She grunted when we placed our entrance fee on the counter and slid the turnstile tokens to us.

We bypassed the dressing rooms and showers, despite the signs demanding everyone shower before swimming. Like everyone else in Walgaree, we figured the signs were meant for dirty people, not us.

We stepped from the dank gloom of the entrance area into the bright sunshine. Keith stopped by the baby pool, shielded his eyes, and scanned the green slopes either side of the big pool.

“What are you looking–” My excitement at being with Billy and Keith seeped from the souls of my feet to the concrete. Near the ten-foot end of the pool, Wright whipped his towel from where it was slung around his neck and flicked it at Rhook’s bare thigh. The crack echoed across the water. Rhook shouted and clutched his leg. Wright and Edwards hooted with delight.

Mothers bundled their children closer and swimmers moved to the shallow end.

“I thought it was just the three of us,” I said, my voice shaky.

Keith ignored me and jogged towards Wright.

“No running,” bellowed the tinny voice from the speakers above us.

Keith slowed to a trot. “Nice shot, Wrighty,” he yelled.

“Come on,” said Billy.

I followed, wishing Nan had left me a thousand more jobs to do.

When I reached them, all four were clustered around Wright, who leaned against the cyclone wire fence that hemmed the pool complex.

“Reckon I’ll do a backflip,” said Wright, nodding at the high board on the other side of the pool. “What about you, Bower?”

I shrugged. “Backflip on the high board? ‘Course.”

Wright pushed off the fence. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” Swimming pools and diving boards were different to the rope swing at the river. I could see the bottom of the pool for starters, and there wasn’t a strong current that could sweep me downriver. I’d backflipped off the small board tons of times. I could do it from the high board. Easy.

“After that messed-up somersault at the river, I reckon you’ll break your bloody neck on the high board.”

Rhook sniggered, shoulders shuddering. I thought of hyenas.

Wright’s curled lip spread to a leer. “So, Bower, how’s your workmate?”

I frowned. “Who, Barry?”

“Nah, the boong.”

“Fine, I guess. How would I know?”

Edwards tucked his fingers into the waistband of his swimmers. “Turns out that Abo isn’t as tough as he reckons.”

Wright and Rhook sniggered.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Had him cowering in the dirt, like the dog he is.” The expression on Wright’s face made my stomach churn. “Not that you could see him against the dirt.”

“Took forever ‘til he cried out,” said Rhook.

I stared at Wright, my heart racing.

“The kicks in the guts did it,” added Edwards. “Cried like a girl after that.”

“It was a good kick, Axford,” said Wright, slapping Keith on the shoulder. “That’ll teach the dirty boong to try to make a fool out of me.”

“Are you …?” I looked from Wright to Keith. “You beat up Micky?”

Wright sneered. “We didn’t beat him up, Bower. We exercised payback, that’s all. Reminded him of his place.”

“When?” My hands shook. I should have warned him.

“Last night.” Wright folded his arms, pulling his T-shirt tight across his flabby guts. “We dealt with him on his way home from work, didn’t we, boys?”

“You were both there?” I said to Billy and Keith, unable to keep the horror from my voice.

Billy couldn’t look at me.

Keith shrugged. “What of it?”

Wright lifted his fist and studied it. “I tell you what, that coon’s skull is damn hard.”

I wanted to yell that this wasn’t a John Wayne movie or one of Wright’s stupid horror films, this was real life and Micky Menzies was a real person. All Micky had done was make Wright look stupid, and these neanderthals had beaten him bloody because of it. And worse, I could have – should have – warned Micky.

“But he didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

“Shit, don’t tell me.” Wright swaggered towards me, chest out. I could feel his breath on my face and see the pimples dotted across his chin. “Are you and the boong mates?” He shook his head and looked past me to Keith. “Bower’s hanging out with stinking niggers.”

“That’s not true!” I yelled. “I don’t have anything to do with him.” I felt the heat of Wright’s glare rather than saw it. “Honest. I’ve never spoken to the boong.” Memories tumbled through my head. Micky placing the fish on Gert’s chair and helping me thread worms onto the fishing hook. Barry’s face after he spoke to that family leaving the park. I hung my head. Three words, slow at first, but building to a chant, echoed through me. Pathetic. Spineless. Lump.

“Good.” Wright poked me in the chest. “And make sure it stays that way. Otherwise you’ll get what Barry Gregory has coming to him.” Wright peeled off his T-shirt. I looked away from his pale flesh.

“Last one in is a stinking boong,” he roared and sprinted to the water.

The others pushed and shoved each other as they raced after him, stripping off T-shirts and kicking off shoes.

I heard the splashes and knew, before the tinny voice rattled from the speakers, that they’d bombed into the water.

My feet were stuck to the lawn.

I should have stood up to Wright, told him Micky was okay, that he didn’t deserve what they’d done.

I shouldn’t have called Micky a boong.

Spineless.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Again.

I willed my feet to move. But not towards the pool. I walked away from the tumble of clothes and towels, to the cement path, past the baby pool and out the exit turnstile.

Before I pulled my bike from the rack, I let the air out of Ian Wright’s back tyre.

I had to see Barry.

I charged around the corner of the Gregorys’ house into the backyard. Barry sat at the outdoor setting, reading a magazine. He looked up, startled. “Robbie, what’s wrong?”

I doubled over, chest heaving.

“Do you need a glass of water?” He went to stand but stopped when I shook my head.

“Fine. I’m. Fine,” I puffed.

“What’s going on?”

“Rode here. Fast as. I could. From pool. Wright, he …”

“What’s that thug done this time?” Barry dragged out the chair beside him. “Sit, Robbie, catch your breath.”

I sat and felt my heartbeat slow.

Barry closed the magazine and placed it on the table. I stared at the cover. Three boys, the middle one barefoot and in shorts, another in long trousers and the last in a suit, stood with their hands in front of them, facing a massive squiggly cut-out in a wall. It looked as though they were peeing at a urinal. My face must have shown how shocked I felt.

Barry chuckled. “Haven’t you seen
OZ
before?”

I shook my head.

“I guess it’s not the sort of reading material you’d find in Edwards’s Newsagency.” He tapped the magazine. “I’m just catching up – this is from early last year. That cover cost the editors a stint in front of the courts and jail for public obscenity.”

“Fair dinkum?”

“Absolutely. I think it’s funny. Clever.” He spun the magazine around so I had a better view. “This here is a fountain outside the P&O building in Sydney.” He pointed at the squiggle in the wall. “The prime minister opened it last year … actually, the year before last. And, you know how you have to pay to use public toilets in the city?”

I nodded, even though I’d never been to the city.

He pointed to the text below the photo. “Says you can P&O. Get it, pee and owe?” He chuckled.

I smiled, and wiped the sweat dripping down my face. My breathing had returned to normal.

“So, Robbie, what’s got you all steamed up?” asked Barry, pushing the magazine to the middle of the table.

I told him everything that Wright had said about Micky.

Barry swore. His fingers drummed the slatted table.

“Barry.” I hung my head. “I thought Keith was just trying to be tough, but …” I rubbed my aching jaw. “They told me they were going to get him. I knew, and I didn’t warn him.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Robbie.”

I bit my trembling bottom lip. “But it does. It really does, and at the pool, I–”

“It’s tough to stand up to someone like Ian Wright.”