Jack's Island (12 page)

Next day we all heard the horn of the ferry whooping from way offshore. I wandered down to the jetty to see what was going on.

‘It's Little Eric due back on his first leave from navy training school, isn't it?' explained Mrs Evans. She knew everything that happened on the island.

I noticed Mrs Jansen waiting. She was dressed in her best Sunday dress and looked as proud as punch. Other people gathered, and pretty soon the jetty was crowded with everyone who didn't have enough to keep them busy during the day. I also noticed Bess and her mum standing slightly apart from the group. They seemed anxious and on edge.

‘It's like a welcome for the flaming king of flaming England, not Little Eric flaming Jansen,' said Mr Carter.

‘Trainee Admiral flaming Jansen, if you don't mind, Mr Carter,' laughed Mrs Jansen. She immediately put her hand over her mouth and blushed slightly at her rude word. Several women laughed at her reaction, though Mrs Purvis tutted disapprovingly.

The ferry grew closer. Little Eric stood on the bow with his hands on his hips and his new white naval cap pushed back on his head like he was born with it, as though he was already on the bridge as commanding officer of the HMS
Ark Royal.

‘You bunch of useless landlubbers!' he called as soon as the boat grew close.

‘Big flaming Sea Scout,' answered Mr Carter.

Everyone laughed and the ribbing continued back and forward until Red Eric guided the ferry alongside.

Little Eric leapt onto the jetty before Christian had even tied the ferry up. Everyone crowded forward to shake his hand and slap him on the back. He looked like a hero in his new uniform. He saw me looking from the edge of the crowd and winked at me.

‘How ya doing, Captain Kidd? You managed to stay alive without me?'

I laughed sort of shyly and shrugged my shoulders. ‘They haven't made the bullet with my name on it yet,' I called. I thought it was a pretty good line when Randolph Scott said it in
Western Union,
but coming from me, then, I knew it sounded a bit stupid. Several people laughed at me.

The crowd drifted away. Just before I left to walk home I saw Little Eric still on the end of the jetty with Bess and her mother, deep in conversation. Something was very wrong. Bess was crying and Mrs Merson looked upset and really angry.

‘Get the door, Jack,' called Mum.

‘It's Constable Campbell and Mr Isaacs,' I called back, surprised to see them standing on our verandah.

‘Is it Martha?' asked Mum seeing the serious look on the constable's face when she came to the door. ‘Has she...?'

None of us would've been surprised if Mad Martha had died. She'd been poorly. Well, that was an understatement actually. She had been near death for days. She'd finally caught pneumonia from standing out on the jetty night after night and had been laid up for ages now, ‘knocking at death's door', as Mrs Purvis repeatedly reminded us.

‘No, Mrs Jones, it's Jack we want to see,' said Constable Campbell. She waved him into the kitchen. This time Mr Isaacs came into the house as well.

‘Why, what's he done now, constable?' I noticed she didn't call him Don as she usually did.

Typical. I hadn't done anything bad for ages. Not for weeks.

‘Sit down, son.'

I immediately did as I was told. The way he said it left no room for discussion.

‘This can't go on any longer, Jack. You must know that,' he said, looking at me.

‘What? What's he done this time?' Mum sounded worried.

‘It's Dafty, Nell. You'll find this hard to believe but he didn't drown that day. I've just found out he's been living rough on the island these past months.' The constable put his hat on the table and sat down with a deep sigh. ‘I began to suspect about a week ago. Something Martha said. She's been in and out of delirium and I thought nothing of it, but two days ago I saw Dafty up near the jetty. I called to him, he saw me and ran off. I've been waiting for him to come back in by himself.' He paused to let the incredible news sink in. ‘But he's a determined young man.'

Mr Isaacs stood just inside the door, nodding his head in agreement.

Mum turned at me, suddenly furious. ‘And you knew about this, Jack? And Banjo? And God knows who else.' She sat down. ‘That poor boy, all alone out in the wild with all this terrible weather we've been having. How could you, Jack? How could you?' She leaned over and cuffed me on the back of the head. ‘How could you not say anything? And his poor, poor mother. Nearly dead with grief.'

‘But he'll be sent to the loony bin if he gets found,' I protested. It sounded pretty feeble. ‘And we didn't always know. It was only recently.'

‘You have to tell us where he is, Jack, because he can't stay out there. It'll kill him.' A strange look came over the constable's face. ‘It might not have to come to that—the asylum, I mean. I've been trying to find a way for him to stay. I know Dafty's not really a bad kid.' He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he had the weight of the world on them. ‘I owe it to his mother. Captain Anstey thinks Mrs Small's belief that Dafty survived is the only thing keeping her alive.'

I took a deep breath.

Constable Campbell continued. ‘Sam and I will go and collect him. I want you to come too, Jack, to reassure him he won't be harmed. That it's going to be all right. He'll trust you.'

‘I'll come with you as well, Don,' said Mum. ‘There's no way of knowing what state the poor mite will be in after all this time.' She stood and pulled on her cardigan, and then wrapped some food from the larder in a tea towel and put it her cane basket.

We saw him as soon as we reached the long stretch of road leading to the Shangri-la turn-off. He stood right in the middle of the road, not trying to hide or anything. As if he expected us. I don't know how he knew we were coming, but nothing about Dafty surprised me anymore.

Mum stood still a moment, as if hardly believing her eyes, and then rushed up to him. She quickly gathered him into her arms.

‘Hello, Jack,' said Dafty awkwardly, trying to stop himself being smothered by Mum. ‘You aren't in trouble, are you? About me?' He looked about like a frightened mouse, not understanding and not sure what was going to happen to him, and knowing he had every chance of being sent away again.

‘We'll take Dafty back to our place,' Mum said. ‘I'll get him cleaned up and a good hot meal into him.' She squeezed Dafty's hand. ‘If that is fine with you, young Mr Small?'

Dafty nodded and Mum continued. ‘He can have your room Jack, can't he?' It wasn't really a question. ‘You can sleep in the washhouse.'

‘I want to go home. Can't I go home to my mum?' asked Dafty.

‘I'm afraid you can't just yet, dear. Your mother hasn't been well. Just a couple of days, a week or so, until she's feeling stronger.'

Captain Anstey had been certain Mrs Small had only days to live when he'd managed to get hold of a new drug from the American Navy called penicillin. It seemed to be working and Mrs Small was slowly recovering, but even with straight face, ‘It's a lovely day, don't you think, Mrs Evans?

Not a cloud in the sky.' He looked about as if enjoying a warm breeze.

I frowned. The sky was full of dark rain clouds.

‘Must go, though,' he continued. ‘There's some paperwork I seem to have misplaced. Some official records. Can't find them anywhere. They're very important, these records. As far as the government's concerned, if things aren't officially recorded they haven't officially happened. Officially, that is.'

The sides of Constable Campbell's mouth almost betrayed the beginnings of a smile. He coughed to disguise it.

I looked at him in amazement. So that's what he meant when he said he might have a way to stop Dafty being sent away again. It started to make sense. He was going to pretend Dafty had never come back.

Mrs Evans frowned until the realisation of what Constable Campbell was up to came to her as well. ‘Oh!' she exclaimed, as if she'd been whacked in the face with a frying pan.

Mum took Constable Campbell by the arm. ‘You're a good man, Don Campbell,' she said, quietly, nodding in approval at the constable's plan.

‘I may be a good man, Nell, but I may very well end up in prison if this comes unstuck,' he replied as quietly. ‘Official corruption perhaps, at the very least.' He was worried, that was obvious. Everyone knew Constable Campbell was a letter-of-all-the-law man through and through, so bending the rules would weigh heavily on his conscience.

Banjo and Mr Palmer appeared round the corner of the bakery and stopped as they saw us. They must've been up at Mr Palmer's studying for Banjo's exam when they heard the news. Mr Palmer's face twisted in shock and the colour instantly drained from his face, like he'd seen a ghost.

‘Daft—' he went to rush forward but stopped himself and tapped his walking stick on the ground. He looked about, embarrassed at his own reaction.

Banjo came up to me and turned his palms out questioningly.

‘Jack? What's going on?'

‘They know, Banjo. Constable Campbell found out. But it's going to be all right.'

Banjo shook his head from side to side not believing. ‘You squealed, Jack? You just had to tell the truth, didn't you? You just had to. Little goody-two-shoes. Squealer.' Upset, he turned and started running away.

‘No, Banjo, I didn't!' I yelled after him. ‘I didn't squeal.'

‘I'll talk to him later,' said Mr Isaacs, holding me back by the shoulder. ‘I'll tell him what happened, that it wasn't your fault.'

Dafty watched Banjo run away but didn't say anything. I think it was all too much for him to take in.

I walked up to Shangri-la looking for Banjo, then rode out to Crackpot Pete's shack but he wasn't there either. I sat outside the shack for a while trying to work out where he could've disappeared to when I heard a faint, ghostly type noise coming from inside. I decided to get out of there and try looking somewhere where there were fewer spirits. I headed to Fish Hook Bay.

Standing on the edge of the cliff above the cove, Banjo watched me pedal all the way up the long winding slope.

‘What do you want?' he said as I swung my leg over the crossbar of the bike.

‘Listen, Banjo,' I said.

‘I know, I know. You didn't dob. Mr Isaacs came and found me. He told me everything.' But he still seemed really angry with me.

‘Perhaps it's just as well. You might have to go away to Perth Mod soon,' I said, trying to say something to overcome the gulf that seemed to have developed between us.

‘I wouldn't have gone,' he replied, defiantly. ‘I would've stayed and looked after Dafty.' He sighed. ‘What will they do with him now, Jack? The constable, I mean. What'll the constable do with him?'

‘Sounds like nothing much,' I said. ‘There's going to be thousands of orphans and cot cases by the time the war's ended. They'll be glad not to have to worry about Dafty as well, I reckon. He's going to stay at Mrs Jansen's until his mum gets better. In Little Eric's old room.'

We stood in silence for a minute. I wondered if Banjo really did believe I didn't squeal. It didn't seem like it.

‘Why did you bring that?' he eventually asked, pointing to my air rifle tied across the handlebars. ‘Going to shoot me?'

‘My dad's back from Crawley. He bought it for me, from an American sailor. It's an air rifle. A BB gun.'

‘I can see that. Give us a go?'

‘Cost you a shilling.'

‘Tell you what,' he said, ‘you let me have a go and I won't beat up your miserable squealing hide.'

‘You and whose army?' A year or so ago Banjo could've taken me, but lately, now my ribs were nearly better, I wasn't so sure.

We spent the rest of the day shooting at seagulls as they hovered against the strong breeze, but we were both useless shots and didn't hit a single one. After that we lined up some rusty jam tins but we didn't hit too many of them either.

Banjo, Dafty and I were down by the Roads Board jetty, flicking flat bits of sandstone into the sea to see who could make them skip the furthest. Dafty was barely recognisable now from the grubby
Jungle Book
wild child who'd walked out of the bush. He'd been scrubbed to within an inch of his life, had his hair cut and was dressed in some of Christian's cast-off clothes. He looked like a completely different kid. He might as well have been.

Every time Constable Campbell saw Dafty he'd stop, scratch his chin and murmur thoughtfully, ‘I really must get around to the paperwork to do with Dafty. I really must.' Then he'd pat his pockets as if looking for a pen and repeat, distractedly, ‘I really must. Perhaps tomorrow.'

As long as the constable didn't fill in the forms, Dafty didn't officially exist. Not that Dafty could've cared less. Looking after his chook and hanging round with us seemed to be the only worries he had in the world.

Captain Jansen walked along the sand towards us carrying a large white envelope. We knew what it was. Several people straggled along behind him, nosey about Banjo's results. We stopped and watched them pick their way through the piles of black seaweed. It never took very long on the island for everyone to find out what was happening.

‘Banjo,' said Red Eric as he drew closer. He held out the official-looking letter that we all knew contained Banjo's future. ‘It came in this morning's mail. I know you've been waiting for it and I didn't think you'd want to wait any longer.'

Banjo wiped his hands on his pants and gulped nervously before reaching for the letter. He didn't say ‘thank you' or anything. He just nodded, suddenly uneasy. Uneasy? He looked positively sick as a dog and had gone all white.

‘You'll want to see Mr Palmer, Banjo,' Red Eric continued. ‘He's waiting for you up at the beer garden.'

That was strange news. Mr Palmer only ever went to the pub on special occasions, like the time he was going to flatten Banjo's dad.

Banjo nodded.

‘Come, leave the boy alone,' Red Eric said to the others, turning away.

The three of us walked along the beach until we reached the pub, then stepped over the low sandstone wall into the garden. Mr Palmer sat waiting for us at a bench under the shade of a palm tree with a jug of lemon squash in front of him and four glasses. He didn't have his coat on. I'd never seen him before in shirtsleeves.

‘Boys,' he said, smiling at us.

Banjo and I both smiled. ‘Sir.'

Dafty looked about suspiciously. I don't think he'd ever forgiven Mr Palmer for hurting Banjo.

‘I ordered this jug of iced squash in case we need to celebrate.' Mr Palmer held out his hand towards the bench. ‘Sit down. Please. Please.'

The squash tasted really good, so cold it made my teeth hurt. I gulped it down. At home we often didn't have ice for our icebox anymore. We used to have it all the time in West Leederville in the old days but I'd almost forgotten how good it was.

Banjo passed the letter over to Mr Palmer.

Mr Palmer put up his hand. ‘No, Andrew, you open it.'

But Mr Palmer must've known what the envelope contained, because he couldn't stop himself from smiling even before Banjo had the letter unfolded.