Sydney Bridge Upside Down (12 page)

‘I imagine he did,’ she said. ‘But you knew that. You weren’t wondering if I was the one. So why tell lies about it?’

I did not know what to say. Heck, if what I had told her didn’t make her unhappy, what else would?

She sighed. ‘Not that I really blame you,’ she said. ‘I do know why you tell lies. I know who you’re trying to protect. It’s not you I blame, Harry.’ She did not sound stern or sarcastic; she sounded as if she wanted to be my friend.

I lowered my head. ‘I’m sorry, Susan. I only wanted to make you a bit unhappy. I don’t care what you did. You were only small then, you had to do it in a hurry. I’m sorry.’

‘I guessed you were trying to make me unhappy,’ she said. ‘But I can’t be unhappy about something that happened so long ago.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I apologise, Susan.’

‘I believe you mean it,’ she said. ‘I accept your apology.’

‘Thank you, Susan,’ I said. I looked round the yard, then into the works. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘suppose I’d better get the pistol, then go home.’

‘What pistol?’ she asked as I moved into the works.

I paused. ‘Just an old pistol we found,’ I said. ‘We left it upstairs. Better take it home before the small kids find it.’ I walked towards the stairs.

‘Does it work?’ she asked from a few yards back.

‘No, it’s broken,’ I said, reaching the stairs.

‘Where did you find it?’ she asked.

I kept walking. ‘In one of the rooms here,’ I said, not turning. ‘It’s up on the second floor. I’ll just get it, then I’ll go home.’

I did not stop to check that she was following me. I knew she was. Her footsteps were echoing in the works.

I go now to the afternoon of the following day. I was back in Caroline’s room.

We had been out to see if the washing had dried, and we had brought most of it in. Then we had lunch (Cal was still missing), and after that we went to Caroline’s room because Caroline said I looked awfully pale and could do with another lie-down.

This time, though, she did not raise her sweater, which was just as well because Dibs Kelly would have seen us when he threw the passion-fruit into the room.

‘Hey, Harry!’ he shouted. He threw another passionfruit and this one hit me. ‘Come out and see! Susan Prosser’s dead! Sam Phelps found her at the works!’

Caroline was first off the bed. She looked back at me from the doorway. ‘I
thought
I heard her name being called during the night,’ she said. ‘I must have fallen asleep—’

‘Dibs is probably having a joke,’ I said, slowly getting off the bed.

‘I don’t think he was joking,’ Caroline said, hurrying out the front.

I followed her to the road.

Along the road to the right, plodding from the direction of the works, was Sydney Bridge Upside Down. I could see that somebody, or something, was sprawled across the hollow.

I looked the other way. Along the road to the left, speeding from the direction of the river, was Mr Wiggins’ van.

I knew the van would reach us before the horse did.

B
UT FOR
Caroline I wouldn’t have been stroking Sydney Bridge Upside Down’s hollow. But for stroking Sydney Bridge Upside Down’s hollow I’d have been quicker reaching my brother, who was drowning.

I was stroking Sydney Bridge Upside Down’s hollow because Caroline had been aboard the
Emma Cranwell
for more than twenty minutes, and I was wondering why it should take her so long to greet the friends she had made during her voyage several weeks before. Even if she kissed every member of the crew, it should not take this long. What was she doing? Why didn’t she come ashore?

So that nobody would notice how worried about Caroline I was, I concentrated on stroking Sydney Bridge Upside Down and telling Sam Phelps what a great horse this was. Sam Phelps gave me a look that said he was used to such compliments and couldn’t be bothered discussing them, not with me anyway.

We had been looking forward to going to the wharf to
see the
Emma Cranwell—
Caroline because she wanted to greet her sailor friends, Dibs and Cal and myself because the school holidays were running out fast, and we had to make the most of any happening. The carnival at Bonnie Brae was still to come, but it would be the very last special happening before school began and we certainly weren’t going to mooch around for another week until then.

It was surprising, too, what a difference it made not being able to play at the works. Ever since Susan Prosser had fallen through the chute hole, Dad had been warning us not to go near the works, and he was so fierce with his warnings that I did not dare disobey him. Before, when he had said how dangerous the works were, I hadn’t really believed him, I knew you would have to be pretty careless to come to any harm, which was why I hadn’t minded Cal climbing up the chute even though Dad had said he shouldn’t. Now Dad was not the only one who said how dangerous the ruins were. Mr Kelly went on about them as well. He and Dad were always telling each other these days that something should be done about pulling down the rest of the works before there was another accident, kids being what they were and liable to do the most scatterbrained things, even such an apparently sensible girl as Susan Prosser who should have known better, they said, than to wander around the works at night. The Bonnie Brae policeman, the one who came to Calliope Bay to write in his notebook about Susan Prosser, had also been very solemn; he had lined us all up, even the smallest Kelly kids, and given us a lecture about the works and, when he saw how carefully we listened, about the dangers of playing
on the road, swimming near the wharf, and eating strange berries. So, with all these warnings, I did not dare go near the works. And the holidays were no longer such fun.

Luckily, in a way, Dad decided it was time he started painting the house. He told us about his decision at breakfast the morning after he’d had a letter from my mother. This was the letter in which she said how sorry she was to learn that Susan Prosser, such a nice girl, had died, and how sorry she felt for Mrs Prosser, collapsing after Susan vanished into the night and recovering only to be handed her dear daughter’s body. My mother told Dad to extend her sympathy to Mrs Prosser. She was a bit late, though; Mrs Prosser had gone to Bonnie Brae with Susan’s body for the funeral and had not returned to Calliope Bay, her house was empty. ‘Your mother doesn’t say when she’ll be back,’ Dad told me. ‘She doesn’t say she expects to see the house painted, either.’ He saw Caroline looking at him, and he smiled. ‘But that doesn’t mean she won’t suddenly arrive without warning, it doesn’t mean she won’t expect to see the place painted. So we’d better get started. We’ll put those ladders up in the morning. Sandy Kelly will help me with the roof. Would you boys like to start on the tankstand in the morning?’ We said we would, and we did. And Dibs came along with his father later, and soon we were all splashing the paint around. Except Caroline, of course. Nobody would expect a girl like Caroline to help with painting a house. It was enough if she simply looked on, which she sometimes did. She said it was marvellous how Dad got up a ladder with his one leg. She said it was marvellous how smoothly Cal and I had painted
the tankstand. I enjoyed painting, it took my mind off a lot of things. It was better, for instance, than being alone with Caroline in her bedroom; I mean, better than when I was feeling gloomy and she was holding me and telling me to cheer up. Because somehow this did not work, I went on being gloomy. At other times, when I was happy, I was glad Caroline talked to me and sang to me and went for walks with me. So how I felt had nothing to do with Caroline, not when I felt gloomy anyway; it was my own damned fault. I still thought Caroline was the most beautiful person in the world.

Actually, she was watching Cal and me painting the back porch—Dad and Mr Kelly were off at work—when Dibs came to tell us that the
Emma Cranwell
had rounded the heads. Because of this bit of a wind, he said, the ship was dipping and rolling even more than usual, she might hit a rock.

‘We have to finish painting,’ I said, in a way not wanting to go to the wharf, yet also wanting to go very much. The trouble was that when he mentioned the
Emma Cranwell
I remembered how Susan Prosser had often liked seeing the ship come in, and the memory of Susan Prosser seemed to put me off wanting to go.

But not for long. Because Caroline got excited about the news and said she would love to go to the wharf, she said she was going inside to change her dress, then she would hurry to the wharf, and the last one there was a rotten egg.

‘I’m going,’ Cal said. ‘Paint makes me feel sick.’

‘I won’t be the rotten egg,’ Dibs said, making for
the side-path. ‘I’ll wave to Captain Foster.’

‘I don’t mind being a rotten egg,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait for Caroline.’

‘You sure you’re coming?’ asked Dibs. He was staring at me oddly. His mother had also stared at me like that lately. I wondered if they talked about me and, if so, what they said. Well, they had better watch out; what I did was none of their business.

I told Dibs: ‘I’ll catch you up. Don’t suppose it matters if Dad gets angry because I haven’t done enough painting.’

This seemed to satisfy him. He ran off with Cal.

I decided I would wait out here for Caroline. If I went inside she would want me to help choose a dress. I couldn’t be bothered doing that today.

Staying outside did no good, though. Because soon I heard ‘Harry?’, and there she was on the porch, wearing a petticoat I could see through and holding up a yellow dress. The petticoat made me more excited than if she had been wearing nothing. I stared at her, I could not speak.

‘Would this be a nice one to wear?’ she asked.

‘Eh?’ I said presently, forcing myself to think of the river on a cold day.

‘Harry, shall I wear this one?’ she asked.

I concentrated on the dress. ‘Don’t forget it’s windy today,’ I said, remembering how this dress behaved last time she wore it. It had been a windy day then too.

She eyed the dress. Then she said: ‘Oh!’

‘Eh?’ I said, looking at the petticoat again.

‘I wore this when I came ashore,’ said Caroline. ‘I can’t wear it today. That settles it. I’ll wear the blue one.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. Gosh, I thought. The blue one showed so much of her throat and more; if she leaned forward only slightly you could see right down.

Anyway, it was the blue dress she was wearing when we got to the wharf, and this dress was no better behaved in the wind than the yellow one, besides having what I reckoned to be the other disadvantage.

Like Dibs had said, it seemed a rough trip in for the
Emma Cranwell
, and seeing her rolling and dipping as she dodged the rocks made me remember the pongy voyage I’d once had in her. I looked the other way. I only hoped Caroline was not reminded of what had happened to me aboard the
Emma Cranwell.
Better for her to think of her own times aboard the ship, whatever they were like.

She, at any rate, did not mind watching the ship plunging nearer. Dibs and Cal were having a good look, too.

I turned—and found myself face to face with Sydney Bridge Upside Down. I had not heard him coming up behind me.

What old eyes he had. They were looking at me sadly and knowingly. He must recognise me.

Then I saw that Sam Phelps, standing beside the horse, was also looking at me.

I preferred to stare back at Sydney Bridge Upside Down.

I told him in my friendly voice: ‘Sorry I didn’t bring any sugar, old fellow. Maybe the sailors will have some.’

‘Ahoy there!’ shouted Dibs.

‘Hello, Captain Foster!’ called Caroline.

‘He can’t hear you,’ Cal said. ‘The wind’s the wrong way.’

‘And I can’t see him,’ Caroline laughed.

The horse’s old eyes were beginning to make me nervous. Also, it was hard to stop glancing at Sam Phelps. I knew why he was looking at me, he wanted to be sure I kept out of the way when the
Emma Cranwell
berthed, he was probably wondering if Caroline was enough of a reason for him to let us stay as well.

‘Better let Mr Phelps catch the rope this time,’ I told Dibs. I said this loudly enough for Sam Phelps to hear; he would know I was on his side.

Dibs ignored me. ‘Ahoy there!’ he yelled.

‘Ahoy, Captain Foster!’ called Caroline.

I could see the sailor waiting to throw the rope as the gap narrowed between the ship and the wharf.

I moved nearer Dibs. This time, I thought, I would help to wind the rope round the bollard.

Dibs tried to shove me aside when the rope came flying towards us. I gave him a push.

I was the one who caught the rope, I was the one who put it round the bollard.

I glanced at Caroline to see if she had noticed. She hadn’t.

She hadn’t noticed me because she was too busy waving to the ship. She was waiting for Captain Foster when he stepped from the gangplank, and he looked pleased to see her and to get one of her kisses, but I didn’t hear what they said to each other. I felt that Caroline had forgotten me, I was only a kid who had helped her to have a little fun while she waited for the
Emma Cranwell
to return to port, and now I did not matter. I was gloomy.

I was even gloomier when Caroline went aboard the
Emma Cranwell
, not bothering to glance back at the wharf to see if we would be allowed aboard too.

We weren’t, of course.

Dibs had a try. He reminded Captain Foster, who began chatting to Sam Phelps as soon as Caroline was out of sight, how he had once been allowed to see the engine-room and said he would certainly like another look.

‘Not just yet, lad,’ said Captain Foster. ‘We’ll be unloading some packing-cases and I wouldn’t want you youngsters ending up under
them.
Best to stand back until Mr Phelps gives the all-clear.’

‘What about Caroline?’ asked Dibs. ‘How come you let her go on?’

‘She’ll be out of harm’s way,’ said Captain Foster with a wink at Sam Phelps. I didn’t like that wink and Sam Phelps couldn’t have either because he did not wink back.

So that was how I came to be stroking Sydney Bridge Upside Down’s hollow and telling Sam Phelps what a great horse he had. Although I didn’t want him to see I was worried about Caroline being so long aboard the
Emma Cranwell
, I was rather hoping he would tell Captain Foster it was time she came ashore, Captain Foster would listen to him even if he wouldn’t listen to me.

But Sam Phelps did not speak. That was his trouble. He hardly ever spoke. Not these days. Apparently in the old days, before his daughter ran away and his house was pulled down, he used to speak a fair bit, though Dad said he was always a moody fellow and you never knew where you stood with him. Still, I reckoned
he got on all right with Caroline (he talked to
her
, he also let her ride his horse), and it was possible her being on the ship was a good enough reason for him to make a speech. An angry one maybe. I’d like to be near when he made it.

I was so busy thinking about Caroline and the sailors and what Sam Phelps might say that I didn’t realise Cal and Dibs had crossed the wharf to the funny steps, keeping out of the way like Captain Foster had told them to.

At first I went on stroking the hollow when I heard the cries for help. It was as if somewhere inside me a tiny frightened voice was calling ‘Help! Help!’

Then I saw Sam Phelps move across the wharf. The cries were louder, they were certainly not my own.

I was right behind Sam Phelps when he reached the top of the steps. He stopped, but I didn’t. I went on down as fast as if they were ordinary steps, skimming over them the way I could skim over the footholds high in the works when I had to.

I knew I must go fast because I had seen from the top of the steps what was happening. Dibs had his left foot jammed in the steps near the bottom and was trying to tug it free; he was the one calling for help.

Cal was in the water. All I could see of him was his white face. It bobbed down. It bobbed up again. His eyes seemed puzzled, his mouth was opening and shutting, but he was making no sound. His head bobbed down again as I reached the dinghy at the bottom of the steps. I knew I could grab his hair if he bobbed up again.

The strange thing was that Cal was not being swept
away by the dangerous current. He was in the one spot, his head bobbing down, then up.

For a while, as I reached out from the dinghy, I did not think his head would bob up again. Then there it was, and I stopped myself from jumping in; instead, I grabbed his hair and dragged him to the dinghy. I pulled him into it.

Lying there, he looked at me, and his face was very pale and he said nothing.

‘You were drowning,’ I told him.

He just looked at me.

‘Why didn’t you try to grab the dinghy?’ I asked. ‘Why did you let yourself—’

‘Are you all right, son?’ It was Sam Phelps talking. He was steadying the dinghy with one hand while he leaned across to look at Cal.

Cal nodded.

‘He was drowning,’ I told Sam Phelps. I saw Dibs still trying to free his foot and I called to him from the dinghy: ‘What happened? Did you push him?’