The Story of Danny Dunn (82 page)

‘You mean not winning, not swimming all her races at the Olympics?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘Craig, I know you have to maintain the confidentiality of your dealings with your patients, but you've been seeing Danny for quite a while now. Please, you've known him almost as long as I have. Is he the cause of Samantha's problems?'

‘Helen, you're putting me in an awkward spot. Danny's my patient, so ethically —'

But Helen had had enough. ‘He's also my husband! For God's sake, Craig, give me something to work with. My family is being destroyed and I don't know what to do. How do I get my daughter back? Is what's happened to her my husband's fault?'

‘The answer is probably yes. But, having said that, not entirely.'

‘Oh?'

‘He wasn't able to have the same influence over Gabrielle, which tells me something.'

‘What?'

‘That at one level Samantha wanted it to happen; she needed to succeed, and she made up her mind to be a clone of her father.'

‘What can we do about it?'

‘This may seem a strange thing to say, but right now, without her father to depend on and without the structure of training, Samantha is suffering from low self-esteem. She doesn't know what to do, where to turn for directions.'

‘Direction or directions?' Helen, ever analytical, asked.

‘Both. Tell me about this boy from Vietnam,' Craig said.

‘There's not much I can say. They spent the night together, then her father punished her, and shortly after that she got the news that he'd been killed.'

‘Did she bond with him?'

‘I shouldn't think so, not in one night. Surely that's not possible,' Helen said.

‘That's not necessarily true. She knew him before; they were together in New Orleans. Did she tell you if they'd slept together?'

‘No.'

‘Did you ask her?'

‘No, I simply made sure she was using the pill.'

‘And this time, the night she spent with him here in Sydney?'

‘She'd been through that trauma with her father. I wasn't going to exacerbate the situation by asking her.'

‘Did Gabrielle ask?'

‘No, but Gabrielle says she knows Sam slept with him.'

‘How?'

‘I don't know, Craig, it's a twin thing. They just seem to know.'

‘There's every chance that Sam has associated her punishment for spending the night with her soldier boyfriend with her father demanding her back.'

‘What, as his slave?'

‘That's a tough word, but old lion, young lion. Danny was emotionally almost totally involved with his daughter.'

‘What? In an indecent way?'

‘No, of course not! But in a dependent way. Samantha is – was – 
what kept his demons at bay, kept him on a steady course. Perhaps he saw her as another version of his young self. Then, by choosing her boyfriend, she had, in his subconscious mind, chosen another guiding hand.'

‘I see. But is it a two-way street? Would she blame her father for the boy's death?'

‘Helen, we have to stop there. I'm venturing an opinion, and not necessarily an informed one. It's possible, but that's all I'm prepared to say. In confidence, Danny admits he's taken the Olympics thing badly, despite struggling against it.'

‘Well, I have to tell you he's back on Mogadon, or sleeping tablets of some sort. He's been off them for years now.'

‘Yes, I know. He asked me for a prescription. There are better things than Mogadon these days.'

‘Is there something, anything, we can do for Sam?'

‘Just love her, make her feel safe. We can give her something to help her if she'll submit herself for treatment.'

‘Will she grow out of it?'

‘Perhaps. She's young, fit, intelligent and attractive, and has a loving home and a future – all the components needed; it's certainly not impossible.'

At the Coogee Hotel, though, Sam discovered barbiturates, speed, and LSD, known as tabs. Barbiturates were easy to get – the doctors around Kings Cross and Darlinghurst would write a prescription if you simply looked forlorn, and pleaded that you were coming off heroin and looking for a soft landing.

Then one day Sam simply didn't come home. A day turned into a week. Gabby searched everywhere for her, but nobody had seen her at the Coogee Hotel or any of the other popular after-midnight watering holes frequented by rock musicians.

Danny put Bumper Barnett onto finding her. He had hundreds of copies of her photograph circulated; there wasn't a criminal or a prostitute or a shopkeeper in the Kings Cross area who wouldn't have recognised her. Bob Askin put the New South Wales Police onto it and cautioned them to keep it out of the media.

Another week passed. Several people called in to say they'd seen her, but it had been Gabby they'd seen. Gabby hadn't gone to the Con for two weeks and spent every day combing the Cross and Darlinghurst, and the nights with Danny, visiting every musician's haunt and likely bar in Sydney.

Sam wasn't in Sydney. She'd met a drummer at the Black Cat in the Cross. He belonged to a hard-rock band called Wild Dogs & Gentlemen, who were about to embark on a tour of several states.

The night they met, Sam had been sitting alone, miserable and silent. She'd scored some speed but it wasn't doing anything for her, barely taking the edge off her misery. The drummer had just finished a set – the last for the Wild Dogs & Gentlemen
for the night – it was close to two in the morning, and the Black Cat was closing down. He walked up to Sam's table and said casually, ‘Want a drink, beautiful?'

‘Where?' Sam asked.

‘There's a party in Newtown. Why don't you come? Plenty of acid – anything you like – dope . . .'

‘And, surprise, surprise, I get to sleep with you,' Sam said. ‘No thanks, I'm not a groupie.'

The drummer laughed, offering his hand. ‘John.'

Sam took it, only just accepting it before letting it go. ‘Sam.'

‘Well, there you go, Sam. I only sleep with groupies and if you're not a groupie, then you're safe. But the music will be good, the gear even better, and you're too pretty to spend the night on your own.'

‘Thanks, but no thanks,' Sam said.

John started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. ‘We leave for Melbourne in the morning. Why don't you come?'

‘What? Melbourne or Newtown?'

‘We've got a two-week gig at the Rainbow Hotel in Fitzroy. You choose.'

‘Give me one good reason, John.'

‘Well, I'll let you decide, babe. But if you want something to help you make up your mind, my Kombi is parked a block away. I've got something in it that requires a needle and a teaspoon.' He reached into his jeans, tossed a blue plastic cigarette lighter into the air and caught it. ‘And a bit of a flame. Oh yes, and a piece of rubber tubing. I reckon I've got enough to last the trip south.'

Sam got up and followed him out.

Two weeks later, the landlady of a cheap hotel in St Kilda Road that catered mostly for musicians called the Victorian Police. It wasn't the first victim she'd found dead from a heroin overdose, but it was certainly the most beautiful.

Sam's funeral was very simple: Franz, Jacob and Hester Landsman; Helen's parents, Barbara and Reg Brown; Bullnose; Lachlan and Erin; Pineapple Joe; Forbes and Ursula Carlile; Harry Gallagher; Brenda and Half Dunn; Gabby, Helen and Danny; and Father Patrick, the local Catholic priest. All the usual words and prayers were said, all the tears shed, clods thumped against the coffin, which carried a single yellow rose and Sam's battered Stetson. Somewhere a bird called, then another answered. High clouds drifted on a summer day, and the drone of a distant light plane could be heard if you concentrated.

Gabby broke from the small group, lifted her violin and started to play the opening notes of her song ‘Wild Bush Honey'. After she'd played the haunting melody through once, she lowered the violin and began to sing, unaccompanied, the lyrics she'd rewritten for her twin.

The sun doth shine today, my love,

There's not a sign of rain;

The bees are in the blossoms,

And all our world is pain.

Oh, wild bush honey's not as sweet as you,

And warm black rocks won't last as long,

As my heart's love so true, so true,

As my heart's love for you.

You've left us in the flower of youth,

You've left us here to grieve,

Oh, Sam, if you'd but known the truth,

You'd ne'er have thought to leave.

Oh, wild bush honey's not as sweet as you,

And warm black rocks won't last as long,

As my heart's love so true, so true,

As our hearts' love for you.

HELEN WENT DOWN TO
the cellar – the small, warm, dry room that housed the hot-water system where she kept the battered old trunk. She opened it and removed the quilt and the bag of cloth scraps. She took both upstairs to her study, the quilt now almost too heavy to carry. She spread it out carefully on the carpet and emptied the scraps of cloth beside it: pieces of the twins' christening gowns, a patch showing an embroidered teddy bear on the bib of a toddler's overalls, squares cut from their first school uniforms, several pieces from favourite teenage dresses, patches of silk from their first sets of ‘sexy' knickers and bras, scraps of denim from their first pairs of teenage jeans – all scraps of the joy, angst and laughter of growing up.

Now to five generations of memory and tears she prepared to add a sixth. She had sketched the body of a young woman wearing green Speedo swimmers, her flaming red hair tumbling to her shoulders from beneath a battered Stetson. In an arc above her head were three gold medallions, above which she would embroider the words Three Gold for Sammy, and below, at the young woman's feet, the words:

Pray that you may never have to endure

all that you can learn to bear.

Samantha Dunn

1951–1970

R.I.P.

Helen began to weep. Her next task would be to introduce Gabby to the quilt she prayed she would never have to work on again.

A month later Helen had completed the quilt. It was late, but she'd wanted to finish it and return it to the trunk, to put Sam safely away, asleep with her ancestors. As she'd done for the past month, she'd locked her study door when she worked on the quilt. Around ten o'clock Danny tapped on the door. ‘Come to say goodnight,' he called.

‘Hang on, darling,' Helen called back, ‘won't be a moment.' She hurriedly wrapped the quilt in a blanket she'd brought for the purpose and then unlocked the door. ‘Sorry, busy,' she smiled, not explaining further. Danny could see the wicker needlework basket on her desk that he remembered from childhood. It had been Brenda's and was now Helen's and he knew its purpose, but he'd never seen the quilt.

‘Women's business?' he said now, but not flippantly.

‘Yes,' Helen said, making no attempt to explain.

‘Well, I'm off to bed. Got to be up at sparrow fart. Going for a row in the skiff, so I need two kisses – one for now and one for the morning. Sleep late, darling, you're tired. I'll call you from the office.'

Helen kissed Danny twice, warmly. They'd both struggled since Sam's funeral. Danny had been very quiet and withdrawn, and Helen, lost in her own grief, hadn't made any effort to cheer him up; everything she had to spare went to her desolate surviving daughter. Danny hadn't been out in the skiff since the night of Sam's punishment, and she took it as a good sign that he was resuming his early-morning rowing. ‘Don't go out for too long, darling – you haven't been rowing for months. You'll be stiff and sore tomorrow. And be careful of your back.'

Danny turned to go. He paused at the half-open door, his hand on the knob. ‘Helen, I love you. You have been my life . . . my everything.' He hesitated. ‘You know that, don't you?'

Helen smiled. ‘Yes. Sleep tight, darling. Make sure the fleas don't bite.'

Danny closed the door behind him and walked upstairs. On the way to their bedroom he noticed a light under the twins' – Gabby's – bedroom door and tapped lightly.

‘Come in,' Gabby called, and as Danny entered she looked up from her book in surprise. ‘Oh, hello, Dad. I thought it might be Mum.' She was sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows against the headboard,
a book resting open on her knees.

‘Just passing, saw your light was still on,' Danny said, crossing the room to the bed. He stood uncertainly, not stooping to kiss Gabby on the cheek as she had expected. Instead he pointed to the edge of the bed. ‘May I?'

‘Sure.' Gabby closed the book and shifted over to make room for him to sit.

‘I'm going out in the skiff tomorrow. Thought I'd just say goodnight. Probably won't see you in the morning . . . be gone early.'

‘I'm glad, it's been ages . . . ' Gabby, unconsciously paraphrasing Helen, chided gently, ‘Don't go too far or you're going to ache for days.'

Danny grinned. ‘Your mother just said that.' He paused momentarily. ‘Darling, I was just thinking . . . er, well . . . silly, I know . . . but do you think we could sing the “Fish Tummy Song”?'

Gabby laughed, then smiled, and then her eyes welled, all in a matter of moments. She nodded, unable to speak, shutting her eyes tightly to squeeze back the sudden tears. Danny could feel his heart beating rapidly as Gabby's voice came clear and clean, a beautiful contralto. The bedtime song, the last words his darling daughters had heard every night of their childhood, rose in his chest to join her.

Sam and Gabby, I heard someone say,

You haven't been terribly good today,

You've given the next-door neighbour's cat

A nasty whack with a ping-pong bat.

And can you possibly tell me why . . . 

You pulled the wings off a butterfly?

May you eat boiled cabbage and pumpkin mash

And row inside the tummy of a great big fish

In a hollowed-out calabash!

Now, my girls, it's not very nice

When you torture poor little baby mice,

And squash the bug on the Persian rug,

With the brand-new rubber bathroom plug.

And can you possibly tell me why . . . 

You made the butcher's parrot cry?

May you eat boiled cabbage and pumpkin mash

And row inside the tummy of a great big fish

In a hollowed-out calabash!

It's not very kind to creep up behind,

And frighten a lady who's almost blind,

And make a poor little slimy slug

Dance a waltz and a jitterbug.

And can you possibly tell me why . . . 

You told a fat little pig he could fly?

May you eat boiled cabbage and pumpkin mash

And row inside the tummy of a great big fish

In a hollowed-out calabash!

Now it's really not good that you watched the dog

Eat up the frog on the log in the bog,

Or captured some tadpoles to put in the water

You gave to your favourite teacher's daughter.

And can you possibly tell me why . . . 

The canary was dipped in bright blue dye?

May you eat boiled cabbage and pumpkin mash

And row inside the tummy of a great big fish

In a hollowed-out calabash!

But now is the time to go to sleep,

Snuggle right down and don't make a peep.

Grab your teddy and close your eyes,

Off you go to sleepy-byes.

And can you possibly tell me why . . . 

You dream of ice-cream and apple pie?

May you eat boiled cabbage and pumpkin mash

And row inside the tummy of a great big fish

In a hollooooowed-ooout caaaalaabassssh!

Danny leaned over and kissed the now-sobbing Gabby lightly on the cheek. ‘Thank you, sweetheart; know that I truly love you, my darling.' He rose, turned and walked towards the door, a big man with his dark hair speckled with grey and his girth starting to thicken, though his stomach remained flat. At the age of fifty he walked with a slight limp because of his bad back. He stooped slightly as he passed through the door, even though the lintel was still a good three inches above his head. Without turning he closed the door quietly behind him.

Helen didn't wake when Danny rose at four-thirty the next morning. Later, the crew from an Italian fishing boat returning through the Heads would report that they'd seen a lone rower in a skiff in the choppy waves just beyond Sydney Heads at about six. They'd called out the name of the skiff, ‘
Calabash!
' Then, ‘You okay, mate?' The rower had raised his hand, indicating that he was in control, so they'd moved on.

Danny simply kept rowing.

Two days later the upturned
Calabash
, his beloved skiff, was washed onto Tamarama beach.

A week later, Helen, Gabby and Billy duBois stood on the point of South Head looking out to sea. Brenda and Half Dunn, suddenly old and bowed beneath the double blow of tragedy, stood nearby. Billy had flown from New Orleans for the memorial service and had attended the wake at the Hero, where it seemed most of Balmain had turned up uninvited.

The following day Billy had asked if he could visit the Heads that afternoon to say a final farewell to his buddy. It was a glorious summer afternoon, with a light nor'easter blowing in from the open ocean as they stood silently looking out to sea. Billy turned to Helen. ‘He told me this happened to him when he sailed back home from the war, so I arranged it for the three women in his life. I hope you don't mind.'

A lone piper standing on a rock shelf to their right began to play, and the strains of the bagpipes drifted out across the water.

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,

From glen to glen and down the mountain side;

The summer's gone, and all the flowers are falling;

'Tis ye, 'tis ye, must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow,

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow;

'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow;

Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so.

And if ye come when all the flowers are dying,

If I am dead, as dead I well may be,

Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying,

And kneel and say an ‘Ave' there for me.

And I shall hear, though soft ye tread above me,

And o'er my grave, shall warmer, sweeter be,

Then if ye bend and tell me that ye love me,

Then I shall sleep in peace until ye come to me.

Danny Dunn

1920–1970

Rest in peace