Dark Fires Shall Burn (25 page)

Tears have kindled in Templeton's eyes, and he brushes them away angrily. ‘Annie? Let's go?'

Annie won't look at him, or anyone else. She fiddles with an ornament on the mantelpiece.

‘It's all about Jackie Tooth with our Annie,' Dolly says. ‘Anything to help him.'

‘Come on,' Dot beckons to him. ‘Let's go.' Sally stands with her eyes rooted to the floorboards. Dot looks her up and down and shrugs. ‘You too? Fine.'

Templeton stares furiously at Sally. Dot glances up to see Lorraine in the stairwell, a look of unconcealed triumph on her face. She might as well be dancing a jig.

‘It's not worth it.' Templeton takes Dot's arm and leads her out into the street before she can murder Lorraine. He is waiting for Annie to change her mind and burst through the door to follow them. It's always been the four of them, for almost as long as they've been in Sydney. But the doorway is empty.

They tramp the long decline of William Street without speaking to each other, and it is not until they are across Hyde Park, past the fountain that makes Templeton blush crimson, that he dares say the words sticking in his throat like a fishbone. ‘It's my fault! I'm sorry Dot. I'm an idiot.'

‘What are you talking about?' Dot looks at him in surprise.

‘Snowy and Lorraine. I heard them — I mean … I was listening to them in secret. They must've thought I was you. Lorraine must have wanted to punish
you
.' The feelings are like a knotted ball of yarn he tries to pull out of his stomach through his unwieldy mouth. ‘It's my fault.'

‘What? No. That bitch had it in for me from the start. She set me up.' Dot clicks her tongue, waving off his apology with a dismissive hand.

‘No, listen,' he insists. ‘They were talking about something bad. I was hiding on the landing, about to take Snowy's drink up to him.' He pauses. ‘I think they are rooting each other. In fact, I know they are, but that's not the point.'

‘Who's rooting?' Dot smoothes her hair, gone rampant with perspiration.

‘Lorraine and Snowy,' he says again, and when he doesn't get a response. ‘Having relations!'

‘Ha! Lorraine
would
be so damned stupid. Doesn't she know what savagery Dolly did to the last girl Snowy shot his bolt in?'

‘That doesn't matter,' he says impatiently. ‘Snowy said that Jackie is here. In town! He's been here the whole time, probably, hiding out in Lennox Street or one of his other moll's places.'

‘What did you hear, exactly?' Dot stops walking.

‘They did something to Bob's sister. Something bad. Hurt her. Like they killed Frances Reed!' It is an unexpected and powerful rush to say the thought aloud. The force of it hits him somewhere high in his chest.

‘What makes you think Jackie had a hand in Frances Reed?' Dot's eyes rest curiously on him.

‘Who else would do a thing like that?' Templeton screws his face up.

‘He is capable of it. But why? Have the police crawling all over looking for him, just to off some child? Jackie always looks out for himself. Everyone knows about his beef with Bob, and Long Bay is full of Bob's mates. Jackie knows that more than anyone.'

‘Well, I —' He trails off.
Because I saw him not two blocks away, sweating like a madman, that night. He looked guilty as hell.

He is fumbling for the words and by the time he looks up, she is more than half a dozen steps away. She finally stops outside the Fortune of War.

‘What are we doing?' he asks.

‘Go in and ask the publican if he's seen Bob Newham today.'

‘Are you cracked?' Templeton gawks at her. ‘Bob Newham wants to kill us.'

‘No,
idiota
, he wants to kill Jackie. And I have information that Jackie is back in town and trying to get in first. You want to get over on Jackie? I think Bob might find our news interesting.'

‘Jackie will kill us
if he knows you ratted him out.'

Dot flicks her lashes up at him insouciantly. ‘So what? He'll kill me for the snow debt. He'd kill me for less than that too. You as well, most likely.'

‘How do you know Newham's here, anyway?' He glances in through the doorway. Old grizzled blokes take long draws from their beers like a row of swine at a trough. He smells piss and vomit clinging to the sawdust on the floor, which looks infrequently swept.

‘He is from the Rocks boys, is he not? Well, good bet he's been in the Fortune or that they will know where he is. Now go in there.' She flicks a match to a cigarette and shoves him. ‘You know I can't.'

‘But Dot, I don't …'

She breathes a cloud of smoke into his face. ‘Who was dumb enough to get themselves heard listening at keyholes?'

‘I'm sorry.' He hangs his head.

‘I don't care. I wanted a reason to be out from Dolly's anyway. One more word from that Errol and I was going to strangle him in his sleep. Then where would I be? Out on the street is better than Long Bay. Now, get to it.'

Templeton enters and sidles up to the bar, doing his best to ignore the hostile looks he is drawing, like metal filings to a magnet. He looks straight at the barkeep and asks in a voice steady as he can, ‘Bob Newham been in today?'

‘Who wants to know?' A man of about fifty, sitting to his right, turns to ask. Although he's reasonably well dressed, he has a long white scar through his eyebrow and a broken nose that had set badly into a stepladder of bumps.

‘Uh — the, the lady outside,' he stammers. ‘She has something to tell him. Something he'd be interested to know.'

‘Oh yeah?' He tilts so he can get a look. He whistles low. ‘Tell her she can say it to me and I'll pass it on to him for her.'

‘No. That's fine. We'll find Newham ourselves.' Templeton makes to step away.

‘What d'ya think, mates?' The man says to the wall of blokes beside him. They are all beery, bull-shouldered.

‘I got him.' A nuggety man-at-arms gets up and outflanks Templeton, cutting him off before he can reach the door. Templeton is humiliated by his own sweat, the rigidity of his spine like someone has stuffed a poker up his back — his own constant sense of never feeling right in the world, or in his body. His mind grapples with what to say and comes up desperately short.

‘Hands off!' shouts a portly fella in a corner, rescuing him. To Templeton's surprise, they back away. To his further surprise, he registers that the man in the suit jacket and old-fashioned button-on collar and tie is not, in fact, a man.

‘Alright now, Tipper. Settle down. We wasn't gonna hurt the little bugger,' the first man explains. ‘We're just giving him a scare.'

‘Well, leave him alone then.' Templeton's defender stares the man down stonily. ‘Go on. You've had your fun. Piss off back to your beers.'

The thugs who, only moments before, seemed bent on pulping him settle back to their conversations like grumbling hamsters. He tries not to stare.

‘Barry, get the little lad a drink,' she barks at the barman, who serves up a frothing glass. She guides Templeton back to where she had been sitting before the commotion and nods at the ale wobbling in his hand. ‘Bottoms up, friend.'

‘Th— thank you.' He swallows, trying not to cough.

‘Tipper,' she says, clapping a palm hard on his back. Her eyes are small, set deeply into her broad face. Her hair is short, from what he can see of the back and sides underneath the unfashionable bowler hat, like something his grandfather might have worn. Her nose is fleshy and her lips are almost invisible, yet she commands a charismatic twist to her mouth when she smiles, as she does now, listening to him stutter his introduction.

‘Luckett? That rings a bell. Your sister does the Enmore Road corner, is that right,' she says in a way that doesn't sound like a question.

‘Yes. How did you know that?'

‘And who's the lass outside? Dot Kaczmarek? The handsome Jewess?'

Templeton is speechless. Did Nellie describe them all after last night's dancing? But why would Tipper want to know their business? She finishes her beer in one long, impressive mouthful and raises a finger in the air. Almost immediately another is brought over. The cold glass leaves a wet ring on the table.

‘Ain't you two working for Dolly Jenkins anymore?'

‘I was never working for Dolly,' he answers indignantly.

‘Well, what were you doin'? Dolly doesn't take in charity. Must've earned your keep somehow.'

‘I mostly stayed out of her way.'

‘I see.' Tipper pulls a chunky, filterless cigarette from a white packet and lights it. ‘Clever boy.'

‘We … we're trying to find Bob Newham, Dot and I. Do you know him? '

‘Know him!' She snorts unflatteringly. ‘Newham's my man.'

‘I don't understand.' Templeton flounders. ‘He's your … fella?'

‘Lord have mercy.' Tipper wheezes so hard she almost falls off her chair. Then she chuckles. ‘You're alright, kid. We're going to get along.' She taps him on the cheek with her fist. ‘My fella? Jesus, that's a good one. Bob'll laugh himself stupid.'

When Elsie finishes her drink, she steers him to the door. Before she leaves, she counts out a stack of bills and drops them on the bar. ‘Thanks, Barry,' she says with a grin, tilting her hat brim at him. ‘A round on me, eh? For everyone.'

‘Anytime, Tipper.' Barry looks up from polishing glasses.

Templeton notices how the men all tip their hats to her as she moves towards the door. The bloke who had accosted him keeps his gaze down at his boots. None seem game to look her in the eye.

Dot is reflected in the frosted-glass panels of the door, her fur collar pulled close to her chin against the cold, her cropped hair hugging the sharp angle of her jawbone.

‘Won't you introduce me to your friend?' Tipper says, ostensibly to Templeton, but she is already leaning forward to Dot, extending her hand, her mouth wide in a grin. ‘Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.'

‘I thought you knew who she was,' Templeton says, dumbly.

‘Pleased to meet you at last.' Dot turns, exhaling out the corner of her mouth and giving Tipper the full effect of her attention. ‘The one and only.'

TWENTY-THREE

‘Oh darling, you're here!' Kate says as Nancy wanders sullenly through the lounge the following afternoon.

‘I was in my room.'

‘I have some news,' her mother continues, ignoring this.

‘Have they found him?'

‘What?'

‘
Him
. Have they found him?'

‘Oh, biscuit!' Her mother floats over to the chaise longue and scoops up the pile of newspapers, making room for Nancy to sit. Izzy is already draped over the imitation Louis XIV with a cup of tea.

‘Well, I don't know what other news there could be.' Nancy doesn't want her mother's fussing; she moves towards the kitchen.

‘Nan, come back here.'

‘Come here, Nancy, your mamma misses you,' Izzy bids her.

‘This news changes everything. Believe me, it does.'

Nancy sighs and sits down. ‘What is it?'

Kate clears her throat dramatically. She smoothes the bodice of her dress, suddenly looking nervous. ‘I have to tell you the big news. I've … I've booked passage,' Kate announces. Her long white arm quivers slightly as she raises her teacup to her lips.

‘What?' Izzy says with a start. ‘When?'

‘Passage to what?' Nancy asks.

‘We're going home, biscuit.' Her mother smiles.

‘What do you mean?' Nancy says cautiously. ‘We are home.'

‘Our real home, silly,' Kate says with a laugh. Her eyes are filmy and unfocused.

‘When?' Izzy tries to sound casual, but it is clear she is stricken.

‘I paid for the tickets this morning. We leave in a fortnight.'

‘I — I don't understand.' Nancy's thoughts are whirling.

‘Ireland! We're going back. My old mam is there — your grandmamma. You'll learn about where you come from,
a Stóirín, a Ghrá
. Oh, it's beautiful, Nan. So green, and the soft rain on your face … There's nothing like it.'

‘I hate the rain!' Nancy says, hoarse with outrage.

‘But darling, I thought, after this tragedy … There's nothing keeping us here. Your father, Aunt Jo and now Frances. It's shocking. We need to get away, to make a fresh start. We can leave this all behind. It can be a nightmare we never think of again.' She looks to Izzy for support and laughs musically. ‘
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
Isn't that how it goes?'

‘But what about school?'