The Story of Danny Dunn (81 page)

Sam wasn't allowed to see D.P. again. She'd written him a letter explaining that she wasn't permitted to leave home, not even to attend university. Gabby had delivered it to the Chevron-Hilton. Sam was committed into Brenda's care, accompanying her as she visited clubs and checked the Willy duB pokies, Danny insisting that she was not to be left alone for a moment. During the course of the week, Brenda quietly asked Sam when her boyfriend was returning to Vietnam. Then, on the last day of his R&R, she indicated the telephone. ‘I'll be in the garden for half an hour, darling,' she said.

Sam managed to get through to D.P. just before he was due to take the MACV (Military Assistance Command Vietnam) flight back to his base in Vietnam, what he called ‘in country', because he was not permitted to reveal the landing field. They talked until the last minute. His final words to her were, ‘Mademoiselle Sam, I love you. I'm coming to fetch you when I get back home, you hear, honey? Only two months to go, then my tour of Nam is over. Will you wait for me, lovely Sam?'

Sobbing, Sam agreed.

Six weeks later, when her last two letters had received no reply, she received a notification from the American Embassy in Canberra saying that Second Lieutenant Gregory Beauregard Montgomery of the Third Louisiana Light Infantry Unit had been killed in action in Vietnam. He had died in an enemy ambush of small-arms fire while on patrol in Thua Thien Province. He had left a request that she was to be notified in the event of his death.

Gabby, while still a serious student of the violin, was also still a rising folk star. Her hit song, known as ‘Wild Bush Honey' rather than by its full title, had risen to the top of the local charts, and her pretty face, topped by a battered Stetson with a yellow rose in the hatband, was familiar to a generation, even though folk had a smaller following than rock. Johnny O'Keefe towered above the rest of the rock singers, and Little Pattie, beloved of the Australian forces in Vietnam, was a much bigger star, but Gabby had a growing following that she made no effort to cultivate. She thought of herself as a serious musician and a reluctant folk star, and refused the approaches of the big agents, leaving the contracts and recording deals to Half Dunn and Helen. It wasn't such a silly idea either – Half Dunn had long ago proved that he was an excellent negotiator, perhaps from all those years spent sitting at the main bar of the Hero, and since Brenda's retirement and during Helen's reign, he had really come into his own. Together they were a formidable combination: the old man who could talk up a deal better than almost anyone, and Helen, his brilliant, formidable and analytical partner, who could close a deal to their advantage faster than you could say ‘Snap!', and spot a shonky one at a hundred yards.

Sam, on the other hand, had hit the wall. She'd scraped through her first year at Sydney University, but the old ebullient Sam was gone. Danny put it down to the inevitable disappointment of the Olympics, because, although she had a drawer full of medals from state and national titles, no Olympic gold snuggled among the gold-plated local ones.

Sam's personality allowed no compromise. From infancy she'd seen herself as a winner; Danny had told her she was a winner, and she'd suffered his demonic temper, obsessive personality and dictatorial manner because she believed him. He was her sun and her moon; he couldn't possibly be wrong and she must never let him down. If he screamed at her, his tongue cutting into her like a barber's razor, then it was her fault. It meant she wasn't trying hard enough. Sam had never swum for herself. Her mantra,
Three gold for Sammy,
was just another way of saying, ‘Three gold for Danny'. Hester Landsman had once said to Helen in Sam's hearing, ‘Darling, there is for us Jews a saying:
“Pray that you may never have to endure all that you can learn to bear”.'
Sam had learned to endure what she had to bear, and now that she had nothing to show for the years of sacrifice, she was beginning to unravel. She had few friends save those she had made through swimming – casual relationships based on their mutual interests. Where Gabby had amassed friends at the Con, Sam had no such emotional reservoir. Her school life at Balmain High had been about lessons; she'd never had the time for parties and the like.

She began to realise that her notoriety as a young swimmer, one Balmain folk saw as possibly their next Dawn Fraser, had replaced the need for friends to help her define herself and create her own identity. She was public property, the next Balmain Girl, national heroine, stepping into the large shoes once occupied by her father and left empty since the war. When she'd disappointed them, they wanted nothing further to do with her, and the older people muttered about her being the second Dunn to let them down. Even her modelling for Brokendown
created less of an impression on fashion-conscious kids, who now simply remarked on the astonishing resemblance to her twin. When she appeared wearing her Stetson, people would ask, ‘Hey, what happened to the yellow rose?'

Then, after silently trying to become reconciled to her new life as a law student and a nobody, D.P. had arrived back in her life – only for one night, but one that had changed everything. He had shown her how to lose herself, how to bear the pain. Then, as if that particular night was meant to be her metamorphosis, came that killing swim Danny had forced on her.

Helen had put her to bed and called the doctor, who'd given her a sedative. Danny had gone to work and when he returned that evening, Helen met him at the door, grim-faced. He'd attempted to kiss her, but she'd pulled away. ‘Not this time. No way, Danny. We need to talk.' She'd turned and walked upstairs onto the verandah where she pointed to a wicker chair. ‘Sit down, please,' she commanded coldly.

‘Okay, so I was angry,' Danny said, sitting. ‘The little whore was out all night.'

‘The little whore! The little whore! Are you talking about my daughter?' Helen shouted.

‘What else do you think they were doing? They were fucking!' Danny said, feeling his temper rising.

‘And you know that?'

‘What else? She spent the night in D.P.'s hotel room.'

‘You hypocrite!' Even as she spoke, Helen knew there was no purpose in continuing. Besides, it wasn't why she wanted to confront him. ‘What you did this morning was unforgiveable, it was pure insanity. You could have killed her!'

‘She had to be taught a lesson. Her curfew was 1 a.m.! She disobeyed me. I simply won't have it!'

‘Listen to me carefully, Danny. Since they were seven years old you've treated the twins as if they are your personal property.'

‘Well, they are. Yours and mine.'

Helen shook her head vehemently. ‘They are our
children
,
not
our slaves. Can't you see they're terrified of you? I managed to rescue Gabrielle, but you've destroyed Samantha. When she didn't achieve what
you
wanted, her life, as she saw it, was effectively over. She's been trying to pick up the pieces this year, trying to make some sense out of her life – out of the destruction your obsession has brought down on her head.'

‘She's been okay, until D.P. called her – until last night,' Danny said.

‘And you haven't noticed?'

‘Noticed what?'

‘That she is suffering from a loss of identity. You, of all people!'

‘And what's that supposed to mean?'

‘Danny Dunn – the beautiful young man, sporting hero, worshipped by the locals, certain to play rugby league for his country – goes off to war, returns broken, his former career expectations shattered, his mind not the same, filled with demons. It may not seem quite as dramatic, but a lot of that stuff is happening to Samantha. And last night, you, my friend, were Colonel Mori.'

‘Jesus, that's not fair, Helen!' Danny shouted.

‘Not fair! What you did last night can
never
be forgiven. I, for one, won't ever forgive you. You are damaged, but I always knew that, accepted that. God knows, it's not been easy standing by watching the demons within you destroying my child. When she didn't win gold at the Olympics, you know what? I was secretly glad. I thought that at last she'd be free of your influence. That she was still young enough to recover. I've watched her trying to cope, trying to heal. But last night was the end for me. It was sheer bastardry! You wanted your little slave back! It was – it is – sick! I want you to see Craig Woon. You've got to get help. If you don't you'll lose us all. We don't need you when you're like this!' Helen leaned forward until her face was inches from Danny's. ‘Do you understand, Danny? Do you understand what I am saying?
We don't need you!
'

Danny rose from his chair and went downstairs, still in his business suit and Glossy Denmeade boots. He brought the skiff out of the boatshed and, jumping in, started to row into the darkened harbour.

In the early hours of the morning, Helen heard him coming up the stairs – she'd been awake all night – and switched on the bedside light. Danny entered the bedroom looking thoroughly dishevelled: he'd lost his eye patch, discarded his jacket and tie, and had a cut along the side of his face and a patch of blood on his white shirt.

‘You up?' he said, stating the obvious. Helen remained silent. ‘I'll see Craig Woon,' he growled.

Helen pulled the bedclothes away and rose. ‘I'll make you a cup of tea,' she said.

Sam had grown silent. She hadn't said a word to Danny since the night with D.P. and the skiff. Danny had tried to apologise but to no avail. As far as she was concerned, he no longer existed. The willpower and the obsession he'd inculcated in his daughter she now exercised on him, proving her will was stronger than his. Helen, Brenda, Half Dunn – nobody could get through to her. Gabby, in an attempt to draw her out of herself, introduced Sam to some of her music friends. It was a mistake. Sam knew she must stay away from heroin, but that didn't include all the other painkillers available in the music scene. She began to hang around musicians, playing identical twin, merging her personality with Gabby's, first, the folk-rock musicians Gabby favoured, then, increasingly, the hard-rock musicians. Inevitably she discovered marijuana, and much more besides.

But sitting around listening to rock music – Col Joye and the Joy Boys, The Bee Gees, Normie Rowe, or the overseas heavy hitters Pink Floyd, The Doors, The Stones, The Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the one and only Elvis – stoned and giggling, wasn't enough for Sam. She started to skip university, staying out late, then remaining in bed most of the day, and nothing anyone could say made any difference. She got kicked out of uni and took to hanging out at the Coogee Hotel at night with rock musicians euphemistically ‘resting' but with no real work. She started to drink, mostly Scotch, but sometimes, pathetically, Kentucky bourbon. She'd come home drunk, sleep all day nursing a hangover, and go out again all night.

Helen tried to reason with her and Sam would appear to listen, but in the end she'd simply say to her mother, ‘It's my life, Mum. If you don't like it, I'll move out.' She simply told Gabby to mind her own business. Helen persuaded her to see Craig Woon. She went once, then refused to return. Something inside Sam's head or heart had broken.

Helen had called Dr Woon. ‘Craig, we're desperate. What can we do?'

‘When I saw her, I felt she was suffering from depression, but I can't be sure. Helen, I need to see her several times more. If she'll agree to go into a clinic, perhaps we can find out. She's certainly suffering from a nervous breakdown – that's the old-fashioned word. It covers a multitude of sins and tells us nothing. The drugs aren't helping, either, and putting her on anti-depressants won't be sufficient, I fear.'

‘She won't talk to Danny. It all started with the episode I'm sure he's told you about.'

‘Sure, but it's too easy to say that. One unfortunate episode – a miscalculation on his part, harsh as it was – isn't going to cause her to change her entire character.'

‘Then what?' Helen asked. ‘We're at our wits' end. I feel we're going to lose her.'

‘Helen, these things start way back. Something like the harbour swim can be the final straw, but that's all it was.'

‘You mean it's something genetic?'

‘Impossible to say, although there's some interesting stuff coming out about genetic predispositions. From observing Samantha's swimming career, I believe she is a “Type A” personality with highly addictive characteristics. They're the successful types, the high achievers, the high fliers, but when they crash, they do so as determinedly and in as spectacular a manner as when they succeed. They're the all-or-nothing types.'

‘But isn't she too young for that sort of thing?' Helen asked. ‘For goodness sake, she's about to turn eighteen. She hasn't had a life yet. She hasn't been such a high flier . . .'

‘Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Helen. To achieve what she has achieved so far, Samantha has been under more pressure than most adults will have to endure in a lifetime, and after all that, she came crashing down – at least, that's probably how she would see it. She's hit the wall at full speed.'