The lady twirls and walks towards me
and I keep my eyes down.
She walks up to me
and says something I don’t hear properly.
So I say, ‘Pardon?’
She squeezes my arm and says
‘Aren’t you a polite one.
How about it, sonny?’
How about what?
Then I smell her perfume
and notice the cut of her dress
and I try not to look at her breasts
in case she thinks I’m rude
but it’s kind of hard not to look.
‘How about it?’
She’s offering something
ladies don’t really offer,
well, not in Burruga.
I don’t know what to say
and I see Mr Butcher
a long way up the road
about to turn the corner,
so I quickly shake my head
and I rush after him
with a thousand thoughts
churning through my brain.
Eddie
Now Mr Butcher is talking to someone
who looks as young as me,
with long shiny blonde hair,
and she’s wearing a tight dress
and high heels,
ready for a date.
She walks beside Mr Butcher
and lights a cigarette.
She leads him into a block of flats on the corner.
The door slams behind them.
I creep around the side
and climb the paling fence,
jump down behind some bushes
and feel my way to the back,
afraid there might be a dog.
There’s a light on in the back room
so I sneak towards the shed.
I hear their voices
as she moves to the window,
pulls back the curtain
and flicks her cigarette into the yard.
She’s naked!
I can see her breasts
and forget all about Mr Butcher
until his shadow moves behind
and pulls her towards him.
She quickly moves away,
walks to the door
and switches off the light.
I could go closer now,
if I wanted,
but I’m still trying to take it all in.
He’s in there with a girl half his age
and I’m wandering around the backyard
with no idea what to do.
Mr Butcher
Blonde hair framing her face
my fingers all over her body
her enticing aroma
her languid eyes
her arm flung back
blonde hair
her fingers in small fists
my weight pressing
her body like soft talc
blonde hair
I can’t get enough blonde hair.
Eddie
Mr Butcher and the girl
are inside for twenty minutes
and the sounds I hear tell me
they’re not just talking.
She’s can’t be his girlfriend.
She’s not much older than Sally.
So why is she doing it?
The light flicks on in the room
and in my brain.
For money!
I laugh at how dim I am.
Why would anyone do that with hopeless Butcher
if not for money.
The first question that springs to mind is,
how much?
It would need to be a bloody lot of moolah.
The door slams
and I see the girl at the window
still naked,
smoking a cigarette,
looking out at the yard.
I’m sure Butcher has left
but I can’t follow him.
The girl is watching.
I remain still and hidden.
I don’t care where Butcher goes now.
Sergeant Grainger
The phone rings
and I expect it’s Johnno, the publican
calling me about this week’s fight
between two drunk miners
and a disagreement over
whose bloody shout it is.
They’re wasting good drinking time
if you ask me.
But it’s Mrs O’Connor
wondering where her daughter is.
Frank will be back from the pub soon
and angry as hell if Colleen’s not home.
I know Colleen.
Smart and pretty
and not the type to get up to mischief.
So I promise Mrs O’Connor
I’ll check out the netball courts
and Main Street,
and I wonder aloud
if she isn’t visiting a girlfriend
to celebrate their win.
That seems to settle her nerves.
She gives me the names
of the other players on the team
and I tell her I’ll door-knock
for the next hour
and drop by soon with Colleen.
I pull on my overcoat,
my sergeant’s hat
and head to the car.
Well, at least it’s not an all-in-brawl.
Sergeant Grainger
The first families I visit
are sitting down to late supper.
One by one, husbands come to the door,
all of them swaying slightly,
holding a bottle and inviting me in.
Everyone’s a friend when you’re sloshed.
Most are too drunk to understand my questions.
They slap me on the back
and say obvious things like,
‘Yeah. Colleen. I know her.
She’s Frank and Betty’s daughter.’
And they fumble through their pockets
looking for smokes or a pipe.
Wendy Sutton says they had a milkshake together
and came straight home,
leaving Colleen outside the café.
As I close the front gate
I realise that doesn’t make sense.
If they were going home
they’d walk up Main Street together,
before separating.
Wendy mentioned Ruth Weaver.
The Weavers live two blocks away
and I walk with a creeping sense
that someone is telling tales.
Mrs Weaver answers the door.
George is asleep, she says.
He’s had so much to drink
nothing is waking him until morning.
She lets me speak to Ruth in the sitting room.
The young lady fidgets with her necklace
and keeps glancing towards the kitchen,
hoping her mum can’t hear.
‘The three of us went to the pub.
We just stood outside,
talking, that’s all.
Someone gave Colleen a shandy
and we all took a sip. Just one sip.’
Ruth leans forward and whispers,
‘Colleen left before us.
Wendy and me wanted to stay
We weren’t drunk.
Not like Larry Holding.
He was so wonky he almost knocked Wendy over.’
Mrs Weaver comes into the room
with her arms folded tightly across her chest.
She’s heard every word.
I say, ‘Thank you, Ruth.
For your honesty.’
It won’t help her
when George wakes, hungover,
and gets an earful over breakfast from the wife
about his daughter, drinking,
and taking after him.
Sergeant Grainger
Albert Holding closes the door
and steps ou
t into the yard.
He walks a distance from the house
before speaking,
‘So why are you asking me?
There’s lots of houses
between here and the pub.
Have you knocked on them all?’
He stands with his hands on his hips,
in challenge.
‘A friend of Colleen said your Larry–’
‘My Larry what?’
‘Larry was drinking.
And he offered them some.’
Albert Holding turns away and swears.
He walks a few steps towards the house,
then says,
‘Listen. I saw them girls outside the pub.
Okay?
Drinking with some young blokes.
My Larry wasn’t one of them.’
He shakes his head in anger.
‘If you want to find out what happened,
piss off back to town
and ask some people who do know.
Leave my boy alone.
He’ll be in enough trouble
when he wakes up tomorrow.’
Albert’s as mad as a cut snake
but right now, I couldn’t care less.
‘Mr Holding.
A girl is missing.
If that means asking you about your son,
then so be it.’
Albert looks like he wants to punch someone.
‘Do your bloody job, Grainger.
Find the girl.’
He walks back inside
slamming the door so hard
the windows rattle fit to break.
As I return to the car,
I’m shaking with anger.
Where is Colleen?
And who is she with?
Larry
I’m glad Eddie isn’t home.
I couldn’t stand him looking at me,
asking where I’ve been
and how much I’ve drunk.
I just want to sleep
and be left alone to forget.
I kick the blanket off
and feel the beer rumbling deep in my stomach.
That bloody Ruth Weaver is a stuck-up bitch,
looking down her nose at me.
Just cause I stumbled.
Those girls spent the night
flirting with the blokes from the mine.
I saw them, from behind the water tank.
It made my blood boil
when Les Johnston offered a shandy to Colleen
and she drank it down, giggling.
Take a drink with him,
but not from me.
All those mornings in the library wasted.
I rush to the door
and make the backyard
before I throw up.
The cool breeze dries the sweat on my forehead
as I squat in the yard
and heave my guts up.
Eddie
I step out into the light,
ready for her scream,
ready to run.
She just lights another cigarette
and looks at me,
daring me to do something.
I step closer
so I can see her eyes
and she can see mine.
‘That bloke,
he’s my teacher.’
As if she cares.
She keeps looking at me
with her sharp green eyes
and I try to hold their stare
or else I’ll look where I shouldn’t
and she’ll see me looking.
She makes a scoffing sound
and casually flicks the cigarette into the yard.
‘Well, for a teacher,
he doesn’t know much.’
Then she smiles at her own little joke.
I smile too,
glad Butcher is miles away
while I’m standing here in someone’s yard
looking at a naked girl
who’s looking back at me
and asking,
with a faint smirk
as she beckons me with her fingers,
‘What’s your name?’
Eddie
She says,
‘Well, Eddie.
I’ve got all night.
If you can afford it.’
I gulp,
even though it’s the funniest thing
I’ve ever heard.
I reach deep into my pocket,
take out the coins,
and hold them up into the light.
‘That’s all I’ve got.
Enough for a pie
and the train home.
But thanks for asking.’
I’m not trying to be rude or anything.
She stares over my head for a long time
until I feel nervous standing here alone,
not saying a word,
not knowing where to look.
Then she glances down at me
and says,
‘I was as polite and nice as you.
Until I came here.
Maybe I’ve got time for charity,
if you’re interested.’
My hands start shaking.
Larry and all the blokes in town
would jump at the chance to do it with a city girl.
‘I . . . I . . . have a girlfriend.
At home.’
A dog barks from next door
as she leans forward and says,
‘Don’t end up like your teacher, kid.
He’s a loser.’
She draws the curtains
and is gone.
Sergeant Grainger
Mrs O’Connor stands on the top step.
Her husband waits at the front gate.
‘She’s not home, Pete.
If I catch the bloke she’s with, let me tell you,
he’ll be getting more than a clip around the ear.
And I don’t expect trouble from you over it.’
Frank did it tough in the war.
It’s more than my job’s worth to argue the toss.
Mr O’Connor removes his hat
and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.
‘The wife is beside herself, Pete.
I’ll stay with her for a while.
Find the pair of them
and bring Colleen home, quick smart, will you?’
I nod in answer,
relieved he hasn’t asked to come with me.
People in town don’t say no to Frank.
‘I’ll be back within the hour.’
Sergeant Grainger
If Colleen is with somebody
they’ll be at Taylors Bend.
There’s a standing joke
that half the kids in school
were conceived down there.
The soft sand and grassy bank
make a perfect lovers’ lane.
If I catch the ratbags at it
I’ll give them both a tongue lashing
for keeping me out all night
and putting up with the likes of Holding.
I whistle as I walk down the track
and flash the torch beam well ahead.
Give them time to get decent.
The light passes over a shape
on the sand by the water’s edge.
Bloody hell.
It’s Colleen!
One arm dangling in the stream
one arm on her chest.
There’s blood on her face.
Jesus! No!
I rush to her side
and touch her cold skin,
hoping against hope for a pulse.
The girl is dead.
I reel into the bushes to vomit
until nothing comes but bile and tears.
I sink to my hands and knees
to catch my breath,
my eyes tightly shut,
and a pain throbbing against my temple.
/>
Behind me lies a girl
admired by everybody in town.
Frank and Betty’s daughter.
Sweat prickles on my forehead
and I shiver with the breeze across the water,
across Colleen.
I return to her body
and start searching for evidence, anything,
before I tell the town what’s happened.
Once I do that
this place will be a swarm of anger,
kicking up sand,
masking clues that must still be here.
Every second I look
Colleen’s body lies there
and pleads for covering.
Her body begs to be taken away
and put into a warm bed
with the sheets pulled high,
even though nothing can help now.
I can’t stay here much longer.
Colleen deserves better than this.
Her skirt is torn and twisted around her hips
a smear of dark sand on the fabric.
Scuffed footprints, shattered glass
and a cigarette butt
that could have been here for days
or minutes . . .
Who in my town could do this?
FOUR
Cold skin
Eddie
I wander back to Central Station
and bunk down in the huge waiting room.
Moths fly around the light
as I roll my jumper into a pillow
and lie down,
hoping no one will disturb me
before the train home tomorrow.
A kerosene heater burns in the corner
and I hope it lasts all night.
Now I know why Mr Butcher
comes here every weekend.
But I can’t tell anyone.
No one would believe me.
Butcher can’t get a wife
so he pays for it.
He’s not the first to do that.
So why am I following him,
like some peeping Tom?
Maybe I’ll let Mr Butcher know what I’ve seen.
What then?
Better marks in exams?
The bastard would deny it
and make up some story.
If Dad found out,
I’d be in deep trouble.
As I drift between sleep and the city
I picture Sally and Colleen,
and how Mr Butcher always smiles at them.
I thought it was because they got good grades.
He likes young girls.
The creep likes young girls.
Sergeant Grainger
As I drive back to town,
I can’t bear the thought of leaving her there.
Someone else finding her.