Cold Skin

  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.