Do You Dare? Jimmy's War Page 7

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Jimmy snapped.

  ‘Just can’t take any more of your bulldust, that’s all,’ Hector said. ‘Bill’s a fool for taking you on.’

  ‘If you don’t like it, go and tell him, not me.’

  ‘I will, don’t you worry,’ Hector growled. But Jimmy knew he wouldn’t dare.

  ‘Oy,’ Frank yelled, ‘get on with the game!’

  Jimmy spun away from Hector and made sure he kept right away from him for the rest of the game. His team was still winning, and by the time it was too dark to play anymore, they were hanging on to the lead by a whisker. Jimmy put in a last-minute kick to goal that soared high into the air and through the goal posts. Everyone cheered and some of the boys clapped him on the back as they headed for home.

  ‘Phew!’ Frank said, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. ‘That was a darned good game, Jimmy. You’re magic when you get going. Pity we don’t have lights we could switch on. I could play all night.’

  Jimmy glowed. No one had ever told him he was good. It was always about Arthur. He wished he was here now to see him play.

  ‘It’s spring now,’ he said. ‘The days are getting longer and we can play longer.’

  ‘Yeah, but in a couple of months it’ll be time for cricket.’

  Jimmy nodded sadly. He wasn’t keen on cricket – not like football, where you could run around all day. All that standing around on the cricket pitch with flies landing on your face and the sun burning down – no, he’d rather play footy any day.

  ‘I’m off,’ he said. ‘Maybe see you tomorrow night for another game?’

  ‘I reckon we’ll be here.’

  On the way home, Jimmy thought about Hector and his threat. What if Bill did listen and got rid of Jimmy? He shrugged to himself. Nothing much he could do about it. His mind went to the steak that would be waiting for him. He could almost taste it, imagine chewing it, the juices running down his chin. Yum! He scooted down the sideway and found the chooks already roosting in the henhouse, so all he had to do was latch their door. As he pulled off his boots on the back porch he smelled the meat cooking and his stomach groaned. He rushed inside.

  In the kitchen, the lamp cast a yellow glow and the fire had warmed the room up nicely. Mum and Arthur sat at the table. Arthur leaned back, rubbing his stomach. ‘Here he is,’ he grumbled. ‘Just as well we didn’t wait.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jimmy said. ‘We were playing football. I got to be captain.’

  ‘Yippee,’ Arthur said bitterly.

  ‘Here’s your tea,’ Mum said. She took a pot lid off the plate that had been keeping warm on the stovetop.

  Jimmy stared down at the tiny piece of steak. It was hardly bigger than an egg. ‘What happened to my steak? There were three huge pieces.’

  ‘You took too long to come home,’ Arthur said. ‘I thought you couldn’t have been too hungry, so I had some of yours.’

  ‘What?’ Jimmy gaped at Arthur in disbelief.

  ‘Arthur does need building up,’ Mum said feebly, but Jimmy could tell from her face that she’d let Arthur just go ahead and be a big pig.

  Jimmy stood up, fists clenched, shaking with the desire to punch Arthur right in his greedy mouth. ‘I’ve been working all day . . . ’ He sucked in a furious breath. ‘Thanks for nothing!’ He picked up his plate and said, ‘I’ll eat in my room’, and left, ignoring Mum’s plea to come back. He sat on the floor by his bed, the plate on his lap, and picked up a potato. But he couldn’t put it in his mouth. His appetite had disappeared and all he wanted to do was throw the plate across the room.

  There was a quiet knock at the door, and although he refused to say ‘Come in’, Mum did anyway. She sat on the bed and didn’t say anything for a while, then she slid down next to him on the floor. ‘Eat up, Jimmy, please.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Jimmy was horrified at the shake in his voice and he clamped his teeth together.

  ‘I know Arthur did the wrong thing,’ she said.

  ‘You should’ve stopped him,’ Jimmy said bitterly. ‘I earned us that steak.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Mum said. ‘But we have to try to understand how Arthur’s feeling. You know, he had dreams of playing for Footscray again one day. Dreams of getting married. He had a sweetheart he was writing to while he was away. He believes it’s all gone, that he’ll never lead any kind of life.’

  Jimmy made a face. He hadn’t known Arthur had a girl. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She came to see him today, but Arthur got angry and told her to go and find someone else. He shouldn’t have said it, but he’s convinced she just feels sorry for him now.’ Mum let out a big sigh, then she nudged his arm. ‘Go on, eat. It’s getting cold. And Jimmy?’

  ‘Yes, Mum?’

  ‘I am very, very proud of you, son, and I know your dad would’ve been, too.’ She got to her feet. ‘Mrs Wimple gave me some lemon cake today, so if you eat your tea, I’ll let you have as big a piece as you can find room for.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Her words meant far more to him than lemon cake. As he ate, he thought about Arthur. No, he’d never play footy again, never get to run and kick and have a great time with his mates. That’d be the worst thing, never mind about girls. He finished his tea and headed to the kitchen for what he planned would be an enormous slice of cake.

  Over the next couple of weeks, Jimmy was kept busy running around for Bill, collecting money and betting slips, going to the shops for Mrs Prosser, and sometimes washing and polishing Bill’s car. He was also a regular on the back gate for the two-up games, and Bill was generous with his bonuses when he thought Jimmy had done a good job. All the same, Jimmy spent those nights with big knots in his stomach, dreading the sound of police whistles as they swooped in for a raid.

  Frank and the boys were always ready for a kick of the footy, but they also went rabbiting and once caught the train to Williamstown to go fishing, although they didn’t catch even a sprat or two.

  Mum went back to work, worried she’d lose her job otherwise, and walked home at lunchtime every day to check on Arthur.

  Nothing seemed to help Jimmy’s older brother. His appetite disappeared, and although Jimmy was glad to get a bigger share of food, when Arthur lost weight and started to look like a dying man again, Jimmy wished his greediness would come back. Sometimes Jimmy and Mum would sit in the kitchen after Arthur had gone to bed, trying to work out what they could do to help, but Arthur refused to talk to anyone, let alone his own family. He just muttered, ‘I don’t want to be reminded. Leave me alone.’

  One afternoon, Lola gave Jimmy a plate of leftover roast beef slices to eat. He was sitting on the back step, wondering if he should wrap the leftovers up and take them home for Mum, when he overheard Bill talking to one of his men, Mick Murphy, just inside.

  ‘It’s on for tomorrow,’ Mick said. ‘Pat’s coming down from Sydney today on the train and he’s determined to go ahead with it. He’s bringing his –’

  ‘No,’ said Bill. ‘No guns. After that heist at the Railways in Sydney, I’m not risking my neck with Pat waving a revolver around. He’s as likely to shoot me as anyone.’

  Guns? Jimmy’s stomach lurched and the meat in his mouth turned to thick chalk.

  ‘How are you going to get them to hand over the cash box then?’ Mick asked.

  ‘I’ve got a plan,’ Bill said. ‘Don’t you worry. You just keep Pat happy, and make sure he doesn’t get drunk tonight.’

  Jimmy sat very still, the plate on his lap. If Bill knew Jimmy had overheard them talking about guns, he’d be pretty angry. Maybe he could sneak out the back gate and scarper.

  But before Jimmy could move, Mick stepped out the door.

  ‘Hello, hello,’ he said. ‘How long have you been sitting here, lad?’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘Not long.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet.’ Mick stuck his head through the back doorway. ‘Bill? Come here a minute.’

  Jimmy felt the blood drain from his face as Bill came out,
munching on a beef sandwich. ‘What is it?’

  Mick gestured at Jimmy. ‘Your boy here was listening where he shouldn’ta been.’

  ‘That right?’ Bill glared down at Jimmy, his eyes like slits. ‘Do you know what we were talking about?’

  Jimmy could hardly breathe. He managed to squeeze out, ‘Not really.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Bill took another big bite of his sandwich and kept his gaze on Jimmy as he chewed and swallowed. ‘Well, I’m giving you fair warning. You tell a single soul, I’ll break your bloody legs, I will. You got that?’

  Jimmy managed a jerky nod.

  ‘I wanna hear you say it,’ Mick growled.

  ‘I – I’ll keep quiet,’ Jimmy stammered. ‘I promise.’

  Mick scowled and Jimmy stood up quickly to leave, but Bill said, ‘Come inside, Jimmy. I’ve had an idea.’

  Jimmy followed the two men into the house, his legs like jelly. In the two-up room, Bill pulled out three chairs and sat on one, waving the other two to sit down. ‘Listen closely,’ he said to Jimmy. ‘You can do me a favour tomorrow. A big favour, one I won’t forget. I’ve got a special pick-up lined up for the morning. Your job is to wait around the corner for us on your bicycle, and when I come past and throw the bag to you, you take it to an address I’m going to give you. Then go straight home.’

  Jimmy couldn’t breathe. This sounded like something far worse than running bookies’ errands. Surely Bill wasn’t serious?

  ‘Why give the bag to him?’ Mick asked.

  ‘They’ll be looking for our car,’ Bill said. ‘Or even my car, if the coppers suspect me. They won’t be looking for a boy on a bicycle.’

  Mick grinned. ‘I get it. That’s a cunning plan, all right.’

  Jimmy thought it was the worst plan in the world. He didn’t know what Bill was up to, but he knew it was something that would get him into major trouble if he got caught. And it was something that might involve guns! He started trembling and twisted his hands together tightly. If he got caught, it would mean years inside. There’d be no leniency just because he was only twelve. He could see himself already, in prison clothes, living with rats and eating porridge for breakfast, lunch and tea.

  ‘Jimmy?’

  ‘Huh?’ He stared at Bill like a rabbit caught in a trap.

  ‘I want you here first thing tomorrow morning. And you remember – not a word to anyone, or you’ll pay for it.’ Bill’s face was no longer jovial and friendly. His eyes were like slate and his mouth was a mean, hard line.

  Jimmy mumbled ‘All right’ and almost ran from the house. It took him three goes to get on his bicycle and stay upright without wobbling all over the street. To make matters worse, it had started raining, a cold, drenching drizzle, and water ran into his eyes, half-blinding him. He pedalled home as fast as he could, but the whole way Bill’s words kept spinning around and around in his head until he thought he would go mad.

  Broken legs, guns, you’ll pay . . .

  He was in big trouble, and there was no way out.

  Outside his house, Jimmy leaned his bicycle against the verandah post and looked up and down his street. The drizzle turned everything dull and grey – the wooden houses, tin roofs, front verandahs, gravel road. He could already imagine the neighbours at their front gates, pointing at his house and whispering about ‘the Miller boy in gaol’. What would Mum do? She’d die of shame.

  He wouldn’t help Bill, he just couldn’t. But what choice did he have? Bill had the power around Yarraville to make his life a misery. If Bill gave the word, Jimmy wouldn’t be able to get a job anywhere, and Mum might even lose hers. Who knew how far Bill’s crim network extended? Jimmy didn’t want to even think about broken legs!

  He shivered and rubbed his face, then ran his fingers over his bicycle bell and gave it a gentle ting. It was one job – all he had to do was pick up a bag and deliver it. How hard could that be?

  A series of loud squawks pierced through his worries. The chooks! Was there a fox in the backyard? That’s all they needed, to lose the chooks and their eggs. Jimmy ran down the sideway and into the yard, pulling up short, his feet almost skidding out from under him.

  There was no fox. Instead, Arthur was sitting on the ground under the big apple tree, his leg sticking out in front of him, his crutches to one side. His head was bowed and the freezing rain had soaked his shirt and trousers right through. He’d obviously been there a long time.

  Jimmy’s feet felt as though they were glued to the ground, but he realised that Arthur was shaking with cold and finally he managed to make himself walk across the yard.

  ‘Arthur?’

  Arthur’s head jerked up and he stared at Jimmy through reddened, desperate eyes. ‘Go away.’ A sob burst from him. ‘Go on, get the hell out of here!’

  ‘I . . . I can’t.’ Jimmy swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the huge, aching lump in his throat. ‘You have to come inside.’ If Arthur stayed there, he’d literally catch his death of cold. Or was that what he wanted?

  ‘No, I don’t. Go, I told you. Leave me alone. I just want to stay here. Until . . . ’ Arthur’s voice broke and his head went down again. Another series of shudders rocked his body. The dread inside Jimmy spread, and he dropped down in front of Arthur.

  ‘You can’t do this, Arthur,’ he said. ‘Come on, I’ll help you up.’

  ‘No. I’m just a burden.’

  ‘You’re not, truly.’ Despair washed over Jimmy. How could he talk Arthur out of this? He had no idea what to say, except maybe the truth. ‘You can’t do this to Mum, Arthur. You can’t be so selfish and . . . nasty to her. She won’t be able to go on.’

  ‘Nasty? Ha!’ Arthur scoffed. ‘You have no idea what nasty is. You have no idea how it feels to be a piece of rubbish that’s no use to anyone.’

  ‘Well . . . ’ Jimmy thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t you tell me then?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand!’

  ‘How do you know?’ Jimmy remembered Bill’s nasty expression, the threat in his voice. ‘I might understand more than you think. Tell me what nasty means.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean hero, for a start.’ Arthur leaned back against the tree trunk and groaned. ‘The newspapers love that word – hero. It’s a load of tripe. There’s nothing heroic in going ashore in some godforsaken place and being shot to smithereens. There’s nothing heroic about lying in trenches covered in flies and maggots. And there’s nothing heroic in your mate lying dead in the stinking sun for a week so that when you go to drag him out to bury him, his rotting arm comes off in your hand.’ Arthur sobbed again, his hands over his face. ‘When am I ever going to stop thinking about all this? It sits inside my head, night and day, and there’s no rest from it!’

  Jimmy opened his mouth but nothing came out. What could he say to all that? No wonder Arthur had nightmares and screamed in his sleep. ‘Maybe . . . maybe it’s like when Dad died,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘When he died, and they brought him home, I sneaked in to see him, even though Mum said I wasn’t allowed.’ Jimmy folded his arms tight against his chest. He didn’t want to remember this, but if it would help Arthur . . .

  ‘I was at work,’ Arthur said. ‘I only saw him in his coffin.’

  ‘Yeah. That was after they cleaned him up.’ Jimmy took a breath. ‘They put him in the front room, with a blanket over him, until the undertaker came. I dunno why. Mum said he shoulda stayed at the factory, but the owner . . . Anyway, I went and looked.’ Jimmy didn’t want to go on, but Arthur had stopped crying and was listening intently. ‘He was all busted up. The machine must’ve caught more than half of him and just crunched him up. Some of his bones were sticking out.’

  ‘Jeez, Jimmy. No, you shouldn’t have looked. I’m sorry you did.’

  ‘But that’s the whole thing,’ Jimmy said in a rush. ‘I did see him, and for days afterwards I had nightmares. I know you thought it was just because we’d lost Dad, but Mum guessed, and she talked to me.
A lot. It was like all the talking took the worst of it away, little by little, and the nightmares did stop, eventually.’ Arthur didn’t look convinced but Jimmy kept talking. ‘I know it’s nothing like what you’ve been through. Geez, what could ever be that horrible? I can’t even imagine what it was like for you over there. But I reckon . . . I hope . . . one day it’ll get better for you. It’ll take a while, I know, maybe a long while. But if you let me and Mum help you, if you talk to us . . . we love you, Arthur, and we’ll do anything we can.’

  Arthur was silent but Jimmy had one more thing to say.

  ‘I meant what I said, Arthur. If you got sick and died, Mum wouldn’t bear it. She’s already poorly. She takes things to heart, more than a lot of people do, and having you home means more to her than you know. If you died, it would be like losing Dad all over again. You can’t do that to her.’ Or me, he wanted to cry out, but he kept that bit back. ‘Please, come inside with me.’

  Arthur sucked in a long, shuddering breath and let it out again. ‘All right.’

  Tears sprang into Jimmy’s eyes, burning and blurring, but he blinked them back as hard as he could. ‘Good-o,’ he whispered.

  ‘Come here,’ Arthur said, and Jimmy launched himself into Arthur’s arms, hugging as tightly as he could, and Arthur hugged back. A fierce, tight hug. There was nothing wrong with Arthur’s arms.

  ‘My bum’s gone numb,’ Arthur said. ‘You’d better help me up.’

  Jimmy put his arms around Arthur’s chest, thinking it’d be near impossible to get him up, but to his surprise he was able to lift his brother fairly easily. He leaned Arthur against the tree while he got the crutches set up, then they hobbled together slowly across to the back door and into the kitchen. Jimmy got the fire roaring, leaving the stove door open, and helped Arthur out of his soaking clothes and into dry ones. By the time they’d both had a couple of cups of hot, sweet tea, Arthur had stopped shivering and a little colour had come back into his face.

  He stared into the flames for a long while, then he said, ‘You won’t tell Mum about this, will you?’