building a Saturn VI,’ I said.
‘Good man.’ He turned to Jim. ‘So who was there?’
‘Langs, Rourkes. Carvers, Veenes, Chamberlain, Charlie Thomson, Ormerods, Caseys, Mrs Radley, Frasers. Just about everyone. Old Scott.’
‘Old Scott?’ Frank said. ‘Danny Wallace hated the miserable old bastard. What did he want?’
‘Same as everyone else, I s’pose. Came to pay his respects.’
‘Anybody ask after me?’
‘No.’
Frank scratched a moulting patch of hair. ‘Not a word? What about old Byrne? He must’ve noticed I wasn’t there.’
‘Didn’t say anything.’
‘Well,’ said Frank. ‘That’s that bloody mob for you. I knew Danny Wallace since ’47, day I king-hit him in the Golden Fleece. Used to put him to bed. That drunk he’d get on a horse backwards.’ He patted his jacket. ‘What happened to my smokes?’
‘I though he was cryin a bit at the end,’ Jim said. ‘By the grave.’
‘Who?’
‘Old Kellaway.’
Frank found his cigarettes and lit one with a big gold lighter. He coughed for a while, then he said. ‘Old Kellaway? Bloody crocodile tears. Sanctimonious old bastard. Spent his whole life crawlin up the cracks of the rich. You know where the bastard was in the war? Y’know?’
‘I know,’ Jim said.
‘Chaplain in the Navy, bloody Australian Navy, two pisspots and a tin bath. Hearin the bunnyboys’ confessions.’ He put on a high voice. ‘ “Forgive me, father, I cracked a fat at Mass.” ’ Then a deep voice: ‘ “My son, the Lord forbids us to lust after petty officers’ bums. Say fifty Hail Marys and, report to my cabin after lights out.” ’
‘He’s all right,’ Jim said. ‘Hasn’t been much of a life for him.’
‘All right?’ said Frank. ‘All right? He’s far from bloody all right. If he was all right he’d never have landed up here so he wouldn’t have much of a life. He’d a been a bloody cardinal, wouldn’t he?’
Frank took a small leather-bound flask out of his inside pocket. ‘Just thinkin about bloody Kellaway gives me a need for drink,’ he said. He took off the cap and had a good swig.
Jim muttered something.
‘What’s that?’ Frank said, wiping his lips. ‘You say somethin?’
‘Nothin.’
‘Don’t bloody nothin me. Somethin to say, spit it out.’
‘Bit early for the piss, innit?’
Frank nodded knowingly. ‘Sonny,’ he said, ‘don’t come the fuckin little prig with me. I’ve had disapproval from a whole family of disapproval experts. I feel like it, I’ll give myself a whisky enema for breakfast.’
I was looking at the plan. ‘What’s this twisty thing you’ve drawn here, Frank?’
He eased himself up and came over. ‘It’s a spring, Mac. A shock absorber.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That horse mounter needed a shock absorber.’
‘I need a bloody shock absorber,’ Frank said. ‘Shares goin down like the Titanic and the bastards call an election. This country’s buggered, y’know that, Mac. Get butchered for bloody king and country twice, then it’s for the Yanks. Now everythin’s for sale. Power stations. Telephone. Bloody airports. Negative gear this bloody Parliament buildin chock-a-block with liars, thousands of bloody bent police thrown in. Buy the whole country.’
‘What about Crewe?’ I said. ‘Going to get back, is he?’ I went over to the cabinet to look for some suitable springs for the shock absorber.
‘Anthony Crewe,’ Frank said. ‘Lord only knows how they made that bastard attorney-general. Bloody miscarriage of justice if ever there was one. Done that shonky will for old Morrissey.’
‘That’s enough, Frank,’ Jim said.
Frank turned his big head slowly. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What did you say?’
Jim looked away. ‘You know what Mr Petty always said about repeatin gossip.’
A look somewhere between pleasure and pain
‘Good man.’ He turned to Jim. ‘So who was there?’
‘Langs, Rourkes. Carvers, Veenes, Chamberlain, Charlie Thomson, Ormerods, Caseys, Mrs Radley, Frasers. Just about everyone. Old Scott.’
‘Old Scott?’ Frank said. ‘Danny Wallace hated the miserable old bastard. What did he want?’
‘Same as everyone else, I s’pose. Came to pay his respects.’
‘Anybody ask after me?’
‘No.’
Frank scratched a moulting patch of hair. ‘Not a word? What about old Byrne? He must’ve noticed I wasn’t there.’
‘Didn’t say anything.’
‘Well,’ said Frank. ‘That’s that bloody mob for you. I knew Danny Wallace since ’47, day I king-hit him in the Golden Fleece. Used to put him to bed. That drunk he’d get on a horse backwards.’ He patted his jacket. ‘What happened to my smokes?’
‘I though he was cryin a bit at the end,’ Jim said. ‘By the grave.’
‘Who?’
‘Old Kellaway.’
Frank found his cigarettes and lit one with a big gold lighter. He coughed for a while, then he said. ‘Old Kellaway? Bloody crocodile tears. Sanctimonious old bastard. Spent his whole life crawlin up the cracks of the rich. You know where the bastard was in the war? Y’know?’
‘I know,’ Jim said.
‘Chaplain in the Navy, bloody Australian Navy, two pisspots and a tin bath. Hearin the bunnyboys’ confessions.’ He put on a high voice. ‘ “Forgive me, father, I cracked a fat at Mass.” ’ Then a deep voice: ‘ “My son, the Lord forbids us to lust after petty officers’ bums. Say fifty Hail Marys and, report to my cabin after lights out.” ’
‘He’s all right,’ Jim said. ‘Hasn’t been much of a life for him.’
‘All right?’ said Frank. ‘All right? He’s far from bloody all right. If he was all right he’d never have landed up here so he wouldn’t have much of a life. He’d a been a bloody cardinal, wouldn’t he?’
Frank took a small leather-bound flask out of his inside pocket. ‘Just thinkin about bloody Kellaway gives me a need for drink,’ he said. He took off the cap and had a good swig.
Jim muttered something.
‘What’s that?’ Frank said, wiping his lips. ‘You say somethin?’
‘Nothin.’
‘Don’t bloody nothin me. Somethin to say, spit it out.’
‘Bit early for the piss, innit?’
Frank nodded knowingly. ‘Sonny,’ he said, ‘don’t come the fuckin little prig with me. I’ve had disapproval from a whole family of disapproval experts. I feel like it, I’ll give myself a whisky enema for breakfast.’
I was looking at the plan. ‘What’s this twisty thing you’ve drawn here, Frank?’
He eased himself up and came over. ‘It’s a spring, Mac. A shock absorber.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘That horse mounter needed a shock absorber.’
‘I need a bloody shock absorber,’ Frank said. ‘Shares goin down like the Titanic and the bastards call an election. This country’s buggered, y’know that, Mac. Get butchered for bloody king and country twice, then it’s for the Yanks. Now everythin’s for sale. Power stations. Telephone. Bloody airports. Negative gear this bloody Parliament buildin chock-a-block with liars, thousands of bloody bent police thrown in. Buy the whole country.’
‘What about Crewe?’ I said. ‘Going to get back, is he?’ I went over to the cabinet to look for some suitable springs for the shock absorber.
‘Anthony Crewe,’ Frank said. ‘Lord only knows how they made that bastard attorney-general. Bloody miscarriage of justice if ever there was one. Done that shonky will for old Morrissey.’
‘That’s enough, Frank,’ Jim said.
Frank turned his big head slowly. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What did you say?’
Jim looked away. ‘You know what Mr Petty always said about repeatin gossip.’
A look somewhere between pleasure and pain
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