Published: 10 July 2017

Eventually Elyan returned to work but not until he had milked his situation for as much time as possible, taking the threat of being sacked to do so, although still supporting a bogus limp and shamming sore ribs. Strangely when alone, or believing no one was watching, the limp miraculously dissipated, as did the twitch in his rib cage.

The day Elyan returned to work Noel Evans from Evans smash and repair delivered the repaired MG to the mill, appearing as if it were fresh from the show room. Elyan instantly lost his limp and begged his father to allow a test drive. He was given five minutes but took almost an hour, returning quite impressed, as the motor now ran smoother than before the accident and a strange knock in the motor, only Elyan appeared to be capable hearing, had also gone.

Awen met his brother’s return, “So you’re happy with the repairs?” he asked as Elyan parked close to the office, where he remained for some time listning to the engine’s throat. “Hear that, it’s like sweet music.” He espoused as he killed the motor.

“All I can hear is a car motor.” Awen admitted, being somewhat disinterested in the fundamentals of the petrol engine.

“I’m more than happy but there is still one thing to do.” Elyan suggested and bounced out of the driving seat forgetting his shammed limp.

“What would that be?”

“Revenge brother, I have to get back at bloody Fields.”

“You don’t know if it was Barry who tampered with the wheel.”

“It was I’m sure of that.” Elyan blustered.

“Don’t do anything silly.” Awen remembered Bert being wrongly accused and the outcome.

“Don’t concern yourself he’ll still be alive when I’m through.”

“It’s a pity you couldn’t inflict retrospective vengeance on the Fields family.” Awen added.

“And why would that be?” Elyan asked without allowing any degree of interest to develop as he stood back to once again admire the vehicles shining surfaces. “Look Noel even cut and polished the body and you can’t see where it was dented.”

“Doesn’t matter, only something I heard.”

“Don’t mumble brother; hey I’ve an idea.”

“Go on.” Awen waited patently for Elyan’s next mad scheme.

“I’ve got a date for Friday I’ll stay over at Alices.”

“Suppose so but you will have to be out by Saturday arvo, I don’t want to arrived and find the two of you still in bed – and use my room, it’s the middle bedroom,” Awen paused, “and change the sheets before you leave.”

“More like change them before I get into bed, I don’t want to inflict Sarah with your grubby linen; I reckon there would be enough D&A in them to start a whole new civilization.” Elyan sneered.

“I changed them last week, so Sarah Collins is your next unlucky victim eh?”

“This time it’s the real deal.” Elyan bragged.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Sure thing; hey when are you going to dip your wick, you don’t want to end up a fancy dancer like Sam.” Elyan became serious as Reg arrived from his office to check on his son’s return. His icy stare was enough to motivate Elyan towards his work.

“What do you mean fancy dancer?” Awen asked as Elyan left the yard.

“You know dancing in the bull paddock instead of the cow – I better get back to work before the old man sacks me.”

Elyan walked away without his limp, leaving Awen uneasy with his brother’s description of Sam and in need to discover if Elyan’s portrayal and his own suspicion were true but worse of all had his brother expected his own leaning.

“Awen – a word with you,” Reg called as Elyan departed company.

“Yes dad.”

“I don’t want you encouraging your brother; it’s difficult enough to get a day’s worth out of him as it is.”

“I only spoke in passing.” Awen protested.

“Have you filled the Collet order yet?”

“We finished it earlier and it is ready for collection in isle B but we’re out of round edge weatherboards.”

“Umm that’s Elyan’s department, I’ll get onto it right away. He was supposed to have placed an order before his accident.”

“It’s alright dad, I’ve already contacted Les Collet and he’s agreed to square edge.”

“Still your brother should be on top of his work.”

Awen appeared smug as Reg departed his company. If only in a minute way he had stolen a march on Elyan, as it was usually he who was the receiver of childish school yard snitching.

The beach with Bradshaw silhouetted against a moonlit sky was intoxicating. Across to Awen’s right the jetty was busy with two of the fishing boats home unloading their catch. The nearest was The Sea Wind, with the Curlew on the opposite side of the jetty and being first to return, almost unloaded.

The soft breeze brought with it laughter and voices as the crew of the boats bantered with each other, bragging about the one that got away and the girl that did not. Awen listened, hearing only broken conversation also that from Sam.

“She’s got great,”

“I would if,”

“Not even with yours,”

“What about you Sam?” The question came from Tom Fleming of the Curlew his booming voice crossed the narrow jetty above the rest, soon answered by the unmistakable voice of Sam, “there’s plenty of time for that Tom,” followed by doubtful laughter.

“I don’t know Sam; I reckon you’re not trying hard enough, or trying in the wrong place,” again the voice of Fleming.

“Maybe you’re right Tom. Just may be you’re right.” Sam agreed and commenced to laugh, “then again maybe you’re wrong and unlike you I just don’t wish to brag about something I’m not really getting.”

“Yes but who’s not telling what?” Fleming concluded as someone from the Sea Wind made some inaudible suggestion to which all, even Sam, burst into laughter.

Awen felt comfortable listening to their merriment. It raised his spirit and for a while he forgot about Bert and his brother’s intention to have revenge on Barry Fields but not of Elyan’s suggestion that Sam was some fancy dancer and by the conversation of Sam’s workmates, they also appeared to be uncertain of his sexual preference. Or was it only Awen’s imagination.

“See ya Thursday.” Once again it was Sam’s voice clearly above the others, followed by the sound of agreement. Moments later a dark figure that was Sam jumped down from the jetty onto the sand and commenced along the beach. It was his chance and Awen quickly moved into the shadows.

Sam had told Margaret he wouldn’t be home until the following night so why was he back early and where was he heading. It became Awen’s intention to follow and discover where he kipped down on the nights he was absent from the Pen house and this night give the perfect opportunity.

Waiting in the shadows for Sam to pass Awen again recalled Elyan’s description of San and wondered if it was true, if so who was the bull he was dancing with. He held his breath as his uncle passed so close he could almost reach out and touch him. Sam obviously thought he heard something; saw movement in the undergrowth and glanced in Awen’s direction but he was well hidden amongst the scrub.

As Sam continued along the beach Awen followed, keeping a reasonable distance while remaining in the tea tree. Periodically Sam would turn and look back towards the jetty. Once he paused to stand gazing for quite some time out to sea. Awen faltered as a twig snapped under foot, Sam turned towards the scrub but saw nothing. He continued.

At the creek’s outlet Sam paused turned and again scanned the beach back to the jetty. Feeling safe he removed his boots and socks, pulled up his trouser legs and waded across the shallow stream before continuing on towards the northern beach. There Awen expected his uncle to take the northern track back into town.

While Sam turned into the slight bend of the beach Awen quickly crossed the creek without removing either his runners or socks. They squelched as he closed in on the bend where he ducked back into the scrub, fearing the noise from his wet shoes, or even the thumping of his heart would be heard at Sam’s distance.

Fortunately Sam remained oblivious to being followed and continued on, although Awen almost gave himself away by hurrying into the bend. Quickly he hid himself and waited as Sam came upon the track leading back into the north end of town. Once there Awen waited for his uncle to take the track but instead he continued on along the beach. A noise from behind distracted Awen as he was approached by a large black dog, barking at him as it went.

“Bloody Les Herbert’s mongrel,” He whispered loudly as the dog found interest in his concealment and stood its ground. Awen aimed a rock at the dog, “Fuck off,” he cursed as the animal continued on, passing Sam at speed, complaining bitterly as it progressed. Awen distinctly heard Sam laugh at its antics.

‘Where are going?’ Awen thought.

‘There’s no one up that end except John Ashe.’

‘Shit no it can’t be.’ Awen began to giggle.

‘Don’t tell me he’s fancy dancing in Ashe’s paddock.’ Awen thought as Sam closed in on Ashe’s bungalow.

Awen heard voices, firstly Ashe greeting Sam then the distinctive voice of Sam as he returned the gesture.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” He clearly heard Ashe announce. He crept closer to the bungalow, being sure to keep within the shadows.

“Bigger catch than usual.” Sam justified his lateness. Sam turned back to gaze along the beach, “I thought I heard someone following.” He said as Ashe joined him outside.

“I can’t see anyone, who do you think you saw?” Ashe asked and looked directly towards the stand of bush where Awen was concealed.

“No – more felt than saw and I thought I heard a noise.” Sam explained.

“Most likely it was Les Herbert’s dog; it’s always on the beach.”

“Yea it passed me a moment ago as if it had all hell on its tail; you’re probably right but I don’t know, yet I felt as if there were eyes watching.”

“You’re getting paranoid my friend.”

“Once again I guess you’re right but Ely has been getting a little suggestive of late and others.”

“Come in are you going to stay the night?” Ashe asked as the two entered into the bungalow and closed the door against the night.

“Well I’ll be buggered.” Awen announced as he crept even closer but decided against advancing further as the ground around the bungalow was open and with the moonlight would leave his approach vulnerable.

While standing in the shadows Awen had mixed feelings. Firstly his suspicion about Sam appeared to be justified, as was that of Ashe but he would never have connected the two of them together. His surprise soon turned to something else, he was envious.

Hearing laughter he accepted risk and moved closer to hide behind the tank stand. From his new position he could see shadows thrown by the light upon the opposing wall but little more. The shadows were long and close like two trees growing side by side with branches intermingled then the shadows joined to become one. Again laughter before the shadows dissipated as the two left the room taking the lamp to the bedroom. Moments later they returned with the sound of muffled conversation. Awen lingered for some time until it was obvious there was nothing more he could glean from his covert activity.

At first Awen was happy for Sam but soon envy drove away his joy and he wished to be part of their pleasure. What part he knew not as he lacked the experience or knowledge to lay with a man but could readily accept the comfort of Sam’s arms, even the arms of Ashe. He quickly left his advantage and hurried across the open ground, to again walk alone along the cool sand back to the jetty where some of the fishing crew remained stowing their gear.

Awen felt uneasy as he slowly retraced his way along the beach, his head lowered into a gloom of dejection. The sound of the fishing crew only increased his dolefulness. It was true he had often thought of lying with either Sam or Ashe but knew he never would, now discovering them together he felt as if he had lost their association, becoming a stranger in their company an intruder in their fellowship.

“Hey Awen what are you up to?”

The call from Eric Heaney a crew member off the Sea Wind broke Awen’s gloom as he passed by.

“Enjoying the night air Eric.” Awen answered as cheerful as he could draw from his mood.

“Are you looking for Sam, he’s already gone home.” Heaney informed, his head bent over his work as he puffed loudly on an old tobacco pipe.

“Na I’m on my way home myself.” Awen answered.

“Good on ya lad.” Eric concluded as Awen passed on into the darkness.

The gloom lifted from Awen’s mood. A simple conversation, a few friendly words and it was gone, replaced with the notion he had a march on both his uncle and Ashe. He knew their deepest secret and it pleased him to do so but would need to remain a secret, it would rest comfortable in his thoughts, in his opinion but never on his lips, not even in jest or a suggestive taunt give without actual disclosure.

At that moment a single notion was born. If Sam and Ashe could associate themselves in relative secrecy, surely he could also. There was the suggestion about his uncle’s habits from Elyan but that wasn’t firm, only an opinion and even with his brother’s outwardly homophobic attitude, he did not appear to hold it against Sam, they still enjoyed a social drink and laughed at the same jokes, wolf whistled at the same girls. Why shouldn’t he also survive even if his enigmatic nature was discovered? It is one thing to believe something, another to actually know and if nothing was mentioned, no deed was openly committed he should be able to go about his life without interference or ridicule. The notion was pleasing and a deep shadow commenced to lift from his person, taking a deep breath Awen continued his journey home but there was another thought more worrying, how should he react with the knowledge of Sam’s preference.

Fire!

The warning broke into Awen’s dreaming causing him to wake in fright, uncertain of his surrounding except it was dark and his heart was thumping. He quickly noted the time Twelve-thirty, he had only been asleep for a number of minutes but it seemed like hours and he needed to piss.

Quickly Awen pulled on his pants and hurried into the passage, expecting the rooms to be filled with smoke, only to encounter Elyan coming from the front of the house, his tone and manner most animated.

“Where’s the fire?” Awen demanded as Margaret joined them.

“Over towards the west, looks like the timber yard.” Elyan disclosed sharply. He had that moment arrived home, when he saw the glow in the sky high above the rooves of the houses.

“Shit, is dad home?” Awen cursed loudly.

“No,” Margaret bluntly disclosed.

“Ely drive us over.” Awen forgot he needed to urinate as he hurried out of the house.

Arriving at the fire the boys found it well controlled and only located in a portion of the stacking yard. Reg Pen stood close by, hands on hips, while conversing with Mick Grogan the fire chief.

“Looks like arson Mr. Pen.” Grogan admitted as his crew doused the last of the flames.

“What makes you say that Mick?” Reg asked abruptly.

The fire chief nodded towards an empty petrol container discarded close to a hole cut in the cyclone wire fence, “is that yours?” He asked. Reg didn’t recognise the container and admitted so. “Also the place stinks of petrol, looks like you’ve upset someone real bad.”

“It looks that way Mick.” Reg agreed as his sons approached.

“Work as usual tomorrow.” Reg acknowledged the boys presence and without further conversation moved away.

“Work for me but it looks like your job just went up in flames.” Elyan laughed pointing towards the smouldering timber stacks.

“Get real; someone will have to clean up the mess.” Awen objected loudly.

Half an hour had passed and still a small crowd watched the dampening down of the fire. Elyan had joined his father in the office while Awen stood leaning against the yard gate contemplating the dirty job that lay ahead, his hands folded across his naked chest and realising he hadn’t yet had the piss he promised himself.

Yawning as the novelty of the night wore off Awen was about to slip into the shadows and urinate, when he felt a touch to his left hand as it folded comfortably under his elbow. Normally one would pull away or turn to discover the touch; instead he gently closed his grip around what appeared to be a finger. Turning he discovered the digit belonged to Roland Bishop. “Rol?” Awen greeted with surprise, forgetting to release his hold to the lad’s finger.

Bishop slowly drew away. “Did the fire get you out of bed?” Bishop asked.

“It did why do you ask?”

“You’re not wearing a shirt and you look like you’re half asleep.”

“I am.”

“Are you still staying weekends over at Alice’s?”

“I haven’t for a while.”

“What about your birthday party?”

“I gave up on it; maybe mum will throw me a surprise party.” As Awen spoke he noticed the direction of Bishops eyes and it wasn’t on his face, “what?” he demanded quizzically.

“You didn’t do up you fly buttons and you’re not wearing underdaks.”

“Oh!” Awen quickly buttoned the offending fly.

“My aunt found some more information for you.” Bishop offered, his gaze remaining on the offending fly buttons.

“What would that be; hang on Rol, I need to piss.” Awen moved away into the shadows. Bishop followed but stood at distance. He continued.

“Well Betty is my father’s sister and recently her grandfather went into care and while going through his belongings she found an old letter sent to him by your Alice about Bert’s death. It was addressed to him while working on some station out west.”

“Ah that’s better,” Awen commented and rejoined Bishop, “That’s most interesting and what is her grandfather’s name?”

“It’s Martin Bishop why?”

“I found some letters written to Bert and signed by the single letter M, so they may have been from your aunt’s grandfather, I suppose your great, great grandfather, or is it your great uncle.” Awen explained without divulging the affectionate contents of the correspondence.

“I suppose that is possible and it’s obvious they knew each other – spooky eh?”

“Do you remember the name of the station?”

“Some Downs, Rise – Rising, no it was Risdon, yes Risdon Downs. I remember now as there is a family with that name in the next street.”

“I’d like to meet Martin.” Awen suggested.

“Then you better hurry, he’s quite frail but I don’t think he would help any as his mind has gone.” Bishop offered as the last of the gathered spectators left for their beds and Elyan returned from meeting with their father.

“Come on kid I’ll drive you home.” Elyan called from his vehicle.

“I’ll walk Ely,” He turned to Bishop, “your place is on the way I’ll walk with you.”

Little was spoken until the two reached the top of Bishop’s street. At first Awen was mulling over the association between Bert and Martin Bishop and if he should have mentioned the letters at all, as their contents were somewhat personal and if divulged may damage relations within the Bishop family.

Reaching the corner Awen’s attention returned to their earlier meeting that night and how Bishop had placed his finger into his hand and he had held it. What did it mean? Was it only seeking his attention or was it something more intentional.

“Two weeks to our birthdays.” Bishop declared before departing company.

“Too true, what would you like as a present, a Rolls Royce?” Awen cheekily asked.

“No something less than that.” Bishop answered, his face beaming with anticipation but obviously reluctant to disclose.

“What would that be?”

“Doesn’t matter, when will you be over at Alice’s next?”

“Not this weekend ‘cos Ely’s taking his new bird over for a bit of in and out.”

“Ely seems to have a new chick every week.” Bishop laughed.

“I’m afraid his charm is thin and it doesn’t take long for them to see through to his real character.”

“You are more like Sam.” Bishop surmised.

“In what way would that be?” Awen was fishing as Bishop appeared to be stepping around some alternate question, always half spoken, never completed and in Awen’s opinion, bloody annoying.

“I can’t rightly put it to words, maybe broody; neither of you really divulge much, while with Elyan it’s all up-front – in your face.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as broody.” Awen challenged.

“Maybe broody isn’t quite what I mean, I don’t know.”

“Sam’s not broody.”

“It doesn’t matter; if you’re at Alice’s the following weekend, I could visit?” Bishop suggested.

“Sure but I would like to meet Martin, do you think it would be alright to do so?”

“As I said his mind is going, often he doesn’t even remember my aunt or mum when they visit, so it wouldn’t be of much use.”

“Still, seeing Bert and Martin appeared to have been friends, I would like to give him a visit.”

“Suppose it will be alright but I’ll speak with Betty first.” Bishop agreed.

Almost home and Awen felt wide awake, instead he took the short walk to the beach and sat on the cool sand mesmerised by the harmony of the surf and the changing tide as it brought a large palm fronds a little higher onto the beach with each incoming wave. He released an asinine smile as he wondered how far the fronds had travelled only to be once again thrown up by the surf, before a larger wave decided the sea wasn’t yet ready to give up its bounty and washed it back into the deeper water.

At first he was excited with Bishop’s news, believing at last he had found the author to Bert’s mystery letters but not surprised the mysterious M should be Martin and not Marilyn. Nor was he surprised that there appeared to be a liaison between Bert and Martin. The letters suggested so and it was all but proved Bert was, as the enquiry’s report stated, a sodomite, even so it didn’t mean he and Martin were anything but best mates, as in Bert’s time men did speak of love between their male friends. To Awen’s generation love was between a man and a woman and usually meant sex. If he were to admit love for McDonald there would be hell to pay, even towards Sam but oddly he could, if he so inclined, love his brother Elyan. Awen released an ironic smile as his thoughts moved on.

Soon it became Bishop’s approach earlier that night that captured his interest. Why would Bishop place a finger in his hand to gain attention, when a simple hello or a touch to the shoulder would suffice and why did he react by encircling the digit in such a caring way. He shuddered, was there more to read in their equal greeting and why did Bishop wish to visit?

“Rol Bishop you’re a strange one.” Awen loudly sighed.

“I just don’t know how to take you. Where do you fit in?”

All thoughts of Bishop and Martin were lost as Les Herbert’s black mongrel came bounding along the beach. Discovering Awen seated in the shadows it paused its run and cautiously approached.

“Hello feller what ya doing out this late at night?” Awen spoke kindly, encouraging the animal to advance. The dog barked and held its ground.

“You know me you stupid mong.”

The animal again barked.

“Christ Midnight you stink!”

The barking subsided as the animal decided Awen was worth knowing. It approached closer.

“Get out of here, you stink, what have you been rolling in?” Awen withdrew his offer of friendship, instead launched a hand full of sand at the dog, sending it to continue its original journey along the beach in the direction of Ashe’s bungalow, “that’s the idea pooch, you go and annoy John Ashe.”

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