A sequel to ‘At the Turning’

Published: 26 Jul 2018

Stephen Henderson was true to his word and entered into the Eacham bar at two minutes past eight. He spotted Wayne from across the almost empty room, waved, smiled and was soon seated beside him.

“Hey there, you came.”

“I’ve ordered you a beer.” Wayne offered.

“Thank you – how was your day?”

“It was there I guess; what about you?” Wayne answered impassively.

“Work,”

“Where do you work?”

“I’m with the fire brigade; a firie.”

“It’s always raining up here I don’t suppose you would have much to do.”

“You’d be surprised some people are quite careless, only last week we almost lost a house over in Cahill Road, kids with matches and nothing better to do.” Stephen recollected.

“Not the big house near the corner?” Wayne asked.

“It was as a matter of fact, why?”

“I noticed some damage while passing by. I once lived two houses down from there, number seventeen.”

“The Prentice family?” Stephen assumed.

“No it was my Uncle Clarence and Aunt Beth Jenkins back then, they have since moved to Mareeba.”

“I don’t remember them,” Stephen admitted; “did they have kids?”

“Two girls, why?”

“Only if they had kids I would have known them from school.”

“They are somewhat older than me.” Wayne admitted.

“That’s probably why but I do know Ernest Jenkins and his lot out at East Barron, I guess they are your relations.”

“He’s another uncle; dad had six brothers and two sisters, so there is a tribe of them.”

“Good Catholic family eh?”

“Oddly they were C of E and not very religious at all, only the usual births, marriages and funerals.” Wayne explained.

Henderson made light comment, “it’s not a religious town the last church closed down a year back, so if you want god you have to travel to Atherton, as he no longer lives here.”

“I guess you would call that an eviction.” Wayne drolly affixed.

“Hey Henderson, how’s the fire lighting going?” A local asked in passing to sit with the group of farmers.

“We don’t light them Sid, we put them out.” Henderson answered and waved to the newcomer.

“Is that Sid Palmer?” Wayne asked.

“Yes why?”

“I didn’t recognise him; I suppose it has been some time and people change, he didn’t have whiskers back then.”

“So you lived here in Yungaburra?”

“Off and on but in my early to mid teens.”

There was a new set of backpackers in and from their appearance were Japanese. Unlike the Swedes from the previous night they were quiet and didn’t appear to have any English but they did appear to have a liking for Australian Beer, while their sharp almost abrupt conversation sounded out of place amongst lazy Australian drawl.

“Saw you talking to Anne Kemp as I was leaving last night.” Stephen said giving an all knowing smile. Wayne made a gesture but didn’t answer.

“She is a right goer.” Stephen added.

“So you’ve been there?” Wayne softly accused.

“No way, I have to live in this town but blokes talk eh and I believe she’s been right around the fire station.”

“Like a bush fire.” Wayne laughed.

“Like an inferno.”

“She must appreciate men in uniform.”

“More to the point out of uniform.”

“I was saying last night that I thought I had met you somewhere and I’ve been wracking my brain all day where from.”

“I’ve hardly been out of Yungaburra of late but have been to Cairns a few times, there’s a club there -” Stephen answered but reeled back from his conclusion as if he had something to hide.

“What club would that be?” Wayne asked believing that would be where he may have seen Henderson.

“I can’t remember the name, besides I only went there once and I don’t know Cairns that well, somewhere off the Esplanade.” Henderson’s direction appeared to purposely vague but went unnoticed by Wayne.

“Oddly I found what appeared to be your family name etched into an old carved board on a farm my aunt once owned.” Wayne explained.

“My name?”

“Well to be accurate the name Henderson.”

“Where is this farm?” Stephen asked.

“Near Federation Bay,”

Stephen gave a smile and raised a finger in a semi point towards Wayne. “I have an uncle who told me his great-great uncle once owned a farm down that way but it went broke, the town was called McBride’s Point back then.”

“Possibly the name board came from that farm,” Wayne suggested without acknowledging the association between his own family and the town.

“I also have relations on my mother’s side who live in Townsville but don’t think there are any around Federation Bay these days.” Stephen added and finishing his beer ordered two scotches.

“You’re hitting the piss a bit?” Wayne suggested, as he was more inclined to sit on a drink and pace the night.

“Not much else to do in this town.”

“Not many local chicks either, have you a girlfriend?”

“Not at present but –,” Stephen left his answer unqualified.

“A friend of mine comes from Townsville.” Wayne related while thinking of Ralph and wondering how he was handling his new farm. He pictured Ralph working around the house paint brush in one hand, a pot of paint in the other and of course lacking his clothes, “Ralph Matthews,” Wayne declared more rhetorically than any sharing of information.

“Ralph Matthews is he from Townsville?”

“I believe so, originally.”

“He’s my cousin although I’ve never met him. Well I’ll be buggered.”

It was then Wayne realised where he had seen his newly found friend before, as he did have a strong resemblance to Ralph, a fact he confided with Stephen.

“What’s Ralph like, I guess he would be a little younger then?” Stephen asked excitedly.

“Yea late teens, different hair but the same facial structure but he’s a skinny little bugger.” Wayne related as a noisy group of the town’s youth arrived. In turn they nodded towards Henderson but kept their distance, preferring to drink in their own group.

“Town’s boys?” Wayne issued, realising he didn’t recognise any of them.

“Yea, mostly kids in their last school year and the publican lets them drink beer as long as the keep the noise down.”

“What about Mick Black?” Wayne asked.

“Who?”

“Mick Black, the police sergeant.”

“You have been away for a while, he was transferred somewhere out west, Bill Collins runs the show now.”

“What’s he like.”

“A little more tolerant than Mick was but quite firm.”

“Tell you what it’s noisy in here, I’ve a bottle of the good stuff over at the cottage; want to come around for a while?” Wayne offered.

Quickly finishing his drink Stephen agreed and followed Wayne back to his cottage.

“This place once belonged to my family.” Stephen acknowledged as they entered.

“That must have been yonks back, as I bought it from the estate of Nelly Gooding.”

“Nelly was my grandmother on my mother’s side.” Stephen offered, “families,” he impulsively added.

“Yes I guess everyone has them.”

“What about Ralph is he from Railway Estate in Townsville?” Stephen asked.

“Yes I believe he mentioned so.”

“Then he would most definitely be my cousin.”

Wayne guided the way into the living room and invited Stephen to be seated, “you appear to be related to everyone?” he made light.

“It’s the way in these small communities, insult one bloke and you insult the district and grudges, they seem to last a lifetime.” Stephen admitted cheerfully while accepting a drink. He took a sip, “it is top shelf,” he commented.

“Nothing but the best, so you know your scotch.”

“Fine if you can afford it, I know bad stuff at least.”

Wayne opened a cupboard and retrieved an unopened bottle of Glenfiddich; he passed it to Stephen, “so there you go have a bottle on me.”

“I can’t take your scotch.”

“There are three more in there but you can’t have the rum,” Wayne peered into the cupboard, “no four,” he corrected.

“Still,”

“Call it an early Christmas present – or birthday.”

“Thanks I’ll owe you one.”

As the bottle emptied more information was translated relating to the Henderson family and their relationship to the Matthew family. Stephen Henderson had not heard his aunt, Ralph’s mother, had passed away, to which he gave a few seconds of reverence but seeing he had never met that side of his family, her passing didn’t greatly grieve him.

As the night progressed the ubiquitous conversation of sex again rose its ugly, or to the point somewhat lacking head. From the blur of alcohol Wayne recollected saying the sex with Louise was good but she was inclined to be moody and accustomed to sulking if she didn’t have her own way.

“I guess girls are like that.” Stephen sighed as if speaking from experience.

“So you’re an expert on the moods of females?”

“I wouldn’t admit to that, probably the opposite. How did you go with Anne last night?”

Wayne smiled broadly, “what do you think?”

“I reckon –” Stephen shook his head and laughed, “I reckon I’m drunk,” he freely admitted.

“Anne and I are old friends, we go way back.”

“Way back Wayne?”

“Well a number of years, she was my first,” Wayne proudly announced, remembering that afternoon after the end of his sub-junior school year in the feed shed of his uncle’s farm. He recalled the nervousness and expectation as he fiddled with his fly, the boil of blood as his pants descended and the euphoria of entry that was almost instantaneously spent. He smiled in his alcohol influenced state as his few seconds had at least increased to a few minutes to which Louise frequently complained.

Something else came with the memory, being the ability to become erect even while washed with alcohol and it was out there to be seen, yet he held enough decorum to place a hand strategically upon his lap, hoping his indiscretion would remain unnoticed.

“Another drink? May as well finish the bottle.” Wayne suggested.

“Why not,” Henderson passed his glass and as Wayne emptied the remainder of the bottle he realised he was showing more than he had hoped.

“My first was,” again Stephen developed caution.

“Come on who was she?”

“Never mind;”

“She must have been a right dog.”

“No nothing like that.”

“This sex talk’s making me horny.” Wayne admitted and unconsciously rubbed his crotch, that last drink had crossed the line of sensibility. He heard his voice but the words appeared to come from someone else, a separate entity deep inside his physic, that same voice he had so often disallowed to surface. He also heard Stephen speak; it was a question, an offer to render assistance with Wayne’s developing problem.

Wayne didn’t answer or reject the suggestion, it was that damn voice inside his head that seemed to say, alright fellow its now my turn, so you sit there and enjoy the ride. Moments later he felt a hand softly touch above the knee and slowly, nervously and trembling it advanced. Still withholding protest he sat, even as he felt the zip on his jeans fly descend and the warmth of nervous flesh on flesh, while moist sensation devoured his frustration. Instead he closed his eyes while leaning back to rest his head upon the bolster of the couch.

The sun had been tracking along the east side of the cottage for some time. Eventually it reached the glass of the lounge room window and delivered a sharp beam of bright light onto the close eyes of Wayne. “Shit!” He exclaimed loudly and jolted into the new morning, his head full of wool and body aching from sleeping on a lumpy couch.

Across the room, in a ragged club chair, Stephen remained sleeping, his head back, mouth open and snoring a soft serenade.

“Hey.” Wayne called and tossed small cushions across at Stephen. The movement brought a heavy thump to the back of his head as what was left of his brain cells hit the wall of his skull. “Oww,” he murmured and closed his eyes. It soon passed.

“What –what!” His sleeping visitor grunted, jerking upright and awake while wondering where he was. “What’s the time?”

“Day time,”

“I should be at work.” Stephen checked the time, “it’s only six thirty.” He realised, not needing to be at work until eight thirty. “How do you feel?” He asked.

“Like shit, that will teach me to try and pace you.” Wayne complained.

Stephen laughed, “I thought I was pacing you.”

“I need a shower; the kitchen is through there put the coffee on.” Wayne demanded in a gravelled voice.

Steadily Stephen brought himself to obedience as Wayne stumbled into the bathroom. The warm water slowly washed away much of the fuzziness and ache from his joints as he commenced to recollect the previous night. Wayne remembered well the conversation but only up to a point. That point being Stephen’s offer to elevate his frustration. He remembered a rogue hand but was it memory or a dream. Was it nothing more than the unwelcomed surfacing of his inner self, admitting he shouldn’t over divulge in alcohol as it was certain to unlock a well closed door.

“Coffee’s ready.” Stephen called from the open shower room door then entered. “Hope you don’t mind if I piss but I can’t wait.”

“Go ahead, want a shower?”

“No I’ll have coffee with you and go back to my place, I’ll shower and change for work there.”

“That feels better.” Stephen sighed as his stream became a matter of droplets, he flushed the toilet.

“Fuck!” Wayne exclaimed loudly and jumped from the fall of water.

“What?”

“You flushed the fucken’ toilet and almost burnt my arse off!”

“Ops sorry, you should get someone to look at that water pressure, my uncle’s a plumber.”

“It doesn’t usually cause a problem, as long as everyone is aware of it.” The water cooled and Wayne continued with his shower.

“Will you be back this way?” Stephen asked.

“I guess I will, – eventually.”

“If you do call in, I’d value the company.”

“If so I would have Louise with me.”

“Anyway the offer is there.”

“About last night,” Wayne spoke as he reached for the towel.

“Was the grog.” Stephen explained flippantly.

“I’m not like that.” Wayne enforced.

“There’s no need to explain, the coffee is made; I’ll skip it and be on my way.”

“Stephen,” Wayne called as Henderson prepared to leave. He turned.

“I don’t blame you mate, I guess there is such a word as no and it was my responsible to use it.” Wayne offered his hand. It was accepted.

“As I said it was the grog and if you’re in town look me up, 12 Short Street, near the fire station.”

“Sure I may just do that.”

That afternoon Wayne’s journey back to Cairns was plagued by his previous night. He lacked full recollection but there was a spark of memory. In his mind he could clearly visualise Stephen’s hand on his crotch but little more and even with Stephen blaming the grog there was still a measure of doubt anything untoward had occurred but if not what did Stephen mean by blaming the grog.

“You’re still in there aren’t you, you little bugger. I thought I had done away with you when I met Louise,” he softly spoke to the inside of his vehicle.

“Did you enjoy it?” He released a huff.

“Can’t rightly say but obviously something happened, or did it?”

“Am I gay?”

“Can’t be I’m in a heterosexual relationship, poofs don’t like girls.”

Wayne’s prognosis quickly became faulted, “Larry Williamson was married and caught mucking around with Rod Pearce, in the public toilet on the Mareeba main street. They were both married.” That was true and their clandestine association had been shared as fact or anecdote in quiet conversation around town for many years. Williamson was the proprietor of a shoe shop and Pearce the postal manager but was transferred to another office soon after the rumour surfaced.

A sigh as Wayne approached Atherton and entered into town, “I need petrol,” he spoke to the quiet within the vehicle.

‘Williamson had two kids,’ Wayne thought as he pulled into the service station, ‘yes two girls and pretty little things.’

While parking his thoughts continued, ‘Pearce had a son Greg; he’d be my age now, left home after the incident. Now hates his father and won’t contact – won’t even show his face in town.’

At the bowser Wayne momentarily forgot his self examination but once back on the road like an unwelcomed relative, it returned.

‘Come to think of it once Larry tried it out on me, so did Rod Pearce, they didn’t get far,’ he recollected with a smile, remembering one afternoon while visiting Greg his father calling him into his shed, wishing to show something. ‘Greg warned not to enter but I did, I guess even then Greg knew about his father’s indiscretions.’

‘I liked the attention and maybe if he had been more my age I would have crossed that line.’ Wayne loudly interrupted his thought. He laughed; “did I actually admit that? And I’m talking to myself.”

‘Possibly I’m bi-sexual.’ Wayne thought.

‘No it can’t be so, I like girls, I like their smell, their silly ways and not some hairy arse bloke with a stiff donger; besides where would you put it.’ That thought soon developed, ‘yea up the arse, I don’t think so.’ He gave a shudder and loudly said ouch. ‘Constipation hurt enough so what would it be like having something even larger attempting to enter, pushing against the natural way of things,’ Wayne released a second ouch, ‘it’s an outlet not an intake. It would be like pushing shit up hill.’

Stephen Henderson had given him his telephone number and he had kept it. Placing the scrap of paper in his wallet next to four one hundred dollar notes he kept in a secret compartment. It was his emergency money hidden for that time when a credit card wouldn’t do, which even during such a modern period could often eventuate in the north of Queensland. The paper had been unconsciously folded into four and placed, not discarded once Henderson had gone. Why had he kept the number, of course for future information on Ralph’s family? That had to be so.

Satisfied with his reasoning Wayne decided the incident, if it had occurred, was a one off and would not reoccur. His thoughts returned to Ralph and the information on his family, deciding not to tell him about discovering his cousin for the moment and most certainly not his suspicion Henderson was inclined towards the male of the species. He smiled, there were many words in his vocabulary for such but refrained from using them.

Passing through Mareeba Wayne stoped for lunch at his favourite café on the corner of Hort and Byrne streets. It had once been the residence of a good friend, Travis Collins and his family’s business. Travis had long gone and was living in Brisbane and the business closed; now it was the Hort Street Eatery and the maker of a fine hamburger and steak sandwich.

Taking a seat in the sunny courtyard Wayne ordered from the extended breakfast menu, eggs on toast, fried tomato and bacon. As the young waitress took his order he spoke, “do you realise your kitchen was once my bedroom?” he shared.

The dumpy girl with frizzy hair and spots didn’t appear in the least interested in his sleeping arrangements, believing Wayne was making a pass at her. She quickly disregarded Wayne’s statement but reported his forwardness to the kitchen with his order and returning to the court yard kept well away from Wayne’s table.

With his meal ready the woman from the kitchen delivered it and one reaching Wayne’s table she paused, “Wayne Jenkins?” she queried with some surprise.

“Yes,”

“I thought so, Bev Watson, Tom’s wife, we had the shop two down, next to Jack Johns the saddler and the Graham Hotel, you used to visit with Travis on school holidays.”

“Ah yes Bev I remember but that was a long time ago.” Wayne recollected and it was. To Wayne it could have been another century, another’s lifetime, a period between losing his parents and living with his grandmother, when he was shared around his father’s family, from one set of cousins to another, one aunt and uncle until finally it was Cairns and Grandma Jenkins.

“Don’t mind Sue, she has only recently started here.”

“No she was fine, I was only telling her that your kitchen was once my bedroom.”

“The poor girl thought it was a suggestion, your Cousin Bradley comes in her most days for his lunch,” Bev said as Sue once again passed by with an order, Bev called her to Wayne’s table. Sue this is Wayne he used to visit here when the Collins family had it as a greengrocery.” The girl gave a flushed, half smile and what could only be described as a gurgling sound and quickly returned to the kitchen without speaking.

“That’s Sue,” Bev sighed, “I don’t think she will make the grade but I owe her mother a favour.”

“She seems fine to me, a little shy maybe,” Wayne admitted, “has Bradley been in today?”

“Not yet but I guess it’s about his lunch break, he works at the Court House over the road.” Bev informed and as she did so Bradley commenced to cross the road. Spying Wayne he approached.

“Look what the flaming cat dragged in.” Bradley greeted and took Wayne’s hand, “the usual Bev,” he ordered as the woman left them to their reunion, “haven’t seen you in months.”

“I guess I’ve been busy,” Wayne excused.

“I haven’t received the invitation as yet, where’s Louise?”

“That is a point of contention.” Wayne sighed.

“Don’t tell me you two have had a row?”

“More than that she has called the wedding off, also said we need to cool it which I believe means finish,” Wayne nodded towards the Court House, “were you visiting or what?”

“I work there now, for the Clerk of Courts; I guess you are still working the stock exchange.”

“It mostly works itself I only have to choose which will come up trumps, besides my broker does most of the thinking.”

“It seems like a lot of hard work on the old brain box, what about this wedding of yours, we all thought you were made for each other.” Bradley asked as his meal arrived.

“To be honest Bradley, I am all out of talking about Louise and the wedding, let’s talk about something else.”

“Sure, I’m getting married myself.” Bradley admitted and burst into the biggest smile Wayne had seen in a long time.

“What you and Leanne have made the decision at last?”

“Nope, Judy Bell from the drapery store, Leanne gave me the shove yonks back, I’ve been seen Judy for months now.”

“That proves how often we meet.”

“It will be in the spring, I’ll send you an invitation. Are you still at the same address?”

“Sort of but you can get me there.”

“So what has gone wrong with you two?” Bradley returned to Wayne’s marital situation.

“That is too long a story to relate over lunch, I guess if the truth would be told, we both have different prospects for the future.” As he spoke Wayne felt a wave of remorse.

“I don’t like to admit it Wayne but many of you old gang had reservations.” Bradley offered.

“What happened to your suggestion we are perfectly matched?”

“I guess it was more hope than belief.”

“Still it is supposed to be only a cooling off, who knows how it will pan out. I still have a measure of hope.”

“To be honest Wayne, don’t just hope it will work, be sure it is what you want, I almost made the same mistake with Leanne.” Bradley soberly related.

On reaching the outskirts of Cairns, Wayne had the urge to visit Louise. The talk on Bradley’s coming marriage left him cheerless, believing possibly a personal visit may bring Louise around to his way of thinking but ego was a dirty word and his was restricting him at that very moment, besides such a visit would be more to cleanse the previous night and relock the door against the his little unwelcome voice.

On his way to his unit Wayne passed by Louise’s abode. It was a town house, one of four and at the rear down a court yard lined with Alexandra Palms and Frangipani. The unit actually belonged to the Millar family, as Jack had purchased it for his little princess for her eighteenth birthday, while holding all rights of ownership, presented along with an open around the world ticket that was never used.

Wayne paused at the drive and cast a glance towards the unit. The front door was wide and he believed someone was either entering or leaving. Quickly he drove away not wishing to be discerned a stalker.

“She’ll contact you. Give it a miss.” He scalded as he sped away.

Let Gary Know that you are reading and what you think of his story. Drop an email to him: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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