Billy Mack's War (10 page)

Chapter 13 Danny

‘My word, look at the time!' Mr McAuliffe said, pointing at the green numbers glowing on the car radio. ‘You'd better hurry inside — your father will be getting worried.'

‘All right,' Danny said, opening the door. ‘I'll be all right to walk in, really. And thanks for the milkshakes and stuff.'

‘You're very welcome. And thank
you
for agreeing to see me. I wanted to tell you about Dad in person. He liked you, Daniel.'

‘Is it okay if I come to the funeral?' Danny asked. ‘That is, if just anyone's allowed to come. What I mean is, if it's only for family —'

‘Yes, of course, you're most welcome,' Mr McAuliffe replied. ‘It's this Thursday.'

‘The day after tomorrow?'

‘Yes, that's right, at eleven. Here, I'll write down the address for you,' he added, taking a pen and a small notebook from his pocket. After he'd written the address, he tore the page out and handed it to Danny. ‘Can you read my scrawl, Daniel?'

Danny looked at the page. He could read it, just. ‘Thanks. Um, I've never been to a funeral — well, not for a few years, anyway — so what am I supposed to wear?'

Mr McAuliffe shook his head. ‘You can wear whatever you like. I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind if you didn't wear black.'

‘Okay. Thanks again.' Danny collected his bag from the back seat and closed the door, before walking up the little path, opening the front door with his key and turning to wave goodbye.

‘Is that you, Dan?' Dad called from upstairs as Danny closed the door behind himself.

‘Who else would it be?'

‘Good point,' Dad replied, coming down the stairs. ‘Hungry?'

‘Haven't you eaten yet?'

‘No, I was waiting for you. Come on, tell me about your afternoon while I serve up.'

Danny dropped his bag in the hallway and followed Dad out to the kitchen. ‘It was fine,' he said, sitting at the table.

‘Just fine?'

‘Hmm.'

‘That's good. I'll bet you're relieved.'

‘He's real nice, actually. Nicer than I thought he'd be.'

‘Well, there you go,' Dad said as he placed a plate of chicken casserole and rice on the table in front of Danny. ‘I told you that you'd probably just misunderstood him.'

‘Did you? I don't remember that.'

‘Well, I certainly meant to,' Dad replied with a wink as he tucked into his dinner. ‘So tell me, what did he want to say?'

‘Captain Mack died,' Danny said.

Dad stopped chewing. Then he started again, slowly, resting his fork on his plate. ‘I'm sorry, Dan,' he said. ‘Are you okay?'

Danny thought about his answer. ‘I think so,' he said. ‘He was old. Mr McAuliffe said he just died in his sleep.'

‘Well, that's not a bad way to go, if you could pick.'

‘That's what he said. The funeral's on Thursday.'

Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘I can write you a note if you like. I think this is important enough for a day off school, don't you? I'm guessing that you do want to go?'

Danny shrugged and pushed some rice around the plate with his fork. ‘I suppose so. I mean, I told Mr McAuliffe I probably would, but now I'm not sure. I mean, it's going to be sad, isn't it?'

‘Funerals generally are,' Dad replied. ‘There's really no avoiding that. But we don't go to funerals to be entertained, or to avoid feeling sad. We go to honour the person who's died.'

‘Yeah, I know, but …'

‘But what?'

‘I didn't really know him that well. I mean, I know where he came from, and some of the stuff that happened to him. There was the war, and being a prisoner, and now I've met his son. But I still don't know all that much about him.'

Dad reached across the table and took Danny's hand. ‘Listen, mate, he was in his nineties. You couldn't ever expect to know everything about him. You can't ever presume to know everything about anyone, even if you live with them your entire life. But he
was
your friend, Dan. He trusted you enough to ask you for help when he needed it. And more than that, he trusted you enough to tell you about some of his most painful memories. I think you know more about him than you realise.'

‘So you think I should go on Thursday?'

Dad nodded. ‘I do. Not for you, though — for him. But it's just my opinion, mate. The final decision's yours, of course.'

‘I'll think about it,' Danny said.

‘What do you mean, you'll think about it?' Caleb asked. ‘What is there to think about? It's a day off school, pre-approved by your old man.'

‘Do you ever understand a single thing I say to you?' Danny asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. ‘I understand that you can have a day off school. A whole day!'

‘Yeah, to go to a funeral. A
friend's
funeral.'

‘Would you go to mine if I died?'

‘Obviously.'

‘Good. And I think you should definitely go to his.'

‘So I can have a day off.'

Caleb's voice was suddenly serious. ‘Because he was your friend.'

* *

Danny looked at the photo of his mum, the one where she was smiling down at him. She hadn't known she was dying. She hadn't had a clue. Or maybe she'd had a tiny suspicion. A twinge of pain, perhaps. Something must have made her go to the doctor in the first place. And sometime after that photo was taken, someone held her hand and told her that she was going to die.

Mr McAuliffe and Dad were right — breathing your last breath while you're sleeping would be the best way to go. Not having to say goodbye to everyone you know. Easiest, that way.

He tried to remember the funeral. He'd been only seven at the time, so it was a very shadowy memory. He recalled the white coffin, and a lot of flowers, lilies mostly. Her name had been Lily, so that made sense. He smiled as he remembered thinking how much of a coincidence it was that his mother should have the same name as the flowers people brought. It wasn't until a couple of years later that he realised people had brought lilies because that
was
her name. He'd felt pretty silly then.

He hadn't felt especially sad at the time of the funeral. In fact, he'd even wondered why everyone was crying so much. What he felt was more like missing his mum, as if she'd gone away to visit a friend for a while. But after a few days, then a week, then two, he'd begun to realise that she wasn't coming back, ever, and
that
was when he got really sad. And he was still sad now, five years later.

He wiped the dampness from the corner of his eyes and put the photo back on his desk before taking off his glasses, flicking off the lamp and lying back on his pillow. He wondered how much crying there'd be at a funeral for a man in his nineties who'd died peacefully in his sleep. I guess I'll find out on Thursday, he thought.

‘Hi there.'

Danny and Caleb turned. Coming through the school gates behind them was the ivory-coloured boy from the locker hall. He was trying to maintain his grip on a large plywood diorama of a volcano. ‘How was the dentist?' he asked Danny.

‘The what?' Caleb said, almost laughing. ‘The dentist?'

‘It was fine,' Danny replied. ‘Didn't hurt at all.'

‘I told you it wouldn't hurt, didn't I?' the boy said, looking vaguely proud.

Danny nodded. ‘Yes, you did. Thanks. I just kept telling myself that the whole time, and I was fine. Finer than fine.'

The boy coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to ask you yesterday — you're Danny Snell, aren't you?'

‘Yeah, that's me. Why?'

‘Oh, nothing really. I've just been wanting to talk to you for a while. Ages, actually, but I couldn't pluck up the courage. Stupid, I guess.'

‘Stupid? Why? It's not stupid.'

Caleb rolled his eyes. ‘No, you were right the first time — I'd say it's definitely stupid.'

Danny frowned at Caleb. ‘Why have you wanted to talk to me?' he asked the boy suspiciously.

‘You're practically famous.'

‘Am I?'

‘Yeah. I mean, you got rid of Gilmore, didn't you?'

Danny smiled. ‘I suppose I did, kind of. He was just getting a bit big for his boots, so I decided it was time to take him down a peg or two. Besides, it's easy to fight if you know that you're right.'

‘That's true,' the boy said. ‘Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. Did Gilmore ever mention me?'

Danny examined the boy's face. Shaun Gilmore, mentioning this pasty little ball of snot and stress? Hardly. And yet it was clear that he was quite serious. ‘I don't …' Danny began. ‘I'm not really sure …'

‘Henry Butler. That's me — Henry.'

‘Henry Butler.' Danny pretended to think. ‘I never talked that much to Shaun, so —'

‘He used to beat me up all the time,' Henry said. ‘Him and his awful friend.'

‘Grant?'

‘Yes, Grant, exactly. Both of them, mostly together. They used to pinch my puffer as well. And my lunch. I have allergies. Dust mites, peanuts, eggs, dairy —'

Danny nodded slowly. ‘Maybe Shaun did mention you once or twice,' he lied. ‘You know, bullies pick on people they're scared of. I think that's why he was always being awful to you. He seemed very scared of you, Henry.' Stop now, he warned himself. Don't go too far.

Henry looked at the ground. ‘Yeah, sure.'

‘No, really.'

Now Henry looked up, just slightly, uncertainly. ‘You mean that? He really seemed afraid of me?'

‘Sure. He could see how smart you were, and … and he was scared of that. That's why he picked on you. Simple.' Danny shrugged.

‘Do you really think so?'

‘I do. He practically said so.'

‘Well
I
was scared of him, you know,' Henry admitted with a tiny shrug.

Danny smiled and nodded. ‘Well, you don't have to be any more.'

‘No, I guess I don't,' Henry said with a faint smile. ‘Well, it's been nice talking to you, Danny.'

‘Yeah, you too.'

‘
Bye
, Henry,' Caleb said, and Henry glanced up at him before muttering something. Then, still wrestling with his science project, he hurried ahead down the path.

‘Weirdo,' Caleb snorted.

‘He's just shy,' Danny said.

‘Shy and weird.'

Danny knocked on the door of the classroom. ‘Come in, Daniel,' Mr Cullen said from behind his desk. He lowered his book, took his feet down from the desk and straightened up. ‘What's on your mind?'

‘A question,' Danny replied.

‘Naturally.' Mr Cullen put down his book and pointed to the chair. ‘Sit.'

Danny sat. ‘It's about the prisoners of war in Burma. How much did their families know?'

‘About what? About where they were being held?'

‘About any of it. I mean, is it possible that some families would think their men were dead, only to find out at the end of the war that they were actually alive?'

‘Oh, it's entirely possible. The Japanese weren't very particular about passing on information. They were holding people who'd been classified Missing in Action for most of the war.'

Danny nodded. ‘Thanks,' he said, standing up.

‘Is that it?' Mr Cullen picked up his sandwich.

‘What was it like for those men when they came back?'

The sandwich went back in the lunch box. ‘And women, Daniel. Don't forget about the women. But what was it like? Strange, I suppose. Different, being able to eat whenever they were hungry, none of those tropical diseases to worry about. I'm not really sure. A big relief, I guess, being back with their families again. Why do you ask?'

Danny shrugged. ‘It's nothing, really.'

‘Okay. Well, glad I could help.'

As Danny left the classroom, he was almost knocked over by Caleb. ‘There you are! I was looking everywhere for you. I almost had to go into the library.'

‘Oh no!' Danny replied. ‘You might never have come out alive.'

‘Ha ha. Have you eaten your lunch yet?'

‘Yeah, I had a pie.'

‘Hey, check this out,' Caleb said, pointing across the quad.

Sitting at one of the lunch tables was Henry Butler. He was playing chess with Jonathon Spivey, who caught the same train as Danny. Hardly anyone ever sat near Jonathon Spivey, on account of his poor personal hygiene. That and his tendency to pick his nose.

But it wasn't the nose-picking or the chess that caught Danny's attention, but the three Year 10 boys standing nearby. They had a basketball which they were passing back and forth to each other,
over
the table.
Over
the heads of Henry and Jonathon, who were doing their best to ignore the antisocial behaviour going on around them.

However, the antisocial behaviour wasn't stopping, and Danny felt himself wince as the ball missed the chessboard by a whisker. Henry looked up and said something to one of the boys, Tom Shearman, who sneered something back in reply, and the ball kept flying.

‘That's going to be a very short game of chess,' Caleb said.

‘It makes me mad,' Danny said.

‘So put your cape on and fly to their rescue. You're the school superhero after all, Dan the Man.'

Danny shook his head. ‘Don't
you
start,' he said, turning away. ‘I think if I got involved in any more fights I might start getting a reputation for evil rather than good.' He glanced back in time to see the ball bounce off the table right next to the board, making the pieces jump. The big boys laughed, but Jonathon and Henry just moved the pieces back into their positions and kept playing.

Caleb stifled a chuckle.

‘Come on,' Danny said. ‘can't watch.'