Jazz Baby (7 page)

Dolly cleared her throat and clasped her hands in front of her and started singing the ridiculous words. Her father had never been a trombone player and the thought of her mother having anything to do with ragtime was a joke. They'd both be turning in their graves. She struggled on, her voice not making a dint in the conversation around the table. No one listened, or even seemed to care. Intent on keeping Mrs Mack happy her voice swelled.

As she continued to sing, the girls around the table faded into the background. She had nothing to lose and a job to keep. Her voice got louder.

By the time she sang the final chorus, the other girls had joined in and Dolly began to enjoy her moment of glory. ‘
That's me!
' She finished with a flourish and applause broke out for the second time that afternoon.

Laughing aloud Dolly glanced at Mrs Mack just in time to catch her wink.

‘I think we have a star attraction. Eat up, Dolly, you're performing tonight.'

‘And if you're good you get to keep your tips on the first night,' Alice shouted down the table at her. ‘So then you can pay me back.'

For the third night in a row Jack knocked on the battered wooden door. ‘Is Susie in?'

As before the bouncer's toothless grin invited him inside. Dressed the same way as all the other drinkers they now treated him as a regular. Jack had spent time getting to know the blokes who ran the game, playing two-up most nights or sitting around nursing a bottle of beer wrapped in a brown paper bag; however, he'd only received dismissive shrugs when he described Ted. He'd taken care not to mention him by name, wary of them warning Ted off.

He'd pretty much given up hope of Blue the Ringy ever appearing. Then last night he decided to have one more bet and double-check the faces around the canvas before he called it quits. To his surprise Bluey had appeared on the other side of the canvas and he sidled up behind him. Millie's name worked like African juju and the bloke promised he'd have some information for him tonight.

Tipping the bottle back against his mouth Jack discovered it was empty. He screwed up the brown paper bag and tossed it down the hallway, squinting at the path it took. The bouncer swung open the front door and stepped back to allow a couple of men over the threshold. As Jack slid up the wall to his feet the brown paper ball rolled towards the door. Bluey lobbed it out into the street and turned to the bloke behind him, who had his hat pulled low over his face.

Jack stepped into the centre of the hallway, his heart rate kicking up a notch as he craned from one side to the other trying to get a better look. The man's leather trench coat reached well below his knees covering all except the bottom six inches of his legs. The boots gave him away — airman's boots.

Standing stock-still Jack waited until the Ringy approached, not daring to breathe.

‘He's here. He doesn't want to be.' Bluey flicked his bullet head to the rear of the building. ‘Out the back.'

Against his better judgement Jack turned and made his way back down the hallway. He half expected Ted to shoot through before he got there. Somehow Bluey talked him into staying.

Once outside Jack nodded his thanks.

‘Don't thank me. If it wasn't for the fact I owe Mrs Mack he wouldn't be here.' The Ringy lumbered into the crowd leaving Jack face-to-face with Ted.

Expecting another punch, Jack braced himself and waited with every muscle tensed.

After a long moment Ted pushed his hat back off his face and stared at him. ‘I told you I'd got nothing to say to you.' Despite his antagonistic tone Ted didn't leave. The black patch he now wore over his eye eased the impact of his injuries giving him an almost self-assured look.

‘We need to talk, Ted, and more importantly, Dolly deserves to know you are alive.'

A shudder shook Ted's shoulders at Dolly's name and he chewed his lower lip. ‘What's she doing in Sydney? Why isn't she at home?'

‘Come over here and sit down.' Jack hitched his thumb at a couple of rickety chairs backed up against the outside window; he was certain Ted would feel better if he wasn't staring into his face. Jack let out a long slow breath as he sat down, determined to maintain the fragile truce. ‘Do you want a beer?'

Ted cracked his knuckles one by one. ‘Get on with it. I haven't got all night.'

Jack doubted Ted had anywhere else to go and from the smell of him he hadn't been near a bath recently. He didn't beat around the bush. ‘Your father died about six months ago. I'm sorry.'

‘I know.'

Ted's bland response hit Jack harder than the punch he'd received the first night and his anger spiked. ‘You
know
! And you left Dolly alone to deal with it? How bloody long have you been back in the country?'

‘Just over two years.'

‘Two years! Where the hell have you been?' Jack dragged his chair around to face Ted not caring how much it offended his sensibilities. All he could think about was Dolly. Left to deal with her father dying without knowing his only son was alive and back in the country.

‘Doesn't sound like
you
went rushing back to Wollombi to look after Dolly the minute you got home,' Ted said.

‘She's not my bloody sister and it wasn't
my
father dying.' Jack's fingernails cut into his palms as he clenched his fists. He wanted nothing more than to knock the selfish arse off his bloody chair, injuries or no injuries.

‘I was in France, took me a while to get back to England. Matter of a bloody bullet ripping half my face off and my best mate not giving a shit whether I'd survived or not.'

Jack closed his eyes and forced his shoulders to drop. Ted's words cut deep. He'd left him for dead, it was true, though not until he'd seen Ted's plane spiral out of control and hit the ground in a scorching inferno. Christ, almost as many pilots were killed learning to fly the wretched planes as had been shot down. Sopwith Camels were hard to handle at the best of times, never mind with half your face shot off. No one could have survived the impact — but it appeared Ted had. ‘How did you get out?'

‘Phoenix, mate, Phoenix.'

Momentarily their old bond surfaced and Jack laughed. The rest of the squadron named their planes after anything Australian — kangaroo, emu, boomerang, kookaburra — but not Ted. He'd insisted from the beginning his plane was Phoenix. ‘Yeah? Come on, seriously.'

‘Just luck. I was thrown clear. Broke one leg and my collar bone, and this.' He gestured to his face.

‘Jesus, mate. We circled and watched. Your plane burst into flames before you even hit the ground.' Jack had no trouble remembering. The images played out each night in his dreams. ‘The wing tip clipped a tree and — '

‘And I was thrown clear. You probably know more of what happened after that than I do. When I came to, my mates had gone and the Phoenix was ashes.'

Jack dropped his head into his hands reliving the seconds after the crash. He'd watched helplessly as the flames took hold of Ted's plane and blamed himself for not preventing Ted from going in first. He'd flown back up into the clouds in search of the German clown who'd clobbered Ted. Found him and shot the bugger down. Not before the fuselage of his own plane and his right leg had taken a pounding.

‘What happened then?' Jack asked, keen to keep Ted talking. He still hadn't agreed to see Dolly. The tiniest hint of their old friendship swirled in the darkness and through their conversation some of the aggression leached out of Ted. Jack twisted his head and studied Ted's face. His scarred cheek lay hidden in the shadows…they might have been sitting thigh-to-thigh down by the creek with fishing rods.

‘Couple of locals found me and patched me up as best they could. They wanted to hand me over. I talked them out of it. Once I got a grip on things I got back to England. By then I'd started to heal and there wasn't much the doctors could do. I talked the authorities out of contacting Pa and Dolly. Wanted to wait until I looked less like a gargoyle.' He uttered a harsh laugh. ‘It was never going to happen, though at that stage I still cherished a few foolish dreams.'

Jack bit down on his lip, fighting the urge to push Ted into seeing Dolly. The tenuous truce between them was a start. He had to take things slowly, stick to generalities and keep Ted talking. ‘Where are you living?'

Ted shrugged. ‘Here and there. Plenty of places to bunk down if you know where to look.'

The defensive note crept back into Ted's voice and Jack teetered through an emotional minefield. Too many ex-servicemen received no compensation for their injuries; no pension, nothing, just a block of reclaimed land out bush if they wanted it. He knew that for a fact. He'd been lucky. Meeting up with Fysch and McGinness had given him the opportunity to earn some money. Bankrolling Millie had been the best thing he'd ever done. His share in Number Fifty-Four gave him more than a steady income. ‘I've got a spare room at my place if you need a bed — it's got a great bathroom.' Jack gave an exaggerated sniff. ‘You could use it.'

Ted's knuckle punch landed squarely on Jack's bicep. A spasm of pain zinged down his arm to his fingertips. Without thinking Jack lifted his other arm and clamped his elbow catching Ted in a headlock. For a moment Ted froze as his hat fell to the ground and Jack's stomach sank. He'd overstepped the mark. Then the chair went from under him and he found himself spread-eagled on the ground, his right arm wrenched up his back.

‘I can still beat you with one hand tied behind my back and one eye stuffed with rags, wanker!' Ted laughed and released Jack's arm. ‘You're right. I need a bath and a drink. I'd suggest my place but I don't think it would appeal to a toff like you. Lead the way.'

Jack accepted Ted's outstretched hand and pulled himself to his feet, determined to keep the grin off his face. This was the old Ted and maybe, just maybe, he could make up for deserting him. The gathered crowd turned back to the game of two-up, disappointed the anticipated fight hadn't eventuated.

As they walked along the hallway Ted rammed his hat back on his head and adjusted his eye patch. ‘You're not pulling a swiftie on me, are you?'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘You haven't got Dolly set up in this place have you? I meant what I said. I don't want to see her.'

‘No. Dolly's not at my place. She's working for a friend — for Millie Mack.'

Ted ground to a halt. The wind whistled out of Jack's mouth as he was slammed back against the wall.

‘At Number Fifty-Four?' The rough wool of Ted's coat rammed against Jack's windpipe making him gasp for air. ‘What kind of a bloody friend are you?'

Forcing Ted's arm aside Jack blew out a breath of sheer frustration. Ted was pricklier than a bloody echidna. ‘She's working as a cleaner, housemaid, not as one of the girls. What the hell's the matter with you?'

Ted stuffed his hands into his pockets and slouched to the door.

What had he let himself in for? Jack tossed the question aside. For Dolly's sake he intended to sort Ted out no matter how long it took. ‘Come on, we've got a bit of a walk.'

‘Thought you'd have a car waiting.' Ted threw him a shrewd look as they set off down the street leading to The Cross.

As they left the darkness of Darlinghurst behind them and reached The Cross the streetlights turned night into day. Jack tried to reconcile the memory of Ted's plane crashing and his survival. The knowledge that he'd flown off and reported Ted dead turned his blood to ice. No wonder the man was angry. There'd been no search for Ted because of the report he'd filed, and worst of all it had forced Dolly to believe she was alone in the world, her entire family wiped out. Fine kind of a friend he'd turned out to be. Ted was right. He'd done nothing to help Dolly and now she was working in a brothel of which he was part-owner. What in God's name would Ted do when he found out about that little gem? And more to the point, what would Dolly do when she found out he knew Ted was alive and he hadn't told her. What a fucking awful mess and he only had himself to blame.

‘Here we are.' Jack fished the key out of his pocket and pushed through the heavy glass entry door. ‘After you.'

Ted whistled softly. ‘Bloody hell. You've come up in the world a bit.' His eyes took in the brand new apartment block and the caged lift. ‘Didja raid King Tut's tomb while I was out of action?'

‘It's a long story. Come up and I'll get you sorted. I've got to nip out for a few minutes.'

All Jack wanted to do was get back to Millie's and check on Dolly. She'd become a persistent little itch he couldn't leave alone and Ted's reaction had put the fear of God into him. He'd trusted Millie when she said she'd keep an eye on Dolly; just so long as one of their patrons didn't get ideas.

Dolly removed the damp fingerprints she'd left on the polished timber of the banister with her handkerchief. What on earth had possessed her to agree to sing tonight? She had no idea. The enthusiasm of the girls' reaction at tea had long since faded and she'd practised so hard in front of the cracked mirror in the bedroom that her throat felt like she'd swallowed a bucket of sand. The sound of the piano no longer sent thrills of excitement coursing through her blood; now she shivered with despondency. Without a doubt she'd make a fool of herself but Mrs Mack had been adamant and she was in no position to argue.

‘Boo!'

Dolly jumped, falling from the bottom step, her heart pounding against her ribs. ‘Alice, what on earth did you do that for?' The beads on her frock ground hard against her palm as she rested her hand flat against her chest to still her heart. Even the frock she was so pleased with only a matter of hours ago seemed out of place and uncomfortable. As though she'd stolen into her mother's wardrobe and sneaked out in grown-up clothes.