Matthew Flinders' Cat (23 page)

While Billy was enjoying this bottom-feeder’s view of society and, he admitted, conducting a highly generalised discourse with himself, he was secretly aware that what he was really trying to do was to avoid the issue of his own cowardice. On the journey to the north, he was attempting to keep his mind sufficiently busy to delay the moment when he was forced to confront himself.

On leaving the hospital the previous day, Billy had returned to the library steps to do his daily worst. Though he recited his poem at the usual aftermath, he’d done so with less conviction than normal, knowing that the flying shit factories would have time in his absence to repopulate.

After that he’d crossed the road to the Gardens and made his way to his bench, where he composed a letter to Ryan.

My dearest Ryan,

By the time you get this letter I shall be well on my way to Queensland, where I plan to stay for a little while, perhaps for the duration of the winter. I am getting old and cranky and my bones hurt in the morning. The thought of spending the coming cold weather cooped up in a small, airless room in a hostel for derelicts is much less attractive to me than following the sun to the north.

I truly regret that there was no chance to say goodbye, but an opportunity arose for me to travel to my destination immediately and I felt compelled to take it.

We have known each other for a very short time, less than a week, but I count this time as very enjoyable and most helpful. You were generous and kind to me and I will always remember that.

You are a young man of exceptional intelligence and I urge you to continue with your schooling. I truly believe you are capable of achieving anything to which you set your mind.

As for me? You must try to see us as ships passing in the night, an old man with a drinking problem and a young man who showed him great kindness. You made a big impression on me and I shall find it difficult to forget you. I shall particularly miss telling you further stories of Trim.

Now I urge you to think of me as a very small incident in your life, which I hope will lead on to great happiness and achievement.

If you go to the Mitchell Library and stand in the centre of the top step and look directly across to the Botanic Gardens, you will see a mighty Moreton Bay fig tree. I have cut a small notch in one of its buttress roots. Concealed under fallen leaves, directly below the notch, you will find a book that tells you the story of Matthew Flinders and his circumnavigation of Australia and many more of his grand adventures. I hope you enjoy it.

I leave you with the hope that you will grow up to be a splendid human being. To have known you, if only for a short time, was a far better thing than never to have met.

I am attaching a small poem which was taught to me by my first teacher and while, alas, I have not lived up to it myself, it is a way of behaving in life to which we should all aspire.

I remain in your debt.

Yours,

Billy O’Shannessy (without the ‘u’)

On a separate page Billy wrote:

I shall pass through this world but once,

any good thing I may do,

or kindness show, to any human being,

let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again.

After completing the letter and its attachment, Billy visited a large bookshop in George Street and purchased the book for Ryan. He stopped off at the bank in Martin Place and waited patiently until the teller was alone. The badge on her blouse said her name was Fiona Mills.

‘Good afternoon, Ms Mills. I wonder if you could do me a favour?’

Fiona Mills smiled, ‘If it’s bank business, certainly.’

‘Well, it’s just that I’ve been coming here for some time and the teller who usually looks after me is Suzanna Partridge and, well, I have some particular business to conduct and I wondered if you would be kind enough to see if she’s in?’

‘Oh, but Suzanna’s been moved upstairs,’ she smiled. ‘It’s a big promotion.’

‘Yes, I know, but I would particularly like to see her.’ The teller looked uncertain. ‘I’ll see if she’s in. Would you excuse me for a moment, please?’ She walked to the rear, entered a small cubicle and picked up the phone. Billy watched as she nodded her head and smiled. She then returned and said, ‘Suzanna will be right down, sir.’

‘Thank you, Ms Mills,’ Billy said, relieved, remembering his previous experience with the testosterone-loaded young male teller.

Suzanna Partridge appeared shortly and greeted Billy with her usual enthusiasm. ‘Congratulations on your promotion, my dear,’ Billy said.

‘Oh, thank you, Mr O’Shannessy, but I must say I quite miss the contact with people like you. Come through and we’ll sit in the customer interviews office.’ She laughed, ‘Only it’s called something else now, Client Interface Facility.’

Billy explained to her that he was contemplating spending the winter months in the sun and wanted his account transferred to their branch in Southport where his future pensions would be sent. He also told her he wanted to withdraw all the money, with the exception of a hundred dollars, from his current account.

After visiting the bank, he returned to the Botanic Gardens where he buried the book for Ryan. What remained of the day he spent visiting all his favourite walks and places within the precincts of the Gardens.

In the fading afternoon, to the sound of magpies carolling in the trees, Billy made his way down the Domain steps to the Flag Hotel. Marion, he knew, knocked off promptly at five o’clock and Billy needed to see her before she departed. As Sam Snatch wouldn’t permit any of the derelicts to approach Marion’s Bar, except for Billy’s usual morning visit, Billy would have to take the chance that he’d be able to talk with her. Otherwise he’d have to wait outside the pub and catch her as she left. His need to see Marion had been one of his more compelling reasons not to allow the sadness within him make him reach for an early bottle.

‘Hi, Billy, what brings you here?’ Marion called as he approached. There were several people seated at the bar and Billy, anxious not to attract attention, flinched at the sound of her voice. He moved quickly to the bar, ‘I apologise, Marion,’ he said in an undertone, ‘but it’s important that I see you.’

Marion smiled. ‘It’s okay, Sam’s not here, what is it, Billy?’

‘It will take a few minutes.’

Marion glanced at the men seated at the bar. ‘They’re regulars, they won’t mind you being here. Scotch?’

‘No, thank you,’ Billy replied.

Marion raised one eyebrow. ‘It
must
be important,’ she said.

‘Marion, I’m leaving,’ Billy said.

‘Leaving?’

‘Town.’

Marion looked surprised. ‘There’s no need to do that, Billy.’

‘Yes, yes . . . I’ve made up my mind.’ Marion sighed. ‘Billy, I only told you for your own good, mate. All you have to do is stop seeing the boy.’

Billy thought for a moment, ‘It’s not that simple, my dear.’

Marion’s lips drew tight. ‘Why not? You and him, you told me you’re not ...?’

‘For God’s sake, no!’ In a calmer voice, Billy added, ‘No, Marion, there’s nothing like that.’

Marion relaxed. ‘I believe you, Billy. But why can’t you simply reject him? He’s a tough little kid, they all are around here. He’ll soon forget you and get on with his life.’

‘No, I couldn’t do that!’ Billy exclaimed, then lowered his eyes and said softly, ‘I did that once before with another child. I...I couldn’t do that again . . . ever.’

Marion nodded sympathetically. ‘We’ll miss you, Billy.’

Billy looked up, surprised at the tone of her voice. ‘No, I promise you, we really
will
miss you,’ she repeated.

‘Thank you,’ Billy replied. ‘Marion, will you do something for me?’

‘Of course, if I can.’

Billy produced the letter to Ryan. ‘Can you somehow get this to Ryan Sanfrancesco? I’d deliver it myself, but I have no idea where he lives. You said you knew his mother, I was hoping . . .’ His voice trailed off.

Marion’s face grew stern. ‘Billy, are you sure this is a good idea?’

‘No, that’s the point, I’m not,’ Billy said quietly.

‘I’ve left the envelope unsealed so that you may read it.’

Marion looked doubtful. ‘Billy, it’s not that. It’s, well, it’s just that the boy’s mother is a truly nasty piece of work. It wouldn’t matter how innocuous the letter seemed, if she got hold of it she could quite easily get the wrong impression.’ She looked steadily at him. ‘Let me put it as frankly as possible, I don’t want the bitch coming after me.’

‘But, Marion, I’m only asking you to get the letter into the boy’s hands, to deliver it. Surely his mother will never know it was you who gave it to him?’

Marion turned her head to one side, her arms crossed, her lips drawn tight. ‘Billy, I’m sorry. I’d like to help you, but I can’t.’

‘I see,’ Billy said, suddenly lost for words. It had never occurred to him that Marion would refuse, or that she could possibly be placed in danger by simply arranging to deliver the note to Ryan. He picked the envelope up from the bar and dropped it back into his briefcase. ‘I quite understand, Marion,’ he said, turning to go. ‘It was inconsiderate of me to ask.’

Marion didn’t reply. ‘Look after yourself, Billy. We’ll miss you,’ she called after he’d retreated halfway to the door.

‘Yes, thank you, Marion,’ Billy said, trying to conceal his frustration. There had always been something about Marion that worried him. It couldn’t be the business upstairs. Selling knickers to cross-dressers and transvestites might be slightly on the nose but it was hardly a criminal offence and certainly nothing to hide. He stood outside the Flag Hotel, wondering what to do next. Two children, both girls, chatting and laughing, totally absorbed in themselves, were approaching. They seemed to be about Ryan’s age. He cleared his throat, ‘Excuse me, girls,’ he said, stepping directly into their path. Both stopped and looked up in fright, then without a word to each other they started to run, jumping to either side of him before setting off. ‘Do you know Ryan Sanfrancesco?’ Billy shouted after them.

They stopped about six metres away from him, a safe distance should they have occasion to make a second run for it. They looked at Billy. ‘What’s it to you? Bugger off, you stupid old bastard!’ one of them called. Then, hugging each other and giggling hysterically, they ran off in a clatter of school shoes, disappearing around the corner of the pub.

Billy grinned, children who lived in Woolloomooloo grew up fast. At least they knew not to talk to strangers. Though, of course, Ryan hadn’t observed this rule when they’d first met. Billy had seen all he needed to know, both girls had been wearing the light-blue cotton tops with the school badge embroidered on them to show a sailing ship set in an oval frame with the words ‘Pring Street Public School’ and the motto ‘Togetherness’ stitched around its circumference. From the way the girl had responded to his question, Billy was fairly certain they knew Ryan. The years in the criminal courts had taught him to translate innuendo into accurate meaning.

Pring Street Public School turned out to be adjacent to Forbes Street, a street historically notorious for its brothels, which after legalisation had mostly moved to more salubrious accommodation. To Billy’s surprise, because he’d expected the usual dreary brown-brick establishment set within a macadamised wasteland, the school appeared to be a modern building, painted yellow with doors and window frames in lime green, and within pleasant grounds. It possessed a garden, which was contained within a dark-green fence with casuarina and sheoaks, while the playground area, painted red and yellow, had a covering of woodchips.

It was just after five o’clock and the schoolyard was empty but Billy could hear the sound of a piano coming from somewhere within the building. The pianist was playing a Chopin étude, though if a child was playing, it was a very accomplished one. The piano was a further surprise, he’d expected Ryan’s school, judging by his attempts to play truant, to be pretty average, not the sort of place where children learned music.

He entered the gate, conscious that he might be seen as an intruder. He would often forget that he no longer resembled the dapper little lawyer he’d once been. He entered the building, hoping to see a cleaner or caretaker, but except for the piano sounds the building appeared to be empty. He passed several classrooms, each leading into another and noted that they contained no blackboard or even traditional school desks scarred with generations of patiently carved initials. Instead, each pupil appeared to have a small cream table and red chair and these were placed, seemingly at random, around the room. The walls were brightly coloured and a line of eight computers sat on a long table which ran along the far wall. It was a far cry from anything he’d experienced in his day at primary school. After searching the ground floor for someone to whom he could introduce himself and ask directions, he retraced his steps to the stairs and made his way, a little fearfully, to the second level, where he saw that a covered walkway led to a second building from which, he now realised, the music came.

Billy finally reached the music room. His heart was beating a little faster, he was too far into the building to beat a hasty retreat and should someone come upon him and ask him to explain his presence he knew his explanation would be difficult to believe. The door was slightly ajar though he couldn’t see the piano or its player. He knocked tentatively but nothing happened, so he tried a second time, this time a little more loudly. The music stopped, ‘Who is it?’ a woman’s voice asked.