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Back Man at the Window Save as PDF
Chapters (61)
  1. Cover
  2. One
  3. Two
  4. Three
  5. Four
  6. Five
  7. Six
  8. Seven
  9. Eight
  10. Nine
  11. Ten
  12. Eleven
  13. Twelve
  14. Thirteen
  15. Fourteen
  16. Fifteen
  17. Sixteen
  18. Seventeen
  19. Eighteen
  20. Nineteen
  21. Twenty
  22. Twenty-One
  23. Twenty-Two
  24. Twenty-Three
  25. Twenty-Four
  26. Twenty-Five
  27. Twenty-Six
  28. Twenty-Seven
  29. Twenty-Eight
  30. Twenty-Nine
  31. Thirty
  32. Thirty-One
  33. Thirty-Two
  34. Thirty-Three
  35. Thirty-Four
  36. Thirty-Five
  37. Thirty-Six
  38. Thirty-Seven
  39. Thirty-Eight
  40. Thirty-Nine
  41. Forty
  42. Forty-One
  43. Forty-Two
  44. Forty-Three
  45. Forty-Four
  46. Forty-Five
  47. Forty-Six
  48. Forty-Seven
  49. Forty-Eight
  50. Forty-Nine
  51. Fifty
  52. Fifty-One
  53. Fifty-Two
  54. Fifty-Three
  55. Fifty-Four
  56. Fifty-Five
  57. Fifty-Six
  58. Fifty-Seven
  59. Fifty-Eight
  60. Acknowledgements
  61. About the author

‘You’re at the school?’

‘I picked up the phone, didn’t I?’ Robson answered after a pause.

‘Can I come by?’

There was another pause, then, ‘I’m going down to watch the cricket. I’ll be sitting on a bench, by myself, no doubt.’

‘I’ll see you there.’ Cardilini hung up. ‘I’m going out, Paul. I’ll make it all good. Just, can you wait?’ Cardilini called and stood breathless in the hallway. When no answer came he walked to Paul’s door. ‘I’ve been put on report. It’s a good kick up the bum. Really, your old man’s trying to . . .’ his words stopped and his lips hung loosely as he breathed heavily at the door. ‘Just, please . . . wait . . . just don’t go.’ Cardilini finished and walked down the corridor. He knew he couldn’t return to the house if Paul wasn’t there. He paused at the front door, called ‘I’m going,’ and listened intently to silence before leaving.

Twenty-Six

TWENTY-SIX

Day 7

St Nicholas College

12.50 p.m. Saturday, 31st October 1965

The day settled warm and lazy into the afternoon. A faint sea breeze teased the tops of trees but failed to find its way into Cardilini’s car. At a set of streetlights he leant over and wound down the passenger window.

Cars were parked along all the school’s internal roads and clustered on one of the ovals. He nudged his EH Holden into the shade beside a Mercedes and a Pontiac before walking up the road in the shade of pine trees. Boys dressed in casual clothes were wandering around in groups of two to five. The visiting team’s spectators were in their school uniforms and stood around the cricket oval. A raked pavilion of red brick was perched on the side gaping out at the players. Adults occupied most of the seats. Cardilini envied their calm expressions.

He watched the figures in white running, and smiled at the sound of an oak bat striking the leather ball. He had never played the game. He was about to express his opinion on the stupidity of the sport but instead shook his head, admonishing himself. He looked around for Robson.

Robson was sitting by himself a third of the way around the oval on a shaded bench. As Cardilini made his way around the boundary, there was another crack of the ball and bat, some lively calling and Robson and others clapping. Cardilini turned to the pitch and players: nothing seemed to be happening. Reaching Robson’s bench he sat and took out a cigarette.

Offering the packet to Robson he asked, ‘How are your boys going?’

Robson declined a cigarette. ‘All out for one seventy-two.’

‘Is that good?’ Cardilini lit his and inhaled.

‘Depends. The opposition are three for seventy-nine.’

‘Oh. Could be close?’ Cardilini suggested but had no real idea.