Chapters (61)
- Cover
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Acknowledgements
- About the author
‘Of course bloody not,’ Paul shot back.
‘Good. I’m going to bed,’ Cardilini said and turned to the house, anxious to hear the car door close and Paul follow him.
Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN
Day 8
Kilkenny Road
5.45 p.m. Sunday, 1st November 1965
Cardilini was weeding along the rear fence when Paul called him from the house.
‘What is it?’
‘A Mrs Masters on the phone.’
Cardilini walked into the house.
‘Thanks, Paul. How’s the garden out the front looking?’
‘I’m sure you’ll find something wrong with it.’
Cardilini grimaced and picked up the phone.
‘Cardilini,’ He said.
*
Cardilini stood on the front verandah watching Paul watering the buffalo grass runners he’d planted. Runners he’d retrieved from around the tank stand.
‘They’ll cover by the end of summer,’ Cardilini said.
‘Maybe.’
Softening light and lengthening shadows had drawn several of Cardilini’s neighbours outside to water their front gardens too. Cardilini waved and stood on the verandah steps.
‘Hungry, Paul?’
‘I’m working tonight. I told you I’ll eat there.’
‘That’s right,’ Cardilini hovered a moment, then said, ‘I’m going to finish up the back.’
‘Who was that lady?’ Paul asked.
‘It’s the mother of a boy who hanged himself this year.’
‘Jesus, Dad. Not so matter-of-fact,’ Paul rebuked looking towards the neighbour’s house.
‘Sorry.’ Cardilini stood waiting.
‘How old?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘Jesus Christ. Nineteen! Why?’
Cardilini wandered over to Paul and stood by him watching the water fall on the soil. The water wasn’t penetrating the earth but beading and running off into little pools. ‘I think he might have been abused by a teacher,’ Cardilini said.
‘How?’
‘Sexually.’
‘Jesus, and you’re going to catch the teacher?’ Paul turned to look at his father.
‘Someone caught him.’
‘Good.’
‘They shot him.’
‘Jesus. So what’re you doing?’
‘Trying to find out who shot him.’ They both watched the water. ‘That water isn’t going in,’ Cardilini said. Paul looked at his dad for a moment and then went back to his watering. ‘What?’ Cardilini asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘You think he shouldn’t be caught?’ Cardilini asked.
‘I didn’t say that.’ Paul put his finger on the nozzle to spray the water.
‘But do you think that?’
‘No, but, what if the teacher did it again?’
‘He did, a number of times, causing two other possible suicides.’
‘Oh my god. Possible? Can you find out for sure?’
‘I was thinking I should. Just wasn’t looking forward to it,’ Cardilini replied.
‘But, if it’s your job?’
‘Yep.’
Cardilini was conscious of his son looking at him, conscious that the alcohol had given him a haggard look. He knew there were times Paul would turn away rather than look into his eyes. And he knew why, as he too had seen the beaten, lost look in them.
Paul said, ‘The water pooling like that used to happen for Mum too, but she used to do something about it.’