Free Black Water by David Metzenthen Page B

seehis house across the bridge. ‘And when Danny’s back, I’ll go home. Mr O’Leary won’t let nobody else have our place ’til Danny comes back, he said.’
    ‘I’m sure he won’t.’ Mrs Price cut a slice of bread in four. ‘He also has a boy overseas.’ Meticulously she buttered a quarter. ‘This War is a truly nasty business. I sometimes wonder what can be achieved, if anything at all.’
    It startled Farren to hear Mrs Price say the War was bad, because hardly anyone ever did, except for Mad Billy the bottle-oh, but no one had listened to him for years. You weren’t supposed to say that the War was bad, even if your husband was missing, or someone in your family had been killed. You had to say that it was worth it.
    It suddenly occurred to Farren that he hadn’t given Isla the bird book. Maggie still had it. He’d give it to her tomorrow. The thought cheered him, but he was worried now to see Mrs Price rubbing her temples, as if she could smooth out the tight, close lines across her forehead. He could hear her humming, too, a gentle little tune perhaps intended to soothe away troubling thoughts.
    Suddenly Robbie smacked the edge of the table, sending up a hard, silvery rattle from the knives and forks.
    ‘Oh, it’ll be all right, muvver!’ He began to thump a pretend piano, the table shaking. ‘Because good old Captain Price! Will bounce out in a thrice! As he’s been known to do at least twenty times before! Da dah!’ Robbie lifted his hands with a flourish. ‘Now what’s for sweets?’
    Farren laughed. He’d never seen anyone do what Pricey could do, and at the drop of a hat. Mrs Price was also smiling, even if a plaited strand of her hair had come loose and hung down hercheek, giving her a wild look, Farren thought, like an actress or a mad queen in a book.
    ‘Good God , Robert.’ Mrs Price did not look displeased. ‘Where did you come from I do not know. But I will fetch some dessert. I believe there is trifle.’
    The boys watched her leave, the flames of the candles bending obediently after her.
    ‘Bloody hell, sergeant Roon.’ Robbie arched his eyebrows. ‘Lucky I had that piano handy, eh?’
    ‘So what are you gunna do with your boat?’ Robbie asked as they wandered back to Maggie’s. ‘When they bring it home?’
    Farren side-stepped a pothole. Do with the boat? Jesus, there was only one thing he was ever gunna do with the Camille .
    ‘Go fishin’,’ he said. ‘Just fix ’er up and quit the pub. As soon as Danny gets back.’
    Robbie nodded appreciatively.
    ‘Well, you can count me in. You can be skipper and I’ll bring lunch. I mean it. I’ll quit school and everything. In fact, let’s go and get it now. It’s only a fifteen mile walk.’
    Farren knew Robbie was joking, but not entirely.
    ‘Well, you can come out with me –’ Farren felt the words accelerating. ‘Like any time you want. But you ain’t a fisherman, Robbie. You’d go mad in a week. You should be a – a…’ Farren was stumped. He didn’t know what Robbie should be.
    ‘I should be a what ?’ Robbie stood, hands on hips.
    ‘A –’ Farren tried to think of something exciting or difficult that Robbie could do. ‘I dunno. An explorer. Or a doctor or somethin’. ’ Inspiration struck. ‘No, I do know. You said so yerself. Youshould be a bloody airman .’ Beyond the end of the road Farren could see the Rip, broad and silver, as if a tide of moonlight was running. Yes! As the sea would be for him, the sky would be for Pricey. ‘You know, you should fly planes. Maybe even in the War. If it lasts that long.’
    Above Farren the sky had never felt so close. The sheer potential it held for unknown freedoms and adventures was written all over it. If anyone could fly, Pricey could.
    ‘Yeah, perhaps you’re right, old boy.’ Robbie gently kicked the road. ‘Because that’s what I’ve been thinking myself, actually.’

SIXTEEN
    Farren went down to the wash-house, carrying the bird book,