The Murrumbidgee Kid

Peter Yeldham

"A heart-warming evocation of childhood during the Great Depression ...
I loved every page."

BRYCE COURTENAY

The small town of Gundagai in the 1930s is no place for the attractive
and flamboyant Belle Carson and her young son, Teddy particularly when
she longs for him to achieve the success that eluded her on the stage
and screen.  Determined to pursue this dream, she abandons her husband
and their Murrumbidgee River home for a more vibrant city life.  But
Belle's obsession leads her and Teddy whom the press christens 'the
Murrumbidgee Kid' into a world where nothing is safe or familiar.  And
from her carefully hidden past a threat soon emerges to make their
precarious lives even more vulnerable .. .

From rural Gundagai to the bright lights and shady underbelly of 1930s
Sydney, this is a beautifully written and absorbing story about an
unconventional family's coming-of-age.

ISBN 978-0-14-014806-0

Fiction

148060'

penguin, com.au

Penguin Books

The Murrumbidgee Kid

Peter Yeldham's extensive writing career began with short stories and
radio scripts.  He spent twenty years in England, becoming a leading
screenwriter for films and television, and also wrote plays for the
theatre, including the highly successful comedies Birds on the Wing and
Fringe Benefits, which ran for two years in Paris.  Returning to
Australia he won numerous awards for his television screenplays, among
them 1915, Captain James Cook, The Alien Years, All the Rivers Run, The
Timeless Land and The Heroes.  His adaptation of Bryce Courtenay's
novel Jessica won a Logic Award for best mini-series.  He is the author
often novels, including A Bitter Harvest, The Currency Lads, Against
the Tide, Land of Dreams, The Murrumbidgee Kid, Barbed Wire and Roses
and A Distant Shore.

For more information please visit peteryeldham.com

PETER

YELDHAM

The Murrumbidgee Kid

Penguin Books

PENGUIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (Australia) 250 Camberwell
Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson
Australia Group Pty Ltd) Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada)
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Africa

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, we2R 0RL,
England

First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2006 This edition
published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2009 10 98765432 1 Copyright
Peter Yeldham 2006 The moral right of the author has been asserted All
rights reserved.  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved
above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or
introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright
owner and the above publisher of this book.

Cover design by Cameron Midson Penguin Group (Australia) Text design by
Marina Messiha Penguin Group (Australia) Cover image: River Australian
Scenics, Swing Andrew Paterson/ Getty Images Permission to reproduce
the poems by Kenneth Slessor, originally published as "Darlinghurst
Nights', from Tom Thompson & ETT Imprint, Sydney Typeset in Sabon by
Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane, Queensland Printed and bound in
Australia by McPherson's Printing Group, Maryborough, Victoria

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in- Publication data:

Yeldham, Peter.

The Murrumbidgee Kid / Peter Yeldham.

9780140148060 (pbk.)

penguin.com.au To Marjorie, who is always there, from the first page
Author's Note

My deep thanks are due to the Australian actor Bill Kerr.  While this
is a work of fiction and all the characters imaginary, Bill's
reminiscences of his boyhood were the sparks that first kindled my
interest and led to the character that became Teddy Carson.

PART 1

ONE

Belle Carson was a good-looker, the best looker for miles around;

even those who didn't like her (which included most of the women in
town and quite a few of the men) had to admit that.  But they also
agreed she was as nutty as a fruitcake, and in the manner of small
communities the bush telegraph which spread any gossip the least bit
unusual or outrageous frequently carried news of her.

Five-feet-seven, slim as a reed with soft dark hair and blue eyes to
drown in, Belle couldn't help it; she was always unusual, and often
outrageous.  It was a recurrent nightmare for her eight-year-old son,
Teddy.  Whenever he and his dad were with her, he'd notice the sly
looks and the way people raised their eyebrows and muttered to each
other.  Gabbing, George called it, a bunch of old boilers cackling,
which meant his dad felt it too the talk about them, the constant
chitchat.

But it was worse at school.  Teddy was on his own there.  Piggy Morgan
said Belle was a dingbat.  Tom Parkes said she was as mad as a blue gum
full of gal ahs  The rest of the class sniggered agreement and
pronounced her a loony.  Got tickets on herself, they said, even if she
had been on the stage in the city, and was supposed to be famous.  This
was in frequent dispute, for none of them had ever heard of her and
neither had their parents, so she couldn't have been all that famous.
Bill Burwood, the son of the bank manager, reckoned the biggest part
she'd ever played was probably the arse end of a horse in a pantomime.
So Teddy, though two years younger and three inches shorter, fought
him.

Big or small, each time a boy made an insulting comment or a dirty joke
about his mum, Teddy felt compelled to fight them.  He'd lost count of
the number of fights he'd had in Belle's defence, and was painfully
aware he had managed to win none of them.  He had suffered cut lips,
bruised ribs and greater humiliations: his head held down the black pit
of the school dun ny by the big boys until the stench made him sick;
treacle spread on his seat in class; and once an agonising Chinese burn
on his wrist while the teacher, Mrs.  Lassitter, wrote on the
blackboard with her back turned.  Daily he went to school in dread,
enduring more torment than he dared mention at home.

Meanwhile he kept wondering if one of the taunts levelled at him could
possibly be true that George was not really his dad at all and
therefore he was a bastard.  It was hard to know how to ask Belle about
this, but ask he must.  He thought about it when trying to sleep at
night, rehearsing what he could say, and several times braced himself
to try, but his mouth felt dry and his tongue too thick to pose the
question.  Then one day it just happened.

Belle was making a stew, peeling carrots and potatoes in their tiny
kitchen, which seemed even smaller since the delivery of the new
Hallstrom refrigerator earlier that week.  It was an invention that ran
on kerosene Teddy couldn't understand how, but it kept food and drinks
colder than their old icebox and they no longer had to have the iceman
call each day.  George had been able to buy the machine at a special
price on easy terms because he was in the sales department of Gable's
of Gundagai, the big local emporium, and Belle had been in a good mood
ever since it arrived, so this was the moment.

"Am I a bastard?"  he blurted out, then was terrified when her face
changed from shock to anger.  For a moment he thought she might hit
him.  She never had raised a hand against him, but there was always a
first time, so he was on the back foot and ready to run, in case.  But
her anger was not directed at him.

"Who said such a thing?"  She knelt and put her arms around him, and he
could feel her shaking.

"Just some kids," Teddy mumbled, wishing he had said nothing.

"Who?  Little brutes.  Give me their names, darling."

"I can't, Mum.  I forget who it was."

"No, you don't, my pet."

"I do, honest."

"Don't say honest like that when you're not telling the truth.  We both
know you're not."  She hugged him so tightly he could feel her whole
body trembling, and he had a strange feeling she was going to cry.

"I won't make you tell, but you must promise me one thing."

"What, Mum?"

"Not to believe them, or their nasty, stupid lies."

He gladly promised, because it was the answer he had wanted.

What a relief.  It meant George really was his dad, so he couldn't be a
bastard.  After another hug Belle released him and stood up.  There
were tears in her eyes, but she quickly looked away so he knew he was
not meant to see them.

"I'll get you a cold lemonade."  She went to the new machine.

"I

hate this shitty little town," she said, but it was more of a whisper,
and he knew he was not meant to hear this either.

The gate always squeaked.  George kept oiling it, but after a few days
the squeak returned.  It was a sound they lived with, like the rows
every Friday night next door when Harry Lucas came home from the pub
and started belting his wife Essie.  Like the dog across the road that
yapped when anyone walked past, or Mr.  Miranda cutting his grass at
the same time each Sunday morning, the clatter of his mower waking
people trying to sleep in.  When he finished they knew it was an hour
before church time, because Mr.  Miranda was a verger at St.  Thomas's
who carried the collection plate, and he'd be showered and in his best
suit his only suit before the bells rang.

George said Mr.  Miranda's lawnmower drove him batty, as did Harry
Lucas yelling abuse at his wife, while the dog catcher ought to sort
out the bloody yapper opposite, whereas the squeaking gate at least had
its uses.  After all, nobody could arrive out of the blue and catch
them having a bit of a feel, or even doing it in the cot.

Belle told him not to be so coarse in front of you-know-who.

Her name was really Arabella; Teddy had once heard old Aunty Ethel call
her that, but Belle said she'd changed it when she was twelve, after
her parents died.  Even at that age she'd known Arabella was not the
right kind of name for a theatrical poster.  And now that Aunty Ethel
herself had gone to heaven, no one called her anything but Belle.

On the porch behind their house was an almost-inside lavatory that had
replaced the old thunder box in the backyard, because Teddy's mum, who
feared no man or woman, was terrified of spiders.

One day while Belle sat there, absorbed in the local paper, a lethal
red-back crawled across the page and onto the editorial she was
reading.  She emerged from the tin shed with a scream, spent the day
in constipated discomfort, and that night said it was time George
arranged for something a bit more civilised.

So George put on his best suit (the one the army had given him on his
discharge, which he only wore to weddings or funerals) and went to see
Clarry Burwood at the Bank of New South Wales.

After a lot of talk and having to sign second mortgage papers, he
managed to borrow enough money so they could install the new chemical
system called a Hygeia Dissolvenator, which meant the dun ny men did
not have to call each week to empty the pan.  Theirs was the only house
in the neighbourhood with such a contraption, the only place the cart
drove past on its weekly collections, and it made them different.

Teddy didn't like being different.  It meant people talked about you,
which was the worst thing that could happen in the town.

Although, he had to admit, Belle truly was different from anyone else
in Gundagai.  Nobody else who lived there could say they'd been on the
stage a star.  He'd seen the photos in her scrapbook and heard her
friends talk when they came to visit.  So whatever else he had to put
up with even the taunts and fights at school Belle really had been
famous; her name was on theatre posters and programs that hung in neat
frames all over the house, and no other kid in town could claim that.
At nights even after the worst days, trying to sleep and forget the
teasing or the punches, he could at least rely on the fact his mum was
celebrated.

It was a word she used, and he'd asked her what it meant.

"Well known," she told him.

"A sort of fame, if I can venture to say that.  What I mean is, if I
walked into the Theatre Royal even now, Jimmy the stage doorman would
know me.  He'd remember.

Jimmy used to say he never forgot a pretty face.  My darling, it was a
wonderful time in those days, so stimulating and exciting.  Good
audiences, packed houses, and after the shows at night there'd be chaps
outside, waiting."

"Waiting for what, Mum?"

"For my autograph, dearest heart."  She said it with a wistful sigh, as
if there was more to it, but it was not something she could explain,
not until he was older.

Behind their house a strip of land straggled down an unruly incline, a
wilderness of paspalum, lantana and wild blackberry bushes.

Almost obscured where the land ended was a muddy stream.

Sometimes, on the far side of town this trickle of water managed to
reach the Murrumbidgee, but only when aided by a downpour of torrential
rain.  Not that this mattered to Belle.  She said it was a tributary of
a majestic river on which paddle-steamers had once sailed.  She never
ventured close enough to see the stagnant seepage and the tadpoles that
bred in it.

"Our house by the river' she was given to calling it, and some nights,
after a few extra glasses of wine, she would refer to their tiny
two-bedroom fibro cottage with its peeling paint and rusty iron roof as
Notre mais on pres de la riviere.  This was invariably said with the
trace of a laugh and it always sounded a bit peculiar, as if she was
talking with a clothes peg on her nose a fact Teddy was once unwise
enough to express aloud, only to be promptly told off by Belle in her
most scathing style.

"Darling, try not to be a Philistine," she scolded, 'even if we do
dwell among Goths and Vandals."

"Who, Mum?"

"Never mind.  It happens to be the way the French speak, using the
correct Gallic accent, mon petit, and I won't allow you to be an
ignoramus like others in this desolate district who deprecate France,
which is a cultured, civilised place .. ."

Teddy wondered what deprecate meant, and whether he should ask, but
Belle was in full flow and there was no chance.

'... an aesthetic country, full of fine intellectuals and artists quite
unlike here after all, it was the birthplace of Racine, Debussy,
Voltaire and Moliere.  Not forgetting Zola, Chopin or Claude Monet."

He had never heard of any of them.  But from that time on, Notre mais
on pres de la riviere it was, which became awkward.  Such things
travelled swiftly through the town.  It meant another three fights at
school, all of which he lost.

TWO

On the day of the annual Riverina Talent Quest, the local park was
bedecked with flags and bunting.  The Gundagai brass band, hot in
unsuitable serge uniforms and looking like members of the Salvation
Army, played melodies from favourite musical comedies, rendering these
with an enthusiasm that could be heard all over town.  Rows of folding
seats were set up adjacent to the war memorial, where a dais had been
erected to serve as a stage.  It would also provide a platform for the
mayor, together with the master of ceremonies and the adjudicator.  It
was barely ten o'clock, and the quest was not due to begin until
noon.

Belle had risen early and washed her hair, but had not yet decided what
to wear.  It was a choice between the organdie skirt she had worn in a
revival of Rose Marie or the blue dirndl from The Maid of the
Mountains.  She thought perhaps the blue, with a big straw hat she had
worn in No, No, Nanette.  Priding herself on never leaving a show
without at least one item from the production wardrobe, she had
acquired a collection of diverse and extraordinary outfits, rarely
failing to give the locals a chance to comment on her appearance.

Aware of this, she chose with an eye to attracting attention and
invariably received it because of her striking looks, plus a certain
hauteur with which she regarded her fellow citizens.

The blue dress and straw hat, she eventually decided, would make a
dazzling display amid the dreary Sunday-best floral frocks that the
ladies of Gundagai wore to occasions like this.  A drab lot they were,
and today she wanted to be notable.  Today was special.  That decision
taken, she dressed in slacks and a shirt, left the blue dirndl out to
iron, and persuaded George to come for a walk to the park.

"But it's far too early," he said.

Of course it's early, she agreed; after all, she was still in her old
clothes and hadn't really made up her mind what outfit she would
choose, but didn't he wish to escort her?  Just a leisurely stroll
together, down to the park to see the venue.  When George asked why,
she told him it was simply being professional to check the stage and
the seating.  He looked puzzled, but that was George, to whom all
things theatrical were a puzzle.  A good-natured man, his tanned face
was more amiable than handsome.  He was of barely medium height, just
an inch taller than her, and six years her senior.  At thirty-seven his
sandy hair was receding slightly.  They had met by chance in Sydney, at
Greenwich, where Belle had gone to stay with her Aunt Ethel after a
traumatic love affair.  Two weeks later, to the surprise of those who
knew her, and the delight of her elderly aunt (who thought she need a
stabilising influence), they were married.  Despite their obvious
disparity and the conjecture of her friends, the marriage had lasted.

Belle took his arm as they walked along the footpath and crossed the
dusty road, passing identical small fibro houses where washing sagged
on clothes lines.  Bored men hosed parched lawns; others weeding
vegetable gardens nodded to George while slyly running their eyes over
Belle.  Their wives, from front porches or behind the lace curtains of
their windows, scrutinised her with as much dislike as she felt for
them.  It was always a relief to leave the shabby neighbourhood and
reach the centre of town, where there were

paved roads and an occasional fine stone building with traces of
Victorian opulence.

In the park where the brass band was now butchering a Jerome Kern song,
Belle opened her handbag and produced three squares of cardboard.  On
each she had printed the word RESERVED.  She attached them to the most
prominent seats in the centre of the front row.

"You can't do that," said George, looking around uneasily in case the
mayor or anyone in authority was observing her.

"Of course I can," she said, and took his arm again, ready to leave.

George was rigid with apprehension.

"There's Percy Bates," he said anxiously, spotting a familiar face
beneath a peaked cap.

"He's supposed to be a friend of yours.  For goodness' sake, relax and
give him a wave like you usually do."

George waved.  The bulky policeman promptly headed towards them.

"Oh gawd," George muttered, 'now what?"

"G'day, George."  Percy Bates was a florid-faced man, already sweating
in the rising heat.  He touched his cap in Belle's direction;

it might have been a gesture of respect.

"Mrs.  Carson."

"Mr.  Bates."  She smiled in automatic response.

"Warm day.  Be real hot later," the policeman forecast.

"There'll be a mob in soon.  Good idea, bookin' yourselves a decent
seat before they overrun the place like a plague of rabbits."

"We thought so.  I'm so glad you agree," Belle said.

"Your young bloke takin' part in this, is he?"

"Yes, it'll be his first public performance."

"Nervous?"

"Not him.  He's very excited and looking forward to it," Belle
replied,

conscious of George's slight frown, while thinking this was by far the
longest conversation she and the local policeman had ever had.

"What's he do?  Sing?"

"He can sing beautifully.  But not today.  He's entering the speech
section, doing a special recitation."

"Oh," Bates said vaguely, 'is he?  Well, good luck to him."

"He has so much talent he doesn't need luck.  But we appreciate the
sentiment."

The policeman looked bemused, unsure if he was being thanked or
insulted.

"Good-o," he finally said.

"So long, George."  He nodded rather carefully to Belle, and resumed
his leisurely patrol."

"There," Belle said, 'we're not going to be arrested for reserving
seats."  She noticed George frown again, and smiled at him.

"Now what are you bothered about, worry-guts?  Come on, let's go home
and find Teddy."

"It's wrong, what you told Perce."

"What did I tell your friend Perce that's wrong?"

"Ted's not looking forward to it at all.  He's scared."

"Nerves, George."

"He couldn't sleep.  Didn't eat his breakfast."

"That's nothing.  I knew people who'd throw up before they went on
stage.  Part of the pressure."

"Jesus Christ," George said.

"Nerves are natural, almost essential for a good performance.

He'll be wonderful.  You'll see, you'll be proud of him."

But when they reached the house Teddy was not there.  Nor was he down
by the stream.  With Belle growing increasingly anxious, they searched
the neighbourhood for almost an hour, but could not find him.

It was amazing.  Like a miracle.  For so long Teddy had been on his
own, an outsider with hardly any friends, apart from Herbie Bates.

He and the policeman's son had begun school on the same day and, after
enduring some bullying initiation ceremonies, had become good mates.
But when Herbie was not around, Teddy rarely found himself invited to
join in with the others.  Often forced to play games by himself, he
tried to pretend it was fun.  Only an hour before he had been slouching
along the river bank, feeling sick with fright at the thought of the
ordeal ahead, when Ginger and Norm came past.  He was hardly aware of
them at first, immersed in wondering what it would be like up there on
the stage, all those people looking at him, ready to laugh if he made a
mistake.  And it was such a complicated verse, and he had to say it
real fast, had to keep to the tempo Belle had taught him night after
night..  .

"You a snob?"  Ginger asked.

Teddy turned in surprise, ready for combat, even though they were both
older and bigger than him.

"What do you mean, am I a snob?"

"It means stuck-up," Norm said.

"High and mighty," Ginger added for good measure.

"I know that."  Teddy was anxious not to appear ignorant.

"I

meant, who said I'm one?"

"Plenty of kids.  They reckon yer up yerself, think yer too good for
us."

"They're wrong," Teddy replied, stunned.

"Why do they say that?"

"Cos yer won't join anyone's gang.  Too much of a know-all."

"But I'm not.  I'm not in a gang 'cos nobody's ever asked me to
join."

"I told yer," Norm said to Ginger, and they both looked at Teddy as if
they were trying to make up their minds about something.

"What if we asked yer?"  Ginger said eventually.

"Would yer like to join us?"

"You haven't got a gang."

"We're startin' one."

"I thought you were in Piggy Morgan's mob?"

"We're sick of Pig.  He bosses people around."

"So, what do you reckon?"  Norm asked.

"Want to be in it?"

"Bloody oath," Teddy replied, because it sounded grown-up to swear, and
he knew he'd said the right thing when both boys grinned.

"Good stuff," Ginger said.

"You're our first recruit."

Recruit was a popular word, because most of their fathers had been in
the war, some of them fighting in France or Egypt, and a few special
ones had been at Gallipoli, which was supposed to be the best war of
all.  But some of the men who had been there didn't talk much about it,
except when they put on their medals and marched on Anzac Day, and
afterwards went into the hotels to remember mates who hadn't come back.
They often sang as they trailed home when the pubs shut; sometimes by
then the songs were sad ones.

Teddy had even heard a man say he'd been mad to put up his age and go
'over there', but that had been after the celebrations, and he told it
to everyone who went past him as he sat in the street surrounded by
empty beer bottles.

"Did yer hear me?"  Teddy realised Ginger was still talking.

"We're gonna be the top mob round here.  What we'll do is pinch kids
from the other gangs, one at a time, till we're the biggest and best.
By the time they latch on, we'll be ready to bash 'em up.  Right,
Norm?"

"Right, Ginge."

"I'm the captain," Ginger said, "cos it was my idea.  Norm's the first
lieutenant.  You can be a corporal."

Teddy felt disappointment.  It didn't sound very exciting, being a
corporal.

"Can't I be an officer?"

"Ted, yer gotta work yer way up.  Yer can't expect to start at the
top," Ginger replied.

"Besides," Norm added, 'we gotta have troops.  Lots of troops.

The next recruits will be privates, so you'll be in charge of them."

"Promise?"

"Solemn oath.  They'll be known as Teddy's privates."

Both boys choked back laughter.  He wondered what the joke was, but
decided it would be good tactics to grin, as if he understood.

"My privates," he said, and was rewarded when they roared with
laughter.

Ginger slapped him on the back.

"Yer a good sport, Ted.  One of us we made the right choice."

"I could recruit Herbie for the gang," Teddy offered.

"Good thinking, Corporal."  Ginger approvingly gave him another slap on
the back.

"Now let's go and we'll show you our hide-out."

"Is it far?"  Teddy knew he would soon be expected back at the house to
get dressed in his costume for the talent quest, but he could hardly
tell that to his new comrades.  It would sound sissy, and might ruin
everything.

"Not far," Norm assured him.

"Along the other side, till we get to the main river near the bridge.
You wait till you see our lair.  I bet no other gang's got a
headquarters like this."

The main river near the bridge, Teddy thought with dismay.  That was a
fair walk through the bush, and might take half an hour.

Then another half-hour back again .. .

"What's up, Ted?"  He realised they were both watching him.

"Don'tcha want to see it?  Got something' better to do?"

"No," he said.

"Sounds beaut to me.  Let's go."

They waded across the tiny stream, sinking almost to their knees in
the mud, their shrill voices excited and in pursuit of adventure as
they began to imagine the ooze beneath their feet to be dangerous
quicksand.  Teddy gave only one swift glance behind him, and to his
relief saw no one.  They were out of sight amid undergrowth on the far
bank before a worried George came looking for him.

It was a massive kurrajong tree, hidden by tangled vines of morning
glory and surrounded by a profusion of red gums on the slope above the
river.  So thickly foliaged, its branches almost obliterated the sun as
they stood below it.  It had taken longer than expected to find their
way there, and they were dishevelled and scratched by blackberries.
Teddy was remotely conscious of time passing, but he was now part of a
gang, one of the founding members, and that made the day important and
time somehow irrelevant.

They gazed up at the kurrajong.

"This is HQ," Ginger said.

"Up there's our command post."

Ginger was fond of military terms.  His dad had been one of the first
volunteers to join up, and had been at the famous battle of Long Neck
fighting against the Turks, and then later against the Germans in a
place called Pozieres.  Ginger said he hoped that in about ten years,
when he was old enough, there'd be another war so he could fight in it,
then he could join the RSL, the Returned Services League.  His dad
belonged to it, and so did his grandpa, who had been in the Boer War,
and he'd be able to march with them both on Anzac and Armistice Day.

"Was your old man in it?"  Ginger asked Teddy.

"Of course," Teddy said, but he had learnt not to enlarge on this.

He knew George himself had explained he'd been a clerk at

Victoria Barracks in Sydney, which most people felt wasn't being a
proper soldier at all, it was just pen-pushing.  Not that it was
necessary to say he'd been a pen-pusher, George had advised, but it
would be sensible not to skite about him, or make him out to be a hero
or anything silly like that.  Teddy had been told this a year ago when
he was still only seven, and he was proud that he'd kept the secret
ever since.

"Whereabouts did he fight?  France or Gallipoli?"  Ginger was eager to
know more.

"Both, I think," Teddy said.

"He doesn't like to talk about it."

"Mine talks about it all the time."

"Some do, others don't."  Teddy was pleased with his quick-witted
response.

"Now where's the hide-out our command post?  All I can see is a big
tree."

"Stand clear and watch this."  Norm pulled on what seemed like a
tendril hanging from a branch in the kurrajong.  A rope ladder secured
in the foliage above slid down beside them.

"One at a time," Ginger said.

"The leader leads."

He climbed the ladder and vanished into the green overhead.

After a few minutes they heard him call, and Norm began the ascent.
Left alone, awaiting a signal, Teddy had a fleeting moment of concern.
He wished he owned a watch so that he knew the time.

But he reassured himself the talent quest wouldn't start for ages.

First there'd be the brass band and boring speeches, and all sorts of
things.

"Righto, Ted."

He carefully climbed the swaying rope.  High in the tree was a wooden
platform where Ginger and Norm waited.  Some branches had been trimmed
back to afford a view across the river towards the town.  They could
see for miles.

"What do yer reckon?"

"It's great," Teddy said, 'did you make it?"

"Yep me and Norm.  Pinched planks from the scrap yard.  Took weeks, but
from up here we can see every single thing that's going on.

No other gang could possibly attack us we'd spot 'em coming."

"Pin 'em down with catapult fire," Norm added.

"Ain't it a beaut view?  You can see all over the town our school, even
the park and all them people at that stupid talent quest, or whatever
it's called."

That was when the distant band struck up a fanfare.  Teddy could see
the crowd and hear the trumpets.  He felt sudden dismay, a moment of
such panic that he thought his stomach would empty and he might
disgrace himself.

THREE

"He's nowhere in the town.  Not at the hospital; I've even been to the
police station, in case he had an accident.  No one's seen him.  I've
asked everywhere I can think of."

George was out of breath as he reached the gate, explaining all this.
Belle was waiting there, wearing a vivid crimson dress and a large
picture hat, having changed her mind and her clothes three times as her
growing disbelief became a troubled concern, finally turning to
anger.

She shook her head helplessly and went back into the house, leaving
George to follow.  On the dining table lay a brand new pair of short
pants, a white shirt and Teddy's tiny clip-on bow tie.  She could
hardly bear it.  She had saved so carefully from the housekeeping to
buy them had put them on lay-by for weeks, which was hard enough in
these times, but she'd kept up the payments.  And because today was to
be Teddy's first public appearance, and because Belle had been so
certain of it being a triumph, she'd saved up to buy fresh prawns and a
flagon of wine so they could celebrate tonight, as well as a cream cake
with icing on it for Teddy.

"How could he do this to me?"

"We don't know what he's done, Belle."

"We know he's not here," she said despairingly.

"That's what he's

done.  We know he's forgotten, he's just wandered off somewhere,
daydreaming.  All the tuition, the weeks of rehearsals ... so much work
for nothing."  She felt as though she was about to be physically sick
with disappointment.

"Where in the name of Christ can he be?"

"I'll keep looking," George said, but knew it was unlikely he could
locate the boy in time.

"You go down to the park."

"What's the use of that?"

"Ask the judges if he can be put later in the program."

"They'll never agree."

"Yes, they will.  Use your charm.  You'll persuade them," George
assured her.

"You look really beautiful in that red dress."

"No, I don't.  It's too tight and the colour's awful," Belle replied
unhappily.

"In this heat I'll sweat and my mascara will run.  I'll look like a
melting strawberry tart."

The river was much wider than Teddy had thought.  It had looked so easy
at first.  After he heard the fanfare he knew he must make the
decision; there was no choice except to be positive, so he told Ginger
and Norm he had to get back to town, had to meet his mum and dad or
he'd be in big trouble, and he was going to take the shortest way back
and swim across.  Both boys had been startled, then tried to prevent
him, saying it was too wide and he might drown.  But Teddy had put a
stop to that, telling them he'd been taught to swim by his dad who used
to be a Bondi lifesaver, and who was secretly training him for the
school sports.

"You watch," he had said with a bravado that impelled him to swing his
way down the rope ladder, run to the river's edge and dive in without
even stopping to remove his shorts and shirt.  When he surfaced he had
turned to look back at them, their scared faces

visible high in the tree, and while treading water he had cheerfully
waved to them before starting to swim.

Now it felt ages later the opposite bank seemed as far away as ever.
Teddy wondered if he should try to slip out of his shirt; it was
filling with water and becoming heavy, making him feel it was weighing
down his body.  But it would be even harder to swim while holding his
shirt, and he would get into trouble if he lost it.  He kept thinking
about dangers that might be in the river: floating logs that could stun
him or, far worse, slimy eels or water snakes below that might attack
.. .

He began to thresh wildly, feeling the onset of panic.  If he drowned
they'd drag the river.  Percy Bates or one of the other local cops
would row out, while a crowd from town would watch from the boat ramp
as a diver searched for his body in the mud and reeds.  There'd be an
ambulance waiting and they'd take him to the hospital with the siren
blaring, but it would be too late for a doctor to save him.  He'd be
dead, and everyone would be sorry, especially those kids who had teased
him or bashed him up at school.  Belle would sob and put on her black
dress.  George would be sad, and Gable's Emporium would have to give
him the day off work to attend the funeral.  Ginger and Norm might even
be questioned by the police.

"Why did you let him swim alone like that?"  they would ask.

"We were frightened," they'd have to admit, 'and he was a far better
swimmer than us.  But the current was against him.  Even the best
swimmers couldn't have made it."

As he struggled, feeling weaker with each futile stroke, he wondered
why he had told the lie about his dad being a Bondi lifesaver.

George Carson had never been a swimmer.  As a child growing up in the
city, summer outings to the beach had been a treat for the rest of the
family and a source of dread to him.  His brother and sister swam
effortlessly; his father had once been a finalist in the State titles,
and the prospect of a son who could not swim was anathema to him.  His
solution was to throw him into the deep end of the local pool, again
and again, until he stopped sinking and learnt to survive.  In time,
George graduated to a rather desperate dog paddle, but became deeply
afraid of the water.

As an adult, able to make his own choice, he had never swum since, and
thus had not progressed beyond the despised dog paddle to a more
fashionable overarm, let alone the stroke admired as the Australian
crawl.  Neither the town baths nor the river had ever tempted him.  It
was one of the advantages of living in a country town far from the
coast he had no contact with the beach culture that was so alien to
him.  So it was with a feeling of terror that he stood on the river
bank and watched eight-year-old Teddy's failing attempt to swim across
the Murrumbidgee.

George was there by accident.  Having exhausted all possibilities and
unable to face Belle's disappointment, he had walked past the park
where the talent quest was well under way, and heard the master of
ceremonies a prominent Sydney comedian announce that the next performer
had not yet appeared.  It was to be hoped that local lad Ted Carson
would arrive in due course, but meanwhile they would continue with the
next artiste, the delightful Catherine Carr, aged ten, from Wagga
Wagga, who had chosen to sing "Danny Boy'.

George had heard the band begin, the young and rather thin voice
nervously trying to follow the musical tempo, as he crossed the road.
Willed by some instinct that he would never understand,

he walked beneath a canopy of flame trees, past a grocer's shop and a
garage both of them shut down to the river.  There seemed to be no one
in sight until he saw the flailing figure in mid-stream.

George knew at once who it was and stood frozen in fear and a
heart-stopping panic, unable to move.

It was only for seconds, but seemed longer.  Then, in some astonishing
way, his shoes were discarded, jacket and trousers flung on the ground,
his shirt and tie wrenched off, and he was in the water.  There was
scarcely time to be terrified.

He tried to call.  The boy, struggling for his life, gave no sign of
hearing.

"Teddy!"  he shouted.  Disregarding his fear, George focused on the
thought that Teddy would sink and he'd be unable to find him in the
murky depths.  An image of the mud and slimy black depths spurred him,
if only to avoid the prospect of it.

"Teddy!"

It felt unreal, but George was out there in mid-stream, grabbing the
boy and shouting into his face, glimpsing Teddy's startled recognition,
manhandling him and desperately dog-paddling them both back to the
safety of the river bank.

"You're not to tell her," George said, 'or else I'll chuck you back
in.

Did you hear me?  She's had enough upset already.  Got it?"

"But what'll I say?"  Teddy had showered, and was now in his new shirt
and short pants as George stooped to fit the bow tie.

"Don't say anything.  Just get up on stage and do it.  Right?"

"Right," Teddy said.

"But Dad ..."

"What?"

"I think I was drowning.  And you saved me."

"Rubbish.  Get your shoes and socks on, let's hurry."

"But Dad-'

"Hurry!  I hope, after all that, you can still remember the words."

kA plump twelve-year-old boy ended his mechanical tap dance with a
flourish, poised with arms flung wide, awaiting applause.  It was
polite but perfunctory and he left the dais disappointed.  The comedian
acting as master of ceremonies came to the microphone and dutifully
thanked the dancer.  He was a tall, skinny man with a toothy smile, and
shiny hair plastered down with brilliantine.  The committee thought
they were lucky to have such a popular name, and after much debate had
agreed to pay his exorbitant demand of a ten-pound fee plus first-class
train fares.

"And now, our youngest contestant in this year's quest has arrived, and
may I say just in time.  Please put your hands together and welcome
your very own local lad eight-year-old Teddy Carson!"

Belle heard the applause and had a moment of pride, convinced it was
louder for him than for any others.  She watched as the tall comic made
a performance of leaning down to shake hands with the small figure of
her son, and heard the wave of amusement as he milked an easy laugh by
lowering the microphone to Teddy's height, then kneeling alongside him
to complete his announcement.

"Young Mr.  Carson tells me he will be doing a recitation of a poem.  I
leave you in his good hands."

"You great dopey clown," Belle muttered angrily.

"Piss off and stop hogging the limelight."

Only George could hear this indignant sibilance.

"Shh," he said.

He took her hand and held it, trying to calm her.  There had been no
chance for explanations when he and Teddy slid into the seats beside
her a few minutes earlier, no time to reply to her puzzled look

as she saw George's change of clothes; his soaked and muddy best suit
was at home, and he was now wearing an old sports jacket and flannel
trousers.  At last the visiting ME retired to the background, and Teddy
was a very tiny figure alone in front of the microphone, facing the
crowd in the park.

"Bow," Belle whispered, and almost as if he might have heard her but
this was surely impossible they saw Teddy turn and bow to the
adjudicator, who sat waiting to judge his performance.

"Kindly proceed with your recital," the adjudicator said.  He was a
rather prim man in his late forties, a teacher of English grammar at
St.  Bartholomew's College in the town of Cootamundra.  Belle wondered
what his qualifications were for evaluating the merits of singers,
dancers and the acting ability of her son.

From the improvised stage, Teddy looked down at his mum.  She gave him
an imperceptible nod of encouragement.  He took a deep breath, smiled
engagingly at the audience as if they were his friends, then just as
they were expecting a sweet childish verse, he dropped his voice a full
octave and launched himself into the recitation:

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;

The kid that handles the music box was hitting a jag-time tune;

Back at the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew, And watching
his luck was his light-o' love, the lady that's known as Lou.

The adjudicator looked surprised.  He started to frown, and lightly
tapped the bell on the table in front of him.  It was a signal to

stop the performance, but Teddy paid no heed.  He hardly heard the
sound.  He was capturing the beat, the feel of the rhythm, the way he
had rehearsed it so often with Belle, increasing his tempo as he warmed
up to the exciting bits:

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and
glare, There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and
loaded for bear.

He looked like a man with a foot in the grave, and scarcely the
strength of a louse, Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he
called for drinks for the house.

There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched
ourselves for a clue;

But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew
... The adjudicator was hitting the bell firmly now, and he kept on
banging it repeatedly.

"Stop it!"  he shouted.

"Stop this at once!"

Teddy turned to look at him, bewildered.

"But sir, I'm just starting.

There's ten verses.  It's a famous poem called "The Shooting of Dan
McGrew"."

"I'm perfectly aware of its title.  You will do as you're told and stop
now!"  He rose from his chair.

"This choice of material for a young boy is totally unsuitable.  It's
nothing but crude doggerel.  He should have been given something more
appropriate for a child of his tender years."

There was a sudden outbreak of excitement.  Amid it came a voice that
dominated the hubbub, demanding with a piercing clarity to be heard.
Belle was on her feet, outraged.

"Who says it's unsuitable?"

"I do."  The adjudicator looked down at her.  He was brick-red with
indignation.

"I say so.

"The Shooting of Dan McGrew" is coarse and vulgar verse, inappropriate
and totally improper for a recitation by an eight-year-old, or by any
child on a public occasion like this.  He's disqualified."

"He's what?"  Belle stared at him, disbelieving.

"Disqualified, Madam."

"Belle, love-' George, by now alarmed and embarrassed, tried to take
her arm, begging her for all their sakes to please sit down, but he was
too late.  She was climbing the rostrum steps to confront the
adjudicator.  Teddy realised this with sudden dismay.

The audience, who had dutifully tolerated the heat and the long
program, now sensed the advent of a happening.  They all knew Belle,
but none had ever seen her in such a rage as the moment when she faced
the teacher from St.  Bartholomew's.

"How dare you criticise the material!"  Her voice carried to all
corners of the park, picked up by the microphone because she was now
standing alongside it.

"How dare you!  I chose that poem."

"Then you should be ashamed of yourself," he snapped at her.

"This is supposed to be a talent quest," she shouted in his face, 'not
a church picnic!"

The mayor rose to his feet, conscious of impending disaster.  Despite
the warmth of the day he was wearing his ceremonial robes of office.

Some of the crowd were laughing, calling encouragement to Belle, others
felt clearly scandalised by her intrusion and were starting to
complain.  The afternoon had been a tedious one, relatives and friends
dragooned into obligatory attendance, compelled to sit through
mediocre performances by far too many children, and His Worship's
political antennae warned him they were only moments away from chaos.
His authority was required to defuse the situation.

"Mrs.  Carson," he sternly ordered, 'kindly leave the platform at once
and stop disrupting the proceedings.  Step down and resume your
seat."

"Shut up, Pinocchio," Belle replied, which brought a great roar of
laughter, for the mayor was distinguishable by an elongated nose, and
had threatened to sue opposition aldermen who used this nickname when
accusing him of telling lies in council.  He was even more infuriated
by the public hilarity, and lost all sense of civic dignity.

"Sit down, you bloody bitch, or I'll have you chucked off this
stage."

He couched his threat in what was meant to be a ferocious whisper, but
unluckily for him the microphone picked it up and broadcast it to the
crowd.  Despite their diverse opinions of Belle, a large number of
women in the audience gave voice to a unified echo of disapproval that
promised to cost him votes at the next election.

Belle enjoyed the mayor's look of dismay, then took no further notice
of him.  She turned back to the adjudicator.

"Before this buffoon interrupted, I was about to say you're an
impostor.  You have no qualifications, no talent, and no right to be
here trying to evaluate artists.  You're just a jumped-up ponce."

"And you're a madwoman," the adjudicator hissed at her.

"What's more to the point," Belle said, as if he had not spoken,
'you're an imbecile, an amateur!  Disqualify him, would you?  I'm here
to tell you this boy is going to be a great actor.  He's going to be a
star.  And you and Pinocchio the mayor and anyone else who disagrees
can shove your opinions up your arse!"

George sat wishing he had drowned in the river.  On stage Teddy heard
startled laughter but it was only from a section of the crowd.

Most had faces like stone.  He knew his mum was defending him, although
he was unsure from what.  He put out his hand and found hers.  She
clung to it like a lifeline.

Fingers locked, they left the platform amid uproar.

Teddy watched as Belle carefully poured herself another glass of wine.
It was the last one, draining the flagon which had been full when she
began, and George made an ineffectual motion of protest, but said
nothing.  She seemed not to notice, and sipped her drink.

The house was quiet and dark, like her mood; just two lamps alight, one
on the piano, which occupied pride of place in the cluttered living
room where they sat, the other on a chest that lit the main wall where
all Belle's photos and playbills were displayed.  Among them were
pictures of her as a young soubrette, or in costumes for dramatic
roles; these, together with the many theatrical programs and her neatly
kept scrapbooks of press clippings, were what one of her friends, Teddy
remembered, had called 'the memorabilia of her life'.

Whatever that was supposed to mean, they sat there among it, Belle
drinking steadily but not drunk, and George looking tired and
perplexed, which was how he often looked, especially when she was
upset.  Teddy had heard another friend say that George had a perplexed
look on his face most of the time, ever since he had first met Belle.
Although he was only eight, Teddy was good at overhearing things he
wasn't meant to, and expert at storing them in his memory.

"Unsuitable."  She almost spat the word, gazing into her glass.

Neither of them said anything, as if they were her captive audience.

"Un-bloody-suitable!  How would he know?  How in the name of Christ
would that weedy, wretched man know?  Is he anyone?"

"He's a school teacher, love-' "I know that.  A second-rate teacher in
a third-rate college."

"Yes, well, but-' "I mean, is he anyone of substance?  I hardly think
the instruction of elementary English at a school in Cootamundra gives
him the right to publicly humiliate us and disqualify my son."

"Our son," George murmured softly, but Teddy realised she was brooding
and appeared not to have heard him.

Huddled in a chair in the corner, feeling invisible because his parents
seemed oblivious of him, he watched them both.  The room felt strange
and unreal.  The events of the day had drained him, yet he was
determined to fight off sleep.  So much had happened, and he did not
want to miss anything else that might occur.

"I blame myself," Belle said.

"The fault is mine."

"Is it?"  George sounded surprised to hear her say this.

"You mean the choice of the wrong poem?"

"Of course I don't mean that.  It was a considered choice, to
demonstrate his versatility and his range, despite his age.  I blame
myself because he has talent but no chance of showing it while we
moulder in this backwater."

"Fair go, darl," George said, 'it's not such a bad place, really."

"It's a dump."

"You didn't think so when we first came here.  You were keen enough
just to get the hell out of Sydney, away from everyone, and forget
about the past."

"All right," Belle said, and she slid a glance at Teddy, almost hidden
in his chair.  Unable to see him clearly in the shadowed room, she

seemed to assume he had fallen asleep.

"Just watch what you say.

Leave things that happened back then out of this."

"Be glad to," George replied, showing sudden spirit, 'provided you quit
blaming all your troubles on this town.  We have to live somewhere."

"Do you call it living?"  She drained her glass and put it on the
table.

"I know you're cranky about today, and it's understandable.  I'm upset
too.  But nothing will ever please you here, will it?  You've never
given this place a chance."

"A chance?  For God's sake, it's been eight years!  Isn't that long
enough to be suffocated?"

"At least I've got a decent job here.  A hell of a lot better than I'd
get in any damn city, where half the people are out of work."

"Ah yes, the job," she said.

"The steady and reliable job with Gable's of Gundagai."  Teddy could
hear her voice beginning to rise and knew the signs: she was angry
again.

"Is that our shining future?  Will we sit and decay in this house,
count off the years and grow into antiques while you carry the flag for
the Henry Gable Emporium?  Perhaps you'd like that to be Teddy's
future, to follow in your footsteps as the assistant manager,
kitchenware."

"I didn't say that.  But there are worse things to be."  Teddy could
tell that George was equally upset, which was rare.

"Plenty of no-hopers in your game.  Most of 'em on the bones of their
arse, pretending things are dandy.  An awful lot of pretence goes on in
your weird world, Belle."

"We all know your opinion of show business," she said, 'but I
personally don't give a bugger what you think.  I happen to believe
Teddy has real talent, and it's a sin to waste it."  She went to refill
her glass, and seemed surprised the flagon was empty.

"Talent is like

gold, it's precious and it's rare.  If I do one thing with my life,
I'm going to see he uses it, that he becomes someone.  And I don't mean
a star of Glorious Gable's in bloody Gundagai."

"We can't leave here," George pointed out.

"There's my job and the cheap mortgage.  We'd never get another loan as
good."

There was silence while Belle considered this remark.  Then she
shrugged.

"We'll give it a while longer," she promised.

At least Teddy thought it was a promise.  But later that night, tucked
in bed and unable to sleep for thinking about the eventful day, he
wondered about Belle's words.  In a way, they had sounded more like a
threat.

FOUR

"Smile," the photographer said, perspiring as he slid in a new plate.
His tiny studio, up a flight of stairs above Wilson's Drapery and Soft
Furnishings 'your sofas covered and curtains made to measure' was like
an oven.

Teddy obediently relaxed his face into a polite smile, but Belle shook
her head vehemently.  She moved in front of the lens to prevent the
shot being taken.  The photographer sighed.  He was accustomed to
simple portraits, or comfortable events like weddings and baptisms.

He was also used to being the one who issued instructions.

"Don't smile," she said, and she turned to the photographer.

"If I wanted a little photo for the family album, I'd have borrowed a
box brownie and not wasted my money.  I want some depth and feeling.

Some intensity, not a bland, meaningless, grinning snapshot.  I want
him to look ethereal..  ."

"Ethereal, Mrs.  Carson?"

"Have you ever heard of the word?"

"Has he?  "the photographer retorted, now fed up by the demanding
session and feeling thoroughly bad-tempered.

While they argued about which posture he should adopt (Belle kept
insisting that by ethereal she meant a solemn and spiritual study, but
certainly not a silly, angelic look), Teddy sat hoping that none of
his

mates had seen them coming in here.  Especially Norm and Ginger, for
they were now his best friends, ever since the big day when they had at
last recruited their tenth member ten being considered the right size
for a gang and they had issued a proclamation and an open challenge to
Pig Morgan and his mob.  Apart from a slight skirmish and an exchange
of insults, no real battle had yet taken place.  The closest they had
come to wartime action was arming themselves with lots of stones and
setting up snipers with catapults, but then Percy Bates had cycled past
in his police uniform and they all had to hold their fire and pretend
to be friends.  Since then plans were constantly being discussed about
how to engage the enemy.

It would be terrible if Norm or Ginger or any of his own gang found
out, but far worse if Piggy's riffraff knew he was here, dressed up in
a velvet costume Belle had made for him, looking like Little Lord
Fauntleroy.  He'd be a joke at school.  It would spread around the
whole district.  They'd never let him forget it.  He'd have to run
away, there would be no alternative ... "Teddy, darling," his mother
said, 'are you listening?"

"To what, Mum?"

"I thought not.  I want you to look pensive, serious.  Now, can you do
that?"

He nodded.  It was easy.  The best way to do that was to empty his
mind, just gaze at the lens with a trace of confusion.

"Lovely," Belle said.

"Just perfection.  Don't you think so, Mr.  Lucarotti?"

"Perfection," the photographer said, visualising the prospect of an
early release from the claustrophobic heat of his studio.  It would be
followed by a visit to the saloon bar of the Imperial Hotel, where the
vision of a schooner of cold draught beer was like a treasured mirage
that would efface this tyranny.

"Last one," Belle said.

"This time he's crying."

They both turned and gazed at her.  Mr.  Lucarotti managed to suppress
a sigh.

"Crying?"  Teddy asked.

"Why do I have to cry?"

"Because it's different."

Different, Teddy repeated to himself.  Why must we always be
different?

"For a very simple reason," Belle said, as if she had read his mind,
which he had come to believe she could, 'because no one else will have
a portfolio with a young boy shedding tears.  And casting directors
notice such things.  You must realise, my pet, they see dozens of
hopefuls.  Probably hundreds.  They're bored with smiling faces and
rows of white teeth that look like well-kept tombstones.

Posed, artificial pictures.  What we have to do is create an instant
impact.  Make them be aware of us.  That way, they'll remember you.  So
you take a moment or two, darling, and then cry."

"But..  . how?"

"You're an actor.  Actors can cry when they want to."

"But what'll I cry about, Mum?"  Teddy was bewildered.

"Think of something sad," Belle said.

"I don't know anything sad."

"Of course you do.  Like .. . your little puppy, remember?"

"Winnie the Pooh .. ."

"What happened to him?"

"You know."

"Yes, but you tell me."

"He was run over."

And.  Belle persisted.

"He died."

"Think of how you felt, Teddy," she murmured to him, 'think of

that poor little dog, your wonderful friend Pooh, slowly dying."

Mr.  Lucarotti was mesmerised, gazing from mother to son.

Teddy's face startled to crumple.  Tears filled his eyes and began to
roll down his cheeks.  Belle nodded to the photographer, who was so
shocked by this display of parental ruthlessness that he almost forgot
to click the shutter of the camera.  By now, Teddy was openly sobbing,
hardly aware of the flashlight.

"One more," Belle said, and Mr.  Lucarotti took a last shot, then
watched in wonder as his client ran forward to kneel and wrap her arms
around her son.  She hugged him, murmuring soft contrite phrases,
pleading that she was sorry and to please forgive her.

However, the photographer felt certain that if his prints should fail
to satisfy, she would be quite capable of making the child do it all
again.

The car looked almost new streamlined and heavy with chrome that shone
like silver, despite the street dust that enveloped it.  They saw it as
they walked home from school, engrossed in plans for the advancement of
their gang, with Norm and Ginger debating the best time to launch an
attack that would completely skittle Pig Morgan and his mob of
losers.

"It's got to be a real shock," Ginger said.

"We want to make Pig look like an absolute dingbat.  If we do it
properly and leave him stranded like a shag on a rock, then most of his
gang will desert the sinking ship and come over to our side."

Teddy was not sure if he should say so, but he had a notion how to
achieve this, his own secret idea of how to make Pig look a real
dill.

The trouble was, he wondered how the other two would feel about him
making the suggestion, since they were now firmly established

as the natural leaders the captain and his first lieutenant and
frequently it had been made clear to him that he should remember he was
only a corporal.  It had been said so often he was getting sick of
hearing it.  Now that they had the numbers, Norm and Ginger had become
what George would call a bit stuck-up.  So although it was a good idea,
a perfect way to make Pig Morgan look stupid, he debated whether to
broach it, which was when they drew near his house and saw the car.

"It's a sports tourer."  Norm knew all about cars, for his father
served on the petrol pump at the main garage in town.

"A Fiat 19S.

Made in Italy."

They both nodded as if already knowing this, but Norm was determined to
assert his authority in such matters.

"I s'pose you se know where Italy is?"  he asked, and after receiving a
blank look from them, grinned triumphantly.

"It's in Europe, yer drongos, and full of Eyeties.  That's what they
call Italian people.

They eat garlic, my dad says, and make pricey cars.  Whoever owns this
must be worth a few quid."  He turned to Teddy.

"It's somebody you know, 'cos it's parked in front of your house."

But it wasn't anyone that Teddy knew.  When he went inside he found a
stranger, a tall man in a tan summer suit, with Belle's lipstick on his
mouth and his blond hair in disarray.

"Darling," she said, for he had come in quietly by the back door, 'you
do sneak up on people.  This is a friend of mine from when I was in
vaudeville.  His name is Dan."

"Dan, Dan the comedy man," the visitor said.  Teddy caught a glance
between them.  He thought his mother was frowning as she sometimes did
when she was sending him a warning and he saw the man take a sideways
look at himself in the mirror that hung over the mantelpiece, then pat
down his hair and wipe his mouth

with the back of his hand.  The smears of lipstick were transferred
there.  Teddy saw them when Dan stretched out to shake hands.

"Dan Hardacre.  You wouldn't remember me, young shaver.  The last time
I saw you, you were knee-high to a grasshopper."

Teddy nodded politely, although he didn't like being called a young
shaver, and wondered what the man was doing there, apart from kissing
his mother when no one else was home.

"She was good, your mum.  Great dancer, terrific legs, the best in
Harry Larsen's revues.  Belle was the youngest and prettiest girl in
the chorus."

"Dan!"  This time Belle was definitely frowning.  Teddy himself was
puzzled.  He felt sure the chorus was not very important, but that
couldn't be right because his mother was quite famous.

"Not that I like to boast," she said hastily, 'but the chorus was just
a start.  We did other shows together.  Not only Harry's shows.

Proper theatrical plays."

"We sure did," Dan now quickly agreed.

"Your mum and I go way back."

"Not too far back," Belle said.

"Speak for yourself."

"You were only sixteen when we met.  Sweet sixteen, so by my reckoning
you can't be a day over thirty-two."

"Thirty-one," Belle promptly corrected him, which was when they heard
the gate squeak, and the sound of the key in the front door.

Teddy had hardly ever seen George in a bad mood, but that night after
Mr.  Hardacre had gone (which was what George had called him, making no
attempt to shake hands, Teddy had noticed), Belle was in a sulk and
George was cranky.  They had their tea in complete silence, which was
much worse than shouting at each other, and the

two hardly spoke a word until Teddy had gone to bed and they thought
he was asleep.

"You might've at least tried.  Put on a show of making him feel
welcome."

"Why?"  he heard George ask belligerently.

"Why the hell should I make that prick welcome?"

"Watch your language," Belle said, which was strange because people in
town were always saying her language was awful, a real disgrace, and
Mrs.  Audrey Stevenson, the Methodist minister's wife, told church
friends that Belle should wash her mouth out with soap.

To this Belle replied she was a frustrated old chook who minded
everyone's business but her own, or else she'd know about her husband
and the new choir soprano in the organ loft.

But Dan Hardacre in his expensive sports car... that was something
else.  He and Belle had exchanged secret looks before he left, peculiar
looks, and Teddy had seen George watching them.

Belle waved as he drove away in a cloud of dust, and when she came back
inside she said Dan was doing all right for himself these days.  Never
much of an actor, but with films now all the rage Dan had been smart
and hopped on the bandwagon.  Not acting he'd hardly be driving a car
like that if he was still an actor; he'd seen the light and got a job
as the manager in Australia for the American film company United
Pictures.

George had shrugged as if he wasn't in the least interested, and had
gone outside to water the garden.  Belle followed him, as though
determined to explain the visit.

"You must have heard of United Pictures.  They plan to make films here
in Australia and Dan is in charge of production.  It's his job to find
the directors and actors.  Listen to me, George, will you?"

"I'm listening."

"I didn't tell you before, but I sent copies of those photos Mr.
Lucarotti took to Dan's office in Sydney.  He really likes them. 
Thinks Teddy's big brown eyes and his freckled face would look great on
the screen.  Dan's on his way to Melbourne to a conference, but he was
so impressed by the photos he did a detour to see for himself.

He thinks someday there might be a part in one of his movies.  How
about that?"

George just grunted and went on hosing the cabbages, as if he did not
believe a word of it.

Teddy didn't quite believe it either.  And now he lay in the dark,
listening to them quarrel.

"Don't you care that he might get work?  A role in a film?"

"How could he?  It'd mean missing school."

"So what, if it's a chance to prove he's really good.  I've always said
he could be as big a star as that kid in America, Jackie Coogan.

A few weeks off school won't matter."

"Why don't we just drop the subject, Belle.  How do you think I feel,
coming home and seeing that bastard here?"

"Will you please listen for a minute?"

"I'm sleepy."

"Well, sleep on this.  You're a fool, thinking there's anything between
Dan and me."

"There was once.  I'm bloody certain he's the one-' "Shut up about
that," Belle said hastily, 'and just believe me, you're wrong about it.
He's not."

"You swear that's true?"

"I swear.  Before God.  On the Bible.  I promise, George."

"Next you'll try to tell me you were just good friends."

"No, I won't lie about that.  But it was long before I met you.  You

silly bugger, there were a lot better prospects than Dan Hardacre
hanging around me back then.  But I married you, didn't I?"

Teddy struggled against sleep, waiting for George's answer.

Instead there was a long silence, then Belle's voice again.

"There," she said, sounding different, so much softer he could barely
hear her, 'that's more like it.  Better shut the door."

The house was dark and quiet, and while he tried to fathom what it all
meant, Teddy fell asleep.

FIVE

The station guard blew his whistle; the train began to shuffle out.

Belle stood on the platform waving, then gradually became a small
distant figure until Teddy could no longer see her, and he felt his
first trace of homesickness.

"Cheer up, old chap," Sam Swallow said, 'it's an adventure."

His wife Mabel fossicked in her voluminous bag to produce a packet of
sandwiches wrapped in grease proof paper.  She and Sam each took one,
and she broke another in half and gave Teddy a portion.

"Remember, dearie," she said, 'if the conductor comes along, you hide
under the seat, there's a good boy."

The train clattered past the signal box on the outskirts of town and
picked up speed.  This really is an adventure, Teddy thought.

The pair sat opposite him, facing the engine.  Second class, 'cos there
ain't no third on this line, Sam said, and he announced they liked to
travel with their public, 'cos that way you got to know 'em and he and
Mabel had always been close to their fans.  Around them the luggage
racks were filled with their baskets of theatrical costumes.

It had all happened in the space of a few days.

Belle had been pleased and excited, showing George a postcard

when he came home from work.

"From Sam and Mabel," she said.

"Sam and Mabel Swallow.  You remember The Swallows."

"Struth," George had said with a frown, 'they're not coming to stay
with us again?"

"Just for a night.  Teddy can sleep on the sofa.  Go on, don't be a
grouch."  She hugged him.

"It'll make a change to hear all their news.

Couple of troupers doing it tough on the vaudeville circuit.  We can
give them a bed."

"Sure it's only one night?  Last time they stayed a week."

"They were broke then.  Look what it says on the card, "just overnight
to see you and George, and dear little Teddy who probably won't
remember us.  Then we're off early the next day to Wagga and Albury on
a two-week tour".  It can't be any plainer than that."

"Off the next day."  George had smiled and tucked his arm in hers.

"In that case, it'll be nice to see them again."

Sam and Mabel arrived from the station by taxi, because of the amount
of luggage they brought.  They were much older than Belle, even older
than George, Teddy thought, and he guessed they must be at least forty.
Sam had a ruddy face, tufts of ginger hair that didn't quite cover all
of his head, and an English north-country accent.  Mabel was small and
plump and referred to herself as 'just a girl'.  "Us girls', she said,
meaning her and Belle.  Teddy thought that a bit peculiar, but he
decided not to say so.

He knew Belle was really happy about their visit.  She'd cleaned the
house, picked flowers, cooked a big spaghetti and bought two flagons of
wine for the occasion.  Even George had enjoyed the evening, and
laughed at Sam and Mabel's jokes; they seemed to have lots of them,
Teddy thought, and they pushed back the furniture in the lounge room so
it was like a small stage where they performed what they called their
new 'routines'.  Then Belle played

the piano and Teddy sang for them.

"What'll it be, lad?"  Sam had asked.

Teddy and Belle knew.  She smiled and struck a chord.  It was one of
his favourites.  He felt an easy confidence.

In these hard times You gotta put up with anything, In these hard times
You mustn't pick or choose, And if she's nice and you squeeze her
tight, She'll ask you round tomorrow night If you don't mind sitting
without a light In these hard times.

He tap-danced between the verses, as Sam and Mabel enjoyed more wine
and enthusiastically applauded him.

"Bravo," Sam shouted.

"Bravo!"

"He's a regular darling."  Mabel enveloped Teddy in a hug.

"I think we could use him."

"What do you mean .. . use?"  George asked.

"In the show, George dear.  Does he have other numbers?"

"Dozens," Belle said.

She refilled their glasses, and turned the lights low.  Then she played
as Teddy sang "The Ballad of Kelly's Gang', after which he recited "The
Shooting of Dan McGrew', making them chortle, and finally Belle ran her
fingers along the piano keys, and changed to a soft sentimental tempo.
Teddy loved this song.

There's a town beside a river, Running north from Rainbow Pond,

And the paddle steamers ply there On their way to parts beyond.

When the people on the steamer Ask what place it is, by chance, The
answer is, most likely, It's a joint of some romance.

But sometimes they'll declare that It's a spot of great renown, Where a
dog sits on a tucker box Just five miles out of town.

George had not been easy to convince, and not pleased when he found Sam
and Mabel's plans had changed, and they would be staying three days
after all.  There were frequent arguments between Belle and George,
some of which Teddy overheard.

"He can't go off with a pair of strangers, Belle."

"They're hardly strangers.  I've known Mabel and Sam since I was a kid.
It's only two weeks, for heaven's sake."

"He'll miss school."

"He'll be on stage, in front of a proper audience.  That's worth a
couple of weeks of dull old school."

Whacko!  Teddy thought.  Fights in the playground could be forgotten
while he found out what it felt like to be on a proper stage.  A real
live theatre, not the stupid talent quest.  He felt sure he wouldn't be
even a tiny bit scared performing to crowds of people.

The arguments between Belle and George grew until they included Sam and
Mabel.

"All expenses paid, George."

"What, no salary?"

"George, old thing, we're offering him experience," Mabel trilled.

"You can't buy experience, George, old chap."

"And we are known," Mabel pointed out.

"He needn't ever be ashamed of appearing on stage with "The Swallows".
We have a very loyal following."

"And we'll bring him safely home," Sam insisted.

Teddy could see his dad was losing.  While he really wanted to go by
that time, he didn't want George to be upset.

"I'll send you a postcard, Dad," he promised, and George sighed and
said to make sure he did.  Belle smiled and said she'd wash and iron
his stage outfit and pack his suitcase.  Mabel hugged them all, and
said she'd treat him like her own.

The School of Arts hall in Wagga Wagga was not Teddy's idea of a
theatre.  It wasn't a proper theatre like the ones in Belle's
scrapbooks.

It had a notice board outside, and on this was pasted one of the
leaflets he had helped Sam and Mabel distribute to the shops in town.
After two places had refused them, saying they had a policy against the
display of free advertising, Sam suggested Teddy might like to try the
next shop alone.

It was an ironmonger's store, and the man behind the counter took the
leaflet and carefully read it.  He was very tall, and looked down from
a great height at the nervous small figure.

"The Swallows, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Never heard of 'em."

"They're quite famous."

"Must be.  Says here, vaudeville at its very finest.  Sam and Mabel
return to entertain by popular request.  And you, young man, are you a
Swallow?"

"No, sir.  I'm Teddy Carson."

"And what do you do?  Apart from handing out these?"

"I'm in the show, sir."  Teddy thought he should keep calling the man
sir, because he was so tall.

"I sing and dance."

"Do you?"  the ironmonger said.

"Well, I might come along and see that.  Want me to display this,
eh?"

"If you wouldn't mind, sir."

When he met them further down the street by previous arrangement, Sam
said it was well done, very well done indeed, and perhaps Teddy should
keep on with the shops while he and Mabel visited the hotels and the
bowling club.  That way they could meet and mingle with the prospective
audience, and thus make sure every night was a full house.

If the School of Arts did not resemble a real theatre, the audience was
even less like a full house.  Small groups of people were scattered so
thinly that it was uncomfortable.  The rare moments of laughter the
sketches produced were no more than titters that lapsed into
embarrassed silence.  Sam and Mabel Swallow performed with a grim
tenacity, as if engaged in combat with their audience, a battle to win
a trace of warmth and interest one which was undoubtedly being lost
while they tried to ignore the vacant seats, the coughs and yawns, the
restless shuffling of people eager to escape, and the awful echo of
their own voices in the dead auditorium.

Out of sight behind the draped curtain on the prompt side of the stage,
after being told to remain there and be quiet until he was called,

Teddy felt anxious and afraid.  He wished he was safe at home; all his
life he had been fed wonderful success stories of huge audiences that
laughed and sometimes even cheered.  But not here; he could tell this
was a failure.  This wasn't how it was meant to be, it was nothing like
it had been in Belle's scrapbooks or in her stories.

As another of their sketches ended without a laugh or a vestige of
applause, the Swallows walked off stage to the prompt corner.  Sam was
furious and dripping sweat; Mabel seemed close to tears.

In desperation they looked at Teddy.

"Quick."  Sam nudged him.

"Get out there.  Give 'em something, a song or a dance.  Keep 'em
there, or the buggers'll want their money back."

"But... there ain't a piano.  How can I sing?"

"Stuff the piano, get on the bleeding stage.  Give us a break."

"Quick," Mabel hissed at him.

"What'll I sing?"

"Any-bloody-thing," Sam said.

Teddy felt a sudden and unexpected push from Mabel.  Taken by surprise,
he went backwards, waving his arms in the air in an attempt to keep his
balance, then slipped and fell flat on his back in the centre of the
tiny stage.  He sat up and looked in abject terror at the audience.  He
had no idea what to do, until someone tittered.

Teddy stood up, a tiny figure in his shorts and shirt, and began to rub
his bottom as if it hurt.  He thought two or three people laughed at
this.  Then he pretended to adjust his bow tie, a trick that Belle had
shown him, making the audience believe he was looking in a mirror.  He
twisted it one way, then the other.  He looked puzzled and swivelled
his head as if the mirror was crooked.

Because the show until then had been so bad, and here was this
diminutive figure miming, people started to chuckle.  Out in the

semi-dark a man clapped.  Teddy made out his features, it was the
friendly owner of the ironmongery shop.  All at once terror
evaporated;

in the cold and hostile School of Arts the audience had a recognisable
face.  He snapped to attention and saluted him.  It brought a sudden
wave of laughter and even some scattered applause.

He heard it with relief.  At the same time came the realisation he had
only been on stage a few seconds, and he had no idea what to do next.

Should he stand on his head?  Try some more mime?  Do a tap dance?

His feet twitched, and he tapped for a few moments, uncertain if this
was what they wanted.  It was then that the idea came to him.

"A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon .. ."

There was an instant response as he launched into the first verse of
"Dan McGrew'.  He gave it the fast rhythmic beat that Belle had
instilled into him during rehearsals, and he felt the audience
responding without even looking he knew they were leaning forward,
listening and smiling.  There was no adjudicator to ring a bell and
stop him, and he began to tease them with long pauses, bringing
laughter, making them think he'd forgotten the words, then galloping
into the next verse.

At the end when they stood and applauded, he let it run, milked it,
then took a penny from his pocket, screwed it into his eye like a
monocle and waited for their silence as they resumed their seats.  When
it was quiet he adopted the mock-English accent Belle had taught him.

I'm Burlington Bertie, I rise at ten-thirty and saunter along like a
toff, I walk down the Strand with my gloves on my hand, Then I walk
down again with them off.

I'm Bert, Bert, I haven't a shirt, But my people are well-off, you
know.

And everyone knows me, even Lord Rosebery, I'm Burlington Bertie from
Bow!

I am "Really!"

he called out to the rapt and captive audience, "Ai'm Burlington Bertie
from Bow."

He tap-danced between the verses.  There was no piano, but he didn't
need one.  Teddy took the penny from his eye, flicked it in the air and
caught it.  Then he put it back as a monocle in his other eye.  He felt
their warm and friendly laughter, felt their affection reach up to
him.

It was like magic; like the best of the bedtime tales that Belle had
been telling him for years.  The glow, the feeling of wonder at taking
an audience by the hand, discovering that they liked him.  Teddy knew,
with absolute certainty, there could never be another moment in his
life as good as this.

Afterwards Sam and Mabel walked home in a glum silence, punctuated by
remarks from her that sounded like a quarrel.  He tried to keep up with
their brisk strides, wondering what he had done wrong.

After all, the audience had cheered him at the curtain call when Sam
finally heeded their shouts and beckoned him forward.  But, for some
reason, ever since then, Mabel seemed to be angry about it.

"Upstaged," he heard her say, 'by an ankle biter  Sod that for a
lark."

"Later.  Talk about it later," Sam murmured, as though he was trying to
calm her down.

Their boarding house was on the far side of town, close to the railway
station.  When they had first arrived, Mabel told him that although
they normally stayed at the Grand Hotel, this was the week of the

Riverina Cup race meeting and the town was full, so accommodation
there was out of the question.  But they had been fortunate to find
digs, even if it wasn't quite up to their usual standard, and the
landlord had kindly agreed they could all share the same room.

"Nice big double bed," Mabel had said, 'so there's plenty of space for
all three of us."  Teddy could snuggle up on one side, Sam on the
other, and she'd sleep in the middle.  There was a bathroom down the
hall, and Teddy went there to brush his teeth and go to the toilet
while Mabel changed into her nightie.  On his way back, he was about to
open the door when he heard them talking.

"Stupid bloody idea, being landed with him," she was in the middle of
saying angrily.

"If you hadn't been half-pissed, you'd never have suggested it."

"You always did have a bloody short memory, Mabel.  You was the one
half-pissed you suggested it."

"Well, you agreed.  So what do we do?"

"Use him.  After all, he made 'em laugh.  We couldn't get a giggle out
of 'em, and he made 'em laugh."

"These yokels will laugh at anything."

"Well, they didn't fucking laugh at us."

"Because we're too sophisticated for them.  Out of their league.

Let's get one thing clear, Sam.  I ain't playing second fiddle to no
bloody kid."

Teddy tiptoed away, then coughed loudly before he pushed open the door
of the room.  They were both in bed.  He said goodnight, and climbed
into the tiny space allotted to him.

He wished he had some money of his own so he could run away from them,
back home to Belle and George.

George was always the last to leave the kitchenware department.

When he reached home he pushed open the gate and reminded him."  self
it was time to oil it again.  Across the street Miss Limmington's dog
yapped as the spring squeaked shut.  He parked his bike in the lean-to
and went inside the house.  Belle was at the stove.

"Still no postcard from him?"

"Not a postcard," she said, turning for the obligatory kiss.

"He's forgotten."

"He hasn't," Belle said, and George's disappointment changed to a smile
as she gave him an envelope, addressed in Teddy's rather unsteady and
laboured handwriting.  Inside was a leaflet of the show: below the
names SAM AND MABEL SWALLOW he had carefully printed "WITH TEDDY

CARSON'.

"Just this?  No news?"

"There's a drawing on the back."

George studied it, frowning.

"It's a woman who seems to be riding on a broomstick."

"Wearing a witch's hat.  Made me laugh.  That's what I'd call a pretty
good likeness of Mabel Swallow.  I'll bet he has some tales to tell
when he gets home."

The audiences grew smaller each night.  The district manager was
unhappy, and made no secret of it.  He told Sam and Mabel he had been
totally misled by their sharp city-slicker agent.  In his own opinion,
they were about ten years past their peak.  And the peak couldn't have
been all that high.  If it wasn't for the talented small boy, he
doubted if anyone would've turned up at all.

"Ridiculous," Mabel said in reply.

"We expected a theatre, and you booked us into a morgue."

"It's a perfectly adequate performance hall, which you've managed to
turn into a morgue, Mrs.  Swallow.  I'm giving you notice."

"You can't," she snapped heatedly, 'you booked us in for two weeks!"

"And now I'm booking you out tomorrow.  And you can forget Albury and
the rest of the tour.  It's cancelled."

"We'll sue," Sam promised.

"See you in court," the manager said, unperturbed.

Teddy felt sure he must be dreaming.  He thought he was at sea; it was
like being on a raft that seemed to be bobbing up and down, only it was
the double bed they all shared in the boarding house, and he could hear
strange sounds.  Sam seemed to be gasping for breath, making peculiar
grunting noises, while Mabel was panting and whispering excitedly.  The
bed rocked, it felt like someone was wrestling, then Teddy was bumped
and jolted onto the floor.

Half-asleep and confused, he looked up dazed.  The room was pitch
black.

"What's happening?"

"Bugger it," he heard Mabel's voice, 'you've woken him."

In the dark above him Sam seemed to regain his breath as he said, "Up
you get and back into bed.  Go to sleep, old chap."

"But what are you doing?"

"Exercise," Sam said, between gasps.

"Keeping fit."

"Be a good lad," Mabel told him.

"Here's a pillow.  Why not curl up over in the armchair, there's a pet.
Till we finish our exercise."

"No use," Sam muttered to her, "I've gone off it."

"You can't go off it.  Not now."

"Well, I have."

"You're bloody useless," Mabel told him, sounding angry.

"Tough tit tie Teddy heard Sam reply.

"It was your stupid fault, trying to save on rent.  I definitely
couldn't raise it, not now."

Teddy stood in the chill, wondering what they were talking about.

"Can I get back in?"  he asked.

"Might as well," Mabel snapped.

He crawled into his allotted space on the edge of the bed.  Mabel
hastily shied away as his knee touched her bare flesh, and that was
when Teddy realised she did not have her nightgown on.  He fell asleep
trying to work out what had made her so furious.  By now he had come to
understand what 'upstage' meant, and he wondered if he had somehow
upstaged her again.

Belle lay awake in their small bedroom, long after they had made love
and George had fallen asleep.  Teddy's drawing had made her laugh at
first, and quite impressed her.  It was a distinct improvement on his
rather untidy handwriting.  But George had voiced a concern,
speculating on whether they were treating him properly; if they were,
then why did he regard Mabel as a witch?

Belle had tried to laugh, and said Mabel could be a bit bossy at times,
and this was just their son having a bit of fun.  Nice to know he had a
good sense of humour.  She was sure he'd come back with some funny
stories about "The Swallows'.  But at the back of her mind the same
thought had been troubling her all day.  He was only eight years old.
And Mabel could be a real cow; they were both pretty tough, she
reflected, they'd had to be.  Not much chance of surviving these days
in the Depression and what was left of vaudeville otherwise.

They shook Teddy awake.  He was confused; they never got up this
early.  It was still pitch-dark, but the curtain was pulled back and
the window open.  He realised Sam and Mabel were both fully dressed,
and something peculiar was happening.  Outside the window there was a
street lamp.  By its thin light Teddy could see their suitcase as well
as the baskets with the costumes and his own small case, all being
carefully lowered out of the window.

"Get dressed," Mabel whispered.

"What's wrong?  Why are we leaving?"

"It's a game, young Ted," Sam told him as they handed him his
clothes.

"Get dressed, lad, quick as you can.  Nice and quiet.  Put on your
socks, but no shoes till we're outside."

"I need to go to the toilet."

"Shh," Mabel gestured.

"Later."

"It's urgent."

"So is this," she hissed, shaking him, and he realised it was not a
game.

Teddy fumbled as he tried to hurriedly put on his clothes while the
pair waited with ill-concealed impatience.  Sam helped him climb out
the window, then he and Mabel followed.  They picked up their cases.
Teddy was shivering as they stood silently in the glow of the street
lamp and listened.  Far away there was the sound of a train whistle,
somewhere out on the tenebrous edge of the countryside.

"That's the milk train," Sam said, 'right on time.  Grab your things
and run like buggery."

A light went on in a room at the far end of the building.  A blind shot
up like the sound of a pistol firing.  With the experience of many such
escapes Sam and Mabel were already on the run, despite being heavily
laden with their belongings.  Behind them the pyjama clad landlord
appeared, framed in the lighted window.

"Come back, you dirty rotten bastards," he shouted, then climbed out
and began to give chase.  Teddy, burdened by his own suitcase and a
bundle of props, lost sight of the others.  He knew they were supposed
to head for the station where the sound of steam hissed as the train
arrived.  Behind him he could feel the footsteps of the landlord
rapidly closing on him.  He felt terrified.  The train had stopped;
mailbags were being tossed out and milk churns loaded.

He did his best to run faster, but the semi-dark was his undoing.

Fearful of the pursuit, he turned to glance back over his shoulder, and
in so doing tripped on a paving stone and went sprawling.  He heard the
grunt of satisfaction behind him, then felt the weight of the landlord
as he was pinioned.

"Gotcha!"  The man was breathless but triumphant.  He hauled the scared
boy to his feet.

"Them bastards can't skip now.  They'll be back for you."

"No."  Teddy was winded and bruised by the fall.  Despite his fear he
managed to add, "I don't think they will."

They both heard the guard's shrill whistle and the engine blasting
steam as the train started to move out.  The landlord, with an iron
grip on his captive, turned to watch it leave.

"SIX

The bike was waiting for him outside the front door.  Belle and George
heard his shout of delight, and watched from the window as he mounted
it and rode a short distance across the yard before losing his balance
and falling off.  They rushed out to help him to his feet.

"I'm not hurt," Teddy said.

"Gosh, this is the beau test present I've ever had, and it's not even
my birthday yet."

Belle was about to say that beau test was not a proper word, but felt
George touch her hand; instead she smiled and said it was a birthday
present in advance, only he mustn't ride on the road until he'd had
more practice.

"Definitely not on the road till we say so."  George was quick to
support her.

"Right, I'll practise all weekend.  Watch me this time," he called, and
rode twice around the yard without falling.

Belle realised George was still holding her hand.

"It was a lovely idea, George."

"Bit of luck, getting it cheap from work.  It was a trade-in on a
Malvern Star, so I thought it too good to miss.  The boss said I can
pay it off, four bob a month.  Pretty good that, a shilling a week."

"With interest?"

"Of course.  But we'll manage."

Belle felt a sudden affection for him.  This was the closest they'd
been since the hideous day, weeks ago now, when she had been forced to
take the train to Wagga to bring Teddy home.  It had been Percy Bates
who'd brought the news, arriving at their door and removing his cap,
wiping the sweat from his face to say there'd been a phone call from
the police down there.  A landlord had made a serious complaint that
his lodgers had done a flit, and left a child behind.  He had caught
the boy and wanted him held as security until his rent was paid, but
he'd been warned such action was against the law.

The law, it seemed, had taken control of the situation.  Her son was in
protective custody, but according to the station sergeant who had
telephoned, he was badly disturbed by the experience, and it was not
lawful to simply put him on the train and send him home.

Illegal, the policeman said, who seemed to relish stressing this.  He
must be properly collected by a parent or a guardian, or else it'd be a
matter for the local magistrate and the children's court.

After that as if that was not enough there was the humiliation of
finding money for the train fare, and having to go to Gable's Emporium
to tell George.  She still remembered his incredulity, his look of
angry disbelief as he asked how her so-called friends could have done a
thing like this.  Belle, close to tears, pleaded with him not to
quarrel about it in front of everyone, but to please ask Mr.  Gable for
an advance against his salary, so she could catch the midday train to
collect Teddy and be back before nightfall.

In the end it had been Belle herself who had convincingly lied to
Gable, aware he had often eyed her with a look she knew well,
especially when his plump wife wasn't watching.  Belle glibly told him
that some friends had taken their son on a trip, but this was an

emergency because he wasn't well and she was anxious to bring him home
in case it was serious.

"Better hospitals down there, if he's ill," was all Mr.  Gable had
said, eyeing her with the same sly look, while arranging for the
advance.

After the anxious journey by train, she had to endure the ordeal with
the disapproving Wagga police sergeant.  He was blunt, asking her what
kind of mother she was, and what sort of treacherous friends would do a
moonlight and leave a young kid behind?  He made it clear he thought
she was mad, allowing an eight-year-old to go off with a couple of
untrustworthy theatricals.  Perhaps she was, she'd meekly agreed, but
please could she see her son?

First he'd made her sign a form and told her that if anything like it
ever occurred again, he'd personally see the matter was handed over to
the welfare department.  He had watched, unsmiling, while mother and
son had a tearful reunion, and Belle had calmed Teddy and left the
office with relief.  She could still vividly recall the burly police
sergeant's face at the window, his stare becoming a gaze of open
contempt as he watched her walk away.

Only one thing had been salvaged from that awful day.  On the railway
platform, awaiting the return train to Gundagai, a porter had wheeled a
trolley past the bench where Teddy was sitting on her knee, clinging to
her as if determined not to be left behind.  The porter had stopped and
looked at them.

"I know who he is.  Saw him in that crook show they put on at the
School of Arts.  Are you his mum?"

"Yes," Belle said, wondering what sort of savage blow would next
assault her.

"He was good," the man said.

"Real good.  Them other two, the oldies, they were plain awful, but he
was great.  Tell you something',

lady, I seen a few shows in me time.  He was easy the best kid I ever
seen on a stage."

All the long way home Belle had felt comforted by that.  But in the
time since, she had repeatedly asked herself, what did it really mean?
The man was not a critic, he was a railway employee, a porter.  Not a
producer, not a director or a talent scout.  Just a person pushing a
luggage trolley up and down a country platform.  Yes, he did seem
genuine in his admiration: it had been spontaneous and sincere, and
Teddy had basked in it, the first good thing to happen since the
Swallows proper scum of the earth they were, she decided, so-called
friends who had no ethical standards had done a moonlight and abandoned
him.  The porter's remarks had made the journey home more agreeable,
but the truth still had to be faced.  What was the point of having real
talent when there was no chance it could ever be put to use?  It was
almost worse knowing that someone thought him so good.

"Let him have a proper childhood," George had pleaded with her the
night after their return.

"For God's sake, Belle, what's so wrong with him having an ordinary
sort of life?"

Almost everything, she thought bleakly, but what was the use of saying
so?  An ordinary life was all her son would ever have, the 'proper
childhood' George felt was so essential.  Attending that awful school,
where he seemed to be constantly fighting but refused to explain why;
after that the high school, she supposed, until he was old enough to
leave and find work; then growing up to become part of the town with
its banal conventions and limited horizon.

A mundane and ordinary existence was the only kind on offer in this
district.

In her heart she tried not to blame George.  It wasn't his fault that
jobs were so scarce, the Depression biting deep, and thousands out

of work.  She knew he could not leave Gable's Emporium.  All over the
country men were tramping the roads, living on the indignity of the
government's relief cards that offered a subsistence of food, enough to
survive on for a week, as long as the recipients moved on to the next
town.  Awake late at nights, she secretly admitted to herself that
George was right; they had a house and a basic wage coming in.  Barely
three pounds a week, but it was food on the table, even if there was
not much money left over.  Just enough for a loving father to afford an
extra shilling a week payment on a bike, at an exorbitant rate of
interest.

Yet Belle often dreamt of what might be.  Remembering her own early
life, she wanted it to be different for Teddy.  Her parents, tragically
drowned in a storm off Long Reef when she was still a schoolgirl, had
been dismissive of her youthful ambitions.  Sent to live with her
remaining relative, Aunt Ethel at Greenwich, she had been told to apply
herself to cooking, sewing and domestic science in readiness for life
as someone's wife.  At sixteen, breaking away from this family
restraint, she went out on her own, taking jobs to pay for dancing and
singing lessons.  Then the real stage at last, real shows at first the
chorus, after that bit parts if a producer or director favoured her,
although she had her own rules.  There were strict limits: no old per
vs they had to be likable or attractive;

and it needed to be mutual not for her the hurried knee-tremblers after
rehearsal at the back of the upper circle.  She had standards.

Well, most of the time anyway, she admitted in moments of singular
honesty.

But how she missed it all.  Even the tough times between jobs, with
three or four girls sharing a single room, eating cheap, walking to the
city from Darlinghurst to save the tram fare, queuing for auditions ..
. fond recollections softened by the years, perhaps,

but there was always laughter, she vividly remembered that.  There was
the fun of being seventeen; blokes at the stage door with small
bouquets and big hopes.  The array of live theatres, tiny amateur
playhouses to the big-seaters: the Princess, where she'd appeared in a
walk-on with Roy Rene and Nat Phillips; the Criterion, where she had
two lines in a mystery thriller before becoming the corpse and having
to lie on stage as still as death until the interval curtain.  Not
forgetting the Showcase Theatre, where she and Dan had been in the
chorus backing "The Great Delilah' the world's most famous feminine
magician, with her fifty amazing miracles, twice daily!

And what a terrible bitch she was what a dictatorial old tart, that
famous Great Delilah.

Sometimes, remembering, it was like a jumble of exciting images, a
moving kaleidoscope in her mind.  The sheer vibrancy of the city with
its crowds, the constant traffic, the splendid new picture palaces with
orchestras on stage, or an electric organ rising like an illusion from
the pit.  And in the daily newspapers, page after page advertising
films and their stars.  Whereas in Gundagai there was just one lone
cinema that, because of the Depression, few people could afford, and
once in a while there was the advent of the travelling Picture Show
Man.

Belle felt certain, were they able to live in one of the cities, it
could be so different.  There, with frequent auditions, Teddy would at
least have the chance to prove his talent.  The railway porter, after
all, was part of an audience, and it was the audience's reaction that
in the end created stars.  But such dreams were out of reach.  They
were virtual prisoners in this country town, too far from anywhere;

nothing could change that.

Until four months later, when the letter came.

seven

She waited by the gate, trying to hide her excitement as she saw Teddy
wave from his bike at the street corner.  Any moment George would
appear from work.  It was five-thirty, and he unfailingly reached the
house at that time each afternoon.  The store closed at five; he took
fifteen minutes to tidy his department and another fifteen to walk
home.  Sure enough, his figure turned the corner with Teddy cycling
beside him, expert enough now to be able to ride at walking pace while
relating the events of his day.

But not of hers, she thought with an inner excitement, and took out the
letter that no one else yet knew about, and read it again.:

Then she went inside to make sure there was a bottle of cold beer in
the refrigerator, and that the stew was gently cooking so the meat
would be tender.

"Guess what?"  Teddy said, cycling alongside George and eager to tell
him the momentous news.

"Pig Morgan's gang has been taken over by us.  We trapped them, Dad; it
was all my idea, and I've been promoted to sergeant.  I'm number three
after Ginger and Norm in the joint gangs.  How about that?"

"Wait a minute," George said, with a grin.

"Why not start at the:

beginning?  How were they trapped, and what was your idea that' worked
this famous victory?"

That was what Teddy liked about George.  You could tell him all sorts
of things like this, whereas Belle thought kids' gangs were childish
and dangerous.  When he came home from school he'd thought about
telling her, but she had only been interested in some letter she'd been
sent.  It was different with his father.  He dismounted from his bike
so they could walk together.

"I said we should ask Pig to a meeting under our secret tree.  It meant
we had to risk telling him our headquarters' location, and we made him
promise to come alone, so we could have a peace talk.

I told Norm and Ginger he was sure to agree, then he'd double cross us.
He'd bring his mob and surround us.  They'd try to trap us up the
tree."

"And did they?"

"You bet.  There were about twenty of them, all armed with stones and
catapults, telling us to come down and surrender.  Then .. . listen to
this, Dad-' "I'm listening," George said, and as if to prove it he
repeated, 'they told you to come down and surrender .. ."

"That's right.  And we had to pretend we were scared they'd pull on the
ropes to climb up and get us.  They fell for it!  They pulled the
ropes, thinking they were ladders, and down it came."

"Down what came?"

"Bags of cow shit -I mean manure that we'd collected.  It covered them
and made them stink.  You should've heard the row!  They all blamed Pig
Morgan, and pushed him in the river.  Then the rest had to dive in to
get rid of the pong, and we slid down the tree on our ladders, and let
fly with catapults.  After that they surrendered and we made a
treaty."

"Cow manure?"

"Heaps of it.  Stank like the dun ny cart."

"Pretty fierce tactics, Teddy."

"All's fair in love and war, Dad."

"I s'pose it is, son."

Belle waited until George was sipping his nightly beer before she
produced the letter.  She smiled and handed it to him to read.

"It came today," she said.

"I was dying to go into town to tell you, but I thought it best to
wait.  Read it.  They want him."

"Who wants him?"

"George dear, read it.  Remember the photos I sent to Dan Hardacre? 
How he promised there might be a part some day?  Go on, read the I
letter. Aloud, so Teddy can hear."

Teddy could see George frown, then he began to read.

"Dear Belle, we are in the process of mounting a local picture here at
the White City Film Studios at Rushcutters Bay.  American stars seem to
be the ) policy these days, but there is a part for a young Australian
boy.  I I suggest you bring Teddy to Sydney to meet the American
director, who was very impressed by that photo of him expertly shedding
tears.  I've told the Yanks he's exactly what they are looking for
..."

He stopped reading and shrugged.

"You see?"  Belle said.

"What I see is that nothing's guaranteed.  Meet the director, that's
.

all.  What I don't see is any offer of train fares or expenses."

"Dan wouldn't waste time writing, unless it was a real chance."

"You just said it a chance.  And we can't afford it."

"We have to."

"Belle, we haven't got the money.  You know that as well as I do."

"Ask the bank-' "They won't lend us a penny."

"They might."

"Not a hope.  If we had enough to pay fares and accommodation, I s'pose
you'd talk me into it.  But we haven't.  So please just forget it."

He handed back the letter.  Belle looked stricken.  Teddy felt she
might cry, and kept hoping she wouldn't.  Besides, he was not sure if
he wanted to go away just now, not after his gang's victory.

"Write to your friend Hardacre if you want," George said, 'and I'll
tell him to send expenses and train tickets.  Then we might know if
it's real."

"Don't be stupid," she replied bitterly, 'that's not how it's done.

I You don't make demands like that till they offer the job.  They'll
have half the kids of Sydney lining up for a role like this, so why
would they feel obliged to send our fares?"

& I "I think," he said, draining his beer and placing the glass firmly
ion the sink, 'you've hit the nail square on the head.  It's only a
very I faint chance, and we don't have any money for faint chances.  So
that's the end of it."

The Bank of New South Wales was, by consent, the grandest building in
town.  Dating from the 1870s and erected after a disastrous flood had
forced the first settlement of Gundagai to be rebuilt on higher ground,
the Georgian architecture with its fine sandstone enhanced the main
street.  The interior contained high ceilings with intricate plaster
cornices and sculpted friezes.  An air of reverent hush prevailed, and
business was invariably transacted with the utmost decorum.

In his managerial office, portly Clarence Burwood was doing his best to
preserve this propriety, but finding it a struggle.  Some clients were
more difficult than others.

"My dear Mrs.  Carson," he said, determined to be affable, "I'm

trying to explain, in the simplest terms, that you cannot borrow money
without security."

"No need to treat me like a simpleton," Belle told him.

"That wasn't what I meant," he replied hastily.

"Well, that's how it sounded."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I do have other appointments."  He pushed back
his chair, waiting for her to take the hint.  It was a tactic that
usually worked, but to his annoyance Belle showed no sign of leaving.

"You haven't finished this appointment yet.  I'm prepared to sit here
till we work something out.  For instance, I'll mortgage the house."

"You can't mortgage the house, Mrs.  Carson," he said, becoming terse,
his hands fidgeting irritably.

"Why not?"

"Because the house is already mortgaged."

"So forget about mortgages.  Let's discuss details."

"Let's not," he snapped.

She felt anxious.  There was no other way she could obtain the money.
This was her only hope.

"Ten lousy pounds, Clarry.  It's nothing to you.  But it's life or
death to me.  Ten rotten quid.  Are you going to stand in the way of a
talented child's future for a measly tenner?"

"I'm not a benevolent society.  Just a bank manager."

"And a good one, everyone says so.  But try to understand it's just ten
pounds.  I might only use five, but I need the rest in case of
emergencies."

"You may as well ask for fifty."

"But I don't need fifty.  I only need ten.  We'll travel third, and
stay in cheap digs.  I promise you'll be repaid," she pleaded.

"Teddy's first money ... it comes straight back to you."

"Assuming he gets this role-' "He will," Belle asserted.

"I'm sorry," Burwood said with finality, 'but that's nowhere near good
enough.  We require security."

"I promise, on my word of honour, you'll be paid."

"Banks just don't operate like that, Mrs.  Carson."  He began to rise
again, determined she would take the hint this time.

"Right," Belle told him, 'then I'll make you another promise."

"Promises, my dear lady, are of no consequence."

"This one is.  I promise if I don't get this loan, your wife and the
staff will be told how you put your hand up my dress at the amateur
theatricals."

The bank manager's face went bright red.  He sat down with a force that
made his chair clatter.

"Cut it out, Belle," he retorted heatedly, 'that's bloody blackmail."

"Of course it is."  Belle was calmness personified.

"But I tried it your way, Clarry.  Now we'll do it mine."

In the night the train whistle blew as it sped across the Riverina
plain.  Opposite her the small figure of Teddy stirred, opened his eyes
as if to ensure she was still there, then fell asleep again.  Belle
smiled while she thought of Banker Burwood's alarm as his secretary
came in to remind him two other clients were being kept waiting for
their appointments.

"Er, thank you, Miss Barnett," he'd said, taking out a handkerchief to
mop his brow, the sweat on it obvious to both women, "I won't be
long."

"In fact, I think we've probably finished," Belle had said.

"Haven't we, Mr.  Burwood?"

"Yes, virtually."

"Just the formalities to complete," she reminded him.

"Quite.  Er ... Miss Barnett, please bring me a loan form for Mrs.
Carson to sign.  And, er, ten pounds in cash."

Bloody blackmail indeed, Belle thought, but the randy little bastard
caved in, which was all that mattered.  Miss Barnett had left with
raised eyebrows and returned with ten crisp pound notes!

and the loan form.  Belle felt certain that rumours and speculation
would by now have enlivened the bank.  She enjoyed the thought as she
closed her eyes, lulled by the rhythm of the train.  Three days, she
thought.  Time enough.  George had been astonished, not exactly
thrilled, but had no argument left when she produced the borrowed money
without revealing her methods of persuasion.  Just three days, she had
promised him.

She slept for a while and woke early, with the dawn light revealing the
drab sight of crowded suburbs, tiny backyards, a horse drawn milk cart
in the street, the train clattering through the rail stations towards
Central.  Teddy was now awake, looking with wonder at the congestion of
houses, terraces bound by communal walls, their small strips of land
bordering the railway embankment.  At road:

junctions there were trams and lines of early traffic, with
uniformed;

policemen preparing for the impending peak-hour chaos.

It was two hours before they managed to find a room in Paddington, A
sour-faced landlady assessed them, silently priced their cheap luggage,
and grudgingly agreed she had a vacancy.

"Top floor, two shillings nightly, plus sixpence for the child," she
said.

"Three nights minimum stay, and payment in advance."

WHITE CITY STUDIOS was the name spelled out in huge letters across the
building.  It looked more like a warehouse than a film studio, most
people agreed, and it stood like a landmark on the hill above the White
City tennis courts and Rushcutters Bay boxing stadium.  A high brick
wall screened inside activity from public view, and there was a colour
fully dressed guard at the gate to keep out the uninvited.

"Mr.  Hardacre, you say?  That would be Mr.  Daniel Hardacre?  Is he
expecting you?"

"Yes," Belle replied at her grandest, determined on some respect after
the humiliation of the awful residential where the room was squalid and
the shared bathroom was not only filthy, but required sixpence in the
meter for barely enough hot water to bathe in, 'will you kindly tell
him that Mrs.  George Carson from the country is here, with her son
Edward."

"Wait here," the guard said, unimpressed, and after a delay to
demonstrate his authority he sent a messenger boy to convey the message
to the front office.

"Am I called Edward in Sydney?"  Teddy asked in confusion, because it
had been a perplexing day, trudging between residentials that were
either full up or too expensive as well as one that didn't take
children, and another that Belle said was just a knocking shop,
whatever that meant.  When they did eventually find one and were told
they had to pay the rent in advance she didn't like the room, and Teddy
had to share a bath with her because it cost sixpence.

When they'd tried to walk all the way to the studio to save the fare,
she was limping.  He'd noticed and pretended he was tired so they
caught the tram after all.  And now she talked to the uniformed man in
a funny la-di-da voice, and called him Edward.

"It's all right, darling," she said, 'just a bit of show in front of
that

silly dressed-up concierge.  Looks like a leftover extra from The
Chocolate Soldier.  Acts as if he's guarding Buckingham Palace."

She saw her son's confusion, and put a consoling arm around him.

"Never mind me, love.  It's been a long day, and we're both tired, but
I'm sure that everything will be worth it when we see Dan Hardacre."

After ten minutes the telephone rang, and the guard told Belle to go to
the main reception hall.  Mr.  Hardacre would see them.

They met in the echoing hall.  It was busy with people working, women
at desks were typing and young messengers were hurrying with cans of
what Belle told him was celluloid film.  To Teddy it felt like a
strange place to talk, but Mr.  Hardacre took them to a sofa and sat
them down.  He seemed perplexed and upset.

"Jesus Christ, Belle," he said, "I had no idea."

"No idea of what, Dan?"

"That you'd lob in here like this.  No letter, no phone call."

"But you wrote to me," Belle said, 'so here I am.  Here we are."  She
smiled brightly, determined to believe that nothing was wrong.  It
seemed to agitate Dan Hardacre.

"I wrote in good faith, Belle.  Please understand that," he said,
taking her hands and gazing at her, 'but I only found out in the past
two days what my status is in this company."

"You're their Australian manager, in charge of production."

"So I was led to believe."  He shook his head.

"But what I really am is an office boy.  I'm in charge of
bugger-all."

"What?"  Belle's voice was more of a startled whisper.

Teddy felt confused.  Mr.  Hardacre looked as if he was finding it
difficult to explain.  He released Belle's hands and avoided her gaze
as he continued.

"I open the mail and write the letters so that if anyone claims that
America has monopolised this industry, the Yanks can point to me and
say one of our major companies makes films here, and it's managed by an
Australian.  The trouble with that is, it's bullshit.  I'm just a cover
to mask their invasion of our culture.  I'm allowed to make cheap
movies with small budgets, half of which don't get shown at all.  This
successfully shuts up the few politicians who actually give a damn.
When they ask what's wrong with our industry, the answer is the films
weren't good enough to be exhibited.

"But this one was to be different.  I was told I was executive
producer.  I suggested a cast to be auditioned, including Teddy.  The
director and producer, both from Hollywood, said it was a big role but
they agreed to test him.  So I wrote to you.  Then, last night, they
told me they'd decided to cast the film their way, with all imported
actors.  His part will be played by a kid from one of their previous
films."

Teddy watched Belle.  She was staring at Mr.  Hardacre, for once
without a single word to say.

"Utterly wrong for the role, of course.  Wrong age, wrong accent but
well known in the United States.  That's when I realised I was no more
than their local figurehead.  I would have telephoned you, Belle, but I
didn't know the number."

"We don't have a telephone," Belle said after a long pause.  She felt
sick with disappointment, but tried not to show it.

"I wrote to warn you this morning.  It's probably being typed in the
office right now.  I can show you the letter, if it helps," he
offered.

"How could it?"  she asked.

"Luck of the draw.  It's what they call show business, isn't it?"

"Jesus Christ," Dan said, 'get angry, will you?"

"No point, Dan.  How will that change anything?"

"It'd make me feel better," he answered.

"Perhaps it would."  She shrugged and contrived a wry smile.

"Well, I'm sorry.  I can't do that."

"Of course you can't.  It was a stupid thing to say.  So what happens
now?"

"What I always intended, if he didn't get it.  Spend a few days here.
See some friends.  Maybe even find him an agent for the next time." 
She managed to summon another smile for him.

"Don't feel bad about it.  We'll manage.  We'll be fine."

Late that night Teddy knew Belle was awake, and heard a sniffle.

Moonlight showed through the flimsy curtains.  He could see her
reaching for a handkerchief.

"Mum, are you crying?"

"Crying?  Of course not."  She looked away to prevent him seeing the
tears on her cheeks.

"Good heavens," she continued, 'why on earth should I cry?  We're going
to have a lovely three days, and enjoy ourselves."

"But what happens when our money's gone?"  Teddy asked.

"When it has," Belle replied, 'then we'll go home."

EIGHT

Belle took him on a tram ride to Bondi, and Teddy was enthralled by his
first sight of a beach, the surf rolling in and swimmers riding the
waves.  They had an ice-cream and walked along the Esplanade, where a
Salvation Army band was playing.  When the tambourine girl started
moving around the small crowd with her collection box, they managed to
leave before she reached them.  On the sand excited children were busy
making castles, and although he gazed longingly at a stall selling
buckets and spades, Belle pretended not to notice.

They shared a bag of fish and chips, and in the afternoon went to see a
friend of Belle's, an agent in the city.  If there was anything
brewing, any auditions or shows planned, dear old Maurie would know
about it, she told him.  Leaving the tram at Queen's Square to save the
cost of an extra section, they walked across the city.  There were long
queues at the St.  James, where a Greta Garbo film was playing.  Those
waiting for seats in the unreserved stalls extended in a line around
the block.  The more prosperous-looking people stood in a far shorter
queue for the dress circle.  Belle noticed most of the women were
dressed in bright spring outfits, realising that in this part of town
there were many who could afford the latest fashion.  She felt like a
country cousin in what were her best clothes, and envied their silk
dresses with elegant longer hemlines.  Their

new chic hats and ankle-strap high heels were an added spur to her
discomfort.

Teddy was amazed by the bustle of people in the streets.  Belle took
his hand so they would not be jostled and separated by the crowds.  In
Castlereagh Street she showed him the imposing facade of the Theatre
Royal.

"Cecil Kellaway," she said, indicating the name spelt out above the
title.

"I was in a show with him once."

"Let's go and see him, Mum," Teddy suggested.

"Darling, he has a matinee.  Besides, he's a big star now.  I doubt if
he'd remember me."

"I bet the stage doorman would."

"Perhaps," she said, and squeezed his hand affectionately, 'but with
the matinee he'll be busy too."

David Jones displayed a galaxy of cajoling signs.  One read:

AMAZING SALE LESS THAN HALF PRICE.  OUR SACRIFICE

IS YOUR OPPORTUNITY.  Belle stopped to admire a smart coat, "Given away
at an absurd one guinea'.  She gazed longingly at fashionable shoes:
seven and sixpence.  Despite these bargain prices, the store seemed
almost empty.

The tough times are not just in the country towns, she thought, the
only busy places here are the cinemas showing overseas films.  As if to
endorse this, they passed the Regent, where Ramon Navarro's name was
illuminated in neon lights across the giant facade, and people stood
waiting for the next session.

King George Chambers had once been a prestige address, but the building
was now marked for demolition.  To Teddy, Maurie Silver seemed
immensely old.  His office up two flights of stairs was small and
cluttered with packing cases.  A young male assistant was helping him
to fill them with files and photographs.

"Belle Baker," he announced with delight, 'as I live and breathe."

"Belle Carson now," she said, and hugged him.  While he had never been
a tall man, in the ten years since she'd known him he seemed to have
shrunk.  But his friendly face was unchanged.  Around his eyes were the
same good-humoured creases, and he still had the same warm smile.

"What a nice surprise.  Not a day older."

"I've got an eight-year-old son to prove I am," she smiled.

"The looks, Belle," he said, 'the looks, they don't get no older."

Teddy could see how much this pleased her.  Maurie Silver found seats
for them amid the mess, and sent his assistant downstairs to bring a
pot of tea, and a glass of milk for Teddy.

"Time to turn it in," he told Belle, after she expressed dismay at
learning he was not just shifting office, but closing down his
agency.

"I've been at this game since they cranked the camera on The Kelly
Gang, and all the other films we made here in this country.  Top of the
world we were then, truly the top of the film world.  Sixty silent
features in one year, can you imagine that?"

"Before I got married, I was an extra in a few," Belle said.

"Exciting times, darling, but now the country's lost it."  He sighed,
his wrinkled face reflective and nostalgic.

"We go backwards, Belle.

A bit of government help, and we could've had a truly great industry.

Equal to this Hollywood place."

"No need to tell me."  Belle recounted their frustration of the
previous day.  Maurie sympathised.  It was an all-too-familiar story.

"I wish I knew of something to help."

"No auditions?  Nothing around?"

"Nothing.  Vaudeville's crook.  Half the managements are importing
their shows.  The game seems over, Belle, that's why I'm giving it
away.

And let's face it, the stairs are getting beyond me.  What'll you
do?"

"Go back to Gundagai," she said, not trying to conceal her despair.

There had never been a need for pretence with Maurie.

"But first I promised Teddy we'd take a ferry.  He wants to see this
famous Harbour Bridge they've been building, so he can tell his
friends.

We may as well have something to talk about when we get back home."

Teddy thought it was a marvel, unreal.  Two huge spans of metal high
above them built from opposite sides of the harbour had met with
perfect precision in mid-air and locked together like a giant mecca no
set, the guide on the tourist ferry told them.  Belle privately thought
the ferry company were a bunch of robbers, charging a shilling for such
a short trip, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see anything
like this, so they had to afford it.

They sailed from the quay, out of Sydney Cove, beneath the
almost-completed bridge, and across the harbour towards Blue's Point.
The guide said the land was named for Billy Blue, the famous
Jamaican-born ferryman and water bailiff, who had rowed the gentry in
these waters over a hundred years ago, when Sydney was still a convict
settlement and the harbour a trading centre filled with the sails and
rigging of foreign vessels from all parts of the globe.

His voice boomed out on a speaker as the group aboard the ferry looked
up at the huge structure above them.

"The bridge is costing nine million pounds."  People on board :

gasped; it was a fortune, and no one could begin to imagine such an
amount.  The guide, who was a schoolteacher earning extra money in his
spare time, always enjoyed the disclosure of this revelation.

"It was begun eight years ago, and will be finished within months.; But
the idea for a link between the town and the northern shore has

existed for a long time.  Believe it or not, that was suggested way
back in 1815 by the convict architect Francis Greenway, who designed
many of our finest buildings.  You heard me correctly," he said, as the
group reacted with bemusement to this, 'back in 1815.  After that the
politicians debated it, and it took them a mere hundred years to make
up their minds.  Decisive people, our parliamentarians," he said and
was greeted by laughter, 'but at long last, there it is, ladies and
gentlemen, boys and girls.  The largest single-arch bridge in the
world.  The total length including approaches is two and a half
miles.

That arch, 390 feet above us, weighs many thousands of tons and rests
on four steel pins."

Everyone looked up.

"Don't worry," he said amid the nervous giggles, 'they're very strong
steel pins.  They'll need to be; the bridge will carry trains, trams
and cars.  Motorists will no longer have to wait in queues for the car
ferry to cross this stretch of water, not after the State Premier cuts
the ribbon and declares it open.  So there it is, folks, you can tell
your grandchildren you were here when it was being built.  One of the
great new wonders of the world."

Teddy could see distant figures above, men clambering on girders, or
being hoisted up the metal arch in cradles.  He went and tugged at the
guide's sleeve.

"Did anyone fall or die?"  he asked.

Just like the classroom, there's always one little bugger, the guide
thought, and realised the question had been heard because the boy had a
clear and resounding voice.  He had to make the best of it.

"Our young friend asked if anyone fell or died."  He extended a hand to
Teddy, and lifted him onto the bulkhead beside him.

"What's your name, son?"

"Teddy Carson."

"And where are you from, Teddy?"

"From Gundagai."

"Gundagai, eh?  Where the dog sat on the tucker box

"Nearly right," Teddy said, hoping Belle wouldn't think the man was
teasing him and start a row, 'he sat on it five miles away."  He
thought it'd be awful if she began to argue with the man while they
were in the middle of the harbour unable to get off.  But the other
people laughed, and he felt relief because she was laughing too.

"Well said, laddie," the guide chuckled.

"What about a round of applause for the young man from Gundagai?"

After they clapped him, a voice spoke out from the crowd.

"You forgot to answer his question," Belle said.

Oh no, Teddy thought.  If she starts to put on a turn, I can't dive
off, 'cos there are sharks in the harbour.  But the man was answering,
and Belle was not putting on a turn.

"You're quite right, Ma'am.  And if you're his mum, I'd say you've got
a fine lad here.  And he's lucky, too."

"Why is that?"  Belle asked.

"Because he has a good-looking mother if you don't mind my saying so.
As to the question, yes, I'm afraid there have been a few accidents. 
No doubt some of you remember reports in the papers.

But that, as I'm sure we all know, is the price of progress."

"Quite a nice type of man, really," Belle said, after they had finished
the short cruise and found a spot to sit in Macquarie Place Park under
the shade of a Moreton Bay fig tree.

"He was most informative.

I'm glad we went on that little trip," she decided.

"He said you were good-looking, Mum."

"Did he?"  She cast this aside, as if she had already forgotten it,

and began to unwrap a packet of chips bought from the fish shop at
Circular Quay.  She spread them on the newspaper so they could share.
An identical-sized packet remained unopened.

"Yum," Teddy said.

"Nice?"

"Beaut."

"Beaut-tiful," she corrected, then smiled.

"All right, beaut then, just for today.  Teddy, the important thing to
remember about chips is this: never buy sixpence worth in one go.
Always ask for two threepenny portions."

"Why, Mum?"

"Because you get more that way."

"Truly?"

"Believe me.  It's a useful tip gathered from long experience of making
the pennies stretch further."

"Are we very poor?"

"No, darling, of course not.  I wouldn't say poor.  We just don't
happen to have much money.  Not many families do these days.

There's a thing called the Depression."

"I know about that.  They told us at school.  Lots of people's dads
don't have jobs, but ours does, so we're lucky."

"Yes," Belle said, after a moment, 'we're lucky."  She was about to
unwrap the second packet when her eye was caught by a tiny heading just
visible among the grease stains in the newspaper.  She snatched at it,
scattering most of the remaining chips on the ground, and pigeons
swooped to capture this unexpected bounty.

"Mum, you spilt them .. . the birds are grabbing our chips."

"Never mind.  Here, eat these."  She thrust the second package at him
while she carefully studied the news item.  She read it with
incredulity and started to laugh.

"What is it?"  Teddy asked, offering her a fresh chip, but her eyes
were fixed on the story.

"Measles," she said gleefully, 'he's got the measles!  Listen to
this.

"The head of United Pictures, Mr.  Daniel Hardacre, has announced a
delay of the film due to start at the White City film studios, because
the young American co-star, ten-year-old Andy Colvin, has contracted
measles.  The ship on which he was travelling to Australia was obliged
to leave him in Honolulu for hospital treatment.  It may mean an
indefinite delay, Mr.  Hardacre said, as no steamer on which Andy could
travel is expected in Hawaii before the end of the month."

She dropped the soiled newspaper, grabbed her handbag and searched it
hurriedly for coins.  She found two pennies.

"Stay here," she said, then thought about it and changed her mind.

"No, come with me-' "Mum, I ain't finished," Teddy complained.

"Darling, "ain't" is not a word.  You haven't finished."

"Well, I haven't."

"Then hang onto them.  Eat as we go."

"Where are we going?"

"To find a public telephone.  There may be a God after all."

The same guard at the studio gate made a formal pretence of appraising
them, taking his time, checking their names on a list, and eventually
told them to go in.  He would telephone Mr.  Hardacre, who was
expecting them.

"I know he is."  Belle relished the brief moment, but knew her triumph
was premature.  The guard knew it too.

"Four other boys've already been seen by the Yankee director," he said
by way of retaliation.

She felt her stomach knot with tension as they entered the main
building.  At least this time Dan's secretary met them, and they were
taken through a labyrinth of corridors to his private office.  He
greeted them, looking harassed.

"I didn't know where to contact you," he said as he sat them down.

"I thought you must've gone home.  How did you find out?"

"I saw it in the newspaper," Belle said.

"With the chips we bought," Teddy added for Mr.  Hardacre's benefit,
but a stern look from Belle silenced him.

"Are we too late, Dan?"

"I'm not sure," he shrugged.

"They're seeing others."

"So I heard."

"We may have to screen-test."

"Then it'll be an Australian boy?"

"Maybe."  He sat beside them.

"I honestly don't know.  I can tell you, there's one hell of a row
going on.  The American producer is performing like a bloody banshee.
He wants to sue the steamship company.  He says they could've put Andy
into isolation on board ship-' "Nasty contagious thing, measles."

"Come off it," Dan said.

"That's what should've happened, but apparently some of the other
passengers insisted their kids were at risk.  Complete crap, but one
parent happened to be a director of the shipping line.  As a result we
can't get him here for four weeks."

"Four weeks?  Goodness," Belle said, trying to conceal her delight.

Dan Hardacre gave her a sharp look.

"The studio tried to find a pilot with a plane, but the kid's family
won't let him fly they say aeroplanes are far too dangerous."

"They are," Belle agreed.

"Stop interrupting," he retorted bad-temperedly.

"Meanwhile, our female star has to leave the country in exactly three
weeks.  She's due to start another film in Hollywood, a big epic that
can't be rescheduled.  The whole thing's an utter shambles.  The
producer's a main-chancer, he's all for cancelling our production and
going for litigation instead.  Less risk, he says.  To hell with making
motion pictures if you can make money in court."

"Haven't you got any say?"

He looked at her with ill-concealed impatience.

"You know my position, Belle.  I told you the way things are, and how
little my authority counts in this place.  I just hang onto my
well-paid job and try not to make waves."

"At least get Teddy an interview.  And a screen test."

"I'm not sure if I can."

"For old times' sake," Belle pleaded.

"Please try."

Teddy sat watching them, trying to fathom what old times' sake meant.
He recalled the peculiar, secret looks between them when Mr.  Hardacre
had come to their house and George had been angry.

A part of him hoped they were going home, but on the other hand, Belle
was so excited when she read the story in the newspaper.  He remembered
how she had laughed.  People in the park had looked around, because it
was such a lovely sound, her laughter.  But now she seemed upset and
angry, and Mr.  Hardacre wasn't really pleased to see them, and looked
as if he wished they'd go away.

"Who in the name of Christ is this?"  a loud American voice said behind
him.  Teddy turned and saw a large bald man at the door.

"Jesus, dammit, the one thing we don't need is any more kids, Daniel.
We've got four already.  We're not trying to stock a goddamn
kindergarten."

"Hector-' Dan started, but Belle interrupted.

"If you don't mind, whoever you are, I'd prefer you don't use such
profanity in front of my son."

"Whoever I am, Ma'am?"  The bald man gave her a withering glance.

"I'm Hector Hume, the producer of this damn movie that's falling flat
on its ass, that's who I am."

"Well, I'm Belle Carson, the mother of this boy who can act better than
any child you may be testing.  And if your film is really falling on
that part of its anatomy, perhaps you'd condescend to test him.

He might even save your "ass"."

Teddy couldn't help it; he grinned.

"Well, he's got a good face.  Great smile," Hector Hume declared.

"He can cry, too.  Dan has some photographs," Belle said.

The sound stage was huge, cavernous and dark.  It seemed empty, except
for a camera and its operator.  Teddy felt very nervous in front of the
camera.  When the bank of lights came on and dazzled him, he felt as
though the lens was peering into his face, trying to read his thoughts;
if he moved or turned his head, the camera seemed to follow.  It would
not let him escape.

Somewhere in the gloom was Belle.  He knew she was there, and wanted to
call out to her, to say "Let's go home, Mum.  I'm scared.

It's not like real acting; there are no people out there to clap or
laugh."  If they would let him talk to her he would try to explain how
he felt about the camera.  It was just a machine on top of a tripod and
it couldn't laugh at jokes or applaud.

A man appeared from out of the gloom.  Teddy thought at first it was
the producer, but when he came into the lit area he was younger.  An
American, like Hector Hume.

"You okay, kid?"  He had a different sort of voice.  Quieter.

"I'm not sure," Teddy said.

"Nobody's ever sure the first time.  Is it your first time in front of
a movie camera?"

"Yes, sir," Teddy replied.

"I'm Lawrence Andrews.  My friends call me Larry.  You can call me
Larry."

"Yes, sir."

"You've learnt your lines?"

"Yes, sir ... I mean Larry.  It's easy to learn lines, 'specially when
there's not many of them."

"Good.  There's always less lines in a movie, because your face helps
tell the story.  Like sometimes you have to look happy, or afraid or
even sad and if you can do that, it's better than words.  Follow?"

"Sort of."

It seemed easier to talk to him than the producer, who grumbled so
loudly.  And easier than Dan Hardacre, who Teddy didn't trust.

"Well, let's run through the scene, just you and me," Larry Andrews
said.

"Forget that lens.  But I think you should know, Gus the cameraman says
it likes you."

"Likes me?  How?"

"It's a kind-of audience.  Did audiences like you?"

"Yes, sir," Teddy said, 'they seemed to."

"Well, the camera is gonna make you look good on the screen.

Gus says that, and he's never wrong.  So read the lines and forget the
camera.  Imagine we're on stage, but you don't have to speak as loudly.
You're talking quietly to the front stalls, not trying to reach the
back of the circle.  Got it?"

"Yes, sir ... Yes, Larry."

"He's very nervous," Belle whispered to Dan as they watched with Henry
Hume by the sound-stage door.

"So stiff and not a bit at ease.

He's frightened sick, I can tell.  Let me go and talk to him."

"You stay right here, Belle," Dan tried to hush her.

"But I could help rehearse him through his screen test.  I know the
best way to handle him."

"Just shut up and relax, Mrs.  Carson," Hume said.

"No stage mother takes over my goddamn set.  If anyone's making him
nervous, you are.  Matter of fact, lady, you're making us all
nervous."

They ran through the short scene, in which Teddy was a boy in hospital
being told by his father he had to have an operation and he must be
brave.  Teddy felt stiff and anxious, because he knew how much Belle
wanted him to get this role.  She had said it didn't matter, but he
could tell that wasn't true.  It had made her cry, when she thought he
was asleep.  He knew you earned money acting in films, and if he did
earn any money it would help her, and even help George, too.  But he
didn't think he'd done the scene well enough to be chosen.

"We'll try it again in a few minutes, Ted," the friendly director told
him.

"But first of all, why don't you take a few deep breaths, loosen up,
and try to remember it's all make-believe."

"Yes, sir.  I mean, Larry."

"Can you ride a bike?"

"You bet.  Do I have to ... I mean, in this?"

"No.  Just asking.  Shooting the breeze, we call it, while we wait for
the camera to reload.  Can you swim?"

"I swim in the river at home.  But I'm not very good yet.  Once, early
this year, I nearly drowned."

"What happened?"

"My dad rescued me.  He dived in and saved me."

"That was brave of him."

"Yes, real brave.  I tried to swim right across the river, but it was
too far."

"What's this river called?"

"The Murrumbidgee."

"Murr-um-bid-gee," Larry said, making it sound like four small words.

"We got a big river in the States which is called the Mississippi.

I wouldn't like to try swimming across that, either."

"Miss-is-sip-pi."  Teddy copied his way of pronouncing it.  The
director nodded and smiled.

"Good kid.  Helps you to remember, breaking names into parts like that.
Okay, so you're lying in bed in hospital, and I'm your pa, telling you
the news.  Let's you and me just relax, and do it again."

Half an hour later, they left the studio building.  Belle walked
briskly, so rapidly Teddy had to almost run to keep up with her.  The
guard on the gate gave a curt nod, not bothering to speak to them.
Belle ignored him as they went past.

"Surly brute," she muttered, but only Teddy heard it.  He did not know
what had happened, or why they had left so abruptly.  He did know his
feet hurt, and to his relief when they reached the bottom of the hill
there was a tram approaching.

"We'll walk," Belle said.

"We'd have to change twice, and it means extra fares.  We can't afford
to keep spending money."

"I'm tired," he said.

"And look at my shoes, Mum."

He raised one leg so she could see underneath the sole.  There was a
hole in the leather.

Belle sighed and took his hand as they stood at the tram stop.

Teddy was unsure what had gone wrong.  Larry, the nice director, had
had a long talk with Mr.  Hume, the nasty producer, then Mr.  Hardacre
had taken Belle aside to explain something, and the next thing they
were leaving.  He managed to contain his curiosity until they were on
board and she had paid the conductor.

"Why did we have to leave, Mum?  Didn't I get it?"

"I don't know," she said helplessly.

"Even they don't know.  Bunch of hopeless amateurs."

"What do you mean?"

"It seems that if Dan Hardacre can't make any decisions by himself,
neither can Hume.  What a creep!  Calls himself a producer, all he can
produce is large gusts of hot air.  He's not sure if they are going to
make the film or cancel it.  He doesn't know which boy he likes for the
role, even if they do proceed.  He has to send a wire -I suppose that
means a telegraph message in plain English to the coast."

"What's the coast?"

"You may well ask, darling.  Apparently it's the head office in
Hollywood, where someone more important makes the decisions, then sends
a "wire" back to creepy old Hume, telling him what to do."

"But what do we do?"

"Wait, they said.  Come back tomorrow, to see if there's any news.  I
would've thought that Dan, who is hardly a stranger hardly hat might've
done a bit better for me than this.  But no, we must come back
tomorrow."

"But tomorrow-' "That's what they said, sweetie.  Those were the very
words."

"What about the other four boys?"

"Two of them have to come back tomorrow as well."

"Mum ... tomorrow .. . weren't we going home?"

"That director," Belle said thoughtfully, as if he hadn't spoken, 'he
liked you.  He didn't say so, but I'm sure he thought you were the
best.  It's frog-face Hume who's the worry.  As for Dan, he just sits
there on both sides of the fence.  Been doing that kind of thing all
his life.  It's a wonder he hasn't got a serious case of piles."

"Mum," Teddy persisted, 'won't Dad be expecting us tomorrow?"

She hesitated, and he knew they weren't going home yet.

"I'll write to him," Belle said.

No, not home tomorrow.  Or even perhaps the next day, Teddy realised.

When Dan asked her to sit down, offering her the comfortable chair, and
Henry Hume and the director came to join them from the next office,
their faces confirmed her worst fears.  It had been three days.  Three
awful days of waiting while their precious money ebbed away.

The first day they had reported back at the White City studio they were
told 'the coast' had not yet made a decision; they were not able to say
if they intended to proceed, as Hume put it, to green-light the picture
or shut it down.  The second day word had finally come that as sets
were built and artists contracted it was more expedient to proceed.

That day one of the boys had been told he was not required, so it was
down to two of them.  Both eight-year-olds, which was the real age for
the part.  Teddy and another boy, who had blond curly hair.

"Please understand, Mrs.  Carson."  Hume for once moderated his tone.

"We think your young guy is great, but we've decided to go with the
other kid."

"We're sorry, Belle," Dan added, looking stressed and upset, 'but we
felt you deserved to be told in private like this."

"Deserved to be?"  Belle said, feeling such bitter disappointment she
had difficulty remaining rational.

"Why "deserved"?  A strange choice of words, Dan.  As for
understanding, Mr.  Hume, no, I don't understand at all.  Is the other
one, the fair-haired boy, Frank if that's his name is he so much better
than Teddy?"

"On the contrary," Hume began to answer, then he hesitated.

"On the contrary, what?"

While she waited for a reply that seemed as though it might not be
forthcoming, both men looked at the hitherto silent director.

Belle turned to him.

"Mr.  Andrews ... or Larry, as you told my son to call you, they
haven't answered my question.  Can you?"

"They don't want to answer, Mrs.  Carson, because the truth is we're
all as mad as hell."

"Mad as hell?  Why?  Will one of you please speak in terms that I can
understand?  What's the truth, Mr.  Andrews?"

"The plain truth is ... Frank's not better than young Ted.  He's
nowhere near as good.  But the cable from the coast said the character
should be blond, because Andy Colvin's blond.  This other boy has the
same kind of blond curls.  And even though Teddy has perfectly
acceptable light-brown hair, the studio's audience research apparently
shows that blond kids have more appeal to the public' As Belle opened
her mouth to protest, he forestalled her.

"I don't agree either, Mrs.  Carson.  That's why we're all so angry."

"But... can't you do anything?"

"I tried.  I sent a wire to say we were casting the second-best actor
just because of his hair colour and their dubious research.  I was told
to start shooting or ship out."

"You see now, Belle?"  Dan asked.

"Yes," she said, 'provided this isn't just a tale to make me feel
better."

"Of course it's not."

"So what you're saying is this.  If Teddy was blond, he'd have got
it."

"That's right," Dan replied.

"I agree, Mrs.  Carson."  Hume was clearly anxious to terminate the
meeting as quickly as possible.

"But unfortunately, he's not."

"Don't you believe it, Mr.  Hume."  She was on her feet and already
halfway to the door as she turned for a parting request.

"Just give me two hours."

Teddy looked at himself in the mirror with astonishment.  It wasn't him
at all, the boy who looked back.  He had curly blond hair.  He I had
been scrubbed and rinsed eyes stinging and nose running from the
horrible stuff that bubbled and stank and had his hair put in women's
curlers, after which it was dried in front of the radiator as Belle fed
coins into a slot every few minutes while continually calling the
landlady a robbing old bitch who rigged the meter.

After this they had rushed downstairs to hail a taxi, with Teddy asking
how they could afford it, and being told "Sod the expense!"

The guard was eating his lunch when the cab pulled up outside the
studio gates.  He nearly choked on a ham sandwich as they swept by, the
waft of peroxide trailing Belle and the transformed!

child beside her.

They went past the reception desk without challenge, Belle's gaze
defying anyone to stop her.  She barely knocked before pushing open the
door to Dan's office and entering with Teddy.  The three

men were in deep conference.  Before the other two had a chance to
comment or protest, Larry Andrews was on his feet with an amazed smile,
clearly delighted.  He turned to Hume.

"Well, they wanted a blond star, Henry.  I think you can wire the coast
that we've got him."

nine

George hoed the garden and planted rows of marrow and tomatoes,
covering the seeds with rich soil sieved from the compost heap.  He had
little enthusiasm for the job not since returning from work to find
another letter from Belle in the mailbox but while the!

daylight lasted he felt he should work in the garden, or there'd be!

no vegies in the patch when they came home.  If they come home, he, had
begun to think lately.  It had now been almost a month.

The letter had enclosed ten pounds to be repaid to Mr.  Burwood at the
bank.  She hoped George was well, and said she was not yet sure if the
filming would be over by Christmas.  She knew he would be disappointed,
but they must think of Teddy's future.

Meanwhile they had moved from the awful residential to a better
boarding house, where Teddy had his own small room; this was a.

great improvement, for he needed his sleep because films were so;

demanding, and they had to get an early tram to the studio each morning
to be on the sound stage at seven o'clock.

Percy Bates was riding past, sweating in his uniform.  Seeing George he
dismounted and wheeled his bike to the front gate.

"G'day, George."

"How're you, Perce?"

"Bit hot.  Gotta newspaper for you.  Some bloke left it at the

railway station, so I snaffled it.  City paper.  Young Teddy's in
it."

"Oh yeah?"  George said.

"Getting famous, George.  Good on you, mate."

"I didn't do anything."

"You're his dad.  Must've done something', mate."  He laughed, and
George managed a smile and said yes, he saw what Percy meant.

The policeman took a crumpled copy of the Sydney Sun from his jacket
and handed it across the fence.  George nodded his thanks, wondering if
he should ask him in for a beer, then remembered he had only one bottle
of home brew in the house.  Sensing that no offer was forthcoming,
Percy wiped the moisture off his face, waved and rode away.

An inside page of the newspaper had a photo.  Teddy looked quite
different, with blond curly hair.

"Strewth," George said.

He took the newspaper into the house.  He found his spectacles and read
it by the window where the last of the daylight shone through the gauze
curtains.

THE MURRUMBIDGEE KID A STAR OF TOMORROW

That will be the future of Teddy Carson, from the Riverina district,
according to American film director Lawrence Andrews.  Teddy, aged
eight, is the boy chosen from hundreds to feature in Dispossessed, now
filming in Sydney.

"Today Australia," said Mr.  Andrews, 'perhaps Hollywood tomorrow." 
His mother, the former Belle Baker, herself a well-known actress prior
to marriage, agreed

"His great talent could take him almost anywhere in the world," she
said.

George sat there, the words rotating unhappily in his mind, until long
after the sun had set and the room was dark.

Henry Hume watched from the door of the sound stage.  In the far corner
of the set they were doing a final run-through of a hospital scene.  He
fumed as he saw Belle hovering near the camera, mouthing dialogue as
the kid said it in the rehearsal.  He was about to intervene, but the
clapper boy moved into shot, the bell clanged and the red light warned
everyone on the lot that the doors were locked and the camera was
turning for a take.

They did the brief scene.  Andrews pronounced it a good one and ordered
a print, but Belle differed.  With incredulity the producer saw her
insist Teddy could do it better, and before he could intervene they
began to shoot the scene again.  Too late to prevent this, Hume went
back to his office in a towering rage.

"That fucking interfering bitch is getting us behind schedule!"  he
yelled at Dan.

"Who the hell cares if the kid didn't blink his eyelash in the right
place, for Christ's sake?"

"He's giving a great performance, Henry."

"That wasn't what I said, Daniel, so try listening for a change.

Sure, he's good, but don't get carried away.  Who cares in Los Angeles
about his great performance if it means we run a week late and go over
budget?  Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Henry."

"I want her ordered to stay off the set.  I want a meeting here

tonight after we wrap you, me and our piss-weak director.  Got it?"

"Got it," Dan said, trying not to show his resentment.

"Somebody should take that mama away and screw her while we finish the
picture.  If I find out she's asked for one more retake, I'm gonna
nominate you as a volunteer.  So you've got two choices both difficult:
either fuck her or make her shut up."

At the shabby end of George Street, on the fringe of Chinatown and
around the corner from the Capitol Theatre, was a narrow doorway fitted
with a brass plate.  Peeling paint and graffiti tarnished the door, but
the plate was polished daily and glittered like an invitation to
another universe.  It seemed a far remove from the mean streets where
homeless derelicts scrabbled for food in the litter bins of Belmore
Park and Central Station.  On the plate was engraved: FLOR IAN

MACARTHUR-BAILEY.  THEATRICAL AGENT.

While she waited, Belle inspected the photographs that papered his
office walls.  Most were devotedly inscribed to him by other actors;

a few were framed studies of Florian in younger days (cloaked for
Restoration or Shakespearian roles) before he gained weight and
realised a better living could be made beyond the proscenium by selling
the talent of his peers.  He greeted Belle with an acquired effusion,
kissing each cheek before seating her, then barely fitting himself into
a commodious swivel chair behind a substantial oak desk.  He apologised
that there was no morning tea or biscuits; he was on a diet.

"You've been on a diet since I was sixteen," Belle said, refraining
from an observation that it had clearly been a failure.  He still had a
thick mane of hair that he wore like a coronet and a fine aquiline

nose, but his body was twice the size it had been in the youthful
photos.

"And an astonishingly pretty sixteen you were.  Lusted over by half the
actors in town and at least one agent," he added with a sly
immoderation.

"Settle down, Florian," Belle replied.

"I'm here to talk about my son, not reminisce on your libido."

"Ah, yes.  The young Antipodean Jackie Coogan."

"He could be."

"No doubt the boy has talent, Belle.  But film production ... in this
country?  My dear girl, there's no continuity of work.  And, let's face
it, roles for kids his age are rare.  This was a lucky break."

"The measles were an act of divine intervention.  Yes, it was luck, and
I want to capitalise on it.  Teddy will be well known once the film
comes out."

"Provided it gets a decent release.  Most local pictures are put out
like the garbage.  Dumped for a brief inglorious run in some suburban
flea pit then never heard of again."

"This one won't be.  It has American stars in it."

He laughed uproariously at the thought of it.

"Darling, do me a favour.  Stars?  B-picture actors, second-raters.  A
couple of hasbeens, if they ever were."

"Florian, I think I made a mistake in coming here," she said, trying to
control her annoyance at his attitude.

"Are you interested in being his agent or not?"

"Boys grow up.  Their voices break."

"I asked if you're interested."

"Juveniles, sadly, are quite notoriously difficult.  They have a short
career span.  They become singers, or lawyers, or truck drivers."

"How about Jackie Coogan, then?  He's made a fortune."

"America, Belle.  That's an entirely different kettle of fish."

She stood up to leave.  She gripped her handbag, wishing she could hit
him with it.

"Florian, you were a rotten actor and it looks like you're now a rotten
agent.  What's more, you're not on a diet.  You're as fat as ever, and
too bloody mean to lash out on morning tea for visitors."

"Since most of my visitors are clients who come here to complain that I
get them no work, why should I provide sustenance?  If I did, they'd be
calling in daily for a feed.  There'd be a queue outside my door, all
the way to the Tivoli."

"You are a miserable bugger," Belle said.

"I can't for the life of me think why I even bothered to come and see
you."

"Because, my dear girl," Florian replied, seemingly unperturbed by the
insults, 'you've seen all the other agents in town.  And no one was the
least bit interested.  I have my sources of information," he added,
with a fleeting smile at her reaction to this, 'so here you are, on the
bones of your extremely attractive arse."

"You leave my arse out of this."

"Gladly," he said.

"The one thing that stopped me leaping on you when you were a lusty
young soubrette was your youth.  Dangerously close, I always thought in
those days, to jail-bait."

"Well, I always thought you were long past it," Belle retorted as she
headed for the door.

Florian waited until she was about to open it.

"Before you rush off in a temper back to your shack in BuUamakanka or
whatever that one-horse place is called," he said, 'what's required
first is to get him known.  That's the trick.  Make sure he gets in the
newspapers."

"He's been in the newspapers."

"Studio publicity handouts," he shrugged dismissively.  '"The
Murrumbidgee Kid" as they call him.  I saw the piece."

"I hate that name," Belle said vehemently.

Florian nodded at this.

"I thought you might."

"It seems to embody everything I'm trying to get him away from."

"It regionalises him," he said, surprising her with this perception.

"Puts him in a little box from a little town."  She could only nod
agreement.

"Whereas I'm talking about creating a different image," Florian
continued expansively.

"Making the general public, the great unwashed, become aware of him.
How do we do that, you may ask?  It's really quite simple."

"Is it?"

"Of course."

Belle looked at him.

"You want me to trust you?"

"I want you to sit down again and listen.  I'm the last name on your
list because you think I'm a bit of a joke.  A lecherous old goat who's
past it.  Well, that may be almost true but you need me."

"Do I?"

"I think so.  You have this small person whom you love, and you're
driven by a need to see him reach the top, to be above the titles, to
well, what's wrong with a bit of dreaming?  to touch the stars."  He
smiled at her, his voice gentler now.

"Like you never could; nor, to be honest, could I. So I understand your
aspiration, and it begins to tempt me.  I'll make sure people will hear
about him, and we'll go from there.  Does that tempt you?"

Belle sat down.  She gazed carefully at him.

"It might.  Will it cost?"

"Not unless I get him work, then I take my usual ten per cent."

"You said people will hear about him.  How will they hear?"

"Christmas is coming," he said.

"Filming will be finished soon after.

What I have in mind will warm everyone's heart.  They'll love it."

"Love what?"

"Trust me, my darling.  I know people think I'm sneaky and conniving. 
I know behind my back they call me Uriah Heep.  But I can be quite
enterprising, as you'll find out."

George sent a Christmas card.  A letter came with it, saying it would
be a different sort of Christmas without them, but he had been invited
next door to Mr.  and Mrs.  Miranda's, so it wouldn't be like spending
the day alone.  But nor would it be like other years, when they had all
enjoyed Christmas together.

He wanted Teddy to know there was a present waiting not something he
could send or anything he'd need down in the city, because it was a new
carrier basket to go on his bike and it would be waiting when they came
home at New Year after the film was over.  George walked home from the
post office, wishing he had the money to join them in Sydney, and
dreading the prospect of Christmas dinner with Mr.  and Mrs. 
Miranda.

On the sound stage filming had wrapped early for the Christmas Eve
party.  The cast and crew, well oiled with beer and wine, watched with
amusement as Santa Claus came in.  He was accompanied by stage hands,
and on his instructions a decorated tree was moved in and set up with a
mound of toys piled beneath it.  An assistant director was dispatched,
returning soon afterwards with Belle and Teddy.  They stood at the
door, startled at the sight.

"Merry Christmas, my boy."  Florian was convincingly clad in a red
cloak and white beard, greeting him with a chuckle.

"Santa's come to call."

Teddy's eyes were like saucers as he gazed at the tree and was led by
the jolly Santa to the pile of presents.

"Gee," he said.

"Golly Moses!  A scooter."

Unwrapped and occupying pride of place was a brand-new scooter.  He
stood on it, waving to Belle, who remained staring in amazement.
Florian had sent her a message to say there'd be a small event, telling
her the exact time they should arrive at the sound stage, but this .. .
this was not what she expected.

She suddenly realised the gantry lights had clicked on, and a great
many things were happening simultaneously.  Santa Claus seemed to be
orchestrating it; bloody Florian was carrying on like a pantomime dame,
she thought, while he gave signals to the cast and crew, who came to
surround Teddy and wish him a merry Christmas.  Then other people came
in, some with cameras, and flashlights began to flicker.  Notebooks
appeared as Florian put an avuncular arm around Teddy and addressed
them.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," he said, 'in this season of
goodwill, I have a tender tale to tell.  Some of our cast and crew have
spent their hard-earned money on gifts for their young friend, our new
star Teddy Carson.  Such generosity in these troubled times.  Is that a
story to touch your hearts, or isn't it?"  He beamed at them all.

"Yes, my fellow Australians, there is a Santa Claus," he continued.

"Look at this boy, this talented little lad who will make us all proud
of him.  Look at the joy in his eyes.  A joy hopefully reflected by
other children in our land, despite the hard times we live in.  But
never mind that.  This boy, and this moment through your pictures and
newspaper stories will spread the word that faith is alive, that hope
and charity survive.  This, surely, is the true meaning of
Christmas."

Teddy was dazzled by the flashlights and the big arcs that had

been switched on for Santa's speech.  Only he didn't sound like Santa
any more.  He was no longer saying ho-ho-ho and talking about his
reindeer and the North Pole.  He bowed and thanked them for their
attendance.  The moment this happened, the reporters all began to shout
questions.  The newsreel cameraman called for a big smile from Teddy,
and others told him to hold up his presents.  They piled them in his
arms and took more shots.  Teddy was confused by the commotion; he
wanted Belle, but she was busy across the studio talking to Santa.

"You see it, my beauty?"  Florian was delighted with the result.

"You just cannot buy publicity like this, Belle."

"But where did all these things come from?"

"Never mind.  It worked, poppet.  I told you to leave it to your Uncle
Flory."

Her initial bewilderment was turning to suspicion.  This was altogether
too neat, too contrived.

"What the hell is going on, Florian?"

"Relax, Belle.  Just stay calm and don't get your knickers in a twist
or you'll ruin it.  Wait here while I see off the motley press gang."

Belle watched him hurry to usher out the journalists and photographers.
At the same time she was aware of some odd glances from the crew and
the actors as they headed back to what was left of their party.  She
knew something was wrong, sensed it as she watched her son examine his
toys.  Now that the arc lights had been dimmed and the press invasion
was over, he was sitting there like any lucky child, shaking wrapped
boxes in delight, peering into packages, and she allowed herself a
moment to believe it was a real-life fairy tale.

Then the stagehands came in.  They removed the Christmas tree and
started to gather the presents.  At first Teddy seemed unable to
conceive what was happening.  Belle saw him try to hold the scooter

as a stagehand firmly shook his head and took it from him.  A truck
was backed up to the access doors of the sound stage.  Belle saw it
being filled with the recovered gifts as she went looking for
Florian.

"You lousy bastard," she said, 'they were hired!"

Before he could reply Teddy ran to them, confused and distressed.

"Mum, what's happening?  Aren't they my toys?  Why are they taking them
away?"

"It was a game, Teddy," Florian said, 'a pretend game for the
newspapers.  Which did work," he added quietly to Belle.

He pulled off his beard and stepped out of the voluminous Santa suit.
He deliberately neglected to remove the red-and-white cone on his head.
If he hoped to soften her anger by looking comical, she was in no mood
for any such antics.  She wanted to slap his face.

Instead, she knelt to wrap her arms around Teddy.

"I didn't know, darling," she said, trying to contain her outrage as
she saw the last of the toys being taken away.

"I'm really sorry, Belle," the lighting cameraman said.

"We never twigged what he was up to.  He told us it was a publicity
stunt, so we all thought you were in on it.  You .. . and the kid."

"Neither me nor the kid," she said bitterly, wondering how on earth
they could imagine such a thing.

"I'm all for getting him known, but I'd never have allowed a crappy
trick like that."

The rest of the crew looked sheepish.  No one was prepared to admit it,
but they secretly thought Belle would go to any lengths to push the
poor little bloke.  Some had even believed the whole thing had been her
idea.

Florian arrived at their boarding house with a bunch of flowers on
Boxing Day.  From the window of her first-floor room, Belle looked down
and icily asked what garden he'd stolen them from and would he please
go to buggery.  He was littering the neighbourhood, making the street
look untidy.

"You must admit," he said, ignoring this, 'the story was a triumph.

It featured this morning in every newspaper, and is sure to make the
Sundays.  Colossal coverage.  And although I did have some minor costs
and hiring charges, I suggest we forget about them.  I want you to
regard my expenses as a gift."

"Expenses?  You're a lying old swine.  What expenses, you bastard?

That Christmas tree and all the toys were props on another film.

I found out that you arranged to borrow them for an hour."

"I warned you I was enterprising," he replied, unfazed.

"You warned me about being called Uriah Heep, and it's the perfect name
for a conniving chiseller like you.  I can't think of any name that
suits you better.  So shove the flowers up your arse and sod off,"
Belle said, slamming the window shut before he could reply.  The glass
rattled, and she thought for an anxious moment it was going to break.

She heard him ring the bell downstairs again, and then the sound of
voices below.  His voice was importuning the landlady.  If he tries to
come up here, I'm going to kick him in the balls, even if I'm not in
favour of violence, she thought, but then remembered the landlady's
strict rules did not allow visitors, especially males, over the
threshold.  She eventually saw him cross the street to a battered old
tourer.  He climbed in, pausing to glance up at the window, but she had
anticipated this and moved out of sight.  She heard the clatter of the
engine and the sound of grinding gears as he drove off.

Teddy was in his own room, no doubt trying to muster interest

in the cheap toy she had bought him.  This Christmas break could not
have come at a worse time.  Filming would not resume until the day
after tomorrow, and with him so disconsolate, the brief holiday period
was beginning to seem like an eternity.  She wondered what George was
doing, how the lunch had turned out at the Miranda house, and whether
it would prove to be as dreadful as she imagined.

She also wondered if she'd dare show him the array of cuttings she had
already collected from the day's newspapers.  For the first time in
weeks, she thought about what it would be like to go home.

Later, the landlady came up to say there had been complaints from the
family next door about the shouting and her language.

She pointed out this was a respectable street, and such behaviour
lowered the tone.  Also, the gentleman caller had left the flowers and
written a note for her.

Belle asked if the landlady would kindly accept her apologies and
please take the flowers for her own use.  As for the note, she would
dispose of it herself in the time-honoured way.  But after the woman
had gone downstairs, she could not resist reading it.  Before flushing
it down the lav, she reasoned, she might as well see what he had to say
for himself.

Dear Belle, It was an unkind but effective trick.  I've had two offers
of work for him already.  That is, if you're not too liverish to call
me after the holidays and discuss it.

With festive greetings, Uriah

TEN

The train headed its way south, leaving George alone with them on the
platform, except for the porter loading the mail trolley and collecting
their tickets.  He tipped his cap to Belle.

"Ow yer going, Mrs.  Carson?  Been down in the big smoke, I 'card.

Glad to be safe home again, I betcha.  No place like it, is there?  Bet
you're sick of all them mobs of people and the traffic jams, eh?"

She was saved by Teddy's intervention.

"We saw the Harbour Bridge, Mr.  Miller."

"Did you, son?  Probably got there just in time.  They reckon it won't
last, that whatever they call it?  The coathanger, yeah, that's right."
He laughed.

"That's the name.  Looks just like one."

"Won't last?"  Belle was already tiring of this harbinger of doom.

"It looked sturdy enough to us, and to thousands of other people."

"Wear and tear, Mrs.  Carson.  Nuts and bolts rust, they get loose.

Once all them heavy buses and trains get on it, lotsa people round here
reckon it'll be certain to fall down."

"They'd be experts," she said, and George, who was trying to handle
their suitcases and escort them off the platform, heard her irritation.
He took her arm.

"Let's go, Belle."

They started towards the steps.  But the porter wasn't to be dismissed
so easily.

"Hey, young Ted, I heard you was in a fillum?"

"Yes," Teddy said.

"Is that a fact?  I ain't seen it at the local picture show."

"It could hardly be there yet," Belle said, knowing with a sinking
heart that nothing here would ever change, 'because it's just finished
shooting, and now they have to edit it.  It will be released later in
the year."

"Peculiar that."

"What is, Mr.  Miller?"

"Taking all them months like that, when fillums only run about an
hour."

"Well, I'm afraid I haven't time to explain," she said, giving up.  If
she'd had doubts about the future, this arrival home confirmed all her
fears.  Leaving the porter grumbling about the post office being late
as usual to collect the mail, George carried their suitcases to a
waiting Model "I Ford.

"Hop in," he said, and they both looked at him with surprise.

"Have you bought a motor car, Dad?"  Teddy asked.

Not exactly, it appeared.  The car belonged to a friend who worked with
him at Gable's; George had persuaded him to loan it for the day because
it was special, he said, their coming home after all these weeks.  The
neighbours were aware they were arriving, and so he'd decided they
weren't going to walk he would drive them in style.

It wouldn't seem right, having to walk home in the heat lugging
suitcases.  People knew Teddy had been in a film with overseas stars
and had got his name and photograph in the Sydney newspapers, and
nobody else around here had ever done that.

"Good on you, Dad."

"I'm proud of you, Ted.  So I had a few practice drives, got a
temporary licence from old Percy Bates, and here we are.  It's really
beaut to have you both home again."

Oh God, Belle thought, dismayed.  How am I going to tell him?

Early in the new year the town grapevine had done its work, and most
people knew there was trouble in the air; something odd was going on at
the Carson place out on Brewinda Road, something personal between
George and Belle.  Everyone was certain she was leaving.  There was
talk from those who claimed to be in the know that they were getting a
divorce; others proffered the lesser rumour it was just a temporary
separation.  Whatever the truth, the town clearly felt sympathy for
poor old George, and could barely conceal their dislike for his
hoity-toity fancy wife.  They had suffered her now for nine years, and
relished the day when they might see the back of her.

Teddy, sensing something amiss, was unsure what that something might
be.  He was glad to be home, although a few things bothered him; Norm
and Ginger, for instance, were a bit distant, a bit abrupt and
peculiar, and he could hardly say the rest of the gang made him feel
welcome.  He was not yet aware of the volume of the talk that had been
circulating around the schoolyard while he was away.

It had become common knowledge in the playground that Teddy Carson had
done a bunk from school, aided by his mother who had told the
headmistress he was not well and she was taking him to the city to see
a special sort of doctor.  Of course, everyone soon knew this was a
lie; that he'd somehow got a part in a film and was being an actor in
Sydney, and supposed to be famous.

Ginger and Norm were unsure if it was good for the image of

their gang, having a member who ponced about in front of a movie
camera.  There was also the discomfort of a subordinate achieving such
prominence.  Teddy had been their recruit; they were not certain they
liked the idea of him outshining them and everyone else with his name
and his picture all over the place.

When they heard of the Christmas photographs and front-page stories of
all the gifts he'd been given, Ginger and Norm decided that was enough.
They held a meeting after Teddy arrived home, to which he was not a
party, where they canvassed the opinions of the others about the
situation.  Ginger put it succinctly: Teddy was now an actor who seemed
to get his mug in the papers all the time, and was given dozens of free
presents.  This had been in the newspapers, so it must be true.
Therefore, was he really the same person they'd carefully chosen to
join them in the early days of their gang?  Or was he some spoiled
poofter-looking kid who dyed his hair blond and thought himself a lot
better than them?  What did everyone think?

"Got tickets on 'himself," Herbie Bates said scathingly, 'just like his
silly old chook of a mother."

"Be talking like her next, all la-di-da," Bill Burwood added, sure his
father would approve of this remark.

Others were quick to agree that this would definitely lower the status
of their group.

"Always told you se he was stuck-up thinks his self too flamin' good
for us," Pig Morgan insisted, seeing an opportunity for the restoration
of his own prestige.

There was virtually no dissent, and when the call came for a show of
hands the decision was unanimous.  Teddy was requested to appear so the
result could be read to him.  The shock of rejection was twofold; he
had thought the invitation to meet the whole no gang presaged a
welcome home, but instead he was greeted with a demand to face them and
hear the verdict.

"What do you mean, verdict?"  He had begun to realise this was not a
celebration of his return.

"The verdict of us all," Ginger said formally, and proceeded to
announce it.  Teddy was to be demoted from the rank of sergeant and put
on probation in order to see if he was fit to remain a member of their
mob.  This meant he was now the lowliest of the low with the standing
of a raw recruit a new category they had just created and as a result
would have to obey orders given to him by anyone else.  The period of
probation would last for a minimum of six months, and could be longer
if they were not satisfied.

After this was announced they all stared at him with anticipation,
eager to see what would happen next.  They'd had a lively debate on how
he might take the news of relegation.  Ginger reckoned he would
probably beg to be reinstated, others were certain he'd cry.  Turn on
the waterworks, they reckoned, and they waited for it to happen.

To their surprise Teddy was silent, his face almost thoughtful as
though considering the matter, then he gave an elaborate shrug and
began to laugh.

It was the last thing they expected.

In fact, he'd had a moment of complete dismay that had turned into
angry determination.  Nothing on God's earth would let him allow them
to see what a kick in the teeth it was.  It was vital to put on a face
that would leave them puzzled and disappointed.  So he laughed again,
thinking his acting would never be put to a sterner test than this.  He
laughed as if it was an enormous joke.

What was so funny?  Ginger wanted to know.

Teddy said Ginger was funny, carrying on like a dill as if he was
important.  He said if that was how they felt, he didn't want

to belong to anyone's silly childish gang.  What's more, he wasn't
going to stand in front of them like some criminal on trial.  He was
quitting, and they could forget about probation or whatever they called
it because he'd had a gutful of their pathetic crap.  Relishing their
startled faces and invoking his mother's rich vocabulary, he told
Ginger they could all go to buggery.  Gangs were bullshit, and only for
dumb kids.

But the moment he said this, he knew it was a blunder.

"We'll see who's dumb," Ginger said, lashing out with his fist and
knocking him down.  Teddy tasted blood on his lip.  He got up slowly.
When he was barely upright it was Norm's turn to throw a punch and send
him sprawling.

"You're the dummy," Norm said, 'so you better say you're sorry for
that, or else stay down there in the dirt.  Which is it gonna be?"

"Neither' was the silent answer.  Inured to punishment, he would not
give them the triumph of surrender.  He kept doggedly rising while
refusing to apologise, and they kept on hitting him, for there was no
one within sight to prevent them.

Luckily, it was the long summer holidays and they would not be back at
school until the first week in February.  By then, he felt sure, the
bruises that had made Belle so angry when she saw them would be gone,
and even if he was no longer part of the gang, at least by then he
might be able to renew friendships with some of the kids again.  Quite
a few had not liked the way Norm in particular had kept knocking him
down and kicking him while he was on the ground.  He'd glimpsed some
trying to remonstrate, but they were all a bit scared of Norm, so
nobody interfered until Teddy could no longer get up.

Even then he was acting, pretending to be unconscious while they began
to look scared.  He could hear Ginger swearing them all to secrecy,
saying if anyone was to ask questions none of them knew a thing.  He
waited until they were gone, then sat up.  That was when he decided he
wasn't really acting after all; the pain in his side was like a knife
thrust.  It took over an hour to limp his way home.

Belle had cried and tried to hug him, which hurt alarmingly.

George had wanted to take him to the hospital to see if any ribs were
broken, and had told his friend Percy Bates that this was downright
thuggery, it was criminal and a matter for the police.

And if Perce wouldn't do anything, then George would report it to the
local paper and write to the district inspector in Goulburn.

When Constable Bates came to question him and asked for the names of
the young hooligans involved, Teddy said they were from another school
and he couldn't give names because he'd never seen them before. 
Neither Bates nor George believed this, but he persisted with the
story.  Teddy knew Herbie would hear about it from his dad, and Herbie
had always been his best friend.  Not that there was any way Herbie
could be his friend again but at least he might realise Teddy had not
dob bed him in, and thus saved him from big trouble with his dad. 
Herbie knowing this might even help the awkward situation when they had
to start school again.  He hoped so, for the new term in February was
only two weeks away.

The mere thought of school kept him awake at night, visualising other
problems.  Teddy could imagine the kind of mockery he'd face in the
playground if his blonded hair hadn't returned to its proper colour by
then or, worse still, if the film of Dispossessed was shown at the
Magnet Picture Palace in town, where the kids would all be sure to make
fun of it even if they secretly liked it, because that's how the kids
around here were.  They'd roar with laughter in the

sentimental scenes, roll Jaffas down the aisles and create such an
uproar that none of the dialogue would be heard.  The girls would all
complain, and the boys would shout at them to shut up and, worst of
all, if the film was shown in town, his mother would insist that she
and his dad both attend.

In addition to this, he had no illusions that going back to school
would be easy.  There'd be the same old taunts about Belle that he
always stubbornly refused to ignore.  But that was the future, and not
his major worry.  There was something far more unsettling.  It was not
even the incessant gossip by people in the town; this did not bother
him unduly, for it had always been like that.

It was the atmosphere at home that disturbed him.  Since the day of
their return from Sydney it had been strange, and growing steadily more
alarming.  He felt tension in the house sometimes a stony silence
seemed to pervade the hot January days and nights.  Even worse were the
quiet but ferocious exchanges between George and Belle that always
abruptly ended when he was near them.  George seemed sad at times; on
other days he was upset and refused to talk to her.  As a result Belle
ignored him; she talked to Teddy, sang songs to herself, wrote letters
to friends in Sydney and seemed to treat George as someone she had to
cook for and call to dinner, but when they sat down at the table there
was silence and the atmosphere was icy.  Teddy dreaded meal times.  He
wanted to ask what was wrong, but could not bring himself to do so, for
he was afraid of what he might be told.

As the summer days went by, he rode his bike and felt alone, uneasily
aware that something in his life was changing.

PART 2

eleven

The tram clattered out of the bridge tunnel into bright sunlight.

It was always a moment of wonder to Teddy, being able to look down and
see the harbour below, and to think back to the day on the ferry last
year gazing up at the unfinished steel giant while the guide told them
all about it, and how it would soon be opened officially by the State
Premier.  And now, nearly a year older, he felt the excitement of being
able to travel across this bridge in a tram with Belle on their way to
the Paragon film studio at North Sydney.

He had some lines to learn for his role in a new picture, but his mind
was diverted watching the ships.  Ferries were converging on Circular
Quay, and there were splashes of white sail as a fleet of
eighteen-footers assembled for a yacht race.  Out towards the arm of
South Head a huge freighter was making its way into the harbour.

Perhaps from Africa or China, he surmised, as a tug steamed out to meet
it, and he tried to speculate what it would be like to be a sailor on
board.  His imagination took flight, picturing a violent storm with the
vessel heading for a dangerous reef in dire peril, the captain lost
overboard, the mate injured, himself roped to the helm as he calmly
brought the ship and its crew to safety.  It made him think of a poem
that Belle had taught him as an audition piece.

Now the great winds shore wards blow;

Now the salt tides seawards flow:

Now the wild white horses play, To champ and chafe and toss in spray ..
.

Not entirely sure what it was supposed to mean, he liked the thought of
the wild white horses, but decided it might be best if he concentrated
on his lines.  There were not many; it was a small part, a lousy spit
and a cough, Belle had called it, but Mr.  MacArthur Bailey said times
were tough and it was work; what's more, he told her he'd forced the
producer to raise his original offer to an improved fee of one pound a
day.

Belle had not been impressed.  She said it was typical of the empty
promises he spouted and not to hold his breath if he expected applause
for negotiating this fee.  It was pathetic if this was an improvement,
she dreaded to think how insulting the first offer must have been.

Three scheduled days of filming for the sum of three pounds was hardly
a princely price for a rising young star, especially after Uriah
reduced it by extracting his ten per cent.

"Not," she had said, 'that I begrudge you your commission.  We all have
to make a living."

"How benevolent of you," he said, 'to allow me to make a living."

"No need to be sarcastic, Uriah.  I just wish you were smart enough to
take on these robbing crooks with their tightfisted budgets.  This
would never happen in Hollywood."

"Then give the rest of us a break and go there," he snapped back at
her.

They were always in some sort of dispute, his mother and his agent;
they argued over everything.  They had daily disagreements about Teddy
not getting enough work, or not the right kind of work:

about the parts being too small, the billing too low, or the money too
miserly.  The money was the most frequent cause of combat.

Once, in a noisy quarrel, Florian had said that Belle should take over
the job of being her son's agent.  Nobody else could possibly come up
to her expectations.  No one else could be as tough, bitchy or
bloody-minded as her.

A train sped noisily past the open tram, startling Teddy out of his
reverie.  On the roadway a steady stream of cars queued at the toll
gates.  The toll was sixpence.  There were complaints that this was too
expensive, but the government said millions of pounds had been borrowed
from Britain for the construction and the interest had to be paid.
Teddy noticed that many of the cars looked like the Model "I Ford
George had borrowed that day to drive them home.  Remembering it made
him feel down in the dumps, for he sorely missed his dad.  George wrote
regular letters: in one of them, a few months ago, he told Teddy how
everyone had packed the local cinema to see Dispossessed, and how they
applauded when he first appeared on the screen, and clapped him again
at the end when his name was listed on the final credits.

A pretty sad sort of film, George had written, but the manager of the
Magnet Picture Palace had told him that business was good all the week;
most nights had been fairly crowded, and the Saturday matinee was a
full house.  Teddy could clearly imagine that matinee, with Herbie,
Ginger and Norm jeering and pretending they were being sick at all the
sentimental scenes.  In order to avoid thinking about the treachery of
these former friends, he gazed up at the great steel arch and thought
about what had happened on the bridge instead.

It had been opened in front of a huge crowd as the guide had predicted,
but it was not the opening he or anyone expected.  Just

a few moments before the ceremony, while the State Premier was
speaking, a man on horseback had ridden past him to slash the ribbon
with his sword.  His name was Francis de Groot, and he was arrested and
later appeared in the Magistrate's Court where he was fined five
pounds.  Some people claimed it was too much, and he should've been
given a medal; others declared he deserved jail for an outrageous
political stunt.  In court he had insisted on calling himself Captain
de Groot, because he had formerly been an officer in the army and was
now a member of the organisation known as the New Guard.

Teddy had seen it on the Cinesound newsreel at the State Theatre.

Some of the cinema audience had applauded while others booed as de
Groot was pulled off his horse.  Belle said loudly that it showed how
fascists like the New Guard had polarised the country.  Before Teddy
could ask her what polarised meant, a woman in front had turned around
and told her to shut up; that if she hadn't anything sensible to say,
then to keep her silly trap shut, or was she a communist, a dirty red,
trying to poison this young boy's mind with her stupid commo lies?
Belle, of course, had let fly back at her and soon everyone in the
nearby seats had started to yell at them both to shut up, and Teddy
felt relieved the place was dark so that nobody could see his
embarrassed face.

He had learnt a lot about the New Guard.  It was a frequent topic in
Kellett Street, where large town houses were now divided into tiny
rooms called flatettes.  Kellett Street was only a brief walk from the
centre of Kings Cross, which Belle loved as a neighbourhood to live in;
she said 'the Cross' was like a village, an exciting bohemian village
that felt as if it belonged to another part of the world, far removed
from the boring Australia of dull country towns or the monotony of the
suburbs.

Belle had made some new friends and renewed acquaintance with lots of
old ones: painters and actors, a few writers and a poet.  Most lived in
the district, and their room had become a popular meeting place.  The
door was never locked and people began dropping in, and when they could
afford it, came with a bottle of what was called plonk or four-penny
dark.  They talked and argued while drinking it, sitting on the floor
because there was no room for chairs, discussing theatre and how lousy
things were in the business, or else politics and their despair at the
way the country was going to the dogs, being ruined by idiots in
parliament.  Teddy often fell asleep while they talked late into the
night, for none of them ever seemed anxious to leave and go home.

It was during these evenings he heard their opinions about the New
Guard.  They were all vehemently opposed to it, declaring it a
clandestine organisation and the enemy of ordinary people.  Teddy had a
receptive memory: he later asked Belle what clandestine meant and was
told.  He heard how the Guard professed undying loyalty to the King and
the British Empire; how they held military training, for the protection
of that empire, they said; and saluted in the same way as the fascists
in Italy and the new Nazi party in Germany.  He learnt how members of
the Guard despised Jews and foreigners;

their policy was to keep out refugees fleeing from persecution in
Europe.  While America offered thousands of such people asylum,
Australia did its best to reject them.

"But where do they go?"  Teddy had asked, and was told most of the poor
buggers were shunted back where they'd come from.  He often thought
about this, and wondered if they hated these places as much as Belle
hated their own town of Gundagai.  He was now aware how much she did
hate it.  He was adept at picking it up from scraps of conversation
late at night often her friends spoke openly,

imagining they were talking in a code he couldn't comprehend; they
sighed and said it was just impossible, way out beyond the black stump.
They talked of her being stifled there, snared like a butterfly among
beetles, or said she was caged in an alien landscape, an outsider in a
redneck culture.  Not always sure of what the words meant, Teddy knew
what they presaged.  Recalling the fights at school, the scornful names
the kids had called her, the way their parents had always seemed to be
gossiping about her, he had long ago begun to realise it was unlikely
Belle would ever go back to live there.  At least not willingly.  But
what did that mean for him?  And what about George?  When would he ever
see his dad again?  These were questions nobody wanted to hear, let
alone answer.

"Daydreamer," Belle said, and he realised the tram had left the bridge
and was approaching their stop in North Sydney.  They got off and
walked past the church in Blues Point Road to the film studio.

"G'day, young Ted," the gatekeeper greeted him, and said to Belle it
was a real beaut day, wasn't it, a bottler of a day, and he wouldn't be
dead for quids.

The gatekeeper met them with this statement almost every morning, even
on days when it was cold and wet.  Belle agreed it was a fine lovely
day, then exchanged a wink and a quick smile at Teddy.  It was their
private joke that he'd probably say the same words if there was a flood
or an electric storm.  Hoping her smile was an omen, he reached out and
took her hand as they walked towards the sound stages, deciding to ask
the question.

"Mum..  ."

"What, darling?"

"When am I going to see Dad again?"

After a pause Belle said, "It depends."

"You always say that."  He felt disappointed, but this time was
determined to pursue it.

"Depends on what?"

"Well, he did come down to see us when he had his holidays."

"But he couldn't stay with us.  It wasn't like a real visit," Teddy
protested.

"He couldn't stay because we had that awful room in Crown Street then,
and the landlady wouldn't allow visitors.  At least we met him every
day."

"It was only for a week."

"Darling, he had to go back to his job."

"But you promised he might leave his job soon, and come to live with
us."

She stopped for a moment, and squatted alongside him.

"We hoped it was possible.  But jobs are hard to find, Teddy.  And,
after all, he already has a good one at home in Gundagai, as assistant
manager of the kitchenware department at Gable's Emporium."

"You used to say it was a lousy job."

"Did I?"  she asked, brow furrowed as if doubting this.

"You did, Mum, you know you did."

"I shouldn't have said that."  She brushed a tuft of his unruly hair
into place before they resumed walking.

"If I did, I must've been in a bad mood.  He can't possibly give up a
good position like that to take up menial work."

"What's menial work?"

"Well... on the roads, or driving a truck-' "I wouldn't mind if he did
that, not if we were all together again."

"But he'd mind," Belle said firmly, trying to put an end to this.

"Your dad's a proud man.  As a department executive he's what's called
a white-collar worker.  He wouldn't enjoy being a labourer.  And, on

top of that, there's the house in Gundagai to consider .. . that can't
be left empty."

"But I thought you said he was going to sell it?"

"I said he was going to try.  The local estate agent has it on his
books, but he's not very optimistic.  It's not easy to sell a place
like that."

"Why?  It's a nice house, Mum.  Dad and I like it, even if you don't."
He was impelled to boldness by her evasion.

"Teddy, dear, are you trying to pick a fight with me?  I was telling
you what the agent said.  He meant not many people have the money to
buy houses these days, the way things are.  And the banks are being
stingy about lending.  Try to understand, your dad can't just shut the
door and walk away, even if he'd like to.  He has to repay the
mortgage.  If he just shot through he might end up in jail."

They stopped outside a squat building that housed make-up and
wardrobe.

"Now, do you know your lines?"

"Yes, Mum," he said gloomily, taking out the pages of script he'd
folded in his pocket.

"Of course you do.  After all, just five lines and a few reaction
shots."  She stooped to adjust his shirt collar and smooth down his
hair again.

"Cheer up, darling.  I'm going to have a serious talk to Florian.  He
has to do better than this, or we'll find another agent."

"I don't care about an agent, or how many lines I've got," Teddy said
with sudden heat.

"Am I ever going to see my dad again?"

"What a question!"  Belle expressed her amazement with a gesture of her
hands and elevated eyebrows.

"What a very peculiar question."

"Am I?"  he demanded.

"Of course you are."

"Is he going to live with us the same as he used to?"

"Teddy, we haven't time to talk about it now."

"You always say that, Mum."

"But we haven't time, truly.  You're in the first scene, and one thing
Ted Carson never does is keep a film unit waiting.  It's the sign of a
true professional, and that's what you are."  She tried to hug him, but
he evaded her embrace.

"Listen to me, darling .. . please try to understand ... people
sometimes make plans that don't work out.

It's not their fault, it's not anyone's fault, it's just the way things
happen.  We'll talk about it another time soon."

"You always say that too," he told her, and hurried into the building
before she could reply.

The whole day stretched before her.  For the uninvolved, film sets are
tedious places, with their endless delays for lighting changes and the
many rehearsals before a director is prepared to shoot a scene.  Belle
believed actors were often wearied by this repetition, that
performances lost their edge with over-rehearsal and became automatic.
But she had learnt not to voice this opinion, or any opinion other than
to profess approval of the day's work.  Her change in attitude, which
most film crews found surprising, was entirely due to the advice
rendered by Florian MacArthur-Bailey.  Despite his maddening air of
superiority and their constant bickering, the agent had managed to
explain to her what could otherwise happen.

"My dear girl, if you continue to give advice to the cameraman about
where to put his lights or tell the director which angle to shoot and
what the dialogue really means you're going to be chucked off the set
and more than likely banned from all the studios."

"They can't do that," Belle had retorted, 'because every child actor
must be accompanied by his parent or a guardian."

"That's the law," Florian said, 'but there's a simple remedy."

"Really?  Since you're so full of yourself, Uriah, what's the
remedy?"

"Cast another child actor."

"They can't!  There's no one else with his ability."

"True," Florian had assented, 'but there's also no one else with his
mother, which is what people are starting to say.  So unless you get
smart and learn to shut up, you're going to lose him any chance of
future work."

"Don't talk garbage."

He had assured her it was not garbage.  Keep it up, he told her, and
she'd make Teddy unemployable.  She and her unstoppable mouth was about
to deal herself and, more importantly, her talented son a mortal
blow.

"I don't care if this upsets you, Belle, but since it also affects me
as his agent, you're going to listen for once.  The word I hear around
town is that producers will soon prefer kids who may have a bit less
talent, provided they don't have such a difficult and meddlesome
mum."

It had upset her deeply; she and Florian had another of their incessant
rows, but the change that so surprised people in the industry had
occurred from that day.  Belle was not a slow learner.  Since then she
kept away from the set and invariably brought a newspaper with the
crossword puzzle to help pass the time.  It was not easy to sit in an
empty dressing-room cut off from what was happening on the sound stage,
but she had begun to realise it was vital.  If Teddy could no longer
get work, it would be the end of this new life.  It could mean a
humiliating return to Gundagai, facing the knowing glances of the
people who disliked her as much as she despised them.  When Belle had
calmed down after Florian's warning, she recalled her conflicts with
Henry Hume and disputes with others since then, and had seen the danger
for herself.

But today she was restless, unable to concentrate on crosswords.

Teddy's questions had been disturbing.  She wrote him a note to say
she'd be back later, put it with his belongings in the dressing-room
shared by most of the cast, then left the studio and walked down to
Milson's Point and the park beneath the bridge.

She sat on a bench in the sunshine.  A nearby magpie studied her with
shiny combative eyes, then flew away, annoyed at his loss of territory.
An old man sat eating a sandwich, spilling crumbs as pigeons scavenged
around him.  A pair of lovers lay entwined on the grass, oblivious to
the disapproval of a stout lady walking her dog nearby.  The couple
were equally unaware of the dog, a friendly labrador, sniffing around
them until its wet nose intruded on their rising passion.  Belle smiled
as the dog eagerly licked their faces; for a moment the pair was
unaware of anything but each other, then realising there was a third
tongue involved in their fervour, they sprang apart and sat up.

"Fuck off, Fido," the young man said, while the girl laughed and hugged
the labrador.

"Disgraceful," the owner remarked as she paused beside Belle.

She clearly hoped for some agreement; not receiving this, she called
the labrador, who took no notice.  He was enjoying being fondled by the
girl.  Belle was amused to see him showing signs of an erection.  The
woman began to notice it too.

"Come here, Jasper," she called impatiently, twisting the lead in her
hands.

"Here at once, you bad boy!  Bad, bad boy."

"Bye-bye, Jasper," the girl said, kissing him on the nose, 'off you go,
back to Mummy."

The couple watched as the dog returned reluctantly to his mistress, who
immediately clipped the lead to his collar.  Then they resumed their
activity on the grass.  The girl, as though aware of an audience

now, opened her legs and wrapped them around the boy's body,
displaying the tops of her stockings and a suspender belt as well as a
glimpse of bare flesh and panties.

"How disgusting."  The labrador's owner eyed Belle again, as if daring
her to disagree about this scandalous exhibition of public lust.

Belle shrugged.

"They're young," she said.

"That's no excuse."  The woman wore a flowered hat that seemed more
suitable for church or a garden party.

"Both are quite old enough to know better."

"The young very rarely know better.  I'm sure I didn't.  Or weren't you
ever young and foolish?"

"Don't be impertinent," the other said.

"I've a mind to report their behaviour.  They should be arrested for
indecency.  This used to be a pleasant park where one could walk
without being offended."

"It used to be a park where one could sit in peace without being
bothered," Belle said, tiring of the intrusion.

"Call the police, go ahead.  Dob them in.  I'll warn those children to
be off before the weight of the law ruins their day."

"Come, Jasper, we've had more than enough."  Her face was flushed, her
lips thin with disapproval.  She tugged on the lead as if anxious to be
somewhere else, but her timing was astray as the labrador refused to
budge.  Instead he squatted to deliver a large pungent turd between
them.  This did nothing to help his owner's disposition.

"Phew," Belle said, rising from the bench to escape the odour, 'so much
for your pleasant park I'd hate to tread in that.  Someone will, some
dark night.  Jasper, old darling, you'd better be careful of the dog
catcher."

When they had gone, the dog most unwillingly, Belle moved across

to sit on the sandstone wall where she could look down at the tide
lapping against the rock wall.  The expression on that woman's face,
she thought, has restored my day.  I needed a laugh.  Now I've got to
decide what on earth to do about Teddy.

She had begun to realise how deeply he missed George, and for once she
did not know how to deal with it.

TWELVE

George Carson locked the kitchenware department, left his keys on the
desk of Mr.  Gable's secretary as usual, and began his fifteen minute
walk home to Brewinda Road.  He no longer hurried so he might share the
last of the daylight in the garden, playing cricket with Teddy, or
watching him ride his bike, pretending to be Australia's famous cyclist
Hubert Opperman, who had won a great race in France and become almost
as big a hero to his son as Don Bradman.

A son who was not really his, George thought sadly.  Belle had never
tried to deceive him about that: he often wished she had.

It would have been possible to believe a baby born a little under six
months after their marriage was premature and belonged to that
miraculous night the first time he had gone to bed with and made love
to Belle Baker.  He could easily have persuaded himself.

But she had been adamant he know the truth: pregnancy was the only
dowry she brought to their modest nuptials.  Dazzled by her,
disbelieving his good fortune, he'd agreed he need never know the
identity of the father, and promised he would bring the child up as
their own.  In return for this she had become his wife.

He still wondered if Teddy's father was that conceited show pony Dan
Hardacre.  Belle had denied it, insisted she'd swear to

it on a stack of Bibles, and while not the least religious and often
derogatory about wealthy land-owning churches, she had a strange
respect for the Bible.  Which was odd, but she had always been a mass
of contradictions.  So many diverse characters; for ten years he'd
woken unsure which one he'd be wed to that day.  Variety, people liked
to say, is the spice of life, but it had been the bane of his.  Yet he
felt utterly lost without the excitement, the erratic roller coaster
ride that had been his marriage.  And lost without the child who was
someone else's, the one he'd held in his arms and loved ever since he
was a few hours old.

The daylight was almost gone when George reached Brewinda Road.  In his
garden Mr.  Miranda was packing up his tools after mending the front
fence, and George could see Mrs.  Miranda at her sink in the lighted
kitchen as she prepared a meal.  He was no longer on close terms with
these kindly neighbours who had invited him so regularly for Sunday
lunch.  At first they were content to accept the tale he and Belle had
embroidered before her departure, the fiction of a brief but friendly
separation which was necessary for the sake of Teddy's future.  Mother
and son would soon be back, everyone was assured, but in the meantime
film producers were queuing up to employ him.  It was only sensible to
cash in on his lucky break and make good use of this transient fame.

Most people seemed to accept that.  But as weeks became months and then
a year, the invented excuse became so transparent he could no longer
bring himself to continue the deception.  Admitting the truth to Mr.
and Mrs.  Miranda one Sunday, he was swamped by their sympathy, to such
an extent that the regular lunches became an ordeal.  Suggestions were
constantly offered on how he might tempt Belle back, or even invoke the
letter of the law to force her back, but George said that was not his
style, not his style at all, and he'd prefer not to talk about it.
Just leave it be and talk of something else.  Truly, if they didn't
mind.

Mrs.  Miranda declared of course she didn't mind, not if that was
George's wish.  She wouldn't utter another single word on the matter
but really, it was a crying shame, and what kind of a wife was she to
leave a nice home the way she did, to walk out on a decent man, a good
husband and a fine father, and go off with that poor child, taking him
to live in a slum room like a gypsy?

George realised the subject would never be allowed to lapse; as a
result he began to refuse their invitations, and soon they stopped
asking him.

He paused at his own gate, where it was not yet dark enough to hide the
wreckage of the garden.  Weeds had proliferated, they ran unchecked
across the once-neat lawn, now unsightly with bindi and paspalum.  Most
of the vegetables in the patch he had lovingly cared for had been eaten
by slugs; what remained had gone to seed.

He kept promising himself he must do something: clear it up, have a
burn-off, start again.  The question that kept preventing him was why?
Why bother?

He heard the sound of shouting from the Lucas house next door and
shrugged.  Nothing ever changed around here, he thought, at least not
on Fridays.  Every Friday afternoon Harry Lucas spent half his wages in
the pub near the council chambers where he worked, and afterwards
staggered home to pick a row with Essie.

Sometimes she would appear the next morning with bruises on her face,
always proclaiming she'd had an accident with a door.  Once, two years
ago, when Percy Bates had been called to intercede after a particularly
violent night, Essie had vehemently denied that her husband battered
her.

"Of course he does," Belle had declared after the couple went back
inside their house.

"You don't get black eyes and those kinds of bruises from bumping into
the dun ny door."

Perce had insisted nothing could be done about it unless Harry's missus
made a proper complaint.  That sort of trouble between a husband and
wife was best left to the parties themselves to sort out, he'd stated,
which was when Belle had shaken her head and said there was none so
blind as a copper who couldn't be bothered to see what was going on
under his nose, and their neighbour was a nasty and dangerous
neanderthal allowed to bash his wife while Percy did nothing.  His
attitude was the typical parochial view of a bloody backwoods
walloper.

George remembered it vividly.  It had caused a frosty few days with his
mate Perce, but he'd risk that and a lot more to have Belle and Teddy
back here waiting for him.  Instead, he'd accepted her plea that she
could no longer live here, and the anger between them had cooled into a
tacit acceptance.  A defeat for him, he knew, but trying to restrain
her would not have been a victory.  So they had remained civil, and
played the roles Belle devised for them.

As a result the house was now empty, devoid of life, George felt, and
lacking warmth and laughter it was merely a dump like she'd always
said.  It was dark and smelt from being locked up all day, and
sometimes he hated coming home to it.

The gate squeaked, and as he pushed it shut the small dog across the
road began its habitual high-pitched bark.

"That fucking dog!"  he yelled in a moment of futile rage at the
predictability of it all.

"Does it always have to yap like that?  Can't it just for fucking once,
for one time in its fucking life, fucking shut up?"

Miss Limmington, who was in her late seventies and always refused to
admit she was deaf, opened her front window and stared out at him.

"What did you say, George?"

He began to spread his arms in what he intended as a conciliatory
gesture of apology, then realised she had not heard a word.  He walked
across the street.

"I said he's a good watchdog, Miss Limmington."

"Just as well he is," she said, 'because I was waiting for you to come
home.  That new young postie put this in my box by mistake."

She leant out her front window and handed him a letter, with an air of
shared excitement.

"I couldn't help recognising the handwriting, George.  It's from
her."

He noticed the envelope was not sealed as securely as it should be. 
She was watching carefully, her faded violet eyes intent on him as he
held the letter, and he remembered she was an incorrigible sticky beak
Miss Limmington spent a great deal of her time viewing the activities
of the street from her front window; to be left alone all day with
this, knowing who had sent it, he was almost tempted to ask her what
Belle had written.

Instead he took the letter home, eager to find out.

The alarm clock beside the bed ticked like a metronome, the hands said
it was almost three-thirty.  The neighbourhood was dark, Miss
Limmington's dog and drunken Harry Lucas asleep and oblivious to the
distant lilt of reed warblers down by the creek, a sound as liquid and
melodic as the song of a nightingale.  It was interrupted as the
municipal garbage truck rumbled past on its weekly collection, and a
disturbed rooster, seeing the bright headlights, decided it was dawn.

George heard every sound.  He looked at the clock once more; it was a
full ten minutes since he had last checked the time.  Finally

acknowledging that sleep was impossible, he switched on the bedroom
light, wrapped himself in his dressing-gown and went to the kitchen to
warm some milk.  Then he sat down to read the letter again.

Dear George, I'm writing this late at night with Teddy fast asleep, as
I don't want him to read it and expect too much.  He's been very busy
doing lots of work, quite often small parts, but it all helps to make
him known.  It's part of a process that I know you find hard to
understand, but I believe it will lead to great things, and on this you
must try to trust me.

But here's the real reason for this letter.  He works so hard and he's
such a darling that I'd love to give him a special treat, a real
surprise.  He does miss you, and it would be wonderful if we could plan
this together.  The best possible treat would he you turning up out of
the blue, so to speak, coming here to visit and spending a week or two
with us.  I don't mean like the last time, when you had to stay in a
boarding house and we could only meet to have meals and go on train
trips or walk around the Botanical Gardens.  I know you hated that, and
so did I. I hope this time will be different as we no longer live in
that frightful room with the bossy landlady's restrictions.

Now, I can just imagine you frowning, asking yourself the usual
questions, like how can we afford this, and what possible excuse can
you offer Henry Gable to be absent from work, and all sorts of
George-like worries that I have no doubt are already occurring to you.
I suggest you simply tell misery-guts Gable the truth.  Tell him your
son is doing well in his career, but he's missing you and we both feel
he needs a spell of family life.  Tell him you'll take

unpaid leave.  I'll arrange for Florian to buy your train ticket.

You remember Florian, the one I call Uriah Heep.  He looks after
everything, even invests Teddy's earnings for us, and to my surprise he
seems good at it.  So don't worry about money.  Obviously you will stay
with us in the flat at Kings Cross and will be welcome, I assure you.
Please try to arrange it, and write as soon as you can to tell me when
to expect you.

With love, Belle

They were late reaching Central Station.  Their tram had been delayed
by the holiday traffic, and they hurried through the colonnades to the
platforms where the country trains arrived.  The concourse was packed
with visitors descending on the city for the Royal Easter Show.

Belle had not yet told Teddy who they were meeting, inventing a friend
from her past, for she was still uncertain if George would actually
arrive.  The weeks of delay and their exchange of letters had clearly
revealed his timidity at the prospect of confronting Henry Gable with a
demand for unpaid leave.

You say it should be easy, but you should remember that he's not an
easy man and these are not easy times, George had written.  He takes
advantage of the way things are and he's just as likely to refuse me.
He fancies himself as the leading citizen here, which I suppose he is,
and if you fall out with Gable the chances of any other decent jobs
around here are nil.

I know what he fancies himself as, Belle felt tempted to reply,
remembering the rich town councillor and emporium-owner whose
speculative eyes had so often undressed her, and who, at a gathering

to welcome a touring theatrical troupe, had made a thinly veiled
proposition that her husband's employment prospects might very well
benefit if she cared to be more friendly.  Perhaps a promotion, or a
slight increase in salary, although she must be sure not to
misunderstand what he was suggesting; he was merely expressing the hope
they might meet on less crowded occasions, so they could get to know
each other better.

For the sake of George's job she had withheld the scathing retort this
inept overture deserved.  But from that day on she made certain she was
never alone with Gable if they happened to attend the same function.

Surely, she wrote to George in response, he must know how loyal you've
been all these years working five-and-a-half-days each week, eight till
five.  A bit of unpaid leave is not unreasonable, and you should
request it in this spirit.  Be confident.  Remember, you're not asking
for any special favour just for fair treatment which is not going to
cost him a penny.

I can't believe you're so afraid of this man, she wanted to add, but
decided not to, as his prevarication proved otherwise.  Besides,
detachment had made her more understanding of George's situation;

to him the job was a guarantee of safety in precarious times.  There
was no real assistance for the unemployed, no welfare and precious
little sympathy either.  And with a mortgage on the house, and the
house itself now worth less than when they bought it, such insecurity
created a fear that was easily exploited by men like Henry Gable.

During the month of March letters passed between them without anything
being resolved.  Just when it seemed as if the proposal had become
bogged down and there would be no convergence until George's annual
holidays next summer, he had written to suggest the approaching Easter
week.  His letter said little about Gable's

reaction; it simply relayed the news he would catch the Southern
Express hardly an express at all, more like a milk train which left
Gundagai after midnight on Thursday, and should arrive around eight on
the morning of Good Friday.  Belle had dashed off a letter containing a
postal order to pay for the ticket after a hurried visit to Florian
MacArthur-Bailey's office in Lower George Street.

"Reconciled, are we?"  Florian had been his usual intrusive self.

"Actually, Uriah, I don't think it's any of your bloody business."

"I think it's very much my business if the young client might do a
vanishing act.  I need to know if your expectations include a return to
the nuptial nest beyond the black stump."

"They certainly do not," Belle told him firmly, 'so get cracking and
find him some real work for a change.  No more lousy walk-ons.

A decent role that'll get him back in the public eye again and higher
on the billing.  But no work during the Easter week."

"In which time your ex will be among us, I take it?"

"He's not my ex.  We just happen to live at slightly different
addresses."

"Oh, that's good," Florian smirked.

"I like that.  I must remember it."

"Do me a favour and remember something else.  If you should happen to
meet George while he's here, try to remember that he's Teddy's
father."

"Come, come, duckie.  Don't be ridiculous.  You were well and truly in
the pudding club when you met him.  We all know it isn't

"Teddy doesn't," Belle replied fiercely, 'and he's not going to.  As
far as he's concerned, George will always be his dad."

"What about the real genitor?  The actual pater?"

"Cut it out.  Besides, you haven't the remotest idea who that is."

"Oh, yes, I do," Florian replied.

"With my propensity for gossip, who

would find out quicker?  I've known his name for years.  Rest easy,
petal, it's the best-kept secret of my life probably the only one."

Belle had gazed at him stunned, uncertain how to deal with the
revelation.

"Do any others know?"  she asked eventually.

"I doubt it.  Certainly not from me," he promised.

She had left the office soon afterwards, believing him because she so
badly wanted to.  Had to, she realised.  But it came as a shock,
Florian knowing.  Only one other person had ever been entrusted with
that knowledge, and Nuncie, a close friend she had lost touch with,
would never have confided it to a man, let alone the garrulous and
unreliable Florian.

The station clock showed they were fifteen minutes late as she and
Teddy crossed the crowded terminus.

"Excuse me."  Belle tried to steer her way through a cluster of
arrivals, a group of country women just off a train, one of whom gave a
gasp and pointed directly at Teddy.

"Look, it's him!  It's the boy who was in that film.  I'll swear it
is."

That was the moment when Belle saw George in the distance, waiting
beside the barrier gate where the Southern Express had disgorged its
passengers.  He was scanning the crowds in search of them, looking
anxious and out of place.

"It is, isn't it?"  the woman insisted, and without waiting for a reply
she knelt down to Teddy's level.

"You were blond in it, weren't you?"

"Peroxide," Teddy replied.

"Peroxide?  But you have such nice brown hair."

"They wanted it blond.  Mum did it for me."

"Goodness!  Did you hear, girls?"  she said to the others.

"It is him, the little darling.  We loved that film.  I saw it twice.
Madeleine saw it three times.  Didn't you, Madeleine?"

"Yes, three times.  Lovely picture.  You were sweet in it," the woman
called Madeleine said to Teddy, as they gathered around him like a
trophy they'd cleverly acquired during their first moments in the
city.

"Excuse me, ladies," Belle tried to rescue him, 'but we're running
late-' "You'd be his mother," another of the group decided.

"We have to meet someone," she started to tell them, but nobody
listened.  They were much too intrigued with Teddy.  One took a box
brownie from her handbag and asked him to say "Cheese' as she took his
picture.

"You must be very proud," one of them said to Belle.

"Very proud," several of the others echoed.

"Of course I am," Belle replied hastily, 'but if you don't mind, we are
late-' "Why "of course" ?"  The one on her knees turned waspish.

"AH we want to do is congratulate your son.  He's a talented boy, and
you're a lucky woman.  You don't seem to realise that."

At a less ill-timed moment, Belle might have been flattered.

"I

realise it," she replied brusquely, 'but his father has just arrived
from the country to see us, and he's over there wondering where on
earth we are."

"Is he?"  Teddy's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Where, Mum?"

Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's an Easter treat, darling.  So say thank you to these ladies,
because we have to go and meet him.  Look, he's seen us-' "Whacko!"
Teddy shouted, abandoning his admirers without another word as he waved
frantically and raced across the terminus to hug George.  Belle, who
felt no obligation to apologise for this behaviour, ran after him.

"Amazing," one of the women declared, watching them.

"What on earth did audiences see in that pallid child?  Off the screen
he looks quite ordinary."

"She peroxided his hair, did you hear him say that?"  The woman who had
first recognised Teddy felt aggrieved at their abrupt discard.

"The kid will be bald by the time he's thirty."

Madeleine agreed.

"I'd say the father doesn't live with them.  Just arrived to see them,
she said.  Sounds like the dad got left behind by Her Ladyship."

"Forget them," another member of the group who had been quiet until now
said.

"We're staying at the CWA tonight, and off to the show tomorrow.  All
those big boys with big muscles chopping wood, it never fails to get me
a bit fruity."

"You're awful, Deanna," Madeleine said.

"Isn't she awful?"

They all agreed she was awful.

"It's very nice," George said, thinking it was hideous and quite tiny,
really poky and dark just one room with what looked like a double bed,
a gas ring and a sink, and beyond this a cubicle barely able to contain
a small bed with Teddy's pyjamas folded on the pillow.  The only real
window looked out onto an adjacent brick wall, the buildings so close
together that no natural light could penetrate, which was why Belle had
switched on the unshaded globe that hung like a flytrap from the
ceiling.

"This is my place in here."  Teddy was intent on a guided tour as he
pulled aside a frayed curtain that screened the cubicle.  There was a
louvred casement in there, but the same brick wall and years of what
looked like bird droppings on the glass prevented the entry of
discernible daylight.

"And here's where you and Mum sleep."  He bounced up and down on the
main bed, which was not a double, George now realised hardly a
three-quarter and with only the curtain between beds, there would be
little chance of anything happening here.  Least of all the sort of
happening he'd visualised in wakeful moments of last night, while
fantasising to the rhythm of the train.

"Very nice," he said again, and glimpsed Belle's fleeting reaction, a
rueful smile that seemed to read his mind and recognise his
disappointment.

"It's small," she said, 'but inexpensive.  Fits the budget."

"That's good," George nodded, hardly able to take his eyes off her.

"The Cross is mainly like this.  Rabbit warrens.  The landlords don't
like to give us too much space.  After all, we might spread our wings
and fly away."

He was unsure how to reply to that.

"I'll make some coffee," Belle suggested.

"Or would you rather tea?  I expect you would."

Tea was what he liked best, he agreed.

She switched on a jug and took his suitcase, unpacking the clothes he
had brought and putting them on a shelf, then storing the suitcase :

beneath the bed.

"One good thing about a pigeonhole like this, you have to be tidy.  I
Not possible to be anything else."

He nodded.  She looks somehow different, he thought.  Like a stranger,
a rather exciting stranger.  He had felt it at the station, his first
glimpse of them both with Teddy running towards him, Belle running
behind.  Waving and animated, like a young girl, had been his first
impression.  Young and .. .

"Did you hear me, Dad?"

"What?  Oh, sorry, Ted.  What did you say?"

"Were you dreaming?  Daydreaming like Mum says I do?"

"No, just..  . just looking out the window."

"You can't see out the window."

"That's right, that's what I was thinking.  You can't.  What a pity
they built these places so close together.  So go on with what were you
telling me, old son."

"About our friends."

"Oh yes .. . friends .. . ?"

"How they often drop in, and Mum cooks spaghetti.  They all bring a
bottle of four-penny dark, only some people call it plonk, and
everybody argues about the government making a mess of the country, and
the fascists in the New Guard."

"Goodness.  And do you take part in these arguments?"

"No, I mostly listen till I go to sleep.  But I know the Guard are a
bunch of right-wing dingoes.  Aren't they, Mum?"

"Dingoes and drongos," she replied.

"Reactionaries, the lot of them.  They think Mussolini's all right
because he makes the trains run on time.  And they like Hitler because
he hates the Jews."

"Some people at home reckon Hitler's not as bad as they make out."

"People like who?  Percy Bates?"

"Perce .. . and a few others."

"I can imagine."  She clattered cups.  He wished he hadn't spoken.

"You ought to meet our friends, Dad.  Some of them are painters.

And actors.  One's a poet.  You'd like them."

"I'm sure I would," George said, doubting this.

"You should see this place when everyone drops in.  Sometimes, golly,
we have ten or twelve people in here."

"Do you really?  Where do they all fit?"

"On the floor," Teddy told him.

"Or the bed.  Delia and Frederick are lovers, so they like to lie on
the bed."

"Oh."  If his wife seemed much younger, his inherited son seemed to
have grown older than his age.  While Teddy kept talking George
responded, but his mind was drifting.  He was acutely aware Belle was
wearing a simple cotton dress.  Deep blue, matches her eyes, he
thought.  A cotton dress and not much else.  As she moved he could see
the outline of her buttocks, the motion of her firm breasts.

Knowing exactly how she looked naked, he felt surprised at how strongly
her fully clothed body heightened his desire.

"There," she said.

"Milk, no sugar."

"Remembered that."  He was oddly pleased.

"Of course.  Why wouldn't I?"

Of course she'd remember, he told himself.  Ten years of making his
tea.  How many cups of tea do you make in ten years?  He wished he
didn't feel as if they were meeting for the first time, with all the
nervousness it entailed.

The room contained only one chair.  He carried his cup and saucer to
the bed and sat there.  Belle took the chair, indicating her awareness
of his gesture with a faint nod of acknowledgement and a smile.  He
felt an anxiety verging on shyness and tried to think of what to say.

Nothing about the town, or people back home.  Nor her new friends, whom
he didn't know or want to.  Somehow in the rush of meeting, :

they'd exhausted small talk, avoided awkward subjects and now, feeling
the gulf of the past year between them, he was tongue-tied.

It had not been at all like this in any of his conjecturing, ever since
Belle's letter had been handed to him by old Miss Limmington.  In
imagined dreams of this day he had been thoroughly at his ease, lively
and talkative, impressing her, arranging to take Teddy out for treats
later.  Teddy had been the perfect child, understanding the situation,
running off to play with his friends, while he had returned to Belle,
who was waiting so eagerly for him, undressing her and then himself,
feeling the rapid beat of her heart and the heat of her body as he
entered her .. .

"How's the tea?"

"Oh ... good.  You always made a good cup pa

In the afternoon they went for a walk to show George their local
neighbourhood, the Cross.  Or the dirty half-mile, as the newspapers
called it, because of its racy reputation.  Actors and artists abounded
here, as did many recent arrivals from Europe; they liked its freedom,
the laissez faire of a bohemian atmosphere that was almost unknown in
rigid suburbia.  Apart from its inhabitants, Kings Cross drew a
constant stream of visitors, among them the prurient who came to view
the vice and see for themselves if the district was as decadent as
reported.

The centre of the Cross was only minutes away from the squalor of
Kellett Street, a garish new world to George.  He could not believe the
babble of so many different foreign languages, or the waft of strong
and rather peculiar smells from small shops that were called
delicatessens.  Garlic, Belle told him, when he asked what the stink
was.  The other pungent aromas were Port-salut or camembert;

these were her favourite French cheeses, she told him, which she loved
but could not afford.  He was glad he preferred good old plain cheddar,
which didn't pong like this froggy muck.  But he refrained from saying
so.

In Darlinghurst Road, electric trolley buses attached to overhead
cables slid silently by.  He found himself astonished, for this was
Good Friday and at home nothing would be open, whereas here hardly
anything was shut.  Flower sellers were doing a thriving business; at
the street kiosks queues of people were buying cigarettes

and glossy magazines; all the coffee shops were crowded and across the
street a Salvation Army band was playing "Onward Christian Soldiers' in
front of the Picture Palace, where posters advertised a torrid romance
with Norma Shearer and Frederic March.

He became aware of some women who stood loitering in the shadowed
doorways.  Since he was curious enough to stare at them, he received a
variety of invitations: a raised eyebrow, a gesture of the head, a
beckoning finger, deep and meaningful sultry gazes, and even despite
the presence of Belle and Teddy a shapely lips ticked mouth pursed in a
kiss of sexual promise.  By then he realised this was not city
friendliness but ladies of the night trawling for daytime custom.  He
was shocked it could happen so blatantly, with no one in the least
concerned.  He thought it was hardly an atmosphere in which to bring up
a child, but debated whether to voice this.  Belle clearly liked the
place; she seemed to know lots of people, and they seemed to know and
like her.  George felt totally out of his depth, and the hopes he had
arrived with for some kind of permanent accord began to dissipate.

At the corner of Orwell Street was an accordionist balanced on
crutches, an ex-service badge in the lapel of his ragged coat and an
empty trouser leg tied above his right knee.  He saw them approaching
and switched from a mournful rendition of "The Rose of Tralee' to a
stylish and rhythmic Latin number from the new musical Flying Down to
Rio.  Teddy smiled as he heard the first chords, his feet began to tap
and he hurried to join the busker.  By the time they reached the pair
George realised that people were actually pausing to watch Teddy
perform.

"That's my young Fred," the accordionist encouraged him.

"Now, let it rip, Master Astaire, show us peasants how to dance." 
Teddy followed him as he swung into the fast beat of "The

Carioca', the main dance routine of the hit show.  More people
gathered to watch, those who had seen the film recognising the Astaire
style and the skilful impersonation.  They started to applaud is the
tempo increased, and even some of the traffic slowed to watch he
impromptu street theatre.

"Belle, don't you think--' George started to say, feeling acute
embarrassment at how they were the centre of attention, but before he
could suggest they move on she thrust her handbag at him, and began to
dance herself.

"Well, look at her now, the darling girl," the accordionist called out,
his voice resonant like an actor's and easily heard over the music.

"If it isn't our Ginger, come to dance with our Fred."

The crowd had grown.  They formed a ring and started to beat their
hands in time to the steps and the music while Belle sang the words and
danced with Teddy as though they were in a ballroom.

Astaire and Rogers stepping out in the middle of the road, where the
cars had now come to a halt.  Horns were tooting in chorus, a token of
approval, not frustration, as the two voices blended in melody until
the concluding lines:

The Carioca, Carioca, Rio's dance of love.

Finally, and mercifully for the discomforted George left clutching her
handbag, it was over.  The crowd applauded; some threw pennies and even
a few silver coins into the street musician's hat.  They smiled their
approval at Teddy and Belle for the unexpected entertainment, and
gradually moved away.  The traffic resumed.

"Great, Mum," Teddy said, hugging her.

"She's too young and good-looking to be a mum," the accordionist

declared.

"Ginger Rogers come to the Cross, that's who she is.

A vision from off the silver screen."

"Flatterer," Belle said, flushed and pleased.

"Dominic, this is my dad," Teddy introduced them.

"Dad, this is Dominic' The musician surveyed him for a moment, then
nodded a brief greeting.

"He's a good kid," he said, 'a natural.  He'll be a name some day."

"Why do you think that?"  George asked him.

"He stopped the traffic," Dominic replied.

"Ain't that good enough for you?  Never stopped the traffic before,
have you kiddo?"

"Never," Teddy said.

"Besides, it's a matter of instinct.  I might only have one leg, but
I've got instinct."  Dominic smiled and turned to Belle.

"Thanks, darl.

We made at least ten bob.  Half of it's yours."

"Get off," Belle said.

"You keep it.  We're all right this week."

"Suits me."  He put down the accordion.

"So this is George from beyond the black stump?"

"Yes," Belle replied.

"But he doesn't like that expression.  Nobody in the country does."

"They get their own back by calling us a mob of city slickers," Dominic
said.

"How long you staying, George?"

"I don't know," George said, feeling embarrassed by the whole incident,
his wife and Teddy dancing publicly in the street and apparently
sharing money with the busker.  Although he knew full well how long
he'd be staying, he had no wish to discuss it with Dominic.

He had not yet managed to explain to Belle he had to be back at work in
less than three days from now, when the Easter weekend was over.

If not, there'd be no job waiting when he returned.

THIRTEEN

The night was hot, the room airless and the less-than-three-quarter
size bed made for single comfort, not for two bodies doing their utmost
to avoid each other.  It was much too cramped, and despite his best
efforts he kept encountering the bare flesh of her arms and legs, and
wondered if she could feel his growing erection.  He tried to edge
carefully away from contact with her body so it would not be so
apparent, but felt it might be too late.

Teddy was asleep, only a few feet away, behind the curtain.  Belle was
breathing softly, giving an impression of sleep, but doubtless feeling
equally uncomfortable.  George realised her nightdress had ridden up as
his hand encountered bare buttocks and lingered there.

He heard her hold a breath in reaction to this, then began to run his
fingers provocatively across the curves of her bottom.  After a moment
she turned to face him, and he gently stroked her breasts.

"We can't," she whispered.

"Please?"  he murmured in her ear.

He could feel the shake of her head in the dark, but ignored it.  He
pulled her close, and had an erotic memory of the woman with the
bright-red lips who had been standing in the doorway of a private
hotel: the way she had pouted them at him in a kiss full of lewd
suggestion.  He kissed Belle and felt her responding.  Her hand crept

beneath his pyjamas and held his erection, but while gently caressing
it she whispered words that seemed to be saying it was impossible.

"Please, Belle."

"Not now."

"When?"

"He's too close .. ."

"He's asleep."

"Can't tell."

"I'm sure he's asleep."

"We can't be certain."

"Belle, I'm randy ..."

"I know."

"Randy as hell."

"I do know.  It's not your pyjama cord I'm holding."  He heard a
muffled giggle from her.

"That cock's been so bloody lonely."

"Poor old cock."  She gave it a gentle squeeze.  He took it as an
invitation.

"Belle, darling.  I'm dying for it.  Sex-starved."

The too," she whispered.  The too."

"I think about you about doing it with you all the time.  All kinds of
different ways.  Half the time at work all I think about is us doing
it."

"Stop it, George."

"Why?"

"You're getting me excited."

"Well, then?"

"Not when he's so close.  We couldn't relax."

"I don't want to relax."

"I have to," Belle said.

"We'll be quiet."

"We can't be that quiet."

"Let's try."

"No."

"It's impossible to be in bed like this with you .. . and not want
to--' "I know.  You're not the only one who's been sleeping alone."

"Then let's stop talking and do it."  George's voice thickened, and he
tried to remember he should whisper.

"I need you.  I wanted to see Teddy, but most of all I wanted to make
love to you.  When I read your letter, that's what I thought about.
I've been thinking about it ever since.  About fucking you.  Nothing
else but that.  Every day since.  At work, at home, in the train on the
way here last night.

Fucking you.  Belle-' There was a murmur and a movement from close
beside them.

"Now you've done it," Belle hissed fiercely.

"You've woken him up."

"Oh shit," George hardly bothered to whisper as Teddy got out of bed.
Making his way through the darkened room to the door, he opened it and
went out into the dimly lit hallway to the communal lavatory.

"You see what would've happened?"

"I'm sorry, Belle.  But I can't be wedged up against you like this and
just go to sleep.  Not after so long.  It would've been better to stay
somewhere else, in a boarding house.  I think I'll go crazy."

"We'll find other times."

"When?"

"I don't know.  When it's safe."

"He might go straight back to sleep," George said with desperate
optimism.

"We can't risk it.  Put your best friend back in your pyjamas."

"Oh God .. ."

"I promise I'll work something out."

"How?"

"I don't know, but I will."

"But when?"  he tried to whisper insistently, as he heard the chain
flush and knew Teddy was coming back.

"Soon."

Soon, he wanted to tell her, wasn't good enough.  Soon he had to go
home to Brewinda Road and his job at Gable's.  There could only be
these few Easter nights, for he had asked Henry Gable for unpaid leave
beyond the Easter break and Gable had told him to go to buggery.  Had
frightened the life out of him.  Told him if it was so important,
taking time off to try mending his hopeless marriage, then there were
twenty other people eager and able to fill his job.

And when George had attempted to say it was crucial, really imperative,
Gable had become abusive and said the only one who decided what was
imperative was the man who owned the store.

No bloody employee on wages was going to hold him to ransom.

And if George was thick enough to run after his tarty and ridiculous
wife, who couldn't wait to dump him and get out of this town according
to all the rumours (and who probably was shacked up with someone else
by this time, almost certainly saddled and ridden by some city
slicker), if he was going to be that dimwitted, then he couldn't count
on holding his job for much longer.

"Soon," Belle whispered the promise to him again, as they heard Teddy
make his way back to his bed in the dark.  He stopped close by them.

"Did you say something, Mum?"  he whispered.

"What's the matter, Teddy?"  she muttered drowsily, as if he had woken
her.

"Sorry, I thought you were awake."

"Go to sleep," she said, and turned in the bed as though resuming her
own sleep.  Her mostly naked back was wedged against George.

His erection, which had so rapidly subsided with impending defeat, now
began to betray him and grow again in response to the heat of her
body.

Belle shifted a few inches away from him, which was as much of a
retreat as the bed would allow, and gradually her breathing became soft
and regular.  Long after she was asleep and Teddy too George lay awake
in discomfort, his genitals aching, suffering from what in his school
days had been the subject of comedy and widely ridiculed as 'lover's
balls'.  Sometime in the hours between this pain and the blessed
oblivion of sleep he heard again the venom of Henry Gable's threat,
with his acidic and contemptuous dismissal of Belle.

It had been unfair and quite extreme, and the memory of it even now
made him feel uneasy.  Because he knew he should've stood up to Gable,
should've said his comments were offensive and untrue.

But nobody spoke back to the owner of the store, not when jobs were so
hard to find.  Least of all, George had to concede, people like
himself.

It was Easter Saturday, and Belle went downstairs to the corner shop
because the petite French woman who owned it had saved her some
leftover hot cross buns.  When she came back, it appeared that more
than buns had been acquired; some hurried arrangements had been made.
George was sitting in the chair finishing a cup of tea.

Belle gave the semblance of a nod, and his eyes lit up.

"Chrissie wants to take you to the pictures," she said to Teddy.

Chrissie, she explained to George, was Christine La Rue the shop
owner's daughter.  She was seventeen, studying shorthand and typing,
and despite the difference in their ages she and Teddy were good
friends.

"Sometimes, when the film is suitable, she takes Teddy and they get in
for free, because her boyfriend is the projectionist.  So, the matinee
this afternoon what do you say, darling?"  she asked her son.

"But Dad's here.  Can't he come too?"

"I don't think it's his sort of film," Belle said swiftly.

"Bulldog Drummond, Dad.  It's beaut, honest."

"He means beautiful, don't you, darling."  Belle ruffled his hair
affectionately.

"All right, it's extra grouse.  Drummond's a famous English agent.

He fights spies and crooks and protects people."

"Sounds pretty exciting, Ted .. ."  George agreed, but tried not to
show too much enthusiasm.

"It is, you'll like it.  Ronald Coleman's in it.  He's a really famous
actor.  And there's a kids' serial, too.  A real ripper serial, and we
all cheer the villain and hiss the hero."

"I'm sure it's good fun, but I'm not a great one for picture shows."

He could see Belle's oblique glance, her eyes focused on him.,
"Besides, I'd rather take you to the Easter Show, or on the Manly
ferry.  Or both, if we have time."

"You beaut!  The Easter Show!  Honest, Dad?"

"Honest."

"But can we afford it?"  Teddy asked, and George felt a moment of
dismay that he should ask such a question.  He patted Teddy on the ?

shoulder reassuringly.

"This is a special treat.  We can always afford special treats," he
promised.

"When will we go?"

"How does tomorrow sound?  Easter Sunday?"

"Beaut!"

"So run downstairs and tell Christine," Belle suggested, 'that you'll
be at the shop at two o'clock.  Ready to escort her."

"Righto," he said, but at the door he stopped and frowned.

"But that means I'll be gone all afternoon.  What'll you two do?"

"Oh, we'll think of something," Belle assured him.

"Of course we will," George said.

"And, before we know it, it'll be teatime.  You'll be back in time for
tea."

"Mum calls it dinner."

"Well, there you are.  You'll be back in time for dinner."

"Whacko!"  Teddy said.

"Bulldog Drummond today, Easter Show tomorrow and Manly on Monday.  A
beaut weekend.  It's so beaut it's almost beautiful," he said with a
cheeky grin at Belle, and heard their laughter as he ran down the
stairs.

They lay in the tousled bed.  George felt numb with disappointment and
close to angry tears that threatened to disgrace him.

"I'm sorry," he said, over and over.

"I was too tense ... it all felt wrong.  And it was worse, you
pretending."

"Then it was my fault?"

"God, no."

"I was trying to help .. ."

"I know."

"Never mind."

"But I do," he said.

"I mind terribly.  It was the waiting... it would've been all right
last night."

"We couldn't then.  You know that."

"I'm only saying it felt natural then.  We wanted each other, and that
was the right moment."

"You mean while my son listened?  Or else he could've put on the light
and watched?"

"Stop it, Belle.  You know what I'm trying to say.  The waiting, all
morning, trying to act normal, watching the time till it was two
o'clock .. . Even then, getting undressed, still worrying he might
forget something and come back.  It wasn't natural.  It was a sort of
performance ... and I couldn't perform."

They lay in mutual dismay.  There were at least two more hours to spend
together, before Teddy returned from the cinema.

"Might as well get dressed," Belle said, pushing the sheet aside as she
rose and reached for her underclothes.

He watched her take her pants and put them on.  Frilly scan ties they
were called; the only pair she owned, sexy lacy underwear kept for
special times.  He felt a strange moment of heartbreak as he saw this.
She had worn them to kindle a flame, but instead ... He shied away from
the memory.  In all their volatile years, no day, no act, had been as
distressing as this.

"I'm sorry," he said yet again, and she had no answer except a shrug.
What was there to say?

She put on the same blue dress, found her hairbrush and a mirror.

"I haven't been able to tell you," George said, 'but I have to go back
on the Monday afternoon train.  To be at work on Tuesday morning."

Belle nodded, brushing her hair and looking into the hand-held
mirror.

"I did wonder," she said.

"You didn't mention how long, and I noticed you said to Teddy "the
Easter Show or the Manly ferry.

Both if we have time"."

"I tried -I asked him for two weeks' unpaid leave.  In the end I
thought that three days were better than nothing."

"Perhaps nothing might've been better," she said gently.

"Not for me.  Despite the way things have turned out."

She thought about this, but avoided a direct answer.

"Teddy will be sorry you're not staying longer."

"I'll try to make the most of what's left.  I've been saving money, to
give him a good time at the Easter Show."

"That's nice."  She put away the mirror and smiled.  Her smile had
always entranced him.  Even at the worst times, like now, it made him
feel as if a shaft of sunlight had found its way into the drab little
room.

"Did Gable just turn down the idea of unpaid leave?"

"A bit more than that.  He threatened that if I insisted, there
wouldn't be a job when I came back."

"He's a bully.  A rich bastard and not much of a gentleman, Henry
Gable."

"No, he's certainly not a gent," George agreed.  He thought about his
unsuccessful meeting, and the spiteful way Gable had talked about
Belle.  Malicious and almost personal.  He looked at his wife and
wondered.

"What's the matter?"  she asked.

"Did he ever ... did Gable ever try anything?"

"With me?"

"Yes.  Did something happen that you could never tell me about?

Because you can tell me now."

No, I can't, she thought.  It would be pointless, for apart from
Gable's crude attempt to blackmail her into his bed, nothing had
occurred.  To even mention it to George would be unnecessarily cruel.
She laughed and shook her head convincingly.

"Mate, don't be bloody ridiculous.  A bastard like him is only
interested in making an extra quid and driving his poor bloody staff

into working longer hours for less pay.  You, more than anyone, should
know that."

The train moved slowly through the inner suburbs and picked up speed as
it began to head for the southern tableland.  The carriage was half
empty.  George was in a seat by the window, oblivious to the sun
setting on the landscape of dairy farms.  His thoughts were occupied
with the past few days.  So eagerly anticipated, but in the end such
upsetting days.  Belle was right it might have been better had he never
gone to Sydney.  It was not, and would never be, his kind of city, nor
would the strange hedonistic lifestyle of Kings Cross ever be his
choice.

He had to forget Belle, had to let her go.  They no longer had a future
together.  He felt distressed about the loss of Teddy, but that was now
inevitable.  It was out of his hands; she was his mother and there was
no other person to influence the way she would shape his life.  So
Teddy would grow up as Belle wanted him to, among her poet and painter
friends.  Easter had been a truly bitter educative experience.

He would agree to a divorce if she requested it, or met someone else.
George thought that more than likely, but doubted if there'd be anyone
else for him.  He felt as though he had had a surfeit of marriage, and
more than enough of love.

"What time will Dad get home?"  Teddy asked as they waited for the tram
back to Kings Cross after seeing the train leave Central Station.

"Early tomorrow morning," Belle replied, imagining him having

to find his way to Brewinda Road through the dark and empty streets.
There were no lights beyond the centre of town, and she had forgotten
to ask if he had brought a torch.  She remembered the rare occasions
when they had gone out late together, trying to pick their way home
along the dusty corrugated roads.  She could picture it all too
vividly, the front gate squeaking, Miss Limmington's unpleasant little
dog woken and starting to yap.  The neighbours all on watch in the
morning to see George hurry off to clock in at Gable's before the store
opened.  Speculating.  Pitying him, condemning her.  Thank God, she
thought, I will never see that street or those unfriendly faces
again.

She wished things had been different and he could've stayed longer for
Teddy's sake.  The weekend had been a failure and it upset her, for
even in the worst times she had no real antipathy towards George.  In a
different environment they might even have survived as a couple.

He had been a good father for her son, better than she deserved;

she was ready to admit that, if only to herself.  But she also realised
the illusion of his parentage could not be allowed to continue.  Not
indefinitely.  Sometime in the foreseeable future, she would have to
sit down with Teddy and confess the truth.  Tell him the facts of his
life.

It was something she dreaded.  The truth was a problem, it was beset
with complications and difficulties.  To explain the past meant
depriving him of the only father he'd known.  Worse than that, it meant
admitting that for ten years she had allowed him to live a lie, as well
as informing him he had another father, a real one still alive and
living not very far away from them who would be most unwilling to
believe that this particular son existed, or to ever accept him.

A tram approached and they boarded it.  Perhaps, she thought to herself
on the way home, it might be best to leave things as they are for a
while, and to say nothing.

FOURTEEN

The winter that year was hard, everyone said so; it was as bad as any
time since the crash on that astounding day in New York when panic
engulfed the city and America erupted into chaos.  Belle could still
remember the headlines that tried to explain how the stock market had
overheated, how the paper millionaires became paupers before nightfall,
seeing fortunes lost on the ticker-tape machines they had installed in
their offices as status symbols.  And how, in the turbulent weeks after
the crash, some of these deprived rich, inconsolable with loss, jumped
despairingly from the windows of their skyscraper buildings.

In Australian cities few such high buildings existed, but the same fear
spread like a pandemic.  Unemployment soared and businesses closed as
the Wall Street disaster of 1929 spawned a world collapse and ensuing
years of hardship.  But now, nearly five years later, the federal
government had decided it was time for optimism.  That winter Prime
Minister Joseph Lyons told parliament there was a new reassuring upward
curve in the economy.  He predicted the Depression could soon end, and
he forecast an era of affluence ahead.

"Political piss and wind," Ross Tanner called it.

"Much ado about keeping this terminally confused rabble in power."

His was a new face among the Kellett Street circle, those actors,

artists and poets who still held court in Belle's Kings Cross habitat.
A former law student who had abandoned his studies a year before
graduating, his background and source of income was unknown, but he
invariably arrived with a thoughtful gift for Belle or a bottle of good
wine.  Not the anonymous cheap plonk that was the only tipple most
could afford; Ross Tanner's offerings came in elegant bottles with the
name of the vineyard and the year of harvest on decorative labels.

While enjoying his wine the circle speculated on how he could afford
it.  Was he the son of a wealthy family?  Did he have private means?
Who, in fact, was he?  They speculated about his age, for he was
clearly younger than many of them.  Some were envious of his looks; he
was tall and fair-haired, with an athletic build and an easy manner. 
Je ne sais quoi, one of the artists remarked, with a trace of envy.

The circle was curious because youth and apparent financial security
was a rare combination in such times: they were doubly intrigued
because Ross never volunteered information about his background.

Direct questions were deflected by a smile and a change of subject.

When they asked Belle about him, she professed not to know or care, and
pronounced it downright bourgeois to be so concerned about personal
details.  Bohemians and free spirits accepted people at their face
value, she declared; he was amusing company with his political
invective, and, after all, weren't they all on the same side the only
side to be on against this inept conformist government?

Belle had become skilled in this kind of equivocation.  She soon had
them agreeing Ross could turn on a good political blue, he'd be a star
on a soapbox in the Domain where orators gathered on Sundays.

And, she pointed out, he was right: the devious prime minister was a
wily bastard whose rallying call was bluster and hyperbole.  Fat

chance of a recovery with half the population out of work!  Even if
good times did come they'd bring inflation, so whichever way it went
the country would be stuffed.  As for the arts the arts were already
stuffed.  Well and truly.  The rotten government had brought in an
unpopular tax on live theatre, and as a consequence some of the finest
playhouses had been converted to cinemas showing overseas films.  They
all agreed Australia had become a cultural wasteland.

"The rich will get richer," Ross Tanner said, 'as they've always
done.

For the rest of us, it'll be the same old battle.  Getting a fair go as
an artist or a writer in this country is like farting against the
wind."

While they all agreed with him, such comments set them speculating
again.  He spoke as if he was an artist, but nobody knew what kind of
art.  So was he an actor?  Unlikely, since no one had met him at a
rehearsal.  Perhaps a writer?  Not to their knowledge.

A few of Belle's coterie, members of the Communist Party, began to
wonder if he might be something covert, an agent provocateur.  Others
dismissed this as Marxist paranoia.  They conjectured about the
expensive wine, the unfinished law degree, the educated voice and the
unmistakeable panache.  He had a bit of flair about him, this joker.
Couldn't argue over that.  It also did not go unnoticed that he was the
most frequent of Belle's visitors, ever since the day the pair had met
for the first time and been arrested.

Despite the proclaimed optimism, the times were bleak.  Each month
there were more beggars visible on the streets.  People unable to pay
rent or keep up their mortgages were forced from their homes; they
moved into tents or had to survive in squalid shanty towns living in
packing cases or under sheets of scrap iron.  Soup kitchens were unable
to accommodate the increasing destitute.  Factories shut

down, shops were vacated, whole areas in the cities took on an air of
desolation.  There was a great deal of anger, much of it against the
unfairness and frequency of home evictions, and demonstrations against
them became widespread.

One began as a routine protest outside a house in Glebe.  In the poorer
inner-west suburbs close to the city people were living on the bread
line in constant fear of foreclosures.  The district had been alerted
by news that a family was to be removed that afternoon, the message
leaked by a sympathetic filing clerk in the local magistrate's office.
Belle's neighbour, Louise Blake, a member of a network to combat
evictions, came to recruit her.

"We need lots of people for this one," she said.

"The husband and wife are just kids themselves, in their early
twenties, and their children are babies.  The landlord says they're
overdue with the rent and wants them out.  Their furniture's already
been tossed into the street, and they've barricaded themselves
inside."

Belle promptly agreed, as Louise knew she would.

"How do we get there?"

"We've got a utility truck.  Be outside St.  Vinnie's in an hour.  Warm
coat and hat, or you'll get windblown.  We're travelling steerage in
the back of the ute."

St.  Vincent's Hospital was a ten-minute walk away.  Belle called at
Helene La Rue corner shop, where she left a message for Teddy.

She had expected to be at home to help him with his homework that
afternoon.  The Department of Education had recently intervened in
their lives, directing her that apart from those days when Teddy was
properly and gainfully employed, he was required to attend Darlinghurst
Public School.  Wilful avoidance of her son's education could land her
in serious trouble, she was warned.

"Another demo," she told the French woman.

"I should be home

before dark, but the door's always open, so he can go upstairs and
start his homework.  I'll be back in time to give him a hand."

"How is he getting on at his classes?"  Helene asked.

"Hates it.  But he's missed so much, they put him in with the young
kids.  He says it makes him feel dumb, especially when the eight
year-olds laugh at him.  Little brutes.  Probably can't hold a note or
dance a step between them."

Helene said she would ask Christine to help Teddy with his homework
when she came home.  And in case she was delayed at this demo, they
would give him supper.  Helene La Rue liked Belle, but often felt
concern for her son.  Missing school for so long, he lacked playmates
and had hardly any friends his own age.  His companions were almost
entirely his mother's crowd: actors and artists, sophisticates who
lived in their own extrovert world.  He was a talented boy, no doubt of
that, but she wondered how it would all end, a child brought up in such
an adult milieu.

Christine, who was also fond of him, said Teddy was like un petit
homme, too mature for his age; a young boy who had missed out on
boyhood.  Helene resolved to put aside some nice sweet biscuits for
when he arrived, as well as giving him something special for supper.

Perhaps a meat pie.  She knew Belle thought them a bit common, but
Teddy loved meat pies.

Two policemen stood guard outside the house.  It was a shabby
semidetached, a narrow wooden dwelling with a tiny front porch abutting
the footpath.  The furniture a cheap table, two chairs, a bed and some
pots and pans had been confiscated and were stacked in front of the
house.  At the window the young husband was glimpsed as he nervously
peered out.

"They've cut off the water and gas," a woman in the crowd told Belle,
'and them little kids ain't had a feed since early this morning.

It ain't right, not for little toddlers."

"When are they going to try to evict them?"

"They're in no hurry.  The longer the wait, the more scared it makes
that couple in there.  Get 'em nervous enough, the cops reckon they'll
just walk out and give up.  The buggers didn't count on this big a
mob."

Belle looked around her.  The street was crammed.  Neighbours stood
watching from their porches, the women silent and grim faced as if
wondering when the same treatment might be meted out to them.  All it
took was a few months of being out of work and unable to pay the
rent.

A police car attempting to get through with reinforcements was stopped
as some of the crowd began to lie down in front of it.

The driver pressed the horn, which squawked a protest.  A tirade of
abuse greeted this.  A young man in an open-necked shirt and a thick
pullover raised his hands to his mouth and created a sound like a
donkey braying.  The uncanny similarity to the honking of the car horn
brought a great wave of laughter.

"Good on ya, mate," a man yelled.

"Heehaw, you bloody mongrel coppers."

"Heehaw," the crowd chanted.

"Donkeys," they started to jeer, "Keystone Kops, donkey-drops."

The young man repeated the sound, the crowd laughed again and yelled
for more.  A press photographer began snapping pictures of the
beleaguered police constables stuck inside the vehicle, for the crush
of people prevented them from opening the doors.  That was when the
brief display of humour ended and the scene turned violent.  The police
guarding the house rushed to aid their colleagues, producing

their batons and swinging them wildly.  Several people went down, and
Belle felt a moment of alarm as she glimpsed a scalp split open.

A second squad of police appeared at the far end of the street and
began a concerted drive to disperse the crowd.  They pushed women
roughly aside, arbitrarily kneed and punched men in their way.

Reaching the photographer taking shots of the furniture outside the
house, they ripped his camera from him and smashed it.  They took his
flashbulbs, broke a light meter, then knocked him down when he tried to
reason with them.  Meanwhile there was an outburst of anger as people
began to realise that yet another group of police were forcing their
way through the melee while protecting a process server.  Wielding
truncheons with indiscriminate force, they cleared a pathway for the
court official, keeping him in their midst as they progressed towards
the house.

In the wild scuffle that followed, Belle slipped and fell.  She tried
to shield her face as she was trodden on, felt a moment's panic as the
sky was blotted out, then someone pushed his way through the crush of
bodies, leant down and grabbed her.  It was the fair-haired young man
with the open shirt, and he began yelling at people to give her room,
she was suffocating, while he tenaciously managed to haul her to her
feet.

"It's gone crazy," he shouted amid the clamour, 'let's get the hell out
of here."

She nodded, feeling dizzy and nauseous.

"Hang onto me."  He realised her distress, and did his best to shelter
her from the crush of other bodies as they tried to push their way to
safety.  Then Belle heard a voice yell.

"That's him, that's the bastard."

"Get him!"  another policeman shouted, and she saw the sticks flailing
and knew they were in serious trouble.

People were giving way as the uniforms converged on them.  Before they
could move any further a baton hit the young man hard on the I side of
the head and he went down in a heap, dragging Belle with him.

A burly policeman stood over them as the crowd scattered and ran.

"You're the clever prick," he said, his stick raised menacingly.  Belle
I knew that any move by either of them would give him an excuse to use
it again.  And by the look on his face, he would relish it.

"The fuckin' heehaw man.  Fuckin' smart-arse, let's see how smart you
are in a cell.  You and the woman are under arrest."

I There were only four other detainees, most of the crowd having
scurried to safety as the police turned their attention to evicting the
tenants.  As she was pushed into the squad car, Belle saw them kick
down the front door and escort the couple with their children from the
house.  Both babies were crying until one of the neighbours came , and
picked them up, trying to calm them as she took them into her house.
Belle heard the cop who had arrested them tell the husband to get his
shitty furniture off the street before dark or it would be burnt.  He
called them a pair of losers, saying if they hadn't been so stubborn,
there wouldn't have been this shemozzle.  People had been hurt and
arrested because of them dodging their lousy rent.  The couple made no
reply; Belle had a feeling they were too intimidated to speak.  She
watched as they went into the neighbour's house to join their children.
She had been to other protests at forced evictions, but had never
experienced this level of violence.  The big ugly cop reminded her of
Percy Bates, although she decided that was unfair to Percy.  This one
would certainly approve of Adolf Hitler.

And from what she had seen of violence in Germany on newsreels, Hitler
would approve of him.

At the Glebe police station they were placed in a communal holding
cell with no access to ablutions.  Those who needed to had to ask to
use the bathroom, and endure the humiliation of being escorted there.
They were kept waiting for almost two hours while Belle fretted about
getting home.  When they were brought before a duty sergeant to have
their names taken for possible charges to be laid, the same burly cop
was waiting there, watching the proceedings.

The sergeant was an older man, less aggressive.

"This is the one who started it," the cop advised him.

"He's the ringleader who got the crowd going, then all the shit
happened."

"Name?"  the sergeant said to the young man.

"Tanner."

"First name?"

"Ross."

"Address?"  Before there was an answer, the sergeant frowned at the
name he had written, then studied the face in front of him.

"Do I know you?"

"I think so, Sergeant."

"Ross Tanner?  Law student?"

"I was, several years ago."

"But I've seen you recently."

"Occasionally I get part-time work."

"Where?"

"Here in Glebe.  Filing clerk in the Magistrate's Court."

So he's the one who leaked the news, Belle thought.  He's the filing
clerk.  She wondered if the duty sergeant realised this.  He was
scrutinising Ross Tanner with what seemed to be unusual care.

"Your name please, Madam?"  She realised his gaze was now fixed on
her.

"Carson.  Mrs.  Carson."

"First name?"

"Belle."

"Just a minute," the cop interjected, "I don't think that's a proper
name, Sarge."  He seemed disconcerted by the sergeant's more moderate
manner and was determined to make trouble for them.

"I've got to say I've never heard of a name like that."

it's what I've always been called," she said to the sergeant, without
even a glance at the other policeman, if it's important, I was
christened Arabella."

"Struth!"  The cop stifled a laugh.

"No wonder she wanted to change it."

They both ignored him.  Belle sensed an empathy in the older man's
eyes, "I changed it when I was aged twelve," she said.

"Arabella didn't seem to quite belong on a theatrical poster."

"Thank you, Mrs.  Carson," the sergeant said.

"And your address?"

"Forty-nine Kellett Street, Kings Cross."

"I shoulda guessed.  She's from tart town," the cop said, and this time
the sergeant turned and stared at his younger colleague.

"I think that's enough, Bert.  I have your statement, so there's no
need for you to stay."

"But they're the ringleaders.  I pinched 'em, and I want it on the
record."

"May I say something, Sergeant?"  Ross Tanner asked.

if it's relevant, Mr.  Tanner."

"The constable claims we're the ringleaders as if we'd conspired
together.  I don't know how that can be, because I've never met this
lady before today.  She happened to fall on the ground, and I tried to
stop the crowd treading on her.  Which was just before I got this bash
on the side of my head."

"Are you accusin' me of something', sport?"  Bert demanded.

"What did you do?"

"I made the crowd laugh."

"How?"

"The police car had an odd sort of horn.  When it tooted, it sounded a
bit like a donkey braying."

"A donkey?"

Belle could sense the sergeant was trying not to smile.

"I imitated it.  People thought it funny and they laughed."

"Wait on, wait on a bit," Bert interrupted angrily.

"It was some sort of signal to the mob.  That's when they started
getting' really bolshie."

"Can I say something?"  Belle asked.

"If it's relevant, Mrs.  Carson."

"I hope it is.  Nobody got "bolshie".  People laughed because it was
funny.  Until then, it was an ordinary crowd protesting peacefully.

We felt bad about the young couple being thrown out of their home, but
nobody was aggressive.  It was when the police used batons, that's when
the trouble seemed to begin.  I don't know if we're to be charged, but
if so will we be given bail?  Because my son is at home wondering where
I am."

The sergeant studied her for a moment.

"May I say that in the future it might be better if you stayed at home
so your son needn't be worried, Mrs.  Carson.  And Mr.  Tanner might
confine his talents of mimicry to less tense occasions.  I realise it's
distressing when a family is evicted.  These are not easy times.
They're not easy for us in the force either.  We have to uphold the
law, even if we sometimes have misgivings about whether it is fair."

They all watched the rigid figure of Bert as he abruptly turned and
walked from the room.  The sergeant waited until the door slammed shut
behind him.

"While there is no charge, the incident must be recorded.  Your names
will be noted.  If you find that a concern, Mr.  Tanner is a lawyer
well, almost a lawyer, and I daresay he will know how to appeal.  Now,"
he looked from one to the other, 'is there anything else you'd like to
say?"

Nothing, "Ross Tanner said.

"I'd like to say thank you," Belle told the sergeant.

They came home by tram.  He lived in a boarding house in Rushcutters
Bay, and insisted on getting off at her tram stop.

"Just to walk you safely through tart town," he said.

"Truly?"

"Unfortunately, yes.  So I have a grudge against the law."

"If the clerking is only sometimes, do you do anything else?"

"I'm a bookie's runner."

"Good God!"  She wondered if he was joking.

"Truly?"

"Yes, Ma'am.  An SP off-course bookie."

"You're illegal."

"Absolutely."

"Is it to do with having a grudge against the law?"

Ross Tanner laughed.  She thought he had the whitest teeth she had ever
seen.  And nice eyes, although she had no intention of saying so.

"If you promise not to tell anyone else, it's to do with making ten
quid each Saturday afternoon."

"So much?"  She was startled.

"My boss can afford it.  Starting-price bookies are big business."

"Is it dangerous?"

He hesitated, looking at her quizzically.

"What makes you ask that?"

"It's an awful lot for one afternoon.  It sounds like risk money."
"Okay," Belle said, "I'm with you on that.  Thanks for saving me from
being hurt.  Do you really work as a filing clerk in the Magistrate's
Court?"

"Sometimes," he said.

"Why did you give up law at university?"

"I didn't give up.  My dad went bankrupt, his business went bust, and
the uni threw me out because we couldn't pay the fees any longer."

"Truly?"

"Unfortunately, yes.  So I have a grudge against the law."

"If the clerking is only sometimes, do you do anything else?"

"I'm a bookie's runner."

"Good God!"  She wondered if he was joking.

"Truly?"

"Yes, Ma'am.  An SP off-course bookie."

"You're illegal."

"Absolutely,"

"Is it to do with having a grudge against the law?"

Ross Tanner laughed.  She thought he had the whitest teeth she had ever
seen.  And nice eyes, although she had no intention of saying so.

"If you promise not to tell anyone else, it's to do with making ten
quid each Saturday afternoon."

"So much?"  She was startled.

"My boss can afford it.  Starting-price bookies are big business."

"Is it dangerous?"

He hesitated, looking at her quizzically.

"What makes you ask that?"

"It's an awful lot for one afternoon.  It sounds like risk money."

"No, they're on the payroll!"  He laughed again at Belle's reaction.

"I meant the opposition.  Now and then they try to sort us out.

Occasional fisticuffs, a minor contretemps, hardly dangerous."

"I must say you seem to live in interesting times," she said.

"Can I tell you something?"  he asked, and continued without waiting
for her answer.

"You're beautiful."

"Steady on, Ross.  May I ask how old you are?"

"Twenty-six," he said.

"I'm thirty-three."

"So?"

"So I'm a bit older.  Or, to put it another way, you're seven years
younger than me."

"So when I'm sixty-three you'll be seventy."

"Don't be cute," Belle said.

"I don't care how old you are.  Can I come home ... so I can "know"
you?  So we can know each other?"  As she looked at him, puzzled by
this, he added, "I mean in the strictly biblical sense, of course. 
They had a rare way with words, those Old Testament scribes."

"They did indeed.  But I don't do one-night stands."

"Nor do I. Relationships should have time to nurture and grow.  We have
all that time until you're seventy and I'm a lively sixty-three."

Belle laughed and said, "I think you're full of shit, Mr.  Tanner.

Besides, my place is out of the question.  I have a son waiting
there."

"How about my place?  It's crummy, but it has a harbour view.

Well, almost.  Down there in romantic Rushcutters Bay we could
certainly know each other in the most marvelous biblical sense without
any interruptions."

"Not tonight."

"Tomorrow?"

"For a young man, you're in one hell of a hurry."

"But not only to know you.  I'd like you to take your clothes off-' "I
did get the message," Belle retorted, unsure whether to be flattered or
insulted that he imagined her so instantly available.

"I mean to take them off so I can sculpt you," he said.

"Oh!"  She was discomfited and tried to regain her poise.

"You're a sculptor?  As well as a magistrate's clerk and an illegal
bookie's runner?"

"As well as those.  But they're just jobs to help pay for my art.  Two
years and I haven't managed to sell a sculpture.  I keep on telling
myself Van Gogh never sold a single painting in his life.  And you may
not know it, but his brother was an art dealer."

"Poor unhappy Van Gogh."

"At twenty-six I still have enough time."

His smile really was nice, she decided.  Engaging.  And although she
might be thirty-three, people always said she didn't look her age.

"Please?  Tomorrow?"

"Maybe," Belle said.

"If you walk me down Kellett Street to my door, then you'll know where
I'm to be found.  That's supposing you really want to find me."

Belle, to the surprise of some who had lusted after her, was not
promiscuous.  In the macho ambience of towns like Gundagai, most men
nurtured a popular belief that actresses were wantons voluptuaries with
easy morals; this was the way provincial Australia regarded women in
the theatre.  Ripe fruit for the sideboard, Henry Gable had believed,
at a cost to his ego.

Before marriage, Belle had had her share of lovers.  While adroit

at evading the casting couch or the groping hands of those with fake
promises of stardom, her youth and looks enabled her to pick and choose
her own partners, mostly of a similar age and with mutual interests.
Apart from one disastrous episode she had enjoyed an uncomplicated
love-life.  The disaster, which had been by far the I most passionate
affair, had produced her only son; while she rejoiced I in the result,
the relationship itself had ended badly, making her desperately unhappy
at the time, and the memory of how close she had come to an abortion
could still trouble her with lurid images.

When she married George Carson and he had accepted Teddy as : his own
child without reservation, staunchly keeping their secret when they
moved to Gundagai before the birth, she had resolved to be faithful to
him, and had remained so during ten years of marriage.  It had not been
difficult.  There was no one in the district who had the least physical
attraction for her, and she was soon aware that any hint of an
extramarital relationship especially one that involved her would sweep
the town like a cyclone.  She created enough gossip without hurting
George by the folly of a local affair.

And although the marriage was over, there had been no man or sexual
partner in her life since leaving Gundagai.  She had begun to feel an
indifference to it; nothing had truly aroused her, not until she and
George were forced to share her cramped bed on the Easter weekend, his
hand roving as she felt her nipples distend and her vulva grow warm and
moist.  It would've been the right moment, she knew that; instead it
had led to the unhappy failure of the following afternoon.

After this she had retreated from the possibility of sex with anyone
else.  It was no more than an ephemeral release, she tried to convince
herself; it meant emotional mess and endless complications.  Deep

down she realised it was only a season of temporary chastity; after
all, she was not disposing of her Dutch cap or considering a nunnery,
but life was infinitely easier without being motivated by her libido.

Which is why she was astonished at her response to Ross Tanner's rather
gauche and overt advance.

He had begun to sculpt a figurine of her two days later, and at the
second sitting, after a break for a cup of tea, they made love on the
floor of his borrowed studio.  In the tiny attic of a squalid building
in Paddington, lying on a paint-stained drop sheet amid the debris of
dried plaster and the smell of turpentine, she had an orgasm the like
of which she had forgotten existed; she came and cried aloud, and soon
afterwards repeated this in a tumult of awakened delight.

FIFTEEN

When the school bell rang Teddy was poised, ready to escape, pushing
his books into a satchel and rising to be the first out the classroom
door.  By the time he reached the playground fronting Liverpool Street
he could see the hasty exodus preceding him, all stampeding from the
daily tedium of education and obedience.  He glimpsed her tangle of red
hair, and caught up with her at the gates.

"Sally?"

She was with a bunch of other girls, all chattering, but Sal was
chattering more than anyone and untidier than the rest, with a torn
skirt, and socks that slid around her ankles, the freckles on her pale
skin and the flame-coloured hair so distinct she stood out in any
crowd.  She turned and smiled, dismissing the others with a wave, as
she linked arms with Teddy.  They walked up the slope past the
hospital.

"So how'd you be, me darling' boy?"  Sally Sharp asked.

"Better fer yer kindness in the asking'," Teddy replied, trying to
mimic the Irish lilt she could adopt so easily.  She laughed, squeezed
his arm, and in broad Australian her normal accent said to get off
himself, and not to come the raw prawn, not with her.

They were both ten years old, and friends from dancing class.

Sally lived with her mother in a large modern flat in Roslyn

Gardens, and on the days when Teddy was not working in a film and had
to attend school, the pair walked home together through the back
streets of Darlinghurst.  Her mother, Eunice, was quoted as being
unsure if she approved of Teddy Carson.  On the other hand, Belle made
it known that she liked Sally, but could not stand Eunice, considering
her a snob and far too pushy and up-herself with her harbour-view
apartment and her closets of expensive clothes.  They were the result,
Belle declared, of a failed marriage and a highly successful divorce.

The two women were obliged to spend most Saturday mornings together
while their children had a class with Greta Torrance in her dance
studio beside the Victoria Hotel in Oxford Street.  From the public bar
a faint waft of stale beer was a perpetual intrusion.

Eunice constantly complained about it, as well as being critical of the
shabby studio with its rumble of traffic.  She often spoke of moving
her daughter to a more amenable environment, but Belle knew this
wouldn't happen.  Greta Torrance had studied in London, had danced with
the Royal Ballet and was considered the best teacher in the country.
There was a waiting list for her school, and having a child there was a
mark of distinction for the pupil and a social cachet for her parent.
Sally's up-herself mum would not contemplate moving to second best.

Eunice was charged the full fee for lessons, while Teddy was on what
Greta called her 'scholarship rate'.  It was paid from his earnings by
a cheque from Florian sent directly to the school.  This, at Belle's
request, was a means of keeping the arrangement private, for it would
create friction if Eunice learnt of the disparity, and found out it was
offered to Teddy as the studio's star pupil.  In Eunice Sharp's view,
the only star in any group was her daughter.

On these Saturdays Belle borrowed a copy of the show-business

paper, This Week, immersing herself in casting news and gossip.

Eunice came armed with imported magazines like The Tatler or I Country
Life, and when bored with photographs of English mansions, produced her
knitting.  This required her close attention, so conversation between
them was desultory, their exchanges guarded, whereas their children
shared some remarkably intimate confidences.  Both mothers would have
been astonished.

"What's his name?"  Sally asked.

"Ross Tanner," Teddy said, and waited mischievously, knowing she was
agog with curiosity.

"Well, go on."  She nudged him.

"Is he?"

"I think so."

"Honestly?  Your mum's boyfriend?"

"I'm only guessing.  But he's there most nights, and she seems happy
when he turns up.  The other friends are older.  They're all right, but
they talk all the time mostly about themselves.  Ross is different. 
She definitely likes him."

"Then he must be her lover," Sally said, pleased with this news of
romance.

"Do you reckon?"  He deferred to her on matters like this, which gave
her an opportunity to air her knowledge of the adult world.

"A woman has needs, Ted.  She can't go through life without someone,"
Sally pointed out to him.

"S'pose not."

"And your dad's not coming back, is he?"

"Dunno."  He hesitated.

"I wish he would, but I don't think so."

"Is he nice?  Ross?"

Teddy considered this for a moment.

"Yeah."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Only us.  Will you keep it a secret, Sal?"

"Of course."

"From your mum as well?"

"Especially from my mum, silly.  They hate each other, our mums."

"I know."

"Think they'll ever change?"

"Doubt it."  Teddy grinned.

"She reckons I'm a bad influence on you."

"Eunice has some very peculiar ideas," her daughter said.

They crossed the street, passing the fire station.  One of the firemen
waved.  The pair of freckle-faced kids were a regular sight, the little
redhead and her dancing partner.

"G'day," he called to them, 'when are you two getting' married?"

"On Thursday," Sally called back, and they blew him kisses and laughed
all the way to the junction of Bayswater Road.  Here the traffic
converged and Sally waited for her bus to Macleay Street.

Teddy waited with her.

"See you tomorrow, Ted."

"Not tomorrow.  I got two days' work in a film."

"Lucky thing," she said enviously, "I wish I did."

"You wouldn't wish for this.  It's only a spit and a cough."

"Doesn't matter.  I'd love to be in a film."

"You're better being at school, where you come top all the time."

"It'd be exciting to act, though."

"It's boring," Teddy assured her.

"Only two lines, then I'm a face in the crowd.  Like an extra.  Belle
had another row with Florian.  She says it's .. . dem .. .
dem-something-or-other."

"Demoralising?"  she suggested.

"No."  He frowned.

"Not quite."

Demeaning?  ""Yeah that's the word."  He looked at her admiringly.

"No wonder you're top at school."

"Why does Belle have so many rows with your agent?"  Sally wondered.

"She's always saying he's no good.  But at least he gets you lots of
jobs."

"She says they're bit parts.  Walk-ons.  She wants me to be a star."

"Well, you are a star ... in a sort of way.  I think you're a star,"
she said shyly.

"I think you should stick to being good at school," Teddy replied,
although what she had said thrilled him.

"Poo to school," she scoffed.

"Anyone can be good at school."

"I can't."

"If you're a star, you don't have to be."

"I never thought of that!"  Before he could add anything, the hum of
electric wires signalled the arrival of her trolley bus.

"See you at Greta's, Saturday," he called as she scrambled aboard.

"Hooroo, Ted."

"Ta-ta, Sal."

When the figurine was finished, Ross Tanner wrapped it in a damp cloth
and took it back to his boarding-house room in Rushcutters Bay.  He had
a cupboard that contained his clay and plaster sculptures, as well as a
shelf of has-relief and wood carvings his entire body of unsold work,
two years of it but the figure of Belle he placed on a table by the
window where the morning light would catch it.  If he tried to save
money, bought less wine perhaps, he might afford to have it cast in
bronze.  On the other hand, if he was ever rich it would look best in
polished brass.

He thought he might really be able to sell this one, but that

brought with it the perennial problem.  As an artist infatuated with
his subject totally in love with her, was the reality he'd feel like a
pimp selling it, trading her as an item for cash to stand naked and
admired in someone else's room.  The idea was anathema after the
painstaking creation, trying for perfection, twice beginning all over
again.

He could give the figurine to Belle a thought that tempted him- but it
would mean subjecting his work to the scrutiny and perhaps the scorn of
her salon, her gaggle of arty mates with their bloody airs and
pretensions.  So far he and Belle had kept secret any disclosure of his
current life, particularly his source of income as a bookie's runner,
allowing them only the knowledge he'd been a law student and had not
qualified.  This greatly intrigued them; he had watched them puzzling
over it, beavering away in an attempt to sort it out, to categorise
him.  Belle enjoyed it; she said they were like people trying to do a
crossword puzzle without any clues.

Personally he classified them as a mob of hangers-on, wishing them to
hell so he could more often be alone with her.  It was part of the
bliss and frustration of the past few months.  They sometimes snatched
precious moments in Kellett Street on days when Teddy was at school,
although the landlady was awkward, forever snooping and eyeing them
with disapproval.  Belle said to take no notice, she was a frustrated
old trout: besides, it was none of her business since they were doing
it in private, not out in the street and frightening the horses.  But
whenever it was possible, on days when he was not working and Belle was
free, they preferred the afternoons in his own room where they could
make rowdy and uninhibited love, because his next-door neighbour was at
work during the day, and the room on the other side was empty, lacking
a tenant all year.

These were the best of times: Belle, naked in his bed, looking like a

twenty-year-old, playful and vulnerable, then feverish with passion,
everything outside the room forgotten and unimportant, even the I
relentless ambitions for her son cast aside, if temporarily nothing in
the world but the two of them.  After twenty-six years and an
occasional steady girlfriend, it was sometimes hard to believe that I
he'd discovered someone like this.  It had to be love, for they found
it difficult to be apart for even a day; they shared a sense of humour,
laughed a lot together, and between the ache for each other's bodies :
and their lusting, they were good friends as well.

In flights of fantasy he sometimes wondered what might happen if he
asked her to marry him.  At more rational moments he knew he would
never do this, for the wrong answer could be the end of it.

Now that the weather was fine George Carson spent his weekends
restoring the garden for spring.  He resolutely dug out the bindi and
paspalum, then sharpened the blades on his mower, and soon the lawn was
trimmed, the edges tidied and the whole place took on a new appearance.
Encouraged by this, he weeded the beds and planted asters and petunias;
then, deciding he might as well grow a few vegies to help the budget,
bought packets of seeds lettuce and cabbage to go under a homemade
glass cloche.  If they all flourished, there'd be ample to give away to
the neighbours.

There had been changes in Brewinda Road.  Harry Lucas had at last gone
too far, beating up Essie so badly she had been rushed to hospital with
a suspected fractured skull, facial damage and a broken arm.  When the
police sent a squad to arrest Lucas he was still drunk and out of
control.  Appearing from the house with a loaded rifle he tried to
shoot them, missing the sergeant in charge but hitting Percy Bates a
glancing shot that took the helmet off his head.  The next

bullet was aimed straight at George, who had offered himself as a
witness to testify to the regularity of the violence.  It had shattered
a window beside his face, but before another shot could be fired Lucas
was knocked flat by Percy, minus his helmet, in a ferocious rugby
head-butt that had left the neighbour unconscious.

Lucas was in now Goulburn jail facing a long sentence, Essie had left
the district to live with cousins, and a new family had moved into
their house next door.  A quiet, middle-aged couple, the husband was a
council clerk, his wife a former district nurse.  They had invited
George for a meal to meet the wife's sister, who had been recently
widowed and was considering coming to live with them.  The meal, by a
nice irony, happened to take place on a peaceful Friday night;

the sister, Maureen, was a pleasant woman of his own age, a few years
younger than he had expected, and very eager to know all he could tell
her about the town and its background.  He liked her quiet manner and
her alert grey eyes that showed interest when he spoke.  George was
listened to, he found his opinions canvassed and respected, and had
enjoyed himself immensely.

In the process of this neighbourhood change he had repaired his
friendship with Mr.  and Mrs.  Miranda, and the restoration of his
garden brought much approving comment in the street.  At times he
thought even Miss Limmington's dog now seem to tolerate him; its owner,
after sly enquiries about whether he had enjoyed his weekend in Sydney,
had ceased her prying.  People at last seemed to accept he would go on
living there among them, but probably alone.  Nobody mentioned Belle
any longer, nor did they expect her to return.  Much as he missed her,
it made everything a great deal easier.

He put away the garden tools and went inside to finish his letter to
Teddy.  He wrote regularly, although sometimes it was difficult to find
news that might still interest him.  Easter had made apparent the

enormous gap that existed between Brewinda Road and Kellett Street.

But some continuance was necessary after all, he was ostensibly Teddy's
father, and hoped to always be regarded as such.  Apart from any
obligation this imposed, he did not want to lose touch.  The untidy,
smudged replies were always a welcome sight, even though the spelling
and handwriting showed no sign of improvement, and Teddy's dislike of
going to school was becoming more pronounced.

His last letter had certainly emphasised this.  He, at the advanced age
of ten, was being forced to attend a class with kids so much younger
than himself.  Even some seven and eight-year-olds!  It was rotten and
unfair.

George had pondered for the past two days over how to reply.

He knew that being taught with beginners would be humiliating, but he
could hardly write back encouraging him to rebel against education. 
Too often in the past he'd been concerned when Belle claimed a few
weeks missing school didn't matter a hoot in hell, not if there was a
good stage or screen role instead.  She'd had a running battle with
local teachers about his irregular attendance.  George felt that
condoning Teddy's complaint would be wrong, but also knew it would be a
shame to moralise or distance himself by preaching.

He sighed.  His pen seemed to be waiting for him to say something, the
ink on the nib drying while he delayed.  Whinge, George thought, that's
the word.  It was important to establish their old rapport, or he'd be
just another grown-up dispensing unwanted adult advice.

Whinge.  Yes, that was it.  Dear Teddy, he wrote:

I commiserate with your whinge about school and being the oldest in the
class, but cheer up and, whatever happens, don't you get discouraged
and give up.  Some day those annoying young kids might boast that they
were at school with Teddy Carson.  Some day

when you're a star.  But on the other hand, wouldn't it be a terrible
shame if you became a star and weren't able to read your own press
notices?  Especially if they were good ones.

Sally handed the letter back to him with a smile.  They were walking
home from school.  She was as careless of her appearance as ever, with
socks around her ankles and her bright hair in its usual disarray.

"He's right, Teddy.  Really!  It would be a shame, when you come to
think of it.  Sort of funny as well, the way he says it.  He sounds
really nice."

"I thought you'd like it."

"Did you?"

"Yeah.  That's why I showed you.  In a way it felt just like he was
speaking to me.  We used to talk about all sorts of things, me and Dad.
Things I couldn't talk to Mum about."

"Like what?"

"Aw, I dunno.  Like .. . pretend games.  In the backyard with my
cricket bat, pretending to be Don Bradman.  When I told Mum she said,
"Who's he?"  Fancy a person not knowing about Don Bradman!

Can you imagine?"

"Easily.  If Bradman was in the theatre, Belle would know everything
about him, even his batting average."

Teddy laughed.  He was glad he'd shown her the letter.  Sally really
was his best friend, better than anyone else, better than his last best
friend Herbie Bates definitely miles better than that turncoat cowardly
Herbie, who had stood and watched while he was kicked out of the gang,
with Norm and Ginger bashing him.  Sal was different, he could tell her
anything.  His innermost secrets would be safe with her.

"I could tell Dad most things," he said.

"Things that I never told Mum, for instance, because she wouldn't
believe them."

"Like what?"

"Like when I was in a gang, how I devised this plan and we trapped the
rival gang and covered them with cow dung."

"Phew."  Sally held her nose while she mimed pulling a chain.

"Phew is right, they really stank.  They all had to dive in the river
to get clean, the whole lot of 'em."

"What did George say when you told him that?"

"Laughed, and said they were pretty fierce battle tactics.  I told him
that all's fair in love and war, and he said he s'posed I was right."

"He sounds almost normal for a parent.  Honestly, were you really in a
gang of boys doing horrible things like that?"

"Yes.  I was the sergeant, third in command."

"I can't imagine it.  What did you do?  Break windows?"

"Sometimes.  Only the windows of people we didn't like."

"And tie front doors together, then ring all the doorbells?"

Teddy knew that one; all the neighbours trying to open their doors at
the exact same moment.  He grinned at the thought of it, but shook his
head.

"You can't do that in the country, Sal.  The houses are too far apart
for the front-door trick to work.  But we had battles with other gangs,
and on Empire Day we put fireworks in people's letter boxes

"What happened?"

"They blew up.  Lots of letterbox explosions all over town."

"Golly," she said, 'you were lucky the police didn't catch you."

"They were always trying."  Teddy's imagination started to take wing
and enhance the story.

"We suspected they had a spy in our gang.  I worked out it was Herbert
Bates, the local copper's son."

"Keeping an eye on you for his dad?"

"We could never prove it.  But Herbie looked a real turncoat to me.
Like father, like son, that's what I thought."

"Don't you sometimes miss those days?"  Sally asked.  When Teddy shook
his head she said, "Do you keep in touch with anyone from back there?
The friends in the gang, for instance?"

"No."  He made it sound positive.

"It was just mucking-around kids' stuff.  I was only eight in those
days, don't forget."

"I bet they were all sorry when you left."

"Yeah, they called a special meeting," Teddy said, 'and told me it'd
never be the same.  They reckoned the gang mightn't last long without
me."

The moment it was said he wanted to recant.  But it was already too
late.  She believed him, so it was not possible to apologise and say it
didn't happen that way at all.  It was equally impossible to explain
the cruel way it had really happened.

They crossed the traffic intersection to Sally's bus stop, Instead of
waiting as usual, he said a hurried goodbye and walked on alone past
the Picture Palace and the Californian coffee shop.  Some actors he
knew were gathered at a table in there.  Behind him he heard the
traffic, the electric hum of her bus as he saw its shape mirrored on
the coffee-shop window when it went past.  He turned to glimpse her
hand waving, and was not sure if she could see him wave back.

He went slowly home, feeling sad and unhappy.  He had thought he could
tell Sally all his secrets anything at all but had just discovered the
uncomfortable truth.

There was really no one in the world to whom you could tell
everything.

SIXTEEN

Florian MacArthur-Bailey sat in his swivel chair behind his oak desk
and listened to Belle Carson cataloguing her complaints.  He folded his
hands over his mammoth stomach and gazed towards the ceiling, trying to
count the number of flies fornicating on the stained frieze above him
while he waited for her to finish.  At the same time he speculated on
the surprise he had in store, a bombshell she could not expect but
thoroughly deserved, and not for the first time he wondered how a
gorgeous and sexy young soubrette could have metamorphosed into this
virago, this scold, this inflexible shrew of a stage mother.

"Are you even listening to me?"  she asked.

"Every word," Florian said, "I hear every wounding word.  To sum up,
you are not well pleased.  Work is extremely spasmodic and becoming
more difficult to find.  Since I represent him this is clearly my
fault."

"I didn't say that."

"It was implied.  You should try listening to yourself, Belle.  You've
been bitching away for the past twenty minutes, non-stop.  Each gripe,
each spiteful criticism causing me grievous bodily harm and dyspepsia.
If I had ulcers they'd be bleeding."

"If I had a violin it'd be playing hearts-and-flowers," she said.
"There you go.  No attempt to understand the problems.  Never mind the
ill-health of the nation, no matter that the economy is under stress
and the pound in peril all this is irrelevant, because young Master
Carson is not being gainfully employed, and you want someone to
blame."

"That sounds like a well-rehearsed spiel for your other clients.

This is me, remember?  The point is, it's been two months since he had
any work at all.  It seems to have come to a full stop.  You're
supposed to be his agent, so I want to know why.  It doesn't seem
unreasonable to ask what the hell has gone wrong!"

"Indeed," Florian replied, 'you may well ask.  There's no use in us not
facing the facts, because clearly things will not improve.  On the
contrary, things are going to get decidedly worse."

"Are you trying to cheer me up, Uriah?"

"If you'd manage to be quiet and give me half a chance, I'll tell you
how things have deteriorated while you've been otherwise engaged
enjoying a new love affair with your young man," he said acidly.

"Who told you-' "Will you please shut up, Belle?  For once in your
life, button your lip and let me explain."  He fixed her with a look.

"Would that be possible?"

"Right," she said, 'explain."

"It's a show-business cliche that in hard times people turn to
entertainment as a release from reality, and consequently it thrives.

But the truth is, only the pictures churned out by Hollywood have
thrived here lately.  Our own film production has almost ceased, so
local actors have little employment.  Also, two vaudeville theatres
have closed one sold as a factory which means less stage work.

But there's something else of concern, which you're well aware of or
should be.  He's ten years old."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Everything.  He was a star when he was eight.  Played support roles
when he was nine.  Since then he's grown a few inches.  He's not the
tiny Murrumbidgee Kid who enchanted audiences with his precocious
talent any more."

"That is utter bullshit!"  She felt enraged; he was attacking her
unfairly, even stooping to flourish that stupid newspaper tag that she
hated.

"Just listen to me, Belle.  Until recently, if a row of child actors
were lined up for a part, he was the natural choice.  Lately, that's
changed."

"How?"

"A month ago I tried to get him a cameo role.  The director said no he
felt the public might be getting a bit sick of Master Carson.

It's happened again, a few times.  Nobody is rushing to employ him any
more."

"If that's true, why didn't you tell me this, Florian?"

"Because I knew you'd blame me and we'd have a blazing row.

But I'm telling you now.  The halcyon days are finished, Belle the
gravy train has moved on.  He's a talented boy whose time is very
possibly over."

"That's ridiculous."

Florian spread his arms with a theatrical sigh.

"I predicted that's what you'd say."

"It's sheer bloody defeatism!"  she snapped angrily.

"The last thing he needs is a pessimist who doesn't believe in him any
more."

"I entirely agree with you," Florian said unexpectedly, 'which is the
reason why I've decided that I should no longer be his agent."

Belle opened her mouth to retort, then realised what had been said. 
She stared numbly at him.

"Did you hear me?"  he asked.

"I've had enough.  More than enough.

A gutful and then some, to be exact."

"Florian, you can't do this-' "Of course I can.  What's more, I am
doing it, so spare me the protests and forget any use of the tear
ducts.  You'll only spoil your make-up."

She felt in disarray; it was totally unexpected.  But apparently not to
him.  Even in shock she realised that.

"You bastard.  You didn't just decide this, did you?"

"No, I've been considering it for some time.  But today, when you
turned up with your diatribe, no smile, no time for even a friendly
chat, just straight at the jugular with complaints about how inept I
am, how I was a lousy actor and now I'm an even worse agent somewhere
in the middle of that, Belle, I thought, Fuck this.

Life's too short to put up with you any longer."

Lying awake that night, still in shock, Belle thought of all the things
she should have said.  It was always easy in hindsight, but disbelief
at what was happening had made her tongue-tied, while Florian seemed to
relish continuing his venomous insults.

"I've met some obsessive stage mums, but you're far and away the most
ferocious.  You're positively feral.  I always said you'd be his best
agent.  Nobody else could be as bitchy, biased or bloody minded as you.
So now comes your big chance to show us all."

She should have been calm, should've tried to thank him for the past
two years, for looking after their finances and investing Teddy's
earnings wisely.  Instead she had sat there stunned and mute while he
calculated the sums of money due and wrote out a statement.

On the credit side, the amount earned plus bank interest: deducted from
this his agency commission, payments to Greta Torrance for

dancing classes, and the weekly rent sent to the landlady in Kellett
Street.

"I'll give you a cheque.  As well I'd almost forgotten he's to audition
for a stage role tomorrow.  If you don't make too many stupid demands
and scare the management, he might even get it."

She wanted to ask why he hadn't bothered to tell her sooner.

Instead she remained in a daze until he gave her the cheque, then she
left his office, making her way downstairs, past the street door with
its brass plate, and found herself in the Chinese quarter walking in
the wrong direction to catch her tram.  By the time she reached Kings
Cross she was in a state of burning resentment, ready to do battle, but
it was all far too late.

When Teddy had gone to bed she tried to sleep, consoling herself that
in the morning after taking him to his audition she would go to the
bank and cash Florian's cheque.  One hundred and five pounds, ten
shillings and sixpence.  She lay there trying to calculate how long the
money would last before sleep at last rescued her and the figures
merged into oblivion.  In the haze of early morning she worked out that
if she was careful and they lived on less than three pounds a week, it
was enough to see them through the next eight months.

By then she'd have found him work, so that would be all right.

The next day began badly.  Mrs.  Burch, the landlady, came knocking on
the door, and when Belle called out that it was inconvenient, that she
was trying to get dressed and Teddy was due at the Castlereagh Street
rehearsal rooms for an audition, she was told there was an important
matter that couldn't wait.

"Well, it'll have to," Belle said, opening the door a fraction, 'we've
got to catch a tram in ten minutes."

"You listen to me before you take trams to anywhere."  The landlady
was a combative woman, her eyes magnified behind thick glasses.

"We need a talk, you and me, about a few things.  One of 'em is your
behaviour in this house."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and yer fancy man.  It ain't decent."

"What?"  Belle stepped outside in her underclothes, shutting the door
behind her as she confronted the landlady.

"What did you say?"

"You heard.  A woman with a kid and a husband even if he ain't here
shouldn't carry on like you do.  Them arty friends are one thing, even
if they do make a racket when people are trying to sleep, but this
Tanner joker's another thing entirely.  Nippin' in and out at all hours
like he's a tenant."

"What the hell business is that of yours?"

"I happen to own the place, remember?  The next thing we'll have
private detectives raiding the joint to get divorce evidence for your
poor dill of a husband.  Be on the front page of Truth one Sunday.

Give us a bad name, it will."

"Mrs.  Burch, if you have something private to discuss with me, we'll
discuss it in private.  But not now.  Tonight when I'm able to talk
freely."

"We'll talk about it now.  That and the other matter."

"What other matter?"

"The rent.  It's overdue."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Overdue, I repeat, and got to be settled.  I suppose you've been too
busy playing tootsy with your boyfriend to remember ordinary things
like the rent."

"It can't be overdue.  ""It be three weeks on Friday, Mrs.  Carson."

"But Mr.  MacArthur-Bailey takes care of all-' She stopped in a moment
of uncertainty, assailed by an uneasy thought.

"I mean, he sends you a cheque each week for the rent.  That's been the
arrangement ever since we came here."

"It has.  But sometimes he's late.  This time he's too late.  Three
weeks too late.  So you pay up now, before we discuss the other
business any further.  When what's owed is paid, I'll decide whether to
let you stay or not."

"Of course I'll pay," Belle said, shaken.

"There's no need to threaten.  After I go to the bank I'll give you
your money, then you can apologise for your malicious slander.  Or I'll
find a more suitable place to live than this."

"Don't get on your high horse with me, Missus.  And don't try to do a
bunk, or I'll sool the law onto yer.  People who attempt that end up in
big shit."

Belle shut the door in her face.  She was angered by the intrusion, but
more than that, perplexed about Florian.  On the statement he had given
her, the rent to this week was deducted as having been paid.  Someone's
playing silly buggers, she thought, and began to feel the first onset
of alarm.

The bank manager was polite but his words brought a chill of
verification.  The cheque she had presented could not be cashed because
there were insufficient funds in the account.  When she became agitated
and tried to explain that this was surely impossible, the manager asked
her to please sit down.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs.  Carson.  I don't want to labour the point and
distress you unduly.  But the simple truth is the cheque has
bounced."

"But how could it?  He's a reputable theatrical agent who runs a
well-known business he's been running it for years.  His office is in
George Street.  You could pick up the phone and ring him right now.

That'd be the best thing."

"I doubt if that would help."

"Surely, it must.  Please ... it's extremely important."

"Mrs.  Carson, I'm sorry, but-' "Please ring him up.  There's been some
terrible mistake.  He gave me this cheque yesterday afternoon."

"What time yesterday?"

"About..  . I'm not sure .. . about four o'clock."

"After the bank shut, Mrs.  Carson.  I'm afraid that's very often the
case with cheques like this one."

"But how could he do such a thing?  How is it possible?  I even have a
final account he gave me.  Everything is detailed."  She fumbled in her
handbag and gave it to him.

"You'll see from that he collected my son's earnings and paid our
bills-' Even as she said it, her memory of the morning's clash with the
landlady was like a moment of razor-sharp clarity.

"You mean he managed your money?"  The manager frowned and seemed
astonished.

"Not a very safe practice, surely?"

"I never thought of it as unsafe.  I mean, it's often done; he did it
with other people he represents.  Our profession is not very good with
money.  A lot of actors spend it as soon as they earn it, and forget
things like rent and income tax.  It was a service that Florian used to
say he only provided for his very closest friends, free of charge."

Suddenly, without any warning, she felt an uncontrolled rush of
emotional anger and began to cry.  These were not simple tears, this
was a noisy and protracted sobbing she could not restrain, alarming the
manager and making her look a dishevelled mess.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, aghast at the spectacle she was creating
but unable to prevent herself.

"But truly, I can't believe this.  I really can't."  She tried to wipe
her eyes, but couldn't find a handkerchief.

She realised the bank manager was offering her one.

"Thank you," she said, and wiped her eyes, apologising for making such
a mess of his clean linen handkerchief.  He insisted that it didn't
matter.

"Have you known him very long?"  he asked.

"Since I was sixteen years old that's why it seems so impossible.

I've always thought I could trust him.  He was a bit of a rogue in his
way, but that was just Florian he was a sort-of showbiz character.
Larger than life," she added, and thinking of the often jovial figure,
began to cry again.

"We had rows, lots of rows that never seemed serious till yesterday.
But to do something like this -I find it impossible to imagine.  I just
can't believe he's cheated me."

"I'm afraid he has, Mrs.  Carson.  And what seems worse, in view of the
long time you've known him, it was a calculated fraud."

"What do you mean?"

"When I said there was insufficient money, I should've been more
specific.  In fact, there is no money.  None at all.  Before he gave
you the cheque yesterday afternoon, he had already been here in the
morning and drawn out all his money, yours and no doubt other people's.
A large sum, over four thousand pounds.  If you care to look at this
statement, you'll see that Mr.  MacArthur-Bailey now has a nil balance.
He left instructions the account was to be closed."

"So there's nothing I can do."  Belle was too dazed to properly study
the document he showed her.  It seemed unreal that Florian could
possess so much money.  The fact he had decamped with it all left her
feeling drained and helpless.  Clearly, she had been a gullible fool.

"There's the police, if you wish to bring charges."

"Would it help get our money back?"

"Mrs.  Carson, it amounts to criminal deception against you.  And I
feel sure there'll be more cheques and distressed people in here before
the week is over."

"That doesn't answer my question.  Would it help me recover one hundred
and five pounds, ten and sixpence?"

"I rather doubt it."

"Then it's pointless."

"I'm awfully sorry," the bank manager said.

Teddy felt mystified.  It had been the strangest day.  Early that
morning he and Belle had gone to the audition at the Castlereagh
rehearsal rooms.  He was one of three boys being considered for a small
part in a stage play to be produced by J. C. Williamson, Australia's
biggest theatre management, with seasons in Sydney and Melbourne, then
other capital cities.  Which meant it was important, Belle had said;

the role might be small but it could lead to months of work.

After their evening meal she had spent a long time rehearsing him,
explaining the plot of the play and the motives of the character.  He
had gone to sleep with it churning through his mind.  Then, in the
morning, they had been in a rush to dress and catch the tram, which was
when the landlady knocked on the door and Belle had had some sort of a
row with her, but when he asked what it was about she wouldn't tell
him.

All morning she seemed to be peculiar.  He did his audition but knew it
wasn't right, he felt sure he hadn't concentrated properly and this was
confirmed when they said he hadn't got it.  The strange thing was Belle
didn't get upset like she normally did, her thoughts seemed to be
somewhere else.  But he didn't know where, or why.

It was afterwards that they went to the Commonwealth Bank at the
bottom of Martin Place, the big building that looked like a church a
cathedral, Belle had called it, a monstrous monument erected for the
worship of money and Teddy had waited in the downstairs banking chamber
while she went to see a manager.

When she came down she was upset, he could tell that, but she said
there was nothing to worry about, he was to go to school for the rest
of the day, and she had things to attend to.  They'd taken the tram to
Darlinghurst, and he'd been picked on by the teacher for not
concentrating, which was true, because all afternoon he was trying to
work out what was bothering his mum.

When the bell rang there was a note left for him, saying that if she
was not at home he was to go to Mrs.  La Rue shop after school.

He walked there with Sally Sharp.  Since they had no secrets, he told
her about the day.  She did her best to help decipher what might be
wrong with Belle.

"Would it be anything to do with your dad?"  Sally wondered.  She had
been intrigued by his distant father, ever since reading the letter.

"Don't think so."

"Was she crying?"

"No ..."  he said dubiously, 'but I think she had been.  And it looked
like she might start up again any time."

"Not concentrating much?"  Sally probed.

"Lost in her own thoughts?"

"Yeah."

"You had to say things twice, before she heard?"

"That's right," Teddy agreed.

"What do you think's wrong?"

"Well, my mum was peculiar like that, before Dad and her had their
biggest row and got divorced.  Could yours be going through the same
thing?"

"A divorce?  Dunno.  I don't see why she'd want a divorce."

"She might want to get married again.  To you-know-who."

"Shut up, Sal.  That's supposed to be a secret."

"It is a secret.  Nobody can hear us, dopey.  Do you think Belle might
want to marry him?"

"Hmm.  Might."

"You don't sound too keen.  I thought you liked him?"

"I do, sort of.  But..  . marrying?"

"It happens," Sally advised him.

"How would you feel if Eunice got married again?"

"Not sure," she said after a moment's thought.

"I suppose it depends who it was.  At least it'd be different."

"That's the trouble," Teddy said.

"I don't like things being different."

Now it was nearly six o'clock and growing dark.  Chrissie La Rue was
home from her job, telling Teddy it'd be best if he stayed the night
with them; she was sure his mum would explain in the morning.

Despite their kindness, he found it difficult to sleep on the sofa in
their flat above the shop.  He had begun to suspect that whatever the
problem was, it would mean change.  Life had been almost stable for a
year and a half now, and change was the unknown that always made him
nervous.

The brass plate was already gone from the front door, so she knew what
to expect upstairs.  The door was open, the office like an empty stage
stripped of its set.  The oak desk and armchair were gone, the walls
looked naked without the playbills and photographs of Florian in his
prime.  A man wearing a suit and a hat stood writing notes on a
clipboard.

"If you're looking for him," he said tersely to Belle, 'he's shot
through."

"Do you know where?"  she asked.

"If I knew that I'd be out after him, not here making notes of the mess
he's left behind.  The rotten bugger owed me on his rent, plus other
things, and gawd only knows what it'll cost to fix up this place for a
new tenant."

"When did you find out?"

"Today.  When I tried to ring this morning to give him a hurry-up about
the rent, as well as the money he'd borrowed, and found the phone was
disconnected."

"He borrowed money from you?"  Belle gazed at him in sheer
astonishment, as if the secret life of Florian was unravelling beyond
her capacity to imagine.

"Last week, five hundred quid.  Needed it for "expansion" said I could
buy into the business and become a partner.  I musta been mad a real
bunny but he was a persuasive old coot.  Plausible, that's the word a
plausible bloody crook."

Clearly, she thought, a better actor off the stage than on.

"You a friend of his?"

"Not any longer," Belle said.

"I'm starting to think I never was a proper friend.  Just one of his
bunnies, but not smart enough to realise it."

Greta Torrance still had the slim figure and graceful movements of a
ballerina, although it had been thirty years since her last season at
Sadler's Wells.  She suggested Belle sit down and have a cup of tea.
The studio was empty, her next class not due for another hour.  This
was the time she liked to take off her pumps, put her feet up and
relax.

"I can't relax," Belle said, 'not until I talk to you about the fees.

I just know he hasn't paid them."

"You must have a nice cup of char, and some sinful fattening cream
biscuits," Greta said firmly.

"You could do with a rest and some nourishment.  It's obviously been a
thoroughly unpleasant day."

"A real bastard of a day," Belle agreed.

They had their tea, then they talked about the fees for Teddy's
classes, or, rather, the lack of them.

"I feel so awful, with you giving us a special scholarship rate.

Why didn't you mention there'd been no cheque for .. . how long is
it?"

"A couple of months," Greta said, trying to dismiss it with a shrug.

"Greta, how long exactly?  Please."

"Three months.  He paid regularly for a long time, but then it
stopped."

"You should've spoken to me about it!"

"I was going to, eventually.  There was no panic' "I wish you had. 
God, you must've thought me a real cow, taking advantage of being given
a special rate, then not even paying it."

"I thought things might be a bit tight, that's all.  I didn't want to
push it."  She could see Belle was still in a state of bewilderment at
the shock.

"I've told you before, I'd rather teach one real talent like Teddy for
nothing than twenty of these socialite kids whose mums pay whatever
daft fees I like to ask."

"I know, but-' "Belle, this school does well financially, so relax.
Have another cup pa and let's talk about something else."

"I feel humiliated."

"By me?"

"Certainly not by you.  Humiliated and made to look a dumb Dora by that
counterfeit old phoney Florian.  I'm grateful to you."

"Good, then let's change the subject."  She smiled.

"I just had a I letter from a friend in England.  Do you know the
latest scandal I doing the rounds there?  His Highness the Prince of
Wales has a new I American mistress, a divorcee named Mrs.  Wallis
Simpson."

I But Belle had no interest in royal rumours.

"Greta, I'm very grateful and flattered by your opinion of Teddy's
talent, but I can't I let him come to any more lessons until I've saved
enough to pay you back."

"That's unnecessarily stubborn, Belle."

"I suppose it is, but that's how it has to be."

"Why?"

"It's been a strange experience, today has.  I kept thinking that old
bugger has stolen my money, but it wasn't mine, of course it was
Teddy's, and he's been keeping us ever since we left Gundagai.

It wasn't meant to be that way, but at first there was a lot of work
for him, and my son could earn more in one day than I'd earn in a week
as a barmaid.  Only now that work is drying up."  She paused, and Greta
Torrance watched her.  She liked Belle.  There were many who didn't,
who thought her too assertive, too manipulative of her son and his
talent.  Greta had always felt there was far more to her than the
impression she seemed to convey of a ruthlessly ambitious stage mum.

"At least Florian was not lying about that," Belle said.

"The work is a definite problem.  Things are tighter.  So tomorrow I
look for a job, and find somewhere cheaper to live.  After that I want
to pay off what I owe my landlady and you."

"I keep trying to tell you, I don't need it."

"But I need it, Greta.  I really do.  I need to put my life in some
sort of order.  Which means paying debts, getting a job and looking
after Teddy as best I can."

"If that's what you want."  Greta nodded awareness of it.

"But you do realise this pride of yours is going to deprive my elite
class of their best dancer."

"Not for long, I hope."

"I'll raise my teacup to that.  He and Sally are my stars.  They're so
good together.  She's a hardworking, clever girl, while he's an
absolute natural."

"That's nice to hear.  Be careful you don't say it in front of Eunice
Sharp."

They both laughed, and for the first time that day Belle began to feel
that if everyone was as charitable as Greta Torrance, the future might
not be as dreadful as she feared.

It was dark when she approached the house where Ross Tanner lived.  The
street lamps were few in this part of Rushcutters Bay, but the lights
ringed around the tennis courts shed a reflected glow across the park,
and spilt onto the houses that flanked it.  As she hurried past she
could hear the clunk of tennis balls and occasional voices of the
players raised in cries of celebration or lament.  The steady rhythm of
gut on ball seemed to keep time with her anxious footsteps.  She had
been wearing high heels throughout the day, and her feet were beginning
to hurt.

The boarding house had been the home of a wealthy merchant when it was
built in the 1850s, and was now a prized lodging in this locality.
Adjacent to the carnival gaiety of Kings Cross, it could enjoy the
proximity without the frenetic nightlife, the neons or tourist traffic.
At the front door was a speaker system enabling tenants to admit
visitors; Ross had told her it was a novelty in Sydney, and quite rare
anywhere outside New York City.  He lived

Edith Burch said the story reeked of fantasy, and she didn't need
fairy tales

what she wanted, without further delay or any more excuses, was the
money owed to her for the past three weeks.  She lived in a gloomy
ground-floor flat where Belle did her best to explain the circumstances
and again pleaded for time to pay.

But even when Mrs.  Burch was shown the dishonoured cheque and the
bogus statement she displayed no sympathy.  This place, she said
doggedly, was her sole means of support, and had been ever since her
hubby died.  So if Belle couldn't cough up, that was her tough luck. 
If she cared to look upstairs she'd find the lock on her door had been
changed.  All her belongings would stay there until the debt was
settled, and she'd have to find somewhere else to class down for
tonight: tonight and every night till she stumped up the overdue
rent.

"Yer boyfriend might share his bed.  But I dunno what you'll do about
the kid," Mrs.  Burch said.

"You can't treat us like this," Belle protested.

"Watch me," the landlady replied.

"I know the law, and it's on my side."

Belle hurried upstairs to check the veracity of the threat.  Her door
was securely locked.  The key she possessed no longer worked.

"The old bat had a bloke come to change it," a voice spoke, and she
turned to see her elderly neighbour at his door opposite.

"She wouldn't tell me why.  I thought you musta up and done a
moonlight," he said.

"No, Mr.  Randall."  Belle tried not to reveal the desperation she
felt.

"But I owe her and she's locked me out.  All our clothes, everything we
own, is in there."

They heard footsteps on the stairs.  Mr.  Randall looked alarmed, gave
her a hurried smile and fled to the safety of his room.

"Satisfied?"  the landlady asked.

"I promise I'll pay you tomorrow," Belle vowed, 'somehow I'll borrow
the money.  But it's too late to find anyone to help me now.

I have tried.  But truly, first thing tomorrow-' "I deal in cash, not
promises.  Thirty bob a week is four pound ten shillings you owe me.
You get the new key when I get that dough in my hand.  Not before."

"This is unfair.  Teddy's got to sleep somewhere tonight-' "Your
problem."

"You're a nasty, cold-hearted bitch," Belle said, knowing it was futile
even as she spoke.

"It's a nasty, cold-hearted world," Mrs.  Burch replied, and stood on
the stairs watching vigilantly until Belle went out the front door and
into the winter night.

SEVENTEEN

Donald Ferrier drove home more carefully than usual.  It had been a
convivial and important night in the private dining room at Usher's
Hotel, and he had no wish to ruin it by a traffic infringement because
of those extra glasses of the vintage port.  Drinking it had been
imprudent after the wines served throughout the meal.  But old Judge
Fulton had brought the port from his family vineyard in the Hunter
Valley, a treasured remnant of the fabled 1905 crop, and while
eulogising on its virtues, he had also been generous in his speech of
welcome to Donald.

"The notion we might make a decent port in Australia caused hilarity at
the time.  My contemporaries, all pundit vignerons, called it "Fulton's
Folly", but the folly matured well.  Tonight it is my privilege to
offer this port to toast our newest member, who has shown his own
maturity in the practice of law, and has had a fine career.

I congratulate him on his election to this singular and elite club."

The tones of those words, by the State's senior judge, were still a
comforting resonance in his ears.  The Foundation Club was certainly
elite, its singularity deriving from the limited membership.

Since its establishment in the volatile wartime days of 1916, with the
country torn apart by the issue of conscription, there had always been
exactly fifty members.  Fifty, it had been decided by

the founders, was not spreading the net too wide or the quality too
thin.  It allowed for a select group of like minds, without risking
unknowns who might be undesirables.  It was formed to combat the
resistance to compulsory military service, which had been twice voted
down in referendums, and because this vocal opposition was mainly led
by Irish Catholics, the cardinal rule of the Foundation Club was that
all prospective members must be Protestants.

For the past twenty years it had remained something of an enigma:

while its existence was known, rigid rules ensured it remained a
shadowy and clandestine society.  No one could be invited to join until
an original member died.  The club register was a protected list, but
included conservative politicians from state and federal spheres,
industrialists, businessmen, army and naval officers, a university vice
chancellor, church dignitaries, and some leaders from the medical and
legal professions.  There were a disproportionate number who also
belonged to the New Guard.  The club had no written constitution, but
its charter was concerned with the preservation of Empire ties, the
retention of the monarchy, and a carefully muted antipathy to
Catholics.

Donald Ferrier had no strong opinions on these matters.  He assumed a
loyalty to the King and the mother country, and believed most
Australians felt the same, although rows over interest payments
demanded by the City of London bankers and Britain's reluctance to
provide financial investment in Australia during the Depression had
spawned friction.  An element had begun a subversive flirtation with
communism, and even started a movement to encourage the concept of a
republic.  There was dissent that governors of all states and the
Commonwealth were British, most of them retired military men, mockingly
described by rags like Smith's Weekly and Truth as "Chelsea Pensioners
put out to grass in the colonies' He had a fleeting sympathy for the
more moderate of these views, but kept such thoughts strictly to
himself.  He had gladly accepted the invitation to join the Foundation
Club, not for its inflexible agenda, but because it indicated a sign of
distinction, a personal and prestigious accolade from a group of
eminent people.  It marked a final step on the ladder he had begun to
climb as a junior solicitor in the Magistrate's Court a long time ago.
A gauche young idealist he'd been then, who had since shed a few of
those ideals on the way to a barrister's gown and recognition as one of
the most eminent silks in the city.  Dining monthly with his new
colleagues, forty-nine of the town's illustrious citizens, might mean
discarding a few more ethics, but it would certainly cement an image of
his accomplishment.

As he drove through Kings Cross, past the Mansions Hotel, a brewery
truck came abruptly out of Kellett Street.  He just had time to slam on
the brakes.  The truck, which had only one working headlight, crossed
the road in front of him, ignoring the clanging alarm bell of a tram
approaching in the other direction, and headed recklessly down the hill
towards William Street.

"Stupid bastard," Ferrier said, but he felt a moment of concern.

The accident would not have been his fault, but it might have resulted
in an awkward and embarrassing end to what had been one of the most
significant nights of his life.  Besides which, his car an imported
Daimler was barely a month old, still with the agreeable smell of
brand-new leather greeting him each time he drove it, like a flattering
reminder of his status.  His wife said she hated the smell, calling the
fris son it created a nouveau riche reaction, but Caroline could afford
to be blase and occasionally snobbish.  She had been born to wealthy
parents and was indulged throughout her comfortable childhood, whereas
he had fought for this security and prosperity all his life.

The traffic on New South Head Road was heavy, and it was with a
feeling of relief that he reached Edgecliff and headed towards the
quiet streets of WooUahra.  As he turned into the driveway of his house
in Marlow Road, lights were ablaze in the mansion opposite, where a
party was taking place.  If it had not been for this, he might have
missed seeing the figure of a woman leaving the vicinity of his home, a
woman who seemed to be loitering there.  He managed only a brief
glimpse as she quickly moved into shadows cast by trees in the
street.

For one strange moment he felt as if he recognised her, but that was
surely impossible.  Either he was imagining things, or it was a surfeit
of the judge's port.  When he fumbled twice with his door key he blamed
the port.  It could not have been the woman he'd thought it was, even
if she did seem oddly familiar.

After all, he had not seen Belle Baker for eleven years.

Overhead wires hummed as a tram approached from the direction of Double
Bay.  She stood waiting for it.  On the skyline in the distance loomed
the bulky shape of White City Studios, looking more than ever like an
abandoned warehouse.  The building was in darkness, the gates locked;
the near shutdown of the local film industry meant there were no night
shoots or late shifts any longer.  Belle gazed at it with a feeling of
nostalgia that almost brought tears; life had been so uncomplicated and
full of promise then, she thought, conveniently forgetting the battle
she'd fought to secure the role for Teddy, and her many subsequent
conflicts with the American producer.

Her shoes were crippling her.  The high heels were a mistake, but they
had been chosen for escorting Teddy to his audition, not for the
ensuing events of this terrible day.  By the time she walked all the
way back from Marlow Road, she knew it had been an irrational

and futile idea, imagining she could call so abruptly on Donald to
help her but after the confrontation with Mrs.  Burch, and with Ross
not there, Donald's was the only name that occurred to her.

Leaving Kellett Street without money or any clean clothes, in a state
akin to panic, she had barely enough coins in her purse for a tram that
would take her within walking distance of his house in WooUahra.  She
had confirmed the address from the phone book, but telephoning was not
really an option.

He had not been home.  After bracing herself to face him or, even
worse, his wife, the door had been answered by a stranger.  The
middle-aged woman said she was the housekeeper and explained Mr.
Ferrier was attending a dinner, and Mrs.  Ferrier was interstate,
visiting her parents in Adelaide with the children.  It was the first
time Belle knew that Donald had children.  But she also realised that
with Caroline away, she at least had a chance to beg him for help.

"Do you know what time Mr.  Ferrier will be home?"  she asked.

The housekeeper was not disposed to hazard a guess.  It was a private
engagement, and she had been told she need not wait up for his return.
Was there any message?

Belle thanked her, and declined to leave a message or her name.

She said she was a client who needed some urgent legal advice, and
would therefore phone Mr.  Ferrier in the morning.  She could tell the
woman did not believe her.

Unsure what to do, but deciding that having come this far she should
try to wait for his return, she took shelter away from the streetlights
in case the housekeeper was inquisitive, doing her best to be
inconspicuous while watching the gaiety of the party opposite.

The first hour seemed endless.  By the second the cold had thoroughly
chilled her feet, cramped her legs and eroded her resolution.  She
began to face the stupidity of her impulse.

After all these years, to think she could unexpectedly ambush Donald
when he reached home, to beg for a few pounds, perhaps a fiver ... A
fiver would pay the rent and stop the landlady's spiteful game so she
could obtain the key and at least recover their belongings.

They would then have a roof over their heads for two days, until the
next rent was due.  Surely enough time to find somewhere else to
live.

But rehearsing this scenario over and over again in her mind, trying to
imagine what to say, it began to feel like supreme effrontery.

Even worse, how could she give Donald Ferrier of all people the
opportunity to see her in a state like this?

She was on the point of leaving when the headlights of his car almost
blinded her as he turned into the driveway.  While he parked she fled
into the shadow of a camphor-laurel tree and after that limped her way
back to the tram stop.  She had only tuppence left, one short tram
fare, but enough to return her to Rushcutters Bay and Ross Tanner, who
was now her only hope.  At least she would not feel mortified asking
him for a loan.

A fiver.  That was all she needed; it would give her those two vital
days, time to think, to gather her wits and sort something out.  A
fiver was the difference between assurance and despair.

But Ross was still not home.  There was no answer when she rang his
bell, and the window on the first floor remained dark.  It was much too
late to seek out the caretaker's wife again.  This time she hobbled
across the road to the park, found a bench and sat down, undaunted by
the thought of being accosted.  She took off her shoes, despite the
grass being wet with dew and the night growing colder.

While she sat there she tried to think of an alternative to Ross,
perhaps one of the coterie of friends who had long enjoyed her
hospitality but she faced the probability she would not be welcomed by
any of them, not if she arrived at this late hour asking for a loan.

It brought a wry concession that they were not actually friends at all,
those bright and breezy guests who had so readily made her room their
habitat.

Belle was uncertain how long she stayed there.  The lights over the
tennis courts had been switched off, the players gone.  It seemed hours
since she had heard their cheerful shouts, the sound of car doors
slamming, engines revving and driving away.  Later a well-dressed
couple arrived in a taxi; she heard them telling the driver they needed
the walk across the park after a big night out.  They had strolled past
her in the direction of the lavish homes on the Darling Point
peninsula.

She had been conscious of their appraisal, the instant and hostile
assessment of her as a tart who should be up the road in Kings Cross,
parading along the dirty half-mile where she properly belonged, not
loitering here for clients.  If there were many like her she could read
in their judge mental faces it could ruin the neighbourhood, make it as
raffish as the Cross, and bring down property values.  In a fit of
childish pique at this spurious assumption she had wanted to confront
them or throw something, but had no available missile except her
shoes.

The incident made her realise it was futile to remain any longer.

She forced her feet into the shoes and stood up, walking gingerly on
the soft grass, which was when she finally saw Ross.  He was on the :

other side of the road, passing beneath one of the few street lights.

There was no likelihood he could see her as she instantly froze,
protected by the dark overhang of a Moreton Bay fig tree.

He was not alone.  The girl walking with him seemed youthful.

It was difficult to see her face for they were intent on each other
strolling in step and arm in arm, her head against his shoulder and

their bodies bonded like lovers.  He murmured something to her and she
laughed in reply.  To Belle that easy laughter contained all the
vibrancy of someone both young and confident.

She could follow their progress by the lights when they entered the
boarding house opposite.  First the hall, then the stair lights came on
and after that it was the tiffany lamp in his room.  She briefly
glimpsed his figure outlined at the window before he drew the curtains.
For a reckless moment she contemplated going to the door, ringing the
bell and pleading for help.  Instead she limped her way back to the
main road, and stood there trying to decide how to endure the rest of
the night.

It was the final setback of an awful day, but she could feel no anger
at him or jealousy towards the unknown girl.  Envy, perhaps;

despair certainly.  She had invested all her hopes in Ross on the rash
assumption he would be there for her unplanned arrival, as if he had no
other life outside his jobs, his sculpting and her.  It had been
stupidly egotistical, for what they had was an affair, an intense
affair of friendship and lust, but it could never be more than that.

She had always known it must be ephemeral; likable but ambitious Ross
Tanner was not really going to tie himself to a woman with a
ten-year-old child, no matter how much he enjoyed their rapturous
afternoons in bed.

She wished, with the benefit of hindsight, she had been more practical
and asked Helene La Rue for shelter an armchair, a blanket on the
floor, anything would have done but it was far too late to disturb
them.  She consoled herself that at least Teddy was safe there.  As she
contemplated the long hours ahead of her a taxi approached.  It slowed
and seemed about to stop, but she had no money to pay for it, and no
other place to go where help would be available.  She shook her head
and the cabbie picked up speed,

heading past the dark outline of the boxing stadium, up towards
Paddington.

While she stood there, a late tram turned into the depot adjoining the
park.  She watched it stop alongside others stationed there, and saw
the driver and conductor sign off their shift at a counter deep inside
the building.  Soon afterwards they emerged, voicing a hope they might
still get a drink at a sly grog club in William Street.  She felt their
speculative glances as they went past her, and waited until they were
out of sight.

Except for the brightly lit counter the rest of the cavernous tram
depot was in virtual darkness, which was when she started to realise
there was no security patrol.  Apart from the distant figure of a man
who appeared to be a supervisor engrossed in paperwork, no one else was
visible.  She waited until certain of this, then moved carefully
inside.  She chose one of the Bondi trams, the 'toast racks' they were
called, because of their slatted wooden seats across the width of the
carriage.  Unfortunately the slats were unyieldingly rigid; by the
morning her back was stiff from the discomfort of lying down on them,
and she had hardly slept because of the intense cold.

Much of the night had been spent in troubled speculation that somewhere
her life had gone astray, that she had mortgaged the future for a vain
conceit and a foolish illusion.

Towards dawn, when sleep finally came far too late for her to feel
rested an inspector on his early rounds shone his torch in her face and
woke her, ordering her to clear out of State Government property before
she was charged with trespass.  Belle, who had so often lived
precariously in her past and even relished the romantic days of being
dangerously indigent, found out for the first time in her life what it
was like to feel helpless and afraid.

part-3

EIGHTEEN

The shop was the same as she remembered just as cluttered, the window
filled with an eclectic display that ranged from a pair of ivory tusks
to a trombone, from a cylindrical phonograph able to reproduce the
voice of Nellie Melba to an original crystal set.

There were paintings, Persian rugs, coin and stamp collections, used
clothes called 'previously loved' garments, and shabby secondhand
furniture elevated to 'items of antiquity'.  On the window she read the
same familiar sign.

CASH FOB YOUR OLD CLOBBER

FAIR PRICES FAIR DEALS

CAN'T BE FAIRER THAN THAT!

H.W.

"NUNCIE' BILLINGS WORTH  Prop.

Above the door lintel, beside a flamboyant pawnbroker's sign, was the
name of the shop that had originally caused uproar at the local council
and scandalised the sedate North Shore neighbourhood:

NUNCIE'S THREE BALLS.

Belle stood for a moment, watching the chaos within.  A very

large man and another who barely reached to his shoulder were
struggling to move an upright piano without breaking the delicate
objects that surrounded it.  A glass cabinet full of crockery trembled
as the small man brushed against it, and the third person in the shop,
a thick-set woman wearing a beret and smoking a midget cigar, removed
it from her mouth long enough to shout at him.

"For Christ's sake, Clarence, get a grip on yourself."

"I'd love to, old dear, but both hands are fully occupied," he replied,
and when the other man began to laugh the weight became too much for
them and they let the piano down with a heavy thud.

"Useless pair of queens," the woman said.

"Come on, boys, try to get your act together."

The 'boys', who were well into middle age like their employer, resumed
the struggle with their burden towards a loading bay at the back of the
shop, while she made the job more hazardous by trying to direct their
progress through the clutter.

"Careful.  Down a bit your side, Charles, now up yours, Clarence .. .
and if you damage that antique commode it will definitely be up
yours."

"Such promises," Clarence said, pursing his lips at her.

"With a large blunt instrument," she added.

"Oh, you know how to tease, you do," he sighed, and while the pair made
ribald comments about this Belle entered the shop.  The woman turned,
opened her mouth and the cigar literally fell out of it.

"Jesus!  God Almighty," she exclaimed.

"It can't be, but it bloody well is!"

"Hello, Nuncie," Belle said.  When the other held out her arms Belle
felt a moment of uncertainty, then ran to be enclosed by them.

They hugged each other, then Nuncie stood back, still holding both
Belle's hands, gazing at her.

"About time you turned up.  Let me look at you.  Lovely Belle Baker-'
"Belle Carson."

"As if I could forget that.  Broke a heap of bloody hearts, that did.

Half the male population of this city .. . and me."

Belle smiled and carefully detached hands.

"Same old Nuncie."

"Older, dear."  She lifted her beret to disclose traces of grey in her
cropped hair.

"But not necessarily wiser.  Where's the boy?"

"At school."

"Not working?"

"Not at the moment.  It's gone a bit quiet."

"I saw him in his first film.  Took myself off to the flicks for a look
at him.  I thought he was good ... in a precocious kind of way."

They heard the piano bump into a metal object and send it crashing.

"Bleeding hopeless!"  Nuncie shouted at them.

"It's only an imitation fire scuttle," the larger of the two said.

"Imitation my arse.  That's Georgian, that is.  Worth fifteen quid."

"Yesterday it was worth five," the other man replied.

"Well, now you've put a dent in it, it's distressed.  Makes it a
genuine antique.  This is my very good friend Belle.  The large poof is
Charles, and the small one with the big mouth answers to the name of
Clarence."

"Bell," the large one said, 'as in Tinkerbell?"

"No," Nuncie said, 'as in belle of the ball.  She was christened
Arabella, but changed it."

"Very wise," Clarence said.

"I had a maiden aunt named Arabella.

A ferocious woman, built like a battleship, with a voice like a Dogger
Bank foghorn."

"Well, thank you for that frightening glimpse of the family tree,"

Nuncie retorted.

"Now be a good boy and shut your gob before you catch a fly."

They went back to struggling with the piano while Nuncie led the way to
a tiny office.  It contained two upright chairs and a desk that was
almost obscured by paperwork.  Burrowing beneath this clutter, she
found an ancient electric jug and plugged it in, then opened a cupboard
and produced a tin marked 'tax receipts' that contained biscuits and a
packet of tea.

"Where do you keep the tax receipts?"  Belle asked.

"Don't believe in that sort of thing, pet.  All transactions strictly
cash.  I'm a shopkeeper, not a bloody bookkeeper, which is what I'll
tell the mongrels if they ever try to audit me.  I can show a loss on
everything."  She lit another small cigar.

"Now, tell me about you, while we're talking of losses.  I have an
impression things are not brilliant."

"Not as brilliant as they were," Belle said.

"I've honestly been meaning to come and see you, but..  . you know .. .
good intentions and all that."  She felt uneasy about the deception,
but Nuncie smiled away any discomfiture.

"I know.  I hear the road to hell is paved with them.  I also heard
you've permanently shed the country town."

"How?"

"The font of all gossip, darl.  Fatter than ever and twice as
patronising."

"Florian?"

"Who else fits that bill?  He strolled in here a few months ago with a
pair of crummy plated candlesticks he was trying to flog.  Wanted fifty
quid each for 'em.  Antique and genuine silver, he said, looking down
his great beak at me.  Reckoned he was doing me a favour by giving me
first option.  I told him to fuck off."

"And now he's done so," Belle said.

"Departed, well and truly."

"You mean he's dead?"

"Nothing so simple.  Emptied his bank account, even borrowed money from
his landlord, and skipped town."

"Where?"

"If we knew, we'd all be after him.  With shotguns."

"Oh shit," Nuncie said, catching on at last.

"He owes you."

"Not me.  He owes my son most of what he earned in the past year."

"Strewth, Belle," she exclaimed, 'you didn't, you couldn't have let him
handle ..."  She shook her head in despair.

"Oh, God almighty, you're a dill."

"I know that now," Belle said ruefully.

"If you'd come to visit me months ago like you promised, I'd have
warned you not to be so trusting."

"Water under the bridge."  Belle took a deep breath and braced herself
for what had to be said.

"The truth is, because of Florian I'm a bit strapped for money, and
although I'm ashamed to say it, Nuncie, I'm afraid that's one of the
reasons why I'm here."

"Why not?  That's what friends are for."

"Stop being nice.  It makes me feel bloody awful."

She took an aquamarine ring from her pocket.  It was all that George
could afford at the time, and had served as an engagement ring.  Nuncie
assessed it, then reached for a jeweller's glass and fitted it to her
eye.  She examined the blue stone with the same concentration she would
bestow on a more valuable gem.

"So work's a bit quiet for Teddy?"

"So quiet that I've got myself a job as a barmaid.  Starting
tomorrow."

"The theatre ... a bastard of a business, ducky, no matter how

much you love it.  Always was."  She removed the eye glass.

"Sell or loan?"

"Loan.  Just for a few weeks, till I get sorted out."

"I'll lend you ten quid on it," Nuncie said.

"Don't be mad!"  Belle was startled.

"It's not worth even half

"Don't tell me how to run my shop, Belle.  I said ten quid for a couple
of months, renewable.  Take it or leave it."

"Thank you."  Belle felt grateful but uncomfortable with what she knew
was charity.  It was one of the reasons she had not come for help
sooner.  Nuncie's generosity could at times create an awkward emotional
indebtedness.  But in the end there had been no one else she could turn
to.

"No thanks required," Nuncie replied briskly, her leathered face
impassive.

"It's a business deal.  A loan at five per cent per annum.

Right?  Divided by a couple of months means that after repayment of the
original, you'll owe me two and sixpence interest.  Right?"

"If you say so."  Belle had no head for figures, especially when
computed so swiftly, but felt sure the interest should be more than
that.  Before she could voice this feeling the telephone rang, and
Nuncie was immediately engrossed in a lively haggle with someone about
the price of an Ottoman rug.  Belle hardly heard the exchange.  Her
mind was so full of the past forty-eight hours ever since she had left
Kellett Street; especially being woken by the tram inspector, his nose
wrinkling with disgust the second time in one night that she had been
mistaken for a prostitute, she thought and the desperate need to find
clean clothes and a hot shower.  There was only one way to do this,
which was to walk up the hill to the Cross once again.  Since her feet
were rubbed raw, she carried her shoes and walked barefoot.

Helene La Rue had been shocked and expressed herself in voluble

French when she opened the door of the shop.  It was just after
five-thirty, and the sun had not yet risen to warm the day.  Belle was
shivering after waiting for almost an hour outside the hotel across the
street until a light had appeared in the flat over the corner store.

She knew Helene always rose early in order to take a tram to the
markets, where she bought the day's fresh fruit and vegetables.

"Mom dieu!"  Helene stared at her and switched into her strongly
accented English, "But what has happened?  Where have you been?

Look at your poor feet, they are bleeding!"

"Please, can you lend me five pounds?"  Belle asked urgently.

"Comment?"

"Five quid," she repeated desperately.

"But for what purpose, Belle?  First of all, perhaps you do not wish
for me to speak like this, but I think I should be truthful and say you
look awful."

"I feel awful.  I slept in a tram down at the depot."

"Tram," she repeated, startled.

"Pourquoi?  For what strange reason do you go to sleep in a tram?"

"The old bag locked me out of the flat because I owe rent."

"Then why didn't you come here?"

"I would've but by then it was far too late."

"You should have woken us!"  the Frenchwoman scolded.

"Helene, please, tell me if you can help."

"You ask for five pounds?  But I cannot.  I do not have five."

"Never mind," Belle said, 'if you'd lend me the tram fare to Neutral
Bay, I might be able to borrow the money from a friend there."

"Non, you cannot travel anywhere looking like that," Helene told her
severely.

"You need to bathe and put on clean clothes.  You could bathe upstairs
here, only I do not think it is good for your son to see you like
this."

"I agree.  Trouble is, I can't get hold of any clean clothes.  Not
unless I get into my room.  Don't you understand what's happened?

The bitch has changed the lock on our room."

Helene La Rue said that of course she understood, and to please wait.
She opened the till and counted the money in it.

"I have four pounds, but I need one for the market.  And also I must
pay the baker.  So I can loan you two.  Do you think it will be enough
to help?"

"I hope so."  Belle felt a great wave of relief.  She had been broke
before, but never like this, not with the responsibility of Teddy, or
with such a feeling of insecurity.

"Bless you, Helene.  It's only for a few days, I promise."

Both women looked up as they heard the sound of someone stirring in the
living quarters above.  Helene warned her to be silent with a finger to
her lips, in case it was Teddy.  She took two pound notes from the
till, gave them to Belle and gestured her towards the door.

At first Edith Burch had refused to consider the payment of a measly
two quid.  She insisted she had the law firmly on her side, and for all
she cared Belle Carson could sleep in the street, the park or another
tram whichever she preferred.  No stuck-up lodger was going to get the
better of her.  Especially one with such airs and graces.  The room
would remain locked until the full rent was paid.

In that case, Belle had told her, she was prepared to abandon the
belongings in there because they had no real value, and Ma Burch could
whistle for her lousy money.  So the question seemed to be, did she
want two quid now and the rest when she could pay, or would she prefer
nothing absolute fuck-all, Belle had said, because she'd

had a gutful of her landlady.  Or would Mrs.  Burch prefer to go to
court, which meant that a few months from now the case might be
scheduled for hearing.  The magistrate would be cranky because such a
small debt should be settled without wasting his valuable time, and the
only winners would be the people who always won in court the lawyers.

Edith Burch took a few moments to consider this, then decided to accept
the two pounds, insisting the balance be paid within a week or it would
be handed over to a debt collector.  She gave Belle the new key on
condition she vacate the room by the following day.

"Bloody Ottoman rugs, the silly cow."  Nuncie finished her phone call
and leapt to switch off the jug before water boiled over her desk.

"It is completely impossible to comprehend the stinking rich.

This absurd woman, she lives at Beauty Point in a great ostentatious
palace, and she's trying to sell me a threadbare Ottoman.  Sell me one!
I said I've got four in stock, so why not chuck her rug in the garbage
tip and buy a new one from me?  The batty old bitch wants a trade-in."
She looked carefully at Belle.

"You were deep in thought, my love, or you might've turned off the
jug."

"Sorry," Belle said.

"So bring me up-to-date with the rest of your life.  Have you dumped
the husband what was his name?"

"George.  We saw him at Easter, but he's gone back to live in
Gundagai."

"How does Teddy feel?  Does he know the truth?"

"No.  He still thinks George is his dad."

"Are you going to go on letting him believe that?"

"If I can."

"Never heard from the real one?"

"No."  Belle decided not to mention her fruitless pilgrimage the
previous night.

"And never want to."

"I see his picture in the papers sometimes.  The social pages.  Him and
his wife at the races, or attending some charity dinner.  No doubt
stuffing his face for a good cause, like all that mob."

"Has he put on weight and gone bald?"

"No such luck."  Nuncie shook her head and smiled.

"The bugger's hardly changed, still looks quite young, though he must
be nudging forty."

"Thirty-six," Belle said, then wished she hadn't.

"You keep tabs."

"Not really.  I don't even want to talk or think about him.

Except... I did hear he's become a silk.  Is that true?"

"Absolutely true.  One of our top barristers.  But since you hate his
guts, don't waste time on him.  What have you been doing since George?
Found a new lover?  I'll make the tea while you tell all and make me
laugh."

"Not too many laughs lately, Nuncie."

"No laughs?  Are you going to tell me no lovers, either?"

"Only one."

"And?  Details, please."

"No details.  I think I can say it's all over.  He was too young for
me.  It was fun and he was rather nice," she said reminiscently, 'but I
always knew he was too young."  She watched Nuncie making the tea in a
china pot.

"If Donald is a King's Counsel now, I suppose he has to wear a wig and
gown in court?"

"Ducky, for a bloke you'd rather not talk or think about, he occupies a
lot of your time.  As far as I'm concerned, he's a great big shit, but
I'm told he does wear a wig and looks splendid.  If you

really want to, you can find out the next time he performs in a
trial.

Sit at the back of the court and see for yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous," Belle replied and promptly changed the subject.
She began to recount the events of the past days, the shock of being
left penniless, and her plans for a more secure future.

The landlord said his name was "Erbert, but everyone called him plain
"Erb, so they might as well call him "Erb too.  Belle and Teddy
followed him to the top landing where the stairs became steeper and
quite narrow.  He was a huge man, almost as wide as the final flight
that led towards the garret, and Belle tried to suppress a comic image
of him being stuck halfway up there.  She believed at first he had
paused on the landing to regain his breath, but when he gestured to
them she realised he intended to wait there while they went the rest of
the way to view what was offered.

"Lovely little top-floor room," he wheezed.

"Jest wot you se are looking for, cheap as chips for this 'ighly
regarded part of town.

Gotta view, real close to everything, only ten bob rent a week.  Better
be quick, she'll be snapped up real smart, this will.  Youse get free
'of showers on Frideys.  Extra ones charged for."

They left their suitcases with him and climbed up to where the frayed
stair carpet ended to inspect their new home.  Not a lovely room at
all, Belle could see that at once.  A little room certainly, cheap most
assuredly, but as for this being a highly regarded part of town she
already knew the neighbourhood was a dismal suburb, much of it
wasteland surrounded by industrial chimneys belching smoke.

Planes regularly flew overhead to the new aerodrome at Mascot.

There was an incessant noise of traffic rumbling past.  The houses here
were all in a state of disrepair, gaunt places, some with windows
boarded up, the whole neighbourhood creating an impression that it was
only surviving until there was sufficient money to knock it down and
begin again.

The room was in fact an attic, a makeshift renovation that had been
built against the slope of the roof, which meant only half of it had
adequate headroom.  It contained two iron-frame beds with horsehair
mattresses.  They were set together because there was insufficient
space for them to be apart.  The only other item of furniture was a
clothes cupboard with a broken latch that would barely accommodate half
their belongings.  Mahogany veneer was peeling off the sides, exposing
flimsy plywood.  Inside it she saw insects, the petrified remains of
long-dead moths and flies, and a litter of tiny black pellets that
could only be mouse or rat droppings.

At the lowest point in the attic where the ceiling and the floor met
was a grate with scraps of charred timber in it, which Belle realised
was a fireplace with a rudimentary tin chimney cut through the iron
roof.  It looked dangerous, but "Erb insisted it was necessary in the
cold weather and worked a treat.  He showed them what he called 'the
ablutions'.  The sole lavatory in the house was a long way downstairs.
It contained a stained bath and a shower fuelled by a chip heater.
Belle felt too tired to register her disgust.  She wished she could
resume the search, find somewhere if not better, then at least half
decent, but there was no time; they had to vacate Kellett Street that
day or owe more rent to the landlady.

She looked at Teddy with a silent apology.

"We'll take it," she

"Botany?"  Nuncie pronounced the name of the suburb with a slight
shudder, as if it might be akin to somewhere obnoxious in outer

Siberia.

"But that's an industrial area, darling.  I know that people work in
Botany, but surely no one actually lives there."

"We do now," Belle said.

"You can't bring up a kid in that neighbourhood, Belle."

"I've paid a month's rent, and we've moved in."

"Such a rush!  I could've found you something better."

"Not at this price.  When I pay back Mrs.  La Rue and get settled with
that bloody landlady, then I start to repay you and Greta Torrance.
Meanwhile my wages have to keep us.  So a cheap room, no matter how
awful, will do until we get on our feet again."

"And how," her friend asked carefully, 'do you think that's going to
happen?"

"Teddy will eventually get work.  After all, everyone knows him;

he's talented.  Things are bound to change."

"Of course," Nuncie said, wondering if things ever would.

NINETEEN

Teddy thought it strange; they had moved only a few miles away in the
same city, but life was so different.  In the first weeks he walked
along bleak streets that were almost deserted until sirens sounded to
end the working day, after which they were briefly swamped with men
from the factories hurrying to their homes in other places.

Hardly anyone seemed to live in the district.  There were no shops.

No electric trolley buses or neon signs, no cheerful crowds or the
familiar smell of garlic or coffee that drifted out from doorways along
Darlinghurst Road.

He missed his previous life dreadfully.

There was no one here like his friend Dominic, the accordionist, who
had lost his leg in the war at a place he called bleeding Mesopotamia;
none of the painted street ladies, who always made a fuss of him and
called him darl; and no matinees on Saturday arvo at the Picture
Palace, where Chrissie would hold his hand in the scary films, which
was why he always elected to see them, because he liked holding hands
in the darkened cinema with her.  He missed the nightly clamour of what
Belle had called the Kellett Street circle, their rowdy debates and
political arguments, and at times he secretly wondered what had
happened to Ross.

More than anything else, he felt the loss of Sally.

He had tried to see her.  The day before they'd moved he'd waited at
the school gates when the bell rang, but she was not there and one of
her friends said she was away sick with flu.  The trouble was, apart
from knowing she lived in a flat in Roslyn Gardens, he didn't know her
actual address because he'd never been asked to her home.  She
sometimes made feeble excuses about this, but they both knew the
reason; her mother didn't like him, and disapproved of their
friendship.  Belle said it was typical of a stuck-up cow who had hit
the jackpot in her divorce settlement: there was no snootier snob in
town, so he shouldn't let it bother him.  It never had, until he
realised there would be no more dancing lessons and he would not be
able to keep in touch with Sally.

He made an attempt to find out where she lived, running through the
maze of streets that led past St.  Luke's Hospital and into Roslyn
Gardens, down the hill towards Elizabeth Bay, ringing doorbells in the
large blocks of flats, asking if they knew the address of a Mrs.  Sharp
and her daughter, but nobody could help.  An elderly lady said she
thought she'd heard the name, but felt sure they didn't live in this
district.  Or perhaps they did, and she was thinking of someone else.
At the grocery shop on the corner an assistant said to come back
another time when they weren't so busy.  When Teddy replied there
wouldn't be another time because he was moving from the district, he
was told the assistant was far too busy to listen to other people's
troubles he had enough of his own.

Worse than this, he was confronted by a janitor of a block of flats who
said he'd been watching him ringing doorbells, causing a nuisance and
wasting decent people's time.  Teddy tried to explain, but the man had
him categorised as a street larrikin, and warned he'd report him as a
truant playing hooky from school.  When he ran from this threat, legs
beginning to ache as he tackled the steep

return hill to Darlinghurst, his one remaining hope was the Kings
Cross post office.  There, on asking for their home address, he was
informed they were forbidden to give out private information.

As time passed after they moved to Botany, he began to wonder if he'd
ever see Sally again.  Facing the daunting experience of a new school,
new classes and the same old humiliation of being put with younger kids
all eager to show up his ineptitude, he felt it more keenly because he
lacked a friend.  Sally had been his confidante, his companion and best
mate, and school had been tolerable because of her presence.  Now there
was no one with whom he could share his secrets or confess his
loneliness.  Each afternoon when school was over he returned to an
empty room, for Belle was working six days a week, serving in the
saloon bar of the Joseph Banks Hotel.

She was rarely home before seven, having to help clean up after the
rush hour.

Being lonely was a new experience, a disturbing one that made Teddy
feel moody and introspective.  Back in Gundagai there'd been the mate
ship of the gang, at least until his final weeks, and he'd had his dad
as well; while in Kellett Street he'd never lacked for company.  He had
not wanted to leave either place.  Certainly :

not Brewinda Road because he missed the old house, the games he could
play in the yard, even the Murrumbidgee River itself.  He missed
George, who had been left behind, although at that time he had thought
it just a temporary separation.

Often awake at night in his new room, his bed joined with Belle's
because of the lack of space, he could still recollect the day they
left;

Gundagai.  The long walk to the station no car this time carrying their
luggage in the January heat, the platform empty except for:

them and Mr.  Miller the station porter in his shabby State Rail
uniform.  All of it still so clear in his mind.

Mr.  Miller, staring at Belle perspiring in her best clothes, asking
if the town wasn't smart enough for them.  Was that why she and the boy
were off again so soon, heading for the big smoke?  Belle ignoring him.
Looking through him as if he didn't exist.  Then George taking Mr.
Miller aside, saying there was no reason to be so discourteous, no need
to be rude, because it was none of his business, and any more remarks
like that there'd be a complaint to the stationmaster.  George telling
the porter his wife was not leaving the town insisting on this as if it
were important, saying she was going to the city as chaperone for their
son, because there was such a demand for him to appear in films and on
the stage that it'd be bloody stupid not to take advantage of it, and
in due course they'd both be back again.

All of this Teddy believed at the time, but discovered afterwards that
it was a lie.  It was play-acting, the way Belle and George had kissed
and exchanged a hug as the train came in, how they'd sworn they would
miss each other, and soon be back together as a family.

The whole day was a lie.  He supposed they'd felt it was necessary, but
whenever he thought about it, which was often, he wished his dad and
mum could've trusted him with the truth.  Although he was only nine
years old at the time, he felt sure he could've handled it.

Leaving Kellett Street was very different.  It was so sudden, all
happening in two days without the slightest warning, no chance to say
goodbye to anyone.  Until later he didn't have the faintest idea why
they were leaving, except that Belle and the landlady had had an
enormous row, and after they'd packed and taken the suitcase
downstairs, Mrs.  Burch had been waiting there as if she was on guard,
saying she was glad to see the back of them.  Belle had said the
feeling was mutual the rent was exorbitant and the bedbugs were a
plague; there should be a warning on the front door: beware of fleas,
lice and a parasite.

The landlady had gone bright red, held out her hand and demanded the
key of the room.  This was when Belle had told him to wait outside, and
although he was not supposed to listen, he heard her call Ma Burch a
string of names; there were so many that he could only remember 'a
bloodsucking avaricious leech' and 'a nasty rapacious old tart'.
Afterwards, while waiting for the tram, about to ask her what rapacious
meant, she'd told him instead how she'd given back the key.  She'd
opened the lavatory door, dropped it in the pan and pulled the chain.

"Good on you, Mum," Teddy said, momentarily cheered out of his
dejection.  Belle could always be relied upon to do something a bit
weird and unpredictable.

"Pity it wasn't an Outback dun ny she'd said, making him grin most of
the way across the Harbour Bridge to Neutral Bay, where they had left
the tram and walked to a strange shop that seemed to be full of almost
everything, and where he had his first sight of Nuncie Billingsworth.

"So you're the darling boy!"  she said, and years afterwards he could
still remember the baggy cord trousers, the beret, cigar and a voice
ripened on years of whisky and tobacco.

"I'm sure your mum has told you who I am.  I'm her oldest friend, and
apart from that, petal, I'm the only woman you'll ever meet with three
balls."

When Teddy looked startled she had pointed at the pawnbroker sign and
the name of the shop inscribed above it.  They had both laughed, then
she picked him up and hugged him.  He had tried not to mind the smell
of the cigar or the smoke that made his eyes water.

"We'll be good mates, you and me, ducky," she said.

"It's a very

special day, this is.  The first time I've seen you since .. . well,
to be exact, you weren't yet with us, not in the flesh, still a bun in
the oven, as the saying goes.  Never thought I'd see you grown up into
a fine young chap like this, and that's the truth."  She put him down
and smiled as she quickly brushed a sleeve across her eyes.

"Wasn't I born?"  Teddy asked, puzzled by what she was saying.

"Not when I first knew you, pet.  More than ten years ago.  Talk about
time's winged chariot," she said.

"Lord love us, it doesn't half belt along.  Seems such a short while
since I heard the news ..."  She had sniffed, feeling in the pocket of
her trousers for a hankie to dab at her eyes this time.  Teddy, who
thought it had been caused by the cigar smoke, began to realise these
were tears.

That night he asked Belle why Nuncie had been crying.

"Was she?"

Belle had assumed a look of surprise.

"I didn't notice it."

"She said the last time she saw you, I was a bun in the oven."

"Well, you were, darling.  That's just Nuncie's way of putting it."

"I know what it means.  But why would that make her cry?"

"I think you must've been mistaken," Belle said, and changed the
subject.

Long after winter had officially ended, the cold persisted.  The
westerly winds that came off the Blue Mountains brought with them
extreme heat in summer and bitter temperatures now.  Although Belle
disliked the improvised fireplace and worried it might be unsafe, there
was little option.  Their garret, perched like a bird's nest at the top
of the house, had no protection from the cold.  When the wind blew and
the galvanised-iron roof clattered, they shivered in their warmest
clothes.

After school Teddy went to collect kindling and pine cones in the

woodland area near the bay.  He took with him a woven basket that
Nuncie had lent them, one made of palm fronds, she said, brought back
from a trip she had once taken on an ocean liner to Fiji.  It was meant
to be for shopping, but he used it to carry the twigs and cones, then
slung it over his shoulder to take them home.  Belle insisted he must
always be safely indoors before dark, and he was not to dally there
talking to people he didn't know.

Sometimes he was distracted by ships that came into the bay to
discharge cargo, ships with foreign names, some with strange and
different sort of writing that he couldn't read.  Wog boats, he heard
someone say, and when he asked Belle what it meant, she said it meant
the person was pig-ignorant and the phrase was vulgar and he was not to
use it.  She told him the vessels might be from Japan or China, or else
Arabia, but since he couldn't tell this from the weird lettering on the
bow, they remained categorised in his mind as wog boats.

One afternoon, tired of gathering wood, he walked down to the sea wall
to watch one unloading its cargo.  A floating crane was alongside,
hoisting crates from the deck, swinging them high in the air and safely
onto the dock.  Suddenly one of the biggest crates fell and crashed to
the ground.  Even from where he stood, Teddy could see it splinter
apart.  All the goods spilled out as wharfies on the dock converged on
it and started grabbing the contents.  Dark skinned people on the ship
were shouting in alarm.

Alongside him a man laughed softly.

"Serve 'em right.  Bloody heathens."

Teddy was startled.  He hadn't been aware anyone was there.

The man looked skinny; he wore sand shoes and had on shabby trousers, a
woollen open-necked shirt and a cardigan.  He grinned and took a
half-smoked cigarette from his mouth, pinched it out with his fingers
and put it behind his ear.  Teddy avoided his gaze

as he picked up his basket and went back into the bush, towards the
pine trees.  The cones burnt so quickly that he still needed more for
that night's fire.  After a while he began to feel uneasy.  He tried
not to look, but from the corner of his eye he realised the man was
still watching him.  He'd moved from the sea wall again, Teddy hadn't
heard him and was not far away, leaning against a tree.

Just watching at first.  Staring at him.

Then the man opened the buttons at the front of his trousers.  He put
his hand inside there and smiled.  It was a smile that gave Teddy the
creeps.  A smile that seemed to say, "Come and look at what I'm doing."
He was rubbing himself with one hand and he beckoned to Teddy with the
other.

"Give yer two shillings," the man said, 'two bob, if yer come here."

Teddy tried to be calm.  He picked up the basket.  It was nowhere near
full yet, but he slung it on his shoulder without another glance at the
man.  He started to walk away, not attempting to look back, walking
firmly and steadily as if he was unafraid, but the moment he reached a
thicket of native shrubs and felt out of sight he began to run.

A short cut through this stretch of scrub led back to the main park;

people would be picnicking and walking dogs there, it would be safe.

It was difficult to run with the bundle of cones jolting against his
side.  The bush was dense.  Sharp grevillea branches slapped at his
arms and face, thick morning glory vines amid a jungle of lantana
threatened to trip him.  Unsure of his bearings he changed direction,
then choked back a terrified scream as he became entangled in what felt
like an impenetrable spider's web.  Suddenly the only thing that seemed
to matter was fighting to free himself of the cobweb, and moments later
he came into a clearing to discover he'd gone the wrong way.

With a feeling of horror he saw the man there waiting for him.  In

his panic he'd run almost in a circle, and his pursuer had heard and
tracked his flight, hardly having to move at all to block his escape.

There were no people here, no dogs, no safety.  Just the same creepy
man.  Still smiling.  The same scary smile.  Teddy had never felt such
fear.

"Silly boy," the man said, and reached into his open trousers and
brought out his cock.  It was red and stiff.  He slid his hand up and
down it, like a caress.

"Y' see?  That's all you have to do.  Two bob .. . easy money."

They were face to face, only about ten paces apart.  Teddy moved
slightly forward.  He could see the man's intent eyes fixed on him,
bright and eager, his head nodding encouragement, his tongue starting
to roll across his lips, as if to moisten them.

"Buy lots of ice-cream with two bob, kid."

Teddy moved another pace, then in desperation ran at him, swinging the
half-filled basket with all his strength.  He had never felt so strong,
nor so sure of where he meant to hit.  The man gave a shout of pain and
doubled up, falling to the ground in agony.

"You fuckin' little bastard!"  he cried, and Teddy swung and hit him
again, then jumped out of reach as the man tried to grasp his ankle.
There was no chance to retrieve the basket as he turned and ran.  The
voice was yelling at him to come back or he'd be sorry, and when it
seemed to be distant enough, he risked a quick glance behind.  The man
was getting painfully to his feet, and trying to button his trousers.

Teddy ran for the safety of the park, and it was only when he reached
there and gratefully recovered his breath that he remembered the basket
with the pine cones had been left behind.  They had no fire in their
tiny grate that night.  Belle was huddled in a blanket.  She had
brought home a half-bottle of sherry, and refilled her glass while
Teddy sat and looked at the empty grate and tried not to tremble.  It
wasn't the cold, even though the wind was biting;

it was the man's smile that made him shiver.

"What do you mean, you lost the basket?  How could you lose it?"

"I just did.  I forgot where I left it."

"That sounds a bit like a fib, my darling ... a little white lie."

"I did lose it.  I won't be able to find it."

"It was a loan from Nuncie.  It wasn't ours to lose."

He retreated into stubborn silence.  There was no way he could tell
her.

"Never mind," she said, "I'll just have to save up and buy her a new
one."  She poured herself another sherry, and put the bottle in the
cupboard.

He felt guilty about Nuncie's basket.  He remembered the creepy man's
smile with a feeling of terror.

"Mum ... I don't like it here."

"Nor do I, my love.  But when things are better, we'll move."

"When will they be better?"

"Soon.  As long as we don't get gloomy and down in the dumps, like a
pair of woebegone wombats."  She looked for a smile, but there was
none.

"Things will get better, they have to get better."

"Why can't we go home?"

"That's not possible," she said, 'and I think you know it's not."

"But why?"

"So many questions, darling.  It's time for bed."

"Aren't you ever going back there?"  Teddy asked, but he knew the
answer to that before she shook her head.

Later, when he was in bed and she had switched off the light, he tried
to ask her why she didn't like Gundagai.

"I spent nine years there, Teddy.  I tried to like it."

"Why couldn't you?  It's a nice town."

"There's nothing wrong with the town, darling.  I was the wrong one,
out of my element, a Promethean in that sterile landscape ..."

"A what, Mum?"

"A bit of an odd-ball, darling.  Different.  People didn't like that...
or me."

"Dad likes you."

"Yes," she said, 'your dad's a good man.  I like him, too."

"Then why-' "Time for sleep, I think."

"Mum-' "Last question," she said.

"Will we be able to save up and buy Nuncie a new basket?"

"We must.  Of course, it won't be the same.  Not as nice.  We can't go
to Fiji and buy one like that."

Teddy heard the school bell as he hurried past the asphalt playground
and saw some boys from his class going into the brick building that he
always thought looked like a prison.  At least it looked like the
prisons he'd seen in films, when he used to go to the Picture Palace
with Chrissie La Rue  He hadn't been to a film since then, because
there wasn't a picture show anywhere near where they lived now, and he
knew they couldn't afford it.  Wanting what they couldn't afford only
made Belle unhappy, so it was best not to ask.  Best to believe things
would get better soon, and he'd be able to see films again.  There had
to be a cinema somewhere near; it wasn't civilised not to have one.

Nobody at school saw him run past.  He knew he'd be late but it
couldn't be helped.  He'd invent an excuse.  When he reached the

park there were people walking their dogs, which made it feel safer.

But he had to go into the thick bush land to find the basket.  If it
was there.  The man might've pinched it.  Or else he might even still
be there, waiting.  Thinking about that almost made Teddy change his
mind.  But he'd decided, lying awake last night, it had to be done.

He was frightened the whole time he spent searching.  It was hard to
remember exactly where it had happened.  The bush land was far bigger
than he'd realised.  If he needed to shout for help nobody would be
able to hear.  A blackberry scratched his leg; he felt it was probably
bleeding, but he didn't want to stop to check.  Memory of the thick
spider's web kept him on edge, while he began to wonder if there might
be snakes.  He heard a rustle and turned in terror, but it wasn't the
man, it was a small furry creature that scuttled away, and he felt his
heart pound even as he recognised it was a rabbit.

When at last he found the right clearing the woven basket was intact on
the ground.  Some of the twigs and pine cones were still inside, the
rest scattered nearby.  He swiftly gathered them up, then, clutching it
to his chest, ran all the way back to school.  He was made to stand in
the corner, and the eight-year-olds in the class giggled and whispered
about him, but he didn't care.  He felt as if he'd made a journey; in
his vivid imagination he'd fought a battle and won it, or, better
still, had climbed a mountain and reached the top.

In his solitary hours after school, before Belle finished work at the
hotel, Teddy carefully composed a letter to George.  He wanted this one
to be a real letter, full of news about their change of address and all
that had happened: at least two pages of running writing which he'd
been practising so that George would see he'd taken to heart the advice
about working hard at his lessons.

In order to impress his dad, the letter had taken a long time.  He
confessed he didn't like their new room, and the neighbourhood was
different and not as nice.  But Nuncie was nice, he said; did he know
Nuncie Billingsworth?  She had given him a present, a book of poems all
about places in Sydney, written by her friend Kenneth Slessor.  He was
trying to read one of the poems each night, and when Belle got back
from work she helped him to spell and understand the big words.  Did he
know the news that Belle was working at a hotel behind the bar, and
rotten old Florian had blown through with their money?  He decided to
cross this out, then had to rewrite the whole page, remembering Belle
had asked him not to tell his dad about that.  It was spilt milk and it
would only worry George who could not help them, she said, so it was
best to say nothing.

The letter-writing was often interrupted by his moments of
introspection, and at times he wondered why they never heard from all
the poets, actors and artists who used to visit their Kings Cross room
so often ... the many friends with their gossip and arguments over
bottles of four-penny dark.  It was strange the way they had vanished,
and at night now there was just him and Belle after she came home.  All
the time they lived at Kellett Street the circle had met there
regularly, and he could not understand what had happened to them. 
After all, it was only a short tram ride away.  Once he had raised the
subject with Belle, who had shrugged and said it showed they weren't
actual friends at all, just a bunch of people happy to grog on at
someone else's expense.  Fair-weather friends was one name for them,
she added, although bludgers was a word that seemed quite apt.

She said it was just as well they could not be bothered to seek her
out, because she could no longer afford pointless little luxuries like
that.

She sounded angry.  He was unsure if her criticism included Ross
Tanner, but as she didn't mention his name Teddy felt it was unwise

to ask, and decided that if Ross was also considered a bludger, then
he and Sally must have been mistaken about them being lovers.  It was
another reminder of Sal, making him wish he could see her again so they
could discuss this.  He missed her more with each passing week, far
more than he thought possible.  In bed at night he held silent
imaginary conversations with her, and sometimes it felt so vivid and
real as if she was actually there with him, the two of them chatting
and laughing together, her mop of red hair spread across the pillow
beside him.

There was so much to tell her.  About the way he'd tried to find her
home address when they had to leave Kellett Street.  How he'd gradually
learnt that Florian had shot through with all their dough.

Imagine it!  Rotten old Uriah, doing a bunk!  And just to make it
worse, there was no work at present it was what they called a slump so
he was trapped into going to school every day.  Sally knew how he
disliked change, but this time he kept wishing there could be one big
change in his life, to leave Botany behind, to come back to live in the
Cross so he could find her again.

He had a thousand things to say.  He wanted to tell her about Nuncie,
the funny lady with three balls.  About the book of poems she'd given
him.  How he could now read every poem without help.

In time he might even talk to her about the creepy man in the park,
although he was not sure about that.

He knew one thing.  He'd like to tell Sal that he missed her so much he
felt certain he must be in love with her, even though they were only
ten years old.

If he could pluck up enough courage, he'd really like to tell her
that.

Sometimes on a Sunday, when the hotel was shut and Belle did not have
to work, they would walk to Mascot and watch the planes taking off. 
The aerodrome, as it was called, was a large, treeless field :

with a concrete strip for the planes to land, and a corrugated-iron
building called the air terminal.  Not many years ago, he was told by
one of the pilots, the place had been a dairy farm.

On many of these days Nuncie would join them, arriving there on her
sturdy push bike with complaints about the crazy fools driving motor
cars all of them men who had nearly run her down.  Nuncie, wearing
familiar baggy cords, a floppy pullover and her trademark beret,
invariably lit up a small cigar the moment she finished airing her
views on those irresponsible idiots who should be barred from the
roads.  A bunch of raving dingalings, she called them.

"I hear the blokes are complaining about this madwoman on a push bike
Belle teased her one Sunday.

"They want her chained up so the roads are safe for them.  Or was it
the bike they wanted chained up?  No, it was the rider."

"I know which part of their anatomy I'd put a chain on," Nuncie said
with a grin, then turned to gaze at Teddy.

"Well, young sir, I may be the only woman you know with three balls,
ducky, but don't I get my usual Sunday kiss?"

Teddy liked it when Nuncie joined them to watch the planes, for she
could always make Belle laugh.  These were the best Sundays,!

When his mum laughed like that he had this strange feeling of
happiness, because of the way her face lit up; she looked younger!

and really beautiful, and Teddy liked it when other people seemed!

to notice and admire her.

On days like this they would stand behind the perimeter fence near the
air terminal building and watch passengers climb steps that were
wheeled alongside the planes so they could go aboard.

The engines would be started and warmed up until both propellers were
at full speed, throttling so loudly it was impossible to hear
themselves speak, then the plane would taxi across the one-time dairy
farm to become airborne and climb out to sea over Botany Bay, until it
was a tiny speck in the sky.  It was a source of wonder to Teddy how
the same plane a few hours later could land its passengers in distant
cities such as Melbourne, Brisbane or Perth even places overseas.

When he learnt that Singapore could be reached in three days, and it
took just two more overnight stops to India, his imagination began to
take wing, visualising great adventures sometimes as a passenger, or in
more daring dreams as the pilot crossing oceans, cruising over exotic
foreign lands, arriving in New York or London to the applause of
cheering crowds.

Charles Kingsford-Smith became his new hero; mere land-locked mortals
like Don Bradman and Hubert Opperman could not compete with a man who
rode the skies on such a magic carpet.

TWENTY

In the months that had passed since the night of his induction into the
Foundation Club, Donald Ferrier often thought about the woman he had
glimpsed on his arrival home.  It was irrational, he knew, but he kept
wondering.  Exactly why he should imagine it was Belle Baker puzzled
him.  She belonged to the past eleven years past and a lucky escape it
had been.  On reflection, this was perhaps unfair; there were some fond
memories, some tender and rather loving times if he cared to recall,
memories that were best left as history for the sake of his marriage
and its current difficulties.

It could have been the judge's port, or the stimulus of his initiation,
but he had not slept well that night.  In the morning as she served
breakfast, the housekeeper had told him about the caller; how the woman
requested to see him, claiming she was a client needing urgent advice,
but refusing to leave a message or even her name.

Mrs.  Abbott clearly thought it extremely odd, and by implication her
attitude seemed to suggest he might know a bit more about this than he
was prepared to admit.

"No smoke without fire," she would doubtless confide to her friend the
gardener next door, or anyone else in the street who enjoyed a
gossip.

"What time was this?"  Donald asked.

"Shortly after nine."

He shrugged as if it was of no real importance, buttered his toast and
turned to the news pages of the Sydney Morning Herald.  He did his best
to appear engrossed in the paper when she returned with the tea,
although his mind was busily absorbing what she had said.

Nine o'clock?  In that case, he estimated she whoever it was must have
waited outside the house for almost another two hours, which was more
than odd, it was downright bloody peculiar.  He could think of no one
who would linger for so long in the cold, then scuttle off when his car
turned into the driveway.  Nobody except..  . but it was surely
unlikely.  Ridiculous.

He shook his head as if to clear it, and tried to focus on the
newspaper.  In Berlin, Adolf Hitler's new Nazi party was burning books,
while communists were running riot in Madrid.  The world was going
crazy.  Another headline announced Prohibition had officially ended in
America after thirteen dry years.  Sanity in some degree seemed to have
returned there, he thought.  Adults could again drink booze without it
being a criminal offence.

Why on earth should it be Belle?  Why was he even considering it?

Just because of a fleeting look, an instant when he seemed to catch a
glimpse of ... "Mrs.  Abbott," he said, as she returned with the early
morning mail, 'this woman last night, your mysterious visitor-' "Not my
visitor, Mr.  Ferrier," she said quickly.

"No, of course not."  He smiled.

"Just a manner of speaking."  He knew he had to be careful with her.
Mrs.  Abbott had been Caroline's choice, and over the past year had
become her confidante.  The housekeeper knew a great deal more than she
should about the state of their relationship, which was why he found
her presence uncomfortable.  But he needed to ask one more question,
and try to make it seem casual.

"Call her our mysterious visitor, by all means.  Probably, if the
truth is known, someone trying to sell encyclopaedias."  He hurried:

on before she could dispute this.

"What sort of age was she?  An elderly lady?"

"No, quite the contrary.  I'd say she was in her thirties.  Let me see,
yes, I'd say mid-thirties.  A bit taller than average, quite slim, dark
hair.  She was rather good-looking, in fact... yes, quite good looking,
though she appeared to be in something of a state and, I would have to
say, looked somewhat dishevelled.  So it was difficult to tell..  ."

Mrs.  Abbott, who was well known for her verbosity, looked ready to
continue discussing the matter at length, but he thanked her and said
he had an early appointment at his chambers.  If his wife called, he
would be in court until four, but he'd telephone her tonight about the
date she and the children intended to return from Adelaide.

"But I thought you knew," the housekeeper remarked.

"Knew what, Mrs.  Abbott?"

"She's due back a week Friday, on the fourteenth.  Spending two days
with the kiddies in Melbourne, and then they're all taking the
Thursday-night train."

"I see," he said.

"Well, as long as that's settled."

He went out to the car in a hurry, before he was tempted to wrap the
Herald into a club and hit her with it, thus making the sort of
headlines any newspaper would relish.

Belle asked for an extra shift at the hotel, to help her save money.

Popular with the exclusively male clientele who packed the saloon bar
in the late afternoons, she was careful to look after her favoured

regulars in the rush against closing time, the notorious six-o'clock
swill.  Amid the haze of cigarette smoke and the clamour of orders for
final drinks a din in which it was difficult to distinguish a word
Belle learnt to be adept at reading customers' signals.  The fastest
gun in the pub they called her, a tribute to the speed with which she
could handle several beer taps at once and fill their schooners,
ignoring the rigid legality of the clock until the landlord forced
closure by turning off the kegs.  Then the place rapidly emptied and
she could draw breath, gathering the coins that lay soaked on the bar
in front of her, the small change left there as a token of approval.

The pennies accumulated.  Occasionally there would be a threepenny
coin; once a silver sixpence to be rescued and dried.  Generosity
peaked during the afternoon shift on Fridays, when the men from the
factories were paid and a weekend of sport or the beach lay ahead.

But despite her share of the beer money and the cheap rent, it was
proving difficult to save.  There were the debts to be settled.  After
three months she was able to repay Greta Torrance for the dancing
lessons.  Greta protested it was not necessary, but Belle was adamant,
or else she would feel unable to bring Teddy back to the class again.

When will that be?  Greta had asked, pleased at the prospect.

In a few months, Belle had replied.  Soon.

She could not risk even a small outlay like the dancing lessons yet.

No matter how much she wanted Teddy to resume, it would have to wait a
while.  When she was free of all encumbrance, she would start to
rebuild her life.  Find work for Teddy.  Move from their appalling
room.  But first she must accrue enough to feel a measure of security.
The terrifying experience of being so totally without money had shaken
her.  Her despair during the freezing night in the tram was never
likely to be forgotten.  The former landlady and Helene La Rue loan
were both repaid, but there was still Nuncie.

"Keep the damn money," Nuncie insisted.

They were drinking wine in the flat above her pawnshop.  It was a
Sunday evening and Nuncie had made a cottage pie for dinner, and bought
ice-cream as a surprise treat for Teddy.  Now he was in the shop
premises below, experimentally picking out notes on a piano.

"I mean that," she repeated.

"Keep it for a rainy day."

"I can't."

"Why in hell not?"

"Because I owe you," Belle argued, 'and I want to settle up."

It seemed decidedly ironic that no one appeared to want the money she
had so carefully scrimped and saved to return to them.

It was difficult to make Nuncie realise this was something she must do,
but until she cleared this debt in particular she'd never feel at ease.
Beholden to a friend's compassion.  Or worse, her charity.

"It's only a bloody tenner."

It makes me a hostage, Belle thought, but she couldn't say that.

Nuncie seemed visibly upset, refilling her own glass and instantly
drinking half of it.

"No strings, Belle.  God almighty, I've been working like a dog since I
left school, and for what?  I'm going to be fifty any minute.  If I
can't give you a few lousy quid, what's the point of me busting a gut
to earn it?  Who else is there, for Christ's sake?"

Belle could hear the sound of the piano below, Teddy picking out the
melody of a favourite Irish song, "Danny Boy'.  She wished she could
join him and escape this increasingly uncomfortable conversation.

"I could make things so much easier for you."  Nuncie swilled down the
rest of her wine as if to bolster her nerve.

"You know I could.

You don't have to go on scraping a living in that shitty room-'
"Nuncie, please-'

"Bugger it, I've been wanting to say this for months, ever since you
walked into the shop and back into my life again."

"Nuncie --' Belle knew this was why she'd kept away for so long.

She wondered how to prevent her continuing and possibly ruining their
friendship.

"For God's sake, will you listen?  Please, darling, listen ... let me
say this.  Why not move in here, you and Teddy.  There's stacks of
space for all of us.  He'd have his own room.  I could get the boys to
lug that piano upstairs and put it in there.  He could take music
lessons-' "Stop it."

"Don't try to run away from this," she said reproachfully.

"I want to help you.  Just to share digs, that's all I mean nothing
else.  I know there can't be anything else.  I wouldn't dream of
asking, because I know the answer.  Share a home, have a sort of life
together, be friends.  Isn't that possible?"

"We are friends," Belle said, unable to extricate herself from this
situation without causing pain.  She was vaguely aware the sound of the
piano had stopped.  She wanted to say it was getting late time to take
Teddy back to their shitty room.  But that would sound like trying to
escape.

"We'll always be friends, Nuncie."

"What's the fucking use?"  Nuncie declared bitterly.  She picked up her
glass, and finding there was no wine in it, suddenly flung it against
the wall, where it smashed and scarred the wallpaper.  Tears began to
disfigure her face.

"We both know it's hopeless," she wept.

"We know you'd rather not move in with a lesbian rat bag like me."

"That's a bloody stupid thing to say," Belle answered, and began to
pick up the broken pieces of glass.

"I'm a bloody stupid old tart," came the embittered reply, 'who happens
to love you."

Don't, Belle wanted to plead, please don't, or you'll make it
impossible for us from now on.  She had always known Nuncie had these
feelings for her; it was one of the reasons she'd been loath to
approach her for help.  In the past, on the rare times Nuncie's sexual
attachment had surfaced, it was always raised in fun and dismissed with
a laugh or a shrug of self-mockery.  Not this time.

"I can't hide it.  I don't see why I should.  It's no crime to love
someone."

Neither of them was aware of Teddy at the open door.

"Who do you love, Nuncie?"  They both turned, disconcerted by a pair of
puzzled brown eyes regarding them.

"Why, you of course, my ducky," Nuncie responded instinctively.

"How could you mean me," he said, 'when you were talking to Mum?"

"So I was, my small friend with big ears.  You're quite right.  I was
telling your mum how I love her just like a sister."

"If you were her sister," he said, solemnly considering the
ramifications of this, 'you'd be my auntie."

"I wish I was," Nuncie said, 'since I love you both.  But that's not to
be, my darling, so let's all stay the way we are the best of best
friends.  And between us, we'll look after your mum.  She needs a bit
of looking after, don't you agree?"

Teddy thought Nuncie's eyes looked suspiciously moist.  He knew she
cried easily, and looked as if she might start again at any minute.

So he agreed they would both look after his mum.

In the Supreme Court the Crown rested its case with an air of
complacency.  The accused, Karel Janacek, was a known foreign
subversive.  The Attorney-General, Robert Menzies, had ordered his

arrest as an illegal immigrant after Janacek had failed the dictation
test.  His Honour Justice Fulton, known for his strong views on
dissidents, would certainly find him guilty.  He would be imprisoned
and then deported back to Prague in Czechoslovakia.  Everyone knew it
was a formality.  All those in court suspected his barrister, Donald
Ferrier KC, felt the same.

"Mr.  Ferrier."  The judge looked down at him.

"I suggest this is a suitable time to adjourn for lunch.  Are you
calling defence witnesses this afternoon?"

"No, Your Honour.  I merely wish to address the court on my client's
behalf."

The Crown felt celebratory.  Their success was guaranteed.  His Honour
was quietly content; this surely meant there would be time for a round
of golf later.  Ferrier declined lunch with his junior counsel or the
advising solicitor, preferring to have sandwiches in his chambers while
reviewing the tactics of the afternoon.

In fact, over the sandwiches his thoughts were more occupied with the
personal subject that had perplexed him for so long.  Even more lately,
he found himself puzzling about whether it had really been her, and if
so, what had she wanted?  Why seek him out after all these years?  And
why did she flee after such a wait?  There was the crux of it that
two-hour wait.  It could hardly have been a stranger.  Nor a
contemporary friend, who would surely have left her name.  And if it
really was Belle, there was another conundrum:

how in the hell could he find her?

Damn the woman, he almost said aloud, trying to dismiss her from his
mind and concentrate on the case.  His client was a Czech writer,
invited to Australia to speak at anti-fascist rallies, who had barely
landed before he was declared persona non grata by the conservative
Lyons Government.  The case bristled with high-handed

tactics by the Attorney-General, which might not stand scrutiny in
more generous times.  But freedom of speech seemed to depend upon who
the speaker was and Judge Fulton, as stern on the bench as he was
jovial in the secrecy of the Foundation Club, would have no difficulty
with this one.

Unless .. .

Somewhere Donald felt sure there was a precedent.  The walls of his
chambers were lined with law books, the dry-as-dust legalese contained
in bound volumes like Hennessy's law reports.  Though it would hardly
be dry if he could find what he sought, if he was able to dig out a
particular precedent, a High Court judgement on a dictation test,
which, if memory served him, was surely in the 1925 folio edition.  He
took it down from the shelf, and as he opened the pages a photograph
fell out.

A snapshot of Belle taken on a ferry ride.  She was perched on the bow
rail, no doubt in defiance of marine regulations, smiling directly at
the camera, her long dark hair framing her animated face.  He stared at
the photo as his memories of the day flooded back.  They were on board
a Manly ferry, after an afternoon spent in a harbour side private hotel
making love.  A long and passionate afternoon, during which the rather
shabby room had seemed like an enchanted honeymoon suite.

It was the day that he'd promised to marry her.

Belle watched Teddy fondly, absorbed and gripping the pencil as he
tried to write a reply to the letter from George that had arrived the
previous day.  The letter had pleased him, for while it was spare on
news, it was complimentary about the way Teddy's writing and spelling
showed an improvement.

Obviously it's a better school, and your teacher must be satisfied
with your progress, he had written, after devoting much of the letter
to town events and how he had attended the Musical Society with the new
neighbours Jim and Betty Nelson who'd taken the Lucas house, and
Betty's younger sister Maureen, a widow who had now come to live
permanently with them.  The show they'd seen was the local production
of Rio Rita, and he told Teddy that lots of people at the performance
had stopped him to say what a pity Belle wasn't still here because she
could've starred in it.

"No, thank you," she'd replied when Teddy read this aloud.

"But you could have, Mum.  You were in that show when it was on at the
Theatre Royal."

I was in the chorus, she thought, but merely shook her head and said it
was different, and she might be a bit old for the part now.  Frankly,
she doubted if anyone had even mentioned her name, and was certain the
amateurs at the Gundagai School of Arts would never cast her in
anything, but it was considerate of George, and Teddy believed it,
which was the main thing.

She wondered about Maureen, whose name had appeared in two recent
letters, both times mentioned as being widowed.  She hoped Maureen was
nice, not too tied by convention.  Perhaps even liberated enough to
sneak next door for an occasional cuddle after dark, when the vigilant
eyes of Miss Limmington could no longer monitor the street.  The idea
made Belle smile.  Without having met the widow she'd neatly paired
them off together.  But, after all, why not?  There seemed to be a hint
of a message in his letters and George deserved someone to keep him
warm at nights.

Imagining this, while trying to repair Teddy's school trousers,
concerned that they were now slightly small for him and soon there'd be
the expense of a new pair, made her reflect again about George and the
crisis she'd have to resolve one day.  The prospect of having to
confess he was not really Teddy's dad was daunting; it filled her with
a sense of dread.  She hardly knew how she'd manage to explain, or how
he'd take it.  Next month he would be eleven.

Each time she prevaricated, every week that passed, was making this
decision more difficult.

But, on the other hand, must she really confess?  After all, George
could be relied upon to support the facade.  He had done so all these
years, and he relished his role as Teddy's father.

So why tell her son the truth, if the truth would be so painful?

Caroline had a bridge four in the living room when Donald Ferrier
reached home, and the children were playing on the swing in the garden.
It was the opportunity he needed to talk to Mrs.  Abbott.  He I went
into the kitchen, where she was preparing dinner.  While he poured
himself a gin, she brought him a bottle of tonic from the
refrigerator.

"I heard on the wireless, sir, you got that communist off."

The housekeeper was an avid listener, ever since Caroline had bought
her a mantel set.  No scrap of news or information escaped Mrs.
Abbott.

"He's not actually a communist," Donald said, attempting to be
amicable.

"Mr.  Menzies said he is."

"Mr.  Menzies sometimes uses it as a pejorative term.  All those who
aren't with us are obviously against us, and therefore Marxists."

"Commos," she said, reducing it to her terms.

He allowed her the small victory, and sipped his drink, reliving the
day's triumph while she cleaned the vegetables.  When he felt properly
relaxed he took the photograph from his pocket.

"By the way, Mrs.  Abbott, I was clearing out some files in my
chambers and found this.  It's a photo of a former client, used as
evidence in a law case some years ago.  Could you identify it?"

He watched her as the housekeeper gazed at the photograph of Belle with
an instant recognition.

"It's her," Mrs.  Abbott said.

"A bit younger in this, but it's definitely her.  No doubt about it."

"Well, that seems to solve our mystery," he said.

"Just as well I wasn't home that night; she was an impulsive and
difficult client."

She handed it back, with a raised eyebrow that betrayed her cynicism.
Found it in his files, her look seemed to say.  How very convenient.

The bridge players stayed late; when the children were called in for
their dinner Donald remained sitting in the garden.  It had been an
extraordinary day: first of all finding the photo of Belle hidden in
the pages of Hennessy, proof at last of his nocturnal visitor.  He
could recall how the undeveloped film had remained in his camera for so
long, and by the time it was processed he was engaged to Caroline.
Clearly he had chosen a safe hiding place, then forgotten about it.

How strange the Hennessy folio had disclosed not only Belle but the
ruling he needed: the precedent of 1925.  And what a moment to savour:
the court half empty, most of those remaining convinced the case was
over, Fulton anxious to pass sentence and be off to the golf course.
The old bugger had thought it would be a formality, Donald remembered,
thinking of the judge's attitude as he spoke.

"Your Honour, the accused is charged as an illegal immigrant, yet he
holds a valid passport.  He was invited here by an anti-war group to
speak, and whatever we might think of such groups, they are not

yet illegal in this country.  He intended to return to Europe when his
speaking tour was over.  Instead he finds himself faced with a term >
in prison and then deportation, all because of a technicality in the
Immigration Restriction Bill.  Because he failed our dictation test. 
It is a device used almost nowhere else in the world, acknowledged as a
means of preserving the White Australia Policy, and in this case
applied quite unlawfully to discredit a person whom the Federal
Government dislikes for his political views-' "Mr.  Ferrier."  Judge
Fulton had looked down with unmistakeable frostiness.

"If this is to be a tirade against government policy, I don't think I
can allow it or you to continue."

"I apologise, Your Honour, but the point I wish to make concerns a rush
to judgement by the federal authorities, indeed a rush so hasty that in
their anxiety to prosecute they made a serious error in law."

"Please explain that to the court, since none of us appears to have
noticed."

"Thank you, Your Honour."  He proceeded as though oblivious to the
judge's sarcasm.

"The dictation test is often used on Asian and African people, who are
tested in European languages, selecting one they cannot speak in order
to exclude them as illiterate.  But my client, Mr.  Janacek, is fluent
in German, French, English, of course, also Italian, Russian, Greek,
Swedish and Dutch.  I have a list of other tongues and dialects he is
competent in, if Your Honour would like it read."

"I think we can assume the accused is exceptionally multilingual, Mr.
Ferrier.  Where exactly are you taking us, in this recitation of his
accomplishments ?"

"To what I might call the heart of the matter, Your Honour.  To the
dictation test.  Since it was apparent he might pass any normal

test in any of the languages usually chosen, the test was conducted in
Scottish Gaelic' "A difficult language, you're suggesting, are you, Mr.
Ferrier?"

There had been some smirks at the prosecution table.  His Honour was
having a bit of fun at counsel's expense.

"Not only difficult.  An illegal language, Judge," Donald Ferrier had
replied, and noticed how the sly glee in court turned to sudden
disquiet.

"If Your Honour pleases, I offer a precedent for your consideration. 
On appeal in the High Court, the Commonwealth against Carlos Antonio,
1924."  He read from the judgement.  '"We find that Scottish Gaelic is
not a listed language within the meaning of the Act, and its use in a
dictation test is therefore unlawful."

He could still see Justice Fulton's annoyance as he tersely allowed the
accused his freedom.  He doubted if the old boy would be quite so
cordial at the next meeting of the Foundation Club.

"You look pleased with yourself," Caroline said, joining him in the
garden as her friends drove away.

"Mrs.  Abbott says you got your "commo" off."

"A trenchant foe of all foreigners, that woman."

"I won at bridge."

"Well done."

"Makes a change.  Mrs.  A says you showed her a photograph."

He nodded, knowing this would happen.  He took it from his pocket and
handed it to her.  She gazed at it, then shrugged as if unsurprised.

"She was beautiful in those days.  What exactly was Belle doing here,
while I was in Adelaide?"

"I haven't the faintest, Caro."

"Have you been seeing her?"

"Don't be ridiculous.  Your source in the kitchen must've told you

"I was out that night.  I didn't even know who it was, until I
happened to find this."

"Happened to find it?"

"For Christ's sake, it fell out of a law book."

"And how did it get in the law book?  It's interesting to know that all
these years you kept a photo of her."

"I can't discuss this, if you're going to be so fucking stupid," he
said.

"Don't use that language around our house, Donald.  It'd be a fine
thing if the children heard you."

She gave him back the photo.  He tore it in half, walked to the
incinerator and dropped it in there.

"She wouldn't like that," Caroline said.

TWENTY-ONE

It was an impulse that made Belle leave the tram at Kings Cross one day
and call at the shop to see Helene La Rue again.  Which was how she
heard that Ross Tanner had come there asking about her.

Not just once, but almost every time he was in the vicinity.  Soon
after Belle and Teddy had left Kellett Street, she learnt from Helene,
Ross had gone there unsuspectingly, and received an acid reception from
the landlady.  She told him she hadn't the faintest idea of Mrs.
Carson's whereabouts, nor did she wish to know.  Possibly she'd
returned to the country to be reconciled with her husband like any
decent woman should, was the terse message before the front door was
shut in his face.

"Heavens," Belle said, 'nothing ever changes with that sour old prune,
does it?  Why does she hate me so much?"

"You were happy.  Madame Burch, she don't like it when people have a
big amour like you and Ross.  Many times since then he comes here
asking for you."

"But you didn't tell him where to find me?"

"I think to discuss with you first.  In case it's over.  So I tell him
you haven't left any address yet.  Each time I tell him the same.  Was
it

"No," Belle said, 'not wrong, Helene."

"C'est la vie," Helene said with a little shrug, and they both
smiled.

"Now sit down, have a coffee and tell me all about Teddy.  Any more
films for him to make?  Or is he at school?"

They spent a companionable hour together between customers, during
which Belle realised how much she missed the ambience of Kings Cross.
If it had bitches like Ma Burch, it also had friends like Helene and
Chrissie La Rue

That night she thought carefully about Ross, and the following morning
before work she went to the boarding house opposite the courts in
Rushcutters Bay.  After she pressed the doorbell, she had a moment of
unreasoning panic and wanted to flee.  But before she could decide
whether to announce herself or run, she heard his voice on the
speaker.

"Miranda?"

"No, sorry about that.  I'm not Miranda," Belle said, and wondered what
to do as a barely stifled reaction was followed by the sound of the
buzzer unlocking the front door.  She went up the familiar winding
staircase to the first floor, and he was there on the landing waiting
for her.  She felt the warmth of his embrace.  When they went into his
room, she could not help contemplating the bed that had been their
playground.

"Belle, for Christ's sake, where have you been?"

"Running away, darling," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I discovered I'm definitely too old for you."

"When did that happen?"  he asked, and she had an answer rehearsed, one
that she hoped would allow them both to retain their dignity.

"When I met someone my own age," she replied.

"You what?  Truly?"

She nodded and managed a smile, trying not to feel upset by the

fleeting glimpse of relief he had been unable to suppress.  It was
replaced by a frown, as though to imply disappointment.  He put his
arms around her again, but this time kissed her chastely on the
cheek.

"All a bit sudden, Belle."

"That's how it sometimes is, Ross."  She leant against him to hide from
his scrutiny.

"And when you get to my advanced age, if it's the real thing you grab
it."

"Your advanced age .. . that's ridiculous.  Besides, I thought we were
the real thing."

"Very nearly, darling.  I'll always remember you fondly, I promise."

"Is ... whoever it is ... is he anyone I know?"  When she shook her
head, he added, "Well, I'm glad it's not one of those phoney old goats
from Kellett Street."

She stepped back from his embrace and laughed at this.

"Fair go, my love.  I can do a bit better than that."

"I'm sure you can," he said.

"And you'll find someone else."

"Maybe."  He shrugged, as if doubtful of this.

"You certainly will," Belle assured him, 'or perhaps you already have,
if her name's Miranda," she added, and laughed at his expression.

"Miranda's a nice girl," he said, 'but it's not permanent."

"Well, there'll be someone.  No doubt of that."  She hesitated.

"As for us, I hope we'll both remember our good times together. 
Because what I want to say is, I'm awfully glad I met you."

"I'll never forget you," he said, and indicated the nude figurine of
her.

"As if I could.  You're there on the table to remind me every day.

In fact I think Miranda is sometimes jealous."

He wanted to walk her to the tram, but she declined.  Belle was eager
to leave before she made a complete fool of herself.  He insisted on at
least seeing her down the stairs.

"That bitch of a landlady tried to say she kicked you out for refusing
to pay the rent, which I knew had to be a lie.  Then Mrs.  La Rue
explained you'd been cheated by Teddy's agent."

"Yes, he did a moonlight.  It was a bit awkward," Belle told him, 'but
it's all sorted out."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, darling."

"Why the hell didn't you come and ask me for a loan?"

"I would've, but I believe in the old rule," she said, 'never borrow
from relatives or lovers.  Especially lovers."

She kissed him, a brief kiss as chaste as his had been, and hurried
off.  When she was about to turn the corner, she glanced back.  He was
still at the door watching her; he raised a hand in farewell, and when
she returned the wave he went back inside.

The letter in the mail came the following day.  It was waiting when she
came home from work.  Teddy had brought it upstairs after school.  The
writing on the envelope was neat but unfamiliar.

My dear Belle, It may be arrogance, but I did not believe your older
lover story.

I think things have been much tougher than you admitted, but you're not
given to complaining so I'll never know how bad it's been.  Now don't
you dare be upset about this.  I don't trust letters not to be opened
by scruffy landlords, so I've sent twenty pounds to the post office at
Mascot for your collection.  All you need to do is identify yourself
and it's there waiting.

Now before you blow a gasket, if you don't collect it then the post
office is twenty quid richer, which would seriously upset me.  And
upset you, if you think carefully about it!  The money is in payment
for modelling.  I didn't tell you yesterday, but I was

offered FIFTY POUNDS for you in the nude.  But I'll never part with
it.  (With you, is what I mean.) If you won't take the money for
yourself, then it's for Teddy, because I went around to Helene's shop
yesterday after you left, and found out the film business is in bad
shape.  She thinks, and I agree, that you're having a hell of a battle
to survive, so this comes with my affection and respect, as well as my
love.  And before you start thinking it's charity, just remember it's
only the ill-gotten gains from two Saturday arvos' illegal work for my
SP bookie.  Now stop complaining, my darling, and get thee to the post
office.

God bless and much love, Ross

Late that night when Teddy was asleep, Belle sat in bed and penned a
reply.

Dearest Ross, You are a bugger.  Not for this mad, generous, ridiculous
gesture, but for making me cry.  I shed bucketfuls, which is my custom
when I'm moved and happy.  All those months we had together was a
lovely time in my life it is difficult to think of one better and for
that and what awaits me at the post office, thank you.  Take care.

Find someone really nice, and have a wonderful life.

With all my love, Belle

TWENTY-TWO

The dance studio in Oxford Street alongside the Victoria Hotel was just
the same.  The slight smell of stale beer, the comfortably shabby
building and continuous rumble of traffic all held the same excitement
for Teddy as they arrived and Greta Torrance was there to meet them,
giving him a hug and introducing him and Belle to new pupils as if she
were displaying a trophy.  Only Sally was missing from this day he'd
been awaiting so eagerly, so it was not really the same.  The thought
of a reunion with Sally was what had kept him awake at nights, ever
since Belle had told him things had changed for the better and he would
be going back to Miss Torrance's Saturday dance classes.

But where is she, he wondered?  None of the other students seemed to be
sure, no one had seen Sally Sharp lately.  Not for weeks.  One thought
she was ill, another claimed she'd given up dancing.  Broke her ankle,
so that was the end of her, a girl who had always been her fiercest
rival said without sympathy.  When the session was over he braced
himself to ask Miss Torrance.

It was none of those things.  It was worse.  Her mother had remarried,
and moved away from Roslyn Gardens to a different sphere altogether,
across the harbour to Mosman.  Miss Torrance didn't know if Sally was
attending another dance studio.  And no,

she didn't know the new address either.  She and Eunice Sharp, who by
now would have a new name, had not parted on friendly terms.

Teddy silently wondered if Sally had a new name as well.

Dan Hardacre heard the phone ringing in the adjoining office, but he
knew there was no one there to answer it.  His secretary had been
paid-off the previous day.  She was one of the last to leave, except
for the girl on the switchboard, who had been told to put all incoming
calls through to him.  After all, who else remained in the place to
answer the telephone?  It was almost the sole responsibility still left
to him, he thought ironically as he picked up the receiver.

He had started in the film business as a messenger boy who helped
answer phones, and his career with its few prestigious and well-paid
years as a producer appeared now to have come full circle and back to
square one.

"United Films," he said.

"I've already been told that."  The male voice sounded thoroughly
impatient.

"I've been told it several times.  I want to speak with Mr.  Hardacre,
and I seem to be having the greatest difficulty in doing that."

"Well, you've got him."

"Got who?  What do you mean?  Is that Dan?"

"It is," he said brusquely, 'so the next question is, who are you?"

"A voice from the past," the other said.

"Donald Ferrier."

"Christ, you can say that again," Dan replied, startled a man he had
known years ago and read about in newspapers only recently should be
phoning him after so long.

"You seem to have been making a name for yourself in a wig and gown
these days."

"Trying to," Donald Ferrier said.

"Got some Czech agitator out of bother, against the wishes of Bob
Menzies.  Surprised me, that.  I thought you and the Attorney-General
would be in the same rowboat, politically speaking.  What do you want,
Donald?"

"I was going to ask you to lunch today."  The?  Lunch?"

"If you can make it.  I hope I haven't interrupted a meeting.  I gather
it's one of the functions of your game, meetings.  Or maybe you're busy
with whatever else you do there casting a starlet on the couch,
perhaps?"  His slight chuckle at this irritated Dan immensely.

"I should be so lucky!  The couches have been repossessed by the
liquidators, and the starlets have all gone back to Central Casting or
their sugar daddies.  I'm afraid we're deprived of the rather mythical
, producer shack-up.  You did say lunch?"

"If it's convenient."

"Just a moment and I'll check."  Dan was determined it would not be
that convenient.

"Let's see," he murmured, as though there was a full diary at his side
which had to be consulted, 'yes, I could manage that.  I assume there's
some particular purpose to this lunch?"

"Apart from anything else, it'd be rather nice to have a chat about old
times.  I thought that fish restaurant down on the harbour at Double
Bay.  That's in your neighbourhood.  How does twelve-thirty sound?"

It sounds, Dan thought to himself as he hung up, extremely odd.

Old times?  We have no old times to talk about.  You were a bastard
then, and I imagine nothing's changed.

Donald Ferrier waited by his Daimler and watched his guest arrive,
taking his time to lock his gaudy Italian sports tourer.  It seemed
to

fit the Hardacre image that he remembered: all style and little
else.

He had often wondered how a woman like Belle could have seen anything
attractive in such a shallow creature.  A pretty ordinary actor; he had
a recollection of an awful evening at the new North Sydney theatre, the
Independent, taken there by Belle against his better judgement.  Her
former lover's performance had been an acute embarrassment.  After that
it was hardly surprising Dan had given up acting and diverted his
modest talents to the film world.

"Good to see you again," Donald said heartily, as they shook hands.

"Likewise," Dan said, 'an unexpected pleasure."

They went up the gangway to the restaurant, a moored ferry now doing
duty as a select eatery for those able to afford it.  After enquiring
about each other's health, they ordered drinks.  The refurbished ferry
had become fashionable, known for its French chef and prominent
clientele.  Dan could not help but be impressed and envious at the
warmth of welcome from the maitre d when he greeted Donald and showed
them to an upper-deck table with a view across the harbour towards
Taronga Park.  Yachts were sailing leisurely past, others lay at anchor
along the shore, the sun was warm, the imported wine expensive, and for
an agreeable moment it was almost possible to forget how much he
disliked the barrister.

"So how's the film business?"  Donald asked after they raised glasses,
each repeating what a pleasure it was to meet up again like this, and
sipped their drinks.

"Stuffed," Dan replied.

"Our studio gates are locked, and the audit team is in residence to
calculate what's left over for the creditors.  It's a wonder the phones
weren't disconnected."

"That bad?"  Donald showed his surprise.

"Worse.  Empty offices and vacant sound stages, with all the lights

and equipment stripped out.  It's like a shipwreck, and I'm the only
man left on deck.  Captain of the Titanic."

"But what's happened?  Local films have done well, haven't they?

I mean, Dad and Dave and The Sentimental Bloke, surely they were big
hits."

"Moderate hits," Dan said.

"Popular here, but not promoted in America."

"Even so.  How can a complete industry take a dive like this?"

"Easily if you're up against a giant that wants to crush the
competition.  The distributors, our local distributors, prefer to book
Hollywood pictures.  Their stars are bigger, their publicity is vast,
American films are launched here with trumpets blaring, and the truth
is, we can't compete with the fanfare.  Our movies get second rate
releases, they get talked down by the newspaper critics, some of whom
are following orders of their proprietors who have overseas interests.
We're all quite pleased, but slightly abashed when one of our good old
home movies actually does well."

Donald listened intently.  Listening was good tactics at this stage;

he would get to his reason for the invitation later.

"Meanwhile, down in Canberra," Dan continued, 'the dummies we elect as
politicians talk of helping the film industry, but there's always
something more important to spend our taxes on, like farm subsidies or
a war."  He drank his wine and shrugged.

"Don't get me started.  We had a good industry, and it's been allowed
to go down the drain by a mixture of shady practice and
indifference."

"What about your job?"

"I'm a call away from unemployment.  United Pictures wants to sell the
whole shebang for development.  When they ring from California to say
they have a buyer for the land and buildings, that's when I go.  I
daresay that's why the lines are not disconnected yet.  "Will the last
man to leave the studio please hang up the phone."" The waiter came and
silently refilled their glasses.  They studied the glossy menu and
ordered.  On Dan's copy the prices were diplomatically omitted.  He
drank more wine and pronounced it delicious.

"The vineyard's in Dordogne," Donald said.

"My father-in-law imports this, so my wife and I visited there last
year.  Great spot."

Of course, Dan remembered, the once-lowly lawyer had married money.
Caroline had been rich, although none of them had known it at the time.
She had been briefly on the stage, but mostly on the fringe of the
theatrical scene, always at first nights, a regular in the city pubs
and cafes where actors gathered.  She had gravitated into their circle
and had even for a time, he recalled, been a close friend of Belle's.
He supposed that was how Ferrier had first met Caroline.  Belle might
have introduced them.  A good-looking young woman, especially one who
was wealthy, would have been the ideal answer to this prick's lofty
ambitions.  As gorgeous as Belle had been, she would have been well and
truly outflanked in his push for a luxurious future.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Sorry, I was remembering old times."

"It's because of old times I need to talk to you," Donald said.

"A

very odd thing happened a few months ago, and I think I should tell you
about it."

He gave Dan only the essential details, the momentary glimpse he'd had,
his housekeeper's statement on the visitor to his home.

How he felt sure it was Belle, but there was no proof of it until the
photograph.  Now it was certain, he'd decided he ought to find her.
There had to be a reason for her unexpected visit that night;

something had driven her to seek him out, just as some other thing

must've made her run away.  He felt it incumbent on himself to
discover what it had been about.

"Which is why I got in touch with you," Donald conclude 'because I
thought you might help me."

"How?"

"You may know where she is."

Dan stared at him.

"You mean you want to meet up again with Belle, and you're buying me
lunch in case I can put you on the right track?"

"Come off it, Dan.  She hung around my house all that time, then
skipped.  That was pretty irrational behaviour, and I'm concerned about
her.  You're the only person I could think of who might still be in
touch.  And if you are, what's the problem?  It's not such a big
ask."

"It's a very big ask, Donald.  Too fucking big."

"Are you saying you're not going to tell me?  That's childish."

"I'm saying I don't know where the hell she is nowadays.  But if I did,
I'd take a childish pleasure in sending you in the opposite
direction."

The waiter arrived with their lunch before Donald could reply.

His anger was suspended while the meal was served, the waiter carving
their salmon from a platter, offering them a choice of hot vegetables
from a trolley or a salade nioise or both.  Then he took care to
replenish their wine.  By the time he retreated, trusting they would
enjoy their meal, the anger had ebbed.

"Carrying an old grudge after all these years?"  Donald commented.

"I don't see the reason.  I didn't pinch your girl."

"No, you didn't."

"You and she were already breaking up.  So why the resentment?"

"I wasn't Robinson Crusoe on this," Dan said as he speared grape tomato
on his fork, 'all her friends resented you."

"Because I wasn't an actor .. . wasn't one of them."

"No.  Because she fell in love with you -I mean properly in love and
you took everything she had to offer until someone else came along,
someone who was social register and rich, then you dumped Belle.  Left
her flat.  The silly girl thought it was forever, but she should've
known better, shouldn't she?"

"I never promised to marry her."  He hoped the lie would pass
unchallenged, which it did.

"Why should you?  She was just a showgirl."

"Christ," Donald said, made more uncomfortable because he had been so
easily believed, 'you make me sound like a real shit."

"We all thought so at the time.  It was unanimous."

"Ouch!  It wasn't entirely my fault, Dan."

"Of course not.  Belle could be a right pain in the arse at times."

"There were other things involved.  Things I'd rather not talk
about."

"So let's agree it's ancient history.  Enjoy our meal."

"Agreed.  Bon appetit."

The food was delicious.  The first wine bottle was emptied and replaced
so subtly they barely noticed.  There was a dessert wine with the fruit
and cheese, after which coffee was accompanied by a liqueur.

When they left the restaurant somewhat later than planned, Dan Hardacre
felt he might have been a bit severe in his former judgement.

Old Donald was not so bad after all.  Certainly knew some of the best
restaurants, and chose a pretty decent drop of vino.

"You're not such an arse hole Dan said as they reached their cars.

"I mean, it takes a real ponce to drive a dreary English car like this,
but apart from that..."

"Better a staid English car than a gaudy Italian job with a back seat
that's extra wide for shagging," Donald said.  "How did you guess?"
Dan replied.

"It's well-known in Rome as a fuck mobile

"Excellent."  Donald started to laugh, "And I have to tell you, I
thought you were a prick, but I've reconsidered.  There are a great
many bigger pricks around the place than you."

"You mean size doesn't matter?  I'll take it as a compliment."

Donald kept laughing and wondered why he had never liked Dan Hardacre.
The fellow was quite pleasant when you got to know him.  Amusing, and
very entertaining with his scandalous gossip about various film stars
he'd worked with.  It had certainly been a most convivial lunch.

"We ought to do this again," he said.

"My shout next time," Dan said, 'unless I get a call from God on the
west coast, and they fire me."

"Then I'll buy lunch.  We'll get pissed and drink damnation to the
west-coast God and all his acolytes."

They shook hands like old friends.  Dan felt an impulse to make amends
for his earlier hostility.

"Mate, forget what I said before.  If I knew where to find Belle I'd
tell you.  But it's about six months since I last saw her since then
she's moved and never left an address-' Donald, unlocking his car,
turned and stared at him.

"You saw her?  Where?"

"At the studio.  She just turned up one day.  But things were already
going pear-shaped, and I told her there was no work-' "Hang on, Dan,
you mean she's been working?  Acting?"

"No, not Belle.  She hasn't been in anything for years.  I mean the
boy."

"What boy?"

"Her son."

"She has a kid?"

"I assumed you knew."

"Not me.  Not the faintest idea."

"Young Teddy.  Teddy Carson.  He was in a film of ours one of our
better ones, Dispossessed."

"I saw that picture."  Donald's face revealed his growing
bewilderment.

"I took my children to see it.  You mean that was Belle's son?"

"That was him.  He's been in quite a few movies since then, but far
smaller roles.  Belle insists it keeps him in the public eye.  She sees
him as an Aussie Jackie Coogan.  If you want my honest opinion, she's
hanging rocks around that kid's head.  He has to be a success because
she never was.  Has to be a star, poor little bugger, because she needs
it.  I don't know what's happened to them, but for the kid's sake I
sometimes hope she's given up and taken him back home."

"Where's home?"

"Gundagai.  Her husband lives there .. . only I heard she'd left
him."

"How old is the boy?"

"I reckon he's close to eleven by now."

Jesus Christ, Donald Ferrier thought.  But he prided himself on his
control, and all he did was nod and express his thanks for this extra
information.  He watched as Dan went to his flashy car and drove off
with a wave.

Close to eleven!  God almighty!

He sat there, feeling drained, unable to start the engine.  He did his
best to recall the boy's face from the screen, but all he could summon
up was a cheeky grin, lots of appealing freckles and a mop of blond
hair.  Belle's son, close to eleven years old.  He tried to calculate
the timing, but his mind was befuddled with the wine from lunch and
this seismic tremor from the past.  TWENTY-THREE

There were candles on the cake, and the living room above the shop was
festive with balloons and paper chains.  Teddy was dressed in the smart
new trousers that Nuncie had bought him as a birthday present and a
shirt Belle had purchased on lay-by.  The assistants, Charles and
Clarence 'the boys', as Nuncie called them were there and had put up
the decorations.  They all combined to sing "Happy Birthday' as Belle
lit the candles.

"Make a wish," she said as Teddy blew them out and everyone
applauded.

"I wish Dad was here.  I wish he hadn't forgotten my birthday."

"You're not supposed to tell us your wish, darling, or it mightn't come
true."

"It can't come true," Teddy said.

"Part of it can."  She handed him an envelope.  He saw at once it was
addressed in George's handwriting.  They all watched while he excitedly
took out a card.  It was clearly homemade, with a pastel drawing on the
front of it.

"It's a picture of our place at home!  Look!"  Teddy showed them all
the sketch of the house in Brewinda Road.

"Dad says Maureen who lives next door did it."

"Good old Maureen."  Nuncie gave a sly glance at Belle.

"What else

does it say, my duck?  Read it out."

"Dear Ted, lots of love on your eleventh birthday.  It hardly seems any
time since I was holding you soon after you were born, while your mum
was saying "Be careful, don't drop him".  I hear there's a party
tonight, so if you go downstairs and out the back door, you might find
something waiting that you'll recognise."

He gave the card to Belle and ran down the stairs, through the shop.

He opened the back door and stared in amazement.  There was his bike
from home, the wheels and pedals wrapped and the handlebars labelled
for its train journey.

"Golly."  A sudden rush of love filled his throat and made him almost
cry.

"Golly Moses.  Whacko," he said, and felt speechless.

Charlie and Clarence helped him unwrap the bike.  They switched on the
lights in the small backyard while Teddy rode it in the space
available, just to show them he had not forgotten how.  He said he was
going to write to George as soon as he got up in the morning and tell
him it was the bes test present ever.

"The boys' smiled at this and felt quite sentimental.

"There you are, my poppet," Nuncie said, 'and you thought he'd
forgotten."

"It's a beaut surprise, and he's the world's beau test Dad.  I can't
wait to tell him."  He sped around the tiny space on his bike while
Belle looked on and made no attempt to correct this joyous in
eloquence

Later they went inside the cluttered shop and she played one of the
pianos for sale while they all sang old musical hall songs.  Teddy made
them laugh with "Burlington Bertie', and they all joined in a rousing
chorus of a familiar favourite:

I do like to be beside the seaside, Oh, I do like to be beside the
sea!I do like to stroll along the prom, prom, prom, While the brass
band plays tiddleyyompompom!

Oh, just let me be beside the seaside, I'll be beside myself with
glee.

There are lots of girls, besides, That I'd like to be beside, Beside
the seaside, beside the sea.

Nuncie sang with robust happiness.  It was like a dispensation.  In the
past weeks she had begun to fear her long friendship with Belle!

had been irreparably damaged.  Meetings had become infrequent?

and when they did meet conversation was stilted; they kept to' safe
subjects like Teddy's return to dancing lessons, and Belle's' decision
to shorten her hours at the hotel so she could spend time trying to
find work for him.  It was a waste to let his childhood go by, she
declared, his talent stifled when all it would take was one small lucky
break.  Nuncie dared not suggest lucky breaks were not that easily come
by, that perhaps education was of equal importance.  All their
exchanges were imbued with caution; there was a wariness on both sides,
as if the wrong word could fracture everything.  There were no hugs,
none of the warm spontaneity that had always marked their relationship.
Ever since that night when flushed with wine she'd opened her big mouth
it had been like walking on eggshells.

Until a week ago, when Belle had rung from a public phone in Botany,
saying it was the only box that hadn't been smashed by the bunch of
little thugs in the district who masqueraded as children.

"Nuncie, he's going to be eleven and I want to give him a small party.
When I say small, I mean just us.  He wants you there, and so do I. But
our room's a dump, and the landlord's an awful creep

who'd probably complain if we wanted to sing, so I thought it'd be
nice if we could do it at your place."

"It'd be very nice!"  She'd been elated, unable to conceal her
eagerness.

"But I want to be allowed to pay for the party.  And I want to buy him
a pair of new trousers, because those duds are getting far too small.
That's all I want, and I'm praying you won't give me any shit,
Belle."

There'd been a moment's silence on the line, then her laughter.

"I won't give you any shit," Belle had promised.

Nuncie smiled, thinking of it.  Paying for the party indeed!  It was
purely symbolic, for the only cost was the cake, the candles, a few
sandwiches and the decorations.  But the symbolism had harvested a
reward worth far more than the money.  They could be friends again.

As if in celebration she sang loudly, slightly out of tune, she
realised, but it didn't matter.  Happiness was what mattered.  Belle
hit the keys harder, harmon ising with her to blend their voices and
Nuncie saw her smile, looking just like she did when she was everyone's
darling and only twenty years old.

I do like to stroll along the prom, prom, prom, While the brass band
plays tiddleyyompompom!

When it was almost time to go home Teddy climbed on one of the tables
to gain their attention.

"I just want to say thanks to Nuncie.  It's been a corker night and
this is for her.  It's a verse from the book she gave me written by her
friend Ken Slessor, about Kings Cross, which is a place my mum likes
best in the whole world.  And I quite like it too."

They smiled indulgently as he cleared his throat, bowed and began:
Where the black Marias clatter And peculiar ladies nod, And the flats
are rather flatter, And the lodgers rather odd, Where the night is full
of dangers, And the darkness full of fear, And eleven hundred strangers
Live on Aspirin and beer.

"Wait on!"  he said hurriedly as they began to clap.

"Here's another beaut one by Mr.  Slessor.  It's about the Cross
too."

Where the stars are lit by neon, Where the fried potato fumes, And the
ghost of Mr.  Villon Still inhabits single rooms.

Where the girls lean out from heaven Over light wells, thumping mops
While the gent in fifty-seven Cooks his pound of mutton chops.

Clarence and Charles applauded heartily, and Nuncie hugged him and shed
a few joyful tears.

Belle sent a note to Teddy's school saying he had to stay home because
of a sore throat, and they caught a tram into the city.  For the past
month since his birthday there had been a series of such excuses while
they attended theatrical auditions, though without any success.  After
each failure Belle kept repeating her mantra that they mustn't be
downhearted, but Teddy sometimes thought it was difficult not to be.

He knew it had been ingrained in him since he was eight that he must be
animated and optimistic at interviews; no job was ever gained, no role
ever won by being what Belle called 'tentative'.

But how would he get another job?  Nearly all his work had been in
films and many of the studios had closed down or turned to making
newsreels.  Theatre and vaudeville was different, unfamiliar territory,
and although he tried his best he began to lose heart, feeling as if
they were wasting days and tram fares in a vain pursuit of something
that was beyond him.

The audition room, part of a disused warehouse in Sussex Street, was
full of hopefuls.  Belle knew how to deal with this; she took a firm
grip of Teddy's hand and began to carefully edge her way, promoting
them closer to the front before a queue started to form.  She glanced
about her to see if there were others of his age, doing what she called
'her homework on the opposition', while he looked in vain for any sign
of Sally.  It was the first thing he did at all the auditions they
attended, but without a real expectation of seeing her.  She had a new
stepfather, which meant she had a new name, and now lived in a place
called Mosman that seemed so remote it felt like another country.

Belle collected news of auditions at the studio on Saturday mornings,
where Greta always had a copy of the entertainment paper This Week.
While Teddy danced, she scrutinised the advertisements.

RICKY M was a name she recognised; CASTING A NEW REVUE was the
information in a boxed classified on the back page.

Ricky M was Ricardo Mendoza, an immigrant from South America.

Nobody quite knew which part.  Peru, some said.  Or Bolivia.  Or one of
those places.  Rumours abounded that he chose never to deny: he'd been
a dancer in a whorehouse, served a prison term in Rio, worked asa
deckhand on a Chilean freighter and as a gigolo in Paris.  Whatever the
truth, it was known that after arriving in Australia he had found a job
as a sparring partner in a tent show, and when the promoter struck
financial trouble he'd borrowed the money to buy it.  Now he had a
house in Vaucluse with harbour views, where he lived in apparent
harmony with his wife and a young Filipina mistress.  He was known in
the business as a tightwad who paid his performers peanuts, but his
credit was good and his cheques had never bounced.

"Bella!"  He caught her eye and greeted them, taking her hands.; "Cara
Bella, and the boy, the chico.  How fast he grows up, the;

young muchacho, eh?  Getting older."

She was unsure how to respond to this.  Whenever the subject of Teddy's
age was raised, she could hear Florian's voice: "He's ten.  A star,
when he was eight.  Support roles when he was nine.  He's a talented
kid whose time may possibly be over."  She knew there was a grain of
truth in his warning.  Each added year, she was uneasily aware, took
him that bit further away from the freckle-faced Murrumbidgee Kid who
had enchanted audiences and captured so many hearts.  Growing up,;

she admitted reluctantly to herself, was not necessarily an
advantage.

"Not that much older, Ricky.  He's only ten."

She felt Teddy tug at her skirt and wished she could tell him to be
quiet.

"Eleven, Mum!"

Ricky Mendoza laughed, and affectionately ruffled Teddy's hair "You
see, cara?  Even if you wish it, you can't keep him in the cradle.

Soon he has long trousers and starts to shave."

"That's a fair distance off."  She tried to be casual, knowing he ha an
eye for her, indeed for any woman, and flirting a little would hold his
attention while she made her pitch.

"I happened to heal about your new show.  Big news as always, another
spectacular by Ricky M. As we were coming to town, I thought we should
drop in.

Besides, it's always nice to catch up with you."

He smiled as if in accord with this.  He had a strong face, with dark
intense eyes and a mane of hair that was always perfectly groomed and
turning silver.  A handsome man, who had been lucky and become
powerful.  She could well believe the stories about him enjoying a
menage a trois with his Australian wife and the Filipina girlfriend.
Plus a few liaisons on the side, no doubt.

"Always good to see you, mi querida."

His assistants were waiting for him, he was about to move away.  Belle
felt herself forced to ask the question.

"This new show anything in it for him, Rick?"

"Not this one, cara.  Maybe next time .. . but, hey-' He stopped as if
some important detail had just occurred to him.

"What?"

I "Make sure you keep in touch."

"Of course," she said, swallowing the disappointment.

"What I mean is, you could call me.  Any time you feel like it.

Why not?"  He gave her a visiting card from his wallet.  She knew the
number on it was a very private line, but not his home number.

"Hasta la vista, chico."  He ruffled Teddy's hair again, smiled at
Belle with a sly conspiracy and returned to where the assistants were
organising interviews.  Belle almost pushed her way out of the crowded
room.  It was a small humiliation, but she felt angry about the
affront.  Ricky Mendoza was notorious for his cards and this tactic;
calling him on this private phone number would indicate her
availability as well as her consent.  He never had to risk a possible
rejection.  If the phone didn't ring, there was always another card,
another caller.  She tore it up and flung it in the gutter.

Donald Ferrier waited while the French woman served customers
wondering if his car was safe where he had parked it.  It seemed to him
the Cross was no longer the same as he remembered it.  He had come to
know it through meeting Belle, when she shared a room;

with a bunch of other girls from the chorus, and then it had seemed
wonderfully outrageous, both romantic and stimulating.  But the!

best-known artists and poets had moved from cheap bed sitters to the
sanctuary of apartments in Macleay Street.  Underworld figures!

from interstate had moved into the network of streets that surrounded
Darlinghurst Road, hard men who carried guns but preferred razors,!

recruited by two rival women gang leaders.

Donald had a close acquaintance with both these ferocious ladies,!

having appeared in court for Tilly Devine, the vice queen who ran the
district's brothels, defending her on a charge of maliciously wounding
a lover.  Despite her record of dozens of criminal charges for assault,
consorting and prostitution, he managed to convince the jury there was
insufficient evidence and she was acquitted.

Apart from paying his fee she wanted to reward him: she suggested a
week in a luxury hotel suite, as well as providing her youngest and
prettiest girls to indulge his every whim.

When he declined on the grounds that his wife might maliciously wound
him, she had roared with laughter, and sent him a card and a massive
hamper for Christmas.  But there was no hamper or even a card the
following year after he defended her bete noire, the sly grog queen
Kate Leigh, on a murder charge.  The two women loathed each other, and
Tilly was livid when Kate was found not guilty.  Donald heard Tilly had
thrown a lavish party at her house in Palmer Street, the invitation
reading "Anyone invited except the bitch and her counsel, that turncoat
bastard Ferrier'.

Helene La Rue finished with her last customer and apologised for

keeping him waiting.  He apologised for bothering her, but he was
loping to get in touch with a friend, Belle Carson.

Mrs.  La Rue apologised again.  No doubt the awful landlady born number
forty-two had sent him to her, but she'd wasted the gentleman's time.
Her friend Belle had failed to leave a forwarding address.  But could
she have his name, just in case Belle should get in touch again?

Donald drove across the bridge.  He didn't believe her, but there was
little he could do about it.  Dan Hardacre would be disappointed that
his first suggestion had proved fruitless.  He had telephoned to say
the dreaded phone call had come from Hollywood.  They'd actually sold
the studio to another film company, instead of a developer, but his
services were no longer required.

He asked if Donald had made any progress in finding Belle, because if
not, Dan had been lucky enough to come across her former address when
clearing out his office, and while he'd like to help Donald for old
times' and friendship's sake, he was actually in a spot of bother with
his bank.  And also with his rent, because his penthouse in Elizabeth
Bay cost an arm and a leg, which had been fine while the salary was
coming in, but was rather a problem now that things were so different.
Would Donald be able to assist him, if he assisted Donald?

Donald, who halfway through this peroration had got the picture,
offered to pay a hundred quid if the information led him to locate her.
He had begun to realise his new friend Dan was on very thin financial
ice.

Dan had replied that he was thinking of a higher figure.

"A far higher figure, old mate," he added.

"One hundred is the only figure and only payable if it helps me find
her."

So Dan had given in and suggested if she wasn't traceable through the
address at the Cross, then he should try a woman called Nuncie
Billingsworth who ran a hock shop at Neutral Bay.

After leaving the audition room they walked along Sussex Street in the
direction of The Rocks, past the old cottages that had once been homes
for sea captains, and went down the steps by Argyle Cut towards
Circular Quay.

"Do I have to go back to school today?"  Teddy asked.

The harbour was spread below them like a Conrad Martens canvas.

Ferries, small and large, were arriving and departing from the busy
wharves at the quay.  Belle held his hand while they paused to watch
the activity for a moment.  It had always been a restorative sight,
this lively maritime gateway.  If she felt the morning wasted, and
Ricky Mendoza's overture an insult to her, she realised that for Teddy
it was another disturbing disappointment.  There'd been a plethora of
them, one wretched let-down after another.  A regular mare's nest of
them.

He tried not to complain, but she knew it was having an affect.  The
fear of failure was like a darkening shadow that went with them each
time they made the long tram ride home after a day like this.

"Let's go to the zoo," Belle suggested.

"Mum, can we afford it?"

She looked down at his anxious face.  It was a shock to realise a child
her own child had to ask questions like that.  He'd once asked George
the same thing.  Some things, she thought, we bloody well have to
afford.

"Don't you want to see the lions and tigers?  As well as the

monkeys.  And what about the giraffes, and the aquarium where the
sharks are fed?"

"You bet, but-' "But nothing.  We're going."

"Truly?"

"On the ferry, what's more.  Such a beautiful day, we should forget
about trams and take the ferry."

"Can we sit outside, up the front end?"

"Wherever you like, my love."

"Do you think we could have some chips to eat?"

"We'll definitely have chips.  Chips for lunch on the ferry ride.

Now, do you think you can remember what happens when we buy them?"

"We ask for two threepenny packets.  We get more than way."

"That's my smart boy," she said, and as they walked they began to match
the tempo of each other's steps, swinging their clasped hands in lively
expectation.

"Do they have elephants at the zoo?"

"They certainly do.  You want to have a ride on one?"

"Can I, Mum?  Truly?"

"Truly, darling.  But I'll just watch from the ground, if you don't
mind."

"A ride on a real elephant.  You bottler!  Whacko-the-diddly-oh!"

he said, his eyes sparkling in anticipation of the treat ahead.

It was a slow afternoon, no customers, not even the usual local bower
birds who pestered her trying to flog bits of rubbish they'd scrounged.
Earlier the boys had brought in a truckload of furniture from a
deceased estate.  Clarence was out in the back shed using a

studded belt to distress the tables.  She could hear the thud as he
rhythmically thwacked the wood.  It was quite an art, distressing.

Had to be done carefully.  For instance, if you belted timber like
mahogany excessively it became too obvious, whereas oak needed a good
smack.  Little Clarrie was a real professional at it, having learnt all
the tricks in an East End auction room.

Charles was polishing silver inside the shop, humming to himself.

Nuncie looked hopeful as she saw a car stop outside.  A posh car, it
appeared promising.  Hardly one of her usual mob coming to pawn or
redeem something.  Then she saw the driver get out, and almost choked
on her cigar.

Donald studied the shop.  A bit of a dump, he thought, and saw the name
above the door.  NUNCIE'S THREE BALLS he imagined how that must have
raised a few eyebrows in the neighbourhood.

He went inside.  The shop was more substantial than it appeared from
the street, but so crowded with articles it was difficult to move
freely.  Most of it seemed like junk, a mishmash of chaotic disorder.

In a corner a large man was polishing bric-a-brac.

A strange-looking woman smoking a midget cigar and wearing cords and a
beret approached him.  As butch as a mal lee bull, he thought, while
politely enquiring if she was Miss Billingsworth.

When he introduced himself Nuncie instantly realised he did not
remember her.  They'd met only once briefly, almost twelve years ago.
She decided not to enlighten him.

"What can I do for you?"  she asked, knowing there was only one reason
he could be there.  Hardly to hock his watch, or anything else.

"I'm trying to find a friend of mine, someone I haven't seen for a long
time.  I was told you might be able to help," he explained politely.

"What's the friend's name, Mr.  Ferrier?"  she asked.

"Belle Carson.  Or Belle Baker, as she was when I knew her.  Does that
name mean anything to you?"

"Of course."

"Then I've come to the right place," he said gratefully.

"You do know her?"

"I know her quite well."  The woman stubbed out her cigar in a
spittoon.  He watched this, saw her gaze as her eyes coldly raked him,
feeling for the first time as if there might be something amiss.

"So can you tell me where to find her?"

"I didn't say that, Mr.  Ferrier."

"Just her address that's all I need."  He remained resolutely polite.

"I feel sure you know her address."

"Naturally."

"Then, please, if you'd be so kind?"

"Why do you want it?"  she asked bluntly.

"I beg your pardon.  Why?"

"That was my question.  Why?"

"Obviously to get in touch."

"With exactly what in mind?"

There was no doubting her attitude now.  She was downright
aggressive.

"I feel that's entirely my business, Miss Billingsworth."

He felt angry at her equivocation.

"If I reveal her whereabouts, then it also happens to be mine," she
said with no pretence at civility.

Her reply riled him.

"I don't understand this.  What exactly are you?  A sentinel?  Some
kind of private Praetorian Guard?  What gives you the right to refuse a
simple request, as if you're trying to stop me contacting Belle
again?"

Nuncie saw Charles watching, attracted by the visitor's raised voice.

When he gestured to ask if he should intervene, she shook her head.

"I'm sorry."  Having glimpsed their exchange, Donald was more
conciliatory.

"Please excuse those remarks.  But I really would like to see her."

"My question still remains on the table, Mr.  Ferrier.  Why?"

"Because several months ago she was most anxious to see me," he
replied.

"She came to my house one night when I was out, asking for me.  Not
only that, but she waited there for several hours.

Unfortunately, not quite long enough for us to meet again."

"Then she obviously thought better of it," Nuncie said, trying to
conceal her astonishment at this revelation.

"I think she needed help.  I've been told she and her husband have
parted.  There's a child.  The boy's been in lots of movies, but not
lately because the film business is in a bad way."

"Who told you all this?"

"It doesn't matter.  He's someone who would certainly know the
situation.  Look, can we start again, Miss Billingsworth?  I want to
assure you I have no ulterior purpose.  I mean no harm.  So will you
please give me her address?"

"No, I don't think I will, Mr.  Ferrier."  She saw his eyes tighten
with anger.

"You obviously don't remember, but we met years ago in the days when
you were fucking her.  You've forgotten me, but I sure as hell haven't
forgotten you."

They came back on the ferry.  Teddy felt happily exhausted.  Belle
wished she had worn her comfortable walking shoes, but it had been
worth it.  The man in charge of the elephant had even recognised Teddy
from several of his films, and given him an extra ride for free.  It
had been a wonderful afternoon.  They'd bought peanuts;

for the monkeys, talked to cockatoos, tossed crumbs to brilliant

coloured lorikeets, gazed at cruising sharks through aquarium glass
and watched the lions and tigers being fed.

For an entire afternoon they had forgotten everything else:

auditions, sleazy producers, the daily grind of school, the tedium of
her job, even the hovel in which they lived.  For those few hours they
had been like any small family having a rare day in the sun.  The ferry
began to pass the tram sheds on Bennelong Point as its engines slowed
for docking.  In the distance behind them all traces of the zoo had now
vanished into a hillside of flowering gum trees.

If only, Belle thought, there could be more days like this.

Donald drove home feeling angry and frustrated, wondering what he could
do to circumvent these people who seemed to have formed a protective
ring around Belle.  First, the French woman, clearly lying.  Then the
belligerent and ridiculous lesbian shop owner who'd given him the bum's
rush.  No chance of a rational discussion there.  It was infuriating.
For God's sake, all he wanted was to find out the truth.  At least to
meet the boy, so he could form his own conclusions.

When he arrived home the removalist van stood in the driveway, blocking
his entry.  He leant on the horn until one of the men appeared,
gesticulating at the needless row.

"Move the bloody thing," he shouted, 'so I can get into my own
garage!"

It took five minutes a tedious wait while the van reversed and
attempted to make space.  He drove in, very nearly grazing the other
vehicle, and slammed the garage doors.

"No need to do your block, sport," one of the removalists said.

"All you had to do was ask."

He didn't bother to reply.  It was what he'd been doing all day,
asking and getting a bland denial or an aggressive rebuff.

Mrs.  Abbott was cleaning the kitchen stove, her head deep inside the
oven.  No successor would dare deny she had kept an immaculate house,
that was her unmistakeable purpose.

"The removalists are here, Mr.  Ferrier."

"I noticed," he said.  The housekeeper made an art form out of stating
the obvious.  He would assuredly not miss her.

"I gave them a list and put labels on Mrs.  Ferrier's furniture.  But
you better see that they haven't taken anything belonging to you."

He felt like saying that what had belonged to him was now in Adelaide.
Not just for a visit this time.  He didn't care about Caroline;

that had been over for ages.  He'd been the complaisant husband far too
long, and she was welcome to her lover in the city of churches.

But the kids.  He should have fought her for the kids.

Teddy fell asleep and dreamt of elephants.  First of all he was
climbing the ladder to sit with other children on the seat fitted to
Jessie's back.  Jessie, that's what her trainer called her when they
went along the pathways in Taronga Zoo, but in the dream that swiftly
changed.  His elephant had an Indian name, and Teddy rode it wearing a
brightly coloured tunic and a turban decorated with jewels and
garlanded with flowers like all the other Indian princes.

People came out to welcome him as he rode through their villages.

Some bowed.  He reached a huge temple that he felt sure he'd seen in a
film at the Kings Cross Picture Palace with Chrissie, and a moment
later he was shaking hands with someone who looked like Ronald Coleman,
when a noise woke him and spoilt it.

It was "Erb the landlord, complaining bitterly.  He was puffing

heavily when he reached the landing, shouting up at their attic that
he did not allow phone calls; his private number was not for tenants,
and this was the third time the persistent bleedin' woman had rung.
Twice when they were out yesterday, and now refusin' to hang up till he
agreed to give a message, which meant he'd had to climb the stairs.  He
didn't let his rooms to spend his time chasin' up the bleedin' stairs,
not unless it was urgent, like someone failin' to cough up their
rent.

"Yer to ring this pest of a woman, her name's Nancy," he wheezed.

"Nuncie, that's her name.  What did she say?"

"She wants ter talk.  So find a public phone.  I said yer ain't using
mine."

They could hear him grumbling all the way down the stairs.

Belle was stunned.  Who could've told Donald where to look for her? 
She felt uneasy and disturbed.  Nuncie, on the other hand, was
manifestly upset because she'd not been told of her impulsive visit to
Donald's house.  It was a stupid thing to have done, she said, and
Belle could only agree, but it had not been a rational night.  In her
defence she pointed out that Nuncie had never known what it was like to
be without shelter or clean clothes, with only a couple of pennies left
in the world.

She didn't dare say she'd considered going to Donald because she feared
the emotional dependence that might result in seeking aid from Nuncie.
That she was afraid of putting herself in the position of a supplicant,
which was why she had kept her distance for so long.  She couldn't say
it because it would hurt a loyal friend.  And with Donald blundering
around, trying to find her, she might need friends.

TWENTY-FOUR

Teddy thought many lessons at school were boring, but easily the worst
was arithmetic.  Feeling uninterested and fed up, he was gazing out of
the classroom window when he should have been doing multiplication.  He
sat up with a start, because he saw someone who looked just like Belle
crossing the school yard.  It was the moment when the teacher, Miss
Singleton, called his name.  She told him to stand at once, demanding
to know if he was paying attention.  Miss Singleton had been picking on
him lately, and the rest of the class exchanged knowing looks and
giggles.  They were ready for a bit of fun; Teddy Carson was about to
get whacked with the cane again.

When he said yes, he was paying attention, she walked slowly down the
length of the room.  She paused by his desk and stared at him.

"You were paying attention, were you?"

"Yes, Miss."

"What were we doing?  Addition?"

Versed in the devious methods of teachers, Teddy hesitated.  From long
experience he knew there would be an alternative.

"Or subtraction?"

"Subtraction."  He realised it was a grievous error when the class
laughed.

"Bad guess," the teacher said.

"I meant addition, Miss."

"An even worse guess.  What were you looking at outside the window?"

"My mother," Teddy said.

The class, who thought it was a joke, fell about with laughter this
time.  Miss Singleton was livid.  She silenced them with a shout.

She took hold of Teddy's ear, twisted it painfully and marched him
towards the back of the room.  It was there she kept a number of canes
in a cupboard, along with the blackboard chalk and her textbooks.

While they all watched she selected the slimmest bamboo, which everyone
knew hurt the most.  Bending it to test the flexibility, then tapping
it on her hand, she told him this was his last chance.

"We were doing multiplication, Edward.  Since you were expert enough
not to bother taking part, please tell me the solution to the following
sum.  What is the answer to nine times thirteen?"

Teddy stared at her, his mind in a turmoil.  Nine times thirteen?

He knew she had deliberately chosen the most awkward number.

Ten times thirteen would be .. . well, he wasn't quite sure, but it
would be easier than nine times.  As for thirteen, she had chosen it
because they had only learnt up to their twelve times table, and
anything after that was unfamiliar territory.

"It's more than a hundred," he said, and the giggles of the class were
stilled as he held out his hand.  But Miss Singleton shook her head,
and gestured for him to bend over.

They all watched spellbound, some slightly frightened, others excited,
as he bent and the teacher laid the cane against his bottom, assessing
and measuring her target.  It was her custom to delay the punishment as
long as possible to cause the maximum stress, so she kept him bending
while she made preparatory swishes through the air, creating sound
effects that he and everyone else could hear.

"It will hurt me more than it hurts you," she said sanctimoniously,
'but we are trying to teach you, and sometimes this is the only way."

She swung the cane and it lashed against his legs, just below where his
short trousers gave protection.  He flinched with the pain, and she hit
him again, then a third and a fourth time across the buttocks, and
after that was so obsessed with punishing him she was unaware the
classroom door had opened and the headmaster was standing there with
Belle.

"So this is what you call an education for my son!"  Belle had no need
to perform the role of furious parent, she had rarely been so
enraged.

"I ought to go to the police and make a complaint.  That woman was
enjoying herself, she was salivating, relishing it.  I'll take him to
Prince Alfred Hospital to have the whip marks treated, and after that I
think my only recourse is to go to the newspapers.

Fortunately a number of our friends are journalists on both the morning
and evening papers."

"Mrs.  Carson-' the headmaster tried to interrupt the flow, but Belle
was having none of it.  She stood aggressively in front of his desk,
hands firmly planted on it as she fixed him with her gaze.

"The public ought to know what happens when we entrust our young to the
care of people like you.  We hope for an education, for a decent start
to their lives, and instead we discover you employ sadists."  The
headmaster flinched.  He was sure Belle's angry voice would carry to
anyone listening outside his door.

"That's exactly what she is.  You can't deny it, I saw that creature
lashing my child with what seemed like the utmost pleasure-' "Mrs.
Carson, the teacher will be disciplined-'

"That's your business.  Mine is to take my son to have his injuries
treated, then decide if further action is required.  He won't be
returning to school today."

"I imagine not," the headmaster replied, managing to get in a word at
last and sensing her threat was mostly rhetoric, 'after all, you did
come to collect him for a family funeral."

"His Aunt Penelope."  Belle was reminded of her excuse for plucking him
from classes.

"Poor Penelope would certainly have been most upset about this.  He was
her favourite nephew."

"Doubtless he'll be well enough to attend her last rites," the
headmaster said, making little attempt to hide his disbelief.

"Who's Aunt Penelope?"  Teddy asked her as they left the school.

Following Belle's instructions he limped until they were out of sight,
even though he insisted it had hurt his bum and there was nothing wrong
with his legs.

"Keep limping, but don't overact," she warned, aware of the beak
watching from his window as they crossed the playground.  Cynical old
chalkie.  No doubt he'd heard all the excuses since becoming
headmaster, and funerals would have rated fairly highly among them. 
But it had been a matter of urgency.

"Who is she, Mum?"

"She was a character I played on stage once," Belle said, 'and you're
supposed to be going to her funeral, because I couldn't think of
anything else.  I had to get you out of school in a hurry."

"Good-o.  But why?"

"There's a call for juveniles and younger kids to audition for a new
variety show.  A friend rang to tell me, but we nearly missed out
because that oaf "Erb kicked up an almighty fuss about another

phone call.  He's the pits, that man.  But this one's a chance,
Teddy.

A real chance that we can't afford to miss."

Not another audition, Teddy thought despondently, debating whether to
risk saying he didn't feel like it, because his bum was really quite
sore.

But when they arrived he thanked his stars he hadn't.  For among those
there, the first face he saw was Sally's.

The phone call was from Dan Hardacre.  Donald was abrupt with him.  He
felt no necessity for them to meet.  He was due in court shortly, and
both suggestions Dan had offered several weeks ago had led absolutely
nowhere.

"I think we should talk," Dan said.

"I don't see the point."

"I'm sure you will after we've met and spoken."

Reluctantly Donald agreed his court appearance was a summary matter,
and he was leaving his chambers early.  He should be home by two, but
told Dan not to be surprised if the house was half empty.

It had been a miserable few weeks since the furniture had followed
Caroline and the children to Adelaide.  Mrs.  Abbott had departed, to
his considerable relief; he would have liked the pleasure of sacking
her, but even there his wife had scored a victory.  She was paid a
handsome redundancy by Caro and taken over by one of her friends who
apparently needed a treasure like Mrs.  A to run her new mansion in
Bellevue Hill.  The housekeeper had bade him goodbye with a
self-satisfied smile, as if Bellevue Hill was an undeniable
elevation.

It was a smile so smug it had annoyed him intensely.

Dan Hardacre arrived promptly at two o'clock.  The flash Italian

car looked incongruous in Donald's sedate driveway.

"I see they didn't repossess the shagging wagon."

"The old fuck mobile ... It's about the only thing I own outright
now."

They went into the house.  There were vacant spaces in the main rooms
where furniture had stood.  Indentations marked the carpet, and the
wallpaper revealed where bookcases and a sideboard had been removed.

"Looks like you've had the bailiffs in," Dan said.

"Worse than that.  By now it's all in Adelaide, with my wife."

"Is she coming back?"

"I wouldn't think so."

"And the kids also in Adelaide?"

"Yes, living there now.  I'll see them here at Christmas, and on their
birthdays."

Dan shook his head, surprised.

"For a smart lawyer you seem to have got shafted with the rough end of
the pineapple."

"Sarah's eight, young Donald's six.  I was trying to be considerate and
not turn their lives into an arm wrestle.  Moderation in a marriage
bust-up is a bit of a misnomer.  I was shafted by a smart woman now
let's forget it and have a drink.  And tell me what was so important
that we had to meet."

Donald poured drinks and they took them out onto the side verandah.

"I've been working things out, Donald."

"What things?"

"A time line.  Twelve years ago, you and Belle were lovers until the
big bust-up.  Pretty quickly after that she married.  She hinted a few
times ... well, more than hinted to me, but I'd lost interest.

So she married George Carson.  Met him when she went to spend a

few weeks with her aunt who lived at Greenwich.  Sort of seeking
sanctuary there, I felt, after the break-up.  Odd choice, George.  Not
her sort of bloke.  Or her kind of life, in the back blocks of a
country town."

"Just a minute."  Donald had listened to this with growing unease.

"What on earth has Belle's marriage to do with me?"

"As far as I can work out," Dan ignored the interruption, 'about six
months later she had a child.  My guess is that was your child."

Donald, anticipating it, was nevertheless shaken to hear it spelt out
so precisely.

"You have a vivid imagination, Dan."

"The timing seems to fit."

"You may think so.  I'm afraid it's fantasy."

"Perhaps.  And yet all these years later you want to find her-' "I told
you, she turned up at this house one night.  I wanted to find her
because I was concerned.  My former housekeeper said she seemed in
distress."

"You wanted to find her a hell of a lot more after I dropped the news
she had a kid.  An eleven-year-old."

"I suppose I was curious."

"Why not?  Anyone would be.  You want to see what he looks like see if
he looks like you."

"Cut it out, Dan," he retorted, not wanting to acknowledge the accuracy
of that remark.

"If this is what you came to say, you're wasting my time."

His visitor smiled knowingly, sipping his drink with no intention of
leaving.

"To be honest, I'm not sure he does look like you, but that's for you
to judge.  There are photos, but they don't tell much and are no
substitute.  You need to meet, to talk to him.  What I suggest is, this
time I'll do the legwork and I'll find Belle for you."

Donald was cautious.  He hesitated.

"How?"

"We'll come to that.  In the meantime I'm on the bones of my arse, and
there are no jobs in view.  The price has gone up, Donald.

I'll find her, but I want five hundred quid.  And two hundred for
expenses, up-front."

"Are we talking about a reward?  Because it sounds more like
blackmail."

"That's pretty insulting, Donald.  It's a fee for my time and services.
The money is probably less than you earn for a few days in court.  It
may take me a little time, but I will find her.  And the boy."

There was a silence.  Donald gazed out at the side lawn, where the sand
pit remained, but the children's swing had been dismantled.

It was no doubt by now erected at Caroline's parents' home in Adelaide,
or in storage for when she moved in with the lover.  He should have
fought for the kids, he knew that now.

"Have another drink," he said to Dan.

"Let me think about it."

Teddy saw her the moment they came into the building, at almost the
same time as she saw him.  She stood up, murmured something to her
mother, who was sitting beside her, and ran to meet him.

They faced each other, wondering what to do, whether to kiss or hug or
what, and in the end they just held hands and grinned at each other.

"I was trying to find you!"  Sally said.

The, too ... I was trying everywhere.  Golly, Sal..  ."  He felt
tongue-tied.  So many things he'd saved up to tell her, and now he
couldn't think of a single one.

"We live in Mosman," she said.

"I heard that."

"Mum's got a new boyfriend."

"I thought she'd got married again."

"No, she tells everyone she's married, but he's just a boyfriend.

His name's Sylvester Polkington and we live with him."

"Fancy name," was all Teddy could think of to say, as Mrs.  Sharp
rose.

"Silly name and a horrible man," Sally whispered, while their mothers
met each other with fixed smiles.

"Eunice, I heard you've married again.  Congratulations."

"Thank you, Belle.  You've moved house, I'm told?"

"Yes, we felt it was time for a change."

"Somewhere nicer, I hope?"

Belle appeared not to hear this.

"I suppose marriage means a new name.  What do we call you now?"

"I've decided to remain Eunice Sharp.  It's more modern, I think, and
I'm used to it.  We women should keep our own identities."

Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Teddy betray his desire to laugh
at this exchange.  First he directly gazed at Sally, whose lips began
to twitch.  Remaining straight-faced was proving difficult.  So he
looked at the floor, then sideways at some of the other hopefuls who'd
turned up mostly young, but he and Sal seemed by far the youngest he
looked anywhere except at her.  He knew they'd both collapse with
laughter if their eyes met.  Meanwhile Eunice, who hadn't bothered to
acknowledge Teddy at all, appeared totally oblivious to this.

"They want young singers and dancers.  It's a two-week guarantee,
that's all," she told Belle before returning to her seat.  She beckoned
her daughter.

"Sally, sit here and relax."

"She's as bossy as ever," Sally said in a whisper.

"Why not tell her you want to talk to me?"

"Yom tell her."

"Righto," Teddy agreed and moved to confront her mother, who had
already taken out her knitting.

"If you don't mind, Mrs.  Sharp, Sally wants to talk to me.  And I want
to talk to her.  So we'll wait outside together until one of us is
called."

Eunice opened her mouth to remonstrate, then realised he had spoken
loud enough for others to hear and all their eyes were on her.  So she
smiled a frigid smile and said not to go too far.

Sally had a multitude of questions for him.  Where had they gone to,
and why in such a rush, not even a message?  Was his mum still sweet on
Ross Tanner?  Had he been in any more films?  What was the name of his
new school?  Was it better than their old one?  With so much to explain
he was no longer tongue-tied; he was overwhelmed, not only by her
cross-examination, but by the knowledge she had missed him and been as
dejected as he had.

He told her everything.  Shocked her with the news of Florian's
venality, told her about their awful attic room and how bad things had
been, and still were.  No hope of film work, just unsuccessful
auditions like this one today.  Although today, he said, could hardly
be called unsuccessful whatever the result, because they'd met again,
and not even her bossy mum was going to keep them from seeing each
other.

But how will we do that?  she wanted to know.  Mosman and Botany were
too far apart.  Teddy had to agree.  Eunice would never allow Sally to
venture into his neighbourhood, her up-herself mum would throw a fit at
the thought.  As for visiting their new place in Mosman, first they had
to be invited.  Fat chance of that!

They glumly contemplated the possibilities.  In the end all they

could do was assure each other they'd swap addresses and somehow keep
in touch.

Belle came out to warn Teddy he was on next.  The call was in
alphabetical order, she said, and it was an utter shambles.  If he
wanted to skip the audition she could hardly blame him, but since
they'd come all this way he might as well go through the motions. 
She'd just heard the producer wanted a song-and-dance number, which was
surprising, because until now what he'd wanted was a comedy sketch.

So "Burlington Bertie', which would've gone over a treat, had to be
junked, and they had about five minutes to think up a suitable song.

"What were you going to do, Sal?"  Teddy asked.

"Eunice has a few song sheets with her, but I don't like any of them
much."

"I'm sorry, Sally."  Belle was trying not to sound impatient.

"But nice as it is to see you again, we have to sort this out.  So
you'd better go inside now."

"Wait a minute-' Teddy started to say.

"We haven't got time to waste, darling-' "Hang on a minute, Mum just
hold your horses," Teddy insisted, and began whispering to Sally.  If
Belle was startled at being told to shut up, she was equally astonished
to see the way Sally smiled, nodding at whatever was being said,
nodding again and then laughing out loud.  As they stood up to face her
they were clutching hands.

"We'll do a piece together," he said.

"You can't.  It's a solo audition.  Besides, you have no routines,
you've never rehearsed, and they won't allow it.  The idea is just
ridiculous."

"Then I won't bother, Mum.  We'll go home, like you said."

Belle paused.

"What on earth can you do together?"

"Lots of things, Mrs.  Carson," Sally begged.

"We used to try out ideas after school, and at dance class.  I promise
you it'll be all right.

Please, won't you trust us?"

As Belle hesitated, the producer's assistant came out.

"Young Ted, you're on."

"We're both on."  Teddy hardly paused before saying it.

"We're a double act."

"Nobody told me."  He frowned and referred to his clipboard, then
looked at Belle.

"Did you know about this, Mrs.  Carson?"

"It should be down on your list," Belle said, 'but if it isn't then
someone has forgotten to tell you.  Let's go, kids."  She followed them
inside, trying to anticipate what Eunice was going to say.

Eunice glanced up from her knitting, relieved to see Sally coming back.
More than enough time had been spent with that boy.  She supposed he
was talented, but far too much attention was paid to him, as if he was
some sort of star, which was absurd.  One big role in a film and
nothing much since, just lots of bit parts, driven by that obsessive
and difficult mother.  A pity they had to meet again like this.  Sally
was at last getting over her moods, the complaints about missing him,
and now this had to happen.

"Sally, dear-' "Sorry, can't talk now.  We're on, Mum," her daughter
said, walking past.  She and Teddy, hand in hand, with Belle and the
assistant, all headed for the room where the auditions were being held.
Eunice hastily put her knitting away and went after them, managing to
reach Belle just before the door was shut.

"What's happening?"  she asked.

"Settle down, Eunice.  Wait and see."

"I want to know what's going on!  What is all this?"

"If you ladies wish to stay," the producer addressed them from a

long table where he sat with a number of his acolytes, 'you should be
aware I insist on total silence.  No talking whatsoever, and if you
find that difficult you have to leave."

Eunice sat down.  She looked furious.  Belle sat with her fingers
crossed, praying this would not be a colossal blunder.  She had no idea
what they intended.  It had not been Teddy who swayed her;

Sally's plea had done that.  She'd always liked Sal.  The mop of bright
red hair, the friendly grin, the tousled appearance; such a natural
kid, so unlike her mother, who was never less than immaculate like a
dummy in a shop window and with about as much animation.

The producer was talking to Teddy and Sal.  She didn't know him;

he was a newcomer, a businessman who'd rented the small Crown Theatre
in Bathurst Street.  Hardly a prime venue, and with just two weeks to
make the show work or everyone would be paid off and sent home.  The
producer she tried to think of his name without having to ask Eunice:
Hugh something or other ... Hugh Bellamy, that was it had imported a
well-known Scots comedian, and was casting locals to build a show
around him.  This explained why the request for a comic sketch had been
changed.  No overseas star would allow some local player to do a comedy
spot in case he pinched the laughs, which Teddy might easily have done,
she reflected.

Mr.  Bellamy seemed agreeable enough.  He sat with the kids, listening
and letting them do most of the talking, then took them across to the
pianist.  He left them with an encouraging pat on each of their
shoulders and returned to his chair.  They went on talking to the
pianist, explaining what they wanted.  It seemed an unconscionably long
delay.  Eunice was fidgeting; Belle felt a mounting tension.  Her chest
grew tight, as if all the breath in her body was compacted into a ball
there.  She thought she might be physically sick, might have to run
from the room, then thankfully the pianist hit a chord and they began
to sing.  Belle recognised it instantly, one of the romantic songs
Dominic the accordionist used to play:

Being young is complex, people say, Life should be a careful matinee.

It's far too soon to seek the moon, And early love can often go
astray.

But we confess we've said yes, Yes to love, and yesterday.

It's true we've always felt this way, Yes to love, and to tomorrow, Yes
to dreams, no chance of sorrow, We'll never fight, never grieve, This
lovely moment we believe Will last for always, every day, And life's a
dazzling matinee.

Their voices blended in tuneful harmony.  They sang the second verse,
then began to dance.  Belle leant forward, feeling a catch in her
throat.  She knew it at once; the Astaire and Rogers style, everyone in
the room recognised it with a unified gasp that felt strangely like
applause.  Belle no longer had any tension, she was smiling, tapping to
their rhythm, wanting to cheer.  Especially to cheer Sally, who was
electric: she spun and pivoted and danced with him in such perfection
it seemed as if they'd been performing together all their lives.

Then, as if deciding to leave their audience asking for more of this,
they came forward with arms linked and began to sing again.  But this
time they were toying with the song, acting it out, having fun taking
alternate lyric lines, like actors improvising or children enjoying
themselves in a playground.  Then, returning to the simple words of

the verse, they danced a waltz together, moving with perfect fluidity,
their eyes linked, captivated with each other as if they were entirely
alone, making Belle want to cry at the emotion they engendered.

The song ended, the pianist played the final chords and they stood
facing each other for what seemed an extended moment.

Then Teddy bowed to Sally, and she curtsied to him.  The silence in the
room was absolute.

"Jesus Christ," Hugh Bellamy said, and started to applaud.

Dan Hardacre drove back to his apartment in Elizabeth Bay.  It was down
on the edge of the waterfront, select, expensive and, with luck,
sustainable.  It seemed possible now that he could survive here until
conditions in the industry improved, at least enough for him to find a
new job.  All he had to do was locate Belle and the kid, which six
months ago would have been easy; she was forever ringing him from
public phones, or coming to the studio to find out if there was
anything, a small part, if not then a walk-on, even a background extra,
any scrap that could keep Teddy employed and his mother living off his
earnings.

He had no real affection for Belle, despite long ago being lovers.

In those days it was different, she was a twenty-year-old prize.  Even
now she was an attractive woman; he could imagine taking her to bed,
undressing and arousing her.  Once aroused, Belle had no emotional
boundaries, no restrictions on bed behaviour; he could still remember a
glorious night when they had reached home drunk and rampaged with
sexual abandon until they were exhausted.

But now she was his lifeline.  He had two hundred pounds in cash for
his expenses, and a promise of five hundred more when he found them.
It seemed the French woman who ran the shop inKellett Street would be
no help, and paunchy old Nuncie was a rampant foe.  He expected that;
Nuncie had been lusting after Belle since she was a young soubrette,
although there was never a chance she'd acquiesce to a cigar-puffing
lesbian.  Why they'd stayed friends baffled Dan, but the longer he
lived the less he understood people.

Nuncie was the key to this because she knew where Belle was living. 
Her refusal to reveal the address was a minor irritation that was going
to cost him fifty quid.  Fifty of his two hundred advance would hire a
private detective to monitor Nuncie Billingsworth, and in time this
would lead to Belle.

It was a fair enough pursuit; the kid was almost certainly Donald's,
and it would be up to him what might happen then.

He'd lost his wife and the other two children, maybe he'd attempt a
deal to gain custody of Teddy.  Tricky lawyer's stuff.  But even with
legal finagling, he'd surely find it impossible Belle would never agree
unless Donald had something more in mind.  Unless he had some other
aspirations.

Dan sipped a drink on his balcony and thought about that.

Donald and Belle, after all this time?  It was an interesting
speculation.

They'd certainly been a red-hot item once, and most of their friends
had been surprised when he'd ditched her, even for Caroline and her
money.  So, perhaps?  Life was full of twists and amusing turns.

Whatever the outcome, Dan was confident of his payment.  With luck
there might even be a little more.

They waited outside the audition room, still elated by their reception,
but becoming anxious over the long delay while their future was
discussed.  The building was at the lower end of George Street, an
unlovely part of town, full of cheap hotels and gun shops.A tram
clanged past on its way to Central Station.  There were more derelicts
than ever making shanty homes in the park, and across the square Teddy
could see the entrance of what had been Florian MacArthur-Bailey's
office.  He pointed it out to Sally.

A lousy crook, he told her, although at times he'd quite liked the
agent and found it easy to laugh at his jokes.  But the same fat funny
man had tricked Teddy over Christmas presents when he was only eight,
and had shot through months ago, leaving them without a bean.  Uriah
was a bastard, as Belle had always said.  And now he'd escaped, sailed
on a ship for England.  When Belle heard it she said there was no
justice.  Bastards always escaped and prospered.

"I can hear her saying it."  Sally smiled, then was thoughtful.

"He might have been our agent talking to Mr.  Bellamy right now, if he
hadn't been a crook."

"You mean instead of our mums?"

She nodded.  They were both nervous about that.  After their
performance the applause had startled them.  Teddy, a veteran of more
auditions than her almost more than anyone said it was an historic
first.  Nobody ever applauded at auditions like this.

"It really felt good, every minute, everything we did.  You were great,
Sal."

"So were you.  Even before they clapped, I could tell they liked us."

"They did.  I hope they still do after our mums have finished
negotiating."

"Yes," replied Sally, 'it's taking an awful long time."

They sat across the table from Hugh Bellamy, who had a draft contract
in front of him.  One assistant remained to take notes, the rest of the
production team had departed.  Belle and Eunice had

spent several hours waiting for the remaining auditions to conclude,
and this delay had given them more than enough time to adopt entrenched
positions.

"They were extremely good," Belle commented, 'but of course it was an
off-the-cuff performance and they will be even better."

"Naturally," Eunice added.

"I don't want them better," Bellamy said.

"I want them just like they were today.  People are going to love
them."

"They're bound to be better, Mr.  Bellamy, with more rehearsal."

Belle felt he was a newcomer who needed advice.

"Wait till they're in their right costumes, and, by the way, I have
some ideas on that.

And the lighting needs to be soft focus.  I thought Sally was splendid,
she kept up very well-' "What do you mean kept up?"  Eunice
interrupted.

"I'm not criticising, Eunice, I'm complimenting her."

"By suggesting that she managed to keep up?  You call that a
compliment?"

"Ladies, please.  Can we get on with the contractual details?"

"Certainly," Belle answered promptly.

"Top billing for Teddy.  I'm sure that goes without saying."

"What do you mean?  Why does it go without saying, Belle?"

"Because it's obvious, Eunice.  He's a star."

"Star my arse."

"You know he is."

"I know nothing of the kind.  He might've been a star when he was
smaller, but that was for one film.  What's he done since?  Bit parts,
a few lines here or there, absolutely nothing that matters."

"Ladies, please-' They took no notice of him.  Belle was infuriated by
the way Eunice was so determinedly undermining Teddy, her anger
sparked

by the grain of truth that lay in the accusation.  She realised it was
dangerous stupidity, this quarrel, but could no longer help herself.

"Let's face it, who has ever heard of Sally Sharp?  You tell me,
Eunice.  Go on, tell me.  Has she ever been in pictures?  Toured?  Been
on a stage?  No.  She's a very lucky girl because my son has taken such
a shine to her.  Talented but lucky."

"Ladies!"  Hugh Bellamy said again, vainly trying to restore peace.

"They said you were a nasty, impossible cow, Belle and I said you could
hardly be as bad as people made out.  But my God, they were right."

"I think you should stop insulting me, Eunice, and let's try to at
least agree on something.  Top billing and a sixty-forty split of the
fee our way."

"Go to buggery," Eunice said.

"Right, that does it."  Hugh Bellamy rose from his chair, took the
contract and ripped it in half.  He gave a half to each of the startled
mothers.

"I wanted those kids.  But you can tell them you've seen to that.  With
you as their agents, I'm not having them in the show."

"Why?"  Eunice almost whispered, as if she'd lost her voice.

"Because I couldn't risk you pair coming to the theatre and putting on
a turn like this."

Belle stood in shock, holding her half of the contract and staring
numbly at him.  After so long, so many months of hopes and
disappointment, and after such a superb audition ... All she could
think of was a warning long ago from bloody Florian, of all people that
one day she would talk her son out of a job.  It seemed as if she just
had.  She wanted to weep or shout at the producer to wait and listen,
but instead she just watched him starting to gather his papers.  She
felt frozen with the enormity of what they had done.

"Mr.  Bellamy .. ."

He paid no attention to her.  The assistant switched off an overhead
fan, while he closed his attache case.  Both men were waiting for them
to leave.

"They were wonderful," she said slowly, trying to choose the right
words, 'and we were awful.  Like a pair of fishwives at least I was the
fishwife -I admit I started it.  But the kids, they were so very good,
and it seems ridiculously unfair, to them and to you, Mr.  Bellamy,
that you no longer want them because of our bad behaviour.  It's
probably far too late, but even so I'd like to apologise."

Hugh Bellamy remained quiet.  After a moment he looked towards
Eunice.

"How do you feel, Mrs.  Sharp?"

"Better for hearing that," Eunice said, then realising it appeared like
scoring a cheap point, felt obliged to add, "I apologise as well."

They went home by tram.  It was late in the afternoon, the traffic was
banked up on South Dowling Street, and the tram was packed.

Teddy sat squashed against Belle, wanting to talk but this was
impossible.  She knew he was relieved there was only another two days
of school before rehearsals.  Tomorrow she would go with him and make
that plain to the headmaster; while she had the beak on the back foot
over the caning she'd lay down a few conditions about the times he'd be
absent.  A week rehearsing, and then a minimum two weeks away from
school because of matinees and late nights.  Perhaps longer if the show
ran.

What a relief!  She felt contrite and thankful Hugh Bellamy had
ultimately forgiven them, but that was because he wanted the act, not
for the pleasure of their company.  He'd taken another contract from
his case a duplicate copy telling them to sit down while he read out
the proposed offer.

"This is not negotiable.  So I don't want any interruptions or
comments.  The billing will be in small type, like everyone else except
our star.  It will read: Teddy Carson with Sally Sharp."  He'd looked
up as Eunice gave a slight murmur which subsided as he stared at her.

"I pay fares and four shillings a day during rehearsals, then two
pounds a week when we open.  If the show runs beyond the guaranteed two
weeks, the salary increases to three pounds.  If that's agreeable, you
sign as their guardians.  But before you do, because of what took place
earlier, I have some other conditions."

He'd laid down the law, and that bitch Eunice hadn't liked it one
scrap.  Belle hadn't been too thrilled herself.  They were barred from
all rehearsals, including the dress: they were not allowed backstage
until the end of each show, and were prohibited from giving any advice
to any person in the company especially the wardrobe lady and the
lighting supervisor.  He gazed intently at Belle while stating this,
and she had nodded obediently.  For a moment she thought she'd glimpsed
a hint of a smile on his face, but rather than risk such an assumption
had decided to treat it as a nervous tic.

She slept soundly that night for the first time in weeks.  Alongside
her in his own bed, Teddy lay awake.  It was far too exciting to sleep.
When he did, it was close to midnight.  He was dancing with Sally, but
they were grown up, with their names in big letters above the title.  A
full orchestra played their music.  The audience was immense, there
were rows of people in their hundreds, even in their thousands,
overflowing and stretching as far as it was possible to see beyond the
footlights, as though they went on forever.

TWENTY-FIVE

Nuncie Billingsworth looked out the window and saw the same man.  This
time he was leaning against the lamppost across the street, as if
absorbed in the view, which was odd because the view was a brick wall.
Two days ago he walked past her shop at least five times.  She stepped
away from the glass so he could not see her, and studied him more
carefully.  In his thirties, a nondescript sort of bloke, medium
height, thinning hair, slim build.  An open-neck shirt, fawn trousers
and sandals.  He looked harmless, so why was she concerned?

She knew people were often cautious before approaching a pawnbroker,
second thoughts were a regular occurrence; she'd seen enough of them
debating with themselves, studying the window, questioning whether they
really needed the money before taking the plunge.  She was used to
customers loitering while trying to come to a decision but this one
didn't seem like that kind of a customer.  So what did that leave?

"Boys," she called, and Charles and Clarence gratefully lowered the
heavy bookcase they were trying to shift through the clutter, and came
to join her.

"Over there by the lamppost.  Now he's going to have a look in the
real-estate window.  It's the fourth time he's done that."

They all studied him.

"Same geezer as last time," Clarence said promptly.

"And I thought I seen him hanging around the back lane yesterday as
well."

"So what do you reckon, Clarrie?"

"Dodgy," the small man replied.

"He certainly don't look like a punter to me."

"That's what I thought," Nuncie agreed.

"What would you do?"

"Set the bleedin' dog on him if we had a dog."

"Well, we haven't."

"No, but if you cast your mind back, I always said it'd be a good idea.
Not one of these soppy animals, a bloody big frightener like a
Rottweiler or an Alsatian, something to make a tea-leaf shit
himself."

"So you reckon he's a thief?"  she asked, ignoring his sly reminder
about keeping a watchdog.

"Well, what else is he hanging around for?"

Nuncie turned to the larger of the two.

"What about you, Charles?

Any suggestions?"

"Got one, Miss B."

"Good.  Would you care to share it with us?"

He picked up the phone and handed it to her.

"Call the coppers."

"Why?"

"You're a bit worried.  So call 'em.  It's your right as a citizen.
After all, what do you pay taxes for?"

"Who said I pay taxes?"  Nuncie replied, but she rang the police
station anyway.

Dan decided it was better not to tell Donald Ferrier the private
detective he'd hired had been arrested.  Talk about a Keystone Kops
scenario!  The hopeless dill-brain had made himself so obvious that

Billingsworth had been alerted and called the North Sydney rozzers.

In Neutral Bay of all places, with its shops and constant shift of
people, this peeper, this supposed sleuth, had managed to lurk so
visibly that he'd stood out like dogs' balls.  In the resulting fiasco
the drongo had tried to avoid arrest by escaping; a wild chase ensued
down Ben Boyd Road and through the back streets of Cremorne, and after
a long pursuit he'd been taken into custody for questioning.  To avoid
summary charges and the prospect of a night in the cells, he had
identified himself as a private eye.

"But I didn't tell 'em who hired me, or what it was all about," he
faithfully promised Dan.

"I invoked client confidentiality."

"Fucking brilliant," Dan said.

By now she'd have been told the assumed thief was not what he seemed;
he was a legally registered investigator on the job keeping observation
on a certain matter in the area, details of which he refused to
disclose.  Nuncie was no idiot, it wouldn't take her ten seconds to put
that little set of circumstances together.  Just weeks ago Donald had
come there in his attempt to track down Belle, and all of a sudden
there was a hired bloodhound on her doorstep.

Dan told the man he was fired, and tried to work out what to do next.
For a start Nuncie was forewarned, so any kind of future surveillance
was out.  There had to be some other way, or else the promised
five-hundred-pound bounty was at risk, and so was his bank overdraft
and the occupancy of his apartment.

The Crown Theatre in Bathurst Street had once been a Presbyterian
Church hall.  Its entrance was down a narrow lane, which precluded the
likelihood of passing ticket sales, and the reviews that Hugh Bellamy
hoped would bring the public to fill the small theatre had

been less than fulsome.  Only two critics bothered to attend the first
night; one said the Glaswegian brogue was unintelligible, the other
could interpret the words but found the jokes obscure.  By the second
week the rows of empty seats were indicators of disaster, and the
imported leading man and local cast could hear the echo of their
failure in a stony and relentless silence from the other side of the
footlights.  At the mid-week matinee there were more people on stage
than in the audience.

The Scottish comic blamed it on the management.  The former church hall
was a bleak venue, he told everyone, a crappy wee space better suited
for sermons than slapstick.  In this crypt, this burial chamber of his
career, there was as much chance of getting a laugh as obtaining a
decent meal of haggis in the antipodes.  Since the cast had no idea
what he meant by this, it was greeted with the same leaden reception as
his jokes.

When closure was inevitable, the visiting comedian became angrier.
After condemning Bellamy's administration, he impugned the people of
Sydney for not knowing of his triumphs at Blackpool, Morecambe and
other British seaside towns where he was a household name.  He then
became derogatory about the supporting cast.  They were utterly
useless; the show would've been better as a solo vehicle without any of
them.  It was when he dismissed Teddy:

and Sally as mere childish amateurs that Belle and Eunice found;

themselves united in outrage.

"How dare he!"  Eunice exclaimed, for news of his latest fulmination
was travelling around the company like wildfire.

"The egotistical little turd.  What do you think?"

"I think he's a bastard," Belle said, 'as well as an egotistical little
turd."

"It's unfair."

"It's the last gasp of a has-been who never got past the Blackpool
pier.  We should do something about it, Eunice."

Forbidden by contract to go into the theatre except to collect their
children after each show, one engaged the stage doorman in conversation
while the other left a cutting on the cast notice board

It was the most virulent of the opening-night reviews, which
concluded:

the local cast did their best, but sadly the dead weight of weak and
incomprehensible Celtic jokes sand-bagged them.  The entire show was no
more than a dreary waste of time, with the exception of the youngest
couple, a charming singing and dancing duet that enlivened the second
act.

Belle and Eunice, who had shared indignation at the critic's neglect to
name their progeny when it was published, now underlined the passage
and pinned it up with a mood of what felt surprisingly like
camaraderie.

Dan Hardacre picked his time carefully, late in the day just before the
shop closed.  He introduced himself to Helene La Rue  In the background
a girl was stacking the shelves.  He remembered vaguely the French
woman had a daughter.

"I'm from United Films."  He gave her one of the cards he'd taken
before his departure from the company.

"I need help.  I've lost touch with Belle Carson, and it looks like we
might have a nice little role in a new film for Teddy.  "Helene took
the card and the bait, as he felt sure she would.

"Tres bon," she said, 'that's good news for them."

"It certainly is.  Can you give me their new address?"

She took a scrap of paper and a pencil from beside the cash register.
She was about to write it down for him, when the girl came and looked
at the card.

"United Films?"

"That's right," he replied, smiling at her while waiting for the mother
to finish writing.

"Mama, wait a moment," she said, then spoke in French.  The exchange
that followed was too quick for Dan to grasp, but he knew from their
expressions that something had upset them.

"What's the matter, Mrs.  La Rue

It was her daughter who answered.

"I heard United has closed down."

"A rumour."  Dan smiled.

"Don't believe all you read in the papers."

"I didn't read it," Chrissie La Rue said, 'my boyfriend works in the
film business.  He was trying to get a job there, but he told me
they've closed."

"Only temporarily.  I'm putting together a new movie for them.  If you
look at the card, I was the executive producer who got Teddy his first
starring role."

"I know you did, Mr.  Hardacre.  So leave the card.  We'll give it to
Belle and she can get in touch with you."

"For goodness' sake, young lady, I'm only asking for an address.

What's the problem with that?  Do you want to lose him this job?"

"Certainly not.  But let me get this straight so that I can ask my
boyfriend.  It's a film for United, which hasn't really closed after
all?

Is that right?"

"Not exactly."  Dan tried to regain his smile, which was usually so
She returned to work, back to the tedious chore of filling schooners of
beer as she contended with the unappealing banter of flirtatious
drunks.  There was also what she called the eye-play: the meaningful
stares, sidelong glances, winks and lifted eyebrows that were all;

intended messages, each one implicitly sexual.  The worst offenders
were those who seemed to consider themselves irresistible.  From:

her side of the bar she went through the daily burden of being an
uncomplaining recipient of their lust.

The mechanical nature of the job, its sheer monotony except in the
turmoil of the rush hour, made it possible to reflect on other
matters.

Nuncie had come to bring her news of the private detective.  While they
laughed about his arrest, it was a disturbing escalation.  Belle
assumed he'd been hired by Donald, and she contemplated a phone call to
warn him off better still, a call to Caroline, who had once been her
friend, and might be surprised to hear of her husband's current
activities.

But before she could come to a decision on this, she saw a newspaper
paragraph headed "BARRISTER AND WIFE TO DIVORCE'.

Then came an unexpected letter from Helene La Rue revealing Dan's visit
and his clumsy attempt to find her whereabouts.  It seemed unlikely
they would be seeking her for different purposes, so they must be
acting jointly.  Dan was out of a job, she knew this from the weekly
trade paper that had reported the shutdown of the studio and United
closing its Australian office.  She also knew he had an expensive
lifestyle.  He must be working for Donald, she reasoned.  Knowing Dan,
he would hardly associate with the man who'd replaced him in her
affections, unless it was for money.

Belle felt dismayed.  The idea that two former lovers men she had once
cared for would unite in an ugly intrigue to stalk her, to track her
down as if she were a kind of prey, was abhorrent.  She was uneasily
aware Teddy was certainly the objective of this and

must be protected.  While she tried to think of what to do and how to
deal with it, the telegram arrived.

That she should receive a telegram was the first big surprise; the next
was its content, which was so astounding it lifted her spirits and made
her laugh.

She and Eunice Sharp were invited to afternoon tea.

Hugh Bellamy's office in Macquarie Street was another surprise.

It had one of Sydney's best panoramic views that included the harbour,
the Conservatorium of Music and the Botanic Gardens.

The building itself was luxurious, his own office spacious.  A series
of impressive company names were gold-lettered in the foyer where they
waited for the lift.  It was a galaxy away from the squalid rehearsal
room and the theatre.  For the first time it occurred to Belle that
their former producer, for whom she'd felt such concern about his
financial loss, might be a wealthy man.

They were both mystified by the invitation.  Eunice was concerned by
it.  She could not imagine he'd have anything to say to them, apart
from a rebuke.  After all, they had upset the star who'd threatened to
sue.  Perhaps that was it, a pending lawsuit, with them in the witness
box.  Belle had reminded her that was weeks ago, all forgotten, and
told her not to be so cretinous.

"What are you talking about?  Who's cretinous?  What's it mean?"

"Dumb," Belle said, wishing she hadn't opened her mouth.  A new
outbreak of hostility was never more than a word away.

"Who's dumb?  Why else would he want to see us?  If you believe it's
for afternoon tea, then you're dopey enough to believe anything."

They managed to summon smiles to meet Hugh Bellamy, who said he was
expecting another visitor, but asked his secretary to

bring in the tea.  Good bone china, Belle noticed, and plates of cakes
and fresh sandwiches.  Eunice was a fool; they were clearly here as
guests, not prospective witnesses or penitents.

"I'm sorry we had such a flop," he said when they were settled, 'but I
made a mistake.  I should've stuck to my trade, fundraising for other
productions.  I'm an enthusiastic supporter of the theatre, but not a
producer.  Certainly not again."

Neither saw any reason to disagree with this.  They sipped their tea
and tried to work out why they were here.

"I'm afraid the comedian didn't transplant.  Jokes that were a riot in
the north of England fell as flat as the Nullarbor here.  The one good
thing in this fiasco was your kids.  They're a class act.  You were
right, Belle, they did improve with each performance.  A great pity it
had to end."

You can say that again, Belle thought.  The chance of a long run and an
opportunity to make their names on stage ... it was just too good to be
true.  Yet it could've been true, with a decent comic and a better
show.  She realised Hugh, as he'd asked them to call him, had changed
the subject.

"I trust you ladies have sorted out your disagreements amicably?"

"We have," Eunice assured him, and Belle nodded assent.  Mutual umbrage
against the Scot had bonded them into an alliance, even if it was a bit
precarious.

"Good.  I hate to see talent squandered.  If they were unable to appear
together again, it would be an awful waste.  So that's why we're
here."

Belle felt confused but hopeful, until his secretary knocked and showed
in a visitor.  Hugh rose to greet the man who entered and they shook
hands cordially.  With a sense of shock she saw it was I Ricky
Mendoza.  "You know these ladies, Rick?"

"I know the lovely Bella.  Buenas tar des cara."

Oh God, Belle thought, not you.

"This is an unexpected surprise," she said, as he raised her hand and
she felt his wet lips on it.

"Surprise or shock, mi Bella?"  He smiled knowingly at her, as if
reading her mind, then preened as he was introduced to Eunice.

"A delight to meet you, Madame.  If I may call you Eunice, I would
consider it a favour."

"Of course you may."

It was immediately apparent Eunice was impressed.  This was, after all,
the man of legends, the famous and notorious Ricky M, the most
successful producer of vaudeville in the country.  He chose a seat
beside her.  The secretary brought his tea and offered sandwiches.

Ricky took a large handful and chuckled at their reactions.

"I never have lunch when I come to see Hugh.  The delicatessen
downstairs, which he happens to own, makes the best sandwiches in town.
So, my amigo, have you told them everything?"

"Not quite, Ricky.  I was halfway through the preamble."

"Ha!  Now we cut to the chase, yes?"  He smiled at Eunice, and at the
same time managed a sneaky glance at Belle's legs.

"Last month Hugh takes me to a show.  Not a good show, but in it are
two young people, two little gems.  Hugh is an aficionado, also the
broker who supplies moneybag investors for me.  He says in my next
revue I must include his gems, or no moneybags.  So -I come to take
tea, and talk to the senoras about this."

"I might add," Hugh said, "Ricky agrees with my opinion of their
talent."

"I might agree," Ricky rebuked him, 'but I never express such
sentiments before negotiation.  All compliments can come later.

Now, details of my new show.  Roy Rene and Patricia Lamont are the
stars  It opens at the Tivoli.  Rehearsals next week.  I want your
little gems to have a six-minute song and dance duet ready by then."

Despite her growing excitement at what was being said, Belle noticed
the change in him.  The Latin persona had been replaced by a hard nosed
theatrical.

"I plan to bill them as Carson & Sharp.  Teddy and Sally does nothing
for me, it makes them sound like a pair of kids."

"But they are a pair of kids," Eunice said.

Ricky took her hand and smiled benignly.

"This is showbiz, darling.

I want the audience to expect an adult act, then we surprise them by
bringing out two small figures in spotlights.  Individual spots, one
from each side of the stage until they meet and begin to sing.  It's an
instant impact.  Carson & Sharp.  Any other comments?"

Clever, Belle thought, liking the idea of the spotlights.  She also
preferred him without his South American masquerade.

"Belle, no comments?"

"You forgot to mention salary."

"I knew you'd remind me," he said.

"Three pounds a week, an eight-week guarantee."

"No wonder you forgot to mention it.  Try doubling it to six pounds a
week."

"You try to remember this isn't the movies, cara."

"It isn't child labour, either.  Five pounds, with a ten-week
guarantee, or we walk.  Right, Eunice?"

Eunice looked stricken, as if the magical daydream she'd just been
listening to was about to drift beyond reach and become a night She
knew they could not possibly walk, and secretly believed '. was stupid
enough to carry out the threat and ruin everything.

"I'll pay four," Ricky said with a sigh that suggested impending "Four
pounds ten shillings, rising to five after the guarantee, we still
running.  And a boxed credit on all the posters "With Carson &
Sharp"."

"Sure you don't want them above the title?"

"At the bottom will be fine for now," Belle smiled, 'from there they
can work their way up."

Ricky capitulated with a characteristic shrug and a warning.

"Goddamn it, Belle, don't you spread rumours about this.  I'm not used
to haggling -I never bargain with performers, as everyone in the
business knows."

"Relax.  I'll say you're as stingy and tight-fisted as ever.  Is that
suitable?"

"I don't want anyone thinking that I might be getting soft or
generous."

"Oh, I'll make sure of that," Belle promised.

They signed the contracts that afternoon.  Before he left, Ricky
produced his wallet and gave Eunice one of his cards just in case, he
said, she might wish to get in touch with him.

The room was on the ground floor, and had access to a garden.  There
was even a shed where Teddy could keep his bike, instead of having to
cart it down from the attic as he'd been doing ever since his birthday.
Nuncie and the boys came in a utility truck to help them move, bringing
an upright piano as a gift for the new lodgings.

They said goodbye to "Erb and his house in Botany without regret.

"Youse never gave me no proper notice," he shouted as Belle climbed
into the front seat, and Teddy joined Charles and Clarence in the back
of the ute.

"So sue them, you great ponce," Nuncie shouted back, and drove off with
a jerk and a strident clash of gears.  "Anywhere there will do,"
Clarence said loudly, hearing yet another piercing noise as she tried
to change into top gear.

"Does Nuncie drive the truck often?"  Teddy asked them.

"Not if we can help it," Charles said.

"She's good on a push bike but," Clarence added.

Apart from a close encounter with a bus in Randwick, they reached the
new house in Glenmore Road safely.

"Bit more space in here," they observed carrying in the piano.

It was a modest room with twin beds.  There was a small table, as well
as two chairs and a sofa.  A gas ring for boiling a kettle, and cups
and plates.  It felt like luxury after the months in their tiny garret
beneath the iron roof.

"I don't know how you stood that dog box for so long."  Nuncie spread
herself on the sofa with approval at the way the soft springs received
her bulk.

"Practically needed a bloody shoehorn to get in and out of there."

Dear Dad, Teddy wrote once their new life had settled down:

a lots happened.  I'm in a new show, me and my friend Sally, and we got
six minites singing wile we do a dance in the first act and then
another number in the second act.  People seem to like us, they stood
up and clapped last night, then gave us a big cheer when we came on
agen.  We've moved to Glenmore Road, its near the tram that goes into
town, because our show is on at the Tivoli and it only takes about 15
minutes to get there.  And the room is much bigger.  I keep my bike in
the shed and can ride it near here as its safe and nicer than our last
place.  I thort we might go back to Kings Cross, but Mum said here was
better becose I can ride the bike even tho she likes the Cross.  I
have to go to school in the mornings, and Mum helps me with the
homework so I cant write much more as I have to do a lot of homework
now.  Or else I'll get into truble at school.

Love from me and Mum, Teddy

It was waiting in the letterbox when he came home from work, and he
read it at once, then later read it aloud to Maureen without a mention
of the spelling mistakes when she came in from next door with a flask
of hot cocoa to share with him.  She did this every night after having
dinner with her sister and brother-in-law, except on Fridays when Jim
and Betty invited George over to share their meal.  Maureen's visits
had begun as an impulsive gesture, and over the past few months had
become a welcome routine.

"He sounds much happier, George."

"He does."

"Do you think he ever misses home?"

"It's hard to tell.  Different sort of life down there."  He thought
about it, recalling Kellett Street with all its cramped deficiencies,
and shrugged.

"He liked that little dump they had in Kings Cross.

Poky, hardly any daylight, it was a real mystery to me."

"Bet he misses his dad, though," she said gently.

"Like you miss him."

"That's no secret," George said, but the word itself had a connotation
that made him uncomfortable.

For it was a secret, and one he could never tell her.  Or anyone.

He and Belle were the only two in the world who knew it, not even the
real father had the faintest notion; Belle had assured him of that and
he believed her.  While he trusted Maureen and there had been

many times he had wanted to confess to her, it somehow remained a part
of his life he could share with no one else.  Revealing it to a third
party would be like relinquishing Teddy himself, after eleven years of
what had been a deep parental love.

It was difficult to articulate how desperately he missed him.  He had
never been good at communicating his innermost thoughts.

"I miss coming home from work and seeing him there, riding down the
road to meet me," he said, and Maureen felt the pain he could not
express.  She leant forward and kissed him.  The same way that she'd
kissed him so gently and spontaneously the first night she'd brought
him cocoa, appearing apologetically at the back door after dark, the
night he'd been unable to prevent himself putting his arms around her,
and when he did had felt her body trembling, and they'd sat on the
settee touching and fondling until it was no longer possible to resist,
and they'd begun to remove their clothes without the need of a word
spoken.

She had been a widow without a man in her life for two years, and he
was starved for affection.  If she was middle-aged and homely, so was
he, and the warmth she generated was emotional and overwhelming.

On that first night they had gone into the bedroom to make love as they
had been doing many nights since then, and as they did now.  George
sometimes wondered how many of the neighbours knew about him and
Maureen.  Jim and Betty Nelson, for certain.

Mr.  and Mrs.  Miranda on the other side?  He hoped not.  Miss
Limmington?  They'd done their level best to outwit her, because if she
found out half the town would soon know.  They wanted to keep it
private, this autumnal joy they had found with each other.

It seemed as if nothing could go wrong that year, and for a long time
nothing did.  Carson & Sharp the name caught on brilliantly, and Belle
had to admire Ricky M's insight and expertise in this, grateful the
"Murrumbidgee Kid' label had been left behind at last; Carson & Sharp
were accepted and loved by their audiences.  In an otherwise grown-up
show, full of leading comedians, well-known singers and a very
professional dance troupe, they gradually began to be the main
attraction, the word-of-mouth magnet that brought crowds to the revue.
These packed audiences took away an abiding memory of the diminutive
figures as they sang popular new songs and old time music-hall
favourites, while dancing with great panache, the pair of them creating
constant waves of approval and applause.  The admiring crowds spread
the word that this was something different, something a bit special,
and other people came to see for themselves.

Once their ascent began it was rapid.

Ricky Mendoza not only extended the current show, he had plans for the
future and wanted a contract before his competitors tried to white-ant
him and lure them away.  He went to work on Eunice, silkily persuasive
that he could secure their future.  All she must do was convince Belle
to sign an exclusive two-year deal with him.

"Sorry, we're not interested in being tied up for two years."  Belle
was rock solid about it.

"We'll sign for six months on condition their salaries go up to ten
quid a week."

Ricky, who had expected a demand for more than this, hastily agreed on
condition the contract gave him first option when the six months was
up.  Belle, who knew options could easily be broken, signalled her
agreement.  Eunice, who by now was in awe of Belle, could hardly credit
the way fortune was smiling on them.  Her daughter had become a
celebrity.  At times when she was out with Sally strangers would stop
them in the street asking for an autograph.  It was such a startlingly
different and thrilling existence.

She invited Belle home to Mosman as her new best friend and there she
confided her secrets.  She confessed that her current status was not
conjugal at all but temporary, and even more temporary since she and
Ricky had begun to have occasional afternoons in his office, or rather
in the cosy room behind it.  Belle must promise not to tell a soul.

Belle promised, deciding it best not to reveal to Eunice that everyone
would know by now anyway, for one of the most obnoxious traits of
Ricky's character was his liking to boast of his conquests.  Nor did
she tell Eunice that he still tried to grope her whenever he had the
slightest opportunity.  Which was why she had been making some discreet
approaches to the Fullers and the J. C. Williamson company about what
might happen when Mendoza's tenure expired.

But if Ricky's concupiscence was an aggravation, Belle could find no
fault with his managerial skill and enthusiasm.  When the revue closed
he put Teddy and Sally into a Christmas pantomime called Beyond the
Black Stump, a locally written farce that mixed iconic names like Ben
Hall and Ned Kelly with fictional favourites Ginger Mick and the
Sentimental Bloke.  The pair were cast as Outback characters, a
larrikin brother and sister from a hayseed family.  It was a riotous
romp; they loved it, and encouraged at rehearsals by Ricky they began
to over-act outrageously.  Belle was alarmed and protested
vehemently.

"You'll ruin them," she complained.

"Settle down, Belle," he retorted, 'wait till you see the show, and
read the notices."

"That's what I'm worried about, you idiot.  The critics will hate
them."

"Don't forget, you're here at my invitation.  So shut up or leave."

"You'll destroy their image, letting them ham it up like this.
Thepublic knows them as sweet young kids, not bloody little
monsters.

Make them tone it down."

"Belle, dear."  Eunice invariably sat with her at rehearsals, ever
since they'd become united by success.

"I hardly ever disagree with you, but Rick might be right this time.
People might like them being little monsters just for a change."

Which proved prophetic.  Belle had to admit it, sitting beside them
both on opening night, collapsing with laughter like the rest of the
audience at the wildly extravagant nonsense on stage.  Beyond the Black
Stump received good reviews as a piece of festive fun, and Carson &
Sharp were singled out for a series of glowing comments, citing their
versatility, comedic ability and the clear message they'd conveyed
across the footlights that here were a pair of talented youngsters able
to take on virtually any kind of roles, who were on the road to
stardom.

After the holiday season Mendoza put them straight into another revue.
He resisted the calls to give them more time on stage; he wanted them
kept fresh and innovative by one brief appearance in each act.  Make
the audience want more of them, was his rationale.

This time their billing was in bigger lettering, a boxed credit just
below the title and the stars.  They had more glamorous costumes and
their own group of dancers.  They became a topic, and people were
curious to know more about them.

When the popular new magazine Women's Weekly published their
photographs with the caption "EXCITING YOUNG NEWCOMERS', the instant
increase at the box orifice did not go unnoticed by Ricky M. He quickly
arranged for an interview on one of the new commercial radio stations,
this one transmitting under the call sign 2GB from premises above the
Savoy Theatre in Bligh Street.  The studio was just a small room
without windows.  Alongside it was a glass partition and a booth full
of strange machines, where a gramophone record was playing.  Behind the
desk in the studio sat a young man who, to Teddy and Sally's surprise,
was wearing a dinner suit and a bow tie.  The assistant who ushered
them in whispered reverentially that he was the announcer.  They were
ignored for a few moments until the music finished, when he invited
them to sit on chairs facing his desk, and asked if they had ever done
radio before.  At the same time he flicked a switch, and a light
appeared on the peculiar apparatus in front of him.  Teddy supposed
something had been turned on, but was unsure about this as they hadn't
been told.  He wanted to ask, but felt tongue-tied and nervous until
Sally nudged him and gripped his hand reassuringly.

"Ever done it before?"  The announcer repeated the question, with a
sideways glance at his control operator in the adjacent glass booth, a
look that encapsulated his cynicism about this interview.  A couple of
juvenile actors, stage kids with nothing real to say; who the hell
needed it?  Certainly not him, Bobby Parkin, better known to the
listening world as King Bobby.

"Have we done what before?"  Teddy asked, puzzled by the undercurrent
of what felt like antagonism.

"An interview on the air.  To put it in simple terms, have you ever
spoken to our faithful audience out there, via the wonderful world of
the wireless?"

Parkin had a deep mellifluous voice despite his youth, and seemed to be
very sure of himself.  Teddy felt at a disadvantage, uncertain what to
answer, mesmerised by the contraption that stood between them on the
desk.  He was trying to recollect what it was called, then remembered
Ricky saying it was a microphone, and explaining that once the light
was turned on, anything they said would be heard by hundreds, even
thousands of people.  Recalling that, he realised the man had switched
it on without bothering to warn them.  It was then he decided what to
do, and hoped Sally would catch the drift.

He tried to communicate his intention with a glance at her.

"The wonderful world of the wireless," he repeated.

"No, I've never spoken on that.  I've never even seen a wireless.  Have
you, Sally?"

"I've seen pictures of them," she responded, keeping a tight hold of
his hand.

"My mum was talking of buying one."

"Was she?  What happened?"

"She decided it wasn't worth bothering."

"Why was that, Sal?"

"She said there's an awful lot of rubbish talked on it."

You beauty, Teddy wanted to say to her, you absolute beaut, and wished
he could hug her.  He glimpsed the announcer with his mouth open.  The
man in the booth seemed to be laughing, but they could not hear it
because of the glass.

"What sort of rubbish, Sally?"

"Gasbag stuff, she said."

"Gasbag?"

"Yes."

"What's she mean by gasbag?"

"She means a lot of hot air comes through it."

"Hot air, eh?  Not worth having one then, Sal?"

"Ted, she says if you want hot air go down to speakers' corner in me
Domain.  You can hear it there for free every Sunday."

Her voice was a perfect mimicry of Eunice.  They were still holding
hands.  Teddy squeezed hers and an answering response told him she was
enjoying this.  On the other side of the microphone, the announcer was
gazing at them like a rabbit caught in a spotlight.

Now he tried to intervene and end this damaging duologue."Excuse me,
Teddy and Sally-' "Carson & Sharp," Sally interrupted him, 'that's what
we're called.

What are you called?"

"I'm the Chief Announcer, Robert Parkin," he declared tersely, unused
to losing control of interviews like this, 'and my public like to call
me King Bobby."

"What do we call you?  Your Majesty, or just King?"

"Or Mr.  King?"  Teddy suggested.

"That can't be right," Sally corrected him, "cos his wife couldn't be
Mrs.  King.  Is she called the Queen?"  she asked with such wide eyed
innocence that the control operator almost wet himself with glee.  He'd
never seen any of the guests take the piss like this; most were usually
bullied into being docile and agreeing with whatever question they were
asked.  But these two were doing such a lovely deadpan job on the
bombastic and conceited Bobby Parkin, who so relished his self-bestowed
title of King Bobby, Emperor of the Wireless Waves.

"You kids!"  Parkin forced a chuckle.

"Good on the ad lib, eh?  Having a bit of fun at King Bobby's
expense."

"We're just getting used to the microphone."  Teddy smiled at him
disarmingly.

"When are you going to switch it on?"

"It's been on all the time, son."

"You mean we've actually been speaking to the magical world of the
wireless and we didn't even know?  Wow!  Jeepers!  Do you realise that,
Sal?"

"Golly, Ted.  All those people.  Do you think they heard us?"  She
turned to the near-apoplectic announcer.

"What do you think, You Maj?"

Before he could speak, Teddy anticipated him.

"Tell you what I think, Sal.  We'd better tell them about our show,
Galaxy Galore.the Criterion Theatre, before the King gets cross with
us and orders us to leave his palace."

The interview was widely heard.  Bobby Parkin commanded a large
audience, but in reality King Bobby, the so-called Emperor of the
Wireless Waves, was not widely loved.  The following Sunday's
newspapers relished his discomfort at the hands of the youthful Carson
& Sharp, and made much of it on their show-business pages.

The publicity was immense.  Ricky M, who had been disappointed at their
shenanigans, pointing out he had paid a hefty sum to Parkin on the side
and there was no real promotion for the show because of their
tomfoolery, was delighted by the eventual result.  The revue had packed
houses with bookings until Easter.

Belle had a fleeting concern at the increasing amount of exposure, in
case it brought unwelcome attention, but recalled that when she knew
him Donald Ferrier never attended vaudeville shows, nor did he bother
with anything in the papers except the news and the law reports.  He
had no interest in the entertainment pages.  If he ever saw the names
Carson & Sharp on a poster or a billboard they would mean nothing to
him.  But in her concern about one former lover she had entirely
forgotten the other.

Dan Hardacre read every show-business section of every paper, with the
intensity of a man still searching for a job.  He had been in Melbourne
for the past three months, in a vain attempt to secure a position with
J. C. Williamson Theatres.  If not, he would've been aware far
sooner.

A few days after their radio interview Dan gave up his search for
employment and returned to Sydney.  He drove back through Queanbeyan
and Canberra, reaching his flat late on Saturday night.  The next
morning he bought all the newspapers and went to his favourite coffee
shop The Arabian to read them over a leisurely breakfast.  An hour
later he had made a phone call and was on his way to Donald Ferrier's
home, confident he would be able to pay his debts at last.

TWENTY-SIX

Until the interval it was just like any other normal night at the
Criterion.  Another packed house, the same huge applause for the pair
of them, making Belle feel all those hard years she had battled for
Teddy were at last being rewarded.  When Eunice went backstage to their
dressing-room to enthuse about how well the show had gone so far, Belle
sat among the audience in the stalls feeling a weary but satisfying
sense of achievement.  It had not been easy, never easy, but she and
her son, she could hardly forget him had managed to succeed beyond her
or anyone else's most extravagant dreams.

Where it went from here she could not yet imagine.  Other venues of
course, interstate perhaps, even overseas.  She had an aspiration of
England and the London Palladium; in her mind they had come so far, all
the way from distant Brewinda Road to this, that anything and anywhere
was now possible.

She felt a slight lethargy, and attributed it to the heat generated by
people so tightly crammed into the theatre.  Not that she minded the
crush.  She knew the precise number of people the Criterion held,
especially now that Teddy and Sal were on a percentage.  It had been a
ferocious fight with Ricky M, but with the contract about to expire she
had bluffed him into believing they'd go elsewhere.

Eunice had been petrified, but she'd won.  It was a tiny proportion,
just ten shillings for every hundred tickets sold, but already she knew
tonight's full house was worth an extra four pounds.  Translated into
each week's six nightly performances and two matinees, it meant they
shared an additional thirty pounds after their salaries.

It felt like riches, and with the basic working wage barely a tenth of
that, it was.  Belle had given up the bar job with relief.  They could
even afford to move; an apartment with a view in Macleay Street was not
out of reach if they wanted, but she was unsure.  It was better to be
careful; there'd been enough reversals and poverty.  No one could
predict tomorrow; she'd learnt that lesson.  Besides, she liked the
room in Glenmore Road.  It was convenient, safe for Teddy to ride his
bike in the street, and the landlady was amicable.  So they would stay
there, at least for a while.

She glanced at her watch, wondering if there was time to shake the
feeling of fatigue by a brief walk outside in the fresh air.  But with
only a few minutes left before the curtain rose for the last act, she
decided to remain.  It was when she turned to look across the aisle,
expecting Eunice's return from backstage, that she caught sight of
Donald Ferrier sitting in the stalls with a rather self-satisfied Dan
Hardacre.

The second half of the show had always been her favourite.  It was
faster and funnier, but tonight it seemed turgid and endless.  She
fidgeted until Eunice gave her a puzzled glance, and in answer Belle
touched her brow to indicate a sudden headache.  She knew both the men
had seen her, despite her immediate attempt to look away and study the
program to avoid eye contact.  They must have seen her when they first
entered the theatre before the opening curtain.  All through the first
act she'd been blissfully unaware; they would have realised this and no
doubt enjoyed her state of incognisance.There was no longer need to
feign a headache.  She felt as if she was on the verge of something
awful like a migraine.  Or a catastrophe.

Donald had no interest in the rest of the show.  He sat impatiently
while a comedian made the audience around him laugh; he endured songs
and dances while waiting for another glimpse, and it was not until
quite late in the second half that they returned.  The empty stage, the
instrumental theme of their song and the expectation the music aroused
in the theatre signalled it.

People began to applaud before they appeared, then the spotlights
caught them as they emerged from opposite corners upstage he seemed to
recall that upstage was the professional term so the impression of
distance accentuated their figures into looking even smaller, while the
lighting threw long shadows as they converged.

It was clever, he thought, but was quite unprepared for the burst of
cheering that greeted them, a reception so loud and so long that they
could not begin the song, and went into a routine that appeared
impromptu, but surely was rehearsed, where Teddy nervously tried to
kiss Sally's hand, which she kept snatching away, until finally she
allowed him to kiss it continental fashion, after which he tried to eat
it.  Following this he gave an elaborate bow and the girl curtsied in
reply, and when the applause continued he parodied a curtsy and she
gave a masculine bow as the laughter enveloped them.

When they sang Donald watched intently, searching for some trace of a
familiar gesture or a look, something of himself in the figure on
stage, which was hardly possible.  But it gave him the opportunity to
appreciate their style and realise why they were so popular.  It was
the simplicity: they were like kids next door, like his own children
and their friends, except they could dance to every kind of music,
their rhythm matched by the hands of the keeping time to the beat.
Backed by a group they high-kicked, then danced a prolonged and popular
Charleston, after that the bolero, and finally a waltz so tranquil that
the change of tempo seemed unachievable.  Yet they managed it with
ease.  And all the while there seemed to be this affection, this
magnetism between them almost like lovers, he thought, if they had not
been eleven years old.

Then the music stopped.  Their accompanying dancers froze like
statuettes.  The pair were silhouetted by a single spotlight and went
into a sketch.  The instant laughter of the dialogue signalled
recognition, though Donald had no idea why.  The girl was calling Teddy
His Highness Prince Boobie, the Wonderful Wizard of the Wireless Waves.
The applause when they did a reprise of the Charleston and danced off
the stage brought them back again and again, until finally the little
redhead pretended to be exhausted.

She started to sway to her left.  Halfway to the floor, with her feet
firmly anchored, she recovered her equilibrium, then swayed alarmingly
to her right, while Teddy scratched his head and gazed at the audience
inviting them to share his concern.  It was extraordinary how far she
could sway on either side without falling.  At last he lifted her up,
slung her across his shoulder, pretended to go weak at the knees under
her weight, then staggered off while she laughed and waved as she was
carried into the wings.

"Well?"  Dan Hardacre could hardly be heard amid the deafening
ovation.

"Bloody good," Donald found himself saying enthusiastically.

"I mean, he has a smidgen of you, don't you reckon?"

"Impossible to say that, Dan."

"I think so.  By the way, I'm sure Belle knows we're here.  Still a
bloody good-looking woman, eh?  "Someone in front hushed them as a
conjurer came on.  Belle was certainly that, Donald silently agreed, as
he spent the rest of the program thinking about what tactics to adopt
when meeting her after the show.  For a start, he thought it might be
easier if he got rid of Dan.

Belle spent most of the second half puzzling what to do for the best.
She even contemplated asking Eunice to drive her and Teddy home because
of her splitting headache, but decided that was a nonstarter.

Or she could spin a story that she had to hide from a former boyfriend
and needed help, but that would mean inviting Eunice into a conspiracy,
and while they had become companions almost friends she was not quite
ready to trust her private life to her.

Unfortunately there was no escape, no way she could avoid meeting him;
before the curtain fell she had come to accept that.

Donald had no interest in this kind of theatre; he would never have
come to a vaudeville show, unless .. .

So he'd worked things out.  She realised it was bound to happen
eventually.  She resolved to be firm, to remember he had no claim,
while at the same time she would remain calm and polite except to Dan,
who'd tried to deceive Helene La Rue with a lie.  Dan was a cheap
conniver who deserved a good kick in the balls.

She picked a spot near the stage door and sent a message to Teddy to
take his time dressing, as she had to meet two unexpected guests.

But to her relief only one arrived.  She nodded to the doorman to let
him through.

Dammit, she thought, he really doesn't look any older.  The same rugged
good looks, tall figure, neat brown hair without a trace of grey.  A
girl in the chorus passed with a glance at his profile, are minder of
how women were attracted to him, but she brushed the thought from her
memory.  She'd steeled herself to be courteous and calm it was the only
way to handle this until she saw his rather overconfident smile, which
was when all her best intentions fled.

"Where's your tame bloodhound?"

"Can we start by saying hello, Belle?"

"It would make a change from your last words to me "Sorry, I but it's
goodbye, Belle".  Or have you forgotten?"

"I just wanted to meet.  I hope you're not going to give me a hard
time."

"I don't want to give you any time at all, Donald, but here you are.
Looking a bit longer in the tooth, a bit wrinkled and weather beaten,
but aren't we all?"

"You're not, actually."

"Skip the flannel," she said.

"Where's the parasite?"

"If we're speaking of Dan, I paid him off and told him to get lost."

"What a pity.  I had a few words to say to him."

"I can imagine."

"No, I doubt if you can," Belle said.

"Trying to find me, he lied to a friend of mine, saying he wanted to
cast Teddy in a film.  What's cruel about that is there were a dozen
times he could've cast him in the past few years.  Times when we were
broke and badly needed help."

"Like the night you came searching for me?"

She did not respond to this, refusing to be diverted.

"Dan is a low-life.  Stalking me for money.  Hiring a detective to
watch Nuncie, after you tried to bully my address out of her.  I find
it very distasteful that you actually paid him to do whatever it took
to hunt me down.  As a lawyer, Donald, wouldn't you say that
constitutes harassment?"

"I'd say we need to talk of this another time, because your son is
about to join us," he said, and Belle turned swiftly to look behind
her.

Teddy, along with Eunice and Sally, was coming from the direction of
the dressing-rooms.

"Be with you in a tick," she called to Eunice.

"We'll be in the green room," Eunice said, her gaze lingering on Donald
as they walked towards the stairs.  Teddy gave her a quick wave.

"Let me meet him," Donald said.

"No."

"I only want to tell both the kids how much I enjoyed their part of the
show."

"I'll pass the message on."

"Belle, I think you should know, I'm not going to be shoved away like
this," he said, his voice betraying a quiet tenacity.

"I can't imagine what you mean, Donald."

"I'd like to do this in a decent, friendly way.  Or else we can play
rough."

"There's no way in the world you can frighten me," she said, determined
to wipe the optimistic smile from his face: a smile that seemed to
convey he was in no doubt of the outcome.

"Frighten you?  For God's sake, that's the last thing I want.  I hurt
you enough years ago.  It ended badly, in a mess and a lot of anger."

"It ended when you met my friend Caroline," Belle said.

"I've been looking for you for months," Donald went on, ignoring this,
'ever since I found out it was you who'd come asking for me, actually
waited for me, and then, for a reason that escapes me, ran away.  I
want to talk, and I want to be allowed to meet Teddy.  Will you come to
lunch on Sunday, and bring him?"

"He's not your son, Donald."

"I asked if you'd come to lunch.  There'll be no embarrassment.  If
you didn't know, Caroline's in Adelaide.  She and the kids won't be
back."

"I'm sorry about your marriage, but you didn't seem to hear me.

I said he's not your son."

"Then there's no problem about us meeting."

"There's an awfully big problem.  I don't want to sit at your table or
eat your food, let alone drink your wine.  You kicked me out of your
life long ago, and now you've paid someone to hound me.  If Dan's a
sleazy shit, you're the cunt who hired him."

There was a pause while he stared at her, the smile vanishing.  She was
vaguely conscious of stagehands and dancers passing, intrigued by the
signs of argument between them.  A clenched-teeth squabble conducted in
hushed voices, but the anger was unmistakeable.

There'd be gossip at the matinee tomorrow, about her and the well
dressed gent and their dispute.  Bloody Eunice would interrogate her;
even Teddy would be curious about it.

"Please come to lunch."  Donald's voice was deceptively quiet.

"If you don't, that will force me to the conclusion that you're afraid.
Of what, I ask?  I'll have to leave that to the court to decide."

"What court?  Don't try your snide lawyer's tricks on me."

"I have some papers, Belle.  Some documents.  You and I need to discuss
them rationally.  If you refuse, I can ask a magistrate to open
proceedings, and we'll both have to hire advocates and give evidence. 
I don't want to do that.  I just want you to come to lunch and bring
Teddy.  Is that really so difficult?  Sunday, shall we say
twelve-thirty for one o'clock?  You know the address."

"You're not going," Nuncie said.

"Surely you're not going there.

You'd be stark raving mad to go.""I'm not raving mad.  I'm awfully
scared.  I need to know what the hell he's talking about.  Documents,
he said.  What bloody documents?"

"It's a bluff, Belle.  Legal crap."

"Well, that's why I have to go.  To find out.  Because I can't sleep at
night until I know."

She expected the same surly housekeeper, but Donald himself met them
when she rang the doorbell.  Looking relaxed and casual in grey
flannels and a plaid sports shirt, he greeted her with a welcoming
smile, stooped to shake hands with Teddy and congratulated him on the
great show, declaring it was the best vaudeville he'd ever seen.

The only one you've ever seen, Belle thought sourly as they were
ushered into the living room.  It appeared to her it had recently been
redecorated, and much of the furniture seemed new.  Donald opened a
bottle of white wine being cooled in a silver bucket, and offered Teddy
lemonade.  A delicious aroma from the kitchen indicated roast lamb for
lunch, and a new housekeeper a distinct improvement, Belle thought
brought in appetisers.  There were peanuts and crisps for Teddy, and
olives and savouries for them; it was clear he had gone to a great deal
of trouble, which really bothered her.

She had to contain her impatience while Donald had a running
conversation with her son.  He particularly wanted to know all about
Sally, how and where they'd met.  Teddy was happy to oblige.  So for
some time the two held an animated conversation that virtually excluded
her; Teddy related the history of how the pair had made friends at
Greta's dance classes, his regular walks home with Sally after school,
how.  they lost touch after leaving the Cross, then the chance meeting
again and their audition together.  Donald appeared to listen with
close attention.  "And the first show was a flop?"

"Terrific flop," Teddy agreed readily.

"Hardly anybody came to see it, and sometimes there were only about ten
in the audience."

"That must've been awful."

"Horrible.  I had to go back to rotten school again, Mum went back to
work at the hotel, and I didn't see Sally for weeks.  It felt like we'd
never meet again, but then Mum and Eunice met Mr.  Mendoza."

"A lucky day, that one."

"It certainly was."  Teddy grinned.

"A real beaut day."

"But six nights and two matinees each week, that seems a lot.

Don't you get awfully tired?"  Donald asked.

"Not really.  With packed houses, you never get tired."

"Why is that, Teddy?  What's the difference?"

"With a big full house, it's exciting.  We got fed up doing the flop
because nobody laughed or clapped.  But when it's exciting, Sal and I
don't get a bit tired then we like it."

"I suppose it's called adrenalin," Donald said, and went on to explain
this.  He seemed engrossed, talking to Teddy wanting to know every
detail, which pleased Teddy but did not fool Belle.

Donald Ferrier had never been engrossed in anything except his law
books.  But he was certainly giving a fine performance.

The roast lamb was delicious.  There were crisp potatoes, peas, baked
pumpkin, rich gravy and mint sauce.  In over three years Belle had not
lived in a place with a kitchen or a proper stove, so a meal like this
had not been possible.  Donald carved the meat, filling their plates,
and Teddy had a second helping.

For dessert there was peach melba and ice-cream.  He had a second
helping of that as well, and pronounced the meal terrific, absolutely
beaut.  Belle could see he was being seduced; in all his life he had
never known such close attentive interest from an adult, or the new
luxury of having a housekeeper fuss over him and provide a meal like
this.

Afterwards they had coffee on the side verandah, and Teddy wandered out
to explore the garden.  It was time to talk, but she waited for Donald
to begin.  All he wanted to do, it appeared, was enthuse about Teddy.

"He's a wonderful boy.  Well-mannered.  Talented.  You should be
proud."

"I am."

"He's a real credit to you."

"Thank you, Donald."

"I can't lay claim to his upbringing," he said, then after a pause
added, 'but I can prove he's my son."

She put down her coffee cup with a clatter.  Let the battle commence,
she thought, and vehemently shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, Donald.  Your child son or daughter, whatever it was,"
she said, 'was scraped out of my womb by that society doctor, that
bloody butcher you sent me to.  You insisted on an abortion, you gave
me the money, and I had it done."

"I can prove you didn't, Belle."

"You can't prove any such thing," she said heatedly.

"Look, I came to lunch as you insisted.  It was a nice meal, and under
other circumstances I might've enjoyed it.  Now I'm leaving here, and
you can go straight to hell with your bloody documents, whatever they
are."  She started to rise, but his firm hand on her arm detained
her.

"I'll tell you what they are.  I obtained validated copies from the
Registrar's office.  A replica of a marriage certificate to George
Carson June 1923, and the birth certificate of Teddy Carson, exactly
five months and eighteen days later."

Belle shrugged off his hand, but resumed her chair.  She felt cold,
knowing what was coming next.  It was essential not to let herself be
flustered.

"These things happen," she told him.

"I met George on the rebound after we broke up.  He was a randy bugger,
all over me like a rash, and I needed that sort of consolation.  He
made me pregnant so I agreed to marry him."

"Impossible.  How do you have an abortion in May, and give birth to a
new baby in November?"

"You're turning this charming house into a courtroom," Belle said
angrily.

"Trying to attack me like you harass hostile witnesses."

"The dates, Belle.  The dates prove you're a liar.  We split up in
March that year.  In late April you told me you were pregnant with our
child.  I went to the bank, drew the cash for the doctor.  April the
thirtieth."

"I remember."

"Do you remember a week later you wrote to say you'd had the abortion?
That was the first lie.  You didn't have it, Belle.  You kept the
child, kept the money, found a convenient husband, and you've been
lying about it ever since."

This, she thought, is where you turn to the judge and jury with a
flourish and make your closing address.  A decent father, able to
handsomely provide for this child, tricked out of his paternal rights
and here to make his claim.  The vital thing was to remain unruffled;

unlike in his courtroom the beleaguered witness here had the right of
reply.  But she must do it calmly, with composure.

"Proving I'm a liar, Donald, would be quite easy for you."

"I'm glad you realise that."

"I realise you've lost your wife and children.  Now you've suddenly
discovered that a foetus you wanted to get rid of is alive a talented,
veil-mannered boy and you want a share of him."

"Cut it out," he said, in reaction to the word foetus.

"Let's not pussyfoot around, that's what you want, isn't it?"

"No.  I want a reasonable discussion.  Some amicable arrangement."

"But I don't want to be reasonable or amicable."  It was time, she
thought, to reveal her sharp claws.

"And you don't realise how Embarrassing this will be for you.  Because
I'm going to fight."

"In court you won't have a hope."

"Who said anything about a court?  Gutter tactics, Donald.  The tabloid
press and even those gushing women's magazines will lap up a story like
this."

"You wouldn't dare."

The?"  Think about it!

"Eminent King's Counsel dumps pregnant chorus girl to marry her rich
friend.  Demands the chorus girl abort the child.  But she can prove
she didn't.  She can also prove a butcher, a socially prominent
surgeon, insisted she pay his fee just the same, which she did."  And
believe me I paid it, and went out of there intact.

Can you even imagine what the newspapers will make of that?"

"For God's sake," he said, shaken, 'all I'm asking for is a civilised
arrangement-' "Fuck being civilised.  You weren't the least bit
civilised when you married my friend Caroline and withdrew a previous
offer to me, or when you told me to get rid of the baby."

"I behaved like a shit, I admit it."

"The readers will certainly come to that conclusion.  And of course
this'll get huge coverage, because it's Teddy Carson, and he's news.
The sleazy papers will fight to get hold of it."

"You'll ruin his life."

"No, I'll ruin yours.  Think of the almighty stink, the gossip and
dirty jokes among your legal luminaries.  The child star that Ferrier
KC wanted aborted."

"Christ almighty, Belle, you throw that kind of mud, it'll stick to all
of us."

"Not to Teddy.  People might blame me; they'll definitely blame you.
The mud will stick all right, Donald, it'll stick all over you like
shit to a blanket if you don't back off.  I brought him up, gave up a
hell of a lot of things for him.  Do you really think I'd let some
bloody magistrate rearrange his life to suit you?"

She felt exhausted but triumphant.  They walked home from WooUahra
through the back streets to Glenmore Road.  Donald had asked her to let
him drive them, but Belle was adamant; she had no intention of allowing
him to know where they lived.  She made the excuse they had shopping to
do and friends to visit.  Teddy had shaken hands, asking if he could
thank the housekeeper for the beaut meal.  Belle had been proud of
that, and had not missed seeing the blend of esteem and regret in his
father's eyes.

They had finally come to an arrangement, dictated on her terms.

He would make no public claim.  And he must control his wayward friend
Dan, making sure he didn't shoot off his mouth and create rumours.  She
made it clear George had been a fond and decent parent, and she did not
want him to be humiliated.  In return they would visit for an
occasional Sunday lunch.

"Once a month," Donald suggested.

"Not regimented visits like that, or it will become a chore to Teddy.
I'll ring you from time to time to see if it's convenient."

"It will be.  What's he going to call me?"

"He can call you Donald.  Seems logical you're a friend of mine from
the past.  Now and then you ask us to lunch.  Can we agree on that?"

"Don't have much choice, do I?"  he replied after a long and reluctant
pause.

He accompanied them to the gate, and stood there watching until they
reached the corner.  Teddy looked back and waved.  Donald waved to him,
torn between pride and a deep sense of loss.  TWENTY-SEVEN

Dan Hardacre found it hard to conceal his scepticism.  In fact, the
more he thought about it, the less he believed it.  Having spent Sunday
with them, Donald now declared himself satisfied: young Ted wasn't his
son after all.

"But you said you had proof," Dan protested.

"I thought so," Donald said, 'but wishful thinking is not legal proof.
Still, you found them and we had a deal, so here's a cheque for five
hundred pounds."

"I was hoping it might be cash.  I'm not very welcome at my own
bank."

Dan left after a brief drink, with a cash cheque in his pocket.

Not quite the scenario he'd had in mind: he hoped to be greeted by good
news, then seize the moment to point out he'd had far more expenses
than anticipated, and request another two hundred quid.

Or even test the water and see if he could get more.

But if Ferrier wasn't the dad, then who was?  It wasn't George Carson.
He could count, and he knew exactly when Belle had met George at some
local art show, of all places.  And knowing his dates, he knew there
wasn't time for them to make a kid; she was at least three months up
the spout by the time George came along.  It could only mean that
Donald had to be lying.  There was no one else in Belle's life at that
time; he was the only possible candidate.

All of which would be of no public interest, he reflected as he drove
back to Elizabeth Bay, except that young Ted was headed for stardom. 
He was no normal child any more, and people would be interested in this
pedigree puzzle.  He and little Sally were cute, and they were current
favourites, especially since they'd sent up the so called King Bobby,
that jerk on the radio.  Dan began to speculate on which newspaper to
approach.  Truth, the weekend rag that speciali sed in scandal, would
be a likely prospect.  It'd be worth finding out whether any journalist
friends of his worked there.

Belle told Nuncie about the lunch.  They sat in her office drinking tea
while she gave a verbatim report.  It was an implicit bond between
them, one always there, but never mentioned since; Nuncie had
vehemently opposed the abortion.  It was her support and persuasion
that had influenced Belle to keep the child.  She could recall those
awful weeks when she was so vulnerable after the abrupt rejection by
Donald, with the added trauma of an unwanted pregnancy bringing her
close to despair.  Close to although she always tried to erase this
from her memory a contemplation of suicide.

She would never forget the day of the appointment.  They'd taken a taxi
to the address in Rose Bay.  Nuncie had insisted; they were not going
to arrive like vagrants, she maintained.  It was a secluded private
hospital in a quiet street.  The doctor was a lizard of a man,
impeccable in a Savile Row suit, an old school tie and Italian shoes.

He was not only notorious as an abortionist, but his hospital was a
refuge for gunshot victims.  Members of the feuding Tilly Devine and
Kate Leigh gangs relied on Doctor Randolph-Smith and his clinic where
knife and bullet wounds could be treated safe from interference by the
law.

When Belle told the doctor she'd changed her mind, he was not pleased.
An appointment had been made, he declared, a surgical nurse was on
stand-by; it would only take a half hour and it was too late for second
thoughts.  That was the moment when Nuncie reached out and gripped him
by the rather flamboyant old-school tie.  Before the doctor could
protest she'd slipped the knot so it was tight around his neck, and
while he went red in the face and ordered her to stop, she had examined
it and pronounced it a fake.

"St.  Paul's College in London?  I don't think so, Doctor," she'd
said.

"My brother went there and this tie is counterfeit.  You can buy them
in the markets, anywhere from Camden Town to Marrakech.  You're a
phoney, and so is your tie."

"I'll call the police," he'd threatened between clenched teeth.

"Good idea," Nuncie agreed.

"Get the cops, and I'll call a reporter mate of mine.  He'll bring a
photographer, and we'll be a hot gossip item on the newsstands
tomorrow."

"A bluff," he snapped, struggling free of her grasp, his hair usually
so sleek with brilliantine becoming disarrayed.

"No bluff, sport.  I could use the publicity for my new shop.  Any
exposure is good for business.  How do you feel about a full facial all
over page one, Doc?"

"Your friend has committed herself to the operation."

"My friend, as a woman of good sense, has decided not to trust her body
to you and your filthy curette," Nuncie had bluntly informed him.

"She had the guts to come and tell you.  Now she's leaving."

"Not before payment, I assure you."  He'd been enraged, pressing an
alarm button on his desk to summon his nurse and a muscular medical
orderly.

Belle had taken an envelope from her handbag.  It held seventy five
pounds given to her by Donald, more money than she'd seen in her
lifetime.  It was bulging, for the fee had been requested in single
used notes.

"There's your payment."  She'd ripped the envelope and thrown the
contents on the floor.

"It's worth every penny not to have a butcher like you touching me."

Then she and Nuncie had walked out, while the nurse and the orderly
scrabbled for the money.

They took a tram back towards the city.

"You are one crazy girl," Nuncie said.

"It was Donald's lousy cash," Belle replied, not caring if other
passengers heard her.

"I'd rather the abortionist have it than send it back to him."

Nuncie had laughed and thrown her hands in the air, declaring there was
a third alternative she'd forgotten they could've had a slap-up party
for fifty of their closest friends at the Hotel Australia with that
kind of money.

Belle remembered it with such clarity.  And recalled Nuncie's deep
emotion the day she'd brought Teddy here, the first time she'd ever
seen him.  Real friendship was about things like that debts that need
not be spoken of, but could never be repaid.

Belle and Eunice, unified by the success of their children, were being
classed as friends.  Each kept personal scrapbooks that soon became
voluminous.  No longer were Carson & Sharp an anonymous footnote in a
critic's review.  When they went into yet another show another boxed
credit on the bill in a bigger typeface, the size I of their credit was
increasing all the time some of the newspaper notices were excellent,
while others for the first time posed the question of whether it could
last.

What would happen when Teddy Carson's voice broke?

What lay ahead when these talented children reached puberty?

Both mothers were indignant at the snide comments; they called it
typical local sniping at success.  Australians were good at building up
and then undermining their favourites.

"Take absolutely no notice," was Belle's advice, and Eunice was content
to agree.  Meanwhile there were new opportunities, and the future
seemed more promising than ; ever.  An advertising agency hired Teddy
and Sally to promote its product, and Belle wrote one of her rare
letters to George, telling him I> to borrow a radio set and be sure to
listen on Sunday evening.

The broadcasting station was in the same building as the previous I one
they'd visited, above the Savoy Theatre.  It had a larger studio, and
Belle and Eunice sat in the viewing booth with the producer and an
agency executive.  Teddy and Sally stood either side of a
microphone,;

with an announcer immaculate in his dinner suit at a lectern.  All eyes
;

were on the clock.  From the control room the director signalled the
announcer his cue.

"This is station 2UE.  The time is six o'clock, and we present, live.

for your entertainment, fifteen minutes of songs with Carson & Sharp.
But first, a word from our sponsor."

On another cue Sally played an introductory few bars on the flute, then
she and Teddy began to sing a jingle specially written for them:

We clean our teeth twice each day, We clean them in the nicest way. We
always brush with you-know-what, We clean our molars quite a lot.

They spoke the next lines.

"Your teeth are so white, Sal."

"And you know why, Teddy."

"Pepsodrill," they chorused synchronously, then sang again:

You'll never have a dentist bill,

If you brush your teeth with Pepsodrill!

It was fortunate their listening audience could not see the cherished
pair, hands clamped to their mouths to prevent laughter, and only just
able to compose themselves as music signalled the introduction for
their first song.

Dear Belle, George wrote the following day:

It was most entertaining, all their songs and even the one about the
toothpaste.  I borrowed a set from work, and invited my good friends
Jim and Betty Nelson, and of course Maureen in to listen.

We weren't sure if we'd be able to hear it, but the wireless station in
Canberra had what they called a relay, and apart from a bit of static
we didn't miss anything.  They sang really well together, and I'm not
surprised the local paper here said they were popular.  I'm glad you
moved into a nicer place to live, and I hope with all this acting and
singing, Teddy is still able to do his school work, as it would be a
shame for him to lag behind again.

As I have mentioned Betty next door and of course Maureen inmy past
letters, I enclose a snap Jim took to show what they look like.  I'm
the strange bloke in the middle between the sisters, and Maureen is on
my right.

Love to Teddy, and to you, George

Belle studied the photo, and thought George appeared rather
self-satisfied with his arms around both sisters.  The one on his left
looked ... she searched for the words and in the end thought that plump
and comfortable might fit.  The younger one on the other side was
clearly Maureen, who had a nice smile, and closer study made it
apparent she was wedged much tighter against George than her sibling.
In fact, Belle decided, she had a slightly proprietorial air and he
certainly looked more than a bit pleased with himself.

Fair enough, she thought, noting the wording 'and of course Maureen'
used in the letter twice.  It was a friendly letter, but she wished he
hadn't made the predictable comment about school work.

It was typical George, causing her to feel guilty that Teddy was
missing quite so much.  But with eight shows a week, some personal!

appearances that Ricky was insisting on, plus parts in radio serials
now for the new George Edwards Company how on earth did he have any
time for school!

Belle began to sleep badly.  She had stomach cramps occasionally,!

and was sick several days in a row, telling Nuncie it felt like morning
sickness but since pregnancy was out of the question it was obviously
indigestion.  Nuncie said it was far more likely to be sheer
exhaustion, sitting in the theatre each night, then taking the train
every morning out to Homebush Studios because Teddy now' had a regular
part in a new family serial that was being broadcast live at breakfast
time.  Nuncie declared she was on a treadmill, and so was Teddy.  It
was about time to slow down, to stop overdoing things.  For a start,
she should organise to see a doctor.

Instead Belle consulted a herbalist recommended by Eunice, and was
given a tonic to take three times daily.  Nuncie, who was jealous of
Eunice and thought her flighty and pretentious, angrily described this
as the height of folly.

"The woman's a fool, and you're an idiot to listen to her."

"She had symptoms just like this, and it cured her."

"For Christ's sake, girl, see a proper doctor.  Not some bloody quack
who prescribes crushed elderberries and garlic' "Don't be ridiculous,
it's full of aromatic and medicinal herbs."

"It's full of bugger-all," Nuncie said with a sigh.

"You're on such a daily grind you can't even take the time to look
after yourself.

I know success is a bloody nice change from poverty, but this is
getting out of hand.  You'll wear yourself out, not to mention
exhausting Teddy."  She hesitated for a moment, then added, "As a
matter of fact, love, you won't like me saying this, but I think those
two kids are being well and truly overworked."

There was a letter for Belle at the stage door.  Inside the envelope a
message typed on Donald Ferrier's letterhead was succinct and
alarming:

AS I DON'T KNOW YOUR ADDRESS, THIS IS THE only way I Can contact YOU.
MOST URGENT WE MEET TOMORROW.  DONALD His chambers were in an elite
section of Phillip Street, convenient to the Supreme Court.  His clerk
met her at the lift, and conducted her to an austere room, much smaller
than she'd imagined.  The walls were lined with bookshelves containing
bulky volumes of law reports.  His wig and gown lay discarded on an
armchair.  The clerk collected these and left them alone.  Donald
abruptly handed her a cutting from a newspaper and she started to read
it.  She sat down in the chair, trying to control her shock.

"It was in last weekend's edition of Truth.  I had no idea if you get
the rag and had already seen it."

"No, I don't get the wretched thing," she said.

"Nor do I. I was warned it was in there.  If you'd allowed me to know
where you live I would've brought it around two days ago."

"Who warned you?"

"Bloody Hardacre.  Who else?  The slimy bastard rang to say someone
must've got hold of the story.  He seemed to be amused."

Of course, Belle thought.  Dan had been paid his finder's fee and told
to get lost.  That wouldn't buy his loyalty.  She read the cutting
again.  It was fortunately little more than an unpleasant and vicious
paragraph at present, a single column on an inside page.  But for her
it was full of poisonous innuendo and foreboding.

PARENTAL PUZZLE

What mystery lies behind the family tree of a certain young stage star?
Names at this stage must be withheld pending further investigation.

A strange ambiguity conceals the truth.  Is a certain well-known
barrister the real parent of this talented lad, or could he have been
sired by one who met his mother, married her, and produced the child
less than six months later?

Behind the footlights in theatre land gossip is rife.  It's a wise
child who knows his own father, according to the proverb, and Truth
will assist in this search for wisdom.  Enquiries are proceeding, and
we will bring readers full details next Sunday.

Don't miss the revelation of who's his father!

"Next week!  God almighty."  She felt sick with a helpless dismay.

"Can we stop this, Donald?"

"Not if they've got Hardacre feeding them details.  I've got the name
of the journalist, but he's unavailable.  Even if I could get to the
editor and appeal to his sense of fair play, I'd be laughed out of die
office."

"Then what's the answer?"

"I'm afraid we have to face facts, Belle.  I doubt if we can prevent
the story.  I can't take an injunction on the grounds it's untrue,
can

I?"

He looked carefully at her.

"That would be pretty stupid, wouldn't it, us taking on a newspaper and
having to lie under oath?"

"I expect so," she replied unhappily.

"But on the other hand, I don't suppose you really care if the whole
thing does come out, do you?"

The moment the words were spoken she could see his face tighten with
anger.  His hand slammed down on the desk and sent papers scattering.

"That's bloody unfair, Belle, and untrue.  It'll affect Teddy: they'll
be around him like a flock of vultures, so believe me, I care," he
snapped furiously.

"Try thinking without extreme prejudice just for once.  Would I have
asked you to be here if I wasn't concerned?""I'm sorry."  She flushed
while apologising hastily.

"I really am.  It's; just such a shock.  Dan Hardacre-he was once--' a
lover, she almost said, 'once a friend.  At least I thought so."

"I've offered the bastard money to stop it.  Two hundred.  He didn't >
think he could do it for that.  I made it four hundred, and he said
he'd consider the matter."

"So it's blackmail?"

"Of course.  And blackmailers always return for more."

"What'll you do?"

"Try to deal with him."

"Is there any way I can help, Donald?"

"No," he said firmly.

"Now that you're forewarned, just steer well ;

clear of Hardacre.  And the press."

He pushed a buzzer on his desk and his clerk brought in coffee.  While
she drank it Belle looked at the newspaper cutting again.

"It's a wonder nobody's said anything to me, this is so obvious.

Mind you, there've been a few odd looks, now I think of it.  Most of
the backstage crew seem to read Truth."

"If anyone asks you, say it couldn't be Teddy," he suggested.

"Just be mystified, and let's hope we can do something about it before
Sunday's edition."

"But how, if Dan's already fed them the whole story?  We're far more
likely to be bloody headlines."

"Belle, stay calm, and for Christ's sake don't you do anything.  I'll
try my best, that's all I can tell you at this stage."

In the next few days Belle began to be more aware of speculative;
glances.  She even saw a copy of the paper in the corner of a dressing
room, left open at the page containing the story.  The stage doorman
had always been friendly; now his smile had a trace of something
different, as though there was a question puzzling him, one he felt it
best not to ask.  Eunice, of course, was not so circumspect.

"Did you see that peculiar item in Truth?"

"Never read the nasty smutty publication."  Belle was brisk and
casual.

"That rag is a terrible waste of good trees."

"What have trees got to do with it?"  Eunice looked bewildered.

"Paper is made from wood, Eunice.  They cut down lovely old forests to
provide newsprint."

"Oh!  Fancy that."  If Belle hoped to divert her, she failed.  Eunice
had a copy of the article in her handbag.

"You mean you didn't see this?"

"That silly story a friend showed me.  We spent ages trying to work out
who it might be," Belle said with a shrug that dismissed it as
trivia.

"I thought it might be Teddy."

"You can't mean it!"  She laughed.

"His father back in Gundagai would have a fit," she exclaimed and felt
satisfied with her performance.

"He'd probably sue them."

"Who else could it be?"

"That's what we're all trying to work out, Eunice dear."

"Well, I expect we'll know on Sunday."

"Perhaps.  But don't forget, Truth is a paper that rarely lives up to
its name."

Although she managed to evade other confrontations, it was a long and
stressful week.  Early on Sunday morning Belle walked to the news agent
at Rushcutters Bay, dreading the outcome.  She bought a copy and sat on
a seat at the tram stop, bracing herself for what she'd read.  There
was no report on the front page.  That was some relief.  She started
going through pages until she reached the sports section, then in
reverse systematically scrutinised every page again.  She could hardly
believe it.

There was no report anywhere in the paper.  Not a mention.

Donald was in old clothes, washing his car in the driveway as she
arrived.  He watched her pay off a taxi and cross the street.

"It's not in there."

"No, and it won't be.  You didn't bring Teddy?"

"He's sleeping in.  Then he has homework.  How did you know it wouldn't
be?  What did you do?"  she asked.

"Paid Hardacre his four hundred pounds.  But first I told the police I
was being blackmailed, and they marked the notes.  When they arrested
him his wallet was chock-full of evidence."

"Will he go to jail?"

"I hope so.  He's greedy and vindictive, which should hardly be a
surprise to either of us."

"But what about the story, and the journalist?"

"The journalist was fired for being so gullible, and his editor is
grateful that I saved them from a defamation case.  The story will go
on a spike where all spurious stories go."

"You're quite clever," Belle said.

"Thank you."

"And bloody ruthless," she added.

"At times," he said, 'if I have to be.  "TWENTY-EIGHT

Teddy was thrilled.  It felt wonderful to have a week's holiday between
shows.  Seven free days from the last night of the old revue until they
started rehearsals for the new one.  Ricky M complained it was too
expensive to keep the theatre dark like this, but Belle insisted.  She
said the pair had worked hard without a break for far too long, they
deserved a holiday; more than that, they needed one, however brief.
Overcoming the inertia that had been troubling her, she arrived at his
office like the Belle of former days, reminding Ricky they were still
children, neither of them yet twelve years old, and refusing to leave
until she received his grudging consent.

Although it was not entirely a holiday.  Belle also tried to have Teddy
written out of the morning radio serial for a spell, but Mr.  Edwards
had a firm contract for his services and would not agree.

"Darby and Joan' was the most popular serial on the air.  It ran at
breakfast time and went out live, so none of the actors dared to make
mistakes; if they did, they had to ad lib their way out of trouble. 
The producers and stars of the show, George Edwards and his wife Nell
Stirling, were fond of Teddy, declaring everyone liked the cheeky
character he played, and to lose him even for a time would cost them
listeners.  So every morning at six they had to catch a tram to
Central, then the train to Homebush and a bus to the studio.  It was a
rigorous schedule, and most days Belle found herself dozing on the
return train journey.  While she avoided admitting it, the herbalist's
tonic had proved ineffective.  In response to Nuncie's urging, she
agreed to consult a doctor, but the pains eased.  She was still easily
tired, but she felt better and decided she had no need for quacks.  To
keep her friend from nagging she lied and said the doctor had diagnosed
a minor tummy infection.

They were rarely home before ten each day, and even during his week off
Teddy had to spend the remainder of the morning doing school work. 
When he protested, Belle said it was essential or the education
inspector would be around making trouble, and the next thing he'd be
back at Paddington Public, stuck behind a desk with the eight and
nine-year-olds, doing the same lessons.

But the afternoons belonged to him.  He and Sally went to the zoo.

She lived only a few streets away from it, and to his surprise had
never been there.  Teddy appointed himself her guide; from his previous
visit he knew the times when the animals were fed and the best places
to view this.  The trouble was, people recognised them and after that
they spent the best part of their afternoon signing autographs.  The
queue seemed endless; when it shrank other people joined it.  Teddy in
particular disliked autographs because his handwriting was so cramped;
he could see how they compared Sally's neat signature with his untidy
scrawl as they walked away.

There were even more autographs to sign when they tried going down to
Balmoral beach for a swim.  One afternoon, to escape this routine,
Teddy took her to meet Nuncie, and they had a hilarious time swapping
jokes with Charles and Clarence, while Nuncie fed them chocolate
biscuits and lemonade.  But when he took her home and Sal enthused
about Nuncie Billingsworth and her wonderful shop full of treasures,
Eunice was furious.  She told Teddy he had no right, she disapproved
of him taking her daughter to meet that woman; she was not fit company
for children, altogether a curious creature, and it was never did he
understand that word?  never to happen again.

"But we had good fun there," Sally protested, 'better than signing
boring autographs all the time."

"You heard me, Sally.  She's abnormal and unsuitable."

"I liked her, Mum.  And besides, she's a friend of Belle's."

"Belle's old enough to choose her own friends, but I have to say she
has an odd taste in people.  That particular person would never be a
friend of mine."

"She isn't abnormal or any of the things you said."  Teddy was upset at
the derogation and tried to intervene.

"She's nice, and she makes jokes all the time.  It's a joke when she
says she's the only woman who has three balls."

It was a mistake; he realised it instantly.  Eunice stared at him, then
demanded he go straight to the bathroom and wash out his mouth with
soap.  She had never heard such a disgusting remark.  To think he'd
taken her daughter to hear vulgarity like that!  She made it apparent
he would not be welcome at Mosman any more.

Belle consoled him, telling him not to let it spoil things.  Eunice'd
calm down in time.  She liked to climb on her high horse, and was well
known for getting her knickers in a twist but she had a lovely
daughter.  For Sally's sake, they had to put up with her.

"We had a real great time at Nuncie's, Mum, and she ruined it."

"She'd ruin a teddy bears' picnic, but don't tell her I said so.

Let's take the ferry to Manly tomorrow, and I'll show you my old
stamping ground."

But even Manly was a disappointment.  For a start, he missed Sally, and
his mum seemed in an odd mood when they arrived there.  She liked the
musicians on the ferry who played a song from The Merry Widow for her
after she said she'd been in the original show, but when they walked
through the town she made him stop while she gazed at a big
weatherboard building that had a sign reading:

PRIVATE HOTEL.  ROOMS TO LET AT ALL HOURS.  She looked;

at it for quite a long time, until Teddy tugged at her hand and asked)
why didn't they go to the beach, which was when he felt sure she was
crying.

"Mum, what's the matter?"  She swiftly brushed her eyes with the >
sleeve of her dress, and he knew for certain she was crying.

"What's ;

wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, darling.  Just a silly old memory caught up with me
for a moment.  I used to know this place quite well."

"Did you live here?"

"No, but I visited it now and then.  It's a crummy old dump, but I was
rather fond of it."  She smiled and took his hand as they turned in the
direction of the Norfolk pine trees that fringed the ocean.

"Let's have a walk on the beach and an ice-cream."

But going home on the ferry she seemed tired.  She went to sleep
against him, and didn't even hear the song from The Merry Widow when
the musicians recognised her and played it for her again.

It was Nuncie's idea; a surprise treat for his birthday.  She arrived
in a car to collect them, a limousine with a uniformed chauffeur no
less an ordinary taxi cab was unsuitable for a special occasion like
this, she told them.  And for the occasion Nuncie had transformed
herself into a different being, wearing a long evening gown with a' fur
stole, and a smart turban instead of her shabby beret.

"Golly," Teddy said, 'you look real different, Nuncie.""I'll take that
as a compliment, young master."

"It is.  You look beaut."

"He means beautiful," Belle said, joining them in the back of the hire
car.

"I know what he means, dear.  I expect the phrase we're looking for is
done up like a ..."  she was about to say a pox doctor's moll, but
substituted 'a bleedin' great Christmas tree."

Belle had made a rare excursion to David Jones and bought a new dress
and a chic hat.  Nuncie's keen gaze tried to calculate whether she'd
recovered from her troublesome ailment and she felt relief.

Belle looked animated and quite gorgeous.

"Very stylish, Belle," she approved, and was gratified by a dazzling
smile.

"Where are we going?"  Teddy wanted to know.

"You'll find out in good time, my duck," he was told.

"Are we all set, Madam?"  the uniformed chauffeur asked.

"All set, Box," she said.

There was a barely muffled reaction from the front seat as he switched
on the engine and drove down towards the stadium.

"His name is really Mr.  Tucker," Nuncie confided to them in a stage
whisper, 'but I decided to call him Box."

Teddy smothered a giggle.  Belle shook her head, trying not to laugh at
this absurdity.  The chauffeur, choosing to be unaware of it, kept his
eyes firmly on the evening traffic.  He turned at the intersection of
Bayswater Road, and headed towards the city.

The Capitol Theatre on Campbell Street, in the heart of Chinatown, had
once been a circus hippodrome, and after that became a flamboyant
Picture Palace showing silent films.  John Gilbert, Garbo, Douglas
Fairbanks and Clara Bow all charmed their audiences here.

It was a huge, ornate building with marble walls and grandiose
statuary, said to be the oldest theatre in the city now that so many
others had been demolished.  When the house lights dimmed on the packed
audience the ceiling began to twinkle like a sky full of stars.

Teddy gasped at the sight.  From where he sat between Belle and Nuncie
in the front row of the grand circle, they had the best seats with a
perfect view of the stage and the magic firmament above.

A birthday surprise, Nuncie had promised him; it was a revelation to
Teddy.  He'd heard so much about the famous Capitol Theatre, and he and
Belle had often walked past it on their way to see Florian, but he had
never been inside it until now.  Even better, the show was a special
charity gala to raise money for an actors' home, and all his friends
and favourites were taking part.  Roy Rene, the famous "Mo', and his
wife Sadie Gale were on stage.  He and Sal's first revue for Ricky M
had been a brief spot in a show in which the couple had topped the
bill.  And there was George Wallace, big fat funny George.  Teddy had
played a runaway boy in one of his films, and at times could hardly act
for laughing at George making faces at him from behind the camera.

There were others he knew: Queenie Paul and Minnie Love, and the
dancers from the new production of White Horse Inn.

Nuncie had been precise about her instructions.  The show began at
eight; she told the chauffeur they were to reach the theatre ten
minutes before the curtain and stop at the main entrance, even if it
meant queuing behind the other cars unloading their celebrities.

"You want to fetch up in front of all them photographers?"  Mr.  Tucker
Box) had said, eyeing her in his rear-vision mirror, thinking he'd got
a right peculiar bird on this job and no mistake.

"Exactly, Box old darling.  No nearest corners or side alleys.  I rely
on you to deposit us on the red carpet, centre stage.  ""Depend on it,
Madam."

He was as good as his word.  They arrived just as the governor, Sir
Phillip Game, had been ushered inside, and when Belle got out with
Teddy the cameras were not yet back in the photographers' cases.

"It's young Ted Carson," one of them said, and becoming aware the
elegant woman beside him was his mother, had asked her to join him for
pictures.  In a matter of moments the other photographers had set up
their tripods again and popping flashlights were attracting spectators
while Belle and Teddy posed for magazines and the morning papers.  Some
of the crowd stayed to witness this, and by the time they went into the
foyer people were aware of them, waving and pointing Teddy out to their
friends.

Belle was elated by their recognition, thoroughly enjoying this
surprise night that Nuncie had arranged.  It seemed a long time ago
that they had celebrated his last birthday: eleven candles and singing
their hearts out above the shop.  But it was only a year, and so much
had happened since.  Extraordinary things.  Dreams had come true.

Could she have imagined back then there'd be a night like this?

Sitting in the dark, she was thankful she had made the effort to come.
She'd almost asked to be excused from whatever Nuncie had planned. 
This morning there'd been real pain; she'd rested the whole afternoon,
and it had done the trick.  Now she laughed and applauded as if there
was nothing at all wrong with her.  And perhaps there wasn't; not if
she could recover like this and feel so good.  Even look good, the
photographers had thought so.  So had Nuncie!

She felt grateful to her friend.  It was such a kind, thoughtful
gesture:

the whole thing so perfectly arranged, the best and most expensive
seats in the house, even the arrival in time for photographs seemed a
part of her design.  An altogether lovely evening, she thought as the
cast crowded on stage for the final curtain call, which was when Belle
discovered the evening wasn't quite over yet.

Roy Rene waved his arms in the air to silence the audience, then in his
familiar character Mo McCackie had them laughing as he shouted with his
trademark splutter, "Strike me lucky, where's that young friend?"

"Whose young friend?"  George Wallace asked.

"My young friend."  Mo sent saliva in all directions, and the audience
roared as Wallace ducked for cover.

"You haven't got a friend, Mo," he bellowed.

"Fair suck of the saw," Mo leered, "I got friends by the thousands.

Ain't I, Sadie?"

"No," his wife answered, raising a laugh, while a single spotlight
weaved around the crowd, making everyone wonder who it was seeking.  It
finally landed on Teddy.

"There he is, there's me young friend!"  Mo bellowed.

"Don't give me the raw prawn," Sadie Gale replied, 'it's Teddy Carson,
and he's my friend."

"And mine," claimed George Wallace.

"And ours.  Hello, darling!"  Minnie Love and Queenie Paul waved at
him.

"He's everyone's friend," Mo agreed as the crowd started to applaud and
Nuncie nudged Teddy into standing up.  There were cries of recognition
from all around the theatre as he did so.

"Twelve years old today!"  Mo called.

"Good on yer, Ted, I'm saving up me pennies to buy you a razor."  He
started to conduct as the cast sang "Happy Birthday' and the audience
joined in.

Teddy stood blinking into the spotlight as they sang.  Beside him his
mother and her best friend were awash with happy tears.A month later
when their new revue opened, it was clear to Teddy and Sally their
mothers were no longer on good terms.  Eunice had been tight-lipped
about the charity gala; in her opinion it had been a typical sneaky
trick of Belle's to organise his presence there, and she had clearly
tipped off Roy Rene and the others to put on their little pan to about
his birthday.

Very manipulative, she said to Ricky on one of their torrid afternoon
siestas together, pointing out the whole thing had been organised right
down to the bloody photos that had been all over the morning
newspapers.  Lots of brownie points for twelve-year old Teddy, and not
a solitary mention of Sally.

"The Murrumbidgee Kid and his mum," she said scornfully, aware how much
Belle disliked the name.  It was a label fast fading into oblivion, but
with a little help she might be able to resurrect it.

Ricky M tried to relax her; he found the most effective way to do this
was in bed, for he had no wish to see warfare break out among the
mothers of his young luminaries now that they were earning him a small
fortune.  He stroked Eunice's shapely bottom, and whispered lewd Latino
obscenities into her ear.

Despite his wishes, there was a growing rift.  The Carsons did not pay
visits to the Sharps in Mosman any more, where Eunice had moved house
and rented a smart new apartment with views across the harbour.  On the
surface the two parents remained carefully neutral, but in private
Belle admitted she could not stand the other woman's empty prattle, or
the way she had begun to use Sally's earnings to pay for her lavish
lifestyle.

Their own way of living remained unchanged; the room in Glenmore Road
had been their home for nine months now, and Belle seem disinclined to
move from there.  It was convenient, she said:

Teddy had freedom to ride his bike in the safe streets, and money was
for saving in case hard times came again, not for wasting on high rents
or for flaunting herself around town dressed like a tarty duchess.
Everyone knew the acidic remark was aimed directly at Eunice, who had
replenished her wardrobe with the latest fashions and, trying to get
even, had been photographed at the opening night of the revue on the
arm of Ricky Mendoza.

If Eunice's circle of friends and social connections were expanding,
Belle's domain seemed to diminish.  Nuncie remained a constant in their
lives, but there were few others.  Invitations to parties, once
welcomed, were often rejected now.  Teddy gradually became aware that
apart from the hours in the theatre and at Homebush, he and Belle were
spending a great deal of their time alone.  Sunday, for instance free
from work had always been the day for meeting friends, for cheerful
gatherings and lunches; now they mostly stayed at home by themselves.
He rode his bike in lonely contemplation, as he had once ridden it
along the tracks by the Murrumbidgee; Belle stayed inside, reading or
listening to the wireless they had bought or, more often than not,
resting.

Something began to trouble Teddy: that same uneasy sense of impending
change was threatening, although why it should be a threat he could not
explain.

There was another problem.  Ricky Mendoza had discovered that their
personal appearances guaranteed an increase in audiences.  An
attendance at David Jones or the Grace Bros store on Broadway became a
regular event.  Posing in front of a photographic collage of their
stage act, and signing photos for a queue of kids and their families
was work Teddy and Sally both disliked intensely, but it augmented the
box-office takings.  Eunice was strongly in favour of it; Belle felt
it was exploitation and made a token protest to Ricky M, but lacked the
energy to argue when he read aloud to her a clause in the contract that
stipulated an obligation "At all times to assist in promulgating the
show as required by the producer'.

"Don't forget, they're on a piece of the action, babe."

It amused her the way he had apparently left his South American persona
behind and become a New York Yankee, or a Hollywood huckster; it was
also apparent but less amusing how she was being frequently overruled
by Ricky with the help of Eunice.  On the other hand, she told herself
to stop complaining.  Her son was a star.  His name was up there
outside the theatre, and on billboards.  It was what she had been
striving for, what had once seemed like a vain and hopeless dream; it
had made her a joke in Brewinda Road, but they'd be singing a different
tune there now, for it had all come miraculously true.

She tried not to remember what Nuncie had warned: that they were still
just a couple of children, and overworking them was a serious
mistake.

Donald said it was about time far too long since their last visit and
he felt sure Teddy had grown.  An inch, he thought when they arrived,
and he said after lunch they'd measure him and keep a mark on the wall
to record his progress.  Teddy had been looking forward to the visit;
he remembered Donald treating him like a grown-up, and he had fond
memories of the roast.  The housekeeper served another superb meal but
Belle had no appetite.

"Indigestion," she said, and she sat silent while father and son talked
non-stop.

Donald had seen and enjoyed the new revue, particularly the sketch
where Teddy appeared as Burlington Bertie and Sally was dressed up as
a Salvation Army girl trying to cadge a penny from him.

"It was great fun.  The audience laughed so much they nearly fell out
of their seats.  And they loved you and Sally as Snugglepot and
Cuddlepie," he enthused.  This was surely a new Donald; Belle had never
seen him so animated.

"You should've come backstage," Teddy said, 'and met Sal."

"I'd like to.  Next time, if I can," he promised, with a glance at
Belle that seemed to ask permission.

After the meal Teddy played the piano and sang verses of "The Road to
Gundagai' for him, then told him about their early-morning train trips
to Homebush, where he was a regular in the serial broadcast at
breakfast time.

"You should listen to it, Donald.  It's called "Darby and Joan".

Mr.  Edwards is the producer and he plays four or five parts using
different voices."

"I've met George Edwards.  Clever bloke.  He put on a show called
Famous Trials, and not only played the prosecutor, but the defence
counsel, the judge and the prisoner as well.  Imagine it he could
defend and prosecute himself, then cross-examine himself, and overrule
himself as the judge."

"Golly," Teddy said, and they both laughed uproariously.  The laughter
was infectious, and Belle tried vainly to join in.  She wished there
was a spare bed where she could rest.

The housekeeper served them coffee on the side verandah.

"Donald, can I climb one of your trees?"  Teddy asked.

"If your mum agrees.  But pick a low one, we don't want you falling."

"I'm used to climbing trees.  I climbed some big ones back home."

"I'm sure you did, Ted.  You look like a tree climber.  But you
can'thave any accidents, with you going on stage wearing a sling.  Do
you need a rope?"

"No," Teddy laughed, 'these aren't big trees.  They're easy peasy."

He ran to a thick camphor laurel, clambered up and waved as he perched
on one of its branches.  Belle waved back, then realised Donald was
studying her.

"What's wrong, Belle?"

She turned to gaze at him carefully.

"Who said there's anything wrong?"

"It's obvious.  You look exhausted."

"Thanks for the compliment."

"I'm worried.  You barely touched your food.  Hardly cracked a smile.
Not at all like you."

"I'm taking a tonic," she said.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Now don't you start."

"At least someone else is concerned about you."  Donald seemed
gratified he had support.

"Your friend Mrs.  Sharp?"

"Eunice?  She's too busy shagging Rick Mendoza."

"Is that a fact?"

"Regularly.  A matinee most afternoons."

"Well, well!"  He laughed at this.

"Then who's the one you meant?"

"Nuncie."

"Oh, her."

"Yes, her.  I know you don't like her, but she's been my friend a long
time.  A better friend than most people could imagine.  She wants me to
see a quack."

"Then she and I agree.  Probably for the first and only time," he
said.

"I'll tell her.  It'll give her a laugh.  "They watched Teddy scale
another branch.  He pretended to overbalance, and Donald jumped to his
feet with genuine alarm.

Belle shook her head.

"Take no notice of his antics."

"Young monkey!"

"He likes you.  He was pleased we were coming here today."

"I wish you'd come before this."  He was happy at the rapport he'd
established with Teddy, but still troubled about her.

"There's so much I don't understand, Belle.  This stress these late
nights at the theatre, early train journeys to do radio serials .. . Do
you have to set such a schedule for yourself, or for him?"

"Wearing us both out, am I?"  She gave a wry smile.

"You'd be surprised how exactly you mirror the thoughts of Nuncie
Billingsworth again."

"But why?  Tell me why it has to be such a rat race."

Belle took her time in answering.  She was not sure he would
understand, but she had to try.

"Because he's talented," she said.

"This is the hard part for an outsider to understand.  In our business
we know talent's important, but it's never enough.  The world's full of
talent.  You need more: you need luck, a slice of fortune, being there,
the right place, the right time.  We had it when he was eight years old
starring in that film.  A moment of providence and we let it slip.
People talk about seizing the day, but we wasted it.  I'm trying not to
let that happen again."

"But it surely won't.  Those two are virtual stars now."

"This year.  Memories are so short, Donald.  I can name you stars of a
few years ago who today are on the bones of their arse.  Our best film
director can't get work.  He made some wonderful pictures, but
everyone's forgotten them and him."

"Incredible."  He seemed to find it difficult to comprehend.

"Shocking, more like.  It's a cruel business.  So if George
Edwardswants Teddy in his radio serials, it's another string to his
bow and we accept even if it is exhausting.  And if a film comes along,
we take that as well.  It's what theatre people call the instant of
serendipity, and this time we grab it and never let go."

"Even if it is exhausting?"  He gazed at her, repeating her own words.
For the first time he noticed the dark circles below her eyes that the
carefully applied make-up couldn't hide.

"A bit of rest will soon solve that," Belle answered, leaving her chair
and moving down the garden steps to put an end to the conversation.

"But this life you've just described won't allow that," he said,
following her.

"Do me one favour, Belle, please.  Promise me you'll go and see a
doctor."

"I will."

"Not like that.  Promise."

"Don't nag.  I promise.  Any other requests?"

"Yes.  Don't leave it so long before the next visit."

Later he asked if he could drive them home this time, and Belle agreed.
They took the road that went past the locked and shuttered film studio,
looking more derelict than ever despite rumours it would soon reopen
under its new American management.  Seeing it reminded her of Dan
Hardacre.  In the garden after lunch, Donald told her that he'd pleaded
guilty in court and been given a two-year suspended sentence on
condition no details of his blackmail attempt ever appeared in print.

Donald asked her permission to detour: he had something he wanted to
show Teddy in Rushcutters Bay.  They headed towards the yacht club,
where he pointed to the row of masts lining the marina, and said one of
the boats was his.  Would Teddy like to go aboard for a look?  Teddy
eyes lit up with excitement.

"Can we go for a sail?"

"Next time we'll go sailing.  But it's a bit late today, so we'll just
explore and see the way things work.  I'll show you the rigging.

How's that?"

"Beaut," Teddy said, jumping from the car and starting to run across
the park towards the moorings.  He passed a family packing up the
remains of a picnic, parents and two young children, who seemed
suddenly arrested in this task as they all gazed towards him.

"You want to come aboard, Belle?"  Donald asked her.

"No, thanks.  You two boys go and play at being sailors.  But Donald
although it's been another nice day, don't take too much for
granted."

"I won't, believe me."

Like hell you won't, she thought as he went down towards the marina to
catch up with Teddy.  The crafty bugger had sprung this surprise
deliberately; now Teddy would be pestering her for another visit as
soon as possible.  She would have to be careful not to allow Donald too
much latitude.

Yet it was strange; despite their turbulent history and the years she
had detested him for his past treatment of her, she could no longer
feel that same deep animosity towards him.  A certain wariness, yes it
was natural she would be cautious but she could understand his wish to
be part of Teddy's life.  She realised a great deal had happened since
her shocked glimpse of him at the theatre that night with Dan.

As for seeing a doctor, she'd made a promise, and supposed she'd have
to keep it.  She should've found one and gone to him weeks ago, instead
of fobbing off Nuncie with a lie.  The trouble was, she could admit it
to herself, she was bloody scared.  It might mean an operation weeks
in hospital.  If it was serious, it could decimate their savings ...
The car was warm, the seats of the Daimler soft and comfortable.  She
was starting to doze off when she heard tapping on the glass beside her
head.  It was the woman from the picnic, wanting to talk.  Belle wound
down the window.

"We're right, aren't we?  That boy ... it is him?"

"Yes," Belle said, pleased at the recognition.

"Teddy Carson?"

"That's right, I'm his mother."

"Are you?"  the woman said.

"Well, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"What?"

"No wonder you're able to sit in your expensive car, exploiting him the
way you do.  We think it's absolutely disgusting."

She turned and walked back to her family before Belle could reply.

The doctor was elderly, with white hair and kind eyes, which reassured
her.  He took her blood pressure, then asked her to remove her blouse
and skirt, and to lie down while he examined her.

"I'm sure all I need is a proper rest and a tonic," Belle asserted as
she lay on the surgical table.

"I've been working quite hard and worrying a lot over the past few
years, but my son's a success now and everything's fine and dandy-' "A
deep breath, Mrs.  Carson."

"I can tell from your expression that my blood pressure's low.  I'm
sure I'm run down and anaemic, but I don't know why.  After all, the
hard slog is over.  Those tough times are behind us."It was
ridiculous; she could not stop talking.  She paused only when he told
her to breathe in or out, waiting for him to relax, to smile and tell
her it was just a minor ailment or something easily cured.  Talking
non-stop seemed to be the only way to sustain her confidence.

"A tonic's always done the trick when I've been out of sorts.  Cut down
the grog, an afternoon rest and a vitamin tonic' "Perhaps you're right,
Mrs.  Carson," he nodded, 'but since I'm the doctor and I'm being paid
for this, why not let me make the diagnosis?"

The stethoscope was cold on her skin.  She wondered if she should tell
him more about the pain that sometimes came in the middle of the night,
keeping her awake so often, the pain that had been even more savage
yesterday when that woman had berated her.  She'd have told the bitch
to piss off and mind her own business, but the sudden onset had been
like a scalding knife in her guts; it had made her frightened, with
sweat drenching her body and running down her face.  The cold sweat had
chilled her with fear and made her breathless.  She had scarcely been
able to speak by the time the two of them had returned from the yacht
club, but did her best to show interest at Teddy's excited description
of the boat, while all the time aware of Donald's probing gaze.

"Hot flushes," she'd tried to tell him when they were alone for a
moment.

"The change."

"Have you even got a doctor?"

"Never needed one.  Not a day's illness in my life."

"Let's stop this, Belle.  Cut the crap."  He'd frowned, impatient with
her pretence.

"If I give you a name, will you promise to ring for an appointment?"

"If you insist.  ""Better still," Donald resolved forcefully, "I'll
call him myself."

"Are you sick, Mum?"  Teddy had asked when he rejoined them.

"Of course not, darling.  Fit as a fiddle."

"Sometimes even fiddles need their strings adjusting," Donald had said,
and drove them home.

And now the doctor he'd insisted she consult was saying there'd have to
be some tests, perhaps exploratory surgery, and he didn't want to
unduly alarm her, but he thought she should be admitted to hospital.

No, not next week.  Or even tomorrow.  Immediately.  TWENTY-NINE

There was still almost an hour before curtain-up, but the theatre was
slowly filling.  In their shared dressing-room Sally could hear the
occasional clatter of seats and the murmur of voices through the tan
noy speaker.  People were coming in early to get out of the rain, at
least that's what the stage manager had told her, and he hoped Teddy
hadn't been caught in it.  He was later than usual.

Sally made no comment.  She knew he was late.  He'd been progressively
later each day for weeks now, and no wonder.  The stage manager was a
dill, she thought, with as much compassion as Ricky, or her own mother.
Neither of them seemed to realise Belle's illness was serious. 
Everyone knew that after lots of tests and an operation, she had been
sent home, then two weeks later had collapsed and been rushed back to
hospital. She'd been there ever since.

No one seemed to know the exact details.  Eunice had been typically
vague about it typically appalling, her daughter thought angrily saying
that she must find time to visit soon, but after all, she'd sent a
get-well card to the hospital and had no reply.  She felt sure it was
nothing too alarming.  Women had these problems at certain times, she
announced, and perhaps Belle was having them early.  It could hardly be
that critical, or she'd have seen all these expensive doctors and
specialists long before this.  Her mother and Ricky frequently
speculated on what it must be costing, and who was paying the bill.

"What if Teddy isn't here for the show?"  Sally asked when Eunice came
to visit their dressing-room as she did every evening before
curtain-up.

"Don't be silly, of course he will.  He has to be."

"But suppose he doesn't turn up?  Last night he said she is really
sick."

"If that's true, it's up to the doctors.  What on earth can Teddy do,"
she said with a toss of her head and the acerbic note that so often of
late accompanied any mention of Belle or Teddy, 'except get in their
way?  He most certainly will turn up, or there'll be one enormous row.
Ricky doesn't tolerate that sort of nonsense from anyone, I can assure
you."

Eunice had left in a waft of expensive perfume, modish in a new silk
dress.  She was meeting a group of friends in the foyer, society people
who'd come to see the show, she said, but would be back to check all
was in order before they went onstage.  She told Sally to get dressed
and put on her make-up, then she might as well start catching up on her
homework.

Sally did neither of these things.  She found herself wondering if
there was such a thing as a law permitting a girl to divorce her
mother, in the same way that Eunice had divorced her dad.  She rarely
saw her father these days there was never time for that or anything
else: if they weren't performing in the actual show, they were
rehearsing new routines for it or signing their names at the personal
appearances that she and Teddy hated so much.  After that came catching
up on homework.  School, where she once came top of the class when they
went to Liverpool Street, was no longer enjoyable.  Because there was a
lack of time for regular attendance, she now went to Miss Fenwick's in
Spofforth Street, Cremorne, which was truthfully not a school at all
but a crammer for backward students.  Miss Fenwick's also catered for
the children of diplomats and overseas visitors, and was therefore not
subject to the rules laid down by the Department of Education.  Sally
felt disadvantaged by it, and resented the way Eunice bragged to her
friends as if it was an elite place of learning.

There were days more and more of them lately when she found herself
wishing she and Teddy had never been at that audition together.  Days
when she regretted what had happened to them.

For almost a year it had been fun, really wonderful fun, but too often
now she felt engulfed by tedium and disillusion.  Her mother and Ricky
Mendoza seemed oblivious to her feelings, their only concerns the
weekly house takings and their daily sexual romp that they called a
love affair.

On the tan noy she heard the audience gradually settle into total quiet
before the curtain rose, and then the fanfare for the opening dance
routine.  There was still thirty minutes before she and Teddy were to
appear on stage for their first sketch, but where was he?

Now it really was becoming late.

She heard a tap on the door, and the assistant stage manager looked in,
but before he could ask she jerked her thumb towards the corner screen
where they changed costumes, and he smiled and went on his way.  She
heard him call out the other kid was in, thank Christ, and she tried to
imagine what might happen if Teddy did not turn up.

It had been raining forever, it seemed to Belle.  Leaden skies, the
grumble of thunder and the swish of car tyres on the road outside.A
good day to be indoors, she thought, although not necessarily in here.
But by evening the steady downpour had softened to a drizzle.

From her bedside window she could see the raindrops glistening on trees
lit by streetlights.  People, small figures on the pavement below, were
hurrying home wrapped up against the weather.

The nurse, the friendly one from Edinburgh who brought her extra
morphine when the pain became too great, said the rain was more like
Scotch mist now and it made her homesick.  She'd also heard there was
another tram strike, so she'd have to walk home after her shift, and
that was a bit like Edinburgh too.  Her name was Genevieve; she was a
sturdy, cheerful girl in her twenties who had worked her way from
Britain as a stewardess on a passenger liner and had later become a
nurse, she told Belle, because it was less gruelling than her maritime
adventures repelling drunken passengers and randy members of the crew.
At St.  Vincent's she had graduated from washing floors and bedpans,
and did everything possible to keep her patients happy.  Belle thought
the hospital would be sheer hell without her.

She looked at her watch; the curtain would be up by now, and she hoped
Teddy had reached the theatre safely.  The news of the tram strike was
a concern.  Taxis might be hard to find if the trams were off.  She'd
told him to take a cab to avoid getting soaked, because he was later
than usual in leaving.  Not only later, but seemingly reluctant to go.
It was as if he'd begun to realise in the past few weeks that time
might be precious, and their hours together should be cherished.

She fell asleep trying to think of all that must be done.  George
should be told.  But writing to him or talking by phone was beyond her.
Could she possibly ask Donald to do that?  She was unsure; he'd done
so much, insisting on paying for everything and arranging for her to
be moved to a private room.  She was deeply in his debt, and felt
slightly uneasy and at a disadvantage because of it.  Donald had wanted
Teddy to move to his home, but she'd resisted that.  He was staying at
Neutral Bay with Nuncie, at least for now.

There were so many matters to resolve.  Things to discuss with Nuncie,
such a lot of things.  Most important of all, she had to tell Teddy the
truth, which was something she should've done years ago and which she
dreaded.

Eunice was on Ricky Mendoza's divan with her pants off and her legs in
the air as she felt herself coming and begged him to dig deep, to
perform as he had never performed with his dick in her before, and
Ricky, who liked dirty talk and loved to get Eunice inflamed because
nothing was sexier than her kind of toffee-nosed sheila, went wild and
did everything he was told until he felt sure the earth had moved for
her.  It had most certainly moved for him.

While they were still glued together and trying to regain their breath,
he glanced at his watch and realised the curtain would be going up by
now.

"You sure all's well backstage, doll?"

"I know all's well here, Ricky darl.  That was a truly terrific
performance."

"We'll have an encore later."

"You spoil me," she murmured, knowing he would like this.

They had plans for the rest of the night, and well beyond it.  The
group of society friends were new investors, her investors, rich new
friends from Mosman and Balmoral, and after the show she and Rick were
giving them a party.  Sally didn't know it yet, but she was being sent
home in a taxi, while Eunice and Ricky would spend the night in a
luxury suite at the Hotel Australia.  It was a rehearsal for the
future.  Although both his wife and the Filipina mistress were still
unaware of it, they were about to be given the heave, and Eunice was to
become a partner in the business.  She had nothing to contribute to it
except a willing body and a total lack of business acumen.  This suited
Ricky M, who wanted incessant sex and a partner who could not read the
balance sheet.

"Better get your arse in gear," he said, stroking it as she squirmed
with pleasure, 'and make sure the kids are set to go.  We want to
really impress those investors tonight."

Teddy knew he was perilously late, but no taxis would stop for him.
They went past filled with passengers because of the rain and the tram
strike, and his only alternative was to run.  By the time he reached
the theatre in Pitt Street he was soaking wet and breathless, but had a
rare stroke of luck as the stage doorman was not at his usual place in
the cubicle, and nobody noticed his arrival.

The show was going well; he could tell this because the two comedians
on stage rarely got more than a chuckle, but tonight the reception was
full-bodied, their tag lines greeted by enormous belly laughs.  He
ghosted his way past the group of dancers and went down the stairs and
into their dressing-room.  Sally was alone in there, concentrating on
her make-up.  She hardly seemed to notice his arrival.

"Sal?"

"Hang on," she said, and he had to wait for a moment until she turned
and poked a face at him.  She wore thick glasses, and a big moustache
was fixed to her upper lip.  She chewed on an improvised long cigar.
"So waddaya think, huh?  You ever met my brother Harpo?"

Despite everything she made him laugh.  She was amazingly, uncannily
like Groucho Marx.

"Fantastic," he said.

"You even sound like him."

"I can walk like him, too."

"I believe it, Sal."  He reached for a towel and tried to dry
himself.

"But aren't we on in ten minutes?"

"Never mind that what's the news?  Is Belle any better?"

"I don't think so.  She spent half the day asleep while I sat and held
her hand.  She can't eat anything and keeps saying she's fine, that
she'll be better in a few days, but Nuncie cries most of the time when
she's there, so it can't be good."

"Won't the doctors tell you what's wrong?"

"They say she's as well as can be expected, but I don't believe it."

He took off his wet shirt and flung it in the corner, feeling angry and
close to tears himself.

"Nobody will tell me the truth."  He took a deep breath.

"I'm puffed.  I had to run all the way from St.  Vinnie's Hospital."

"You better sit down," Sally said.

"Sit on the chair and keep nice and still.  I'll fix your make-up."

Eunice was more than satisfied.  So far it had been a gratifying and
fulfilling night.  And when the show was over it would be even better,
for her investors would be writing their cheques at the party.  By this
time tomorrow she would have seen off Ricky's wife as well as the
mistress, and Belle Carson would discover how much things had changed.
She smiled at the prospect as she approached the dressing room.  Nobody
knew the extent of the changes, least of all Belle and her son.  Soon
Sally would be heading the bill; she'd be the star doing her routines
with Teddy, of course: Eunice had no intention of letting the kid go,
she wasn't stupid, but it would gradually become apparent that he was
now a supporting act.  A long time had passed, but her memory was
unforgiving.  She had never forgotten Belle's goading that had led to
their unseemly brawl that day in front of Hugh Bellamy.

She opened the door, and felt relieved at seeing Teddy's wet clothes on
the floor.  About to request he pick them up and try to dry them, she
suddenly saw them both and screamed.  Groucho Marx and a grotesque
gargoyle were grinning at her, then giggling in delight, so obviously
pleased with themselves that she utterly lost control.

"You stupid, wicked little bastards!"  she shrieked at them.

"You wretched children, don't you realise that you're on stage in five
minutes?"

The gargoyle laughed at her as if this was an irrelevance.  She hit him
across the face, shouting that he was a revolting little troublemaker,
she'd always known that, and this insanity was clearly all his mad
idea.  Sally tried to remonstrate and was roughly pushed aside.

When Teddy attempted to protect her Eunice slapped him again, hard and
viciously this time, the topaz ring on her finger cutting his face,
which spurted blood.

Sally yelled at her to stop it, and her mother turned and began hitting
her instead.  They were both screaming as the assistant stage manager
ran in, alerted by the turmoil.  Not even the make-up on their faces
could hide the flow of blood and the marks of her enraged blows. 
Eunice seemed uncontrolled, possessed by furies.

He had a disturbing image of both children, terrified and trying to
back away from her as she flailed at them.  THIRTY

Ricky Mendoza spent a troubled night, trying to work out how to salvage
a very awkward situation.  Never before had he been forced to front an
audience and apologise abjectly like that, informing them there had
been a regrettable accident backstage, and the young stars Teddy Carson
and Sally Sharp were unable to appear.  He had tried to quell the
outbreak of surprise and disappointment by offering a refund to anyone
who did not wish to remain, announcing the show would continue after a
short interval.  To his dismay more than half the audience accepted the
offer and left the theatre, including Eunice's new friends from Mosman,
and presumably their promised investment with them.  The rest of the
show, decimated by this event, had limped towards a depressing final
curtain to the accompaniment of more seats being noisily vacated.

He knew urgent decisions were imperative.  The kids had been stupid and
provocative, but Eunice's behaviour was the real problem.  The silly
bitch, why did she have to go berserk like that?  If it happened to get
into the newspapers God forbid the chances were that some government
busybody would invoke the Child Welfare Act, and the department would
flex their muscles and try to close the show.  Even if that failed, as
it doubtless would, the publicity would be destructive.  The public's
twelve-year-old darlings being beaten up backstage by his paramour!
The thought of it made him sweat with fear for what that could do to
his image.

The theatre staff and the company must be sworn to silence.

Meanwhile he kept coming back to the heart of the problem, the quandary
of what to do about Eunice.  He had no desire to give her up, and no
intention of doing so, but for the moment he took the decision that she
must be quarantined.  He therefore moved her into a city hotel in case
the press got a sniff and laid siege to her home.  She was given strict
orders to remain there and communicate with no one.  When she pleaded
to be allowed to see Sally, he said that was not an option at present.
Not until he got this whole bloody mess untangled.

The first decision he made late that night was to close the show for at
least forty-eight hours; it was pointless to think of raising the
curtain until he could persuade the kids it would never happen again.

Looking after them was his priority.  Sally had point-blank refused to
go home with her mother and wanted her father to collect her, but when
he could not be located because he was a commercial traveller and away
working on the south coast, the wardrobe mistress had offered her a bed
for the night.  Teddy had been taken by taxi to Neutral Bay, to the
eccentric family friend who had looked after him for the past few
weeks.

A meeting to restore peace was essential.  He needed urgent help to
broker this, so the second decision he took the next morning was to
visit St.  Vincent's Hospital and call on Belle.

She was in a private room.  Teddy was there with her, as well as the
friend from Neutral Bay.  Ricky thought Belle looked drained and quite
haggard, but he kissed her and said it was such a relief to see her
looking so well.  He realised he had forgotten to bring flowers."I
expect Teddy has told you about our little problem last night?"

"A little problem, was it?"  Her voice was no more than a whisper, and
he had to lean forward to hear.

"He said Eunice carried on like a pork chop at a Jewish barbecue, and
he and Sal didn't go on."

"Yes, that's about the truth, I'm afraid.  A pork chop indeed," he
smiled at Teddy.  The wound across his face had bled so copiously they
had been concerned it would require stitches.  It was now dry after
treatment, but still vivid.

"What we need is a friendly chat to sort things out, Belle, and I'm
hoping you can be there."

"Of course she can't."  It was the large masculine lady who smoked
cigars, and whose name he remembered now was Nuncie.  An odd name for
an odd body, he thought, but decided it was best to be affable.

"If the doctors prefer it, perhaps we could hold it here.  But I think
we all need Belle, one way or another, to bring a bit of commonsense to
the situation.  I'll do whatever you think is best."

"How did he get the cut on his face?"  Belle asked, trying not to
flinch from a new shaft of pain that gripped her.

"Eunice did it."

"Did she, indeed?"  She looked at Teddy.

"You said you slipped and fell."

"I expect he was trying not to upset you," Ricky said hastily.  His
quick mind could see an opportunity here.  It was clear Belle had not
been told the full gory details, which meant Teddy did not want to
press the matter.

"The fact is, she got agitated and started waving her arms around.  And
the next thing .. . well, she was wearing a ring that cut him.
Unforgivable, the stupid woman."

He saw Teddy's gaze on him, and held his breath.  It was a shame about
the wound.  Eunice and her bloody topaz ring; he wondered if it might
leave a scar.  that what happened, darling?"

"That's pretty much it, Mum."

"Then why not tell me?"

"It was a sort of accident.  I didn't want to make a fuss."

Ricky felt like smiling, but knew it might create the wrong impression.
So he nodded, as if in serious confirmation of what Teddy had said.

"That describes it exactly.  A stupid accident that contributed to a
disastrous night.  I know we can sort this out by talking to each
other, Belle.  But I need your input.  These two have been such an
outstanding success; we shouldn't let a silly misunderstanding like
this spoil it."

"When do you want to meet?"

"Is tomorrow possible?"

"Where?"

"Ideally, at my office.  But here, if you wish."

Belle hesitated, thinking about it.  Another tremor made her want to
call Genevieve for the blessed relief of morphine.  Best not have them
all here where she would be at a disadvantage, the patient in the bed,
the object of their sympathy.

"Your office.  Noon tomorrow."

"You can't!"  Nuncie objected vehemently.

"That's out of the bloody question."

"I'll be there," she said as firmly as she could, and asked Ricky to
leave.  She was tired and it might be best if Teddy went too.  She
wanted Nuncie to stay for a moment.  She did not mind Nuncie knowing
about her desperate need for morphine.

By the time they reached the hospital foyer Ricky had worked out what
he wanted to say to the boy."I'm sorry we had to tell that small white
lie in there, Ted old son, but it's for the best.  You don't want to
upset your mum, and nor do I."

Teddy did not respond to his smile.

"If she wasn't sick I'd have told her the truth."  His eyes were on
Ricky's face, and if looks could convey emotions he felt the little
bugger hated him.

"I'd have let her know how Eunice kept hitting me across the face.  And
hitting Sally, too."

"But Eunice is going to apologise.  We'll sort it all out.  Hey,
there's a shop over there.  How about letting me buy you an
ice-cream?"

"No, thanks," Teddy said, so promptly that it was a curt rebuff.

"At least let me give you a lift home in my car."

"No need.  I've got my tram fare to Neutral Bay."

"See you tomorrow, then."  Ricky was equally curt in response to this
further rejection.

"Expect so."  Teddy turned and walked away, receiving smiles of
recognition from passing nurses.

Mendoza went out to his car, fuming.  It was a Packard coupe, the
latest model, and he was extremely proud of it.  If Teddy Carson
preferred to slum it on the tram, then let him.  Cheeky little brat.
But at least it was now certain their problem would be solved
tomorrow.

The show could reopen the following night.

A strange kid, he thought as he drove off, talented but strange.

He'd never known anyone of that age refuse an ice-cream before.

Nuncie argued vehemently.  It was ridiculous.  Bugger Ricky M and the
lot of them, it was an unreasonable ask.  Belle was too weak.

She needed morphine just to cope with the pain, let alone get out of
bed.  And besides, the hospital would never agree to her going
walkabout like that.  Her doctor would try to prevent her.  And the
matron would have a bloody fit.

Belle heard her out, while the pill Genevieve had given her brought a
slow relief until she could speak.  If her voice sounded exhausted, it
was also edged with determination.

"If the matron won't agree then I'll discharge myself, and to hell with
the consequences," Belle said, 'but she knows, just as you and I know
as everyone in here knows I'm not a long-term prospect.

I'll be back here when it's over.  Now I need to save my strength.

And I need to talk to you about a lot of things.  So for Christ's sake,
Nuncie, be a dear love and please stop crying."

Belle was at the meeting early.  After a routine protest the night
before the matron had grudgingly agreed she was within her rights.

Insane, perhaps, but there was no law to prevent her attending a
meeting, despite the calamitous consequences that would ensue.

She was given a sleeping pill and she woke around ten, when she was
helped to bathe and dress, and after close study in the mirror thought
that, all things considered, she didn't look too bad.  When Genevieve
came to tell her the car was downstairs, the Scottish nurse's smile and
her surprise confirmed this.

"Fantastic, Belle.  If I didn't know better ..."

Belle said it showed what careful make-up could do, and gratefully
slipped the extra pills Genevieve gave her into her handbag.

She had a moment of concern when she reached the office building, for
there were times the antique lift didn't work and she knew she could
not manage the stairs.  But the gilded cage descended, and Miss Cardew,
Ricky's secretary of many years, was there to greet her.  She took
Belle upstairs to the conference room, sat her in the most comfortable
chair, brought her a cup of tea and a plate of sweet biscuits just to
tempt her although Belle said she couldn't eat a thing.  Then Ricky
entered, brisk and cheerful, followed by Sally and Teddy.  Sally came
and gently hugged her, then both children moved their chairs to sit
close on either side of her.  Their affectionate supportive gesture
made her feel the effort to be there was more than worthwhile.

Eunice was the last to arrive.  Belle thought she looked extremely
glamorous as if she had chosen to make an impact, she wore a
knee-length dress that displayed her long legs, with sheer silk
stockings and stiletto heels to accentuate them.  Her hair was neatly
coiffured, and French perfume enveloped Belle as they met.

"I was sorry to hear you were ill, Belle."  There was no warmth in the
eyes that surveyed her.

"A little better now, thanks, Eunice."

"That's good."

"So we're all here, time to begin."  Ricky was clearly impatient to get
the show on the road.

"We're grateful to Belle for coming from her sick bed.  I think before
we discuss anything else, Eunice has something she wishes to say."

"I just want to apologise, to you both."  She smiled down at Teddy and
Sally.

"I feel awful about what happened.  I admit I got a shock, because it
was almost stage time, and I lost my temper.  I solemnly promise you
it'll never happen again."

"Good," Ricky said, bouncing to his feet as if that was suitably
disposed of, 'now what I suggest is this.  Tonight the show will stay
closed.  Time for us all to have a little rest, to relax.  Then
tomorrow we arrange for Sal and Teddy to go on radio, to explain that
all is well and we're reopening.  We need to have an extra performance
this week, for the people who cancelled .. . but for this I will pay
you a special bonus He smiled, an avuncular smile, waiting for their
reaction.  Eunice nodded her approval.  The pair of them looked at the
children on either side of Belle, who had so far not spoken a word. The
children looked at each other.  Everyone waited.  The wait became
extended and ultimately embarrassing.

"You agree?"  Ricky asked them.

"No," Sally said.

Belle was impassive; the others stared at Sally with disbelief.

"Why not?"  Ricky was agitated, his arms wide and gesturing.

"You want other changes?  Less autograph signings?  I do my best to
make you happy, I give anything you want within reason."

"The answer's no," Teddy replied.

"Don't be stupid!"  Eunice began to shout, but Ricky quickly
interrupted her, sensing the atmosphere, trying to be conciliatory.

"What do you mean "no"?  No, you want more money?  Or no, you want
something else?  Better conditions?"

"No, we don't want anything like that.  We want to stop."

"For a few days, you mean?"  Ricky nodded as if this might be
possible.

"No," Sally said again.

"Will you stop saying no?"  her mother shrieked.

"No I won't," Sally replied.

"Tell them, Ted."

"We've had enough," Teddy told them.

"A gutful," Sally added, supporting him.

"That's right, a gutful.  We don't want to do it any more."

"Did you hear him?"  Sally asked.

"Do you get it now?  We quit."

"Belle, please.  Talk to them."  Ricky seemed bewildered at the
rejection.

All eyes turned to Belle.

"I already have talked to them.  They came to see me last night in the
hospital.  We did rather a lot of talking.  ""Whose side are you on?"
Eunice demanded, clenched hands betraying her fury.

"Their side, Eunice."

"But you can't allow this to happen!"

"It's already happening."  Belle's voice was quiet, but as if she had
saved it for this occasion they could all hear her firm enunciation.

"Just because I lost my block-' "Long before that.  You and your nasty,
vicious behaviour the other night was just the finale.  They've been
tired of this for months, worn out and fed up with the routine, but
none of us adults wanted to notice.  It suited us not to see what was
obvious that they were sick to death of it."

"But why?  For God's sake, they're famous!"  Eunice yelled.

"They're bored," Belle replied.

"For a long time it was exciting, and it was fun .. . then it stopped
being both."

"Because of what I did the other night?  Damn it, I have apologised for
that."

"And I told you that's not the main reason.  Stop trying to put
yourself in the spotlight, you silly egotistical bitch."  She saw
Eunice's shocked face, and thought it was worth the pain.  She
skilfully palmed the last morphine tablet into her mouth.

"All you did was scare my son and make your daughter dislike you.  She
wants to go and live with her father which could hardly surprise anyone
who knows you."

"Belle, please .. . Eunice, stop, enough .. ."  Ricky Mendoza felt it
was time to end the personal vilification and get back to the
substance.

"We're all upset and tired.  We shouldn't say things we'll regret."  He
assumed his most engaging manner, aiming the charm at Sally in
particular.

"You want a little holiday.  Maybe we all need this.  Perhaps we close
the show this week, and all have a holiday, eh, cara?  ""No Sally
repeated.

Ricky sighed.

"Belle, help me.  Explain to them why they can't say no.  I have an
enforceable legal contract."

"I think they have some ideas about that, Rick, if you decide on
litigation."

"If you do want to go to court," Sally said, 'just remember that my
mother signed my contract, so you'll have to sue her."

Teddy laughed.  Eunice looked at them both with what seemed like
hatred.

"You're a nasty spoilt little girl," she said to her daughter, 'trying
to ruin everything."

"Listen to who's talking," Teddy told her.

"Well, that seems to take care of the meeting," Belle said and she felt
a great weariness.  Today would take care of more than that.

The old doctor had tried to be kind after the exploratory surgery six
weeks ago, when it was apparent she had delayed too long, explaining
that nothing could be done, which was why they'd sewn her up again
without attempting to operate.  He had predicted two or three months.
She felt it might be sooner than that.  Sooner would spare her pain,
but it seemed unfair for it to end like this, with all her dreams in
ruins.  THIRTY-ONE

George Carson was ringing up the sale for a Silent Knight refrigerator
when he saw Henry Gable beckoning imperiously from his office door.
Excusing himself and handing over to an assistant, he hurried to the
store owner.

"There's a phone call for you.  I don't encourage it, as you know, but
some person in Sydney insisted it's important."

George apologised for the interruption to work, and picked up the
receiver.  A voice on the line said his name was Donald Ferrier, and he
had some bad news.

Eunice came to the hospital the following night, bringing an enormous
bunch of flowers.  She was profuse with apologies for the way the
meeting had ended in acrimony and stalemate, but with Belle's help they
could still manage a miracle and save the show.

Belle said she doubted it.

Eunice insisted it was possible.  The temporary closure notices were
up, but they could reopen in a week with not much harm done.  A bit of
publicity would fix it.  Sally was the real problem; if Belle could
manage to change Teddy's mind and she and Ricky were both convinced he
could be persuaded if Belle would only try then Sal would eventually
back down.  If Teddy acquiesced, Sally would do likewise.

"I doubt it," Belle said again.

"She has a mind of her own, and I don't think I can persuade him."

"Please, at least try.  You must.  My daughter's gone crazy.  She's
locked herself in.  Won't talk to me.  Waiting for her father to
collect her.  She wants to live with him, then go back to school,
full-time.

It's sheer waste, a silly foolish waste.  She can already read and
write perfectly well.  What else does she need from school?  Does she
want to end up some sort of underpaid teacher?"

Belle wished Eunice would either shut up or go away; wished she had the
strength to shout at her.  But her strength had been used up earlier in
the day.  There had been a brief visit from an anguished George, who
had hurried to the city; poor George, trying to be encouraging and even
cheerful, but failing dismally.  She had never seen him weep, and his
tears distressed her immeasurably.  Then, after a rest and buoyed by
painkillers, Nuncie had brought Teddy for what she knew would be his
last visit.

She had thought she was prepared.  So many times over the years she had
rehearsed the way she would explain the details of his parentage.  The
simple facts, told quietly and rationally, she had always believed,
would suffice.  She had not taken into account the bewilderment that
grew on the young freckled face, the confusion in his moist brown eyes
that began to seem like an accusation, and his asking why she had
misled him for so long.  She tried to stumble on, but emotion had
choked her, and Nuncie had sat him on her bulky lap and helped her
finish.  Nuncie explaining that it had all happened because of love two
people in love had created him, and another had offered him a loving
home.

In the end he had hugged Belle, which felt like understanding and
forgiveness but it had left her drained.  The last thing she needed was
Eunice intruding like this.  But Eunice was too insensitive to realise
she was trampling on grief and cherished memories.  She was still
carping continuously.

"Why have they done this after all we did for them?  How can they just
decide to stop?  To walk away, give up a wonderful career and a
fortune?  Belle .. . are you even listening to me?  For God's sake,
don't you care?"

"Of course I care."  How could she not care?

"This small person whom you love," Florian had said in a rare moment of
sincerity, 'you're driven by a need to see him reach the top, to well,
what's wrong with a bit of dreaming?  to touch the stars."

"Then help me," Eunice pleaded, her face so close that Belle could feel
her breath.

"Don't let these silly kids ruin it.  You and I together, we'll make
them go on.  Teddy said we can't, but he's wrong.  Of course we can
make them go on."

Belle felt corralled by a mouthful of capped teeth.  She knew the only
way she could get rid of this hateful woman was by telling her the
truth.

"No, you can't.  He's right," she said.

"You can't make them go on.  Nobody can."  Her remaining energy was
ebbing.

"I'll never understand it..  . but I accept they've had enough; they
don't like it any more.  So you better accept it too, and stop talking
a lot of silly shit, Eunice.  If they choose not to get up on stage and
perform, then not you, or me, or God or even Ricky Mendoza can make
them do it.  It's finished ... it's over."

"I can't believe this!  I thought you'd fight!  I was so sure you'd
help me.  What's happened to you?"

"I'm ill, Eunice.  Or didn't you notice?  My son's only twelve years
old, and I've come to the conclusion I don't want him to spend his
life doing something that makes him unhappy.  And that's what matters
in the end.  Not my dreams for him, but his own dreams, whatever the
future might be."

"They're both far too young to decide what they want out of life."

Oh, you silly fool of a woman, Belle thought, and found strength from
somewhere to contest this.

"He's not too young," she said hoarsely.

"Four years of earning a living in films, stage, radio that's long
enough to know his own mind.  He's done more than I hoped for.  Far,
far more."  She paused for breath.  It was becoming difficult to go
on.

"He asked me if I was angry with him.  How could I be angry?  I told
him I'm proud he did so well.  But you don't understand that, do
you?"

"How could I, when you're letting him throw away a good career?"

"That's his choice.  I'm proud of him and I'll always be proud of him.
Now please go.  I'm very tired, and awfully sick of you and your
bellyaching."

She closed her eyes, hoping Eunice would leave.  For a moment there was
no movement.  I can't give her a better cue than that, she thought,
then heard a rustling sound, quick footsteps and the door closing.  She
opened her eyes.

To her relief Eunice had gone.  So had the flowers.

At midnight when her shift finished, Genevieve stayed in the hospital
to sit with Belle.  She was weakening and had been heavily sedated.

Genevieve knew how much pain the stress of the past few days had cost
her patient.  She was aware Belle had pleaded that her son be kept away
from this last painful vigil; the lady with the beret and the
barrister would be here in the morning, but that would be too late, she
thought, and it was wrong that Belle should die alone.

For most of the night Genevieve sat feeling the life still in the frail
hand, listening to murmurs and fragments of memory that meant nothing
to her.  Dancing in the street with Fred Astaire, borrowing money from
Banker Burwood, queuing up to audition for silent films, chaps with
wandering hands at the stage door when she was in the chorus.  There
was someone called Ross it sounded as though she treasured the name and
another, Florian, who seemed to cause her pain even though she was full
of morphine.

As the hours passed the voice became inaudible, the names and memories
they conjured ceased.  Genevieve watched her protracted breathing grow
faint and falter until it stopped.  She went to the window, opened it
to let in fresh air and looked out.  The rain had finally ceased, and a
pale moon was now visible through the patchwork sky.

Sometimes, the nurse thought, there are people you come to meet too
late.  She wished she had known her patient better.  She did realise,
from her short acquaintance, that Belle's life had been like an
exhilarating carousel, and that her death had left some awkward and
unanswered problems.  THIRTY-TWO

The minister's voice was like the distant drone of something from the
past.  Teddy was trying to think what it might have been, then
remembered the sound of Mr.  Miranda's lawnmower on Sunday mornings in
Brewinda Road.  It was a noise at odds with the cloudless blue skies
and the ocean view below them, where fishing boats were drifting off
the shore and a coastal steamer was far out at sea.  But the boats were
a part of the real world, he thought.

Not the strange cemetery world of headstones and burial chambers that
were called crypts, with iron railings around them and even statues of
angels with wings.  Not the open grave and the wooden box with Belle
supposed to be inside it.  He felt none of it was real, and at any
moment she might open the lid, step out and hug him, or else be furious
with him as Eunice had been, and tell him she was angry because he
didn't want to go on the stage any more.

Only she hadn't been angry.  She'd told him she was proud, and thinking
of it now he felt his eyes starting to water, because he had never
loved his mother so much as that moment in the hospital.

He tried to recall if there were times when he hadn't loved her, but
couldn't think of any.  Even the worst days, like the big row with the
adjudicator at the talent quest, or when he'd had to fight kids at
school who made jokes about her, or when her rotten friends Sam and
Mabel had run off and dumped him in that town.  But that wasn't her
fault, and he could still remember the wonderful feeling of relief when
she'd come to rescue him from the police station.  If he thought about
his life, Belle was always there, such a special part of it.  And now
she wouldn't be, which was too difficult to imagine.

The minister was droning on.

"In my Father's house are many mansions .. ."  Teddy tried to work out
what that meant.  Did the minister mean his own father, or was he
talking about God?  And if he was, why would God have a house with many
mansions?

Religion, he thought, was peculiar.  Not that he knew much about it,
because Belle used to say it was ritual bullshit, and he remembered
Mrs.  Audrey Stevenson, the vicar's wife, asking her to kindly not
speak like that, especially not in front of children.  Clear as if it
was yesterday, Belle apologising that Mrs.  Stevenson had overheard a
private remark and taken offence, but she always spoke her mind to
people, including her own son.  Telling the minister's wife that
language was a matter of communication, in this case between two
people, and if a third happened to hear by accident or even by design,
such as eavesdropping, that was her hard luck.

Just remembering it how Mrs.  Stevenson had gone really red in the face
and stomped off made him partly realise why Belle had always had such
trouble with people at home.  It made her suddenly seem so real in his
mind, as if she was not dead at all.  He wondered what the others were
thinking, the people who had come to say goodbye.  He could see Nuncie
standing opposite, with tears running down her cheeks.  Charles was on
one side of her, Clarence on the other, both looking different because
they were in suits instead of their work overalls.  Sally was there,
but not Eunice; she'd asked her mum not to come because it would upset
people especially her and Teddy.  So it was good she wasn't there.  But
a lot of others were, including friends like Greta Torrance, Ross
Tanner, Helene La Rue and Chrissie, who smiled at him, and he
remembered how they had sat together and watched movies at the Picture
Palace.

One day at the Palace a film had been mistakenly run in reverse, going
back to the beginning while the audience laughed and jeered.

Thinking of it made him wish life could be like that.  If time could go
backwards they would still be living in Kellett Street and Belle would
be alive.  Ross would be there at nights arguing about art and politics
with the circle while they drank four-penny dark, and he and Sal would
still be walking home after school and wondering if Belle and Ross were
lovers.

It was too painful; he tried to stop thinking about this before it made
him cry.  Instead he made himself wonder about the future.

There was his dad, George, on one side, and his real dad, Donald, on
the other, and while the minister kept on with his strange and boring
speech about heaven and the afterlife and his Father's mansions, while
they committed his mum to the earth, to dust and ashes, he tried to
work out what was going to happen to him now that he had two dads.

THIRTY-THREE

They met the day after the funeral in Donald Ferrier's chambers, which
George knew at once was a mistake, for the territory was foreign to
him, filled with law books all the way to the ceiling and a clerk who
brought them coffee on a silver tray.  It was Ferrier's turf, not his.
The only other person present was Belle's friend Nuncie Billingsworth,
who had sobbed her way through the funeral and most of the wake
afterwards.  She had been in a dress then, but now looked thoroughly
out of place in baggy trousers and a man's shirt, having removed a
beret when she arrived as well as stubbing out a cigar.  He'd heard her
name mentioned in the past, but never imagined she'd look like this.
Still, Belle had always said she was a poppet one of her words with a
heart as big as Sydney Harbour, and she had taken good care of Teddy,
who liked her, and he supposed that was what counted.

It was strange meeting these people.  Ferrier was in a smart suit, a
fairly good-looking sort of bloke, being overly polite, asking them to
sit down while he took on the job of pouring the coffee, making small
talk about the countryside around Gundagai and asking if they'd had.;

any rain.  Over the years George had often speculated on who Teddy's
real father might be, and felt almost certain it was Dan Hardacre, but
now knew he couldn't have been further from the truth.  A barrister

and a King's Counsel at that!  Though he'd have been just a novice
lawyer starting out when he knew Belle, and she must've been a young
soubrette.  He abruptly tried to drink his coffee, not wanting to dwell
on the details of that episode in her life.

"I'll start by thanking you both for coming here," Donald said,
'particularly in your case, Mr.  Carson.  I expect it's a bit like a
football team having to play what's called an away game."  He smiled as
George looked surprised at his perception.

"But I think we should resolve this today, swiftly and amicably, for
Teddy's sake."

"I agree.  But what do you mean by amicably, Mr.  Ferrier?"

"That we needn't have a legal stand-off, not on this matter.  Miss
Billingsworth is here because she can testify Belle acknowledged me as
the father.  She was present when Belle explained it to Teddy."

"I'm aware of that."  George nearly added he had consoled the boy
afterwards, but the other's interruption prevented him.

"There are other obvious ways to prove it if they're required."

"You mean a blood test, things like that?"  George was unsure what
other tests there could be.

"If necessary."  Donald sipped his coffee.

"But any prolonged court battle would be terribly unfair on Teddy, and
I think he's had enough grief for now."

"That goes without saying."  George hated coffee, and wondered why he
hadn't said so.  Tea was his tipple, not this rather bitter muck.

"But why should we have a court battle?"  he asked.

"We wouldn't unless you dispute my claim."

"I don't dispute it.  I just won't recognise it, Mr.  Ferrier."

"I'm not sure I understand.  That seems like a contradiction to me as
if you're positioning yourself for a challenge."

"That's legal talk.  What I'm saying is, I hope to go back home
tomorrow.  And I reckon Teddy should come with me.  ""Just like that.
Why?"

"Because I brought him up, me and Belle.  I think it'd be a fair crack
of the whip if I can go on doing that."

"A fair crack of the whip?  Is that really the basis on which you
suggest we should resolve his whole future?"

Nuncie sat watching them start to argue, knowing who was going to win.
The decent truculent bloke from beyond the black stump didn't have a
bloody hope in hell against the silver-tongued favourite of the courts.
He'd be going back home all right, to his job at Gable's and his friend
Maureen from next door, but not with this kid.  Not unless she
intervened, and she wasn't sure if she should.  It was an awesome
responsibility Belle had dumped on her, deciding the course of a young
life like this.  Just because in her last few days she couldn't decide
didn't feel it fair to distinguish between the two, or perhaps wasn't
strong enough to make such a choice she had shoved the burden on
Nuncie.  Not only that; had pleaded with her to help break the news
that Donald was his real father.

"I love you, girl," Nuncie had grumbled, 'but you're giving me a right
load of shit to shovel."

But she'd been there, which was just as well.  She'd done her best.

And now she had one last job entrusted to her by Belle, she thought as
she listened to them arguing.

"I really don't think whips should come into it, Mr.  Carson-' "Forget
bloody whips," George said heatedly, a nervous movement as he pushed
away the coffee cup, betraying his agitation.

"I meant it'd be justice isn't that one of your favourite legal words?
It'd be the right thing for me to have him."

"Despite the fact that I can give him a far better life?"

"Maybe you can, Mr.  Ferrier.  You can send him to a smart school,
bring him up in a posh house, buy him things I'll never be able to
afford.  My house is a dump at least that's what Belle always called it
but I'd gladly sell it to fight you in the court if I have to."

"So much for peaceful resolve," Donald said.

"The one thing you appear to completely forget is that he's my son. 
Ask Miss Billingsworth."

"I don't need to ask.  He's not your real son.  He's never been it!"

"Now calm down, old boy.  If Belle said that, then she lied to you."

"Belle never lied," George said, more quietly but with equal passion.

"She never told me who, but I've always known he wasn't mine.  Not by
blood, I mean.  But I held him in my arms before he was an hour old.
I've loved him, worried myself sick about him, seen him through all the
childhood things measles and colds, and wetting the bed.  Taught him to
walk, to ride a bike.  Took him to school, tried to help him with
homework, got upset and angry when he came home after a fight with a
split lip.  You were never his dad, not like that.  Being his natural
father was just something you did with Belle ... a long time ago."  He
hesitated a moment, as if unused to speaking at such length.

"Perhaps you were in love with her -I don't know that but if you were
it's strange you never even seemed to know she'd kept the baby.  Or if
you did know, you never bothered in all these years to see him."

Donald had listened carefully, with a sort of courtesy, Nuncie thought.
Like a polite counsel, nodding as if conceding that some of the points
raised were valid before setting out to demolish them.

"Whatever I did wrong back then, Mr.  Carson, I want to make up for it
now.  I appreciate all you say, but in the end the law's quite clear.
Teddy's mine, by every legal right.  "She could see failure on George
Carson's face.  Brave words and a bit of bluff could never beat the
legal eagles, with their judicial precepts and precedents, and all the
protective imperatives of the law.  She sensed the man from beyond the
black stump was about to admit defeat.

"How about a moral right?"  Nuncie asked, and when they both turned to
her, surprised by the intervention, she made them wait while she took a
cigar and lit it.

"What happens, Donald, if this does go to court?  I'm your star
witness, right?"

"Nuncie, keep out of this.  And do you have to smoke that filthy
cheroot?"

She ignored him, blowing out a stream of smoke as he grimaced.

"What if your star witness decides George shouldn't have to sell his
house?"  Nuncie challenged him.

"Because her best friend, a girl she happened to love deeply, left her
with a big problem.

"If it ever comes to a fight over custody, I rely on you to tell the
truth," she said."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The foetus, Donald, the one you wanted to get rid of.  I talked her
out of it.  I went with her to the abortionist that horrible doctor
where she told him she'd changed her mind.  And when he tried to heavy
her, tried to pull rank and bully her, she chucked her money your
money, since you gave it to her chucked it on the floor as we walked
out.  I don't think George should be allowed to risk everything he
owns, just to be beaten by you in court.  Which he undoubtedly would
be."

She had their complete attention now.  Both of them speechless.

"I'm sorry to do this to you.  It surprises me a bit, and probably
surprises you, but I've grown to rather like you, whereas I hardly know
George.  But I think if Belle was in this room and heard what he said,
I honestly believe she'd want him to look after her child, at least
until Teddy is old enough to decide for himself.  So consider me a
hostile witness, Donald."

The house looked just the same.  Except that the neighbours in Brewinda
Road were waiting in their front gardens, and waved to him.  Teddy
waved back with a sense of excitement, and just a trace of fear,
because the gang and the kids from school must be hanging around
somewhere, also waiting to see him.

But, to his surprise, his former best mate and old enemy, Herbie Bates,
was standing there in the garden, alongside a friendly woman with a big
smile on her face, who George told him was Maureen.

He'd already said, in the train on their way home, that he and Maureen
were real close, real good friends, and some day they might even make
it official, if Teddy knew what he meant.

Teddy went and shook hands with Herbie, and then went to shake hands
with Maureen.  But she put her arms out, and it seemed natural to hug
her, so he did.  Later Herbie said to him that Ginger and the blokes
wanted to meet up, and how about tomorrow?

Which was why he rode his bike down to the river, and felt a strange
stir of memory: trying to swim across it, the first day he'd joined the
gang, when George had saved him.  This unchanged river that he'd known
since his early childhood, the Murr-um-bid-gee;

he remembered Larry the American director teaching him that.  It looked
just the same, the way he'd sometimes dreamt.  The gang looked the
same, too, a few years older and all of them bigger, waiting there, the
whole mob.  He remained poised on the bike, ready to pedal for his life
in case of trouble, but they came close and stopped there.  "Came
back, eh?"  Ginger began, which was a pretty stupid thing to say,
because there he was, but he decided to agree.  No point in starting
with a fight.

"Is she dead, your mum?"

"Yes."  He didn't want to talk about it, because it hurt and he was
scared his eyes might start to water.

"I never seen a dead person," one of the other kids said.

"I never saw her dead.  Only in the ... the box, you know ... the
coffin."

"Shit," Ginger said, 'did you cry?"

"Yeah."

They all looked at him.  He felt ready to start lashing out at them if
they laughed, but no one did.

"S'pose I would too," Ginger confessed.

"My mum said your mum was quite pretty.  A bit peculiar .. . but
pretty."

Teddy nodded.  It seemed friendly, but he was unsure.

"Our gang's still going.  You interested?"

"Thought you didn't want me," Teddy said.

"We changed our minds.  Norm was crook on you, but he's moved away.  So
you can't be leader, 'cos I'm still leader.  But everyone's voted, and
they say you can be second in command.  What do you think?  If anything
happens to me, you can take over."

Teddy thought about it.  In his mind he conjured a battlefield and the
sound of gunfire.  He wore an army captain's uniform.  They were in a
sandbagged dugout as stretcher-bearers carried in the bloodstained
figure of Ginger.

"The major's bought it, sir," Sergeant Herbie said.

"You're in charge now."

"Thank you, Sergeant.  Stand by to attack."

It seemed so real.  He realised they were all staring at him, waiting
for a reply.  Ginger was there with what seemed like an outstretched
hand.

"Well, Ted ... don't frig about.  Are you in or not?"

"I'm in," Teddy said, feeling a moment of great joy.

"Good on you, mate.  Welcome home."

They shook hands, and the others clustered around to be included in the
greeting.  Herbie said it was time for a swim, and they all ran down
the bank, stripping off their clothes and diving in.  Teddy looked up
at the big river gum, and could see a familiar sight.  He climbed up to
where the rope was still suspended.

He stood balanced on the branch looking down at the river.  His river,
that he would show Sally when she came to visit, as her dad had
promised she could.  Tonight he was going to write her his first
letter; he had so much to tell her.  Just thinking about her made him
feel exhilarated.

"Look out below!"  he shouted, and they laughed and cheered as he swung
on the end of the rope and bombed into the river with a joyous yell and
a splash.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My research on film studios and theatres of Sydney in the 1930s was
facilitated by two friends.  Producer Anthony Buckley, with whom I've
worked closely for many years, was a rich source of information on the
film industry of the time.  The late Alistair Duncan, author of Actors
Blood, lent me books that provided an insight into the period's
vaudeville theatres.  I am grateful to them both, and if there are
mistakes in any depiction of the era, the errors are mine.

I'm deeply indebted to Bryce Courtenay, who introduced me to Robert
Sessions of the Penguin Group, and equally indebted to Robert himself
and Ali Watts, who made the decision to publish this book.  It has been
a pleasure working with everyone at Penguin:

Cameron Midson for the striking cover design; Associate Publisher
Kirsten Abbott for her encouragement throughout; and my editor Saskia
Adams, whose energy and expertise have been a driving force that was
invaluable.

In conclusion, any similarity between the case of Karel Janacek on page
263 and the indictment of Egon Kisch in 1934, in which the notorious
dictation test was applied and found to be illegal, is intended.