Miscarriages Chapter 16. She married the man behind

16. She married the man behind

“I took you on, and then your sweetheart Iris, as a big favour to Eddie, I hope you know that,” said Frank. He was sitting with James, Iris and Dolly in Studs’s corner.

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” said James, trying to control his sarcasm. “I think it’s worked out pretty good.”

Iris wanted to say, “yair especially as you don’t pay me,” but James was holding her hand tightly under the table, trying to tell her something, probably to keep her mouth shut.

“So, what’s going on?” asked Iris, openly belligerent. “What’s this meeting about, Mr. Highlands? And what’s Dolly doing here anyway? We just closed up the pub and she shouldn’t be here after hours.”

James squeezed her hand and turned to look at her. “I asked for the meeting,” he said.

Dolly flashed her red-lipped smile and touched her mountain of hair lightly with her fingers. She produced her gold sequined hand¬bag and took out a pen and a typewritten document. “Let’s get started,” she said looking around the table.

“I thought all we had to do was sign some forms or something,” said James.

“What’s going on?” asked Iris, pulling her hand away from James.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you but I didn’t get around to it But I do have something for you,” said James.

“What?” Iris flopped back in her chair, flabbergasted. James had placed a gold ring on the table and she blurted out, “what’s she doing here?” obviously referring to Dolly.

“I’m here to marry you,” said Dolly, her smile now etched deeply in her face, seemingly never to stop.

“What? Jimmy, what the fuck are you up to?” was the best that Iris could say.

“Dolly is a JP and she has the forms and I think all we have to do is sign them with a witness, and that’s why Frank is here.”

“And the ring?”

“Well it’s for you, of course.”

“You could have told me, or asked me…”

“Well, you’ve been wanting me to do it for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but, shit Jimmy. You’re a fuckn stupid piece of work!”

“I know. But I do love you, you know that.”

“And these two knew about it before I did?”

“Well, I thought it would be a great surprise, and there’s an¬other one coming.”

“Surprise? What about considering me? How I’d feel when you sprung this on me? I feel like I’ve being traded like one of the sheep over at the stockyards.”

James looked Iris in the eyes, those light grey eyes, the ones he likened to a sheep those years ago when they first came together. And boy, did they come together then, he thought. He picked up the ring and twiddled it in his fingers.

“Look, you two, are you going to sign this form or not? I’ve got other clients to meet after this,” said Dolly through her smile.

“Iris love, please, I beg you!”

“What was the other surprise?”

“We’re having our wedding and our honeymoon at Swampy’s farm and we’ll camp out on Spuds’s potato patch, just like we dreamed of.”

Iris now was speechless. The trouble was that she couldn’t have thought of a better place for their wedding or their honeymoon. It touched her deeply that he had thought of it. But it was his not asking her that made her angry. And for the first time in her life, she swallowed it. She forced a meek little smile and put out her ring finger. “You can put it on if you like,” she said sweetly, al¬most with a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching.

As usual, James had no idea what he had done. “I’m not sup¬posed to put it on you until the wedding,” he said.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” she said.

“Gees, I didn’t think of that.”

“You don’t think of a lot of things,” thought Iris.

James slid the ring on to her finger and it seemed to fit.

“It’s a perfect fit!” she proclaimed. And she turned to kiss James lightly on his blushing cheek.

Dolly pushed the form to James. “Sign here, and Iris, you sign next to him there,” she said pointing with the pen. “And Mr. Highlands, you sign there where it says ‘witness’.”

“That’s it?” asked James. “Now we’re married?”

“You will be, as soon as I sign it and stamp it with my JP stamp,” said Dolly as she rummaged in her bag for the pad and stamp. She banged the stamp down hard with a flourish and applied her signature. “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

“Now you can move in together,” joked Frank.

“We could do with a bigger room,” said Iris.

“So could I,” said Frank, “but this is an old pub and there isn’t one.”

“And when is the wedding?” asked Dolly as she got up to go.

“Don’t know. We haven’t set the date yet. Has to be before the Melbourne Cup, though.”

“Make it a Sunday,” said Frank, “when the pub’s closed, then you won’t have to take a day off work.”

“Have a wonderful wedding, all of you,” Dolly said, her big smile even bigger, “I’ll let myself out through the kitchen, right?”

*

Iris shivered. It was cold. There was a real chill in the October air and it was much colder once they got to Swampy’s farm. The cypress hedge that ran along one side of the property up to the old barn, blocked the wind a little, but truth be told, the chill of the Tasman sea couldn’t be stopped. She snuggled up to James to keep warm. He had once again borrowed Frank’s fancy Humber, ugly lump of a car it was. She basically had no clothes to speak of, had never really thought about getting dressed up, not ever. All she had on were her work clothes, a soiled old white blouse and a pair of black slacks she had picked up from somewhere, found them lying around the pub. She glanced across at James who was a good match. He had on just what he usually wore when he was tending bar. Anyway, they were going to camp for their honeymoon, so what was the point of getting dressed up?

Frank had been a bit doubtful about letting James take the Humber. He was a city man and had no idea about farms, thinking they were all in the outback, desolate and dusty, like he had seen in the movies. He had heard that there were foot-deep potholes that you couldn’t see until you hit them. And all that dust, it would get into the lovely clean engine of his Humber. “Go slow!” he had ordered, “I don’t want you banging up the front end. These Humbers cost an arm and a leg to fix.”

For once in his life, James did what he was told. He did go slow, too slow for Iris who was now getting impatient. They had turned off the Bacchus Marsh road ten minutes ago, on to the gravel track that led up to Swampy’s farm house.

“Can’t you go a bit faster?” asked Iris, her teeth chattering with the cold.

“I promised Frank I’d be careful.”

“There’s no potholes as I can see,” said Iris. “Does this car have a heater?”

“Frank said you can’t see them, so I have to go slow.”

“Jimmy, I’m freezing!”

“Gees, sorry sweetie. I think it has a heater but I don’t know how to switch it on. Anyway, it has to be only a couple of minutes more. I think the farm’s over the next rise. That little shed there, is where Spuds keeps his tools.”

James pointed, but Iris didn’t look. She snuggled into him, burying her head in his lap. He stroked her head and rubbed her neck lightly.

“You better put two hands on the wheel,” she whispered.

“Look! Look!” cried James, gently pushing Iris away, “it’s Swampy’s!”

The gravel road wound up the rise to the old farm house, its rusting red corrugated roof hiding behind a couple of old gum trees, dwarfed by the old barn, its timber walls with gaping holes where the wind had lifted off the planks, and rusted roof looking too heavy for the walls that leaned precariously to one side.

“The barn’s just like Swampy,” grinned James, “leaning in all directions, a wonder that it can stand up.”

Iris sat up. “Is that Spuds’ old Ford ute?”

“Yep! And there he is helping Swampy on his old horse.”

Swampy, already very drunk, sat on Bessy, a horse that had borne him to the old Corio Shire pub so many times and suffered many indignities into the bargain, slowly plodded down the track to meet them. Iris started to giggle, forgetting how cold she was. There was Swampy, dressed in his celebratory garb that all the locals at the pub knew well, very formal attire, striped pants, tails, white vest, starched collar, a large flourishing bow tie. He pulled the horse to a stop and raised his top hat. “Welcome to the Swampy Paradise Hotel! Haw Haw!” he crowed in his gravelly voice.

James poked his head out the window. “G’day Swampy! Lead the way!”

The horse ambled back up the track, and it took all James’s driving skill not to run them down.

A small group of excited people stood at the barn entrance. It had no door of course. But the person Iris was most excited to see was Little Linda, her big sister (though smaller than Iris), and her brat daughter hanging on to her hand.

“Is that the brat?” asked James as he pulled the car to a halt.

“She’s got a name you know,” said Iris as she struggled to open the car door.

“Gees, sorry. I’ve forgotten. I always called her the brat.”

“They’re all dressed up!” said Iris.

“Well, it’s a wedding.”

“But look at us! We’re dressed like tramps!”

“Come on Iris, you worry too much. Nobody cares.”

“Well, I do. It’s our wedding.”

“It’s just an excuse for a booze-up.”

“That’s all it is?” cried Iris, “it’s our wedding!” Tears were already in her eyes.

“Shit! Iris, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Right then, as if sent from Heaven, Linda opened the car door and grabbed Iris by the hand, pulled her to her and gave her the biggest hug. “Come on luv, I’ve got just the stuff for you.” She pulled her along, Iris on one hand, little brat on the other, and they ran to the farm house where Swampy’s sister, still in jodhpurs, stood at the door.

“Watch out for the whip!” yelled James, then he looked across to the small group of people standing at the barn entrance. Spuds bounded over. “Chooka me old-a mate!” he said, holding out his hand, “congratulations!”

“Gees, thanks Spuds. Thanks for letting us camp in your potato patch.”

“Not many potatoes there now. Struth, you look as old as-a me. Must-a been-a Vietnam!”

“Yair, well…”

“Yair, yair. OK. I know. I had-a the war too.” Spuds looked down, embarrassed to have raised the issue.”

“Where’s the booze?” asked James.

“It’s on-a the way…” He looked back down the track to a dust cloud. Here it-a comes now!”

A second Humber appeared in the dust, driven a little faster than James had driven. It pulled up right beside the other, so now there was one black and one white, the white being Eddie’s, who stepped out and strode towards James.

“Booze bus at your service,” he said, holding out his hand.

James did not take his hand. Instead, he looked up and into Eddie’s aging face, dark eyes like his own, impenetrable, tufts of grey eyebrows, strands of greying hair combed over a rapidly balding scalp. “Dad!” he simply called, feeling a wash of emotion rise from his toes to his eyes, and he opened both arms and drew him into a hug, his nose nestling against Eddie’s neck. He man¬aged to hold back the tears, but he need not have. For Eddie at last felt like the father that never was. Jimmy, like Jesus, had opened his heart to him.

“James, my son. I have always loved you,” Eddie said to him¬self.

For the rest, there is little need to describe the wedding. Everyone got very drunk, they consumed a barrel of beer that Eddie had kindly provided, and who knows how much red wine that Swampy had produced from his secret cellar (not a cellar exactly, just a hole dug in the floor of the barn). There wasn’t really a ceremony, no presiding preacher or anyone else making a speech and declaring them man and wife. It was all taken for granted. Finally, Iris had had enough and declared the wedding over, time for them to run off on their honeymoon. She grabbed James’s hand and pulled him away. He had broken his promise to her, one extracted too easily she knew that he would break it. He got blind drunk, something that a former alcoholic should never do. But she was not so sober herself, having for the first time, pretty much, taken a few sips of the red. They staggered together toward the black Humber to which Spuds had attached strings of potatoes to the aerial and to the back bumper.

“I’d betta drive you,” Spuds said.

But Swampy intervened. He had been relatively quiet most the time, but drinking heavily as usual. “No drinking and driving!” he drawled, “Haw! Haw!” He led Bessy out of the barn and grabbed Iris by her midriff. “Up you go,” he called and hoisted her onto the horse who remained calm, being used to all kinds of abuse.

Iris screamed and laughed at the same time. Her head was dizzy from the wine, but she held on tightly to the horse’s mane.

“You next!” Swampy called to James grabbing him by the arm. “Up you go!” and with Spuds helping, they hoisted Jimmy on to Bessy, cosily tucked in behind Iris. They were both suddenly very frightened. It looked a long way down to the ground. What if Bessy decided she didn’t want them on her back? Eddie stepped forward, worried and sober.

“What about our camping stuff? We can’t sleep out at Spud’s place without a tent, it’s too cold,” cried Iris.

James hugged her to him with both arms. He was frightened of falling off. And then it began to rain.

“Swampy!” yelled Eddie in exasperation, “take them inside the barn. They can’t camp out in this weather.” He gave Swampy a hard slap on his back as though to wake him up.

“Aw! Haw! Haw!” drawled Swampy, “come on Bess old girl, let’s take the lovers in.”

He slapped Bessy on her backside and she neighed loudly, stamped her feet, and Jimmy held on to Iris for grim death. Iris wanted something solid to hang on to, so she let go of Bessy’s mane and reached back to hold James. Disaster was afoot. But the long-suffering Bessy calmed down and moved in a very slow walk towards the barn. Swampy took up the loose reins that hung down and led her into a corner of the barn where bales of hay were stored.

“Please let us down,” pleaded Iris.

“Me too, if you don’t mind Swampy, you fuckn shit-head!”

“Haw! Haw!” answered Swampy and made as though he was about to give Bessy another slap. And he would have except that Linda grabbed Swampy’s arm and rubbed herself against his long legs. The brat, at the same time, was running between the horse’s legs, making her a little nervous.

“Be nice!” purred Linda. “Pat Bessy like you know how,” she said with a slight smirk. “Hey! Brat! Come here to mummy. We don’t want the horsey to kick you, do we?” she called, managing to reach under Bessy and pull her out from under.

“I want to ride the horse!” screamed the brat.

“She’s still the fuckn same,” mumbled James.

“You should talk,” quipped Iris as Eddie reach up and helped her down.

“You can manage yourself,” he said to James.

Suddenly, all was quiet. Spuds had found a soft spot on a couple of sheep skins and was fast asleep on the oily shearing platform. Hearing the harsh call of his sister, Swampy led Bessy out of the barn and did not return. Linda held the brat to her, holding her head and forcing it on to her belly so her screams were muffled. Eddie stood, hands on hips wondering what was next.

“We’ll have our honeymoon right here in the barn,” said James. “We can make ourselves a little cubby over there behind the hay stacks.”

Iris looked up at him, holding his hand. He was such a baby at heart, she told herself. She shouldn’t get angry at him. Besides, it was what she especially loved about him. Who else in their right mind would suggest to his newly married wife that they sleep on a bed of hay?

Eddie looked from one to the other. “Well, I think I’d better go, unless you two want anything else?”

“No. Dad. We’re all set, aren’t we Iris luv?”

“Yep. We are.”

“Linda, would you two like a lift home?”

“Thanks Eddie. That would be nice. I have a lot of business to attend to, and the brat here has to get up for school in the morning.”

*

In the space of a month after their wedding, the newlyweds had managed to set themselves up pretty well at the Newmarket pub. Frank had agreed to have a door put in connecting their two rooms and Iris had made one of the rooms into a nice little sitting room, turning James’s bed into a couch with cushions she had found down at the Op Shop in Footscray and keeping her room with her single bed in which they slept. Both rooms had old windows that were jammed shut, but after a lot of effort, Iris had managed to loosen them and had them opening and closing smoothly. James had refused to help, looking on her enterprise as part of her “weird thing for windows” as he called it. Both windows looked out over the steeply gabled corrugated iron roof, and a tall red brick chimney that rose up from the kitchen below.

“Jimmy, look,” said Iris as she stuck her head out the window and looked towards the Geelong Road, “there’s the stockyards over there.” On a still day, when there wasn’t much traffic, they could hear the bleating of the sheep and wailing of the cattle as they were led to slaughter.

The day before the Melbourne Cup was a Monday so James and Iris had the day off in lieu of working Saturdays and of course Cup Day itself would be a big working day at the pub. To the extent that it had ever been possible, Iris was happy as she lay in her bed, James beside her, lightly snoring, lying on his stomach, one arm draped over her shapely body, her silk nightdress bunched up around her waist. “Her bed” was still a very new idea to her; she had slept in so many other beds and often not on beds at all, most of her young life. She looked at James, her husband, and twiddled one of his curls around her finger. She turned to him, propping up her head on her hand. She could not explain why she always ended up with him given that he was such a silly boy and didn’t seem to know what he wanted to do. Maybe it was because, like her, he was never really happy either. “It’s because we don’t know what to do with ourselves so we just naturally come together. God brought us together that day of Jimmy’s Latin exam,” she smiled to herself. “Maybe Flo was right. God told us all what to do and punished us if we didn’t do it.” She wondered if maybe she should go to church, seek out Flo. But she quickly pursed her lips at the thought. Jimmy had told her how Flo had held him up and cursed him at the Corio Shire Pub that day he went down to get the loan from Eddie. Flo’s not God’s messenger. She couldn’t be. The devil’s, more like it. She rubbed her hand against the hair on the back of his neck, just the way he liked to rub her hair when she kept it short like a boy’s.

“I know you’re awake,” she said.

James rolled to his side to face her. “It’s early isn’t it? Let me sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.”

“Let’s go off somewhere and have a picnic,” she said, “look outside, it’s a beautiful sunny spring day.”

“Can’t. Have to go down to the racecourse.”

“What? You? Are you a horse thief now?” Iris joked, tickling him under the arm.

“Nah, it’s something I have to do for Frank and Studs. I said I would.”

“And what’s that?” Iris was immediately suspicious. Anything to do with that loathsome Studs was suspect.

“Nothing special. Just have to check something out for them.”

“We could take some sandwiches and have a picnic at the racecourse, look over the horses the day before the cup, when there’s no crowds. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“I s’pose. But it’s probably best if you don’t come.”

Iris pushed herself up and sat astride his naked body. She leaned down, her hands on his shoulders and dug her nails into his skin. “What’s going on?” she asked, eyes sparkling, looking for a fight.

“Ouch, stop!” cried James, pulling at her hands, wriggling and twisting to throw her off.

Iris resisted, pushing down on him, wriggling to resist his wriggling and before either of them knew it they were entwined as lovers will be, the savage resistance transformed into an ecstasy matching the day of the Latin exam.

*

They lay back, just fitting side by side on the narrow bed. James reached for a cigarette. Iris grabbed the packet. “You’ll end up like Flo!” she said, crossly.

“So what?”

“So what? She’s a hag and a witch! And the smokes will kill her.”

“So what?”

“All right if you want to be a smart-ass!” Iris opened the packet and pulled out a smoke. They were Camels. She lit one then blew the smoke in his face. Jimmy pretended to choke then grabbed her hand and wrenched the cigarette away. He took a deep draw, held it for as long as he could then slowly let it out, blowing smoke rings. Iris rolled back and slipped on a dressing gown. “OK,” she said, “I’m going for a shower. And then we’re going for a picnic at the racecourse.”

“No, we’re not,” answered James, cheekily.

“We are. Unless you tell me what Studs and Frank have got you doing. You don’t have to do everything they tell you, you know.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Liar!”

“I said it’s nothing. And I’m not a liar.”

“It’s about that money you won off Studs, isn’t it?”

“The two thousand? I won it fair and square.”

“Right. But that Studs. He never loses. Bookies are the ones who take bets on the sure thing that the blokes who place their bets will lose.”

“So now you’re an expert on gambling?”

“What are you up to?”

“It’s nothing. I’m just going down to see Galilee’s trainer. He drinks in the public bar and I’ve got to know him. He’s a really good bloke, and really smart with horses. He said I could come down and he’d show me around. That’s all.”

“You said you were checking something out for Studs and Frank.”

“I’m doing that too.”

Iris picked up a towel and moved towards the door; then hesitated. “You’ve placed a bet on the Cup haven’t you? How much?”

James looked away. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth, trying to stop himself from saying what he knew he was about to say. “I put a bet on Light Fingers to win.”

Iris dropped the towel and stood belligerently with her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me. Studs talked you into betting the two thous¬and you won from him. Because if you did, it’s too bad because I’ve spent it all.”

“What? What on? Stuff we need for when we move into our house in Yarraville.”

“Iris! No! You know I can’t live there. It will drive me mad!”

“It will be completely different with me there, won’t it? And besides, by the time I’m finished with it, it will be like a new house.”

“But…”

“You have, haven’t you? You’ve bet the lot on the cup. You stupid bastard. They’ve conned you!”

“I’m not stupid!”

“The whole lot? You bet the whole lot? And what if the nag loses?”

“It won’t lose.”

“Without the money to fix up the house, there’s no point in moving in there. You might as well have bet the whole house!”

James rolled off the bed and looked out the window. He slowly turned and stepped towards her. “Iris, luv…”

“Oh no! Oh no!” Iris put both hands to her mouth, as if trying to stop the words from coming out. “You really have bet the whole house!”

“It’s a sure thing, Iris. We’ll make thousands. We’ll be set for the rest of our lives!”

“That’s it! You’ve done it this time. I’m getting out of here!” She ran to the window, thrust it open and slid out on to the roof.

“Iris, come back! You can’t go anywhere. The roof’s too high! You’ll kill yourself!”

The roof sloped steeply down past the chimney to the Geelong road. Iris had to let go of the window-sill and began to slide towards the road. She grabbed at the chimney to stop the slide. James climbed through the window and reached for her, but she had slid too far. To make things worse, he had no clothes on, and his bare feet caught on the old rusty nails that held on the roof.

“Go back, you silly bugger!” called Iris, trying to hold back a grin, aware of the spectacle of a naked man chasing her over a tin roof.

James did as he was told and climbed back in. He was putting on clothes and shoes so he could get back out and haul Iris in, when there was a knock at the door. “Is everything all right?” came a querulous voice.

“Everything’s fine!” called James.

“Is someone on the roof?” called Frank nervously.

“It’s just Iris, having one of her tantrums. She’ll get over it.”

“I heard that, you asshole!” yelled Iris. “I’m getting out of here, I tell you. This is it!”

Frank nervously looked at his watch. “She’s going to jump off the roof?” cried Frank. “Stop her, James. She’ll kill herself!”

“I tried to pull her back in but she wouldn’t come. It’s hard to pull her up the slope. The roof’s too steep.”

A nervous man at the best of times, Frank looked at his watch again and ran down stairs to call for help. The first thing he thought of was to call the cops.

*

A faint drizzle descended on the roof. The heat of her anger gone, now Iris felt cold. She tried to wrap herself in her dressing gown, curled up in a ball pressing against the chimney. She looked out towards the Geelong Road and pursed her lips, pushing her tongue against her cheeks. What was she doing? More import¬antly, what did she want? She thought of coming back in, but now she was frightened she would slip down the roof and fall off. James put one leg out the window, trying to find a footing. Maybe once he saves me, he’ll wake up to himself and see what a stupid drip he is. He’s all I’ve got anyway and all I’ll ever have because who else would bother with a street bugger like me, who doesn’t even know who she is and doesn’t even have a birth certificate, and who would be homeless except for James? she said to herself. All I have besides him is big sister Linda, living in her brothel—that’s what it is, not a guest house like she always says. The blokes that go there, including my own stinking bully of a father, are loathsome, ugly, foul animals, all of them. At least Jimmy can be nice, especially as I can get him to do what I want a lot of the time, but then he lets the other blokes take advantage of him. I have to go back in. I have to stop this window thing. I couldn’t help it. I just had to get out of there and now I’m stuck. Iris looked across to James and held out her hand.

He stepped gingerly on to the roof. Now it was slippery from the light rain. He heard the siren of a fire truck in the distance and glanced out to the Geelong Road. There was a cop car approach¬ing as well. Iris clung to an old brick in the chimney and tried to stand up, but her foot began to slip and she sat down again, simpering. “Jimmy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t care what you’ve done,” she sobbed.

“Hang on a minute. I’m coming. Silly Frank has called the cops, I think.”

Iris closed her eyes tight. She was too frightened to look down. The cop car screeched to a halt outside the pub and out clambered none other than the Preacher, his beak nose observable even from the roof. “It’s the fuckn Preacher,” growled James, “that’s all we want!”

“Who?” snivelled Iris.

“The Preacher, the bastard. The one that railroaded me, that made me confess to killing Millie.”

“Stay away from him, then. He’ll try to do you in,” cried Iris.

“He’d better stay away from you, or I’ll fuckn kill him.”

The fire engine pulled up and in short time the top of a ladder clanked against the roof just below the chimney. The Preacher pushed the fireman away and began climbing, his long limbs appearing to hang off in all directions, like a spider climbing up a web. “Hang on there, miss. I’ll be there to get you in a moment,” he shouted, managing at the same time to wave his bible in the air.

“Don’t you touch her!” yelled James, “you hear me?”

The Preacher’s capped head appeared at the edge of the roof, his beak nose almost touching the rung of the ladder as he pulled himself up. “Of course, it would be you, you murdering scum, son of the devil!” announced the Preacher.

“Stay away! We don’t need you! Stay away! Leave us alone!” cried Iris.

“Looks like the Lord has spoken. Your little girl here, the one you defiled when she was just twelve years old, don’t think I don’t know all about you, is in a spot of trouble.”

“Please officer, we’re all right,” simpered Iris.

“It doesn’t look that way to me, in consequence. What did he do, try to rape you?” he snarled. The Preacher was now standing on the top rung of the ladder and looking for a foothold. Seeing the roof was so slippery, he lay flat against the sloping roof and stretched himself up, one foot pushing against the rung of the ladder, his long arms and legs stretched up, as he extended a hand to Iris, the hand in which he held his bible. “The Holy Book will save you, my dear. Just lean down and grab it, and I’ll help you down.”

“Don’t you fuckn touch her!” warned James, his ears red, cheeks ablaze. “And that bible, you fuckn bastard, it’ll mark your end!”

Iris glanced quickly at James. She knew he was on the verge of losing it. “Jimmy! Don’t!” she called, “please, love, go back inside. She tried to stand, but quickly sat down against the chimney, her bottom now slowly slipping down towards the Preacher, the roof nails digging into her, stinging as they tore the flesh.

“Do not, I inform you, Mr. Henderson, interfere in official police business,” announced the Preacher in his deep, officious voice.

“Your fuckn bible, it’s missing pages, did you know that?” growled James.

“The bible will save your little girl, Mr. Henderson, you scum.”

“Pages 121 and 122, they’re fuckn missing, aren’t they?”

The Preacher looked up at James and sneered, “The bible will save your little girl’s life, in consequence, and you will be char¬ged with aggravated assault and abusing an officer of the Queen’s constabulary.”

“Jimmy! Go back! Stay there!” cried Iris.

But it was too late. James threw himself forward, head first, the most foolish action that one could possibly take given the steep slope. It was all that the Preacher could do to lift up his bible and try to deflect James’s flying body. But it was of little use. James knocked the bible and arm aside and landed on the Preacher’s head, squashing his big beak nose into the tin roof. Bright red blood poured into the roof, but worse, to keep his balance, the Preacher had pushed too hard against the ladder and it slid away, now leaving him dangling over the eve, his legs flailing away looking for a footing of which there was none. James, miraculously, some would say, had managed to twist himself into a position that allowed the foot of his good leg to find a footing in the gutter, so he ended up lying on his side, able to push up and sit, even if precariously, on the edge of the roof and watch the Preacher hanging, flailing, blood still pouring out of his nose.

“I never killed Millie!” cried James, “you hear me?” his voice deep and very, very serious. “But I know who did, don’t I?

“Get me off here!” called the Preacher, give me a hand! That’s an official police order!”

“I’ll give you a hand all right!”

“Jimmy! Don’t! Jimmy!” called Iris.

“How about a foot instead?” Jimmy jabbed at the Preacher’s hand with the foot of his bad leg, so it wasn’t quite strong enough to dis¬lodge him.

“Jimmy! Stop! Jimmy!” Iris sobbed. She let go of the chimney and began to slide towards the Preacher who craned his head up with considerable difficulty.

“Miss! Don’t! Stay where you are.”

And at that moment a ladder once again clanked against the roof and a fireman called out, “Constable! There’s the ladder. Kick your left leg across and you’ll find it!”

But it was all too late. James pushed himself across, using the gutter for leverage and with both hands, grabbed the Preacher’s shoulders and pushed. The Preacher’s flailing legs did not help. He lost any hold he had on the roof and slid off, James toppling down on top of him. In a split second a blinding light flashed before his eyes and he looked down, and saw to his horror, Millie lying dead on her bed, the Preacher, naked and snarling, thrusting a big knife again and again into her lifeless body. Another blinding flash of light and his suspension in time collapsed as they landed with a thud on the concrete path below, the Preacher on his back, and James landing with a sickening thud full on the Preacher’s chest. Bright pink foam oozed out of the Preacher’s bird-like mouth and beak. James lay flat out on top of him, staring into the his eyes that appeared to be fogging over.

“My bible!” wheezed the Preacher, hardly able to move his lips, “psalm 23!”

“Fuck your bible!” snarled James, “you killed her, didn’t you? You killed Millie! The brat gave me those pages. She was there and so was your bible.”

The Preacher’s eyes looked dead, but his lids fluttered and lips quivered. James pressed down on his chest as though to stand up. He heard something crack and guessed that it was one of the Preacher’s ribs.

“You fucked Millie and then you killed her, you fuckn creep! I saw you!”

The Preacher’s body suddenly shook and his mouth opened wide gasping for air. “Bible…psalm…”

James rolled off the Preacher’s quivering body, reached for the Preacher’s battered bible and threw it away. You want psalm 23? Then here it is!” he snarled as he kneeled on the Preacher’s chest and recited what he could remember from Sunday school:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

The Preacher’s body convulsed, his head dropped to the side, tongue protruding through his bloody lips.

Iris looked down in horror. A fireman had already reached her and was helping her down the ladder. Frank was peeping out the front door of the pub, too timid to get any closer. The Preacher’s young constable-in-training stood holding the ladder, frozen with fright. “Is he dead?” he asked.

“Better call an ambulance,” said James, seeing Frank at the pub door.

“I’ll call it in,” said the young constable, as the fireman and Iris came off the ladder.

“What have you done?” whispered Iris as she clung to James, trying to stop whimpering.

“Nothing. it was an accident, wasn’t it? We just lost our footing and fell down. He was unlucky I fell on top of him.”

Iris stared down at the lifeless body of the Preacher. It did not look quite so big as it did when he was standing. “Are you hurt?” she asked, hugging him close to her.

“I think I’m OK. Scratched my hands on a few nails, that’s all. How about you?”

“The same. I’m cold.”

“Let’s get cleaned up. We can still make it to Flemington.”

Iris held tightly to his arm. “I don’t think so,” she said, “not after all this.”

“All what?”

“James. The Preacher. Looks like he’s dead and you’re acting like it was nothing.”

“It’s good fuckn riddance as far as I’m concerned.”

“He’s a cop. They won’t let it go.”

“He killed Millie, you know that?”

“What? When did you find that out?”

“I saw him do it. Just now. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Iris stopped and pulled on his arm. “Jimmy, you didn’t actually see him do it, did you?”

“I had a vision. But I also knew as soon as I opened up those bits of crumpled paper the brat threw at me that day when they came to the gaol to see me.”

“I don’t get it.”

“When I got back to my cell I opened up the balls of paper and they were two pages out of the Preacher’s bible. The brat found them in Millie’s bedroom, I bet. How else could she have got them?”

They reached the pub door where Frank stood, holding a couple of blankets.

“What the hell happened?” asked Frank, nervously looking at his watch as an ambulance siren sounded in the distance.

“It’s nothing to worry about. We had a bit of an accident getting Iris off the roof.”

“The Preacher doesn’t look too good, He’s not moving and the fireman has put a blanket over his body, like he’s dead.”

“Yeh. Too bad,” mumbled James as he pushed past, dragging Iris with him.

“James, you can’t leave. You have to go back out there. The cops will be all over you.”

“I have to get to Flemington, don’t I Frank?”

“Under the circumstances,” said Frank, fingering his watch chain, “I think we’d better call it off.”

“What?”

“James, you heard me. I’ll talk to Studs.”

“So you are up to something. What is it?”

“Nothing, really. I just bet the house on Light Fingers,” said James, trying to laugh as he said it, winking at Frank.

“You’re not joking, are you?” cried Iris, digging her fingernails into his arm. “It’s true. You really did bet the whole house.”

“It wasn’t quite like that,’ said Frank.

“What was it like, then?” asked Iris, getting angry again. She turned to James, digging her fingernails into his flesh even more. “Did you sign anything? Did you?”

James looked away and stepped back outside to watch the ambulance come to a halt and the medic approach the Preacher.

“He did,” interceded Frank, but it’s nothing. We can un-sign it, I’m sure. I’ll talk with Dolly.”

“Dolly? What does that stupid bitch have to do with it?”

“She’s not so stupid,” said James, biting his tongue as soon as he said it. “She’s Studs’s legal assistant.”

“She’s a solicitor?” asked Iris in disbelief.

“No, a Justice of the Peace and she takes care of all of Studs’s financial and social arrangements, if you see what I mean.”

“She’s a prostitute and a JP? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Shssh. Keep your voice down,” pleaded Frank.

The young constable approached them cap in hand. “Mr. James Henderson, that’s your full name, sir?”

“So what?”

“Headquarters has informed me that I have to bring you in for questioning. It appears that the senior constable has passed away.”

“And you want to blame it on me?”

“They just want to ask you some questions, sir, for the record. It’s standard procedure when someone dies under abnormal cir¬cumstances.”

“Go fuck yourself.” James turned his back on the young con¬stable and stepped back inside the pub. “I’m going back to bed,” he mumbled.

“Then I’ll have to arrest you,” called the constable, as he followed James into the pub. Iris waited for Frank to stop him from entering, but true to his timid character, he did not. So Iris stepped in.

“I don’t think you can go in unless you have a warrant,” she said, having no idea what a warrant was.

“I’ll need you to come down to the HQ as well, miss,” he replied. “You were a witness, weren’t you?”

“I don’t talk to coppers,” answered Iris. “If you want to question me, talk to my lawyer.”

Frank shifted nervously and coughed. “You have a lawyer?” he whispered loudly.

“Of course, I do. Doesn’t everyone?”

The constable took out his pad and biro. “And who might you be, miss?”

“My name’s Iris.”

“And your last name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a last name.”

“I don’t and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

Frank pulled out his watch and said, “we better go inside. Jimmy doesn’t look so good. He might be hurt because of the fall.”

The constable went to grab Iris, but she gave him such a threatening look that he withdrew his hand. He turned back to the police car. The ambulance and fire engine were well gone. “You’ll be hearing from me,” he called back over his shoulder.

Iris ran upstairs to the bedroom. James had climbed into bed, fully clothed. There was blood on the pillow. She gently pushed his head from side to side looking for a gash and found none. His eyes were clamped shut. “Wake up, you bugger,” she said. She lifted his head forward and found a lot of blood at the top of his head. But there were no cuts or gashes that she could find.

James stirred. “The blood’s the Preacher’s,” he said, eyes still closed. “It’s where I butted his beak with my head when I shoved him off the roof.”

“Jimmy! Shut up! You did no such thing!” Iris looked round quickly to see whether Frank had followed her into the room. But he had not. He had gone to phone the doctor.

*

Studs took up his usual place at the table in the corner of the saloon bar. Dolly sat beside him in all her sequined splendour, ruled notebook in hand, numbers and figures carefully entered beside names, all neatly laid out in columns. On the floor between each of their chairs was an open kitbag in which there were piles of money, packaged in various amounts of twenties, fifties and hundreds, each held together with rubber bands.

“No more bets,” called Studs, “the cup will be starting any minute. Many customers, some even from the public bar, were hanging around expecting to collect their winnings as soon as the cup was run. Expectations were very high because most bettors had bet on Light Fingers to win, having heard the rumour that it was a sure thing, that a fix had been put in.

James stayed in bed refusing to get up, recovering from his fall, so he said, though he felt no soreness anywhere on his body. He was, rather, distraught, even despondent. The argument with Iris had set off a sequence of events, a sequence that was controlled by a kind of destiny that reminded him of his time in Vietnam. And the Cup, the worry about the Cup. If Galilee won… He tried not to think about it, but it weighed on him like a sack of potatoes. In fact, when Iris tried to rouse him, he couldn’t bear to look at her, hid under the sheets. His belly had that shrinking empty feeling. He wanted to throw up, but there was nothing there. And, scarily, he found himself feeling around under the bed for a bottle of plonk or whiskey or anything. A relapse; he was on the edge. The wedding binge had opened the door and it had not closed. He squeezed his eyes and cursed Frank. It was all his fault!

Frank had played a pivotal role, oblivious of his part. Had he not panicked and called the cops, had it been some other cop than the Preacher who came, things would have turned out differently. Now, there was an impending calamity, Frank just felt it, his nerves frayed so badly that he had, most unusual for him, taken to drinking brandies with his customers on the other side of the bar, buying them drinks and receiving grateful slaps on the back for doing it. He also eyed Studs with a certain amount of resen¬tment and fear, harbouring a gnawing feeling that Studs had taken him for a ride as well as James. Studs appeared too jolly. He stood to lose lots of money if Galilee won, assuming that he had bet on Light Fingers using Jimmy’s IOU as a guarantee as he said he would, laying out his own cash with several bookies, assuming that he would never need to turn Jimmy’s house into cash. Light Fingers was a sure thing, though, wasn’t it? He knew the fix was in. Jimmy was supposed to have made sure of that.

Frank bought customers drinks. None of them admitted that they had bet on Light Fingers, after all they did not want others to know it, or the odds would drop. And besides if the cops got wind of it they might start poking around. Each time he bought a customer a drink and downed a brandy himself, Frank glared across to Studs and managed to catch his eye every now and again. Studs appeared not to notice and cheerfully dealt with his clients, every now and again, sliding his arm around Dolly and pulling her to him, each time Dolly complaining that she couldn’t write properly in the notebook when he pulled her so.

When the Melbourne Cup finally came on, James was still in bed. Iris had tried to rouse him, pull him out of bed, but he would not budge, just nestled down under the covers, flat on his belly. “Here!” she said, “take the tranny and listen to your stupid horse race. I’m going back down to do your work for you.” She dropped the transistor radio on to the bed and left.

And work she did. There was one other barman working the saloon bar. She took over. Washed the glasses, reorganized the shelves, served customers, said nice things to them, which they appreciated. Her presence in the Saloon bar transformed the place, thought Frank, as he watched her work. Everyone said you couldn’t have a woman work the bar. They were dead wrong. At least as far as Iris was concerned. She’s better than her hubby, smiled Frank to himself. He looked at his watch; James had still not shown up. He was about to ask Iris where he was when the Cup came on the television and everything stopped while the race was run. He looked around him and guessed that everyone in the bar had a bet on a horse. Studs would make a lot of money today, so long as the right horse lost, Frank grinned to himself.

Light Fingers did not win. The favourite Galilee won by a neck. The Saloon bar erupted with yells and angry cries, and foul abuse delivered at the television set, fists shaking in the air. Then an uneasy silence. A few customers sidled up to Studs’s corner with their tickets. They had bet on Light Fingers for a place. They got a little money back. A slightly larger number of blokes, smiling and looking cocky, who had bet on Galilee, looking around them at the losers in the bar, a look saying, “I told you so,” fronted up to Studs and received their winnings.

“You can put it on the next race,” Studs recited over and over.

But the winners didn’t really feel like winners. They quietly slipped out of the bar, bought a couple of bottles and went home to drink in peace.