Do You Dare? Tough Times Page 3

  4

  The Daredevils trudged back towards home. A late afternoon chill was setting in, and the pre-race excitement had completely evaporated – men were streaming out of the once-packed pubs, shaking their heads, staring at their boots and muttering to each other about ‘that useless bloody nag’. Tom noticed that quite a few of them were swaying their way straight from the Napier Hotel to the queue for soup and bread that was forming in front of St Mark’s Church.

  ‘Well, that’s that then,’ said Frank. ‘You’ll just have to get that Stan McCabe card another day.’

  Tom doubted that – with his dad out of work, who knew how long it would be before he saw any money again? He could have kicked himself for being stupid enough to gamble away his last sixpence.

  The Daredevils stopped at the corner of Charles Street to watch an automobile chugging past, which was something that didn’t happen very often in these parts. As Tom watched its cloud of grey smoke disappear up the road, a small red berry shot past his face and bounced off Samson’s glasses.

  ‘Smack!’ said a voice. ‘Right in the headlights!’

  Tom turned around to see Razor McGee standing triumphantly behind them with a pea shooter in his hand. Razor was the leader of the Napier Street Spiders, the Daredevils’ sworn enemies. A good 40 pounds heavier than any of Tom’s friends, Razor was the same size and shape as an extra-large sack of horse manure, and just as charming.

  ‘Nice one, Raze,’ said Archie Barksdale, Razor’s snivelling sidekick. Archie was a small, ferret-faced kid who always wore an oversized cap. Standing behind him were Merv Johnson, who seemed to spit on the ground every five seconds or so, and Porky Stevens, who was called Porky not because he was fat (like many people, he barely had enough to eat) but because his nose turned up like a pig’s snout and he had a habit of snorting when he laughed. Right now he was oinking louder than the entire livestock pavilion at the Royal Melbourne Show.

  The Daredevils and Spiders had never liked each other much. Their feud had started a couple of years earlier when Razor cheated Frank out of his best marbles, and it had escalated last summer when Fungus left a little present in the middle of the Spiders’ favourite cricket pitch, causing Archie to slip over and end up with a big brown stain on his trousers.

  Now the Spiders were always looking for a chance to get stuck into the Daredevils: launching spitballs at the backs of their heads when the teacher wasn’t looking, knocking on their front doors late at night, or kicking the backs of their seats during the Saturday matinee – not that any of the boys could afford to go to the pictures much these days.

  Frank stepped forward. ‘You dirty grub,’ he said to Razor. ‘Do that again and you’re gone!’

  Razor grinned and handed his pea shooter to Archie. ‘Gone where?’ he said. ‘To see your mum in the freak show at the circus?’

  Tom pushed forward to stand next to Frank. ‘No, to the chimpanzee enclosure at the zoo to see yours,’ he said. He could feel Samson tugging on the back of his shirt, desperate to avoid a fight.

  Razor turned to Tom and a smirk crept over his pudgy, pudding-like face. ‘Hello, Parker,’ he said. ‘Heard your old man got the sack.’

  Tom felt his cheeks go red. ‘Who told you that?’ he demanded.

  Razor shrugged. ‘People. I s’pose you’re gonna get evicted soon. Can’t wait till you’re living in the tip over at Dudley Flats. I s’pose you might as well smell like rubbish, seeing as you already look like it.’

  Archie sniggered, Porky snorted with delight and Merv spat on the bricks in approval. Tom didn’t know what to say – he was pretty sure his family would never end up in a ‘Dudley Mansion’, which was the name for the shelters made from timber scraps and rubbish that some people lived in when they’d lost their homes. But there was every chance they would be evicted in a couple of months. He felt his pulse speed up and took a step closer to Razor. ‘Better to have a dad out of work than a brother who’s a crook,’ he said.

  Razor’s big brother, Tank, was nineteen years old and a genuine hoodlum. When he wasn’t beating other men’s faces into a pulp at the Brunswick Street boxing stadium, Tank and his mates were usually fighting behind the goals at the footy, drinking under the trees in the Exhibition Gardens or hanging around on street corners harassing people for money and threatening them if they didn’t hand it over. Some people even said that Tank’s mob had been the ones who’d smashed the windows of the Chinese laundry, robbed the place and put poor old Mr Ling in hospital.

  Razor pulled himself up to his full height. ‘Want to make something of it?’ he said, raising his fists.

  Tom hesitated, his heart pounding. He didn’t have a chance of winning this fight – Razor was the biggest and nastiest kid in Grade Six. Still, he didn’t want Razor to be able to call him a coward on top of everything else. He gritted his teeth and put his fists up in front of him.

  ‘Well, hello there!’ interrupted a shrill voice.

  Tom swivelled around to meet the gaze of Mrs Bright, their kind-hearted teacher from school. It looked like she was out on a late-afternoon stroll. ‘It’s so nice to see you all enjoying your day off together,’ she said.

  ‘Uh yes, Mrs Bright,’ said Tom, lowering his fists, and opening and closing his hands a few times, like he was stretching. ‘We were just . . . uh . . . just about to start a game of tiddlywinks.’

  A few feet away, Razor casually slipped the pea shooter into his pocket.

  Mrs Bright beamed at them. ‘How lovely!’ she said, pulling her cardigan around her tiny frame. ‘But I hope you won’t stay out so late you forget about your homework. Tom, you’ll never become a pilot without a top mark in arithmetic, and Reginald – you’re still a long way behind the rest of the class.’

  Frank, Joan and Samson each stifled a laugh, and even Tom couldn’t help cracking a smile – they knew how much Razor hated being called by his real name.

  ‘Of course, Mrs Bright,’ said Frank. ‘We’ll go and get started right now. See you at school tomorrow. You too, Reginald.’

  Joan sniggered as the Daredevils sauntered safely past the Spiders under the watchful gaze of Mrs Bright.

  Razor scowled at Tom as he went by. ‘You got lucky this time, Parker,’ he hissed. ‘But don’t worry – you’ll keep.’ Then he turned and strode off in the opposite direction, his three servants trailing obediently behind him.

  Dot and Petey flung themselves at Tom as soon as he walked in the door.

  ‘Where are the lollies?’ asked Petey.

  ‘Shh, Petey, that’s rude!’ said Dot, then noticed Tom’s empty hands. ‘Oh no, where are they?’

  Tom knelt down on the wooden floor beside his siblings. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I don’t have any sweets for you after all. I lost the money.’

  Dot swallowed hard, and Petey’s bottom lip jutted out like St Kilda Pier.

  ‘But it’s all right,’ said Tom quickly. ‘Because I’ve brought you something even better – a genuine Melbourne Cup racehorse!’ He scooped Petey up onto his shoulders and galloped up and down the hallway on all fours, giving a fast-paced commentary just like the announcer on the wireless. Petey squealed with excitement and Fungus dashed along happily beside them. The ‘race’ went along very nicely until Dot tried to climb into the saddle as well, and they collapsed in a heap, laughing.

  Dad still wasn’t back by the time they sat down for dinner. Tom wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not – it might mean his dad had miraculously found some shift work on a public holiday, but it was more likely he was out drinking his way through their tiny pile of savings.

  The meal was bread with a bit of dripping. It was one of Tom’s favourite foods, and he especially liked the cold meat fat with a big sprinkle of pepper on top. But Mum spent more time looking at the clock than the dinner table, and didn’t even notice when Tom snuck an extra smear of dripping onto the underside of his bread.

  After helping Mum with the washing up, Tom hunched over the kitchen table, trying
to concentrate on his homework. He liked school most of the time, and was always in the top half of his class, but – despite what Mrs Bright said – he was pretty sure Charles Kingsford Smith didn’t have to worry about fractions and long division when he was flying solo from England to Australia.

  There was still no sign of Dad, and Tom’s heart sank a little bit with each minute that ticked by. Then, at about nine o’ clock, when Tom had just worked out how much change someone would receive from nine shillings if they bought two pounds 13 ounces of salmon at two shillings and elevenpence a pound, he heard a loud thump at the front of the house.

  ‘That’ll be your father,’ said Mum. ‘Stay here.’ She put down the sock she was darning and strode up the corridor.

  ‘He’s in for it now!’ whispered Dot.

  Tom slipped quietly after Mum and into his darkened bedroom. Dot crept in beside him and they peered out onto the street as Mum threw open the front door. Dad was lying sprawled on the narrow footpath in front of the house – Tom guessed he had tripped over the gutter and fallen against the door.

  ‘Hullo, love,’ Dad slurred, as Mum stood above him with her arms crossed.

  ‘And where on earth have you been?’ she said.

  Dad struggled into a sitting position and hiccupped.

  Dot giggled. ‘He must have been at the pub all day.’

  ‘Shh!’ said Tom. Dad certainly looked like he’d had a beer in his hand since this morning. Although, seeing as all the pubs closed at six o’clock, he had probably spent the last few hours drinking sixpence-a-pint rot-gut in the back room of a sly grog shop. Tom shook his head in dismay.

  Mum stood glaring at Dad. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  Dad stared at his boots. ‘I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘I should jolly well think so!’ said Mum. ‘Out spending money on grog when we can barely afford milk! What were you thinking?’

  And then, to Tom’s astonishment, Dad started to cry. ‘I’m a great big flamin’ idiot, Mary,’ he said. ‘How could I be so stupid?’ He covered his face and sobbed.

  Mum tapped her foot a few times, then her face softened. ‘Goodness, it’s not that bad,’ she said, grabbing Dad’s arm to help him up. ‘Come on, you big drunkard, let’s get you inside before the neighbours think you’ve completely lost your marbles.’

  But Dad shook her off and reached into his coat pocket, still sobbing. Without looking up, he handed Mum a small paper ticket.

  Mum unfolded the ticket and read it closely. She stared at Dad, then back at the paper, and then at Dad again. ‘You bet fifteen pounds on Phar Lap?’ she said quietly.

  For a few seconds Tom was sure his heart had stopped beating.

  Dad nodded, still staring at his feet. ‘I found a bookie offering three to one,’ he said. ‘Thought it was an easy way to get us out of trouble. How was I to know Phar Lap’d lose? He never loses!’

  ‘Fifteen pounds?’ cried Mum. ‘John, that was all the money we had! How the hell are we going to pay the mortgage now?’

  Tom jumped – he had never heard his mother swear before. Dot grabbed his hand in the darkness, no longer giggling.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Dad, looking up at Mum, tears running down his face. ‘I was doing it for us.’

  ‘Then you’re a damn fool,’ said Mum, stepping back inside and slamming the front door. She stormed back to the kitchen and Dad stayed slumped on the footpath, his head in his hands.

  Tom felt dizzy as he realised what this all meant. His family was flat broke. They wouldn’t be able to give the bank the money they owed on the house this week. Which meant they would probably be evicted sooner rather than later. Unless Tom could do something, he’d have to leave Fungus, the Daredevils and his family behind forever.

  5

  The Daredevils took the long way home from school the next day, stopping to rest on a stack of old bricks outside the abandoned Wighton’s Hat Factory, where Tom had told the rest of the gang about what Dad had done. It was another beautiful afternoon, and the warm bricks against Tom’s legs reminded him that the summer holidays weren’t too far away. He instantly felt happier at the thought, then remembered that there was almost no chance he’d still be in Melbourne to enjoy them.

  ‘Oh Tom, that’s awful,’ said Joan. ‘No wonder your mum was furious.’

  ‘She still is,’ said Tom. ‘They had another big argument this morning. Mum reckons she’ll have to look for work herself. But at least Dad says he’s gonna give up drinking and sign on for the dole.’

  ‘The food you get on the susso isn’t too bad, actually,’ said Samson. ‘But Tom, you can’t go and live in the Mallee – the Daredevils won’t be the same without you.’

  ‘What can I do?’ said Tom. ‘Mum reckons they’ll never pay the bank back in time now, even if she does get a job.’

  ‘Then we’ll just have to come up with the money ourselves,’ said Frank. ‘How much do your oldies owe?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘I think they’re s’posed to pay off ten quid this week.’

  ‘Right,’ said Frank. ‘Everyone empty your pockets.’

  Tom rummaged through his shorts to find a bit of string, an old pencil stub and six cherry stones that he’d won off Samson the previous week. Frank produced a piece of polished glass and a few safety pins, while the only things in Samson’s pockets were a tatty hole at the bottom of each. The Daredevils turned to look at Joan.

  ‘What?’ she said, glaring. ‘I’m not even a real member of the Daredevils, remember?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Frank. ‘Tom needs our help.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Joan relented. ‘But I’m doing it for Tom, not for you.’ She reached into the front pocket of her pinafore and pulled out a grubby threepence coin.

  ‘Aha!’ said Frank. ‘Threepence! Samson, how much more do we need?’

  Samson didn’t need to think. ‘Nine pounds, nineteen shillings and nine pence.’

  ‘Oh, bum,’ said Frank.

  They stared at the assortment of objects from their pockets that lay scattered on the ground. Frank picked up the piece of polished glass. ‘We could try selling this?’ he said hopefully. ‘P’raps someone will think it’s a diamond?’

  Samson scoffed. ‘No one is that stupid,’ he said.

  ‘Then what do you suggest, smartypants?’ asked Frank.

  Samson scratched his head. ‘I could sell interesting facts for a penny. Did you know that the echidna is one of the only mammals on earth that lays eggs?’

  ‘Not bad,’ said Frank. ‘But what about a kissing booth? Girls pay sixpence to kiss me, boys a halfpenny for Joan. Actually, that’s probably too much. Tom, how much would you pay to kiss Joan?’

  Tom’s face suddenly felt very hot. ‘Er . . . I don’t know.’

  Joan folded her arms. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘There’s no way I’m going to be anyone’s kisser for hire. And if you mugs stopped and thought for a minute, you might remember that people around here don’t have a lot of extra cash to spend on kisses or silly facts.’

  Tom sighed. Joan was right. Fitzroy was probably the place worst hit by the Depression in all of Melbourne. People weren’t going to give the Daredevils any money when they barely had enough for themselves. It was hopeless.

  Frank kicked at a piece of broken brick on the ground. ‘Well, that’s it then. The Daredevils’ adventures are as good as over.’

  Joan rolled her eyes.

  ‘What?’ said Frank.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Joan.

  ‘No, go on, what?’

  ‘Well, you lot like to call yourself Daredevils, but you’re not really, are you?’

  ‘Course we are,’ said Frank. ‘I’m going to become an Antarctic explorer, and Tom’s going to fly planes all over the world.’

  Joan rolled her eyes again. ‘That won’t be for years, if you’re lucky,’ she said. ‘What do you ever do now that’s so daring?’

  She had a point, Tom thought. They’d decided on the name ‘Daredevils’ years ago, but
it wasn't like they’d ever gone tiger hunting, or driven a race car, or flown across the Pacific like Charles Kingsford Smith. Tying tins to the tram cable and messing around in the Reilly Street drain were pretty much the limits of their heroics.

  ‘We do plenty of things,’ said Frank. ‘You name it, I’ll do it.’

  Joan looked up at the huge brick chimney of the hat factory that towered above them. ‘Climb that,’ she said. ‘Do you dare?’

  Frank snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘No one can do that.’

  ‘I could,’ said Joan.

  Frank snorted again. ‘I’d like to see you try.’

  Joan gazed at the chimney for a moment. It was at least 80 feet tall, and the sides were so smooth it might as well have been made of glass. Tom had watched a few people try to climb it before, but none of them had even made it halfway. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but give me a couple of those safety pins – I don’t want the whole of Melbourne seeing my bum on the way up.’

  After pinning her dress and pinafore into a pair of makeshift shorts, Joan squeezed through the factory gate and took off her shoes.

  ‘Be careful, Joan,’ said Tom.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Joan, ‘I’ve climbed trees this tall in my sleep.’

  Joan put one foot on the flat bricks of the chimney, searching for a foothold. Then she dug her fingers into a gap between the bricks and pulled herself up. Using her knees to hug the chimney, she started climbing, and her feet were at the height of Tom’s head before he could even blink.

  A pair of small boys came past, kicking an old tin can along the street. ‘What’s goin’ on?’ one of them said.

  ‘My cousin thinks that she’s gonna climb Wighton’s chimney,’ said Frank, shaking his head. ‘I give her another five seconds, tops.’

  But Joan didn’t show any sign of slowing down as she shimmied up the smokestack.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Tom, whistling in admiration. ‘She’s doing it!’

  A group of girls came by, pushing a kitten in a rusty pram. ‘Somebody run and tell the Kew Asylum,’ said the tallest one, shading her eyes as she watched the dirty soles of Joan’s feet scrambling higher. ‘That girl must be mad!’