Black Wattle Creek (Charlie Berlin #2)(69)

‘Swap places, you talk and I’ll type.’

Berlin shook his head. ‘Are you sure you want to do that? This thing is a lot bigger than you might imagine, and a lot more ugly.’

‘And it might have been better if I hadn’t asked you to talk to Beryl or if you’d said no, you had too much on your plate. But unfortunately neither of those things happened Charlie, and now here we are. The kids are the only thing we need to worry about – the kids and you and me. We seem to be in it already anyhow, the four of us.’

She was right about the typing of course, it was much better working that way. Berlin paced and clasped and unclasped his hands as he spoke. He kept it concise and businesslike, which only magnified the awfulness of what he was saying. At the end of the third neatly typed foolscap page they took a break. Rebecca reread the pages, not looking for typing mistakes, she said, but rather in an effort to understand what he had been saying. When she’d finished reading she put the pages down and sat silently for a moment.

‘Jesus, Charlie,’ she said eventually, ‘nothing ever changes, does it? People can always find good reasons for doing bad things. Bob and that bloke Len and the fire … ’ She lit a cigarette.

‘Let’s get it finished,’ Berlin said. He wanted it out of his head. This is where we get to the really bad part.’

Rebecca rolled fresh pages into the carriage and took a deep breath before she started typing again. Her cigarette stayed in the ashtray and burned away to nothing after she started on page four. There were five pages in each set when they’d finished.

She pulled the last set of pages from the typewriter, added them to the pile on the table, and stared at him.

‘The bastards. Does all this really mean what I think it does, Charlie?’

He nodded.

‘God, I feel sick. Those people In St Kilda, the pilot and Millikin … ’

‘It must have happened right after I left, went out looking for more grog.’

Rebecca understood what had made him go on that search. Right now she found the idea of a strong drink very tempting herself. ‘So what do we do now?’ she asked.

How he loved her for the ‘we’.

‘I need to go and see a couple of people,’ he said, ‘see if I can straighten things out. But first I need to know you and the kids will be safe. I’ll drop you over at Fred’s place. Sarah will like that, it’s been a while. Or you could all get out of town, maybe go and stay in a guesthouse in Healesville or somewhere.’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘From the sound of things, these people wouldn’t find it hard to track us down no matter where we went. We’re staying here, Charlie, this is our home.’

‘I’ll get Fred to come over here then.’

A headshake again. ‘No need, we’ll be fine. And we’ve got Pip to protect us. No, it’s you I’m worried about. Is that gun going to be enough?’

‘You should keep it, just in case. You won’t need to use it but I’d rather you had it. I’d feel better.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be right. I just need to talk to these people, like I said. See what the price is going to be to protect you and the kids.’

‘Do you really think these are the kind of people you can reason with, Charlie?’

‘I can be very persuasive. And when I get it sorted out I’ll be back.’

‘But what have you got to bargain with?’

Berlin looked down at the pile of pages on the kitchen table.

She followed his gaze. ‘What about that D-Notice system they told you about?’

‘I reckon I can work something out. Now, you wouldn’t be able to rustle up an empty jam jar, would you? And I’ll need three envelopes …’

While Rebecca found a jar, Berlin folded three copies of the letter before sliding each one into an envelope. He licked the gummed flaps on two of the envelopes before sealing them. The glue left a cloying taste on his tongue and for a brief moment he thought he was going to vomit again. One envelope went into his rear trouser pocket, the unsealed copy into the pocket of his jacket, and the third he folded over several times until it fitted inside the jam jar. He screwed the lid on tightly before walking out the back door.

The dog kennel had been made out of old fence palings and it was easy enough to move. Pip and Rebecca watched as Berlin dug down into the soil underneath, put the jar in the hole and then filled it back in, patting the dirt down flat with the spade before replacing the kennel. Pip sniffed inside when Berlin had finished, turned around a dozen times on his threadbare army-surplus blanket and settled down.

Berlin put the spade back in the shed, next to a jumble of galvanised-iron water pipe that was destined for the darkroom. Was that a project he would ever get finished? Back in the house he washed his hands in the laundry, using Solvol and a nailbrush to get the dirt out of the creases in his knuckles.

Rebecca was standing in the kitchen looking at the typewriter when he came in wearing his overcoat.

‘You really do need a new coat,’ she said, straightening his lapels. ‘We should go shopping next week.’

‘Summer’s almost here, we can do it next year.’

‘A new suit, then. Something smart. Maybe we can go to Fletcher Jones.’

‘Maybe. But Peter really wants a bike from Santa Claus, remember?’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘I’ll try not to be too long. What did you plan on for dinner?’