Westpoint Tales

by Kiwi

Entangled Tales - 22 - Justin

He walked home to the hotel and had breakfast with his grandmother. When Jonathan came in, yawning, Justin stood and took his unfinished breakfast over to the sink bench. He ate a couple more mouthfuls, then scraped the rest into the rubbish.

"I'll see you later, Grandmother. Goodbye, Jonathan."

"Bye Bro - Brother, I mean. Where are you rushing off to in such a hurry?"

"I'm just going out. If I'm not here, then we're not arguing."

"Good idea. Bugger off then."

"Justin, where are you going? Take my cellphone with you in case you need a ride home - this rain hasn't finished yet."

"Thank you Ma'am. I've got the phone. I won't be long, I am just going around to see Mrs. Carver."

That went down like he'd dropped a bomb in the room. Bob froze in mid-stride across the kitchen. "You're What?? You bloody are not! You stay away from the Carvers, Boy. I forbid it! I absolutely forbid you to go anywhere near those people."

Justin removed his dark glasses and looked his grandfather in the eyes. "You forbid it? I could not care less."

He walked out the back door, slamming it behind him.

"Justin! Justin you get back in here!" Bob went to follow him out, but Kathleen stood in his way.

"Robert, stop it. Bullets don't stop that boy when he decides to do something. You can't stop him, and if you try all you'll do is lose your grandson."

Bob deflated. "I suppose you're right. But, Dammit! The Carvers. How can he defy me like that?"

"Chill out Gramps - okay, Granddad. Gran's right, bullets, coal trucks, policemen - nothing stops Justin when he's on a mission."

"That was just straight out defiance, after we've given him a home and everything."

"Do you want him to leave? He will you know, and I'll have to go with him too."

"What? No, of course I don't want him to leave, or you either. That's the last thing I want."

"Let it go then. Justin's going to do what he's going to do. These Carver people - do you think I should go with him? Do you think he'll be all right?"

"Yes, of course he'll be all right. There's only about thirty of them."

"I think I might just drive down there anyway, he might need a lift home."

"Okay then, but stay out of trouble, Jonathan."

Justin slowly walked up Cobham Street and went over and stopped at the school. He sat down on the steps leading up to the main entrance, and leaned back against the wall. It had still only been a couple of days since he was over there in the hospital, and his body was definitely not 100% yet, but it would get better. His side was sore, his left leg ached and the right was tired from lugging around the heavy cast on his foot. But at least his head was fine, no aches at all there - and that was good.

'Aaah, I feel like an old man. Maybe I should get one of those mobility scooters? But, no. That's not the image I want - not at all.'

He sat looking at the Carver house across the road. A big, old, square, yellow house, obviously in need of a lot of work. The house sat up close to the street, the front yard was only 2 or 3 meters wide between the sidewalk and the front verandah - just enough room for a couple of old, wheel-less dead cars to lie in. The front fence was gone, only a couple of old posts left standing, one with the letterbox on top.

The yellow paint was old and faded, chipped and flaking in many places. Several weatherboards were crooked or missing altogether and the roof was rusty iron, with a couple of odd coloured patches where urgent repairs had been done. One of the front bedroom windows, obviously broken, was covered with a sheet of cardboard - also old and faded.

The front verandah, rusty-roofed, had several large holes in the roof and in the wooden floorboards. It was covered in rubbish, mostly old car parts, beer cans and bottles. A couple of old car seats sat on either side of the front door.

There was nobody in sight, but someone was there as there was dirty, brown, coal-smoke coming from the two chimneys, one of which was cracked and broken-topped.

Eventually, he got up, stood straight, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked, stiff legged, across the road to the Carver's house. He crunched down the gravelled drive at the side of the house, and went around to the back door.

It was a big glass, ranch-slider door, out of place on the old house. He walked up on the wooden deck before it, and knocked on the glass.

The door slid open a few inches, and a man stood there looking along the barrel of a gun pointing straight at him. "What do you want?"

"I want to see Mrs. Carver please, and you can put that thing away."

"I could just shoot you, you know. Nobody would see."

"You could, but you won't. Is Mrs. Carver here please?"

The man lowered the gun and was pushed out of the way by another big, burly guy who slid the door wide open. "Get out of it, Stretch, you're not funny."

This guy was huge - tall and wide, fat. His bulk filled the doorway; a beer-gut strained the buttons of his faded shirt and hung over the top of his greasy old jeans. His graying hair was long and straggly and a huge bushy beard covered most of his red face.

"Not a bit scared are you, Superboy? What do you want to see Ma for?"

"Well if you'd get your fat arse out of the doorway, Butch," came a voice from behind him. "He can tell me himself."

Butch grinned, a broken-toothed, menacing smile, and stepped aside. "A gentleman caller to see you, Ma."

"And, we don't get many of those around here, do we?"

A huge, fat woman with dyed-black hair sat in an old armchair at the cluttered kitchen table. She was facing him and squinting at the light from the open doorway.

"You're Justin Reynolds aren't you? Well, come inside, Boy. Come in here and sit down where I can see you. Don't worry about this lot, they're not going to bite you."

Justin went in and sat opposite her at the table. He glanced around the room. Apart from Butch and Stretch, there were two others in the kitchen - one man, one woman. Through the open double doors to the lounge, he could see assorted others sitting around in there - all looking at him. There were several children on the floor and Billy was standing by the open fire.

It was the first time Justin had seen him without his school clothes on. In his tight blue jeans and denim jacket, shirtless, and bare footed, he looked even smaller and younger than he normally did. The air in there was full of smoke and the smell of 'dope'.

"Well, Justin Reynolds, I'm Doris Carver. What can I do for you?"

"Ma'am, I... about Jeremy. How is he? And where have they got him?"

"Jeremy? What do you care about Jeremy? He's no friend of yours."

"No Ma'am. But he could have been – he might be."

"Jeremy shot you, Justin."

"He said that he was sorry."

"He shot you three times."

"He said that he was sorry three times."

"And that makes it all right does it? He could have killed you, boy."

"He wouldn't have killed me. He only fired to stop me - it was just scratches, nothing at all. Jeremy didn't know what he was doing, he was upset and scared - Hell, we both were, everybody was.

It wasn't his fault, those bastards pushed him until he snapped. He was out of his mind and he snapped. I know, it could have been me. I could have done that too. They were going to shoot him down like a dog."

"Yes, they were. All the cowboys were rushing up here from Brownsville to shoot my boy. But they didn't - you stopped it. Now he's in jail, but at least he's still alive, thanks to you. We owe you, Justin Reynolds. We owe you big time for what you did. Thank you."

"Nobody owes me, Ma'am. I had to do it - it could have been me."

"Maybe it could have, but it wasn't. It was Jeremy, and you saved my boy. And you can stop calling me 'ma'am', I ain't no lady. I'm called 'Ma' - as in Ma Barker. One of you lazy sods get this boy a beer."

Now the suspicious stares were gone and there were smiles all around the rooms, all except for Billy who still glowered at him. Butch opened the fridge door to get a bottle, but Justin said, "No thank you, Mrs. Carver. I don't want a beer, I can't drink it."

"You can't? Well good for you. How about a cup of tea then?"

"Yes, a cup of tea would be great, thank you."

Butch turned and switched the electric kettle on. Ma looked back into the lounge.

"Someone - Billy, you'll do. Bring us one of the good cups from the china cabinet, will ya?"

"The good cups?" Billy queried. "Let him have one of the old ones. He can get it himself can't he?"

"No he can't. He's our guest here. You get me one of those good cups, or I'll do you Boy!"

Billy came storming out and slammed a saucer, then a cup, down on the kitchen table.

"Having guests now are we? I suppose the bloody Queen will be next." He stalked off back to the fireplace.

"You be careful with my good cups boy! They're older than you, cost more too."

She turned back to Justin and grimaced. "Don't mind him, Justin. He's still pissed, still can't believe that Jeremy would actually shoot him.'

"I know the feeling. I didn't think he would either."

"No. But, like you said, he didn't know what he was doing." She turned back, looking into the lounge again. "Get over it already, Billy. It was just a bloody scratch - and only one too.'

Turning back to Justin, she continued, "They're really close those two, my boys, Jeremy and Billy. So he's upset."

Stretch scoffed, "Yeah. And we all know how close, don't we? Kissing cousins!"

"Butt out of it, Stretch! Go and make yourself useful - get some coal in or something."

Turning to Justin, she said, "The boys are close. Jeremy helped Billy out a lot when he really needed it. So, Justin - (indicating the crutches beside her) - we are a pair of old crocks aren't we? At least your wounds will get better."

The other woman in the room poured his tea with a smile. "Do you take milk? Sugar?"

This is my daughter, Cecily," said Ma. "She's Billy's mum."

"Thank you Ma'am. No milk or sugar thanks. Just tea."

"Just tea? You're welcome Justin. Wouldn't hurt you to lay off the beer as well Billy Mathieson!"

"Aah, get off my back. I ain't no friggin' saint." Billy walked out to the front of the house, but soon returned and stood leaning on the doorframe, watching, with a beer in his hand.

"You're telling me, you're no saint," said Ma. "But he's a good boy really, underneath all the crap. How are your grandparents, Justin? We used to be quite close too, your granddad and me, but then he went running off after Kathy Adams. If things had turned out differently, you could have been one of my grandsons too. But that was all a long time ago. Lot of water's gone under the bridge since then."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Yes really. I guess I'm just a skeleton in Bob Reynolds' closet, pretty big skeleton though. It was a long time ago, we were just kids - no older than you are now."

"The grandparents are fine, Ma'am. Both are well. But how is Jeremy? Where is he now?"

"He's okay, I guess. They've got him over the hill, locked up in Rolleston prison, in the pysch. unit and doped up to the eyeballs. My poor baby."

"What will happen to him, do you think?"

"I don't know. There will be a trial of course, that boy's dead and others were shot, including you. They'll probably call him mad, I think, and shut him away for a long, long time."

"I will be at the trial. I will speak for him - for his defence, Jeremy was a victim there too."

"You would do that? Bless you my boy, you're a good kid. That would help him a lot, I'm sure."

"Do you think that I'd be able to go and see him? Or write to him even? He must be feeling awful, and so alone."

"I don't think he knows what's going on, they've got him so full of drugs. They wouldn't let you in to see him, they won't even let me - and I'm the next of kin. But, I will write to him and tell him that you're asking after him. He'll be back here soon, for the trial - or to be charged anyway. That'll happen here in Westpoint, hopefully we can see him then. I'll let you know."

He finished his tea, stood and said, "I'd better be going. Thank you, Mrs. Carver. I really would like to see Jeremy."

"Thank you, Justin, and thanks for coming around. You're welcome here any time at all - my door will always be open to you. You ARE a bloody hero, Justin Reynolds, and thank you."

"Thank you Ma'am. I'm not a hero, I'm just me. Goodbye Mrs. Carver, Mrs. Mathieson, Butch, Stretch." he looked over at the lounge, but Billy had gone.

They said their goodbyes, and he left, out of the back door and up the drive. When he went around the front of the house, Billy was there sitting on one of the car seats on the verandah. He smiled and nodded at him, and went to walk past, a bit embarrassed, but Billy stopped him, calling out, "Reynolds!"

"Billy?" he replied.

"You weren't afraid at all, were you? With Stretch and his gun."

"I wasn't afraid. I was bloody terrified actually."

Billy grinned," Well you wouldn't have known it. Stretch is okay really, just thinks he's being funny."

"I wasn't laughing."

"No. It wasn't funny at all. Thanks for coming around. That meant a lot to my Gran. You've got a lot of balls, Reynolds. Most people around here wouldn't give her the time of day."

"I'm not most people."

"No, you're certainly not. That must be your brother parked over there."

"Yes. That's him. My brother Jonathan."

"Yeah. Spitting bloody image isn't he? Is he a hero too?"

"Well he's my hero. Goodbye Billy, and thanks."

"Thanks? Thank you. See you around, Justin." He got up and went inside.

Justin stood and grinned to himself, 'I hope so, Billy. I really hope so.' He crossed over the road to Jonathan's car.