she spoke. ‘In a strange way it’s because of you I’m here in Darwin.’ He peered at her quizzically. ‘Lucy’s death upset me so deeply I resigned. My old boss, who’s dead unfortunately, said I was being too hasty. He’d spent a lot of time in the outback and reckoned there were things we could do to help Aboriginal people. He was a rare one. Not many thought his way and his views weren’t popular. But he believed in doing the right thing and often that meant sidestepping policy.’
‘So what are you doing ’ere? Did ya change police forces or somethin’?’
‘No.’ Connors smiled at him. ‘You may not remember but you asked me to contact Brigitte Murphy. I did, and after a bloody big effort to convince her to tell what she knew, the result eventually was a whole new world for me. I now work in child protection. I’m still with the WA Police and I’m attending a child protection conference here.’ She pulled a face. ‘Most cops I know think this work’s bullshit – not real police work. They reckon it’s for “do-gooders” in welfare. But when I think of Lucy, they did her no good and neither of you fared well.’ She smiled tautly. ‘So, I’m in the vanguard of this field. It’s new work and, over time, I hope to help lots of kids.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he paused, ‘that bloody Wildman. I can see now ya stuck ya neck out. Didn’t appreciate it then but I never forgot. You spoke for me!’
Connors nodded. ‘You won’t be surprised to learn that Wildman’s bad habits caught up with him. He belted someone once too often. That someone had influence and the Discipline Board sacked him. Last I heard, he was a hopeless alcoholic.’
‘Yeah … well, the grog’s no good, but that’s justice.’
Connors laughed, a soft warm sound. ‘Enough of him. What are you doing here?’ She didn’t want to think any more about what could have happened the previous night had Fox not appeared. Having him talk kept that darkness at bay.
‘Where do I start? Long journey.’ As before, when he’d spoken of Lucy, Connors discerned an underlying sadness.
‘Tell me about Darwin. When did you come here? Why did you come here? What do you do? From the look of you, you seem to be doing alright.’
Fox laughed aloud. ‘Spoken like a true copper. Did ya think I was on the dole or somethin’?’ He continued to smile, liking her warmth and interest in him. ‘I’ve been ’ere a couple of years workin’ in the Botanical Gardens. Before I used to work with Darrigan’s Boxing Troupe. Done a bit of work on boats in Broome and with horses. But really, I’m on the run.’ His dry tone and sparkling eyes suggested the contrary.
Connors gazed at him speculatively. ‘I don’t believe it, pull the other one! Let’s go in here for lunch and you can tell me the real story.’ They walked into the Bluebird Café on Knuckey Street, a place grounded in the fifties. It was long and narrow with comfortable, high backed, six-seater wooden booths. A short, dumpy, balding man with pencil-line moustache stepped forward to escort them to a seat. He had a happy lived-in sort of face and an impossible Greek accent. As they walked towards the back, Fox noted the cafe was close to full. Conversation and laughter mingled with the rich aroma of good food.
They settled into a booth and sank into the thick, padded blue cushions and slid towards the wall. As they moved, the high backed seats creaked and the scarred wooden tabletop rocked, small features confirming the café’s popularity. They ordered hot coffee and waited for the menu.
‘You first,’ he said pre-emptively.
Connors smiled, knowing he was buying time before committing himself.
‘Not much to tell really. I wasn’t married when I first met you. I am now, to John McNulty, a wonderful man who is a doctor at Royal Perth Hospital. We have three children and live in South Perth. John and I both love swimming so we take our kids to the beach as often as possible. Cottesloe is our favourite. And, as I said, I’m helping develop a new field of police work in WA which is due mainly to you and Lucy. I’m happy, I love my husband, my kids and my work. That’s me!’ She smiled again, a gentle engaging expression of pleasure.
Fox gazed at her enviously. He would forever regard her as a considerate person genuinely interested in the welfare of others, and yet, by the mere colour of her skin, she was unlikely to experience the sorrow and pain inflicted upon him and so many like him. But that was not her fault. To the contrary, her compassion and good spirit were focussed on change, however limited it might be.
They both ordered barramundi, chips and a Greek salad. Slowly, over the meal, Fox recounted his life in the missions at Moore River and Mount Barker. He watched Connors pale as he described “the line”, the sexual and other assaults by the Brothers and their favourite older boys, bouts of solitary confinement, poor meals, incessant lying about families and the constant repudiation of their culture. Brother John loomed as a gargantuan bully obsessed with young boys. His activities were overtly encouraged through the wilful blindness of his institution and by government indifference. Fox spoke softly of the violence he encountered for defending younger boys and the punishment he’d meted out to offenders in return. Eventually, he told Connors of his escape and the long ride home to Turkey Creek for a bitter and empty purpose.
Connors listened attentively, her stomach knotted, her meal forgotten. Mentally, she compared the life of the then ten-year-old Fox with her almost nine-year-old son Jason. She winced at the futility and malice of a government policy so short on standards, so bereft of consistency and so lacking in compassion. Yet beneath the horror, Fox’s strength and character shone with integrity and a kind of wild purity. By any measure, he was an unqualified success. She certainly understood his streak of mongrel, evident not only from the way he defended her the previous night, but also from the fierce penalties dished out to Mount Barker’s bullies. In a perverse way, she thought him principled. And there was no doubting his courage. Fox was a young man with presence and a dry laconic sense of humour in spite of his horrifying life’s experience.
She truly liked him.
CHAPTER 8
Abruptly, Connors pushed back into the booth, white faced. ‘Would you mind if we left now? I need some air.’ As she paid the bill she glanced at Fox and said, ‘Don’t argue. Let’s walk down to the beach.’ They strolled slowly, not speaking, Connors unsettled.
‘What you said in there made me realise just how hard it’s going to be to change things. Your story is not only wretched, but horribly dispiriting for what I’m trying to do now. You are remarkable. Do you …?’ She stopped, an amalgam of sadness, softness and profound understanding washing over her face. ‘Remarkable,’ she said softly.
Fox, unused to praise felt a warm glow. ‘Well, I always planned goin’ back to Mum. After Lucy died, that’s what kept me goin’.’ His tone was subdued, thoughtful.
Walking through Centennial Park they again lapsed into silence – memories of the previous night haunting. On the sand, Connors shucked her sandals, stuffed them in her bag and walked in the warm frothy water.
Pensively, she said, ‘I don’t know how you survived those years and I had no idea it was that bad. Yes, I knew the policy was, to use your words, crap! I knew it was discriminatory. I knew it was harsh. But I didn’t know it was so malicious, so calculated, so violent or … so … bloody horrible! It cannot continue like this. It just can’t! Why don’t you work to change things? Maybe even work with me?’
‘What, ya mean like bein’ out there? Like Gary Foley over east? Nah, that’s not for me. Coulda got involved at Noonkanbah
