Chapter II:  WANGARATTA STATION, NORTHERN TERRITORY

 

 

"...Once more, but this time I want you to slow it down, breath between each line, make the guitar follow you, not the other way round. And take it down a key. Your low notes are pretty cool and they give it more soul. Man, this is painful stuff...you gotta sound like you're bleeding, mate..." Liam was accompanying on an acoustic guitar, supplying a more complex accompaniment to Fallon's basic chords. He leaned over, pointed at a line on the crumpled A4 sheet littered with scrawls and crossings out. "From there...I'll try a harmony..."

Liam had asked Fallon to wait behind after the others had gone, to run through a piece the boy had written, away from the prying - and mocking- eyes of his peer group.  A shy, gawky, clumsy teenager, all sharp edges and uncoordinated limbs, Fallon Clearwater was hugely lacking in self-confidence, one of those kids who always found himself on the butt end of the jokes, as much because he exuded a subliminal victim aura than that the rest were particularly unkind. They were just normal kids. It was the way it was in the world of young people. Some kids strut around secure in their own inimitable invincibility, while others walked hunched, their heads weighed down by the instinctive knowledge that they were not worthy. Both sides picked up the clues - and the cycle of intimidation continued.

Fallon's family had not helped his situation being even more dysfunctional than most in a community where family life was already in chaos. Children with miserable homes themselves turn their vulnerabilities outwards with relief when they compared their reality to one that was even worse. Fallon was derided for his drunken, violent, incoherent beast of a father and the sad, alcoholic punch bag that was his mother. He himself was an unattractive kid, stick-thin, ungainly, and scruffy, his hair a wild mop that covered half his face. It was as if he willingly contrived in his own debasement. Or so it seemed to Liam Thorne, who constantly ruminated on why people who were not blessed with beauty seemed to go out of their way to make themselves look even worse. Or was that the point?

But Fallon had one outstanding talent, a beautiful husky-sweet singing voice coupled with an innate musical sensibility. He wrote powerful songs with lyrics that were raw but bled with a naïve poetry that shed profound light upon the world he inhabited. Liam was fascinated by this sad little boy whose seam of hungry determination brought him to the Centre and kept him coming back, despite the lowly status he occupied within the group - and the constant bullying. Liam was also intrigued to understand where this natural skill originated in a child who had never had a single word of encouragement in his life, not to mention a music lesson or a chance to hear or sing songs. Yet, Fallon had nevertheless taught himself to pick a guitar with some finesse. He could even carry a simple tune on a piano after only a few sessions of formal tuition.

For a while they continued, singing and playing, stopping every so often to discuss points, Liam offering invaluable insights. The boy was sullen and impassive throughout but it would be easy to misread his body language. Fallon Clearwater was in fact drinking it all up, leaping on the suggestions and criticism, each time producing a higher level than Liam had expected. He wished he could have spent the entire day alone with this raw genius even though he knew his real job here wasn't to hunt for the Fallons of this world, but to use his music to bring a few alternatives to the children of these forgotten communities. Yet, who would not be moved by real talent when it presented?

The session was winding down when Fallon set down his guitar. 

"You got anything new in the works?" 

Liam stopped, drummed his fingers in thought on the soundboard and then began strumming. "Yeah. Got a lot of things on the back burner. I'm always getting ideas but I don't always follow through these days, ya know? Or maybe you don't, kid. You're still hungry enough to care... Anyhow...I'm working on this little ditty. See what you think of it, huh...?" He rummaged through a file of lyrics he always carried with him and propped a piece of paper up, squinting to read his own handwriting...

 

 

Fallon listened for a while, then picked up his guitar in accompaniment, leaning in to read the words, supplying a falsetto line that sounded like a female harmony. Liam looked across nodding in acknowledgement. It did not reveal the half of what he felt. The kid's ability was innate. He just had it.

 

 

"Whaddya think?" Liam asked when they had come to the end and the last echoing strains of their voices and the guitar died away. There had been an initial pause after their impromptu performance. Emotions take a while to subside.  Fallon replied with his trademark shrug.

"S'okay, I suppose. Not bad..."

Liam chuckled. "Gee, thanks, mate. I sure know where to come for a reference," He didn't need any compliments from the kid. Fallon's musical response had said it all much better anyway.

"Better call it a day, Fal. You need to get off home soon; it's late... You eaten since lunch?" The Centre provided a decent meal once a day at lunchtime, but Liam knew Fallon would get nothing at home that night unless he sorted it out himself. If there was anything in the cupboard back at his place worth preparing, that was.

The boy shook his head but didn't ask for anything. Liam took his cue. "I'm bloody starving, mate. Let's go make a few sarnies, hey?" Again, Fallon said nothing but followed Liam anyway. He was often reminded of a puppy dog. Fallon was rarely far away from his side when he was on site.

In the kitchen, Liam nodded to the caretaker, rifled the refrigerator and found some bacon, eggs and sausages, throwing together a mixed grill with a pile of toast.

"Put the kettle on. Make us a brew, mate..." Fallon obediently followed instructions, setting down two mugs of hot milky, well-sugared tea. The man and boy tucked in.

Suddenly Fallon spoke up. "My Dad says you're a poofter. He says he read it in the paper..."

"Your Dad can read?" Liam grinned over. 

Fallon smiled sheepishly. "I think it was wrapped around his pie and chips...But he says you're only doing this because you like to hang out with young boys..."

Anger flared in Liam. The useless bastard was trying to undermine his son's trust in someone who might just be a decent male role model to his son. How low can one get?

"My sexual habits are not up for general discussion, mate. Judge for yourself... You ever felt uncomfortable around me? Well, have ya?"

Fallon shook his head and carried on eating. Then, "Well, still..."

"What the fuck's that mean? 'Well, still...' " Liam retaliated bluntly. "You think you're in danger? Mate, your skinny arse would be the last one I was after. Word in your ear, mate...do something about your bloody hair if you want to charm me..."

"So you are gay then?" Fallon retorted impassively, peering across at him through the tangled mop.

"I don't remember saying I was. On the other hand, I don't remember saying I wasn't, either..."

"Means you are then. Any normal man would've hit another bloke who called him gay. You didn't even bother..." Fallon reasoned, cramming another slice of buttered toast in his mouth. Liam began to realise why other kids were always picking on Fallon. He just didn't know when to shut up.

"Normal bloke? Don't I look normal?" Liam asked. 

Fallon looked him up and down. "You can't be normal if you want to spend time up here when you could be swanning it down in Sydney with a load of good looking sheilas...or fellas, if that's what you like..."

At that Liam smiled. "That's not exactly the same thing. You know, mate, I've done the swanning bit and it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Nor are most of the hot chicks. I'm here because I've got a lot of money and you lot haven't. I just thought it was a bit stupid if I was sitting at home miserable on a pile of dosh when it might just be of some use to kids up here. Maybe I got that wrong?"

Fallon shrugged and buttered yet another piece of toast. "Why were you miserable? Is it hard being rich? Or gay?"

Liam rolled his eyes. "I'm not bloody gay, mate!  I was miserable because although I had a lot of financial comfort, I was a bit barren on the emotional satisfaction side. A bloke needs to find a bit of meaning in life, you know. Things are just tough at times, okay?"

"Too bloody right," Fallon muttered. "What the fuck would you know about tough, with all your millions, mate?"

"Money isn't everything, mate."

"Only people with too much money say that. What's tough in your life? You're famous, good looking, rich. How can you be miserable? Something wrong with ya?" Fallon was shaking the bone here.

Liam shrugged. "Too much time to feel sorry for myself, probably. You're right. My life is pretty good. But sometimes I forget to remember that. Coming here keeps it real. And helps me remember what it was like when I started. When I wasn't rich and famous and just had this burning need to sing..."

"Your Dad knock you and your Mam about?"

Liam shook his head. "Nope. He's a good guy."

"You grow up poor, then?"

Again Liam shook his head. "No. We had money. Dad made a lot of money..."

"Businessman?"

"Soldier."

Fallon scoffed that one away. "How can a soldier make money?"

"He worked in other related fields. Intelligence, security, international man of mystery sort of crap. Wasn't at home much, but saved the world regularly."

Fallon took some time with that. "Like James Bond?"

Liam grinned. "I cannot imagine my father ever drinking Vodka martinis, mate. No, not Bond. Tougher than Bond. Miles tougher."

Fallon put down his fork. "That why you're unhappy? Because you can't live up to him?"

This profoundly insightful observation rocked Liam. The kid had probably hit some sort of proverbial nail on the head. His acuity made Liam feel uncomfortable. Who was mentoring whom here? "I love my Dad. Yeah, he's a hard act to follow all right. But still, a hell of a lot easier to live with than a drunken brute. So I'm not complaining."

"If you're not gay then, have you got a girl?"

"I've got lots of girls, mate. Including a very important one. The most important one in the world, my daughter. Nina. She's three, going on twenty-three, you know how little girls are?  Scary, mate. But apart from her, no one really special. What about you, then? Who rocks your world?"

The boy laughed. "I've never had a girlfriend. Who'd date a loser like me?" 

Liam smiled at the boy's certainty. "You sing one of those songs and the girls would be wetting their knickers, mate. You gotta understand women, Fal. If a bloke's tough and tender, they don't give a bugger what he looks like...Trust me..."

"...it bloody helps if he's got some money, like you, mate..." Fallon added with a healthy dose of cynicism.

"Well, get some then, ya nong! You want something bad enough, you'll find a way. Pour us another cup of tea, will ya?"

Fallon filled up their mugs. "What happened to the mother? I mean your baby's Mum?'

"Didn't work out. It was a long time ago." Liam had no intention of confiding.

"Still see her?" Fallon wasn't satisfied. When he had something in his head, he was like a bull butting a fence.

"Yeah. Have to. We share Nina, don't we? We'll always be around each other."

"She got another bloke?"

Liam's laugh had an edge of scorn. "She's always got another bloke, mate. Each one younger and more clueless than the last. Fliss can't deal with real men. Which is why we are no longer a couple..."

"Thought you said it was over?"

"It is."

"So why do you still give a shit who she's with?" Fallon's reasoning was faultless for a boy who claimed to have no experience with the other sex. The kid was one big ball of intuition. Fallon suddenly looked up at him, making a rare direct eye contact. "It's about her, isn't it? That song you just did. For your ex? Why you still writing songs about her if you finished ages ago?"

Liam sighed. "Funny thing about women, Fal. There's only ever one who hurts you enough to make you sing about them. I can't write about anyone else than her, not because I still love her, but because there hasn't been anyone else who's made me feel much of anything. Not since her. And if it isn't real then I can't fake it. Not in my music. I'm pretty fucking good at faking it in everything else though," he added cryptically.

Fallon paused and thought about his words - but gave no sign of having understood what Liam was saying. That suited Liam just fine. This kid was beginning to spook him with his rapier-like observations. He stowed his guitar back in its case and stood up. It was time to wrap things up

Liam punched him playfully in the arm. "You watch it, mate. There're not many blokes would dare to put that question to me. Even my own super-tough Dad...Listen, you'd better get off before it gets too dark. I'll give you a ride back to the town. I want an early night. Gotta shoot through tomorrow at the butt crack...You keep going over those pieces, mate. And write, write, write... I'll be back next month. Till then Blake will be working with you. I've filled in him. And there's another teacher coming up from Darwin any day now. Apply the usual charm, mate, and get yourself in his good books..." he added with a grin.

"What's he called?"

"Sam McPhail."

"Bloody stupid name, if you ask me," Fallon replied as they sauntered over to the car.

"Nobody did, you bastard," Liam retorted. ""And for a guy called Fallon Churchill Clearwater, I'd be careful whose name I laughed at..."

At the car door, Fallon stopped. "Mate? You're all right, ya know? I mean, ya know...thanks. You don't have to do all this. I don't even know why you do. But I appreciate it...a lot..."

Liam observed him fondly. He really cared about this boy. One life changed made all this worthwhile. "Take care while I'm gone, mate. You know something...? I think I really am beginning to fancy you...."

They both started laughing; Liam fired the engine, turned up the volume on the radio - and they drove down the tarmac road singing loud to some hackneyed country and western song as the car nosed out onto the uneven dirt track and away in the direction of the main road.

It was dark when Liam drove back along the same track, pitch black night once he left the road, like driving into nothingness. It seemed like the loneliest place on earth, total silence, complete darkness, the only movement in a vast empty primeval landscape. Cresting a ridge that led into the valley where the Centre lay invisible beneath its cloak of night, the only distant signs of life from the accommodation block where the support staff lived. Which was why he was surprised by the backlights of a car chugging along the track ahead of him, a wholly unexpected sight. Liam followed slowly behind, dropping his speed with a natural caution born of experience. It was either someone lost, looking for trouble - or an intrepid reporter following the scent of a story.

The two cars pulled up at the main lobby. Liam kept the engine running, waiting to see who emerged. He did not expect the result. The driver of the front vehicle jumped out aggressively, rounding on Liam as he opened his door.

"Stay where you are! Why are you following me?" It was a female voice but that's all he could make out in the poor light; the woman was standing in shadow.

Liam frowned. He hadn't expected accusations. "Following you? How do you make that out. lady? This is private property, sweetheart. You're the one doing the trespassing. You mind explaining to me where you think you are?"

There was a noticeable relaxing of tension in the young woman at his response. "Sorry... I just got a bit spooked back there with you on my tail for a couple of miles. It's pretty lonely out here," she added somewhat redundantly, as if Liam hadn't noticed.

"...Not to mention remote, love. Hardly the ideal place for a young woman to be going for an evening drive," Liam retorted, still not giving her any quarter.

That remark seemed to annoy her. "I can look after myself. Are you in charge here or something? Just my luck to get on the wrong side of the boss before I even start..." she muttered.

"Kind of..."

"Jeff Warner?"

"No. He's just the director. I'm Liam Thorne..."

"Oh, bugger me...!" she groaned, stepping forward into the light and instantly recognising him at the same time.

Liam laughed. "Was that a response or another accusation? Or maybe a request?" He added with a grin. He had the sudden urge to annoy her again. There was something appealing about her fighting spirit. He fancied another few rounds.

She laughed. Even better, Liam thought; she has a sense of humour. "Then I had better apologise and introduce myself. Sam McPhail. I'm here for a six months' stint. I should have arrived hours ago but I've been lost in the middle of this bloody nowhere..."

She extended a hand. Liam immediately warmed towards her. She knew who he was -but was not at all intimidated. His first impression was a good one and he usually made his mind up about people right from the get go. He gripped hers warmly and shook. "Bugger me back, love! I was expecting a bloke with a name like that. And nobody bothered to correct my mistake, of course. I suppose they thought it was pretty funny...Welcome to the asylum anyway...I'll show you where the rooms are. I'm just off over there now..."

 

To Part Three

Featured Song: Broken Strings by James Morrison and Nelly Furtado (Songs For You, Truths for Me)

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