And then, thinking of the dark haired youth who had regarded her with such an appraising and admiring eye, much more sexual and demanding than his willowy brother, Hilary would allow herself to feel some grief.
Xavier had made her blush with his bold advances, and wrap herself around the unsuspecting Vianney, who had squeezed her arm in response but not stopped talking or doing whatever he was doing at the time.
‘Vianney is away with the fairies half the time’ Xavier had said, nodding, aware of it all, smiling and shameless. ‘You want to watch out. One day he might not come back from underneath the faery fort – the Good People will have kept him there.’
But Xavier was the one who had been drawn into the dancing of the Otherworld, and it was he who had forgotten his home and his people, and it was he who had not returned from that other country that lies inside the hills and under the wave.
Chapter 6 - In the night dark
That terrifying roll of the old car – the stuff of nightmares for years afterwards. The banging and trashing of small limbs, a riot of flesh and joints and bruising close collisions, until finally the car threw itself into what turned out to be a low ditch. There it jammed, askew but, blessedly, right side up.
The boys heard their father pushing and shoving against his door. The inside light came on as hot night air poured into the car. Relief was everywhere. Lolly must have taken the worst of the hit. There was blood coming from his scalp, blood splattered on his side of the car door. Vianney lay on him heavily, helplessly and Xavier too was in the way. The front door closed again and the light went out. The boys waited for their father to open their door and yank them out.
A good few minutes must have passed before they understood that they would have to get themselves out. Although perhaps Sean was lurking outside, ready to punish any signs of resistance.
Vianney decided to risk it. Lolly’s side of the car was a dark bank of earth. Even though Xavier’s door might be able to open, the little fella was crying, hopeless. Vianney pushed himself off his brothers, apologising and swearing as his hands and knees dug into them, until he had rolled himself over the back seat into the front. The car roof was buckled low above them, but he just squeezed through. Then he was on his stomach facing the driver’s door. He struggled and squirmed to sit up, reached for the handle and pushed. The door opened. No–one outside was blocking it. He pushed it further open and scrambled out.
There was no sign of his father. There was no sign of anything. They had rolled so far from the rough track, he could no longer see any road. Beyond the light of the car interior, it was very dark in the waiting bush. And silent. As if the car crashing had silenced all the creatures, shocked the trees even, and everything in the world was holding its breath. Except for Xavier. He was still crying steadily.
‘Come on,’ Vianney pulled and tugged at the back door, until it opened slightly – it had been buckled and pranged in the rolling. He needed someone to push from inside. But Xavier was frozen into his position, weeping and whimpering. Vianney reached his hand in and tugged at Xavier’s curled up legs, ‘come on, little pip squeak!’ He had hoped the insult would fire him up, but Xavier cried harder.
‘Wait Vianney!’ Lolly instructed. Lolly was now wriggling over into the front seat, pulling and pushing himself to get out. He was much bigger than Vianney – it was a tight fit. Eventually he heaved himself out onto the road. The car light shone on the side of his bloodied face.
‘Yuck’ Vianney pulled a face. But Lolly just rubbed his hand over his eyes, moving hair and blood out of his way. ‘You’re not so good looking yourself,’ he said. Vianney touched his own face. His left hand felt something raw and wet, and came away with blood. Shit. Amazing. He hadn’t felt a thing.
Lolly stood beside Vianney in the dark hot night. Together they yanked and pulled the back door open as far as they could. They regarded their youngest sobbing brother, now firmly locked into foetal position.
‘Come on Xavier,’ Vianney urged, ‘you’re not even hurt. Lolly and I cushioned your fall. Look, Lolly and I are bleeding.’ He hoped the information might entertain or divert, but Xavier just wailed more.
‘Ssshh, Vianney.’ Lolly pushed him gently away. ‘Stop it. He’s only four.’
The two older boys half lugged Xavier out into the night. Once he was standing, his wails lessened. In the dark of the bush, Lolly’s blood was less visible, a damp current in his black hair. He patted Xavier on the back, and waited for a while. ‘Okay mate?’ Xavier nodded. He still couldn’t speak for the sobs, but he was trying to master himself.
Lolly looked around him with alert confidence. ‘Hold hands’ he instructed, putting Xavier in between him and Vianney. ‘This way,’ Lolly said with conviction as if he could see. As if he had firm knowledge of their direction, and the place they had found themselves in.
There was a powerful relief in being bossed around by Lolly. Vianney had thought it might all have to be up to him.
Chapter 7 - Seek and ye shall find
The text came through from Claudia saying that Vianney had arrived at their place, and like someone in a TV crime drama, Hilary stealthily entered the sunroom/study/junkroom, thrilled by anxiety – Lolly and Claudia’s place was only about ten minutes brisk walk away. They lived, of course, closer to the beach, money paving the way.
Hilary moved her old guitar case out of the way. Surprised to see it there. Had Vianney been playing? She spoke soothingly, in case it was getting excited by her touch, sensing her close presence from inside its battered case. ‘One day, one day, soon,’ she lied.
She lifted the old framed photo of Vianney’s father gently from its position on his desk. Handsome Sean Ryan, forever young, smiled out at her from his yellowy orange Polaroid world, his black hair 70’s long, his strong working hands resting on top of a young Vianney’s shoulders. Xavier was a mop-topped cherub with only the top half of his face showing in the bottom part of the picture, and half of Lolly was glimpsed to the right. Whoever had taken the photo - Kate? - was either a hopeless photographer or had had eyes only for Sean.
Hilary started with the papers piled up around Vianney’s laptop. She could see bits and pieces of Vianney’s own script about the loving but doomed 19th century Ryan brothers. Vianney had been working on it for years. Philip Ryan had come out from County Kilkenny to NSW as a free settler, to support his brother Michael, a convict. Framed, they had declared, ‘a sincere patriot’, and innocent of the charge of murder. Circumstantial evidence, jealous neighbours etc. The brothers had established a small dairy holding, working hard on the land. Stolen land, of course, from the traditional owners, just as it had been in Ireland, but that didn’t concern any of the Irish then. Then the convict brother Michael, clearly a loser, had drowned in a Maitland flash flood in 1859. The whites had not yet come to understand Australia’s ecology.
It was Vianney’s script that was doomed, Claudia had said, privately, (so she thought) to Siena. Irish Australia was no longer TV fodder. They’d had The Sullivans, and Brides of Christ. What more did they want? It was time to move on. There were other voices in Australia now.
‘I hadn’t noticed they’ve asked you Anglo guys to shut up yet.’ Siena claimed she had retorted to Claudia. ‘Personally if I see another program about the fucking Tudors on the ABC, I’ll scream my fucking head off.’
Hilary looked underneath Vianney’s script, and went rifling through a sheaf of papers. Feeling terrible, feeling excited. Realised she was not really breathing.
It was almost too easy in the end. Her eye leapt at the word Davitt, in a pile of papers clipped together.