Melinda suddenly shuddered at the thought of Tony Macey cuddling up to Yetta. A six foot lump of a boy, volcanic acne, and self esteem lower than his pitiful IQ, who thinks that wiping wet clay into girls’ hair is hilarious, even a possible career option.
‘Yetta, I’ll be back around four thirty. Stay safe.’
‘Off you go now. You have no need for worry.’
Of course I have no need to worry. Melinda picked up her keys and left the room.
Chapter Seven
Kiwi Janine, who was wearing a smart shirt with jacket and slacks, knocked and entered Kant’s office. Kant looked up from a share prospectus Maxwell had advised him to study. Phew, Dorothy’s had a word in her ear, Kant thought as she ushered John Sturges in.
‘Here’s Muster Sturges, Muster Kant.’
‘Ah, welcome John. Please sit down. Can I offer you a coffee?’ Kant said, standing up and shaking his hand.
‘I’m pretty right, thanks. The lass ’ere just made us one.’
Janine lingered at the door. Kant suspected the girl had aspirations to be more involved with the proceedings at the station. Television stations often brought out romantic notions of fame with some of the younger employees.
Kant nodded at her. ‘Thanks, Janine.’
She swivelled and disappeared.
‘Nice lass,’ John Sturges said warmly.
‘Yes, very pleasant.’
‘Told me she come from Christchurch. Real bad about that earthquake.’
‘Yes, it was terrible. Please John, have a seat.’
Kant sat in the other armchair, crossed his legs and leaned a little towards his guest, who had perched himself near to falling on the edge of the chair holding his knees.
‘So. Vince has had a preliminary chat with you at home.’
‘Well yes, he did. He come round, brought some little cakes too. Nice fella.’
Kant smiled. ‘That’s why we employ him. And I have to say, John, he must have really liked you.’
‘Oh? How’s that?’
‘Well he’s never brought me any cake before.’
John grinned with pride. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s okay really. Now … ’
‘I don’t know what ’e told you but it’s hard to just remember everything off the top of me ’ead. Dunno why I agreed really. But he made me feel kinda easy, you know, to tell stuff.’
‘Sure. All right, well how about you start at the beginning, and if we decide that your story is suitable then we’ll go through how the interview will be carried out on air so there are no surprises for you. The program is not live so we always have plenty of time in which to edit things that don’t work well for you, or indeed us. Think of this as just a chat between two mates … in a pub, very relaxed. How does that sound?’
‘Righteo then, sounds fine.’
John Sturges looked about seventy years of age but he had told Vince he was sixty four. It had not been a compassionate life that had embraced him. The gritty lines, parallel furrows in arid soil, had long been ploughed across his forehead, signs of life’s brutal grip. His wiry unkempt grey hair was in need of basic grooming and his clothes were op shop specials. But it wasn’t so much his appearance that gave the man a washed up look but the way he carried himself. This was not an assertive man with straight back, looking assuredly into a bright future, no. This man’s whole demeanour was weighted down as if merely keeping his body together, his arms, his shoulders, his head, was an effort.
But to get on the show there would have to be more than just feeling sorry for yet another down trodden old fella fallen on hard times.
‘I told the other bloke about how I was treated real bad when I were in State care. Like, you know, Wyborough Hall up Mangalore, ’n’ Ashley Boys’ Home, ’n’ that.’
‘Ashley Boys’ Home?’
‘Yeah. I also spent some time earlier with the Salvos too. That was real bad too. Then when I was at Brighton Area School this kid died of a brain tumour; they reckoned it were me what killed him. I’s called murderer ’n’ stuff. The psychiatrist, he said there was nothin’ wrong with me. The kids and even summa the teachers said I bashed ’is ’ead on the concrete. I never did. Even in Ashley they bashed the guts outa ya.’
‘The boys’ home?’
‘That’s right.’
Kant was already losing the continuity of the man’s nervous ramble. Things that had happened to John Sturges forty or fifty years ago had fused together into a cluttered medley.
‘John, you mentioned the Salvation Army. Surely they would have provided a safe haven for you?’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? There was Major Finlay and Captain Sullivan; keep y’in a dark empty room with nothin’ to keep warm, no bed all night.’
‘How old were you when this was happening?’
‘Five, thereabouts.’
‘Five!’ Kant repeated. ‘Surely you could have told someone. What were your parents doing then?’
‘Dunno. They sent me there ’cos I were a tearaway really; runnin’ away, stealin’ stuff.’ John smiled at this description of himself. ‘I were a bit of an ’anful, see. They just took off, I s’pose. I think someone said they went to Queensland, or me father did anyway. I dunno.’
Although John had clearly endured a hard time growing up in the fifties in Tasmania, there were lots of other people who did it tough. Social support networks were not so much in place then, and so many were left to their own devices, to either sink or swim. There would have to be more to John’s story for him to be a viable contestant.
‘Your dad, what was he like?’
‘Dunno really. Used to bash ya when ’e was drunk. Never touched me sister though. I s’pose I couldn’t fight back being a bit younger ’n’ that. Back then, as I said, I was a bit of an ’anful, you see, a bit wilful like.’ Again, the sheepish grin.
‘So how old were you back then? When your father … hit you, John?’
‘Two.’
‘Two!’
‘I think so. Oh, maybe two ’n’ a ’alf,’ he added, as if the extra six months made a difference. To Kant it sounded like an apology for being such a handful, excusing his father’s violence because that was all he had possibly ever known.
‘Jesus,’ Kant whispered. He hadn’t meant to lose his compo sure but all he could think of was Rosie, proud to be two and a half, steeped in so much love and nurture.
‘See, I reckon it was me being a tearaway. That’s why they sent me to the Salvos. Later, after I left the Brighton school I was sent to Ashley in Deloraine. I was twelve by then but they still kept it on the books like. You know, me being a murderer an all.’
‘You mean the misguided suspicion that you had hurt the boy?’
‘I dunno. I think they always thought it were me, like they wanted someone to blame for stuff. Summa them guards, like I don’t reckon they were very happy themselves.’
‘Yes, I can certainly understand that.’
John scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘Them kids there, and even the staff, still used to bash ya. I run away, I did. Just took off. They told me eventually that it wasn’t me. Not for a coupla years though. Like, you