I looked at him and said, “There’s no point in going looking for them, Mr. Dan. I don’t want you to do that. The thing is, these two friends of my sister’s, they are sort of imaginary. They don’t exist. They’s invisible. And besides, I’ve found them, or found their bodies at any rate. They’re dead.”
Mr. Dan almost choked on his pipe. He sighed and said, “Listen, kid. Ashley, or whatever you’re called. I’m a busy bloke. Now hop it.”
“I noticed there is a space next to Bob the Swede in the cemetery,” I said, refusing to budge.
Mr. Dan took the glasses off his forehead. “You been playin’ around in my cemetery, kid?”
I didn’t see how he could claim it was his cemetery. The dead owned it. It was their claim. Or else they were ratting it under his nose.
“I wanna buy that space for a grave for Pobby and Dingan,” I told Mr. Dan. “You see, I don’t think my sis is going to get better until she sees them buried once and for all.”
“You can’t bury imaginary people,” said Mr. Dan. “There’s nothing to bury.”
“Believe what you want, Mr. Dan,” I answered. “Just let me buy the claim. Let me have a space in the cemetery.”
“What you offering?”
“Opal.” I took off my right shoe and fished out Dingan’s bellybutton. I had chipped off all the dirt and polished it up with a cloth so it looked better than ever. So beautiful and sparkling. My fingers didn’t like handing it over. Mr. Dan Dunkley took it in his big hand and held it under his light. I was all twitchy and I never took my eyes off it once.
“Fuck me dead!” he said. “Where d’you get this, kid? You rat this? You better not have ratted this. Where d’you get it?” I never saw anyone put on his opal-glasses so quick.
“Noodling.”
“You found this noodling?”
“Yup. Noodling on a mullock heap at my dad’s claim.”
“This don’t look like no opal some kid found noodling on his dad’s mullock heap. I reckon you ratted it from Old Sid.”
I started getting a bit pissed at this. I suppose I was beginning to feel like Kellyanne and Dad. It wasn’t too cool having folks not believing what you were saying all the time.
“I bloody well did not,” I said.
“This is a valuable stone. This is worth a lot of money, kid,” said Mr. Dan.
“Is it worth as much as a grave and a couple of coffins?” I asked him.
Mr. Dan sharpened up his eyes and looked me up and down. He leant closer over his desk.
“Just about,” he said in a whisper. “Your daddy know about this, son?”
“Nope. And I don’t want him to. Because if he knew about it, Mr. Dan, then he’d go crazy with excitement and then he wouldn’t let me buy Pobby and Dingan a grave with it, and then Kellyanne wouldn’t get any better.”
“Anybody else know?”
“Nobody ’cept Kellyanne.”
Dan Dunkley held the stone under the light again and twisted it around so the red flash streaked across it. I could see those colours coming up beautiful and I knew I was on to a winner.
“Okay, son. You got a deal,” said Mr. Dan. “I’ll let you have the grave for the opal.”
“Great!” I said. “And I want you to arrange the funeral for Pobby and Dingan too, Mr. Dan,” I said. “And make it realistic. My sis won’t get better if it’s not realistic. You better make it like a funeral for two normal kids and make them coffins and everything and read some Bible stuff. Make it on Sunday at eleven.”
“I’ll talk to the preacher,” said Mr. Dan, not taking his eyes off Dingan’s bellybutton stone. “And you’d better talk to him too. He’s gonna think I’m doolally or something.”
13
I walked out of Dan Dunkley’s house a little dazed. I was pleased I’d got a space for Pobby and Dingan in the cemetery, but I had a hollow, aching feeling behind my ribs which wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t believe an opal had passed through my hands so quick. An opal I had found on my lonesome on the Williamsons’ claim at
Mr. Dan almost choked on his pipe. He sighed and said, “Listen, kid. Ashley, or whatever you’re called. I’m a busy bloke. Now hop it.”
“I noticed there is a space next to Bob the Swede in the cemetery,” I said, refusing to budge.
Mr. Dan took the glasses off his forehead. “You been playin’ around in my cemetery, kid?”
I didn’t see how he could claim it was his cemetery. The dead owned it. It was their claim. Or else they were ratting it under his nose.
“I wanna buy that space for a grave for Pobby and Dingan,” I told Mr. Dan. “You see, I don’t think my sis is going to get better until she sees them buried once and for all.”
“You can’t bury imaginary people,” said Mr. Dan. “There’s nothing to bury.”
“Believe what you want, Mr. Dan,” I answered. “Just let me buy the claim. Let me have a space in the cemetery.”
“What you offering?”
“Opal.” I took off my right shoe and fished out Dingan’s bellybutton. I had chipped off all the dirt and polished it up with a cloth so it looked better than ever. So beautiful and sparkling. My fingers didn’t like handing it over. Mr. Dan Dunkley took it in his big hand and held it under his light. I was all twitchy and I never took my eyes off it once.
“Fuck me dead!” he said. “Where d’you get this, kid? You rat this? You better not have ratted this. Where d’you get it?” I never saw anyone put on his opal-glasses so quick.
“Noodling.”
“You found this noodling?”
“Yup. Noodling on a mullock heap at my dad’s claim.”
“This don’t look like no opal some kid found noodling on his dad’s mullock heap. I reckon you ratted it from Old Sid.”
I started getting a bit pissed at this. I suppose I was beginning to feel like Kellyanne and Dad. It wasn’t too cool having folks not believing what you were saying all the time.
“I bloody well did not,” I said.
“This is a valuable stone. This is worth a lot of money, kid,” said Mr. Dan.
“Is it worth as much as a grave and a couple of coffins?” I asked him.
Mr. Dan sharpened up his eyes and looked me up and down. He leant closer over his desk.
“Just about,” he said in a whisper. “Your daddy know about this, son?”
“Nope. And I don’t want him to. Because if he knew about it, Mr. Dan, then he’d go crazy with excitement and then he wouldn’t let me buy Pobby and Dingan a grave with it, and then Kellyanne wouldn’t get any better.”
“Anybody else know?”
“Nobody ’cept Kellyanne.”
Dan Dunkley held the stone under the light again and twisted it around so the red flash streaked across it. I could see those colours coming up beautiful and I knew I was on to a winner.
“Okay, son. You got a deal,” said Mr. Dan. “I’ll let you have the grave for the opal.”
“Great!” I said. “And I want you to arrange the funeral for Pobby and Dingan too, Mr. Dan,” I said. “And make it realistic. My sis won’t get better if it’s not realistic. You better make it like a funeral for two normal kids and make them coffins and everything and read some Bible stuff. Make it on Sunday at eleven.”
“I’ll talk to the preacher,” said Mr. Dan, not taking his eyes off Dingan’s bellybutton stone. “And you’d better talk to him too. He’s gonna think I’m doolally or something.”
13
I walked out of Dan Dunkley’s house a little dazed. I was pleased I’d got a space for Pobby and Dingan in the cemetery, but I had a hollow, aching feeling behind my ribs which wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t believe an opal had passed through my hands so quick. An opal I had found on my lonesome on the Williamsons’ claim at
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