Banjo and Mr Paterson were due to leave the island the day after Boxing Day. Banjo was going to live at his auntie’s house in Subiaco, just down the hill from Perth Modern, and Mr Paterson was heading up to Cunderdin to work on a new aerodrome.
I walked up to Banjo’s house and knocked on the doorframe. The door stood wide open, with their suitcases ready in the kitchen.
‘We’re off on the early ferry,’ Banjo said.
‘I won’t come and see you off then,’ I answered. ‘It was bad enough when Dafty got sent away.’
‘No danger of me jumping overboard. Especially at that time of the morning. It’ll be far too cold.’
Banjo knew that my family was leaving too. We were going to Gran’s house in West Leederville, not far from Banjo’s auntie’s. Dad was going to work on the new aerodrome at Dunreath near Guildford.
‘I’ll see you in about a month then,’ said Banjo. He held out his hand and we shook like two elderly farmers who’d just sold a prize ram, all serious and businesslike.
‘You said goodbye to Dafty?’ I asked.
‘I reckon he’ll be at the jetty in the morning,’ answered Banjo. ‘Don’t you?’
I nodded. Of course he would be.
I wondered if Banjo realised poor Dafty would soon be all alone. His mother worked for the army in the kitchens and was staying on when the army took over the whole island. When my family left there’d be no other kids on the island at all. I wondered if Dafty knew that, if his mum had told him there’d be just him and his chook and nobody else except loads of soldiers.
‘I’ll be going then,’ I said to Banjo.
It seemed so weird. We’d spent nearly every waking minute together. I knew everything about Banjo. I knew him better than I knew myself and now it was all going to change. Nothing could be the same once we got back to the mainland. Banjo would find new friends at Perth Modern, and besides, they’d probably expect him to work hard for his scholarship. Afternoons and weekends and times like that—times when we did decent, worthwhile things, like exploring and fishing and building carts and canoes.
I lifted my hand in a sort of wave and stepped out through the front doorway. We both realised this moment was really the end of our time on the island.
‘Jack?’
I turned back.
‘Want some Anzac biscuits before you go? I found them in the cupboard.’ He smiled. ‘They taste just like the ones your mum makes.’
‘They are the ones my mum makes. Won’t your dad kill you?’ I asked.
‘Nah. I can’t seem to do anything wrong anymore. I reckon Dad thinks after I leave Perth Mod I might become a police inspector or a judge. He doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of me anymore. Just in case.’