Edie was supposed to be so smart, but for all her highfalutin talk a train could run over her and she’d have no blinking idea. How could she be so stupid! Robbie scowled and bowled yet another wide.
‘What’s yer problem, dolt?’ Billy called. ‘Wal, get that ball!’
‘Who’re ya calling dolt? Ya idiot!’
‘Whoa. What’s going on?’
‘Where’d the ball go?’ Wally called.
‘Under that tree, dolt!’
Robbie broke into a grin. ‘Yeah, under the tree, dolt!’
He ran forward, put out his hand and the ball landed clean in his palm. He polished it on his trousers as he walked back, took a run up and bowled. The ball slipped between bat and thigh, sliced through the stumps. Robbie threw his hands in the air. ‘Hooya!’
Billy smiled. ‘Your bat.’
Billy was all right. Not as good as Robbie’s dad, of course, but all right. Robbie stood in the crease, thumping his bat against the summer-scorched grass. His dad had always told him to take his time when he first went out. Get your eye in, he’d say. Don’t go for the big shot and get out for a duck.
But today he didn’t care. He cut the ball on the offside and sent it past Wally for a four.
‘Crikey Rob, I’m doggo!’
‘If you were a decent keeper . . .’
‘Who’re you calling indecent?’
Robbie laughed. ‘Do you good to go for a run, mate.’
Wally straightened his shoulders, sucked in his belly. ‘They say I’m not half the man I was.’
‘Wal, you’re a real ladies’ man.’
Wally blew on his fingers. ‘Like to think so.’
Billy laughed. ‘You should both come down to the gym sometime. That’ll sort you out, Wal. Went with me cousin the other day and we joined up. Charlie O’Donnell, he trained with the Great Sandow. He’s marvellous.’
‘Why don’t we go down now?’ Robbie said. ‘Have a look around.’
As they walked out onto Buckle Street, he asked, ‘You got my ball, Wal?’
Wally was still breathing heavily. He pulled the ball out of his pocket, tossed it over.
Robbie heard steel wheels on the track, the sound of a bell. A Toast Rack was rounding the bend. ‘Let’s get a tram,’ he yelled. He tucked his bat under his arm, threw the ball in the air, caught it as he ran.
They climbed aboard and sat open to the weather, the blast of the northerly shaking out their hair. Toast Rack made sense, but why did people call them Hong Kong cars?
‘Because they originally came from Hong Kong, dolt!’ said Billy.
Robbie grinned. As the trammie swung along the outer footboards collecting fares and Wal wiped sweat from his face with a handkerchief, he nudged Billy. ‘What d’ya reckon are the chances of him hitting the centre pole? Or falling off and killing himself like that poor blighter in Oriental Bay?’
He laughed. He wouldn’t mind a bit of excitement. Mac was all right, and Robbie had moved on now from butcher boy delivering meat to apprentice. It wasn’t so bad, learning how to chop carcasses, cut chops and steaks and all that, but the danger of swinging along the footboards or, even better, driving a tram – now that would be the life.
As if he’d read his mind, Billy said, ‘You know, after that poor blighter maybe they’re down on numbers. Maybe I can con my way into a job, eh?’
Robbie glanced at Billy. That was the one thing he hated about Billy. He was only eighteen months older, but he looked like he was three or even four. He got away with all kinds of things Robbie could only dream of.
‘We’re there!’ Billy rang the bell and they leapt off in Cuba Street.
Even before they entered, they heard skipping ropes whipping the air, hitting the floorboards, the sound of leather against leather. As the door swung open, they were hit with the stink of horse liniment and sweat.
Two men danced and dodged and threw punches in the ring. A man shadow-boxed in front of an enormous mirror. Others pounded heavy bags, pummelled speed balls, lifted dumb-bells. Two boys wrestled on a canvas mat. Others did press-ups or sit-ups or chin-ups from a bar.
The words BREATHE MORE AIR AND HAVE RICHER BLOOD were painted on the wall, alongside posters of Eugen Sandow flexing his muscles. What I wouldn’t give to look like that! Robbie thought.
‘What d’ya reckon Edie’d think of this?’ Billy yelled. He leapt and grabbed rings hanging from the ceiling, pulled himself up shakily.
‘You’ve got to be joking, mate! You’ve got to do better than that!’ Robbie eyed his friend. ‘What’re you saying, anyway? Are you keen on my sister?’
Billy jumped down. ‘Dunno, Rob. She can be a bit weird, but you’ve got to admit she’s cute.’
‘Edie?’ Wally laughed. ‘You’re interested in that stuck-up bitch?’
Robbie turned and slammed his fist into Wally’s face.
‘Ow. What’d you do that for?’
Robbie shook out his hand, stared embarrassed at Wal on the floor. ‘Look, mate,’ he said at last, ‘I can say what I like – she’s my sister after all – but that doesn’t give you the right.’
‘We get real bad press for our tempers, don’t we?’
Robbie turned.
A man with thinning red hair and a broken nose grinned at him. ‘No need to fuel the flames, eh?’ The man winked. ‘What’s your name, son? Rob, eh? My name’s Charlie. Charlie O’Donnell. For a skinny fella you sure have a fine right hook. A young Ruby Robert, if I say so myself.’ The man laughed. ‘Billy, show our new Freckled Wonder the ropes. See what we can do with him.’