Jamie sighed and looked the man in the suit up and down a little before he sat “It’s not that I don’t need a lawyer, yer understand…I mean that Orlando Bloom seems a nice enough fella, we had a few beers and he seemed to think he owed me something, but to be honest with yer I am not so sure why”

“Mr McGuire…”

“Jamie’ll do fine”

“Jamie, Mr Bloom instructed me to defend your case to the best of my ability, though my talents lie more with err...perhaps one might say crimes of a different sort, though a brawl is a brawl whether imbued with Dom Perignon or Foster’s Lager I should imagine…” he covered up what might have been construed as an offence with an easy smile “anyway his instruction was that he would pay my considerable fees as necessary, and that I convey to you that there was neither expectation nor implication on your behalf in accepting my services.” Jamie furrowed his brow in response but Mr Gaunson was clearly of a view to secure this case, which at very least might afford him perhaps some publicity should the whole issue somehow ‘come out’, so to speak. Well one never knew did one? And in a gesture that clearly anticipated agreement, he removed the bound notebook from his briefcase and his fountain pen from his top pocket. “Why don’t you tell me the whole story? I can give you a professional opinion, and you can then make your decision about accepting Mr Bloom’s most generous offer.”

Later, when stretched out as best he could on the bed and staring at the ceiling, Jamie would be unable to recall when exactly it was that Mr Gaunson had stopped taking notes, the exquisite pen and Indian ink seeming to just lose their ability to précis the unfolding story. Jamie suspected it was around the time that he had explained about the outlaw standing at the bottom of his bed, the night he had seen Joe, in a mess and asking him something, something at the time that he couldn’t understand. But Jamie had been unable to stop talking, almost as if speaking it out loud to a complete stranger, testing his own conviction and feeling in front of a doubtful witness, made it real somehow, regardless of the reaction he got. The whole thing, the film, how he came to be with Megan, the reason for Danny’s accusations, the precursor- a hundred years or more earlier- to the jealousy and the rage that had led to the fight and Danny’ statement, it all just flooded out like a summer storm down the creek.

There had been quite some pause when he finished, and Mr Gaunson had barely perceptively, but nonetheless most definitely, winced. Reviewing his sketchy notes on Basildon Bond’s finest and the charge sheet before him he had the air of a man debating what to say, whether to simply bid a speedy ‘goodnight’ or to allow himself the delight of belief  in this earnest young man. Jamie looked up with some surprise at his own candour but with determination pride and a challenge all in one, waited for Mr Gaunson to speak

“You know Jamie, I don’t think the police force here are ready for this, maybe the world isn’t quite ready for this, if I maybe so bold…” he shifted a little uncomfortable on his seat as Jamie held his eyes “my professional opinion is that you would be better served keeping it simple…a straightforward case of assumed betrayal and revenge. People, I think you will find, need more simple themes”

“Like Aaron betrayed Joe to the coppers, so he shot him”

“Yes! Yes, you see my point exactly…bright lad! Though thankfully no murder has been committed here” the lawyer had seemed genuinely relieved to remind himself of that “I am sure that if we explain the misunderstanding between you and Danny, explain that he was jealous of what he saw as your duplicity, unjustly of course! That these were the acts therefore of passion, which has now been dissipated and resolved. Indeed I believe Mr Campbell has withdrawn his complaint, so there is only the CPS to convince…”

“What about the drugs they planted? How do you suppose I can get out of that one?”

“Now that might be a little trickier. Let me see” he ruffled through some papers and pulled one out to squint at “hmm… you have one conviction for possession I see”

“Christ I can only have been 16, it was a bit of dope, and anyway I don’t do cocaine. Fucking hell- I couldn’t afford it apart from anything else!”

Mr Gaunson had looked up from his paper with some surprise, as if someone just said the world was in fact round “oh…yes of course. Though a prior conviction is of course evidence of long term use of illegal substances, and I have to tell you that this Inspector Boyne- he is not a man that gives up easily, some might say he has the air of a Scottish terrier about him” Jamie had sat back against the wall and closed his eyes. Aye

*

Emmy Danny and Megan  sat in the moulded plastic seats for as long as they could, no one quite daring to be the one to suggest he wasn’t going to come strolling back through the door grinning and holding some bit of paper saying ‘all charges dropped, begging your pardon, feel free to go now’. The desk sergeant had all but suggested they would be forcibly evicted if they didn’t stop questioning him and Emmy sat uncomfortable next to two people with their own conversation to have, snippets of which she could hear as they shouted and placated and shouted again in whispers. Eventually she accepted Danny’s offer of his coat, since he didn’t need it, and his 17^thoffer of what passed for coffee out of those machines, sugary brown boiling water with instant ‘creamer’a word that sounded vaguely distasteful in itself, but in truth all she wanted was to sit with Jamie, wherever he was. At last Megan spoke what they all knew to be true “This is hopeless…we should go and get some rest and come back in the morning”

London seemed different now as they stepped out through the doors and onto the pavement, looking up and down the road for a sign that should have read The Commercial or The Hibernian, something familiar. Instead Emmy looked out at the next few hours with a bleakness she could recall the edge of, the thought of her room and the landlady so remote from where she found herself that she was at a loss. Where the fuck was her painted caravan when she needed it? What happened to always on the move and picking up souvenirs or shells or telephone numbers? Finding herself unable to answer she shook herself and Megan stooped to look at her. “Emmy where will you go?”

She just stared back, open faced and now, away from the view of the coppers, with tears welling up in her eyes, her vision blurry and words that made no sense forming in her mouth. “I don’t want to leave him here; I don’t want to walk away from him”

Megan gritted her teeth with some determination, well Emmy suspected it was either that or cry herself, and made a resolute decision “You can’t stay here, Emmy come with us, he would want you to! Danny, you have a key for Jamie’s place yeah? We will go there. Alright it’s a mess…those coppers left it in a mess I shouldn’t wonder” a flash between them acknowledged that their flat would be worse but Megan brushed it aside with cheeriness all the same. “Come on, we can clear it up a bit at least before he comes home…right?” If there was anyone to rally the troops it would be Megan, in her mind was always the next practical step, which in this case was to remove Seamus’ car from the NCP car park before the charges amounted to more than the value of the motor itself, and drive directly to Hoxton.

The lights of London expanded into huge constellations in the water of the tears that would keep building up and Emmy gripped on to the wheel, refusing to look sideways and find that it was Megan instead of Jamie beside her as they fought their way across rush hour, a misnomer of grand proportions. It was dark by the time they pulled up at the garages that made up the bottom floor of the flats, graffiti covered and the victims themselves of one too many assaults they were a grim backdrop, she closed her eyes to gather herself up, to be guided to where he lived, via the concrete stairs and the hard metal rails to the open walkway that ran along the outside of each floor. An architects bad joke really, a ‘street in the sky’ connecting the residents in a community that was designed to replace the slums. Mostly though the residents seem to have decided that outside was none too friendly and rather spent their time behind the locked grills. A few brave souls persisted, pots of geraniums and humorous doormats, electing to paint their doors in colours outside the palette of the Local Authority, and no doubt it would look different in the morning, but for now Emmy shivered with the lack of warm earth and home.

Finally Danny fitted the key into one of the many doors and they stepped inside, an exclamation was almost immediate “Holy shit! They really turned it over!” It was good to have something to do though, and while Danny went for fish and chips and a bottle of whiskey Megan and Emmy collected up papers and put cushions back on sofas and set the place straight. Emmy wiped her hand over her cheeks for the tenth time as she put his books back on the shelves, feeling the covers with her tingling fingers, flicking through leaves that had been in his. It was good to touch his things, feel the comfort of his physical memory in the room as if it were a blanket covering her, and one she pulled even tighter as she pushed open the door to his bedroom, a small cry in her throat as it opened up. Heavy and slow somehow, overwhelming with its familiarity, she could almost feel him in the air.

In fact she was glad of Megan’s presence, steadied by it, as they pulled the duvet back over and slid the computer back under the bed, sweeping up the ash and the matches that had been overturned in the effort of evidence gathering. If Megan felt even a flash of regret that it wasn’t her he would be running back to, she buried in a little too tight an embrace as Emmy eventually sat down next to her, the electric fire finally pumping out enough heat to warm a few feet of cold air, a candle or two lit, and at last she smiled. Jamie’s flat. 

Emmy hardly touched the scalding hot chips, though the whiskey seemed to slip down fine despite it’s cold heat, as they talked quietly about what was to be done, the conversation like an iceberg waiting for a ship to hit it, threatening to spin shards of sharpness and crystal clarity into the room, each of them wondering if they couldn’t just stand on deck with a fur coat and a cocktail instead. Emmy closed her eyes and pulled her legs up to her chest, she needed to sleep. “You should take his room….” Megan looked right at her, the decision already done and dusted evidently despite Emmy’s protest. “We have some talking to do, and a double bed isn’t quite where I want to do it, that’s the truth Emmy. Anyway Jamie would have something to say about it I would imagine.”

The quietness settled as the door closed and Emmy slipped out of her clothes and into Jamie’s bed, the cold sheets making her shiver. Sitting against the head board she could hear them talking, louder sometimes, Megan exclaiming and Danny emphatic. Emmy just sat, imagining him there in the cell, and feeling herself here, on a softer bed but nonetheless just as bereft, she let her mind traverse over the words they had spoken just the night before and let the ache in her belly grow as she sunk down into the mattress.

There had been no time, but now she had hours to remember, as if someone had given her a dot to dot book of her life and now she could start to connect them into a pattern. Now she could begin to see why it was that she had never quite stopped driving, or what this man or that had meant to her, a darkness to his eyes, or an accent to his voice, or a familiarity in his walk, now she could see it all in a swirl in her mind, pennies the size of pebbles dropping into her pond. Her hands slid down her belly to hold it, circling warm as she closed her eyes and let the pictures come, hazy at first but then flashes of his smile, of their embraces, of the creek and her laughter. She slid down under the covers that held his scent to recall that gentle touch in a rented room in Melbourne once the priest had sent her and her baby to hell, and she stopped thinking to let him wash over her senses, give her all the comfort she needed as she let his fingers and his mouth find her, root her down into the ground of here. Joe

*

He must have slept, all the evidence said so, and yet Mr Gaunson felt like he might have been run over by a herd of wild horses, his body aching from the tension and the tossing and turning he had been doing as his dreams took him back to the trial of a man already condemned, the chap’s family from Greta, wherever the devil that was, and half the city it seemed, were watching in the upper gallery, expectant eyes watching silently. The man in the dock stood imposing and bearded, his dark eyes staring out at his lawyer- waiting for some wisdom or some salvation, or at least some attempt at defence. But there Gaunson stood, dumbstruck in front of a Judge, with not the first clue as to how to proceed, even his expensive leather briefcase deserted him, its folders gaping devoid of case notes, evidence and statements. Surely he must have prepared for this trial?  A man’s life rested on it! Sweating slightly he had awoken to the sound of the telephone ringing in his wood panelled office down the hallway, and blinked at the clock “Who the blazes is calling at this hour?” But since he would rather not return to the place he had just been he slipped his feet into his slippers and padded down the hall. The answer machine flashed at him and he pressed ‘play’

“David…it’s Peter at the station. It seems I have a little problem you might assist me with in relation to a client of yours. It is a matter of some urgency…”

With only the street cleaners as witness David Gaunson stepped lively into the Dettol soaked corridors of another night in Camden police station and followed the Constable back to the office of the Superintendent, whose face showed both irritation and apologies.

“What can I do for you Peter? It must be important to have me up at this time! I do charge more for out of hours, as you know..” his attempt at a joke however did little to lighten the atmosphere.

“This is a delicate matter David, one requiring discretion. Of course I naturally thought  how lucky we were that it was you who happened to be the Lad’s brief, perhaps there is some justice in the world after all. To cut to the quick, it is Inspector Boyne…”

“The arresting officer in my slightly off beat case? Yes?”

“It seems he has a over enthusiastic interest in this case…To be blunt, his Sergeant has been to see me, a tormented soul, funny enough not so many of those in the Force, tend to get weeded out fairly early on, but he has informed me of certain irregularities...in the collection of evidence. The Police Force is under a good deal of pressure David... we have to be seen to be behaving in a reputable manner and I thought that a little word in your shell like might ease the situation as it were..”

“Let me get this straight Peter, are you saying that Boyne planted evidence? The cocaine?”

The Super shifted a little in his seat “That is about the measure of it. Boyne has been years in the Force, wife at home, several grandchildren I believe, one tries to keep up, he is close to retirement of course. But, yes. That is what I am saying. Naturally reforms are always to be welcomed! No place for that kind of prejudice these days but normally we prefer not to do our laundry in public David, I am sure you understand. However it seems this Sergeant has a bee under his helmet and is demanding the Lad’s release!”

David Gaunson however had not earned his reputation lightly, if there was a taste of blood in his mouth he hid it well in the solicitous question and the light laugh at the Super’s joke before he shrugged and went for the kill “Are you willing to drop the charges immediately?”

“Well of course, of course I would expect some discretion naturally, no questions asked and your client dissuaded from any further action…”

David Gaunson smiled to himself in the almost certain knowledge that there would be very little persuading to be done on that score, Jamie McGuire did not seem the sort to spend any more time in the company of policemen than was strictly unavoidable “ I will do my best, and what of Boyne?”

“He I am sad to say has not taken my little talk well, something of an old school firebrand it would seem, not one to let sleeping dogs lie, or should that be leprechauns? Anyway he is close enough to retirement. He will be shuffled off, for his own good of course, and that of the Force. Bad apples and all that”

The barrel being not his concern David Gaunson simply nodded his acceptance and stood up, pushing the heavy wooden chair back with his calves “Then I believe Peter I should give the good news to my client”

*

Jamie had been awake a while when the bolt slid across, on his back with his hands behind his head, mulling over the past week and the future, looking both ways for a Sunday, but whichever way he looked at it, despite the possibility of some time in the nick, he couldn’t stop himself smiling. He just felt calm, that was it, and happy enough to lie there reading the messages of support, or hatred or desperation that were etched into the plaster of the wall. He was alright, she was alright, and Danny, well him too. Fuck there was a whole lot of things he hadn’t worked out yet and most of them, he suspected, would make far more sense after a few lagers, he grinned at the thought of reacquainting himself with the Kings Head, his best mate and that warm steady buzz. Curiosly the prospect of a spell in jail almost paled into the dark when you looked at it... looked at what you had. It was just life, and this one in particular.

His surprisingly cheery ‘hello’ took Mr Gaunson back a little but he shook his head and let that be, sitting down on the edge of a plastic chair. The news didn’t take long to tell “there has been a mistake Jamie, evidence attributed to the raid on your flat was in fact from somewhere else entirely, the small amount of cannabis the police did find there, they recognise is not worth prosecuting. The CPS would laugh them out of town I would imagine, and given that Campbell has retracted...”

“They are letting me go?”

“Yes” His best jaunty ‘shall we move on?’ air however didn’t seem to cut much ice

Jamie screwed up his face, years of suspicion and reading the moves of coppers would suggest something else was going on here and he looked sideways at the man sitting rather gingerly in the edge of a seat “Just like that? You are taking the piss…Boyne wanted me banged up, they don’t suddenly decide you didn’t have cocaine in your flat after all, especially when they put it there in the first place! What’s going on?”

“Jamie...if I could advise you...”

“Nah, listen I need to know if that bastard is going to be after me again- what happened? Yer said you was my lawyer…”

Gaunson breathed out hard and put his briefcase down, something about being off duty and spilled the story in the sort of straight line that seemed both refreshing and unfamiliar, adding his part in that unbelievable and compelling tale that this young man had pulled him into, and, for better or for worse, it was done. Very little surprise however greeted him, Jamie simply nodded a thought somewhere else evidently and grabbed his jacket from the bed, sliding his arms into the heavy cotton with a smile “Will be we going now then? Only I’ve a lass waiting fer me”

David Gaunson found himself idly wondering if that was ever not the case, as he walked behind the young man to the office where he would be formally discharged, a free man if ever there was one.  It wasn’t even a swagger, nothing boastful about how he walked, but the earth seemed to carry him along, even through a thick layer of concrete and heavy duty linoleum.

Some minutes later, a cleanish record having been restored, his client tall beside him and the lawyer was feeling really rather pleased with himself, not least because no doubt Mr Bloom would be suitably impressed and generous. They were almost to the door,  when their rapid exit was halted, on this occasion not by a heavy uniformed hand, the star of many a heist movie, accompanied by a gruff ‘not so fast sonny’, but by the main protagonist stopping short. Jamie nodded to himself and turned back to the Desk Sergeant, the fingers of his right hand wrenching something from one on his left “I have something for Inspector Boyne. Will yer see that he gets it?”

A rather smug Sergeant celebrated his superiority for a few seconds “We don’t accept ‘gifts’, should you want to donate to the Police Retirement Fund, the box in the corner there.” Jamie looked in the direction the man had indicated and snorted a little “Don’t need to empty it so often eh? This isn’t a gift, it belongs to him. He…well what shall I say now? He lost it a while back. Will yer see that he gets it” A topaz ring spun on the worn formica counter and Jamie’s back turned, no answer required.

Having relieved Mr Gaunson of a tenner and warmly shaken his hand, Jamie found himself opening the door of a taxi and stepping out into the car park at the flats, Seamus’ car thankfully was still with all its wheels at least, but more than that- it was a signal that he had guessed right- they were all here, she was here. His eyes looked up to the second balcony a little way down, people were just about rousing themselves, dogs waking up with a yowl and women opening windows to shake out the night. Behind him the clink of milk bottles being delivered to hopeful doorsteps and the rumble of traffic on the north circular were just audible. Hoxton stretching, and looking forward to a cup of tea.

He grinned and took the stairs two at a time, relishing the pull of his thighs and the heat of movement, his heart beating faster, and a flutter of anticipation in his belly. I missed yer lass The key in the lock, he could hear voices behind the door and the sudden lull as a collective breath drew in. He could almost see Danny pulling himself up to stand, wiping his hands on his trousers and ready for anything, he could see Megan’s eyes narrowing as she frowned and ran through the possibilities. But she would know, Emmy would know.

He pushed the door wide open, a second’s glance inside to confirm it was all as he expected before his eyes found her face, about as flushed as his was, he would put money on it, sparkling with sheer happiness. The Pikachu duvet abandoned to the floor she was across the room in heartbeat and he let her cover him, her mouth on his before he could speak. Jamie McGuire was home.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Epilogue

Nov 1^st 2003

Megan shuffled back into the sofa and curled her legs underneath her, pressing the phone to her ear and grinning at her flat mate. Millie winked and took her leave, mouthing “I will leave you two alone then!” before she blew a kiss intended for HeathBaby, as they affectionately called him. In the end she didn’t mind sharing with Megan, one decided advantage being the frequency with which the delectable Jamie McGuire ‘popped round’, alright he seemed to be otherwise taken, but a girl could dream, or rather fantasise, very regularly, right?  Danny, well he came round too, he was rarely far away from Jamie. Danny and Megan had made up but just not quite together, she got to keep the pink ikea drainer and he got to settle back into himself. He was a good man. Millie sighed and closed the door on the conversation

 “Heath! Yeah I am good…the article got printed eventually. Here let me read a bit

The principal character of the film is Heath Ledger who embodies the charming leader of the gang. "Like Orlando, I also had the impression that I became my character" he says. "It's the first time I've felt that”

Then there’s a quote from Orlando saying how he had nightmares seeing himself on that door, and that you all felt the ghosts of those boys close by…No shit!…hahaaha…yeah he has a flair for the dramatic! Listen, so are we on for the beach then?...We’ll be there in a couple of days… summer in Oz isn’t it? Will be a bloody sight warmer than this English rain anyhow…Yes I DO want to see the sights! No not just that one…Heath!…yeah I can't wait to see you again either....but I can’t just abandon Jamie, Emmy and Danny, we have a Kelly tour to take...Yeah Orlando picked up the tab, said he may meet us there, though he might have to wear a big bushy beard as disguise…yeah Heath, he is a big star!..ooh! is that a promise?”

November 4^th 2003

It was with something of a bump that the wheels of the plane hit down on antipodean soil, four pairs of slightly bloodshot eyes squinting out of the far too tiny window looking for a glimpse of sun baked earth. He had her hand in his almost too tight, if there could be such a thing “Why d’yer think he did it- Orlando? Just because he had the money?”

Emmy grinned “No! I read that anyone with any sense says that the outlaw was his greatest performance, Joe touched him too and maybe he wanted to say thanks, you know?”

Jamie looked back at her. Christ she could feel herself burn when he looked all serious like that “Aye well he’s in good company then” In the weeks since the tickets arrived, pristine and too small almost for the promise they held, Jamie and Emmy had poured over maps and books and the Kelly Tour guides, practised saying the names. Wangaratta, now didn’t that feel good on the tongue? They’d talked for hours about how it would feel to step back into all those familiar places and breathe in eucalyptus oil air. Kleenex no doubt grateful for the rise in share prices as they spoke again and again about how it would feel to stand in front of that door, to be shoulder to shoulder with Danny as they put flowers on Aaron's place, or sit under the branches of that big old tree, their tears mixed up with smiles as they touched and kissed, held on and watched each other grow breathless with desire and gratitude, face to face and truly themselves.

But now they were here, a straight train line to Benalla at the start of the next bit of their lives. And in the whirr and bustle of the airplane,  the miniature TV remote controls, dinners in foil and the tangled electronic wires of the 21^st  century Emmy reached over to brush his mouth with her fingers ‘Happy 24^th Birthday’

The End.

*

Authors Note: Thanks to all the people that helped me by editing, commenting, reading, saying 'hmmm that doesn't work', encouraging and not giving up! It is a sort of second half to Visions of Joe in a way, a continuation of a love story. It was written before Heaths sad and untimely death, but was written with love and the greatest respect.
A note on dates. It was widely believed that Joe was born in 1857, indeed that is the date on his headstone. Births and deaths were not recorded then as they are now, so people often weren't so sure. However Ian Jones, the Kelly historian, has produced school records that date Joe's birth as November 1856. Why the 4th? Just because..
Thank you to Bella for suggesting  a simple word 'Reincarnation' and to Joe and Orlando for inspiration.