by Clare Atkins
“Yeah, it’ll be a late lunch. Might just have an easy dinner.
Fruit okay?”
“Fine by me.”
Mum picks up her forgotten sandwich. “I’ve had the craziest day, driving all over looking for Waltjaṉ. She was supposed to come in and sign these prints – it has to be done before I can send them off for framing – so, sure enough, she’s nowhere to be found. I went out to Ski Beach and Birritjimi … oh, I saw Guḻwirri there.”
The mention of Nona’s mum grabs my attention.
“She seems much better. Well, better than before they left. She said Nona’s back at school. Did you see her there?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s great she’s studying again.”
I think of Nona’s coloured-in letters and swirly margin. “Yeah, it is.”
“Do you want to have her over one day? She could catch the bus home with you after school.”
“Maybe.”
I can feel Mum’s eyes on me, questioning. She glances at the clock. “I’d better run. I finally found her in town, blowing money on the pokies at the Arnhem Club. Waltjaṉ, that is. She’s over at the art centre signing the things now. I’ll be home around five. You want to make us that fruit salad?”
“Sure.”
The screen door bangs shut behind her. I’m grateful she’s gone.
I turn the fan back up to three again.
*
Will Nona be here today? I try to put her out of my mind, as I get off the school bus and make my way to our usual spot.
As soon as I see them, I know they’ve been talking about me. Selena and Anya are huddled, heads close together, knees touching, on our bench. They look up as I approach. Selena gives me an easy smile. She has perfect teeth. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“We were thinking about going to the pool this arvo. You want to come?”
This is why I hate living in Yirrkala. I used to love it when I was little, when life was all about community. But now it’s all about town.
Anya tilts her head, using a sing-song voice. “Nick will be there.”
Their in-joke smiles decide me. I can’t afford to be left out. “Could I borrow some swimmers?”
“We’ll go past my place on the way there.”
“Cool. Deal, then.”
I smile, trying to look confident, but I’m already dreading the negotiations with Mum.
Selena looks past me, towards the front entrance. I turn to see Nona has just arrived. She’s wearing a uniform today, but no shoes. We watch as she walks towards the cultural centre.
And then Selena comes out with it. “Anya said you were best friends with her in primary school.”
She says it like she’s testing me. I realise this must be what they were talking about. I look at Anya. She gives a small shrug, as if the information just happened to slip out.
“What happened?”
I take a deep breath. “She moved to Elcho. We lost touch.”
It’s the truth. Good intentions and weekly phone calls dwindled after Nona left for Elcho.
Selena’s voice is a mixture of fascination and disgust. “Dad reckons they’re totally primitive on Elcho. Did you ever go there?”
I wanted to. To visit Nona. But we never did. “No.”
“He went on this massive week-long fishing trip. Moored off Elcho and saw a huge crowd of Aboriginals on the beach. The old ladies were beating their heads with rocks. Blood everywhere, he said.”
Anya adopts the expected look of disbelief, which is ridiculous because she’s been here since primary school. Her dad’s a doctor at the hospital and her mum coordinates the Yolŋu apprenticeship program at the refinery. Anya knows about Yolŋu culture, but now she’s not letting on.
“Must’ve been a funeral.” It comes out so soft, I don’t know if they hear me.
But they do. Selena nods. “Yeah, obviously. But still – as if you’d beat yourself with a rock. Crazy.”
Anya nods in animated agreement. “Totally.”
*
Nona has doodled her way through another lesson. This time it’s English. I see our teacher, Mr Stephens, pretending not to watch her. He’s probably wondering the same thing I am: can Nona write? Would she find it embarrassing if he asked her about it?
The bell rings for lunch. We all gather our books and exit the classroom. Selena passes Nona on her way out. She indicates her bare feet. “What happened to your shoes?”
From the tone of her voice I can’t tell if she’s making fun of her or innocently asking.
Nona keeps her eyes down and mumbles, “Grew legs.”
“What?”
A bit louder now. “Grew legs.”
“What does that mean? They got stolen?”
Nona stares at the ground. I can see she feels shame. I can guess what happened. An aunty probably asked to use her shoes that morning. She would’ve given them to her without blinking. I’d seen it happen heaps of times when we were kids. I think about explaining this to Selena, but by the time I open my mouth Nona has walked off.
Selena says, “Talk about rude.”
She watches Nona’s retreating back, her eyes narrowed. The last person who offended Selena was Anita White and she’s practically a social outcast now. I close my mouth again.
*
“Please, Mum. Pleeeeease.”
I hear her sigh through the phone. “I don’t want to be driving in and out of town all the time, Rosie. Petrol’s expensive.”
“I’ll earn it back somehow. I’ll wash the car.”
“We’re printing again this afternoon. I can’t leave just to pick you up.”
“I already told them I’d go.”
“Well, you should’ve asked me first.”
“You want me to have no friends.”
There’s the sound of her smothering a laugh. “Oh, come on –”
I know I’m being melodramatic but I’m desperate. “You always say it doesn’t matter that we don’t live in town. That you’ll drive me in when things are on –”
“This isn’t a ‘thing’, you want to go swimming.”
“Yeah – with my friends.”
“With Selena.”
Mum doesn’t like Selena. So I quickly add, “And Anya.”
Mum hesitates. She thinks Anya is a good influence, and maybe she was – Before Selena (BS).
“You’ll have to catch the bus home.”
Hardly anyone catches the public mini-bus. It only runs three times a day and I’ve never seen a Ŋäpaki person on there. I picture Selena watching in pity and horror as I climb on.
“Mum … come on …”
“If you don’t want to do that then just come home. You can go swimming another day.”
But I don’t want to leave Selena and Anya alone. I already feel out of the loop. “Fine. I’ll catch the bus.”
I hang up on her before she can say bye.
*
It’s a sunny twenty-four degrees at the pool. Some people think the water’s getting too cold in May, but I swim all year round. I’m not a team-sports person. I value my underwater thinking time.
Selena and Anya have changed out of their uniforms into short skirts and singlet tops. They’re sunbaking on plastic deckchairs that they’ve pulled onto the grass near the fence, so they can chat to any boys of interest who pass.
I swim smooth laps, up and back. Reflected light dances like broken eggshells on the pool’s pebblecrete floor. My mind tries to untangle the mess of Selena and Nona. What can I do? I don’t want them to be enemies. But even if I could get Selena to be civil, what would they talk about? I mentally scroll through the list of things Selena and I usually discuss. Clothes, boys, parties, downloaded movies, other girls. Our favourite foods, teachers, parents, holidays. I can’t see Nona relating to any of that stuff.
My thoughts hit pause each time I reach the shallow end. Nick is there, teaching a lone Thai lady to swim. She flounders, her arms slapping the water in
clumsy freestyle. Nick’s torso and legs stand patiently nearby. I can imagine his calm, level voice coaching her. “That’s it. Long, slow strokes.”
He’s wearing boardies and a rash vest which keeps riding up. On lap ten, I catch a glimpse of something on his lower back. It must be a tattoo. I tell myself I’ll swim ten extra laps if it’s not the name of a girl. Please don’t let it be the name of a girl.
By the time I next hit the shallow end, the Thai lady has disappeared. The lesson must have finished. I see Nick’s legs walking towards my lane. I’m about to swim past him when he ducks under the surface and waves. I blush and stop, coming up for air. He’s so close beside me I can feel his body heat through the water.
“Hey, Flipper.”
That’s what he calls me. Flipper. I can’t tell if it’s affectionate in a you’re-friends-with-my-little-sister way, or if it might mean something more.
“Hey, Nick.”
I fumble to take my goggles off. He watches with that amused look in his eyes. I’m sure he knows I have a crush on him.
“You still hanging round with that white trash?”
He nods towards Selena and Anya, grinning at his own joke.
I smile back, forcing myself to stay calm. “Hey, they followed me here.”
“And they won’t even get in the water. La-zy. You want to race?”
“I’ve already done nineteen laps.”
“So you’re warmed up. I’m not. It’ll be even.
I put my goggles back on. “Alright, then – go!”
I push off the wall, giving myself a cheeky head start. The water envelops me, muffling his exclamation. “Hey! Not fair!”
I power forward. He’s gaining on me. I push harder and touch the end wall just ahead of him. I’m all gasping smiles.
He dunks me. “Cheat!”
I can feel his skin on my skin. I’m laughing. And gurgling.
Nick pulls away. “I’d better keep going. You’re nineteen up on me.”
He turns and pushes off. And then he’s gone, swimming away. I watch his muscular arms plough through the water, then I turn and get out.
As I join the girls on their deckchairs, Selena shakes her head. She half-loves, half-hates that I’ve got the hots for her brother. “Flirt.”
*
At the pool gates, Anya stops, looking up and down the road for my Mum’s troopie. “What time did she say she’d pick you up?”
“She should be here any minute now.”
“We’ll wait then, yeah?”
Selena sits down on the footpath. Anya takes a seat beside her. I need them gone. The bus will be here any minute. I don’t want them to see me catch it; I lied and told them Mum was coming.
“It’s cool, guys. You go. She must be running late.”
“We’re not in a hurry.”
“You just want to stay and flirt with Nick.”
“Not true.”
The bus comes into sight. It’s turning the corner now. My stomach sinks.
“Seriously – just go.”
“I’m comfy now.”
Selena is sitting with her long, fake-tanned legs stretched in front of her in the sun. Her mini-skirt rides up, barely covering her undies. The bus pulls up opposite us. Two Yolŋu men climb out, both in shabby T-shirts, shorts and dusty thongs.
I should be walking over there. I should be getting on. The men cross the road and walk past us. One throws a disapproving glance at Selena’s bare legs. The other man looks back, checking her out. I’m embarrassed, but Selena doesn’t seem to care.
Three Yolŋu ladies get on the bus. The driver looks around. There’s no-one else waiting. No-one except me and I’m on the wrong side of the road and I can’t move. The door closes and the bus pulls out from the curb. I watch it drive away.
“Maybe you should call her,” says Anya.
I can’t think of a good excuse not to, so I dial Mum, hoping she won’t answer. She does. I try to sound casual, off-hand.
“Mum, hi. I’m outside the pool. Where are you?”
I am grateful Selena and Anya can’t hear what Mum says on the other end.
“What are you talking about? I’m screenprinting. You know that.”
“Are you still picking me up?”
“We agreed you’d catch the bus.”
My friends are watching. I grasp for words that fit my lie. “You said you’d be here at four.”
“I did not. Rosie, have you got amnesia? I said catch the bus.”
“Yeah, I think it’s four now. I just saw the bus drive away. That comes at four, doesn’t it?”
“You missed it?!”
I check to see if either of them heard Mum’s screech. They didn’t. I proceed calmly. “It’s fine. If you come now you’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“I’m busy! I thought I made that clear to you. I can’t just drop everything to come and pick you up.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
“Rosie!”
“See you soon. Thanks, Mum.”
I hang up, knowing she’ll come. That was the last bus: there’s no other way to get home except pay fifty bucks to one of the Iraqi cab drivers or hitch.
I shrug at the girls. “She got caught up at work. She’ll be here in twenty.”
“Want to get something to eat?”
“Sure.”
We cross the road and walk down the concrete path, through the town green, towards Woolworths. We debate whether to buy something from the supermarket or get greasy chips from the takeaway shop. The greasy chips win.
A few Yolŋu ladies are sitting nearby on the benches beneath the palm trees. Yolŋu often hang around here. I heard Mrs Reid say once they wait to humbug family for food or money when they come out of the supermarket.
I’m trying not to look at them when I hear a deep raspy voice. “Mätjala.”
The name hits me deep in my stomach. My Yolŋu name. I haven’t heard it in so long. But I keep walking.
“Rosie.”
Guḻwirri is beside me now. I can’t ignore her. Her eyes slide off mine, down to the ground. They are slightly bloodshot and her breath smells sour, like off grapes. She touches my arm. “You got a few dollars?”
“I don’t have any on me. Sorry.”
I keep walking, leaving Guḻwirri behind me. Selena’s eyes are round. “Who was that?”
I shrug.
“She knew your name.” Selena gives Anya a look as if to say, What’s the big secret?
Anya says, “Isn’t that …?”
I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying it so I beat her to it. “It’s Nona’s mum.”
Selena nods, mentally storing the information away for later. My gut is churning.
2.
1995
We are curled up by the campfire. Nona and me. I am almost asleep in my mother’s arms. The smell of smoke and cooked fish lingers. Soft melodies wash through me, as my Dad and Bolu, Nona’s dad, strum softly on their guitars.
My mum moves to stand. She gently eases my small body onto the mat, and lays my head on Guḻwirri’s lap, right beside Nona. I feel the tickle of her hair in my face and open my eyes. She is sleeping, hugged against her mum’s legs.
I let my gaze wander. The embers glow dull orange, like crocodile eyes in the dark. Mum adds wood to the fire, stoking it until it transforms into a bright yellow frenzy. Dad looks up at her as he plays, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the neck of his guitar. Their eyes meet and he smiles. It is a look of pure love.
I feel Guḻwirri bend down towards me. She murmurs in my ear, “Sleep, Waku.” Sleep, my child. I nestle into her and she strokes my hair, soft and rhythmic. She starts to hum. Her voice weaves in with the guitar. I close my eyes again.
3.
2007
Nona hasn’t been at school for a week. But she’s here today. She slides in the door as our Science teacher, Ms Bamkin, is setting up for the lesson. “Okay, class, today I thought we’d start with an experimen
t.”
Whispered “yeses” around the room.
“We’re going to cook an egg in ethanol. Ethanol is basically what?”
John Lane grins. “Piss.”
“And its more socially acceptable name?”
“Alcohol.”
“Thank you, Anya.”
Charlie Mack mimes drinking from a bottle. Glug, glug, glug.
Ms Bamkin uses his joke to make a point. “Yes, I thought we’d do this one just in case any of you are thinking about drinking.”
I freeze. Look down at my blank page. Does she know about Selena’s plan to fridge? Is she talking to me?
“Of course, given that you’re all fifteen or sixteen, it would be illegal, but on top of that it’s not good for you. Your brains are still growing.”
Charlie grins. “Well, some of ours are.”
“Speak for yourself, Mack.”
Everyone is laughing. Ms Bamkin tries to keep a straight face. “If you even think about drinking, remember this experiment – if alcohol can cook an egg, imagine what it does to your insides.”
Selena nudges me, in mock seriousness. “Don’t worry. We’re superhuman.”
I can’t help but smile. She grins back, as Ms Bamkin continues. “Okay, everyone get a beaker out then come and get an egg. You’ll also need to measure yourself 100ml of ethanol. It’s up the front here.”
Selena, Anya and I are lab partners. Anya is super-smart, not that you’d know it from the way she’s been acting lately. She says she wants to be a doctor like her dad. I think I want to be an artist. Selena is typically dismissive of the whole what-do-you-want-to-do-when-you-leave-school question. She jokes that she’s going to be one of those B-list celebrities who get invited to all the parties but don’t actually have to do anything.
I get the egg and Anya pulls a beaker from the cupboard. Selena goes to measure the ethanol at Ms Bamkin’s desk. There are only two bottles so people have to wait their turn. I see Nona hanging back as Selena dodges her way to the front.
John Lane fills his beaker and hands Selena the bottle. He winks. “Careful with that. It’s pretty potent.”
He’s got a crush on Selena. He doesn’t stand a chance. She lets him hope, though, and smiles back as she wafts the invisible fumes towards her nose. She inhales deeply, then raises her voice. “Maybe we should steal some and sell it to the drunks outside Woolworths. Make a fortune.”
