Nona and Me (16 page)

29.

2007

“Mum, can I stay at Anya's on Saturday night?”
I'm hovering by the lounge, nervous, in my pyjamas. It's late, but I've put off asking too long. Nick's party is this weekend. I don't know what I'll do if she says no.

Mum is staring at the TV, engrossed in
Lateline
. I wonder if she's heard me. “Mum? Can I stay …?”

“Shhh.” She waves me into silence so she can hear the reporter.

“… backing up its Intervention in the Northern Territory Aboriginal communities with a massive funding boost. It's more than doubling its spending, taking the total outlay to more than $1.3 billion. This extra money will be spent on housing, health and education in remote communities …”

I'm getting impatient now. “Mum.”

She finally turns to look at me. “What?”

“Can I stay at Anya's on Saturday night?” It wasn't meant to come out this way. I sound irritated and curt.

Luckily, Mum's too distracted to notice my tone. “You haven't talked about Anya for a while.”

I opt for semi-truth. “We haven't been hanging out much. But I feel kind of bad about that and she asked me …”

Mum nods, still staring at the screen. She sounds vague, as she says, “I like Anya.”

“So can I go?”

“I'll pick you up at eleven.”

“Mum, it's a sleepover. That means all the other girls will be sleeping over?”

Mum forces herself to focus. She looks at me. “Who else is going?”

I try to think of who I've seen Anya with lately. “Um, Anita White and Jennifer Chu.”

“I've never heard you mention them before.”

“They're … new friends.”

Mum actually looks pleased. “Oh, that's nice. I'll pick you up from Anya's at ten in the morning then.”

“Can we make it the bakery? Anya wants us to go for coffee.”

“Sure thing.”

I feel both ashamed and proud of my cover story. I'm getting better at lying. They do say practice makes perfect.

I hear the
Lateline
reporter saying, “About eighty Wadeye children have been given check-ups by federal clinic doctors in the past two weeks …”

I hesitate, then try to sound nonchalant as I ask, “Have you heard from Graham lately?”

“No.”

I consider asking more, but her eyes are fixed firmly on the screen again. She hardly notices me go, as I head to my room and text Nick.

All systems go.

He texts back within seconds.

Let's party.

*

I get dressed in a singlet top and knee-length denim skirt. Tie my hair in a ponytail. Check myself out in the mirror. Nothing suspicious there. I'd believe I was going to a sleepover.

It's been a logistical nightmare coordinating the lie, but it's worked. Mum's dropping me at the shops. I told her Anya and the girls were having pizza first. Then Nick's picking me up from there. In the morning, I'll meet her at the bakery as agreed.

I pack an overnight bag with clothes for Nick's party: a borrowed dress from Selena and some low-rise heels. A fresh outfit for tomorrow. I feel like I'm undercover. Toothbrush and facewash. A change of underwear.

In the back of my undies drawer I see the two blue plastic packets Selena gave me. I pull them out and look at them. The house is quiet, but for the rattle of the old ceiling fan wheezing breath into my stuffy room.

Am I making too big a deal of this? I love Nick. He loves me too. Should I just sleep with him and get it over with? Everyone else seems to be doing it. Except me.

I bury the condoms at the bottom of my bag.

*

Thud.

The bouncer's hand shoves up against a bony dark-brown chest. The old Yolŋu man staggers backwards but keeps talking, muttering in Yolŋu Matha. The bouncer takes a step forward, gesturing him away with his hands. The old man looks around the Arnhem Club car park. His glazed eyes swing over Nick's Hilux.

I hunch a bit lower in my seat, willing Nick to hurry up. He's in the bottle shop buying alcohol for his party. An eighteen-year-old's rite of passage, apparently.

Smack.

This time the bouncer swings a closed fist. When I look again the old man is on the asphalt. He crawls backwards, still hurling abuse. There is blood on his face. He stands and staggers away as Nick emerges with a slab on his shoulder and a bag of bottles on his arm. He grins, triumphant, and tries to give me a thumbs up as he carries his precious haul towards me.

The bouncer moves back to the club entrance. He says something to his bouncer mate, who has just appeared from inside. They're in matching uniforms – black and official. Bouncer One looks proud. He demonstrates what happened, like he's replaying the highlights of a fight.

Nick loads the alcohol into the back of the ute, then climbs into the driver's seat. “I forgot, they brought in that permit thing. Wrote my name down 'cause I bought over a hundred bucks' worth. Not that it really matters.”

I'm still reeling. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

“That bouncer. He went completely over the top.”

“The guy was giving him lip.”

“He was an old man!”

“Doesn't matter, Rosie. If you can't hold your liquor and you get aggro, you'll be booted out.”

“He hit him. With his fist. In the face. There was blood.”

I search Nick's face for compassion but see no trace of it.

He says, “He probably deserved it.” His voice is hard. There's a look in his eyes. What is it? Dislike? Disgust? Hate? I hear Aiden's voice.
The guy's a racist dickhead.
I try to block it out.

I put my seatbelt back on. “Let's go.”

*

Nick turns off the main road at the sign to Roy Marika lookout. He's playing Silverchair, and I'm grateful for the conversational silence it imposes. I don't want to talk. I keep seeing the old man outside the bottle shop.
Thud. Smack.
He probably deserved it
. The look in Nick's eyes.

We're heading up the hill now. It's steep; my body presses back into the chair. Nick hits stop on the stereo and “Straight Lines” ends, mid lyric. Other sounds come into focus. The chirp of cicadas. A tinny stereo blasting Chemical Brothers into the night. Laughter. Voices. We can see the lookout now. The area around it is full of parked cars and kids from school standing around, drinking, gossiping. There's no room to park, so we keep driving along the dirt track on the crest of the hill. We reach the last car and Nick pulls over behind it.

Benny and Matt have seen us arrive, and approach to help us carry the booze. Benny hoists the slab on to his shoulder. “Impressive haul, Nicko.”

Matt slaps him on the back. “Happy birthday, mate.”

He takes the plastic bag and they walk ahead of us, leading the way. Nick reaches out and holds my hand as we approach the mob.

“Hey, birthday boy!”

“Eighteen! Woo hoo!”

“Hey, Rosie.”

Selena makes her way towards us, squeezing me in an overenthusiastic hug. “I thought you guys were never going to get here! You want a drink?”

She holds up a bottle of Midori, answering the question before I can even ask. “And no, I didn't fridge it.”

I force a smile, remembering the panic in my chest that night. I feel an echo of it surfacing now. A hot ache in my gut.

Selena continues. “Mum gave it to me for the party. She's still upset we're not having it at home, but she wanted us to have a good time. It tastes good with pineapple juice. You want some?”

“Okay.”

She starts to pour the bright green liquid into two plastic cups. I look around. Something sails over our heads into Nick's hands.

“Good catch, mate.”

I lean forward to see what it is. It's a can of spray-paint.

Benny grins at us. “For prosterity.”

Nick laughs. “It's posterity, you goose.”

“Whatever. Make your mark, man. Eighteen.”

Nick shakes the can. Something small and metal clangs up and down inside it.

Selena is adding juice now. She indicates Benny and Nick with a nod of her head. “Boys, huh?” She smiles.

I watch as Nick takes the lid off and starts to spray the lookout sign with large letters. Nicked. His tag. The strokes of the N look like sharp red gashes. I can just make out some of the writing behind it.

You are on Rirratjiŋu land

… everything is divided into two moeities, Dhuwa and Yirritja.

Yolŋu land owners hope you enjoy your visit to Nhulun.

I remember Dad bringing me here when I was little. I can almost hear his voice:
This is a very sacred place, blossom. It was damaged when the mine was first set up. The Yolŋu were so upset they brought their spears and performed a special
buŋgul
, right here where we're standing, to demand respect for their land
…

As Nick finishes the “D”, I say, “Do you have to do that?” But my voice sounds weak and unconvincing. I almost choke on the words.

He shrugs, grinning. “Reminds me of being fifteen.”

Selena hands me one of the cups and I take a sip. It tastes acidic and sweet and like medicine all at once.

Selena is watching me, expectant. “Good? Better than beer, right?”

I nod, tip up the cup and swallow it all. It makes me feel warm and numb. It drowns the memory of Aiden's voice and fades the colour of blood.

Selena looks at me, laughing. “Whoa, Rosie. Easy.”

I hold out my cup for a refill. She thinks it's hilarious.

She pours again. And again. And again.

*

Three quarters of a bottle later, the base of the lookout is covered in red, white and black tags. I sit, half-defeated, half-drunk, leaning on the trunk of a nearby tree. Selena dances next to me with a few other girls. Her movements are fluid and graceful. Beautiful, even.

Nick approaches through the tumble of dancers. He pulls me to my feet. “Let's go up.”

The lookout is a small wooden platform perched four flights of metal stairs above the ground. He takes my hand and leads me towards it. I stumble, the earth uneven under my feet. I hardly notice. My body is liquid. Runny. Dissolving.

Still holding my hand, Nick guides me up the narrow stairway. We pass people coming back down and squeeze past them. Then we're at the top. Nhulunbuy is stretched out below us, just darkness and a few glinting lights. The oval is lit up. People must be training. To our far left the refinery glows a dull orange, its enormous bulk silhouetted by the night. I can smell the salt of the ocean.

There's another couple pashing in the opposite corner. Nick moves in behind me and kisses my neck. Tingles erupt on my skull and shoot down my spine. I turn into him and I don't hold back. I want to feel him. I don't want to think. I want to surrender.

We kiss long and deep. I forget where we are. I forget who he is and who I am and that we are separate. Different. I don't want this feeling to end.

I say, “I want to sleep with you.”

“Rosie … you sure?”

I nod. His back is on the metal railing. I press myself up against him. I can feel the whole length of our bodies crushed together. I kiss him again.

He tries not to sound too eager, but excitement thrills in his words. “Let's go down to the car.”

“Okay.”

I don't remember getting down the stairs.

I don't remember saying goodbyes.

I remember tripping and grazing my knee as we made our way back to Nick's Hilux.

I remember blackness.

30.

2001

I feel her push back the sheet. The two beds in
my room are permanently shoved together now. Nona stands, quiet in the dark, then slides out our bedroom door. Her shadow crosses the pale yellow light from the bathroom. I hear the front door open and close.

I hurry to follow, tiptoeing across the hall. I shove my thongs on and slip out into the night. The air is still and muggy, the community quiet. Nona hears me on the stairs and waits for me to catch up.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“The oval. You wanna come?”

Her smile glows in the dark. Mum will kill us if she finds out. It's not the first time Nona's nicked off in the middle of the night. Last time, Mum was so worried she called the night-patrol ladies to bring her home.

I whisper, “Mum said no going out after dark.”

Nona gives a cheeky shrug. “She's sleeping. She won't know.”

Against my better instincts, I follow her into the unlit street. The crunch of gravel is loud in my ears.

I'm already starting to feel guilty. I know Mum's found it hard, having Nona stay. The smalls left for Elcho after a few weeks; they missed their mum. But Nona's been with us three months. Three months of her racking up huge phone bills calling her mum and sisters. Three months of Mum feeling like a “twenty-four-hour taxi service”. Three months of Nona disappearing and Mum calling around worried, only to learn she's playing cards somewhere or visiting family, and have her show up three days later, wanting to wash her clothes, eat and shower. Mum's tried to lay down some rules, but none of them have stuck.

We cross the shop car park and make our way onto the oval. It looks like a dark hollow in the ground. The lights are always broken.

I put my hand on Nona's warm arm. “We shouldn't go too far.”

“You scared? Think
galka
's gonna get you?”

“'Course not.”

I hear murmurs from the other side of the oval, near the bush. I tighten my grip on Nona. “What's that?”

“Sheree and Minhala were gonna come down.”

She moves fearlessly towards the voices. My eyes start to adjust. I can make out figures in the blue-black night. A cigarette lighter flares, briefly illuminating Sheree's face in its tiny orange glow.

A harsh voice cuts through the darkness. “Rosie! Nona!”

I jump. My heart is pounding. Nona screams. Her cousins clamber backwards. “Wah …
galka
…”

A body lurches out of the dark, tall and menacing.

“What do you think you're doing out here?”

It's my mum. Fine drops of her spittle land on me as she walks towards us, fuming. “How many times have I told you? No wandering at night. You should be in bed. It's not safe out here. And to bring Rosie with you …”

“Mum, it's okay. We're okay.”

She barely hears me. “Get home. Now.” Her voice is low and menacing. We stand there, stunned. She hollers, “Now, girls!”

We start walking. We are silent the whole way home. Back in our lounge room, I see that Mum is torn between anger and tears. She says, “I honestly don't know what to do, Nona. I want you to be happy here. But there have to be rules. All this coming and going, taking money, wandering at night … it's exhausting for me … and it's not good for you.”

Nona doesn't say anything.

Mum looks exasperated. “Did you hear me?”

Nona says, “I want to go and live with Mum. On Elcho.”

“You don't have to do that. I'm just saying –”

“I want to.”

My insides are screaming,
Don't leave me! Don't go!

There's a long silence, then Mum says, “I'll book a seat for you. When do you want to go?”