Nona and Me Read online

  “What does it say?”

  “Nicked.” He’s watching me closely. “Do you like it?”

  “I do.”

  I keep looking, and stop again a few pages later. “This one is amazing.” It’s a photo of a black and white stencil, simple but clear. It shows a muscle-bound boxer standing over a guy he’s knocked out. Nick grins. “You’ve got good taste. That’s Muhammad Ali smashing Sonny Liston. But it’s not mine.”

  “Oops.”

  “It’s by an artist called El Chivo. Most of his stuff’s in London, but there’s a bit here.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

  I say, “You’re full of surprises, Nicked. I never knew you were into art.”

  “I don’t know if this qualifies as ‘art’.”

  “Sure it does.”

  “You’d never see it in a gallery.”

  I look through the album again, more closely now. I find three more by Nicked. “This is a gallery.”

  I see pride in his face, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, but it’s not real art, not like your stuff.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw that landscape you did in the school art show last year. The watercolour one. It was awesome. The colours were so bright. So real. I felt like I was there – but wearing polarised sunnies.”

  I’m amazed he noticed. I’m amazed he remembers it now.

  “Where’d you paint that, anyway? It didn’t say where it was.”

  “Rocky Bay.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Out near Yirrkala. It had to be close to home so I could walk.”

  Nick nods. “You going to get your L’s? When do you turn sixteen?”

  “November twenty-fourth. Yeah, I’ll get them, not that it’ll do much good. Mum’s only got the troopie and it’s her work car so I’m not officially s’posed to drive it.”

  “Do you know how to drive?”

  “Mum started teaching me when I was thirteen.” He looks impressed. I add, “There have to be some advantages to growing up in the middle of nowhere.”

  He hesitates, then says, “Maybe you could drive my ute.”

  He sounds so unsure about it, I can’t help teasing. “Maybe?”

  “Once you’ve got your P’s.”

  My heart does a flip. He’s talking about us, in the future, together.

  I poke him and grin. “I don’t know if I’d dare! What if I crashed it? Your precious ute. Would that be the end of us?”

  I’ve said it. Us, Rosie and Nick. Us, the couple. I hold my breath.

  His answer comes soft and smiling. “Nah. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

  I fall asleep with his arms around me, his body warm against mine.

  I fall asleep smiling.

  12.

  1998

  We are lying in my single bed, side by side. I’m wearing a new Pocahontas nighty. Nona has a pink one I’ve grown out of. Her bony hip nudges me closer to the wall. “Move over.”

  There’s a guest bed in my room, but she never sleeps there. “Too lonely,” she says. I don’t mind. I’m just happy to have her here. Happy not to be alone.

  Outside, in the lounge room, I can hear my parents arguing. Again. I snuggle into Nona and try to block out their angry voices.

  I whisper, “I hate it when they fight.”

  Nona shrugs, unruffled. I reach out and hold her hand. Her grasp is warm and strong. I say, “I wish you could stay here every night.”

  “The smalls would miss me.”

  “I’m your yapa too.”

  “Yeah. Course.”

  “Can you tell me how it goes again?”

  Nona sighs. “Too tired.”

  “Pretty please?”

  I’ve heard the story before, of course, but I want to hear it again.

  Mum yells, “Bloody hell, Pete!”

  There’s a crash of something falling, or being thrown.

  Nona relents. “Once upon a time, long, long time ago, my momu adopted your nan. It was back in the mission days, and your nan was a mission lady. She taught Momu English and Momu made her a sister. And when they had yothu, they were family too. So your dad and my dad was brothers …”

  I nod. “Wäwas.”

  “Yo. And those wäwas played together when they were little. In the bush, hunting and fishing, going on trips to Bawaka. And when your dad was big, he came back here with your mum. And my mum adopted your mum, so your mum and dad were right skin. Momu says there must be some good spirit, ’cause our mums got yothu-mi at the same time. Two miyalk too. Girls are lucky. Not trouble like boys.”

  “So we’re yapas.”

  She nodded. “Yumalil and Lilaba too. And Jimmy and Lomu, your wäwas.”

  “All family.”

  “Yo.”

  I hold her hand a bit tighter.

  “One big family. Together.” I whisper the words like a prayer.

  They hug me in the darkness.

  13.

  2007

  Mrs Bell buzzes around the kitchen, making us French toast for breakfast. There’s no sign of Selena. She must’ve slept in.

  “What time’s your mum picking you up today, Rosie?”

  I check the clock on the microwave. It’s 9.34am. “In about an hour.”

  Nick pours two enormous glasses of orange juice, and slides one across the bench to me. “I could drop you home later. I mean, if you want to stay longer.”

  Mrs Bell tenses. “Is that a good idea?”

  “What do you mean, Mum?”

  “I just … is it safe? I know you live out there, Rosie, but it’s different, isn’t it? For outsiders coming in? Is it dangerous?”

  Something clicks in my head. Selena always saying, Let’s stay at mine, bombarding me with reasons why being in town is better. Is this why?

  I try to reassure Mrs Bell. “It’s fine. Totally safe.”

  “So people are – more or less – friendly?”

  I can’t hide my surprise. “You’ve never been out there?”

  “Well, I would’ve liked to come and see the art centre, but I didn’t know if it was allowed.”

  “Of course it is. You should come some time.”

  “Don’t you need a special permit?”

  “If you’re doing something in the community, yeah. But not just to drop someone off or go to the art centre.”

  “Oh good. That’s good … Aborigines seem to like painting, don’t they?”

  Before I can stop myself, I correct her. “Yolŋu.”

  “Sorry, that’s what they call them here, isn’t it? I should get used to it. It’s just so hard to pronounce. Yol-noo. Young-u.” She laughs self-deprecatingly.

  Nick rolls his eyes. “You sound like a try-hard, Mum.”

  She blushes and moves back to the stove. I feel for her and say, “Anyway, it’s fine. Mum has to come into town to get groceries, so no need for Nick to drive me out there. Another time.”

  Mrs Bell gives me an appreciative smile. I can tell she’s quietly relieved. “Yes, another time.”

  *

  I’m in History. It’s the last lesson of the day. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and sneak it out to have a look. It’s a message from Nick.

  Want 2 come 2 pool?

  Miss Fuller is too busy raving on about women’s changing rights and freedoms to notice I’m exercising mine by texting under the desk.

  U teaching?

  No. Thought we culd hang out.

  Want 2 but prob can’t.

  Y not?

  No pick up :-(

  I’ll drive U.

  I hesitate. If I let him drive me, how will I explain to Mum how I got home? I think of the community bus. I could say I caught that. Mum won’t be home until five. There’s a good chance she’ll never know. But I feel like my lies are compounding lately, building up like plaque on teeth. I can almost taste them and they taste bitter. I’m not a good liar.

  My phone
vibrates again.

  So?

  I stall for time.

  Wot abt ur mum?

  His reply is fast.

  4get her.

  I can hear Mrs Bell’s voice in my head. Is it dangerous? For outsiders coming in? It occurs to me that maybe Nick’s never been out there either. Before I can ask, another text comes in.

  Will drive U sooner or l8tr. Might as well b 2day.

  He’s right, but I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. I tell myself it’ll be fine. Over and over. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.

  *

  The water is cool. There’s a slight breeze blowing through the scrub from the beach. We have the entire pool to ourselves. We duck and dive. We kiss with cold, wet lips. We both swim twenty laps, matching each other’s pace, stroke for stroke. I suspect he’s going a bit slower than usual so I can keep up.

  Afterwards, we sit on the grass in the sun. I run my fingers through my hair to help it dry. I remember doing exactly this in the smoke of campfires with Nona. I can almost hear the crackle of fire, feel the flames so hot they’d burn hairs off our legs.

  “It’s three thirty.”

  Nick looks from his watch to me. Any later and I’ll be pushing it with Mum. I don’t want to take any chances that she might see Nick and me arrive. When I talked to her this afternoon, she sounded slightly annoyed and said, “Whatever you do, don’t miss the bus this time.”

  I stand, reluctant. Nervous. “We’d better go.”

  *

  As we enter the community, Nick can’t stop staring out the window. I see it all through his eyes. The run-down houses and abandoned cars. The clusters of Yolŋu families sitting in cross-legged circles on mats in their yards. The laughing kids barefoot, playing in the broken phone box. His face has a strange expression on it. I can’t place it, but it makes me nervous.

  We pass Rripipi’s house. It appears empty today. Someone has put a tatty blue couch on the front verandah.

  “Turn here.”

  Nick takes a right, as directed. We pass a few Yolŋu ladies – Milirrk and Gombu – who peer into the car, curious, as we pass. They recognise me and smile. Milirrk waves. Remembering my promise to Mum, I wave back.

  I can feel Nick’s eyes on me. “Who are they?”

  “Oh, just some ladies … they live in that red house.”

  “Do you know everyone here?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He looks far from impressed.

  I shift in my seat, and try to make my voice sound light. “Can’t believe you’ve never been to Yirrkala before.”

  He’s defensive. “Why would I have?”

  “I don’t know – to go to Shady Beach?”

  “Has it got surf?”

  “Sometimes … not often, I guess …” I try again. “What about to watch a football game?”

  “Don’t like football. You know that.”

  It’s a bit of a sore spot. His dad played AFL but, to his disappointment, Nick’s only ever been a swimmer and a surfer.

  He swerves to avoid a pothole. “These roads are crap. They really don’t look after this place, do they?”

  We pass the oval, the community store and the art centre. I indicate for him to stop in our driveway. He pulls over, peering up at our house.

  I hesitate. “You want to come in?”

  I’m hoping like crazy he says no. I’ve already taken too many risks. If he comes in he might stay, and if he stays Mum might come home, and if she comes home Nick will realise she doesn’t know anything about him …

  Nick says, “Nah, I’d better head.”

  Relief. I kiss him, quietly grateful, and climb out of the car, saying, “See you tomorrow.”

  I watch his Hilux drive up the street until it disappears around the corner.

  *

  Mum arrives home from work and says, “Who drove you home today?”

  “What?”

  “Your ŋamala said she saw you in a ute. With a boy.”

  “Which ŋamala?”

  But I already know the answer. I remember Milirrk waving, peering into Nick’s car.

  I try to play it casual. “It was Nick – you know, Selena’s brother? He came to pick Selena up and offered to drop me home too.”

  “To Yirrkala?”

  I can hear the scepticism in her voice.

  She gets straight to the point. “Are you seeing him, Rosie?”

  “Um … I don’t know yet.”

  “But you like him?”

  “Yes.”

  The word lands like a thud between us. This is new territory. I’ve never had a boyfriend before. I have no idea what she’ll say. She leans on the kitchen bench and taps her fingers nervously on the counter.

  “How old is he?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “So he’s in, what – Year 11? Year 12?”

  “Year 12.”

  I can see her putting a cross next to that fact on the suitable-boyfriend list in her head.

  “Is he on his P’s, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Cross number two.

  “I don’t like you driving with someone on their P’s.”

  “He’s a safe driver.”

  “He’s seventeen.”

  I grasp for pro-Nick arguments. “He’s … responsible. He teaches swimming at the pool. To little kids and everything.”

  “Have I seen him there?”

  “Probably.”

  She thinks this over. “Hang on – messy hair, blue eyes, tall, kind of muscly?”

  I nod. She pauses, probably thinking three strikes and he’s out. “Why didn’t you ask him in today?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her fingers start up again. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Would you have told me about him if Milirrk hadn’t seen you?”

  I shrug. She looks hurt. Or am I imagining it?

  Finally, she says, “Well, I’d like to meet him.”

  “Okay.”

  I escape to my room, relieved the interrogation is over.

  *

  Dad gets more information, as always. He teases me. “How’s the boyfriend? Does he qualify as a boyfriend now?”

  “He does.”

  “Have you told your mum about him?”

  I think of Mum’s interrogation and say, “Yep. She’s even going to meet him soon.”

  I don’t tell him that in this equation, soon equals hopefully never. Mum keeps asking and I keep saying Nick’s busy. I’m sure she knows I’m lying. There’s not that much to do in Nhulunbuy.

  Dad sounds genuinely pleased. “Well, that’s great. She’ll have to give me the low-down.”

  I’m suddenly nervous, thinking of what I’ve told Dad so far. Or, more to the point, what I haven’t told him. I’ve been careful to paint a cheery, domestic picture. Nick’s dad’s a real family man. He works driving trucks for the mine. He’s good value, always joking around. And Nick’s mum is an amazing cook. She works part-time, making meals for the childcare centre in town, and still finds time to bake at home. I haven’t mentioned that she’s scared of Nick coming out to Yirrkala, or that his dad’s favourite brand of humour seems to be black jokes. I know this stuff wouldn’t go down well, with either of my parents.

  I hear Dad’s voice again. “I’m glad you’re giving your mum a chance, being open with her about things. I’m sure it means a lot to her.”

  Guilt swamps me.

  14.

  1999

  I am sitting on the couch, in between Mum and Dad. The light is dull and grey, like the sky outside. Mum has her serious face on. Dad jiggles his leg, worried.

  My stomach churns. “Am I in trouble?”

  Dad hurries to reassure me. “No, blossom.”

  They swap a look above my head.

  I try again. “Did someone die?”

  “Nothing like that …” He shoots Mum another, more desperate, look. This one says help!

  Mum takes control. “Rosie, your dad and I …
we’ve decided to live separately for a while. He’s been offered a job in Gapuwiyak.”

  My heart starts pounding. “Where’s that?”

  “About three hours through the bush.”

  I turn towards Dad, not comprehending. “But … you’ll still come home on weekends, won’t you?”

  He shifts uncomfortably. “I think so … yeah, sometimes.”

  Mum shakes her head, frustrated. “Pete, we agreed –”

  “She’s seven years old.”

  “You promised – honest and open. Direct.” Mum’s voice is hard, leaving no room for argument.

  Dad looks pained. Each word is an effort. “I won’t be home on weekends. But I will come and visit you, at least once a month. And you can come and visit me. And I’ll call you, all the time. And if you ever want to call me, I’m just on the other end of the phone.”

  My mind is reeling. I don’t understand. Why is Dad leaving? Is it my fault? Is it Mum’s?

  She’s getting teary as she says, “We’re going to have to make some changes, Rosie. The art centre’s asked me to work full-time. And I’ve said yes, which means they’ll give us a house –”

  “We’ve already got a house.”

  “I know … but this one comes with your dad’s job. He’ll get a new one in Gapuwiyak … and we’ll have to move.”

  “I don’t want to move.”

  “You’ll like it, I promise. The new house is great. It’s right behind the art centre – so close you can come and go, even if I’m working. You know, after school or in the holidays.”

  My insides are boiling. “I don’t want to move to any stupid house!”

  Dad reaches out to me. “Rosie …”

  I stand up, out of his reach. “Why can’t we all go to Gapuwiyak?”

  Dad says, “Blossom … you can come and visit whenever you like.”

  Mum is emotional. “Your dad and I … things haven’t been good for a while. We’ve been fighting a lot –”

  “So what? Nona’s parents fight too and her dad doesn’t leave. I mean, he leaves but he always comes back. But you’re not coming back, are you?”

  Dad looks heartbroken. “Rosie, I love you. This won’t change that, I promise. Nothing will ever change that.”