by Clare Atkins
“Every two weeks. On payday.”
Mum nudges me into politeness. I say, “Hi.”
I expect Nona to ignore me, and she does. I haven’t seen her since that day in school. She keeps her eyes down. I watch her as she finishes unloading. She looks tired and drawn. Her usual spark is missing.
Guḻwirri gives me a small smile. “Nhämirri nhe, Waku?” How are you, my child?
I respond automatically. “Manymak.” Good.
The basic Yolŋu Matha rolls around in my mouth. A word I used to use all the time. It tastes familiar. It tastes like childhood.
The checkout lady finishes scanning their items and reads out the total: $248.60. Guḻwirri takes out her purse and hands over a green and white card.
The lady takes it. “You got enough money on here?”
Guḻwirri shrugs. “Hope so.” She lowers her voice to Mum. “Yapa, you got rrupiya for petrol? Got these cards now. Money’s stuck on there.”
The checkout lady punches in numbers then hands the card back. I peer over. It says Basics Card. I’ve never heard of it.
Mum digs a twenty-dollar note out of her wallet and gives it to Guḻwirri, then gestures to Nona and says something in Yolŋu Matha. I make out the word rirrikthuna. Sick. Guḻwirri answers and Mum responds with a surprised “Wah …”
I hear Guḻwirri say, “Trying to hide it.”
Nona’s eyes remain averted, her hands in her pockets. She seems embarrassed by our mums’ conversation. The transaction goes through and she starts to push their bag-laden trolley towards the door. She gives Mum a small nod. “Nhäma, amaḻa.”
I may as well not even be there.
Mum calls after her, “If you need anything …”
It’s hard to tell if she hears as the automatic doors open and close around her and the trolley. She can’t wait to get away and I don’t blame her. Guḻwirri says goodbye and follows Nona out. Mum watches them go, her face a mix of regret and disappointment.
I ask, “What was that about?”
Mum’s surprised. “You didn’t understand?”
I snap back, on edge. “Obviously not, or I wouldn’t ask.”
Mum ignores my tone and says, “Nona’s pregnant.”
*
“It’s my eighteenth.”
Nick folds his arms across his chest and leans back against the plastic deckchair. He’s just finished teaching a lesson to a group of “squidlet” kids. Now that it’s September, the pool is starting to get busy again.
Selena frowns. “Mum will be devastated.”
Nick is adamant. “I’m not having it at our house. The whole cake and speeches thing? No way. Dad would use it as an excuse to start crapping on about my future and why I should go to uni.”
Benny is propped up on his elbows, lying on a towel on the grass. There are flowers on the mango tree behind him. He looks over at Nick. “Where are you thinking of having it, then?”
“The lookout.”
Benny gives Selena an apologetic shrug. “The lookout is a good place for a party.”
Nick nods. “And we won’t need parents to buy us alcohol. I’ll be legal. So it doesn’t matter if they like it or not.”
Selena sighs. “They’ll just be hurt, that’s all. Eighteen is a big deal.”
A trickle of water runs off Nick’s hair and over his shoulder. He turns to me. “Think you could stay over?”
Selena gives me a cheeky wink and pulls Benny to his feet. “Let’s swim.”
Benny groans but allows himself to be dragged to the edge of the pool, then does a quick turn, grabs Selena and throws her in. She’s squealing as she surfaces. He dives in after her.
Nick ignores them, his eyes still on me. “So? What do you say?”
I’m tempted. “You know I want to … but my Mum …”
“This is a special occasion.”
“To her, that’s all the more reason to say no. It’s an eighteenth. She’ll know there’ll be alcohol. And she’s not going to love that it’s at the lookout with no chaperones.”
“So don’t tell her.”
I look back at the pool. Selena and Benny are holding each other in the water. They’re close and whispering. They look so carefree. Loved up.
Nick persists. “Or don’t tell her about the party at all. Just say you’re staying at a friend’s place. Someone she likes. Keep it innocent. You did that before, didn’t you? When you stayed over?”
“I told her I was staying at Selena’s. It wasn’t exactly lying, she just didn’t know about you then.”
“Same diff. Come on, what does it matter? It’s just a tiny white lie … and it’s for a good cause.” Nick puts on a puppy-dog face.
I shove him, laughing. “Stop it.”
I stand up, pulling the bottom of my swimmers down to make sure they’re covering my bum. “I’m going to swim some laps.”
I can feel him watching me as I walk to the edge of the pool and climb in. The water is so tepid now I no longer flinch when I get in. I put my goggles on and wade over to the roped-off lanes. Then I’m pushing off the wall. The rush of water in my ears drowns out all sound. My world is once again defined by lane ropes and lines. It feels safe. Familiar. Contained. My arms propel me forward in that comforting rhythm.
One, two, three, breathe.
One, two, three, breathe.
Don’t think about Nick. Or sex. Or the party. Just swim.
One, two, three, breathe.
One, two, three, breathe.
Don’t think about Nick. Or sex. Or the party. Just swim.
*
Selena shows me the packet. I recognise it from sex-education classes in school.
I look at her in shock. “You’re on the pill now? Since when?”
“Since yesterday. Mum took me to Endeavour.”
The medical centre in town. I shake my head. “I can’t believe she’s being so cool about this.”
Selena’s mum walked in on her and Benny doing it last week. I squirm even thinking about it. It has to be every teenager’s worst nightmare, but Selena insists it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Apparently her mum just excused herself and left. Later, she sat her down and said if Selena wanted to be sexually active that was her choice, but to make sure she used protection. She brought her home a packet of condoms the next day, and now this, the pill. I can’t believe how understanding she’s being.
I say, “My mum would freak out.”
“Yeah, well, your mum’s … different.”
I think about Mum’s reaction to the news Nona is pregnant. The whole way home she was quiet. As we were unpacking the groceries, she said softly, “I really thought Nona would be different. She had that spark, you know, even as a little girl. She was so smart, she could’ve done anything. I remember her saying she wanted to be a nurse.”
Selena nudges me back into the present. “So?”
“So what?”
“So … are you going to stay over after Nick’s party?”
I know what she’s really asking. I answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
She grabs the box of condoms from her bedside drawer and pulls out a small river of blue plastic packets. She rips off a couple and hands them to me. “Well, take these. Just in case. I mean, no pressure or anything, you know even the thought of you and my brother makes me sick, but if you’re going to do it …”
I look at the shiny packages in my hand.
Selena shrugs, “Better than getting knocked up. At our age – can you imagine?”
28.
2001
We are lying on our bellies, watching Rage on TV. Nona’s white bandaged foot taps the air behind us, in time with the music. The smalls are on the couch, bowls of Weet-Bix balanced precariously on their laps.
“I Wanna Be Sedated” by the Ramones comes on. We’ve seen the clip before. The band are sitting at a table eating cornflakes, while the room behind them is going crazy with nuns and ballerinas and cheerleaders. A nurse with long dark hair appears and
gives the singers fake oversized needles in the arm. She’s wearing a short skirt and a headband with a huge red cross on it.
I nudge Nona and joke, “Look! It’s Nurse Nona!”
She’s been talking about hospital ever since she got back from Darwin. The beds with backs that go up and down. The food delivered on a trolley. Having a TV in your room. But what made the biggest impact on her were the nurses. I feel like I know them, just from Nona’s descriptions. Shelly, who laughs at her own jokes. Lena with the cool tattoos. Nicole, who showed Nona photos of her family in Scotland. And Nona’s favourite nurse, Jennifer, from Maningrida, who’s related to Nona somehow – maybe a distant cousin? Nona’s decided she’s going to be a nurse when she grows up. We all tease her. Nurse Nona. It has a good ring to it.
I expect Nona to laugh or hit me, but she gestures at me to be quiet. I realise she’s been listening to Mum and Rripipi talking in the kitchen. I tune in.
Rripipi’s voice is low and earnest. “I went to the Arnhem Club and asked them to ban her. They didn’t want to help me so I tried the Walkabout. I told the lady, ‘Please, my daughter-in-law has young kids. She shouldn’t be here drinking. If you see her, please send her home.’”
Rripipi notices that we’re listening, but continues talking. “That Walkabout lady wanted to help but she didn’t know how. She said I should try the police. So I stopped in and saw Tony. You know him? He really helped us last time Jimmy was in trouble. But even he said it’s a family problem. I told him Guḻwirri doesn’t listen to me, but she’d listen to him, someone in uniform.”
Mum asks, “What did he say?”
“Said he can’t stop someone drinking if they’re not causing trouble.”
“amaḻa, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve bought her a ticket to Elcho. Her sisters said they’ll help her dry out.” Rripipi coughs. Her chest sounds wheezy.
Mum casts a look in our direction, indicating that we can hear. Rripipi waves her concern away. “They know. I haven’t seen the boys, though. Jimmy’s been sniffing again, and Lomu disappears for days. They only turn up to take money. I’m tired. And there’s no-one to look after the girls.”
I know Mum has heard these stories before. I hold my breath, hoping, praying … and finally she offers. “The girls can stay here for a while. You should rest.”
I hear the relief in Momu’s voice, as she says, “Ma’.”
Nona and I reach out and squeeze each other’s hands in silent celebration. She starts singing gleefully along with the film clip, changing the words, but all the time grinning into my eyes. “Bam bam bam bam ba bam bam bam … I’m gonna stay at your house …”
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?”