Border Line

Border Line

Cassie misses her friends and the city already. Life is so different in Eucla — and boring! She doesn’t even have a school to go to. It seems as though her life has ended. Then she meets Ella ... and Bernie. ‘Cassie, this is my brother.’ Bernie smiled and I caught my breath. He was tall, dark and stunning. P e rhaps he guessed my thoughts because he grinned self-consciously, jumped into the pool and reached out his hand. I held it for a moment and felt warm inside. Was this love at first sight? Maybe, just maybe, life on the Nullabor won’t be so bad after all.

Cover by Marion Duke

Dianne Wolfer grew up in Melbourne, Bangkok and Albury. After training as a teacher, she worked in Perth, the hills of Nepal and downtown Tokyo. Since returning to Western Australia in 1990, she has pursued her interest in writing while caring for her daughter, Sophie. Dianne’s short stories for adults have been included in anthologies and commended in various compettions. In 1992, she won the Society of Women Writers’ Bronze Quill award. Her first novel, Dolphin Song, was published in 1995.

Border Line

D i a n n e

W o l f e r

FREMANTLE ARTS CENTRE PRESS

First published 1998 by FREMANTLE ARTS CENTRE PRESS 193 South Terrace (POBox 320), South Fremantle Western Australia 6162. Copyright © Dianne Wolfer, 1998. This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher. Consultant Editor Alwyn Evans. Designer Marion Duke. Production Coordinator Cate Sutherland. Typeset by Fremantle Arts Centre Press and printed by Australian Print Group, Maryborough.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-publication data Wolfer, Dianne, 1961 - . Border Line. ISBN 1 86368 208 2. I. Title. A823.3

The State of Western Australia has made an investment in this project through the Department for the Arts.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the relevant copyright, designs and patents acts, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publisher. eBooks Corporation

In memory of Reinhard, my inspiration. And also for Mum, who helped us through the dark hours.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to the Stuart/Trendall computer backup team, especially Ross and Jasper for their cheerful patience, to Greg Pickles for his help with aspects of the APB Starling Eradication Program and life on the N u l l a r b o r, to Tracey Lawrie for her astro l o g i c a l knowledge, and also Jane Brandenburg and Anthony Bougher for their information about the Eyre Bird Observatory. Feedback during rewrites by Moira Br o d i e , members of Kaleidoscope and Papermates (Society of Women Writers’ magazine groups) and my family was much appreciated. As was Alwyn Evans’ thoughtful editing. Thank you all very much.

One

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There’s no way I’ll forget August the fifteenth. As if the problem at lunchtime wasn’t enough, I came home to find Mum and Dad having a blue in the kitchen. ‘But what about the kids?’ Mum’s voice was icy. ‘They might enjoy it.’ ‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous!’ They stopped arguing when they saw me and we looked at each other in silence. Like a sitcom family caught on pause. ‘How come Dad’s home early?’ I asked. My father looked away. ‘He’s lost his job!’ Mum replied. ‘The whole section’s closed. They were given an hour to collect their things and that was it. Finished!’ She shook her head. ‘Can you believe it? After nine years.’ ‘What’ll you do now, Dad?’ ‘Don’t worry,’ Mum answered for him, ‘he’ll find something. And anyway, why are you home at two o’clock in the afternoon?’

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‘I got my period,’ I mumbled, looking at the floor. ‘Oh! Come into the bathroom and I’ll show you what to do.’ I stumbled after her, dying of embarrassment. It’s all very well hearing the details during human biology classes, but being alone with Mum and a tampon was truly mortifying. So, I’m biologically grown-up now. I guess I should be thrilled. Last year my friend Maria told me how her family celebrated the occasion with a traditional dinner. They even let her have a glass of wine. Given Dad’s mood at the moment, any conversation at our dinner table would be a miracle — never mind a celebration! After our intimacy in the bathroom, Mum put the kettle on. A cup of tea is her solution to life’s problems. She filled the teapot and smiled at me, but I avoided her eyes, too shy to speak. The phone rang and Mum hurried into the lounge to answer it. ‘If it’s for me, I’m in the bath,’ I said. Mum raised her eyebrows and I sat there gulping my tea until she returned. ‘It was Joanna,’ Mum said. ‘She wants to know what happened to you after lunch. I said you’d call back when you were out of the bath.’ I finished my tea and sighed, wondering why the thought of telling my friend worried me. Perhaps it was because I didn’t really trust her. Although I’d been hanging around Joanna’s group for over a year, I still felt as if I needed to prove myself. I kept apologising for things and sucking up to her. It really

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annoyed me, but something about her bossy selfassurance made me do it. Things were different at primary school. My best friend, Maria, and I used to do everything together. She still lived nearby, but after Year Seven she went to the Catholic school and made new friends. I asked Mum if I could go to St Anne’s too, but she just laughed. ‘Even if we were Catholic, there’s no way we could afford the fees, Cassie.’ So it seems I’m stuck at the high school for the duration. Mum and Dad continued sniping at each other, so I took my homework into the garden. I couldn’t understand why Mum was angry with Dad. The redundancy wasn’t his fault. They’d been worrying about it for weeks. Leaf shadows patterned my textbook and as a ladybird walked across the question I was trying to read, I felt sure there was something my parents weren’t telling me.

We ate dinner quietly that night. Salad with leftover quiche. Luke and I sat at the table trying to swallow without choking on the sour atmosphere between our parents. After dinner I really did have a bath. While the water ran, I stared at my new self in the mirror until the fog obliterated me. Perhaps these changes would make the lumps on my chest grow. Joanna took a

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12C bra already, and loved to tell people how this had changed her life. ‘I want boys to take me seriously, but when you’re bigbreasted like me …’ ‘Those strapless tops look good on some girls, but they’d make me look top-heavy …’ ‘I wish I could run or play netball, but when you have boobs like mine ...’ My boobs certainly don’t get in the way when I play sport. Cross-country running is what I do best. I love being in the bush, listening to the birds and jumping over sun-dazed stumpy tails before they scramble away. The bathwater had cooled as I lay there thinking, so I stretched my leg and turned on the hot tap with my foot. Then I sank into the warmth, watched my fingers crinkle into prune shapes and tried to work out what to tell Joanna and the others. Since beginning high school, I’ve become an expert at hiding my feelings or turning things into a joke. But there was nothing funny about what happened at lunchtime. And, if any of the boys found out, I’d die. At our school they seem to get a thrill out of calculating when a girl has her period. Maria is lucky, they only allow girls at St Anne’s. ‘Cassandra, get out of the bath, please. Your father wants to have a family conference.’ A family conference! Things must be serious! We haven’t had one of those for years.

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Everyone looked solemn as we sat around the kitchen table. Even Luke, who plays the fool whenever anyone talks seriously, looked more glum than when his best mate flushed his footy cards. I felt like giggling but didn’t want to be sent to my room, so I doodled on the back of an envelope as Mum began talking. ‘Well, you know what’s happened today. We knew your father might lose his job, and now that he has, we need to decide what to do ...’ ‘Come on, Susan, there’s no need to be melodramatic,’ Dad interrupted. ‘We may as well get straight to the point. You know I’ve lost my job,’ he paused and looked at us before continuing, ‘so now we have two options. I can take a r e d u n d a n c y package —you’ve probably heard us talking about that — or I can go on the redeployment list.’ I stared at the dinner crumbs on my placemat. ‘If I take the redundancy, we’ll have enough cash to top up the mortgage repayments, but when the money runs out, it might be hard to find another job. On the other hand, if I go on the redeployment list, I’ll have an allowance and be given a new job as soon as possible.’ ‘Yes, but tell them what kind of job ...’ ‘I think it’s best that the kids hear me out, Susan, then they can ask their own questions!’ Mum scowled but said nothing. It frightened me to see them fighting. Dad’s waffle made little sense, but as long as they weren’t at each other’s throats I didn’t care what he did. I ruffled my fingers through

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my hair and thought of the phone call I should make to Joanna. Being consulted like this made me uneasy. They were the adults, the ones who would decide. Why were they dumping this on us? Dad was still talking. I stopped ru ff l i n g and listened. ‘... then I saw the job advertised in the circular. If I apply and things go well, it’ll mean changes for everyone. Eucla’s a long way from Perth and the lifestyle would be totally different. You’d be doing your schoolwork by correspondence for one thing, but it’d only be for a year or two. We’d be able to save and then I could put in for another transfer.’ What was he on about? Eucla, wasn’t that out woop woop on the Nullarbor somewhere? The pencil slipped from my hand. Everyone turned as it clattered off the table and onto the floor. ‘ S o r r y, did you say Eucla? Yo u ’ re not thinking about moving there?’ I asked in disbelief. Dad grinned. ‘You’d love it, Cassie! There’d be plenty of birds and bush animals for our budding artist to sketch.’ He was teasing and I tried to smile, but the word budding reminded me of my chest and that reminded me how my life had changed forever. I struggled to hold back the tears before answering, but Luke beat me to it. ‘Hang on, you mean we wouldn’t have to go to school?’ Luke was always the practical one. Dad nodded. ‘I’d be out on patrol a lot of the time, but I’ve heard that kids are sometimes allowed to go

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bush too.’ ‘Patrol, wow! When do we go?’ Luke grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘But what about your friends, Luke, and the football team?’ It was obvious Mum was against the idea. Luke looked at her and shrugged. ‘There’d be enough kids out there to make up a side, wouldn’t there?’ Dad cuffed Luke’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure we could organise something,’ he said, laughing. Mum looked away and I shifted uncomfortably. My body felt bloated, and the thought of putting up with this for the next thirty years was unbearable. I blinked back my tears and tried to concentrate. ‘But there’s nothing out there ...’ Mum said. ‘There’s the roadhouse and a meteorology post. A few police families are stationed in the town, and a Silver Chain nurse. Supposedly it’s quite a little community.’ I turned to Mum. She looked disappointed but resigned. ‘What about your job at the doctor’s?’ I asked. ‘It’s only three afternoons a week, and we can’t live off that!’ ‘And the volunteer work at the hospital?’ ‘I guess they’ll have to do without me for a while.’ I gazed around the room, breathing in the smell of sunshine on jarrah floorboards. Luke reckoned our place looked like a rambling cottage compared to the Tuscan mansions sprouting up around us, but I didn’t want to leave its cosy warmth. Dad’s

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photographs of the farm where he’d grown up and my sketches covered the walls. Outside Mum had created an oasis for the birds I loved to draw. Dad rattled on about the benefits of the job, but I tuned out. My life was sliding downhill fast. ‘Cassie, are you listening?’ ‘Yes, Mum.’ I looked back at my parents. What did they want me to do, decide for them?

After wrestling with my doona all night, it was a relief to wake up. I hadn’t made the call to Joanna and thoughts of her had made me restless. I told myself that her opinion didn’t matter, but deep down I knew it did. I pulled on my tracksuit, stowed pencils and paper into my backpack, and jogged towards Jackadder Lake. Then I did my stretching exercises and sat down to sketch the first ducklings of the season. After the first few lines my hand loosened up, the way it does when I become involved in a picture, so when my watch buzzed seven-thirty, I was surprised by how much detail I’d completed. Ducklings, large and small, overlapped each other in a semi-abstract fashion. I was pleased with it and spent a moment tracing my lines with watercolour pencils. After school I could add water to blur the edges for a muted effect. Then if it worked out, I could add it to my end-of-semester folio. I gathered my things and began walking. It wasn’t

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until I reached our house that I re m e m b e red my problems. That’s part of the magic of drawing, it leads me away to another world — a place which is far more peaceful than my real life.

Dad asked if I wanted a lift to school. He was going to register at the office for redeployment and have a talk with the person in charge. I knew he’d decided to take the Eucla posting; talking it through was just his way of making us feel involved. Mum knew too, and I think that made her resentful. ‘You can choose the station if you like,’ Dad said while we waited for the lights to change. But my mind was on Joanna. Instead of accepting his peace offering, I left the radio on his golden oldies program and worried whether anyone noticed the stains on my uniform yesterday. The thought made me want to stay in the car listening to Frank Sinatra forever.

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2

Joanna was perched on a bench by the school gate with our friends. Her perfectly waxed legs rested on the lid of a rubbish bin, but she jumped up when she saw me. ‘What happened yesterday? Did your mum tell you I called? Why were you sent home early?’ There was no point stalling. Joanna always knew when I was lying, ‘I wasn’t sent home, I got my period.’ ‘Is that all?’ Joanna looked disappointed, but then she perked up. ‘Oh well, I guess you’re really one of the girls now.’ She smiled and despite myself I felt a rush of relief and gratitude towards her. Hannah and Cicily, the other two in our group, gathered around now that Joanna had given me the thumbs up. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you may as well tell us all the gruesome details. Did your mum give you tampons or a surfboard?’ I laughed, wondering why I’d been

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so worried. These girls were my best friends and at last my body had caught up with theirs. No doubt I’d get used to it. We linked arms. As we walked towards our lockers, they told me I’d missed seeing Mr Rogers go berserk at Jack, the Year Ten hunk, for smoking behind the toilets. I smiled, hoping that he’d be thrown out for good this time. I’ve never liked Jack Knuckles. He became the school bully after repeating a year at primary school. By the end of Year Seven, Jack was as tall as the teachers and most of the kids were terrified of him. Although I never proved it, I was sure he sabotaged my worm farm. I was ten, and had spent hours designing a system of worm trays for the school’s science competition. On the morning of the judging, after I wouldn’t let Jack push ahead of me at the tuckshop, I found my worms baking onto the hot asphalt outside my classroom. The smashed trays w e re discovered later, stuffed inside one of the boy’s toilets. As the girls continued talking, I remembered the way Jack’s sly eyes darted back and forth to see who was watching him whenever he came over to flirt with Joanna. It would be wonderful to get rid of him. ‘Everyone reckons he’ll be suspended.’ Joanna’s eyes were bright with the excitement of it. ‘And this is the third time he’s been caught,’ Cicily chirped in her falsetto sparrow voice. Hannah said nothing. A recent arrival from Donnybrook, she was too new to be au fait with the school gossip yet.

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Jack walked past with his best mate, Angelo, and Joanna tossed her hair so that her shoulder-length streaks shone in the sunlight. ‘Morning,’ she called, ‘we didn’t think you’d be here today.’ Jack grinned. ‘I’m on detention. With another warning. Thought I’d go for sure this time.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘What do I have to do to miss a week?’ He winked over his shoulder and Cicily giggled on cue. ‘Isn’t he a spunk?’ sighed Joanna, as Jack pranced towards the oval. I looked away. The Year Ten girls must have seen beyond his biceps and blonde hair. Otherwise why was he spending so much time parading through the Year Nine area? I watched Cicily staring after him. Was I the only one who thought he was all show?

At morning recess we chatted between mouthfuls of chips and jam donuts. Joanna made the others tell the story of their first period. ‘So Cassie feels more relaxed,’ she said. The twenty-minute break whizzed by. When the siren blared, Hannah and Joanna went to home economics, Cicily to her music lesson and I hurried off to my elective art class. We were studying ancient Egyptian tomb paintings and trying to imitate the stylised body shapes with ink line drawings. I’d roughed out a group of fox-headed figures two days before and

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was looking forward to working on them. I loved my art class. We had a great teacher who encouraged us to experiment and develop our own techniques. The figures turned out well, and when the double lesson was over I collected my lunch and walked t o w a rds our usual place beneath a row of lemon gums. Halfway there I stopped. Jack and Angelo w e re lounging on the bench we always sat on. I didn’t know what to do, but as I stood there dithering, Joanna raced towards me. ‘I asked Jack if he wanted to sit with us at lunchtime, but I never dreamed he would,’ she whispered, hugging my arm as we walked towards the older boys. We ate lunch and talked. The conversation seemed strained until Jack began boasting about what he’d done at a party on the weekend. Joanna and Cicily smiled, sighed and laughed at all the pr o p e r moments. Like me though, Hannah looked confused by the sudden turn of events. ‘So, what happened to you yesterday?’ Jack asked after he’d told us about his run-in with Mr Rogers. ‘ P e rhaps she was caught smoking too,’ Angelo said, laughing until his belly jiggled. They grinned and fell silent waiting for me to reply. ‘I don’t smoke,’ I said quietly. ‘Well, not since I tried it in Year Six anyway. I think it stinks.’ Jack was glaring at me. Then I remembered. His breath always smelt like an ashtray. I sat there with my mouth open, but it was too late to pretend I was joking. Jack turned to Joanna.

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‘Strange friends you’ve got,’ he said, standing up to leave. ‘But it’s cool, we won’t stay around to offend Miss Pure and Innocent.’ Joanna jumped up and held his arm. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘She’s not herself today, are you, Cassie?’ If only she knew what else was happening at home, I thought as Jack scowled at me. ‘You know,’ Joanna continued, her voice becoming c o y, ‘there are days when girls are more moody than usual.’ ‘Aha,’ Jack said, nudging Angelo, ‘she’s got the curse!’ I blushed and glared at Joanna. How could she? Hannah looked horrified and Cicily giggled as sauce from her hot dog dribbled down her chin. Then the siren hooted, and with one last smirk Jack swaggered off towards his locker. ‘Come on,’ said Hannah, ‘I’ll walk over to maths with you.’ Joanna rushed after us. ‘What’s wrong, Cassie? You’re not sulking? Jack won’t tell anyone.’ I felt like screaming at her. Could she really be so stupid or was this another game? ‘Just leave me alone,’ I yelled. Then I stormed off with Hannah.

The phone rang soon after I got home. It was Joanna. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. We all get it.’ ‘ Yes, but I don’t want it broadcast publicly. By

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t o m o r row the whole school will know that Cassandra Falconer has got her period.’ ‘Don’t be a moron. Why don’t you trust Jack? He’s sweet when you get to know him. He won’t tell anyone.’ ‘Since when have you “got to know him”?’ She paused and for some reason I knew she was smiling at her end of the line. ‘Since this afternoon. He sat next to me on the bus coming home!’ I was stunned. This was a victory for Joanna. Although he gave me the creeps, half the girls in Year Nine were in love with Jack Knuckles. ‘And, he promised he wouldn’t say anything to the other boys about it,’ she continued. I still wasn’t sure if I could trust her. ‘Where did Hannah sit?’ I asked. ‘Behind us, with Angelo,’ she answered. I couldn’t help laughing, but as Joanna told me more about the ride home I wondered how Hannah felt about the new arrangement. I tried to remain angry while she rabbitted on but, as usual, Joanna managed to talk me around. In the end I laughed and told her that she’d make a good politician. We chatted for a while until Dad wandered in looking muddled. He frowned when he saw me on the phone, so I told Joanna I’d meet her for a milkshake the next day. Then I hung up. ‘ W h e re’s Mum?’ Dad asked as I walked into the kitchen. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, bristling at his tone, ‘probably still at work. She’s always late on Friday

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afternoons.’ Dad grunted, gave me a half-hearted smile and walked back into the study. I watched him go then cleared the table, ready to continue working on my duckling sketch. The Top 40 countdown was playing on the radio as I dabbed water over the outline and fuzzed the edges to make the colours blend. I lost track of time, so when Mum came home and flicked on the light I blinked in the sudden brightness. ‘Not bad,’ she said, standing behind me. ‘We’ll make an artist of you yet, unless you ruin your eyesight first, working in that light.’ I put down my brush and flexed my hands, wondering whether to add collage to the painting to give it more texture. I’d seen the technique at a mixed media exhibition and was keen to try it. The idea was tempting, but I was afraid I’d mess it up. Better to practise on a scrappy painting first, I decided, as I put the ducklings aside to dry. ‘How was your day?’ Mum asked, but before I could answer, Dad appeared from the study. ‘ A re you always this late on Fridays?’ he demanded. Mum nodded and plonked her basket onto the bench. ‘I’ve never seen any overtime in your pay packet.’ ‘Nor have I!’ Mum snapped and began putting away the groceries she’d brought home with her. ‘We need to talk.’ ‘Yes, I know,’ Mum sighed. ‘Let me get the dinner on and we can have a proper chat. ‘Come on, Susan, let’s order pizza. Then you can

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sit down and relax.’ ‘And how much will that cost?’ ‘Don’t worry, it looks like I’ll be back in work soon ...’ Mum looked wary, but before she could answer, Luke sailed in. ‘Did someone mention pizza?’ Dad nodded and Luke punched the air. ‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘Hawaiian with double pineapple and no olives coming up!’ I turned up my nose. Besides being a total nerd, Luke had the worst taste in pizza. ‘And for the lady,’ Dad said turning to me, ‘double salami, or are we still vegetarian?’ ‘Dad, it’s not a fad. Eating dead animals is disgusting. You know I haven’t touched meat since Mum stopped forcing me to!’ ‘I’ll share a medium vegetarian with Cassie,’ Mum said quickly before Luke could say anything stupid. Dad picked up the phone to order. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘One medium vegetarian and one large Hawaiian with lots of pineapple and no olives please. Yes, we’ll pick it up. Fifteen minutes? Great, we’re on our way.’ ‘It doesn’t take fifteen minutes to drive to Innaloo,’ Mum said. ‘No, but it’s good to be there early,’ Dad muttered, grabbing his keys. ‘Come on, Luke.’ ‘They have video games,’ I explained as they rushed out the door. Mum rolled her eyes and washed lettuce for a salad to go with dinner.

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After we’d eaten, I wondered what it is about takeaway food that makes you scoff it. Sometimes Mum makes a homemade pizza on Lebanese bread, but we eat that slowly. It must have something to do with the packaging I decided, but before I could start feeling guilty about the environment, Dad began telling us about the job in Eucla. ‘Well, it seems I have a good chance if we want it,’ he paused, but Mum ignored his meaningful glance. ‘If they accept my application, I’ll probably go out and meet the other blokes at the end of next week.’ ‘What’s the rush?’ Mum interrupted. ‘You know how much I love Perth’s wildflowers in spring. And the first buds are just opening!’ ‘It’s not up to me. The job is available now. If I don’t take it, someone else will.’ ‘Oh, come on, as if people will be falling over each other to be posted to Eucla.’ ‘There only needs to be one other person and I might miss out.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t understand you, Susan, we went through this last night and you a g reed that it was a good opportunity to set us up financially.’ ‘Yes, I know.’ ‘Well then, what’s the problem?’ ‘I don’t know, everything seems to be happening so quickly. There would be a lot to organise.’ ‘Nothing we can’t handle! Anyway let’s wait and see. The coordinator is keen to send a replacement as soon as possible, but they still need to discuss my suitability.’

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It was hard not to get caught up in Dad’s enthusiasm and I tried to remember when I’d last seen him so excited. Luke was already babbling on about helping Dad track birds, but I couldn’t see what that had to do with anything. ‘What will you actually be doing for the ... what is it ... Agricultural Protection Board?’ ‘Agriculture, love, not Agricultural. APB for short. My job is to track and control the rogue starlings that try to fly into Western Australia.’ ‘You mean you’ll be chasing birds all day?’ Dad nodded. ‘There’s a four man team full-time on the program.’ ‘And what happens when you catch them?’ ‘Well, they use any that’re caught as lure birds,’ he paused, ‘but for the most part I’ll be tracking and shooting them ... if I get the job.’ ‘Shooting!’ I gasped. How could my dad, the birdlover, even think of doing such a thing? ‘Cassie, don’t look at me as if I’m some kind of monster. You don’t understand ...’ ‘But you love birds, you’ve always said you wanted to study ornithology!’ ‘Yes, but then I joined the public service. That’s why I want to take this job, so I can do something more meaningful. It’s perfect, I can put my old rabbit shooting skills to use, and if you get off your high horse for a moment and listen ...’ ‘To what, details of how you’ll murder them? No thanks!’ I jumped up and stormed out of the room.

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On Monday they offered Dad the job. By Friday he was packed, ready to catch the bus east to meet the other blokes. Before leaving, Dad told us his predecessor’s wife had threatened to leave him if he didn’t quit. Mum pressed her lips together and said nothing. I crossed my fingers, hoping that he’d hate the town or the job or both. But, it just goes to show the futility in finger crossing. Dad returned after one week raving about the wide horizons, clean air and rugged coastline. I told him he sounded like that Dorothea Mackellar poem we’d learnt at primary school, but he just laughed. ‘It’s beautiful, Cassie,’ he said. ‘You’ll love it!’ I didn’t think so.

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3

Dad reckoned the new house would be a great place to live. He went ahead to do some repairs and clean up while Mum packed and found tenants for our house. I tried to be positive. The last thing Mum needed was me moping about, but it was har d . Settling into high school hadn’t been easy and thinking about another change made my stomach tighten. Two weeks before we were due to leave, Luke and I went to meet the teachers at Distance Education. My liaison teacher was young and asked me to call her Jasmine. She seemed nice enough. Better than most of my normal teachers anyway. I put off telling the kids at school. Talking about Eucla just seemed to bring the move closer. But Luke was blabbing to his mates at primary school, so in the end I told my friends before they heard it from someone else. Joanna pretended to be excited, but

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kept making jokes about me becoming extinct on the Nullarbor. ‘I might be back for Year Eleven,’ I said. ‘Yes, but with a bit of luck I’ll be leaving school at the end of next year!’ ‘What are you like at writing letters?’ ‘I don’t know, I’ve never had anyone to write to, but it sounds okay. I wonder how long a letter would take to get way out there, though.’ ‘Dad said it’s usually two days, but sometimes three. He went for a week to check things out.’ ‘Really? What was it like?’ ‘He said it was beautiful. But it’s hard to know whether to believe him or not. I wonder if there’ll be anyone our age out there.’ Joanna looked at me sympathetically, ‘I hope it’s not too terrible for you, but if it is, p’rhaps you could come and stay with me in the Christmas holidays.’ ‘That’d be great,’ I said, trying not to appear too eager. It would be easier to leave if I knew I could come back to Perth in a few month’s time. Joanna smiled. ‘I’ll ask Mum, but I’m sure she won’t mind. Having you around’ll keep me out of her hair,’ she said as we walked to class together.

I knew Mum was feeling bad when I opened my drawer and found three pairs of new socks. Although they were pale, earthy colours, it was a bad sign.

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Some people do an Imelda Marcos and buy shoes when they’re down. I go for long runs or eat chocolate. I guess others drink and party. But when my practical mother gets depressed, she buys socks! Long socks, short socks, woollen socks. Her favourites are the ones with pictures woven into them. We hadn’t had new socks for ages, so when I checked Luke’s drawers and found extra pairs of Eagles’ socks, I was sure there was a problem. ‘Nice socks,’ I said to Mum when she came home from work. She looked at me suspiciously, probably remembering how I teased her about it last time. ‘They were having an end-of-winter sale at Karrinyup,’ she said defensively, ‘and there won’t be much available in Eucla!’ ‘ Well, the pale ones match my new jumper perfectly and the others are good too,’ I said, trying to be nice. Mum smiled. ‘I thought you’d like the pink ones.’ ‘It’s called mushroom,’ I replied, as she bustled about trying to organise dinner without the saucepans, which were in one of the boxes. Mum shook her head. ‘This packing is driving me crazy.’ Dad had been gone for two weeks and Mum was exhausted. She didn’t trust the removalists with her breakables, so she’d been busy packing the boxes as well as training her replacement at the doctor ’ s surgery. ‘The removalists will be here tomorr o w, but there’s still so much to do!’

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‘What time are they coming?’ ‘They said early afternoon, so at least I’ve got the morning.’ ‘Do you want me to help?’ I offered. ‘That’d be great,’ Mum said, as she sliced tomatoes. ‘Can you finish wrapping the glasses in the sideboard? You’ll need to do each one separately, in newspaper.’ I nodded and went to find the paper. On the way back I noticed the fish fingers under the griller. ‘ S o r r y, Cassie, but it’s fish or nothing tonight,’ Mum said. ‘There were no vegie cutlets and I haven’t got time to fuss about with two meals.’ ‘That’s fine,’ I said, trying not to think of squashed up fish. There was no way I was going to argue with Mum on a new-sock day.

Joanna had arranged a farewell lunch for me at school. I had to close my eyes and count to ten. When I opened them, everyone’s hands were behind their backs. ‘Something for the chocaholic,’ Joanna said. Then they tossed their surprises into my lap. I was c o v e red in chocolate frogs and koalas! We had a feast, and for the first time since beginning high school, I felt that I really belonged. I gave everyone my new address and said that I’d write. Joanna had asked her parents if I could come and stay for a while in the Christmas holidays. They’d agreed, so at

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least I had something to look forward to. The last few days raced by. I tried to sketch our garden but couldn’t concentrate, so I ended up tearing up my efforts and pounding out my frustration on long, angry jogs through the wetlands.

Getting up at dawn made the journey to Eucla seem like an adventure. Mum had packed the car with pillows, food and water. She wanted to leave early so that we could avoid the morning traffic. Luke went back to sleep as we pulled out of our driveway (he’s such a lazy slob in the mornings), but I stayed awake to keep Mum company as we drove through the quiet streets towards the Great Eastern Highway. The furthest east I’d been was to Mundaring Weir and John Forrest National Park, so, even though I didn’t want to move, I was excited as we drove up Greenmount Hill. We left on a school day, and all the way to Northam I kept imagining what my friends were doing. First, I pictured them walking to school, then gossiping in the yard before our biology class. Mum was in heaven as we drove along the highway. We’d had heavy, winter rains and a carpet of pink, yellow and cream everlastings bordered the road. ‘What a pity Luke is missing them,’ Mum said. ‘Do you think we should wake him?’ I snorted, knowing how Luke hated going on wildflower walks through Kings Park. ‘Mmm, I suppose you’re right,’ Mum said. ‘We’ll

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just have to enjoy them ourselves.’ I looked at my watch as Mum pulled off the highway by an old bridge on the outskirts of Northam. The school siren would have sounded five minutes ago. I pictured my friends walking into biology class and enjoyed a sudden feeling of f reedom. This was much better than answering questions on the human respiratory system! Mum lifted the esky from the boot and spread a rug over the dew-soaked grass. Then we sipped hot tea from the thermos and crunched cereal and cold toast before feeding the leftover bread to the swans. ‘It’s not good for their digestion,’ Mum told us. But even she threw crusts to one of the ducks. I watched the swans dip their serpentine necks to peck at weeds and wished there was enough time to draw them.

We shook the rug and repacked the car. It was Luke’s turn to be in the front seat, so I climbed into the back and arranged my pillow and magazines around me, ready for a relaxing hour or two. But now that Luke was awake, the car was no longer peaceful. ‘Let’s play I spy,’ he said as we drove out of town. ‘Good idea,’ said Mum, but I wasn’t bored enough to join in yet. I listened to their game and flicked through my magazines. The fashions this year were strange and too cute to suit my cropped hair and body shape. I

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turned to the Dear Doctor pages hoping to re a d something juicy, but it was all about pimples and body odour. Ten minutes out of Northam, Luke and Mum ran out of ideas. By then my brother was fascinated by the water pipeline beside the road. ‘Wow, it goes on forever!’ he said, staring at the huge pipes. ‘It takes water to Kalgoorlie and Norseman,’ Mum said. ‘Don’t we pass Kalgoorlie?’ Luke asked. ‘No, Coolgardie. Remember, I showed you on the map. Kalgoorlie’s not on the way, but we might detour there sometime when your father’s with us to help with the driving.’ Luke took out the map and found Kalgoorlie, then he looked up Northam in the guidebook.

The drive dragged on. Luke and I changed seats again at Merredin, then we stopped for a late lunch at Southern Cross. Mum had packed salad and cheese sandwiches, but the cheese was sweating and the lettuce had wilted. We bought takeaway from a milk bar and kept driving. Mum got out to do some stretching exercises at Coolgardie, but she wanted to be at Norseman before dark so we didn’t stay long. We drove and drove, past a place called Widgiemooltha. At last we saw a sign marked ten kilometres to Norseman. ‘Thank goodness,’ Mum said. ‘Cassie can you

35

reach my bag and find the address of the motel? It’s on the back of an envelope from Dad.’ I rummaged through her lipsticks, tissues and combs until I found the address. It was next to a paper bag. I looked inside and found a sticker saying ‘I’ve crossed the Nullarbor’. ‘What’s this?’ I asked. ‘That’s Luke’s, he bought it at the Coolgard i e roadhouse.’ ‘How stupid,’ I said turning to him, ‘you haven’t crossed it yet!’ ‘Yeah, but I will tomorrow, and you mightn’t be able to buy them anywhere else.’ ‘Well, I reckon it’s cheating to buy one now,’ I said. ‘Mum,’ Luke whined, ‘it’s not cheating is it?’ ‘No, of course not!’ She sighed and turned to me. ‘Why are you being so unpleasant?’ ‘I don’t know, I’m tired I s’pose.’ ‘Well, when we get to the motel, you can lie down,’ Mum said. ‘Don’t forget we’ll be up early again in the morning.’ I felt restless after sitting all day in the car. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk instead,’ I said. ‘Not for too long,’ Mum replied. ‘I don’t want you wandering around after dark!’ After we checked in I walked down the main street, but the shops had closed and there wasn’t much to see. When the streetlights winked on, I returned to the motel room. Mum was washing her hair and Luke was watching something noisy on television. I sighed. Surely Eucla couldn’t be worse than this.

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4

The trip to Eucla took forever! Although Mum had driven solidly all day, Norseman wasn‘t even h a l f w a y. After leaving town there were only roadhouses and tired-looking motels. Distances between service stations were measured in hundreds of kilometres on huge signboards, and I felt like crying as we drove further and further fr o m civilisation. I could see Mum was getting depressed too. The road became narrow and worn at the edges in places. Mum gripped the wheel as road trains with two, or sometimes three trailers whizzed by. We sat behind one truck, with rude messages scrawled across its dusty fender, for twenty minutes before Mum at last had the courage to pull out and pass it. By midmorning we were all tired and grumpy. Luke kept nagging me to play car games. ‘There’s nothing to spy!’ I snapped after the third time he asked.

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‘Well let’s play numberplates then.’ ‘What’s the point? Who cares whether there are more threes or fours going by?’ ‘It wouldn’t hurt to play for ten minutes,’ Mum interrupted. ‘Why can’t he just look out the window?’ ‘Cassie ...’ ‘Oh all right,’ I grumbled. ‘I’ll choose number nine.’ It took Luke five minutes to realise that most Western Australian numberplates began with my number. ‘That’s not fair,’ he wailed once he’d worked it out. I grinned and went back to reading my magazines. Mum put on her Simon and Garfunkel cassette. A little further on Luke piped up again, ‘Hey, Cassie, I bet I know something about Norseman that you don’t know.’ As if the journey wasn’t bad enough, travelling with Luke was a double punishment! I wanted to ignore him, but Mum glanced sideways at me. She looked so tired that I felt guilty enough to listen. ‘Sure, Luke,’ I said, taking a deep breath. Mum smiled as Luke continued. ‘How do you reckon Norseman got its name?’ he asked after reading the travel guide for a few moments. ‘I’ve got no idea,’ I replied. ‘I’ll give you a hint,’ he said. ‘It was named after an animal.’ ‘A Swedish explorer’s pet kangaroo.’

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‘Nope.’ ‘A type of wombat,’ Mum guessed. ‘No,’ Luke was enjoying himself. ‘I’ll give you one more guess each.’ ‘An emu?’ ‘A hippopotamus?’ ‘Get real, Cassie,’ Luke laughed. ‘No, it was the name of some explorer’s horse.’ ‘Strange thing to call a horse,’ I muttered. ‘It’s true,’ Luke said. ‘Listen, Local legend says that a stockman-turned-prospector named Laurie Sinclair visited the area in 1893. His horse ‘Norseman’ became lame and when Sinclair checked the animal’s shoe, he found a nugget of gold. Sinclair took out a lease, which he named after his horse. The name eventually stuck to the whole town.’ ‘Well,’ said Mum, ‘you learn something every day. Does it tell you anything about the places we’ll be passing today?’ ‘Hang on and I’ll have a look.’ He flicked the pages, but up ahead I could see a signpost. ‘Only twenty kilometres until Balladonia,’ I said as we drove closer. Luke put his book down. ‘Can we stop?’ he asked. Mum nodded and I bent down to find my sandals.

After Balladonia we drove until Caiguna, where we put our watches forward forty-five minutes and splashed our faces with brackish water. Mum

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wanted to reach Cocklebiddy before lunch so we drove on, until at last we arrived at the roadhouse about one o’clock. Luke had read in his book that there was a bird observatory nearby. We asked the guy pumping petrol about it and he said they o rganised all sorts of courses; stargazing, bird banding and even workshops for wildlife artists. ‘Do you think they’d let me do one?’ I asked. ‘I don’t see why not,’ Mum replied. ‘When we’re in Eucla we can ask your dad to find out more about it.’ I smiled. That would give me something to write to Joanna about! We left the roadhouse for the final stretch to our new home. I borrowed Luke’s gameboy for a while, but trying to concentrate on the tiny figures gave me a headache. ‘I can’t see what’s so exciting about these dumb games,’ I said as I gave it back to him. ‘Well, they’re better than the latest push-up bras,’ he said holding open the page I’d been reading. I tried to grab my magazine but he pulled it away. There was a loud rip and Luke was left holding half the cover in his hands. ‘Mum,’ I squealed, ‘look what he’s done.’ ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he yelled. ‘Stop that arguing,’ Mum snapped. She pulled off the road and glared at us. ‘Do you want me to have an accident?’ We were quiet for a long time after that. Luke played with his gameboy, while I watched the scraggly salt bushes and thought of the girls back at

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school. With so many kilometres between us, they seemed like the best friends in the world. The droning rhythm of the engine and afternoon sun made me sleepy. I tried to keep my eyes open for Mum’s sake, but soon after the Madura Pass I dozed. Suddenly Mum jerked the wheel. My eyes flew open. A huge kangaroo was bounding onto the road. Mum swerved to avoid it, but the side of the car clipped its rump. ‘ Watch out for the truck!’ I screamed as Mum battled for control. Dust flew up from the side of the road as the truck’s wheels trundled off the bitumen. The driver blared his horn, then hurtled into the distance. Mum pulled off the road and stopped the car. ‘Are you okay?’ she said in a strange high-pitched voice. Luke and I nodded. ‘Are you?’ I asked. ‘I will be in a moment,’ she said, clutching her hand over her mouth. ‘What about the kangaroo?’ Luke asked, getting out to check the car for damage. I reached for the thermos and poured a cup of tea for Mum. ‘Hey, look at this,’ Luke cried, running his hand over a dent in the side of the car. ‘Poor kangaroo!’ I said looking into the bush. There was a rustling sound behind us. Mum walked away from the road into the scrub. ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘it’s still crashing about in there.’ We followed the sound towards a gnarled tree.

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The kangaroo had stopped struggling and was lying on the ground. ‘We can’t leave it in pain,’ Mum said, raking her hands through her hair. She walked back towards the car and rummaged around in the back until she found our heavy camping torch. ‘What are you going to do with that?’ ‘Someone has to put it out of its misery. It may take days to die otherwise.’ She strode back to the animal, but then stopped. ‘I can’t do it,’ she said, ‘we’ll have to flag down a semitrailer.’ We stood there in silence watching the kangaroo. ‘Perhaps it’ll be okay ...’ Mum looked at me and frowned. She’d opened her mouth to say more when the animal stood up, shook itself and bounded off into the bush. ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Luke called. ‘It was just stunned.’ ‘I hope so,’ Mum muttered, ‘but what if it has internal injuries?’ ‘No way, it was huge and we got it on the back,’ Luke said. ‘They’re really solid there. I heard about it on TV! It said they often do that, go into shock and then suddenly hop off again.’ Mum looked doubtful. ‘Where did you hear that?’ ‘I told you, on television! It was on one of those documentaries.’ ‘Well, I never thought I’d be glad to get to Eucla. But today I’ll be glad to get anywhere!’ Mum said. ‘Are you okay to drive?’ I asked. Mum nodded. ‘Only another sixty kilometres to go now,’ she said.

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Two

5

After checking Dad’s instructions at the roadhouse, Mum pulled off the highway, turned another corner and there was the APB compound. The bloke at the roadhouse wasn’t exaggerating when he said you couldn’t miss the place. There was a tall wire fence surrounding a fibro house, some sheds and, further back, an aviary. Agriculture Protection Board — Starling Control P R I VAT E PR O P E R T Y KE E P OU T I swallowed the lump in my throat and fought back tears. Surely this dusty outpost wasn’t our new home. I glanced at Mum. ‘Well, here at last,’ she said in her over-the-top cheery voice that annoys me so much.

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‘It looks like a dump,’ Luke mumbled. ‘Oh, once we clean the yard and put up new blinds it’ll be okay,’ Mum replied, but I knew she was trying to hide her disappointment. Why doesn’t she just agree that it’s a dump and stop pretending, I wondered. We drove through the open gates and saw Dad shaking a rug behind the house. He stopped when he saw us and waved. ‘Hi,’ he called. ‘I was expecting you earlier. Is everything okay?’ ‘It’s a long way!’ Mum said, kissing him. She stretched and looked around. ‘So this is it?’ Dad smiled. ‘It’s a bit rough around the edges, but I’m working on it.’ ‘Have you shot any birds yet?’ Luke asked. I glared at my bloodthirsty brother and wished for the millionth time that I had a sister. ‘Not yet, mate, we ...’ I kissed Dad, then stalked off to look inside the house. Luke could hear the gory details while I had first pick of the bedrooms. The screen door squeaked and almost fell off its hinges as I went in. Dad was right, the place was rough around the edges! I stepped over a pile of newspapers and sneezed. There were three bedrooms. In the largest one, Dad’s work clothes were tossed across the bed. The other two rooms were further along the hall past a dingy bathroom. The first was a comfortable size with a fan and one high window. The smaller room had a large window with a view across the scrubby bushland

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away from town. Instead of a fan, there was a screen door onto the verandah. I dumped my things in the little room and began to unpack. Luke came crashing in a few minutes later. ‘Hey, how come Cassie gets to choose first?’ ‘Because I’m older,’ I said. ‘Dad ...’ ‘Will you two stop whingeing. You haven’t seen your father for two weeks and the first thing you do is argue about rooms!’ ‘That’s okay, Susan, I’ll sort it out.’ Dad came in and ruffled my hair. ‘Still causing problems, hey?’ he said. I grinned and gave him a hug. After two weeks here he looked so much more relaxed. ‘I am the oldest,’ I answered. ‘Yes, and the bossiest! You stay here and I’ll go and talk to Luke.’ He came back a few minutes later. ‘All yours.’ ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said. ‘How did you get around him?’ ‘Male bonding,’ he replied, smiling. I dumped my sleepingbag on the bed and opened the window. ‘How long since anyone’s lived here?’ I asked. ‘The last bloke lived in one of the cottages outside the compound,’ Dad replied, ‘so this one’s been empty nearly a year. The other fellows have kept out most of the spiders, but the Eucla dust soon takes over if you don’t keep on top of it.’ ‘Well, I’m going to give my room a quick sweep before dark. I don’t want to find any hairy huntsmen during the night. When are the removalists coming?’

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‘They should be here tomorr o w. Midmorning they said.’ Luke came in and pulled a face at me. ‘I like the other one better anyway,’ he smirked. ‘It’s got more room for my things.’ Before I could answer or poke my tongue out, he turned to Dad and asked if there was any food in the cupboards. ‘We haven’t eaten anything since Cocklebiddy,’ he moaned. ‘Yes, but you pigged out on two buckets of chips and a milkshake!’ ‘And some dim sims,’ Luke added, grinning. ‘ Yo u ’ re disgusting,’ I said and went to find the broom. ‘ Well, the neighbours are organising salad and sausages for us,’ I heard Dad telling Luke, ‘so after you help me bring the bags in, we can go over and see if they’re ready.’ I cleaned away the cobwebs and spread my sleepingbag over the lumpy mattress. To m o r ro w when the rest of our things arrived I could make my room more cosy. I’d never decorated a room by myself before. At the old house, Mum had chosen the colours when I was little. Perhaps she’d let me re-paint my room, but then the APB probably had rules about their houses having to be drab colours! ‘Cassie!’ I left my bag on the floor and went to help unpack the car. After all the greasy food on the Nullarbor, I was looking forward to some salad.

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‘Dinner’s ready!’ Dad called from across the yard. We walked over to the neighbours’ house. Leonard C ro k e r, the man in charge of the unit, was out checking traps, but a tall man and his dog were standing with Dad at the barbecue. ‘You must be Luke,’ the man said punching my brother’s arm. ‘I’m Joe.’ He swung Luke around in a rough-and-tumble sparring game. Luke grinned and tried to twist free, but he couldn’t. They ro m p e d together for a few minutes, then Joe dusted himself off and held out his hand to Mum. ‘That’s quite a son you’ve got there!’ he said shaking her arm up and down. Joe Camilleri, pleased to meet you. Have you met Darlene?’ Mum laughed. ‘Hello,’ she said trying to rescue her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, and yes, Darlene’s getting me a drink.’ Joe turned and smiled at me. ‘And, you must be Cassandra, the artist.’ He spoke quietly and I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of me. Then he smiled. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve a favour to ask.’ He winked at my puzzled expression. ‘Your dad told me about the prize you won for drawing and I’ve always wanted a sketch of my favourite girl …’ I nodded and glanced at Darlene. ‘Not me, love,’ she called. ‘The dog!’ Joe laughed. ‘Sorry. I was wondering if you’d like to draw old Bluey here. I’ll pay you,’ he added. ‘Really?’ I said before realising how ru d e I sounded.

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‘Is fifty dollars enough?’ I stared. The isolation must have warped his mind. ‘That’s far too much,’ Mum protested, but Joe waved his hand. ‘Not if it’s a good likeness,’ he said, lifting the dog and holding her up to Mum. ‘And isn’t she the prettiest blue heeler you ever saw?’ Mum nodded quickly while Luke and I grinned. Mum hated dogs! ‘Put the smelly thing down,’ Darlene said, handing Mum a drink. ‘Struth, Joe, not everyone’s as crazy about dogs as you are!’ I am, I thought, deciding it might be fun living next door to this strange person. ‘I’d love to sketch her,’ I said. ‘Really?’ I nodded. Joe reached out and shook my hand. ‘You beauty!’ he said. ‘Start drawing whenever you’re ready.’ I looked at Bluey and wondered whether Joe was serious about the money. She did have a pre t t y face which might look good in profile. I hadn’t sketched a dog before, but for fifty bucks I’d certainly give it a go! As we ate, Joe told us that one of the local policemen had twin boys a year younger than Luke. Typical, I thought, things always work out nicely for my brother. Dad and Joe began talking about the starling program, so I went to sit with Mum. Darlene was reciting everything you could and couldn’t buy at the roadhouse. ‘There’s the twice-weekly store truck and of course Bob can order groceries in for you, but it costs a packet …’

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Mum was nodding as Darlene talked, but she looked tired. In Perth Mum’s friends wore stockings and dress jewellery. They sat with their legs at a certain angle and spoke quietly in public. ‘Well, I’ll tell you another thing, Sue …’ I smiled. Mum hated being called Sue, and as Darlene filled her in on the Eucla gossip, I wondered how well they’d get along together.

When Ken, the other shooter, arrived after dinner, I excused myself and went inside to get ready for bed. I still had some mineral water and a couple of chocolate frogs from the trip, so I sat on my bed munching and thinking back over the day. Jasmine, my Distance Education teacher, had suggested that I begin a diary, but I felt like talking to someone so I took out some paper and began a letter to Joanna. September 3rd Dear Joanna, I’ve just come in from our first barbecue here . We’ve got this weird, but funny, neighbour and he wants me to sketch his dog. He even offered to pay me fifty dollars if I do a good job!! The trip out was unbelievable. Eucla is so faraway from anything.

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I chewed the end of my pen and then, remembering Joanna’s comments about me being so remote, crossed out the last sentence. But you could still see the words, so I screwed up the paper and started again. The trip out here was unbelievable. Mum hit a kangaroo and we didn’t know what to do. But in the end it jumped up and hopped away. I re-read the letter. The second draft was better, but Joanna would probably still think it was dumb. I looked out at the night sky. Why did I still care about Joanna’s opinion when I was here in the middle of nowhere? I stepped onto the verandah. The Milky Way was a smudge of twinkling light and beneath it I felt very small and unimportant. Maria and I used to make up songs about the stars when we slept overnight in our cubbyhouse. We’d built the cubby one summer in the bottom of her garden from old planks and tyres. I sighed, thinking how our lives had changed. I wished Maria was here now, but she didn’t even know we’d moved. I’d meant to tell her, but somehow never got around to it. I went back inside and chose one of the postcards f rom the Cocklebiddy roadhouse. It showed the Eucla sandhills devouring the old telegraph station. I hadn’t been there yet, but it looked interesting and Maria would like it. I picked up my pen and began writing.

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September 3rd Dear Maria, I’m sorry that I didn’t have a chance to talk to you before we left, but Dad’s taken a new job at a place called Eucla (out on the Nullarbor). We’ve just arrived here after an endless trip. It’s so faraway — almost 1500 km!! Mum hit a kangaroo just west of town. It was hurt and we didn’t know what to do, but as we stood there dithering, it jumped up and hopped away. Weird hey? I hope it was okay. I smiled. It was easy writing to Maria because I didn’t have to keep stopping to wonder what she would think. Like Dad, Maria was good at listening to how people say things. She’d told me once that what people don’t say is usually more important than what they do. Dad reckoned that was commonsense. He liked Maria. I stared out the window, thinking about Maria’s family and how her mother believed the females had inherited a strong sense of intuition. I picked up my pen again and continued to write. How’s your mum? I haven’t seen her for ages. Our new house is old. And everything is so sandy. The wide open space around us is really interesting. We haven’t been out exploring yet, but Dad reckons the cliffs down by the ocean are amazing.

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He said he’s going to take us somewhere special t o m o r ro w, but after that he’ll be away for two weeks on patrol. I was squeezing my words along the edge of the card under Maria’s address. I’ve run out of space, so bye for now. If you want me to, I’ll write again soon. Love Cassie. xx I added a few more lines to Joanna, then put a stamp on each of the cards. If I posted them early, they should be in Perth after the weekend.

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6

The next morning I woke at six. I rolled over and put my head under the pillow, but couldn’t doze off again. So much had happened since leaving the c i t y. Images of the motel at Norseman and the roadhouses buzzing with bus loads of half-hour visitors kept me awake. It seemed impossible that we’d driven so far and yet were still in Western Australia! I stared at the ceiling, watching a daddy-long-legs. Then I must have slept again, because when I looked over my clock showed six-thirty. I could hear Dad stumbling around the kitchen. Then I heard the rush of the kettle and the sound of his voice singing in the shower. The stark sunshine was blinding. I sat up and decided to go for a jog rather than lie listening to Dad in the bathroom mimicking Pavarotti. Darlene and Joe waved as I crossed the compound. They were sharing a pot of tea on their

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verandah. As I felt them watching me, I remembered what Dad had told us about the lack of privacy in a small community. I didn’t go far. There was heaps of cleaning to do before the removalists arrived and even if there wasn’t, it only took ten minutes to jog from one end of Eucla to the other. When I returned Mum was in a panic. The removalists had arrived early and although she’d labelled everything, half the stickers had fallen off in transit. ‘Just pile them in the corners,’ Mum said. ‘I want to give this place a proper clean before anything is unpacked.’ Dad gave Luke a bucket of water and a sponge. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we’ll scrub the windows and flyscreens. Then I’ll take you out to see something special.’ ‘Is it one of the bird-shooting hides?’ Luke asked. Dad turned to Luke and held his shoulders. ‘Luke,’ he said quietly, ‘there is no glory in killing. Starlings are beautiful and intelligent creatures. The men here can spend days hunting one bird. They don’t enjoy destroying them.’ My brother seemed confused. ‘But, if they’re so special, why are you killing them?’ ‘I’ve told you, Luke, they’re pests, like rabbits and foxes. They were introduced by homesick settlers last century and now they’re taking over the country. If our unit doesn’t stop them from colonising Western Australia, they’ll ruin the fruit crops and cause millions of dollars of damage to farmers.’

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He paused. As I listened, I was surprised by how passionately Dad was speaking and also by how serious he was. ‘But just as importantly,’ he continued, ‘they steal the nests of the parrots and honeyeaters. If they migrate to Western Australia, they’ll decimate the native bird population. It’s not fun killing them, Luke, but it needs to be done!’ My brother looked away, disappointed, but I stared at Dad. I hadn’t realised that the program was so far-reaching. ‘It’s important you understand, Luke, before you come out on patrol. WA is one of the few places in the world that starlings haven’t got into. And it’s not for want of trying. Last year, the team killed more than six thousand birds in South Australia, but still a few made it over the border.’ ‘What happened to them?’ Luke asked. ‘The APB boys followed and shot them, but they have to be vigilant. They’re clever birds. They eat almost anything and breed like crazy. They’re crafty too. “Winged rats” Leonard calls them. He reckons he’s seen them imitate the flight patterns of other b i rds. They try to join passing flocks so they can sneak through.’ Luke scuffed dust patterns over the linoleum floor but said nothing. ‘Anyway, enough of that,’ Dad said, cuffing Luke’s shoulder. ‘You’ll like my surprise. It’s a cave — a fantastic one, near here. One of the men showed it to me the other day. It’s just down the road, but first we

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need to sort this mess out.’ They went outside and pulled down the flyscreens, which were thick with dirt and dead bugs. ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked after they’d gone. Mum wiped the hair out of her eyes and handed me the rug beater. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Can you take these mats down to the back fence and give them a good whack?’ Although only midmorning, the sun was ferocious. I went back and found an old shirt Dad had given me for the beach. Then I lifted the first mat and carried it to the yard. It was heavy with ground-in sand. ‘When you’ve finished there, Cassie, can you try and reach those curtains in the lounge room? I want to take them down and wash them.’ After we finished the cleaning, we sat down to enjoy the leftover fruit from Norseman. Mum wanted to sort through some boxes, so the rest of us climbed into Dad’s Landcruiser and went to see Weebubbie Cave.

Mum was hanging out the washing when we returned. ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Dad said, helping her peg the curtains. ‘That’s okay. I had a visitor while you were away,’ Mum said. ‘Bob from the roadhouse popped in. He offered me a job doing their book work.’

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‘How did he know you could do it?’ ‘One of the meteorology wives told him. He said his wife has been doing the books but she’s expecting their first baby. She’s due in October.’ ‘Did Cathy come over with him?’ ‘No, have you met her?’ Dad nodded. ‘She’s nice, a bit younger than Bob.’ ‘Bob said she’s been doing the books and running the shop, so she must be efficient. I thought I’d wait and get the kids organised with their school work, then perhaps I could start over there a week from Monday.’ ‘Sounds fine to me, but don’t take on too much. Don’t forget I’ll be away a lot of the time; sometimes for three-week stretches.’ ‘Don’t remind me!’ They sat in the lounge room and Dad took Mum’s hand. ‘Look love,’ he said, ‘I know we’ve had our moments lately, but ...’ The back door swung open as Luke ran in. ‘You should have seen the cave, Mum, it’s amazing!’ Luke squeezed onto the couch between them and Mum sighed. ‘Don’t trample dust in,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve just scrubbed the lino.’ ‘Oops, sorry, Mum.’ Luke flung off his boots and skidded across the floor in his socks. ‘Gerard and Matt have invited me over to play footy at their place. Is it okay if I go?’ Mum looked at Dad, ‘Well I guess it depends on who Gerard and Matt are.’ ‘You know,’ Luke sighed, ‘the twins from town. I

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told you, their dad’s the local cop.’ ‘Police officer is the correct term, thank you, but yes, that sounds as safe a place as any I guess.’ Luke disappeared for a moment, then came back wearing his blue and gold Eagles’ jumper. He fumbled amongst the packing boxes until he found his football. ‘We’ll be having dinner early. Be back before six,’ Mum reminded him as he pulled his boots on again. ‘Yep, see you.’ He waved and rode off on his bike. Apart from the steady rumble of trucks on the highway, the house was quiet after he’d gone. ‘Did you know they used to pump fresh water thirteen kilometres from the cave?’ Dad said, holding Mum’s hand again. ‘Really,’ Mum didn’t pull away and I tried to find something to do in the kitchen. ‘Mmm. There’s a big desalination unit now, but before that was installed, fresh-tasting water was a luxury out here.’ ‘What did you think of the cave, Cassie?’ Mum asked. ‘It’s lovely!’ I said. ‘You’d never know it was there. The entrance is in the middle of nowhere. Then as you go down inside, there’s this eerie lake, like something out of Lord of the Rings. Dad said that next time we can take waterproof torches and swim towards the mouth of the tunnel. Maybe we’ll see a hobbit.’ ‘Is it safe?’ ‘Of course it is,’ Dad answered, ‘I wouldn’t take

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them if it wasn’t!’ ‘I was just asking,’ Mum said, getting up and peering into the kitchen. ‘What are you going to do now, Cassie?’ ‘I don’t know. I guess I’ll finish unpacking my books and listen to the radio.’ Mum and Dad exchanged glances. ‘We could go for a walk into the bush later, look for some birds ...’ ‘I’m okay, don’t worry,’ I replied, putting on a brave face. But I wondered why things had worked out so well for Luke. There were three other boys his age in town, but the oldest girl I’d heard about was three years old! I flicked through my correspondence books. Maybe my marks would improve out here. There wasn’t much else to do except study!

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7

We began our lessons on Monday morning. ‘Let’s try and keep to a routine,’ Mum said. She’d arranged our desks, lamps and a bookshelf in the lounge room beneath the cuckoo clock that Aunt Rose had sent as a house-warming present. The plan was to begin early, study until lunchtime with two short breaks and then, when the cuckoo crowed one o’clock, we’d finish for the day. At first Mum enjoyed organising everything. After a few days though, the novelty of teaching wore off. ‘How am I supposed to know what’s what with these maths assignments? Aren’t there supposed to be accompanying notes?’ ‘It’s fine, Mum, I’ve already read them. We can ask questions by mail and then the teacher responds!’ ‘But what about those Venn diagrams of Luke’s and the problem solving questions?’ ‘Don’t worry, I remember doing that stuff. I can help him.’

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‘I don’t want you to get behind with your own work ...’ ‘I’m already two lessons ahead in maths!’ ‘Well if you’re sure it’s okay, I’ll just pop down to the roadhouse and have a chat with Cathy. I told Bob I’d drop by this week and it’s already Thursday ...’ ‘We’ll be fine, Mum.’ ‘ Your lunch is in the kitchen. You can heat the quiche in the microwave, but I think it’ll be nicer cold in this heat.’ ‘Don’t fuss, Mum, we’ll sort it out.’ ‘All right, well if you have any problems, the number is by the phone. I’ll be back in an hour or two and remember, I’m only a few minutes away.’ ‘Goodbye, Mum!’ She hurried off and for the first time in almost a week, Luke and I were alone in the house. ‘I thought she’d never leave!’ ‘She’s worried.’ ‘It’s much safer here than in the city.’ ‘Not for Mum, she thinks we’ll be eaten by dingoes or something!’ ‘Get real! Hey, Cass, how about we make a deal while she’s gone?’ I looked at him suspiciously. ‘If you finish these last problems for me, I’ll do the dishes tonight.’ ‘You’re on, but what’s the rush?’ ‘It’s nearly morning break time for the twins. Their mum makes the best biscuits, and if I go now I’ll be back before Mum comes home!’ ‘And what if I dob on you?’

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‘You won’t!’ He grinned. ‘Come on.’ ‘Okay, but don’t forget the dishes!’ ‘Who me?’ He grabbed his bike and skidded along the dusty driveway. I sat down and looked at his sums. They were easy for me, but I hurried to finish them so that I could enjoy some privacy before Dad came home for lunch.

Dad was packing dried food and supplies for his trip out bush when Mum returned from the roadhouse. She dropped her bag and turned towards him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she demanded. ‘Tell you what?’ ‘You know very well what. About Cathy!’ ‘Does it make a difference?’ ‘No, but ...’ ‘ Well there you are then! There are a lot of Aboriginal people out here, Susan.’ ‘Yes, I know, but I didn’t expect Bob’s wife to be Aboriginal. You knew that!’ ‘Why are you making such a fuss about it?’ ‘I’m not, I just think you could have told me that’s all! When I saw her, I asked if I could speak to Cathy and she told me that I was speaking to her! I was so embarrassed. She must have thought I was rude, gawking at her like that.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘You don’t suppose that she’ll think I’m racist?’ ‘You’re being silly, Susan ...’

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‘It’s all right for you, I’ve never had anything to do with an Aboriginal person before.’ ‘Just treat her like anyone else and everything will be fine. Is she going to keep working after she has the baby?’ ‘I’m not sure. I think she wants to wait and see how she feels, but she did mention something about her cousin coming over to help for a while.’ ‘How about the books, will you be able to do them? ‘Oh yes. Cathy’s filing system is very organised.’ ‘ Well, that’s good then. I’m glad you’ve found someone with similar interests.’ Mum sighed as she watched storm clouds blow in from the Antarctic. ‘I guess that I’d expected her to be more like me,’ she said. ‘She probably is,’ Dad muttered. ‘Bob said she did her schooling at St Mary’s. Wasn’t that where one of your cousins went?’ ‘Yes, Nancy was there.’ ‘Maybe they knew each other.’ ‘Mmm, maybe ...’ Poor Mum, she looked bewildered as she stared towards the horizon. But if Dad noticed, he didn’t comment. ‘Well, I’ll be heading off soon,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘The first hide is only a few hour’s drive, but during the ten days I could be as far as five hundred kilometres away. You can always get me on the two-way, but it’s better not to call unless it’s an emergency. And don’t forget, if you do ring, there’ll be other people listening in.’ ‘Yes, I know. We’ve been through it all.’

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‘Just making sure. First impressions are important out here. People gossip. After this trip, I’ll be back for four days and then we’ll be travelling out the other way. Leonard wants to check the inland areas before concentrating on the coastal surveillance. The young South Australian birds will leave their nests soon and begin pushing west.’ I winced, imagining the fledglings dead from my father’s bullet. Or worse, falling injured through the air to be crushed on rocks by the ocean. ‘Well, how about a cuppa before I go?’ The suggestion perked Mum up. ‘That sounds good,’ she said. ‘Cassie can you flick on the kettle please?’

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8

After ten days, I was way ahead of schedule with my correspondence course. Even my teachers in Perth suggested that I slow down a little. But there was nothing else to do. I’d found a couple of tracks that weren’t too rough to run on, so despite being ogled by truckies, I began each day with some exercise. Mum had offered to teach me how to type, so we did that for half an hour after breakfast. Then, when Dad came back from his trip, he flicked through my reading list, muttered his opinion of modern education and asked if I’d like to study some of the early Australian stories. ‘Sure, why not?’ I said, thinking that it would be nice to spend more time with him. Dad spoke to the Silver Chain nurse, who was also the volunteer librarian in town, and by the next day she’d tracked down a well-thumbed copy of bush stories. I sat up until late that night reading. The language in the book was strange (Dad grinned when I asked

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him what exactly a drover was!) but its oldfashioned language was soothing. I laughed at Henry Lawson’s story, ‘The Loaded Dog’. Then, as I read the last line of ‘The Drover’s Wife’, I cradled the book in my lap and studied the ink drawing. Despite its simple lines, the picture of the tir e d woman hugging her son was so expressive. I stared out the window imagining the tumbledown shack and the snake. ‘That was excellent!’ I said as I handed Dad the book. He seemed really pleased. ‘I wonder if the snake h a d bitten the woman, what would have happened to those kids? Life must have been tough in the pioneering days.’ ‘It still is,’ Mum muttered. ‘No, you know. Living without running water, or electricity, or shops ...’ ‘Life for the pioneers was rough out here,’ Dad said. ‘Do you remember passing Mundrabilla Station?’ I nodded as he went on. ‘When I collected the book, Mrs Campbell told me about the people who settled the land in the 1870s. There were two brothers and a young couple, but the woman died giving birth. Mrs Campbell said she was only twenty-eight. There must be some local books mentioning her. Do you want me to try and find one before I go out bush again?’ ‘That’d be great.’ I took an apple from the fruit bowl and went out onto the verandah. As the screen door banged behind me, I heard Mum asking Dad which book he’d given me.

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‘An anthology of Australian classics. I thought it’d complement that Henry Lawson story she’s been talking about. Didn’t you study it at school?’ ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Mum said. They continued talking, and as I stared at the heat rising over the plains, I thought about the woman and her four children wandering along the dusty track in their Sunday best.

As soon as Joe returned from his inland trip to Reid, he strode over to visit. ‘Well Cassie, we’re re a d y when you are,’ he announced. I turned to him in surprise. ‘For what?’ I asked. ‘For what ...’ Joe echoed. ‘For Bluey’s first sitting of course! I gave her a bath as soon as we came in, and she hasn’t rolled in the dirt yet.’ I laughed and put down my school work. ‘Okay, well I guess we’d better get on with it then.’ I collected my pencils and put my sketch pad on the verandah. Bluey sat down and I began to draw, but Joe seemed uncomfortable. ‘Is something wrong?’ I asked. ‘Well, you’re the artist,’ he said. ‘But I thought you’d want to paint her in a bush setting. She’s not really a housedog you know.’ ‘Oh, that’s no problem, Mr Camilleri, I’ll sketch the background in later. I’m just doing r o u g h outlines, so I can decide whether to have her standing or sitting. Then I thought I’d try drawing

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her head at diff e rent angles. She might look best with her jaw in profile.’ ‘Right,’ Joe laughed. ‘Well, as I said, you’re the artist, but let’s stop this Mr Camilleri r u b b i s h . Everyone calls me Joe and I’ll be offended if you don’t.’ ‘Okay, Joe,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring her over when we’ve finished.’ Bluey stood up to follow Joe back to their house. ‘ S t a y,’ he ord e red, and with what looked like an amused expression, Bluey settled down to watch me draw.

The house was quiet while Dad was away. But we soon settled into a routine. Mum went to the roadhouse two mornings a week, while Luke and I worked on our assignments. My brother was happy that we’d moved to the bush. Dad had promised to take him camping and was even going to teach him how to shoot. ‘If everyone had a gun and learnt to fire it, we’d end up like America,’ I said when Luke told me. But Dad disagreed. ‘If you live in the bush it’s good to know how to use a gun,’ he said. ‘Sometimes livestock has to be put down, and someone needs to cull the rabbits and other pests. If no one did it, the foxes and feral cats would soon wipe out the smaller marsupials. Life is not always black and white, Cassie.’

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‘Fine, but Luke doesn’t want to learn to shoot for those reasons. He just wants to be some Rambo look-alike!’ ‘ S u re, Cassie ...’ Luke interrupted, but I hadn’t finished. ‘I think it’s violent and irresponsible.’ ‘Don’t speak to your father in that tone!’ Mum called from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes. ‘I wonder how we produced offspring with such different ideas,’ Dad said smiling at me. But I didn’t feel like being pacified. I just wished he’d take my opinions seriously. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ I said, but there was nowhere to walk to. I got out my bike and pedalled away my frustration at having to live in such a wasteland.

‘There’s mail for you, Cassie,’ Mum said as she came in from the yard. Dad had been away for a week and Luke was counting down the days until their bush adventure. Whenever my stupid brother saw me, he pretended to shoot imaginary birds. I’d decided the best thing to do was ignore him, but ten-year-old boys can be amazingly persistent! Mum handed me the letter, and when I saw the l a rge loops of curly writing I knew that it was from Maria. ‘Can I have the stamp?’ Luke asked. I glared at him as I walked to my room and ripped open the envelope.

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September 19th Dear Cassie, I nearly didn’t write, because I was upset that my best friend of so many years could leave town without even telling me! We played your school at netball the Friday after you left and that’s when I heard you’d gone. I thought there must be a reason for not telling me (you know me and my intuition), so when I got your postcard and read all about your trip, I decided to forgive you! What an adventure, living out there in the outback, just like a pioneer or something. I have a pile of homework on my desk, so this is just a short note. I hope you’re happy. Please write again soon, love Maria. PS Those white sand dunes on the postcard look like something out of the Sahara. Are they really like that? I sat down and picked at a split fingernail. She was right. It was rude of me to leave without saying goodbye, but I felt warm inside that Maria cared enough to be hurt. Perhaps I was still important to her despite her new girlfriends. I took out some paper to begin a reply.

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September 23rd Dear Maria, Yo u ’ re right, it was rude of me to go without telling you. I wanted to, but when I saw you laughing and chatting with your friends, I kept putting it off until it was too late. And then we were gone. I guess that was pretty dumb of me. Sorry!! Anyway I’m glad that we’re in touch again. W e ’ re settling into life in Eucla, but everything is so strange here. Dad’s out bush over t h e border in South Australia and Mum has started doing book work at the roadhouse. One of the owners is Aboriginal. Mum was a bit odd about that at first, but now the two of them sit down for cups of tea and talk endlessly about babies. Cathy is pregnant and so is my Aunt Rose in Adelaide, so you can just imagine them! Cathy keeps getting Mum to tell her about the Children’s Hospital, which is Mum’s favourite topic. I suppose it’s good in a way because Mum really misses her voluntary work and all those babies! As for Luke, there are three boys his age so whenever his homework is done, they’re out bush on their bikes. Besides Kylie (who’s three), there a re n ’t any girls, so I’m spending a lot of time reading, sketching and jogging. It’s a bit lonely sometimes …

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I chewed the end of my pen. I didn’t want to sound desperate. ... but the scenery here is lovely in a wild, isolated kind of way. Are you happy at your school? It looks quite intimidating from the outside! Keep in touch, your friend, Cassie. PS Yes, the sand dunes really do look like that. Mum and I went down to see them last week. They lead to a sheltered beach where I’d love to swim, but the locals told us sharks feed in the warm current here. So, we can only look. See you, xxx C I folded the letter, put it into an envelope and wondered what to do next. I didn’t feel like reading or practising my typing, so I took another postcard — the nicest one — and wrote a few lines to Joanna. September 23rd Dear Joanna, Did you get the postcard I sent a couple of weeks ago? I hope it arrived okay. The country around Eucla is really interesting. It’s always hot and sunny here — perfect beach weather, but the locals say the coast is swarming with sharks. Last week Dad took us out to see a cave. It was beautiful, with a clear, freshwater lake and no horrible things

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in it. We swam near the rocks. It was spooky, in a nice way. How are things with Jack? Say hi to Hannah and Cicily. It’d be nice to hear from you, love Cassie. I re - read my words and wondered whether to cross out the last line. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. Luke rode by with the twins and his other friend, Jordan. They jumped off their bikes, then crashed through the house to Luke’s room. I could hear them making toilet noises with their upper arms, which they thought was hilarious. When the game developed into a burping contest, I decided to walk to the roadhouse and buy some stamps. Outside, a pair of Major Mitchells were squawking and chewing the powerlines. I hoped they wouldn’t blackout the power again. Supposedly it was a regular occurrence. At the garage, Bob was helping a burly fellow in a singlet with a huge tyre. There was another group of truckies in the yard. They whistled and called out as I passed, but I kept walking. The shop was empty. I didn’t want to pass the men to call Bob, so I took a chocolate milk from the fridge and sat down at one of the laminated tables while I waited. The shop was air-conditioned and bursts of cool air prickled my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand up. I’d nearly finished drinking, when the truckies wandered in. ‘Hey, Harry, your lady friend’s waiting for you!’ They grinned and Harry sauntered over. The other

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blokes shouted smutty suggestions while he perched on the chair beside me. ‘What’s your name, darlin’?’ he asked. His beefy face was close to mine and his teeth smelt like they hadn’t been cleaned since Sydney. I turned away, looking for Cathy. ‘I reckon she’s shy,’ another truckie smirked. ‘Why don’t you ...’ Just then, the swinging door to the kitchen opened. ‘What’s going on here?’ demanded a younger version of Cathy. ‘Just having some fun,’ muttered the surliest looking truckie. She stalked towards the men. ‘Well, have it s o m e w h e re else. You know we run a tight show here.’ She looked at me and then back at them. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’ ‘ Yo u ’ re overreacting, sweetheart,’ another fellow muttered. The girl glared at him, then spoke very slowly and clearly. ‘I am not your sweetheart,’ she said, ‘and if you’ve got a problem with that, then you can clear out.’ They stared at each other as the girl turned to me and smiled. ‘Is there anything else, or is it just the choc milk?’ ‘I’d like a stamp, no, five stamps please,’ I whispered holding out a ten dollar note. ‘Thank you,’ I said as she gave me the change. ‘You’re welcome!’ She winked in a friendly way and I realised that she probably wasn’t much older than me.

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Meanwhile the men had helped themselves to fizzy drinks and chips. They were cracking jokes and laughing. I felt like a fool as I hurried past them and ran towards the safety of the APB compound. Once home, I flung myself on the bed. Why had Dad brought us to such a horrible place? I felt humiliated. But, as the self-pity and tears dried up, I wondered about the strange girl. She’d handled the men so easily. I would never have known what to do. She was too old to be Cathy’s daughter and yet they were so similar. For the next week I stayed away from the roadhouse. I was too embarrassed to meet the girl again, so whenever Mum needed someone to go for supplies, I found an excuse to stay home. I used the time to paint my room, work on old drawings and plan the sketch of Bluey. Mum seemed to sense that something was wrong. I knew she was trying not to nag and she’d even asked Leonard if I could paint a mural of birds across one wall. Although I didn’t say anything, I appreciated her understanding.

When Dad returned from his trip he and Luke collected supplies, then headed out bush for their overnight camping trip. Dad had half-heartedly asked me to join them, but I knew they wanted to be alone. So I stayed behind, reading on the verandah and feeling depressed.

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‘How about joining the local tennis group?’ Mum suggested the next morning after our typing lesson. ‘Now that Cathy’s dropped out, they’ll need a new player. Mrs Campbell said that if you join, there’ll be enough for a round robin every Saturday.’ I shrugged. ‘They’d all be middle-aged housewives. I’d feel silly being the only young one.’ ‘Well, feeling sorry for yourself won’t help you make friends!’ Mum snapped and sat down to sort t h rough the book work. I watched her fingers tapping away at the calculator. Knowing she was right made me more gr u m p y. I looked out the window. Her tap-tap-tapping was so irritating that I wanted to scream. ‘I’m going to ride down to the old telegraph station,’ I said, pulling on my runners. ‘Don’t be late! Your father and Luke said they’d be home for lunch around one o’clock.’ I pumped the tyres and pulled on my helmet. My bike was flimsy, but felt like an old friend. It used to be Dad’s years ago, until Maria and I painted rainbows all over it one summer. As I cycled away from the highway, I thought about Maria and her last letter. It was fun having Maria as a penpal. Perhaps now we could become close again. The last part of the track was sandy and I had to abandon the bike. My feet were baking so I pulled off my runners, but then the sand burnt my toes. I leapt wallaby-style towards the shade of the ruined

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building and stood there breathing in the pong of drying seaweed, trying to picture the days when the telegraph was such an important link to the west. Drifts of sand pushed at the limestone bricks and I imagined telegraphers dressed in olden-days clothes relaying messages. Dad had said it was once one of the busiest stations in Australia. The contours had changed since the time I came with Mum. New mountains of sand had shimmied their way up from the beach and the colour of the dunes made sketching difficult. There was only the building to use as contrast. Its walls matched the sand, so it was frustrating work. I drew some heavy rain clouds and shadows into the scene as an experiment. The clouds looked effective and I decided to come down again when there was a real storm brewing. I sat beneath the only tree there, but the old fig wasn’t much protection. I yanked the brim of my hat further onto my forehead and wandered down to the beach. The bay was deserted and waves purred onto the sand. I walked in the shallows, tempted to strip off and swim in the warm water, but the thought of sharks stopped me. I kicked at the sand. It was f rustrating to live by the sea and not be able to enjoy it! I thought of my friends in Perth. It was a Friday afternoon, so perhaps Joanna was planning an evening with Jack. I knew Cicily would be at choir practice, but didn’t know Hannah well enough to guess what she’d be doing. Maybe she was at the

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beach too. It would be great to see them again at Christmas. I paddled my toes for a while, then looked at my watch. Mum was prickly when Dad was away. I didn’t want to be late and give her an excuse to chuck a wobbly.

Mum had cooked roast lamb with baked pumpkin, onions and spuds. The vegies were delicious and I might have enjoyed them if Luke hadn’t rabbited on about their camping trip. ‘... after Joe shot the kangaroo,’ he said with a mouthful of food, ‘we buried it under hot coals, the way Aborigines do. And then we ate its tail. It was really fatty, but okay when you wrapped it in chunks of damper.’ I looked at Dad in disgust. Now it wasn’t only birds, but kangaroos. ‘They’re a pest out here at the moment,’ he said as if reading my thoughts. ‘Yes, but to who? The pastoralists perhaps, but not to themselves!’ ‘There are too many, Cassie. Whether we shoot them or not, they can’t all survive. Hundreds will starve this season. There’s a shortage of grass, so the one roo we killed will hardly make a difference ...’ ‘You can always justify your killing, can’t you?’ I snapped. ‘Well, perhaps you can kid yourself and Luke, but you won’t convince me. It isn’t that simple! Maybe the kangaroo you shot would have

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been one of the ones to make it this year. Perhaps it came from hardy stock. Stock that should have passed on its genes.’ ‘I didn’t shoot it,’ Dad said gently. ‘Joe did.’ ‘But you ate it!’ I knew I was being emotional, but I couldn’t help it. The thought of such a beautiful c re a t u re being shot down for fun turned my stomach. ‘They’re a national emblem,’ I continued. ‘How can you eat them?’ Dad and Luke exchanged glances. ‘Let’s just humour her’ the glance said and that made me even angrier.

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9

For weeks I’d been watching Bluey follow Joe around the compound. After doing several pencil sketches, I’d roughed out a bush setting of a camp fire at dusk. Bluey was the main subject, but her eyes were watching the smaller figure of Joe finishing his chores in the background. I was pleased with the composition. I’d captured the texture of Bluey’s fur, which was soft from the strokes of a loving hand, but I needed one more sitting. Her ears were giving me a lot of trouble and I wanted to get them right. When Joe was next in town, I collected my paints and whistled. Bluey waited for Joe’s nod, then let me lead her back to our verandah. The light was fading, so I hurried to capture the vivid colours of the sky. With such vast horizons, I could actually see the shadow of night travel westwards, and I realised that it would still be light in Perth. My geography unit on the earth’s hemispheres suddenly made

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sense as I added the last touches of white to the portrait’s ears. The next morning when the painting was dry, I walked over to give it to Joe. For a horrible moment, I wasn’t sure whether he liked it. I mumbled that he needn’t pay if he wasn’t happy, but then I noticed the tears in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Cassie. It’s beautiful,’ he whispered. Then he grasped my hand and squeezed it. ‘I can see why you won that prize,’ he said. ‘You have a real talent, girl!’ He was still gripping my hand when Darlene came out to see what the fuss was about. She looked from Bluey to the painting and nodded slowly. ‘You’ve captured her,’ she said. They decided to hang the painting in their hallway. ‘That way I can see her whenever I come in,’ Joe told Mum, who was convinced that our neighbour was half crazy. ‘And Bluey will be able to see it through the flyscreen too,’ Joe added. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty dollar note. ‘Thank you,’ he said as he placed it in my hand. I smiled and wondered what to buy with my first earnings.

Since moving to Eucla, Dad had mutated from quiet o ffice worker to capable bush man. The transformation happened quickly, a bit like a

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Superman impersonation. Sometimes I felt that I barely knew this new dad, but in small ways I liked him more. I pre f e r red the baggy, cotton shirts he wore and his new beard. In Perth Dad had played his Slim Dusty tapes quietl, so as not to disturb the neighbours, but out here he strummed his guitar and sang ballads at the top of his voice. Joe even joined in from next door!

I’d written another card to Maria, telling her about Bluey and the incident with the truckies. She was a good penpal, but I still hadn’t heard from Joanna. Ten days had passed since I’d been to the roadhouse. When we ran out of milk and I off e red to buy a carton and collect the paper, Mum looked at me in surprise. I guess I was so bored that even the p rospect of sleazy truckies seemed better than another uneventful day at home. ‘Are you coming along for a game on Saturday?’ Cathy asked as I paid for the milk. ‘Umm,’ I tried to think of an excuse, but nothing came to mind. ‘I’m not very good at tennis,’ I said at last, but Cathy just laughed. ‘That doesn’t matter, none of us are any good. Well, none of us except Ella,’ she said nodding across the counter. The girl who’d helped me with the truckies was serving fish and chips to a family. ‘We just muck around,’ Cathy continued. The shop seemed quiet as she waited for my reply. ‘Well, if you’re sure it doesn’t matter ...’ I said.

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‘Not at all, you’ll fit right in and seeing as I’m umpiring at the moment ...’ she said patting her belly, ‘if you hit the ball on the line, I’ll give you the advantage for the first few weeks!’ ‘No, that’s okay,’ I said quickly, ‘just treat me like everyone else. What time do you start?’ ‘We meet at the community hall at eight forty-five and the first game begins at nine. We tried starting later, but at this time of the year, it’s too flamin’ hot!’ Ella returned with a tray of plates, so I said goodbye and hurried home. Although I was nervous, tennis would be a nice change from jogging alone, and Mum would be relieved to see me doing something other than studying. She couldn’t play and was filling in for Cathy at the roadhouse. I flicked the flies away with the paper and wondered why Ella made me nervous. Perhaps it was because she seemed so confident. This was the first time I’d seen her since that day with the truckies and I felt embarrassed that I’d been so gutless.

The highlight of my week as I waited for Saturday was a postcard from Maria. I re-read it several times until I almost knew it by heart. October 1st Dear Cassie Those guys at the roadhouse sounded horrible, but don’t worry, I wouldn’t have known what to do

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either! I suppose no one knows how they’ll handle something like that until they’re put in the situation. Have you finished the painting of Bluey? Did Joe like it? It’s getting warmer here and I’ve been for my first beach swim. The water was freezing! Yesterday I went for a walk around Jackadder Lake. The cygnets are losing their down, but the big swans are still as protective as ever! One tried to attack me and I was nowhere near its family! There’s no other news except that I’ve got another pile of assignments. Mum’s fine, she says to say hello. I’ll write again when I have something interesting to tell. Love till then, Maria. ‘Did you see that postcard from Maria?’ Mum asked when she came in. ‘It seems like the swans are becoming a nuisance again!’ ‘Did you read it?’ I asked. ‘Mmm,’ Mum said as she folded Luke’s T-shirts. ‘How could you! Isn’t anything private? It was addressed to me. There might have been something personal in it.’ Mum looked surprised. ‘Well there wasn’t, and Maria would hardly write something secret on a postcard ...’ ‘That’s not the point!’ Mum stared at me. ‘I’m sorry darling ...’ ‘Forget it,’ I yelled before storming off to my room. I lay on my bed and wondered why I was so touchy. Mum was right, there wasn’t anything private on the 86

card. But if it had been from Joanna, there might have been. And anyway, I thought angrily, there’s a principle involved! I picked up a magazine and flicked through the pages, but I was too angry to concentrate. I decided to write back to Maria instead. October 4th Dear Maria, Thanks for your postcard. It arrived today. I hope you don’t mind me writing straight back, but there’s nothing much to do at the moment and I’ve just had a fight with Mum. She read your card, so I had a go at her. A bit dumb maybe, but without some privacy I’d go crazy out here! Yes, I finished the painting of Bluey. Joe loved it and now he thinks I’m the reincarnation of Leonardo Da Vinci!! Your swim sounded wonderful, I wish t h e re were no sharks here. Despite my mood, things are slowly improving. I’m going to join the local tennis club. The first game is on Saturday, so perhaps that will be fun. Oh, and there is another girl here besides me. Her name is Ella. She’s the one who told off the truckies, but other than that, I d o n ’t know much about her yet. I hope you finished your assignments. I haven’t got any news, I just felt like writing. Thanks again for your card. I’d better go and try to be nice to Mum. Bye, love Cassie. PS Watch out for those swans!!

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The weather was muggy on Saturday. As I walked to the hall, I could see some of the others waiting by the nets. They stood in a group chatting, watching me. I looked down and tried to walk casually, but my feet felt awkward and my hands had become clammy. I wiped them on my shorts. Why were they all staring at me? My arms felt too long by my sides, so I clasped them behind my back, dug my fingernails into my flesh and smiled. ‘Hi,’ Cathy called. ‘Hi,’ I replied. Ella stood beside her aunt swinging her arm back and forth. I suddenly realised that I didn’t have a racquet. How stupid not to have thought of it before! But when I told Cathy, she shrugged. ‘There used to be a few spares in the shed,’ she said, ‘but they’ve probably been knocked off by now. I’ll go and have a look.’ ‘Let’s make up a draw while we’re waiting,’ Ella suggested. ‘If we play doubles, we can all have a go.’ I looked around. Besides Ella and me, the other women were all Mum’s age. Mrs Campbell and another nurse, Judy, were there and so were the police wives. There were also two other ladies that I didn’t know very well. One of them was little Kylie’s mum who was involved with the meteorology station. ‘Maggie and Linda, this is Cassandra Falconer, Susan’s daughter.’

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We shook hands and by the time we’d all said how pleased we were to meet each other, Cathy had returned with another racquet. ‘It’s a bit rough, but it’ll do for today. Bring it back to the roadhouse after the game and I’ll have a go at re-stringing it for you.’ ‘Thanks,’ I said taking the racquet and giving it a swing. Cathy finalised the draw while the other ladies chatted. ‘Hello,’ Ella said. ‘Hi,’ I replied, feeling myself blush. ‘Looks like it’ll be a scorcher,’ she said. I nodded and looked up at the sky as if I’d only just noticed that it was there. There was a long silence while I tried to think of something else to say. ‘Where do you live when you’re not here?’ I asked at last. ‘In a humpy out in the bush’ Ella replied. I stared at her in surprise. Then she burst out laughing. ‘No, I’m just teasing. Have you heard of the Ya l a t a community?’ I shook my head. ‘But I’ve only been here five weeks,’ I said, not wanting to seem ignorant. ‘It’s Aboriginal land, two hundred kilometres or so down the track on the South Australian side. That’s where my family live, but I’ve come over to help Cathy until the baby’s born. Hopefully they’ll want me to stay on afterwards too.’ ‘Don’t you go to school?’ ‘Mmm, I’m doing Year Ten by correspondence, but

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I’m not sure about continuing next year.’ All of a sudden I felt shy. ‘You’re older than me. I’m only in Year Nine.’ ‘I know,’ Ella said, ‘your mum told us.’ A cheeky expression flitted over her face. ‘And where do you live when you’re not here?’ she asked. I laughed. ‘We’ve been living in Doubleview since I was a toddler. I guess I miss it,’ I said wistfully. ‘I don’t think I’ve even been through Doubleview. It’s near the beach isn’t it?’ I nodded. ‘I love visiting the city,’ Ella said, ‘but after a week of shops, movies and pigging out at cafés, I’m usually ready to come home. The only city things I never get tired of are the beaches and bookshops.’ ‘Really? You should talk to Dad. He’s book-mad. At the moment we’re reading all these bush classics.’ I stopped, feeling awkward. Was it politically correct to talk about pioneers with Aboriginal people? ‘Don’t worry, we have our own heroes,’ Ella said seeing how uncomfortable I was. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’m always putting my foot in it!’ ‘Me too,’ Ella replied. ‘ H e y, are you two going to play as a double?’ Cathy called out. I looked at Ella. ‘I’m pretty hopeless at tennis,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve been playing since I could hold a racquet.’ The two of us took on the nurses, and thanks to

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Ella we won. I was pleased to simply return the ball, but if I was going to keep playing, I’d need some coaching for my serve! After the game we walked back to the roadhouse for a cool drink. I was surprised to find how much I enjoyed talking to Mrs Campbell and the Silver Chain nurses. Even though they were Mum’s age, they had such interesting stories to share about people on the Nullarbor that I felt ashamed of my narrow-mindedness. ‘Well, I don’t know about anyone else,’ Cathy said, ‘but I’m going to squeeze into my bathers and sit by the pool.’ Ella looked at me. ‘Do you want to come over?’ I nodded. ‘But I’ll have to go home and get my bathers.’ I’d seen the pool behind the pub, but hadn’t been in yet. Luke met his mates there. They swapped stamps and footy cards between dips, but they hadn’t invited me along. The pool wasn’t big, but it was deep enough to splash in. Ella and I tossed a volleyball between us while Cathy and the meteorology ladies sat on the edge dangling their feet. I lunged for the ball and missed. As I came up for breath, a shadow fell over me. I squinted into the sun. ‘Bernie!’ Ella cried. ‘I thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow.’ ‘Thought I’d surprise you,’ the figure replied. ‘Are you coming in?’ ‘Yeah, why not?’ The person strode to the other side of the pool and for the first time I could see him clearly.

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‘Cassie, this is my brother, Bernie.’ Bernie smiled and I caught my breath. He was tall, dark and stunning. Perhaps he guessed my thoughts because he grinned self-consciously, jumped into the pool and reached out his hand. I held it for a moment and felt warm inside. Was this love at first sight? ‘Hi, Cassie,’ he said in a friendly voice. ‘Hello,’ I mumbled, feeling wobbly inside. As he chatted to Ella, I reached for my sunglasses and a hat so that I could try and hide my confusion.

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10

When Dad returned from his third bush trip, he told us he was starting a course in basic first aid. ‘It’s part of our training,’ he said, ‘and Leonard re c k o n s you’re welcome to join in.’ ‘My St John’s certificate is still current,’ Mum replied, ‘but it’d be good for the kids to learn. What do you think, Cassie?’ ‘Sounds like fun. We did that project on drowning and resuscitation in Year Seven, but I’ve forgotten how many breaths between pauses.’ ‘One breath in every three for children, and after five quick breaths, it’s one in five for adults,’ Mum said automatically. Then she laughed. ‘You see, some good did come from all my hours at the hospital.’ She turned to my brother. ‘How about you, Luke?’ ‘Yeah, I guess so. Will it be during our morning study time?’ ‘Nine to twelve-thirty, from Monday to Wednesday’ Dad answered. ‘We do an exam after the last class

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and then I’m eligible for ambulance duty when I’m not out bush.’ ‘ You mean you’ll get to drive the ambulance?’ Luke squealed. ‘Only in an emer g e n c y,’ Dad said. ‘The other blokes are more senior, so I’ll probably never have to, but it’s good to know how. We’ll be learning about snakebite and general safety too. Then next time I’m in town, I’ll be doing a ropes course.’ ‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘Abseiling and harness work, for when the coastal surveillance begins.’ ‘ Yo u ’ re not going over those cliffs,’ Mum protested. ‘We have to,’ Dad replied. ‘The birds nest in the limestone cavities. But don’t worry, the guys are professionals.’ Mum looked annoyed. ‘You didn’t tell me about that, Colin ...’ ‘ We won’t start until November,’ Dad said, ‘so there’s no point worrying till then. But the cliff area is a key part of the program. The narrow coastal strip at the head of the Bight is a bottleneck for the birds. Its their only way into WA. The Southern Ocean blocks them to the south and they can’t survive the central deserts for long. So once the young bird s hatch, that’s the way they’ll be coming.’ Mum picked up her hat and went to dig in the garden. The screen door banged behind her.

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The first aid course was great. Although I’d learnt the resuscitation part before, we also learnt survival skills, like using tarpaulin or part of your clothes to collect water. How best to treat snakebite and where to find bush tucker in desert areas. L e o n a rd, the guy in charge of the starling program, was teaching the course. Whenever I’d met him before, he seemed really gruff, like a sergeant major or something. But during the three days of the course, I discovered that underneath his tough exterior, Leonard was a real softie. He spoke slowly and repeated the drills until even Luke knew them as well as he knew the names of the Bro w n l o w Medal winners. We passed the exam with excellent scores and Mum made her famous cheesecake to celebrate. After we’d gobbled most of it, Leonard let Dad take us for a ride in the ambulance. ‘No siren though!’ he warned, looking at my brother. Luke beamed. Later that afternoon, Dad and Leonard left to check the more remote traps. On their first night they would be two hours away, but over the ten days they’d be covering more than a thousand kilometres on rough, dirt tracks. Mum made soup and toast for dinner, but after all the cake, no one was hungry. Mum suggested a game of Monopoly, but Luke’s favourite TV show was on and I wanted to begin Seven Little Australians, the new book Dad had given me.

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The next day a letter came from Joanna. At last! It was short and the spelling was bad, but I was so glad to hear from her that I tried not to notice.

October 17th Dear Cassie, Thanks for your letter and cards. I’ve been a bit slack writing back, but you know how it is. Jack and I are going well — a definit item now! He takes me out every weekend and we’re even talking about leaving school and living tagether!! Last night we went roller-blading and I spent most of the evening clutching his arm, which was nice. Then we went on to that new nightclub in Northbridge. We missed the last bus and had to hitch home. Mum was furious. Do you still want to come and stay for a week during the holidays? Mum and Dad reckon it’s okay if you come the week after Christmas. We’ll be going over east to visit ralations in mid-January, but any time before then is fine. Hope it’s not too hot out there. Are there any interesting men? Jackaroos or stockmen or prospecters? Hannah and Cicily send a hello. Love till next time, Joanna.

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I was so pleased to hear from her, that I began roughing out a reply straightaway. I’d pro m i s e d myself to wait at least three days before writing back. I didn’t want to appear tragic. But in the meantime, I decided to ask Mum if I could visit Joanna. I knew Mum wanted to spend time with Aunt Rose before the baby arrived, but she wasn’t sure if Dad could take time off to mind us. If I went to Perth and Luke stayed with friends, Mum would be free to go to Adelaide. I cornered her while she was in the garden. ‘Joanna’s asked me to go and stay with her after Christmas. Her mum said it’s okay and it would work out really well if you wanted to visit Aunt Rose at the same time ...’ Mum looked up from her weeding and shaded her eyes. ‘Pardon?’ I went through it again and as I’d hoped, Mum was keen on the idea. But, said she wanted to call Mrs Edwards before committing herself. ‘Let’s call her tonight,’ I suggested and to my surprise Mum agreed. Joanna’s mother answered after the long-distance bips. ‘Hello, Mrs Edwards?’ I asked. ‘Speaking,’ Joanna’s mum replied. ‘Hello, it’s Cassie calling. Joanna’s friend, the one out on the Nullarbor ...’ ‘Oh, yes, Cassie. I saw your postcard. What a strange place to live. Is your mother happy out there?’ ‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘Most of the time. She wants to talk to

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you about me coming to stay during the Christmas holidays.’ ‘Oh, yes of course. Joanna’s out you know, it’s her skating night with her girlfriends. She’ll be sorry she missed your call. Did you say your mother was there?’ ‘Yes, I’ll put her on. Thanks for inviting me, bye.’ ‘Bye, dear.’ Mum and Mrs Edwards spoke for a few minutes. ‘She sounds unusual,’ Mum said as she hung up, ‘but I’m sure it would be fine for you to stay for a week or so.’ She picked up the phone again to call my Aunt Rose for an update on the pregnancy and to organise her travel dates, while I went to my room and began my reply to Joanna. October 22nd Dear Joanna, Has your Mum told you that we rang? My mum wanted to talk to your mum about the visit at Christmas — checking up I guess! Anyway, she’s happy with the plan and I’m looking forward to seeing you and the others. How about we all go and see a movie? I read that Jane Eyre is supposed to be good. I’d love to go shopping too. I’ve asked Mum to give me money for my birthday and Christmas, so it’d be fun to go into town and spend it. You could help me choose some new clothes. I can’t wait to be in civilisation again …

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I re-read the last sentence and wondered why it sounded fake. Since meeting some of the locals and joining the tennis group, I’d spent less time dreaming of the city and gazing west. I shook my head. What was I thinking? Of course I missed Perth! Maybe the dust was short circuiting my memory. Sometimes it was hard to know what was re a l out here. Bernie came into town every second week to bring Cathy supplies, and Ella told me that he’d be helping to umpire in the morning. I felt tired, so I finished the letter with a few lines about tennis and then got ready for bed. I needed all the beauty sleep I could get!

Tennis the next day was a whirl. I spent half the time watching Bernie and missed even more shots than usual. ‘Cassie, snap out of it,’ Ella said after I watched yet another ball land on my side of the court. She followed my gaze and smiled. ‘What are you dreaming about?’ she asked. ‘Or should I say who?’ I blushed and tried to concentrate on the game, but it was hard to play well and try and look good at the same time. We ended up losing, four sets to one. It was my fault and I felt bad. Not only had I let Ella down, but Bernie would probably think I was some frothy airhead.

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After a short break we began our second game, this time against the nurses. Cathy was umpiring, so I focused all my energy on doing well. Despite a few faults, most of my serves went over the net and I even managed to fluke a backhand return. ‘Excellent,’ Ella cried. ‘We’ll make a champion of you yet!’ Her enthusiasm spurred me on, and for a short while I forgot about Bernie sitting beside the other court. The nurses were our toughest competition and we fought them for every point. At last they beat us five games to four. I was exhausted, but I knew that I’d played well. Ella threw her arm over mine and we collapsed under the umbrella. ‘We’ll have to keep an eye on you two if Cassie keeps improving,’ Judy groaned. Ella and I grinned. ‘We’ll work on her serve soon and then watch out,’ Ella warned them. Bernie came over with an esky. If the temperature was this high in October, I wondered how anyone survived the heat in February. After catching our breath and having a drink, we walked back to the pool and splashed around for a while. ‘You sure made a comeback,’ Bernie said. Ella laughed. ‘If we can keep her attention on the game, she’s a natural!’ ‘I’ve never really played before,’ I said, hoping to keep the focus on tennis and not on what had distracted me. ‘It’s a great game, I’m enjoying it.’ ‘ Well, you’ve landed the best partner on the Nullarbor. Did Ella tell you that she represented our region at the State tournament?’

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‘No,’ I said staring at Ella. ‘But after that series of slams in the last game, I’m not surprised!’ After we’d cooled down, Bernie bought us each a chocolate frog at the roadhouse. ‘Ella told me you like them,’ he said. I grinned at Ella. ‘So you noticed hey?’ She smiled. ‘I’m glad Ella’s found someone younger than thirty to keep her entertained,’ Bernie whispere d when his sister stood up to serve a customer. ‘I was worried she’d be bored with only Bob and Cath to talk to.’ ‘What’s that about Ella being bored?’ Cathy called. ‘Talk about long ears!’ ‘Comes in handy sometimes ...’ ‘I was telling Cassie that Ella’s lucky to have her here. Otherwise she’d go crazy listening to you and Bob getting clucky!’ Cathy chuckled. ‘If you didn’t bring me parcels every fortnight, I’d have something to say to you ...’ Bernie jumped up and danced around his aunt. ‘Get away you big oaf,’ she said as he tried to hug her. ‘Didn’t my brother teach you anything about respecting your elders?’ Bernie just laughed. ‘How about a sandwich for the starving umpire?’ ‘Go and have a rest, Cathy,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll deal with him!’ I finished my frog but didn’t want to leave. The simplest things became exciting when Bernie was around.

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A storm was brewing and the wind was sprinkled with the smell of rain. I remembered my unfinished drawing of the telegraph station and decided to whiz down to capture the colours of the clouds. I hurried to leave before Mum came home and stopped me. It didn’t matter that it was thirty degrees, Mum would be sure that I’d catch a cold. I paused as I passed the roadhouse. The next bus wasn’t due for a couple of hours. Maybe Ella would like to come down to the bay with me. Although we’d spent time together swimming at the pool, or sharing a drink when I came by to collect groceries, I’d never gone over to specifically ask her anywhere. I hesitated, then walked inside. Cathy and Ella were sorting ice-creams at the freezer. ‘Why do people always muddle them up,’ Ella muttered as she re-organised the flavours. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m going down to the telegraph station to do some sketching.’ I took a deep breath, feeling shy again. ‘Do you want to come?’ Ella glanced at her aunt and Cathy looked up from her order form. ‘Go on, off you go. A touch of wild weather will do you good, but you’d better hurry if you want to beat the rain.’ Ella closed the cooler and raced away to collect Cathy’s bike. I smiled and hurried after her. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? I love it down here,’ Ella cried, as we pedalled into the wind together. I nodded. My hands gripped the handlebars and as the wind

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squeezed tears from my eyes, I couldn’t stop smiling. We left the bikes by the end of the track and ran towards the half-buried building. I tried to sketch the storm clouds over the ocean, but the wind ripped my paper. I shoved my things back into their plastic bag and stared instead, trying to memorise the colours. The bay was wild and as we chased each other along the beach, Ella kicked froth that the sea had churned up. Later, I remembered that day as the beginning of our friendship. The rain soaked us on the way home. After a hot shower and cup of Milo, I took out my paints and mixed the purpley-black colour of the clouds. I worked all afternoon, then decided to have a break and write another letter to Maria. October 23rd Dear Maria, I know it’s not my turn to write, but I just felt like talking to you. Today I went down to the bay with Ella. I think I mentioned her in my last letter. She’s a bit older than us and she’s working at the roadhouse until Cathy, her aunt, has her baby. She’s one of those really confident people, which is a bit overwhelming sometimes. We were partners at tennis a few weeks ago and she’s offered to help me work on my serve (which is pretty bad!). It’s so nice to have someone my age to talk to again! She also has a seventeen-year-old brother called Bernie.

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So, it seems there are teenagers on the Nullarbor after all!! There was a storm brewing over the beach while we were there. It was beautiful and I’ve been trying to paint the clouds for hours. Write again soon, I miss you, love Cassie. I folded the letter and put it into an envelope just as Mum called us for dinner.

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11

One of the highlights of Eucla’s social calendar is the regional shooting contest. Luke was all f i red up about it and, to my disgust, Dad was encouraging him. ‘The junior division is judged on .22 usage. You shoot 50 metres from a bullseye and the highest score wins,’ I overheard him telling Luke one evening. ‘I can’t believe that they’re talking about guns again!’ I complained to Mum. ‘Your dad was a champion when he was young. Don’t forget he grew up on a farm and in those days most country boys could shoot a roo or a rabbit.’ ‘I know that it was once a survival thing, but it isn’t now! Look at what happened at Port Arthur.’ ‘If guns are used irre s p o n s i b l y, of course they cause suffering. The Port Arthur massacre was a nightmare, but we’re not talking about semiautomatics. With strict re g u l a t i o n s and licensing ...’ 105

‘Huh!’ I sniffed and tried to interrupt. ‘Let me finish! What your father does is about survival too, Cassie. I wasn’t keen to come out here and I know you don’t agree, but if the APB branch wasn’t here, there wouldn’t be many of those honeyeaters that you used to sketch in Perth.’ ‘Maybe you’re right and perhaps guns are necessary sometimes. But surely not in Luke’s hands. Just thinking about him holding a gun gives me the creeps!’ ‘Well, I’ve had an idea that might take your mind o ff Luke for a while,’ Mum said, changing the subject. ‘I know you want money for your birthday ...’ I nodded, ‘and don’t worry, we’ve set some aside, but your father and I also wanted to give you something for your fourteenth birthday which you’d remember.’ I waited with growing scepticism. ‘Remember that place south of Cocklebiddy?’ Mum asked. ‘You know, that bird observatory?’ I nodded again and Mum smiled. ‘Well, I rang them last week to ask about courses and they said there’s a wildlife sketching course the week before your b i r t h d a y. So if you like, I can book you in. Then you’ll be out of town while the shooting competition is on. Or, if you’d rather go another time, they have an introduction to birdwatching in four weeks and a course on bats, of all things, early next year.’ I stared at her, amazed that Mum had come up with such a great idea. ‘I’d love it,’ I said giving her a hug. She looked surprised and very pleased. ‘Good, I’ll give them a ring then!’

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Joe was driving west to check traps, so he gave me a lift as far as Cocklebiddy. As I bumped along beside Bluey, I decided to write to Maria and tell her about the course. My case was by my feet, full of waterpaints, pencils and enough paper to last for months, so I lifted my feet onto the lid, balanced notepaper on my knee and began a letter. Joe dropped me at the roadhouse where the wardens, Jill and Alex Gruber, were to meet me and drive me the last forty kilometres from the highway. I was munching chips and reading part two of my new book when a tall red-headed woman burst in to the shop. ‘G’day Ted, any mail for the observatory?’ The bloke behind the counter handed over a pile of envelopes while the woman looked around. She wore black spangled cowboy boots, and a spotted scarf was knotted around her freckled neck. A very new-looking Akubra was dangling from a string behind her hair. She glanced at me. ‘I’m also looking for a girl.’ Ted nodded my way. ‘Looks like you’ve found her,’ he said. The woman sauntered over. ‘Hi honey, are you Cassandra Falconer?’ ‘Most people call me Cassie,’ I began. ‘ Well, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Cassie! I’m Ve ronica and most people call me Ronnie.’

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‘I’m supposed to be meeting Jill or Alex Gruber ...’ ‘I know. I’m filling in for them. Jill asked me to tell you sorry, but there’s a pod of whales calving down at Twilight Cove. Everyone wanted to see them, so t h e y ’ re busy tour guiding. I saw the whales yesterday, so I volunteered to collect you and the mail. I’m waiting for a letter from home.’ I guessed from her drawling voice that home was somewhere in America. ‘South Carolina,’ she told me as we left the highway, driving south towards the observatory. ‘I’m in Australia to study your fantastic birds. My project revolves around honeyeaters, particularly the whiteeared species. But I love your parrots and cockatoos too — especially the ones at the observatory! You should see the Major Mitchells carry on at the birdbath. We watch them through the window while we’re eating breakfast. They’re just a riot!’ The final third of the track was rough. In between bumps, Ronnie explained how the western form of the white-eared honeyeater was shy, with a distinctive high note to its call. On the other hand, she said the eastern species had a metallic, chiming call and could be quite fearless at nesting time. ‘ Yo u ’ re so lucky to live here,’ Ronnie gushed. ‘Western Australia’s isolation provides such unique habitats for small birds.’ She became even more excited when I told her my father worked at the starling control unit. ‘It plays such an important role, don’t you think?’ I nodded and tried to make sense of my feelings about Dad’s work.

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When everyone returned from Twilight Cove, the observatory was overflowing with people. It was wonderful to be there on my own. Everyone asked what I was doing and seemed genuinely interested in my ideas and sketches. Two older women had also come for the art course, but most of the other guests were travellers who were crossing the Nullarbor and had decided to rest for awhile with fellow birdlovers. There were also scientists; astronomers and biologists, some from overseas like Ronnie, who were based at Eyre for several weeks. The observatory was a big, limestone building with wide verandahs. It was nestled in a hollow, surrounded by dense mallee scrub and spectacular dunes. Because there were so many visitors, I was given one of the rooms on the verandah. Latticed for privacy, my hideaway faced east, so I could enjoy the morning sun from my bed. It was perfect! I could also see the ruined chimneys of the original telegraph station from my room. Jill told me the outpost was set up in 1877 on the site where the explorer Edward John Eyre had found water. The station relayed messages across the Nullarbor for fifty years before it was closed in 1927. Then the building languished in the sands for another fifty years, until it was renovated by the Royal Australasian Ornithologists Union and several other organisations. Since then, there’d been a continuous program of birdwatching, banding and information gathering. On my first evening I went for a walk through the

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s c rub and up onto the massive sandhills with Ronnie. As we wandered over the dunes our feet set off trickling waterfalls of sand, altering the rippling patterns that the wind had created. We watched the grit roll away to make new waves of sculpture d sand, and I felt like I was part of a huge, ongoing art installation. ‘Look,’ Ronnie shouted pointing out to sea. I squinted into the glare of the setting sun and watched a huge bird spiralling upwards. ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘A white-breasted sea eagle. Isn’t it amazing!’ I’d never seen such an enormous bird. With its wings upswept we could see its stark white breast. ‘I’d love to draw it,’ I whispered. ‘Why don’t you?’ Ronnie asked. ‘It moves too quickly. I’d never be able to capture the markings.’ ‘Couldn’t you copy its features from a book? There’s a stack of pages devoted to sea eagles in the observatory’s field guide. Or better still, why not paint it as a swirl of feathers?’ ‘I thought you were an ornithologist!’ ‘Mmm, but I sub-majored in art.’ ‘I’ve never done anything abstract.’ ‘Has to be a first time for everything …’

My course with Jill began early the next morning. The other two women, Beryl and Violet, were both

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pastoralists who lived on vast sheep stations north of the highway. Every spring they left their families and came down to the observatory to do a course t o g e t h e r. They’d never painted, but were sure it couldn’t be harder than mistnetting chocolate wattled bats, which was the unit they’d done last year. Beryl, at sixty, was almost ten years younger than Violet, but they shared the same spirit of adventure. During our first lesson Violet whispered that the bat course was excellent. ‘You never know when you’ll need to distinguish between the call of a long-eared bat and its whitestriped relative. But we can do it can’t we, Beryl?’ In a n s w e r, Beryl let out a high-pitched squeal. ‘Definitely a long-eared bat,’ Violet said. As I began the first sketching activity, I wondered why people from all over the world had discovered this amazing place and yet, until we passed through Cocklebiddy, I’d never even heard of the Eyre Bird Observatory. We worked with Jill all morning, then she suggested we spend the afternoon following up our own ideas. If we were tired of drawing, Jill said we were welcome to join one of the projects for which E y re was famous. Besides counting shore and s e a b i rds, we could help with the daily weather report, look for pygmy possum nests or simply sit back and watch the birds. I decided to paint over one of my sketches. I worked with watercolours for almost an hour, but became frustrated by the white sand that kept

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settling on my wet paper. The observatory was s u r rounded on three sides by dunes and the grit seemed to find its way into everything. It had even filled the cracks between the floorboards of the verandah where I was working. The forecast was for more gusty weather, so I took a chair down to the thick mallee. I’d planned to sketch the grass-cupped nest of a honeyeater, which Jill had pointed out to me, but after a quick trip to the loo, I decided to sketch the outhouse instead. It was a dinky-di bush toilet, famous for its poem behind the door telling the tale of a visitor ’ s encounter with a dugite. Alex had warned me to keep an eye out for these poisonous snakes sunning themselves on the patio. Jill was a thorough teacher. The next morning she took us out to one of the hides to do five-minute sketches of birds in flight. Capturing movement was d i fficult for me. I kept trying to draw detail and became frustrated, until Jill showed me how to rough out an outline with fast, full-arm movements. ‘You can always pad it out later. At this stage, the important thing is to capture the feeling of flight.’ I kept trying and my one consolation was that Beryl was having even more trouble than me! But she didn’t mind. Instead of becoming self-conscious about her mistakes or frightened of the empty page, as I often was, Beryl plunged on with her work. ‘Abseiling with the bats was a breeze compared to this,’ she muttered. I felt that I could learn a lot from her.

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At lunchtime I told Jill about Ronnie’s idea of drawing a swirl of feathers. ‘As long as you capture that feeling of flight,’ she said, ‘I think you can be as imaginative as you like. But I also believe that you need to master realism first. Abstract art isn’t an alternative to not drawing well.’ Breakfast was the highlight of each day. Although I was keen to work on my sketches, it was hard to leave the kitchen window. As Ronnie had said, watching the Major Mitchells at the birdbath was fantastic. You could hear them, in flocks of twenty or m o re, as they wheeled around the house before landing. They were joined by a variety of honeyeaters, thornbills, wrens and even the occasional bronze-wing. But most mornings the cockatoos, with their raucous cries and perky yellow crests, were the stars at the drinking trough. On the third day, after experimenting with a technique we’d learnt in the morning, I produced a sketch that I was really proud of. ‘Perhaps you could begin that swirl of feathers now,’ Jill suggested. I worked on the idea all afternoon. By dinnertime I’d done several paintings and felt that in one of them, I’d captured something unusual. ‘Which one do you like best?’ Jill asked me when I showed her. I pointed and Jill smiled. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘They’re all interesting, but that one is special.’ Besides painting, I spent hours walking through the scrub. One afternoon Alex Gruber showed me

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the mound of a mallee fowl. He told me how these turkey-sized birds scrape earth, twigs and leaves into huge nesting piles. The mound we saw was at least three metres wide. Alex said the largest he’d seen was four metres. Because it was nesting season we didn’t go too close, but through the binoculars we had a good view of the male scratching about, adjusting the temperature by moving debris on or off. Alex reckoned there could be as many as thirty eggs incubating in the mound. On the sixth, and for me, last evening, we pinned our work around the library and invited the other guests to comment. I was nervous, but Beryl and Violet seemed excited. Beryl was wearing a string of pearls and Violet had pinned her hair up. They were both sipping shandies. With our sketches tacked to the wall, the improvement in our work was clear to see. ‘Well done,’ the locals said. ‘First rate!’ the English astronomer added. Ronnie smiled and squeezed my arm. ‘I love the sea eagle,’ she said quietly. In seven days I felt that I’d made lasting friendships. With older people too! When it was time to say goodbye I became teary-eyed. ‘I’ll send you a postcard from the States,’ Ronnie promised. Beryl and Violet had given me their telephone numbers and invited me to come and see how a sheep station works. I thanked them and tucked the numbers into my day pack. Perhaps we’d meet at a

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bat course instead. If I was allowed to come again! The next day I was up at first light to go for one last walk over the dunes. There were no cars, people or barking dogs to disturb the peace, only the sound of the wind and distant waves. I climbed the first hill and stopped. An undulating blanket of white sand stretched as far as my eyes could see. The morning shadows gave a deep contrast to the ripple patterns and it looked as if legions of huge snakes had wriggled by earlier that morning. I lay across the ridges, enjoying the silence before heading back to the screeches of the breakfasting cockatoos. While we waited for Mum to collect me at Cocklebiddy, Jill told me about next year’s courses. ‘We usually begin the year with stargazing and then study the bats in February.’ I said I’d love to come, but it depended on how much the courses cost. ‘Well, if you’re willing to do a few hours work each day, we have regular gr e e n i n g - t h e - d u n e s programs. If you don’t mind carting seaweed and planting spinifex seeds, we can give you a discount.’ ‘That sounds great,’ I said. It felt like I’d been away for ages and yet it had only been a week. There was a lot to talk about on the way home. I told Mum about the photographs decorating the walls of the observatory and that I’d like to use my birthday money to buy a camera. Then I tried to remember the names of all the birds I’d seen. We talked about Ronnie and how many years it would take to become a biologist.

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At last I ran out of things to say, I thanked Mum for organising it and we settled into a comfortable silence. Mum concentrated on the road, and I dreamt about Bernie. He’d bought me a milkshake when I went in to say goodbye to Ella, and she’d teased him about it. But then he bought milkshakes for Ella all the time! I wondered whether it was my imagination that he seemed quieter when I was around. It was enough to make me hopeful anyway!

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We arrived home around midday. As I stepped into the house, Luke and his friends ambushed me in the hallway. ‘Surprise!’ they shouted. Then a swarm of people surrounded me. ‘Happy birthday, sweet fourteen,’ they sang, while I stood there with my mouth open. Although the next day was my birthday, I hadn’t expected anything special. Just dinner with the family. When I recovered from my shock I looked around at the faces. Ella and Bernie, Bob and Cathy, Leonard, Darlene and Joe and all the tennis ladies were grinning at me. I felt part of a community. It was a nice feeling. There was also a letter fr o m Maria, but I waited until everyone left before opening it.

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November 3rd Dear Cassie, — HAPPY BIRTHDAY — Thanks for your letter. I hope this arrives in time for the big day. Your postcard with the wobbly writing made it in two days. Is that a record? I’m really glad that you’ve found a friend. Ella sounds nice, but you still haven’t told me about this Bernie?? What does he look like? Now that the holidays are over, things a re the same as ever here. The hockey season finished last term and your letters inspired me to take tennis as my new elective. I was trying to decide between netball and golf, but after reading about your group, I decided to try something different and go for tennis. Maybe we can have a game during the Christmas holidays. Speaking of which, do you know when you’ll be here? We’re going to Mandurah for New Year’s Eve, but you know Dad — he doesn’t want to be away from the shop for too long. So we should be back by the second week of January. I didn’t do much during these last holidays. There was a concert on in town, which I went to with some friends and we hung around the shops. Nothing special! I suppose when you work by correspondence you can take holidays any time. How was your trip to that bird

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sanctuary that you were going to? Did you paint any masterpieces? Write again soon and tell me all about it, love till then, Maria. PS I hope you get spoilt on the 6th.

Dad had taken the day off work so he could be home for my party, but after the celebration he had to go. The APB men were working on the southern cliffs, abseiling into nesting sites that the birds had found amongst the rocks. Mum was still worried about the danger. ‘Check those ropes before you go down,’ she called as he drove through the compound gates. I hadn’t realised how upset she was until Darlene came over to reassure her. ‘He did so well on the ropes course and they always double-check the knots,’ she said. ‘You know he’s probably safer out there than we are crossing the h i g h w a y, what with all the bloomin’ road trains tearing past.’ Mum managed a thin smile and made a cup of tea.

Dad had left My Brilliant Career for me to read, but the next morning was tennis and I had to catch up on an English assignment, so the story had to wait. Bernie was working at Yalata and with no distractions I played well. In the afternoon Ella gave

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me some coaching for my serve. After I slammed ten balls over the net without missing, we worked on my backhand. I could feel myself improving and was looking forward to surprising Bernie and the others the following Saturday. Although hot and sweaty, we didn’t go to the pool because Ella had to help Cathy in the shop. I could have gone by myself, but rather than swim alone I went home and began making notes for my essay. It was on Tomorrow When the War Began. The teenagers’ action in sabotaging the bridge was i r responsible and placed lives in danger. Discuss. I didn’t agree. The teenagers had to strike out at the enemy and although their actions were dangerous, I thought they were brave not foolhardy. I chewed the end of my pen and wondered how to arg u e the point. I didn’t have a lot of experience with bravery. In the end, I had a shower, then took the easy way out by writing an essay agreeing with the suggestion.

After returning from my course at the bird o b s e r v a t o r y, Ella and I settled into a routine of cycling down to the bay each day when we’d finished our schoolwork. ‘ H e y, look out there!’ Ella cried one afternoon. ‘They’re back.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Whales. Can’t you see them? Over past the cliff!’

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‘Where?’ ‘There, look!’ Ella came and stood beside me. Just then one of the pod surfaced and exhaled a huge splutter of air. The pong of the whale’s putrid fish breath wafted towards us. ‘What a stink!’ Ella laughed. ‘They’re amazing creatures, but their breath is really foul isn’t it?’ We watched them for a few moments, but then it began to rain, so we ran to our bikes. ‘I’ll race you,’ Ella yelled above the squeal of the wind. I laughed and pushed my legs as hard as I could, determined to at least keep up with her. We made it to the roadhouse before the worst of the storm pelted down. ‘Here, have a hot Milo,’ Cathy said. ‘You two are as crazy as each other,’ she muttered shaking her head and grinning. ‘Hey, where’s the sugar?’ Ella asked. ‘It’s bad for you!’ ‘We’re not all paranoid about ... hey, Cathy are you okay?’ Cathy was holding her belly and staring vacantly ahead. She didn’t answer. Ella jumped up. ‘Are you okay?’ she repeated. ‘Ooh, I don’t know,’ Cathy replied. ‘When exactly are you due?’ ‘About now, I reckon,’ Cathy said laughing. ‘Quick, sit down,’ Ella said. But Cathy kept pacing around the shop. ‘Should I call Mrs Campbell?’ I asked.

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‘ Will you two stop panicking! Let’s just wait a moment and see how long until the next one.’ It wasn’t long. Ella yelled to Bob, who was in the garage, while I rang Mrs Campbell. ‘How long between contractions?’ she asked me. ‘I don’t know but it doesn’t seem like long.’ ‘I’ll be over in a few minutes.’ Mrs Campbell drove the short distance and parked at the back door. She’d brought a bag with all her midwifery bits and pieces and told us to go and put the kettle on. ‘ N o w, Cathy,’ we heard her say as we listened outside the door, ‘you’ve still got plenty of time. Are you sure you don’t want one of the fellows to take you to hospital in the ambulance? I’ll come with you if you go.’ ‘If there are no complications, I’d rather have it here.’ ‘ Well, baby’s in a good position. Yo u ’ re widehipped, so there’s no reason you shouldn’t progress normally. But still, it is your first baby.’ We heard the rustle of clothes and suddenly Cathy pulled open the door. We fell into the room and she burst out laughing, but the noise turned into a groan as she clutched her belly. After the contraction passed, she told us we were welcome to stay and help, but that she didn’t approve of eavesdropping. I put off calling Mum because I didn’t think she’d let me stay. When I did ring, she surprised me. ‘As long as you’re not in the way and do whatever Cathy and Mrs Campbell tell you, then I guess its okay.

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Make yourself useful by helping Bob in the shop and wish Cathy good luck. If Mrs Campbell needs a hand, tell her I’m near the phone.’ ‘I can stay,’ I put down the phone. Ella smiled. Just then a private charter pulled in. Being Friday night, it was full. For the next forty-five minutes, we ran around serving pies, milkshakes and coffees. At last the travellers piled back into the bus. The door gave a pneumatic sigh and they continued on the long haul to Adelaide. We had a milkshake, then tapped on Cathy’s door. ‘Come in,’ Mrs Campbell called. Behind her Cathy was pacing the room. Her hair was tied into a lank ponytail. Although she looked our way, her glazed eyes seemed fixed on a space somewhere above our heads. ‘Can we get you anything?’ Ella asked. Cathy began to answer, but was interrupted by a contraction. They seemed stronger than an hour before. Mrs Campbell squeezed Cathy’s hand and said that she might like some iceblocks to suck. ‘And I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea,’ she added as we closed the door.

Cathy’s baby was born at one thirty-three the next morning. Everything went well according to Mrs Campbell, and although Cathy was exhausted after her labour, whenever she saw her son she beamed. He weighed just over three kilograms, and they

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named him Joshua. Cathy said she knew the baby was a boy, but then I guess she had a fifty percent chance of being right. After checking Cathy and the baby, Bob stumbled about the place grinning and looking foolish. ‘I’ve got a son!’ he said to anyone who came near him. After all the excitement I knew I’d never get to sleep, so I stayed on to help Ella with the two-thirty bus. I’d spoken to Mum before midnight and she’d said that if all was well, not to wake her. She’d be over to help in the morning. When the bus left we sat on a log outside the roadhouse and talked for another hour or so. ‘It must hurt,’ I said. ‘ Yeah, but they reckon your endorphins start flowing and help cut the pain.’ ‘But Cathy was really in agony for a while.’ ‘Mmm, but look at her now,’ Ella replied. ‘Do you want to have kids?’ I asked. Ella looked at me as if I was crazy. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’ ‘I guess so, but I don’t like the idea of giving birth.’ ‘You’d be fine,’ Ella said squeezing my hand. ‘You just need to believe in yourself that’s all.’ I tried to see her face, but the moon was behind a cloud. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘We both need some sleep and from now on I guess my dreams are going to be interrupted.’ ‘It was a great night,’ I said, not wanting it to end.

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‘It sure was!’ She grabbed my hand again and twirled me over to the verandah. ‘I’ve got a new cousin!’ We spun together giggling until Bob came out, pretending to be angry. ‘Get along with you both,’ he said gruffly. Ella kissed his cheek, waved to me and floated towards her room. ‘Goodnight, proud daddy,’ she teased as she pushed her door open. Bob chuckled. ‘Goodnight and thank you both. You did a great job. Now go to bed!’

Since our arrival in September, Mum had spent hours digging over a sandy area of yard beside the house. After months of hard work, building up the soil with seaweed and compost, her first flowers w e re appearing. Sprinklings of white and purple alyssum formed a border for petunias, while geraniums cascaded from baskets on the verandah. Twice a day she hosed dust from the plants’ leaves and carefully monitored the bugs. Although her garden needed heaps of attention, we all enjoyed Mum’s flowers. They made our fibro house look like a cottage. No one had planted a garden in the APB compound before, so Mum was the talk of the town. She swapped hints and cuttings with the other ladies, and within weeks of the first buds opening, seedlings and baskets began appearing on verandahs across Eucla.

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Meanwhile, Dad was spending most of his time riding four-wheeled motorbikes over vast sand dunes. He had to check wild nitre bushes for stray birds. Luke and his friends were wildly jealous and refused to believe Dad when he said the thrill wore off after sitting on the bike for as many hours as he did. Besides completing a basic ropes course, Dad had also trained to become a member of the State E m e rgency Service, qualified to help with any rescues in the area. When they were abseiling over cliff faces to check for fledglings, all four members of the team worked together, and Dad enjoyed the company of Leonard and the other men. Any live starlings they captured were taken back to the aviary in the base compound to use as lure birds. I’d avoided going near the cage, but I often heard the starlings cackling and imitating the calls of other birds. I’d thought it was ridiculous for the government to pay a team of grown men to play war games with birds. But after returning from Eyre, it was harder for me to be critical of Dad’s work. I kept remembering how important Ronnie felt the starling program was for our native birds.

In mid-November the weather became unbearably s t i c k y. One evening when I was sitting on the verandah swatting mosquitoes and moaning, Ella and Bernie came over to see if I wanted to walk to the beach. Mum said it was okay — I think she was

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glad to be rid of me — so I hurried to put my sandals on before she changed her mind. The rising moon gave us plenty of light. We walked along laughing and crunching Donnybrook apples Ella had brought along. It was a long hike, but at last we reached the old telegraph station. We plonked ourselves onto the sand and sat quietly looking up at the stars, listening to the swoosh of the ocean as it sucked gently at the beach. Bernie found the Southern Cross and then pointed out Venus. ‘The planet of love,’ Ella said, chuckling to herself. I tried to ignore her. Bernie was so close that I could actually feel his skin against mine as he pointed to the different constellations. My nerves played havoc with my breathing and the cells on my arm were tingling as they waited for his skin to brush mine again. ‘And there’s Pisces,’ Bernie continued. ‘My star sign!’ I noticed how he smelt vaguely of sweat and soap. It was a masculine smell, like Dad but different. We explored the ruins by moonlight, then ran down to the surf. As we walked along the beach, Ella and Bernie told me stories about their childhood at Yalata. So different from my memories of new lawn and swinging on the Hills hoist. Everything was perfect until I looked at my watch. It was after eleven. If we weren’t back before twelve, Mum would be ropeable. We took turns at sprinting and racing ahead of each other on the way home. Although we were late,

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Mum didn’t seem to mind. After Bernie and Ella left, I lay awake remembering every detail of the evening. I knew that I would have sweet dreams.

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Three

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In late November I decided to make my own Christmas cards. I’d seen a good idea at a craft shop before we left Perth and for weeks I’d been collecting small pieces of shells, feathers and twigs. Thre e weeks before Christmas I had enough to begin. First I arranged the bits and pieces I’d saved into tiny plastic envelopes. Then I folded a piece of card into t h ree pieces. After cutting a window from the middle section, I taped an envelope of tre a s u re s across the hole, then pasted one end of card back over the bulky middle section. It took a while to get it right, but once I’d mastered the folding, they looked great. Mum and Dad’s cards were easy. I arranged feathers in Dad’s and knew Mum would like dried flowers. Luke’s was a challenge. In the end I made him a collage of stamps and leaves. For Ella and Maria I chose fingernail-shaped shells from the bay,

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but I didn’t make one for Joanna because I knew she wasn’t keen on homemade gifts. For Bernie I put together a sprinkling of red earth and two tiny, c o l o u red stones. I was pleased with the r e s u l t s and tucked them in a box under my bed to wait for Christmas.

By mid-December, Bob had strung tinsel around the roadhouse. He’d decorated the road sign too, but Sergeant Bevan made him take down the tinsel after some truckies complained about reflecting glare . Like Bob, Mum loved Christmas. She seemed to ooze e n e rgy as she baked gingerbread, decorated the house and hummed her favourite carols. With only weeks until her trip to Adelaide, Mum was counting the days until Aunt Rose’s baby was due.

I was excited about my trip too. Although Joanna had only sent postcards, I’d begun sending her long, descriptive letters in return. When I was with Ella, I couldn’t help boasting about what a great friend Joanna was. I knew I was being painful, but the w o rds just seemed to pop out of my mouth. I’d become nervous too, worrying about what Joanna would think of every little thing. ‘My clothes are so boring!’ I flung them across the room, trying to decide what to pack. Mum didn’t say

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much to me, but I over h e a rd her complaining to Dad. ‘I thought we were past these dramatics with Cassie. She seemed so settled. But now, I don’t know what’s gotten into her ...’ ‘She’s just excited about the holiday,’ Dad replied. ‘Well I’m running out of patience. She’s not the only one with things on her mind!’ As Christmas approached I saw less of Ella. Sometimes I wondered if she was really as busy with little Joshua as she claimed. But strangely enough I didn’t care. I was restless to get back to the city. Maria still wrote regularly, but my long letters to Joanna had cut into my time and my replies to Maria had become shorter. I sent her a quick card just before we were due to leave. December 12th Dear Maria Only two weeks to wait. I’m so looking forward to being back! Your Christmas play sounds i n t e resting. Thanks for the br o c h u re from the camera shop. Unless they have some afterChristmas specials, I don’t think I can afford the model with the built-in zoom. I hope I’ll be able to see you before you go to Mandurah. I’ll ring when I get to Joanna’s and we can organise a gettogether then. Mum’s calling, so I’d better go. See you soon, love Cassie.

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Two nights before Christmas the phone rang just as Mum was putting dinner on the table. ‘Why does that always happen?’ she grumbled. ‘Susan Falconer speaking. Ken, hi. We’ve been thinking of you. How’s Rose?’ I put down my knife and fork and listened. ‘What! Already?’ Mum put her hand over the receiver and whispered that Aunt Rose had gone into labour. Wow, another baby already, I thought as Mum continued speaking. ‘But she wasn’t due for two weeks. Is everything okay?’ ‘Mmm. So we might have a little Christmas baby ...’ ‘No, that’s okay, you go back to her, but thanks, for letting us know, Ken. Tell her we send our love. We’re thinking of you both and hopefully it won’t be much longer.’ ‘Of course! Call anytime, even if it’s three am!’ ‘Bye, good luck.’ ‘At last little Rosie is having her baby!’ Mum said as she put down the phone. ‘Little Rosie’ was forty years old, I thought, but I was happy for Mum, and for me too. Having a new cousin would be good. Especially if it was a girl!

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Mum sat on the verandah and shared a bottle of wine with Dad as an early celebration. I heard them giggling together as I worked on my biology assignment. Their laughter made me feel warm inside. Mum was a little tipsy. She was imitating a boobook owl when we went out to say goodnight. ‘When Rose and I were young ...’ Mum said, patting the bench beside her for us to sit down. We lounged beneath the stars and listened to stories of Mum’s childhood by the Nedlands foreshore. She told us about their neighbour’s ducks escaping and jellyfish fights in the river. It seemed so nostalgic. I wondered if I’d be able to remember anything like that to tell my children. Stargazing on the Nullarbor, I thought, trying to be positive. I could tell them about the magnificence of the stars out here. We went to bed early that night and my uncle rang back at six the next morning. ‘Hello. Ken, is that you?’ I heard Dad answer the phone while Mum groaned about her head. ‘Oh, congratulations!’ he said. We stumbled into the room just as Mum grabbed the phone from him. ‘It’s a girl!’ she whispere d , holding her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Just under seven pounds!’ Then she turned back to the phone. ‘But you sound strange, Ken. Is Rose okay?’ Mum was quiet for too long. We waited while she clutched the phone. ‘Oh, Ken, that’s not unusual,’ she said at last. ‘I’m sure everything will be fine once she’s rested. Is there anything I can do?’

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‘Okay, well I’ll talk to Colin about it. Take care and give Rosie our love.’ ‘What’s wrong?’ Dad asked as Mum put down the phone. ‘It was a difficult labour. Rose is exhausted and Ken said she bursts out crying whenever they bring her the baby.’ ‘That doesn’t sound like Rose. Is the baby okay?’ ‘She’s fine. Small of course, because she’s early, but strong. The nurses are more worried about Rose at the moment.’ ‘Do you want to go to Adelaide earlier?’ ‘Well, I could ring the bus company and see if they have any seats on Boxing Day.’ Dad patted her hand. ‘You do what you think’s best. The kids will be going to Perth and I’ll be out bush, so if Rose needs you, it’s only a matter of changing your ticket.’

Mum spent the next day packing and then it was Christmas. I’d asked for money, so my stocking was thin. But Luke’s was bulging with in-line blades and some small, terminator-type toys. He was ecstatic and spent the morning in noisy attack. ‘Does he have to be so loud?’ I was trying to read the first chapter of The Tale of the Wirrun, Dad’s latest book for me. It was an all-in-one trilogy and thick enough to keep me busy during the drive to Perth, but I couldn’t concentrate with Luke shouting.

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‘Luke, tone it down a bit please,’ Mum said. She was becoming frazzled as she organised Christmas lunch in the forty-degree heat. We were having stuffed turkey breast and roast vegies. The table was decorated with plastic holly. Bonbons hiding paper hats and riddles lay beside each placemat and a huge blow-up Santa dangled from the light fitting above. The perfect festive scene! Behind us, in the window facing the withere d plains, our synthetic fir tree shimmered. Cotton wool snow drooped from its branches and the ornamental snowmen remained cheerfully frosty in the glare. Below the tree, half covered by torn wrapping paper, a reindeer nodded its head up and down while a tinny rendition of ‘Silent Night’ filled the room. I wondered how much longer the batteries would last. One of Luke’s terminators ran over my foot and I took a deep breath. After all, it was Christmas, and Luke seemed to have liked the card that I’d made for him. ‘Thanks, Cassie. That’s really wicked,’ he’d said. ‘But how did you get the stamps and leaves in there?’ After I’d explained, he placed it on the dressingtable beside his bed. I smiled, surprised at how I misjudged him sometimes. We pulled bonbons, put on silly hats and devoured Mum’s lunch. Then in the afternoon we walked over to the roadhouse for Christmas drinks. Joshua was six weeks old and his eyes were beginning to focus. Mum loved making a fuss of

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him. She tickled his toes and bounced him on her knee. When at last she put him back into his bassinette, I gave him the rattle that I’d made out of washed shells and fabric scraps. ‘How kind of you,’ Cathy gushed. ‘And look, our little Joshie just loves it. Don’t you, don’t you … little cuddly man!’ she said in a high-pitched voice. Ella and I grinned. Cathy was totally besotted with her baby! Mum gave Bob and Cathy a Christmas CD. They played it while Ella and I took Josh onto the verandah. We’d planned our get-together between buses, and being Christmas Day it wasn’t busy. I gave Ella her present. It was a painting of our bicycles leaning together against the turq u o i s e coloured bay. The style was different to my usual work and I wondered if she’d like it. ‘Thank you, Cassie, that’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘It reminds me of when we used to cycle down to the bay in the afternoons.’ ‘Mmm, I guess it’s been too hot to go,’ I muttered, feeling dishonest. Lately I’d been thinking about Perth and Joanna too much to worry about calling in at the roadhouse. ‘So, when are you off to see the amazing Joanna?’ Ella asked. I frowned, wondering if she was making fun of me, but she smiled and said she was only joking. ‘Dad wants to leave first thing tomorrow morning. He’s organised a lift from Norseman on Monday with a guy he knows. So we should get to Perth that

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afternoon. I can’t wait!’ Ella smiled. ‘It sounds great, but you might not want to come back!’ Probably not, I thought, keeping quiet. I knew Ella loved it out here and I didn’t want to say anything that would hurt her feelings. Ella went over to her room. When she returned there was something behind her back. ‘Which hand?’ she teased before giving me a parcel. It was a field book on birds — something I’d always wanted. Bernie was spending Christmas at Yalata, so I left his card with Ella. I was partly disappointed and partly relieved not to give it to him myself. At least this way, if he didn’t like it, or wondered why I’d made something so personal, there’d be time for the dust to settle before I returned.

Mum and I had an argument that evening. It started over potato scraps of all things, then escalated into World War Three. It was Luke’s turn to put the compost out, but I guess I could have done it and said nothing. Mum was so emotional about Rose and the baby, it didn’t take much to get her going. Afterwards, I wondered when I’d learn to just retreat and not answer back. By the time we went to bed there was a truce. So when Mum came in to peck my cheek before catching the two am bus, I pretended to be fast asleep.

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At breakfast the next morning I r e g retted not saying goodbye. I thought of her travelling along the highway to Adelaide and wished that we hadn’t argued. It was time for us to leave, so I gave Mum’s plants a thorough water and checked them for bugs b e f o re we loaded up the car and trundled off towards Perth.

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Dad drove us as far as Norseman. We arrived midafternoon and went to meet Dad’s friend, Thommo. Dad had warned us that he was quiet, but that was an understatement! We left Norseman at dawn and arrived on the outskirts of Perth just before four. Besides telling us that he’d just come in from the bush, Thommo hardly spoke during the entire journey! Luke was staying with our cousins in Sorrento, so Thommo took me to Doubleview first. As we drove through our old neighbourhood, I remembered the hours I’d spent sketching the birds at Jackadder Lake. I felt so different from the girl who’d left in September. Yet we’d only been away four months. Joanna was sitting in the garden as we pulled up. She was perched in the usual way, with her legs up in front of her. She jumped when she heard the ute and ran over to hug me — something she’d never done before!

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‘Hi, you’re here at last,’ she said as she led me into the house. After polite chitchat with Joanna’s parents we escaped upstairs to her room. There was a foldup bed opposite a new futon, and Japanese screens and prints decorated the walls. ‘Wow, this looks different,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it cool? Mum and Dad gave it to me for my birthday. And look,’ she said pulling up her blouse. ‘I’ve had my bellybutton pierced.’ I stared, but couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘Jack likes it,’ Joanna muttered and I realised that I needed to say something. ‘It’s great,’ I said, trying to sound convincing, ‘but didn’t it hurt?’ ‘No more than having your ears done. Jack’s sister has them all over the place. She even had her nipple pierced a few weeks ago!’ ‘Really!’ I felt like such a dag beside her. Joanna laughed. ‘But she said that really hurt!’ We spent that first night talking about people at school. I heard a lot about Jack and by ten o’clock I was exhausted. ‘Lights out in five minutes!’ Mrs Edwards called from downstairs. ‘Let Cassandra get some sleep.’ Joanna rolled her eyes, but I was relieved. I brushed my teeth, climbed into bed and was asleep before Joanna had finished in the bathroom. The next morning we slept in, then caught a train into Perth. The city was full of frenzied shoppers snapping up bargains at the post-Christmas sales. I found a camera with a zoom lens that I could afford, then we spent hours trying on clothes at the

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boutiques in the mall. Being in town with Joanna was wonderful. I bought a blouse from a throw-out table and some dangly earrings with the last of my money, while she spent her money on new jeans and a teeny top that only covered half her tummy. It wasn’t fair. Joanna ate junk, barely exercised and had a size ten bum. I ran or cycled most days, ate less and yet would never have a stomach like hers. After lunch, we found a music shop and spent ages listening to CDs on their headphones. I bought the latest You Am I disc, despite being teased by Joanna who’d developed a taste for Jack’s rave music. By mid-afternoon, the crowds which had been so exciting felt tiring and the high-heeled women wearing buckets of make-up and hawking specials into microphones had given me a headache. ‘Let’s go home,’ I said to Joanna after being shoved by a young man trying to grab a special and gab into his mobile at the same time. She nodded and we headed for the station. Our train wasn’t due for ten minutes, so I tried to call Maria from a phone box. But no one was home. I left a message on her answering machine, then after hanging up, realised that I’d forgotten to leave Joanna’s phone number. Never mind I thought, I can try again later. But later, Joanna’s grandmother came over for dinner. She’d crossed the Nullarbor in the days when the road was just a dirt track and she told us how they’d nearly come to grief when their spare tyre blew out, miles from anywhere. She gave us every detail. How they camped under a tarpaulin and had to ration their water while waiting for help. She told

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us how her brother shot rabbits for their dinner and how she had to skin them while their bodies still steamed. ‘Yuk, Grandma, that’s revolting!’ ‘Not if you’re hungry, girlie. Not if you’re hungry!’ After a while she sat quietly nodding over her tapestry and Mrs Edwards let Joanna’s younger brother turn on the telly. Having five channels to choose from was a luxury, so I was disappointed when he settled on a game show. At the end of the p rogram, Joanna’s grandma shuddered into life again. ‘Starling program, eh?’ she said looking at me. ‘It’s a good thing they’re doing. Cost us millions if they let the filthy buggers through.’ Mrs Edwards looked embarrassed and suggested that it was getting late for Grandma to be out. While Mr Edwards drove his mother home, I asked Joanna if she’d mind if I had a bath. She looked at me strangely, nodded and then went off laughing to ring Jack. After months of conserving water and showering quickly, soaking in a hot tub was a luxury. The next morning we went to watch Joanna’s older brother racing his motorbike. He’d made it to the finals in the regional competition and hoped this would be his big break. He rode well, but was disappointed to come in fourth. I’d never been to the races. The noise was amazing! Although they were friendly, Joanna’s family was beginning to drive me crazy after two days. I’d hoped to go for a walk before dinner, but when we got home Mrs Edwards wanted to show me her

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son’s trophies and medals from past races. When at last she’d finished, we ate and then it was almost time to go to the movies. As I washed my hair I thought about Hannah and Cicily. I couldn’t wait to see them and catch up on their news. ‘I’m really looking forward to this evening,’ Joanna said. ‘What do you think I should wear, my jeans or this skirt?’ She tried them on and looked stunning in both. I shrugged. ‘They both look good.’ Joanna continued talking as if she hadn’t heard. ‘What are you going to wear?’ she asked. ‘My jeans and that Mambo shirt, I guess.’ Joanna frowned. ‘Do you want me to lend you something?’ ‘Thanks, but I don’t think I could squeeze into any of your jeans. And your shirts would swim on me!’ Joanna looked pleased at the unintended compliment. ‘Come and I’ll help you put on some of my new eyeliner,’ she said. I thought that the eyeliner made me look stupid, but Joanna insisted it was perfect. ‘More grown-up’ was how she put it, so in the end I left it on. I tried to ring Maria before we went out. This time I got her mother. ‘Cassandra, how are you? We heard your message on the machine. What a long way to come. Are you tired?’ It was always hard getting a word into the beginning of a conversation with Mrs Mikowski, but I knew that after a few moments, she’d want to hear all about my life in Eucla.

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‘I’m at my friend’s house ...’ ‘Next time come and stay with us for a few days. I said to Maria, why don’t you ask her to stay here, but Maria said this was arranged before you even left!’ ‘Mmm, it was. But I’d love to stay with you another time. Is Maria there?’ ‘Maria? No she’s gone out with her girlfriends tonight, but I’ll tell her that you called. She showed me those postcard photos from the Nullarbor. What a strange place ...’ ‘ Yes, it’s really interesting. I’d better go. We ’ re going out tonight as well. Could you tell Maria I called, and I’ll try again tomorrow.’ ‘She should be home all morning.’ ‘Okay, nice to talk to you, Mrs Mikowski.’ ‘You too, Cassandra. Perhaps we’ll see you soon.’ ‘I hope so, bye.’ ‘Bye. God bless, dear.’ I smiled as I hung up. It was nice some things, like Mrs Mikowski, never changed.

Besides Jack, movies were Joanna’s favourite topic. She knew everything about all the famous names; which star had a nose job or tummy tuck and who was friends with whom. She was a regular at the Innaloo theatre and bought her tickets in a booklet, so that it was cheaper. ‘Have Hannah and Cicily changed?’ I asked as we walked the few blocks. Joanna was quiet. Then

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she looked at me in a sly way as if trying to decide something. ‘I was going to surprise you, but I may as well tell you before we get there,’ she said. ‘The girls aren’t coming.’ ‘What!’ Joanna smiled and inspected her nails. They were painted purple. ‘We ’ re really meeting Jack and Angelo,’ she said. ‘But you told me we were meeting Hannah and Cicily.’ Joanna grinned as I stared at her. ‘Why did you lie to me?’ We walked into the movie complex and Joanna sighed, ‘You’re still as dramatic as ever. What’s the big deal? I thought you’d be thrilled to go on a date after languishing in the desert for months. So I decided to do you a favour. And guess what,’ she said trying to change the subject, ‘Angelo’s grown a moustache since you left. Everyone says how much he looks like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall.’ I snorted, but she continued talking, sure that this was my lucky night. ‘Come on, Cassie, stop being so uppity. There can’t be many hot catches out there in the desert, probably just kangaroos and coons, I’ll bet!’ I flinched, as if she’d slapped me, but Joanna didn’t even notice. ‘ A n y w a y, it’s too late to argue,’ she continued. ‘Here they come. How does my hair look?’ I felt dazed as I looked across the foyer. How could I have thought this girl was my best friend?

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Jack sauntered in, checking his teeth in the automatic doors until they opened and split his reflection in two. Angelo waddled beside him. Apart from the moustache, he’d acquired an extra kilo or two of fat and looked revolting. ‘Why didn’t you tell me,’ I hissed. Joanna looked sly. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come,’ she answered sweetly before flouncing over to Jack and giving him a long, passionate kiss. People began to stare as Jack squeezed Joanna’s backside. I studied the floor and hoped I wouldn’t see anyone I knew. ‘How’s life in Kalgoorlie, or is it Coolgardie?’ said Angelo sliding towards me. ‘Neither,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s Eucla.’ ‘Same diff I guess,’ he laughed, before looking me up and down. ‘Well you’ve certainly grown,’ he said leering at my chest. ‘So have you,’ I muttered, thinking of his belly. But he chose to take it as a compliment and stroked his sad attempt at a moustache. Jack and Joanna disentangled at last. ‘Hi,’ Jack said nodding my way, before draping one arm over Joanna’s shoulders. I forced myself to return his smile. ‘Well what time does Terminator Four start?’ he asked. ‘In about twenty minutes ...’ ‘But you said we were going to see Jane Eyre, ’ I interrupted. Angelo and Jack burst out laughing. ‘Are you kidding? We’ve got reputations to keep!’ ‘But don’t you have to be fifteen to get into

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Terminator Four?’ Jack looked at Joanna. ‘I thought you said she’d changed?’ ‘She has. You’re just kidding aren’t you, Cassie!’ Joanna was smiling, but her eyes were cold. I looked away. What would Ella do in this situation? But that was a dumb question. Ella would never let herself get so far into a situation like this! ‘ H e y, maybe we could see Return of the Killer Worms ...’ Angelo suggested. I glared at him. Joanna took my arm. ‘Let’s buy some popcorn,’ she suggested. ‘Have you got money?’ Jack asked. ‘You’re the one with a job!’ ‘Yeah, and also the one trying to do up a car!’ Joanna sighed. ‘Sometimes I think he loves his car more than me,’ she whispered loudly. I looked away. Everything she did was so fake. It was some elaborate game, but I didn’t understand the rules. I thought about the evening when Ella and I sat on the beach watching the stars with Bernie. Ella was straightforward and Bernie was sure of himself, in a nice, unpretentious way. I tried to imagine myself through his eyes. Perhaps he thought I was as silly as Joanna. ‘You’re being very quiet,’ Joanna hissed while Jack and Angelo stood in line for the popcorn. ‘What’s wrong?’ I shrugged. ‘It was such a shock, that’s all. I was looking forward to seeing Hannah and Cicily. It wasn’t fair of you to trick me like that!’

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‘Oh, Cassie, grow up. How often do you get a chance to go to the movies with a boy in Eucla? And Angelo is paying for your ticket, you could at least be nice to him!’ ‘But I gave you the money for the ticket ...’ ‘I know, but Jack’s broke, so I had to pay for two.’ ‘But ...’ ‘Look if you’re going to make a fuss about it, I’ll just borrow some money off Mum tomorrow!’ ‘I’m not making a fuss Joanna, but ...’ ‘Good, now come on. Let’s go and see if we’re p resentable. Jack’s probably chewed off half my lipstick!’ She giggled and I trailed along behind her to the toilets. Halfway there I saw Maria across the foyer. She was with some girls from St Anne’s. I longed to go and join her, but one of her friends was smirking at Joanna tottering across the carpet in her stilettoes. Maria turned to look and our eyes met. She seemed puzzled, but then she smiled and waved to me in her usual, friendly way. Jane Eyre was about to start. Maria and her friends finished their drinks and trooped into the theatre while I followed Joanna into the ladies room. Joanna pouted at her reflection in the mirror and patched her smeary lipstick. While she went to the toilet, I looked at my black-ringed, possum eyes and tried to wipe off some of the eyeliner. Back in the foyer, Jack and Angelo had disappeared. ‘ T h e y ’ re probably over there,’ Joanna said

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pointing to the video arcade. Machines spewed out noise and violence and I longed for the silence of the Nullarbor. Outside, the local boys were revving their cars. Did they really think that was the way to impress girls? All of a sudden I hated the city and everyone in it. Jack was playing a racing car game with Angelo. A nasty voice in my head wondered where he’d suddenly found the money. When he saw us, Jack draped one arm over Joanna and kept on playing. She had to bend awkwardly, but she didn’t say a word. Just kept stroking his back with her bent arm, until Jack won the game by a point. Then she wriggled free to clap. As the game ended, Angelo moved closer to me. He was studying me in a calculating way and I decided to make sure I sat next to Joanna during the movie. I was too slow. With a sweet smile, Joanna moved aside for Angelo to step around her and sit by me. The movie was boring, full of gory scenes and car chases, and through it all I was uncomfortably aware of Angelo’s bulk beside me. After forty minutes of eyeing me sideways, he eventually moved one hand towards mine. I watched in horror as the meaty paw crept closer and shifted my hand just in time. But he tried again a few minutes later. More quickly this time. I had no chance to stop him. And so we sat there, my hand imprisoned by his sweaty palm. I pretended to watch the movie, but his sordid expectations hung in the air around me. Soon not only my hand felt trapped. I knew he wanted some

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reward for buying my ticket. Joanna had forced me into a horrible situation. As the movie progressed, so did Angelo’s hand. I turned to tell him to stop, but he swivelled quickly at the same moment and planted a sloppy kiss over my mouth. ‘Stop it,’ I hissed, but he just laughed and tried to hold my head for another attack. ‘I’m serious!’ I said. ‘ T h e re’s no need to play games,’ he answere d lifting my hand onto his lap. I rammed my elbow into his stomach. ‘Leave me alone you fat sleazebag!’ I shouted and jumped up. ‘You bitch,’ he wheezed, holding his belly. As I hurried out of the dark into the crowded f o y e r, I saw Maria with her friends buying icecreams after their show. She looked up as Angelo caught his breath and waddled after me. But after all those morning jogs, I was faster. ‘You’re just frigid!’ he yelled before giving up the chase. I could feel the curious glances of people staring as I ran into the car park. I thought of Bernie and Ella and wished I was home. My legs felt like jelly, so I sat on a step outside the theatre staring east. People stepped around me as if I was contagious, but at least I was out of there. Aw a y from Angelo.

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Joanna stumbled into the car park a few minutes later. I watched from the shadows as she took off her heels and looked around for me. ‘I’m over here,’ I called. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Angelo’s furious!’ ‘That’s his problem then,’ I snapped. ‘How do you think I feel?’ ‘I’ve got no idea.’ Joanna’s voice was fierce. ‘I’ve got no idea because I don’t understand you at all. If you don’t like Angelo, you could have just told him ...’ ‘I tried to ...’ But she was determined to blame me. ‘There was no need to humiliate him.’ As if it was my fault! ‘You’re the one who lied to me,’ I said. ‘If we’d gone to see Jane Eyre w i t h Hannah and Cicily, none of this would have happened.’

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‘ You have to have everything your own way don’t you?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Oh you know! Cassie says this, Cassie wants that! Just because you’re good at sport and good at school, you always want to be in charge.’ ‘That’s not true! If anything, it’s always you who decides. At school Hannah and Cicily and I always listened to what you wanted. Anyway, I’m not good at school, or at least I wasn’t before we moved.’ ‘Well, come on. The night’s spoiled now. We may as well go home.’ ‘You don’t have to leave.’ ‘Really? And what will Mum and Dad say when you straggle home like a lost lamb without me?’ We walked in silence. I felt like crying. It seemed that I’d not only ruined the night, but also my friendship with Joanna. But was it really my fault? I wondered what else I should have done. Other than going along with Angelo’s kisses, I still couldn’t see any other way out. Joanna’s parents weren’t home when we arrived, but there was a note on the table. Darling, If you get home before us, we’ve just gone over to Madge and Harry’s for sherry and mah-jong. Won’t be late, home about eleven. There’s leftover pie in the fridge. Hope it was a lovely evening. xx Mum and Dad

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‘What a waste, home before my parents!’ ‘I know you’re angry, but what else was I supposed to do?’ ‘One little kiss wouldn’t have hurt would it?’ ‘With Angelo?’ Joanna grinned. ‘I suppose I wouldn’t want to kiss him either.’ I stared at her. Joanna changed moods so quickly that it was hard to keep up. ‘Well, let’s make the most of it,’ she continued. ‘I don’t suppose the golden girl has suddenly taken up smoking?’ I shook my head, annoyed by her mocking tone. ‘Well, you won’t mind if I light up? After all, I don’t have to worry about my sporty lungs!’ She opened her bedroom window and blew smoke rings into the still evening air. ‘So, there aren’t any men out there, but you’re still not desperate enough to go for Angelo?’ ‘Of course there are men out there, just no one our age.’ After her racist comment, I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about Bernie, so we sat in silence. She dragged heavily and looked at the photo of Jack by the bed. ‘I hope Jack won’t be too peeved about me coming home early with you. Did I tell you that he wants me to move into a flat with him?’ I nodded. I’d hardly heard anything else since I’d arrived. ‘Well, what do you think?’ ‘How are you going to afford it?’ ‘Jack starts working fulltime in January. And when his sister goes East next month, she’s letting me take

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over her Friday night job.’ ‘Will that be enough?’ I didn’t want to mention school and add to my ‘dull and responsible’ image. ‘We’ll have to wait and see. I’ll go back to school for a while next year, until my birthday at least.’ ‘What about the girls at school? Won’t you miss Hannah and Cicily?’ ‘I’ll be with Jack!’ I looked at her sadly, but she smiled. ‘You don’t understand, Cassie, so spare me your sympathetic looks. I really like him. And last week,’ she paused to smile coyly, ‘when I stayed over at his place, he said that he loved me.’ I stared at her and realised what I should have known long ago, we no longer had anything in common. Perhaps we never did. All at once, I knew Joanna would continue to let Jack or someone else use her. But then, what had I know about it? I’d never had a boyfriend. I looked at her sparkling eyes. Maybe I was the loser. Maybe deep down I was jealous. Joanna certainly seemed happier than me. At least she knew what she wanted. I felt suddenly tired. ‘That’s nice,’ I said trying to understanding. ‘But Joanna, if you keep going at school, you can do nursing. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?’ ‘Yeah, sure. And empty all those bedpans? Jack’s sister had a job at Royal Perth, and she said it was the pits. And the wages are a joke! You should hear the stories she tells me about the patients. Now she’s working at a café in Oxford Street — you know, one

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of the trendy ones. Instead of working odd hours and cleaning up vomit, she’s living in a great flat in Leederville, buying her own clothes and going to movies and nightclubs whenever she wants. She reckons that if I work parttime at the café now, they might take me fulltime when I’m older.’ ‘But ...’ ‘Cassie it’s what I want! Jack reckons he can get an apprenticeship at that garage off Scarborough Beach Road. He’s spoken to the manager and they’re going to try him out during the school holidays. If we both get jobs, we’ll be able to rent a flat together. That’s better than hanging around school for another three years listening to some worn-out teacher who’d rather have a better paid job!’ ‘Well I guess if it’s what you want ...’ When I heard myself agreeing with her, I knew I had to get away. If I stayed with Joanna she’d whirl me along, just as she had in the past, until I lost track of what I believed in. While Joanna told me how hard Jack was saving for bond money for a flat, I remembered Maria’s puzzled face at the theatre. I wished I could talk to her. I knew who I was when we were together and at the moment I wasn’t sure. ‘I suppose that’s where we’re diff e rent,’ I said taking a deep breath. ‘I’m not saying school is the only way, but for me it’s better than leaving for a w a i t ressing job. Even if I did live in a flat in Leederville!’ Joanna tried to interrupt, but I hurried on, ‘Look, there’s no point bickering. I think I’ve changed a lot in the past four months and you

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obviously have too. Maybe we don’t have much in common anymore ...’ She tossed her hair. ‘You’re probably right about that! Do you know, I think you’ve become even more snobby out there in the bush.’ ‘Joanna, I don’t want to fight with you. I’ll be leaving soon anyway. Why don’t we just talk about something else?’ She sneered. ‘Jack’s right, you do think you’re better than everyone else. Well for your information Miss High and Mighty, I reckon I’m lucky to have Jack. He’s a great guy and I reckon you’re jealous. Just because no one’s ever had the hots for you ...’ I couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘This isn’t working Joanna. I think I should leave,’ I said. ‘Leave! And where would you go at this time of night?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I lied, throwing my toothbru s h into my overnight bag and wondering if Maria would be home yet. I picked up my jacket and walked downstairs. ‘Hang on, you can’t just leave. What will Mum and Dad say when they come home?’ ‘ You don’t have to say anything until the morning,’ I said, pausing at the front gate. ‘And then you can tell them my dad rang and that he wants me to come home for New Year.’ ‘And what if he really does ring?’ ‘He won’t. Say that my aunt’s baby came early and she’s having some sort of problem. No one will ask questions. It’s true and that should distract them.

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I’ll sort things out with Dad. Don’t worry, I won’t blame you.’ ‘But, Cassie ...’ ‘See you Joanna. Have a nice life!’ I could hear her shouting as I crossed the road, but I kept walking towards the telephone box at the shopping centre. I hummed, trying not to think about the abductions that had been on the news and hoping that the phone would be working. As I fumbled for coins, I was surprised that I still remembered Maria’s number. She answered on the third ring. ‘Now isn’t that strange,’ she said softly ‘I thought it might be you.’ ‘I’m sorry, Maria. I know it’s late, but I didn’t know who else to call ...’ ‘Where are you?’ ‘Down by the shops.’ I could hear voices in the background. ‘Just a wrong number,’ she called, before whispering, ‘meet you in the garden in ten minutes.’ She hung up and I let out a breath of relief. Then I picked up my bag and ran through the dark streets to Maria’s garden. As long as no one had dismantled our cubby, I knew where she’d meet me. Maria came out just after I arrived, holding a rubbish bag. ‘Hi,’ she said, putting it down to hug me. ‘At last we have a chance to talk to each other.’ ‘I’m sorry, I tried to ring before we went out tonight ...’ Maria grinned. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘You don’t

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have to explain.’ ‘But I want to, I feel stupid.’ ‘Look, I have to go in again in a moment.’ She gave me the rubbish bag. ‘There’s a blanket and your Christmas present in here. If you wait in the cubby, I’ll come out after Mum and Dad go to bed. I can’t wait to hear the story. Jack and Angelo are such losers! Are you okay?’ I nodded. ‘I’m fine, just a bit tired.’ ‘Okay, well I’ll see you soon. Once they’re asleep, you can come and sleep on the spare bed in my room. Or would you rather I just told them?’ ‘No, that’s the last thing I want. Your dad would ring mine, and he’d be called in from patrol. I’m o k a y, r e a l l y. But I’ll sleep here in the cubby if that’s okay.’ Maria returned with a flask of hot chocolate and some biscuits. Memories of our old midnight feasts. Sitting there reminded me of sleep overs in primary school and I felt safe again. ‘What happened?’ she asked after I’d eaten a biscuit. ‘It’s a long story ...’ ‘There’s no hurry.’ ‘I guess I’ve been a bit slow to realise that Joanna and I have nothing in common.’ ‘I could have told you that.’ ‘Well, why didn’t you?’ ‘You never asked!’ I laughed. ‘That’s true I s’pose.’ ‘But what happened tonight?’ Maria asked

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i m p a t i e n t l y. ‘Your departure was certainly s p e c t a c u l a r. A bit like Cinderella, except that Prince Charming was a toad. My friends were really i m p ressed that I knew someone brave enough to do that!’ ‘Brave! Really?’ I asked. ‘I was too upset to think about it like that. I just lost it when Angelo ...’ I paused. ‘He tried to kiss me!’ ‘Oh yuk! I don’t blame you. What a re v o l t i n g prospect!’ ‘Joanna used my money to buy her movie ticket, so Angelo paid for me. I guess he thought he deserved some return on his investment.’ ‘But what did you do to make him squeal like a stuck pig?’ ‘I elbowed him in the belly,’ I said feeling a little guilty. Maria laughed. ‘His most sensitive spot!’ ‘I did ask him to leave me alone first!’ I shuddered. ‘He’s just so full of himself!’ ‘Well, he won’t be asking you to the movies again.’ ‘Thank goodness!’ We laughed and Maria poured some more hot chocolate for us. ‘But what will you do now? Weren’t you going to stay at Joanna’s until the end of the week?’ I nodded. ‘We’re going to Mandurah the day after tomorrow to spend New Year with my cousins, but I’m sure my parents would love to have you until then.’ ‘Thanks, Maria, but I’d like to go home. There’s a bus to Eucla every day. It leaves first thing in the

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morning. I want to sort some things out before the New Year. Dad will be on his own too, so he might be glad of the company.’ We talked about Eucla and I tried to describe the community there. ‘It sounds as if you’re much happier now than you were at first.’ ‘I didn’t think I was, but perhaps I’m getting used to it now that I’ve made some friends. Or at least I had until I ignored them ...’ ‘Aha, I wanted to ask you about that. Who is this Bernie that you keep mentioning?’ Maria could barely see me blushing in the dark. ‘He’s the brother of my friend Ella. I think I told you about her.’ ‘Mmm, but you didn’t say much about him. What does he look like?’ I laughed. ‘He’s gorgeous!’ ‘I thought so,’ Maria cried. She settled back comfortably and took another biscuit. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘I want all the details.’ I tried to describe Bernie. ‘He has wonderful eyes,’ I began, ‘and the best smile ... his eyebr o w s a re interesting. They lift and go all bushy when he grins.’ ‘Did you bring any photos?’ Maria asked. I shook my head. ‘No, I’d be too embarrassed to take one. He doesn’t know I like him.’ I was quiet for a moment. ‘Well I don’t think he does anyway! But I suppose I could take a group shot at tennis. He u m p i res for us every second Saturd a y. He plays

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footy too. And he likes jogging. Ella reckons we have the same running style.’ ‘He sounds nice. Sporty like you! I wish I could meet someone, but when you have sisters and go to a girls’ school it’s impossible!’ ‘Well, I hardly know him, or maybe I should say he hardly knows me. Either way, he probably thinks I’m some dork from the suburbs.’ ‘I bet he doesn’t!’ We talked for ages, until yawns kept interrupting our words. ‘What time do the local buses start?’ I asked when I could hardly keep my eyes open. ‘Before six I think. I know the first train into town leaves about five-thirty. What time does the Nullarbor bus leave?’ ‘Not until six-thirty, so that should give me enough time.’ ‘What if the bus is full?’ ‘When we booked there were plenty of seats until New Year. But if there’s a problem, I’ll call you.’ ‘ A re you sure you don’t want to come inside to sleep?’ ‘No. I’d love to see your mum, but it would become too confusing!’ I straightened the blanket Maria had brought and looked around the cubby. ‘Remember all the fun we had here? It’s a strange place to meet, but it’s been wonderful seeing you. And thanks for all your letters. Maybe you could come out to visit us in Eucla.’ ‘That’d be great. I’d love to see what it’s like. I might even get to meet this mysterious Bernie.’

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We hugged, then Maria crept back to the house. I set my travel clock for five and snuggled under the blanket. As I closed my eyes I felt guilty leaving Luke to travel home alone, but the urge to go was too strong. He’d be okay, I decided, before drifting into a strange, dream-filled sleep. I must have tossed about because when the alarm jolted me back to earth, I felt exhausted.

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T h e re was just time to grab some juice and a croissant from a city kiosk before catching the bus. Then, as the coach pulled out, I sat back to enjoy the peace of drifting and not making any decisions for the next twenty hours. An elderly woman sat beside me as far as Coolgardie. Her son was coming from their property in Boulder to collect her. ‘Things are terribly dry there now,’ she told me. ‘The winter rains went around Boulder and it’s the worst season for years. I think it’s that hole in the ozone layer. Changing everything it is.’ I nodded my head and clucked sympathetically, but that only encouraged her. ‘My mother was a toddler during the goldrush days y’know.’ ‘Really,’ I said. ‘Mmm, she used to tell us kids that her earliest memory was of a train of camels turning in the main

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street of Coolgardie. Can you imagine that?’ ‘No,’ I shook my head. I couldn’t have cared if a camel train was trotting alongside the bus! After a while the woman decided that her patchwork was more interesting than me and I was left to daydream. There was so much to think about! Although I was relieved to be away, and glad that I’d made the decision to go, running out on Joanna had upset me. It was sad to lose a best friend. Even a pretend best friend. We drove all day. After Coolgardie the seat beside me was empty, so I could stretch out and r e l a x . Maria had given me some fruit and a magazine. As I thought about her and Ella, I realised that in many ways they were alike. Both strong and self-assured. I wished I could be more like them. I was looking forward to seeing Ella, but I also felt ashamed. I’d taken her friendship for granted and been a re a l pain, going on and on about Joanna and my fantastic friends in Perth. I wondered if I’d be brave enough to tell her the truth. We reached Norseman late afternoon and I felt excited to be on the final stretch home to Eucla. As we cruised down Norseman’s main street, I remembered Luke quoting from his guidebook about the horse with gold in its shoe. I smiled, then caught myself. Feeling nostalgic about my brother was a bit of a worry! The driver turned eastwards and we began the long stretch onto the Nullarbor Plain. I looked out of the window. The beauty of afternoon heat shimmering on the plains helped take my mind

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off my cramped legs, and as the sun set behind us, I snapped the view with my new camera. After that I dozed until the coach pulled into the Cocklebiddy roadhouse. ‘Hello,’ said the man serving. ‘Are you back again?’ I grinned. ‘On my way home,’ I replied. The other passengers looked at me in surprise. It was good to feel like a local. Although it was too dark to see the Madura Pass, I knew it was there and felt its beauty as the bus braked for the downhill curve. During the trip my worries had shrunk back into perspective. I’d lost a friend, but learnt to appreciate two others. I felt as if I’d learnt other things too, but as yet I wasn’t sure what they were. The moon rose. It was one day off being full and the night was clear. The city was fun, but for the moment I was happy to be driving away from it. Perhaps there was more of Dad’s spirit in me than I’d realised. Or maybe I was just infatuated with Bernie. He probably thought I was just a kid, but I could still fantasise! The bus dropped me off just after two am. I didn’t want to wake Dad, so I walked the short distance to the compound alone. I thought I’d creep in and leave a note on the kitchen table for him. Then I could tell him everything over breakfast. I wondered how I’d explain about Joanna, but then Dad was good at working things out without being told. Mail was tucked under the doormat. I put down my case to collect the envelopes, then tried to open

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the door as quietly as I could. The knob turned, but wouldn’t click open. I tried again but the door was locked. I walked around to the back verandah. Dad’s work car wasn’t in the shed and the house looked deserted. Dad never bothered locking up when he was home. I began to feel uneasy. I rummaged under the mat for the spare key, opened the door and crept inside. Then I dumped the mail on the table, walked quietly to my parents’ room and peeped inside. There was no one home. The moon cast strange shadows and the house felt creepy on my own. I shivered, then glanced over my shoulder as I crept around turning on lights and checking under the beds. Today was the thirty-first. Dad should have finished his coastal surveillance yesterday. I looked around for a note, but realised he wasn’t expecting us for another week. There were no thugs lurking under the beds, so I locked the back door, put on the kettle and made myself a hot drink. A bright envelope amongst the mail caught my attention. It was addressed to Ms C Falconer in Mum’s tidy handwriting. As I tore it open and began reading, I remembered our argument the day she left. Hello darling, we didn’t part on the best of terms and for that I’m sorry. After my day on the bus, then waiting at the hospital, I’ve had plenty of time to think, and I want you to know that I regret some of the things I said.

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Wo w, this is a first, I thought, since when has Mum started apologising to me? I read on. In particular, I shouldn’t have said what I did about breaking up. I know we’ve had our problems and living in Eucla doesn’t help, but (you won’t believe this) now that I’m surrounded by the rush and bustle of Adelaide, I’ve found that in an odd w a y, I miss the sluggish pace of life on the Nullarbor. It’s so noisy here, and I also miss you! I had a dreadful feeling that this letter wasn’t meant for me at all. I re-checked the envelope. It was a d d ressed to Mr not Ms C Falconer. And I had criticised Mum for reading my mail! I turned the page over so that I couldn’t see the writing. Had Mum really spoken to Dad about breaking up? No wonder she was cranky the day she left. I knew it was wrong, but having read so much I had to know the rest. I turned the paper over and continued reading. Seeing Rose struggle to accept the baby has made me realise how lucky we are. I know our two can be difficult and Cassandra was abominable before I left, but I guess they’re both good kids. Our little niece is the cutest thing. Her cheeks are round and chubby and she has her daddy’s dark hair. She’s a good baby and even the nurses comment on how

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sweet she is. Rose has agreed to name her at last, and despite a few problems, is persevering with b reast-feeding. Instead of Samantha, they’ve decided on Nanette Susan. The christening is planned for Sunday, the day before I come home. When Rose told me the middle name, I was so touched that I cried! The tears surprised me, but given all the changes we’ve been through in the past few months it’s no wonder! I feel as if I’m worn out. I hid the letter amongst the other mail and stared out the window. Dad must be out bush again. I knew Mum wouldn’t ring him while he was out of town unless it was an emergency. Perhaps this was her way of patching up the argument before the New Year. But Dad hadn’t received the letter before leaving. I wondered what he was thinking out there, alone in the bush, playing espionage with the starlings. I re m e m b e red how he’d told me that over Christmas and New Year they’d be short-staff e d . He’d said he might have to do an extra loop to check some of the traps. Maybe Joe would know where he was. I looked at my watch. It was way too early to ring. Joe got up early, but I couldn’t call him before six o’clock. I went to find his number and noticed the message light flashing on the answering machine. P e rhaps it was a message from Dad. I pushed the button.

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‘Hello, Mr Falconer. It’s Pam Edwards, I’m ringing to make sure that Cassandra has arrived home safely. We hope everything is fine with your sister-in-law, and of course we understand that Cassie wants to be home with you. Our Jo has told us that the bus won’t arrive until early Monday morning, so please give us a call then so we know everything’s okay. I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to say goodbye to your d a u g h t e r. James felt terrible that he didn’t take young Cassandra out to the bus depot. Five-thirty is an early start and it was sweet of her not to wake us, but it wouldn’t have been any trouble. Anyway, I’ve sent you some money for the taxi fare. As Joanna said, it’s the least we could do as hosts. Well, I’ll say goodbye before your machine cuts me off. Cassandra was no trouble. She’s welcome to stay with us again whenever she likes. Bye for now.’ I stared at the phone, glad that Dad hadn’t been h e re to receive the call. I’d have to ring Joanna’s parents in the morning. I sighed, wondering how much she’d told them. A soft tap interrupted my thoughts. ‘Hello,’ a voice whispered. I stared at the front door. ‘Hello,’ the person repeated. ‘Is anyone there?’ I recognised Joe’s voice and unlocked the bolt. ‘Hello,’ I said as Joe loped in. He was wearing a sarong and I giggled. ‘You’re up early!’ I said. ‘Look who’s talking. I thought you weren’t due home until next week.’ ‘I missed you all so much,’ I teased, but for once Joe was serious. He stared at me until I told him what had happened.

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‘Takes time to recognise real friends,’ was all he said. I also told him that I’d hoped to spend New Year’s with Dad. ‘He’s out at Camp One. I’m taking him a bottle of champers in the morning, so I can drop you there if you like.’ How strange, I thought, since when have Joe and Dad been champagne drinkers? Perhaps Joe guessed what I was thinking, because he looked sheepish. ‘It’s really good of him you know, so I thought I’d take him out a bottle and some fresh scones.’ I was having trouble following, so I smiled and nodded. ‘He filled in for me for a few days after your mum left,’ Joe explained, ‘and then when I told him last week about me and Darlene’s anniversary ... Did you know, that tomorrow night we will have been together for one year? And that’s a flamin’ miracle out here.’ ‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘Thanks, love! Anyway to cut a long story short, your dad agreed to cover for me again. That way me and Darl can bring in the New Year together. So I thought I’d take him out some of that champagne Bob sells to celebrate the New Year.’ ‘That’s really nice of you, Joe. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.’ ‘Well, it’s the right thing to do when a mate helps you out, eh! But I’m surprised at you having a blue with your friend in the city. Your dad was telling me last week how you couldn’t wait to get back to see

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your old schoolmates.’ ‘Mmm, but one of them’s changed. For the worse! Are you sure you don’t mind taking me out?’ ‘Nah, I’ll be glad of the company. Beats talking to Bluey all the way!’ ‘Thanks a lot!’ ‘Now, now, don’t get prickly. Bluey may have four legs and bad breath, but she’s a good dog and a g reat listener. Not much of a one for answering back though.’ I smiled, remembering the hours I’d spent sketching the old dog. ‘Yep,’ he continued, ‘she’s been my best mate for more than ten years now. And still going strong. Do you know she even gets on well with Darlene? I’ve always thought there was a message in that.’ ‘What time do you want to head off in the morning?’ I asked, knowing that I’d hear more of Bluey’s virtues on the way out. ‘Well, they’ve forecast another stinker, though any fool would know that by watching the sunset. Did you see those evening colours?’ ‘Mmm, it was like a painting,’ I said, remembering the view from the bus window. ‘Well, what say we try and get away early and then I won’t fry on the way back.’ ‘Sounds good to me ...’ ‘Okay, come over at six and then we should be out at the camp by about eight-thirty. I’ll stay for a cuppa and be back here before midday.’ ‘Does Dad know you’re coming?’

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‘Yeah, I buzzed him last night. Do you want me to let him know you’ll be coming along?’ ‘No, let’s just surprise him,’ I said, wondering what Dad’s reaction would be when he saw me. ‘That’ll be interesting,’ Joe laughed. ‘Now, don’t worry about breakfast. Darlene’s mixed up some dough and she’ll put a batch of scones in the oven before we go.’ ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Well I guess I’d better find Dad’s spare swag and pack a few things. I’ll see you in a few hours.’ ‘Rightio, Cassie. Now are you okay over here by yourself?’ ‘I’m fine thanks, Joe. I’ll see you at six.’ ‘Okay, but if you need anything, just call and we’ll come straight over.’ After he left, I lay in bed listening to the rumble of semis and the night noises of the bush. They sounded strangely reassuring.

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17

We set off early. Neither of us spoke much, but the silence was comfortable. As I watched the sky lighten, Darlene’s scones, wrapped in a faded teatowel, warmed my lap. After a while, Joe swung off the highway onto a dirt road. ‘Are those pumpkin scones still warm?’ he asked. I passed him one and we began talking between mouthfuls. Darlene’s scones, studded with sultanas, were an excellent start to the day. Joe was quiet as he negotiated a rough patch of the corrugated track. My thoughts drifted to Ella. ‘If I write a note, would you mind giving it to Ella?’ I asked Joe. ‘Course not,’ he replied. ‘I need to go over to the roadhouse this arvo anyway.’ I picked up a pen and in between bumps began to write.

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December 31st Dear Ella, I’m home! It’s a long story, so I’ll tell you about it when I’m back in town. I just wanted to say sorry for being so painful during the past weeks. I haven’t been a very good friend and it’s a wonder that you put up with me. But I’m glad you did! How’s Joshua, Cathy, Bob ... and everyone else? Hopefully she would work out who I meant by that! I’m spending a day or so with Dad and then I’ll be over to visit. I hope you have a great start to the new year, see you soon, love from Cassie. xx I folded the letter and passed it to Joe. He slipped it into his top pocket and also agreed to phone Mrs Edwards for me. Then he asked what songs I liked to sing. After two and a half hours of driving, we rumbled into camp. We parked beside the demountable van and Joe tooted the horn. A few minutes later Dad came striding out of the scrub towards us. ‘G’day, I’ve brought you a New Year’s present,’ Joe called. I jumped out of the four-wheel drive and Dad stared at me. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘Are you okay? Where’s Luke?’ ‘He’s still in Perth,’ I answered, ‘and I’m fine. It’s a

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long story, but there’s nothing to worry about. Is the billy on? I’ll tell you over a cup of tea.’ Dad and Joe exchanged glances before smiling, and at that moment, I knew everything would be fine. ‘Here, have a scone,’ Joe said. Then he grabbed some twigs and coaxed the coals in Dad’s camp fire back to life. After our cuppa, Joe unloaded the fresh supplies and champagne. He and Dad swapped information on the starlings and then Joe said he’d better go. ‘There’s some lamb stew in that pot,’ he added, putting it down carefully. ‘Darlene made it for you as a thank you. She’s so thrilled not to be spending New Year in the bush that she’s even agreed to go to Maggie’s party at the meteorology unit.’ ‘ Tell Darlene thank you, but I can’t think of a better place to be for New Ye a r’s Eve. Especially now that I’ve got some company,’ Dad re p l i e d , winking at me. ‘Knowing Maggie, you may have the better deal,’ Joe muttered smiling. He rearranged his hat and whistled for Bluey. She jumped into the car and I was left alone with Dad. ‘Well?’ he asked. I refilled my cup and began the long saga of my short visit to Joanna’s. ‘It takes guts to see that you’ve been wrong, and even more to stand up for what you believe in,’ Dad said when I’d finished. ‘But next time, ring ahead and let us know what’s happening! Your mother would be frantic if she’d known you were travelling on your own.’

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I bit my lip and resisted the urge to point out that I’d made it home safely. ‘Oh well, cheer up, it’s done now and they don’t sound like the right group for you anyway. Why don’t we go out and check the traps and you can tell me what Maria is doing these days?’ ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But do you want to look at the mail before we go? There’s a letter from Mum.’ I stared at the ground as he read it. When I glanced up, Dad was watching me. ‘I read it by accident,’ I admitted. ‘Did you now? Well what do you think about the part where she calls you abominable?’ I laughed. ‘Serves me right for reading it I guess!’ Dad smiled and went to collect his gear.

In the afternoon Dad showed me the hide where he spent so many hours watching starlings through his binoculars. The lean-to was covered with netting and twigs. From the outside I could barely see Dad, dressed in his army fatigues, as he sat balancing his gun. Inside the lean-to the air was stifling and smelt of sweaty armpits. I was only in there for fifteen minutes, but that was long enough. I tried not to wriggle and couldn’t imagine spending a whole day there. We also checked Dad’s traps. Each cage held five starlings, which attracted wild birds by their song and movement. When they weren’t being used as decoys, the starlings lived in the larger aviary back at

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Eucla. There were no new birds, which frustrated Dad because the night before he’d heard a fre e starling whistle. As Dad checked their water, I watched the birds flap their glossy wings and peck at the bars of their cage. They made me feel sad, but I didn’t say anything to Dad. Perhaps they made him sad too. The shadows were lengthening, but Dad wanted to spend the last hour of daylight in the hide. He was determined not to lose the wild bird. I took a book from the van and sat beside him, trying to turn the pages without making any sound. As I finished the first chapter I sensed a change in Dad. He hadn’t moved, but he seemed more rigid and I could see the white points of his knuckles as he clenched his gun. I waited before turning the page and looked out. Although I couldn’t see anything, I heard a series of beautiful trills and whistles. Suddenly Dad pulled the trigger. I felt but didn’t hear the recoil. Then I re m e m b e red. They used silencers. ‘Blast!’ Dad swore. He picked up his gun and hurried into the bush. I wasn’t sure whether to go after him or just wait. In the end I went out to get some fresh air, but stayed near the camouflaged hide. ‘I’ve winged one,’ Dad said when he came back. ‘And I’m damned if I can find the bloody thing!’ I listened while he muttered to himself. I suppose after a while in the bush, that’s what he often did.

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‘I hate to think of them suffering,’ he continued, ‘but they’re so fast. The other blokes have told me I’m doing well to have winged so few, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a few too many!’ ‘Maybe you missed it,’ I said hopefully. ‘No, love, I wish I had. I’d rather stalk a bird for another few hours than wing it, but I’m sure I grazed it.’ ‘So what happens now?’ ‘I’ll keep scouting about. If I can’t find it, I’ll try again in the morning.’ ‘Do you want some help?’ Dad looked at me. ‘Are you sure you want to?’ he asked. ‘The bird won’t be a pretty sight when we find it.’ ‘Well, I’ll see how I go.’ ‘Thanks, Cassie. That would be a big help. If it’s injured, it shouldn’t be far. How about you search that area under the trees and I’ll check in amongst the thick scrub behind?’ I found a long stick and used it to rake the ground in circles under the windblown trees, but the fading light made our job difficult. We stopped to listen a few times, but only heard the boobook cry of an owl. It reminded me of Mum the night Aunt Rose’s baby was born. After twenty minutes of searching, Dad called me over. ‘Let’s stop for this evening,’ he said. ‘It’s useless trying to find it in the dark. And who knows, perhaps I killed it after all. I’ll still need to find the body, but we can have another look in daylight.’

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I couldn’t wait to head back to the caravan for a wash. The desalinated water felt hard after my city showers, and I used too much water trying to work up a lather with the special soap. In the end, I felt better, but not clean. ‘Are you hungry?’ Dad asked when I joined him by the camp fire. ‘Starving!’ ‘Well come and try some of my bush cooking. I won’t offer you any lamb, but there are chunks of sweet potato and pumpkin that I baked last night in the coals.’ He tossed me the vegies, which were wrapped in blackened aluminium foil. ‘And this is for afters,’ he continued as I unwrapped the vegetables. ‘Apricot and nut loaf. It’s excellent with a dab of butter smeared over the top.’ ‘Where did you get the fresh fruit?’ ‘If you soak dried apricots overnight, they’re almost as good as the real thing. In fact, I think they’re sweeter.’ After dinner Dad strummed folk tunes on his guitar and we sat up talking until late. Then he popped the cork from the champagne bottle and filled two mugs. ‘Here’s to a peaceful year ahead,’ he said. We sipped at the sweet bubbles and as he told me more about the starling program, I tried to listen with an open mind. The moon crept higher. The weather was fine and we’d decided to sleep under the stars instead of in the van. Dad brewed a pot of coffee over the fire and told me stories about his childhood in the bush. Then

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we settled into our swags, arranged our mosquito nets and by eleven o’clock I was ready to sleep through the new year. ‘Only twenty minutes to go,’ Dad called a little while later. As we waited for the time to pass, he helped me find the Southern Cross. ‘And see that bright star up t h e re? That’s Betelgeuse. It’s one of the brightest stars in the Southern Hemisphere, and just above it is Orion and over there is Venus.’ I smiled, since the evening at the beach with Bernie and Ella, I was good at finding Venus. We sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ a few times and then the alarm on Dad’s watch began to shriek. ‘Happy New Year, Cassie,’ Dad said, leaning over to kiss my cheek through the mosquito netting. ‘Do you know, I’ve got a feeling the year ahead will be a good one.’ ‘Whatever happens, I’m sure it will be interesting,’ I said, looking up at the planet of love. I pictured Bernie’s smile and then rolled over and went to sleep.

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18

It seemed like only a moment since I’d fallen asleep, but when I squinted at my watch I saw that it was past four o’clock. I looked around, wondering what had woken me. In the grey light, I could see an outline that looked like Dad bending over the car radio. I blinked. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I giggled, wishing I had my camera handy to snap him in his boots and underpants. I remembered our talk from the evening before, the mug of champagne and the bird that was dead or injured, waiting to be found at first light. Although the whole business made me sick, I understood now why it had to be done and tried to respect Dad for the part he played.

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I dozed for a moment, until I realised by Dad’s terse questions that something was wrong. I sat up and shivered. Beyond the warm protection of the swag, the air was cold. After putting down the phone and relieving himself, Dad hurried back to the caravan. ‘Cassie, wake up love, there’s been an accident, a bus and a semitrailer ...’ he called as he got dressed. My skin prickled. ‘Not Mum ...’ ‘Good heavens no! The bus has gone off the road near the Madura Pass. They need my help.’ He p e e red at me in the semi-darkness. ‘I don’t like leaving you alone, but I may need all the seats for the injured. Will you be okay by yourself for a few hours?’ I nodded and pulled on my clothes as Dad grabbed his hat. ‘There’s plenty of water and supplies, so there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll call Eucla and find a lift into town for you as soon as possible. Do you remember how to work the highfrequency radio?’ I fiddled with the buttons and dials until I was sure. Dad took extra bandages and medicine from the camp’s first aid box. Then he gave me a hug. ‘I’m sorry to leave you here alone, darling, but it sounds bad.’ I tried to sound confident. ‘I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t worry!’ Dad kissed me goodbye. ‘You’re a trooper when it counts, Cassie!’ He jumped into the car and lurched off down the track.

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The shadows resettled as the Landcr u i s e r’ s headlights swung away. I watched the car’s taillights until they turned a curve and were gone. Then I took a deep breath, realising that there was no one else around for miles. But compared to that ‘looking over your shoulder and locking the door’ fear in the city, I was only partly frightened. This was bigger, but less threatening. I turned down the gas lamp so that I could see beyond its glow. Then I raked up the coals, added some twigs and hung the billy over the camp fire. By the time the water boiled and I’d made some tea, the first birds were twittering. I snuggled back into my swag to watch the dawn and savour Dad’s final words. The sky seemed immense. Although the darkness was fading, I could still see some of the constellations Dad had shown me the night before. I whispered the words of Dad’s favourite poem as the light streaked westwards. It was about a sunburnt country with far horizons. I remembered how we’d recited the words for a primary school concert years ago. At the time, I had no idea what sweeping plains, rugged mountains and jeweled seas were, but now I began to understand what the poet may have meant. The blurry outlines around me had become trees and rocks, so I dressed and started to clean up the camp site. Then I stopped to listen. There was a rustling sound in the distance. I looked at the gun Dad had left behind. He’d always told me never to touch it, but I knew he’d want me to defend

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myself. But against what? I felt a rush of adrenalin and forced myself to stay calm. A stranger was my biggest fear, but how could there be anyone out here? A snake wouldn’t crash about and I didn’t think there were wild pigs on the Nullarbor. Whatever was out there was unlikely to be dangerous. I heard the sound again, louder this time. Then I remembered the wounded starling. Perhaps the bird calls had roused it. Or maybe the glow of dawn had encouraged it to try and fly. I stood there wondering what to do. The bird sounded lively. If it was only stunned and I let it recover, the starling might press further west and mate with another escapee. Dad had said there’d been two other sightings near here. I looked at the gun again. I’d never used one and had no desire to begin now. Besides, it might be dangerous. I remembered how shocked Luke was by the gun’s kickback the first time Dad showed him how to fire it. I stooped to pick up Dad’s heavy torch, but even as I lifted it, I knew I could never batter a bird to death. The cries came from a patch of saltbush about twenty metres from where we’d searched. As I crept c l o s e r, I could see the flap of feathers beneath a shrub. The bird’s wing was bloody and shattered. Then the starling saw me. Its squawks became desperate. I felt sick, then angry, but for the first time my frustration wasn’t directed at my father. It was at the suffering in the world. I hesitated. The bird was

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unlikely to fly west and multiply in this condition, but I couldn’t just leave it to be pecked to death by the crows. I jogged back to the van for a towel which I threw over the bloodiest section. Then I lifted the screeching starling and carried it back to the aviary. The other lure birds turned their heads to glare at the intruder, but to my relief they left it alone. The bird’s distressed mews silenced the other starlings and put me off my breakfast. I knew that a quick death would be kinder, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The bird’s suffering continued for ages. Just when I thought I’d have to be merciful and kill it, there was silence. I gagged on my cold toast and realised that silence can be worse than crying. I reminded myself that starlings are a pest, but Dad’s words about their skill and cunning haunted me. The bird had suffered and I felt ashamed. But even as I sat there feeling guilty, knowing that I should make sure the bird was really dead, I couldn’t help thinking about other things; Joanna back in Perth, Mum in Adelaide and Dad at the accident site. I unzipped the guitar, plucked a few strings and wondered whether he was okay.

The camp was spotless, but I still hadn’t been to the aviary when I saw the dust trail of a car on the horizon. Bernie smiled as he got out of the car. ‘So, the big city wasn’t so wonderful after all?’

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I scuffed my foot and watched ants rush around in a frenzy. I felt stupid and wondered what to say. ‘Ella got your note. She asked me to tell you that all is forgiven,’ he added. I stared at the ground. ‘Hey, nothing bad happened did it?’ I shook my head. Being so close to him made it hard for me to speak. ‘No,’ I mumbled at last. ‘I just wanted to come home.’ ‘Good place to be!’ ‘How’s Dad?’ ‘He was fine when I saw him. After organising the flying doctor and rescue workers, he ended up ferrying some of the injured to meet the Norseman ambulance staff. He should be back in town this afternoon.’ ‘Was it very bad?’ Bernie nodded. ‘I wasn’t at the site, but it sounded grim. Three dead, two critical and plenty of cuts and bruises. They reckon the truckie had been on the go since Adelaide, after promising his missus he’d be back in Norseman before midnight, or some stupid thing. Then he blew two tyres and was held up at Ceduna. He stopped for cigarettes at Eucla. Bob reckons he pulled out like a madman, determined to be home before sunrise. From what I heard, he’ll be lucky to make it home at all.’ I shook my head, thinking of all the families beginning the year with tragedy. ‘Luckily the bus was only half full,’ Bernie continued. ‘And your dad’s been great. I could hear him on the two-way trying to settle people and

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organise runway lamps to put on the highway so the flying doctor could land.’ ‘It must have been horrible!’ ‘Yeah, I’m sure it was. I’ve heard other people say that you never really get over something like that.’ ‘Do you want some tea?’ I asked, trying to take my mind off Dad and the victims. ‘Thanks, that’d be good.’ I rekindled the fire to heat the water. ‘The highway’s open again,’ Bernie said as we waited. ‘That was my job, manning the roadblock!’ He laughed in his rich, earthy way. ‘I’ll tell you, some of those truckies were getting pretty impatient! And they’re big guys!’ I smiled. He’d probably think I was silly if I told him how I loved the way he laughed and moved and smiled. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked. I stared at the ground again. He looked pleased, but didn’t say anything, just sipped slowly at his tea. We rinsed the cups, then he grabbed my bag. ‘Well, come on,’ he said. ‘I guess I’d better get you home.’ ‘ Wait!’ I cried. ‘I need to check something.’ I hurried back to the aviary to make sure that the latch was secure. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered to the glossy birds inside, ‘but I can’t let you free.’ They turned their heads to one side and glared at me with their beady, intelligent eyes. At the back of the cage the injured bird lay dead. I hesitated, unbolted the latch, then stooped and used the

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bloody towel to wrap the bird. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Bernie asked as I carried it back to his ute. I shook my head. ‘But it would be nice if you help me bury it,’ I said. The sun-baked ground was like cement, so the grave had to be shallow. When it was done, we stood quietly together for a moment. Then I turned back to the ute. Bernie followed and as we drove into town a flock of cockatoos screeched and wheeled overhead. Dad’s shooting the starlings to protect you, I thought grimly as I watched the birds settle to peck and gossip on the taller trees ahead. As Bernie manoeuvred the car over the bumpy track I let my mind drift over the things that had happened in the past few months. I wound down my window and smiled. Out here there was plenty of time and space to think. The cockatoos squawked as dust drifted over their tree. Hundreds of wings whirled into the sky and I leant out the window to watch as they flew back over the aviary and Dad’s camp. ‘There’s a story about those cockatoos ...’ Bernie said and I smiled. Bernie had a story for everything! I leant back into my seat and waited for him to begin.

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References:

Australian Geo, Vol. 14 No. 2. The Slater Field Guide to Australian Birds, Peter Slater, Pat Slater, Raoul Slater; Rigby Publishers, 1986. Wingspan, September 1995. Western Australian Bird Notes, No 74 and 75.