Nona and Me by Clare Atkins Page A

approval.
    Graham settles into a velour armchair and puts the footrest out. Mum perches in the matching armchair. Nick sits on the couch and I awkwardly take a seat next to him. I don’t know how close to sit. What says “together” but “innocent”? I don’t want to freak Mum out. Should I hold his hand? Put my hand on his knee? No, too intimate. Nick solves the problem by slinging a casual arm around my shoulders. I glance at Mum to see if she’s noticed, but I needn’t have worried. Her eyes are firmly on the TV.
    The newsreader is talking about something called the “NT Intervention”. I’ve never heard of it before. The Prime Minister, John Howard, comes on screen, his round glasses glinting in the flash of cameras. “It is interventionist. It does push aside the role of the Territory to some degree, I accept that. But what matters more? The constitutional niceties or the care and protection of young children?”
    â€œWhat’s he talking about, Mum?”
    â€œShhh.”
    She listens intently. The newsreader’s words wash over me. Federal emergency. Child abuse. Paedophilia. Sacred. Alcohol. Permits.
    I wait for the story to end. “What does it mean, Mum? What are they doing?”
    Her voice is dark with sarcasm. “They’re finally addressing ‘the Aboriginal problem’.”
    Graham says, more to Mum than us, “It’s a political stunt. It’s got to be. Another ‘children overboard’.”
    Mum nods. “Howard has to know he’ll get the boot when there’s an election.”
    Nick misreads their tone and scoffs his agreement. “Did they say there are paedos here?”
    Mum’s head snaps to look at him.
    I try to catch Nick’s eye, as I say, “Well, not
here
exactly, in Aboriginal communities in general –”
    â€œLike that’s some big surprise.”
    Disbelief and outrage well in Mum’s eyes. I jump in again. Rosie to the rescue. “It’s getting late …”
    Nick senses the mood has shifted, and tries to clarify. “Hey, at least they’re doing something about it. I mean, sending in the army. That’s good, right? They’re taking it seriously.”
    But Nick has already dug a hole so deep he may as well buy a coffin. I can tell Mum is about to explode, so I pull him to his feet. “We should go.”
    â€œWhat? Oh. Okay. Night, Jen. Nice to meet you, Graham.”
    â€œYou too, Nick.”
    I drag my boyfriend out the door.
    Outside, there’s a cool breeze. A raft of stars floats in the inky sky.
    I can hear Mum starting to rant inside, so I walk Nick quickly down the stairs to his Hilux, hoping he doesn’t hear.
    He can tell he’s stuffed up. “I said something wrong, didn’t I?” He’s genuinely oblivious as to what that could be.
    I shrug. “Let’s just forget about it.”
    But he can hear Mum’s raised voice floating out to us now. We don’t catch the words, just the tone. Nick is kicking himself. “I thought that’s what she’d think too. That it’s good they’re doing something. My Dad would say it’s a waste of money. I mean, places like this … they’re screwed up, right?”
    I don’t know what to say. I constantly put Yirrkala down, but now part of me wants to defend it. To say there are good things here too. Good people. Community. Not that I’m really part of it anymore.
    Nick scuffs his feet in the gravel. “Sorry. It was going really well ’til then, wasn’t it?”
    I nod. He gives me a light kiss on the lips. “Think I can win her back over?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    But I do. There’s no way Mum will approve of Nick now.
    *
    â€œIs that really the type of boy you want to go out with?”
    Mum is outraged, in full flight. I shoot an arrow, trying to bring her down. “He’s a nice guy, Mum.