Nona and Me by Clare Atkins Page B

Just because he has a different opinion to yours –”
    â€œ
Mine
? What’s
your
opinion, then?”
    â€œI don’t know. They only just announced this thing. I don’t know what it means. Nick probably doesn’t either.”
    â€œIt’s going to be a disaster.”
    â€œWell, don’t blame Nick! He didn’t order this stupid policy, or whatever they’re calling it.”
    â€œI don’t like him, Rosie.”
    â€œYou thought he was fine before the news came on!”
    Mum hmmphs.
    I grasp at excuses on Nick’s behalf. “He’s never spent time in a community.”
    â€œWell, I could tell that.”
    â€œJust give him a chance.”
    â€œI gave him one tonight and what did he come out with? Paedophiles and the army.”
    â€œThat was the news, not him.”
    â€œDid Nick have anything to do with what happened at school?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou saying Nona wasn’t your sister?”
    â€œWhat? No.”
    She looks disbelieving, so I persist. “He didn’t, Mum. Come on. Be fair. He made one comment. He’s not some … evil person.”
    Graham watches the argument fly between us like he’s observing a ping-pong match. He stays quiet, careful not to get involved.
    Mum tries to calm herself. She takes a deep breath, then says, “I’m just … worried, Rosie. I see you hanging out with a boy like that. I can see the appeal. I really can. He’s good-looking, friendly, probably considered very cool. But those attitudes …”
    â€œMum –”
    She stays her course. “… those attitudes run deep. And I don’t want you starting to believe them.”
    â€œI won’t. I don’t.”
    â€œIt would break my heart, Rosie. After raising you in this community …” Her voice breaks.
    I want to reassure her. “You don’t have to worry, Mum.”
    But her concern hangs between us, so real and present it is almost visible.

16.
    1999
    We are bumping along a dirt track, in the back of Guḻwirri’s ute. It’s got an open tray with a grubby double mattress jammed inside. Nona and I are sitting on top of the mattress, along with a tumble of family members. The only person missing is my mum.
    She chose to stay home today, saying she “needs to get things done”. She wants to unpack, set up our new place. It makes me sad to think of her back there, in that big empty house, alone. I offered to stay, but she said no, she needs some space, she needs time to think. She needs a lot of things lately, and nothing I do seems to help.
    Nona knows I’m sad. She tries to cheer me up. She grins and points to her long orange cotton pants. “Need new ones. Got holes.” She pokes her fingers through the holes and wiggles them at me. I barely raise a smile. The pants make me think of Mum all over again. She’s been sewing us matching pants for as long as I can remember; I used to complain about the scratchy grass when we went on bush trips, and when Nona saw my pants, of course she wanted some too.
    Through the ute’s back window, I see Rripipi slip an Elvis CD into the stereo. “Nothing but a Hound Dog” booms out at us. Nona starts miming the words, the wind whipping her hair as we drive along.
    We pass a beat-up grey Land Cruiser parked on the side of the track. Guḻwirri pulls over in front of it and cuts the engine. The music stops. Nona and her brothers jump off the back like excited dogs let off the leash for a walk. I climb out more slowly. Guḻwirri gives a long, low call. A male voice echoes back. Nona’s uncle, Larry, came out looking for
yiḏaki
earlier. We start off in his direction.
    Rripipi walks with us and the smalls, her eyes scanning the tree trunks for bees or signs of a hive. Guḻwirri darts ahead, weaving through the stringybarks, as if playing some strange combination of tip and hide-and-seek. For