blood dripping from his arm onto the carpet.
In the morning, I wake up early. At the foot of my bed, in a basket lined with yellow tissue paper, are six Easter eggs wrapped in brightly coloured foil. I run with the basket of eggs into Mum
and Dad’s bedroom, but Dad isn’t there and Mum is fast asleep. For a long time I watch her sleeping, her face peaceful but covered in cuts and bruises. Any other day, I would wake her
up by jumping on the bed or tickling her feet. But that morning I just watch her sleeping. I pick out the prettiest Easter egg, wrapped in nice pink foil, and snuggle it in the crook of her folded
arm.
7
After a cool-off dip in the pool, I chucked on cut-offs and a boob-tube and headed around to Hollie’s. It was no more than a ten-minute stroll, but the heat made me
cranky and, by the time I got there, I was in no mood for Shakespeare.
Hollie was sitting cross-legged on a shady patch of the driveway, the
Complete Works
open in her lap, a wicker basket at her side. A wide straw hat eclipsed most of her face save her
lips which were busy mouthing lines from Midsummer. After the way she’d carried on the day before, I decided not to mention Scott unless she brought him up. I strode up the drive and stood,
casting a giant shadow over her.
‘My Fairy Queen.’ I bowed.
Hollie was so engrossed that I startled her. She leapt up. ‘Darling, I’ve been waiting ages for you.’ She was wearing a long, white dress and lace-up boots. ‘But, no
matter, you are here at last.’ She sometimes had a peculiar, old-fashioned, pommie way of speaking, like she’d been taking her English Lit lectures too seriously. Offering me her hand,
she said, ‘Shall we henceforth attend our forest chamber, my noble Oberon?’
‘Listen, Hols,’ I said. ‘How ’bout we go and get a chocollo at Shoppingtown?’
Chocollo was Hollie’s favourite low-fat chocolate icecream. But she wouldn’t have a bar of it.
‘As Titania, Queen of the Fairies, I order thee, my noble Oberon, to uphold thy sacred vow to lie with me in our leafy chamber. I even made us a special picnic and everything.’ She
lifted a gingham cloth off the top of the wicker basket. ‘See?’ There was a bottle of pink champagne, two crystal flutes, a baguette and a pot of the vile fish-spawn Hollie adored.
‘Oh, alright,’ I sighed. ‘But only for an hour or so.’
Hollie picked up the wicker basket and tucked the
Complete Works
under her arm. She slipped her hand in mine and, like two English ladies taking a turn in the garden, we set off up the
bush track into the national park, a scrubby tract of bushland which stretched from Chapel Hill north towards The Gap and west towards Enoggera State Forest. From the end of Hollie’s
cul-de-sac, the guttered dirt track rose steeply up the hill to a flat clearing at the top. Turn right and you ended up on a road which led to a tourist look-out point where Scott and I used to go
to pash and eat ice-cream. Further up the road were the television stations, all four of them, their steel satellite towers blinking snazzy red lights across the prehistoric terrain. But Hollie and
I would always turn left at the clearing and crash headlong into the bush, zig-zagging between the stringy barks, rocky outcrops and dried-out gullies, following our secret way to the cave.
‘Darling!’ Hollie was calling back to me. As usual, she was ahead, slipping like a ghost between the silver gums. ‘After the picnic we’ll do Act Two, OK? Me as Titania,
you Oberon.’
‘Fine.’ I was always the man but I didn’t care. Fighting waves of hangover nausea, I kept plodding up the track. I wanted to ask Hollie about Danny being outside Scott’s
last night but I needed to wait for the right moment.
The further we climbed, the louder the cicadas and the fiercer the sun. The scrawny eucalyptus offered little shade and I could feel the top of my scalp burning. In the cooler months, the track
was a busy thoroughfare
In the morning, I wake up early. At the foot of my bed, in a basket lined with yellow tissue paper, are six Easter eggs wrapped in brightly coloured foil. I run with the basket of eggs into Mum
and Dad’s bedroom, but Dad isn’t there and Mum is fast asleep. For a long time I watch her sleeping, her face peaceful but covered in cuts and bruises. Any other day, I would wake her
up by jumping on the bed or tickling her feet. But that morning I just watch her sleeping. I pick out the prettiest Easter egg, wrapped in nice pink foil, and snuggle it in the crook of her folded
arm.
7
After a cool-off dip in the pool, I chucked on cut-offs and a boob-tube and headed around to Hollie’s. It was no more than a ten-minute stroll, but the heat made me
cranky and, by the time I got there, I was in no mood for Shakespeare.
Hollie was sitting cross-legged on a shady patch of the driveway, the
Complete Works
open in her lap, a wicker basket at her side. A wide straw hat eclipsed most of her face save her
lips which were busy mouthing lines from Midsummer. After the way she’d carried on the day before, I decided not to mention Scott unless she brought him up. I strode up the drive and stood,
casting a giant shadow over her.
‘My Fairy Queen.’ I bowed.
Hollie was so engrossed that I startled her. She leapt up. ‘Darling, I’ve been waiting ages for you.’ She was wearing a long, white dress and lace-up boots. ‘But, no
matter, you are here at last.’ She sometimes had a peculiar, old-fashioned, pommie way of speaking, like she’d been taking her English Lit lectures too seriously. Offering me her hand,
she said, ‘Shall we henceforth attend our forest chamber, my noble Oberon?’
‘Listen, Hols,’ I said. ‘How ’bout we go and get a chocollo at Shoppingtown?’
Chocollo was Hollie’s favourite low-fat chocolate icecream. But she wouldn’t have a bar of it.
‘As Titania, Queen of the Fairies, I order thee, my noble Oberon, to uphold thy sacred vow to lie with me in our leafy chamber. I even made us a special picnic and everything.’ She
lifted a gingham cloth off the top of the wicker basket. ‘See?’ There was a bottle of pink champagne, two crystal flutes, a baguette and a pot of the vile fish-spawn Hollie adored.
‘Oh, alright,’ I sighed. ‘But only for an hour or so.’
Hollie picked up the wicker basket and tucked the
Complete Works
under her arm. She slipped her hand in mine and, like two English ladies taking a turn in the garden, we set off up the
bush track into the national park, a scrubby tract of bushland which stretched from Chapel Hill north towards The Gap and west towards Enoggera State Forest. From the end of Hollie’s
cul-de-sac, the guttered dirt track rose steeply up the hill to a flat clearing at the top. Turn right and you ended up on a road which led to a tourist look-out point where Scott and I used to go
to pash and eat ice-cream. Further up the road were the television stations, all four of them, their steel satellite towers blinking snazzy red lights across the prehistoric terrain. But Hollie and
I would always turn left at the clearing and crash headlong into the bush, zig-zagging between the stringy barks, rocky outcrops and dried-out gullies, following our secret way to the cave.
‘Darling!’ Hollie was calling back to me. As usual, she was ahead, slipping like a ghost between the silver gums. ‘After the picnic we’ll do Act Two, OK? Me as Titania,
you Oberon.’
‘Fine.’ I was always the man but I didn’t care. Fighting waves of hangover nausea, I kept plodding up the track. I wanted to ask Hollie about Danny being outside Scott’s
last night but I needed to wait for the right moment.
The further we climbed, the louder the cicadas and the fiercer the sun. The scrawny eucalyptus offered little shade and I could feel the top of my scalp burning. In the cooler months, the track
was a busy thoroughfare
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