Lonesome Howl (11 page)

I follow its cleansing perfume,

the floorboards creaking with every step.

Peter snores

and the dogs scuffle around outside.

In the lounge room is my father's chair,

big and comfortable.

I sit in it and lean back,

put my feet on the coffee table,

stare at the wide plank walls

and the high patterned ceiling

that I'd never noticed before.

Grandma's house.

I fall asleep

in my father's chair

and I don't dream.

I sleep long into the morning

until a movement wakes me.

Peter is standing beside me,

his hair all messy from bed.

He says,

‘That's Dad's chair.'

I want to say,

‘Not anymore'

but I stop myself.

This house,

this room,

these walls,

they've heard enough arguing.

Jake: Lucy smiles

Mum and Dad

are mending the fence

in the eastern paddock.

If I was there, I'd be tightening the wire, slowly,

while Dad's big hands check the tension.

But I'm sitting on the verandah,

ankle bandaged, leg raised,

watching the cockatoos

in the old dead tree.

I don't notice Lucy

coming across the yard.

She says, ‘Hi, Jake,'

and I almost fall off my chair.

She giggles and says,

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.'

She stands at the foot of the stairs,

her hands deep in her pockets.

I tell her I've been scanning Wolli Creek

waiting for the wolf.

I hold up my binoculars

to prove I'm serious

even though,

truth be known,

I'm just doing it

because there's not much else to do

with one foot tightly bandaged

and orders from Mum

to keep off it.

Lucy sits beside me on the lounge

and feels the soft cushions.

‘It's more comfortable than the cave,

but not as much fun.'

I'm not sure who blushes more.

She leans in close

and we kiss,

just quickly.

Her hair is tied back in a long ponytail

with a dark-blue ribbon.

‘I like your hair, Lucy.'

She smiles.

Lucy smiles

on our verandah.

Lucy: I will

I sit beside Jake

as we watch the sun

fade slowly behind

Beaumont Hill.

The deepest brightest orange

shines through the high clouds

and it's beautiful.

It's perfect.

I tell Jake about Mum,

how she stood up to him at last

and kept saying sorry all night

until the word was worn out.

I didn't want to talk about the past anymore.

We agreed not to mention him again.

Mum said,

‘Let's just get on with it, Lucy.'

And the voice wasn't Mum,

it was Grandma.

It was her way of dealing with droughts,

or floods,

or fire.

She'd stand on the verandah,

arms folded, her eyes sparkling,

and she'd say,

‘Let's get on with it.'

And we would.

So, I will.

Also by Steven Herrick

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An intense story about feeling the undercurrents, finding solid ground and knowing when to jump.

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