A Place Like This Page 6

  after the baby,

  and for the first time in a while

  Dad looks straight at me

  and I’m scared to look back

  because I’m not sure what it means,

  so I keep talking.

  I tell him I rang childcare in town

  and I rang the Department

  and I know it’ll be hard,

  but it won’t cost much

  for the baby to be looked after

  while I’m in school

  and I know I can manage it.

  Maybe even Beck and Craig can help.

  I know I can do it

  and I keep talking,

  afraid to look at Dad,

  and I say

  Jack and Annabel should go,

  go to their beach,

  before the baby who’s taking his own good time.

  I’ll tell them thanks

  and I’ll promise an invitation

  to the christening.

  I look straight at Dad now,

  knowing I have to,

  and he’s still looking back.

  I tell him when Jack goes

  I’ll need help with birth classes

  and maybe he could come along

  and he smiles.

  I think it’s a dad smile.

  He leans over

  and takes another slice of cake

  and he keeps smiling

  and he says,

  calm as you please,

  ‘You make a good cake, Emma,

  a good cake.’

  And I know everything will be fine,

  just fine.

  So I reach for a slice

  to feed my baby

  and myself.

  I take a big slice.

  Craig knows

  Me and Beck,

  we’re gunna miss you two.

  We reckon you’re lucky,

  leaving here to spend all your time

  on some beach.

  Maybe we can visit

  on school holidays or something?

  You let us know, okay?

  I’m gunna miss you two.

  I like the way you get drunk

  every Saturday night

  when you think the farm’s asleep.

  I like the way

  you sleep late on Sunday

  and stumble out of the shed

  like two old drunks.

  But most of all I like

  the way you spend your nights

  up there, on the hay bales.

  Yeah, that’s right,

  one night I couldn’t sleep

  and I came out here, real quiet,

  so yeah,

  now I know what you do in our shed!

  It’s time

  We’ve packed the car,

  Annabel and me.

  I’ve filled the tank with petrol.

  This time we won’t stop.

  I wander into the orchard alone.

  I’m looking for the first tree I stripped,

  two months back.

  I’m sure I’ll remember which one.

  It was on the end of a line,

  the highest on the farm.

  The view looked over the valley and the hills

  and all the way to Broken Lookout.

  I climb the tree

  and sit for a while.

  The rotting fruit covers the grass

  and the leaves are starting to drop.

  I hear a crow up in the fir trees,

  and a semitrailer on the distant highway.

  And I can hear my dad’s voice

  telling me to go, just go.

  I hear Annabel’s footsteps

  coming through the grove

  and I know

  that my world echoes with her sound

  and that I should follow it,

  the way Emma will follow her baby,

  hopeful and sure,

  and tied to this farm

  and these people.

  I know

  that today,

  with a full tank,

  and with Annabel,

  that it’s time to go.

  Annabel and the orchard

  Jack’s up some tree.

  Dreaming.

  I hope the branch breaks

  and he lands on his head.

  That’s how I feel sometimes.

  But I’m glad we argued over leaving.

  Sometimes you need to make a choice.

  Like giving up uni.

  Like coming to this farm to work.

  Like Emma getting drunk one night,

  waking up pregnant

  and still saying yes to the baby

  after all that.

  Like me and Jack now, together,

  going.

  Starting now.

  Starting today.

  When we leave this orchard.

  That is, if I can get my love, the mad bastard,

  out of the tree.

  For the sun

  It’s the first rain of the season.

  I think of Jack and Annabel

  on some beach. I hope the sun shines there.

  I can hear Dad chopping wood,

  ready for a long cold spell

  with frost on the orchard,

  cracking under our feet.

  The clouds have covered the hills

  and the trees are stark winter bones.

  I touch my stomach, gently,

  feel such power and weight,

  but if I get any bigger

  they’ll need a wheelbarrow

  to get me to hospital.

  I love my baby.

  I don’t care how it happened.

  I don’t care how cold this winter gets.

  I stand on the veranda

  and feel warmer than I’ve ever felt.

  The wind rattles the shed door

  to remind me of Jack and Annabel.

  I hope they’re swimming naked

  in clear, salty water.

  I’m glad they came.

  I can see Craig and Beck

  walking home from the highway.

  Craig’s swinging his lunatic schoolbag

  and Beck’s wandering slow, in no hurry.

  I sit on the squatter’s chair,

  put my feet up on the veranda railing,

  lean back, close my eyes

  and wait for the sun.

  First published 1998 by University of Queensland Press

  PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

  Reprinted 1999, 2013

  This edition published 2017

  www.uqp.com.au

  uqp@uqp.uq.edu.au

  © Steven Herrick 1998

  This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  Cover design and illustration by Jo Hunt

  Typeset in Adobe Garamond 12/13.5 pt by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia http://catalogue.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 0 7022 2984 8 (pbk)

  ISBN 978 0 7022 5895 4 (pdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7022 5896 1 (epub)

  ISBN 978 0 7022 5897 8 (kindle)

 

 

 
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