Australia Elizabeth Gibson
Amber is obsessed with Australia right now. Who can blame her? Australia is hot and sunny. Here it is winter, the very peak of it, when the sky is solid tar and the stars scarily clear and bright, like little pinpoints. It is one of those nights I used to love, because it was snug to be inside, and outside… I had stories. Dreams. I had a warm weight beside me. I close off the memories, as I have learnt to do. I clip them from the picture. There is no war weight next to me. I am alone, dealing with the recycling. That’s better. I head back inside. In her room Amber is drawing, one of her usual hobbies. This time, though, it isn’t cats or horses or leaping dolphins. With one arm she is struggling to hold one of her huge sheets of black card still. Clutched in the other little fist is a chunky silver highlighter. She is meticulously making circles, perfect silver circles, in some kind of pattern. “Let me see, sweetie.” I am muttering, too tired to muster up as much enthusiasm as I should for her artistic ability, which is genuinely remarkable for a child of seven. She sits upright, releasing the card, which bounces back off the table. I grab a corner. Catching things is something I’ve become good at. I’m just not good at stopping them from falling to begin with. The first thing I think of is flowers. The circles are clustered neatly: one big globe will be surrounded by eight or so smaller ones, like petals. It looks strangely familiar, and my stomach gives a tiny lurch, though I don’t know why. It is like learning something for the first time that should be obvious, that you realise you always knew somewhere inside – some great, universal truth.
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