Hope Farm by Peggy Frew

hand and kissed it not stopping her dance. Over the grass two women came to me. One maybe in her twenties wearing robes, dark skinned her smile clear and white the other older almost my mothers age with hair in plaits over her shoulders the breeze puffing her silk blouse and long skirt making ripples in the tiny diamond shapes that covered them. They didnt speak. The younger one gave me a pamphlet but when I tried to look at it my eyes were full of tears. The panic happened again, the tears ran down. Can you help me? I said. I covered my face my ears burned. Then I felt hands touch me arms close round me. I smelled incense and perfumed skin the spices from there cooking, I dropped my hands and sobbed against them. Little girl, whispered the dark woman. Little girl. Even though I was taller than her. She wiped my cheeks with her fingers. Then she let go and over my shoulder my mother was calling my name. I turned and there she was half running in her low heels her stiff skirt waggling her hat crooked. She was shooing with her arms her shopping bags flapped. I felt the older woman take my hand. We can help you she said, If you ever need. Her warm dry hand squeezed mine and then let go and then my mother was there grabbing me pulling me away.
    The whole drive home my mother didnt speak to me, two and a half hours. At home she unpacked one of the shopping bags onto my bed. Two dresses like tents one brown one navy. Two wide cotton nighties plain white. A bra with huge cups that sat up by themselves. Now I knew why she didnt bring Linda on the shopping trip or take me in to the shop with her, in case any one saw and guessed. Thats how worried she was because what are the chances of bumping in to any one from our town all that way away and in a big city like Brisbane. You wont need much my mother said Its only for while youre there, once youre back home you can wear your old clothes again. When she had gone out I opened my wardrobe and looked at everything so plain and ordinary. I thought of the silks of the woman with plaits the diamonds scattered like stars. I thought of that baby curved against its mothers chest there two bodies like one, the mothers smile no pram no Evie Dyer plodding sad and lumpy. I closed the wardrobe door again, pushed the new clothes to the end of the bed and sat down. I looked at the pamphlet and traced the image of two hands joined and pointing upwards, not like my mothers all white against the church pew these fingers were elegant the shape of freedom. Join Us On The Path it said. I touched my belly low down, the place where it was growing.

Ian and I met again the next day. He brought a pad of paper and a pen, and drew a map of the school for me, marking out the areas to avoid whenever possible, and also the safe places. There were only four days left until the end of term break, when he would have to return and I would have to begin. The library, he explained, was open before and after school hours and at lunchtime and morning recess, and you could stay in there as long as you wanted, providing you were quiet. There was always a teacher around, and anyway, people like Dean Price didn’t even know it existed. ‘And — bonus — it’s heated,’ he said. ‘And — double bonus — it has its own toilets.’
    We were by the creek again, near the bridge, sitting on a steep bit of bank, Ian with the notepad propped on his knees. He drew two small rectangles near the big shaded section he’d marked Oval . ‘So save your toilet trips for the library,’ he said, and put big crosses through the two rectangles. ‘These other toilets are not at all safe.’
    â€˜Okay.’
    â€˜Now. The bus. There are a few oafs that catch it, but the driver’s all right, he’s got control, so sit near the front. Nobody else gets on or off at our stop, so you don’t have to worry about that. And, most blessed of all blessings, Dean Price himself does not catch