Mothers and Daughters by Kylie Ladd

doesn’t it?
    The troop carrier shuddered to a halt and Amira tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
    ‘Are you awake? We’re going into Coles. Do you want anything?’
    Fiona shook her head. All she wanted was to be left alone, and a nice cool bed. Predictably, she’d hardly slept last night, resorting to a sleeping tablet around three am. Having to take it pissed her off—she was trying to cut down—but enduring the way she was feeling for another minute was a far worse option. Besides, she wouldn’t need any at Kalangalla. There wasn’t any chance of getting drunk there every night.
    ‘Last Liquorland for a thousand kilometres,’ Amira teased, as if reading her mind.
    ‘Go away,’ Fiona said, then, when Amira did, called after her, ‘Coke. Get me some Coke and some chips—crinkle cut, plain. And Berocca,’ she added, head falling back against the seat. She already had a tube of B vitamins in her case, but that was buried somewhere in the back of the vehicle, no doubt wedged between the spare tyre and Caro’s fucking pillow. The thought of standing out in the heat in the middle of the supermarket car park, sorting through all their bags to get at it, made her want to heave all over again. She must have nodded off, because the next thing she knew Amira was once more tugging on the handbrake before the carrier had completely stopped, jolting Fiona forward.
    ‘All out!’ Amira announced jauntily.
    Fiona pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and resolutely turned her shoulder away, trying to tug her slumber back around her as if it was a blanket that had just slipped off.
    ‘Come on, Fiona,’ Amira said, shaking her. ‘You’ve got to see Cable Beach. You’ll feel better if you get out of the car, anyway.’
    Fiona was inclined to disagree, but Bronte had come around to her door and was pulling it open, so she had no choice. Reluctantly she lowered herself from the car. They had driven right down onto the sand, which stretched golden and vast in both directions as far as she could see. Tiny crabs scurried away from her feet, their bodies translucent.
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Morag. ‘This is what we saw from the plane, isn’t it? Do we have time for a swim?’
    ‘Sure,’ Amira said. ‘The water’s gorgeous at this time of year—twenty-seven, twenty-eight degrees or so. Tess and I saw two huge mantas just off shore when we were last here, in September.’
    ‘Are they dangerous?’ asked Bronte.
    ‘Nah. They look like they should be, but they don’t have a barb like stingrays do. They’re gentle giants—stunning to watch. People pay to swim with them further down the coast, at Ningaloo.’
    ‘I haven’t got my bathers on,’ complained Caro.
    ‘So go naked,’ suggested Amira, smiling. ‘This part of the beach is for nudists, anyway.’
    Fiona glanced around. There were only two other cars besides theirs, but sure enough the elderly couple sitting back in their deckchairs a hundred metres away didn’t appear to have any clothes on. The woman’s large breasts lolled almost to her lap, like deflated airbags. Fiona winced. Sunburnt nipples. Nice.
    ‘It is lovely,’ she conceded, ‘but I’ve got to go to the loo. I’ll meet you back at the car.’
    She hurried away before they could protest. Yes, it was pretty, but her bladder was bursting and the glare was giving her a migraine. A small plane flew overhead, shattering the stillness. Coast Watch , Fiona read on the side of the plane, and thought of whales, then saw the smaller lettering on the tail: Customs . It was watching for people, not animals; refugees, illegal immigrants. Keep up the good work , she thought silently. Australia was already too crowded. Well, not here, maybe, but it was.
    The public toilets were empty, save for a backpacker rinsing her plates directly under a sign that read, Please do not wash dishes in the hand basin . She smiled blithely when she saw Fiona and continued rinsing. Fiona went into a cubicle and