Red Queen by Honey Brown Page A

the cabin unprotected.’
    ‘It’s not like we’re far, and we won’t stay long. It’s nice, don’t you think?’
    ‘Sure.’
    But I was having a hard time appreciating it now that I’d vocalised what we’d done.
    I followed the creek down a little. I found a spot and sat with my back to her. She sprung up suddenly, surprising me. ‘Right!’ she said.
    I looked back at her.
    She stood on the rock she had sat on.
    ‘Right what?’ I asked.
    ‘Let’s get back.’
    ‘What’s going on, Denny?’
    ‘You’re right; we shouldn’t be here.’
    I got to my feet. ‘Make up your bloody mind.’
    ‘Come on, grumpy, take your shoes off; get a feel for it.’
    ‘Get a feel for what?’
    ‘The bush.’
    ‘I’m not going barefoot.’
    She came over and balanced nimbly on some rough ground beside me. The tops of her feet were flecked with dirt.
    ‘Look at you,’ I said. ‘Wild child.’
    ‘I’ll carry your boots for you. You’d better start getting used to going barefoot. We’re not going to have Blundstones forever.’
    ‘Don’t say that. This can’t be it. This is not how we live out our days.’
    ‘I don’t know. It’s not so bad, is it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Her good mood lasted right back to the cabin; she flopped back on the veranda with her arms above her head.
    ‘It’s my birthday soon,’ she said.
    ‘How do you know what day it is?’
    ‘The calendar in Rohan’s room.’
    ‘When is it?’
    ‘In two weeks.’
    I took off my shirt and sat down beside her.
    ‘What would you like for your birthday – hypothetically, and apart from food.’
    ‘A novel. Something thick, overblown and self-indulgent.’
    ‘You mean from the farmhouse.’
    She turned and faced me. ‘I’d go – during the day. I promise I’d be back before Rohan got home.’
    ‘Jesus, Denny.’
    ‘I could take the pushbike and go down the track and out onto the road. If it was taking too long I’d come back.’
    ‘What about when Rohan sees that you’ve been – the clothes and shoes, and the books?’
    ‘I wouldn’t show him straight away. I know he’ll be upset – but I’d say it was just me, that I left while you were busy and you didn’t know about it.’
    ‘You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’d do. It’s not worth it, not just for books.’
    ‘Not just for books? I can’t believe you can say that! The sort of books you grew up reading, maybe – XF manuals and whatever, science journals and magazines. No, I probably wouldn’t go for them. I’m talking about novels, Shannon. Surely storytelling is more important now than ever. And you should understand – because it’s music too; your music re-tells the past, and in the best way, because it doesn’t preach, it wraps it up in emotion and gives it to us. What if it was a guitar at the farmhouse – if you had nothing here to play and down the road, in a place you knew was safe, was a music room full of six-string, twelve-string, and slide guitars? Wouldn’t you want to go?’
    ‘Rohan hardly lets me play anyway, so probably not.’
    She looked away. ‘If it is Rohan you’re worried about – well I reckon he’d get over it.’
    ‘You underestimate him.’
    ‘I see a different side of him.’
    I got to my feet. ‘Yeah, well if you know him so well why don’t you just ask him.’
    She grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.
    ‘We won’t talk about it anymore.’
    She put her legs either side of me. I dropped my head as she ran light fingertips over my back.
    ‘What are you doing, Denny?’
    ‘Can’t we do this anymore?’
    ‘No, probably not.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I don’t fancy spelling it out. It’s enough I have to listen to it every night.’
    Her face was close to my shoulder. I could feel her smile. ‘Do you listen?’
    ‘I think you do play games. And I think they’re unfair.’
    ‘If life’s a game, then I’ll concede, but other than that I do not.’
    ‘Don’t play us off.’
    ‘I swear, I’m not. That’s the last