The Golden Day by Ursula Dubosarsky Page A

weren’t just written; she could hear them. She could hear the words, right in her ear. Someone was there, in the room with her, speaking right in her ear, and her nose and mouth were filled with the strong, sweet smell of Morgan’s cigarettes.

FOURTEEN

Ebb and Flow
    T HE LITTLE GIRLS TURNED AWAY from Icara. They couldn’t help it. It was too much. But Cubby found she couldn’t turn away, not entirely.
    When the bell rang for the end of school, the others left with their arms around each other, whispering. Then the room was empty, except for the two of them, each at their own desk, putting their things away. Cubby closed her bag slowly, clicking the buckles shut one at a time. She could feel Icara looking at her, and those unseen eyes seemed to be asking something, almost begging. Help me, the eyes said. Please. But that made no sense. Icara didn’t need any help. She never cried. She was the strongest of them all.
    Cubby looked up. Icara was standing next to her desk.
    ‘Can you come over to my house again, this afternoon?’ said Icara. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
    ‘All right,’ said Cubby.
    And so she found herself for the second time leaving the school with Icara, heading past the uniform inspection at the yellow gate, down the hill and onto the bus, then on again through the winding streets to the last leafy stop. Icara pulled the cord and they dragged their schoolbags down the bus steps.
    The afternoon air was warm, and full of invisible birds. They ambled through the tunnel of trees along the road. This time there was a sleek green car parked outside Icara’s house and the gate was swinging open. Icara took out her key and in they went through the front door, letting their bags drop on the floor.
    ‘Don’t take off your shoes this time,’ said Icara quickly. ‘I want to show you something outside.’
    There was no sign of Mrs Ellerman, just a bottle of orange juice open on the kitchen bench. The two girls headed out the glass door into the back yard.
    ‘It’s down at the river,’ said Icara.
    At the river? They could see the river from where they stood, but between the yard and the water there was a stretch of wild bush.
    ‘There’s a hidden path,’ said Icara, answering Cubby’s unspoken question.
    They walked to the edge of the bush, and Icara held up a knotted branch. Behind it was the beginning of a pathway, covered in mud and leaves. They made their way down cautiously, as it was steep, so steep in some places that they had to half-slide. Stinging branches flicked back in their faces. It wasn’t far – Cubby could smell the closeness of the mangroves. Another branch smacked her in the ear and suddenly the path ended and the river stretched out before them, shining and black as the night sky.
    ‘Over there,’ said Icara. ‘That’s what I wanted to show you.’
    She was pointing to a metal pole, just along the riverbank. Tied to the pole, to stop it from floating away, was a little blue wooden rowboat.
    ‘It belongs to the people next door,’ said Icara. She gestured with her elbow at the tiled roof of a neighbouring house just discernible through the dense forest of eucalypts. ‘But we can borrow it.’
    A boat!
    ‘We could row down the river for a bit,’ said Icara. ‘I’ve done it before. We could explore.’
    On the other side of the river, as far as Cubby could see, there were no houses, only bush and mud. It looked like a place where people had never been.
    The tide surged backward and forward, mild but relentless.
    ‘Let’s go,’ said Cubby, excited.
    They took off their shoes, tucked their socks inside them, and laid them on a high rock away from the water. Then they stepped out into the shallows towards the boat. It bobbed away from them each time they got close, like a shy pony. Eventually Icara managed to hold it steady and they scrambled in. It smelled of grass and fish.
    ‘I’ll do the rowing,’ said Icara, moving herself onto the bench in the