two

It’s my grand-daughter Nerri’s second birthday.

I step off the Bendigo train at 12:06, hope to see her and my daughter on the platform. But no. I wander out into the car park outside the station. People are boarding connecting buses for Swan Hill, Mildura, Maryborough and Echuca-Moama.

So few people smoke in Melbourne; everyone hanging around Bendigo Station choofs like his life depends on it, and it does. No part of the car park is a refuge from tobacco smoke.

The sun shines, but not enough to make up for the miserable winter that officially ended three days ago. I hear my name; my daughter and her partner’s tank stops behind me. Nerri is strapped in the back. I scramble up into the front next to my daughter.

Grappling with the seatbelt I say hello to Richie, without looking. “It’s Ben.” The twin brother. Richie’s on his way back from the Wellsford forest protesting about the burning off of undergrowth. We drive to the lake, Nerri in the back all smiles: it’s her birthday. “Berries,” she says. There are berries on the cake we’ll eat later.

Richie sits at a park bench in the shade. Gemma spreads a multi-coloured blanket in the sun. The brothers remain at the bench as if allergic to sunlight. Nerri stands on the blanket, observes a crow on a nearby branch. She watches, it flies off. “Gone,” she says, and turns her attention to the bag of presents I have brought.

She gives Alice’s adventures in Wonderland—from my mother—a cursory glance. Words, not many pictures. It’s for later, ten years later. The pink leggings and top must be tried on. And three pairs of knitted socks. She hooks thumbs into her waistband, tries to force her pants off. Eventually she sits and goes about it from there. She’s independent, determined, but not rushed.

She stands at the fence of the large rubberised playground. Kids and parents climb and explore the plastic and wooden structures. Nerri comes with me to the gate and I let her in. She makes no attempt to engage the equipment, but stares solemnly at the other children. “Girl,” she says. An older girl stops, Nerri looks at her, and she turns away contemptuously.

Her paternal grandparents arrive and mothers from Nerri’s Friday playgroup. Gus and Audrey hand Nerri presents. It’s all a bit overwhelming now, for Nerri and for me.

Gemma drives me back to the station to catch the 2:26. She asks about my good woman and I tell her all I can in five minutes. She gets out of the car and hugs me, more than our usual hug. Thanks for that. And with that, I am gone.

Rock on.