Bloke, page 26
She looked up.
‘I want to sit down.’
We helped ease her onto the sand.
‘Nugget, give me your coat, let me lie back for a bit.’
We propped her up but no one said anything, just let her look. We waited.
‘Thank you,’ she said at last.
I was disappointed and I could tell Nugget was too. We’d been planning this for weeks, the arrival by barge of the great Queen.
‘Thank you. We can go back now. And we tell no one.’
It wasn’t worth reminding her that the police had already been here and curious divers now knew about it too.
‘Anyone with enough guts to get in here isn’t going to do any harm. Besides, global warming —’
‘What?’ Nugget asked, not sure he’d heard her correctly over the quiet susurration of the sea’s voice.
‘Global warming. Rising sea levels. Soon no one will get in here. It will be safe forever.’
Nugget and I looked at each other. The old girl had a thing about water.
‘And that baby of Giovanna’s is on the way.’ Aunty Cookup turned to me. ‘What about Cave for a name?’
‘Might not be the best for a girl,’ Nugget cautioned with a sagacity for which I’d never credited him.
‘It’s not going to be a girl.’
Cave, I thought.
‘What about Nick?’ Nugget suggested, warming to the task. Aunty Cookup ignored him and stared at me. I looked at Giovanna. She turned to the ceiling.
‘All right, Cave it is,’ I assured her, and thought of the poor little prick burdened with the history this cave knew. ‘May as well start work early.’ At least he’d get to be held in his mother’s arms. We both would.
Bruce Pascoe, Bloke
