their heads to look.
The ocean appears, the sun dipping into it. We’re high up on top of red cliffs. Loretta slows down heaps and I see a huge kangaroo with its chest puffed right out scratching its belly at us. Stay there, I say to it as the road turns along the edge of the cliff. Below us there is a bay and a beach with tents at one end, then caravans. From up above, the tents and caravans look like rubbish washed in with the tide. Further than that is the white lick of a dry river. A jetty sticks into the sea. Loretta accelerates and I lose my stomach as we drive down to the beach.
The road levels out again, and goes right through the middle of the tents. They are set up along the dunes, next to the beach, four-wheel drives nudged in beside them and there are tents on the desert side of the road too. A little boy with a round face waves at us as we pass. His whole family is there, out the front of a giant tent. For a second, I can see all the way into the tent,with each of their beds made up neatly, neater than a bedroom. Some camps have their lanterns on already, casting circles of warm light swarming with bugs. There are people sitting in folding chairs, sipping wine out of plastic cups, or beer out of cans. The smell of sausages cooking. I can hear kids playing, it’s the sounds of screaming and laughing together. Guy ropes crisscrossing each other with towels and clothes hanging from them so they look like banners or flags.
Why is everyone staring at us? says Jordy.
They’re not, says Loretta.
Yes, they are.
It’s just because we’re new.
So they are staring at us? he says.
Yeah, ‘cos we’re new.
I’m staring at them, I say.
All the people look golden in the last afternoon light. As we drive further along the road the tents stop. There are caravans then. They’ve got iron sheds built around them and television antennas sticking way up high into the air, trying to catch something. They’re all rusted and falling down and look like they’ve been here forever, like they’ve grown from the ground and then died of thirst. Husks of them.
Some of the caravans are nestled in the dunes, with space between each one. Further down there are two caravans facing away from each other as if they’ve had an argument. And here I can’t see any people. They look lived in, though. There are towels hanging on washing lines, and light at the windows. But they’re closed off to the road, not like the tents with their doors like open mouths and everyone sitting outside in the open. Between each caravan I can see the beach and the choppy ocean.
Loretta stops beside a rusty white caravan with a blue stripe. It’s tucked in right behind the dune.
This it? she says and answers herself, Yep.
A cloud of dust floats from behind us and settles on Bert. None of us make any move to get out of the car.
Well, here we go, Loretta says and all three of us get out. Empty bottles tumble out around my feet. The air smells of seaweed and barbeque. I can still hear the tent kids squealing but I can’t see them. I stick close to Loretta, and when she stops at the door of the caravan I bump into her.
Hey, she says, jangling her keys in her hand.
This caravan doesn’t look lived in like the others do. There are thick cobwebs around the windows and doorframe, and beach grass has grown up around the step. The lock and handle are rusty. Loretta searches through the keys on her key ring, finds the one she’s looking for and tries it in the lock.
You have a key? Jordy says.
Yeah, says Loretta.
How do you have a key?
What does it matter, sweetie. I swiped it from Gran ages ago. They don’t come here anymore.
Loretta jiggles the key but the door stays shut. She jiggles it again and the handle makes a horrible scraping sound. Jordy and I are standing right behind her.
Shoo, she says, just shoo for a second. I look at Bert and three of his doors are wide-open. Loretta steps back, lights a cigarette and blows smoke at the door,
The ocean appears, the sun dipping into it. We’re high up on top of red cliffs. Loretta slows down heaps and I see a huge kangaroo with its chest puffed right out scratching its belly at us. Stay there, I say to it as the road turns along the edge of the cliff. Below us there is a bay and a beach with tents at one end, then caravans. From up above, the tents and caravans look like rubbish washed in with the tide. Further than that is the white lick of a dry river. A jetty sticks into the sea. Loretta accelerates and I lose my stomach as we drive down to the beach.
The road levels out again, and goes right through the middle of the tents. They are set up along the dunes, next to the beach, four-wheel drives nudged in beside them and there are tents on the desert side of the road too. A little boy with a round face waves at us as we pass. His whole family is there, out the front of a giant tent. For a second, I can see all the way into the tent,with each of their beds made up neatly, neater than a bedroom. Some camps have their lanterns on already, casting circles of warm light swarming with bugs. There are people sitting in folding chairs, sipping wine out of plastic cups, or beer out of cans. The smell of sausages cooking. I can hear kids playing, it’s the sounds of screaming and laughing together. Guy ropes crisscrossing each other with towels and clothes hanging from them so they look like banners or flags.
Why is everyone staring at us? says Jordy.
They’re not, says Loretta.
Yes, they are.
It’s just because we’re new.
So they are staring at us? he says.
Yeah, ‘cos we’re new.
I’m staring at them, I say.
All the people look golden in the last afternoon light. As we drive further along the road the tents stop. There are caravans then. They’ve got iron sheds built around them and television antennas sticking way up high into the air, trying to catch something. They’re all rusted and falling down and look like they’ve been here forever, like they’ve grown from the ground and then died of thirst. Husks of them.
Some of the caravans are nestled in the dunes, with space between each one. Further down there are two caravans facing away from each other as if they’ve had an argument. And here I can’t see any people. They look lived in, though. There are towels hanging on washing lines, and light at the windows. But they’re closed off to the road, not like the tents with their doors like open mouths and everyone sitting outside in the open. Between each caravan I can see the beach and the choppy ocean.
Loretta stops beside a rusty white caravan with a blue stripe. It’s tucked in right behind the dune.
This it? she says and answers herself, Yep.
A cloud of dust floats from behind us and settles on Bert. None of us make any move to get out of the car.
Well, here we go, Loretta says and all three of us get out. Empty bottles tumble out around my feet. The air smells of seaweed and barbeque. I can still hear the tent kids squealing but I can’t see them. I stick close to Loretta, and when she stops at the door of the caravan I bump into her.
Hey, she says, jangling her keys in her hand.
This caravan doesn’t look lived in like the others do. There are thick cobwebs around the windows and doorframe, and beach grass has grown up around the step. The lock and handle are rusty. Loretta searches through the keys on her key ring, finds the one she’s looking for and tries it in the lock.
You have a key? Jordy says.
Yeah, says Loretta.
How do you have a key?
What does it matter, sweetie. I swiped it from Gran ages ago. They don’t come here anymore.
Loretta jiggles the key but the door stays shut. She jiggles it again and the handle makes a horrible scraping sound. Jordy and I are standing right behind her.
Shoo, she says, just shoo for a second. I look at Bert and three of his doors are wide-open. Loretta steps back, lights a cigarette and blows smoke at the door,
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