Hyde Park is so big. An island in the middle of the bricks and bitumen. Dirt, grass and a patchy blue sky that hovered between beautiful and I'm going to poor buckets on your sorry arse.

Australia you could go a month, three and sometimes, in bad times, a whole heap more without a cloud, without rain. I should like the drizzle, the pitter patter on the window but that sometimes sends this country scruff plum crazy. Stir crazy. So here I lay, back holding up the big ole tree and I watch a vision splendid. Gentlemen clad in finery, double breasted whatsits and ties, hanky sticking out of the breast pocket like a flag, newspapers rolled under the pit or open as they took a bench and perused. Ordinary folk rambling through, some ladies with strollers and contraptions of prams. Umbrellas for the rain. Umbrellas for the sun. Odd folk poking around in garbage bins and the bobby's with their silly helmets moving them along. Some mounted officers pulled rein and stood a while chatting with me.

Firstly, I was scanned and questioned. Spoilsports; they were shaking heads in the negative quickly at me swag and idea of bedding down.

Uttering a firm directive under no circumstances was I to set up camp. And definitely, definitely, not set up a campfire.

See- spoilsports.

But it didn't matter.

You see there were two fine pieces of horse flesh under saddle ever so near me, all the while leaning, craning and stealing gob-fuls of grass while the rider lurched with the movement as he grasped the rein. I tried to convince the young constables to share. Of dismounting and letting moi take a pony for a run. Take one pretty hack for a double-quick circuit, even offered to round up the drifters at the bins, but it was all to no avail. Either my look of country bumpkin deterred them, or they were wondering if I would ever get off. Ever bring their mount back.

So here I lay half up half down. Gazing at the view of green, brilliant healthy green.

If only this kind of green was back home. Ducks would be waddly fat, calves would be kicking their heels and drovers wouldn't have to stay the open road. Wouldn't have to push miles and miles with milling cattle feeding on the extraordinarily 'long paddock' to finish them off for market. Wouldn't have to get every blade of nutrient into their gut to give them a belly for a decent weight on the butcher's scale at the end of their days. But I guess if it was all this green, all this healthy roughage, home wouldn't be home. I wouldn't be me.

Thus, to say, I wouldn't be cantankerous.

Is that the right word? I don't know I'm not all that good on spelling and stuff. Mum tried of course but there's still gaping gaps in the noggins dictionary section.

That is to say I wouldn't be tough and able to withstand the heat and flies and dust. Wouldn't be able to walk miles in scorching heat or hand feed cattle for months without falter or tears. Wouldn't be able to survive the bush, the fires, the storms or nasty jackaroos; Or seeing parents smashed up beyond repair, never to move a muscle again.

Not much good all that is to me here though. No snakes. No dust. No bush.

Just Sparkie's tussles here. He's my link to Australian day to day life. Sort of ironical that.

Sparkie is the spit to the spitfire. The drive to the brink.

Red coated men with huge furry hats blaze by on steeds too beautiful to lay down for; I've jumped up quick smart to gawk at the stupendous sight. So trained and lined up they are, you can't see an off stride in the lot of 'em. Where did they come from? The Queens hootchie perhaps, they look pretty darn regal and posh to me. Funny hats though, must put ya off balance when you pull up in a hurry, or maybe the ride is so smooth, and the halt so timed to perfection, the ride is more akin to a child's rocking horse, than rodeo. The sway gentled to a consummate, dignified, end. Not like my pull ups especially when roping calves. The pull on the rein isn't so bad because the nag knows before you do usually. Knows when to shift and drop back onto their haunches to cease movement and hold that little fella wiggling and struggling for me to grab, tie and lift onto the saddle, if need be. Ahhhh, I miss the little poddys all suckling on my fingers, then sploshing heads in buckets of milk, learning how to drink. I miss adopting the cutest runt and making him a pet for a time... well a pet til he has to go back to the herd.

The skies above dip to twilight. The park emptying, all the smartly dressed off to tea or is it dinner, or perhaps, to the local public house for a pint, or three. I could go a cold one right about now. Geez, if Sparkles takes my beers outta the fridge again I'll make him drink one down with ice in it. Beer doesn't like it when it's made to go hot and cold. Sparkie. Fingers clutch the letter in my jacket. I've left it too long. This missive was from when he found my legal papers, the pile of shitty documents compiling my life. Arrrrrr stuff it.

His finger print is on the edge of the page, a word near, smudged. His fingers, his hands, his thoughts all directed at this page, all conscious thoughts in those moments on me, to me, for me. That's bloody scary shit that is. Sparkie concentrating and writing down stuff wholly for me. I'm not a finger's shaking, knees knocking kind of sheila but this sheet, this sheet right here in my mitt is making my heart sing... or is it a heart attack? Nah, its rattling in my chest alright but maybe not a heart attack. Nah, that'll be after I read the blasted thing.

Dear colonialist,

Sorry about the legal drivel. Chin up and all that.

Maybe immigration will send you back sooner.

Oh, I don't know, maybe just push on through the tripe and get your plot back but until then I'm watching you. And stop hanging your bloody bloomers in the laundry its quite off-putting.

And your brassiere!!!!!

Guess it is actually quite good you wear one after John saying you weren't going to. OK bras ok- bloomers not.

PS. Ask your mate John to ask Brian about horse riding, get you out of my sight for a day or three.

Your, probably not relative,

P

Bloody hell, the cheek of him!

I'll have to run round the house with no underdaks on seeing as I'm allowed me boob snapper and not me knickers. They're not bloomers! Nor flag pole worthy! Maybe I should go to a shop and buy something new but my current underdaks have no holes in 'em bar for the three I need for entry which means no need for newbie undies!

John knows a horse! Bloody hell he's been holding out on me and to think I was thinking about him opening my windows on occasion. Only thought of mind you, he is married of course.

Paul's a twat for that immigration knock I've got an English passport I have, he forgot that. Got it when I was a little-en. From Her Majesty the Queen's passport department at Buckingham House I have no doubt. No passport- cheeky sod.

That's it. I'm pulling up stumps and heading back to his fan riddled road, no cut that, I'll go round the back and jump the fence.

******

"John this is-"

"Getting old"

"Oh, stick up for her again why don't you. 'Oh, Theresa you're so wonderful. Oh, Theresa let me give you a cuddle'. Ut! You. Stop. Ut! No talking! I've seen you getting fresh with her on the staircase"

"O..k.. dad"

"No this is not ok. She is not yours, so you don't get to cuddle, snog or shag her"

"She won't, she says I'm married"

"Well you are"

"Yeah well, when you have an itch shaped like Theresa you-"

"Geezus, John. Put a clamp on it, or tie it in a knot"

"I could tie it in three you know, or four"

"Yeah pull the other one"

"You have two? Oh, the one on your head. Good one"

"Piss off"

"Anyyyyway, what's this then"

"Thisss is how I know she's a conman"

"Woman. She's a girl so she wouldn't be a con-man she'd be a con-woman. Looks like a reel to reel tape in a white box to me"

"Exactly. She's here to get into the music biz. She's obviously here to scheme into my business acquaintance's I.E. Brian; and wrangle a record deal"

"Who says I.E. in a sentence. Oh, Paul does- I.E. its lame Paul. Just come out and say she's trying to get in Brian's business... pants hah, she'll have not a hope in hades in Bri's pants, will she! ...So you've played it then? She sounds like you I guess- a tad higher and slightly better"

"Why did I invite you round? Oh, that's right- I didn't; you just waltzed in here like you own the place"

"Well I do. Quarter of it. You know, without me son..." Wrapping the leather strap around his finger John finally realised there was a hell of a mess on the living room floor "Ahh Paul what's all this then?"

"Contents of her shipping trunk"

"And you just up ended it and have it spread all over the floor like trash"

"Well I got busy didn't I. Digging into the charlatans' dirty laundry as it were"

"She's not washing her knickers or bras then? One form of contraception I suppose"

"I meant her business. Her dirty business. Look, there's a saddle, and a doily"

"Put it back Paul"

"And an old tin and-"

"Paul!"

"What!!!!!"

"Put. It. All. Back"

"But I need to-"

"Gee Paul for being the nice one you really are stuffing this girl around. The contents of this trunk is her life. Old tin, pretty leather pieces, old doily, new doily. It's her life mate. Stop and look, really look, at it"

"I- ahh. Hmmm, yeah well..."

"Where is the lass anyway?"

"Camping with that smelly swag of hers apparently"

"Camping. Righteo. Well let's get this lot cleaned up so she doesn't return to see you scattering her entire life every which way"

'Except this"

"What? Oh yes, the ticket to stardom. The sphere of status. The warranty of worth"

Have you quite finished?"

"Nope. The contract of celebrity. The wheel of fortune. Oh, I like that one. The Wheel... of... Fortune. SO, what do you propose we do with the... Wheel of Fortune... Of course, I know. Let's keep it locked in the safe behind that huge ugly painting you have in your bedroom"

"That's not ugly, that's a portrait of Jane!"

"Ok if you say it is. The portrait of Jane. How many times do I have to tell you son? Art is a very personal decision to each, separated- by-the-nose, eye of each beholder"

"I'll tell Jane you said that"

"Go on, I dare you"

"She'll sock you one"

"After she asks you how I know she doesn't like to engage in too many, how shall I say it, Strenuous? No. Nimble? Yeah, nimble sexual positions. I don't think she will"

"But I haven't!"

Ahhh, but she doesn't know that, does she"

"Prick"

"Just clear up would you. What happens if she wanders in Now..." John pricked his ears "...Or NOw!" And again after a pause "Orrrrrr NOW!!. Bloody hell I'll have to have a chat with Terri about coming on cue"

"You dirty-"

"From stage right you filthy animal. Then again, if I nipped in sharp-like and showed her my moves"

"Now I know you're playing with me"

"How so? Pray tell old man"

"You don't 'nip' anywhere, you don't"

"I do to! I nipped to the paper shop on this very fine morning I did"

"Bull. You asked Mal to drive all the way out from London to fetch you the paper, and fags"

"Damnit, why does he always rat me out. How much are you paying him? I'll double it. No wipe that, triple it! Yeah, then you won't know if I did, or didn't, nip out for fags"

"Arrr Cyn"

"How much are you flipping paying her!!!!!"

"Go 'ome John"

"That's my fudging line mate"

"Well I'm borrowing it for today- Go home"

"Promise to clear this lot up. Poor lass has enough of a hard time dealing with tidy Paul let alone snooping in her trunk Paul"

"Ok, I will- promise"

"And the... Wheel... of Fortune... Gee that would sound wicked with a fog horn, wouldn't it!"

"Yessss, I will slip the reel to reel somewhere very safe"

"Just don't go slipping it to Jane, she might not like a Wheel of Fortune up there. Then again..."

"For crying out loud. Leave!"

"No need to get testy Paul. See you tomorrow... We'll make a day of it, we will. Get some important writing done, have a couple of joints, maybe look at some of your writing.... So yeah, OK? See you early, like round half three. No make it four. Cyn will make a cake or some shite for your afternoon tea seeing as she's on your payroll"

************

"Hi honey! I'm home"

Well that's flaming odd.

I thought I got rid of all the rats around here... but that russling noise certainly sounds like rats. Rats scuffling about on floors.

BANG!

"Bloody hell, where's me rifle. Paul, its OK! I've got this. Stay in your room!" I bellowed "I'll have to round the lot up and head them through the front door onto the street. Pity I wasn't the Pied Piper. I'd have them cleared out in minutes"

"Oh, hi Theresa. Nice camp?"

"It was pleasant. I had a yarn with some bobbies and I- Hang about Sparkie... Why are you being nice? And where are the rodents? They've gone silent" Sparks smiled as he met me in the doorway that led into the front parloury living room. Not that anyone lived there. Why anyone called it a living room was beyond me. Sparks was nonchalantly (there's a big word; betcha didn't know I had that humdinger in me, did ya! Oh yes ya did, you recalled mummy's wonderful dictionary lessons, didn't you. Bless.) leaning against the timber surround. In one hand, a ciggie was swirled manically in his fingers, and the other was pressed against the opposite edge effectively shutting me out of the parloury, no-one living in the room, room...

Shutting me out if I had been a normal person, that is.

Well I am a normal person but I won't be held back by arms that hadn't loaded a bale of hay or tugged barb wire a mile to run a fence. Nor had his arms lifted a calf or changed a tractor tire. In short, Sparks arms were, dare I think it? Dare I do - Spindly. Guitars don't really cut the mustard when one needs to grow muscles. "What's in the parlay room Sparks?"

"What!? Nothing, go away, you convict"

"That's better"

"What! What's better?"

"You insulted me, the equilibrium has returned" With a crunch on the apple I flogged from the bowl on the kitchen table I leaned well forward to peer over his, yes I dare think it again, spindly arm. "So, what ya been up to? Not like you to stand in my path? Oh, I read your letter finally. I'll desist from hanging my brassieres up and won't bother with the bloomers hokey-dokey? Or was it the other way around? Oh well... And if Johns had a horse up his sleeve this entire time, I'll neuter him"

"What?........... No! You have to wear knickers! Geezus wench"

I leaned further forward "Oh stop Paul, you compliment me much too much"

"Wench is a compliment in the colonies?!"

"Oh, I thought you said wrench like I was a good shifter. I'm no wench!"

And then..... I did it.

I was ducking under Pauls arm like a pro-ducker and taking a quick squizzy round the parloury nobody's alive room.

Me trunk!!

Woooooohooooo!!

"Woooohoooo!!! Oh Paul, you were trying to surprise me! What a wonderful sibling you are Sparkles. I could just kiss you"

"You better flipping not kiss me!"

"Why? Are you infected with something nasty?"

"Now why would I be- NO!"

I fell to me knees and hugged the trunk.

Woohooo! It got here and it didn't drown!

"Hello my darling. You're here" I kissed the holder of me prized possessions and fiddled with the straps. "You're really here!"

"Safe!" I bellowed, happy as a croc with a chicken in it's gob.

Woooohhhhoooooooo

"Woohoooo. Safe!" I kissed the top of the lid a big spanking *mwah*! Then praised the Lord for good measure. "Thank fucking Christ"

"Geezus, would you stop kissing the thing"

"I'll kiss me darling box all I wants mate. This 'ere contains me life. Me mums stitches, me dads handicrafts." I opened the lid and clapped like a girl "Oh my goodness, I'm so gonna build you a campfire and invite John and the gorgeous one and ole blue eyes and Mikey and Jimbo and make damper and billy tea and we'll-"

"No burning lumber in the backyard, Aussie"

"Oh. OK. Well, I'll whip something similar up using the good old fireplace over yonder, behind your left plump buttock"

I guess that would be suitable..."

"Too right, it'll be schmick mate! I'll need more Tate and Lyles golden syrup for me damper!" Oh, my saddle. I lugged it out and picked through the trunk like a dingo going ape-shit for a slab of road kill "Don't just stand there, come look Paul" I hauled out mum's doilies and sniffed in her perfume. So gooood "Oh-"

Paul was carefully leaning over the contents. I raised my eyebrow in solidarity with his raised left one and grinned, then bounced up in a tizzy wizz! "Where's your book!?!? Where's your book, Paulie!?!"

"What book you fool?"

"The one that looks all innocent but inside it's like, full of dirty mad sexual positions! Where is it!!!?"

On the mantle in my room wh-"

I took them stairs three by three I was in such a hurry. Dashing back down I made it to the bottom step, slipped on the rug and fell on me butt "I'm O.Kkkk!"

"I never doubted" Sarcasm dripped but who cares, me trunks here undrowned!!!!

Pauls pinkie finger held up a pair of spectacles.

When I finally knelt back down by his side Sparkies eyebrow was raised in question, the right-hand side one this time "Mummys" I plucked them from his fingers and placed them daintily on me nose and peered over the top at him. "...Helped her see when she was doily tatting" I sighed and frowned and sighed and felt sad for a sec then grinned down at the, now, folded the specs in my hand; I blazed a much happier grin back up at Paulie and he blinked- one, two, three "Now-"

"You miss her..."

"Yeah. She was a good mum. Like they all are I suppose. Mums are like a recipe, aren't they? All perfectly proportioned with love, hugs, rules for your safe passage, laughter and forgiveness" I gazed into my brother's eyes and ran a finger over his cheek thinking of mummy and Mary. Pauls eyes blinked slower now, like a heartbeat. My words made him miss Mary. "Mums never go away I'm sure of it Paulie" I whispered "... So sure of it that I bank on it, I do. They surround us so much they are engrained in our heart, in our soul. Agree?"

"Mmmhmmm"

Sparks was at war with himself. I touched a nerve that ran direct to his heart and he still wasn't liking me but I nicked his heart and connected my own for a moment. Oh, his eyes; this poor baby missing his mummy for so long. Trying to be a man in front of everyone but still needing his mum to hold him up strong. His lips twisted; I saw the war, the tussle in wanting to break, to shatter but there I was... Theresa the wench, or wrench, however you saw fit to view me. He would regret if he shattered in front of me.

"Right!" I clapped my hands and turned away to the glorious sight of me trunk.

"What...?"

"Time to find your bracelet"

"What? Weren't we just talking bout..."

"You wouldn't have wanted to break Sparks. Not in front of me. I let you off. Let's move along shall we, I don't want to break in front of you either you know"

"But. I. Theresaa..."

"Book" I held my hand out for him to place the dirty naughty sexy filthy book in my hand. He nodded that my change of subject was warranted "Now I just need this..." I ripped the 'bookmark' from between the pages. He was about two thirds of the way through. Near the section on the..... back... door.......

Not that I picked the tome up and read it myself, of course. No way did I pick that dirty naughty sexy entertainers how-to digest up and flip through the contents and stroll down ninety-three pages and turn a teeny tiny corner of a page down for reference. Nope, no sirreee, not me.

"Nooooo!!" Paul yelp out the word then bit down on his tongue hard. He must be drawing blood.

"What?" Batting my eyelashes, I innocently gazed back whilst flattening the 'bookmark' down my thigh.

"I was. I don't- The page... Never mind"

"Page two twenty-five"

"Fucking fuck cakes... really!?!?! Gee-zussss"

"See this" I dangled the leather strap in front of his face. He tried swiping it thrice. I was too quick and yanked it away and tried again "See this"

"Yes, I see myyyy bookmark, you ugly marsupial"

"It's like pretty much near impossible to have an ugly marsupial Paul... Anyway, this here leather strap is not a naughty dirty sex books bookmark you wombat!"

"It bloody is too"

"Gee Paul I sent this to Mary, your mum, years ago! I made this. I scratched all those flowers in, I twisted the thin pieces into a braid, I etched out the darn kangaroo!"

"No, you did not!"

"Did too!" I laid the two other pieces, I had moments ago fished out of the trunk, beside Pauls. They were almost identical. Almost. I had these in the works after I sent Marys off. One each for my brothers. Snakes, rocks and cacti. They were male and stark looking, as opposed to the roo and roses and wattle.

"Nowhere near the same"

I went on a fishing expedition again and lifted mummy's piece out. It was identical to Mary's but now it was fixed in a circle. A bracelet. Paul grabbed it rudely from me; his thumb ran over and over all the parts of the picture. I sat back on my haunches staring blindly at Mother Mary's piece...

"Finish up that leather bracelet strap for her?"

The sound and smell of the match daddy lit from the tree beside him filling my nostrils like I was still there in the Mulga and his company. I could even recall the direction of the puff of smoke as drift and separated as it weaved upwards and across his leathery sun-tanned face.

The unusual way his fingers haphazardly held the durry.

The sparkle in his eyes

All his words flowed like a mighty heaving river back to me. Smiling at me. Caressing my ears. My senses. My heart.

"She'll like that piece...

...You made it lovely"

Fingers clutched the reins tighter, my nails drawing in, tightening and curling into my palm.

"Mary will think it's a book mark if you didn't give instructions for use, ya know"

"Diamond shape at the top, toggles bottom"

".....Sure as eggs, she will"

She did Daddy, she did.

"Where did you go?"

"Nowhere"

"Bollocks"

"I was remembering daddy and him saying Mary wouldn't realise..." My eyes turned glassy and I blinked.

My turn to blink hard- one, two, three.

Paul watched patiently then dropped his gaze to the leather in his hand "...You see, we were out riding in the mulga scrub for that pesky bull. I had made, and sent, this piece of leather a few days prior. Daddy said she would think it was a bookmark..." I gulped and laughed. It sounded a bit wonky but Paul only side eyed me, not full on stared at my heart cracking in his presence.

Just...

daddy had pegged the situation so very, very, right. The strap lay in my fingers flat as a pancake having been kept a bookmark.

"Do you want me to tie it?" I enquired of him. His eyes flashed angry, then softened.

"Yeah... but leave it so I can have me book mark again"

I flicked the leather over, round and through, tied it carefully and handed the piece back. Paul placed it over his hand, paused, then slipped it onto his wrist. Swirling the leather around and around, and around again.

"May I?" I held my hand out and his came closer, upturned. His palm up, I passed over his hand and went to tighten the strap. "There, wont slip. Tug here" I motioned to a ties' loose end "..and you have the bookmark back"

"I don't know what black magic you have but it's worked. You managed to conjure up things from my past and place them in your trunk" Pauls lips thinned but his eyes were softer, a bit like Jim's.

"Yes, it's the Dreamtime you see, the spirits help me fool Englishmen, or boys... so it seems" Paul stood and glared back down at me. We were back to normal. I sighed, he huffed and life would carry on. "Here, this is yours. It has the spikiest of the cacti etched on it"

"Haha, well thanks', I guess. Arrr righteo, I'm off to Janes she has a thing. Yeah a... Yes"

I bent back over, leaning into the trunk dragging more memories toward me. Paul just stood there. He was freaking me out. Had I sent him on the loopy train to Weirdville or something.

"Yeah, going to Janes"

"Have fun"

"Ok, right cheerio. Bye"

"Bye Paul, have a nice night"

His motor powered off, Mach ten or more. Thank-you Theresa for making me motor fly...

I sorted more items from the trunk, somehow it wasn't as necessary, or immediately important, anymore.

Why did I bring the billy can?

I can't ride into the sunset.

Why my leather kit, who would want my crudely worked stuff. Daddy praised my etching and braiding but really, it was barely legible, barely a rose, barely a cacti.

My saddle, knocked around, decades old. Those police officers had shiny new seats, easily pounds and pounds of excellent new craftmanship. Mine was worn, the stitching dark from sweat, the seat well marked and pitted. A stock saddle I had- with no stock!

I called Mikey, he was out.

Too late to disturb Jim.

Johns telephone rang out.

The lace doilies sat on the dresser, three inches apart; Mummy's mother of pearl hair-combs sat atop the larger, more intricate one. My Beatles album leaning by the wall under the window, pile of books beside it. Hankies in the top drawer. The trunk was empty bar for the dumb saddle. The billy can sat beside the garbage bin. I slowly, reverently, tugged on Daddy's flannelette shirt that had been bobbing about on the ocean for months and laid down out in the back garden under the stars.

The swag set, the night cool; and me.

Glossary

Hootchie - (plural hootchies) (militaryslang) Alternative form of hutchie- type of shelter

Introducing Scotty. I thought he needed to be included haha