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of the generator shed. Between the sheds was a lean-to of timber and corrugated iron attached to an old caravan. A skinny old man in a sleeveless dark shirt stood in front of it, watching them as they drove past.
    â€˜Met the old fella yet?’
    â€˜No,’ she said.
    She waited for him to continue but he didn’t and the man in the rearview mirror slid out of sight. They reached the homestead yards, some of it old timber railings, the rest red iron bars. Frayed hessian shaded the round yard. The truck stopped at the gate beside them and she slid down on the ground to open it. The brakes hissed and she remembered as a child opening the gate for her father. Sometimes he’d let her steer, and when she was older, when her feet could touch the pedals, he allowed her to drive. He’d get the ute going in first gear and then leap out while it was moving so she could drive behind the mob of sheep while he ushered them on foot. All she had to do was keep the accelerator steady and clutch the wheel closely so she could see over the top. She remembered the throaty sound of the ewes and the bleats of their young and the smell of damp, crushed clover. Sometimes her feet would slip off the pedal and the ute would stall and then she’d swap places with her father and walk behind the sheep as they shifted like a white stain across the deep green paddock, the cold air tightening the skin on her face.
    The truck moved haltingly through its gear changes. It drove down and through the creek, where water reached halfway up the tyres. They left the taller trees behind and the country opened out. Rounded mounds of hills, spotted pale green and yellow, seemingly soft and accessible. It was only when they came closer that she saw the hills were steep and between the spinifex were slabs of sharp flinty rock. On the other side of
    Texas the road, bunches of grasses grew on the plain amongst sparsely leafed trees that seemed denser as they receded into the distance. She looked down on a lizard and caught the inside of its mouth, framed by the frill around its neck, as it stood briefly on splayed legs before disappearing into the grass as the wheels rolled past it. She held Ned on her lap and Ollie tucked closely into her side. She pressed her legs together to stop the skin on her thighs from jiggling with the corrugations in the road.
    â€˜We’re going to see Daddy.’
    Ollie jumped up.
    â€˜Where?’ he said, taking his thumb out of his mouth.
    â€˜At the base of them hills,’ said the driver. And then he looked towards her. ‘There’s an esky behind you, grab us a can, would you?’
    She reached behind the seat. There were only cans of Four X, Queensland beer. His mouth covered the opening of the can as they lurched over the uneven ground.
    â€˜Have you always lived here?’ she asked.
    One hand gripped the wheel while the other hand leant against it, fingers clutching the can. He didn’t answer.
    â€˜You don’t say much,’ she said, smiling, wanting to be liked.
    He glanced at her, sideways. The track turned sharply and he held out his drink for her to hold. The truck followed the thin strip of road as they bounced over rocks and holes. The grassy plain gave way to more trees: white trunks and startling green leaves and trees with bark like the skin of a crocodile. The dirt changed from red to a softer, loamier soil and they reached a dry riverbed. The driver changed down a gear and the truck chugged through the sandy ground. She thought for a minute they would get bogged but they ploughed on. She looked upriver where water during the wet would rush densely towards the sea.
    An enormous paperbark leant over the sand like an old man, and a little trench on the bend held a silver slice of water. The sun was low in the sky and as they came onto the flat where the trees were thin, the soft light turned the flattened grass into the colour of gold and the red hills brightened. Dust