‘This is where you are now. If you want to see those deadly spiders I told you about, you have to go to this building here.’
I grimace my reply.
‘No, maybe not. Right then,’ he continues. ‘The devils are here, the koalas are over here, and the dingoes a bit further round to your right. We feed the dingoes after lunch so it’s worth coming to hear my little lecture.’ He nudges me. ‘And this large paddock here is where you’ll find the roos and the emus. Wallabies are here . . .’
‘Thanks,’ I interrupt, holding out my hand for the map. I’m keen to get going.
‘Oh, right, yes – here you go, darl.’ He hands it over. ‘Getting a bit carried away, but of course you’re old enough to read.’
‘I hope so.’ I smile. ‘Will you be at the Tasmanian Devils at eleven?’
‘Yep, I’m doing the talk so I’ll see you there.’
Map in hand, I walk out of the staffroom feeling full of anticipation as I head in the direction of the kangaroos. There’s a slight breeze in the air and I can hear the rustle of the leaves in the nearby trees as I amble along the path towards the boundary fence. Pushing through the gate, I find myself in a large paddock. Off in the distance there’s a group of kangaroos. The asphalt path circles the perimeter, but if I want to get close to the wildlife, I have to go cross-country. I pluck up the courage and leave the footpath, dead eucalyptus leaves crunching and crackling under my feet as I go.
The kangaroos regard me with mild interest as I excitedly venture towards their gathering. There are well over a dozen of them, lying in the shade of an enormous tree, a couple propped up on one elbow in an almost-human fashion. They have a reddish tinge to their fur and their ears twitch to ward off the flies. They’re much prettier than I imagined they would be from all the photos and wildlife documentaries I’ve seen. I keep my distance, not wanting to bother them, but they don’t seem phased by my presence so after a while I relax and turn my face up to the sun. The clear blue sky stretches out overhead and I soon feel the bite of the heat.
Stepping into the shade of the tree, I take off my sweatshirt and tie it around my waist before liberally applying some Factor 30 suncream. There isn’t another person in sight and a pleasant feeling washes over me because I like being alone like this. I have a sudden desire to sit down on the grass and stay there for hours, but a scuffling noise brings me back to reality with a bump. A large roo has risen to his feet and is sitting on his haunches, facing me. My heart starts to quicken as he slowly advances. If he wants a boxing match, I’m a goner. It fleetingly occurs to me thatthatwould teach my parents . . . but when he reaches me, he simply sniffs at my hand.
‘You want some food?’ I ask, irrationally disappointed that he’s not going to pick a fight. He gazes up at me with dark eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any.’
He’s almost as tall as me, but I’m no longer frightened. I tentatively reach out and stroke his soft, furry neck and he puts one dark paw on my arm. I giggle to myself, delighted.
‘What’s your name, hey?’ I remember Michael telling me about the Tasmanian Devil called Henry. ‘I think I’ll call you Roy,’ I decide out loud. ‘Roy the roo. And I’ll recognise you from this little chunk missing from your ear.’
At that moment, Roy’s ears prick up and his head whips round in the direction of the gate. I follow his gaze to see a large group of Japanese tourists bustling into the paddock. They animatedly point in our direction, cameras at the ready.
‘So much for chilling out on the grass with you,’ I say sadly to Roy. He turns and lazily hops away.
I wander aimlessly for a while, pausing to marvel at pelicans half my height and hurrying past scarily enormous emus with long, bendy necks. I eventually consult the map and realise I’m only around the corner from the koalas. I don’t want to be a typical tourist, but . . . what the hell. I’ll have to keep it from Mum though, otherwise she’ll think I’ve gone soft.
There are only a few people waiting in front of me in the queue to get up close and personal with Australia’s most famous animal, and I sit on the long wooden bench and watch as a sandy-haired man in beige shorts and a dark-green polo shirt feeds eucalyptus leaves to a koala while chatting to a couple in their twenties. There’s a family waiting in front of me and the two young sisters are bickering about who’s going to touch the koala first.
‘You can pat him at the same time,’ the mother says eventually, rolling her eyes at me. I smile at her as her daughters impatiently push through the gate to take their places next to the koala and its keeper. The oldest girl has hair exactly the same shade of blonde as Kay. Hot tears prick my eyes. I quickly brush them away.
I’m not an only child. My dad has two other daughters: Kay, who’s four, and Olivia, who’s not yet one. Olivia’s first birthday is in two weeks’ time, a few days after my own. I’m going to miss her party. I’m going to miss Kay’s in March. I’m going to miss so much . . . They’ll probably forget all about their big half-sister on the other side of the world. And the new baby won’t even know I exist.
Lorraine, my dad’s wife, is three months’ pregnant, a fact she only revealed to me recently when I raised the possibility of moving into their spare bedroom. It was my last-ditch attempt to avoid leaving England, and it failed.
‘Hello?’
I look up to see the sandy-haired keeper waving at me. The family have long gone.
‘Sorry.’ I jump to my feet, embarrassed.
‘Lost in your thoughts?’ he asks kindly as I approach him.
‘Just a bit.’
‘Are you English?’
‘Yeah. Did my deathly-white limbs give it away?’
‘Accent,’ he corrects, smiling. ‘Here on holiday?’
I shake my head. ‘For good.’Supposedly.
‘So,’ he turns his attention to the koala. ‘This is Cindy.’
