‘That’s almost as bad,’ she said with a grin. ‘Here, I brought some snacks as well.’
She handed me a plastic box and I opened it to find square-shaped chocolate-covered cakes doused in coconut sprinkles. They smelt heavenly.
‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘They’re lamingtons, I made them myself. Have one for brekky, then we can go out and explore.’
With my mouth full of delicious cake, which tasted like a Victoria sponge with bells on, we went outside, where the late afternoon sun was overpowering, beating fire down onto the top of my head. From the map, it looked as if Alice Springs was easy to navigate, being so small. We walked down Todd Street, lined with one-storey art galleries, nail salons and cafés with chairs set out under the palm trees. We stopped for a drink and a bite to eat at one of them, and I noticed a huge dot painting hanging in the window of the gallery opposite.
‘Wow, look, Chrissie! It’s the Seven Sisters!’
‘They’re big around here,’ she said with a grin. ‘Better not mention you’re named after one of them, or you’ll get the locals coming to build a shrine around you!’
After reassurance from Chrissie, I tried my first plate of kangaroo meat, thinking that Tiggy would never forgive me if she ever found out. She’d had a real thing about ‘Baby Roo’ in the Winnie the Pooh stories Pa used to read us, and it had been around that time she’d decided to become a vegetarian.
‘What do ya think of the ’roo?’ Chrissie nudged me.
‘It’s good, a bit like venison. Aren’t they an endangered species?’
‘Strewth, no, there’s thousands of ’em bouncing all over Australia.’
‘I’ve never seen one.’
‘You’re sure to see ’em around here, there’s loads in the Outback. So, have you had a chance to find out more about Albert Namatjira yet?’ Chrissie looked at me, her bright eyes expectant.
‘No, I only got here yesterday, remember. And I don’t really know where to start.’
‘Well, I’d reckon it’s a trip out to the Hermannsburg mission tomorrow. It’s some miles out of town, though, so we’ll have to drive.’
‘I don’t drive,’ I admitted.
‘I do, as long as it’s an automatic. If you have the dollars to hire the transport, I’ll be your chauffeur. Deal?’
‘Deal. Thanks, Chrissie,’ I said gratefully.
‘Y’know, if you are really related to Namatjira, they’ll defo be making a shrine to you round here, and I’ll help them! I can’t wait to see your stuff, Cee. You oughtta get yourself some canvas and brushes, have a go at painting the scenery round here, like Namatjira did.’
‘Maybe, but my artwork has been crap for the past six months.’
‘Get over yourself, Cee. No one gets into one of the top art colleges in London painting crap,’ retorted Chrissie, forking up the last of her kangaroo.
‘Well, the paintings I did at college were. The lecturers mucked with my head somehow. Now I’m not sure what I should be painting,’ I admitted.
‘I get it.’ Chrissie put a warm hand on mine. ‘Maybe you need ta know who you are before you find out what you want to paint.’
After our meal, Chrissie waved a tourist leaflet in my face.
‘How about we go up to Anzac Hill?’ she suggested. ‘It’s just a short hike, and it’s meant to have the best view of Alice Springs and the sunset.’
I didn’t tell her that I’d already had my fill of sunsets on this trip, but her energy was infectious, so we trooped out into the heat and began to scale the hill at an easy pace.
Up at the top, photographers were already fiddling about with tripods ready to capture the sunset and we found a quiet spot facing west to sit down. I looked at Chrissie as she watched the sunset, her expression one of contentment as soft hues of gold and purple light tinged her face. Below us, Alice Springs lit up with twinkling streetlights, and the sun settled behind the mountains, leaving only a dark red line against the indigo sky.
After a pit stop for a Coke in town on the way back, we returned to the hotel and Chrissie offered me the first shower. As I felt the cool stream of water drenching my sweaty skin, I tipped my face up into it and smiled. It was great to have Chrissie with me because she was so enthusiastic about everything. Wrapping a towel around me, I padded back into the bedroom and did a double-take. Somehow, in the ten minutes I’d been gone, Chrissie’s right leg seemed to have fallen off, leaving her with only a tiny piece of it below the knee. The rest of the leg sat a few inches away from her.
‘Yeah, I’ve got a “falsie”,’ she said casually as I gawped at it.
‘How? When?’
‘Since I was fifteen. I got really crook one night, but my mum didn’t trust the whitefella doctor, so she just gave me a couple of paracetamol for my fever. The next morning, she found me unconscious in bed. I don’t remember anything about it, but I was airlifted to Darwin by the Flying Doctor Service, and diagnosed with meningitis in the hospital there. It was too late to save my leg ’cos septicaemia had started to set in, but at least I came out with my life. I’d reckon that was a pretty good swap, wouldn’t you?’
‘I . . . yes, if you look at it that way,’ I agreed, still in shock.
‘No point in looking at it any other way, is there? And I get about pretty well. You didn’t notice, did ya?’
‘No, though I did wonder why you always wear jeans when I sweat like a pig in a pair of shorts.’
‘Only bummer is that I used to be the best swimmer in Western Australia. Won the junior championships a coupla times and was gonna try out for the 2000 Olympic squad in Sydney. Me and Cathy Freeman showing the world what us Aboriginals could do.’ Chrissie gave a tight smile. ‘Anyway, that’s in the past,’ she said as she pulled herself to standing without a single wobble, as though she had just planted both feet firmly on the ground to take her weight. ‘Right, my turn to take a shower.’ She deftly used both of her strong arms to grasp furniture and swung herself towards the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I sank down onto the bed, feeling as though my own legs had turned to puddles of porridge. My brain – and heart – raced at a million thoughts and beats per second as I ran through a gamut of emotions: guilt, for ever feeling sorry for myself when not only was I incredibly privileged but also able-bodied; anger that this woman hadn’t received the kind of immediate medical care she’d needed. And, most of all, sheer awe for the way Chrissie accepted her lot, and her courage and bravery in getting on with her life, when she could have spent the rest of it feeling sorry for herself. As I had done recently . . .
The door to the bathroom opened and Chrissie, wrapped in a towel, made her way back effortlessly to her bed and dug in her overnight bag for a pair of pants and a T-shirt.
‘What?’ She turned round and saw my eyes on her. ‘Why ya staring at me like that?’