Free Murderer's Thumb by Beth Montgomery Page B

brother. He’s called Matt. He’s got a good body. I like the way he swings his arms when he walks. But I didn’t tell her that.
    M.T.
    Saturday 26 August
    Old Thackeray’s a prick too, like Frank. I waved to him and he just rolled by on his tractor as if I was a bit of cow shit. I think he’s mean, the way he talks to his kids. One day he’ll regret it.
    I saw Emma today. She asked if I wanted to help her feed the calves. She’s really direct. Calls a spade a spade, is what Aunty Jane says. And she does. She swears her mouth off when the big calves hog all the food. I asked her when her birthday was. It’s January. I said she must be a Capricorn then, all that earth energy. She gave me a funny look, said her mum would go sick if she heard me say stuff like that.
    She wanted to know how I knew about astrology and palmistry and stuff. I told her I read a lot, but also because of Granny Bell. I told her she wasn’t a real relative, more like a mentor. She taught me how to see pathways into the future.
    Emma seemed interested but said she didn’t need anyone to guide her. The Brolga tries to do that 24/7. It must be shit having to hide stuff from her all the time, living a pretend life. Her dad’s no better. Grumpy old prick.
    I asked her about Matt and she just clammed up. I saw him again today. Always going to the milking shed. He’s nervous. I can tell by the way he looks at me. I make him shudder. He blushes every time he sees me. I think he must like me. But he’s shy.
    I like tall guys. I wonder how old he is. Emma didn’t say. She didn’t say anything about him, except that he doesn’t talk much, and I should leave him alone. She can get stuffed. I’m going to try and talk to him myself.
    M.T.
    Sunday 27 August
    I think I know why Emma didn’t want me to talk to her brother. He stutters. But I don’t mind. I like him. I like the way I can make him squirm. I said hi to him today and he stumbled. His face turned bright red. I walked with him to the milking shed and asked him how old he was. He was so embarrassed he could hardly answer. He’s seventeen. He’s got a ute already, set up for when he gets his licence.
    I asked if he liked going out and stuff. He said he liked going into town to get supplies and he liked going to cricket and footy practice. That wasn’t what I meant. I asked if he liked girls but he just went red and walked away. Still, he’s delicious-looking, and soooo innocent. I think he’s sweet how he loves animals so much.
    M.T.
    Monday 28 August
    Emma invited me to her house after school. The Brolga was there playing the piano. She said hi and gave me one of those looks that says what-the-hell-have-you-done-to-your-hair. Hasn’t she ever seen anyone with blue spikes? Guess it makes me look mean and she can’t handle it. Anyway, she can talk! Her hair looks shitty. Falls in wisps like old cobwebs. God that woman is weird. She asked if I went to church. When I said no, she gave me a horror stare, started muttering and walked out. Emma was embarrassed. Said not to listen to her mum because she has heaps of strange ideas. Apparently she burnt all Emma’s teen mags. Said they were sinful. A bit harsh.
    We made some sandwiches and watched TV. There’s an aerial view photo of the property in their living room. They must’ve paid a packet to get someone to take it from an aeroplane. Emma traced around the boundary fences. Their farm goes right to the edge of Pattersons Creek. The whole area looks like a big hand. The milking shed and the old house sit on the Mount of Venus and the paddocks slope into the fields of Mars (the palm) with Emma’s house in the upper field, overlooking the dam.
    Falcon Ridge Road cuts the outline of the thumb: a murderer’s thumb. The milking shed is right near the base of the fate line. Amazing shit, eh?
    M.T.
    Tuesday 29 August
    Emma was at it again today,