One woman's joy is the others worst fear.
I remember so many nights like tonight, propped up against the old stump, belly full, waiting for the first star and waiting for Nana to tell a story.
The other kids have noticed her too and they quieten down. Cousins cuddle and others lie around on the house steps or perched on the wide base of the tank stand. Nana is a good story teller and it shows.
Tonight is different, Nana carries an air of excitement. It's her birthday and we are all here, so I reckon we are in for a good yarn. She has never carried a book before but there it is, in her lap. Both her hands resting on it.
This story is important to her, I can see it in her face and the way she picks up the book, which I now realise is a diary.
She smiles and I understand that we are about to hear something different, something that has been a long time coming. A mystery from the past.
