‘That’s why I go.’ The last bit is always a loud mumble, followed by a physical assault from my twin. It is such an old argument I almost catch myself responding to her out loud.

Mum says this road didn’t always have a name so when they finally gave it one they used what everyone called it. How imaginative. There are a lot of roads around like that. A long dirt road, with deep ruts in it from recent rainfall running down the hill, curves up and out of sight. It isn’t steep though and it is mostly shaded. For some reason it always feels cooler on this road. I should ask the science teacher about it, see what would cause it. Probably the tree cover.

This is where the town hits the first hints of bush. Walking this road with Mum is like getting a history and cultural lesson – that is where her uncle used to live, here is where her grandmother lived, and sometimes her family stayed there too. Every few metres she’ll drag us off the road to some bush or tree, showing us the flowers or leaves and talking about the best uses for it. She is our walking connection to this place.

On my own the trip took less than five minutes, with Mum it always takes an hour.

I make it up there fast without looking around, just in case something sparks a memory of Laney. Over the cattle grid and out into an expanse that’s been cleared for some forgotten reason. Mum always points out the stumps in the distance where the old hospital used to sit. I shudder, looking instead for the gangs of whiptails that hang out up here. There is usually a joey, and they sit, stock still, hoping you haven’t seen them. One small move and off they fly at top speed over the rocky slopes and down into the gullies.

The dirt road ends at the big cement tank squatting on its own raised platform. Like an ugly king on his private little hill. On the edge of the flattened area around the tank is a giant boulder, worn smooth. One of my cousins says our people used the rock to grind food, another one swore it’s where women birthed their babies. They aren’t much older than me so I don’t know whether to believe them, especially that last one; it seems too exposed to me. Whatever its purpose, that rock is comfy.

I find my way to that boulder and fall into my favourite pose, legs crossed, back straight and eyes focusing on the bush. Shutting Tupac off mid-flow I throw myself into the silence. It is so close to the highway here but only the whisper of the odd truck comes through.