“Sarah wanted a dog.” The words were rusty. “But she never got one because of Dorcas. She said Dorcas was there first and it wouldn’t be fair to expect her to coexist with a dog. That was seven years ago, she said that. Four years before she… before she…”
Carly stretched out a hand and grasped Freya’s. Her fingers hung limp in Carly’s grasp, as if she would never feel them alive again, feel the tingles of joy, tingles of life.
“You can say it.” Lily’s fingers stroked the back of Freya’s other hand where it rested on the glass. With gentle fingers, she removed the tumbler and placed her hand over Freya’s, turning it around so their fingers were linked.
Freya was silent. Warmth moved into her from the clasp of hands. Energy. Her best friend, Carly. And Lily.
She took a deep breath. She could talk about Sarah. She could. Carly had loved her as a friend, Carly missed her still. And Lily… She was a lesbian. She would understand.
“What happened to Sarah?” Lily’s voice was soft and the fingers that tightened over her own were comforting.
“Breast cancer. She was only thirty-seven, so she hadn’t had a mammogram, was too young for the screening program. No family history. When she found the lump, it had already spread.” Dimly, she thought this must be what it must feel like to be under hypnosis. The calm, silent room, the dim lighting, the gentle touch on her skin. The soothing voice. The urge to tell all.
“Tell me something about her. What was she like?”
“She loved to walk in the bush, took joy at being outside in the sunshine. Every day, she’d walk along the river by herself and come home and tell me about the black snake that crossed her path, a fish that jumped in the water, how the wildflowers had unfurled. Tiny flowers in the bush. She saw them all. She loved to prepare food and then watch people enjoy it.” Freya clasped her water glass with both hands, needing the absence of her friends’ touch to continue. “She said water was the finest and most beautiful drink of all. She appreciated it as others did a fine wine.”
Carly propped her chin on her hand. “She loved reading. If she recommended a book to me, I’d go and buy it, as I knew I’d love it.”
“She had great literary taste.” Freya’s mouth twisted. “Very highbrow at times, but she was no snob. If a genre romance was a great read, she’d recommend that too.”
“Was she also involved in the shop?” Lily rose and went over to a dresser in the corner and collected some glasses and a dark bottle. She returned to the table and set down the bottle. A muscat from Victoria. “Would you like some?” She quirked an eyebrow at Freya. “Or I have tea if you prefer.”
“I’ll have some, please.” The thought of the fortified wine was appealing.
“Carly?”
“I’ll stick with water, thanks.”
Lily poured two small glasses of muscat and topped up Carly’s water glass.
“The shop was Sarah’s before it was mine,” Freya continued. “It’s how we got together. I was teaching yoga and meditation in Mackay and running weekly classes in some of the smaller towns around, including Grasstree Flat. That’s how I met Sarah—she came to one of my classes. Yoga became coffee, became a friendship. Then a date. Six months later, I moved to Grasstree Flat to be with her and we worked together.”
Lily’s dark gaze was fixed on Freya’s face. She had kind eyes, non-judgmental. She invited confidences. She must hold all sorts of secrets, told to her by friends and strangers. Freya sipped her muscat. One part of her mind whispered that she would regret this in the morning. Sharing memories was as intimate—more intimate—than sharing bodies. Bodies were always on display; they could never be truly hidden. Memories, in particular the memory of a person, those were internalised. Nobody could know a memory, unless you chose to share it with them.
But still the words tumbled out into the room, into the flicker of candlelight, and the soft sounds of jazz still playing in the background. Freya’s words slipped into the spaces between the susurration of breath, took form and flight in the high-ceilinged room.
“Sarah was my soulmate.” Her breathing was shallow, from the upper part of her lungs. Her head spun from more than the alcohol.
Carly reached out again and grasped Freya’s hand. “I know, darling. You two were everything I aspired for in a relationship. You shared your lives, your work, your interests. And love. You had so much love.”
Freya squeezed Carly’s hand and released it. “We’d talked of having a child. Sarah wanted to parent, to see how she could influence a small person to be what they would be in the world. She wanted to carry a child. I was happy to go along with that. Sarah would have been an incredible mother. She was the nurturing kind. But we never got beyond the talking stage.”
“Maybe in your future you can consider it.” Lily’s fingers passed lightly over Freya’s forearm and then retreated, as if she didn’t want to push the connection.
“Maybe. It was always more Sarah’s dream than mine.”
The touch of light fingers again, in sympathy or understanding, Freya didn’t know which. She could fall into this. This caring and sharing, and before she knew it, her life would be out in the open, her memories no longer hers. Thoughts and images of Sarah, the moving map of Sarah that lived in her head.
A curl of anxiety unfurled in her chest, crushing the mellow buzz of alcohol. She couldn’t allow Sarah’s memory to be diluted in that way. Sarah was still a part of her; as long as she held the memories close to her heart, Sarah would never be truly gone. As long as those memories were hers alone.
She straightened in her chair, centred herself, drew in a deep breath, held it, exhaled through her mouth. As she drew breath again, she inhaled the memories of Sarah and pushed them back down inside her where they belonged.
Freya tried to summon the steely resolve needed to put her boundaries back in place. Piece by piece, she shored up the wall around herself, knit together the boundary again. But the chinks from the evening remained. Carly and Lily, crumbling her defences slowly, like moss clings to stone.
“I should go,” Freya said. “I have an early class in the morning. My prenatal ladies.” She placed her hands flat on the table and stood. “Carly, would you like me to walk home with you?”
Carly blinked, as if mentally wool-gathering. “Uh, no, it’s fine. I’m good.” She stood and adopted tree pose. “See? Steady as rock.” The pose wavered and she put a toe to the floor for balance. “A wobbly rock maybe, but still a rock.”
Lily’s face was washed clean of all expression. But if she understood Freya’s reasons for running, she didn’t call her on it.
“I can walk home with you if you want, Carly. That way Freya can prepare for her class.”
A flicker of resentment spluttered: Lily was now usurping her friend. But even as the lick of anger died, Freya acknowledged that was unfair. Lily was only acting out of concern for Carly. Freya nodded at Lily, an echo of her earlier reserve seeping back. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Why don’t you both come?” Carly held out a hand to each of them. “It’s not far. Twenty minutes will have you both back home again. And it’s a lovely night. Come on.” She steamrollered them towards the door, as if she were four, not thirty-four. She glanced back at the table, with the dirty plates and crumpled napkins. “Unless you want a hand cleaning up?”
Lily disengaged her hand from Carly’s. “No, don’t worry about it. Let’s go, then.”
Freya preceded the others down the stairs and out into the street. Carly was right; it was a gorgeous night. Still and clear, with a blaze of stars overhead. She turned to Lily. “There’s no need for you to come. She hesitated, wondering whether to kiss her on the cheek. It implied a friendship, an intimacy she wasn’t sure they shared, despite their earlier accord. She settled for a squeeze of the hand. “Thank you for a wonderful eveni
ng and a lovely dinner. I must get the recipe for that lemon pistachio cake from you.”
“You’re very welcome.” Lily’s eyes were huge in the silvery moonlight. It washed the quiet street with its cool glow. “I’m glad you were able to come.” She turned to Carly. “Thank you for coming. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed Carly on the cheek.
“Hey, not so fast with the goodbyes.” Carly manoeuvred herself between them. “You’re both coming for the walk. Walk off that wine.” She linked an arm through both of theirs and started purposefully down the street.
Carly’s tight grip on her arm left Freya little choice. On nights like this in the past, she and Sarah had meandered arm-in-arm along the river path, a very different experience to Carly’s forced route-march. She looked across to see what Lily made of this, but Lily looked comfortable, bustling along far faster than Freya would have expected.
They didn’t talk in the ten minutes it took to reach Carly’s modest weatherboard cottage. The house was dark. Andy must have gone to bed—or was still in the pub.
“Got your key?” Lily asked Carly.
“Don’t need it. Who locks their house around here? Goodnight, and thank you both for walking me home.” Carly pressed a kiss to Freya’s cheek and then one to Lily’s. She slid out of the three-way clasp, turned, and linked Freya’s arm through Lily’s.
“Safe home, girls. See you soon.” She was gone, leaving Freya standing in the dark street, far too close to Lily.
“I’m not sure she needed the escort home.” Amusement bubbled in Lily’s voice, but she didn’t disengage her arm.
“You’re probably right. But I’m glad we gave her the opportunity to talk anyway.” Freya’s arm felt hot where it pressed against the soft pad of Lily’s forearm. She slid her arm away and put a pace of distance between them.
“It’s a beautiful night for a walk.” Lily turned for home at a much easier pace than the one they’d taken to get there.
Freya pressed her reluctant legs into service and caught up. She was glad Lily didn’t attempt conversation. She wasn’t sure what she would say to her, not now, not after the unexpected intimacy of dinner, not after what was surely Carly’s blatant attempt to throw them together. She said nothing and simply walked beside Lily through the quiet streets of Grasstree Flat.
Back at the shops, Freya turned to her. “Thank you for dinner. I enjoyed it.” It was true. The words were polite, what you would say to anyone who had cooked you a meal, but the evening had been pleasant and filled with unexpected accord. Freya looked at Lily’s smooth cheek; what would it feel like against her lips? She wondered, too, what would happen if she kissed it. Would Lily turn into the kiss? Try to make it something more? After all, Lily was a physical creature, given to sensual pleasures.
But then Lily smiled, and with a soft “I’m glad you enjoyed the evening. I did too. Goodnight,” she slipped inside, leaving Freya staring at the black painted door.
Chapter 9
Pine nuts. Lily rummaged to the back of the cupboard in the vain hope she might find a bag she’d forgotten about. It was hardly an unusual item, but Grasstree Flat’s small general store had none on the shelves. The organic produce store on the main street stocked them in the big serve-yourself bins, but, as with most shops in rural Australia, that store closed at noon on Saturdays, and it was now three in the afternoon.
Lily glared at her cake ingredients lined up on the counter, at the dates soaking in black tea, at the almond meal already mixed with eggs. There was no substitute for pine nuts in her recipe.
In Sydney, she could go out day or night and find a Middle Eastern store or a chain supermarket and purchase pine nuts. She blew out a breath. It served her right for not planning her weekend baking frenzy better. A polenta flan cooled on the counter. Almond pinwheels were in the oven. But unless she found some pine nuts quick smart, her date-and-rosemary cake would remain unbaked.
There wasn’t a particular reason why she was baking. On a day when unseasonal rain lashed the hills, she’d prowled restlessly around her flat, unable to settle to do the accounts, or even to read a steamy novel. Due to the weather, she’d cancelled her plans with a woman who worked in one of Grasstree Flat’s many op shops. Janie was funny and sparky, energetic and outgoing, and Lily had been looking forwards to their planned bushwalk in the national park. A walk that had the potential to be a little bit more. Janie’s interest in Lily was obvious: her come-on unmistakable. She had also signed up for Lily’s class, and had said with a saucy grin that she looked forwards to putting the knowledge into action.
Lily still wasn’t entirely sure why, when she’d cancelled she hadn’t suggested that Janie hang out at her place. An invitation which would have been as obvious as “come up for coffee.” Had Janie come around, Lily was sure they would have seen out the cool, wet day from the warmth of her bed. Maybe watched the rain falling in a steady curtain as they lay entwined and naked on her pale green sheets. Maybe they would have eaten almond pinwheels in bed, getting nutty crumbs all over those same green sheets and all over each other. Maybe Lily would have tasted those same crumbs from Janie’s skin, seeking them out with her tongue.
She hadn’t had a woman in her bed for a while. Five months almost exactly. After Inga had left, she’d had a one-night stand with a woman she’d met at Mardi Gras. There had also been a couple of dates—and kisses—with a sweet and shy librarian. And then she’d moved to Grasstree Flat and there had been nothing except her own fingers and a variety of sex toys. Janie would have been an opportunity for fun, hot, sweet sex.
Except she’d made an excuse, and instead of spending the day with Janie, she was spending it cooking.
She blew strands of hair from her forehead. Where would she get pine nuts in Grasstree Flat on a Saturday afternoon? Carly could barely cook so much as an omelette, and she couldn’t ask Janie now. Her gaze glanced off the party wall between her flat and Freya’s. Freya probably had pine nuts sealed in a glass jar, neatly labelled and filed in her pantry between oatmeal and quinoa. Since dinner a week ago, she’d only seen Freya at yoga or heard her moving around on the other side of the thin wall. She hadn’t bumped into her prickly neighbour.
Lily didn’t want to think too hard why that was not a good thing.
Leaving the mess on the counter, she went down to the porch she shared with Freya and rang the bell. Instead of the usual buzz, there was silence. The bell must have broken. She rapped on the glass with as much force as she could muster, a smart rat-a-tat-tat. Again, nothing. Not for the first time, she wished she had Freya’s phone number. It was what neighbours did; exchange numbers. What if there was a fire, or Dorcas strayed, or Freya wanted Lily to water her herbs in the backyard? She was just about to knock again when she heard the tread of feet moving towards the door. It swung open, and Freya stood there. She’d been obviously caught unawares; her face was relaxed and soft, a half smile curved her lips. Every other time Lily had seen her, her mouth had had a hard, uncompromising set to it. Except for the last time, over dinner, talking about her partner. Sarah. Then, Freya had worn an aura of sadness, an air of life passing her by. Then she had been human.
“Hi.” Freya swiftly hid her look of surprise. “Is something the matter?”
Lily smiled. “I’m hoping you can help me. I’m baking and I’m right out of pine nuts. I know I’ve got Buckley’s chance of finding any in Grasstree Flat at this time on the weekend, but I thought you might have some you could lend me.”
Freya’s answering smile was brief, but it was there. “I think so. Come in and I’ll look.”
Lily followed her ramrod back up the stairs, her grey-streaked hair swinging lightly. She’d never seen it loose before. Freya wore her hair rigidly controlled for yoga, and the rest of the time a bandana contained it. Now, unbound, it was thick, with a slight wave to it that brushed her shoulder blades.
She followed Freya to the neat kitchen. The only thing out of place was a box of Assam tea and a dirty mug on the counter. Freya opened one of the overhead cupboards and rummaged, setting aside bags of walnuts, almonds, buckwheat, and besan flour before pulling out a small bag of pine nuts.
“Will this be enough?”
“Thank you, yes. I only need about fifty grams. This will be plenty.” Lily rested her hip against the bench, suddenly reluctant to take the pine nuts and leave. “I’m baking an almond, date, and rosemary cake. It’s wheat-, sugar-, and dairy-free and utterly delicious. I’ll bring you a slice.”
“Sounds good. You’re obviously a proficient baker. The cake you made at dinner was fabulous.”
“Too proficient.” Lily slapped her backside and grinned. “If I baked less, there might be less of this.”
Freya’s gaze snapped to Lily’s butt, as though she was enjoying what she was seeing. Lily let her fingers remain there, smoothing a circle over her ample cheek with her palm.
Freya’s gaze followed the movement. Seemingly with an effort, she cleared her throat. “You look fine to me.”
“Oh?” Lily cocked a brow. “You’re in the minority, then. Many people find big does not equate to beautiful. Or they assume I’m big because I eat junk or am welded to my couch.”
“One of the myths of modern society.” Freya’s gaze travelled up Lily’s body, back to her face, and Lily was caught in the piercing silver of her eyes. “I would put you at healthier than most people.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thanks. Now if I could just find a girlfriend who thought as you did, life would be sweet.”
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