Sign up for our newsletter to hear
about new and upcoming releases.
www.ylva-publishing.com
Other Books by Emily O’Beirne
Here’s the Thing
Points of Departure
Future Leaders
Future Leaders of Nowhere
All the Ways to Here
A Story of Now Series
A Story of Now
The Sum of These Things
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
About Emily O’Beirne
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
CHAPTER 1
Willa
“The sooner you answer the question, the better it will be for you, Brookes.”
“I know.” Willa smiles. Long green blades snake over her fingers, grass so springtime soft she could sink into it, pull it over her like a cool green blanket. None of that yellow stubble from camp.
They are a logjam of limbs, light and dark, jumbled under the apricot tree. It’s so good to be home, back in the radius of the handful of people life has doled out to Willa. Everyone’s on the map again, placed within reach: Nan’s down the side, wrangling her grapevine into submission. Willa’s brother, Jack, is over the road, killing digital baddies with Tyler. Her sister, Riley, is inside, supposedly cleaning her side of their room. And Kelly and Maida have her surrounded on the slip of a lawn. Even though it’s interrogation time, it’s blissful to lie here again in the slick of protective coating that is her nosy, beautiful best friends.
The grass tickles her cheek as a breeze cuts past, and she idly reminds herself to borrow the mower from Maida’s dad and mow before Nan tries to do it herself. It can wait for a minute, though. In fact, everything can wait just one more hour. Because right now she gets to dwell in the bittersweet feeling that is a Sunday afternoon at home—Monday morning looming, but not quite there yet. At Camp Nowhere, all the days felt the same, the hours regimented by mealtimes and shower times and cabin curfews.
Willa hasn’t quite left it all behind yet. It’s like free-floating between two worlds. All her reference points are still about camp. She keeps thinking that at any minute a bell’s going to sound, directing her to the next thing, or one of the Gandry girls is going to crack a joke about the food or the mystery fungus in the shower blocks. She keeps wanting to answer Kelly and Maida’s chatter with “that’s like when Amira…” or “remember when Ling…”, but then she remembers that Kelly and Maida won’t know who or what she’s talking about, that she never talks about the people she goes to school with.
“Hey.” An elbow digs at her arm. “Answer the question, Brookes.”
“What was it again?” she asks, playing dumb.
“What school does this girl go to?”
“Brunswick Hill.”
Kelly wrinkles her nose. “Private.”
“I go to private too, remember?”
“Yeah, but that’s because you’re a poor genius scholarship kid.”
“We’re not exactly poor.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. That’s me. Well, you are a genius.”
“Is she smart?” Maida asks, twirling a dandelion between her fingers.
“Very.”
“Of course she’s smart,” Kelly says. “Do you think Willa would date a bimbo? What would they even talk about?”
“She talks to us.”
“She has to. We make her.” Kelly turns to Willa. “Hey, she’s not like that Freya chick, is she? I didn’t like her.”
“You didn’t even meet her,” Maida reminds her.
“Whatever. I didn’t need to.” Kelly holds a fray of black hair over her face, inspecting for split ends. “She was evil to Will.”
“Finn’s nothing like Freya,” Willa says, smiling.
“Oh, wow, would you look at the smile,” Kelly says.
But the smile’s not for Finn. Not this time. Willa’s smiling at these two. Because she loves them so. And she’s missed them. They’re the people who pull her back when she strays too far into herself, who force her to keep one foot in the land of teenager.
“Listen, you can’t go around being all lovesick and gross all the time now,” Kelly tells her.
Maida leans over Willa. “You know she only says stuff like that because she’s happy for you, right?”
“I know.”
Maida still does that—explains Kelly’s behaviour. As if after all these years, Willa still won’t know how to read her, won’t get that this is how Kelly faces the world she was dealt, by being brash and loud and big like a bird swelling its feathers to look more ominous to predators. Willa totally gets it. In fact, she gets Kelly’s automatic defence more than she gets Maida, with her sweet, slow, go-with-the-flow attitude. Kelly just dresses her fears as anger, that’s all, while Maida doesn’t seem to have any.
“So what’s she like, then?” Maida breaks a piece of banana cake into hunks and passes it out.
Willa frowns. How do you translate a person into the slipperiness of words? Even someone who is as what-you-see-is-what-you-get as Finn? “I don’t know. She’s really smart and thoughtful. And kind.”
“Okay, now she sounds boring. Kind?” Kelly pulls a face.
“What’s wrong with kind?” Maida asks.
Willa pops a bit of cake in her mouth. There’s an instant starburst pang, tangy and sweet. Cream cheese icing. The best kind. “Don’t worry, she can be feisty too. She’s definitely got opinions.”
“Okay, now I like her more,” Kelly says.
Maida shakes her head and swipes crumbs from her tights. “Imagine if we judged this hard on the guys you hook up with. Finn sounds nice. And Will could use some sweetness.”
“Sweetness?” Kelly pulls another face. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
This makes Willa laugh. Because Maida sounds like some honeyed meemaw from the deep South. Only she’s a million miles from it. Maida�
�s a classic inner-city Melbourne mongrel, Kelly always says proudly, just like her and Willa. Aussie, Greek, and Filipino are all tossed into the mix that made her, and somehow all these ingredients have conspired to make this doe-eyed, dreamy pixie with a haircut to match.
“Anyway,” Kelly says from inside a sigh. “I know I’m being judge-y, but she could be Willa’s first proper girlfriend, so I have to make sure she’s picked a winner. We’ve waited long enough.”
This is the good, the bad, and the ugly of telling them about Finn. Well, telling Kelly, anyway.
“So,” Kelly nudges her and grins, “most important, will I like her?”
Before Willa can give that question the sarcasm it deserves, a loud, wailing “Wil-la!” rides high in the air.
Riley’s on the back step, hands on hips, the ridiculously long hair she refuses to cut floating around her elbows. She’s wide-eyed and brimful with all the melodrama that Willa’s quickly learning that an eleven-year-old with a new, prepubescent sense of self-importance can muster.
“What’s wrong, Riles?”
“I can’t find one of my library books. They’re due tomorrow. I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Well, have you finished cleaning your side of the room?”
“…sort of.” She gives Willa a sheepish smile.
“Then the only surprise is that you’re surprised you can’t find it. It’ll be somewhere in that mess.”
Riley clicks her tongue loudly but doesn’t move. As usual, she’s waiting for Willa to solve the problems she can’t be bothered solving.
Maybe Willa doesn’t love this part about coming home. “Look, I’ll help you look for it later. But only if you haven’t found it after you clean up.”
Riley’s mouth moves towards a pout but second-guesses itself at the last moment. Instead she goes for that new, helpless look she’s been trying on.
“Just do it, Riles,” Willa says, fighting a smile. Is it possible her sister has learned even more guile in Willa’s absence? “Then you’ll be able to watch TV after dinner.”
The pout makes its victorious return. “You’re lucky I missed you!” She spins and flounces into the house. “Your phone’s ringing!”
Finn. It has to be. Willa leaps up and jogs into the shadowed kitchen. But by the time she snatches up her phone from the kitchen table, it’s stopped. It was her. Damn. Just the fact Finn’s thinking of her right now makes her blood swim harder under her skin.
The sun hits her right square in the eyes as she steps back outside, her bare feet slapping the concrete. There’s a thump and curse from down the side of the house. Nan’s standing in the narrow space between weatherboard and fence, glaring up at the gnarl of vine, her hands jammed on her hips. Riley all over again.
Willa edges down the path, fern fronds skimming her legs. “What’s wrong?”
“Support beam’s cracked, and the wire’s jammed in it.”
“Oh.” Willa peers into the tangle of stem and bright new leaf. “Want me to climb up and see if I can pull it out?”
“No. It’s going to need some pliers and a ladder, I think.” Nan rubs her upper lip, where beads of sweat have gathered. She’s been trying to downplay whatever illness dogged her while Willa was gone, but Willa can see traces of it in the ashy torpor of her skin. It’s been setting off flickers of worry since she got home.
“Should I ask Kelly to get her brother to come take a look?”
Nan nods, but Will can tell she’s only half listening as she scrutinises the tangled mess above her. “Or maybe I could just climb the fence to get to it.”
“Don’t do that,” Willa says hurriedly. Nan will do anything if her precious jungle is at stake. “I’ll ask Dave. He can mow the lawn too.”
“That boy will take forever about getting himself here.”
“Not if I get Kelly onto him.” Willa swipes some cobwebs from Nan’s back as she follows her down the path. “And not if you pay him.”
“Of course I’ll pay him. I always do.” Nan stops every few steps, inspecting her ferns, turning over fronds and picking off dead bits, master of all the green she surveys. “This garden. More work than raising children.”
Willa smiles. She always says that. “Want help with dinner?”
“It’s ready to go. You can switch the potatoes and lamb on in about twenty minutes while I finish repotting the baskets out the front, if you like. Throw on some of that fresh rosemary from the garden, and tell the girls they’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” But for the first time ever, Willa isn’t excited that the girls might stay for Sunday dinner. Only because she’ll have to wait even longer to call Finn. But she also knows that if she doesn’t ask them, Kelly will be making her own meal, and who knows what hippie fare Maida will have to endure.
They haven’t moved. Kelly’s thick legs are kicked up against the tree, while Maida’s petite ones are crossed primly on the grass.
Willa flops down between them and turns to Kelly. “Can you send your brother over tomorrow? Nan’s got a job for him. She’ll pay.”
“Then I’m sure he’ll find a minute in his busy schedule of doing sweet FA to help.”
“Nan says you two can stay for tea if you like. Lamb.”
“A Nan roast?” Kelly click her tongue. “Damn. Can’t. Got to go to work.”
“And my mum’s making nut roast.” Maida pulls a face.
“What the hell is that?” Kelly asks.
“You do not want to know. But apparently it’s an event we must all be in attendance for.”
“Lucky you,” Willa says. Canned laughter from some tween sitcom spills out of the house. She sighs and adds another thing to the growing list of things to do tonight. Because Riley clearly isn’t going to clean until Willa helps her. And Willa still needs to pack her schoolbag, iron her uniform, hang out her camp washing, and check that all her camp homework is complete.
Kelly yanks at a strand of her hair. “By the way, after careful consideration, Maida and I have decided that we’ll permit you to date this girl. As long as we get to meet her, stat.”
CHAPTER 2
Finn
“She goes to Gandry Park.” Finn opens the glove box and rummages through manuals, receipts, and odd car bits. Bingo. She pulls out a tin of mints. “On scholarship.”
“Uh-huh.” Her mum, Anita, is doing a woeful job of pretending to listen as she weaves the car through the tight Sunday afternoon traffic. Usually, if Finn dropped the news that she’s dating someone, there’d an Inquisition-level list of carefully-crafted, not-too-nosey-but-not-too-uninterested questions. Not “uh-huh”. And then there’s the fact that her mother—award-winning educator extraordinaire—didn’t jump all over the Gandry scholarship info. That’s a dead giveaway that Finn’s words are just gliding right past.
So Finn gives up. Flinching at the hot peppermint slide in her throat, she watches the slow-moving scenery as they attempt to depart the inner-north. High Street inches by in a chaotic montage of apartments under construction, old ladies pushing trolleys, and hipsters leading trends and dogs and children from café to café.
Anita brakes suddenly and mutters something under her breath. Finn glances uneasily at her. Her mother’s usually a chilled driver, the type to say “go team” instead of “hurry up” when cars are slow to take off at a newly green light. Not today.
Anita’s sunglasses are monsters, dominating her small face. Even with their protection, she still manages to look tired and deflated. It was the first thing Finn noticed when her bus pulled into the school carpark on Friday—how small her mother looked as she stood by her car, clutching her keys. And Anita’s never small. In size, yes, but in personality, she’s always been a lioness.
The first thing she said as she folded Finn into a strangle of a hug was “I’m sorry.”
And because Finn was so shocked by the sight of her mum looking that way, she just said, “It’s okay.” Even though it’s not. Even though coming back to a dad-less house has made ever
ything so strange.
Finally, they pull clear of the traffic and head for an exit that will take them to the beige boringness of the eastern suburbs. Visiting her grandmother has always been a hell mission. And not just because she lives forty-five minutes out of the city.
“So, why do we have to even visit Grandma Esther if you and Dad…” Finn doesn’t know how to describe whatever it is that her mum and dad currently are. Or are not. “She’s not your mum.”
“Because no one else will.” Anita leans forward as she speeds up to merge with the cars streaking past on the highway. “And because we are good people.”
“We are stupid people.”
Anita clicks her tongue and does that head-tilt thing she always does when she wants to agree but knows she isn’t supposed to.
“And why doesn’t Anna have to come?”
“Your sister’s working.”
“That’s it,” Finn says. “I’m getting a weekend job.”
“No, you’re not.” Now she’s listening.
“Why not?”
“We’ve been through this enough times, Finn. You’re busy enough as it is. If you want to be a student representative and go to painting classes and do all the other things you want to do on top of your studies, that’s fine. But there’s not enough time to work too. I’d rather give you pocket money.”
“You know, most parents would want their kids to get a job.”
“Most parents want their kid to get a job because they can’t provide pocket money or because they want them to learn a lesson in responsibility. We can manage pocket money, and we were also lucky enough to be born with a freak child who has the responsibility part down already.”
Finn doesn’t know whether to smile because her mum is being her mum again or to pout because she never wins this argument.
“You can get a job in the summer holidays. You can have three jobs then if you want.” Anita pats her leg. “Besides, you have to admit, finding employment just to avoid a monthly encounter with your grandmother might be a little overreaching.”
“But smart.” Finn watches house roofs streak past, half hidden behind the cement slabs shielding them from the freeway. “She’s going to say…stuff.”
“Yes, she will. About everybody and everything. And we shall listen politely, make chitchat, eat afternoon tea, and leave in thirty to forty minutes. And then we reward ourselves with pasta and a movie. And the good news is that your cousin got suspended from school, so I’m sure the spotlight will be on your Aunt Laura’s failings instead of our own.”
All the Ways to Here Page 1