All I Ever Wanted

by Vikki Wakefield

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Kate asks me. She lifts my shirt to peek at the tiny hummingbird tattoo on my lower back. Clack.

  ‘Not really. It just feels strange.’

  ‘Like you have to re-invent yourself around it,’ she grins.

  ‘Nah, I think I’ll try just being myself for a while.’

  Lola and Gargoyle are the great love story of my last summer in Tudor Crescent. After Donna Tarrant did a runner with her children in the middle of the night and Mick took off a few days later, Gargoyle was left behind. Lola found him on her porch and there he stayed. She makes him porridge for breakfast and he sleeps by her bed at night; a month of Lola-love and you can hardly see the hollow in his side. He tolerates most company but at the sound of her voice his tail begins a slow, ecstatic wag that doesn’t quit. Gargoyle chose love.

  The first boarding call for my flight is announced over the speakers.

  ‘Okay. That’s me. I’d better go.’ I sling my bag over my shoulder and stand.

  ‘You don’t have to board until the last call,’ Mum says, her voice wavering. ‘Oh, I’m being stupid. You’ve been waiting to leave your whole life.’

  ‘Mum, I’ll be back. Promise.’

  Our eyes are streaming. She pinches my chin and eyeballs me. ‘If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t…’

  ‘Hunt it down and kill it,’ I finish. I know, I know, I’m a chip off the old block, and I’m okay with that. There are worse things to be.

  Matt shakes my hand then punches my shoulder. ‘Take care, kid,’ he says. When he thinks no one is looking I see him checking out baby Will’s ears. The little monkey grabs his finger and puts it into his mouth.

  Dillon shakes my hand, then crushes me in a bear hug. ‘Stay out of trouble.’

  ‘That’s easy, considering the precedent,’ I smile.

  Tahnee hugs me for ages. In her arms I feel the weight of our history. She’s different now, like what happened between her and Ryan has left her scarred. Her eyes have aged but most times when we laugh together it seems as if we’re still nine years old.

  Mrs Tkautz says, ‘God bless, child.’ I kiss her crepey old cheek and for a second she stiffens. Then she relaxes and kisses me back.

  ‘It’s not forever,’ I whisper into Mum’s neck.

  ‘Go,’ she blubbers and pushes me through the door.

  I have an aisle seat, but the businessman in the window seat takes one look at my new bag and my feverish glow and offers to swap. I flick through my French translation book while the other passengers board.

  It seems I’ve discovered my talent; I soak up foreign languages like others have a knack for numbers, or music, or physics. It fascinates me that there are so many ways to tell a person you love them.

  I feel the aircraft engine revving for take-off and look for something to mark my page. In the bottom of my shorts pocket my fingers find a square of paper. It’s warm, like skin—the quote I tore from Lola’s calendar, washed and faded but still legible. I unfold it and read it again, even though the words are etched in my memory.

  ‘Who, being loved, is poor?’ Oscar Wilde

  I can see them with their faces pressed up against the glass, waving. Wishing me well and knowing that I’ll be away for a year and come back different.

  My people.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am indebted to the team at Text Publishing for taking a chance on me, particularly Penny Hueston, whose wisdom and unerring pencil made this a better book.

  Thanks to my agent Sheila Drummond, for finding my book a home, and to Emily Gale, the perfect first reader.

  To the Professional Writing staff and tutors at TAFE’s Adelaide College of the Arts—Sue Fleming, Jude Aquilina and Jonathon Stone—thank you all.

  Sincere thanks to Dyan Blacklock, whose feedback and encouragement gave me the kick in the pants I needed to finish this book.

  To my wonderful parents, Brian and Julie, thank you for always giving me a place to land and for letting me be whatever I want to be when I grow up.

  To my Stepmonster, Michelle, thank you for your support and ‘The Magic Pen’. Despite what you think, you always say the right thing.

  To my forever friends—Liz, with you, I can say anything or nothing, and that means everything; Fi, I can always count on you to give the best reaction to good news (and bad)—don’t ever change.

  To my children, Mia and Roan—every day you inspire me. I thought motherhood meant the end of the dream, but it was only the beginning.

  And to Russ, who let me steal time away from us to write this book, my love and thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.