All She Wants

by Marchant A. J.

  Jack sat the vacuum on the step. ‘Room is ready for you, Clare. Good thing we did yours too, Til. Dirt was an inch thick.’

  ‘It was not.’ Izzy chided him. Expecting it, Jack braced as she playfully backhanded him in the stomach, kissing her on the cheek with a grin and then going through introductions.

  ‘Well. This is it.’ He swept an arm across, pointing out the lay of the land, naming the visibly obvious as well as the unseen beyond the rise at the back of the house; only the tops of the sheds poking up. ‘Main house. Kids treehouse—’

  ‘Pirate ship.’ Will corrected with a whisper.

  ‘Dog run. Horse paddocks. Feed shed. Chickens. Outdoor laundry. There’s a machine, or if you want, there’s an old washboard to do it by hand.’ He waited for a laugh, but only got raised eyebrows. ‘Spoilsports.’ He turned, pointing over by the fence. ‘There’s the yard we kept the orphan lambs. Never got around to taking it down. Comet’s welcome to it, or if he’s more of an indoor joey, there’s a baby gate to put up if you want to keep the door open to make a breeze-through. Which I highly recommend.’

  Izzy waved for Clare to come inside and take a tour of the cottage, and everyone crowded in behind. Standing in the hallway entrance, Izzy turned a circle and pointed out Tilda’s and Clare’s rooms next door to each other on the left, bathroom straight ahead, and the kitchen then living room on the right. ‘It’s not much, but feel free to come to the main house any time you need anything. Or even if you don’t.’

  Tour over, their collective body heat grew hotter the longer they stood there, so Izzy herded them all back out onto the veranda.

  ‘I forgot to ask about rent. Do you want cash, or I can transfer…?’

  ‘No need. It’s all good.’

  Clare opened her mouth to protest, but Jack stopped her. ‘Place is just sittin’ empty. Someone may as well live here. Not like Doc is around much.’ He elbowed Tilda in the ribs. ‘Right. We’ll leave you to settle in.’ Jack lugged the vacuum cleaner down the steps and Izzy offered an invitation to dinner that was more of an order, spinning away with a smile after a pointed look at Tilda. ‘Both of you.’

  Bea clung to the veranda railing with her legs tucked up to her chest, Will pushing her like a swing. Tilda ruffled Will’s hair and poked Bea in the ribs, the tickle almost making the girl lose her grip, laughing as she sat down on the top step.

  Clare leaned beside her. ‘This place is…’ She seemed lost for words, gazing out and around.

  Tilda knew what she meant. ‘Yeah. It is.’

  Merry sniffed around Clare’s car, tail wagging lazily. The passenger side window was open and Comet’s head appeared, curiously watching the dog pass by.

  ‘You can let him out. Merry’s the gentlest dog I know. Failed at being a farm dog, but she’s one helluva babysitter.’

  Clare walked over to her car and reached through the window, gathering up Comet, all legs and tail. She crouched down, Comet reaching out a paw at Merry who sniffed then licked and nuzzled his chest. Assured, Clare put Comet down on the ground and Tilda noticed how much the joey had grown since she’d first seen him bundled up in his towel. He took a few hesitant hops at first, Merry nudging him along, and then he was off with Merry behind him, stumbling over his tail.

  Bea let go of the railing and sat on the edge. Will joined her, both of them watching the joey and dog explore. After a bit, Comet came back to Clare who was still crouching, one knee resting on the ground. He sidled in against her leg, Merry sitting down in front of them, huffing with her tongue half hanging out the side of her mouth.

  Clare pat Comet’s back with one hand, the other scratching Merry’s chest. ‘How’d you come up with the name Merry?’

  Will shied at the sudden attention, so Bea stepped up, jumping off the veranda and joining Clare. She squatted beside Merry and traced a gentle fingertip down Comet’s back. ‘Dad named her Murray first.’

  Tilda pointed over at the dog run in the shade of a willow tree. ‘All the working dogs are named after rivers. The kids renamed her Merry when she became a house dog. She does a dance with her front feet when she’s excited. Murray just didn’t suit.’

  ‘Wanna see something?’ Bea jumped up and let out a quick whistle that got Merry’s full attention. Everyone looked at Merry, who sat unblinking as she stared up at Bea, waiting.

  ‘Shake.’

  Merry lifted a paw.

  ‘Speak.’

  The dog let out a controlled bark.

  ‘Hug.’

  Popping up onto her hind legs, Merry put her front paws on Bea’s shoulders, resting her chin on Bea’s chest.

  ‘Kiss.’

  A pink tongue swiped Bea’s cheek.

  ‘Cheese.’

  Merry sat down on her haunches, her back ramrod straight and her front feet dancing, tail wagging up a storm of dirt behind. The dog shuffled, and then a smile formed, eyes squinting as she bunched her cheeks up, her little front teeth on show.

  ‘Home.’

  Released with a click of Bea’s fingers, Merry shot off across the lawn.

  Clare turned in her crouch, bouncing on her toes as her gaze followed the dog until it disappeared around the back of the house. ‘Smart dog. You’re good with her.’

  Bea grinned a smile just as toothy as Merry’s, crouching down again and patting Comet. Will sat down on the step next to Tilda, listening in from a distance about how Clare had found and rescued the joey. Tilda blushed when three faces turned to look at her, Clare recounting walking into the emergency room and their meeting. The awkwardness felt at the time was now brushed over with a glance, a smile, a twitch of something unknown deep in her gut.

  6

  WHEN IT CAME near the time to head over to the house for dinner, Tilda knocked on Clare’s door. There was no answer, but she opened it anyway. There was no one in the room except for Comet rummaging around in his make-shift pouch and then settling. Clare had only brought a few things in from her car, a couple of bags half unpacked at the foot of the bed, clothes folded neatly on shelves. A pile of books on the bedside table caught Tilda’s eye. She was curious to know what kind of books they were, but it seemed a little early to intrude in a stranger’s room to flick through their things.

  Clare had the front bedroom, and through the open window Tilda spotted her sitting out on the veranda, looking at something held in her hands. As quietly as the old wood allowed, Tilda closed the bedroom door and turned to stand in the front doorway, left open to let out the stuffy air that had built up. Clare must have heard her coming, because whatever she’d been holding was now being put back in her pocket, her eyes lifting to look out over the yard.

  They walked over to the house in friendly silence, stopping when Jack’s head popped up in the kitchen garden, a grubby hand holding up his hat, upturned and filled with green leaves of lettuce and bright tomatoes. He’d been busy picking fresh snap peas and tossed them one each over the low fence. ‘Perfect timing. Head on in.’

  Tilda peeled the green half moon and ate the peas out one by one, tossing the skin on the compost pile as they passed, heading for the back of the house. They kicked their shoes off at the back door and stepped inside, into the dark cool of the old food cellar. The concrete floor was almost cold underfoot, and Tilda’s skin prickled at the change in temperature, glad to be leaving the heat outside for a bit.

  The kitchen was the biggest room in the house, with tall bay windows that overlooked the paddocks on the side of the hill. Large rectangles of glass caught the sunset, streaming in over pale yellow walls that once were gold. There was the old fireplace with the original grate, now decoration more than function since the brickwork at the top of the chimney had crumbled and they’d had to seal the flue. Scarred wooden bench tops, a porcelain sink big enough to wash a baby in, generations’ worth of heights marked on the pantry door and a great big wooden table plonked in the middle of it all, mismatched chairs crowded around it.

  In the corner Merry lay sprawled across her bed, f
ur sticking up in crazy tufts as her legs twitched and pranced, her top lip snarling at whatever she was encountering in her doggy dream. Izzy was on the phone, earbuds in and the cord catching on everything as she moved around. She waved and paused mid-sentence to mouth, ‘Come in. Sit down,’ before continuing with her business call, judging by the talk of numbers and interest and earnings. The kids rushed to clear their homework, school books and pencil cases swept away and just as quickly replaced with plates and dishes and knives and forks.

  With everyone seated, dishes of food were passed around, accompanied by little pockets of conversation. Will and Bea whispered to each other about something that had happened at school, no adults allowed. Jack joked about the football players, how their singing was better than their game skills, curious about the two clumsy players who’d bumped heads trying to reenact some famous dance move, and asking how they’d fared. And Izzy asked Clare if she’d settled in okay. Where’d she grow up? Where’d she move from? Why’d she leave? All the usual questions, and Clare gave all the usual answers, vague enough not to overshare, but enough detail to appease. Will’s shyness seemed to be contagious and Tilda followed along silently, feeling like a kid sitting at the adult table for the very first time.

  ‘What about family? Any in town?’

  ‘No.’ Clare moved food around on her plate. It was almost a comfort to see she was a little shy herself at the attention. But Tilda noticed that it was the first time she’d given a one-word answer, sharing nothing at all.

  Jack’s fork tapped on his plate as he tried to pierce a devilish cherry tomato. ‘I guess you’ll be working with the local vet, then?’

  This made Clare sit up a little, gaze lifting from her own plate, shoulders relaxed. A safe topic. ‘I’m not sure. I was waiting for the new year, for things to settle before I introduce myself. See if he wants another pair of hands.’

  ‘He’ll always need another pair of hands. But if I was you, I’d consider setting up your own shop. Marvin, he’s a good vet. Thorough. But a pain in the arse. Have to pay through the nose to get him to come out to properties. And there’s plenty of work out this way, that is, if you do livestock as well as pets.’

  Clare nodded, and Jack rattled on. ‘Something to think about.’ Offering to talk to a few farmers. Listing out the recent problems a few of them had with stock. Problems he’d had with Marvin. Izzy jumped in, saying how easy it would be, that she could help Clare set up the business, help with the finance side, naming friends that Clare should meet, suggesting a lunch or maybe a dinner to introduce her.

  Tilda could see Clare was getting overwhelmed by it all, railroaded, too polite to tell them to back off. First night and everything was already being planned out for her. Tilda would freak out too if she was in Clare’s seat.

  ‘I’m on holidays.’ Tilda hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, cutting Izzy off mid-sentence. There was an awkward silence and strange looks from Jack and Izzy, as if she’d just announced that her underwear had polkadots and unicorns. Clare ducked her head, eyes glued to her plate, but Tilda could see her smile, see the shake in her shoulders as she tried not to laugh.

  A cheer from the kids broke the moment.

  ‘I want to be on holidays too.’ Bea slumped, elbows sticking out, sitting on her hands.

  ‘How about we swap? You be on holidays and I’ll go to school.’ Tilda had meant it as a joke, but Bea took it seriously, bouncing in her chair and beaming. ‘Can we?’

  Izzy reminded her about the Christmas play and how the class was still rehearsing. ‘Lots to do before the end of term.’ She cupped Bea’s chin, mirroring her sad face. ‘It’ll be here before you know it, Bug.’

  Still holding onto Bea, Izzy turned to Tilda, a nod of silent permission passing between—Izzy knew that whatever she suggested Tilda would gladly do it. ‘How about Til picks you guys up from school instead?’

  Bea and Will looked at her and Tilda nodded, smiling as another cheer went up, noticing Clare listening in from across the table. The family of four jumped into planning everything they wanted to do over the next few weeks, plans that included both Tilda and Clare.

  And as much as Tilda was glad she wouldn’t be sitting around twiddling her thumbs, she wasn’t looking forward to the fact that most of these plans had a Christmas theme to them.

  7

  TILDA LAY ON her bed with the sheet kicked off, a book cracked open and hugged flat to her stomach even though she’d long turned the light off to stop the moths bumping around under the lampshade. It was too hot to sleep. She’d showered, but it hadn’t helped, turning on only the cold water tap but then standing under a stream of frustratingly lukewarm water, a prickly sweat forming the second she stepped out. She’d only made it worse when she’d changed the sheets and gotten covered in the dust that had settled on the bed, sent flying around the room when she’d thrown off the quilt.

  Adjusting her pillow, she stared out the window at the half-moon, surrounded by a sky not quite black. Trying not to think about the hospital. Trying not to worry about whether Cliff would come in again—nine times out of ten, Tilda was the one who settled him in, the one who figured out his real underlying problem from the list of reasons he gave for being there. Definitely not thinking about the air conditioning that pumped through the big building, any sign of it being the height of summer easily ignored from behind doors and double-glazed windows.

  Unable to sleep, she launched off the bed and out of the room, stopping at the bathroom to wash the dust from her face and then going to the kitchen. The fridge buzzed as she opened the door, crouching down in the cool damp air escaping. The yellow light showed empty shelves except for a stack of containers with various mouldy food inside, a tub of butter, and a bottle of white wine laying on its side, gleaming. A shuffle of footsteps startled Tilda. She peered over the fridge door. Clare stood in the doorway. She plucked out the bottle of wine and held it up. At Clare’s nod she grabbed two old tin mugs, and they took the bottle and two kitchen chairs out onto the veranda, Comet hopping behind them.

  The heat was less oppressive in the wide open space. Tilda was tempted to drag her mattress out and sleep under the blanket of stars. Comet curled up below Clare’s chair, scratching at the back of his neck. Tilda opened the bottle and poured a mugful, passed it over to Clare before pouring one for herself, tasting and rolling the tart wine on her tongue, grateful for the cool relief.

  ‘I never sleep well the first night in a new place.’ Clare stared out past the railing. ‘At least there’s something nice to look at.’

  A silhouette of rolling hills stood out against a navy sky scattered with stars.

  ‘And decent company.’

  Tilda almost dribbled, holding back a chuckle until she’d swallowed her mouthful. ‘Wait until I drink enough to start singing. Might change your mind.’

  ‘Know any good Christmas carols?’ There was laughter in Clare’s voice.

  ‘Good ones?’ Tilda huffed. ‘No such thing.’

  In the distance came the shuffle of cattle. A dog barked, and another growled and then joined in. They weren’t in the dog run, likely out in the fields, guarding the sheep through the night. Tilda tilted her head, listening closely for a moment.

  She held up a finger at a high-pitch yelping bark. ‘That’s Darling.’ And then came a rough bark. ‘And that’s Yarra.’ The commotion faded with another whining growl. No urgency or malice. ‘No threat. They were probably chasing a rabbit.’

  ‘You can tell all that from their barks? I’m impressed.’

  Tilda shrugged and took a sip. ‘You learn to know these things. Part of the life out here.’ Tilda took the chance to apologise for her brother and his wife. ‘They like to organise. Don’t be afraid to tell them when they’re getting carried away.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ The quiet settled in, and then Clare spoke again. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have picked you as the type to collect pressed flowers.’

  ‘What? I’m not.’ So out of left field
, it confused Tilda.

  ‘It’s just—I found a box of… never mind.’

  And then it hit her. Jemma’s stuff, things she’d left behind. The pressed flowers were mementos of her work. Tilda had shoved it all into a box and put it in the corner of the spare room, meaning to send it off. She’d never gotten around to it, forgetting all about it after a while. Tilda explained, and was surprised when it seemed like Clare knew who she was talking about.

  ‘Phyl, at the pub. She told me how the town had lost their one and only wedding planner when Jem left.’

  Tilda clicked her tongue. ‘Phyl exaggerates. Weddings aren’t a roaring trade around here. Most of Jem’s work came from the city. She got most of it done by distance and day trips, but it became too much. Which is why she moved there. Made it easier for her.’

  ‘Must be hard. Long distance can be rough.’ Clare held out her mug and Tilda topped it up.

  ‘We didn’t get that far.’ The wine must have loosened Tilda’s tongue because she rambled on. ‘Even before she left things were… fading. She wanted a breakfast nook and weekends away and barbecues with friends and family.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tilda shrugged. ‘Maybe, but not in the same way she had it planned out in her mind… Then again, maybe not. I don’t know.’

  Clare chuckled. ‘So what do you want?’

  So many answers flooded Tilda’s mind; her loudest want was being allowed to go back to work. She slowly refilled her mug, the glass ticking against the tin. She put the bottle down and leaned back in her chair. ‘Do you wanna know what I really want?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Air conditioning.’

  Clare bellowed a deep laugh, clinking their mugs together. ‘I’ll drink to that.’