All She Wants

by Marchant A. J.

  Tilda hoped not. She had a soft spot for the old ute, the one she’d learned to drive in. The thought of it becoming a paddybasher made her heart sink. The sound of things being shifted around made her turn. Jack unearthed a plastic storage box from a loft area above the workshop, nodding for her to come over so he could pass it to her, sliding down the ladder after it.

  The box of outdoor Christmas decorations had seen better days. A layer of dust covered it, rubbing off on them as they lugged it back over the hill and onto the lawn with a six-pack of local brew balanced on the top. Tilda took a seat on an upturned bucket and opened a beer first for her brother and another for herself. They chatted as Jack untangled a string of Christmas lights, Tilda picking bits and pieces out of the box, remembered from childhood. As always she refused to help put the decorations up but was all too glad to point out if something was uneven, or in the wrong place, or in tangles.

  Once all the hedges had lights strung back and forth across them, Jack disappeared around the side of the house, trailing an extension cord behind him. He called out, ‘Ready?’

  ‘Fire it up.’ Tilda drained the last of her beer and put the bottle back in the carton.

  Nothing happened for a bit. Despite her indifference, Tilda leaned forward on the bucket, her own heart doing a tiny leap as the lights flickered on. Not a single bulb blown. A whoop came from behind the house. Jack skipped out and jumped with a fist pumping in the air.

  He joined Tilda, sitting on the ground beside her, cradling his hardly touched beer against his crossed legs. He leaned back on his palms and took in his handy work. ‘I can’t believe we’ll get to have Christmas with you this year. The whole family. It’s been forever.’

  ‘You look like William when you do that.’

  ‘Do what?’

  Tilda smirked at his childish grin. ‘Get all giddy and excited.’

  Jack made a noise deep in his throat, half chuckle, half grunt. ‘Father like son, I guess. Giddy gets passed on in the genes. Hotshot doctor, thought you’d know that.’ His feet flip-flopped from side to side.

  ‘Guess you got my share too, then.’ Tilda crunched forward on the bucket, stretching out her legs and back.

  The jangle of her collar announced her a moment before Merry nudged in under Jack’s arm. He sat forward and pulled the dog into a soft headlock as he roughed up her fur, her eyes rolling and tongue hanging out, huffing and whining happily. After a quick glance around, Jack reached behind, laying out on the ground as he dug out a tennis ball from the garden bed behind them. Using the momentum of sitting up, he lobbed the ball across the yard. The dog didn’t move.

  ‘Merry. Fetch.’

  But the dog just sat there, staring at him with her head tilted, and then launching at him, smothering him with licks and tumbling him back onto the ground. Tilda laughed, losing her balance and almost tipping off the bucket. She ignored Jack’s cry for help, laughing harder at his struggle to roll out from under the dog, holding her at arm’s length. Merry’s body arched side to side with each wag of her tail going crazy.

  At Jack’s pleading, Tilda whistled. Merry stopped, coming to sit in front of her, straight-backed and waiting with full attention.

  ‘Fetch.’

  The dog bolted across the grass, overshooting the ball by a good measure and then doubling back, picking it up and tossing it in the air, catching and chomping on it as she trotted back, her tail wagging.

  Tilda waited until the dog was closer before giving another command. ‘Merry, go home.’

  With a simple step, the dog changed direction, jumping up onto the veranda, the fading tick of her nails tapping out her progress towards the back door.

  ‘No wonder she failed as a working dog. I think you were the problem, not her.’ Tilda ducked back from Jack’s reach, his finger and thumb crooked and loaded and ready to flick her arm.

  Light was fading, the sun half sunk behind the horizon. Tilda tossed the leftover decorations back in the box while Jack used his arm to wrap a string of unused lights into a neat bundle.

  ‘You know mum and dad were arguing about who’s car they’ll drive out here?’ Jack chuckled while he spoke, amused at the absurdity. ‘Both wanted their own, and neither wanted to give in. Izzy suggested they come in separate cars, and now they’re arguing about what route to take and who leads.’

  ‘I thought getting divorced solved all that.’ Tilda wasn’t as amused as him. ‘They had to ruin it all by getting back together.’

  ‘Tilly.’ Jack chided, his mouth tight and his head dipped, shaking. ‘You’re so jaded.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  But Jack said nothing more, just held out his arm, the lights wrapped too tight for him to slide them off. ‘Help.’

  Tilda paused, then gave in, needing to stand up to get leverage and almost pulling Jack off the ground with the effort. She wrapped the last bit of cord around the middle of the bundled lights and dropped them back in the box.

  ‘Do you reckon she’ll stick around? Clare?’ Jack rubbed his arm, turning and inspecting the red and rubbed skin near his elbow. Few out-of-towner’s stayed long, unable to handle the harshness and unpredictability of rural living. Jemma was the most recent to leave, and the town was still recovering from the void.

  ‘Don’t know.’ Tilda glanced back over her shoulder. Behind them, through the big bay windows, she could see Clare and the kids moving around the kitchen. Merry was laid out on the floor, her fur pressed flat to the glass. A flurry of butterflies in her stomach startled her, a flash of hands touching, holding. ‘She doesn’t seem the type to just pick up and leave a place without reason. Doesn’t seem the city type either.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jack stood, brushing grass and dirt from his backside. ‘I hope she stays. Could use a good vet like her around here.’ He clicked the lid back on the box and hefted it up. ‘Coming inside?’

  Lost in her own thoughts, Tilda glanced up, noticed he was waiting for an answer. ‘In a minute.’

  His footsteps faded. Tilda traced a mindless fingertip along the side of her hand, still feeling a ghost of the zap at their hands touching. She stared at the Christmas lights, hypnotised by their flashing movements, wondering if it was just the static of the dog’s fur, or if it was Clare’s touch.

  There was a tap on the glass behind and Tilda turned. Clare and the kids were standing in the window, admiring the decorated yard. Bea waved urgently at Tilda, so she rolled up off the bucket, righting it again under the tap and heading for the back door.

  11

  TILDA DAWDLED THROUGH the cool of the food cellar, but she didn’t get far into the kitchen before Izzy turned her back around, shooing her out before she could track grass clippings through the house. ‘You and your brother, you’re as bad as each other.’

  ‘But I took my shoes off.’ Tilda stumbled and tried to duck around Izzy, who kept steering her towards the back door.

  ‘Come back when you’ve showered.’ Izzy gave her one last push and closed the door, waving at her through the glass, locking it when Tilda pulled a face, laughing. Tilda trudged back around the side of the house, about to jump off the veranda when she heard Clare call through an open window, teasing. ‘I’ll save you a seat and some icing.’

  Showered and changed, Tilda was back so fast it made Clare laugh as she looked up from the star cookie she was piping red icing around. ‘What did you do? Hose off outside and then spin around to dry off?’

  ‘Hilarious.’ Tilda gripped the back of Will’s chair. Only the top of his and Bea’s heads visible, both kids busy at work. The kitchen smelled like flour and sugar and ground ginger and warmth. There was no free space; the counters and kitchen table were covered in trays of cookies and bowls of colourful icing and sheets of gingerbread, cellophane, ribbons, piping bags, and mixing spoons and ramekins of edible silver balls and glitter pieces. ‘Where’s your folks?’

  Will shrugged, carefully plopping a piece of star-shaped glitter on each blob of icing he’d pla
ced at the ends of the branches of a tree cookie.

  Finished with her star, Clare put it on a tray with other decorated cookies. She eased her chair away from the table, leaning back and stretching, a stray hand reaching down, a knuckle itching the side of her thigh and rubbing a wide circle around her stitches, careful not to touch them.

  Tilda took her hand and lifted it away. ‘Stop scratching.’

  Her order was met with a frustrated groan, Clare scrunching up her nose. ‘I can’t wait until they’re out.’

  Tilda glanced at the cut. ‘Another day or so. Find me and I’ll take them out.’

  ‘It’s alright. I can do it.’ Clare was trying to turn her leg to get a better look, a contortionist on a chair. ‘I’ve taken enough stitches out of animals.’ She gave up, shifting back around in her seat and looking up at Tilda with a sheepish smile. ‘Might be easier if you do it, though.’

  At the end of the table Bea was busy making something odd looking, almost shaped like a pinecone. It was a model of a Christmas tree, made of gingerbread cookies stacked up. She lifted the plate it was on, holding it up for Clare to see. ‘Is this right?’

  ‘Perfect. You’ll have the best Christmas cookies in the whole school.’

  Bea grinned as she put the plate back on the table, squeezing out more icing to use as mortar to keep the pieces of the tree in place.

  ‘You teach her that?’

  Clare nodded.

  Tilda sat down. ‘Show me how?’

  ‘Sure.’ Clare pulled her chair back to the table, squeezing in beside her. Tilda watched at first, starting her own model tree and quickly stuffing it up, letting Clare help until she got the hang of the pattern in which to stack the pieces. Silence fell. Elbows and hands bumped as they reached for things. Soon Tilda was lost in the precision and repetitiveness of it, starting from the bottom and building up and in, until a real pint-sized cookie tree came to life.

  She’d almost finished her second when she realised she was squinting, looking up to see the sun had gone behind the hills. She got up and turned the lights on over the table, realising just how dark it had gotten when the colours came to life. Decorated cookies were set out on trays, smiling gingerbread faces and sparkling stars and baubles spotting flat trees. The three-dimensional cookie trees were on a separate tray, yet to be decorated, but they looked amazing just as they were.

  ‘How’s it going out here?’ Izzy walked out from the back room, cheeks flushed and a half smile on her face, the hair at the back of her neck damp. A grinning Jack came out a step behind, reaching out an arm and tugging Izzy’s shirt, his skin pink from a long and hot shower. Tilda caught a red blush rising in Izzy’s cheeks as she dipped her head away to pull another tray of cookies out of the oven, searching for a place to put it. A knowing glance and a smile on Clare’s face made Tilda blush, knowing they’d both seen the same thing, or at least assumed the same thing.

  Jack came over to the table, his hair dripping with water. He shook his head over Bea and Will, making them scream and laugh and push him away as he reached over and stole a cookie. His question of ‘Pizza for dinner?’ was met with an enthusiastic cheer and he kissed Izzy’s cheek as he went by, ducking out through the food cellar. His ute started up a moment later, radio up loud for the drive into town.

  Izzy wandered over, not meeting anyone’s eye, covering her self-conscious flush by scanning the trays. ‘They look great. I’ve got some work to catch up on before Jack gets back but—’

  ‘We’ve got clean up covered.’ Tilda waved her away, but Will perked up in his seat.

  ‘What about my camel costume? We had dress rehearsal for the play today and we were the only one’s still in uniform.’ The corners of his mouth were down-turned, well-practiced puppy eyes staring up at his mum. ‘My back half kept wandering off. ’

  Izzy tried not to laugh as she ran a hand over his head, fluffing up his hair. ‘It’ll be ready soon, I promise. You’ll be the best dressed camel in the play.’

  ‘We’re the only camel. But it won’t matter if we don’t actually look like one.’

  Izzy rolled her eyes, talking over Will’s head to Clare and Tilda. ‘Two kids make up a camel but I get to make the whole costume.’ With a kiss to the tops of both kids’ heads, she walked away, muttering. ‘As if I don’t have enough to do. Not like Tony’s mum, that bit—’ Her voice faded out, the office door sliding closed.

  Once the decorating was done, Tilda moved Bea and Will over to the floor of the living room with the job of cutting up cellophane to wrap the cookies. Piling up the last of the icing bowls from the table, she looked in on them. Unmoving, scissors in one hand, a sheet of cellophane in the other, they stared up at the cartoons on the television screen. Filling the sink, Tilda took the job of washing up while Clare grabbed a tea towel, ready to dry the bigger things like bowls and trays, making a pile ready to put away.

  ‘Admit it.’ Clare’s hip bumped into Tilda’s.

  ‘What?’ Tilda passed her a large ceramic bowl dripping with suds.

  ‘You had fun.’

  Tilda bounced an eyebrow, splashing water about as she turned and manoeuvred an oversized cookie tray in the sink. ‘Well sure. But we could have been drawing faces on golf balls and I would’ve had fun.’

  ‘Were you an arts and crafts kid? Construction paper and safety scissors, glue and glitter?’

  ‘Never glitter. But yeah. I like doing things with my hands.’

  ‘Really?’ The single word was slow and drawn out, a curious tone lifting it at the end, making Clare’s lips curl into a smile.

  Tilda grabbed a plate, sending a cascade of sprinkles into the water that coloured the frothy bubbles into a tie-dye rainbow. Clare was still drying the ceramic bowl, so she reached over to slot the plate into the drying rack just as Clare leaned forward to put the bowl on the counter.

  Their sides pressed together, arms crossed in a tangle. Tilda looked up, an apology frozen on her tongue when she saw how close Clare’s mouth was, the smallest of movements before their lips met. Clare’s kiss was the softest touch. Yet clumsy, the way her lips caught on Tilda’s bottom lip, pulling slightly, disarming and delicately urgent. A kiss that could stop a person in their tracks. A warmth bloomed where they touched, Tilda losing all sensation of where she stopped and where Clare started. Their lips came apart, the smallest gap before meeting again, harder, the smallest moan in the back of Clare’s throat, Tilda breathing her in, nutmeg and sun-warmed skin and dust.

  Still holding the plate above the drying rack, Tilda lifted her other hand. Her fingertips were about to touch Clare’s cheek when soapy water dripped from her hand and ran down her arm. Tilda hesitated, and the plate clattered against the metal rungs of the rack. It was a tiny distraction, a tiny pause, but it was enough to break the moment, a bubble popping as they pulled apart. A little laugh escaping, their cheeks flushed, both flustered.

  ‘The plate. My hand… it was—’

  ‘Sorry. I thought you were—’

  They’d spoken at the same time, and now both clamped their mouths shut, an awkward moment of unspoken tension. More than anything Tilda wanted to rewind, wanted to kiss her again, but was too scared, worried she’d overstep, that it’d been a mistake in Clare’s mind.

  Any possibility was taken away when Clare stepped back, their bodies no longer touching, a connection lost mid-sentence.

  ‘Must be something in the air.’ Clare joked as she picked up the plate, dried it and placed it on the counter, holding her hand out. Tilda stared at it before realising she was waiting for the next thing to dry, rushing to scrub a bowl spotted with hardened red icing and handing it over, holding on a second too long after Clare took it, a glance passing between them, nervous eyes and shy smiles and a bubble of laughter.

  12

  AFTER SPENDING ANOTHER day and a half bored out of her mind, Tilda wandered through the shearer’s cottage looking for something, anything to do. The kids were at school, Izzy was working, and Clare had gone al
ong with Jack to meet the farmers on neighbouring properties. Tilda was sure Clare was avoiding her as much as she was avoiding Clare. Neither brought up their kiss at the sink, let alone gave any sign of it being repeated. Wandering into the kitchen, she stood in front of the fan for a bit, then opened and closed every cupboard, and then stared into the fridge for a good minute before deciding she didn’t feel like anything in there. She grabbed an apple from the bowl and took it outside with her.

  It was a strange day, weather-wise. The sky wasn’t blue, but it wasn’t quite cloudy; white wisps brushed a messy pattern across the sky. The light was heavier, dim. And the air was different, charged, almost humid. At the sight of Merry and Comet laying together on either side of the lamb yard fence, Tilda went back for a knife. She cut up the apple and shared slices around; Merry crunching noisily and making a mess on the ground while Comet ate methodically, holding the slice in his paws and chewing each small bite quietly.

  When the one-sided conversation got old, Tilda went over to the main house, wondering if Will’s Xbox was still hooked up and working, a good way to waste a few hours. Tiptoeing, she was careful to be quiet as she came through the food cellar and kitchen, but then she heard swearing and what sounded like something being thumped coming from Izzy’s office. She stepped up to the door, slid it halfway open and listened in.

  ‘I know Jonathan. The file should be there.’

  Izzy had a headset on, the microphone jutting out and around her cheek, the cord connected to the phone jolting each time she whacked at the top and sides of a sewing machine.

  ‘Let go you friggin’ piece of—No, not you Jonathan. This bloody thing is eating my camel—’ She gave it one last bash and sat down into a chair, startled as it rolled back. Tilda bounced up on her toes to see over Izzy’s shoulder. Brown velvet fabric had bunched up and tangled around the needle, the machine whirring and juddering.

  ‘I uploaded it twenty minutes ago.’ Izzy rubbed a hand across her forehead.