‘No.’ Tilda sat up. ‘I don’t mean the usual get-to-know-you spiel. I mean the real you, the little things no one else knows.’
Clare made a little noise in her throat, looking down at her feet, toes trailing in the water. ‘You first.’
Tilda thought about it. ‘Uh. Okay. Chickens scare the crap out of me—’ She made a face at the little chuckle that escaped from Clare. ‘But I can face off with an angry cow any day of the week… I have friends my age, but I’d rather hang out with a sixty-something year old co-worker because she speaks her mind and has a heart as big as her imagination… and… when I worked at a big city hospital, I never wanted to be there. Now, at Ashton County, I never want to leave.’
Clare chewed at her lip, silent until Tilda nudged her. ‘Your turn.’
She pulled her legs up and crossed them, turning to face Tilda. ‘Any animal without hair, fur or feathers creeps me out… Everything I own fits in the back of my car… And I hate the winter and the cold, but I love snow.’ Finished, Clare turned around and put her feet back in the water.
‘I agree about that whole no fur or feathers thing. A friend in the city had one of those hairless dogs, an old one. It’d jump on me every time I sat down, little tongue hanging out the side of its toothless mouth. It wasn’t even like touching normal skin.’ Tilda’s skin crawled just thinking about it.
‘It’s creepy, right?’ Clare bubbled out a few chuckles, leaning forward and reaching her fingertips down to the water.
They were no longer under the shade, warmth building as the sun soaked into the rock beneath them. Tilda took off her shirt and dropped it on the rock before scaling down and over a few more, shucking her shorts off as she found the gap at the edge of the waterfall, lowering herself down. She was now level with where the water went over the edge. A cool mist settled all over her skin, making her shiver and urging her on as she slid down a little further, using rocks and roots as handholds until she was halfway down the cliff and standing on a big rock jutting out into the waterfall.
‘What’re you doing?’
Tilda looked up at Clare’s head poking out, staring down at her. She waved up at her, smiled. ‘Going for a swim.’ And without hesitation, she dove off the rock, arching towards the pool below.
She felt it, the moment her fingertips touched the surface of the cool water, her body slicing through it a split second later. The heat of the day washed away as she tumbled around, light filtering through the water, clear and guiding as she kicked up, breaking the surface with a gasp.
Clare stood on the spot she’d just dove from, Tilda’s clothes bundled in her hand. ‘Are you insane?’
‘Jump. It’s nice and cool.’ Tilda was treading water, her body lifting up as she yelled over the hush of the water hitting the surface of the pool. ‘It’s safe. Been coming here since I could swim, and I’ve never once been able to find the bottom.’
Unconvinced, Clare scrambled down the cliff, all the way to the bottom, balancing along the rocks and over to where there was a stretch of dirt between the water and trees. Tilda dove under again, did an underwater somersault. When she came back up, wiping water from her stinging eyes, Clare was at the edge of the pool, both of their clothes in a pile behind her. She waded in a few steps and then, with a graceful dive, she was in. Tilda spun and kicked, tracking Clare’s shadow as she swam by underwater.
Bubbles broke the surface a moment before Clare came up near the waterfall, teeth chattering behind a big smile, her movements jolting as her arms waved beneath the surface. ‘Cold.’
‘Wuss.’ Tilda ducked just in time to miss the spray of water Clare sent flying at her. She swam underwater as long as her stolen gasp of breath lasted, hidden by the froth of the waterfall as she popped up right beside Clare, scaring her.
Clare got her back, splashing and spinning away onto her back, kicking up a storm of water and ripples that forced Tilda to escape backwards, fighting to see and breathe as she caught the brunt of the waterfall on the top of her head. Pushing against the water, she moved backwards again.
It was dim behind the curtain of water, the pool and the trees out of sight, nothing but a little cave with a rock ledge and dripping walls that caught tiny sparks of light, reflecting them back in streaks of colour and mist. Clare called out, but Tilda couldn’t understand her with all the noise. A moment later she popped up beside Tilda, so close their hands and feet bumped as they trod water.
‘You know, I forgot—’ Tilda started but Clare shook her head, pointing a finger to her ear. Tilda moved closer, leaned in so she was near Clare’s ear. ‘I forgot to add something before.’ She pointed up, hoping Clare would figure what she meant.
‘What?’ Clare mouthed, turning again so her cheek almost pressed to Tilda’s lips.
Tilda reached out blindly, finding and using the rock ledge to steady herself. ‘No one has ever cared enough to want to change my mind about anything.’ Her grip on the rock slipped just as she finished. Clare’s hand shot out, catching Tilda just as she went under and pulling her up, their lips touching before Tilda could catch her breath. They kept each other afloat as hands roamed, hidden behind the curtain of water as they explored one another.
22
IT WAS A rush to find a spot to spend the night before the light faded. They found the perfect camping spot with no one else around, the bonus being that it was at the top of a hill. Their view of the setting sun was unobstructed, glimpsed as they chucked things from the tray and then organised the mess they’d made.
They uncovered the mattresses, and everything they didn’t need they put into the cab. They left the cooler on the ground and chucked the sleeping bags into the tray, leaving them rolled up, waiting to see if they’d even need them; the sun had set, but the heat was hanging around, no breeze to blow it away. Working together they hooked the mozzie net to each corner of the back of the cab and then pulled it tight, angling it down and attaching it to the end of the tray, tucking the sides under the mattresses to make sure not a single creepy crawly or flying insect could sneak in.
They ate sitting on the roof of the cab, containers of food spread around them. No plates, just cutlery. Tilda had borrowed Jack’s new battery-powered camping lantern, and fluorescent light glared up from below.
Clare forked a piece of potato salad and popped it into her mouth with a half-smile, a cheeky glint in her eye. ‘Dinner by torchlight. How romantic.’
‘Just so you know, I didn’t plan for any of this to—’
Clare leaned in and shut her up with a quick kiss, sitting back just as suddenly. ‘I was being sarcastic—’ It caught her just as unaware when Tilda pulled her back in. The container of satay chicken slid off the edge and thumped to the ground, the noise pulling them apart and making them laugh. They ate until they couldn’t fit in another bite and then packed everything back into the cooler. Yawning after a long day, Tilda climbed into the tray and held the end of the net up for Clare to duck under, tucking it back in. The foam mattress shifted a little as Tilda reached up to turn off the lamp and then rolled onto her back, Clare doing the same on her own mattress. Tilda lifted a hand to the mozzie net, fiddling with it and angling it just so, the stars visible through the mesh. The sky, the trees, all around them was pitch black and dark shadows.
‘Does this mean we’re not friends anymore?’ Clare’s voice was a whisper, loud in the empty silence.
Tilda let her arm drop, their shoulders now touching. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘After the kiss…we decided that we’d be just friends. But the waterfall…’
‘You don’t think two women can be friends?’
‘After that? I’m pretty sure “Just Friends” don’t do that.’ Clare laughed, but then stopped, mistaking Tilda’s confused silence for disapproval.
‘It’s just…’ Tilda turned onto her side. She couldn’t see Clare’s face. Could only feel her breath. Blindly, Tilda brushed her fingers across Clare’s cheek, traced the Cupid’s bow of her lip, the pad
of her thumb fitting perfectly in the little divot. Soft. Velvet. Distracting. Tilda pulled her hand back, cupped it under her own chin. ‘It’s just that once I go back to work and once you figure out what you’re doing, especially if you start your own vet practice, we’ll hardly see each other… right?’ Part of her hoped Clare would tell her she was right, the other part scared that she would tell her it didn’t have to be like that, not if they didn’t want it to be.
‘Sure.’ There was a rustle, the faint shadow of Clare’s head turning away to look up at the sky. ‘We can still be just friends. If that’s what you want.’
‘Right.’ Tilda didn’t know what she wanted. ‘So… friends still.’ Not knowing what else to say, she rolled onto her back again, staring up at the sky, wishing she could sink through the mattress and disappear. Or take it back. How far or how much though, she wasn’t sure. She was a second away from falling asleep when Clare cleared her throat.
‘I know you hate it, but this has been the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in, well, years. Not real laughing, you know? Real fun?’
Tilda nodded, then remembered they were in the dark, and she mumbled in agreement.
‘I know I’m kinda inserting myself into your family, but it’s been almost perfect.’
Tilda wasn’t fussed about sharing her family, but her mind caught on one word in particular, curious. ‘What would make it perfect?’
‘Snow.’ It was a quick answer, easy.
Tilda searched for Clare’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. She couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t something else, someone else, that would make it perfect—like another Christmas with her brother. She would have asked, but the conversation had been heavy enough, so she tried to lighten the mood. ‘Snow, huh? I think it’d take a major miracle for that to happen here. And if I have to be honest, I don’t hate Christmas—’ She squeezed Clare’s hand gently to caution against gloating ‘—as much as I used to. Which is a miracle in itself, so… who knows? A white Christmas in the middle of an Australian summer? Anything could happen.’
23
TILDA STRETCHED OUT on the old blanket, the ground uneven beneath her. She reached an arm out to the side and brushed her palm over the grass, the other cradling the back of her head. She blinked slowly, tracing the constant circle of a bird high in the sky. Breathing in deep, she picked out each scent; baking asphalt; mown lawn; sugared pastry; cold roast lamb with a hint of rosemary and garlic.
Tilting her head back, Memorial Park and its gardens came into view, upside down and filled with rugs and blankets spread out. There were people everywhere, the town come together for the annual tree lighting ceremony. On the other side of the garden was the bottom end of the outdoor mall. In the middle stood the recent addition of a Christmas tree, and at the top end, the post office with the town clock jutting up from its roof. It was too far for Tilda to see the time, but her stomach grumbled. She let her head fall to the other side, coming face to face with the unopened picnic basket ready and waiting.
Barely aware of the movement and voices around her, a nudge brought her attention back. Jack’s head popped in above her and blocked her view. She acknowledged his raised eyebrow. ‘Yes. I heard you.’ But she hadn’t. And when he popped back out of sight, she lifted her head to look around. Izzy and Jack were weaving their way across the lawn, towards the mall and the Christmas tree, Merry on their heels with her tail high and swaying side to side. Tilda assumed they’d gone off in search of the kids, making sure they weren’t getting up to too much mischief.
‘What is this thing again?’ Clare’s voice floated out from the other side of the basket.
Tilda sighed and sat up. Clare was stretched out on the other side of the blanket. ‘A tree is added to the sculpture in the middle of the mall. All the kids spend the day decorating it. In the afternoon, people bring picnics and the town eats dinner together and then, when it’s dark enough, there’s a ceremony where the mayor flicks a switch and the lights on the tree and all along the mall light up. It’s a whole thing, every year is different—’ She stopped. Clare was waving to a kid with a bubble wand. ‘You’re not even listening.’ And then it clicked. She lay back down with a huff, hands knotted on her stomach and her eyes latching on to the bird again. ‘You think explaining this thing over and over will get me in the Christmas spirit?’
Clare sat up and slid the basket out of the way as she scooted over, sitting cross legged at Tilda’s shoulder. ‘Thought you said you didn’t hate it anymore.’
‘I don’t hate it as much.’ Tilda emphasised the part Clare seemed to leave out every time she brought it up. ‘Very important distinction between not completely hating something, and actually liking something.’
‘I don’t know how you could hate any of this.’
Tilda dragged her eyes away from the bird and looked up at Clare, her chin lifted, her head turned. She pushed up, leaning on her elbows to see what Clare was looking at.
Jerry was in his Santa suit sitting on an oversized red velvet armchair. The North Pole had been set up under the shade and a bunch of kids were lining up to give him their wish-list and take a photo, a fake-snow machine blowing out white pieces of fluff that would end up all over town.
The local knitting group had crafted snowflakes and reindeers and elves and candy canes and everything else they could think of to hang around the park.
The gazebo in the middle of the park looked freshly painted, its green tiled roof grounding the bright white timber frame. There were fairy lights wrapped around the railing but only the dark green wires were visible in the daylight.
In the shade beside the gazebo, Cliff was perched in a camping chair reading to a bunch of kids sitting on the ground. Tilda returned his wave, and made a mental note to go over and see him later, maybe search out Bernie and see if he’d come into the hospital—
Clare interrupted Tilda’s thoughts with a poke to her side, leaning in to whisper. ‘Why are people looking at us like that?’
‘Like what?’ Tilda followed Clare’s line of sight to a fancy gingham picnic rug and a huddle of familiar faces that she recognised as friends of her mother, all eyes staring back as she smiled and waved. Behind them, Tilda spotted the mayor talking to his assistant. She laughed at his comical double-take when he saw her, the man’s mouth gaping, stopping mid-sentence. It should’ve occurred to her earlier that there would be a bit of a stir. Amusing as it was, she kicked herself at the missed opportunity. She could have made the most of it, instead of laying there dozing all afternoon.
‘They’re not staring at us. They’re staring at me.’
‘Why you?’
Not in a hurry to answer, Tilda laid back down, holding her arm up and scratching at an itch, turning and twisting it to see little raised spots on the sensitive skin inside her elbow; grass rash. She let her arm drop back down, aware of it landing dangerously close to Clare’s leg, unable to stop staring at the gap. That night sleeping under the stars, packing up the ute the next morning, the drive back, all the time up until this moment, she’d kept her distance from Clare. A big breath and she looked back up at the sky. The bird was gone, nothing but blue. ‘I think the last time I came to this thing I was seven years old.’
The shock on Clare’s face made her smile.
‘You’ve hated Christmas since you were seven?! How? Why?’
Tilda nodded and shrugged, but avoided answering. She figured sitting up would put a little space between her and Clare, which it did. Looking around, she saw Bea and Will running towards them across the park, Merry bouncing between. Jack strolled along behind, hands in his pockets, turning his head away when he saw Tilda staring back.
Bea and Will rushed up, each grabbing a hand and trying to pull Tilda and Clare up, wanting them to come and look at the tree. Tilda moved to get up, but Jack’s hand on her shoulder kept her back. Clare looked back as the kids pulled her along, and Tilda called out that she’d catch up.
‘You two looked cozy.’
‘It’s not what you think.’
‘Oh yeah? What do I think it is? Cos I bet you’re thinking it too, you just won’t let it happen.’
Tilda rolled her eyes. ‘Corny much?’
And Jack laughed. ‘Make fun all you want, but I bet it’s true—’
‘I beg to differ.’ Tilda stood up. ‘And we’re just friends.’
‘Mhm. So why are you here? At this thing? After all these years?’ He grunted in conclusion as he laid back on the blanket, arms crossed against his chest.
Tilda stood there, staring down at her brother, waiting for something smart to pop into her head, something to prove him wrong. Revelling in her silence, Jack smiled and closed his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat and swallowed.
Crouching down at the edge of the blanket, Tilda coughed to cover the sound as she grabbed a handful of grass and yanked. She held it above his head and waited for his eyes to open before she unclenched her fist.
Blades of green floated down and covered Jack’s face. He pretended not to care. And that it didn’t itch. Until he couldn’t pretend any more and erupted in laughter, rolling over onto his stomach and spitting grass from his lips. Before Tilda could step back, he reached out and grabbed her ankle, holding on so she couldn’t get away while he undid her shoelace, making them so loose that when she lifted her foot, the shoe stayed on the ground.
In a flash, Jack grabbed the shoe up and pushed himself off the ground, sprinting away across the park. Tilda kicked off her other shoe before she took off after him, both of them ducking and weaving and bumping into people as they circled each other around the gardens.
At one point she lost sight of him, then almost ran right into the back of him standing in front of the fountain, empty hands behind his back and Izzy beside him, holding out her shoe. Tilda took the shoe without a word, pushing her growing laughter deep down, unable to look at the contrite curl to Jack’s lip without feeling it rise again.
All She Wants Page 10