Izzy glanced at each of them, both trying so hard not to laugh. She shook her head. ‘Honestly. You two are worse than Bea and Will.’ All three burst out laughing as they walked back to the blanket.
24
THERE WAS A small crowd around the town Christmas tree. Tilda smiled back at a few fleeting faces as she searched for Clare and the kids, finding them around the other side sitting on a huddle of fake tree stumps. Bea and Will pointed out the parts they’d decorated, and when the sun dipped low behind the clock tower, they all made their way back to the blanket to eat. The kids were starving after the long day. They wolfed down their food in a minute flat and held out their plates for seconds, giggling at Merry stealing a thick slice of ham off Jack’s plate as he dished out for them.
The sky was a dark navy when the ceremony started, the crowd quieting at the hum of the choir in the gazebo. In front of them, the mayor stood at his podium. The fairy lights were on now, the gazebo glowing a soft gold in the dimming atmosphere. Solar-powered candles had been staked into the grass, lighting faces huddled on rugs, attention turned to the one spot. Someone on the rug behind made a joke, another voice joining in and then another, making bets on what would go wrong this year. Tilda leaned back on her hands as the mayor made his speech. Will shuffled around and fidgeted until Izzy calmed him with a touch, his little body leaning into Tilda’s side, letting out an exhausted sigh.
Finally, the time came to flick the symbolic switch. Everyone stood, the crowd gathering where the park ended and the mall started, where they could see all the way along the entire mall. Usually it was lit by the street lights and store fronts, but for the ceremony it had been plunged into darkness, just dim shapes and shadows visible and the unmistakable outline of the tree against the sky.
After a few more words, the mayor picked up what looked like a plastic toy with a dial switch. With a flourish, he turned it… and nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing.
‘Toby? Why isn’t it working?’
Toby, the mayor’s assistant, shrugged.
‘Who’s in the control room this year?’
‘Jim.’
The mayor’s head wobbled. ‘No, he’s standing right next to you.’
Mouth wide, Toby turned. Jim gave him a nod.
‘Oh. Uh. Harry then?’
‘Harry retired. Somewhere with sand.’
Toby took the control, opened a flap on the back, fiddled for a bit and then closed it, bashed the thing against his arm for good measure, and then handed it back. ‘Try again.’
The mayor cleared his throat. Setting his posture like he was about to kick the penalty goal that would win the game. Waited for the crowd to calm. And turned the switch.
Nothing.
He glared at Toby, who lifted a radio to his mouth. But before he could speak, the mayor grabbed it away from him, the radio squealing when he pressed the wrong button. Toby stepped in and showed the mayor the right button.
‘Control room? This is Henderson.’
‘Who?’ A single syllable, drawn out impossibly long.
Looking indignantly at the radio, the mayor pressed the wrong button again, growing flustered at all the eyes turned his way. ‘The mayor. Who is this?’
‘Carter.’
Tilda smiled. Carter, the local stoner, looked fifteen, but he was only two grades below her in school. She knew she should try harder to get him to stop, but he was harmless, and it was always a fun night shift when he turned up looking for someone to talk to. He was a chatty stoner. And the things he said; most of the time it blew Tilda’s mind, and she was the sober one.
‘Carter, who?’
‘John.’
‘Your name’s John?’
‘No. My last name.’
‘What’s your—Never mind. Flick the switch.’
There was silence for a moment, the mayor glancing around nervously as he made his way to the edge of the crowd.
‘There’s a lot of switches in here, man. Which one?’
The mayor turned away, hunching into the radio. ‘For the tree. The lights on the tree.’ He’d tried to whisper, but frustration made him hiss loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘What tree?’
A murmur of barely contained laughter bubbled through the crowd. The gruff groans of those who’d have to pay up on their wagers and the gleeful yelps of friends now set to shout the first round in the pub afterwards. The crowd spread out, people wandering back to their picnics.
Tilda turned to follow, pausing at Clare’s side. ‘Come on. This could take a while.’
‘Why? What’s happening?’
‘A kerfuffle.’ Jack interjected with the town nickname for this part of the ceremony, one not listed in the order of events notice.
Clare was even more confused. ‘A what?’
Tilda steered her around. ‘Apparently it happens every year. Don’t worry, the tree will be lit.’
Someone snickered behind them. ‘Hopefully not on fire, like last year.’
Tilda had heard about the flaming Christmas tree, the one and only time she wished she’d been there.
Back at the blanket, there was no use trying to keep the kids still, so they were free to run around with their friends. Tuckered out, Merry watched them from her corner of the blanket, head on her paws and eyebrows going crazy as her gaze followed first one kid and then the other.
‘Well, well. To think I didn’t believe it when I heard.’
Tilda turned, saw a pair of trousered legs standing behind her. She looked up to see a bemused Bernie staring back down at her. ‘Esme is a terrible gossip, rarely does she surprise everyone with the truth.’
Bernie set a basket down and lifted something, holding it up between Tilda and Clare. It was hard to see what it was in the fake flickering candlelight, but then Bea and Will crashed in a tangle on the blanket, Bea’s urgent little voice coming out from under Will’s arm. ‘Mistletoe. You have to kiss.’
Tilda pushed Bernie’s hand away. ‘No. Come on. Seriously?’ She stole a glance at Clare, half pleased to see her laughing, half nervous. She shook her head. But Will joined in now, ‘It’s the rules. You have to.’
Tilda looked at Jack, who just shrugged. She was about to ask Izzy for a little support when Clare leaned over and caught Tilda off guard as she kissed her cheek, their faces hovering close for another moment before Clare sat back down. Bea and Will giggled, and Tilda covered her stunned silence by tickling them. Remembering seeing Cliff earlier, she glanced up with a question already forming on her lips only to find Bernie and her mistletoe had disappeared.
It was the sight of another familiar face that made her freeze, collapsing under the unexpected weight of Bea and Will tackling her. Doing her best to keep from being elbowed in the face, Tilda slid out from under and poked Jack in the leg. ‘Jem’s here.’ Tilda motioned with a subtle nod. ‘Did you know she was coming back?’
Izzy shook her head, trying to look without seeming to be looking, while Jack openly turned, head moving back and forth until he picked her out in the crowd. He waved at Jem, who got up and started walking towards them. He turned back around, nose scrunched. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to make her come over.’
Tilda saw him glance over at Clare, who hadn’t noticed their sudden curiosity, too busy watching the kerfuffle unfold beside the gazebo.
‘I’ll be back in—’ Tilda didn’t finish her sentence, hurrying over to meet Jem.
After an awkward greeting, Tilda led the way as they wandered over to the fountain, away from the noise and querying eyes. Then again, another Bernie interruption could have been handy; minus the mistletoe and add a little friendly prying.
Jem sat on the edge of the fountain, hands gripping the concrete lip. ‘Never thought I’d see you here.’
A nervous laugh escaped. ‘You’re not the only one. You’re… Why—?’ Tilda didn’t know how to put her question politely. Straight out asking ‘What are you doing here?’ seemed a little confrontational and not at a
ll how she wanted it to come out, seeing as they’d ended on friendly terms. Tilda flinched a little. She was getting sick of that word; friend.
‘No one does Christmas better than Ashton.’
Tilda flinched again. Some things never change. They’d always had an uncanny ability to interpret each other’s half-formed questions.
Jem nodded toward the Bronson blanket. ‘Is she…?’
Then again. Some things do.
‘New in town, staying in the shearer’s cottage until she finds a more long-term place.’ Tilda looked up at the rumble of the mayor calling for the crowd’s attention, the attempts to light the tree back on track. Promising to catch up another time, they each went to find their group, reconvening for the rest of the ceremony.
Clare was waiting for Tilda at the blanket. ‘The others are somewhere over there.’ She pointed to the middle of the crowd huddling up once again.
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ Tilda led Clare up the steps of the now empty gazebo, leaning on the railing with a full view unobstructed by the people below.
Without further ceremony, the mayor flicked the switch. The tree and the mall blossomed, the crowd clapping and cheering. Tilda glanced at it and then looked at Clare. She saw the colour and light reflected in her eyes, wide with awe and racing to take it all in, everything at once. Tilda couldn’t look away from her. Didn’t hear a word anyone said. Went along with guiding hands. Stared out the car window. Stuck in her mind until she realised they were back at the cottage. She bumped into Clare who’d stopped in the hallway and was staring into the living room.
Clare’s shoulders dropped, her eyes scanning the minimal style of the room. ‘So bare and boring in comparison.’
25
TILDA LAY IN bed with the sheet kicked off, the window open and the fan on. The sun was long up and her stomach growled, but neither was enough to get her moving. All this time off was doing her no good, getting her back into bad habits. Tilda reminded her body not to get used to it, not to let the lazy sink back in.
At least it seemed Clare wasn’t up yet either. Tilda remembered her words the night before; boring, bare. She sat up, leaning against the wall. Scanned her room. It looked like she hardly lived there, just a bunch of her clothes on the shelves and a few stacks of books scattered along the floor beneath the windowsill, so tattered and old, they could have been anyone’s, been there for years. Clare had only been living in the cottage for a few weeks but her room looked more lived in than the entire cottage.
It wouldn’t do.
Tilda got up, got dressed. She put socks on but then decided it was too hot for boots, her skin already prickling under the thin cotton. Barefoot, she tiptoed out of her room and past Clare’s closed door, opening the front door and slipping out. She circled the long way around the back of the cottage so Clare wouldn’t see her through the window.
She found Jack in the shed loading rolls of wire into the tray. The ute door was open and the radio was playing some old-timey jazz song. Jack was hovering over a toolbox, picking through it and crooning along. He was getting more and more like their father, but Tilda would never tell him that, not wanting to make him self-conscious or change because he hated the comparison. He turned and jumped when he saw her standing there, arms dropping by his sides with wire cutters in one hand and a pair of work gloves in the other. ‘Geez. Warn a person, wouldya?’
‘I need you to keep Clare busy for the morning.’ Tilda climbed up and sat sideways in the seat of the ride-on lawn mower.
‘Why?’ He leaned back against the bench.
She fiddled with a few buttons. ‘Because.’
‘I was gonna run the fence lines and make repairs. You can help if you want.’
‘I will. This afternoon. Or tomorrow. I promise. I just need the morning and I need Clare out of the cottage.’
‘But why?’
Tilda clammed up. Knowing he wasn’t getting a reason, Jack gave in. He chucked the cutters and gloves back into the toolbox. ‘Fine. The Thompson dog is about to drop a litter. I suppose I could take her over to—’
‘No time to waste.’ Tilda jumped down from the lawn mower, jogging out of the shed as she remembered to yell back, ‘Thank you.’
Tilda slowed to a walk when she saw a figure sitting on the cottage veranda. Clare was still in pyjama shorts and a singlet, nursing a cup of tea. Tilda sat on the step, but it was Clare who broke the silence.
‘Sleep okay? It was pretty hot last night.’
‘I did. It was…. Oh, uh—’ Tilda felt stupid, pretending to remember something, but it was too late now. ‘Jack, well, one of his friends actually. He needs a check-up on a dog. Pregnant dog. If that’s okay?’
‘Yeah. That’s easy enough.’
‘Today.’ The word rushed out before Tilda realised Clare hadn’t asked when. The awkward moment was broken at the roar of Jack’s ute pulling out of the shed, rolls of wire no longer in the back. He drove over to the main house, probably to make a phone call, give Thompson a heads-up. He held his arm up in a lazy wave as he got out of the ute, leaving the door wide and the radio on.
Clare waved back and then looked over at Tilda. ‘Today, as in this morning?’
Tilda dug her chin into her shoulder. ‘Think so.’
‘Better get dressed then.’ And Clare went inside, leaving her cup of tea on the step untouched. Tilda felt a pang of guilt at rushing Clare away from enjoying what had probably been a nice slow morning. It’d be worth it though, in the end.
Tilda wandered into the kitchen. Clare had made a proper pot of tea, so she poured herself a mug and took it back to her room, putting it on the windowsill to cool. She laid across her bed, waiting and counting the minutes. The crunch of Jack’s ute pulling up floated through the front door, the murmur of voices. At the sound of footsteps walking up the hallway, she grabbed a book from the floor in a silent flurry, realising it was upside down a second before Clare stepped into her doorway. ‘We’re off.’
Tilda gave a nod. ‘Okay.’
It seemed like Clare was about to say something, but then with a tap on the doorframe she was gone. The front door closed with a click. Tilda launched off the bed and tossed the book back onto the floor. She raced to the living room and peeked out the window, watching the ute drive off, waiting for the dust to settle before she made her next move.
Tilda ducked through the food cellar into the kitchen. Izzy had her laptop and papers spread over the kitchen table, all the chairs pushed back so she could stand and move around while she sorted through the mess.
‘Quick question. Where’d all the spare tree decorations get put?’
Izzy made a little noise, holding up her finger as she scanned the tabletop and pounced on a pile of folders. ‘Ahah… I’m not sure, but Will knows.’
Tilda found Bea and Will in the playroom, engrossed in a cartoon. It took a few knocks and yelling their names before they snapped away from the screen and looked up. At her question, Will pointed at a box shoved into the corner. ‘Why?’
When she told them what she needed them for, Bea jumped up, wanting to help. Will came along just because, helping carry the other box with the leftover outdoor decorations over to the cottage.
Tilda had it pictured in her mind, the whole inside of the cottage decorated, but when she saw what little was left in the boxes, it didn’t seem likely. They set to work anyway, choosing the living room as their focus.
Will climbed onto Tilda’s shoulders so he could reach up to hook bauble strings and drape lights and tinsel. Tilda held up a gold bauble decorated with swirls of silver glitter, but Will ignored it. ‘What’re we doing this for, anyway?’
‘Because.’
‘Because, why?’
It wasn’t as easy to get Will to give up as it was his father. Tilda tossed the bauble back in the box. ‘Have you got a present for Daisy yet? Easy way to show a girl you’re interested.’ Tilda smiled when Will mumbled, unconvincingly, that he didn’t have a crush on Daisy Moroney. She sa
t on the armchair so he could climb down, and they all stepped out into the hallway to admire their work.
‘Something’s not right.’ Bea had her hands on her hips, mouth pulled to one side beneath a frown. ‘It needs a tree.’
‘You’re right.’ Tilda crossed her arms and leaned back to check the clock in the kitchen. ‘There’s no time to drive out to the forest though. She could be back any minute.’
Bea and Will cupped their hands, whispering into each other’s ears. Not wanting to share just yet, they pulled Tilda back to the main house and into the playroom. Bea pointed their idea out. ‘It was a school art project.’
On the wall were two posters, one red and the other green. Each had a tree drawn in thick black marker, stuck with pieces of shiny colourful paper and cotton balls and stars and blobs of glitter, brightly coloured presents underneath. ‘You can use them both.’
‘Perfect.’ Tilda was careful to keep the Blu-tac attached to the cardboard as she peeled each corner from the wall. Bea ran off with them, skipping through the house and out the back door.
‘Need anything else?’ Will stood next to her, mirroring her stance, hands on his hips.
Tilda looked around. Saw the ridiculously oversized beanbags. And had an idea. ‘Can I borrow those?’
Will nodded.
‘Got any Christmas DVD’s?’
He pointed with his foot at a drawer in the bottom of the television cabinet. ‘In there’
When Tilda opened the drawer and looked blankly at the collection, he crouched down and started pulling out a few of his favourites. She recognised some from when she was their age, though most she’d never heard of or seen before.
Will juggled the beanbags, half slumped over his head and bumping into his legs as he tried to keep them from dragging in the dirt. Tilda offered to help, feeling a little silly with her easy handful of movies. He assured her that he was okay, but in the same moment he almost tripped himself up. When they reached the cottage, Bea was pressing on the corners of the posters that she’d neatly hung in the middle of the far wall. They would be the first thing Clare saw when she walked into the living room.
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