All She Wants

by Marchant A. J.

  Tilda pulled her laptop from her workbag, which she’d dumped on the floor, unopened since her last day at the hospital. Digging out the charging cable and searching for a powerpoint, she set it up on a coffee table that Will had pushed under the window. Bea made a few last adjustments while Will made another run over to the playroom, bringing back pillows and blankets to make a nest around the beanbags.

  Done, they all went back to their spot in the hallway to look again. High fives all round, Tilda mussed their hair. ‘It looks amazing. Thank you. You two did a great job.… and just in time.’ Tilda could hear the ute coming up the driveway, greeted as always by the dogs in the run and Merry’s joyful barking as she galloped across the yard.

  ‘Is it ready?’

  ‘One last thing.’ Tilda pulled the curtains closed and plugged in the lights. She let the kids flick the switch and the room glowed bright and colourful.

  ‘Okay. Now it’s ready.’

  Bea kneeled on the armchair, peeking through a gap in the curtains. ‘Can we stay?’

  ‘Of course. But act cool, okay? It’s a surprise.’

  26

  TILDA AND THE kids sat on the veranda steps and watched the ute come up the driveway. Clare paused as she got out, looking at them over the top of the cab. ‘What’ve you three been up to?’

  Her peaked eyebrow was answered by a chorus of, ‘Nothing.’

  Jack leaned through the open window. ‘The fence?’

  Tilda put on her most sincere smile. ‘Tomorrow. I pinky promise.’

  ‘Bea says that all the time.’ Will elbowed his sister. ‘But she never means it.’

  She scowled at Will for dobbing her in, pushing and shoving at his side, trying to get him to move further away along the step.

  ‘Alright, you two. That’s enough.’

  They both stopped. Jack leaned further out, catching Bea’s eye. ‘Bea should know better than to go back on a promise.’ And then he stared at Tilda. ‘Just as her Aunt Tilly should never do it either.’ His tone lightened and his face settled back into his normal smile as he ducked to look across the cab at Clare, still standing on the other side of the ute. ‘Thanks for your help. Enjoy the rest of your day.’ He waved out the window as he pulled away, driving back to the sheds.

  Clare frowned at the three of them as their gaze followed her up the steps. She stopped at the front door and reached for the handle. ‘Is a bucket of water gonna fall on my head if I open this?’

  ‘No.’ Will sounded disappointed at the missed opportunity.

  Clare turned the handle slowly, pushing the door inwards and leaning back from it in the same motion. When nothing happened, she stared at the three of them again. Tilda kept a straight face, but Bea and Will failed. ‘Why are you two grinning like that?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ Bea clapped her hands over her mouth, holding back the urge to blurt it all out. They all stood and followed her in, Will guiding Clare away from her bedroom and towards the living room. Tilda was at the back of the huddle, stuck in the front doorway. She couldn’t see much, but she saw the moment Clare stopped in her tracks, heard her gasp. She could just imagine the look on her face, vivid enough to make her smile.

  ‘You did all this?’ Clare took a step back, holding Bea and Will’s hands. She was talking to them but looking at Tilda, deep eyes with a shiny glint pulling her in. ‘Thank you. So much. You have no idea…’

  The moment broke as Bea pulled Clare further into the living room. Points of light danced around the room, colour bouncing and changing and flashing. In between the baubles, there were tree decorations that Tilda and Jack had made back when they were in school; cardboard cutouts of reindeer and Santa and elves and presents and angels with trumpets, all crazily coloured in with their little names scribbled at the bottom. Bea had arranged displays of oversized red velvet bows with little golden bells on them; an old snow globe with the North Pole and Santa’s sleigh flying across; toilet roll Santa’s with red crepe paper suits and beards made of cotton balls; tinsel draped around every surface and over the stiff-backed armchairs.

  Tilda hoped it was enough.

  Clare slid down onto a tinsel-covered chair. ‘This is…’ Bea and Will waited for her to finish her sentence, but Tilda knew she was lost for words.

  When Clare’s eyes caught on the laptop, Tilda stepped forward. ‘I thought we could do a movie marathon.’

  Clare looked through the stack of DVD’s. ‘They’re Christmas movies.’

  Tilda nodded, shrugged. ‘It’s not snow, but…’ A glance passed between them and Tilda knew that Clare understood what she was trying to do; Tilda may not be able to give Clare everything she wanted, but she could give her an afternoon with the memory of her brother. Clare wiped away a tear with a quick flick of her shirt sleeve. Now Tilda hoped that it wasn’t too much, worried she’d gone overboard, misread, assumed… But then Clare smiled up at her, tears brimming but eyes bright.

  Will kneeled down at the coffee table. ‘You can pick, but these ones are the best.’

  Sniffing and blinking away the tears, Clare looked down at the selection he’d spread out. ‘How about we pick together?’

  Bea joined in, crouching beside Will. Tilda left them to it, going into the kitchen. Hands gripping the edge of the bench, she took in a big breath, let it out slowly, and then set about searching for snacks. Finding nothing much, she called out that she’d be back in a minute and went scouting through the pantry in the main house, coming back with a basket full of the best.

  Will had the movie set up already. Clare was on one beanbag and the kids had settled into the blankets and pillows nested on the floor.

  ‘We saved you a seat.’ Bea patted the free beanbag.

  ‘Thanks.’ Tilda collapsed into it and put the basket of snacks on the ground in the middle, the kids diving in and pulling out a packet of cookies each and sharing a bag of gummy worms.

  The room was getting warm, and the sun hadn’t even made it around to the front of the cottage yet. Will pressed play. Jingling music started up, scenes of a snowy city floating across the screen. Tilda told him to let it play as she got up and put a fan in each corner, turning up the volume so they could hear over the constant hush. Back in her beanbag, Tilda squashed around until Will shushed her. As she whispered an apology, she noticed Clare had changed out of her jeans and taken off her boots. She was wearing a pair of socks that fit snugly around her calves, red and white striped. Leaning over, she whispered into Clare’s shoulder. ‘Nice socks.’

  ‘I have a green pair you can borrow.’

  ‘Not a chance.’ Tilda sat back.

  Clare smiled. This time, she leaned over. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You already said that.’

  ‘Really, though.’

  ‘It’s not much.’

  ‘It’s everything.’

  Will shushed them both this time. Tilda gave Clare’s arm a gentle squeeze, but before she could pull back, Clare took her hand and didn’t let go. As the movie played, Tilda glanced across at Clare, her eyes glued to the screen. The rest of the day flew by with movie after movie until the bell rang out to let them know it was dinner time. The four of them grudgingly got up and went outside, surprised that the sun was sinking and the air was cool, dusk bringing out clouds of insects across the garden.

  It was dark, walking back after dinner, just Tilda and Clare and the moonlight showing the way. Quiet too. Neither said a word, nor seemed like they wanted to. Tilda opened the front door for Clare, who then paused in the hallway before following Tilda to her room.

  ‘What’re you—’

  But Clare just stepped inside and shut the bedroom door behind her.

  27

  IT WAS EASIER to fit on the small bed with Tilda leaning into the pillows stacked against the wall, Clare leaning back into her. But it was also warmer, the breeze coming in the window only just enough to make it tolerable. The mug of tea from yesterday morning sat on the windowsill, forgotten and long cooled, probably floating
with insects.

  Tilda traced the ridges and valleys of Clare’s ear. Followed the curve of her earlobe, the corner of her jaw, along her neck to the divot between her collarbones, all the way down to the dark cave of her belly button and the constellation of freckles beside it. The way the light angled in, flooding across the bed, it caught on the little hairs on Clare’s stomach. And as Tilda ran her thumb one way, they vanished. Brushing back again, they reappeared, blonde and neat. She did it again, and the skin underneath her hand pulsed. Clare pushed the crown of her head gently back into Tilda’s chest. A mumbled whisper. ‘Quit it. I was asleep.’

  Tilda stilled her thumb but kept her hand in place, moving with the rise and fall of Clare’s steady breath. She blinked, slow and sleepless, leaning her head back until it rested against the wall. The room was a mirrored layout of Clare’s room. But it felt sheltered. The view out the window showed land that stretched on forever, the wire fences lost in the distance, no sign of people. Red dirt and blue sky. An early sun making its way into the day. Their bed, a deserted island, tucked away from the world.

  Clare must have been thinking along the same line. ‘It’s like your very own Mount Crumpit in here.’ It was in jest, a thought said out loud.

  ‘Are you comparing me to the Grinch?’

  Tilda smiled when Clare turned a little, a surprised eye looking up at her, a shoulder pressing into her chest before Clare turned and settled back.

  ‘What? You didn’t think I’d get the reference?’ Tilda brushed a stray curl of hair that tickled her neck, tucking it behind Clare’s ear. ‘You know, everything was going fine for him until Cindy Lou ruined it all.’

  ‘But he’s all alone up there.’

  ‘The Grinch isn’t alone.’ Tilda yawned as she spoke. ‘He has Max. Who needs people when you have a dog?’

  Clare was quiet for a moment. ‘If you’re the Grinch, does that make me Cindy Lou?’

  Tilda laughed, making Clare’s head bob against her chest. ‘I hope not. All that Christmas cheer?… Unbearable.’

  Clare half turned around again, her fingers on Tilda’s chin, pulling her mouth down to meet her lips. Not caring that Clare’s shoulder was pushing the breath out of her lungs, Tilda kissed her between speaking. ‘I should get up. Go help Jack. Fences and stuff.’

  Clare let go of Tilda’s chin, but didn’t move. ‘You hardly even slept.’

  ‘Who’s fault is that?’

  ‘You’re the one who decorated the living room… and the movies… and everything.’

  Tilda leaned down again, lifting Clare’s chin. But a noise made her stop, ears straining. ‘Did you hear—’

  There was a knock at the front door, louder this time. They both froze, bodies tense.

  ‘Should we—’

  Tilda cupped her hand over Clare’s mouth, feeling her teeth graze her palm and trying not to laugh. ‘Shh. Pretend we’re not here.’

  But at the sound of the front door hitting against the hall table, she knew they’d come inside.

  ‘Tilly?’ It was Izzy. She sounded flustered, determined.

  With one hand still muffling Clare’s giggles, Tilda pulled the sheet up over them just as a knock came on her bedroom door. ‘No!’

  The door handle clicked back into place. Izzy’s voice came urgent through the door. ‘Tilly? I need your help.’

  Clare sat forward as Tilda slid off the bed, grabbing and pulling on the first items of clothes that came to hand as she rushed to the door. She opened it just enough to stick her head through. Izzy was pacing in the hallway.

  ‘Help with what?’

  ‘I need you to talk some sense into your brother.’ Izzy didn’t wait for Tilda to reply, just started walking away.

  Tilda stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  Izzy had already reached the front door, but she turned back, looking Tilda up and down with a small frown and tilt of her head. Tilda looked down. Her stomach flipped when she saw that the shirt she was wearing was Clare’s, the same one Izzy had seen Clare wearing at dinner the night before. It was hard to tell if Izzy thought anything of it, her mind quickly back on what had brought her there.

  ‘A fence fell, some cows wandered out. Most of them went back in when they didn’t find anything to graze, but Jack reckons there’s a few missing calves, and that they went down into the ravines. So he’s going after them.’ Izzy was on the move again, out the door and halfway to the sheds by the time Tilda caught up to her, the gravel sharp under the soles of her bare feet.

  She stood back while Jack and Izzy argued their points. Jack was set on going after the calves, finding them before they fell down a gully and broke their necks. Izzy wanted to write them off as lost, the endeavour too dangerous for both Jack and the calves. It was escalating fast into a shouting match when Tilda stepped in, suggesting the only thing she could think of. ‘I’ll go with him.’

  Jack and Izzy turned to her. Izzy was on the verge of saying no and Jack looked about to agree with her. But Tilda stood her ground. ‘Just wait, okay? Let me get dressed. And find my boots.’ Her cheeks flushed at the memory of kicking them off, Clare marching her across the room… She shook her mind clear. ‘I’m going with you. No arguments from either of you.’

  Stubborn, there was no stopping Jack, even if it was too late to get the calves back safe. He wouldn’t give in until he’d found them. And there was no way Tilda was letting him go alone, not when it was her fault that the cows got out. If she’d let him do what he’d planned, if she’d helped him, the fences would have been checked and fixed yesterday. At least this way, Izzy would know they had each other’s backs down there.

  ‘I’m going with you.’ Tilda repeated it forcefully, just to make sure they’d heard her, their staring faces unreadable.

  ‘Me too.’ Clare stepped up beside Tilda, quiet and unnoticed until then. ‘Just in case…’

  Tilda didn’t argue against it, and no one mentioned that if they needed a vet, there was no way the calves would make it back up and out of the ravine.

  It was settled. Or so the three of them thought.

  ‘It’s three calves.’ Izzy protested. ‘Jack. Be smart. We can afford the loss. If any of you get hurt…’

  Jack just shook his head, turning back to the gear he’d been sorting. ‘We’ll take the horses. It’ll be quicker. Safer.’

  ‘But… your parents are coming today.’ Izzy realised a second later that, if anything, that fact would urge them to go all the more. She sighed at the look that passed between Tilda and Jack.

  ‘Too bad we won’t be here.’ Tilda faked disappointment but it didn’t last long. She took Izzy’s hand and looked her in the eye. ‘One, two days, tops. If we don’t find them by then, I promise we’ll come back. I’ll drag him back if I have to.’

  Jack shouldered his bag. ‘You two better hurry up and get your gear together. I’ll saddle up the horses, but I’m not waiting around if you’re not ready.’ He set off for the tack shed over by the horse paddock. Tilda could see his worry in the set of his shoulders. She tried her best to comfort Izzy, giving her a smile and a quick hug. ‘We’ll be back before you know it.’ She motioned to Clare that they needed to get moving, or Jack really would leave them behind.

  28

  IT WASN’T LONG before they were riding out; Jack in front, Tilda and Clare next to each other. Loose straps on Tilda’s pack batted against her legs, moving with the sway of her horse. A jingling made Clare look back. ‘Merry’s following us.’

  Jack turned in his saddle. Tilda pulled on her reins, the horse slowing but still carrying on forward. ‘Merry. Go home.’

  The dog ignored her, spurring on to keep up. Jack frowned, his chin dipping, his voice stern. ‘Merry, go home.’

  It didn’t work. Tilda tried again, but still the dog refused. Again, Jack told her to go, even Clare tried. But the dog trotted alongside them.

  ‘What do we do?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘W
e keep going. She knows the way home if she wants to go.’

  They rode on past paddocks with livestock sitting under shady trees and standing on the edges of dams. Tilda slowed her horse again when they came near the back of the property. Shiny metal and new posts stood out where the fence had been repaired, earth packed tight beneath. A few cows hung around the new fence, making noises that Tilda had heard many times growing up; mothers crying for their babies when first separated. It broke her heart a little, but she understood now why Jack was so adamant about finding the missing calves. It must be hard, year after year, hearing that sound, being the cause of it.

  It might have been the heavy mood hanging around Jack, but the view from the top of the ravine seemed a little more ominous than before. The blue haze a little thicker, a shimmer of heat rising off the dirt. Shadows cut into the vertical rock faces, different shades of brown and grey and black, spotted with the green of desperately clinging shrubs and stunted trees. There was a new orange scar at the top of a far cliff, a crumble of rockslide at the bottom.

  All three hesitated at the top. The small slope of the track vanished over the edge, the side of the ravine dropping straight down. They were never allowed to go this way as kids. Only once did they break the rules, and that time they were on foot. Tilda could still hear her father’s warning in the back of her mind. ‘One slip and you’ll break your neck. That’s if you’re lucky. If not, you’ll just break everything else.’

  Jack didn’t pause long, his horse’s rump disappearing down the track with a swish of her tail. Tilda motioned for Clare to go next.