Clare stared at her. ‘What do you want, Til?’
Tilda busied herself by scrunching up the plastic and shoving it back in the kit. ‘That’s a very vague question.’
‘I think it’s pretty obvious.’
‘Maybe to you.’ Tilda wasn’t an idiot, she knew what Clare had meant. But it was a question she had no answer to, so instead she deflected. ‘What do you want, Clare?’
Clare was silent, staring at Tilda, reading her. After a while her eyes softened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I want you to want more for yourself.’
‘I’m doing just fine as it is.’ Tilda stood. ‘Let me know if it gets too tight.’
Clare looked up at her. ‘What?’
‘The bandage. Your ankle.’ Tilda turned to pick up her pack, and froze.
About three meters away, half hidden behind a stand of overgrown grass, a calf was staring back at her. Two more heads popped up, blades of grass sticking out of the mouth of one, the other already chewing lazily.
‘Clare.’
‘I get it. It’s fine. Just friends, right?’
‘No. I mean—Look.’ Tilda pointed.
‘Holy—’ Clare struggled to push herself up, relenting to Tilda’s offered hand.
With Clare leaning on her shoulder, Tilda took small slow steps towards the calves, parting a path through the grass. The calves didn’t spook. They sniffed at Clare’s hair as she bent to feel their legs, turning curiously as she tried to keep them still so she could check them out.
Clare straightened up, hands on her hips. The frown on her face worried Tilda for a moment, but when Clare let out a little huff of a laugh, her entire body relaxed.
‘They seem fine. But how do we get them back to the path? Back to Jack?’
Tilda looked around. The horses were quiet now, and she wasn’t sure which direction they’d walked from. ‘If we yell, they might startle.’
‘Do you hear that?’ Clare had her head tilted.
Tilda listened. There was a jingling. ‘Merry.’ Just then the dog emerged through the grass, soaking wet. ‘She must have been cooling off in the creek nearby.’
‘Maybe that’s why the calves left the track. Do you think? To find water?’
‘Mm.’ Tilda was staring at Merry. Her tail was down, her spine straight, and her head didn’t budge an inch as she stalked over, steps smooth and legs poised as she paced behind the three calves. They’d noticed her too and were moving; she was pushing them together into a huddle.
Tilda wondered… ‘Merry.’ She waited to see if the dog was listening, and at the flick of Merry’s ear she gave a command. ‘Come bye.’ The dog darted clockwise, the calves now turned toward where Tilda thought the track should be, up ahead.
‘Take ‘em.’ Tilda hadn’t expected the dog to do much. Merry had never gotten this far in training. But after years of hearing and watching the other dogs work, she must have picked up a thing or two. Because she started driving the calves forward. Tilda hurried back for her pack, and with an arm supporting Clare, they followed behind. Tilda gave Merry commands as needed until the three calves popped out onto the track, startling Jack.
‘What the—I was about to—’ He stared at the calves milling around, nosing at the horses’ legs. Merry was still trying to keep them in a pack but then Jack gave the final command. ‘That’ll do.’
Suddenly Merry was at Jack’s heel, sitting up straight and looking very pleased with herself. Tilda helped Clare over to a rock and lowered her down to sit. She hadn’t dared admit it, not even to herself, but a part of Tilda had thought they wouldn’t find the calves alive. Neither had Jack, judging by the lift of his eyebrows and drop of his chin.
‘So what now?’
Jack ran his hand along the back of the smallest calf, its little brown head lifting as he scratched down the muscled shoulder. ‘Home.’
‘Think we’ll get them back up the way we came?’
‘No. We’ll have to take the ridge.’
Farmer’s Ridge, the way they’d hiked in and out as kids. It wasn’t as dangerous or as steep as going the ravine way.
‘That means another night, right?’ When Jack nodded agreement, Tilda turned to Clare. ‘Is that—will you be okay?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
There was so much behind those three little words, so much left unsaid. But Tilda knew it wasn’t the time or place. Once they were back at the cottage. Maybe by then she’d figure out what to say, what she wanted.
30
IT WAS LATE in the afternoon the next day when they reached the top of the ridge. Dark clouds hung around, heavy with rain. A breeze carried drafts of cool relief. The rain started as Jack whistled Merry out of the paddock and closed the gate. He leaned on the fence for a moment, watching the returned calves being greeted by the rest of the herd.
Merry took off for the house, and as much as Tilda wanted to do the same, she walked with Jack, getting feeling back in her legs as she led her horse, Clare towering above them in her saddle. The bandage on her ankle had gotten a bit grimy during the last leg of their trip. In fact, they were all a little gritty and grimy. And tired and hungry and sore. Tilda lifted her face to the sky, eyes twitching at the light raindrops landing on her cheeks. She’d felt it before, how a summer rain could change a mood, clear the air, settle the dust. Something told Tilda this would be a bad rain, a bad storm. The ground was barely wet, the rain not enough to wash the dirt and sweat from her face, but the black clouds on the horizon made her certain.
Beside her, Jack kicked a clod of dirt along in front of him. ‘I can’t wait for a shower. And to sleep in a real bed. Sit in a real chair. Eat real food.’
Tilda and Clare agreed at the same time, glancing at each other with a laugh. Merry running ahead meant that Izzy and the kids were waiting for them, huddled under the overhanging roof outside the tack shed, out of the rain. Tilda and Jack’s parents as well, by the looks.
‘Perfect.’ Tilda muttered under her breath, momentarily slowing her pace. This was not the greeting party she wanted to come home to. And there was someone else too.
‘Who is that?’ Jack had seen them too, glancing over at Tilda, who shrugged. As they got closer, the figure grew more and more familiar. It was Jem.
As they closed in on the shed, Jack scuffed his heels and slumped his shoulders. Izzy broke from the group, stepping out with a hesitant, ‘Well?’
Jack was silent for a moment. And then straightened up, shoulders back and a grin on his face. ‘We found them. They’re back in the paddock.’
A little hoot went up at the good news. The kids danced and Izzy’s smile softened. It would have been the same smile even if they’d come back without the calves, just to have them home safe, but the relief on Jack’s face made it all worthwhile. Bea and Will begged and pleaded, taking off for the paddock the moment Jack relented. He called after them to be quick. ‘Back before the real rain hits, okay?’ But they were too excited to answer, off to see if they could spot the calves that had been on an adventure.
While Jack took the first turn greeting their parents, Tilda moved to help Clare down from her horse. The first time, Clare had been just as adamant that she could do it herself, but now she accepted Tilda’s hand. They both knew the drill. Tilda took Clare’s weight as she slid off the saddle, catching and lowering her until her feet gently touched the ground. Clare stepped back, an uncertain smile moving between them before Tilda was drawn into a hug by her dad, his rocking motion marching her in circles before he let go.
He slapped a hand on each of Jack and Tilda’s shoulders, gripping them tight, all business now. ‘Tell me you didn’t risk your necks on the ravine for a cow.’
Jack slipped out of his grip. ‘Three calves. And we used Farmer’s Ridge, like always.’ He shot a glance at Tilda, the roll of his eye sending a little message that semantics and a half-truth were better than getting their heads chewed off, even though they were full-grown adults and the farm was no longer their father�
��s to run.
‘Leave them be, Tom.’ Madge pulled Tilda into a motherly hug, gave her a last squeeze, and then turned her attention on Clare, who got the same treatment. ‘Lovely to finally meet you. Feels like we already know you though. Izzy’s told us about the fun you’ve all been having.’ She glanced at her husband, who was oblivious to her pointed look. ‘We could have come earlier like I wanted and been part of it all too. But oh well.’
Even though there’d been no sign of him listening, Tom couldn’t help but reply. ‘We’re here now, Madge. The kids have lives of their own, they don’t need us here to ruin it for them.’
Tilda tried her best not to laugh at the sour twitch of her mother’s mouth, wanting to explain to Clare that as terrible as they were together, they were more tolerable when you had each of them on their own.
Someone tried to stifle a laugh, and Tilda turned.
Jem lowered her voice and cupped her mouth. ‘Drama as always, I see.’
Tilda spoke into her shoulder. ‘Escape now while you can.’
‘What was that, Til?’ Madge turned, catching the two as they split apart, blank-faced and innocent.
‘We were just talking about the rain.’ Jem piped up. She’d always been good at diverting Madge’s attention. ‘And now I better get a move on back to town before the storm hits.’
Madge looped her arm around Jem’s elbow. ‘You’ll be back though? I want to hear all about your plans.’
‘Sure.’ Jem waved goodbye to everyone as she ducked out into the rain, hurried along by Tilda’s mum who looked desperate to never let go at the same time as doing the courteous thing by walking her over to her car.
Jack led his horse inside the tack shed, Izzy and Tom on his heels. Tilda clicked for her own horse to follow, taking the reins of Clare’s horse as she walked them in. As kids, it had always been a race between her and Jack, but Tilda took her time undoing buckles and loosening straps while Jack made quick work of his own. Tom gave his son a hand to haul the saddle off, waiting for Tilda to finish before doing the same for her. Tilda moved to help a limping Clare, but Tom waved her off. ‘I’ve got it.’
Tilda stepped back out of the way, catching Clare who’d forgotten her ankle and put too much weight on it, the pain making her stumble. ‘Why don’t you go to the cottage? You can have the first shower.’
Izzy paused mid-stroke, horse brush in her hand. ‘We already moved Til’s bed into your room. I hope that’s still okay?’ The way she looked at Tilda and then at Clare, it reminded Tilda that Izzy had seen her in Clare’s shirt the morning they’d left. Izzy’s rightful assumption made it even more awkward now that Tilda didn’t know where she stood with Clare, having forgotten that they’d offered to share a room so Tom and Madge could have a bedroom in the cottage.
‘It’s okay.’ And Clare limped out.
Tilda watched her go, wondering whether she’d take up the offer of a shoulder to lean on. Izzy stepped up, glancing at Tilda. ‘You can use the kids’ bathroom. We’ll do the rest.’
Dead on her feet, Tilda would have skipped the shower and gone straight to bed, but she knew waking up wearing a layer of dirt wouldn’t be the best. ‘Yeah. Okay. Thanks.’
Showered and half asleep, Tilda emerged into the kitchen. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of the kitchen table laid out with food, a plate already dished out and waiting for her. Clare and Jack were already at the table, halfway through eating, both in a similar state of blinking daze.
The kids waited until they were all done eating before they pounced, wanting to know every little thing that had happened. Jack piled onto the floor with them and Tilda stretched out on the couch, noticing the clean white bandage on Clare’s ankle as she came over and sat in an armchair in the corner. As Jack replayed Merry’s bravery, redeeming herself as a farm dog by herding the calves, her eyelids grew heavier until she couldn’t keep them open.
At a soft touch on her shoulder, Tilda pried her eyes open. Izzy was leaning over her. The floor was clear of bodies and the armchair empty, her parents and the kids around the table eating their dinner now.
Izzy pulled Tilda up off the couch and guided her to the back door. The cool air refreshed her a little, enough to nod a reply to Izzy that she could make it over to the cottage on her own. The light was almost gone, the rain falling steadily.
‘Thank you.’ Izzy held out an umbrella.
‘For?’
‘Going with him.’
Tilda realised the umbrella was meant for her, taking it with a smile. ‘He’s my little brother.’
‘But you didn’t have to, so thank you.’ Izzy pulled her into a hug and Tilda blinked back the tears that had sprung up out of nowhere, threatening to overflow. One escaped as Izzy stepped back, her hands still on Tilda’s shoulders. ‘Everything okay?’
Tilda wiped the tear away with a rough palm. ‘Everything? That’s a lot of ground to cover.’ She grimaced at the similarity with what she’d said to Clare when asked what she wanted. ‘I’m just tired.’
Izzy wasn’t fooled, but she didn’t push. Just helped put the umbrella up, placing the handle in Tilda’s hand and lifting it so it was sheltering her head. ‘Go to bed. We’re cooking a big breakfast in the morning so don’t sleep in too late.’ And she gave Tilda a nudge out into the rain.
The top half of her stayed dry under the cover of the umbrella, but the legs of her jeans were soaking wet by the time she reached the veranda. She was halfway down the hallway, on her way to her own room, when she remembered her bed had been moved. Clare’s door wasn’t quite closed, and Tilda nudged it open. The fan was off, the damp breeze coming in the window enough to keep the room cool. Light bounced in from the veranda. Shadows made valleys in the sheet pulled up over Clare in her bed, curled up on her side, facing the wall.
Tilda peeled away her wet socks and kicked off her jeans. She crawled into bed, pulling her sheet up under her chin and staring at the strange shadows on the ceiling.
‘Hey, Til?’ Clare whispered from the other side of the room, sounding half asleep.
‘Mm?’ Tilda shuffled onto her side.
‘I was thinking maybe I might go into town, see if I can get my apartment at the pub back…’ The sheet ruffled as Clare turned. A faint white light glowed across her face. ‘Now that Comet’s gone. And I don’t want to intrude on your family.’
‘You’re not intruding, if anything you make it bearable.’
Clare was silent, staring back at Tilda from her pillow.
‘You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to.’ Tilda struggled to keep her eyes open, the sagging mattress like a weight beneath her, pulling her down deep. She fought, and lost, sinking into sleep, not hearing if Clare had made her mind up already.
31
IT WAS STILL raining when Tilda woke late the next morning. She turned over, looked at the other bed and then around the room. Clare’s bed had been stripped, the blanket folded, the pillow placed on top. Her books, clothes, bag, all of her things were gone. Tilda sat up and looked out the window. Clare’s car wasn’t parked out front and there were runnels in the mud, tracks disappearing down the driveway. It was obvious, but it wasn’t sinking in.
Through the din of the rain on the roof she heard the bell and remembered Izzy’s heads-up about breakfast. Tilda dragged herself out of bed and got dressed, her body a little stiff and sore. Using the umbrella Izzy had given her the night before, Tilda dodged puddles and muddy patches. Before she’d even reached the main house, she could smell food cooking; bacon and sausages and fried toast. A real big breakfast.
A hungry cheer went up as she walked into the busy kitchen. Izzy and Jack were skirting around each other at the stovetop, Madge leaning over the bench cutting up fruit. There were only seven places set at the table, Bea and Will in their seats already, bodies bouncing as their legs swung underneath the table.
Madge half-turned, knife in hand, and saw Tilda standing in the middle of the kitchen. ‘We wondered when you were going to surf
ace.’
‘Could’ve started without me.’ Tilda felt a little lost. ‘Clare…’ But before she had to dredge up the words, Izzy was beside her.
‘She came in a little while ago to say goodbye. Said she was going back to the pub apartments.’ Izzy squeezed Tilda’s hand, catching her eye. ‘Didn’t want to crowd.’
‘Right.’ Tilda nodded. It was going to happen eventually, right? Going their separate ways. No heartbreak, no hard feelings, no promises made. They’d agreed. Just Friends. So that was that. Everything would go back to normal now… But she could have said goodbye at least.
Tilda wandered over to the table, smiling at Bea and Will but silently gripping her chair so tight the edges of the wood dug into her palms. Movement at her shoulder made her release her grip. Madge put a bowl of fruit salad on the table, picked something off Tilda’s shirt, fixed a stray hair. ‘Your friend seemed nice. Pity she couldn’t stay.’
‘Mm.’ If Tilda heard or said, or even thought, that word one more time…
Jack brought over a plate stacked with bacon and a bowl of scrambled eggs. He leaned in as he put them on the table and whispered, ‘They’re in fine form this morning.’ He motioned with his eyes at their mother. ‘I had to stop Izzy from smacking them both with the spatula.’
Tilda pulled out her chair and was just about to sit when Madge spoke. ‘Will, go and tell your grandfather that breakfast is on the table.’
Will gave his grandmother a confused look, his eyes flicking to Bea, who shrugged. Tilda shifted onto her left foot and peered through into the living room where her father sat on the couch about three metres away, reading his newspaper. There was no way he hadn’t heard what his wife had just said, no reason that Madge couldn’t just poke her head in and tell him herself. But her father didn’t move, just licked his finger and turned the page, shaking the newspaper out.
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