All She Wants

by Marchant A. J.

  As the room settled back into quiet, Tilda stared at Cliff, half expecting the racket to have woken him. It was disheartening to see him sleep on. ‘You won’t have to go that far. I think I’m starting to learn there’s more to life than the four floors of this hospital.’

  34

  IT WAS LATE when Tilda left the hospital. The clouds had settled back in and it was bucketing down rain. Water pooled across roads and there were emergency workers assessing the river, close to completely bursting its banks. She pulled over at the bridge to talk to a huddled group. One pointed out where the river was already touching the metal supports underneath. ‘Gonna be a long night. If the rain doesn’t stop soon, half the town will wash away before we can get enough sandbags in place.’

  An older man stepped up and waved the huddle apart, telling them to get back to work. Tilda couldn’t see his face in the dark, but by his voice she picked him out as John the local fire chief. ‘Better get home, Doc. Before things get worse.’

  The lights were off in the main house and also the cottage, except for a lamp beside Tilda’s bed. She tiptoed around for a bit, feeling lost and restless in the small space. After pulling off her scrubs she crashed into bed, the hard rain on the roof filling the room with a white noise that quieted her mind and lulled her to sleep.

  The blue-grey of first light seeped in under the veranda and woke her. She sat up and looked out the window. Clouds skimmed across the sky, but the rain had stopped. Everything was quiet. Just the chirp of sparrows in the garden and a chorus of currawong performing their repetitive melody in the distance. Tilda lay back down and stared at the ceiling for a bit, her gaze falling on the other empty bed and then roaming around the room. Clare’s room. It’d always be Clare’s room now. Whether she was there or not. Tilda sighed, deflated at the thought of her not being there, made worse by the thought of her spending Christmas alone at the pub.

  Tilda groaned into her pillow. ‘Such an idiot.’

  After pulling herself together, Tilda dragged her tired body out of bed and got dressed. Passing by her old bedroom on the way to the bathroom, she heard her father’s guttural snores, and under the hum of the fan, the softer snore of her mother. In the kitchen, she chugged a glass of milk and poured some cereal into a plastic container to eat on the way into town. Sneaking out before her parents woke, Tilda eased the front door shut. Her heart skipped when she turned and saw Merry sitting on the top step.

  ‘You scared me, girl.’

  The dog whined in answer to her whisper. Tilda spotted Jack and Izzy coming across the yard, each with a sleeping kid in their arms.

  ‘What’s—’

  Jack reached the cottage first. ‘I’ve been trying to call you. I thought you were still at the hospital.’ He skipped up the steps and nodded for Tilda to get the door. ‘Where’s your car?’

  ‘Shed.’ Tilda hadn’t wanted to get bogged in the mud. She held the door open for Izzy and then followed them into Clare’s room. ‘What’s going on?’

  They settled a kid in each bed and shuffled back out into the hallway. Izzy searched through the hall table for the notepad, and Jack motioned for Tilda to follow him back out onto the veranda. ‘All the heavy rain last night. The river overflowed, half the town flooded. We’re going in to see what we can do.’

  Just like the guy had predicted. Izzy joined them on the veranda. Merry was still sitting on the step. She whined, her feet marching, eyes flicking between the three of them.

  ‘Coming or staying, girl?’

  As if she understood, Merry padded inside and lay down in the bedroom doorway, choosing to stay with the kids. Jack looked at Tilda. ‘What about you? Were you headed back to the hospital?’

  ‘Well, no, but—’ Tilda had been headed for the pub. Then it occurred to her that Clare’s apartment had been on the ground floor. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  35

  THE RIVER HAD become a lake, quadrupled in width. Jack pulled up at the edge. The water had swallowed up the bridge, only the tops of the concrete railings visible. There were flashing lights at either side, and emergency services were directing people away. Not wanting to give up or drive the long way around, Jack got on the radio and talked to one of the guys. It was a lot to ask, but after a long conversation back and forth, they let them drive across, Jack assuring them that his ute had a snorkel and would make it.

  Tilda leaned forward between the front seats and peered through the windshield. All she could make out through the rush of water was a faint and wobbling white dividing line. Jack took it slow, but the ute held steady, the water creeping up to just below the windows when they reached the middle of the bridge and then receding as they sloshed their way back onto the solid asphalt road.

  They continued on into town, but didn’t get far. The roads were streams, parked cars like rocks diverting the water which had carried along debris that blocked the way through. There was still a foot or two of water covering the ground, but judging by the mud marks on houses and tree trunks and telephone poles, the level had been a great deal higher. People waded through shin-high water, up to their knees in places. Jack parked the ute as far out of the way as possible and they set out on foot, shoes off and pants rolled up. Tilda thought to go find Clare, but went along with Izzy and Jack who were following others, everyone seemingly headed somewhere.

  They came to Memorial Park where people had gathered. The park was on a slight rise and the water had dropped away, bubbling along the gutters bordering it. The lawn was mud, the garden beds destroyed. The concrete footpaths had shifted, trees toppled over and branches scattered. The mayor stood up on the gazebo steps, the only person dry as a bone.

  ‘Recon he was carried in?’ Jack elbowed Tilda. But she wasn’t paying much attention. She was looking over at the outdoor mall, now transformed into the town’s second river. The water had been diverted at the bottom end, piled sandbags directing it away from the park and the surrounding houses, back towards the river. Some stores had sandbags piled at their doors too, but the ones that didn’t hadn’t been so lucky, inventory floating out and being carried away. As jarring a sight as it was on its own, there was something else strange, out of place. It took a second, but Tilda put her finger on what was bugging her. The tree. The one the kids had spent hours decorating. The tree that brought the town together every year. It was gone. Washed away.

  Tilda realised the mayor was talking ‘… south side of town is flooded. Most of those houses are still inundated with water. But the north side wasn’t hit as bad, seeing as it’s higher up. The hospital and school were spared and they’ll be setting up shelter for those affected. The pub was also not affected—’

  A cheer went up through the crowd.

  ‘It’s a mess, but if we work together, if we each do our best…’

  Tilda stopped listening. She looked at the faces around her, tired and weary and shaken, shoulders slumped, clothes damp and muddy. A pep talk wasn’t what they needed right now. Some people were wandering away, their attention moving elsewhere, whispering to each other to come up with their own plan of action.

  ‘Does this mean Christmas is over?’

  Tilda turned to see a kid, about Will’s age, sitting on his father’s shoulders with bare, muddy feet. The kid was leaning over, staring down at his father’s face, the man unable to answer his son’s question.

  An idea formed in Tilda’s mind. She pushed through the crowd and stood at the bottom of the gazebo steps, waiting as the mayor continued to talk. ‘… wait for the water level to drop before—’ He looked down at her. ‘Before we can clean up, but—’ He looked at her again. ‘But there are places we can—’ With a frown, he turned his full attention to Tilda. ‘Can I help you, Doc?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Tilda climbed the steps, leaving muddy footprints behind her. She pointed at the spot he was standing. ‘May I?’

  ‘Be my guest.’ He stepped back, a little affronted.

  ‘Uh, hi everyone.’ Tilda waited while the crowd settled,
people who’d been about to leave now returning.

  Jack looked up at her like she’d lost the plot. He mouthed, ‘What’re you doing?’

  Suddenly her plan sounded stupid, ridiculous. There was a little voice telling her she hadn’t thought it all the way through, there was no way she could pull it off, who was she to—

  And then she saw Clare moving through the crowd. Before she could think twice she was laying her plan out to the town. At first they seemed dumbstruck; not because of the plan, but because of who had the plan. But then heads started to nod, people looking around, smiles appearing, hands going up to volunteer for tasks.

  ‘Okay. So—’ Tilda summarised it all, for her own sake, more than the crowd. ‘Anything that survived—decorations, lights, food, presents, anything—bring it up to the pub. Phyl doesn’t know yet—’

  ‘Yes she does, and she’s more than fine with it.’ People stepped back to reveal Phyl nestled in the middle. She nodded at Tilda to continue.

  ‘Great. Thank you. Uh, anyone seen Esme?’

  People shuffled around, heads shaking.

  ‘No? Okay. Well, the first person to see her, tell her that Christmas is now at the pub. Quickest way to get the whole town involved.’

  Laughter rippled, and Tilda spotted Jem, standing with an unfamiliar woman who looked completely disorientated; Brooke, Tilda guessed. Jem waved, and Tilda smiled back, remembering her words by the fountain.

  ‘No one does Christmas better than Ashton, so… let’s get to it.’

  The crowd dispersed with renewed purpose. Tilda wove her way back over to Jack.

  ‘Where’s Izzy?’

  Jack pointed her out, already talking with Phyl.

  ‘I need you to go home, pack everything up and bring it in. Everything. Kids too. Even mum and dad. And I need the tree.’

  ‘They’ve just shut the bridge to all traffic. No exceptions.’ Jack slumped when Tilda didn’t let him off the hook. ‘Guess I’ll go the long way around.’

  ‘Better get a move on then.’ Tilda caught his arm as he turned to leave. ‘Be careful… and thanks.’

  ‘Eh.’ He waved her off and ducked away at a jog.

  36

  THE PUB WAS transformed. The tinsel seemed to multiply, accompanied by strings of fairy lights, the two looped across the walls and wrapped around the ceiling beams and taped to the front of the bar. The lights flashed, reflected and doubled by the shiny baubles and an eclectic collection of decorations and figurines placed around the tables. Esme had woven her magic and spread the word around in record time. Even people from the north side of town were bringing food and presents to share, sticking around despite having dry houses to return to. One family even brought their tree, fully decorated; it just needed to be placed and plugged in. Marcus was holding the tree upright while Tilda and Phyl figured out where to put it. He’d already moved it twice and was about to do it for the third time when a cheer went up and people started clapping. Tilda turned to see Bernie coming in the door, pushing a wheelchair.

  ‘Cliff!’

  He looked pale, fragile. His arm was in a sling and he had an oxygen mask hanging around his neck. But he was smiling so big, Tilda felt bad for the chiding tone in her voice. ‘Bernie, what’re you doing?’

  Bernie shrugged, wheeling Cliff over. ‘It was his idea.’

  ‘I told her I’d walk here myself if I had to.’ His voice was shaky, his hand just as unsteady as he lifted a finger and pointed. ‘There.’

  With a great heave, Marcus planted the tree where Cliff had suggested and then stepped back, rubbing at his arms where the pine needles had been scratching. Tilda trailed out the power cord for the lights, plugged it in and switched it on.

  ‘Perfect.’ Cliff clapped a hand to his knee. ‘One big Ashton Christmas.’

  Bernie raised her brow at Tilda. ‘No one’s ever pulled it off before.’

  ‘The town pulled it off, not me.’ Tilda brushed off Bernie’s stare, crouching beside Cliff and taking his hand. His arm in the sling trembled a little, and each breath crackled, but he just smiled at her concern. ‘I’m okay, love. Even better now I’m here.’

  ‘Okay, but if you need anything—’ Tilda paused.

  Over Cliff’s shoulder she saw Jack walk in and dump a bag, tinsel spilling out on the floor. He threw up his hands at the sight of the tree they’d just set up. ‘What’d I need to bring ours in for?’

  Tilda smiled up at him and shrugged. ‘We can have two trees.’ Jack pouted and Tilda did her best at jolly. ‘Ah, come on. Where’s your giddiness and excitement gone?’

  ‘I think you stole it.’ Jack mumbled as he slumped away, spinning sideways to make way for Izzy and the kids who were carrying in coolers of food and boxes of presents.

  After getting Cliff comfortable, Tilda helped them add their decorations. Merry lent a paw, standing on the end of a string of tangled lights while Will searched out the end. Even Jack and Tilda’s parents were working together, talking to each other and everything, not a single argument as far as Tilda could tell.

  Soon they’d run out of places to put things. They’d piled the bar high with plates and trays of cutlery and containers of food, more squeezed into the beer fridge behind. The place was getting loud and crowded, kids chasing each other between the groups of adults. Phyl shooed them outside into the carpark to play, and then shooed Tilda out too, taking her by the elbow.

  The wind was blowing away the last of the clouds, revealing blue sky and a bright sun. The gutters dripped, and the humidity rose as the drying asphalt steamed. There were tables and chairs being set up in the carpark, helpers shuffling them out from the apartments.

  ‘Figured we’d spread out here.’ Phyl led Tilda over to the shade of the old shipping container that’d once been a cooler room for beer cartons and produce.

  ‘Awesome.’ Tilda spotted Clare following behind two guys carrying a couch out of her apartment. It took a moment to recognise Jerry at one end. He looked a whole different person with his beard shaved and without his Santa suit, eleven months until he was corralled back into it.

  Phyl still had Tilda by the arm and was looking at her funny.

  ‘What?’

  A smile played over Phyl’s lips as she looked away. ‘Nothin’ Doc.’

  Turning around, Tilda nodded at the shipping container. ‘Decided to keep it?’

  ‘Haven’t gotten around to shifting it.’

  ‘Anything in it?’ Tilda stared at the big metal fridge, avoiding Phyl’s suspicious eye.

  ‘Empty, mostly.’

  ‘Does it still work?’

  The corner of Phyl’s mouth twisted. ‘Should do.’

  Another idea formed. Turning back around, Tilda spotted the couch over by the play area, kids already climbing all over it. She scanned the carpark. Clare was nowhere in sight. But Jerry was over at the drinks table, filling a paper cup with a bright orange liquid from the soccer club’s cooler jug. Leaving Phyl with a cryptic request to find Marcus and get him to turn the container’s cooling system on as soon as possible, she went over to Jerry.

  He spotted her coming, and before she could speak he was pleading. ‘Please, don’t make me put the suit back on.’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt. The kids would love—’ Too easily sidetracked, she shook her head; that wasn’t what she’d had in mind. ‘You don’t have to. But I do need your help with something.’

  A few vital questions later, she asked Jerry to meet her by his truck in a few minutes and then set off to catch Jack before he set the tree up inside the pub.

  37

  TILDA TURNED THE lights off, went down the steps and shut the container door. ‘Thanks for the help, boys.’

  Jerry nodded and waved back over his head as he made his way inside the pub. Marcus smiled as he hung two jackets on hooks on the side of the container, stepping back to wait for Jack who play-punched her in the shoulder with a goofy grin on his face. ‘Good luck.’

  Tilda was about to hit him back when a
hand snaked around her elbow. Before she could slip away, Bernie had an iron grip on her. ‘Where’ve you been? And why are you cold?’

  ‘I was just helping the boys move beer cartons in the fridge.’

  Lips pulled tight, Bernie tsk-ed her. ‘Quit hiding and come with me.’

  She dragged Tilda to join the celebrations, to see the town come together. Soon the sun was sinking behind the horizon. After a while, Tilda pulled herself away from the melee and went over to get a drink of water.

  The lights that were permanently strung up across the beer garden were glowing golden, additional Christmas lights boosting them with flashes of bright colour. There were people everywhere; milling in and out of the pub; sitting around tables eating and talking; dancing to the local band playing inside, putting a country spin on a few well-known carols.

  Tilda spotted Merry running through the middle of the tables, barking when she found a huddle of kids hiding behind a couch. The dog turned tail as they burst out, disappearing into the crowd for the kids to seek her out this time. She spotted Will, sticking close to the side of a sweet-looking girl she assumed was Daisy Moroney, their arms stretching out as the girl took the lead, pulling Will along.

  Over on the next couch, Clare was sitting with Cliff, both of them laughing at the little bodies scrambling to be the first to find the dog.

  Another hand squeezed Tilda’s elbow, but it was Izzy this time. ‘We’re eating as soon as we can wrangle the kids up, if you want to join.’

  ‘Sure. I need to do something first, though.’ Tilda’s stomach did a flip, settling into butterflies. After Izzy had pointed out the big wooden dining table they’d scored, her parents already sitting there with a bunch of old friends, Tilda made her way over to the couches.

  Cliff was in the middle of a story, one Tilda had heard many times before but still enjoyed. Clare glanced up with a smile when Tilda sat in Cliff’s vacated wheelchair, not wanting to interrupt. As he neared the end, Tilda noticed he was flagging.