All She Wants

by Marchant A. J.

  Bernie had stayed close and had seen it too; she was at his side as soon as he finished. ‘Let’s get you some dinner and then it’s back to the hospital.’

  Tilda helped get him back into the wheelchair and then sat in his spot on the couch. Clare shifted around, an elbow on the back of the couch and her head resting in her palm, one leg tucked up and the other stretched out.

  ‘How’s your ankle?’

  ‘A lot better.’

  Tilda stared at Clare, who glanced around, taking in the bustle.

  ‘So, the Grinch saved Christmas, huh?’ There was a hint of comedic caution in Clare’s tone, and her eyes dropped away when she saw Tilda staring.

  ‘Yeah well, it’s all Cindy Lou’s fault.’ Tilda gathered her courage. ‘I realised something.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I put so much hate into this time of year, that all I could see were the bad things. I forgot about the good.’ Tilda glanced around at the town gathered together, laughing and gleeful despite the mess waiting to be cleaned up, at her family sitting around the wooden table with Cliff and Bernie, then back at Clare. ‘You reminded me of all the good parts. The important moments, all the things I’d missed over the years…’ Tilda took a deep breath. ‘Can I show you something?’ She stood up and offered Clare her hand.

  ‘Sure.’ Clare took it, pulling herself up off the couch.

  Tilda led her over to the container, and without explanation, she handed Clare a jacket.

  ‘It’s unbearably humid. Why would I want to wear the biggest puffer jacket I’ve ever seen?’

  Tilda unhooked the second jacket and shrugged into it, sweating a moment later. ‘Trust me. Just. Put it on.’ She opened the container door. Clare stared at her, then peeked around. Strips of plastic stopped the cold air from escaping the fridge, and they also made it impossible to see inside. There was a humming of a motor and the whir of a fan running. Clare still didn’t move, jacket hanging limp in her hand.

  ‘Please. You’ll know why in a minute.’

  With a small sigh, Clare pulled the jacket on and Tilda steadied her as she climbed the steps. ‘I swear, if this is some kind of joke and you shut that door behind me, I’ll…’ Clare parted the plastic strips and disappeared inside. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

  A welcome chill hit Tilda’s cheeks as she followed Clare in, closing the door and feeling for the light switch.

  Jerry’s North Pole set-up, minus his big red chair, came into view. The container was a forest of deep green—albeit plastic—trees, none taller than shoulder height. White cotton carpeted the ground. Red and white candy canes marked out a winding pathway, lined with inflated reindeers and elves and precariously stacked presents. Clare stepped in further, hands held out to catch pieces of white fluff that a fan in the corner blew out, creating a blizzard near the ceiling that spread out to a calm flurry as it fell.

  Tilda took a step forward. ‘I know it’s not real snow…’

  Clare laughed, her breath coming out in a foggy cloud. ‘It’s freezing in here.’ She zipped her jacket and rubbed her hands together before pointing at the real tree at the far end of the pathway. ‘Is that…?’

  ‘Your tree? It is.’

  Jack had been a lot happier about using the tree here, instead of inside the pub with the other one.

  ‘You did all this…’ Clare wandered along the path.

  ‘You said snow would make it a perfect Christmas. A white Christmas.’

  ‘In the middle of an Australian summer.’ Clare smiled. ‘If this is your way of apologising—’ She glanced over, then stepped off the path, only her head visible as she floated through the short forest of trees. As if Tilda wasn’t nervous enough, time slowed as Clare walked on, a long moment passing before she turned around with a smile. ‘Then, I accept.’

  Emerging between the candy canes and onto the path, Clare ventured further, poking Rudolph’s red nose and making his head bob. Tilda caught up, trailing along behind. It was now or never…

  ‘I don’t want us to be friends.’ Tilda frowned; she hadn’t meant to just blurt it out. Up ahead, Clare had stopped. Tilda couldn’t see her face, but she realised how it had sounded. ‘I can’t stand not being with you.’ Shit. She’d corrected too far the other way, should’ve thought more about what she was going to say.

  Clare turned around now, clearly confused. The fake snow seemed to have accumulated above them, falling furiously. There was a big gap between them and so Tilda stepped forward. ‘I don’t have a big speech. I’m sure there are a million things I could want. But there’s only one thing I can think of—’

  ‘Longer work hours?’ Clare’s lips twitched with a faint smile.

  ‘No.’ Tilda took another step closer, blowing at a piece of white fluff that landed on her cheek.

  ‘To conquer your fear of chickens?’

  Another step. ‘No. Would you—’

  ‘Air conditioning in the cottage?’

  Tilda took one last giant step, the smallest gap now between them. ‘Would you stop! All I want is you.’

  Streaks of white went unnoticed as Tilda stared at Clare, desperately waiting for her to say something. Clare just stared back, her expression unreadable. And then Clare closed the gap, her hands slipping around Tilda’s waist.

  Tilda brushed fake snow from Clare’s hair, their faces inches apart. ‘And maybe the air conditioner, too.’

  Clare’s face split into a grin, moving as if to pull away, but Tilda stopped her, pulled her back in. When their lips touched, it reminded her of their first kiss at the sink. Soft and demanding. A kiss that obliterated the world and dropped them in a void. This time there was no clattering plate, no distracted shyness. And when they pulled apart, Tilda’s gut flipped in panic, overwhelmed by joy.

  ‘Does this mean you want this, too?’

  Clare started swaying, moving Tilda with her. At first it was only humming, and then she started singing, ‘I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there’s—’

  Tilda stopped her with another kiss, groaning when Clare pulled back. ‘I want to get one thing clear, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Tilda held her breath.

  ‘We’re not just friends anymore.’

  Tilda sighed a laugh and smiled. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Deal?’ Clare held out her hand to shake on it.

  ‘Deal.’ Tilda took it, but then pulled her in, wrapping her arms around her, the oversized puffer jackets making it difficult.

  They swayed together, Clare’s head resting against Tilda’s chest. After a while, Clare lifted her head and caught Tilda’s eye. ‘I wanna hear you say it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take a guess.’

  Tilda didn’t need to guess. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said it—sure, she’d always replied with a polite, ‘You, too,’ to others saying it, but was never the instigator. She kissed Clare’s forehead, trailing more down her nose and across her cheek, mirroring her smile.

  ‘Merry Christmas.’

  EPILOGUE

  TILDA’S SHIFT WAS finishing in ten minutes. She’d already gotten her bag out of her locker and stashed it under the desk. Her last patient of the day was a kid who’d broken his arm falling off the monkey bars at school. After a talk with his parents and showing the fascinated boy his x-ray, she tagged out with the orthopaedic surgeon who’d be taking care of him for the rest of his stay.

  Bernie and James were at the desk when she went for her bag. Almost a month back at work and they still couldn’t believe it when she finished work at the time she was supposed to.

  James had been pretending to study, buried in a textbook, but he slammed it shut without marking his page and perked up in his seat. ‘Hot date?’

  Tilda had already changed out of her scrubs and she hung her white coat on a chair ready for tomorrow. ‘Only if your idea of a hot date involves real estate agents.’

  James snickered something but Bernie flicked his ear and sent him to
change a dressing. She handed Tilda her bag and leaned back in her chair. ‘I’m gonna miss having to push you outta here at the end of your shifts. I was starting to get really good at it.’

  Tilda smiled and waved, heading for the exit. ‘Bye everybody.’

  ‘Have fun.’

  The automatic doors opened with a hush. A hot wall of air hit as she walked out into the ambulance bay. Toby and Emma were cleaning up their rig after bringing in the schoolboy, waving as she walked by.

  She heard them before she saw them; the marching tap of paws, the calming voice doing little to settle an impatient whine. Popping out around the corner, her heart still did a flip to see Clare waiting for her, Merry as well. Clare had Merry’s head resting in her hands, deep in conversation. Tilda stopped and leaned against the wall, watching as Clare mumbled, Merry licking her nose in reply. The dog wrenched her head free when she noticed Tilda, letting out a bark that echoed against the building.

  Merry jumped off the tray of the ancient ute and Clare turned, smiling. ‘You’re early.’

  The dog bounced at Tilda’s side and nipped at her hands, her whole body wagging from side to side as she herded Tilda over to the ute. Tilda greeted Clare with a kiss and Merry with a pat. ‘Let’s get outta here.’

  Tilda climbed in the passenger seat, Merry in the middle, and Clare behind the wheel. She’d been finding her way around town, learning street names and remembering directions and picking up the local nicknames for places. Still, Clare took a wrong turn, distracted by telling Tilda about her morning spent wrangling with a horse-sized dog, also the biggest sook, just so she could cut its nails. She’d refused to tell Tilda the address of the place they were going to see, but eventually she found her way there. The real estate agent was waiting for them, pacing circles in the front yard, talking on the phone.

  ‘So, this is it?’ Tilda leaned forward, looking past Clare at a tidy little cottage in a quiet street with a big tree in the front yard.

  ‘This is it.’ With an excited grin, Clare got out of the ute, Merry right behind her and Tilda scrambling to catch up.

  The real estate agent unlocked the front door, but it was the second time Clare had been there, so he left her to show Tilda around. Merry followed them, sniffing at the floorboards and her tail wagging. The kitchen was poky, the rooms small but bright. The bathroom had its original fittings, pastel pink and porcelain white. There was an annex at the back, a little sunroom with a row of windows that looked out onto the backyard.

  ‘Well?’ Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Tilda turned to Merry. ‘What do you think, girl?’

  Merry had her nose poked through a little hole in the screen door and she took a final sniff, sneezing. The dog sat down with a whine, her tongue lolling out as she panted, the afternoon sun streaming in and warming up the room.

  A finger tickled up Tilda’s jaw, pinching her earlobe. A smile betrayed Clare’s frown. ‘I was asking you, Doc. Not the dog.’

  Tilda turned, leaning back on the windowsill and looking down the hallway of the cottage. ‘I think it’s perfect.’ Clare turned to look too, sliding in close to Tilda’s side and hugging her arm. Tilda could already imagine the place all set up. ‘Plenty of parking in the street. You could convert the bedrooms to exam rooms, turn the front room into a reception and waiting room. You could start a doggy day care with the big yard, and a puppy training school. You could even—’

  ‘Alright.’ Clare squeezed Tilda’s arm and rested her head on her shoulder. ‘Don’t freak me out even more than I already am.’

  Tilda wrapped her arms around Clare, kissed the crown of her head and smoothed her hair. ‘You’ll do great.’

  Clare shuffled around, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. She opened it to reveal a flyer Tilda had seen pinned up on the notice boards around the hospital. Next month there was a 24-hour dance marathon to raise funds for the new cardiac care unit. There’d been a big meeting about it while she was away, but she’d heard all about it; the carefully chosen date, the restaurants involved in serving three-course dinners, the swing band, the decorations.

  ‘I thought we could go?’ Clare handed her the flyer. ‘Or do you hate Valentine’s Day as well?’

  Letting the piece of paper drop to the floor, Tilda took Clare’s hand. She pushed off the windowsill and into the middle of the sunroom, twisting Clare into a spin and catching her mid-dip, rolling her up and pulling her close. Their lips were almost touching, brushing as Tilda spoke. ‘If I say I hate it, will you change my mind?’

  So close, she felt Clare’s lips form a smile. ‘Always.’

  AUTHOR NOTE

  IF YOU LIKED this book, please leave a review. As independent publishers, word of mouth is the most powerful tool for readers to find new books to enjoy.

  Click here to see other works by A.J.

  Keep an eye out for upcoming books, or if you’d like to be notified at the time of release, you can follow me on—

  Amazon: amazon.com/author/ajmarchant

  BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/a-j-marchant

  GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/aj_marchant

  A.J. Marchant is an Australian author living in a small rural town, but missing the grunge of the city and the relaxed coastal vibe of home. Far from a talkative and bubbly morning person, A.J is up at 5am, greeted by an always happy black-and-white dog who’s learned how to escape his sleeping tent. After feeding the dogs and making a cup of coffee, it’s straight to the laptop, ready to work on the story in progress.

  If you’d like to get in touch-

  Email: ajmarchantwrites@gmail.com

  Insta: @ajmarchantwrites

  Website: www.ajmwrites.com