26 AMELIA

26 Amelia

‘You look great,’ Charlee insisted.

Amelia stared doubtfully into the mirror. She rarely wore a dress, and in any case, the floaty, mid-thigh number Charlee had chosen for her seemed far too impractical for the wintry weather. ‘No,’ she said decisively.

Charlee’s face fell.

‘I’ll save this for the actual dance,’ Amelia added. ‘I want to make an entrance then. Jeans will do this afternoon. I’ll wear the boots though, break them in. Okay?’

‘Great plan!’ Charlee said. ‘I wish they’d had another pair in my size.’

Amelia held up the tooled leather boots. ‘Aren’t we the same size? You take them.’

Charlee ran a finger over the embossing. ‘Nope. They look perfect with your dress. I’ll find something else before the big do. Tracey is a whizz in the op shop. Which reminds me, she wants me to go look in some old shop on Main Street after the class today.’

‘I think all the shops on Main are old,’ Amelia replied, tugging her jeans on beneath the dress. Charlee didn’t believe in giving her much privacy, but she recognised the need in the younger girl, her desire for contact and solace. And that was okay. ‘Which one in particular?’

‘Across from the cafe that’s closed down.’

‘You mean Tractors and Tarts? There’s nothing in there.’

‘Nope. That’s kind of the point. Apparently Daideó has got Tracey all worked up about opening a new shop.’

‘A cafe?’ Amelia was surprised. Her neighbour certainly had a ton of energy, but surely she was too old for hospitality work.

‘Not food.’ Charlee fidgeted and Amelia realised the teen was barely able to contain her excitement. ‘She reckons she might start an up shop here.’

‘You mean an op shop?’

‘Nope.’ Charlee grinned. She’d obviously been hoping Amelia would correct her. ‘An up shop. Kind of like an op shop, but we’d be really picky and upcycle the clothes.’

‘I’m not even sure what that means.’

‘Basically, you can recycle, downcycle or upcycle.’ Charlee loved the opportunity to direct, teach, or lecture. ‘Recycling is reusing, downcycling is when something is broken down into original components, like when you take your empty bottles to the bottle yard. And upcycling is the opposite end of the scale, where you take something and give it new life, so it’s worth more than the original.’

‘How does that work for clothes?’

‘See, that’s the thing. Tracey reckons we could do a bit of a road trip and trawl the tiny op shops in some of the real country towns.’

Amelia tried not to smile. Charlee made it sound like Settlers Bridge was neither tiny nor ‘country’.

‘She said Tailem Bend and Tanunda and Karoonda have really fabulous op shops,’ Charlee continued. ‘Where the stuff is cheap as, and there’s a huge variety because it’s donated by a whole range of people. We figure we could pick up funky retro gear and maybe some designer pieces from places like that. Then Tracey will get the old ducks in the CWA to work their magic. Like, imagine a cute little floral skirt sewn onto a denim shirt. Maybe a crocheted hem at the bottom. Or jeans cut off at the knee and a couple of centimetres of an old lace tablecloth added. Men’s oversized suit jackets with the cuffs rolled back and lined with a contrast fabric, like, say, shocking pink satin on a pinstripe.’

‘But why would the CWA get involved? Surely those women have enough on their plates? I know Taylor was telling me they’re endlessly fundraising for a whole variety of causes.’

‘That’s the thing,’ Charlee said triumphantly, ‘the up shop will be the ultimate fundraiser. Tracey plans to sell all the CWA stuff that is usually only on the weekly street stall—you know, the edged tea towels and the knitted coat hanger covers and stuff. Plus she’ll sell the upcycled clothes. And now Ploughs and Pies has closed down, she’s even thinking of selling takeaway baked goods. Then all the profit will go back into the CWA. Tracey has some great ideas on how we could set up the layout of the shop, too.’

‘We? You’re joining the CWA, then?’ she teased, but the sense of community would be no bad thing for Charlee.

‘Not a snowflake’s. But—’ Charlee looked suddenly shy ‘—Tracey thinks I have a good eye for putting clothes together.’

Amelia smiled secretly. She was positive even Tracey wouldn’t have said that about Charlee a few weeks ago, but now the young woman was blooming. Generally in Amelia’s clothes, but that didn’t matter. And Charlee did have a knack for making her utilitarian gear look quirky, which would no doubt appeal to Tracey. ‘Sounds like you’re going to be busy. You’ve gone off the travelling farmyard idea, then?’ She hid her disappointment. After all, the plan had been to give Charlee a focus, which the younger woman had apparently now found for herself.

Charlee gasped. ‘Of course not! The upcycling is a side gig, because, let’s face it, Tracey’s too old to do it alone. But I have an idea for a name for the travelling farmyard. What do you think of Wild on Wheels?’

‘Sounds a little like we should be appearing at the Murray Bridge Speedway.’

‘Okay,’ Charlee said so readily, Amelia suspected she’d just been played, softened up for the real suggestion. ‘Then how about Fur and Feathers Farm?’

‘Potentially.’ Amelia thrust her head through an undershirt and sweater at the same time. A couple of weeks ago, she would have said that she didn’t care about the name of their business; she’d encouraged the notion of a travelling farm purely to help draw Charlee out of a dark place. But now the idea was growing on her. She liked animals, she liked Charlee, she liked Settlers Bridge. Her mind darted to Heath. Yeah, there were other things she liked about living here. So why shouldn’t she pursue a job that might bring some real joy back into her life? Focus was as important for her as it was for Charlee.

‘Done,’ she said.

‘What’s done?’ Charlee asked suspiciously, still stroking the boot.

‘The name. But I need you to get on to the correct government departments and register it, and take care of anything else that’s needed to make it official, okay? I won’t have time for any of that stuff till I’ve finished in James’s office. Put your name first on everything, so you’re the primary contact, okay?’

‘My name,’ Charlee repeated slowly.

‘Sure. We’re equal partners, aren’t we?’

Charlee dropped the boot and clapped both hands to her face. ‘Oh my God, you’re serious, aren’t you? We’re actually doing this?’

‘Why not?’ The decision and commitment made, Amelia felt suddenly light. ‘Life is for living, right? Let’s get in there.’

Charlee deflated. ‘We can’t be equal partners. I don’t have any money and I don’t know how much Dad will put in. I’ve … I’ve blown a lot of his dough over the last couple of years.’ She tapped her forearm, where the track marks were gradually fading.

‘It’s not about the money, Charlee. A partnership is about committing to turning up and putting in. I’ve got the money, but I need you. ’ Amelia took a deep breath. She’d promised herself to always be straight with the younger woman, to lead by example. And that started with facing her own demons. ‘It won’t be easy for me to deal with young children. So sometimes I might have to step back. I’m relying on you to catch me, Charlee. And in return, when you feel that you’re battling or you’re slipping, you have to be straight with me, okay? There’s no judgement—I’ll have your back, no matter what. But if we’re in this as partners, there are no secrets.’

Much as she liked Charlee, Amelia wasn’t sure how laying down the law so blatantly would go. On more than one occasion, she’d witnessed Charlee arc up, headstrong and rebellious. But Amelia was willing to take the risk.

‘I want—’ Charlee started, then stopped, frowning at the ground while she chewed on her lower lip. ‘I want to make you a whole bunch of promises, Amelia. I want to say I’m going to do everything right, that I’ll never let you down. And right this minute, I could confidently promise you that I’ll never use again. Except, that’d be a lie, you know? Addiction doesn’t work like that. It’s always going to be in me, like an incurable disease. I have to fight against it every day. More than anything, I want this …’ She waved a hand, searching for the word.

‘The travelling farm?’

Charlee shook her head. ‘No. Well, yes—Fur and Feathers Farm . But I mean this, us …’ She scribed an invisible arc between them. ‘I want our partnership, our friendship, more than I’ve wanted anything for a long time. But that makes me so scared I’m going to mess up. And then I’ll lose everything.’

Amelia’s heart clenched. She could see the very real fear in the girl’s eyes, her desperation to be able to trust, her terror at what doing so could cost her—again. They were all emotions Amelia understood far too well. But she also knew that they couldn’t be permitted to rule Charlee’s life—or her own.

‘I already told you I’ll have your back, Charlee. You’re not going to lose me. I will promise you that.’ She knew she had no right to make promises, but surely there’d already been enough pain in her own life; God couldn’t have more in store for her? And Charlee needed something to cling to, she needed to know that her world wasn’t going to slide from its axis again.

‘So … you’re not planning to leave?’

‘Leave?’

‘Dad said you have itchy feet.’ Charlee gave her a grin. ‘Well, he didn’t say it to me, but I heard him talking about you to Daideó.’

Amelia fought the juvenile desire to beg for details. She wanted to absorb the information, dissect it, work out what it could possibly mean. Why had Heath been talking about her? Did he care that she had planned to move on? But right now wasn’t the moment to give in to her own insecurities—or to chase the potential of unrecognised, unformed dreams that she didn’t care to explore.

‘No. I’m going to stay put, Charlee.’ She nodded slowly, a sense of peace and joy swelling within her until, like the petals of a daisy unfurling to offer itself to the sun, she felt herself open up, ready to embrace life. ‘I’m done running away.’

Amelia collapsed onto one of the hard wooden chairs, fanning herself with one hand. ‘Who knew this was such a workout?’ she said.

‘I know, right? Here, hydrate.’ Charlee handed her a plastic bottle. ‘I’ve never felt so unfit. All these ancient farmers are jiving around the place, and I’m just trying not to pant out loud. I’ll tell you one thing: I’m never going to take out a gym membership. This is way more fun.’ She ran the back of her arm over her forehead.

‘How’s Sean going?’ Amelia had harboured a tiny hope that Heath might turn up at the line-dancing class to practise for the fundraiser, but after a couple of sweaty hours of tangled feet, she was relieved Sean had come alone. Well, not entirely alone, as both Lynn and Tracey shadowed him, fending off the flock of women who’d immediately gone into twittering over-excitement when he’d entered the large room.

‘Flirting up a storm.’ Charlee lifted her chin to the far side of the room.

Far across the echoing vastness, Sean sat against the timber panel–clad wall beneath fly-spotted portraits of pompous men in gilt frames. Amelia frowned. He had taken several breaks during the session, but then, he was older—although, until today, she wouldn’t have used that description. Charlee was right, though: he wasn’t alone. Each time he sat, a meticulously attractive woman made a beeline for him.

‘Do you know who that is?’ she asked Charlee, then chuckled. When had she become so invested in Settlers Bridge that she needed to know all the residents?

‘ That —’ Tracey said as she took the seat alongside Amelia ‘—is Denise.’

Amelia waited a beat, disconcerted by Tracey’s snappish tone. She was unaccustomed to the older woman being anything but sweet and slightly ditzy.

‘Roni Krueger’s … mother,’ Tracey clarified, although the hesitation made it seem that she wanted to apply a different label.

‘Oh, Roni didn’t mention her mum being handy when we were discussing childcare,’ Amelia said. ‘I assumed Roni had come here from Sydney alone.’

‘She did. But Settlers Bridge was already inflicted—or should that be infected? I’m never sure—with Denise’s presence. The only blessing is that she regularly disappears on overseas sojourns. Unfortunately, just like a blowfly, she returns. Anyway, just saying, keep your money close and your men even closer. Both Sean and Heath are fine-looking men and as you can see, Denise hasn’t been back in town a week before she’s worked that out.’

Amelia was startled at her desire to want to unravel more of what seemed a mystery, but perhaps she was more shocked at the sudden surge of possessiveness that swept her.

The mischievous grin lighting Charlee’s face made the sullen teen Amelia had met only months earlier disappear. ‘Looks like you gotta get your game on.’

‘I don’t have a game ,’ Amelia protested, the heat from the exercise suddenly nothing compared to the fire that rushed up her neck. She examined the pastel-painted carved plaster ceiling rose above their heads, anything but look the delighted teen in the eye.

‘Exactly!’ Charlee laughed.

Amelia huffed her exasperation and returned her gaze to Charlee. ‘So, sure, your dad’s a really nice guy.’

Charlee screwed up her nose. ‘He has his moments, I guess.’

‘And he’s a good friend,’ Amelia added, determined to sound adult and platonic.

‘Tell me more,’ Charlee teased. Then she squealed, ‘Ethan!’

‘Saved by the boyfriend.’ Tracey chuckled as Charlee bolted across the room.

Ethan raised a hand toward them, then spun Charlee in a circle as she leaped onto him.

‘Except I’m still here,’ Tracey continued, just as Amelia blew out an unsteady breath. ‘So tell me more.’

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Amelia said, almost despondently. ‘It’s just nice to meet an intelligent, articulate guy.’

‘I’d say Heath was more silent than articulate. Sean’s the talker.’ Tracey sighed wistfully. ‘Marian and I were like that, too. She was the thinker, the organiser, the director. I was the … well, she called me a social moth.’

‘Not a butterfly?’ Amelia seized the opportunity to redirect the conversation.

Tracey chuckled. ‘Look at me, love. I’m short and a little wide-bodied, like a moth. And Marian said I was soft and sweet, where butterflies are all show, no sustenance. No, that’s not right, is it? Substance … no substance.’

Tracey most definitely had substance, Amelia thought. She was funny, honest and down to earth. Who was Marian, though?

‘But there’s no point trying to distract me,’ Tracey added. Then she giggled. ‘Well, yes, obviously there is. Anyway, Heath?’

‘Is … interesting,’ Amelia conceded.

‘Morose, I’d say. Hardly surprising though, is it?’ Tracey gave a sympathetic huff. ‘It must be so difficult for him, trying to cope with Charlee and her … issue.’

‘More introspective than morose, I think,’ Amelia said, almost as though she needed to defend Heath. ‘I like that he doesn’t pretend to have a handle on his problems.’ Her chest tightened as she watched Charlee across the room. With so much potential, there was so much risk for it all to go horribly wrong. Losing Noah, where the sweet moments of hope—the seconds where she had persuaded herself that her baby was safe—were crushed by the realisation that he wasn’t, had been almost unsurvivable. What must it be like for Heath, spending years balanced on that knife blade of hope and tragedy? ‘Actually, he doesn’t give himself enough credit for how he’s managing.’

‘I imagine not. He doesn’t seem the type to cut himself any slack,’ Tracey said. ‘Such a tragedy, losing his wife like that. And then to give up everything he knows to move here, along with Sean and Charlee … Well, I guess he was running away.’

Amelia frowned. She had always thought that she was running away, too. But there was a chance she was wrong. ‘Maybe not. Perhaps we’re actually running toward something.’