Anna had no idea that CJ had left the house, but after I reassure her that he’s safe, she agrees they can talk things through in the morning. When I message Cameron and tell him CJ is at the cabin and very upset, he messages right back:Two minutes.
‘My hand-eye coordination isn’t too bad, so I could play another sport.’ CJ sips his chocolate. ‘I have a good mate, Reuben, who plays volleyball, and his team is looking for extras.’
When Keith Urban, who generally isn’t allowed on the furniture, rolls and lies on his back, I pretend I haven’t seen him and return to the chair.
‘You haven’t let Cameron come to your cricket matches lately, have you?’
‘It made it even worse, him watching me stuff up and then being nice about it.’
‘If you enjoy volleyball, Cameron could watch you playing that.’ Wincing, I stretch out my fingers. ‘Volleyball was painful. I hated it.’
‘You couldn’t have been doing it right.’ Smiling through his tears, CJ links his hands tightly together. ‘You hold your hands like this.’
‘Ball sports and me …’ I shrug. ‘We’ve never got along.’
‘Cam said you were great with his cattle and old Mrs Bates’s cat.’
Tyres on the gravel and I open the door. Cameron, unshaven, scruffy and heartachingly concerned, jumps from his ute and strides to the cabin. When I turn back to CJ, he’s leaning forward on the sofa and crying again.
‘Remember what I said,’ I whisper as I take the mug. ‘You’ll feel much better afterwards.’
I back away as Cameron, expression tender, crouches in front of CJ in the same way he did when I had stomach cramps. ‘What’s up, mate?’
‘Amelie?’ Anna’s voice is quiet but clear. ‘Can I come in?’
I’ve put crisp cotton sheets on the sofa, so I don’t have to climb up and down the ladder to the loft. It’s early morning, and the cramps are at their worst. Keeping the now lukewarm hot water bottle on my stomach, I roll to face the door.
‘I won’t be very good company.’
‘You poor thing.’ Anna drops a basket onto the dining table. ‘Cameron said this happens every twenty-eight days.’
Almost a week has passed since we kissed after dinner at the pub. Since then, when our utes have passed on the driveway, we’ve lifted our hands in acknowledgement. He sent a text to let me know Caesar the sheep was doing well and I didn’t need to come back to see him. When I saw Cameron with Julia on the footpath, he nodded politely.
I hug the hot water bottle more tightly. ‘Did he put this date in his diary?’
‘He’s miserable, Amelie.’
‘Me too.’
She smiles kindly as she hands over another hot water bottle—wrapped in a flannelette pillowcase and much warmer than the one I’ve been clinging to. ‘Cam knows what he wants.’
‘He might be horrified if I told him what I want.’
‘You’ll never know unless you talk about it.’ Anna holds up a slice of quiche before putting it in the fridge. She glances at the ornaments, the dove, the cow and the rosella, lined up on the windowsill. Flicks the glass ball with her thumb. ‘What have you got to lose?’
Even though I’d let him down, Cameron told me I was smart and brave, accomplished and modest, generous and sweet. Making things right between us isn’t holding his hand and kissing his mouth and telling him I care about him. He deserves more.
I came back to Summerfield to face my past. What about my future?
‘Do you think I could still come to Julia’s for dinner on Christmas Eve?’
‘She’d love that.’
‘Would it be okay to bring Miss Winters, and Maggie and Rocket, with me? I’ve told them I’ll be here with Keith Urban, and they don’t have much on either.’
‘It’s Christmas, Amelie. Everyone is welcome.’
Chapter 19
