Friday 26 August

God I’ve missed the river, I think, as we round the last bend to home. There were whole years where it had dried up, and Ben and I stood on the side, longing for it to come back. It’s nearly full again now, Mum wrote in her last email and I imagined swinging over the water, anchored by the rope that’s tied to the ancient eucalypt. I imagined myself floating, face up, ice cold body, sun warmed face.

I’ve missed everything about the farm. I’ve missed the house – huge, rambling, comfortable – sitting in the middle of the fruit trees. I’ve missed the wisteria, working its way over the iron frame that Dad built so it can’t pull down the house. I’ve missed the honeysuckle and the ancient rose. I miss the kitchen, with the old Aga, the old floorboards, the nicks in them, the scuffs. I’ve missed my bedroom with all my albums, organised in genres, and then in alphabetical order within the genres, so I can find anything I want at the moment that I want it.

Dad is sturdy and the same when I hug him. I’ve gone off and changed and I’m so grateful that he and Mum haven’t. The kitchen smells of sweet plum cake. I introduce Ady and Clem to Berry our dog, Poco the horse, Amadeus the goat. I see them taking it all in and I love them for loving it the way I do.

Clem is actually smiling, which is a huge relief. Ady looks wary, and I wonder if she and Clem are okay now. ‘She didn’t take it well,’ was all Ady said afterwards. ‘I wouldn’t have either,’ she added.

‘Bathroom through here,’ I say, opening up the door of the ensuite.

‘I’m never leaving,’ Clem says. ‘I am never leaving.’

We walk around the whole house, and I explain it’s big because Mum and Dad sometimes take in boarders when they need money, or use it as accommodation for the seasonal workers. There’s heaps to show them and I show it all. The track that leads to the old shed, the petrol pump we have on our land, the road that leads to the river, the lavender, the veggie patch, the treehouse Ben and I built.

‘Who’s Ben?’ Clem asks, and I tell her she’ll meet him soon.

Get over here, I text him. Actually, scrap that. Get to the river.

Be there after lunch, he texts back.

We eat, and then walk there. Down tracks I know by heart. There’s a rhythm to the bush that’s different to the city. Slow, dry and blue, I think. Wattle and quiet. Night skies that go all the way to your edges. I want to bring Oliver here to write, I think, and think at the exact same time that I can’t bring him here, because he won’t want to talk to me when he knows I’m not auditioning.

Ben’s waiting for us at the river, standing on the side near the eucalypt. Exactly where he was when we said goodbye. I run over, and he punches my shoulder shyly, and I punch his back. Then I grab him and hug until he laughs and reminds me we’re not alone.

He, Clem and Ady hit it off immediately.

In fact, from the way Ben looks at Clem, I know he won’t argue when I say that we should go out on the river in two boats. ‘Me and Ady in one, Clem and Ben in the other.’

‘Nice move,’ Ady says, as she and I drift away from them.

I smile, and start to row while she leans back and stares at the sky.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘I am for now. I’ll tell you later.’

I understand. She needs this moment. Under this sky.

I need it, too. I row and imagine that things can turn out how I want them. Maybe they can. There’s a peacefulness here that makes me think I can talk to Mum and Dad calmly, and they’ll understand and help me find a way.

I make myself believe it, so I can carve off some time to think about Oliver, and the kisses we’ve had. I think about the messages he’s been sending.

Him: Hello.

Me: Hello.

Him: I find myself missing you. I find myself thinking about Iceland. I find myself thinking about you and me in Iceland.

Me: J

Him: What is your home like?

Me: Trees, birds, sky, cake, open fires, a river.

Him: I love rivers. Bring me back a river.

‘Kate,’ Ady says, her eyes still on the clouds, ‘I can see now how you got to be you.’

‘Quiet and studious,’ I say.

‘You’re solid. Loyal. Different. Addictive,’ she says.

I want to find out what’s making her sad, and fix it.

If I said that I bet she’d say, ‘Not all things can be fixed,’ in her oracle speak.

I want to fix it just the same.