Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The woman at the bus stop was not what she’d expected. Robin looked at her, then looked again, searching for some hint of the friend she’d known for so long, the friend she still missed- but there was nothing. Only a neat black trench coat, buttoned against the bitter February wind, and silver buckles shining on her pointed shoes. Slick. Not made for farming. Robin resisted the urge to shake her head, before taking her hands out of the pockets of her tan overcoat and striding forward. If this was Gregor’s granddaughter - and she had to be, nobody else would come to the valley at this time of year - he would want her to feel welcome.

“Afternoon!”

The bus driver had removed the last of four grey suitcases from the luggage compartment and was hurrying back up the crumbling pavement. The woman turned, surprised. There was something of Gregor in her features, Robin thought: the prominent nose and arched nostrils, the wide, expressive eyes. But in manner, they couldn’t have been more different. Gregor would have smiled, even when they were strangers. He would have come forward to shake her hand. His granddaughter only stared, shoulders hunched, a hermit crab crouched in a shell of city-slicker wool and high-rise boots. Robin met her pale blue eyes and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. She decided to bravely press on.

“I’m Robin. You’re Gregor’s granddaughter, right? The mayor asked me to meet you. He’s just fixing a few things up on the farm.”

Fixing a few things up. More like fitting a lock on the cabin door. Gregor had never really believed in keys and locks, bless his kind heart, but both Robin and Lewis had agreed that it was past time for some basic security. Especially given that his granddaughter had said (in her brief phone call to Lewis) that she intended to live there alone.

“Yes.” The woman made a brief attempt at a smile. “Hello.”

She very spoke proper, too, like an announcer on a Jojamart commercial. Robin felt a pang as she remembered Gregor’s rough accent, one that always felt shaped by a grin. Then she forced it down. So, she was different. That was alright. They took all sorts here in the valley.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh. It’s Katherine. Katherine Perks.” For the first time, the woman seemed a little embarrassed- she reached up to smooth her (perfectly straight, dark, shiny) hair behind her ear. “Thank you for coming to meet me.”

“It’s no bother,” Robin said, slightly too breezily. “Want me to take a bag or two? It’s not far to the farm. Uphill a bit, though.”

“Oh.” Katherine looked at the cases as though they were four babies in bassinets that she couldn’t entrust to anyone else, but Robin saw her eyes track to the rough, overgrown path leading up the hill and knew she was doing the math of four cases, two hands and flimsy wheels meant for nothing more taxing than a subway escalator. “Well. Alright then.”

Behind them, the brakes of the bus hissed with a sudden fury, then, with a heaving groan, the vehicle lumbered away down the road. Katherine jumped a little at the noise, before stooping to cover her reaction. Robin politely pretended not to notice. Instead, she seized the handles of the case closest to her and hoisted it off the ground. It weighed, in Robin’s professional opinion, a metric ton.

“Yoba’s knuckles,” she puffed, attempting some humour, “what have you got in here?”

Katherine did not meet her eyes, and she didn’t smile. “Work stuff.”

Robin nodded as though this explanation made perfect sense, before taking up the other case, which thankfully seemed slightly lighter. “Right. Well, are you ready?”

“Yes.”

The trees across the road rustled mournfully as the two women turned their backs on the curb and made their way towards the old, paved track out to Watershed Farm. Robin, for her part, was alternating between cursing the bag in her hand and regretting whatever altruistic, optimistic impulse that had led her to volunteer for this meet-and-greet mission. Katherine’s silence made it quite clear that warmth was not her strong suit.

Lewis was waiting for them just inside the gate, a few specks of sawdust on the front of his leather jerkin. He had been bouncing on the balls of his feet in apparent excitement, but as he saw the look on Robin’s face (and whatever blank emotion was manifest in Katherine’s), he slowed, then stopped. Robin tamped down on an uncharitable laugh. Indeed, Lewis. Not what either of us was expecting.

Still, the Mayor was a consummate helper, and he swung back into action with barely a hint of concern. “Hello, hello! Miss Perks, is it?”

“Yes.” Katherine came to a halt, noticeably out of breath from the weight of the bags and the shallow incline. “Katherine Perks.”

“We’re so glad to have you here in the valley. I hope you know how much your grandfather was loved in this community. Seeing his farm in disrepair has been a burden to us all.”

Robin had to admit that Lewis was maybe laying it on a bit thick, but Katherine didn’t look touched by his words. Instead, a faint flush coloured her cheeks. Was that embarrassment? Robin bristled. What was there to be embarrassed about?

“Well. Um. Thank you.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Shall we go to the house?” Lewis was back to bouncing on the balls of his feet, though this time it was a way of dispersing discomfort. “Robin and I have tidied up a bit this morning, and I’ve set you up with a shipping bin, though I’d imagine you’ll want to get settled in first!”

At first, Robin thought Katherine wouldn’t say anything at all, but then -

“A shipping bin?”

“You know! For your produce.” For the first time, Lewis visibly faltered, looking over his shoulder at the ruins of Gregor’s acreage. Then he shook it off. “Of course, there’s work to be done first. But I’m sure you’re up to the task.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” Katherine shook her head once, crisply. “No, Mayor Lewis, there must be some misunderstanding. I didn’t come here to farm. I… I’m a lawyer. I came here to focus on an important case.”

A lawyer? Speaking strictly from her prejudices, that explained a lot. Robin and Lewis exchanged a quick glance, whilst Katherine shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. There was another silence.

“I’m on sabbatical,” she finally offered, as though desperate to bring the conversation to an end.

Finally recovering, Lewis nodded. “I see. The house is just over here, shall we-?” And without finishing his sentence, he turned and hurried away through the straggling weeds.

Robin was very glad to at last arrive in front of Gregor’s little cabin. Her arms- strong arms, thank you very much! - were starting to ache, and she at last had come close enough to justify putting down her burdens. Katherine did the same, betraying only a hint of relief. Her face betrayed far greater reluctance at the sight now confronting her. Robin felt herself bristling again. True, the house had seen better days. Gregor had always been a simple man: he kept the woodshed stacked, the hearth swept, and the bed neatly made. He’d never wanted more than a single hob and a little tin bath. The land is the thing, he’d told Robin, the thing that cares for my heart. As long as my roof does not leak and my chairs do not squeak, I am content!

Unfortunately, squinting upward, Robin was pretty sure the roof was on its last legs. In the year since Gregor’s death, his cabin had been sadly neglected. She wondered if the rickety chair sat in the porch would even bear weight.

“Perhaps it needs a bit of work,” Lewis said, echoing her thoughts, “but it’s a well-built place. Not that Robin would ever admit it.”

Robin shot him a look. “Hey!”

“Robin’s the carpenter around here, you see, but this wasn’t one of hers.”

Katherine shook her head, staring at the peeling green paint on the front door. Her eyes were faraway. “No. My grandpa- my grandfather built this house.”

“Long before I came to town,” Robin accepted. But her interest was piqued. Perhaps there was something beneath the polished surface of Katherine Perks, dim and reticent as it might be. She did know something about her grandfather. They’d had a connection.

“Well, then.” Lewis fished in his pocket and drew out a key on a short length of green ribbon. “Here you are. You’ve had a long journey, I imagine you’d like to get settled in.”

“Yes. Thank you.” The blank expression was back, punctuated by a strained half-smile in Robin’s general direction. “I can take it from here.”

It was plainly a dismissal. Katherine took the key and climbed the steps of the cabin without another word, leaving Lewis and Robin to stand at the bottom and wonder in silence who on earth had just shown up as their brand-new neighbour.

~

“So?” Emily demanded, leaning across the bar. “What’s she like?”

Robin was surrounded by at least five others, all of whom had plainly showed up at the saloon on a Monday night in the hope of just such an occasion: a thorough appraisal of the new arrival in their midst. She tried hard not to pull a face. That was the problem with small-town life. It was too easy to be tarnished early on. To Emily’s right, Gus raised an eyebrow.

“That bad, huh?”

Robin shook her head, hastily sipping her cider. Emily’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no! Is her aura very dark?”

In the seat on Robin’s left, Pierre rolled his eyes. Marnie just clucked (rather like one of her hens), resting her chin on her hand. Robin could tell she was disappointed Lewis hadn’t come in to deliver the gossip, but it couldn’t be helped. Lewis had been closer with Gregor than most of them; today had been hard for him. Somewhere behind, Harvey cleared his throat.

“Medically speaking, Emily-”

“No, it’s nothing like that!” Robin cut across him, loudly, before an argument could break out. “She’s just… Not really what we expected. Nothing wrong with that.”

You don’t like her though, do you? Demetrius had said, amused, when she’d stomped back over the threshold earlier that afternoon. Her dear husband. Reading her better than any scientific mumbo-jumbo on protozoa or enzymes.

Luckily, neither Maru nor Seb had asked her many questions. Seb had been on his computer; Maru was busy trying to solder a circuit on the dining room table. A newcomer in town would never supersede their respective interests (nor stop Maru from putting another sodding mark on Robin’s solid oak masterpiece).

“What did we expect?” Leah asked, philosophically. Bless her, she knew all about being the newcomer, having run the gauntlet only six months prior.

“She’s Gregor’s granddaughter,” Gus said, as though that was explanation enough. And, Robin had to admit, it kind of was. Gregor had been salt of the earth. Endlessly generous. An open book.

“Oh dear,” Marnie murmured, watching Robin closely.

“No!” Robin said again, aware that the damage was probably already done, but trying, nonetheless, to avert disaster. “No, she’s- she’s fine! Just very different! Very… city! Which makes sense, because she came from there!”

Emily made a face. “Zuzu is bad for anyone’s aura.”

Harvey was taking a drink, which spared them the inevitable rebuttal.

“Does she look like him?” Gus asked, ignoring Pam’s habitually raised hand from the other end of the bar. Robin couldn’t blame him; it was common knowledge that Pam’s tab was a mile long and not likely to be paid any time soon. She shrugged.

“A bit. They’ve got the same nose.”

“And does she look up to the farming life?” Pierre asked, keenly. Probably motivated by the prospect of selling some seeds. Robin couldn’t blame him, either. Pierre’s father and Gregor had practically built the economy of Pelican Town from the ground up, long before Robin had thought of settling here. She took a deep breath.

“She’s not here to farm.”

There was a rather stunned silence, interrupted only by the familiar plonk of the piano issuing from the jukebox in the corner.

“Hey, Gus!” Pam called, impatiently. “Another round?”

Emily patted Gus’s shoulder, pushing up off the bar. “I’ll get it.”

“But Lewis said…”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Lewis assumed. But no, she’s a lawyer, and she’s here on sabbatical. Probably won’t stay more than a year.”

“A lawyer?!” Marnie shook her head. “Well, I never.”

“I can’t imagine a lawyer in Pelican Town,” Leah mused. “It’s not a very… lawyer place.”

Robin raised her glass to that. She’d had enough of lawyers to last her a lifetime. Pierre sighed, looking very morose.

“No seeds, then.”

Gus just shook his head.

~

Katherine Perks sat on her grandfather’s narrow bed and coughed once, with feeling. She had taken a JojaPharm Cough-Eeze capsule just before boarding the bus that morning; five hours later, its powerful effects were at last beginning to wane. Her lungs felt rattly. But she didn’t have time to be sick. She had to unpack; she had to hang her clothes in the wardrobe before they creased. One hand fidgeted with the folded coverlet. Then she got up, coughed again, and got to work.

The cabin was far smaller than she remembered. Dusty, too, despite her welcome committee’s efforts. The bottom of the wardrobe was piled haphazardly with what looked like old bed linen. Katherine picked it up to shake out the sheets, before stepping back with a horrified yelp: a mouse, an actual mouse, came scooting out of the fabric and went bolting for cover. Katherine stood with a hand over her heart, breathing very fast. Ah, Katarina - where there is one Mr Mouse, there will be more!

Her grandfather’s half-remembered words were not a comfort.

Luckily, there were no more surprises of such unappealing magnitude. A handful of small spiders in the kitchen cabinets (if a sink and a burner could really be described as a kitchen) and more dust lurking in dark corners; this, Katherine could tolerate. As she worked, she kept her mind spotlessly blank. There was no point thinking about grandfather, or her apartment, or all the lies she’d told over the past few days. It wasn’t even worth thinking about the case. Speculation without facts was a useless endeavour. Once she’d unpacked her files, she could understand the detail. Prove her worth. Clear her name.

She coughed again, harder this time, pain shooting up the side of her ribcage. Besides pressing a hand to the spot that hurt, she did not slow. Outside, the sun began to go down. As the light faded, the little cabin came alive with creaking wood and the scratches and skittering of mice.

Later that night, Katherine lay awake, one hand cupped gently around her phone, her face illuminated by the pale blue light of the Joja Corp lock screen. Anna still hadn’t returned her calls. They hadn’t spoken since last Tuesday, when Anna had left the office and threatened to lock her in if she didn’t leave her desk. Have you had that cough seen to yet? She’d asked. Then she’d waved and walked away to the other subway stop. Anna lived on the other side of the city in a beautiful house with a patch of bright green lawn out front. Katherine had seen it three times, at the work dinner Anna hosted every year. Lawns were rare in Zuzu City. You had to work hard to afford one.

The wind moved loudly through the trees. Tiny feet went tip-toeing away somewhere beneath the headboard. Katherine shivered. Hopefully the mice wouldn’t climb up on the bed.

Her apartment in the city didn’t have a lawn, but it didn’t have mice, either. It came with those plug-in repellent devices, the ones that screeched at a frequency too high for adults to hear. Those wouldn’t work out here. Grandpapa only had one socket, and Katherine needed it to charge her phone. When Anna rang, she had to be ready. Anna would help her. She would be in her corner.

It was very late. The Cough-Eeze capsule she’d taken before bed had sunk its teeth deeply into her in a relaxingly familiar way: this was the lunchtime lull, the one she normally had to shove aside. But not at night. Recently, when she hadn’t been able to sleep, the cough medication had been a lifeline. She felt her eyelids grow heavy. As she turned over, listening distantly to the creaking of bedsprings, her phone screen shut off at last. Like it was a cue from a conductor, Katherine drew in a deep breath - and then she was asleep.

Chapter Text

The morning dawned with five coughs (Katherine counted) and weak sunshine filtering through the windows. Her head swam as she hunched over, trying to breathe through the spasming urge at the base of her throat. The bed was too hard, too narrow. Everything was brown and green. The covers under her hands felt strangely scratchy.

And then she remembered. Watershed Farm. Grandfather’s cabin. The accusation. The mice. She lurched for her phone.

Nothing. No missed calls. No emails. No texts. Katherine felt her stomach turn over and she coughed again, as though the impulse had exploited her moment of weakness. She reached unthinking for the tiny bedside table and popped another capsule out of the foil wrapper. Her fingers catalogued the remaining supply: two, including the one now in her fingers. She would have to go out today and get more. There was no chance of getting through all those files without some kind of medical support. Katherine shook her hair out of its sleeping braid and got out of bed. The cold air felt like little teeth on her bare feet and shins. Grandfather would have lit a fire. Katherine just crossed to the wardrobe and pulled on her coat over her long nightshirt. Then she poked at the burner, stifling another cough. Something hot to drink. Then she would get to work.

The suitcase that Robin had carried for her from the bus stop now lay open and empty beside the kitchen table. Its contents were neatly stacked in three towers: plaintiff, defendant, context. Hundreds and hundreds of pages. Katherine wasn’t supposed to have them. Copies weren’t allowed in their office. But she’d got lucky. She liked to be prepared. Now, that habit for preparation had at last paid off.

She sat in the squeaky chair, pulling her coat tightly around her. The motions of a lawsuit were intimately familiar to her - they were her bread and butter, her everyday existence. Joja Corp was a successful business, and success attracted negativity. Some of that negativity was funnelled through the courts. That was where Katherine, and hundreds of others like her, stepped in. They read the documents, they mined the detail, and firmly, calmly, stated the case, until it was proven beyond all reasonable doubt that Joja Corp was operating within the law, because they always were. This case should be no different.

Anna had once said that Katherine had the magic touch. An eye for a crippling footnote, the devastating caveat buried in a scientific study. She could dissemble the best, most watertight evidence and break it down into something a jury understood; she wrote out the notes for the defence attorney and every time they quoted her, word for word, you could see the seeds of doubt taking root and growing. Experts faltered. The prosecution whispered furiously. Katherine rarely went to watch, but she heard about it later. Sometimes, if the case was big, daddy would ring her up and ask if she had been behind a particularly stinging riposte. She would tell him yes. He would sniff. A few pleasant words. Then the call would end.

Behind her, the kettle began to whistle shrilly. Katherine got up and pulled out a tin mug from one of the cabinets. Her phone was in her coat pocket. She would hear it ring. She made tea and got started on dressing. Somewhere outside, a bird began to sing.

Katherine read for most of the morning. The Cough-Eeze capsules tended to suppress her appetite, so she drank only tea and barely noticed the time passing. It was eerily quiet out here. Not even her noise-cancelling headphones (which she only wore when she was alone in the office, scared as she was of accidentally ignoring a summons or a phone call) could come close. There was no traffic. No computer hum. Only a stiff breeze and the noise of the forest, murmuring quietly in the February sunshine. It was… pleasant. She chewed the end of her pen and turned the pages, feeling strangely at peace. This was a familiar kind of limbo, whether she was here or in the office or in the back in the library at school.

There was a knock at the door, and Katherine jumped so hard she dropped her pen. Who on earth had come to call? Barely anyone knew she was here. For an irrational moment, she imagined it was Anna. Then she imagined it was daddy. No. It wouldn’t be either of them. Anna never came over without calling, and daddy didn’t like it on the farm. She brushed imaginary dust from her jacket and got up to answer it, just as an older male voice called out, “Hello?”

“Yes?” Katherine pulled open the door. On the step was the mayor, wearing the same green jacket and leather jerkin, a yellow scarf tied around his throat. He smiled genially at the sight of her.

“Katherine! How was your first night on the farm?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Good, good.” He looked her up and down, then peered inside the cabin. “Lit the fire, have you?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah. Well, there’s plenty of kindling and logs just there.” The enthusiasm was beginning to fade, but Lewis still indicated the lean-to beside the door. Then he smiled again. “Well, I just wanted to see how you were settling in. And I wondered if you’d like a tour of Pelican Town? The weather’s nice today.”

Katherine stared. What was with all this welcoming? She had expected to be left alone. Nobody gave you tours in Zuzu City. You had to find your own way.

Apparently surmising her silence was a comment on the chill breeze, the mayor shrugged, with a slightly apologetic smile. “Nice for February, anyway.”

Katherine suppressed a shiver. Her jacket was designed for an air-conditioned office, not the great outdoors. Despite the cold, she could feel the drowsiness beginning to set in. Maybe this was a good time to get out of the house. Walk off the medication, find a Jojamart and stock up for the next few weeks. She could get some food in. Even some milk for tea. The refrigerator still had power. That could only help her work.

“That would be nice,” she said, after an overlong pause, suddenly reaching for her scarf. She was already wearing her shoes, hoping to keep her feet a bit warmer. “Thank you.”

The mayor stood back, courteously. “After you.”

~

It was all downhill into Pelican Town. Katherine kept her hands in her pockets as they walked, fingers fidgeting with the cabin key. A squirrel ran out in front of them as they passed the turn to the bus stop, disappearing with a hasty rustle into the underbrush.

“There’s a lot of wildlife in the valley,” Mayor Lewis told her, apparently eager to have a reason to talk. “Squirrels, rabbits- you can even see miniature deer sometimes, out in the forest. And of course, there are plenty of bird species. We even have a resident biologist here. You remember Robin from yesterday? Her husband, Demetrius, used to be a professor at a big university, but they moved out here so he could study the ecosystem.”

Katherine nodded, unsure of what to say. She could remember her grandfather telling her about the deer: he called them muntjac, said they looked after the trees. For a moment, she considered sharing this information with Lewis, before deciding against it. She didn’t know him. He didn’t know her. He might think she was weird, or be upset to be reminded of his friend. Perhaps she ought to ask a question, to be polite. She wracked her brains.

“It’s not a big place, is it? Pelican Town?”

“No, no! We’re more of a hamlet than a town, as it happens.” Katherine could tell that Mayor Lewis used that line a lot, but he seemed pleased she was showing any interest at all. “Mind you, we still have a store, a church and a saloon. We know what’s important!”

Katherine’s ears perked up at the mention of a store. Good. She nodded again. The road widened a little: a sign planted in the grassy verge announced that they were entering Pelican Town.

“Here we are!”

There were some memories, Katherine realised, of coming here with her grandfather. She remembered the grey stone paving, tracing the lines with her eyes; she remembered, with a sudden rush, that there was a playground somewhere to their left, up the hill, better than the one nanny would take her to in the city; she remembered the warm, hoppy smell of the saloon, where grandpapa would take her in the afternoon and sit her up on the bar stool, smiling shyly at everyone who came to say hello. The recollections seemed to break through the fog of Cough-Eeze, and she turned away from the mayor to cough roughly into her fisted hand.

Mayor Lewis sucked in a breath. “That sounds nasty.”

Katherine shook her head, recovering. “It’s nothing.”

He looked doubtful, more doubtful than Anna ever had when Katherine had dismissed her concerns. “Well, if you do ever want to get it checked out, the surgery is just here. Dr Harvey runs it now, he’s very good.”

Katherine looked courteously at the quaint little white and green building, knowing full well she would never set foot inside. Illness was a sign of weakness. She wasn’t weak. She didn’t have the time.

“Next to it is Pierre’s general store. Best place to shop in the whole valley! The shop has been in Pierre’s family for two generations; his father knew your grandfather very well.”

Katherine remembered that too, peering into the cooler at the front of the shop and staring in wonder at the glistening fruits and neat round cheeses set out on green paper. Her head hadn’t even come above the counter. Here in the present, though, her heart sank. No Jojamart? She didn’t think Pierre’s would carry heavy-duty pharmaceuticals.

“Oh, and here’s the town noticeboard! See, this is the calendar. We write in birthdays, anniversaries, that kind of thing. And people can post requests up here, too. We like to keep a community spirit going, neighbours helping neighbours.”

Katherine stared. Birthdays? Anniversaries? What on earth was this place? She’d thought it was personal enough that Anna had brought her an extra muffin from the breakroom on her last birthday. But the Mayor didn’t appear to notice her confusion, continuing blithely talking. “Pierre is kind enough to keep a community space open inside, as well. The church is through there. Are you-?”

“Oh, no.” Katherine shook her head. Faith was a sugary creed for the painfully gullible. She had been an atheist for as long as she’d been old enough to understand what daddy was talking about when he mentioned Yoba. Mayor Lewis just nodded.

“I see. Over there is the saloon. You’ll find most of the adults there on a Friday night, having a drink and a conversation. Or a plate of Gus’s spaghetti. You won’t find better anywhere in the whole republic!”

To their right, the shop bell tinkled. A striking woman with bright green hair came out, stopping dead when she noticed them both.

“Oh! Good morning, mayor!”

“Good morning, Caroline,” he said, before moving to check the time. “Is it morning anymore, though?”

Caroline laughed, and Katherine suspected this was a ritual they performed a lot. She hung back until Mayor Lewis gestured to her with another genial smile.

“Caroline, this is Katherine Perks. She’s just moved into Gregor’s old farm. She’s his granddaughter.”

Caroline nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Katherine attempted a smile, feeling awkward. “You, too.”

“Caroline is Pierre’s wife,” the mayor explained, clearly happy to play introductions. “She helps run the shop.”

They all nodded, apparently unwilling or unable to find more avenues of conversation. Then Caroline offered an awkward wave. “Must be on my way! I’m sure I’ll see you around, Katherine.”

She headed away, around the side of the store and up the hill.

“Well, plenty to see!” The mayor said. They walked on, past a large, elegant looking house painted white. Through the window, Katherine glimpsed the familiar flicker of a television set. A balding, liver-spotted head sat in front of it, apparently engrossed in whatever was playing. The garden was dominated by a large kennel. As they passed, Katherine thought she could make out the skulking shape of a dog asleep in the shadows.

“This is Mr and Mrs Mullner’s house,” the mayor said, catching her looking. “Evelyn and George have lived here their whole lives, longer than your grandfather! Evelyn used to live down by the beach, you know. They’re quite old now, but their grandson has been living with them for a few years. I daresay he keeps them feeling young.” He turned, shading his eyes. “Here’s the river. It’s fed by a spring up in the mountains. If you look down there, you can see Pam’s trailer-” he said this rather fast, as though hoping she would only give it a cursory glance, “- and there’s my house. But we’ll see it properly on the way back. Let’s take the bridge…”

This they did. Katherine peered down at the water, surprised by how deep it was. At least the bridge seemed solidly constructed, with high walls on either side. Nonetheless, she hurried over, and was pleased to be on the other side; even more pleasing was the sight that greeted her off to the left.

“That’s the Jojamart,” said the mayor, in the same hurried tone he’d used earlier. In fact, he looked rather put out. His hands were buried deeply in his pockets. “Of course, we didn’t want one, but our opposition to the planning application was overturned. Joja Corp and their lawyers.”

Katherine felt her cheeks flare red with anger. Rather stiffly, she said, “I work for Joja Corp.”

There was a very awkward silence. Mayor Lewis looked dumbfounded. Then he shut his mouth, swallowed, and forced down whatever else he’d been about to say.

“I see. I suppose it’s a living.”

All of the warmth and geniality he’d been heaping on her had evaporated, whipped away by the bitter wind. Katherine felt a weird cringing sensation somewhere behind her breastbone. What was that for? Joja Corp did good things! They provided jobs, stability, expansion! Though these people were probably too provincial to understand that. Katherine shifted her shoulders inside her coat, vaguely cataloguing that she had just told another lie.

No, it’s not a lie. You’re just suspended. Suspended isn’t the same as fired. You’ll work your magic and Anna will call and help you and all of this will be cleared up in no time. Daddy will never find out.

“It is,” she said. “Thanks for the tour. I think I can take it from here.”

The mayor seemed torn, presumably between his new-found disdain for her and his desire to be a good host. “Well…”

“I need to pick up a few things anyway. From the Jojamart. I can find my way back.”

The mention of her employer seemed to seal the deal. The mayor shrugged, frowned at the blue neon sign, then turned away. “Alright, then.” Before he left, he fixed her with a sudden, intense stare. Katherine thought she saw admonishment in those clear eyes. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Then he was gone. Katherine didn’t wait around. She reached for her bank card in the inside pocket of her coat and hurried towards the sliding glass doors, eager for even a sliver of normality. The familiar perfume common to every Joja enterprise made the knot of tension in her chest ease. Hot air washed over her chilled face. It was just like the one around the corner from her apartment: clean white floors, clean white walls, employees in neat blue uniforms. Incredibly reassuring. Katherine smiled at the man stood behind the information booth and strode purposefully down one of the aisles. That was the beauty of a Jojamart: everything was always where you expected it to be. If she went left here, then headed to the back, she’d find the pharmaceuticals. One row over would be tea. The far wall had chillers full of milk and dairy products. She picked up three boxes of Cough-Eeze, not even bothering to look at the price. She had money. This would be enough for a fortnight. She wasn’t planning to be here any longer than that.

Of course, she’d lied to Robin when she’d mentioned a sabbatical. Her leave from work had been unplanned and abrupt, precipitated by the arrival at her apartment of three men in smart suits who’d demanded she hand over her laptop and any illicit files she might be hiding. They didn’t find her stash (a hollowed-out crevice in the wall behind the bathroom cabinet that had probably once held a safe), but they did leave with her work-issued tech and a stern warning not to come into the office until expressly summoned. Katherine hadn’t known what to do, so she’d called Anna. Anna had picked up that first time - though she probably hadn’t realised it was Katherine, calling from her personal cell - and, after the initial flurry of panic, had advised this very course of action. Take a break from the city. I’m sure there’s been a mistake. I’ll see what I can do.

Katherine had found the old letter that she kept in her desk drawer and called the number at the bottom. Hello, is that Mayor Lewis? This is Miss Perks calling. I’m Gregory Perks’s granddaughter. I’m calling about the farm?

And now here she was, carton of milk in hand, still waiting for Anna to call her back. It had been almost a week. But Katherine had to trust her. She knew there had been a mistake. She wasn’t guilty. She wasn’t.

“Excuse me.”

“Oh.” Katherine realised she had been blocking the path of a guy pulling one of those big trolleys for stacking shelves. She moved aside. “Sorry.”

The guy didn’t say anything else, just kept his eyes on the ground. Katherine shook herself out of whatever strange mood had hold of her and headed for the checkouts. She could buy this, then go back. Read some more on the context. Figure out what was really going on.

“That’ll be 558G,” the cashier mumbled, after ringing up her items. Katherine handed over her card, already picking up her Cough-Eeze tablets. Her chest was really starting to hurt- probably the change from the cold air outside to the manicured atmosphere in here. The cashier held it to the machine. There was an unhappy bleep.

“Um. Sorry. This doesn’t seem to be working.”

Katherine paused. “What do you mean?”

The cashier tried again. Another melancholy electronic chime. “Sorry. It says it’s declined.”

“What?” This couldn’t be happening. She knew there was plenty of money in that account; she’d checked it before she bought her bus ticket. It had all her savings in it for that house with a plot of green lawn. Easily 50,000G.

“Sorry,” the cashier apologised again, seemingly at a loss. “Do you have another card?”

“I- no. No, are you sure-?”

“What seems to be the problem here?” The manager had come over, dressed in a black suit and wearing a striking cravat. Katherine could feel herself going red.

“The lady’s card has been declined,” the cashier said, before Katherine could offer a better (though as-yet unthought of) explanation.

“Oh dear,” the manager said, smiling rather obsequiously at Katherine. “Do you have another card?”

The repeated question felt like an attack. “No, I don’t. I can assure you, there must be a mistake.”

“I see,” he said, evidently dubious. “Well, I’m sorry to say that without funds, you cannot make your purchase.”

“No, no, of course.” Katherine knew she was on the verge of gabbling and forced herself to stop. “I’ll call the bank and sort this out.”

“You can leave your things here. I’ll see they’re put away,” the cashier said, softly. Katherine heard the pity in her voice, and it stung worse than a slap. She flung down the medication and hurried away towards the sliding doors.

“We’ll be seeing you soon,” the manager called after her, fighting the sound of the churning air conditioning and the sudden buffeting wind that bit at her cheeks and nose and aggravated her throat so much that as soon as she was outside, she doubled over, coughing. Mucus spattered her hand. Katherine grimaced, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and carefully wiping herself clean. What was going on? What had happened to her money?

She started dialling as she walked back across the bridge, her head swimming slightly. She knew she would be on hold for a while; better to start sooner rather than later. And the phone to her ear gave her an excuse not to talk to the few locals she passed. Familiar, tinny music echoed through the speaker. Thank you for calling Joja Bank. Your call is important to us. Please hold until an operative can help you with your query.

The incline back up to the farm was something of a challenge. Katherine had to stop to cough twice after passing the boundary of Pelican Town, pressing her handkerchief to her lips. It was a relief to finally climb up the cabin steps and shut the door behind her. It wasn’t warm enough to take off her coat. Instead, she sat down at the kitchen table and tried to go back to reading through the files, the silence now invaded by jingle-jangle-jingle-jangle-jang. Thank you for calling Joja Bank. Your call is important to us.

She ought to light a fire. Surely she could remember how. Grandfather had taught her in this very hearth: sweep it out, build a house, feed the flames then add the logs. Katherine moved slowly, phone clamped between her shoulder and ear, crouching down to contemplate the bare stones. She stifled another cough. There was one more capsule on the bedside table, calling out to her, but she was reluctant to take it. Nights were far worse than days. Come dusk, she’d need all the help she could get.

Thank you for calling Joja Bank. Your call is important to us.

There was a basket of kindling set beside the fire tools. Katherine built a little stack of wood the way grandfather had shown her. Build a house for the flames, Katarina. Make him feel at home, you see? Then bring him nice food, and he will keep you warm in return.

Jingle-jangle-jingle-jangle-jang. Thank you for calling Joja Bank. Your call is important to us.

She found a box of matches in one of the chaotic kitchen drawers, alongside a tangled mess of string and a pair of rusty secateurs. It took her a few goes to get one to strike, then several more to persuade the kindling to light. Just as a cheery orange flame began to lick and spit at the dried wood, a voice spoke, sudden after the endless drone of hold music.

“Hello, this is Lana speaking from Joja Bank, how can I help you?”

“Oh!” Katherine stood up, as though Lana could see her crouched over the hearth. “Yes, hello. I need to check my account. There was a problem with my card earlier.”

“I see. Can you give me your name and account details?”

Katherine supplied them. The fire gave a quiet pop, and she knew she’d have to fetch logs very soon. On tip-toes, she quietly moved across the cabin to the front door. At least there was decent reception here. The furious sound of typing echoed in her ear.

“Oh. I see. It is Katherine Perks, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Katherine tried to keep her frustration in check.

“Well, I’m sorry madam, but you paid out the majority of the funds in this account this morning. Your current balance stands at 254G.”

Katherine felt as though she had abruptly tripped and gone into freefall. Her head spun.

“What? What do you mean, I paid? Who did I pay?”

“It says here that you paid a sum of 50,000G to Joja Corp. Reference is “DAMAGES”. Everything is completely above board, I assure you.”

Katherine heard herself in that voice; it was the tone she used when she wrote out notes for a defence lawyer, gently clarifying some point of fact that likely would be poorly received by the plaintiff. Everything is completely above board. And, with a sickening lurch, she knew that Lana was right. Fuck. She was completely, terribly right.

“I see,” she said, in a very small voice. “Thank you for your help, Lana.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Lana said. She was probably relieved that Katherine hadn’t shouted. “You have a good day.”

Katherine swallowed, trying to muster the energy to say it back, but before she could, a dissonant bleep rang through the speaker. Disconnected. Lana clearly had better things to do with her time.

Katherine’s free hand was still on the door handle. She gripped it so hard her knuckles went white. Her head felt hot and pressurised, as though her brain was being shoved unceremoniously up against the front of her skull. She tried to take a deep breath and coughed, several times, her chest dragging. Then she opened the door. The wind was still biting, and now more than ever, she needed the comfort of a fire.

~

Later that evening, Katherine was woken up by her own coughing. Her back cricked loudly as spasms ripped through her; she had fallen asleep sat on the floor in front of the hearth, her back against the chest at the foot of grandpapa’s bed, wrapped in the scratchy coverlet and staring at the glowing flames. Somewhere close by, a mouse sprinted into the shadows. For the first time, Katherine felt a little scared, too. She couldn’t stop coughing. Eventually, she dragged herself up and forced herself to swallow the last of her Cough-Eeze capsules. Then she coughed until the drugs took hold. When she checked her phone, it was only seven thirty. Anna would be walking home from her subway stop. Before Katherine could stop herself, she picked up the phone and dialled.

Please pick up. Please pick up.

“Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up.”

“Thanks for your call. You are through to the voicemail of Anna Davies. Please leave your message and a contact number after the beep.”

Katherine lost her self-control. “Anna, it’s me, please call me, I don’t know what’s going on, but it wasn’t me, I swear. It wasn’t. I would never betray you like that. Please, I need your help, just call me-”

She broke off to stifle a cough, but before she could, a flat tone issued from the phone. Anna always set her voicemail limit to thirty seconds. Say what you need to say or get off my airwaves. Katherine had admired that about her. Now, it made her want to throw something.

Instead, she set the phone beside her pillow, crawled under the covers and waited for sleep to finally take her.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Katherine was woken by the sound of footsteps somewhere outside the cabin window. Blearily, she raised her head (and coughed, of course she did), trying to peer through the curtains. Someone was down by the mailbox. Katherine felt her heart sink. She had a very good idea of what might be waiting for her inside a crisp blue envelope.

She checked her phone. No missed calls. No texts. No emails. Another pause for coughing. Then she got out of bed and got dressed, slowly. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. She went outside and read it then and there, beside the mailbox, as rainclouds blew in across the valley.

              Dear Miss Perks,

              I write to inform you of your immediate dismissal from Joja Corp following conclusive evidence of unprofessional conduct during your tenure. As detailed in your employment contract, section 10.7.3., Joja Corp is entitled to any portion of your salary necessary to cover damages resulting from said unprofessional conduct. Your debt of 50,000G has been paid in full. Your company account and all resulting perks will be closed on the first day of March. Any remaining funds in that account will be forfeited to Joja Bank.

              Signed,

              Marissa Anthony

There followed a messy doodle that might have been a signature or a scribble of someone testing a pen that was reluctant to give any ink. Katherine stared at it, barely seeing. This was it. There was no going back now.

Another woman might have cried. Or screamed. Katherine did neither. She considered tearing up the paper, but she was a lawyer; saving paper documents was encoded in her DNA. One day, she might need it. Instead, she folded it, very mechanically, and hid it in her inside coat pocket. It would be safe there. Maybe one day, when this was all sorted out, she would look at it and laugh. What a talking point it would be at one of Anna’s annual dinners! Remember the time I got fired? A fresh young paralegal would look at her, wide-eyed. They would discuss the true culprit, and maybe Anna would say, I knew it couldn’t be Katherine. She’s the best I’ve ever had.

Something nagged at Katherine’s brain. Conclusive evidence. What conclusive evidence? They had taken her laptop and phone, but there was nothing untoward on either; Katherine should know. Her biggest crime had been illicit photocopying, but as far as she knew, they hadn’t found her stash and had no way of knowing about it, given that it was now all spread out on her kitchen table. Had she been framed? Had it been a misunderstanding? Before she could think any more, another cough ricocheted through her, leaving her doubled over. She needed medicine. And for medicine, she needed money. Her stomach writhed with something other than hunger. She tried to consider her options.

There was nobody she could ask. Daddy was her only family and that was plainly out of the question; if she went to him wanting anything, he’d need to know why. Anyway, he didn’t believe in charity in the first place. So, her next course of action was clear: find a way to make some cash. Enough that she would be secure. Then she could plot her next move. Walking slowly, Katherine made her way back inside the cabin. There had to be something inside that could help her.

It took her three cabinets and one drawer before she struck gold. Well, to be more accurate, tin: a small box, shut securely, placed carefully behind a large cast iron pot. Katherine sat down on the bed, trying to breathe slowly, and prised it open. Inside felt like treasure.

The first thing she saw was a folded brown envelope. In a half-forgotten hand, one word was scrawled in pencil across the front. Parsnips. Katherine hesitantly reached out, careful to hold it the right way up, and shook it. There was a rattle. Seeds. She had found seeds. That was a start.

Underneath, there were several more objects. The largest was a leather-bound book, several fingers thick and tied shut with a cord. On the front cover lay two pieces of jewellery that Katherine had never seen before. One was a little gold ring, similar to a wedding band, but set with a strange yellow stone. It looked old. The other was a necklace: a translucent green shard hung from a delicate gold chain. Katherine stared at them, then reminded herself that she technically owned these things, now. She was allowed to touch. This she did with a weird kind of reverence. The metal was cool against her fingertips. Curious, she tried the ring on. It fit her middle finger perfectly. Where had these things come from? Were they her grandmother’s? Katherine didn’t know anything about her; only that she had died when daddy was quite young.

Katherine suddenly felt like a graverobber. She pulled off the ring and placed it back with the book, before shutting the tin box and returning it to the shelf. These were the relics of a life she hadn’t earned. Better that they were treated with respect. Then she coughed again, hard. Gross as it was, she was bringing up more and more phlegm with every spasm. One of her handkerchiefs was already ruined; she only had four more. Cough-Eeze cost 300G per packet. There was no way she could afford that and still eat. Grimly, she returned to poking through the cabinets. She needed a solution, and fast. Otherwise - well. She didn’t know what she would do.

Luckily, the kitchen cabinets had one last blessing hidden in their depths. In the cupboard beneath the sink, instead of bleach, Katherine found a basket piled high with neatly labelled jars. She read them with increasing excitement: blueberry, salmonberry, pickled onions, pickled radishes. These must be the last of grandpa’s preserves. Maybe Pierre would buy them off her. That would tide her over until she could get these seeds in the ground.

Because that was the only course of action available to her now, wasn’t it? She couldn’t go back to Zuzu City, not unless she wanted to live on the streets. Daddy was her only family, and she couldn’t call him. Grandpa had taught her a fair bit when she used to visit - like the fire. Surely she remembered how? She could cultivate. Nurture. And, in her spare time, read through those documents. Katherine was sure that somewhere in there was the clue to this whole mess. She just had to find it.

Oh, and stop coughing. It really was getting out of hand.

She was also hungry. Really hungry. Against her better judgement, she snagged a jar of blueberry jam and wrestled off the string and brown paper. The smell of sugary condiment made her salivate. She found a spoon and ate four mouthfuls before she could stop herself. Then she told herself that she was just checking the merchandise, and ate four more. It was heavenly. They didn’t make jam like this in Zuzu City. This stuff was thick enough to chew, packed with flavour and the bright taste of fresh fruit. Katherine sat back, sated. Then she picked up the basket (she hadn’t taken her coat off all day) and prepared to walk back into Pelican Town.

It was cold again, and the walk, though downhill, left her head swimming as she came in view of the boundary sign. Katherine tried to walk slowly and not breathe too much. If she could just get this done, things would be better. She could go home and start clearing land at her own pace. She remembered where grandpa used to grow things, just in front of the house. It would be fine. The General Store was just across the square. She would make it work.

She had to lean heavily on the glass door before pushing inside, desperately suppressing a cough. Inside, several figures looked up curiously at her entrance, but Katherine ignored them. The counter was dead ahead. She moved with a single-minded purpose towards it. Strange black spots were moving in the corners of her vision.

“Welcome to Pierre’s,” the shopkeeper said, eyeing her with something approaching suspicion. “How may I help you?”

Katherine couldn’t help it: she heaved the basket onto the polished surface and dragged a handkerchief out of her pocket, before giving into several explosive coughs. After a moment, her vision cleared. She surreptitiously leaned a hip against the counter and hoped he couldn’t see the sweat beading on her forehead.

“Hello. My name’s Katherine Perks, I’m living up at the farm.” Take a breath, slow down. The breath turned into a cough. Katherine hastily wiped her mouth and tried to smile. “Sorry. I found these in my grandpa’s cabin. I was wondering if you’d buy them?”

“Oh.” Pierre lowered his glasses on his nose and picked up a jar, reading the label. Casually, he said, “I thought you weren’t farming up there.”

Katherine tried to concentrate on what he was saying. There was a weird, impaling kind of sensation between her ribs that twinged with every breath. When had that started? “Um. Change of plans.” She tried to laugh and only succeeded in coughing more.

“Dear, dear,” a quavering voice said, issuing from somewhere close by. “That doesn’t sound very good. Are you alright?”

“It doesn’t,” Pierre agreed, but something had softened in his expression. “Well, if you are going to revive the farm - I’ll pay you 100G for every jar. Let’s see, you have… nine here. I won’t take more than five for stock reasons. Does that sound fair to you?”

500G? That was more than Katherine could have hoped for. She nodded, trying to smile again.

“Good.” He chose five, then opened the register and counted out the money. Katherine wished she could pay closer attention. It was very warm in the shop, and her head wouldn’t stop swimming. She needed to be back out in the fresh air. Maybe she could manage the walk to Jojamart, though the thought filled her with dread at facing the manager and cashier again. She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.

A very gentle hand came to rest on her elbow. A tiny, white-haired woman, dressed all in purple, was looking up at her. “You really don’t look well, dearie. You’re very pale. Perhaps Pierre can get you a chair…”

Katherine tried to shake her head, but found that only made the room spin more. The counter seemed to be pressing very hard against her hip, and the knife between her ribs scraped with every tiny motion of her chest.

“Is she well?” Someone else said, only Katherine couldn’t see them. A black tide had rushed up around her, filling her head with static. She tried to lean on her elbows, put her head down, but she was too slow. The darkness came up further, drowning her. She wasn’t aware of anything at all.

~

White light. The faint sound of a radio. Katherine blinked steadily, trying to understand where she was. Her chest still hurt terribly. She had been in the store, that was it, trying to sell grandpa’s preserves. She had… passed out? There was movement to her left, a twitch of medical green curtains. Somebody emerged through the gap.

“Katherine? It’s Katherine, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Katherine whispered. It was hard to talk at a normal volume. The man, kind-faced and moustached, came forward, shaking his head.

“Please, don’t exert yourself. I’m Doctor Harvey. I run the clinic where you are now. How are you feeling?”

Katherine blinked again, trying to move her face. Her whole body ached. “Bad,” she admitted, with a slight tremble.

“Not surprising, really,” he said, kindly. “You have a serious respiratory infection. How long have you been coughing like that?”

Katherine thought about it. “Four months?”

“Four months?” Doctor Harvey asked, his bushy eyebrows launching towards his hairline. “My word. I’m surprised you’re still upright.” Then he looked down at the bed on which she was lying and corrected himself. “Metaphorically speaking.”

Katherine closed her eyes. She felt so ashamed. In front of all those people…

“Katherine, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

She heard Doctor Harvey taking the stool at her bedside. Still with her eyes closed, she nodded.

“Alright, then. Have you seen a doctor about this cough before now?”

“Yes. Once, in Zuzu City. She gave me some antibiotics.” That had been in the run-up to Wintersday, when Anna had insisted she go. Katherine had dutifully obeyed, ignored all recommendations for time off and been back at work the next day. The drugs had helped a bit, but eventually, they ran out. The cough remained.

“I see. And have you been taking any pharmaceuticals yourself to help with this cough?”

Katherine nodded again, now fixing her eyes on the ceiling. “Yes. Cough-Eeze.”

Doctor Harvey made a note. “And how often have you been taking Cough-Eeze tablets?”

“Twice a day. Since January.”

There was a pause. Then, “I see. Are you aware of the side-effects?”

Had Katherine had the energy to shrug, she would have, but she didn’t, so she just kept staring at the ceiling.

Doctor Harvey got up. “Alright, Katherine. We’ll have you fixed up in no time. I won’t be a moment-”

“Wait.” Katherine’s voice cracked as she tried to force it to be loud, authoritative, and she saw the doctor wince as she leaned over the side of the bed, coughing. When she had recovered, she tried to meet his eyes. “I can’t afford this.”

Doctor Harvey’s eyes softened. “Don’t worry about that. We can set up a payment plan, defer things for a while. I’m not about to leave you in this state.”

Katherine’s throat tightened. Kindness. This was kindness. Why was he giving it to her?

“I might not be able to pay you back,” she whispered. Who knew what he’d already heard about her, what he might think. But all he did was shake his head.

“If you’re anything like your grandfather, you’ll be fine. Now, I’m just going to give Maru this list for the dispensary, then I’ll be right back.”

Katherine stared up at the ceiling, desperately fighting tears for the second time in as many days. She didn’t understand. She hadn’t done anything to deserve special treatment. And no matter what the doctor might think, there was a real possibility of failure. She couldn’t stand owing people things. Didn’t she have money from Pierre? Then she shook her head. 500G wouldn’t cover medical bills. Anxiety tightened her chest until she broke into another fit of coughing.

“Here.” The doctor was back, offering a paper towel to wipe her mouth. “Have you noticed any blood in your mucus?”

Katherine shook her head, leaning over the side of the bed.

“That’s good.” He gave her a few moments to collect herself. “Now, I’ve prescribed you some powerful antibiotics that you must take twice a day: one in the morning and one at night. They might make you feel a bit queasy if you take them on an empty stomach, so ideally have them straight after a meal.” Katherine nodded, to show she understood. Doctor Harvey smiled encouragingly. “I’ve also prescribed you some painkillers. They should help with the pain in your chest. You can have up to four a day, but I’d recommend saving some for just before bed, to help with discomfort when you’re trying to sleep. But, and you must promise me this, the drugs will only work in conjunction with plenty of rest. Do you understand me?”

He fixed her with a firm stare, and Katherine knew that he was perfectly aware of why the doctor in Zuzu City hadn’t been able to help her. She swallowed miserably. Bed-rest was all very well and good, but she couldn’t. She had a farm to run. She had debts to pay off.

“Are you living alone up there?” Harvey asked her, apparently realising that Katherine wasn’t about to promise anything.

“Yes.”

He nodded, as though he had confirmed the next thing on his mental to-do list. Then he offered her another smile. “You’re welcome to stay here and rest as long as you like. I have another patient coming in at two-thirty, but you won’t be disturbed. Oh, and make sure you drink plenty of fluids. Water, tea, soup, that kind of thing.”

Katherine nodded, already moving to get up. She couldn’t bear to impose any longer. Her legs felt oddly watery as she swung them off the bed. Harvey came back and courteously offered her a hand, which she looked at, then avoided.

“I’m OK. I’ve got it.”

“Alright, then.”

He led her back through the clinic and out into the waiting area. A pretty girl with brown skin and bright hair peeking out from under her nurse’s cap had her elbows on the counter beside the till, chatting quietly with a red-haired woman sat in one of the low chairs. Doctor Harvey cleared his throat pointedly and the nurse hurriedly stood up.

“Oh, Harvey! Here you go.” She eyed Katherine with hungry curiosity as she handed across the stapled white bags of medication. Her friend, the one with ginger hair, looked around, then glanced away when Katherine stared at her. Shy. A third figure got to his feet, but before Katherine could get a proper look, Harvey caught her attention again.

“These are the antibiotics. These are the painkillers. These twice a day, these up to four times. Both on a full stomach.”

Katherine nodded. “OK.” She took the bags from him, then suddenly remembered. “Oh. Do you have my basket somewhere? I had it-”

“Here,” the strange man said, lifting it for her to see. “I took the liberty of bringing it from Pierre’s for you.”

For a moment, Katherine wondered if she was really feverish, if her brain had lost all control of reality and conjured the man in front of her. He was just… impossibly handsome. Long auburn hair, an aquiline nose, strong brows set above clear green eyes. Tall like a weed, like a sunflower. Had she been in her right mind, she might have blushed. As it was, she just stared.

“I’m Elliott,” he said, as though that was perfectly reasonable. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“That was kind of you, Elliott,” Harvey said. “Hello, Penny. You’re a little early.”

The red-headed woman blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the nurse, Maru, insisted, “you’re talking to me.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “On the clock, Maru.”

“Oops,” Maru said, a little abashed. Poor Penny was now bright red. Harvey just let out a small sigh and offered Katherine a final smile.

“You take care, Katherine.”

Elliott had made his way around the chairs and now stood close by, looking expectant. When Katherine looked at him again, he lifted the basket a little.

“Allow me to assist you. I assume you are travelling home.”

Katherine nodded wordlessly. She really wanted to take the basket off him, but she didn’t know how to say “give me my basket” without sounding rude. She had a horrible feeling he’d been the third person who’d witnessed her blackout in Pierre’s. She watched as he ventured a smile towards the others gathered in the doctor’s surgery. “Goodbye, everyone.”

“Bye!” Maru said, waving. Penny just raised a hand, gathering her bag to follow Doctor Harvey into his office. Elliott held the door open for Katherine and stood to one side. As she stepped out into the cloudy afternoon, the cold air stung her lungs and made her cough again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Elliott wincing, but he made no other comment. It was something of a relief. Katherine had had enough of being winced over.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she said, when she had at last recovered her (somewhat croaky) voice. “I mean, thanks. But I can take it from here.”

“I’m afraid I promised on pain of death to escort you safely home,” he said, with a tinge of good humour. Katherine frowned at him.

“Who made you promise?”

“Evelyn,” he answered promptly. He had a deep voice, with a timbre that suggested song. “Wonderful lady. Rather elderly. She saw you collapse in the store, but she had to go home and make her husband lunch.”

Katherine remembered the old woman dressed in purple and slowly connected the dots. “Mrs Mullner?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m afraid I cannot break a promise to her.”

Katherine gritted her teeth, feeling her chest grate. She wasn’t quite sure what put her so on edge about the situation. Elliott didn’t make her feel concerned, or afraid, like she’d sometimes felt riding the subway late at night. It was more like he put her hackles up. He made her discomfited. They all did, everyone who treated her with so much abject generosity. Surely, it wouldn’t take long for the other shoe to drop. They would come to collect on whatever debt they were cultivating.

But she was fatigued beyond measure and had to at least pretend to take some bed-rest. Contemplating carrying those jars all the way back home didn’t fill her with confidence.

“Alright,” she said, unable to muster much grace. “This way.”

They walked slowly and in silence. A flock of small birds came to settle briefly on the road ahead before taking flight once more and rushing into the trees.

“Sparrows,” Elliott said. “They like the turning of the year.”

Katherine made a noncommittal humming noise. Her breath was wheezing quietly with every step. The turning for the bus stop had just come in sight when they heard a shout from somewhere behind.

“Hey! Hey, wait up!”

Glad for the excuse to stop, Katherine looked back. A college-aged kid was jogging up behind them, dressed, apparently unironically, in a letterman sweater. In his hands he was carrying a large saucepan with a heavy lid.

“Hey,” he said, scarcely out of breath. “Katherine, right? My grandma asked me to take this to you if I saw you go by. I’m Alex, by the way.”

Katherine could tell that had he’d had a hand free, he would have run it through his hair. She nodded awkwardly. “Uh, thanks.”

“’Sup, Elliott,” Alex said, nodding.

“Hello.”

“Here,” he brandished the pot at Katherine. “So, you passed out? Pretty wild way to arrive in town.”

Katherine stifled a cough, shrugging slightly as she took the pan whilst still gripping her prescriptions (plainly, Alex was not giving up until he’d fulfilled his objective).

“Oh, right, you’re sick. Better go home and get some rest. Least, that’s what my grandma always says! Maybe I’ll catch you later!” He was gone already, jogging away back down the hill.

“That’s Evelyn’s grandson,” Elliott said, moving to take the pan off her as well. “In case you weren’t already aware.”

“The mayor mentioned something about it,” she muttered, letting him. Whatever Evelyn had made, it weighed a whole lot. Elliott took it without complaint. He had big hands, Katherine noticed. Nicely big hands. Then she blinked and started walking again.

“Your farm is on a beautiful plot of land,” he said, as they passed the bus stop and the broken-down gate came in view. “My friend lives south of here, beside the river. She’s spoken of the forest often.”

Katherine went back to noncommittal noises. Elliott seemed to take the hint and said nothing else until they were stood at the steps to the cabin. Katherine could feel herself swaying slightly. Exhaustion was pressing on her shoulders like a sodden blanket. She tried to fight through it.

“Thanks. For carrying everything. You didn’t have to.”

“It was no trouble. Would you like me to bring anything inside?”

Katherine was forcibly reminded of her first day here, with Robin and the mayor and her suitcases. Again, she shook her head.

“No, it’s alright. Just leave them on the porch. I have some things to- to sort out.”

“Alright. It was good to meet you, Katherine. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

Katherine was saved from having to find something to say by a well-timed cough. She braced one hand on the beam beside the steps and tried to let the fit run its course. Elliot carefully set down the basket and saucepan. When he saw her recover, he raised a hand in farewell.

“Goodbye, then.”

“Bye,” Katherine managed. She didn’t stick around to watch him out of sight. Marshalling the last of her strength, she climbed up the stairs, fumbled the key into the lock and stumbled in through the door. For a brief moment, she thought of eating, of taking the pills Harvey had given her. But she was so tired. Just a nap. A nap, then she would get back on track. Katherine crawled into bed, tugged the coverlet up over her shoulders and was asleep within seconds.

She woke up groggy and confused, feeling like her chest was on fire. It was dark outside. She got her traditional cough out of the way, before her eyes landed on a shining silver object somewhere across the room. A saucepan. Where had that come from?

Her stomach shrieked as she sat up. Katherine rubbed her forehead, trying to think. When had she last eaten? This morning? The day before? Then she remembered. Passing out. The clinic. Evelyn. Elliott. Hadn’t she left that pan on the porch?

She got up. Her clothes were badly rumpled, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She hurried behind the screen in the corner of the room and used the toilet. The flush rattled ominously. Yet another potential problem. Katherine washed her hands, then went to investigate the saucepan. The basket had mysteriously appeared, too. Inside was a scribbled note.

Dear Katherine, forgive me, but as I was leaving I noticed you had neglected to shut the door to your house. Finding you asleep, I thought it best to bring your provisions inside and secure the property when I left. I hope I did not overstep. Sleep well. Elliott.

Katherine found that this combination of words in that particular order did strange things to her heart, so she put the note down and finally lifted the lid on Evelyn’s gift. The smell was instantly familiar, even cold: chicken soup. Just like nanny used to make when Katherine was sick as a child. All reservations Katherine had about accepting food from strangers went out of the window. She hefted the pan onto the burner and prodded the blue flame into life. A spoon to stir. After a little while, she fetched the coverlet and draped it around her shoulders. Maybe, if she felt a bit better after food and medicine, she could light a fire. There was no chance of getting seeds in the ground today. Still, there was tomorrow. Katherine realised she hadn’t thought about Anna, or her phone, for hours. She glanced over at the stack of files on the kitchen table. Guilt surged up inside her. Didn’t she care about her work? Didn’t she care about anything that mattered?

You’ve been ill, she imagined nanny saying. You get better first. Then you can go back to your work. The smell of steaming chicken soup made it easier to believe. Katherine poured a bowl and ate at the table. Then she poured another and ate sat on the bed. She noticed that there were a few logs stacked just inside the door that hadn’t been there earlier. Elliot’s handiwork again? She carried them over to the hearth and began building a little kindling house. It was cold, even with the hot soup inside her. Her lungs still burned. Nonetheless, she could feel some strength returning. Once the flames had begun to take hold, Katherine at last got up and reached for her antibiotics, which had been placed neatly in the basket. Underneath was the 500G she’d got from Pierre. She swallowed one of each tablet, then put the lid back on the soup, vague visions of drowning mice floating nauseatingly through her mind. The burner clicked off. It was barely half past eight. Katherine put on a few logs and got into her nightshirt. She thought about reading again, but her head felt fuzzy. Instead, she climbed back into bed. She was asleep sooner than she thought possible.

Chapter Text

The next day, Katherine didn’t wake up until nine. It was the latest she’d slept in for five years. She checked her phone. No missed calls. No texts. No emails. It didn’t hurt the way it once did. Maybe because she didn’t have the capacity for any more pain in her body right now. She groaned, rolling over. Another cough.

“That’s not getting old anytime soon,” she muttered, pushing herself up. Chicken soup for breakfast. Painkillers and antibiotics as a chaser. She had forgotten to braid her hair last night; it snarled in hopeless tangles at the back of her head and around her shoulders. She didn’t even want to raise her arms to brush it. Everything ached. Every breath stung. Silently, she wished blessings upon Evelyn, bearer of soup, then forced herself up and over to the burner.

She spent the morning in bed. She knew she ought to be bored, but really, there wasn’t any room in her brain for concepts like interest and boredom. Things hurt; Katherine existed through it. She stayed wrapped in that cotton-wool feeling until lunchtime, when she got up, took another painkiller, and ventured outside.

A light rain was coming down. For the first time, Katherine stood on her porch and looked, properly looked, at her grandfather’s old farm. Even to her untrained eye, it looked in a bit of a state. Weeds straggled out across the once tilled acreage. The thick trees at the edge of the property had dropped so much deadfall that the boundaries had become fuzzed with logs and underbrush. Rocks of all shapes and sizes had migrated in from who knew where. It would all need clearing, stripping back down to good earth and fresh water. Katherine chewed over the problem for a while, then went back inside. She didn’t have a raincoat, but there was one hanging at the back of the wardrobe, smelling strangely of plastic; she hadn’t brought any tools, but a rusty trowel and rake skulked in the corner of the kitchen. She carried them all outside and studied the ground. The area closest to the porch was probably easiest. Perhaps an unconventional place for a vegetable patch, but who was around to judge her?

“Not even you, grandpa,” she whispered, saying her pet name for him aloud for the first time in years. Daddy hadn’t liked it. He always wanted her to call him grandfather, when she was allowed to mention him at all. When Katherine had told grandpa that, he’d laughed and ruffled her hair.

Don’t you worry about that, Katarina. It can be our secret. But even as a child, Katherine could tell that his eyes were sad.

She picked a spot and knelt down. The rain whispered over the soft earth, beading on the small, gem-like leaves of the tangled weeds. Here was as good a place as any. Slowly, Katherine reached out and began to dig.

That was how Robin found her, around an hour later, scratching around in the dirt and adding aching knees to her list of complaints.

“Hey, Katherine!” The carpenter came over, her ginger hair covered up beneath a leather cap. Her face was openly curious. “I heard you were sick? And that you weren’t farming?”

Katherine sat up, absurdly pleased with the tiny dent she’d made in the mess. Then- surprise, surprise- she coughed.

“Ouch,” Robin said, instinctively offering her a hand up. “You are sick. And you won’t help that by being out in the rain.”

Katherine could see the sense in that, and she was starting to long for another painkiller. She hesitated. Then she accepted Robin’s help. What was one more debt against her ledger? She stood back, brushing off her trousers.

“Thanks. I wanted to do something, though. Not waste the whole day.”

“No day spent in recovery is a day wasted, or so my father always told me,” Robin said, equably. “Shall we go inside?”

Katherine had to admit the sense in that. She gathered up her tools and led the way back into the cabin. Then she glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Don’t be daft,” Robin said, carefully setting her backpack down on the kitchen counter, though Katherine could see her eyes roaming over the ash in the hearth and the files strewn on the table. “You take that coat off and leave your tools by the door. I’ll get some soup on. Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look done in.”

Katherine mutely followed her instructions. Taking care of people seemed to come very naturally to Robin; it felt so easy to be swept up in her wake.

“I see Evelyn’s worked her magic,” Robin said, as she clicked the burner into life.

“Yes. It’s really good.” Katherine sank down onto the edge of the bed. She couldn’t stop herself from looking anxiously from the messy table to the messy hearth to the dust in the corners on a loop, coughing every now and then in the manner of one inches from death. Robin whistled between her teeth.

“That’s a nasty one. At least Harvey gave you the good stuff. Those antibiotics will probably make you feel worse before you feel better.” When she realised Katherine was looking questioningly at her back, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Sorry. Should have mentioned that Maru’s my daughter. And discretion is not her middle name.”

“Oh.” A recollection stirred in Katherine’s brain. “The nurse?”

“Something of one. She half-trained, then gave it up to stargaze. Unfortunately, the constellations don’t pay her bills, so she helps Harvey out part time.”

Katherine offered up her best noncommittal noise. The soup was starting to smell good enough to be distracting. Robin refrained from saying anything else until she had put a bowl in Katherine’s hands and served one for herself.

“Oh, that is good. Nobody makes chicken soup like Evelyn,” Robin sighed, closing her eyes in pleasure. “Sometimes, I almost wish my kids would get sick, just so I can get my hands on some.”

Katherine’s brain had cleared enough to grasp the basic back-and-forth of conversation once again. “Kids?”

“Two. Maru and Sebastian. Seb’s my eldest. Don’t suppose you’ve met him yet. I swear it’s his mission in life to become nocturnal.”

“Hm.” There was another short silence while the two ate. Then Robin leaned back against the countertop in satisfaction and looked back over at the kitchen table.

“So. Lawyer, huh?”

Katherine’s urge to lie suddenly faltered. She settled for clattering her spoon around the bowl, then saying, “yes. Sort of. It’s- complicated.”

It was Robin’s turn to make a noncommittal noise. Then she shot Katherine an appraising sort of look. “But not the sort of lawyer who won’t farm?”

Katherine thought about it longer than she probably should have. At last, she shook her head. “No. I found some seeds. I want to see if they’ll grow.”

“That’s a good start. What are you sowing?”

“Parsnips.”

“Pierre will have those. He doesn’t like the ones that come from Emerald Heights, says they’re too woody.”

Katherine shrugged. “They might not turn out that well.”

“You don’t know until you try. Besides, Gregor- your grandfather- always said the soil here is the best for miles around. So, you’ve got that going for you.”

Katherine reflected on this as Robin took her leave. She remembered grandpa saying something similar when she’d been here last. As with most of her memories, it had taken on a dreamlike quality in the intervening years, like a photographic plate that had been left out in open air. The maze of beanstalks, the carpet of dark, waxy leaves- she remembered those. She remembered his beard, his kind, crinkled eyes, the liver spots on his strong arms. Most of what he’d said to her was a fond, unintelligible blur. But she was sure he’d mentioned the soil. She touched her shirt collar absent-mindedly, then looked down at her hands, examining the dirt around her nails.

“I should get some gloves,” she said, to the empty house. Then she got up and went back to work.

That night, fate smiled upon her. Before turning in, she’d taken another pass at the spidery cabinets, hoping for another trove of treasures amongst the old biscuit tins, and had been rewarded with several dusty books. They were old and two had pages fattened by moisture, but they were all still legible. Katherine read the titles with increasing excitement. On the Nature of Growing Things, Herbs and Wild Riches, A Farmer’s Treatise… She flipped them open. Almost every page had been carefully annotated in a cramped hand. She took A Farmer’s Treatise to bed with her and read halfway through spring before she fell asleep, the book still clutched in her hands. Plant your parsnips early, so that a second crop may be got before the heat of summer…

It took her three days to get her seeds sown. She made the soup last all that time, and when she wasn’t outside, she was sleeping, eating, or reading. Her case notes stayed scattered in an accusatory manner all over the table, but Katherine told herself that she would attend to that when she was stronger. For now, she needed to get better. Survive. Make a living.

At least the weather was kind. A Farmer’s Treatise had mentioned spring storms, but the worst she experienced was a light rain that soaked her cleared earth and turned it a pleasing shade of dark brown. She coughed a lot, unsurprisingly, but the painkillers meant she could go on. By the third day, she managed to get up before ten.

But this presented a new problem. With her appetite and strength returning, she knew she would need sustenance soon. When the saucepan was completely empty, Katherine sat at her table and counted out her remaining funds. 500G from Pierre. 254G left in her account, though she would likely need to withdraw that: she doubted Pierre took cards, and she still couldn’t face the thought of going back to the Jojamart. Her other problem was the kitchen. Not so much the lack of equipment- though it certainly did lack for that- but her dearth of knowledge regarding how to use what little she had. In Zuzu, she ate out of the cornerstore. It was what everyone did. Her tiny apartment had boasted a microwave, a kettle and even a small electric hob, but had she ever used it? No, she had not. She grimaced. What food was cheap, easy to make edible and could stretch for- well, at least another week? Katherine didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue.

She decided that she wasn’t going to find out by sitting around here. There was some measure of dread inherent in returning to Pelican Town - who she might see, what they might think- but it couldn’t be avoided. Grumbling a cough, she shrugged on her raincoat and picked up the spotless saucepan. She could at least do Mrs Mullner the courtesy of returning her kitchenware.

As she walked, she chewed over the last of her most immediate concerns. After three days of farming effort, her one pair of jeans were stained with dirt and crinkled vegetation. She’d run through her supply of casual shirts. And the cabin didn’t have a washing machine. How on earth had her grandpa washed his clothes? She couldn’t remember. But she was damned if she’d walk about crusted in filth. Even if she had to scrub her trousers in the old tin bathtub.

Mercifully, the main square was quiet. Katherine skulked across it, head bowed, rain drumming on her hood. Anxiety began to swell within her as she passed Pierre’s. She knew she looked a state, she knew that her life was an inch from disaster; she was sure that people would see through her. Deep in her chest, her heart convulsed.

But she gained the porch of the Mullner house without seeing another soul. She took a firm breath - a trick daddy had taught her - and rang the bell. It took some time before the door opened. Evelyn smiled up at her.

“Oh! Hello, dearie. I was hoping you’d come by.”

Katherine wasn’t sure what to say to that. She awkwardly held out the pan. “I wanted to return your pan. And thank you. For the soup.”

“You needed it,” Evelyn said, not taking the pan. In fact, she was standing back, beckoning with a small hand. “Come in! It’s dreadful out there. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Had this been phrased any less like an order, Katherine would have made her excuses and bolted back to the farm. She wanted to be gone as fast as possible. But she couldn’t look at Evelyn’s warm, kind face and summon any kind of denial. Instead, she tried for a smile and stepped cautiously over the threshold. Only then did Evelyn take the pan.

The Mullner house was very nice, Katherine thought, as she dripped gently onto the mat. It was an old-fashioned timber construction with a turnback staircase and patterned green carpet in the front hallway. The sound of a television came through from a neighbouring room. Evelyn stopped by the doorway, carrying the heavy pot without apparent effort.

“George, dear, Katherine’s dropped by for a visit.”

An elderly man’s voice issued in response, gravelly and so brusque it was almost icy. “Who?!”

Evelyn didn’t seem put out. “Katherine! Gregor’s granddaughter!”

This earned a grunt. Evelyn sighed, turning away. “Don’t mind my husband,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen, “he’s a little grouchy sometimes, but he’ll come round to you. And you’ve met my grandson, of course. How do you take your tea?”

“Black,” Katherine said, the knot in her chest drawing tighter. Evelyn’s kitchen - it plainly was Evelyn’s kitchen, and nobody else’s - was simultaneously cosy and spotless, with chequered tea towels and crocheted trivets and shining copper-bottomed pans lined up like sentinels along one shelf. She thought of her burner and sink, the spiders and the dust and the scurrying mice. It was so inadequate. How had she ever thought herself capable of this?

She turned away to hack a cough into the crook of her elbow, her supply of handkerchiefs having been exhausted yesterday. Evelyn tutted.

“Did the doctor give you something for that?”

“Yes,” Katherine managed, experiencing another twinge at the reminder of her debt. She surreptitiously dabbed at her mouth, then said, stronger, “He’s given me antibiotics. And painkillers.”

“Good, good. He’s a lovely man, Doctor Harvey. I was worried about you, dearie, you looked so unwell.”

Katherine suppressed another cough as Evelyn put the kettle on the heat. Helpless guilt squirmed in her chest.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t have to worry.”

“Bless you, it wasn’t your fault. It was lucky Elliott was there to catch you, though. I’d hardly be much use!”

Katherine’s stomach dropped. Evelyn didn’t seem to notice, fetching out mugs and a tea strainer.

“I buy this from Turtle Junction,” she said, in a conspiratorial tone. “Everything else comes from Pierre, but his tea is simply not up to scratch. Don’t tell him, he thinks I don’t drink it anymore.”

Despite everything, Katherine found herself approaching a genuine smile.

“I won’t,” she promised.

The kettle whistled, a cheery, homely sound. Evelyn poured, then handed Katherine her mug. “There, now.”

Katherine breathed in the steam for a moment, savouring the warmth in her hands. Anna had caught her doing that once with a mug of coffee at her desk and had laughed at her. You know, people who hug their hot drinks lack for companionship and affection? It’s a well-known phenomenon. Katherine had laughed along and switched to drinking water. Now, she found the knot in her chest loosening, just a little. She tried a sip. It was good.

Her sense of dread receded there in Evelyn’s kitchen, talking in quiet voices as rain tapped at the windows. Evelyn told her about the Pelican Town of her youth: the bonfires on the beach, the bad flood thirty years back, the building of the library. Katherine perked up at that. There was a library?

“Oh, yes. Gunther’s very dedicated. He gets large print books in for me, though Alex is trying to set me up with an audio player so I can listen along. We even used to have a little museum out there, but most of the collection’s gone now. Gunther was quite upset.”

As a child, Katherine had loved libraries. Nanny used to take her on the weekends. Perhaps a library could be her salvation. Books held the answers to most things. Why not cooking? Why not laundry? She swallowed another mouthful of tea, then jumped as the bell clanged again. Evelyn went to answer it.

“Hello, Lewis.”

Katherine froze. The mayor was the last person she wanted to see. But Evelyn was already making conversation, starting with, “Katherine and I were just having tea in the kitchen.”

Reluctantly, Katherine set down her mug and came into the front hall, feeling like a naughty child. Lewis didn’t wave when he saw her. He barely even smiled. Just a nod and a, “Good afternoon.”

“What are we, a train station for coming and going?” A peevish voice asked. Katherine looked around to see an old man in a wheelchair pushing himself towards the front door. His thin white hair clung to his skull like wisps of smoke and his face was very wrinkled, but his eyes were still sharp. George, surely. He gave Katherine a cursory glance, then angled towards Lewis. “What do you want, Lewis?”

“I stopped by to ask about desserts for the Egg Festival, and to give you these.” Lewis reached in the pocket of his jerkin and retrieved a paper bag. “Found them when I was out in the forest. I know nobody else in this town loves them like you do.”

George’s expression sharpened as he took the bundle. Inside, two slender white vegetables lay side-by-side, dirt still clinging to their hair-like roots. Evelyn smiled.

“Leeks! Lovely, thank you, Lewis. And don’t you worry. I have it all planned for this year, Marnie is perfectly aware.”

Katherine uprooted herself from her awkward stasis. “Thanks for the tea, Evelyn. I should be going.”

“It was my pleasure, dearie. Come again, won’t you? I’ve biscuits that won’t eat themselves.”

“Thank you.”

Evelyn fixed the mayor with a smile as George wheeled away, back towards the kitchen. “You’ll show the Katherine the library? We were just talking about it.”

Lewis pushed his hands in his pockets. Katherine opened her mouth to say something, to excuse him, but then he nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”

They went back out into the rain. Lewis had a flat cap on today - Katherine guessed that his leather jerkin was keeping off the worst of the weather. She retreated back into her anorak, feeling sudden guilt at the dampness she’d left on Evelyn’s floor. She should have taken off her coat and shoes. She should have-

“Robin tells me you’ve been recovering,” Lewis said, abruptly. Well, it was abrupt for him. The man had the forcefulness of a cloud. Yet Katherine felt the reprimand nonetheless, cringing back into her hood. She had disappointed him somehow. Let him down. She coughed again.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Lewis continued, “I know the cabin doesn’t have a washer. Or a dryer. I’m sure you’ll be modernising the place in no time, but until then, you can use mine. Your grandfather used to on occasion, when Jodi wasn’t taking in laundry.”

Katherine heard the resignation in his voice, the reluctance - but she was still stunned. “Are you sure?” She asked, forgetting what daddy had taught her about never questioning offers that delivered a benefit. They were almost across the square, coming up on the lush green grass of the riverbank. There were more houses here, too, with neat gardens and picket fences. Lewis stared straight ahead.

“Quite sure. Can’t have you wandering about wearing the contents of your fields!”

His cheer was forced, but Katherine was surprised by how much she appreciated it. She dropped her gaze to the cobblestones. “Thank you.”

“This is my house. I’m in most evenings. If I’m not there, come find me at the Saloon.”

Katherine nodded, looking at the house, at the beautifully manicured lawn, at the expensive pick-up truck on the drive. She ought to say something, but another expression of gratitude would have felt worn and overused. She just nodded, and they walked on in silence.

“Evelyn must like you if she’s let you in on her secret,” the mayor said, as they crossed a bridge over the river. When Katherine looked blank, he elaborated: “the tea.”

“She was very kind,” Katherine said, needlessly. But Lewis looked somewhat mollified.

“Yes, she’s a wonderful woman. Her husband’s a pricklier character, but give him time.”

“What did you bring him?” Katherine asked, breaking one of her rules about curiosity (Nobody has time for useless questions, Katherine).

“Wild leeks. They grow in the forests around here. George has always had a fondness for them.”

Katherine nodded like that meant something to her. There were trees on this side of the river, some slender, some more thickset. A light shone on the path up ahead, resolving into the porch light of a single-storey building. The place reminded Katherine strangely of her grandpapa’s cabin: all treated logs and painted green windowsills. A wooden sign read, simply, “Library”. Lewis pushed open the door and chimes tinkled softly.

Katherine could tell right away that she’d like it here. The place smelled like paper and treated wood, and the electric lights were all soft and yellow- no harsh fluorescent bulbs here. Directly across from the door, a bearded man stood behind a desk, reading. He looked up as they came in.

“Hello, Lewis.”

“Gunther. This is Katherine. She’s new in town. Figured I’d show her our greatest attraction.”

Gunther laughed softly. He had a quietness about him that Katherine instinctively respected. “Well, here we are. One library, a whole lot of empty display cases. Not much else to it. Can I interest you in a library card?”

Katherine said that he could, and Gunther went into the back to fetch the right forms. Lewis sighed, suddenly morose.

“You’ve probably heard, but there was a theft here a few months back. Gunther hired a new curator for the museum, and he unfortunately took too great a liking to the collection. There’s nothing left now. Not even an old wooden spoon.”

“That’s terrible,” Katherine said. She really meant it. Museums were sacred. This seemed to gratify Lewis.

“It is, but the police can’t track him down. I’m afraid Pelican Town will have to get by without a museum for now.”

“Damn shame,” Gunther said, returning and sliding paper and pen to Katherine. “Damn shame. This valley has some real treasures. Geological, historical, archaeological. But we’ve nothing left to show for it. My predecessor built up the collection over fifteen years. Now it’s all gone.”

“You weren’t too shabby, either,” Lewis added. “I still remember that beautiful yellow crystal you found up in the old mine.”

“Fluorite,” Gunther said, wistfully. “Best specimen I’d ever found.”

A sorrowful silence followed. Katherine signed her name, having reviewed her contract with the library and finding no clause particularly onerous. Gunther shook himself from his reverie and penned a card for her.

“There you are. No more than five books at a time, loan periods are four weeks. Bring them back or let me know you want to renew.”

Katherine nodded. The mayor checked his watch.

“I need to head back, Katherine. Will you be alright walking to the farm?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll show you the shelves,” Gunther said, coming out from behind the desk. “You’ll be back before it’s dark. We’re not overburdened with literary bounty.”

Katherine tried to nod in a way that communicated there was absolutely no issue with this, that she’d take what she could get. And indeed, the library was beautiful. Municipal, but beautiful. Three reading desks sat by the windows, each equipped with a green lamp and low shelf. There was a corner with beanbags and cushions, clearly designed for children. The yellow light gave the room a friendly feel. Gunther waved his hand to the door in the far wall.

“That’s the museum, or what’s left of it. Of course, we don’t open it anymore, but there you are. Now, we’ve got fiction here, non-fiction there. Genre labels are on the edge of the shelves. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

Katherine was too embarrassed to tell him the truth, so she asked for some time to browse. He left her to it. She ducked in between the shelves. The cooking section was easy to find and depressingly brief: six books, one of them on making wine. Katherine read the spines of the others. She decided on Mrs Brentwood’s Guide to Making the Most of Your Vegetables and Baking for Beginners. That left her three more loan slots. She was appraising the meagre selection of crime novels when the door chime tinkled distantly.

“Evening,” Gunther said. He was talking quietly, but the soft silence of the library made voices carry. “Back already?”

“Only to swap out the Farigli. I’ll need to renew the Kwant, I’m afraid the prose has yet to engage me.”

Katherine froze, her face going red. She recognised that voice. As smooth and cultured as the man it belonged to. He was probably the last person she wanted to encounter here, or now, or anywhere at any time henceforth. He’d been witness to her lowest point. He’d helped her. She looked about for somewhere to hide. This being a small library, her options were slim.

And then she was out of time, because Elliott had finished his conversation with Gunther and come to peruse the shelves. He spotted her almost immediately. Katherine tried to pretend she hadn’t been searching for a chance to flee, and instead held her books to her chest like a shield. This did not stop him coming closer.

“Good evening. It’s good to see you again, Katherine.”

A serial name-user, Katherine decided. A cheap trick to foster intimacy. She would not fall for it. She gave him a thin-lipped smile.

“Hi.”

He was wearing a thick woollen coat and sturdy boots. Katherine noticed this because she had chanced a look at his face and snatched her gaze to the floor, burned. He had looked genuinely pleased by her presence. Incomprehensible. She pantomimed shuffling her books.

“What brings you here?” He asked, undeterred. Katherine almost swore.

“New recipes,” she answered, an impressive lie given the circumstances. Then, because manners were a reflex not even agony could curb, she asked, “What about you?”

“I’ve come to feed my vice,” he said, lowering his voice to a dry, conspiratorial tone. When Katherine looked at him, surprised, he smiled. “Reading when I should be writing.”

Had the circumstances between them been any different, Katherine would probably have laughed. As it was, she emitted an awkward coughing noise and hefted her books again. “I need to get back.”

Elliott stood aside, courteous. “Of course.”

“Goodbye.” She said this as she was moving past him. He said it in return. Silence returned to the library. Katherine felt as though her cheeks were smarting. Gunther did not prolong her suffering. He checked out her books and sent her back out into the rainy dusk. Katherine didn’t stop walking as she coughed. She didn’t want Elliott to catch up to her. She wanted to be on her own.

This wish was granted. She didn’t meet anyone else as she walked back through town and climbed the slope back to the farm. Her coughs returned with a vengeance. With a pang, she realised that she had failed in her primary mission- she hadn’t gone to Pierre’s. The shop was surely already closed. Jam tonight, then. It wouldn’t kill her.

She lit the fire and ate blueberry jam as she read through Mrs Brentwood. The good lady had a lot of expectations for her cooks, some of which Katherine thought she would be able to meet. She had a saucepan and a frying pan, at least. The rest could wait. She dreamed that night of pie crusts and rolling pins, and woke in the morning to bright sunshine coming through her windows.

Chapter Text

It took Katherine a further week to recover from her cough - a week she spent mostly in the company of books. Apart from one early trip to Pierre’s and an awkward visit to Lewis to wash her jeans, she was left to her own devices up at the farm. She was learning a sufficient amount to survive: cooking, hoeing, sowing. Her endeavours weren’t always successful, but they made her feel like she was moving forward.

After a few days, her parsnips began to sprout. Katherine had never been so delighted to see a green thing in her life. She lived off of several iterations of average vegetable soup and water from the tap. After five days, she was craving salt. After seven, she’d even begun to long for a little company. Her increasing energy levels left her feeling restless. One warm day, she set herself the task of clearing the boundary by the front gate. The sun had brought the songbirds to the trees, and she listened as she gathered deadfall and tossed rocks into a pile. She didn’t even notice Lewis until he called her name. He raised a hand as she looked up.

“Morning.”

“Morning, Mayor.”

He surveyed her work. “Working hard, I see.”

“It’s coming on,” she said, because it seemed like the right sort of platitude. He nodded.

“You know, the surfacing companies up north will take those rocks? Leave them in the bin for me. And there’s a green energy firm that’ll pay for dry branches.”

Katherine paused, wiping her brow. “Really?”

“It’s hardly a fortune. But better than letting it go to waste.” His eyes tracked to her modest vegetable patch, the leafy fronds straggling out in a wonky line. “I - well. I realised I hadn’t mentioned it. When you moved in.”

“Thanks.” Two weeks ago, she’d never have dreamed of selling trash- now, she’d take what she could get. Lewis nodded.

“I actually came up here to remind you about the saloon tonight. Have you decided?”

Damn. She’d deliberately tried to forget. While they’d been waiting for her clothes to finish in the dryer, Lewis had invited her to come to the saloon on Friday night. Meet all the other faces. The thought still made her gut twist with dread.

But refusal would require an excuse and Lewis would know they were all lies. She couldn’t hide behind her cough anymore. Not even this strenuous activity had provoked so much as a grumble from her lungs. Warding away a grimace, Katherine nodded.

“I’ll be there.”

This made him brighten. “Good! Good. No need to dress up, nobody ever does.”

Katherine was not reassured, but she did her best not to let it show. Lewis didn’t leave.

“One more thing. I have a favour to ask you.”

This made her wary, but she owed more than one favour to Lewis. She dropped a rock on the pile and wiped her hands on her jeans.

“What is it?”

“It’s the Egg Festival next Saturday,” Lewis said. Clearly, her confusion showed in her face: he gave a middling shrug. “It’s a celebration of the season, but Emerald Heights already have a Spring Festival.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, we arrange an egg hunt every year. Just painted eggs around the town, but it gets quite competitive. Nonetheless, I need someone to help make sure all the eggs are found after the competition’s concluded. I hoped you would help me track them all down?”

That was not what Katherine had expected. It was so… Quaint? She couldn’t think of a reason to refuse. Lewis told her where and what time, and then took his leave. She heard him whistling when he’d gone beyond the hedge. Katherine went back to clearing the fence.

Later, she changed into a pair of black dress pants and a collared shirt- dove grey with pearl buttons. Lewis had told her not to dress up, but as far as Katherine could tell, this was the town’s only social event. She wasn’t about to go looking like an urchin. Her mud-spattered boots put paid somewhat to that resolution, but she didn’t have any other shoes. Even the Katherine who’d packed up her suitcase in Zuzu City hadn’t thought she’d need high heels.

There was a grey dusk gathering overhead as she walked down into town. When she gained the outskirts, the streetlights actually flicked on, casting warm pools of light over the road. Katherine wondered how long it had been since a car had driven up to Watershed Farm. Surely there hadn’t been one since her grandfather had died. Cars in general were a rare sight in Pelican Town. It was like a place caught out of time, a steadfast boulder in a stream that had already washed everything else onward. Maybe that was why grandpa had liked it so much. Maybe that was why it made her feel so odd.

Crossing the square, her reverie evaporated. Music and light spilled out of the saloon, along with the sound of people. Katherine’s stomach turned over. She wanted so badly to skulk back to the cabin, mice and all. But she was her father’s daughter. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the door and pushed it open.

When had twenty people started to feel like a crowd? Eyes turned to her. The music kept playing, but conversations changed pace, stuttering, becoming curious. Katherine lifted her chin and walked to the bar. Scrutiny is for the weak, Katherine. Keep your head high.

“Katherine!” The mayor came hurrying over to intercept. “Good to see you.”

Katherine felt a tiny spasm of relief, which manifested as an awkward smile. “Hello.”

For the first time since that disastrous second day, the mayor’s face softened into something approaching genuine fondness. “What can I get for you? Ah, don’t refuse, it’s tradition for a newcomer. Beer? Lemonade?”

Katherine craned her neck to see if there was a menu. There was not. She decided she wanted her wits about her.

“Ginger ale, if they have it.”

“Have it?” A voice boomed. It came from a round-faced man behind the bar, who clapped his pudgy hands together and smiled broadly beneath his moustache. “I kept ginger ale in for your grandfather for fifteen years! Good to know it’ll have a home. Nobody else will drink the stuff!”

“Gus, Katherine,” Lewis said. “Katherine, Gus. Gus runs the saloon.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Ginger ale, coming up!” Gus went bustling off into the back. He was immediately replaced by a slender woman with shoulder-length blue hair. An apron hung haphazardly over her bright yellow shirt. She propped her elbows between the taps and regarded Katherine with a dreamy smile. Eccentricity poured off her in waves.

“Hullo. You must be Katherine. Welcome to Pelican Town.”

“Thank you,” Katherine said, trying not to sound nervous.

“I’m Emily. What’s your star sign?”

“I don’t know.” This wasn’t entirely true, but Katherine didn’t believe in star signs, and she really didn’t want to discuss it. Further down the bar, a man in a green jacket turned on his stool. Katherine’s heart sank as she recognised Dr Harvey.

“You know, star signs don’t mean anything.”

“Scepticism is armour made of glass,” Emily said, serenely. “You think it makes you strong, but all it does is make you transparent.”

“Doesn’t that only work if you’re naked under your armour?” A familiar musing voice broke in as Robin joined them at the bar. She tipped Katherine a wink, a mischievous smile playing around her lips. Emily frowned thoughtfully; Harvey went red and sputtered. A hand landed on Robin’s shoulder.

“Or translucent. Much like the glass frogs of the Striped River. You truly can see through them.”

“Dad. Shut up.”

Robin snickered and turned to Katherine. “Katherine, this is my husband Demetrius, and our daughter, Maru.”

Demetrius was a tall man with rich brown skin and an expression that said he was always thinking about something, if not necessarily the conversation occurring at the time. Maru, Katherine remembered from the doctor’s surgery. Her reddish hair was now loose and smooth and she wore a vivid purple jumper. The three of them exchanged greetings.

“Here you go,” Gus said, returning with a glass of fizzing liquid. “Hey, Robin. The usual?”

“For us, please. Maru, what did you want again?”

“Ooh, I’ll make you something!” Emily said, bouncing up. Maru laughed.

“Sure, sure, Emily. Just no avocado this time, ‘K?”

“I will create something worthy of galaxies.”

The click of pool balls started up nearby. Lewis picked up his own drink and cleared his throat. “Here, let’s sit down.”

He led her to a table near the door. They sat. Katherine sipped her ginger ale and finally had a chance to look around.

The pool table was just visible in the next room, along with a set of ancient arcade cabinets. Katherine could see a lanky figure twirling a pool cue in one hand. Closer at hand, two men sat at a table, drinking beer. One was wiry, the other heavyset; both sported spectacular beards. The wiry one caught Katherine looking and raised his glass by way of greeting. Katherine quickly looked away.

Up at the bar, Robin was handing Demetrius a bottle and taking a swig from her own, laughing. Maru had taken the stool next to Dr Harvey. On her other side, Pierre was nursing a glass. Further along, an older woman with dirty blonde hair sagged in her seat, already looking worse for wear. Lewis followed her eyes.

“You’ve met the Kisans, of course, and Pierre. And Harvey, though not in the manner you might have wanted, hm? That’s Pam there at the end. She moved to the valley a few years back.”

The door swung open again, admitting a short woman with flyaway brown hair. Lewis straightened in his seat.

“Evening, Marnie.”

“Evening, Lewis.” She pulled a scarf away from her neck, cheeks reddening. “Sorry I’m late. Jas lost her bear. My, the house might as well have fallen down! We found it in the end though, thank Yoba. And this must be Katherine!”

Marnie had an air of breathless cheer that Katherine found inexplicably comforting. She held out her hand to shake Marnie’s and was surprised by the strength of the woman’s grip. Upon closer inspection, Katherine could see a piece of straw caught in the collar of her coat.

Lewis got to his feet. “What can I get you?”

“Just a cider, thanks,” Marnie said, settling into a chair. “I’ll get the next one.”

Lewis waved her away and went back to the bar. Marnie sighed.

“Sorry I haven’t been up to the farm to visit you. Things are just non-stop with the calves at the moment. We’ve got one who’s hit and miss with suckling - I’m worried I’ll have to hand-rear her.”

Katherine realised at this point that Marnie wasn’t talking about leg muscles. She frowned, an old memory swimming to the surface.

“Is that-?”

“Green Grass Farm. I know Gregor brought you when you were a little girl. My dad told me about it.”

Katherine remembered.

“I rode a pony,” she said, surprising herself. Marnie nodded.

“Cloudy. We’ve still got him. Old as sin now, of course, but still the sweetest creature on four legs. Jas - that’s my niece - dotes on him. You should come by and see him when you get the chance.”

Katherine nodded. She’d ridden ponies in the city: daddy had thought the hobby suitable for a little girl. But none of the memories of those rides were as clear as her time on Cloudy, ambling around a paddock, listening to the birds sing. Grandpa had leaned on the fence and watched her with a smile.

“Is your dad-?”

“Oh, no.” Marnie knew what she was asking, and she shook her head with a pragmatism that suggested the loss was no longer fresh. “No, dad marched skyward nearly ten years ago. Pancreatic cancer. I came back to run the farm for him- before that, I was working up north.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Katherine said. The phrase was rote and felt awkward, but Marnie didn’t look upset.

“Life goes on.”

Lewis came back bearing a glass, and there was more self-conscious small talk between the three of them. As Katherine’s nerves relaxed, her predominant emotion shifted to pure discomfort. She didn’t know what to say to any of these people. She didn’t belong. Everything from her clothes to her accent to her demeanour stuck out like a sore thumb. She wanted to slip under the table and hide until they all left, until she was alone. But she couldn’t, so she mechanically sipped her ginger ale and listened to Lewis and Marnie chat about the Egg Festival. Eggs. Desserts. Stalls. Katherine had absolutely nothing to contribute.

When she had only a mouthful left to drink and she’d begun to plot her exit, Lewis cleared his throat.

“There’s still a few faces you’ve not seen yet, but most of them are here. Jodi’s eldest boy is in the back room. Jodi herself doesn’t come out very often, she’s got another son who’s too young to be on his own, but I’m sure you’ll meet her in town. Mind you, there’s a few of the younger crowd missing tonight.”

“Abby’s here,” Marnie said, craning her neck to look at the pool table. “And Sebastian.”

“No Hayley, though. Or Leah. Or Penny.”

“Penny never comes to the saloon,” Marnie pointed out. Her gaze flickered to the older woman sat at the bar - Pam. Katherine drained her glass and decided to take evasive action.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said, drawing back in her chair, preparing to escape. “And for the company. I think I’ll be on my way.”

She used the momentary pause to smile and straighten up. Robin had been passing their table. She appraised Katherine with a smile that bordered on tipsy.

“You’re not leaving?”

Katherine felt herself flushing. There was something about Robin that made her afraid of disappointing the woman, which was completely irrational. You have imprinted on her like a baby bird, she scolded herself, mentally smoothing down her ruffled feathers.

“It’s late,” she said, stiffly. “I’ll be working tomorrow.”

For a moment, she thought Robin would argue with her. Then the woman shrugged. Before Katherine could react, she had pulled her into a brief hug.

“Look after yourself.”

Katherine knew that she should say something, do something- it was what the social contract demanded- but she couldn’t summon so much as a nod. She stood there like a plank as Robin released her, then ducked out of the door as fast as her legs could carry her.

There were two people stood outside on the path, looking back across the square. One, Katherine recognised. He had his arms folded, fall of auburn hair laid over one shoulder, that same woollen coat keeping off the chill wind. The other was a shorter woman with a thick braid that fell almost to her waist. She had one hand outstretched, gesturing at the cobblestones.

“… nothing too excessive, nothing shiny, but somewhere to be, you know?”

“A focal point,” Elliott said. Then he caught sight of Katherine. He bowed his head courteously. “Evening.”

The woman looked around. “You’re the farmer!” She said, brightening. “Good to meet you. I’m Leah.”

She held out her hand to shake, which was the only thing that saved Katherine from certain embarrassment. The automatic part of her brain kicked in; grasped Leah’s hand; shook it.

“Katherine.” A vestige of self-preservation prompted her to add, “I was just on my way…”

She stopped herself before she said home, but Leah nodded.

“Oh, of course. Good night! I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

Katherine stepped between them and strode away, face burning. Would she ever be able to exist in Elliott’s vicinity without feeling painful embarrassment? She’d barely looked at him, again, yet her intestines had all but curdled. The memory of dizziness, of the world dissolving, reared its head once more. She walked even faster.

I don’t belong here, she thought, suddenly furious. This place was for grandpa, not me. I need to regroup and then I need to get out. Go far away. Back to somewhere normal.

I need to read the case notes.

I need to escape.

I need to stop pretending.

It was easier to be angry in the dark. She sat on the edge of her bed, shivering, listening to the mice scratch, her eyes boring holes into the shadows. This was a trap. A cage. A long, slow death, a painful back-water, a stagnant, abysmal dead-end. How had her grandfather stood it? She wanted to thrash, to gnaw at the bars. It took her a long time to get to sleep.

The next morning, Katherine almost didn’t get up. She lay in her bed, staring up at the cobwebs in the rafters, eyes stinging. Her notes were still strewn over the desk. She should go back to reading.

Instead, she got up and went to the front door. A grey mist was pulling back across the farm, leaving cool air in its wake. She stared out for a while, then paused, her hand still on the jamb. Then she all but ran down the porch steps.

There were parsnips. Actual, honest-to-Yoba parsnips. Katherine crouched in the dirt, holding one by its leafy scruff, strangely transfixed. She had grown this. She had grown this. The proof was in her hands. It was all over her hands, actually; she hadn’t stopped to grab a trowel, and black, damp earth was engrained in the tiny lines on her hands. She brushed herself down absent-mindedly, then went back to the cabin to fetch her tools.

Nine vegetables had survived to maturity (Katherine successfully stopped herself from using the word “adulthood” - it would complicate the future selling and eating): two were runty and oddly speckled, but the rest were perfect. She scrubbed the good ones in the sink and left the poor ones on the side for later. It was time for a trip into town.

Pierre’s eyes lit up when he saw what was in her basket.

“Just like Gregor’s!” He exclaimed, picking up a parsnip and feeling its heft. “I’ll take the lot. Shall we say 35G each?”

Katherine accepted. He handed her the money. She picked up her empty basket and went back into the misty morning.

She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to turn around, go back inside, and go straight to the bakery shelf. Pierre sold crusty baguettes fresh every day; she wanted one to herself, warm and slathered in butter. And she would have one. Just not right now. Right now, she wanted some time to think. There was a warm glow in her chest that she needed to analyse.

It was pride, she realised, walking slowly down to the river. Despite everything, she was proud of what she’d done. Of surviving. Of growing something from seed. The money in her pocket felt heavier, somehow, more real; realer by far than her anger last night. She looked at the river for a while, then walked back across the square.

Before attaining bread nirvana, Katherine stopped in at the surgery and made her first payment. With the cash she had left over, she refilled her basket: seeds, flour, butter, bread. She could only afford tulips and parsnips, but she was reasonably confident they’d grow. If she could get them in the ground today, she might have flowers by the end of next week…

That night, she ate parsnip soup and mangled rounds of crusty, fragrant bread that she’d cut with a butter knife. There were crumbs all over the table. It was nothing short of heaven.

Time slipped by in a blur of planting, weeding and watering. Her cough dried up completely, leaving behind a litany of aches Katherine could no longer blame on a virus. The effort of keeping up with the farm was almost stupefying. Every night, she fell into bed, exhausted; every morning she woke up sore. She didn’t have time to think, much less read her case notes. Her hands grew chapped from all the lifting and digging. After a while, she stopped noticing. There was always more to do.

On the first truly warm day of the year, Katherine was crouched by the mill pond at the centre of the farm, fishing plastic bags out with a stick. She had a depressingly impressive haul already, and that was just the stuff near the surface. As she shook the algae off another fast food wrapper, she saw Robin striding towards her.

“Morning!”

“Morning,” Katherine said in return, shading her eyes. It had been a sufficient period of time that her embarrassment over their encounter at the saloon had faded to manageable proportions. “What can I do for you?”

Robin grimaced. “Am I that obvious?”

Katherine realised she’d said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean-”

“Keep your hair on,” Robin said, waving her justifications away. “No, I did come here with a purpose. More of a suggestion, really. Fancy a walk?”

Katherine felt a tremor of instinctive wariness at this offer, but she swallowed it down. She owed Robin. So, she gathered up her trash pile, weighted it down with a rock and straightened up. “Where to?”

They tracked south across the acreage, the surroundings looking more neglected the further they got from the cabin. Robin whistled through her teeth.

“I know,” Katherine said, tightly. “It’s a mess.”

Robin looked surprised, then shook her head. “I was just thinking how much progress you’ve made, actually. It really puts it into perspective, coming down here. Though you’ll need to take down those trees if you want to restore this land for crops.” She gestured at a raggedy copse to their left. “The pine trees are buggers for saplings. Look away for a moment and one becomes three!”

Katherine nodded, feeling another problem mounting like the distant buzz of a tension headache. She knew Robin was right. But felling a tree seemed absurdly out of reach. She didn’t even know where to start.

Robin kept up a stream of idle chit-chat as they came through a gap in the hedge and down a gentle slope towards the river. To their right, trees and tangled underbrush grew with abandon. To their left, the land was fenced and grazed. A red-roofed barn was visible in the distance, along with a squat farmhouse. Robin nodded in that direction.

“That’s Marnie’s place. Cows must be in for milking. And just down there is Leah’s cottage.”

Katherine nodded, catching sight of the little wooden cabin. She hadn’t seen Leah since the night at the saloon. She pushed the memory away. They were almost to the riverbank, where a rickety wooden bridge spanned the water.

“I confess, I did have an ulterior motive,” Robin said, hopping up and crossing without a moment’s hesitation. “I need a second pair of eyes.”

“Oh?” Katherine tried to mask her momentary panic at hearing, I did have an ulterior motive. Robin pulled a face.

“I lost my axe out here last week. Came to chop wood and- well. Thought I heard something. I got spooked, took off running, left my axe. And my lumber sack, actually, but that can be replaced. The axe is one of a kind, though. I really don’t want to lose it.” She glanced over her shoulder, into the forest. “I know roughly where I was working. I just need…”

She trailed off as Katherine fixed her with a stare.

“What, exactly, did you hear?”

Robin looked a little shifty.

“Look, it probably wasn’t a bear. Demetrius thinks I’m bonkers for even entertaining the idea. But…”

“Robin,” Katherine said, flatly, “did you bring me out here to act as bait?”

“No! Bears don’t like noise, that’s all, and Demetrius thinks I’m imagining it and the kids think I’m making it up…”

She stopped as Katherine started laughing. Robin’s expression went from guilty to relieved to playfully outraged in the span of a millisecond. She let out a long breath, chuckling as she did so.

“Yoba’s knuckles, you’re worse than Gregor ever was. Eyes to freeze a fire, as my dad used to say! Go on. For that, you can go first.”

The woods were thick and green and full of shadows. Robin didn’t make good on her threat; after all, she was the only one who knew where they were going. She talked incessantly though, louder than necessary, and Katherine followed, wishing she had eyes in the back of her head. For all that the woods felt safe, there was an undeniable sense of being observed.

“… And that’s why we ended up buying the house. All for a bunch of microbes. Here we are!”

Robin stopped in a clearing. It was immediately obvious that the woodworker had been here: a stump sat at one edge, and there was a cut made in another tree nearby. Robin’s voice grew louder still.

“My lumber sack!” She marched over to a large lumpy object stashed near the stump. “Damn. I’ll need to dry this out. And where is that axe?!”

Katherine joined her, wracking her brain for something to say. “Did you last use it on this tree?”

“Yes, that one over there.” Robin was unravelling a strap attached to the lumber sack. “Thinking back, I should have kept it on me, right? If it really was a bear?”

“Maybe,” Katherine admitted, moving bracken aside with her foot. “But I don’t think it’s advisable to fight a bear.”

Robin frowned, now lashing the strap about her waist. “Come to think of it, I don’t think you’re supposed to run away from them, either.”

Katherine snorted. “So, we shouldn’t fight and we shouldn’t run. Good to know.”

She turned aside another frond and was rewarded by the sight of a polished wooden handle. When she picked it up, she was shocked by its weight. She’d meant to say something reasonable, like, found it, but what came out was, “you actually use this thing?”

“Aubrey!” Robin cried, reaching out a hand. When she saw Katherine’s face, she laughed. “Yes, I use that thing. And that thing is called Aubrey. She’s my best axe. I’d have been gutted to lose her.”

“You must be strong,” Katherine said, gingerly handing it over. Robin’s smile was unexpectedly warm.

“Thanks. Shall we get out of here?”

“I think that would be wise.”

They set off, Robin now dragging her lumber sack behind her. When Katherine offered to carry the axe, Robin thanked her for the offer but said she wasn’t letting go of it again.

“Besides, I’m used to carrying her and a full sack. Don’t worry about me. If we’re chased by a bear, I won’t fall behind.”

“I thought we weren’t running?” Katherine pointed out.

Robin pulled a non-committal face. “We can decide in the moment.”

Katherine felt a laugh simmer out of her, quiet and honest. It surprised her. She hadn’t laughed like that since - well. Since Benji. And, looking back, she wasn’t sure how honest any of that had been.

“How are you settling in?” Robin asked, as the edge of the trees came in sight. She wasn’t even panting, despite dragging half a tree’s worth of logs behind her. “Really?”

The right thing to do, of course, was to lie. Katherine knew that. And yet, she found herself considering the question. She could say something. Just the tiniest fragment.

“It’s been hard,” she admitted. “I wasn’t prepared.”

“You can’t prepare for changing your life,” Robin said, philosophically. “And farming’s hard. Your grandfather found it hard, and he’d been doing it for decades. Don’t do yourself down.”

Katherine ignored her final comment as they emerged from the forest. Her thoughts had snagged on memories; an old man with a neat beard and strong, wrinkled hands.

“What was he like?” She asked. She hadn’t meant to sound vulnerable. It had simply happened without her permission. Robin, to her credit, didn’t swoop in. She stopped by the river, readjusting the strap.

“He was a good man,” she said. “He was never in a rush. I liked that about him - if you wanted to talk, he’d slow down and talk. But he didn’t hate silence, either. You know, he knew every birdcall in this valley? Sometimes, I went to fell trees on the farm with him, and he didn’t say a word except - linnet. Mistle thrush. Silver warbler.” A fond smile crossed her face. “I wish I could remember them all.”

And now Katherine’s throat had closed up. She forced a swallow, looking out at the water.

“Anyway,” Robin said, pulling her sack up onto the bridge and making for the other bank. “I was meaning to stop by Marnie’s. Care to join me? If you’re lucky, you might even meet Pudding.”

Katherine knew that she should make her excuses, but half her mind was still on her grandfather and his birdcalls, and the other half distracted. She nodded to save an awkward silence. “Alright.” Then, because it seemed safe and she didn’t want Robin to think she hadn’t been paying attention, “Who’s Pudding?”

“Ah, I don’t want to spoil it. Come on.”

As they walked along the fence line, a small herd of brown and white cows ambled closer. A few turned their heads, curious. The rest applied themselves to grazing.

“Looks like Marnie’s finished milking,” Robin said. “Might even get a cup of coffee!”

The farmhouse they’d seen earlier came closer. It was one storey and built in an L-shape, overlooking the side of the barn and creating an open yard in between. A wire-fenced lot contained a handful of chickens that scratched around in the dust. A truck was parked alongside, along with a tarpaulin covered object that might have been a trailer. The porch was large and occupied by a rusting wheelbarrow and several pairs of rubber boots. As Robin unbuckled her towing strap, Katherine noted a small pink teddy bear nestled inside one of the boots, head and fuzzy ears just peeking out.

Robin banged on the door. “Marnie? You in?”

“Out here!” A distant voice replied, floating out of the barn doors. Katherine followed Robin back across the yard, the smell of animals growing stronger with every step.

The barn was just as she remembered it. To the left, milking stalls, bare of straw with a gutter running down the middle. To the right, fenced pens, perhaps for overnight or for winter. Bales of hay were stacked at the back. Marnie was in a milking stall, dunking a nozzle in a bucket of water. She smiled when she saw them both.

“Hello! Want a coffee? I’ll be done in a minute.”

Further into the barn, there was the sound of something rustling in the straw, then a contented grumble that shuddered oddly at the end. Marnie jerked her chin in that direction.

“Sounds like Cloudy’s up from his nap. Go see him if you like. He’s a friendly old creature.”

Katherine moved closer to the pen at the end and found a ribby grey horse lipping at strands of hay. He pricked his ears when he saw her and greeted her outstretched palm with a polite snuffle of warm breath and soft, whiskery muzzle. Katherine was shocked by how clearly she remembered him. Of course, he had seemed much bigger back then. She moved with instinctive motions, first rubbing his forehead, then slotting her fingers into the groove of his chin to itch the spot he couldn’t reach. He leaned his not insubstantial weight into her touch, all but sighing with pleasure.

“Oh, he’ll be your friend forever,” Marnie commented, stowing the nozzle and sluicing the water down the drain. “Sweet as a lamb and twice as daft.”

Katherine knew that this was her cue to step away. She rubbed Cloudy’s forehead once more and withdrew. The horse went back to his hay.

“You like horses, then?” Marnie asked, as they walked back across the yard and into the house. Katherine felt the scurf on her fingers and nodded.

“I used to take lessons. When I was younger.”

“Braver than me,” Robin said, smiling. “Horses are a fear I’ve never been able to conquer.”

Marnie tsked as they came into the kitchen: a messy, stone-floored room dominated by a stove against one wall and a scrubbed wooden table in the centre.

“You know, I was talking to Allison up at Brear Moor, and she wanted to know why Cloudy wouldn’t be giving pony rides at the Egg Festival this year. Oh, the kids keep asking about him, they’ll be so sad if he’s not there…” She rolled her eyes, plonking the coffeepot on the stove. “As if he hasn’t been too old for that nonsense for the past five years! And her kids are practically teenagers.”

Robin pulled out a chair, found a small plastic dinosaur on the seat, and snorted. “What did you say to her?”

“To buy her kids their own pony if they’re so keen. That shut her up quick.”

That made Robin chuckle. “Where do you want this dinosaur, Marnie?”

“Oh, put it on the side. Jas and Vincent keep playing prehistoric park under the table, the number of times I’ve sat on a stegosaurus… I keep telling them and telling them, but will they listen?”

“’Course not. They’re seven. Favourite dinosaur, Katherine?”

Katherine had been hovering at the edge of the room, not quite trusting her own breath, her own lungs. There was so much warmth here. Good feeling. She hadn’t felt anything so genuine since her own childhood- before the scrum and aggression of adult life had muscled in, before she’d learned that to get ahead, she would have to push others back; that she was always being weighed, measured, and found wanting. Rummaging in a cupboard, Marnie tsked again.

“Not everybody has a favourite dinosaur, Robin, Yoba knows most haven’t had to watch that blasted cartoon every Saturday.”

Katherine unstuck herself from the floor. “Iguanadon,” she said. Of course, she had a favourite dinosaur. Who didn’t?

“See! Take a pew, Katherine, if it’s not already taken by something Jurassic.”

Marnie poured and brought over three mugs. “Sorry, I didn’t ask if you take cream.”

“I do.” Katherine didn’t really have a preference, but Anna had always made the coffee in the office sweet. Not sweet enough to mask the bitter, burned taste, but still sweet.

“Good.” Robin took a sip straight away, apparently uncaring for the scalding her tongue was surely receiving. “It’s the best stuff around. Marnie makes it herself.”

“My girls make it,” Marnie clarified, “I just collect it and put it in a machine.”

“Which the cows would do themselves if you weren’t here, I’m sure.”

“Heifers, Robin, how many times?”

Katherine carefully tried it; it was rich and full and tasted like no coffee she’d ever had before. “That’s nice,” she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. Marnie smiled, mischief crossing her lined face.

“Just for that, you can come again.”

Robin had come to return a book; she and Marnie talked about it for a while, then about their exercise class in the week. Katherine drank her coffee and listened. As the talk moved onto hens, there was a mrow from the next room. A moment later, an enormous ginger cat came waddling into the room, green eyes fixed on Marnie. Robin turned in her chair, her face lighting up.

“Pudding!”

The cat flopped over by Robin’s feet. Robin fell to fussing the animal, scratching around her ears.

“You wouldn’t be so soft on that cat if she left little carcasses at the foot of your bed,” Marnie said, though it was clear she didn’t really mean it.

“Stopper your ears, darling Pudding,” Robin crooned. “I know you are a magnificent, elegant madam and I worship at your tiny furry feet.”

“Sure I can’t interest you in a kitten?”

Robin groaned. “Don’t tempt me. Maru will be sneezing even from this. Otherwise, I’d have them all.”

“All seven? Eight, maybe. Poor girl’s the size of a house and still has at least a week to go.”

Robin shook her head, straightening as Pudding rolled to her feet and sauntered back out of the room.

“You’ll barely have time to breathe. If you need a hand, you’ll give me a call?”

“I will. But at least the girls are out full time now, and with the fox fence Shane put in before winter, the hens don’t need fetching in at night. We’ll manage. Besides, Pudding knows what she’s doing.”

They ran out of coffee shortly afterwards; Marnie dumped their mugs in the sink and bid them farewell in the yard. Robin took up her lumber sack again and squinted up at the sky.

“Half the day gone already. Ah well. Mind if I track back through your farm? The trail is quicker back up the mountain.”

“You mean from the road?”

“What? No. You’ve not seen the northern trail? It’s a tad overgrown now, but it’s a lovely walk all the same. Goes right up to my house and beyond, to the mountain lake. I’ll show you before I go.”

The trail was, as Robin had said, somewhat overgrown. Brambles had nearly smothered the gap in the trees that led off the farm. Robin helped cut them back, then said her own farewell. The drag of her lumber sack faded slowly as she climbed the hill away from the farm. Katherine went back to the pond.

Chapter Text

“Perhaps we should liven him up a bit? Maybe just a dab of-”

“Rabbits are not blue, Emily, why must we go over this every year? Have you ever seen a blue rabbit?”

“Have you ever seen a white rabbit?” Emily countered. She was stood in the Stardrop Saloon, wielding a palette and paintbrush, and looking at a human-sized rabbit cut-out with an appraising expression. Evelyn sat at a nearby table, folding paper flowers with pursed lips. Gus, who was putting away glasses behind the bar, chimed in.

“Or a rabbit wearing a hat?”

Then he spotted Katherine in the door and he waved his dishcloth. “Come in!”

Emily gasped, flinging herself in front of the rabbit. “The sanctity of Herbert! None may see him until the Egg Festival!”

“Lewis sent me,” Katherine said, alarmed by the strength of feeling. “He told me to bring these.” She held up a bundle of brightly coloured ribbons. Evelyn waved her over.

“Bring them here, please, dearie. And Emily, you know full well her name is Henrietta.”

“Herbert is a flexible rabbit,” Emily said, loftily. “Katherine, do you think Herbert would like blue cheeks this year?”

“I don’t know,” Katherine said, because she didn’t.

“I’ve only ever seen brown rabbits,” Emily continued. She twirled the paintbrush with an artful kind of menace. “Herbert is an attraction. A masterpiece. He should amaze and astound!”

“He looks fine, Em,” Gus said. “Leave him be.” He caught Evelyn’s eyes across the bar and hastily added, “her.”

“Katherine, take these out to the trees by the square and tie them to the branches, please,” Evelyn said, brandishing a smaller quantity of ribbons that she’d been separating out. “I will keep things on track in here!”

Katherine left before anyone could ask her anything else. She had seen a group of people on the far side of the square earlier when she’d called in on Lewis; she didn’t really want to join them, but she was trapped now, ribbons in hand. Tight anxiety welled in her gut as she came down the saloon steps. She could see Elliott among them, and she all she wanted to do was turn the other way and duck out of sight.

But Katherine had faced down prosecutors and senior partners before. Fear was a sign of weakness. She fixed her jaw and marched forwards.

Half the town seemed to be out making preparations. Up by the north road, Evelyn’s grandson - Alec? Katherine couldn’t quite remember - was lifting a tall wooden post, stretching out a string of brightly-coloured bunting to frame the entrance to the square. Maru was up by the surgery, wearing her nurse’s uniform and arranging potted plants out front. Alongside, a trestle table had been set up: two small children sat on plastic chairs, colouring furiously. Maru’s ginger friend sat with them, offering wax crayons and the occasional guiding comment. The rest of the assembled had congregated around the trees.

A ladder had been set against one trunk and Leah was halfway up it, knotting ribbons around nearby branches. Elliott was steadying the base. Close by, a woman with a waterfall of silky blonde hair was holding up a violet sash next to a pink one, contrasting the colours.

“I wish Lewis would buy new ribbons,” she was saying. “These are starting to fray.”

Katherine instinctively mistrusted the way she was speaking to nobody in particular- as though her opinions were of value to all concerned. She was trying to assess how best to make her approach when somebody called her name.

“Katherine! Farmer girl! Up here!”

The voice was superficially friendly and issued from somewhere in the tree. Katherine looked up and saw a short young woman crouched among the branches, higher than the topmost rung of the ladder. She wore heavy lace-up boots and her vivid purple hair fell forward over her shoulders. Leah yelped in shock.

“Abby, get down from there!”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Like I’m going to fall. I’ve been climbing these trees since I was five years old. Tell the farmer girl to pass up some ribbons.”

“Oh, you’re the farmer.” The blonde woman had taken interest. She had the biggest, bluest eyes Katherine had ever seen. “You don’t look much of one. I expected you to look stronger.”

Abby snapped her fingers impatiently. “Ribbons!”

Leah grimaced but swivelled on the ladder and reached out to Katherine. “Fine. If you die, you can tell your mom exactly how you did it.”

“Hell yeah. I’ll come back to haunt this whole stupid town.”

Katherine wasn’t sure why, but she looked at Elliott; as though she somehow expected him to help her out of this absurdity. He met her eyes almost at once and gave her a brief, wry smile. Then he looked back up at the tree.

“Katherine, have you met Abigail?”

Katherine started to shake her head, but Abigail narrowed her eyes.

“Ribbons.”

And because Katherine was rattled and nanny had been a stickler for manners, she said, without thinking, “the word isn’t ribbons, but please.”

Abby looked briefly stunned. Katherine clamped her mouth shut, cheeks flaring red. Up the ladder, Leah snorted.

“She has a point, Abs.”

“It’s Abby,” Abigail snapped, “not Abs. Jeez. Please can you hand me some stupid ribbons before I fall out of this tree and die.”

“With pleasure,” Katherine said. She didn’t mean to sound icy. It was just what happened when she was boiling with regret and embarrassment. Elliott moved to the side, one hand still on the ladder, and Katherine handed the ribbons up to Leah. The red-haired woman pulled a fleeting face back at her- a sort of amused grimace. Relieved of her duty, Katherine was more than ready to make her escape.

“I should head back.”

“Hey, Katherine!”

Foiled. Robin was coming from the general store, waving. She had a trestle table under one arm. Her husband was a few steps behind, carrying his own table. A figure dressed all in black was holding the doors open.

“Come help with the tables!” Robin called. “We need another pair of hands.”

It wasn’t a full escape, but it was still some distance. Katherine managed an awkward smile in an appropriate direction, then made for the table that Robin had just deposited upside-down on the far side of the square.

“Unfold, place in a continuous line from that lamppost to the saloon.” A quick grin. “Thanks, by the way.”

Demetrius nodded in greeting, setting down his own burden. “Thank you, Katherine. For defending my wife from bears. She was very grateful.”

Katherine couldn’t tell if he was inviting her to laugh or not, so she didn’t. “I was more moral support,” she said, honestly. At this, Demetrius cracked a wide smile.

“Nonetheless, thank you.”

He followed Robin back towards the general store.

Setting up the tables wasn’t so bad. Nobody else tried to talk to her, and she enjoyed the simple work in the same way as doing anything on the farm - manual labour with a tangible outcome. She folded out legs and kept her ears open. She picked up that the manicured woman was Haley, Emily’s sister, and the black-clad man was Robin’s son, Sebastian. After a while, Evelyn came out of the saloon and helped Katherine peg on paper tablecloths. Gradually, Katherine found herself relaxing.

Movement on the edge of the square made her look up. A lanky guy with a shock of blonde hair had launched himself at Sebastian, who made a noise like he was having a heart attack, then swore viciously. The blonde guy shoved him, and Sebastian shoved him back. Then they both started laughing.

“You are such a bastard.”

“Oi,” Robin snapped. The blonde guy straightened up with comedic speed.

“Sorry, Mrs Kisan!”

Sebastian pulled a face. “Sorry.”

“I started it,” the blonde said, though he didn’t look very contrite. Robin rolled her eyes.

“Yup, Sam, I have eyes. Just don’t swear in front of the kids, OK?”

“Dear me,” Evelyn said. “I need to get back and cook George his dinner. Thank you for your help, Katherine. I’ll save you a slice of sponge tomorrow!”

Katherine’s stomach twisted itself into creative, hungry knots at the thought of cake. Sponge cake. The prospect of watered-down parsnip soup for dinner had never been less appealing. She slowly picked up the bag of pegs Robin had given her and prepared to go back to the farm.

“Hey!”

She turned. Leah was jogging over, finally back down from the ladder.

“Hey, sorry, I figured you might not have been told. Gus puts on spaghetti for everyone after setting up the festival. Are you coming?”

Katherine so nearly held strong. What was she, a dog, to be lured by the promise of food? Her stomach curled again.

“Alright,” she muttered, ashamed of herself. Leah smiled.

“Great! You’re welcome to sit with us, if you like. I know you’re hot property right now, being new, but I promise we won’t interrogate you.” When Katherine looked at her, she shrugged. “I moved here last year. Everyone’s so friendly, but I know it can get a little overwhelming.”

It was like a lightbulb had switched on in her head. “Yes,” Katherine said, with embarrassing fervency, and Leah laughed.

“We’ll shield you. Come on, let’s go before Gus runs out of the vegetarian Bolognese.”

Of course, in hindsight, it should have been obvious that by we, Leah had meant her and Elliott. He had claimed the table closest to the jukebox and he sat, staring into space, legs crossed ankle over knee. Leah sent Katherine to the queue at the bar then went over to him. Katherine switched her gaze to the back of Pierre’s head, just in case Elliott glanced in her direction. Oh no, a small, quiet voice said, somewhere in the back of her mind. Katherine pointedly ignored it.

“What can I get you?” Gus asked. “There’s Bolognese, or veggie Bolognese. Which is also vegan. There is also spaghetti.”

He was trying to make her laugh, and Katherine did manage a smile. “Bolognese for me.”

“And for Elliott.” Leah appeared at her shoulder. “Veggie for me, please, Gus.”

“Coming right up.”

It smelled beautiful. Katherine was actively salivating as they walked back to the table, the warmth from the bowl cradled in her hands. Leah deposited Elliott’s bowl in front of him and took a seat. Katherine took the seat on her other side. It was, she felt, a reasonable capitulation.

“Do you say grace?” Leah asked, fork poised. Katherine shook her head. “Oh, good. Dig in.”

Katherine didn’t need to be told twice. After eating like a nun for four weeks, Gus’s spaghetti was a revelation. Salt! Tomatoes! Starch and beef and rich, nutty cheese! She restrained her appetite with a white-knuckle grip, determined to savour it. Every forkful bordered on a religious experience. It would be sacrilege to rush it.

“Damn, that is good,” Leah sighed.

“Delicious as always,” Elliott agreed. “Gus tells me he stews it for half a day to deepen the flavour of the ragu.”

“Do you like to cook, Kath?” Leah asked, before grimacing. “Sorry. I promised you we wouldn’t interrogate you. And your name’s Katherine.”

Katherine surprised herself. “Kath is fine,” she said. It was good to talk. Talking slowed down her eating. “And - not really. I make soup.”

Leah’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, I know a great recipe for mushroom soup. Remind me to give it to you sometime.”

“We also said we wouldn’t overwhelm her with neighbourly goodwill,” Elliott commented, shooting Kath a brief, amused look that she didn’t have the reflexes to dodge. Leah sucked her lips between her teeth.

“Oops.”

Katherine wasn’t quite sure how she felt. They’d talked about her. They’d made a plan to include her. To put her at ease. She wasn’t sure anyone in her adult life had ever put so much thought into keeping her comfortable. Her silence, however, caused Leah to wince and go back to her food.

“Elliott, you take over. I’m not doing a very good job.”

“I don’t think I’ll be growing mushrooms,” Katherine said, honestly, feeling her face colour.

“You don’t have to grow them,” Leah answered at once, askance, before catching Elliott’s sidelong glance and tapping her own palm against her forehead. “Sorry! Sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Katherine asked. Her spaghetti was nearly half gone. She needed to slow down.

“You can forage mushrooms in the woods round here. Loads of them. And berries, and spring onions, and-” Leah broke off, flushing slightly. “Oops. There I go again, resident foraging evangelical.”

“Kath may be the only resident of Pelican Town who you’ve not yet tried to convert,” Elliott pointed out, and Katherine did not like the way her heart jumped when he used her nickname, not one bit. “And she is a captive audience.”

Leah glared at him, though there was no real malice in her expression. “You’re making me feel bad.”

“I am interested,” Kath said, meaning it. “My grandpa - grandfather. He used to tell me stories about men who got lost in the woods surviving off the land.”

Leah lit up. “You definitely could! I mean, it wouldn’t be the best for your digestive system, and you’d need to be able to hunt to get enough protein, but it’s absolutely possible.”

“There’s somebody doing it right now, up by the lake,” Elliott said. “Linus. I’ve met him once or twice. A nice man, if a little strange.”

“You know, I’ve never seen him? And I went up there to sketch a lot last autumn.”

“I don’t think he’d approach you,” Elliott said, thoughtfully. “He seemed very concerned about frightening me when I ran into him. I think he’s worried that people in town will stop tolerating his presence and make him leave. He’s a gentle soul, though. I believe he helps Demetrius from time to time, gathering samples.”

“If he’s living off the land, where does he sleep?” Katherine asked. Despite herself, she was relaxing; good food and a warm room would do that to a person. She could even look back at Elliott as they talked, managing his eye contact like a mildly bright light.

“In a tent, I believe.”

Leah shivered. “Doesn’t he get cold in winter?”

“I’d imagine he does.”

Leah shot him a look. “You don’t have to imagine. That shed of yours is bloody freezing.”

“High-minded words from someone who also lives in a cabin,” Elliott said, unruffled.

“A warm cabin. With draft excluders and a functional heating system.”

“You both live in a cabin?” Kath asked, regretfully laying her fork down in her now empty bowl. Still, she was full. And, despite being sat at a table with two strangers, she was content. Odd, that.

“I live in a cottage,” Leah said, butting in before Elliott could reply. “He lives in a glorified shed on the beach.”

“It’s a peaceful space.”

“Peaceful… Barely functional…” Leah lifted one hand and rocked it back and forth, indicating uncertainty. Elliott smiled at her. He didn’t seem offended; perhaps he and Leah had the kind of relationship where they could tease one another without it turning sly. Katherine knew that was theoretically possible, though she’d never experienced it herself.

“I don’t need much. A desk, a bed -”

“A piano,” Leah muttered, snickering. Elliott crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“The piano is an indulgence, I admit.”

“Kath, working heating or a piano? Take your pick.”

Katherine chanced a look at Elliott, then back at Leah. She tried for a touch of dry humour, the kind Anna had never seemed to pick up on. “I can’t play the piano.”

Leah laughed, and Elliott cracked a smile. Leah stretched her arms above her head.

“This is like a cabin convention. Pelican Town’s three cabin residents, meeting for a chat. There’s nobody else, is there?”

“Clint lives in a cabin,” Elliott pointed out.

“Clint lives at the forge.”

“Which happens to be a cabin.”

“I can invite him over if you want.”

“Who’s Clint?” Katherine asked.

“Blacksmith,” Leah said. “He lives over the river, near the library. In a cabin, which is also a forge.”

Before the debate could resume, the jukebox clunked and a new song started up. There was a groan from the far end of the room. Kath looked round to see that Sam had put in a token and was beckoning to Sebastian and Abigail, who were both pantomiming expressions of extreme reluctance.

“Don’t give me that!” Sam crowed. “Ooh…”

He began to sing along, badly, to a song Katherine recognised as a popular choice for a line dance. The little boy with ginger hair scrambled down from his seat and ran out to the dancefloor. Sam looked surprised, then his face warmed. Kath was close enough to hear him ask, “You remember the moves, big guy?”

“Yeah!” The kid said, bouncing. Robin was getting up, dragging a mousy-haired woman with her.

“Come on, Jodi, you’re not sitting it out this time!”

Abigail joined in on Sam’s other side, nodding in time to the beat. “I can’t believe you’re still attached to this lame song, Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam said, starting the dance, “it’s not lame. It’s nostalgia-cool.”

And then they were dancing, the three cool kids, the two middle-aged women and the little boy. Abigail kept rolling her eyes, and it was obvious Sebastian wouldn’t have been there at all were it not for his friends applying peer pressure, but it was also obvious that they were having fun. Even Jodi, who’d been so reluctant, was laughing, occasionally going the wrong way. Kath watched them, trying not to be obvious about it. The last time she’d seen people dance had been the office Star Party and that had been a heaving crowd of men in suits, howling and jumping about like animals, finally drunk enough to let go of their inhibitions. Katherine had stayed pressed against the wall, the untouched drink in her hand a shield against invitations to dance that never came. It had been sweaty and perfumed and a whole world away.

“Deep in thought?”

Katherine started. Leah had hooked her elbow over the back of her own chair, twisting in her seat. Her thick braid of auburn hair slipped off her shoulder as she turned her head. Elliott had vanished while Kath wasn’t looking. Maybe he’d already left.

“I don’t know the steps,” Kath said, which was a simpler explanation than the truth. Leah smiled.

“You’ll learn them if you live here. Just wait until the Luau in summer. If Sam drinks enough, he’ll teach you, whether you want him to or not.”

Katherine decided to take the opportunity to steer the conversation to safer waters. “So, that’s Sam.”

“Yup. The kid is Vincent, Sam’s little brother. Their mom is Jodi, dancing with Robin. They live in the house down by the river, next to Emily and Hayley.”

Katherine nodded. The music changed. Jodi ducked back to a table, but Sam was now boogying with Vincent, and Abby was doing ridiculously exaggerated dance moves to make Sebastian laugh. Leah rested her chin in the palm of her hand, watching them.

“You’ll get used to it here,” she said, after a while. “At least - I did. And I love it now, I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

Katherine almost asked her something far too personal: were you running, too? But she stopped herself just in time. She blinked, glancing up at the clock, shocked to see that it was approaching nine. Leah followed her gaze.

“Wow, it’s late. Do you need to head back?”

“You’re an early riser, too?” Kath asked.

“Hideously so,” Leah grinned. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we head out. If you see Elliott, tell him we’re calling it a night.”

Katherine nodded, her stomach swooping in a way that for once had nothing to do with hunger. Oh, no, the voice in her head reiterated.

I acknowledge your concerns, she thought in response to the entity that was likely her heart, but you aren’t being rational.

“Apologies,” Elliott said, rejoining the table. “Willy had need of an eyewitness.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s trying to convince Demetrius that golden dolphins have been seen in the bay. Whilst I could verify that they were certainly dolphins, I couldn’t confirm whether they were the right species.”

Katherine frowned. “Are they not just… Golden?”

“Apparently not. The difference is in the shape of their eyelids. Otherwise, they look identical to the southern blue dolphin.”

Katherine wasn’t sure what prompted her to keep talking, but she did.

“And is the southern blue dolphin blue?”

“No. They’re grey.”

“Deceptive,” she muttered, and he laughed. Which made her feel warm. Oh, no.

“There’s a pod that visit in the summer months,” he said. “They like the waves, I think.”

“I’ve never seen a dolphin,” Katherine admitted. Nanny had wanted to take her on a boat trip when they’d visited the seaside once, but daddy had said no. He’d been right, of course. The salt spray would have ruined her clothes.

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

For some reason, it nearly lurched out of her right there and then: a truth that she’d barely admitted to herself. How scared she was. How unsure. How she was living day to day and scraping tooth and nail to keep her head above water, and she didn’t even know if it was worth kicking. The right place? How could he be sure?

“Alright, cabin convention.” Leah was back, taking her jacket off the back of her chair. “Shall we hit the road?”

“Cabin crew, surely,” Elliott said, as Kath said, “Wouldn’t it be-?” She stopped, sitting on a smile, struggling as he committed to one wholeheartedly. Leah frowned thoughtfully.

“Oh. Yeah. Point still stands, though.”

Katherine got to her feet by way of answer, and Elliott followed suit. Outside, it was chilly but dry. The festival decorations looked a little ghostly in the streetlights. Katherine realised that she had the perfect reason to escape, to be alone; it was quicker to walk home on the hill road. But she didn’t actually want to. She wanted to stay with these two as long for as long as they would tolerate her. Which wouldn’t be long, of course. She knew that. Nonsensically, that didn’t stop her hoping.

“You coming?” Leah asked.

Katherine nodded wordlessly and followed them across the square.

Away from the lee of the hill, there was a cold wind blowing. Katherine wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to think about the chill as Leah offered to teach her how to forage.

“It’s the festival tomorrow, of course, but we could go down to the forest the day after? There are still spring onions growing. Plus, you shouldn’t really forage anything somebody hasn’t shown you in person. There are a few poisonous things growing around here- not poisonous enough to kill you, but enough to make you sick.”

“Reassuring,” Katherine said, voice tight with the effort of resisting shivering.

“Are you cold?” Elliott asked. He was on Leah’s other side, back in that green wool coat he’d been wearing when they’d met at the library. Katherine noted that embarrassment was an effective heat source, but not quite enough to save her from the wind.

“I didn’t think to bring a coat,” she said, brusque, trying to ward off any offers of help. It didn’t work. Elliott shrugged his off without hesitation.

“Here.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” he said, with quiet sincerity. Katherine was stymied. She wordlessly took the coat and pulled it on. It was already warm from the heat of his body; the sleeves covered her hands, the hem reaching past her knees. She could’ve sighed. She did not.

Leah nodded approvingly.

“Sorry, Kath. We might restrain the overwhelming neighbourly instinct, but we never promised anything about basic decency.”

“Exactly,” Elliott said. His expression was hard to read- they were almost beyond the reach of the streetlamps- but Kath thought he might be watching her with something approaching concern. Understanding resolved in her head, sliding sourly down her gullet. He pitied her. Of course he did.

Leah pulled out a torch. “Off into the night we go!”

Leah’s cottage was closer to Pelican Town than Katherine expected, and it was far less rustic than it had seemed at a distance. There was an automatic porchlight, charming flowerboxes and the door was freshly painted green.

“This is me.” Leah looked at Kath. “Are we hugging? You can say no.”

Again, Katherine was rendered temporarily mute. Nobody had ever asked before.

“Hug is fine,” she said, embarrassed by how hoarse her voice was.

Leah hugged her. Then she hugged Elliott.

“Night! See you both tomorrow!”

She shut the door, yellow light illuminating her silhouette an instant later. Katherine automatically moved to return Elliott’s coat.

“It’s alright. Keep it. Or I can walk you back. It’s cold tonight.”

She should have been grateful, but the sour feeling in her stomach only grew. He pities you.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I was unprepared.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Have you a torch?”

She swore in her head. She should lie. Even if her lie was obvious.

“No,” she admitted, looking away.

“Allow me to see you safely home,” he said, employing more of that gentle sincerity. “I would feel very bad if you met with misadventure in the dark.”

She couldn’t be certain, of course, but she had a strong inkling they were both thinking of the first time they’d met: her, insensate, him, helping. He was clearly a helper. She had no idea what to do with one of those.

“Alright,” she said, audibly grudging. Elliott nodded. He produced his own torch. Reluctantly, Kath followed him down the path.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, as they passed Marnie’s farm, “but I used to walk on your property when it was empty. Of course, I wouldn’t dream of doing so now that it’s occupied. But I do know where I’m going.”

Katherine had expected to find herself still prickly, but something about the darkness and the quiet murmuration of the river had loosened the knot in her belly. It helped that she couldn’t look at Elliott, and that the warmth of his coat was now all her doing; none of him was left over to press against her skin.

“I don’t mind,” she said, honestly. “There was nobody there.”

“Nobody but the birds,” he said. “Their songs are as beautiful as the locale.”

She almost smiled. Do you always talk like this? Instead, she said:

“Yes. I suppose it is.”

A silence, filled with the tromp of their footsteps. They were on the climb up from the river now; the darkness was thicker to their right, where the trees grew close.

“Perhaps it is harder to appreciate when it is yours to manage,” Elliott said. Kath was surprised; he’d clearly been thinking about her comment, about the reservation behind it. She felt a brief twinge of threat at his words. They spoke of discernment. She didn’t know what to do with that, either. It would surely be safer to brush him off. Turn him aside.

“There’s always another problem,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the pool of torchlight. “Something growing, or not growing, or failing, or threatening to fail. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“Only half?” Elliott enquired, then immediately corrected himself. “Apologies, that sounded flippant. That wasn’t my intention. It merely seems to me that those who are completely certain in themselves are rare indeed. Uncertainty is far more natural. Perhaps even desirable.”

Katherine gave an abortive, dry laugh. Maybe, Anna had once told her, was a corrosive word. Curses, she could tolerate, anger was part of working life, but maybe? She never wanted to hear the word. Ever. Don’t waste my time.

“That hasn’t been my experience.”

He made a noise to acknowledge he was listening. Kath grudgingly respected that he didn’t rush into a reply. To their left, the water in the mill pond glittered briefly in the passing torchlight. Despite the distance, the rustle of the trees in the wind sounded eerily loud.

The cabin loomed out of the dark, a clump of thick shadow against the fence line. Katherine wished, suddenly, for a porchlight. Like Leah’s. An automated, empty greeting; the briefest acknowledgement that she was really here. Then she wouldn’t have to go into all that darkness alone.

But for now, the darkness was all that was available. She shrugged off the wool coat, harried now, determined to be out of the soft fabric and out of sight.

“Thanks,” she said, handing it over. The cold bit at her torso again, and she was practically running up the steps and fumbling her key in the door. “Goodnight.”

The torch swung as Elliott pulled his own coat back on.

“Goodnight.”

The lock gave; Katherine pushed inside. It was so dark that she stayed frozen for a moment, fear catching her by the throat. She could hear the mice making a break for the walls. Slowly, she reached for the light switch.

A weak bulb, but it painted her life back in solid colour. Katherine took a breath. She couldn’t be bothered to light the fire. It was too cold to change into her pyjamas, though. She took off her shoes, pulled on a cardigan and climbed under the covers. Within minutes, the mice were scratching again. It took her a long time to get to sleep.

Chapter Text

On the morning of the Egg Festival, Katherine didn’t get up until eight. Late, for her - late enough that it was fully light outside. As such, she didn’t get dressed in the shadows. For the first time in four weeks, she properly looked at her body. It had gone and changed without her noticing.

She’d lost weight. Her first instinct was to be proud; the women in the office always were when they dropped a dress size. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to enjoy the new shape of her hips and torso. It didn’t look right. She looked - well. Sickly. Like the privations of life on the farm were already taking their pound of flesh. Even the muscles she’d been developing were underwhelming. She was hardly an athlete.

Elliott was right to pity me, she thought, fitting her hands in the gap between her waistband and her waist. I look like I deserve it.

Kath had intended to wear a green knit sweater with gold buttons on the shoulder, but it was close-fitting and she was afraid of what it would show, so she pulled on a shirt she’d sacrificed for working: too big already, deliberately oversized. Then she hid the whole lot under her coat. It was sunny outside, but she’d been feeling the cold recently.

You are not managing this, the voice in her head said; the one that had woken up last night.

“Shut up,” Katherine muttered, before banging the door behind her and striding down the porch steps.

The square was busy. Katherine, who’d ridden the subway in the mornings with six different parts of strangers impinging on her personal space, bridled, horrified by the crowd. A spectre she’d slain many years ago grasped hold of her ribcage, quickening her breath. No. Not now.

She made herself pass beneath the bunting entrance, breathing sternly, pretending, pretending. She wanted to find refuge, a sniper’s hide, somewhere to sit and observe. She made do with the railing in front of the surgery. None of the other tourists attempted to talk to her. She kept her back to something solid and took in the square.

There were chickens here now. In pens, obviously, but still: at least twenty different birds, chattering and fluttering when rambunctious observers tried to pet them. Kath saw Marnie stood close by, along with the little dark-haired girl who’d been colouring yesterday. Cute kid. Looked nothing like Marnie. Katherine wondered, briefly, if they were related.

The tables she’d set up yesterday now groaned beneath a spread of food. Evelyn was distributing paper plates with laser-focused efficiency, and Gus was wielding a ladle. After the spaghetti last night, Katherine’s mouth watered at the thought of more solid food. She turned away before she could start craving things she couldn’t afford.

To be greeted by the sight of Emily hoving into view, blue bob flipped up at the ends, yellow jumper brighter than the sun.

“Katherine! You came! Please, come and admire Herbert. He is looking truly magnificent this morning.”

Katherine let herself be towed in Emily’s wake for a pleasant half-hour, saying hello, paying the wooden rabbit compliments. Marnie introduced her to the chickens and her two relatives: Jas (the silent girl) and Shane (the silent man). Katherine privately decided that she would have a more productive conversation with the chickens, but she smiled politely and ignored the buzzing in her head. Not now. Not again.

The ribbons Abby had so graciously tied on the tree branches fluttered in the breeze, looking strangely ethereal. Kids ran around, yelling.

“Kath!”

It was Leah. She was carrying two paper plates and wore a thick green snood wrapped around her neck and head like she was a nesting doll.

“For you,” she said, thrusting the plate at Kath before she could protest. “Good turnout this year! Not that I was here last year, but that seems like the right sort of thing to say at something like this.”

Kath looked at her plate. Sandwiches. Sausage rolls- the fresh kind, not the ones bought in plastic packaging. And a massive slab of sponge cake.

“Evelyn sent the cake with her compliments,” Leah commented. “I didn’t check if you have any allergies. Do you have any allergies?”

“No,” Katherine said. When she stared at the plate, Leah gave her a concerned glance.

“Are you alright?”

“Influx of neighbourly feeling,” she muttered, remembering their conversation last night. Her stomach turned over, hunger transmuting under pressure to something infinitely more nauseous. No. Not now. Not again.

But. Kath couldn’t stop it. It was happening again. She felt her breath shorten still further; a rope gathered from taut to breaking point.

You are not managing this.

“Leah, would you mind taking my plate?”

She sounded calm, she always sounded calm, she had learned how to cover her tracks so people wouldn’t get suspicious. Leah blinked but took the plate.

“Sure. Do you need something?”

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Another rote response, a fake, stretched-out smile. She didn’t wait to see if Leah bought it. She needed to hide, hide, hide.

Her feet took her down towards the river. She’d hoped to aim for the ranch, where her escape back to the farm would be open as an option, but haybales had been set up as seating and they were blocking the path. She kept moving, panic now a restive, twisting thing inside her, a swarm in her head, a knot in her heart. She had to get away before someone saw her.

The crowds thinned as she left the square. To her relief, there was a bench tucked behind a decorative hedge. It was unoccupied. Katherine sank onto it and cupped her head in her hands. She felt cold. Hot. She couldn’t breathe.

The thing about a panic attack, Katherine had once tried to explain to her father, was that it hurt. Not like a bruise, or a cut. It hurt like her brain was being beaten. He’d asked her, in that controlled way of his, whether she needed to be sectioned. She’d told him no, just-

He’d cut her off. If you don’t need hospital, then you need to get your shit together, Katherine. You’re seventeen now. This is on you.

He was right. This was her problem. She’d thought she’d brought it to heel, thought she’d smothered it, drowned it, starved it out, but no, here it was again, surging up in a moment of weakness. She tried to calm down. She really, really tried.

When she looked up, blank and staring, Elliott was stood on the path. He was watching her. He seemed… frozen. His face, normally delicately coloured, was pale and waxy. For a heartbeat, she thought she’d imagined him. But when she blinked, he was still there. And she was hyperventilating.

A voice called down the path, finding them both out.

“Elliott? What…?”

Leah came closer. She saw Kath on the bench.

“Oh. Oh - Elliott, go home. I’ll take care of this.”

She did. She stayed with Katherine until Dr Harvey came within hailing distance, and she helped shepherd her into the surgery while the crowd was distracted by Mayor Lewis on the megaphone. She even brought her paper plate. Elliott was long gone. He’d vanished when Kath’s awareness had collapsed, and she shouldn’t have thought of him, but she did when she came back to herself; she thought of him and Leah, and she was so ashamed she almost cried.

~

On the front steps, he took off his shoes. When he opened the door, he removed his jacket. And, in the act of kneeling, he shed his new name. You are El, the voice of Ishim thundered. El, El, El.

He knew this was a regression. He’d experienced them many times - the crash and snap of violent emotion, the hunted feeling, paranoia cold on the back of his neck - but it had been nearly a year since the last. Adrenaline chased through his body. The voice of Ishim grew louder. She is in the company of demons. Cast them out, Brother El. Suffer no taint on Ishim’s holy word.

They’d dragged Sister Absence from the room as she’d shrieked and cried, her breath frantic and fluttering like the wings of a drowning bird. A demon is in her, their teacher had said, thin face solemn. We must pray for her. Now, Brother El. Will you please stand and answer my question?

His knees ached. Suffering was part of prayer. Ishim sees your pain, the voice said, loud and heavy and encouraging. He values your sacrifice.

El had hobbled for a week after Sister Absence’s episode, but it hadn’t helped.

The pressure of the voice eased, just a little. Acceptance, he reminded himself. Accept what has been. Pain had not helped her; prayer had done nothing. Because Ishim wasn’t real. El was dead and buried. Elliott was here now. And he was an only child.

“Elliott?”

Hearing his name from someone else pulled him the rest of the way out. He sat back on his heels, looking at the shadow beneath the door. His voice took a moment to summon, to shoulder its way out through the walls in his throat.

“It isn’t locked.”

Leah came in a moment later. He couldn’t have conjured her at a better time.

“When you asked me to intervene,” she asked, uncertain, “if I thought you were struggling - is this it? Is this the time?”

She must have known to send him away earlier, but it was still touching that she asked for confirmation. He nodded.

Leah shut the door behind her, pressing her lips together.

“Consider this your intervention, then.”

He drifted as she filled the kettle and made tea, experiencing the fall like the cascade of a parachute: billowing, white, drifting like snow. Numbness stole over him. His head was finally quiet. Clumsily, he unfolded his legs, leaning back against the bedframe.

“Drink.”

A mug held out. He took it. The warmth helped him start thinking again; clear thoughts, not the old sludge he tried not to dredge up. He remembered, and worry spangled amongst the emptiness.

“Where’s Katherine?”

“Harvey took her into the surgery,” Leah said, lowering herself to sit cross-legged on the rug. “I don’t think she wanted to go, but we made her. Hopefully he’ll be able to help.”

Elliott nodded. Katherine was fine, she was fine, she would come back, they hadn’t dragged her anywhere. His eyes darted to the door.

Leah, ever observant, frowned. “Drink your tea.”

He did. It completed the process. Hollowness spasmed, then evaporated. He closed his eyes.

He couldn’t even remember what question the teacher had asked. Only that Sister Absence hadn’t known the answer, and they had all watched her panic until two older Brothers had pulled her from the room.

“Her name was Sophia,” he said, mostly to himself. His voice didn’t shake.

Leah sipped her own tea. “Would it help to talk about it?”

“No.”

She accepted his answer without pushing. In another life, Elliott would have blessed her for that. Now, he honoured her by doing as he was told. They sat together in silence, listening to the sound of the waves on the beach outside.

~

Katherine closed her eyes and listened to the clock on the wall. Tick-tock, tick-tock. The sounds from the festival outside had dwindled half-an-hour ago; the egg hunt concluded, the prizes given out, the buses turned for home. She should be out there. She had promised to help. But Harvey wouldn’t let her leave.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

It was nice in here. The chair she’d been deposited in was comfortably squishy. The air smelled nice, part floral, part antiseptic. And the cushion Harvey had given her to hold had an interesting texture: knitted, maybe, out of very soft wool. While Harvey had been in the room with her, Katherine had stiffly held the cushion on her knees. Now, though, she hugged it to her stomach. It was comforting. Like the bear she’d had when she was very small.

Of course, it helped that she no longer felt like she was dying. Leah had helped. So had Harvey. The hot sugary tea he’d brought her had done the rest of it. Not to the extent that she felt in control again - but that was a bridge too far. At least she’d stopped crying.

Footsteps outside declared the return of the good doctor, who was wearing a professionally neutral expression and carrying a wicker basket.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Better,” Katherine answered, suddenly aware that she was clutching the cushion like a child with a comforter. She shifted in the chair, but Harvey held up a hand to stop her.

“I’d like to talk to you, if you have a moment.”

He knew she had a moment. And, Kath realised, she didn’t have it in her to lie. She watched him with mounting trepidation as he set the basket on his desk and took a chair.

“Have you ever had a panic attack before today?” He asked. Straight for the jugular. Katherine squeezed the cushion reflexively and switched her gaze to the floor.

“Yes.”

“Regularly?”

“Not recently.”

He heard what she wasn’t saying. She bore the silence for a while, then gave in.

“The last time was – a year ago.”

First week into her new promotion. Anna had lost her temper and Katherine had taken it badly. Being in the office, she’d had to make do with a bathroom stall breakdown. Those weren’t ideal. It was harder to keep quiet when other people came in and out to do their business. But she’d managed it, because she had to. Had it really been so long ago?

“I see. Have you sought treatment for a panic disorder in the intervening time?”

Disorder. Katherine hated the word. She clenched her jaw before forcing herself to answer.

“I was in therapy for a while.”

“Did it help?”

“Somewhat.”

Benji had thought it would be good for her. She’d lived in fear of daddy finding out, which had probably impacted the efficacy of her sessions, and she’d stopped when Benji had broken things off. But yes, talking to someone had relieved the pressure. Somewhat.

Harvey nodded thoughtfully.

“The medication you were taking to ease the symptoms of your respiratory infection is known to have an adverse effect on mood and hormones,” he said. His voice was gentle. “It’s entirely possible your emotional state has been affected by withdrawal.”

Katherine sat with that for a while. It was a plausible theory. In a strange way, it was almost comforting.

“Of course,” Harvey continued, “upheaval is also a common trigger for anxiety. Do you practice any self-regulating exercises? Meditation?”

“I garden,” Kath said, without really thinking about it. Harvey almost smiled, but his face was still serious.

“About that. When we last met, I explicitly prescribed rest. To be frank, it’s obvious you haven’t been following that instruction.”

Katherine tensed again. She felt the urge to lie swelling up, nearly exceeding her mental exhaustion.

“I’ve been trying,” she muttered, defensive.

“To that end,” Harvey said, as though she hadn’t spoken, “this is my secondary prescription. No charge, no arguments. Spend at least three days doing the bare minimum and see how you feel after that. You risk serious long-term health complications if you continue pushing yourself to the brink. Am I clear?”

He indicated the basket. Katherine couldn’t refuse. She relinquished her cushion and stood up.

“Thank you,” she said. Her will to fight, once so strong, had shrivelled. She meekly picked up the basket and allowed Harvey to show her out. She didn’t even flinch when Lewis, waiting outside, laid a hand on her shoulder and asked if she was feeling better.

When she got home, she put her prescription on the table and sat down. The cotton-wool feeling still muffled her more potent emotions, blunting their sharp edges. Was this what it felt like to be on drugs? Maybe. Maybe that was why people liked it so much.

After a while, hunger stirred. Katherine turned to look at her soup leftovers sat on the burner, the ones she’d been saving for dinner tonight. She should eat it.

But you don’t have to.

Slowly, she began to unpack the basket. There had been more than one person complicit in this operation: Gus’s cardboard takeaway containers; Evelyn’s wobbly cursive handwriting; folded napkins; a stash of paper plates. Each box had a label (“Devilled Eggs”) and a storage instruction (“Refrigerate”). Katherine knew that she should feel ashamed of so obviously requiring charity, but she couldn’t, she was too hungry. And grateful. Embarrassingly, tearfully grateful.

She ate more than she should have and tried to regret it, but she couldn’t, because for the second time in as many days, she was full when she fell asleep.

Her convalescence crawled by. Katherine did the bare minimum, as Harvey had instructed; just enough to keep her crops growing, nothing more. It was insufferable, but strangely calming. Like a retreat of some kind. The pit in her stomach went away with the application of food. The aching in her head was dismissed with rest. The boredom wouldn’t quite settle down, but she did her best. When Leah came marching up the path on the third morning, Katherine was actually sat on the creaky porch steps, enjoying the sunshine and reading Herbs and Wild Riches.

“You look better,” Leah said, without preamble. Katherine shaded her eyes. She wasn’t really sure what to say, and Leah didn’t seem to expect anything. She just came and sat down on the steps beside her. There was a brief silence.

“Nice day.”

Katherine decided that she should at least try to put some of her feelings into words.

“Thank you,” she started, awkwardly. “For the other day, I mean.”

“Did Harvey help?”

Katherine nodded. Leah sighed; a pleased sort of sigh.

“Good. Sorry I didn’t hang around. I was - elsewhere. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

A bird nearby started up a whistling tune.

“I’m not used to needing help,” Kath said, lamely. Leah turned her head to look at her.

“You’re not used to people helping you, you mean. Everyone needs help, whether they admit it or not.”

She didn’t say this like it was a judgement. Katherine sat for a moment, staring out at the trees. Everyone needs help.

“I shouldn’t need help,” she muttered, internal mechanism turning, the cogs almost fitting together. Leah shook her head again.

“Don’t be silly.”

Katherine felt safe enough to be a little waspish. “Could you be a little more delicate when you’re telling me I’m wrong?”

Leah didn’t seem perturbed.

“Everyone’s wrong about things, too. Just part of life.”

What a philosophy. Katherine rather admired it. To her surprise, the cogs in her mind shuddered, trying to regain motion. She chewed it over. The nearby bird resumed its song.

“I was wrong about coming here,” Katherine said, after a moment. She laid aside her book and propped her elbows on her knees, feeling her back stretch. “I thought this would be… A vacation.”

Leah raised an eyebrow. “On the farm?”

Katherine suppressed a laugh, but she was thinking about the basket, about spaghetti, about a small crowd dancing badly in the tiny space beside the jukebox.

“I didn’t mean to put down roots,” she said, softly. “I meant to run here, recover, then go back. But I think…”

She trailed into silence, but Leah nodded.

“This place is like that. Too good for growing things.”

They shared a smile. A genuine one. Another tendril curled outwards from Katherine’s heart, seeking soil.

And then she thought of green eyes, and her stomach soured.

“The offer of a foraging trip is still on the table,” Leah said. “Though it looks like you’ve already got a head start.” She indicated the book on the deck between them.

“I’d suggest tomorrow, but I know it’s supposed to rain.”

Leah pulled a face. “Storm, from what Emily says. We’ll see how it is the day after? Hey, if you want, I can give you my number. Nobody really uses mobile phones here, but it’s a bit quicker than walking across town and Elliott’s cabin doesn’t have a landline.”

Kath nodded to hide the reaction that surely showed on her face. Don’t get too comfortable, she reminded herself. Not everybody is Leah. Most of them think that you’re an embarrassment.

She recalled the way he’d stared at her: transfixed, horrified. Justifiably so. Benji had looked at her the same way when she’d told him…

But she shouldn’t think about Benji, or any of that. Leah finished scribbling her number on the back of an envelope and handed it over.

“Keep safe, OK? Storms here can get pretty bad. If your roof blows off, promise you’ll come down to mine rather than sitting in the rain?”

Katherine couldn’t hold back her crooked smile. “I think you’re getting to know me.”

Leah chuckled, getting to her feet. “Trying, Kath, trying. See you later.”

Heeding Leah’s warning, Kath spent the rest of the afternoon poking around the cabin, trying to shore it up for the bad weather to come. None of the windows leaked, but she tacked up old blankets with thumbtacks in a semblance of curtains and rolled a moth-eaten rug into an approximation of a draft excluder. Then she hauled in logs until she had a stack large enough for a full day and another night. As a final act, she marshalled her case files into neat piles. The compulsion to go back to them was still there, but they could wait. Perhaps she’d have a look tomorrow. After all, she wouldn’t be doing anything else.

It didn’t start out so bad. Cold and damp, yes, but nothing wild. The promised rain began at nine, soft at first, then more insistent. Kath tacked back her makeshift curtain and sat on the bed for a while, watching the water on her windowpanes. It was soothing.

When her phone rang, she was so shocked that she sat, stupefied, until the fourth trilling beep. Then she lunged for it, yanking out the charging cord in her haste, not even checking who was calling.

“Katherine Perks speaking.”

“Katherine. It’s Anna.”

Katherine’s organs fell through the long drop, jerking to a sudden and twitching halt a second later.

“Anna?”

“You tried to call me,” Anna snapped. “Twenty-seven times. I changed my number.”

“Oh,” Katherine said, which was inadequate, but also all she had. Anna sucked in a breath through her nose.

“Don’t apologise. Don’t say anything, actually. I need you to come in.”

It was testament to the restorative powers of both time and a mental breakdown that Katherine found herself incapable of complying with Anna’s instruction. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“What do you mean, come in?”

She sounded - appalled. There was no other word for it. Like she couldn’t believe Anna had asked that of her. Perverse pride stirred behind Kath’s breastbone. There was a silence in the wake of her declaration - like Anna, for once, was lost for words.

It didn’t last long.

“I mean, get your ass on the subway, and come into the office. I need you for something.”

Oh, how Katherine itched to obey. Her muscles even tensed, long conditioned from moving mountains at the snap of a finger. But she stayed seated. Petulance was rising in her with strange, magnetic force.

“I can’t,” she said, evenly, her best pissing-off-the-partners voice.

“Yes, you fucking can, Katherine.”

“I can’t. I’m not in Zuzu.”

She was smug, she realised, breathlessly, righteously smug. I can’t. It was wrong, it went against her every instinct - but it felt so good to say. Anna’s intake of breath was louder than a whip-crack.

“Katherine,” her voice lashed in a way that suggested her eyes were smouldering pits of fire. “I don’t fucking care about whatever mid-life crisis you’ve undergone, I need you to fucking get back here. Now.”

Those words yanked at something deep in Katherine’s chest: a ripcord, or a bung in a dam. A terrible, rumbling emotion swelled in response. I don’t fucking care.

In the brief seconds it took for Katherine to adjust to this, Anna tsked.

“Stop fucking around, clerk. Stop wallowing in self-pity.”

“I was dismissed.”

Her fingers gripped the phone like a vice. Her other hand had balled into a fist. She sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, potent anger throbbing in her veins. “I was dismissed, Anna. You let it happen. They took everything-”

She managed to stop herself. Her pride wouldn’t let her continue. But her fury seamlessly pulled the switch, transferring her onto a different, more vicious track.

“I’m not your bitch anymore, Anna,” she said, her voice low and venomous. “Call somebody else.”

And she hung up.

Rain tapped at the windows. Kath sat, still breathing hard, staring down at the blank screen. A garbled sound of rage clawed its way up her throat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She lurched to her feet. Like a javelin thrower, she drew back her hand to her shoulder; graceful, deadly. The phone flew better than she’d expected it to. It hit the opposite wall with a loud thunk, then dropped to the floor. Next, Kath picked up her pillow and screamed into it. I am trying out the motions of anger, she thought, somewhere above the tsunami. I am the stereotype of wrath.

For all that she was a cliché, the yelling helped. Four really good screams and she was out of air, the overwhelming wave drawing back. This is why people do this, she decided. It’s a cleanse, a purge. It gets it all out. She sank back onto the bed, feeling shaky.

What had she just done?

A stupor came over her. I’m not your bitch anymore, Anna. Those words chased around in her head. Was she proud, or ashamed? She had no idea. She had never said anything like that to anyone before. She’d never been so angry before. Not even when she’d realised that Benji was seeing someone else, which was a situation that ought to have provoked at least a little fury. Kath rubbed her face, eyes drifting to the broken screen of her phone. Why am I thinking about Benji, of all people?

The heavy, sudden tread of feet on the porch steps was an all-too-brief warning. A knock on her door followed. Kath jumped. The habit of trying to appear normal finally reasserted itself; she got up, threw her pillow back on the bed and straightened her shirt. She went to the door.

Elliott was on her porch. His hair was nearly brown with water; the hem of that green coat dripped onto the boards; his face was wet and shining. He’d clearly walked all the way here without an umbrella. Kath was so taken aback that she just stared at him, speechless. The rain drummed even heavier on the roof above her head.

“Apologies for visiting unannounced,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the din, forehead scrunching as water coursed down from his hairline. He didn’t attempt to come any closer, despite the dismal weather. As though he would happily have this conversation out here in the wet, while she remained dry and sheltered. It was absurd. He was absurd. Which was why, probably, she shouldn’t let him in.

“Don’t stand out there,” she said, sounding more piqued than she really was - it was bluster, a smokescreen for her confusion - and stepped aside to let him through. He came in awkwardly, ducking beneath the lintel.

“Thank you.”

“Shut the door,” she told him, and he did. Then he stayed on the spot where a welcome mat would be, dripping insistently onto the floor, while she retreated to the centre of the room and folded her arms.

“Apologies,” he said, again. He was looking at the damp patch swiftly gathering in a halo around his feet. She was occupied with the size of him. She knew he was tall, broad-shouldered, well-made; something about the doll-sized surroundings of grandpa’s cabin made him seem larger. He took up more of her field of vision. She blinked.

“You can hang your coat over there,” she said, finding solid ground in practical next steps. “I’ll start a fire.”

Elliott went to the coat hook. She went to the hearth. It was good to have something to do with her hands. She built a little kindling house and then struck the tinderbox into flame. Elliott cleared his throat.

“Kath…”

She looked over her shoulder. Elliott was by the far wall. Rain had stained the neck of his dove-grey shirt. He was holding up her phone: the screen now a spiderweb of cracks. She winced.

“Did you drop it?” He asked, curious. Kath almost laughed.

“No,” she admitted, turning back to the fire. “I, um, threw it. I lost my temper.”

Was it funny? She wasn’t sure, but she wanted to laugh anyway. Objectively, surely, this was mildly amusing. She’d thrown her phone like a child having a tantrum. And it didn’t matter. She didn’t really want anyone else to call her. Besides, Elliott already thought she was a lost cause. The thought was strangely liberating.

“You can laugh,” she continued, pulling a log from the basket. Outside, the rain was reaching a new intensity.

“I was reflecting on my choice to come here in person,” Elliott said. He was taking her coat down from the peg, she realised, folding it carefully on the counter. So it didn’t get damp from being next to his. This thoughtful gesture made warmth that mirrored the burgeoning flames flicker briefly in her chest. He looked across at her as he straightened. “Perhaps I should have brought a shield?”

She felt her lips twitch. “You didn’t even bring an umbrella.”

He smiled. “Touché.”

“A shield against both the weather and potential missiles,” she mused. This brief emancipation from shame gave her the courage to set up the fireguard and come to stand beside the kitchen table. “But I don’t make a habit of throwing things. I promise.”

Elliott raised one of those dark eyebrows. “A special occasion, then?”

That was too close to the truth. Katherine busied herself stacking her case notes, tidying them ever smaller.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

He didn’t push. She finished clearing the table, then gestured to a seat.

“Sit down, then.”

“I came to apologise,” he said, instead. Kath paused. Her pulse quickened. He could only mean…

“You don’t have to,” she said, suddenly sharp, tense.

“I-”

“It was a natural reaction.” Her voice was clipped, carefully measured. It was all part of her defences. She wouldn’t let him drag her back to that bench. She’d put that behind her and everything was changing and she’d just told Anna to fuck off and he wasn’t going to take that away from her by making her feel, however rightly, small.

Elliott didn’t move.

“No. It was not. My response was neither your fault nor your responsibility. I wish I had behaved differently. I fear I added to your distress.”

Kath turned away, incredulous. About what? About all of it: him, his words, his entirely accurate presumption that his opinion mattered to her. She smiled, feeling the knife of it at the back of her throat. She could have told him he was wrong. She could have told him to leave. Instead, she shook her head.

“Why are you like this?” She asked, desperation edging in between the syllables. “What do you want from me?”

She looked up just in time to see his fingers grip the back of grandpa’s old chair until his knuckles turned white. The silence between them was filled with the thundering hum of the rainstorm outside.

“I grew up in a reclusive religious sect,” he said, carefully, raising his voice just enough to be audible. When Katherine didn’t say anything, he looked at her. “That is why I’m like this.”

He could have thrown it at her as an accusation, a trap she’d blundered into, but he hadn’t. It had only been the bald truth. She knew it was the truth. She just did.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“People rarely do,” he answered. No hint of acrimony. “Please don’t worry.”

“I have to make you tea, now,” Katherine said, bewildered, suddenly aching with inexplicable sorrow. “Sit down.”

The faint smile on his face almost broke her heart, and she couldn’t even explain why.

She made tea and fetched him a towel and they sat at the table, listening as gusts of wind knocked into the walls and made the fire gutter.

“It’s a trauma response,” Elliott said, once he’d taken a sip. He was using that same cautious tone as before, but his eyes were steady on hers. “Unexpected scenarios can be triggers. Some still… Take me by surprise.”

Katherine was surprised by just how familiar that assessment was. She was nodding before she could stop herself. Recognition kindled in his face, but he didn’t say anything. He spared her that. She was grateful. They looked away from one another for a mutually agreed upon time, before Katherine recovered her voice.

“May I ask you - about that?” Her courage failed her halfway through the question, but he nodded regardless.

“Yes. It’s not a secret. I simply don’t wear a sign for all to read.”

He was being funny, self-deprecating, dry, whatever you wanted to call it. Kath had never admired someone like this before: for their sheer strength. She went back to her tea while she thought things through.

“Which sect?”

“You probably won’t have heard of it. The Brotherhood of Ishim. One-hundred-and-seventy-four members.”

He was right; she hadn’t heard of it.

“What do they believe?”

“That a man with gold skin named Ishim predated and outlasted the existence of Yoba. That following him is the only true path to peace, wealth and enlightenment. That devotion must be shown through the act of prayer and management of the physical form.” He stopped, shrugging. “There is a great deal more. But that is the essence of it.”

Katherine nodded, though she was completely baffled.

“And you…?”

“I am, as they say, fully deconstructed,” he said. The first hint of bitterness crept into his tone. “Or, at least, I am as deconstructed as it is possible to be. Vestiges remain.”

Katherine knew that an expression of sympathy was probably appropriate, but apparently she’d forgotten how to uphold the social contract, because she fitted her hands around her chipped mug and said, “How are you so open about all of this?”

His turn to think, to plan his words.

“If I keep this a secret, I allow it to fester. I know that I am not-” the briefest glance, wry, green eyes glittering, “- normal. Building genuine relationships relies on a foundation of truth and mutual understanding. So. I share the truth.”

You are very odd, Katherine thought, but she didn’t say it, because it would have come out tinged with a fondness unjustified by their acquaintance so far. She nodded slowly. The old cabin rattled, caught in the teeth of the wind.

“Are you going to ask me about cannibalism?” He asked her, lightly. Their eyes met. Kath couldn’t be sure who laughed first, only that it came in a gentle wash, as warm as the burgeoning fire.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a factsheet to hand out,” she joked, when they had subsided. “Frequently asked questions.”

“Contrary to all I have just said, I rarely explicitly share my circumstances,” he said.

Kath frowned, and he moved to his approximation of a shrug: chin dipped, shoulders hunching.

“Only with those I wish to understand.”

This left a silence. Elliott looked around.

“I believe the rain has stopped.”

In this he opened the door of their conversation, preparing to step away. Kath’s stomach clenched.

“Why here?” She found herself asking. “Why Pelican Town?”

He smiled, like he was pleased she’d asked, and that took the sting from his answer. “A story for another time.”

Kath nodded, then she got to her feet, determined to be a part of this decision, of this taking of leave. She went behind the screen and pulled open the wardrobe doors, wincing as they creaked.

“It smells like death,” she cautioned. “And plastic. But it will keep you dry.”

She brandished grandpa’s old raincoat like a flag. Elliott took it from her.

“That’s very kind of you.”

And, for once, Katherine said exactly what she meant. “Kindness in kind,” she told him. She meditated on the warmth in his face for the rest of the day, in front of the fire, eating sponge cake, lying in bed before she fell asleep. The ghost of Anna faded to something pallid and weak, barely there, trapped in the spiderweb lines of her fractured phone screen.

Chapter Text

In Zuzu, Katherine had tracked the rhythm of her days in the mechanical noises of the city. The coffeepot hiss; the ticking of the crossing light; the fetid dark rattle of the subway. It was different here, but not that different. She knew whether it would be cold by the low swell of wind in the trees behind the cabin when she woke in the mornings. When it was sunny, she would often hear the tap-tap-tap of the thrush with a snail, perched on the boulder by the pond. Every other Saturday, the Kisans descended on Watershed en masse, bringing a wind-up radio and Robin’s tuneless humming. They’d just shown up the first time, Robin bearing tools, Demetrius weighed down by a backpack and wearing a headtorch. Here to be neighbours, Robin had told her, brusquely. Don’t argue, unless you don’t fancy coming over next week and helping me file all my invoices. Otherwise, we’ll call it good.

I am particularly interested in the cave on your property, Demetrius had said, in his distracted, amiable way. Would you mind…?

Kath had gestured wordlessly. Then she and Robin had spent the morning making grandpa’s tool shed somewhat serviceable. Demetrius had been very excited about some fungi. The next weekend, Kath had hiked the mountain trail and devoted three hours to Robin’s chaotic filing system. She’d swiftly banished Robin from the kitchen and lost herself in the paper trail, spreading her handiwork over the kitchen table, listening to something twanging on the radio. Sebastian had sloped in at one point. They’d stared at one another like startled cats, then Kath had apologised and Sebastian had muttered that his mom was allergic to technology. Kath thought he was alright. The weekend after that, Demetrius had built her a compost bin. Things were good. Stabilising.

Leah invited her down to the cottage every Monday night. If the weather was good, they went foraging. If it was bad, they drank tea and talked. Kath was amazed by Leah’s creativity. Painting, sculpting, drawing; it all seemed to come so naturally to her. Leah flushed when she was praised, which Kath thought was extremely charming. After two of these meetings, Leah declared them friends. It had been Kath’s turn to blush. Leah had laughed and pulled out a tiny flask of rhubarb gin so they could toast. Things had turned rather giggly. Kath had eventually weaved home, still smiling, warmth in her chest, and she’d dreamed of a huge white canvas, bordered black at the edges. She kept the image in her mind. As spring wore on, she made a start on colouring it in.

An afternoon at Marnie’s, shifting haybales? Warm umber. Her sunlit treks by the river and through the trees, following Leah’s auburn braid? Bright, chlorophyll-tinged green. Rich brown for the soil; cobalt blue for the delicate, puffball jazz flowers that were catnip for the bees; violet for the printed ink on the cheques Pierre wrote out for her with increasing frequency. Woolly cardigan blue in Evelyn’s kitchen. Dreamy pink for the flower Marnie’s little niece brought her, and the eight names she had picked out for Pudding’s tiny, squirming kittens.

And maroon. Twisting, wine-dark maroon.

They didn’t have a day, not like her visits to Leah. Instead, there would be a text. Dinner? And the other two would respond, yes or no. They would meet in the saloon between 7 and half-past, where they would share a handful of tapas dishes. Leah would drink white. Elliott, red. Kath stuck to ginger ale. It took two goes for Kath to stop fretting over who paid, three for her to unwind about choosing food the others might not like or be able to eat. She’d never known something so good in her life as Gus’s cooking, the jukebox playing something country, talking, telling stories. She’d never known something so good that everyone else seemed to agree on: they rotated who sent the invite, not out of obligation but out of seemingly genuine desire to spend time together. In fact…

Kath stopped thinking as she picked green beans. On impulse, she went back into the cabin and picked up her phone. Screen still shattered; not that it mattered. It didn’t stop her texting, and Anna hadn’t tried to call again.

Kath to Cabin Crew: Dinner?

She left it, going back out to the bean poles. The other two usually took time to respond. Leah would be walking, or artistically occupied. Elliott, as Katherine now knew, was probably writing. A writer. She still liked to think that over when she had the chance. Was Elliott what she’d expected from a writer? She wasn’t sure.

She still occasionally thought of him at her table, dripping wet and painfully honest, and more maroon would swirl across empty canvas. She’d decided that this was safe enough, because he was intriguing. It was alright to be intrigued by an ex-cultist. Being anything else wasn’t advisable, but it was fine, because she wasn’t.

Her idle musings were interrupted by the sight of Marnie coming across the acreage, passing the pond. Katherine frowned. Even at this distance, she could see something was wrong. Marnie’s normally warm expression was drawn in harsh, sorrowful lines. She didn’t even raise a hand in greeting as she approached.

“Hey,” Katherine said (something she was trying out, nobody in Pelican Town said hello apart from the Mayor). “Is everything alright?”

This was the wrong thing to say. Marnie tried to speak, but her voice choked. Alarmed, Katherine ushered her into the cabin. After several fractious apologies, Marnie sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve and managed a few words.

“It’s Cloudy.”

Katherine’s heart sank. The pony. Clearly, something was wrong.

“What’s happened?” She asked.

“Sorry, sorry. I never meant- oh, dear. It’s just- I’ve been keeping it together ever since I found out. Yoba, you must think I’m soft. It was going to happen sooner or later, the old coot’s older than Methuselah-”

She broke off to take a swallow of tea, and Katherine put two and two together. Oh, no.

“Is it time?” She asked, trying to keep her voice calm. Poor Marnie didn’t need any more upset on her hands. This appeared to be the right approach. Marnie managed a nod. She was already collecting herself, pulling the scattered threads back together.

“Aye. I had the vet out this morning, while Jas was out at school.” This detail nearly undid her again, but she pressed on. “Cloudy’s been going off his legs. Unsteady walking, struggling to get back up. I knew it wouldn’t be good, but- ah, I was being stupid. It’s time for him to go. Past time, really.”

Her voice had grown thick.

“Jonah- that’s the vet- said he’d come back on Thursday. That’ll give me time to arrange the knackerman. I- I want to do while Jas isn’t here. She’s too young to understand giving an animal mercy. Yoba knows, I’ve had forty years of practice and I’m still-”

Another pause, another fortifying swallow of tea.

“I came to ask you a favour,” Marnie said, steadier now. “I don’t want Cloudy to go alone. But- and I’ve really tried- I just don’t think I can be there with him. He’s the last bit of my dad. I don’t want to do my crying in front of him, the poor old codger will just think something’s wrong, but I can’t stand to think of him just stood there with the vet and the gun. Shane can’t do it, he’s working. I know you know horses. Would you-?”

“Yes,” Kath answered, before Marnie could finish, before she had to finish the whole agonising request. She felt oddly steady. “I’m assuming it’s quite straightforward?”

Marnie laughed a surprised, soggy laugh. “Sometimes, I see Gregor all through you. Yes, it’s not complicated. Just hold his halter, tell him he’s a good boy…” She dissolved again, and Kath plucked up the courage to gently pat her hand where it lay on the table. After a brief, hurricane moment, Marnie calmed herself.

“Sorry. Don’t know why I’m so upset. I’ve had to do this for plenty of cows over the years, and I never-”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Katherine said, interrupting again, shocked by her own surety. “You feel how you feel.”

Marnie nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “Not a word to anyone, alright? I haven’t even told Shane. Jas would be devastated if she knew it had been planned.”

Kath agreed, sealing the secret. Marnie sighed, then set to the rest of her tea like it was hard liquor.

“It’ll be quick,” she promised, when she’d drained the mug. “Rich is always on time, he won’t need any help with the- the body.”

And that was that. Marnie seemingly wanted to be gone again, now the plan was in place, and Kath couldn’t blame her. It’s a rum thing, she imagined her grandpa saying, and she agreed with him. As the day waned, she went to sit on the porch steps, her heart sore. She remembered those halcyon summer rides around the paddock, grandpa watching on with a man who had surely been Marnie’s dad. Cloudy had been a unicorn in her head, a Pegasus, a charging bright-white steed for all that his knees were yellow and his mane streaked with sooty grey. She thought about Jas, the teddy-bear poking out of the top of a rubber boot. Cloudy was her unicorn, too. How do you tell a little girl her pony’s not here anymore?

I have to be strong for Marnie, Katherine decided. That’s my job. Everything else…

She checked her watch, thinking about dinner. An alarm went off in her head. Dinner.

“Oh, shit,” Kath gasped, and hurled herself into the cabin.

She was fifteen minutes late and that was after she’d run all the way down the hill. When she shouldered open the saloon door, she saw Emily already at their table, setting down dishes. Kath’s heart sank. Of course, they’d assumed she wasn’t coming. She almost turned around and went straight back out.

But Elliott spotted her and raised a hand. Burning with embarrassment, Kath skulked over to the table as Emily went back to the bar. Leah’s face lit up.

“We ordered for you! Best of luck. Elliott thought you’d enjoy the spicy cauliflower.”

“Leah has selected grilled artichoke for our enjoyment,” Elliott said, in a tone that implied those in glass houses shouldn’t be tossing stones, and Kath’s tension went out of her all at once, like electricity surging to ground.

“Thanks,” she said, taking her chair, relieved, hungry. “I’m so sorry I was late.”

Leah was already digging in. “Everything OK?”

Damn her; damn them both. Katherine had lost the habitual art of lying. She shrugged, occupying herself with the glazed cauliflower. “It will be. Just something unexpected came up.”

“The bad kind of unexpected?” Leah wanted to know. Kath grimaced.

“I can’t really talk about it. Sorry.”

“As long as you are alright,” Elliott said, “we won’t pry.”

Damn him. He knew she was upset- or, more likely, she was making it obvious she was upset. She applied herself to her plate, offering a smile in thanks and praying the conversation would move on. Because she seemed to be in the company of actual friends, it did.

“We were talking about the flower dance when you came in,” Leah said, before nibbling experimentally on a corner of artichoke. “Yoba, that is good!”

Katherine swallowed. The spicy cauliflower had not been mislabelled; her throat was already heating up.

“What’s the flower dance?”

Leah leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. “You mean Lewis hasn’t cornered you about it yet?”

“No. Should he have?”

“Ancient fertility ritual,” Elliott commented, in that slightly dry way of his. “Predating the Yobish faith by several hundred years.”

“I have it on good authority that it also involves ridiculous costumes and aforementioned dancing,” Leah added. “That’s what you have to watch out for. I’ve already been assigned.”

“Assigned?” Kath asked. This had Egg Festival written over it; she swallowed down her twinge of remembered panic.

“You’re safe this year, I think.” Elliott lifted his glass to Leah. “The two newcomers have already been paired off.”

“Lucky for you,” Leah groused, still focused on Katherine. “We have dance practice tomorrow.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow. “I am an excellent dancer.”

“I’m not,” Leah said, dryly. “I hope you’re not too attached to any of your toes.” As she spoke, the saloon door opened. “Speak of the devil.”

“He’s coming over,” Elliott said. That was the only warning Kath got before the Mayor had come to stand beside their table, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“Hullo, you three. Sorry to interrupt your meal. I just need to have a quick word with Katherine, if you don’t mind? In private?”

Katherine got up and followed him into a quiet corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leah mime a waltz and Elliott’s mouth cant up into a sly smile. Kath fought the urge to laugh.

Lewis looked preoccupied. He took off his hat and held it in his hands, as though preparing to skim it like a stone.

“I just wanted to assure you not to worry about the flower dance this year. There’s a practice tomorrow in the square, but seeing as you’re new, you needn’t participate. You’re very welcome to spectate, though. It’s not as popular with the tourists as the Egg Festival, but it’s still a nice occasion for the town.”

Kath nodded; she could tell he wasn’t done. The real reason for his interruption followed a moment later, in a lower, more secretive voice.

“I heard you’re helping Marnie out. I just wanted to thank you. She’s in a rough spot, it’s nice to know she has people in her corner.”

Whatever Katherine had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “Of course,” she said, because nanny had raised her right, and the Mayor nodded awkwardly and took his leave. Kath returned to the table, somewhat baffled.

“So?” Leah asked, mischievous, “Did he come to ask you for a dance at the weekend?”

She couldn’t tell anyone about Marnie, Kath remembered, so she joked that he had, then told them the truth- that she was excused from the festivities. Leah looked envious.

“Emily keeps giving me dire warnings about how itchy the dresses are. And white! Why does it have to be white?”

“For the same reason wedding dresses are typically white,” Elliott said, pushing the bowl of cauliflower towards Kath. “White represents purity, fertility… There’s a very interesting book in the library on the subject.”

Leah groused some more and then talk of the approaching summer saw them through to the cheque. The three of them walked the now familiar route back home: first Leah, then to the farm. Kath had once asked Elliott whether he minded taking the final leg of the journey alone, and he said he enjoyed being out under the stars. She waved to him from the top of the steps, about to open the door, when he spoke.

“Kath. If something is wrong, we will listen. I will listen.”

Kath wondered, briefly, if he had seen her slide deeper into thought as they’d passed Marnie’s ranch; if he’d been thinking, like she had, about the Mayor’s strange aside in the saloon. Surely not. It was dusky dark, and he hadn’t been looking. Nonetheless, she was touched by his concern.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it, “but I’m alright. It’s… a little complicated. And,” she admitted, suddenly, “sad.”

Elliott nodded, accepting this.

“We’ll do this again sometime,” Kath said, mustering a smile, and they said goodnight. Kath thought on Elliott for a while, the way he seemed to think about her, about everything, then decided it was probably something writers did. He never said what he was working on. Once, privately, Leah had speculated that it was a memoir. Kath wasn’t so sure. That night, she dreamed of riding, of green hills and swaying pine trees- of the sound of hooves like a steady heartbeat, drumming on the sunlit earth.

On Thursday morning, Kath felt weirdly numb. She made sure to take the bag she’d packed the night before and not to leave too early, just in case Jas hadn’t yet left for school. Her fingers fidgeted with an apple she’d pocketed the night before, twisting the stem as she walked. I am going to help an animal die, she thought, the bald truth of it sinking through her like a stone. She’d never seen anything die before. What was she supposed to do?

She knew, when she came into the yard and found Marnie already waiting. Perhaps because she herself had lived in a semi-permanent state of crisis for most of her adult life, she knew the steps to take: Marnie, inside, kettle on. They sat together, waiting, until a truck pulled up outside. Kath squeezed Marnie’s hand.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she said, because assurance seemed best. Marnie closed her eyes.

“Just tell me when it’s done.”

She’d withdrawn into herself, not even looking up when Pudding came waddling in, chirruping quietly. Kath thought it wrong to probe. She nodded and went out to meet the vet.

Jonah was a short, wiry man, closing in on middle age. He grasped her hand, his dark eyes sympathetic.

“Marnie mentioned she was planning to ask somebody for help today. Thanks for doing this. It’s often the hardest thing for owners to do. Always best not to upset the horse.”

Kath nodded. Nausea was rising within her, but she made herself hold fast.

“I’ve not done this before,” she said, regulating her breathing. “Is there anything you need from me?”

“No,” Jonah said, not unkindly. “Is he in the barn?”

Kath nodded.

“Then head inside. I just have a few preparations to make.”

Head inside and say goodbye. Kath walked mutely into the shadows of the barn. Cloudy was in the stall closest to the door. He lifted his head as Kath came near, ears flickering in a companiable fashion. He looked bad; painfully, extraordinarily old. His ribs stood out beneath his scraggly coat. Every motion looked unsteady, tired. The light in his eyes was lower than ever. Kath felt a pang of deep sadness as she looked at him, for all that she meant to be strong.

“Ah, boy,” she mumbled, moving closer. “Marnie’s right. You’ve had your time.”

He didn’t respond; just kept nosing through his hay. Kath pulled out the apple and nearly offered it to him, before remembering a lesson she’d learned at the riding stables when daddy wasn’t looking. She bit into the fruit herself, tearing a small piece free. When she held the chunk out to Cloudy, he nibbled it gratefully, old teeth still strong enough to enjoy the sweetness. Kath used the moment to swallow down the lump in her throat.

“Are you ready?” Jonah asked. He was holding the gun, but Katherine deliberately didn’t look at it. She just unlatched the gate and went in the stall to stand beside Cloudy. One last rub on the neck. One last scratch on the withers.

“You’re a good boy,” she said, tightly, remembering Marnie’s words. “A good lad. Go easy, now.”

She stepped back. Jonah went into the stall, said hello, aren’t you a fine old lad, alright, now, it’s alright. Cloudy barely looked up. It was the work of a moment. The motion, the muffled crack. Cloudy’s legs went slack; his body dropped into the straw with a heavy thud. Katherine turned away, suddenly overwhelmed. Jonah stayed quiet while she collected herself.

“The right thing,” he said. “Very much the right thing. He’d had a good life.”

Kath nodded. Another engine sounded outside.

“That’ll be Rich. We can take it from here, if you like. Does Marnie want any of the mane saving?”

Marnie hadn’t said, but Kath nodded regardless. She waited just outside the barn door as the knackerman- Rich- got down from his cab and went inside. Back to numbness. It was strange. She didn’t know what to make of things, of her own emotions. Rich came back out a few moments later and handed her a skein of silvery grey hair.

“You want to head inside, miss. I’ll take it from here.”

It wasn’t a question, so Kath went, pocketing the hair on instinct. She was astonished to find that Marnie was no longer alone. Lewis sat beside her, holding her hand. The atmosphere was both grief-stricken and palpably awkward, so Kath made her immediate excuses and left again. She couldn’t go back to the farm. She walked east, back into town, then shied away from the square when she heard the chatter of voices. More than anything, she wanted to be alone and unseen.

The beach was mercifully empty. Kath went down the shore then took off her shoes and socks, forging still more eastward onto the rocky morass of tidepools and dried out seaweed. When she found a flat-topped rock, she sat on it. Her gaze slid over the glittering skin of the ocean. She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. Thinking hurt.

That was how Elliott found her, an hour later, her fingers smoothing the twist of hair, thoughts beginning to break through the numbing wall. She felt very vulnerable, looking up as he came closer. Like the shell around her heart had been cracked with a hammer, and its contents were about to leak all over the floor.

“Am I intruding?” He asked.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice. If he were to ask her what she was holding, she would have broken; if he had wanted to know why she was out here, a place she never came, she would have cried. But he asked her nothing further. Just sat on the rock, a foot or so away, and followed her gaze to the waves. For a while, neither of them spoke.

“There.” Elliott lifted a hand, pointing out over the water. “An iron-wing. Willy tells me they are quite rare.”

The bird was just a smudgy shape above the waves. Kath frowned, watching it glide.

“How can you tell?” Her voice was noticeably hoarse, but Elliott, the noticer, made no comment.

“The tail is quite distinctive. See how it hooks? In other gulls, the feathers form a wedge, rather than a curve.”

And she could have held onto that thread, used it to distance herself from her own dangerous fragility, but she didn’t. She was ready: bold enough, weak enough, to try to lean on somebody.

“I. I was at Marnie’s today. She had the pony put down.”

Which was cold, too cold, but she couldn’t take it back or make it softer. A lump was forming in her throat. She gripped Cloudy’s mane in a fist.

“She wanted somebody to be with him when he went. It’s a secret. Nobody else knows.”

Elliott made a soft noise of understanding. A film of tears glossed Kath’s eyes.

“I always wanted a pony,” she said, nonsensically. And then she was very nearly crying, salt calling to salt, listening to the gulls mourn. “I used to pretend Cloudy was mine, back in the city. I would daydream about grandpa buying him for me and coming back next summer to find him stood outside the cabin. Which is ridiculous and incredibly self-centred. But I was eight years old. He was just- and now Jas-”

She sniffed, gulped.

“I feel terrible?” She finished, confused. “And I feel terrible for telling you, so.”

Elliott hadn’t cringed in horror. He just nodded.

“You may trust me with your secrets.”

“I feel like part of my childhood is dead,” Katherine admitted, unable to stop talking- it was talk or cry, at this point. “Like I helped kill it? And that’s absurd, but this whole place is absurd. I feel-”

She should have stopped there, but it was too late. Her breath trembled in her chest, fighting to take the shape of sorrow.

“Imagine you’re stood there. Right there.” She gestured to the very edge of the shore, where the waves kissed the rocks, searching out new places to conquer. “And you’re looking out at the horizon.”

He nodded again. He was listening with such intensity; Katherine wasn’t sure she’d ever been listened to quite so carefully, and that only underscored her point. She swallowed.

“There’s nothing out there. No other islands, no distant shore. That’s what I’m used to. To- the emptiness. And then I came here, and the horizon changed, or like- a fog cleared, I’m not sure. And there’s this other place that’s been there the entire time, and now I can see it. And that should be comforting, but all I can see is the ocean. The separation.” Her heart ached; she covered it with a smile that was supposed to be funny but just came out bitter. “The great gulf of loneliness.”

She thought about Marnie’s kitchen, plastic dinosaurs on the chairs. Robin’s humming, the way she heckled the radio when it played a song she didn’t like. She remembered Leah’s hugs, as brief and brisk as summer sunshine. Something soul-deep sighed over those memories of Cloudy, acknowledging them, then letting them go. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

There was more to say, but she left it there, exhausted. Ahead, the sea murmured.

A hand settled over hers, warm, enveloping.

“Swim,” Elliott said, earnestly. That startled a wet laugh out of her, and he smiled, but he didn’t look away. “I mean it. You should swim.”

“Now?”

“Metaphorically. It would be rather cold today.”

Kath wiped her eyes.

“Yes. I suppose it would.”

He squeezed her hand, then withdrew. Kath nearly started crying again, but somehow mastered herself. The gulf, she thought, frantically, the bloody gulf.

“I don’t know how,” she said, words skulking out at closing time.

“It’ll come to you,” he answered. “Instinct. Like a fledging bird.”

She shot him a dubious look, but he was watching the waves. A frown creased his brow.

“We are not our upbringings,” he said, more to himself than to her. “We are… more.”

And she wanted to protest, say that her childhood had been good: she had been provided for, educated, taught well, brought up better. But she didn’t. A lifetime of suspicion- that everyone was not working from the same template she’d been given, that they had some greater secret that helped them cope- held her tongue. You’re not a baby anymore, daddy would say, when she cried. Quit wailing.

She’d learned how to quit wailing pretty quick, and she’d been proud of that. Proud that while other kids in her class burst into tears, she stood there, stoney-faced. More mature, that’s what people always said. In teacher’s reports: she’s very mature. Katherine has an old soul.

“I need to give this back to Marnie,” she said, looking down at the piece of Cloudy’s mane. Another sniff. “I really don’t want to.”

Not because she wanted the hair. The idea of going back to the ranch was unbearable. Elliott made a thoughtful noise.

“I can offer procrastination on that front. It is probably time to eat.”

When she looked at him, he shrugged. It was an awkward, ungainly look on him; like he’d never really learned how.

“Swimming lessons?” He asked, quite dry. Kath rubbed a hand over her forehead, smiling despite herself.

“Alright.”

They went back across the rocks. The tide had come in as they’d talked; Kath soaked the cuffs of her jeans trying to jump the stream. Elliott, with his long legs, had no such trouble. Kath felt quite short next to him, which was an unfamiliar sensation. She was short, but nanny had always told her not let herself feel intimidated by bigger people. Katherine had taken that lesson to heart, but now she wavered, uncertain. We are not our upbringings.

Elliott led her up the beach, to a low-roofed shack in front of the dunes. She’d seen it from afar, of course, but had never ventured close to the frontage. It wasn’t as rundown as Leah had implied. Weather-beaten, sure, but not in active disrepair. Elliott slipped off his shoes in the porch and unlocked the door.

“Please don’t worry about sand on the floors.”

She wiped her feet off anyway, leaving her own shoes next to his. Inside, light fell in through two square windows, illuminating a single room: spartan in both design and décor. On her left, there was a bed, a desk, and a piano. To her right, a dividing screen sheltered a kitchen. A faded rug with a bright, abstract pattern had been spread over the floor, softening the bare boards. Nothing was out of place apart from the sheet music half-folded on the piano stool, left a little askew. Elliott went to straighten it at once.

“Humble, I know,” he said. “Leah despairs of my interior sensibilities.”

“It’s nice,” Kath said, lamely, wishing she could think of something better. The place felt clean, wholesome, somehow; like it held more than its fair share of air. Elliott smiled like she was being too kind, then beckoned her into the kitchen. This, too, was sparse. Just a counter, a sink, a handful of cupboards. He had a little round table like hers, but he only had one chair. A depressed-looking fern sagged up in a terracotta pot. Kath stared at it.

“Sit,” Elliott told her, moving to start work. “I shan’t be long.”

“Your houseplant looks terrible,” she said, without thinking. And it did, the poor thing, leaves somehow brittle and drooping at the same time. She touched the soil and found it bone dry. “Have you watered it?”

“Not recently?” He said, half a question. “I read that overwatering is dangerous.”

Kath picked up the sad little plant and carried it to the sink. Elliott was right there, she almost bumped into him. Kath ran the tap on cold, watching the soil turn black.

“Bit more water,” she advised, made gruff by his closeness. He nodded solemnly. He had tied his hair back to cook, leaving a thin, pale strand to hang forward over one ear.

Kath took the fern back to the table with her and waited, watching Elliott cook. It was a surprisingly illuminating process. He was good at it; assured, quick with a knife, confident in a way that suggested long practice. She hadn’t expected it of him. She told him she was a terrible cook, something she’d revealed to nobody else, and he shrugged, tossing spring onions into the pan. We’re all terrible when we start out. I was often chased out of the communal kitchen for burning things. Kath asked him about that, feeling like she was crossing a minefield blindfolded. Elliott explained that the Brotherhood of Ishim lived in a commune, and all eating was done together. They started on the chore rota at six. Six in the morning? Kath asked. He shook his head, now whisking a sauce with a fork. No, six years old. Extra chores were given for minor infractions. His least favourite chore had been laundry. He’d hated all the folding.

I’d trade you that for ironing, Kath had said, again without thinking. He cracked a smile at that. I’ve never owned an iron. I steam my clothes while I shower.

He was making stir-fry. Everything was so fresh it almost sang as it cooked.

“Were you taught these things in school?” He asked, swirling the pan, not looking at her. A brief, heartbeat, filled with sizzling from the hob. “I was always curious about school.”

“You didn’t go to school?”

“No. My parents joined the Brotherhood when I was four. All siblings are educated in the on-site compound.”

Kath was astonished. Was that even legal? Of course it was, it had to be. But still. Everyone went to school. She gawped for a moment. Then she rushed in, eager.

“I’m quite sad for you. I loved school.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I learned everything, I liked it all. Even Food Tech, though I wasn’t very good at it. C minus for my fruit salad.”

Elliott frowned, though he looked amused. “You were graded on a fruit salad?”

“We were graded on most things,” Kath said, smiling. “Of course, we took our prep exams at fourteen, then diplomas at sixteen. Pre-majors at eighteen. And we had end-of-year exams every June.”

“That sounds awful.”

Kath shook her head at his naivety. “I loved exams.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows. “I have spoken to several people about school. None of them enjoyed the exams.”

“Perhaps they weren’t academically inclined,” Kath said, lightly. It wasn’t that she thought other people were stupid, necessarily. Simply that everyone had strengths and weaknesses: hers were written in ink, on the paper, under pressure. A concrete way to prove herself. She almost told Elliott that she was one of only four students to score all A pluses on every exam in her diplomas and her pre-majors, but she didn’t. College had at least served to halt that habit; everyone she’d told had thought her a terrible bore. Which she probably was, but still…

He brought over two bowls, then fetched the piano stool to sit on. They ate the first few mouthfuls in contemplative silence, chilli burning away the last of Kath’s numbness. She was still sad, but no longer unbalanced. Things were manageable again.

“Did you have a favourite subject?” She asked, before remembering herself. “Thank you, by the way. This is really good.”

He nodded, accepting her gratitude.

“I confess I was rather intrigued by mathematics, though we covered little in-depth.”

Kath glanced at the desk behind him. “Not English?”

He drew in a breath, delicately spearing a piece of broccoli. Kath was momentarily captivated by the way his shoulders moved at close-quarters, but she shook away that absurd thought and refocused on the heat in her mouth.

“I came by my love of the written word more dishonestly than that,” he said, with a half-disguised vulnerability that immediately caught her attention. She went still, watching him. After a moment, they both realised she was waiting for elaboration; in an abortive rush, she tried to backtrack, while he opened his mouth to answer. With the same flustered inconvenience of two strangers encountering one another when walking in opposite directions on the same line, each apologised, ducking their head. Kath’s face burned to match her throat.

“Sorry.” Then, again- “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

Elliott seemed more practiced at the art of self-mastery; he was composed again, not a spot of red in his cheeks. He met her eyes in a way that a part of Kath shrieked was calculated, though it was fleeting and somewhat shy.

“I’m afraid it is not a happy story,” he continued. “I thought you might have had enough sadness for one day.”

Strangers grasped hands; Kath’s heart surged to the top of her ribcage, bobbing like a buoy on the sea of sorrow. She held onto it, mentally breathless. Stop, the Kath on dry land said, but she was far away and her voice barely carried.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’m alright. If you don’t mind talking about it…”

He didn’t directly answer, choosing instead to finish his meal. Then he set down his fork and wrapped one big hand around the other, resting them on the table in front of him.

“Our schooling was strict. Insular. Good behaviour, correct answers, were rewarded. Poor behaviour was punished. I was an average pupil.” Another wry glance, and Kath felt suddenly ashamed of her smug pride in her own schooldays. He continued without any indication he’d seen her falter.

“When we turned twelve, our reward became time in the upper sanctuary. Only full members of the brotherhood were permitted to enter there. It was very mystical to us children. The subject of whispers, of speculation. It was a lounge,” he allowed, and a hint of childish bitterness crept into his tone, despite the separation of the years. “Just a lounge. There was a coffee machine, paintings on the walls, a record-player. Children weren’t allowed to touch any of those things, but we were permitted to take books from the communal shelf. I had no special appetite for reading before I entered the upper sanctuary, but we had very limited fodder in the school library. The adults were permitted more interesting reading. I recall picking out The Cerulean Sea. I liked the drawing on the cover.”

Kath had read The Cerulean Sea in college: she remembered it as a dreamy, fog-drenched mystery, sprawling and a little slow.

“Birds,” she said, hedging towards a question. “Birds, flying over the waves.”

He nodded. “I read for my hour of free time. I was… transported. I begged the senior brothers for more time, but they refused. I thought of nothing but that book for the next week. It was so different to the life I lead. It fascinated me. I was determined to know more.”

“To find out what happened next,” Kath said.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, time in the upper sanctuary was rarely granted, even for exemplary behaviour. I discovered this through extensive trial and error. After six weeks, I decided upon a fresh course of action.”

His eyes fixed on the wall, as though lost in memory. Kath spotted a faint flush crawling from beneath his collar. She realised she was holding her breath.

“I decided I would steal a hairpin from a sister and pick the lock to the lounge after lights out.”

Kath stared at him for a moment. Then a smile- an incredulous sort of smile- stole across her face. Elliott grimaced.

“Indeed.”

“No,” Kath found herself saying, “no, I honestly think that’s amazing. Did it work?”

His brow furrowed. “Amazing?”

And now she was the one embarrassed, though she supposed it was only fair.

“You were passionate enough about something to break the rules,” she said, feeling the trapped sensation that came from resisting fidgeting. “I mean- you wanted to read. That seems… Noble.”

His lips quirked.

“Noble?”

Kath levelled her gaze at him, refusing to be intimidated.

“Noble.”

“That is… kind of you. I assure you that I didn’t view it that way at the time. I was not perturbed, however. In answer to your question- my plan worked. I read for hours. I returned almost every night, every night that the lounge was unoccupied. I fell in love with literature, and I felt a tremendous amount of guilt over that love.” He looked down at his hands and Kath could tell that the conversation was coming to an end. “Regardless, I have chased that love ever since.”

Kath nodded. She wondered if she ought to thank him for taking her into his confidence, but she wasn’t sure if he had taken her into his confidence or if she’d just happened to ask the right questions, and the moment passed before she could make up her mind. Elliott stood, picking up her bowl. She thanked him. He talked in that roundabout way of his- deflecting, Kath realised- then checked the time.

“Ah. Dance practice approaches.”

Kath stood, pushing away the pang of sorrow that nipped at her heels.

“Thanks, Elliott. I should…”

“Walk with me?” He asked, then hastily corrected himself. “Not that you should walk with me. Only, we appear to be going in the same direction at the same time.”

Kath allowed that this was sensible. Her fingers went back to smoothing the twist of hair in her pocket as they crossed the beach and made the climb up through the dunes.

“Thank you,” she said, when they were at the crest of the hill, ready to roll back down into town. “Really. Thank you.”

He turned back to look at her. That stray piece of hair swirled in the sea breeze.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, simply. Then he kept walking. They parted outside the graveyard; Elliott for the square, Kath for Marnie’s ranch. When she got there, she spotted smoke curling from the chimney. Robin answered the door and pulled Kath into a hug before she could protest.

“Marnie rang,” she said, over her shoulder, “told me what happened. Thanks for being here for her. It means a whole lot.”

Kath found that she could say to Robin the words she’d been dreading imparting to Marnie; she pulled out the knot of grey hair and held it out.

“They asked… I thought she probably would want it. Or at least have the option. Will you pass it on?”

Robin nodded, sombre. And then it was done. Kath went home, and later, when she took off her jeans, she found salty patterns encrusted onto the cuffs, like the sea had cried there in her stead.

Chapter Text

Leah was threatening heart failure like a child threatening a tantrum. Kath stood beside her, trying to express solidarity with a bump of the shoulder. There were people everywhere. Some were staring. Leah muttered a bad word.

“Don’t scratch,” Kath said, noticing her friend’s hand on an upward trajectory. “You’ll make it worse.”

It was the first time Kath had ever seen Leah truly ill-at-ease, and she found it strangely infectious. She ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, then pulled her ponytail tighter. Little fussing motions, designed to settle. Leah twisted her fingers together and swore again.

She was wearing the dreaded white dress, and, because she was Leah, she looked gorgeous in it. The high neck looked charmingly old-fashioned, rather than fusty; her long braid was woven with flowers. She was even wearing makeup. Kath had never seen her wear makeup. In fact, that had been the first thing Leah had said to her, hurrying across the maypole field with a frantic look in her eyes. I never wear makeup. Haley pinned me down. I can feel it on my face. How do people do this every day?

“Practice,” Kath had said, already alarmed. The sense of mutual panic had not abated. Now, Kath checked her watch for the fiftieth time.

“Nearly noon,” she said, relieved. “You’ll be done in no time.”

Leah went pale. “I don’t remember the steps.”

Kath had had enough. She took Leah’s elbow and steered her across the grass to where Robin’s daughter stood, looking bored out of her mind. Maru, that was her name. They’d crossed paths a handful of times in Robin’s benevolent war to become neighbourly- Kath was banking on that mutual regard being sufficient to call in a favour. As they approached, however, Maru spotted them and shot Kath a poisonous glare.

“How did you get out of this?” She hissed, as soon as they were in earshot. Kath blinked.

“Pardon?”

“This,” Maru repeated, gesturing first to their surroundings, then to her own white dress. “Blackmail? Arson? Tell me. I will commit anything short of murder.”

Kath worked better under pressure, and she wasn’t opposed to sly humour when the occasion called for it. She stared blandly back at Maru and said,

“Medical emergency and semi-public humiliation, all very straightforward. Can you show Leah the steps before she tears her own skin off?”

“Intense,” Maru said, raising an eyebrow. But she did take pity on Leah. Kath stepped back, breathing a sigh of relief. It was ten minutes to twelve. This would all be over soon.

Of course, she’d been here for hours: fetching, carrying, setting up the godforsaken tent. For all Lewis’s protestations, it was clear the town put a lot of effort into the occasion. Kath couldn’t quite bring herself to regret her offer of help, but she would be pleased when the day was done. The sun was warm overhead; a hint of summer in the breath of the wind. Kath was hot and tired. A corner of her was already looking forward to going to bed. She watched Maru illustrate via unenthusiastic twirling and wondered whether she could surreptitiously sit on one of the decorative haybales until the dance began.

“Hey, Kath.”

She jumped, startled from her sedentary fantasies. Marnie had come over. She looked oddly apologetic and was carrying a small cardboard box.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Just- I wanted to thank you.” She held out the box, and Kath realised it was a portion of Gus’s sticky cauliflower, snagged early from his stall outside the produce tent. A gift? A peace offering? Kath didn’t really mind. She was just glad they were talking again.

“Thanks, Marnie. This is really kind.”

Marnie nodded, looking out over the meadow. Her eyes were wet.

“I feel bad,” she said, abruptly. “Really bad. This week has just been…”

“Rough?” Kath asked, quietly.

Marnie just nodded. Jas was capering by the marquee, arms held aloft like a ballerina. Kath caught a brief glimpse of some vast, oily tragedy skulking beneath Marnie’s red-roofed life, and she closed her eyes for a moment, afraid that Marnie would mistake sympathy for pity. Marnie cleared her throat.

“Well, I wanted to thank you, too, for saving the hair. I’m having Emily make it into a bracelet for Jas.”

It was Kath’s turn to nod. “It’s alright. I’m just glad I could help.”

“You’re a good neighbour, you know that?”

And Kath smiled, only a little sad. “It’s not a competition.”

“Never said it was.”

Up by the maypole, Lewis hefted a megaphone.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Pelican Town flower dance! I’m pleased to see so many faces, new and familiar, on this beautiful green. Now,”

Kath stopped listening as she realised Marnie was muttering along with the words. When she turned to look at her, the older woman snorted.

“He’s been practicing that for weeks, and never mind it’s the same every year. A dance has been held in this valley for hundreds and hundreds of years, celebrating the return of summer and the fruitful months… Yoba, I could recite this speech on my deathbed.”

Kath snickered, covering her mouth with her hand, and for a moment they were like naughty schoolchildren sharing a joke. It felt good. Light.

“… And we continue the tradition in our own way, with young dancers from this very town. Please put your hands together and welcome the maypole dancers!”

Marnie glanced over her shoulder, then sagged with relief as applause broke out across the meadow. “Ah, here come the lads.”

Before Kath could look, Jas came running over, out of breath. She faltered when she saw Kath; away from the farm, Jas was painfully shy. Marnie sniffed, then smiled down at the girl.

“Do you see Uncle Shane?”

Jas pointed, then, unable to maintain her silence, squeaked, “he said he was dancing for me!”

Marnie’s smile broadened. “Of course he is, chick. Let’s all go get a good view.”

There was a four-piece band set up at the head of the dancing space (an area Kath had demarcated earlier with flower pots and haybales, suffering Evelyn’s exacting direction on the location of each shade of pansy): a drummer, a fiddler, a mini-harpist and a man with an accordion. Kath felt a twinge of fondness as the harpist strummed a few notes, fingers instinctively twitching with half-forgotten patterns. She’d liked the mini-harp: that and riding were the only hobbies that had really stuck. Of course, she’d stopped practicing in college- who had time for music when there was a law degree demanding attention?- but she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it. It was with this thought that she looked up and saw the dancers lining up on the other side of the green.

They formed two neat rows: women in white, men in blue. Haley was at the front. She looked like a drawing from a storybook, white dress glowing in the sunlight, a crown of flowers on her golden hair. Evelyn’s boy stood next to her, wearing an old-fashioned blue shirt and a buttonhole. He was just handsome enough to pull it off- Kath glanced around for Evelyn and saw her on the far side of the green, practically swelling with pride. Even her dour husband looked halfway to cheerful. A breeze tripped across the meadow, setting the maypole ribbons fluttering. Kath restrained a glare in their direction: the pole had been awful to set up, listing one way or another. It had taken her nearly half-an-hour to get it straight, with Pierre stood a few feet away offering helpful comments. Off to the side, the fiddler drew out one long note.

The dance began slow. The women went one way, the men the other, forming two concentric circles around the pole. Kath at last caught sight of Leah, who looked positively catatonic but was at least going in the right direction. Kath tried to smile encouragingly in her direction, but Leah didn’t notice. Elliott, who was going the other way, did. Kath’s gaze all but tripped over him.

He looked handsome, though of course he always looked handsome. He’d tied his hair in a neat braid, but it wasn’t that, either. It was more an improvement by comparison. The other men were managing the traditional clothing like a heavy burden; they twisted, shifted it, tried to bear it the best they could. Elliott, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease. Kath suddenly remembered going shopping with nanny for a formal dress, and nanny’s comment that some of the dresses were wearing her. Elliott’s clothes were decidedly not wearing him. This conclusion passed in a second, in parallel to his half-smile in return, a combination that forced a faint blush to her face. Mercifully, the dance took Elliott away and Kath fixed her gaze elsewhere, then steered her attention back to the music. The band were good, at least by Kath’s ear. She picked carefully through the separate strains- steady drum, twanging harp, the swaying melody of the accordion- until she was calm again. The dancers went into the pole and took up their ribbons. It surely couldn’t last much longer.

The problem was, Kath decided, that Elliott really hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was a good dancer. He was good, good enough to move with poise, naturally in rhythm. He never stomped. When he joined hands with a partner, he made it look easy. The fiddle soared, the slight scrape against the strings making Kath’s heart kick in hasty motion. Spectators were beginning to clap along as the ribbons interwove and the tempo increased towards a jig. Long hair began to fly out behind, white skirts swirling. Somebody cheered.

With a closing yaw from the accordion, the dancers dropped their ribbons. Applause went up across the meadow. The top quarter of the pole was now wrapped with intertwined colour, the loose ends left to swing in the breeze. All the women curtsied (Leah a little clumsily- Kath guessed her legs were shaking), before they left the green in single file. The Mayor got back on the megaphone, extolling the virtues of the produce tent, but Kath was already making a beeline for Gus’s stand. The dancers had congregated there, no doubt claiming their bribe of a free meal. Leah was sagging in the queue, chatting to Maru. Kath went to join them.

“Well done.”

“It’s over,” Leah said, closing her eyes in the manner of one recently delivered from a shipwreck, or some other life-threatening escapade. “It’s over, and I don’t have to do it again for another year.”

“Only two hours until we can take these things off,” Maru added, pulling at her collar. “The world’s least practical dancewear.”

“At least your dress fits,” a soft voice chimed in. Maru’s friend had come over, the one who taught local children when the bus wasn’t running. Her red hair was carefully plaited and festooned with daisies. Even Kath could see that her dress had been made for somebody far taller- the whole garment draped sadly on her narrow frame.

“You know, I bet Emily could alter it for you,” Maru said, eyeing the dress with a critical expression. “You’re right, it really is unflattering.”

There was a slightly awkward pause, until Leah emitted a theatrical groan.

“These dresses are the most beastly things in the world. Do you think Mayor Lewis would have me strung up if I deliberately dropped sauce on it?”

Maru’s friend- Penny, Kath remembered- looked grateful. “It does seem like a risk.”

“Nah, he’d just have you hung, drawn and quartered,” Maru said, cheerfully. “But don’t let me stop you!”

At that moment, they moved to the front of the queue. Gus gave them a slightly harassed smile.

“Three portions of the cauliflower?”

“Oh, Gus,” Leah started to say, looking at Kath, who was grateful but held up her box.

“Don’t worry, I’m good.”

“I really should give you one for free,” Gus said, conversationally, doling out portions. “You grew these cauliflowers. They’re really excellent.”

Kath inexplicably went bright red and smiled wider than the moon. “Thanks.”

Leah nudged her in the side. “Good job, farmer.”

Maru was swiftly summoned by her dad, taking Penny with her. Leah scanned the meadow, shading her eyes.

“What are you looking for?” Kath asked, still flush from Gus’s compliment.

“Low traffic areas,” Leah explained. “Lewis warned us people might want to talk to us about the town. No thank you.”

Kath grinned, confident enough to needle her friend.

“But you love Pelican Town.”

Leah’s mouth worked like two sentences were fighting for supremacy on the battleground of her tongue. Eventually, she sighed.

“I do love Pelican Town. But I’ll love it a lot more when I’m out of this dress with a glass of wine in my hand.”

“Then you’ll want to steer towards the produce tent. I stashed a few haybales round the side- we can probably commandeer them.”

“You are fantastic.”

For once, Kath didn’t deflect. They skulked along the side of the meadow, dodging clumps of tourists, before Kath poked her head around the corner of the tent. Inside was busy with “sponge sightseers” (Evelyn’s term), but there were only two people occupying Kath’s secret haybales. Her heart still sank: it was Elliott and Harvey. They were eating in companiable silence, but Harvey looked up when he saw her.

“Hello, Kath.”

“Oh, thank God.” Leah wasted no time, ducking past Kath and dropping onto a vacant haybale. “Thank God, thank God, thank God. If anyone comes by, tell them I’m having a heart attack.”

Harvey cleared his throat, looking bemused. “Medically speaking…”

Leah shot him a glare. “You’d back me up, doc. This dress has made my blood pressure rise by five-thousand points.”

“Not actually possible,” he started, then backtracked, seeing the look on her face, “but I’m diagnosing you with acute stress. Would you like a glass of water?”

“Would you?” She asked, dropping the theatrics. “Seriously, Harvey, you don’t have to.”

He grimaced, but got to his feet. “I should at least show my face. And you’re giving me an excuse to retreat after too long.”

She grinned. “It’s a deal.”

Elliott cleared his throat. “Where is the defibrillator? I ask out of purely academic curiosity.”

Leah was close enough to shove him, so she did. Kath took Harvey’s vacated bale, distracting herself by digging into her food. Marnie had even supplied a little wooden fork. Kath felt very touched by this small gesture. She ate, pride suffusing her as she replayed Gus’s compliment. I grew this. I made this possible.

“I thought you did well,” Elliott said, when some of the feral air around Leah had dissipated following the application of food. Leah waved her free hand, mouth half-full.

“Shut up, smug man who can dance.”

He frowned. “Am I smug?”

“I’m projecting. And envious. You make it look so graceful. I’m just-” she mimed a stiff sort of wiggle.

“You looked fine,” Kath assured, relaxing somewhat. “Stop worrying.”

“I concur,” Elliott said. There was a conversational lull, during which Katherine happened upon a thought that wouldn’t usually have made it past her filter, back when she thought she couldn’t make people laugh.

“I wonder what I’ll have to do next year,” she mused. “Disfiguring rash? Pneumonia? It’s a bit late in the season for that, though, not enough rain.”

The other two laughed: Leah snickering, Elliott verging on a guffaw. Kath felt her own smile widen.

“Traffic accident? Hard to engineer out here, though, given the whole town has three vehicles total.”

“Challenging,” Elliott allowed. Kath gave him a crooked grin.

“I like to push myself.”

The last of her tension eased. This was still Elliott, her strange friend with a kind heart. His clothes didn’t change who he was. She could handle that.

“Are you coming back to the Thursgoods’ house?” Leah asked.

“Back to where?”

“Emily and Hayley’s place. They always host the afterparty, apparently.”

“The afterparty?”

“Another tradition,” Elliott filled in. “Following tear-down, everyone partakes in an evening of revelry.”

“And what does revelry consist of?” Kath asked, trying to keep her tone light. She’d never liked parties back in Zuzu. The other clerks tended to disappear after an hour or so, leaving her behind like a coat on a chair. Was it worse being talked to or being left alone? Katherine had never come to a solid conclusion on that- she’d stopped going to parties before she could gather sufficient data.

But things are different here, she reminded herself. It might be alright. Leah sighed, setting aside her empty box.

“Well, if it’s anything like their Fair Affair last year, Haley will set up their old dance mat, Emily will make pot brownies and most people will get embarrassingly drunk. It’s chill. Though I guess there might be a few more out-of-towners coming tonight.”

Kath frowned. “Am I invited?”

Leah gave her an odd look. “Everyone’s invited.”

It felt like a rebuke, so Kath switched her attention back to the last bites of her food, happy mood deflating like a punctured balloon. An old part of her, a part that had settled into something resembling quietude in the recent weeks, grinned with sly smugness. This is why you don’t depend on people. You always go too far, end up entwined.

Over on her haybale, Leah groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face.

“Sorry, Kath. I have zero patience today.”

Kath looked up at her, disarmed by the apology. An odd, soft feeling opened at the base of her throat.

“I was being too sensitive.”

Leah looked genuinely offended; it took Kath a moment to realise that it was on her behalf. “Don’t say that!”

“I feel like I should be apologising, now?”

“Oh, Yoba. Elliott, make me stop talking.”

“Such mountains I could move if might were strengthened by wishing,” he muttered, obviously quoting something. Leah gasped, breaking into laughter.

“Ouch!”

“I ask you for something, and you deliver. You ask me for something, and I am never confident I can follow through.” His words were dry enough to carry the hint of a joke. Leah shot him a very fond look, just as Harvey came back around the corner, carrying a bottle of water and looking ruffled.

“You OK, doc?” Leah asked.

“Crowds are a health hazard,” he mumbled, offering her the water and sinking onto the bale beside her. Leah took it and made a mock toast.

“Cheers to that.”

They lurked as a loose quartet for the rest of the afternoon, listening to the band and deflecting attention as best they could. Kath lay back on the haybale, taking in the sun, the music, the prickle of straw against the back of her neck. She made a mental to-do list for a while, then worried about the party. But something about the soporific heat sapped even her frantic energy to the extent that she started to think about very little at all. The shapes of clouds. The brush of grass against her fingers. For the first time in a long, long time, she just was. Her heartrate slowed.

That sensation of calm carried her right through teardown, through gifts of yet more leftovers from Evelyn (though she could just about afford to feed herself now, she couldn’t bring herself to turn her down- it would hurt the old lady’s feelings), right up to the edge of the meadow where the trucks were parked. Kath had ridden out to the meadow in the passenger seat of Marnie’s pickup that morning. She looked instinctively for the same spot, but Shane was already climbing in, shutting the door. The truck bed was jammed with plant pots and tent paraphernalia. There was no way Kath was squeezing in there unless she was prepared to hold on with both hands and flap like a kite. She grimaced.

“Hey, Kath, there’s room up here!” Leah was gesturing to her from the bed of Lewis’s truck, where she sat with her feet dangling over the tailgate. Kath gave her a look that she hoped was simultaneously quizzical and concerned.

“Is that legal?”

Somebody knocked into her as they passed: Abigail, a flurry of white lace and lavender hair. “Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud, Katherine,” she said, saying Kath’s name all sing-song. “We come to the festival like this every year and nobody’s died. Yoba knows I wish they would though, then the whole thing would be called off.”

“You have some weird fantasies, Abigail,” Leah said, face dead straight, as Abigail jumped up into the truck beside her. “Aren’t you going back with your parents?”

“Ew. No.”

Kath almost refused the ride there and then, and never mind that the walk back would easily take her an hour, but Leah widened her eyes in a way that said don’t you dare leave me, and Kath wasn’t that cruel. She walked up to the back of the truck, then found herself stymied. How had they both got up there? It wasn’t like there was a step.

Abigail snickered. “Not much of a farm girl, are you?”

Katherine opted not to answer back, given how well that had gone last time. She experimentally placed her hands on the bed- but no, she’d bellyflop forward like a child scrambling out of a swimming pool.

“Are you in need of assistance?”

She hadn’t noticed Elliott approaching, so he caught her off guard, like low sun on a bend in the road. She squinted, flushing. Her gut told her to pretend that she didn’t. Her head- and, OK, maybe a bit of her heart- told her to give it up.

“This is embarrassing,” she said, a middle way. In response, he did something completely unexpected: he dropped to one knee, then gestured to the flat top of his thigh.

“A temporary step,” he said, apparently completely unselfconscious. Up in the truck, Leah cracked a smile.

“You are such a gentleman.”

He just inclined his head. And, because it became swiftly apparent that he wouldn’t move until Kath had taken up his offer (and, realistically, nobody was moving until she took up his offer, unless she wanted him to bodily throw her up there), she made herself move closer. Stiffly, she wiped her shoes on the grass, then managed, in one semi-fluid motion, to step, twist, and hoist. His thigh was perfectly steady for the brief moment it bore her weight. She ended up sat on the tailgate, facing outwards, a little red-faced but equally relieved. And squishy. In the heart area. To distract from this inconvenient sensation, she scooted back until she sat beside Leah. Thus situated, she looked up.

“Thank you, Elliott.”

He had straightened, nodding. Then, in an easy, loping manoeuvre, he swung himself up into the back of the truck, weight pivoting on his hands. Abigail yelped in surprise. Leah held up a hand for him to high-five.

“A ten, a ten. Gold medal for truck bed jumping.”

He gave a small smile, gently slapping his hand against hers. “Thank you.”

Lewis came by to shut the gate, then they drove back through the golden hour. Kath closed her eyes and tried to let herself relax. This was a challenge, in part due to the ruts in the road, in part due to Elliott’s long legs stretched out in front of him, close to hers. Her brain stuck like a scratched record on him kneeling down, an action so natural it had almost seemed instinctual.

He’s a helper, she told herself, a noticer, it does come naturally to him. He still sees you as the half-mad, half-starved creature you were when you first met. It’s no surprise he does things for you. It doesn’t make you special.

Bones sufficiently rattled, Lewis dropped them off one by one- it was still early, and the party apparently didn’t start until dark. Leah persuaded Kath into her cottage, then immediately fled into her bedroom to tear off the white dress. As she changed, Kath perused her friend’s multiple easels. Leah was painting landscapes again, something she said she did for practice, rather than profit. Kath didn’t see why, given the evident skill, but she wasn’t about to question. From the bedroom, Leah called out:

“What are you wearing tonight?”

“This?”

The silence Leah left said more than any expression of outrage. Kath grimaced.

“Many of my shirts have been sacrificed for the good of the farm. Most of them, actually. Are you going to make me walk up there to fetch the only one that’s never been worn outdoors?”

Leah’s face poked round the jamb.

“No. You can just borrow something from me. Come have a look.”

Kath wasn’t sure what to make of this offer. She knew, of course, that she no longer looked polished the way she had in Zuzu- she’d lost track of how many days she’d gone without mascara, how long it had been since she’d last worn perfume- and a part of her missed it. She’d always held a quiet admiration for the feminine arts, had a soft spot for this genteel kind of armour. On the other hand, abandoning it all had been strangely relaxing. Kath experienced a brief rush of emotion, contemplating this. Would she still fit into that armour? Or would she find herself expanded beyond its edges?

Leah interpreted her silence as a different kind of reluctance.

“I promise that it’s not all hippy clothes.”

Kath cracked a smile, moving towards the bedroom.

“I never said it was.”

Leah poured them a nip of rhubarb gin and, on an empty stomach, Kath felt herself turning fluttery all too quickly. She went through Leah’s wardrobe once, then twice, making comments. Laughter slipped out like quicksilver. Before they left, Leah dug around in her nightstand drawer, coming up with a tube of red lipstick.

“I never wore it,” she assured Kath, “besides, it’ll suit your colouring much better than mine.”

Kath pressed it on with old precision, watching carefully in the mirror. It felt strange to wear a red lip without anything else on her face; she looked somehow bare, more stark. Was that a bad thing? Kath decided not to care. She straightened Leah’s shirt on her shoulders and looked down at herself.

Leah didn’t own anything in the pale colours Kath had once favoured for the office: no white, no baby blue, absolutely nothing pinstripe. To compliment the dark blue jeans Kath was now apparently wearing to death, she’d chosen a maroon shirt with opalescent buttons. Leah was wearing a dress, knee-length, strappy, her hair pulled up into a ponytail. She paused beside Kath for a moment, the mirror framing them better than a photograph.

“Don’t we look hot?”

Kath smiled. With the lipstick, it looked oddly mischievous. “We are hot.”

Leah looped her arm through Kath’s with astonishing easiness and towed her out into the thickening dusk. It was warm enough for Kath to push up her sleeves. They walked alongside the burble of the river until light- and music- spilled over the road up ahead. The party was already swinging enough to spread onto the porch: strangers, all young and nicely dressed, sat on the swing, drinking beers and talking. Kath tucked her hair behind her ear on nervous reflex, but they barely glanced over as she and Leah climbed the steps.

“Hayley’s sorority,” Leah said, under her breath, pushing open the door. “They don’t bite.”

Inside, the house was pleasantly busy. Strumming, upbeat music hummed over a speaker system. Kath noted that most people had opted to take their shoes off at the door. The gesture struck her as surprisingly civilised; she immediately followed suit.

“Ladies, ladies!”

Hayley descended on them, wearing a gold satin slip dress and carrying a tray of drinks. She was obviously already tipsy- she smiled at them with uncharacteristic warmth.

“Quick, take a drink, be merry, fucking mingle! The dance mat comes out at ten and I expect everyone to participate, so drink accordingly. Unless you’d rather get high with Em and her weirdo friends, but where’s the fun in that?”

Kath immediately took a glass. What a classy house party, to have drinks served in glasses. They even had reusable straws and crushed ice. She supposed Emily was a bartender, though. When she tasted it, she was surprised by the hit of sugar. Cranberries, maybe? The alcohol was a barely-there sting on the back of her tongue. Hayley whirled away, smile bright and sparkling. Leah raised an eyebrow.

“Get high or dance?”

Kath eyed the two enormous couches in the front room, spotting the back of Maru’s head, Penny’s slender figure, Harvey’s socked feet. Her people, so much as she had them.

“Dance mat,” she said. “Weed doesn’t agree with me.”

That was a lie. Kath had never tried weed, always armed with an excuse to deflect offers. She had no desire to try any psychoactive substances beyond old-fashioned alcohol; she could admit to herself that her brain was a strange enough place as it was. Besides, there was that habitual fear of dependency. She didn’t want to take the risk.

But Leah didn’t so much as question, so they went over to the couches. A few adventurous souls had integrated with the locals, and they were introduced in a round of names: this is Lexi, Georgia, Harper, hey, I’m Magda. Kath nodded, knowing she wouldn’t remember. They shuffled, making room. The party started to happen again, absorbing them both like mixing paint, and Kath began to relax. The Thursgoods had a beautiful home, décor shaped by both money and taste. Somebody- Haley, probably- had strung fairylights along the banister and across the picture frames. The light was soft and comfortable. Kath felt warm.

She spent twenty minutes sandwiched between Penny and Maru, talking about new universes, telescopes and the science curriculum. Then Maru wandered off to the kitchen, and Sam flopped onto the nearby footstool, pulling out a pack of cards. A game swiftly followed, one that Kath didn’t really understand but wasn’t too bad at. Leah didn’t join them. She was squeezed next to Magda on the other couch, talking with a flirtatious intensity that even Kath managed to notice. Oh, she thought. That made sense. Magda was very pretty, with her brown skin and cropped hair dyed a pinkish silver. Kath smiled to herself, looking down at her hand. Good. Leah deserved to be happy. The front door opened again as she was laying down an ace.

“Elliott!” Hayley cooed, appearing with a suddenness only a hairsbreadth from teleportation. “Oh, look, you dressed up! Get in here, you’re just in time for the dancing.”

Kath glanced over her shoulder, then felt her eyebrows jump up towards her hairline. Elliott had dressed up. Her mind, once-conditioned by teen historical romances, supplied a handful of suitable words: he looked like a blade, like a dandy. His hair was still braided, but he now wore a sharply tailored suit jacket over a shirt and suspenders. The burgundy velvet brought out the red tones in his hair. He could have just stepped out of a time machine. Just like earlier, he looked completely at home. Kath wondered if his jawline was actually sharper, or if it was just the lighting. Either way, she stared at him until he caught her looking. His smile made her feel weak.

She jumped when Sam whistled.

“Looking sharp, man!”

Elliott inclined his head, coming over to the couch. It was probably the alcohol, but Kath was suddenly hyperaware of everyone looking up at him, of Lexi’s tiny smirk that so clearly telegraphed interest. You are an adult woman, Kath told herself sternly, ignoring the surge of irritation that clawed up her throat. Stop this nonsense.

She was saved by Emily’s musical call to dinner. There was pizza and aubergine fritters. Kath was grateful to have something to line her stomach, but she steered well clear of the brownies. She fell in with Harvey for a while, talking about planes, of all things, before Haley clapped her hands together.

“Dance mat, dance mat!”

Several of her sorority sisters took up the chant and led the charge back to the TV. Kath felt a tickle of childish glee in amongst the instinctive dread- she’d never really been one for sleepovers, but this…

It was a sugary rush, Lexi versus Haley, glossy hair bouncing. Kath thought the rules were interestingly esoteric: winner stayed on, but had to take a drink. Someone had broken out a bottle of tequila and Haley slammed back her shot, triumphant. It took four more challengers before she was dethroned, toppled by Abigail, of all people, who got a near-perfect score on an old scene-rock track Kath remembered from her late teens. Abby gestured for Sam to come up, her eyes watering from the liquor. He did. He crushed her. Alex whooped.

Sam reigned supreme for a while, and when he put Leah down to the tune of I’m Always Yours, Kath knew it was all but inevitable. Leah, who was laughing and flushed, beckoned to her.

“Come on, Kath!”

Haley, who was calf-limbed on the plush rug, dress riding up, twisted to look back at Kath. “Rules are rules, new girl! You’re summoned, you get up there, honey.”

The endearments only came out when Haley was drunk, and they were said with an acerbic bite that tempered the sweetness. Kath got stiffly to her feet.

“I know that.”

Sam grinned at her, a little glassy-eyed. “Newbie’s choice, I think. What are we dancing?”

Kath had been expecting the question and had her answer ready. Her chest felt tight with everyone looking at her, but she wouldn’t be shamed by backing down now. “Dance It Up.”

“Oh, a classic, huh? Alrighty, alrighty…”

He found the song in the menu. Kath stepped onto the mat, nostalgia tingling up through her feet. Tenth birthday, a nanny present. Part of moving to the new house: her playroom had been on the ground floor, so they hadn’t had to worry about noise from the jumping. She and Rosa had spent hours on that thing, the summers Kath had come back from boarding school. She flexed her fingers, feeling like a boxer winding up for a bout in the ring. It had only been thirteen years. Surely the muscle memory was still in there somewhere.

The music started, and yes, it was, after a fashion. Kath missed a few beats to start with, stumbling down long disused neural pathways, but she got back on track. Adrenaline thudded in time with the bass. Left, left, right, front pair, right, right. Sam cursed, nearly losing his footing, laughing. And then the song was over. The scores flashed up on the screen.

“Fuck!” Sam exclaimed, still laughing. He clapped Kath on the shoulder. “Nice one, partner.”

Kath smiled, feeling a bit feral. Even the shot Hayley passed up to her couldn’t take the shine off the moment. She knocked it back, then gagged. Vile stuff. The others laughed, but for once Kath was sure they weren’t laughing at her. Just laughing. Because it was funny. Heat burned down her gullet then swirled in her gut. She pulled her hair away from her neck, warmer than was comfortable, grinning.

“Chose your victim!” Hayley prodded. “Someone who hasn’t been yet.”

Kath narrowed her eyes. Elliott hadn’t been, but that was far too teen rom-com for her taste, and anyway, she was enjoying winning. She wasn’t about to pick someone she knew could dance. Instead, her eyes alighted upon Alex.

“Alex.”

He groaned, but got up. “Fine, farm girl. Put on anything. We both know I’m going down.”

“No fancy gridball footwork to save you?” Kath asked, tequila taking her tongue completely off the leash. “Come on, man, where’s your fight?”

He barked a laugh. “Damn, who knew you were so feisty? Bring it, then.”

She brought it. He scored abysmally. Kath actually raised a hand in triumph. The room was beginning to get loose at the edges. Before she could get worried, she downed her shot.

Unlike the first one, this swallow hit wrong. She didn’t cough, she didn’t even gag, but the liquor burned so hard it hurt. Nausea hit her from the side, an oncoming train. She swayed, putting a hand up to her forehead. Her fingertips felt strangely cold.

“Oh, God,” she heard Hayley say, “is she going to puke?”

Leah got up and put an arm around Kath’s shoulders. Kath knew it was her by the smell of her deodorant, the flash of red in her peripheral vision. She tried to breathe through the room spinning, but it just wouldn’t stop.

“Kath, let’s go to the bathroom, OK?”

Kath let herself be steered. She wanted to say that she wasn’t going to throw up, but she actually didn’t trust herself enough to open her mouth. The room wavered from lounge to bathroom. Leah deposited Kath on the closed toilet seat, then went to open the window. Cooler air filtered in.

“Do you need to throw up?” Leah asked. Her voice sounded strangely far away. Kath wanted to shake her head, but her stomach lurched. With a groan, she slid off the toilet and onto her knees. Leah was at her side in a trice, lifting the seat, pulling back her hair as she retched. It was bad. The only positive was that when it was over, she no longer felt nauseous. Her nose and throat burned from the bile.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Occupied!” Leah yelled out. “Give us five minutes.” She passed Kath a tissue to wipe her mouth.

“It’s me. I have a glass of water.”

Elliott’s voice. Kath closed her eyes, squeezing out moisture. She burned with humiliation. Clumsily, she got to her feet and flushed the toilet. If he was going to see her, it wasn’t going to be hugging porcelain. Leah kept a hand on her at all times.

“I can tell him to go away,” she said, in a low tone. “We can stay in here for a bit.”

Kath shook her head, forced herself to look in the mirror. She looked wan and watery eyed; the red lipstick had smudged beyond all hope. She wadded another piece of tissue and scraped off the remaining scraps of pigment, before splashing her face with cold water. There. She could at least hold her head high.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’d rather get it over with.”

Leah’s grip on her shoulder stopped her heading for the door.

“You know nobody’s going to judge you, right? They might rib you about it, but literally everyone has gone too far on a night out. Please don’t worry, OK?”

Tipsy Leah was extra earnest; Kath had to nod before she let go. Outside, Elliott knocked again.

Kath pulled the door open and made herself look at him. Wordlessly, he proffered the glass. She accepted, scorched tastebuds overcoming her shame. She drank half of it in three swallows. Leah rubbed her back.

“That’s good. Keep drinking. Want to sit down? Or go outside? Fresh air might help.”

“I’m just going to sit down,” Kath said, hoping she sounded calm. At least the bile was dissipating. She went to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair, ignoring the way her hands were trembling. Shrieks of laughter tumbled through from the living room, competing with the spangling strains of music issuing from another room at the back of the house. Kath could smell weed and incense intermingling. She tried to focus on taking slow, steady breaths.

Elliott and Leah sat with her. After Kath had drained the glass all the way, she looked at them both.

“You don’t have to wait with me. Really.”

She wanted to say that she was going home, but in order to go home, she’d have to walk past everyone in the living room and she couldn’t face that yet. Instead, she made herself look at Leah. Leah, who was gay in a small town and had been laughing for Magda for the past two hours; Leah, who deserved something better than all this waiting.

“Kath-”

“Seriously,” she said, “all I’m going to do is sit here for a while. Go have fun.”

“I can stay,” Elliott added, and for once, Kath didn’t prickle. She just wondered if he’d also noticed Leah and Magda, and then thought- of course he had. The man noticed everything.

And Leah was enough on their wavelength that she coloured, smiling a smile that was supposed to be secretive. She looked so grateful.

“Are you sure?”

Kath nodded, as emphatic as she could be, and Leah squeezed her hand before going back to the living room. Kath closed her eyes. The walls were still a little devious, swaying in her periphery. She wasn’t about to trust them until she was more hydrated.

A soft thunk as a fresh glass was set before her.

“You should keep drinking water,” Elliott said, quietly. “It will reduce the aftereffects.”

Kath opened her eyes, managed a wan smile.

“Contrary to appearances, this isn’t actually my first time drinking.”

“Forgive me. I assumed, as you do not drink at the saloon…”

Kath realised that he was right; she hadn’t drunk anything since the new year. No wonder her tolerance was shot. That, and the mixing, and the spike of adrenaline… She shook her head, then applied herself to her water.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” she clarified, when she was done. “I’m not- sober, or anything.”

She’d hoped he might push back, get defensive: I never said you were. But he didn’t. He just listened, big hands folded together. He drew the truth from her like pulling a splinter from beneath skin. Kath wanted to hate him for that. She really did.

“I couldn’t afford to drink when I first moved here.” There, she’d started now, and tomorrow she could maybe pretend she’d been drunker than she had been and hope Elliott wouldn’t even bother to ask. She pressed her palms against the side of the glass, feeling the condensation there. “I had no money. And then I got out of the habit.”

“Of drinking?”

She was sober enough to pick up on his meaning, and shot him a wry smile. “Yes. And of having no money. That was something of a crash course.”

He nodded. “Had you always been comfortable, before then?”

Kath didn’t like the question, but she answered anyway. “Yes. More than comfortable. I mean, I worried, but not for any reason.”

Another nod.

“I know it’s supposed to be character-building, being broke. In college, or whenever. But my father wouldn’t hear of it. So I suppose I skipped those lessons. At least, before it was too late.”

“Those aren’t lessons,” Elliott said, his voice suddenly grim. Kath looked at him.

“Oh?”

He met her eyes. “I was homeless for a time.”

The shock of it went through her, nesting in her ribcage. She said his name because she had to say something. It came out strong and noticeably pained. Somehow, he softened.

“It was a long time ago now. When I first left the brotherhood.”

Kath was still hurting. “How old were you? For how long?”

“I was seventeen. And it was only for six months. I was lucky.”

“I’m glad,” she said, meaning the lucky part, then afraid he wouldn’t understand that. But he did. He approached a smile.

“As am I.”

“Elliott!” It was Maru, up from the couch, calling through to the kitchen. “You haven’t danced yet!”

“I am keeping Kath company!” He called back. “Proceed without me.”

“You can go if you want,” Kath said. “I mean, you can dance. You’ll wipe the floor with them.”

He looked back towards the living room. “I doubt that. There’s dancing, and there is a dance mat, it seems.”

She nodded, relaxing. Why had she risked him leaving? She didn’t want him to leave.

“You have a point. I can’t dance to save my life.”

“People often overcomplicate dancing,” he said, a little distracted. When she frowned, he tilted his head. “It is simply a beat, then walking.”

“Difficult walking.”

“Inventive walking. Listen. This is a waltz.”

He meant the music Emily was playing. Kath knew about rhythm and tempo from the mini-harp; she listened, following. One-two-three, one-two-three.

“I hear it.”

“And you can walk.” He cracked a smile. “I have seen it.”

“Rumours. Conjecture.”

“I can show you how to dance, if you’d like. You will find yourself more capable than you expect.”

She meant to gape at him. She meant to tell him no, because she was still a little unsteady and she’d made quite enough of a fool of herself already tonight. But a hot, needy little creature that might have been her heart lunged forward, making for those hazel eyes. When had she noticed that his eyes were hazel, not pure green? She wasn’t sure.

“Alright,” she said, managing to sound somewhat bashful. He stood up. She did, too. And then he took her hand.

His touch seemed to suck the breath right out of her. That was the only explanation she could find for the sudden pull she felt in her chest, the gasp that died in her throat. Mercifully, without air, she couldn’t make a sound as he fitted his other hand against her waist.

“Weight on your right foot,” he told her. She stood like a stiff flamingo. He chuckled, and she felt it move through him, transmitting through his palms.

“Step back on the left.”

She did. He followed easily, just the right amount.

“Step to the side with your right foot. Close your feet together.”

When her feet closed, so did his.

“And again in reverse. Forward on the right, side with the left, close.”

This they did several times slowly, then in time with the music. One-two-three, one-two-three. Forward-side-close, forward-side-close. After a while, Elliott stopped talking her through it. They moved together, closer and closer. His chest was only a breath from hers. His hands were so warm. She could smell his cologne, soft and a little musky. As the music trembled and soared, Kath tilted her head to look up at him. The thought came to her and caught fire in the same blazing moment. She wanted to kiss him. And she badly wanted him to kiss her back.

He caught her looking, and she saw the moment he read the truth in her expression. She held out hope for a whole heartbeat, an eternity, point-five seconds too long. His face was blank, then… horrified. He dropped her all at once, stepping back. The music hadn’t finished. Kath was, though. Horribly, shamefully finished.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as coolly as she could manage. “I misread.”

Then she stepped past him and strode back through the living room. Why hadn’t she told him she was drunk? Even at her lowest, she could no longer lie to him. The realisation infuriated her.

“Sweetie! Where do you think you’re going?!”

It was Haley, scrambling to her feet, blonde hair askew. Kath made herself stop, lifted her chin.

“Home. Thanks for the party, Hayley.”

“You can’t go now!”

Kath smiled, though it felt brittle. “I can. Besides, I’m technically undefeated on the dance mat.”

Haley lurched closer, bestowing a fluttery hug, hands poised on Kath’s shoulders. Kath was glad of the overpowering floral scent. It chased away some of the memories. Then she pushed down her sleeves and left, grateful for the light of the moon. She didn’t have a torch. She hadn’t thought she’d need one.

Chapter Text

Kath raged via axe-blow for five days straight, sweating her guts out in the impromptu thicket that had sprung up along the southern boundary. After Robin had shown her how to fell her first tree, she was away. Her hands blistered, even with gloves. She was perversely pleased. She didn’t allow herself to think in specifics. She was angry, so she worked. The why was useless to her.

It didn’t help that Leah was all but overflowing with Magda this and Magda that. The parts of Kath that weren’t smarting with shame and bile were thrilled for her friend. The rest of her wanted to scream. Magda had gone home with Leah that very night. They were texting every day. Kath wondered if there was a spell to erase her malaise; if she whispered into the spotted mirror, “Fucking Magda, fucking Magda, fucking Magda,” would she stop being haunted by that stupid night? She almost tried it. Fucking Magda. Fuck the whole thing.

She was planting strawberries when her phone chimed.

Leah to Cabin Crew: dinner?????

Kath had been dreading this. She sat back on her heels, chewing her lip.

What you should have done, a small voice berated her, was gone and talked to him. Cleared the air. You are supposed to be mature, an adult about these things. You misread the situation. Fine. Move on.

“Too late for that,” Kath muttered, unable to stop herself.

Elliott is typing.

Kath dropped her phone in the dirt, face down, and went back to her plants, heart drumming in her throat. She had known it was too good to last. She had known and she’d still…

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Not tonight.

Oh, it was bad. Not a single alas. Kath burned again with fresh humiliation. She hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t meant to do any of this.

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Unfortunately, a close friend has been admitted to hospital. I will be visiting her on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Perhaps we could reconvene another night?

And then Kath felt like a completely different flavour of shit.

Leah to Cabin Crew: oh no, is it serious?

Kath to Cabin Crew: I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything we can do to help?

Elliott to Cabin Crew: She is likely to be an inpatient for some time. And thank you for the offer, but there is no need. The valley bus service is sufficient for my needs.

Leah to Cabin Crew: shall we meet on Saturday? No pressure E but we can take your mind off things

Kath quelled an absurd surge of jealousy at Leah’s usage of a nickname, a one-letter nickname, for crying out loud. She groaned, stowing her phone in her back pocket and rubbing her forehead. Elliott had just turned her down again. He had a friend who was in trouble. Dying? Kath had no idea. But she was chewing over it all the same.

“Hey, Kath!”

She was glad of the excuse to straighten up. Marnie was coming past the millpond, wearing dungarees that looked older than Kath and a straw hat patched with baler twine. She was smiling broadly.

“I need to talk to you!” The older woman added, before stopping, hands on hips, admiring Kath’s handiwork. “My, I hardly recognise the place! Robin said you’d been working on that copse down by the south gate. But this - it looks good!”

For the first time in five days, Kath felt a twinge of genuine pleasure.

“Thanks, Marnie.”

They went into the cabin. Kath left the door open, trying to tempt the breeze. When she’d poured Marnie some sweet tea, they sat at the kitchen table.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Marnie took a swallow of tea. “Two things. Actually, three. First up: chickens. Thoughts?”

Kath gave her a quizzical look. Marnie gestured in the general direction of the millpond.

“Your granddad used to keep chickens here. The coop’s long gone, but you could do the same. Chickens are great earners, once they start laying regular. Plus, they’re adorable. Mine are, at any rate!”

Kath narrowed her eyes. “Did you come all this way to try and sell me your chickens?”

“Yup.” Marnie was unabashed. “You know, Robin could build you a coop. Maybe out of all that fresh wood you’ve chopped down.”

Kath tried to think back to Marnie’s yard, to the chickens scratching behind a wire fence. “Isn’t there more to it than a coop?”

“Yeah. You’ll want a heater, a couple of waterers and a storage bin for grain or pellets. Plus, it’s worth investing in some good fencing to keep the foxes out. If you buy new, that’ll cost you a few grand.”

Kath mentally brought up her bank balance, then did some easy, if dispiriting, math. “I can’t afford that, Marnie.”

The other woman held up a finger. “If you buy new. Here.” She pulled a flyer from her pocket. “Got this today in the mail. Farm clearance sale over Grampleton way, next Saturday. I happen to know for a fact that the old gent who’s retiring kept chickens in a small way. He’ll have all the gear you’ll need.”

“A clearance sale? Like an estate sale?”

“I guess. It’s an auction, there’ll be all sorts going under the hammer. You should go.”

“How? There’s no bus to Grampleton on Saturdays.” Kath had the bus schedule memorised, though she’d never used it. Marnie snorted.

“Doubt they’d let you bring a heater back on the bus! You can take my truck. You can drive, right?”

Kath admitted that she could, her mind racing. 

“That settles it,” Marnie said, pushing the flyer towards her. “Come down to mine when I’ve drunk this and we’ll take the old girl for a spin - she’s a little tricky on the gas sometimes, but I’ll show you the knack. Oh, and find somebody to go with you to Grampleton. I’d suggest Shane, but - well, he works Saturday mornings. And don’t ask me, I’ve got milk to pasteurise.”

Kath nodded, looking down at the flyer. She felt strangely excited. She would have animals to take care of. Animals of her own. Marnie finished her drink and they both set out across the acreage. It was warm, just a few picturesquely puffy clouds balanced in the sky. As they crossed the farm’s boundary, Kath remembered what Marnie had said.

“What was the third thing?”

Marnie smiled. She looked younger in her dungarees, brown hair dishevelled. Summer was going to suit her, Kath could just tell.

“You’ll see.”

Kath frowned, but didn’t bother pushing for an answer. Marnie took her own time with everything. It was one of things Kath admired about her.

The farmhouse was quiet: Jas at school, Shane at work. Marnie led her into the kitchen. On the table sat two metal dishes, a large cardboard box, and a small woollen mouse. Written on the side of the box in childish handwriting was the word “Kath” and a wobbly drawing of a cat. Kath actually put a hand up to her mouth.

“Marnie…”

“Yes?” She was grinning.

Kath tried to find the words, but she was completely speechless. Marnie patted her on the shoulder.

“Now, don’t say anything about paying me or giving anything in return. You already have. Besides, I only wanted to keep the one kitten and that left one going spare, and I know you’ve got mice in that cabin.” She grinned again. “Robin warned me I’d have to logic you into accepting the darn cat. Did I do it right?”

Kath nodded, finally recovering her tongue. “I - yeah. You did it right. Thank you, Marnie. I’m so grateful.”

“Ah, be on with you. Want to pick up your new kitten and drive him home?”

Kath nodded again, more fervently. Marnie laughed.

“Figured you’d say that. Come on, let’s go find the rascal.”

The “rascal” was sunning himself on a window ledge, all twenty-five centimetres of ginger fluff stretched out from head to toe. He squeaked with pleasure when he saw them and was perfectly happy being manhandled into Marnie’s tatty plastic carrier. Kath wasn’t sure she’d ever met a more even-tempered cat, and her main experience had been with Pudding, who was mellower than a buttercup.

“You don’t have to keep that name, you know,” Marnie said, as they carried him out to the truck. “I let Jas name them all, but I seriously doubt they’ll keep what she lumped them with.”

Kath gave her look of mock outrage. “I think you’ll find that Custard is a perfect name.”

Marnie snorted. “Well, he is thick and sweet, I’ll give you that.”

Kath drove back the long way, back down into town, only stalling once at the first junction. Marnie laughed, but not unkindly. Then she showed Kath how to set up the litterbox, left a basic set of instructions and hopped back into her truck. Custard poked around the cabin, supremely unconcerned by his new surroundings. Kath watched him, entranced. Only this morning, she’d been excited by the prospect of chickens. Now she had a cat. An actual pet, all her own. The responsibility staggered her. Daddy had never wanted animals in the house. They were messy, they smelled, they damaged things. Privately, young Kath had always thought he might be wrong about that. Now, watching Custard, she became certain. There was nothing better in this universe than a tiny, adorable creature to boss you around.

This thought hitched itself to a long-brewing train that had been circling the back rooms of Kath’s mind for some time. All her life, she had been beholden to her father. She had lived according to his ideals, done her best to measure up against his standards. She knew she failed, and failed often, but she’d always kept trying. His yardstick had been the only one that really mattered.

Ever since moving here - ever since Joja had torn her up and spat her on the curb - the seed of a question had begun germinating in her mind. Kath was, for all her faults, not a stupid woman. When reality repeatedly smacked her in the face, she usually tried to reassess where she was standing. All the stress she’d felt back in Zuzu, the stress she’d attributed to working hard in a high-pressure industry, the stress she’d always thought was sponged away by a good word from Anna in her performance review - she’d sort of stopped feeling it. After all, strawberry plants were notably silent on the issue of targets met and missed. They just grew. Or not. Same thing, apparently, with neighbours. It worked or it didn’t. And - the night of the flower dance not withstanding - so it was with friends. Kath had those now. She was already beginning to value them far more than any meagre pay raise.

All in all, Kath was starting to think that daddy’s perspective might be skewed on a few things. More than a few things. And that thought gave her an odd kind of strength. He wouldn’t approve of what she was doing, but so what? She was an adult. He couldn’t stop her. Grandpa had left the farm to her. She was a lawyer, for crying out loud. She knew a will when she saw one.

“Be a good boy, Custard,” she told the cat. Then she went back to her strawberry plants. There were a few hours of daylight left. She could get all the seeds in before the sun went down.

Kath to Leah: Do you have any plans for this Saturday?

Leah to Kath: sketching, why?? Anything fun?

Kath to Leah: That depends on your definition of fun, but I could do with a companion. I’m taking Marnie’s truck to a farm clearance sale at Grampleton. I might need somebody to do some heavy lifting.

Leah to Kath: oh sure I’m in!!

They ended up meeting for dinner on Friday night. Kath fretted herself half to death in the intervening time. She almost went down to the beach on more than one occasion, but she stopped herself. She was too much a coward for a face-to-face confrontation, and too proud to text him. So, she went to the saloon resolved to take Elliott’s lead. If he wanted to talk about it, they would talk about it. If he wanted to pretend it never happened, she could self-administer selective amnesia - at least outwardly. Mercifully, Leah showed up first. Her easy chatter took the edge off Kath’s nerves, keeping her hands occupied with scraping the label off her bottle of ginger ale. By the time Elliott came through the door, she was almost normal.

And so was he. Almost normal. He talked the way he usually did, but his eyes were downcast. For her part, Kath pretended. She pretended that looking him didn’t make her heart lurch. She pretended- and this was hard- that she was unaffected by his gaze grazing hers, the brief and heady glimpses of hazel. But she did it. And, after a little focus, the meal went well. The way it always did. As they were finishing the final dish (miniature fish tacos), Elliott asked them what their plans were for the weekend. Leah brightened.

“Oh, Magda asked me to go with her to an art exhibition in Zuzu! I’m catching the early bus.”

Kath looked at her, heart sinking. “Leah…”

“What?” Then she seemed to realise. “Oh! Oh, shit, Kath, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”

You forgot because you’re so tied up with your new girlfriend, Kath thought, rather uncharitably. She was annoyed. Now she’d have to handle the farm sale on her own. She wasn’t even sure she could get a heater in the back of the truck: Marnie had shown her what she was looking for and the thing weighed a ton.

“Am I missing something?” Elliott asked. Leah sank down in her chair, looking shamefaced.

“I promised Kath I’d help her tomorrow. She’s going to a…?”

“Farm clearance sale,” Kath supplied. “For the chickens I was telling you about.”

“Ah. And you need a second?”

“I don’t think they make you duel for the old feed bins,” Kath said, approximating a joke, and he did laugh. “But yeah. I could do with a second pair of hands.”

“I am available. If you still require assistance.”

She met his offer with remarkable steadiness. Of course, practicality dictated that she accept. So, she did. Leah promised to buy them both drinks the next time they met, full of apologies and profuse expressions of gratitude. Kath was glad of it; it gave her something else to focus on.

And then, just as they were leaving, Leah piped up again.

“Have either of you been reading about the Flag in the Water lawsuit?”

Kath felt like she’d missed a step leaving the saloon, though they were already down on the pavement. Leah continued, oblivious.

“Turns out the Flag lawyers had their office broken into the other night! People are saying it was Joja. I mean, yeah. If the suit hasn’t already been dismissed, they must have something big to back up their case. Joja must be shitting bricks. No offence, Kath.”

Kath unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “None taken.”

Her mind was racing. Flag in the Water. Operation Lustre. The stacks and stacks of notes still neatly piled back in her cabin. Joja must be shitting bricks. She walked when the others did, not really listening, heart beating so hard it was almost painful.

“Kath?”

“Hm?”

She looked up. They were halfway across the square. The other two were watching her, as though waiting for an answer. Kath swallowed.

“Sorry. I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

“I was just wondering what you thought about the lawsuit. Whether Flag actually has a chance.”

Kath said something - she knew she did, her mouth moved, sound came out. But what it was, she couldn’t begin to guess. A far-off ringing had started in her ears.

“I, um, I think I’ll take the quick way home tonight. Early start tomorrow.”

Leah was a little taken aback, but she hugged her all the same. Elliott just stood to one side, and when she made to go, he said, “Leaving at eight?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, and they went their separate ways. Kath walked faster and faster, until she was nearly running. She knew she should go to bed. She really did have an early start the next morning. But she couldn’t. She had to know.

Flag in the Water was a tiny coastal town out east, halfway between the port of Opel and the sandy beach resorts of Surfer’s Cove. Forty-three years ago, Joja Corp had purchased a large plot of marshy land sixteen kilometres north of the town’s boundaries as part of their chemical amelioration strategy. Operations had closed after twenty years, moving to another site at Windbeam, but that hadn’t stopped a group of disgruntled townsfolk mobilising five years ago and filing a lawsuit against Joja. The legal department had swung into action. Kath, wet behind the ears, had been drafted straight onto Operation Lustre, direct report to Anna Lawrence.

Sometime later, she’d started making copies.

She unlocked her cabin door and fumbled for a light. She jumped as something bumped into her ankle, but it was only Custard. He squeaked with delight when she looked down at him. Despite herself, Kath smiled.

“Up for some late night reading, chéri?”

He squeaked again, lunking over to the desk. Poor boy clearly hadn’t got the memo about feline grace. A little of Kath’s tension eased. She set the lamp on the edge of the desk and got to work.

It was slow going. She was rusty from lack of practice and that frustrated her. Mental signposts had become worn, some of the lettering flaked and illegible. She got lost among thickets of legalese, trapped by complex chemical definitions. After an hour, she flung down her pen in a fury. Custard had got bored of her lap ages ago and was now stalking the skirting boards, listening to the mice. Kath realised she hadn’t started reading this because she wanted to know. It had just been something to do. Some way to shout into the void.

The puzzle of why she’d been fired (sacked, expunged, disgraced, Kath could conjure endless words for it, and had, in the dark nights of her heart) had been one Kath had put on pause. At first, she’d been too preoccupied with surviving - first minute to minute, then hour to hour. After that, there had been… Distractions. A little taste of living, for a change. But now, after what Leah had said, she understood. Someone had leaked documents from Joja to Flag in the Water’s lawyers. For whatever reason, Anna - or somebody above Anna - had suspected Katherine. And that had been it. She’d been out. Evicted. For something she didn’t do.

There must be something to it, Kath found herself thinking, for all that she burned with injustice. They wouldn’t be trying so hard to recover the information otherwise. She looked back at her notes, the lantern now burning very low. Perhaps the answer was in here somewhere. Waiting for somebody to tease it out.

Kath shoved herself up from the table, nearly knocking over her chair in the process.

“And then what?” She demanded of herself, of the encroaching darkness. The risk loomed over her. Joja had let her go easy. They clearly hadn’t any proof of her supposed misdemeanour; that was why it had been so straightforward. If she went any further, she risked their real wrath. Press. Prosecution. An earth so scorched nothing would ever take root again.

She was distracted by a scuffle, followed by a pitiful mewl. She looked up. Custard was stranded on top of the pantry cupboard. She sighed.

“You might be a pain in my backside,” she said, hefting him down, “but I won’t risk you. I won’t risk this.”

She set him down, tidied away the notes, got into bed. Five minutes after she closed her eyes, there was a scuffle. A miaow. Kath opened her eyes against the blackness. She was so worn out that she laughed. This happened three more times before she went to sleep. After the final incident, she stacked a cast iron pot on top of the cupboard and hoped she wouldn’t hear an almighty crash.

The morning was rough. Kath did her watering gummy-eyed and listless, before stashing her envelope full of cash (half her savings, Yoba, she hoped this was a good idea) in the inside pocket of her jacket and schlepping down the Marnie’s. She arrived at seven minutes to eight. Marnie made her coffee, which went some way to reviving her. Then she passed over the keys.

“She’s full on gas. Just make sure you tie anything down in the bed, OK? Like I showed you.”

Kath nodded, then went out into the yard to wait. Elliott arrived at eight on the dot. He was wearing his hiking boots, which meant he was ready for some serious work. Kath mustered a smile.

“Shall we?”

The drive wasn’t so bad. Elliott coaxed the old CD player into life, rewarding them with Marnie’s finest mixtape. Neither of them spoke much. When they turned off the highway, however, Kath cleared her throat.

“Elliott. I wanted to apologise again. I’m sorry. I never-”

And she ran out of steam, throat going dry. She peered at road signs, looking for Upper Haywych. When he didn’t respond, she made herself finish.

“I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. I just wanted you to know that I regret my actions.”

That last was a lawyer apology, but she couldn’t really help it. The sign they were passing pointed to Lower Haywych. Should she turn off here? Her eyes were stinging.

She opted to stay on the road. In the passenger seat, Elliott shifted.

“I am sorry, too,” he said quietly, snuffing out the last of Kath’s futile hopes. She made herself breathe.

“Can we continue?” She asked, focusing on the road like it led to her salvation. There was a junction coming up. “Being friends, I mean?”

“Yes.” His answer was instantaneous, and it went some way to loosening the knot in her chest. The junction pointed to Upper Haywych. And, driven into the grass verge, a much smaller sign that simply read, SALE.

“I think we’re nearly there,” she said.

They drove in with twenty or so mud-spattered vehicles and parked up by a ramshackle farmhouse. All the lots had been set out in a grass paddock. Kath purchased a catalogue and went wandering. Elliott stuck close to her. Kath decided to go into detail about her chicken-rearing ambitions. It was a safe topic. He listened, like he always did, with a careful attentiveness. As Marnie had promised, they had everything here. It was all going cheap. Cheap enough for Kath to afford.

But only if the bidding stays low, a snide voice whispered to her. What will you do if you can only buy part of what you need?

I’ll think of something else, Kath thought. The auctioneer shuffled out of the house, loud-hailer in one hand, coffee in the other.

“What are your limits?” Elliott asked.

“A thousand on the heater. Two hundred for the feed bins. A hundred for the job lot of waterers.”

He nodded.

“Alright, folks!” The auctioneer called. “Alright. Let’s get straight to it.”

Two hours later, Kath was considerably poorer, noticeably sweatier and wholly triumphant as she finished lashing the heater to the truck bed. She clambered over the roll of fox-proof fencing and dropped to the ground, satisfied. Elliott closed the tailgate and latched it. The awkwardness between them was all but gone.

“I never asked,” Kath said, “how you got so good at climbing into trucks. And all of this, really.”

Elliott answered her as they walked back to the cab.

“The brotherhood kept a garden and a tree farm. I spent much of my time working with the elders who managed both.”

Huh. Kath hadn’t realised cults ran tree farms. Then again, they had to make money somehow. She nodded, jamming the key in the ignition.

“Are we good to go?”

“We are.”

She rolled the window partially down as they drove, her grip relaxed on the steering wheel. Something pressed at the base of her throat. It took her a few miles to realise that it was happiness. Driving at seventy, wind ruffling her hair, she felt free. A small-scale, concrete dream was realising in the back of her truck. And things between her and Elliott were fine. She could live with this. Suddenly taken by the moment, Kath started to smile. Sunshine fell through the windscreen and warmed her forearms, her chest, her stomach.

I won’t give this up, she realised. Not for a life I’ve already left behind.

She looked round, startled, as Elliott began to sing, too. He had pitched his voice an octave lower, but he held a good tune. When he caught her looking, he smiled, too.

“I read once,” he said, once the song was over, “that singing together fosters emotional ties.”

This was such an Elliott thing to say that Kath laughed. She laughed around the pain she felt, the pain of unmistakeable yearning.

“You’re a good friend, Elliott.”

I would have been sad to lose you. She almost said that, too, but there was only so far she could go without bumping into a grimy morass of emotions that she had no interest in wading through right now. She wanted to stay in the light. So, she stuck with singing until they were nearly off the highway.

“I wasn’t always called Elliott,” he said, apropos of nothing. Kath hated how much she liked this kind of conversation with him; the kind that was like a tune on the dance mat with nobody watching, the arrows flashing in front, then behind, her body moving to respond. She concentrated on using her wing mirrors before she answered.

“Oh?”

“I was born Eric,” he said. “That is the name on my birth certificate. However, all initiates are given new names. Boys choose from a list of Old Yerzish names - Katal, Oba, that sort of thing. Girls are named after virtues. I was called El.”

She heard his voice catch on that final syllable.

“I’m guessing you left that behind,” she said, carefully.

“I wish I had possessed the strength.” His voice was so quiet that she had to strain to hear him over the sound of the music, the air buffeting through the window. She didn’t dare move. It might break the spell.

“I thought I could carry that part of my life with me,” he continued. “I stowed my old name within the new and thought myself clever.”

“You are clever,” Kath rebutted, instinctively outraged that he would insult himself like that. Then she wished she’d stayed quiet. “Sorry. But you are.”

“You’re too kind.”

They were approaching the tunnel through the mountain. Kath gripped the steering wheel tighter. This road felt too narrow for all the twists in the dark. She mentally accounted for the truck’s four corners, the span of the wingmirrors. Instinctively, she eased off the accelerator.

“I’m not,” she muttered. The smell of cooler air filtered in through her open window. She ought to roll that up.

“Hm?”

“If I have an excess of anything, it’s definitely not kindness,” she said, louder. “So, I’m not too kind. I’m just honest. You’re-”

The beep of a horn made her flinch and jerk her gaze to the rear-view mirror. Headlights glared back. Something big - a lorry, maybe.

“I’m doing sixty,” she snapped, anxiety making her terse. “Don’t honk at me.”

They did it again. Kath gritted her teeth.

“You are not pressuring me,” she said. “I’m doing the right speed for the load and the road conditions. You’ll just have to - oh for-”

The lorry pulled out to overtake, heedless of the sweeping bend. Headlights flickered up ahead. Kath swore viciously and stamped on the brakes. Horns blared. The lorry missed an oncoming van by what seemed like inches, diving into the space Marnie’s truck should have been occupying. Kath’s seatbelt had caught her across the sternum, a hard wrench. She swore again. But they were all alive. Up ahead, the lorry roared away.

“Kath? Are you alright?”

Elliott sounded shaken, too. Kath couldn’t answer. She checked all her mirrors once, twice. Then she put the truck back into motion. It wasn’t safe to wait here. When they were doing fifty again, she managed to answer.

“I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes. Well done.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the road.

“Sorry,” she said, after a while. “I didn’t mean to get you killed when I asked you to come out to this.”

“It would be hard to construe an argument placing you at fault for that incident.”

“I hate this tunnel,” she admitted.

“I love it. The past five minutes excluded.”

“Why?” She asked, sounding angrier than she really was. He took his time answering.

“Every adventure story has a portal. Some means of crossing from the mundane to the fantastical. This tunnel is the valley’s portal. You blur in the ceiling lights and emerge into a world where everything is green.”

Kath didn’t know what to say. What is it like to see the world through your eyes? Does everything look brighter, more magical?

“I’d love to read what you’re writing, someday,” she said, instead. “If you can bear it.”

And she had the strangest feeling that she had just been his dance mat arrow, lighting up, guiding his steps. They came round the final bend. Light sparked up ahead.

“I could bear that.”

He helped her unload the truck and stash her purchases on her porch, then she drove him back down through town.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked, when they’d stopped on the flat stretch of tarmac that served as the parking lot for the beach. Kath nodded. Most of the adrenaline had burned itself out. Her sternum ached, but it was just a bruise.

“I’m sure. It was just a shock.”

He nodded. They said goodbye and Kath returned Marnie’s truck. Marnie made her stay for dinner. When she got back, her cabin was wailing. Custard was huddled atop the cast iron pot, shouting his lungs out. Kath extracted him with a few choice words about sensible climbing. This time, she blocked the top of the cupboards with an old biscuit tin, some gardening gloves, and a wadded-up towel. It worked for three whole nights.

Chapter Text

Summer gasped, then breathed out. Kath’s smallholding became more and more holding with every passing day. She found out that she loved the sun. After Leah took her for a spin around the thrift stores in Grampleton (a gesture Kath suspected was an apology for missing the farm sale, but one she appreciated nonetheless), she lived in cut-off denim shorts and a variety of ugly t-shirts, socks sagging over the top of her battered hiking boots. Her legs started to tan. She could afford to pay Jodi to take in her laundry now, so she had clean clothes on a Monday and a Thursday. She was planning to install an irrigation system in her northern field. And, of course, there were the chickens.

It had taken Robin two weeks to build her a coop, and a sturdier chicken residence had surely never been constructed in the history of the Ferngill Republic. Marnie sucked her teeth and said as long as Kath didn’t mind gathering the hens in at night, she could probably get away with leaving them unfenced for the time being, at least before it got cold. Scanning the acreage with a headtorch wasn’t Kath’s favourite chore, but she didn’t have the equipment or the muscle to dig foundations for the fox-proof fencing still rolled up in her porch, so she made do. Besides, she was already very fond of her chickens. Cheryl, Mindy and Florence pecked, scratched and generally bullied their way across her property (Custard was terrified of them) and they greeted Kath in the morning with imperious clucks. And eggs. Fresh, warm, beautiful eggs. Kath had already started selling them to Pierre and they were fetching good money. By the time they reached fall, the girls would already have paid back their start-up costs.

“Pretty, terrifying, and a sound investment,” Kath told them, scattering their morning corn. They grumbled in a pleased sort of way, before looking up as one. Kath checked over her shoulder. The Mayor was crossing her property, shading his eyes.

“Morning, Katherine!”

“Morning, Mayor!” She called back, feeling like she was in a pantomime. He looked pleased nonetheless.

“It’s really come on,” he said, giving her coop a suitably admiring glance. “Robin was telling me about all the work you’re doing. That’s actually the reason I’m here.”

“Not a social call?” Kath asked, dry, making him redden.

“I-”

“I don’t mind, Lewis. What’s up?” Oh, nanny would howl to hear her talking like that, but who was going to stop her?

“Well. Two things, actually. Two community requests. The first one is quite straightforward.”

Kath eyed him. “Oh?”

“Pelican Town will be hosting the annual Luau on the last day of July. Now-” he held up a hand before she could interrupt, “- I won’t hear of you helping set up. You’ve already done your shift. What I would like your help with is the pot luck. Pelican Town is famous for its stew, and we could do with some fresh corn. Valley grown, you might say.”

Kath looked north, towards her crop field. The corn was already knee-high. End of July…

“Shouldn’t be a problem. How many ears do you want?”

“Four should do nicely.”

She smiled. “I’ll pencil you in.”

“Thank you. As for the other request… Robin also mentioned you had some larger projects in mind. An irrigation system, did I hear?”

Kath nodded. Where was he going with this?

“Here in Pelican Town, we have a well-established system of community service. Assigned either as voluntary work or for infractions of the town codes. I was wondering if you’d be amenable to having farm work as an option for service? I thought you could use the help.”

Kath frowned, considering. “What kind of infractions are we talking, Lewis?”

“Oh, nothing violent, I assure you. Littering, parking violations, breaking noise restrictions, that sort of thing. Residents can either choose to pay a fine or perform a set number of service hours. Most opt for the service. To be frank, I’m running out of things for them to do. I did try to get folk interested in reviving the old community centre once upon a time, but that place really does require some specialist work. Anyway…”

“Digging an irrigation system is no small job,” Kath said. She was imagining Jodi scoring a parking ticket and collapsing with exhaustion after an hour with the spade. There was a reason she hadn’t attempted it by herself. “I mean, I do have menial chores, but I tend to take care of those myself.”

“Well, I actually have six strong young candidates in need of reformation. All perfectly capable of swinging a spade. Can I send them your way this Saturday?”

Kath wasn’t thrilled by the prospect, but the idea of having her sprinklers plumbed in months ahead of schedule was too tempting to pass up.

“Sure.”

He nodded, looking pleased.

“Thanks, Kath.”

“Tell them to bring their own spades!” She yelled after him.

She was regretting her decision come Saturday morning. After using half a mile of string to mark out the pipe runs, she was well behind her usual routine when she heard the gate unlatching.

“Hi, Kath!”

It was Emily, blue hair tucked under a wide-brimmed hat, pale legs shining in the sun. Hayley trailed behind her, looking sullen. Kath was pleased to note that they had brought the requested spade.

“Morning.”

Hayley looked pointedly at her watch. “Time starts now, by the way.”

Before Kath could say something biting in return, three more figures sloped through the gate. Blonde, brown and… lavender. Great.

Emily’s face brightened, looking south towards the trees. “And here comes Shane!”

Kath mentally kicked herself again. Why had she agreed to this?

“Yo, team!” Alex called. He’d brought a spade and a gridball. Kath felt an odd jolt of sympathy for Abigail, who looked like she was contemplating spontaneous combustion. Then she gave herself a talking to. This was something she’d agreed to, so this was her responsibility. And she was getting a free day’s digging out of it. The blonde, Sam, raised a hand in greeting. He was the only one without a digging implement.

“Morning,” she said, as Shane joined them, completely silent and red around the eyes. “Thanks for coming, even though you had to. We have a lot of work to do today. I see most of you brought spades.”

Sam clapped a hand to his forehead. “I knew I forgot something!”

“You can take mine,” Abigail said, glowering at nothing in particular. “It’s way too hot.”

Kath narrowed her eyes.

“Luckily, I have a spare.”

Abigail groaned.

Kath outlined her plan. Three of them would work on the irrigation channels. The other two could tackle the fox-proof fencing. One person would be on water duty. They’d rotate every forty-five minutes.

“If you start feeling faint, stop. If you feel sick, or start sweating profusely, stop. And don’t step on my crops. Are we clear?”

Alex actually saluted. “Yes, sir!”

Kath didn’t wait for the rest of them to agree. “Good. I need to go loose the girls.”

“Um,” Sam said, “loose the girls?”

Kath gave him a flat look. “Stay out of the long grass.”

Shane might have snorted, or she might have imagined it. Either way, she was relieved to be getting started.

With six pairs of hands, progress moved at an astonishing rate. By noon, three-quarters of the channels were dug and Kath’s army of reprobates had drunk eight jugs of water between them. She was relieved she’d planned ahead. She’d made a huge frittata (eggs courtesy of her hens), which she served to them sat on the steps of her porch. It went almost instantly, along with the last of her sweet tea. Custard lounged around like a king, accepting pets from all and sundry. Abigail in particular was very taken with him.

“I could steal you,” she crooned, scratching behind his ears. “I could, yes.”

“By all means,” Kath said, lightly. “He’s a terrible nuisance. Does absolutely nothing to earn his keep.”

Abigail looked as though she’d just had something very fundamental about Kath confirmed first-hand. She sat back on the porch and surveyed Kath’s farm like it was her kingdom.

“You know, I used to come exploring here, when it was empty,” she said, conversationally. “I liked it better when it was wild. Though there are definitely still some secrets here you’ve not found yet.”

Kath hadn’t meant to let herself get nettled, but this annoyed her. She straightened up, hopping down the porch steps.

“Alright. Back to it.”

Abigail grinned. “My turn on water duty.”

“I don’t think there’s a need, actually,” Kath said, mildly. “Given how much progress we’ve already made on the irrigation channels, I think it’ll only take two to finish it off. Shane and Emily, if you guys keep on with the fox fence, Abigail, Hayley and I can go exploring for a bit. We’ll come back to do a water run and rotate in after half an hour.”

“I do not want to go exploring,” Hayley said, emphatically.

Kath gave her a bland smile. “Tough. It’s that or come back tomorrow and help me muck out the chicken coop.”

Hayley actually gagged. “Yuck! No, thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Abigail led them first to the cave (“Demetrius is analysing the soil in there,” Kath said, keeping most of the smugness from her voice), then to an overgrown boundary on the western acreage. The forest had pushed its way over the fences long ago, thick and unmanaged. The air buzzed with the sound of insects. Hayley walked like she was worried about landmines. Abigail had more of a bushwhacking style. Kath went between them, wondering. Had Abigail led them out here to make fun of Kath? Waste her time?

“Watch out,” Abigail said. “Kind of early in the year for wasps, but there might be a few hanging around.”

“Wasps?!” Hayley demanded. “You didn’t say anything about wasps!”

“Cry me a river, princess. Worried you’ll break a nail?”

“Please stop,” Kath said, annoyed with the both of them (and more worried about wasps than she cared to admit). “This isn’t some kind of team-building retreat, but try to get along? It would make this more bearable.”

“No shit,” Abigail grunted. “Unfortunately, I don’t get along with bullies.”

“For crying out loud, Abigail, that was middle school! I already apologised to you, like, ten times.”

It raised Kath’s estimation of Hayley that she at least admitted to what she’d done. She also had a sudden insight into Abigail’s character. Clearly, she had grown up being the weird kid. She had learned to hold her ground. To lean into whatever was trying to push her around. In that light, her attitude made a lot more sense. And no wonder she’d taken so hard against Kath, who was practically the definition of straight-laced.

“Whatever,” Hayley continued. To Kath’s astonishment, she sounded kind of upset. “You can keep hating me if you like. We’re like, twenty-two years old. I’m over your bullshit, Abby.”

“Like you were ever under it,” Abby snapped. “Whatever. Here we are. Two apple trees. Enjoy.”

Kath’s jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”

Abigail folded her arms. Her hair was sticking to her forehead in the midday heat. She looked deeply unimpressed.

“Of course I’m serious, dummy. I’ve been eating apples from these trees since I was a kid.”

“Small insults bespeak a small mind,” Kath said, absently. The trees were quite pretty, in a tree sort of way. Tall, a little twisted, with thick boughs and clusters of green leaves. Apples. She would have apples, come fall. That was when apple trees fruited, right? She would have to clear this area out to make it easier to harvest. Maybe fence it in…

“Can we go back now?” Hayley asked. “Digging holes is better than this.”

Kath saw them all off the property at four on the dot, tired and relieved in equal measure. Managing other people was exhausting. Nonetheless, she had a full set of trenches dug ready to install blue piping tomorrow, and her girls were now fenced in. Kath had already caught Florence pecking at the wire. Vile little escape artist. Kath would never admit it, but she might be her favourite.

After that, community service became another semi-regular fixture in her summer routine. Lewis seemed to trust her after the first time was a success: thanks to him, Kath cleared the north and south trails, made a start on restoring the orchard, and laid down rubble to stave off mud come fall. Well, thanks to Sam and Shane, really. They were the two most regular offenders, though Kath never asked what for. She figured it wasn’t her business. She was just here to muck in, supply food, supply drinks, and sign off their slip of paper at the end of the day. At some point in July, Kath realised that her muscles no longer hurt when she got up in the morning. This made her feel inexplicably good.

The week before the Luau, Kath got a text.

Leah to Kath: do you have a bathing suit??

Kath to Leah: No, why?

Leah to Kath: you need one for the luau

Leah to Kath: everyone wears one

Leah to Kath: found that the hard way last year haha

Kath to Leah: Back to Grampleton, then?

Leah to Kath: I have a better idea

Kath hadn’t been back to the Thursgoods’ house since the night of the Flower Dance, and she kept her mind purposefully blank as Leah towed her across the threshold and into the living room.

“Through here!” Emily called.

She was in the room off the kitchen, the one Kath had assumed was her bedroom. It was actually a work room, or a sewing room: shelves along one wall stocked with bolts of fabric, a wide window to let in the light, and three sewing machines lined up on a desk. Fashion sketches papered the walls. Hayley was sat on a low pouffe, elbows on her knees, scrolling through her phone. Emily had adopted lotus position. She opened her eyes as Leah crossed the threshold.

“Leah! Kath! I’ve just been meditating on your aura, actually. I have some wonderful ideas for your bathing suit. And maybe a kimono? I think you’d suit one.”

“With her legs?” Hayley didn’t look up, but she did pull a face. “No. Make her a kaftan or something.”

“Legs are so impermanent,” Emily mused, unfolding her own and standing. “Atoms, really! Anyway. Kath, may I measure you?”

Kath managed to assent. Emily moved deftly with the tape measure, chattering the whole time. She and Leah seemed to get on well. Hayley stayed in the corner making comments.

“Don’t I owe you something for this?” Kath asked, as Emily started showing her fabric options. Hayley cleared her throat dramatically.

“I mean, next time Lewis decides we’re “disturbing the peace” by playing music after dark, why don’t you just say we did eight backbreaking hours of labour on your farm, rather than actually giving me blisters?”

Kath raised an eyebrow. “Interesting proposal.”

“I thought so.”

“Digging is very good for toning, though. Low intensity cardio.”

Hayley groaned. Kath thought they might be starting to get on. It was a strange idea, but not one she hated. When Emily promised to have it all sewn up by the Luau, Hayley actually waved farewell; an acerbic little motion, but a wave nonetheless. Leah audibly exhaled as they left.

“Thanks,” Kath said, enjoying the bright glare of the sunshine. “It was a good idea.”

“Is Hayley always like that?” Leah asked. She seemed a little perturbed. Kath shrugged.

“I think so. She’s alright, really. She works hard.”

“If you say so.”

“Is Magda coming to the Luau?” Kath asked. She’d made her peace with Magda- after all, it wasn’t her fault Kath had lost her head. Leah coloured, smiling that not-so-secret smile.

“Yeah. I’m really looking forward to showing her the valley.”

“I look forward to improving her impression of me,” Kath said, wryly. Leah giggled.

“She’ll love you! I promise. I’ve been waiting for you to like, spend time together. Properly. She doesn’t really understand why I live all the way out here, but this Saturday- she’ll get it.” Leah’s eyes were a little dreamy. “I can’t wait.”

Kath felt the mildest twinge of unease at that, but she reminded herself that she certainly hadn’t understood valley life when she’d arrived here. And now she had a dinner club and a smallholding and a neighbour making her a bathing suit. Magda would surely come around.

It felt very strange walking through Pelican Town in nothing but a bikini, a wrap and a towel. Were it not for the cars in the beach parking lot and the faint hum of music, Kath might have wondered if somebody had played a practical joke on her. But no- as she crested the dunes, she saw people on the beach below. The majority were in swimming costumes, or at least board shorts and patterned shirts. Everything that could be grilled had been tossed on a giant barbeque; a similarly outsized stew pot was bubbling atop a traditional outdoor fire pit. Cheerful music played from a set of speakers. Kath was relieved to spot Marnie manning a ladle- she made a beeline for her, eager to offload her canvas bag of corn. The combined heat of the sun and the fire was thick in the air. Kath practically drank it in.

Leah and Magda ushered her away soon after, taking her to their tiny empire of beach towels. Magda was already laughing too loud, but Kath tried not to mind. Leah plainly adored her. They made a very striking pair, and Kath guessed that Leah knew that, too: something to do with an artist’s sensibilities. She sat with them and watched the braver souls forge into the water. She would join them. Just not yet.

She’d deliberately not thought about Elliott. Not thought about him opening his door onto the festival, about whether he would be there when she arrived, whether he would be joining them. For all she knew, he was at the hospital again. He went twice a week, but sometimes more. Sometimes without telling them. All Kath knew was that the injured party was an old friend he’d lived with before coming to Pelican Town, and this yawning gap of knowledge reminded herself forcibly of her own foolishness. There she was, thinking again. Kath switched her gaze to Alex, who was tossing a gridball on the edge of the waves and looking pleased with himself. When he caught her eyes, he smirked. Kath wanted to give him a flat stare, but she ended up laughing. The sunshine had evidently gone to her head.

Magda was saying something to Leah in a low voice, and Leah brightened.

“Hey, you’re right. We should go swim!”

Kath didn’t miss the way Magda’s mouth tightened for an instant; again, she tried not to blame her. Instead, she stretched her head back, half-shutting her eyes.

“You both go ahead. I’ll be down in a bit.”

Leah barely protested. An instant later, she heard them get up, go down, shriek into the waves. There was a strange, sore feeling at the base of Kath’s throat. Maybe loneliness. Maybe a desperately sad conviction that, no matter how hard she tried to stop it, the world was still turning. Her perfect window of alignment was slowly sliding closed.

“Hi.”

She didn’t open her eyes immediately. She knew it was Elliott by the sound of his voice, and she didn’t want to look at him; or she did, and she didn’t like the feeling.

“Hello.”

“Are you basking?” He wanted to know. Kath felt her lips curl despite herself.

“Yes.”

No reply other than the shifting sand. She cracked an eye and found him laid back, propped on his elbows, head tipped back to match hers. He was wearing what he usually wore: linen trousers, light shirt. Kath told herself this was a good thing. It would be easier to smother the sparks without seeing him shirtless.

“Not planning on swimming?” She asked him.

“I cannot swim.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You live on the beach.”

“I therefore have a deep and abiding respect for the waves.”

“Landlubber.”

“There is only one among us who handles dirt for a living.”

She huffed a laugh, then got to her feet. “I’ll abandon you for a short while, then.”

“Kath.” He said her name to make her pause, using it like punctuation. She looked back at him. His hair glimmered in the bright light, shades of copper and blonde. There was a shade of guilt in his expression. “How goes it? Swimming, I mean.”

She remembered their conversation amongst the tide pools, all the bluster and pain of a storm. It embarrassed her, looking back, but it was still one of the most honest things she’d ever said. A promised land, shrouded in fog. Her fear of the water.

“It’s hard,” she said, “but I think I’m doing it.”

And that night came between them again, his arms around her, the triple step of a waltzing heartbeat, and Kath looked away, cursing herself. She dropped her towel.

“See you in a bit.”

She didn’t look back as she went down to the sea. Hayley shrieked, pointing out her farmer’s tan. Alex tried to dunk them both. Kath leapt into the path of a wave, going deep enough to float, then ducked her head under. The two-piece bathing suit Emily had made fit her like a glove, and it made her feel good, too. Like she was confident in her own skin. It had little decorative bows at the waist and shoulders: pretty details, the kind of thing she’d liked as a kid. She joined in a chaotic game of tide volleyball and started laughing when Vincent jumped off the dock like a starfish. Swimming, she thought. I’m swimming.

Later, up by the speakers, Sam taught her how to do the Sidewards Shuffle, and they went for three songs one after the other: step, clap, step, clap, wiggle your bum, jump left, jump back. Kath was terrible at wiggling. It made Sam laugh, and that made her laugh, too. Emily joined in, smelling faintly of weed, trying to demonstrate the requisite looseness in the hips. Kath couldn’t do it. For perhaps the first time in her life, not being able to do something didn’t frustrate her. She eventually went back to where Leah and Magda were sat side-by-side, and spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Elliott. It was easy. Painfully easy. This man has left a mark on me, Kath realised, as the day wound down. Even if I manage to kill these feelings, I won’t be able to change that. Maybe I’ll never stop reaching for him.

This admission was supposed to make her feel lighter, but it followed her home that night and wormed its way into her dreams. She was marked, indelibly changed. By this town, by the people in it, by Elliott, Elliott, Elliott, who had been like the slow coming of Spring. She’d been cold, until she hadn’t been. A few noticeable leaps- the first thaw, the first bud- but mostly so slow and inexorable as to be all but invisible. Now she looked about her and found everything green. She was in the hazy realm between crush and outright blinding love. And she knew for certain that he did not want her back.

It took her a while to come to terms with that. Weeks, in fact, sliding beyond July and into the soupy heat of August. She used the excuse of farm work more often, and she was falling into bed exhausted most nights, too tired to contemplate walking another step, never mind dinner. Leah was further preoccupied with Magda, vanishing into Zuzu most weekends. And Elliott withdrew. Kath was glad of it. To cauterise the wound, inoculate herself, whatever, she needed space. She needed to accept things as they were. The Cabin Crew went on something of a summer hiatus. They barely saw one another for three weeks.

Leah to Cabin Crew: jellies jellies jellies

Kath to Cabin Crew: Jellies?

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Jellies.

Kath to Cabin Crew: Jellies?!

Leah to Cabin Crew: ok stop :haha:

Leah to Cabin Crew: the moonlight jellies will be here next week

Leah to Cabin Crew: I vote to revive cabin crew and get drunk and watch jellies

Leah to Cabin Crew: who’s with me???

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Motion seconded.

Kath to Cabin Crew: … Jellies?

She asked Evelyn about it later, whilst the old lady was demonstrating the best way to whip cream, and had it confirmed: yes, glowing jellyfish apparently did swarm the oceans at the end of August. It sounded like an exaggeration to Kath, but she was determined to go anyway. She’d done enough sulking.

And then, on Sunday afternoon, daddy called.

Kath shouldn’t have picked up. She did anyway, seized by some greater force: old habits, maybe, or old wounds. Her chest felt tight. It made it hard to answer.

“Hello, daddy.”

“Katherine.”

The silence that followed was cold, angry. Kath began to quail.

“Daddy, I-”

“Scott tells me you were dismissed.” Scott. Anna’s boss. “Were you dismissed?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Speak up.”

“I was dismissed.”

Another silence.

“I handed you that job on a plate, Katherine. How could you possibly find a way to fail? I’m embarrassed for you.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t defend herself. She feared his anger like a hammer blow falling. Eventually, he sighed.

“Mihir might take you. If you think you can continue freeloading, you have another thing coming. I never thought you were lazy. Plenty of other things, but not that.”

These words were the iron bar, the riot shield, shoving her until her back hit the wall. Katherine panicked, cornered. Her self-control trembled.

“I’m not,” she said, desperately. “I’m not.”

“No? Working, are you?”

“I’m on the farm,” she got out, then immediately regretted it. Her father started to laugh.

“The farm?! Oh, this gets better.” Then he collected himself. “Stop squatting with the natives, Katherine. Get your shit together.”

She knew he thought he was motivating her. She could hear it in the way he barked, biting off the end of every word. Kath was not motivated. She was trembling. She felt like a child.

“No.”

He didn’t bother answering. Just left another of those cold silences until Kath’s willpower spasmed and broke.

“I like it here, daddy,” she said, almost pleading. “I think I- I prefer it. To Zuzu. I have-” She cut herself off, started again. “I’m going to stay here.”

“I see.”

He didn’t, but in that fleeting moment, Kath let herself believe anyway.

“Call me when you’re done wasting your life,” daddy said. And he hung up.

Katherine hadn’t been allowed to cry when daddy corrected her in person. Back in college, over the phone, she’d been proud that she could hold back the tears. But she wasn’t that person anymore. She dropped her phone to the floor, curled up on the bed and howled.

Sometime later, there was a knock on the door. Kath was lying on her back, feeling dull. She rolled to the side, then got up, not bothering to comb her hair. Leah stood on her porch. Her smile swiftly faded.

“Hey- are you OK?”

Kath stared back for a brief moment, then shook her head. She remembered, suddenly, why Leah was here. The jellies. Her lip trembled.

“Sorry, Leah. I can’t come out tonight.”

“I was worried about you,” Leah said, not moving. “You weren’t responding to our texts.”

Kath looked over at her phone, screen-down on the floor.

“My dad called,” she said. Tears pricked her eyes again. How could she have anything left to cry?

“Oh,” Leah said, like she understood. Then she enfolded Kath in her arms.

Leah let her cry and rant for a good thirty minutes. She was a good listener. A good questioner, too. Several times, Kath’s answers left her strangely speechless. It took Kath a while to parse her reaction as outrage. Leah was outraged on her behalf. This realisation made something warm seep through her blood.

“You know most parents aren’t like that,” Leah said, when Kath had run out of steam. “Like, they’re weird, but normal weird. And they love their kids. They act like they love their kids.”

Leah saw her parents once a month, Kath knew, like a ritual. She tried to imagine daddy caring enough to see her once a month. Or even once a year. She swallowed, looking down at her hands.

“Can we stop talking about this now?”

“Of course,” Leah said, softly. It was already dusky outside, the crickets singing beyond the porch. Custard was no doubt out there somewhere, chasing bats. She’d need to leave the window ajar so he could get back in while she was out.

“Um. I actually came here to tell you something.”

Kath looked up. Leah was hunched now, twisting the end of her braid in her fingers.

“Magda and I broke up.”

“Oh,” Kath said. Then, “oh, Leah. I’m sorry.”

Leah sniffed, then chewed her lower lip for a moment.

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve just been listening to me complain for half an hour,” Kath realised, horrified. “Leah. That’s unacceptable.”

Weirdly, Leah laughed. “I don’t have a monopoly on the personal crisis market. We can share.”

“What happened?” Kath asked. “I thought…” I thought things were going well for you.

“She wanted me to move back to Zuzu with her,” Leah said, sounding distracted but looking pained. “She, um, thought this place was too “quaint” and “backward” for her. And, by extension, me.”

It was Kath’s turn to feel outraged. “Backward?!”

“Yeah.”

Kath took a moment to consider.

“I understand that you might have some residual feelings of fondness towards her. But I will kill her if that’s what you’d like me to do. I’ll do it neatly and with polite derision.”

Leah started to laugh.

They went down to the beach in the twilight, following the beam of Leah’s flashlight, arm in arm. Kath felt light, fuzzy. Like an enormous weight of emotion had been shifted off her chest. Thinking about daddy still made her want to cry, but strangely, that was better than the old tightness between her lungs. Parents love their kids. They act like they love them. Well, Leah tonight had shown her more love than her father ever had. She was going to hold onto that with everything she had.

The beach was shrouded in darkness: a handful of hurricane lanterns marked the path out to the old wooden dock. Somehow, this made the waves sound louder, though Kath couldn’t explain why. Leah switched off her flashlight.

“The jellyfish like the light,” she explained, in a soft voice. “There’s this whole thing about lighting a lantern when it’s fully dark.”

“Do they think the lantern is a prospective partner?” Kath asked, as they moved down the dock, towards the fishing shack. When Leah snorted, she kept going, emboldened. “Have you brought me to a large-scale jellyfish seduction?”

“More of a wooing, I believe.” Elliott’s voice: the shape of him was visible in the moonlight. He sounded amused. Kath ignored the swooping sensation in her gut and instead reminded herself of how he’d pulled away from her in the Thursgoods’ kitchen. That was reality. This gave her the necessary strength to suck on her teeth and look around.

“Well, there’s candlelight, but no rose petals. Personally, I don’t think it’s a wooing without rose petals.”

“No poetry, either,” he said, definitely amused. The three of them stood together above the water, and Kath felt a sudden rush of affection for her two friends.

“What rhymes with jellyfish?” She mused.

“Smelly fish.” Leah sniggered. Elliott cleared his throat.

“Jellyfish, O jellyfish, I bring you… the smelly fish?”

“Told you,” Kath grinned. “Not much of a wooing.”

Elliott, stifled a chuckle, then went back to trying rhymes. This was a side of him Kath rarely saw; the playful, child-like man, all that wryness directed in any other direction than inward.

“Welly dish? Deli wish? It’s hard to find one good for romance, I grant you. Telly dish?”

“You’re promising to give the jellyfish satellite TV?”

Leah was laughing in that hushed, wheezy way she had, still holding onto Kath’s arm. Somewhere further up the dock, somebody shushed them. Kath breathed through her nose, trying not to tamp down her mirth. A match was struck, before a greater beacon flared to life. Quiet settled over the gathered crowd.

“We could sit down,” Elliott murmured. “It may be some time before they arrive.”

He had brought out a large knitted throw from his cabin, and the three of them huddled beneath it, legs dangling over the dock. Kath was careful to keep a sliver of space between her shoulder and Elliott’s. Overhead, a cloud shifted, and the moon shone even brighter.

“Here they come!” Somebody whispered. The breath caught in Kath’s throat.

She’d assumed the others had been exaggerating. She’d assumed, somehow, that the past six months had inured her to nature; to the span of it, the scale of its beauties. But this- this was astonishing. Unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

They came on the waves, drifting just beneath the surface like glowing gossamer. Each was no bigger than the span of Kath’s hand, but there were hundreds upon hundreds, and they all gave off a pale, ethereal light. The water seemed to swell with it until the very horizon shone, blurring the boundary between dark horizon and glittering sea. Like a pool of paint, they spread out towards the shore. Some came right under the dock.

Kath was entranced. After a while, she shifted under the blanket and lay down on her stomach, chin on her folded arms, staring down, fascinated. They were so delicate; gently pulsing bodies, frilly tentacles that swirled in the currents. Some were so tiny they could only be juveniles.

“They’re migrating,” Elliott said, softly. “Travelling south for the winter. Sailors used to believe that following them would grant fair winds.”

Kath imagined it, imagined the river of light beneath a creaking wooden hull. She smiled.

The beacon began to flicker, then dimmed. Kath could see the jellyfish at the furthest edges already drifting back out to sea. At her side, Elliott stirred.

“I have finished my book,” he said, quietly.

Kath and Leah looked up at him at the same time.

“That’s amazing!” Leah said. Kath felt an unusual emotion kindle in her own chest. Pride. She was proud of him. Was that weird?

“Well done,” she said, hoping he could hear her sincerity. In the fading light of the jellyfish, she could see that he was smiling.

“Thank you. I have promised myself that I will submit it for querying in the next few weeks.”

“They’ll love it,” Leah said, no hesitation.

“You can’t know that,” he answered, smile fading. Kath twisted, half-sitting up.

“We know you,” she said. “We know you, Elliott, so we know that whatever you’ve written will be excellent.”

He didn’t look at her. “But not perfect.”

It was almost fully dark. At Kath’s side, Leah heaved a sigh.

“Yoba’s knuckles, I need a drink. And so do you, E.”

Kath cleared her throat. “So do I, Leah.”

“It’s decided. We’re going to the saloon. And we’re not leaving until we’re all guaranteed a hangover.”

Chapter Text

Things got easier in September. Not easy - daddy still disapproved, Leah was making no end of angry paintings and presenting them to Kath for approval, and Elliott was still withdrawn - but easier. With her irrigation system fully functional and her corn still producing, Kath was finally out of the hole Joja had left her in at the start of the year. She’d even paid off the last of her debt to Harvey. Though she missed the summer sun, she didn’t miss the sweat or the flies. The strong cords of her muscles seemed here to stay. Her clothes fit right again. And the farm was beautiful in the fall.

Now that the evenings were drawing back in, she spent more time inside, reading. She would walk over to the library after she did her grocery shopping and pick out a handful of novels, chew through them in front of the fire - or, when the weather was very bad, hole up in a reading nook at the library and wait for the rain to pass. It only took three tries for her to stop hoping that she might meet Elliott there. Her heart, stubborn thing, was still putting up a fight, but Katherine didn’t pine. She refused to. Eventually, this hopeless longing would burn out and she would be free.

It was longing, though. Yearning. More ferocious than any middle-school crush, dry-mouthed and hot-cheeked. In the dark nights, alone in her bed, Kath admitted to herself that, if anything, it was getting worse. She could no longer dismiss this infatuation as a strange facet of her new life; no longer curse, as she once had, that she’d accidentally imprinted on him like a baby bird. She thought he was beautiful and intelligent, and she savoured their conversations like a fine wine. It went beyond the instinctual and into the practical, the pragmatic. She admired him something fierce.

But he doesn’t feel the same way, she told herself. He is your friend and that’s all, that’s everything. She would bite back her own regret and breathe until she fell asleep. It worked. Mostly. Things were fine.

One evening, Kath’s phone lit up as she poured herself tea.

Leah to Cabin Crew: how’s everyone’s day been??

Leah to Cabin Crew: I did this 😊

She sent a photograph of a small wooden sculpture, a handspan tall, situated on an unfamiliar garden table. Her parents’, probably. The piece lacked the fury of most of her recent work; Kath was relieved. Maybe the ghost of Magda had finally moved on.

Kath to Cabin Crew: :applause:

Kath to Cabin Crew: That looks really cool!

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Stunning, Leah, truly. Perhaps woodworking will be a new medium?

Elliott to Cabin Crew: My day has been somewhat derailed.

Kath to Cabin Crew: Are you alright?

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Unfortunately, the bus back from Zuzu has apparently gone into cardiac arrest.

He’d been visiting the hospital today. Kath straightened up, frowning.

Kath to Cabin Crew: Prognosis? Will you have to wait for the next one?

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Terminal, I’m afraid (hah). No bus until tomorrow. The chairs in the lobby aren’t too uncomfortable.

Elliot to Cabin Crew: At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Kath felt something break inside her: not dramatically, more like a glowstick snapping. Right.

Kath to Cabin Crew: Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not sleeping in the hospital. I’m coming to get you.

She shouldn’t have waited, but she did, anyway.

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Kath, I have survived worse.

She sighed.

Kath to Cabin Crew: I’m coming to get you.

She called Marnie, pulled on her big coat, walked across the farm in the fading light. It felt strange walking past Leah’s cottage, the windows dark. It felt even stranger climbing into the truck alone, finding the headlights, setting off into the dusk. The heater kicked in with a grumbling noise. Kath pulled over before she left Pelican Town, pressing buttons until the CD player came to life. Then she followed her sat-nav and drove.

Zuzu Hospital had three entrances, three lobbies. Kath found herself blinking in the fluorescent lights, joining the queue at the information desk. She was directed down the west corridor. There, in a cavernous waiting room, was Elliott. He had his back to her, hair in a careless braid, shoulders slumped. The chairs did not look comfortable.

“Hey,” Kath said, coming into his eyeline. He looked inexplicably surprised to see her. She folded her arms, car keys still in her hand. “I said I’d come and get you,” she added, feeling defensive.

He smiled at her. An honest, tired smile. “You did.”

“Ready to go?” She asked. She wanted to be out of here; she wondered if he did, too.

He stretched, a quiet groan pushing out of him as he cricked his neck. Kath looked at the overhead signs, willing away her blush.

“Thank you,” he told her, getting to his feet.

“You’d do the same for me,” she said.

“I can’t drive.”

“It’s metaphorical,” she sniffed, pretending to be proud, determined to wring another smile out of him. She succeeded.

“I don’t think so.”

“Allegorical?”

“Mm.”

“You can tell me I’m wrong, you know,” she said, as they crossed the foyer and went back into the carpark. “I don’t really mind.”

“I mind.”

What did that mean? Kath slid the thought away like butter on a hot pan, halfway to offending herself. He was tired and answering back. That was all there was to it.

They drove back in silence until Kath realised they were coming up on a roadside diner.

“Have you eaten?” She asked, slowing. Elliott looked around, like he’d only just remembered they were in the car together.

“No,” he admitted. “Hospital vending machines leave something to be desired in the culinary arts.”

Kath clicked on the indicator. “And how does all-day breakfast sound?”

“You don’t-”

“If you say you don’t have to, I’ll be forced to take drastic measures. Unless you’re allergic to all-day breakfast. In that case, I’m open to suggestions.”

“What kind of measures are drastic?” He wondered. The silence between them shrank somewhat, becoming less heavily laden with grief. Kath clicked her tongue against her teeth, picking a parking spot with three clear bays on either side, a little scarred by having to reverse in at the hospital.

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Consider me afraid,” he murmured.

The diner was all but empty, a little neon, a little greasy. The food came out within five minutes. Kath paid. She was hungry, too, and sore from thinking, from worrying, from worrying about thinking and thinking about worrying. Pancakes were probably the only known cure. Her panacea on a plate came stacked and dripping with maple syrup. Elliott ate breakfast, some of his meticulousness eroded, his mood sliding towards insular. As such, they didn’t talk. Somewhere in the back, a radio emitted a low, soothing hum.

When he was done, Elliott laid his cutlery vertically across the plate, tines of the fork touching the blade of the knife.

“Thank you.”

He dabbed his lips with a napkin. Kath had already finished her meal and was now applying herself to her coffee. She swallowed, shook her head.

“Think nothing of it.”

Something Marnie might say; Kath liked the gentleness of it, the way it spoke of honour amongst friends. Elliott’s face moved in a strange way, like he might disagree with her - but then he nodded.

“As you wish.”

“You want to talk?” She asked, still channelling Marnie. He looked down into his own cup as though hoping to scry a suitable reply. With a sudden, almost painful jolt, Kath realised that he was holding back tears.

“My apologies,” he said, thickly. “It’s… been a long day.”

Kath’s resolve was firmly shaken. She knew she should say something, anything - it’s alright, or don’t apologise - but she couldn’t unstick her throat, couldn’t find her way out of the emotional box she’d blundered into. Her head hurt. She tried more coffee, which didn’t help.

Elliott seemed to be doing better than she was, at least on the outside. He was breathing steadily, pulling himself back together. Kath wondered if he would apologise again. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at the mist on the window and started talking.

“I realise that I rarely talk about Rosa. Out of a misplaced desire to deny the inevitable, I suppose. She’s dying. The doctors aren’t sure how long she has left. The cancer is spreading at an unpredictable rate.” He picked up a paper napkin and began folding it with distracted motions, still staring at the beads of condensation on the glass. “She and I have known each other a long time. We met when I was living on the streets, soon after I left the brotherhood. She worked in a shelter. She helped me forge a life I was proud of living.”

“Elliott…”

“She’s so frail now,” he said, as though he hadn’t heard. “It hurts when she laughs. And all I can do is watch. All I can do is sit there and watch.”

Kath had never heard him angry before. She stopped trying to find words. With a cautious hand, she reached out, laying her hand palm up on the tabletop. After a moment, he took it.

“That’s awful,” she murmured, when the silence had stretched like a bubble, threatening to pop. His jaw worked, maybe holding back words, maybe just tense.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, it is.”

Some of the tension leaked from him, and Kath followed it all the way down. She squeezed his hand. Then she left a tip in her saucer, and they drove the rest of the way home. In the lot by the dunes, the cab of the truck was lit a watery orange by a far-off streetlight. Kath sat back in her seat. Elliott had his hand on the door but didn’t seem in a hurry to get out.

“I find myself consumed with the preoccupation that everything ends,” he said, not looking at her, his voice tight with emotion. “That no matter what we do, we leave no mark, nothing behind. We fade into the darkness. We are disassembled. Moved on.”

Kath gripped the steering wheel, staring desperately out at that distant, glowing light. Her gut yearned to go with him, to walk into the night across the whispering dunes and twine her hand with his; to promise that he wouldn’t travel alone. Her head clung to the street, to the cab, to what was right. Her heart ached all over again.

“Yes,” she whispered. When he looked at her, she forced herself to meet his eyes. “But I’m not sure the mark is important, anymore.”

“What else is there?” He asked, taut, almost demanding.

“Living,” she said, “swimming.”

It didn’t feel like enough, but she was starting to believe it. And it was really all she had. Everything did end. She remembered the feeling she’d got at the Luau, that her window of perfect alignment was closing, that she couldn’t hold things still and good enough for the rest of her life. They would change without her say-so. She had to be OK with that.

Unbidden, another memory came to her: white flowers piled high like a wave, her black shoes with the tiny silver buckles, a poem spoken without conscious thought. She blinked, pushing it all away. It did no good to dwell.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, swallowing, looking down at her hands, “I don’t know how to make this alright. It’s something you go through. And you wish you weren’t the whole time.”

He looked at her then, and she knew she’d said too much. In any other situation, she’d have run. But she couldn’t, because they were in the cab together and she couldn’t very well get out.

It wouldn’t be so bad for him to know, she thought, still staring at her hands.

“It was a long time ago,” she said, capitulating, throat tight. He didn’t press her. Just nodded, then thanked her again and got out. Kath drove back to the ranch and posted the keys through the letterbox, locked in her own head, trapped in amongst a sea of white flowers. I stand with you in woods both wide and wild, and on this day I take my leave; to seek a vastness yet untravelled, and ancient wonders slowly gone to seed…

All still in there, she thought, unlocking the cabin and greeting Custard in the darkness. I could say it now, word-for-word. I might even understand what it means.

But maybe not. Maybe not.

The bus stopped running from that day forward. At first there were mealy-mouthed promises from the city transport authority, and Lewis actually drove out to Zuzu on three separate occasions to campaign for the route to be reinstated, but it was all for naught. Running at a loss, they said, insufficient foot traffic. Kath, on hearing this, went straight down to Marnie’s, feeling exceptionally steely. She needn’t have worried. Marnie didn’t bat an eye. Just went to the phone and rang Lewis.

“That way, if I need the truck for my animals, you can use his,” she explained, when she hung up. “You take care, OK?”

Kath promised she would, then went down to Elliott’s cabin with a flask of soup in hand. Her heavy boots sank into the sand of the dunes. Her laces were more fray than fabric; Custard hadn’t quite grown out of his fascination with all things string. The waves in the bay were still blue, reflecting the bright autumn sky above. A stiff breeze tousled her hair. Which was getting long, longer than she’d worn it in years. Now that she’d stopped straightening it, the strands had recovered their natural curl- a gentle thing, but still something of a surprise to her. Most of the time, she kept it restrained in a ponytail, away from the sweat and muck, but today she’d left it down. Sooner or later, she’d need to find a hat. If the February winds were anything to go by, winters here would be bitterly cold.

She knew that she could have texted Elliott: Hey, I squared it with Marnie, the truck’s mine to use whenever you need it, when’s the next visiting hour? But she couldn’t make herself write it down, so she’d come in person. She didn’t allow herself to wait or hesitate; she marched up to the door and knocked. Elliott answered moments later. He was enveloped in an old fisherman’s jumper, knitted in shades of grey and blue. It looked scratchy. Kath wanted to bury her face in it.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” she said, awkwardly raising the thermos. “Fancy some soup?”

He had violet smudges under his eyes and his hair was frizzed like he’d been running his hands through it. He did smile at her, though.

“That’s very kind.”

She shrugged. “I may have an ulterior motive.”

“Come in, then.”

The desk was a snowstorm of typed pages. Kath raised an eyebrow at him as she passed, and he shook his head.

“It isn’t ready.”

Kath didn’t remind him of his promise on the beach on the last day of August; she knew he was thinking of it, too, and didn’t want to be nagged. She let him go to the kitchen without further comment, expecting him to bring back bowls. Instead, there was a momentary pause.

“Kath!”

“What?”

She hurried, but he was just staring out of the window behind the sink.

“There are dolphins in the bay.”

Excitement leapt in her chest. She craned her neck, searching over his shoulder.

“Where?”

“Let’s go out on the dock,” he said, heading for his shoes, and Kath beat him to the door, flask still in hand. The wind was blowing stronger. They stomped across the beach, Kath scanning the waves. She squeaked like a child when she spotted the first grey shape breaching the surface. She jogged to the dock, delighted. One, two, two more, another three. A whole pod had come to Stardew Valley. They surfed, moving with a sleek, effortless grace. Kath couldn’t take her eyes off them. Elliott came to stand beside her, hair scraped back. From the old fishing shack, hinges creaked over the sound of the ocean.

“That’s good luck, that is!”

Kath turned to find a grey-haired man wearing a jumper the spit of Elliott’s emerging into the brisk sunshine, a gap-toothed grin on his face.

“Hello, Willy,” Elliott said, courteously. The old man came to stand with them, watching the dolphins with a childlike glee.

“I tell you, seeing them this late in the year? That means a good winter’s coming. My old pappy used to say that, and he was never wrong.”

“Really?” Kath asked, partly to be polite, partly because it went with the moment. Willy grinned.

“Really. Maybe you’re the lucky charm, miss. Mind you, that’s no surprise, the way Elliott talks about you.” He squinted at her, wrinkles deepening. “Don’t look much of a lawyer, I must say.”

Once, Kath would have been offended. Now, she just looked back at the waves, where the dolphins had just been. “Well, I’m not anymore.”

Willy nodded as though this were for the best. Then he stuck out his hand for her to shake and told her that with the storms rolling in, he wouldn’t be out in the boat so much, so if she wanted fresh fish, she was to come to him.

“Might even teach you how to catch your own!” He said, with a wink, before setting off back to the shack. The dolphins had vanished during this exchange, returning to wider waters. Kath felt slightly regretful that she hadn’t caught one last glimpse before they’d disappeared.

“So, that’s Willy?” She asked, though the question was needless. Elliott nodded.

“I didn’t hear his boat come in.”

Kath’s mouth twitched. “Maybe he swam.”

“If there is any man who knows of the merfolk, it is surely him.”

“Are you saying he’s hiding a tail under there?”

Talking thus, they returned to Elliott’s cabin, leaving the residual strangeness of the way Elliott talks about you on the dock, where it belonged. Kath finally cracked open the thermos and they ate as they had before, sat around Elliott’s tiny table. Eventually, they circled close enough for Kath to broach the reason for her visit.

“I, uh, talked to Marnie.”

Kath hadn’t used verbal filler in who knew how long. It stumbled out without her conscious permission, and she could tell Elliott noticed it. She cursed herself and tried for more discipline.

“I can borrow her truck whenever, within reason. I know you usually go to visit Rosa on Tuesdays and Fridays. I guess we’d need to set off from here around two hours before you want to arrive? Maybe a little earlier, dependent on traffic-”

“Kath.”

She stopped short, all too aware of the sensation of her heart beating. She’d known he wouldn’t like this, wouldn’t like being blindsided, but it had been all she could think of, the only way she could get him to agree-

“You would do that for me?” He asked, voice low, serious. She met his eyes (because she was not a coward) and nodded. Silence reigned. Kath thought he might actually be lost for words.

“It’s important,” she said, feeling inexplicably small. “And I’m happy to do it, alright?”

Important to you, she should have said, but she couldn’t, because that wasn’t true: it simply was important on a larger, grander scale, for reasons Kath didn’t want to delve into. I stand with you in woods both wide and wild. She made herself check her watch.

“I have to get going, but text me and we’ll arrange a time for Friday.”

He nodded, and she didn’t stick around for anything else. Walking back, she realised she’d left the lid of her thermos on Elliott’s dining table, but it didn’t matter. She would see him soon. Probably.

Elliott to Kath: Visiting hours on the ward are from 1 ‘til 4. Perhaps if we met at 11:45?

Elliott to Kath: I cannot thank you enough for this.

Kath to Elliott: 11:45 is fine, I can be done on the farm for then. How long do you normally stay?

Kath to Elliott: Just so I can plan what to bring with me/where I’ll go.

Kath to Elliott: Please don’t subject yourself to abject guilt about me “putting myself out” or whatever, I offered to do this.

Elliott to Kath: A disturbingly accurate guess. I usually spend an hour, depending on how Rosa is feeling and whether any other friends are visiting her.

Kath to Elliott: Shockingly, I do actually know you fairly well.

Kath to Elliott: See you on Friday.

Kath prepared for the journey with her customary focus: snacks from Pierre’s, a book from the library, her thick jacket to wear in the cab when the engine was off. She arrived at the dunes five minutes early and found Elliott already waiting. Her sat-nav was already cued to go.

“Nice to do this in daylight,” she remarked. Elliott fastened his seatbelt and nodded.

“It is. Thank you, Kath.”

They left town. Once they were through the tunnel, Elliott broke the silence. Kath hadn’t been expecting that. She hadn’t been expecting anything. She’d never have expected him to talk about Rosa.

It was, she thought later, like a lowering of a drawbridge, or an outstretched hand; he had decided to take her into his confidence, and in doing so he could give her no half-measures. He loved Rosa too much for that. So, he told her all of it: how they met, the things they’d shared, as close to painting a picture of a life as he could manage. Being Elliott, he did a good job. Kath listened with her heart filling up, eyes tracking between the rear-view mirror and the road.

Rosa was seventy-two years old. She was a modern woman with old-fashioned manners: she valued generosity, the arts, and beautiful things. Her life prior to diagnosis had been split between charity, her family, her house on the archipelago, and music. A successful career in finance had permitted her pursuit of whatever delighted her. In her youth, she had played the viola and the shard-whistle. Her fingers were no longer sufficiently dextrous, but she had passed on her love of playing to her three children.

“And to me,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed.

“The piano?” Kath asked, a piece of Elliott slotting into place.

“The piano,” he confirmed. “She thought it would be good for me. A creative discipline rewarded by practice.”

Kath nodded. “Yes. I can see that.”

“It’s shameful that I’ve never asked you this, but do you play?”

She snorted at his use of the word shameful. “I used to. Mini-harp.”

“Oh. Why did you stop?”

Kath wasn’t sure anyone had ever asked her that before, not even daddy. He’d just offered recriminations. She thought about it now, merging into the outside lane.

“It dropped down my priority list,” she said, ruefully. “I was studying for my bar exams when I stopped for good. It was just - one more thing. And I was never very accomplished, anyway.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Why did that make her blush?

“I lacked creativity,” she said, trying to make it blunt enough that he would stop asking. And it mostly worked. He told her instead about Rosa’s two sons, Jules and Milo, and her daughter, Mira, who had all welcomed him, too. They came to the hospital every day, on their own or together, all three at the weekends.

“Has Rosa read your book?” Kath asked, realising as she said it that this could be a dangerous question. Elliott didn’t answer right away. They’d reached the city limits; Kath hopped into the right-hand lane, ready to take the loop road.

“She would like to,” he said. “I would like her to.”

“But?”

“It isn’t ready.”

“You said it was finished,” Kath said, waiting for the light to turn green. Why was she pushing this so hard? It wasn’t really any of her business. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elliott rubbing his face with his hand.

“Every time I read it, I am horrified by the quality, or lack thereof. I hope that with work, I can make it functional. But as it is…”

“Functional?” Kath repeated, the word tasting strange in her mouth.

“It’s the best I can hope for,” he told her, staring out of the passenger window, and Kath knew he would be drawn no further. They drove the rest of the way in silence. Once they were parked, Kath moved her seat back.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, leaning into the back seat to retrieve her jacket and her novel. Elliott frowned.

“You’re going to stay here?”

Kath felt a flash of painful brittleness. “I don’t like hospital waiting rooms,” she replied, still turned away from him. When he didn’t press, she judged it safe to come back up for air.

“I’m fine here. I brought snacks.” She showed him the bag of trail mix, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

“And The Tortoise?”

She nodded, setting the novel in her lap. She’d expected him to leave, but he stayed put, one hand on the door.

“Do you like it?”

“I’ll let you know,” she said, some of the frost in her chest thawing. They were fine. “I haven’t started it yet.”

He nodded, opening the door.

“Give Rosa my best,” she said.

“I will.”

Kath settled into her seat and didn’t watch him cross the parking lot, though she wanted to. She pulled her jacket close and flipped open the book. Between the trees and parked cars, Althi climbed mountains.

She jumped when Elliott knocked on the window, an hour and a half later. That muzzy feeling of being submerged in somebody else’s world hung around her head- she hadn’t even touched the trail mix. She let him in, stretching, rolling her shoulders.

“How was the book?” He asked.

“How was Rosa?” She countered, fishing the keys from her pocket. “I mean, I will tell you. I just think your news takes precedence.”

He inclined his head. “She was better today. Brighter. She caught me up on all her friends’ gossip - they come to see her on Wednesdays. One of them is seeing a fifty-year-old who claims he owns a private island. They’re all positively gleeful.”

Kath scoffed. “Claims. I see.”

“Rosa shares your opinion. Apparently, the gentleman is rather good looking.”

“Oh, that excuses all his sins.”

“Absolutely.”

Kath cranked the key, grinning. “Rosa’s friends sound like a lot of fun.”

“They are.”

“How’s her pain?” Kath asked, the question coming out on instinct, following remembered patterns. She could feel Elliott looking at her, but she was in the one-way system and needed to concentrate.

“Improved, or so she says. I’m not sure if she was being honest with me.”

Kath nodded. This was all familiar. While she was distracted, her stomach let out an audible growl. She coloured as they pulled up to the barrier.

“Whoops. Should have eaten something.”

The machine ate her ticket with a satisfied beep and released them onto the loop road. There was a rustling sound from the passenger seat.

“Hold out your hand.”

She smiled involuntarily. “Thanks. Mind if I wait until we’re on the highway?”

Another rustle as Elliott folded the top of the packet. “Of course.”

“So, the book was good,” she said, upholding her end of the bargain. “Really good. Not the kind of thing I usually pick up, but I’m really enjoying it. It’s about a boy who sees imaginary worlds and whether or not they’re real. It’s written in this really gentle, appreciative way. Althi, the boy, has all these doubts about what he sees- whether he’s losing his mind, that kind of thing, but the narrative never turns on him. Or, at least, it hasn’t so far.” She caught herself, flushing. “Sorry. I’m hardly the expert here.”

“No, please continue,” he said, and she believed him, though it didn’t stop her feeling self-conscious.

“Well… The characterisation is really good. It feels real. And the places are so vivid, too. It’s not the kind of book you read to find out what happens, so much as spend time there. I guess that would be my only critique - it’s a little slow.”

“It seemed engrossing.”

She allowed that it was. Her stomach gurgled again, but they were nearly on the highway. Once Kath was safely cruising, she held out her hand, palm up. Elliott poured her a mouthful of trail mix, which she ate like a caveman. They didn’t talk much, but Kath didn’t mind. It was only when they passed into the tunnel that she decided she was, in fact, going to say something worthwhile.

“You’re probably too hard on your novel,” she said. “Statistically speaking.”

He didn’t answer, which should have prompted her to leave it there. Instead, she felt positively encouraged.

“And I hate that you use the word functional. A book is only functional if it’s a textbook. Stories are for the heart and the emotions. Functionality has nothing to do with it.”

Further silence. Kath swallowed, tapped her thumb against the steering wheel.

“You are more than functionality. That’s all.”

Suddenly, she was furious with herself. Your book is more than functional. Your book. Not you. What had she been thinking?

“Would that I had known you sooner,” he said, softly. “My fears can know no greater foe than you.”

Kath went very red. She recognised those words: they were from Alberich & Scarlet, the great romantic play; Alberich said them to Scarlet on the eve of battle, right before...

"My apologies,” Elliott said, embarrassment colouring his tone, “I- I mean that you’re a wonderful friend, Kath. I…”

Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. She took a slow breath, ignoring her hammering heart, the sour pulse of disappointment in her gut.

“It’s alright,” she said, hoping she was pretending hard enough. “I should certainly hope you won’t be battling to the death on the morrow.”

He laughed too readily, clearly relieved. Kath focused her fury into driving with careful precision. Please don’t say things like that to me. Please don’t toy with me.

Stop letting him, she scolded herself. This is on you.

And it was, because later she ran the kitchen tap, rubbing soap onto the pads of her fingers to remove the evidence, her body still warm and suffused with a particular sense of shame. She’d barely lasted a minute. Thoughts of him had overwhelmed her, and she’d buckled, body bending like a bowstring. Alberich and fucking Scarlet, she thought, drying her hands on a tea towel. Who’d have thought that would have been the tipping point? She was in love and fucking herself against her own kitchen counters, jeans unbuttoned, scarf still on. She was undone.

Would that I had known you sooner. My fears can know no greater foe than you. You are their conqueror, and mine.

Chapter Text

Kath decided that in the absence of denial, she should finally do something about the inconvenient state of her heart. She plainly couldn’t go on as she was. Half the time she wanted to kiss Elliott, and half the time she wanted to kill him. It was distracting, to say the least. Untenable. To that end, she made herself busy. She took Willy up on his offer to learn how to fish and discovered she was shockingly bad at it. The old man laughed, but he was patient. And he was full of stories. That helped, listening to something new. Kath made herself go out, even in the pouring rain. The Tortoise remained on her bookshelf, unfinished. Reading was too much, somehow. Too close to the riptide.

She made a concerted effort to spend time with other people, too. Hiking with Leah. Felling trees with Robin. Emily’s once-a-month yoga class, perfumed with incense. She aimed to exhaust herself, and mostly succeeded. The next few drives to the hospital were therefore bearable. Elliott seemed to know that he’d overstepped; he didn’t say much. Kath forced herself to think as little as possible. While he was inside, she got out of the cab and walked for an hour, hands in her pockets. She also decided to call a reunion of the Cabin Crew. At least that would put it on her terms.

It ended up being a Saturday night, by virtue of availability, and Elliott texted to say he would be late: no skin off Kath’s nose. She went up to the bar where Emily shone jewel-bright against all the dark wood, and ordered a glass of white and a ginger ale.

“Caution, friend,” Emily warned, pouring, “tonight is Abigail’s birthday. She will expect you to join in her drinking games.”

Kath raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Good.”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Apologies, I find myself delayed. Eat without me, I’ll be there in an hour or so.

“They usually arrive at eight.” Emily was continuing as though Kath hadn’t just frowned at her phone, something Kath was grateful for. “If you’d like to escape.”

“Hm. What does Abigail usually drink?”

“Vodka and cranberry juice. Why?”

Kath slid a tenner across the bar. “She can have one on me.”

“Your aura is so dreamy when you’re being generous.”

“Will my generosity get me out of drinking games?”

“Not a chance.”

Emily was right. Soon after eight, Abigail, Sam and Sebastian claimed a booth on the other side of the pub and became exponentially rowdy. They were accompanied by a small group Kath didn’t recognise- presumably Abigail’s friends from college. Looking at them made Kath feel old.

“Will we really have to join in?” She asked Leah, who had just finished telling Kath about an exhibition she was aiming for in November. Leah grinned and nudged her shoulder in a companiable manner.

“Come on, Kath, nostalgia! It’ll be fun. Besides, you’re not really drinking. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

Kath just grunted. Not ten minutes later, Sam gangled to his feet and came loping over.

“Ladies,” he said, adopting the tone of an announcer, “your presence is required.”

Leah took the lead, dragging Kath over to the booth. Kath ended up sat on the far edge of the bench, closest to escape, opposite a guy with faded green hair and a very round chin. He didn’t smile, so Kath didn’t, either.

“Hey. Hey! Slave driver!”

Kath looked round. Abigail was leaning forward, trying to catch her eye.

“Thanks for the drink.”

Kath raised her own glass in a slightly mocking toast. “Happy birthday.”

“Slave driver?” Pink hair asked. Kath gave him one of her flat stares.

“I run a programme for teenage reprobates.”

Sam laughed and Abigail stuck up her middle finger, downing the rest of her drink. General chatter restarted. Behind her, the saloon door swung open. A draft brushed against Kath’s ankle.

Elliott stood by the coatrack, hands in his pockets, cheeks a little flushed from the cold. He was looking over at their usual table. Then he checked his watch. Maybe he thought they’d already left. Kath felt a complicated surge of fondness, fury and yearning as she watched him, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. Mercifully, Leah followed her gaze and brightened.

“Elliott! Over here!”

Kath raised her hand in greeting. She would force her way through this. Like all things, it would end.

He came over, looking a little trepidatious. “Is there a party?”

“Abigail’s birthday,” Kath said, wondering if she should shade her eyes as she gazed up at him. Abigail whooped at the mention of her name.

“Yeah! It’s my birthday!”

Elliott sketched a bow in her direction. “Many happy returns.”

“You need a drink if you want to join us,” was her imperious reply. Kath snorted.

“This is your chance to run.”

He smiled at that, a little distant. “I could do with a little debauchery tonight,” he said, then he went up to the bar. Kath felt the back of her neck grow hot. She started when Sam slapped a hand on the table.

“Alright, team! What are we playing?”

The suggestions met in the air between them all, jockeying for position. Kath sat back and watched, sipping her ginger ale. There were good-natured howls when Sam realised he’d left his pack of cards at home. He was halfway to climbing out of the booth, ready to run home and get them, when Abigail half-stood, palms braced in front of her.

“It’s my birthday. And I say we’re playing Never Have I Ever.”

Groans rose in chorus. Abigail shouted them all down.

“My birthday, my choice! I want gossip and secrets from all of you.”

Kath was probably imagining the way Abby’s eyes narrowed as they settled on Kath. Probably.

As Abby reached for her full glass and began (“Never have I ever… Stolen a car,” which immediately provoked argument), Elliott joined the table.

“The celebrations are going well?”

Kath budged up against Leah as far as she could, giving him room to sit down. Not enough, though. His thigh pressed against hers, and they both pretended to ignore it.

“We’re playing Never Have I Ever,” she said, as part of the charade. When he looked at her, nonplussed, she added, “it’s a drinking game about telling the truth.”

“Or exposing your friends,” Leah added, with a wicked smile. Kath inclined her head.

“Or that. You take it in turns to share something you’ve never done with the group. If anyone else has - ah, partaken, they have to drink. Hence, the exposure. To be honest, I thought this stopped being cool after you turn seventeen.”

Leah winked. “Small town.”

“Those three are not paying attention,” Abby complained, in a loud voice. Kath took a penalty sip, and the game continued.

At least Abigail’s friends were a creative bunch. They had clearly played before and weren’t content with base suggestions. Never have I ever almost killed a professor with a lemon. Oh, fuck you, it was an orange, and you know it. Never have I ever done drunk karaoke that made a grown man vomit. And so on. Abby laughed until she cried. Even stone-faced Sebastian cracked a smile from time to time, the drink loosening him up. Sam was cranked up to eleven, flaring like an overcharged lightbulb. Elliott, on the other hand, barely touched his cider. Smug bastard. Not that Kath was doing much better. In fact, Elliott was the one catching her out. When he offered, Never Have I Ever driven a car, she actually shot him a wounded look. He ducked his head, half-smiling. Kath resisted the urge to strangle him.

Pink-haired boy, whose name was Miles, cleared his throat.

“Never have I ever… Had a nickname.”

There were curses around the table. Kath sucked on her teeth, then drank. Leah and Elliott sat either side of her like self-satisfied bookends. Miles grinned like a shark.

“Go on, then. Spill.”

Abigail’s three other friends were Nick, short for Nicholas, Shivi, short for Shivani, and Jack, short for James. Sam was apparently short for Samson. Sebastian folded his arms and refused point-blank to share, whilst Abigail snickered and made empty threats. That left Kath.

“Kath. Short for Katherine.”

She realised, belatedly, that she could have said Katarina, too, but that felt too personal. Miles - of course he didn’t have a nickname, what could you lop off that? - quirked an eyebrow.

“Not Kathy?”

“No.”

Abigail messed with her hair, making it frizz. Her inhibitions were in a similar state. She squinted down the table.

“Leah I can believe. But Elliott? Never an Eli? An Ellie? An El?”

Kath felt him tense up a split-second before her own stomach lurched. The memory of a different long drive conversation loomed in her mind’s eye. She sat up slightly.

“No. Definitely not.”

Abigail was not deterred. “No?”

Kath summoned a sneer, or as close as she could get to one. “Do you think any of those suit him?”

She could feel his breath coming too quick; she would probably have done anything to shield him. But that wasn’t necessary. Abigail smirked, then sat back.

“Suppose not.”

Kath barely heard the next few offerings. Her heart was pounding. This is not how this was supposed to go, she scolded herself. You were supposed to be moving on. Away.

She recovered in time to hear Sebastian’s fingers drumming on the tabletop as he deliberated. Then,

“Never have I ever… Committed a crime.”

Had Kath not been so distracted, she might have considered whether honesty in this particular circumstance was wise. As it was, she picked up her glass and took three generous swallows. A silence descended.

“Illegal downloads don’t count,” Sebastian said, sounding amused. Sam paused, glass halfway to his lips. Kath froze, abruptly realising she should have lied. Unfortunately, a stubborn, stupid impulse used her moment of paralysis to jump into the driving seat of her brain and it made her shake her head. Sebastian eyed her.

“You know weed isn’t illegal here, right?”

“I do,” she said, evenly.

His eyes narrowed as he appraised her. Kath stared back. Her neck felt hot again. But she wasn’t about to retreat.

After a drawn-out moment, the corner of Sebastian’s mouth twitched.

“Damn. You’re serious.”

“As the grave,” Kath muttered, sitting back. Abigail looked positively gleeful.

“What did you do?!”

Kath shook her head, a slightly sick feeling replacing her sense of heady courage. What had possessed her? The same mad impulse that had driven her to start copying confidential documents in the first place, no doubt. Though whether it could really be called an impulse when it had involved six months of patient work and a false back to her medicine cabinet…

The game wound down around her, and when somebody proposed Ring of Fire, Kath begged off. Leah and Elliott immediately followed suit. The three of them piled into coats and spilled down the steps of the saloon, going to meet the warm light of the streetlamp. Leah abruptly snickered.

“If the feds show up, Kath, you can hide at my place.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Kath said, dryly, pretending her heart wasn’t drumming. “Perhaps I’ll go feral and live in the woods.”

“There would be little difference in the menu,” Elliott mused. Leah elbowed him, and Kath managed a smile.

“Shall we go?”

“I have submitted my manuscript,” Elliott said, sounding surprised to hear the words from his own mouth. Kath’s stomach missed a stair. His eyes held hers, even as Leah squealed.

“I’m so proud of you!”

“Well done,” Kath said, her voice too quiet to be mistaken for anything but sincerity. Would that I had known you sooner. She had to look away.

“Thank you. Of course, I am prepared for the hailstorm of coming rejections to clog Lewis’s mailbag, but-”

Leah smacked him on the arm. “Stop that! Be happy! You did it!”

He inclined his head, smiling. “I will try.”

“You’d better dedicate it to us,” Leah continued, sly and grinning. Kath felt a different, more potent kind of lurch in the vicinity of her heart. Before Elliott could answer, Leah added, “I’m joking! I’m joking.”

They walked down to the river, left Leah at her door. Kath waited for Elliott to make an excuse, turn back, but he didn’t, so she didn’t either. She didn’t really want him to go. It was almost dark enough for her to need a flashlight. The treetops were silhouettes against the ombre sky. Kath felt that strange dusk courage come upon her, loosening her tongue. She pressed her hands into her coat pockets.

“It’s dedicated to Rosa, isn’t it?”

He was the sound of footsteps beside her, a dark shape passing the soft noise of the millpond.

“It is.”

Kath nodded. Her throat, treacherous thing, had tightened. To mom, wish you were here.

“Has she read it?”

“I have promised to bring the first chapter and read to her next time.”

Another nod, the sadness receding. “That’s good.”

“Kath, I-”

Kath yelped, stumbling. Her eyes focused on the shape that had bumped against her ankles: Custard, the insouciant wretch. He’d startled her in the dark. She wheezed, breathing out the surge of adrenaline.

“Cat!” She said, part explanation, part curse. Elliott chuckled.

“It appears he has a sense of humour.”

Kath narrowed her eyes at the orange blur now slinking up her front steps. “That he does.” Then she remembered. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

The words felt like a ramp even as she said them, tilting her upwards, ready for the fall. They were beings in the half-light, cocooned by the rustle of the trees. What were you going to tell me?

“I- I wanted to thank you. I was in need of a push.”

She hung, then drifted downwards. If it had been daytime, she might have been confident that he’d changed course at the last moment, supplying a secondary truth in place of his original confession, but it was almost dark. Still no porchlight. She should fix that.

“It was my pleasure,” she said, honestly. He ducked his head.

“Goodnight, Kath.”

“Night.”

Kath was fitting her key in the lock when something occurred to her. “Hey, Elliott?”

“Yes?” he said, not as far away as she’d expected him to be.

“When’s your birthday?” She asked. “Assuming you celebrate birthdays.”

“I do have a birthday,” he said, sounding amused, the way she’d hoped he would. “The fifteenth of September.”

Kath stared back at him. “You mean I missed it?”

“It is of no consequence,” he assured her. Kath glared, unassuaged.

“It is to me. Birthdays are important.”

“What for?” He asked her, genuinely curious. Kath was silent for a moment, trying to parse her own logic.

“It’s a day for you to be you. Entirely. No obligations. And a socially acceptable time for your friends to celebrate you.”

“And what if those things are in conflict?”

“Your friends should know you well enough to celebrate you in a tolerable way,” she said, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world, as though she believed what she was saying. She caught his grin even in the dim light.

“When is your birthday, Kath?”

“Perhaps I should withhold the information. To keep things fair.”

“I will defer to the criminal mastermind in our midst.”

She should have been panicked by the reminder, but this was Elliott. She raised her eyes to the heavens, then gave up all pretence of unlocking the door.

“It’s the twenty-first of December.”

He nodded. “I will remember.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “Alright. Night, then.”

“Goodnight.”

~

The tyre popped on a rut just past the bus stop and Kath cursed, stumbling as the barrow jolted. An ear of corn bounced over the edge and rolled to a stop on the grassy verge. Her selection of jars clinked ominously, but nothing actually broke. Her pumpkin, respectably large, was a motionless ballast, bringing everything to a halt. She stood for a moment, collecting herself. Then she set the handles down and rescued the corn, before inspecting the damage. Marnie had loaned her the wheelbarrow (“What kind of farmer are you, that you don’t have a wheelbarrow?” She’d joked, and she had a point) with the caveat that it was her second-best barrow and had been out of service for most of the year. Kath grimaced. Clearly, the barrow was on its last legs. The tyre barely squidged when she squeezed the rubber. Completely flat. She checked her watch, then lifted the handles and heaved. It was like pushing against a wall. The ear of corn she’d just replaced wobbled again, threatening to fall.

Kath groaned. She’d already set off late for the blasted fair; fighting the barrow, she’d miss her slot sure.

“We’re farmers, Lewis,” she grumbled, as though the squirrels would be interested in her complaints. “And you want us to be the first ones there! We’ve got jobs to do!”

With futile determination, she gave the barrow another shove. The corn fell off again. Kath gritted her teeth. She would have to carry the damn thing all the way down the hill. Why had she never thought to buy her own barrow?

An idea came to her as she glanced around, catching sight of the sign for the bus stop. Wait a minute. She did have something wheeled…

Kath had imagined coming into Pelican Town exuding an air of rustic capability, shirtsleeves rolled up, boots sturdy, pushing a barrow overflowing with organic bounty. Instead, she’d been forced to walk like she was about to miss a flight. Her shirtsleeves were indeed rolled up, but that was because she was sweating. Pierre, who was setting up his stand beside the surgery, looked at her and raised an eyebrow, approaching a smirk.

“Going somewhere, Kath?”

She rolled her eyes in his general direction, dignity be damned. “My wheelbarrow suffered a mishap.”

Marnie actually laughed out loud when she saw Kath trundling into the produce tent. “Oh, dear. Did Delilah let you down?”

Kath went over to the empty table and set down the pumpkin she had tucked under one arm, before laying the suitcase she’d been pulling flat on the ground and squatting to undo the zip.

“Delilah has a flat tyre,” she said, relieved to see her jars of jam still intact. “I had to improvise.”

Marnie clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Better hurry up, Kath. Only ten minutes until the fair opens.”

Kath put on another burst of speed.

“If I didn’t know better,” she said, dumping a punnet of blackberries into a decorative bowl, “I’d say you were trying to sabotage me, Marn.”

Marnie winked at her, then patted one of her wax-wrapped cheeses. “May the best woman win, that’s what I say.”

“Hey!” Willy objected, but Kath didn’t have time for laughter. She’d brainstormed her grange display in a frantic afternoon at Leah’s cottage after Lewis had casually mentioned that of course, Watershed Farm would have a place in the contest this year. “You don’t have to do it, though?” Leah had said, baffled, and Kath had stared back at her, equally nonplussed. “I can’t back out,” she’d said, and Leah, to her credit, had moved mountains. Kath tried to remember exactly what she’d told her: lay the plain fabric flat, then add the patterned runner for texture. Jam, pumpkin, put your sunflowers in the back corner…

“Good morning, contestants!”

Lewis had entered the tent. Kath barely spared him a glance: she was turning her jams so the labels (written by Leah, Kath’s handwriting was all but illegible) showed outwards. Lewis chuckled.

“You’ll be pleased to hear that there are only two minutes until the fair opens, then you’ll need to step away from your grange displays! Please, enjoy the proceedings. You are our best ambassadors for the agricultural heart of Pelican Town.”

There was a dead leaf in amongst the blackberries. Kath snagged it between her fingernails and laid out her gleaming aubergines beside the basket of windfall apples. The final item was a little strange: a tiny statuette of a chicken, clearly old and hand carved. Kath had turned up when digging over a new field. The statue had a shapely wattle and rough scratches indicating feathered wings. It was her nod to Florence, Cheryl and Charlize. She could have brought some of their eggs, but with Marnie in direct competition, she’d decided not to push it.

“Time’s up! Step away from your grange displays.”

Kath straightened. It was done. She’d made it. She was absurdly proud of herself. And she owed Leah a thousand drinks and then some.

She zipped up the suitcase and stowed it under the table, before venturing out into the square. Only ten in the morning and it was already busy. The Grampleton Rambling Society had chartered a small fleet of buses to drive over from the north end of the valley and, apparently, ramblers started early. Kath did a quick assessment of the crowds and decided she didn’t fancy acting as an agricultural ambassador just yet. Instead, she snuck away to the bench near the saloon and texted Leah.

Kath: Made it. I owe you Big Time. I’m hiding out by the saloon if you want to come collect :smile:

They met up and dove into the fair after ten minutes of chat and congratulations on a practically perfect grange display. Leah chortled when Kath told her about her wheelbarrow debacle.

“I’m telling you! Marnie was worried about the competition.”

“I’m not so sure,” Kath said, absently. “She has a wheel of cheese bigger than my head. Plus, she has -”

An advantage with the judges, she almost said, but managed to bite her tongue. Marnie was only sleeping with one of the judges, as far as she knew, and it wasn’t any of her business anyway. Leah bit her lip, hiding a smirk.

“Yeah. Well. Fancy eating some food on a stick?”

They ate food on a stick and tried their hand at the coconut shy. Leah was a good shot; she won a stuffed pink rabbit and crowed in triumph. Kath mostly missed. The square filled with glossy, well-groomed people wearing gilets and towing excitable children in matching outfits. “Grampleton,” Leah muttered, and Kath agreed that enough had been said. The thrift store they frequented over there was half designer. Only an hour’s drive, yet a different world. They didn’t have a saloon in Grampleton, Gus was fond of saying, they had a wine bar.

The day wore on. Kath found herself growing increasingly nervous as the judging hour approached. (She was also increasingly aware of Elliott’s absence, but that was an impulse so unspoken that she tried to ignore it altogether). To distract herself, she made a project out of Leah, which was an unattractive habit she couldn’t quite curb.

“I have my thing,” she said, as they nibbled candyfloss and watched a clown juggle oranges outside the saloon, “which is this. You should have a thing. You could exhibit your sculptures here. Why don’t you?”

Leah shot her a severe look that was only mildly tempered by the sugar sticking to her upper lip. “Uh, because I don’t want to? Next question.”

“Fine.” Kath looked towards the produce tent, then back at her watch. Ten minutes to go. “Why don’t you sell your paintings, then? I bet people would go crazy for them.”

“Kath,” Leah whined, “do you think it’s possible you’re projecting a bit, here?”

Kath drew up short, feeling a little like she’d been slapped. And, in the subsequent moment, like she’d probably deserved it.

Leah cleaned the last fleck of candyfloss off her stick and folded her arms, huffing a sigh that sounded somewhat petulant.

“Sorry. I just mean - from what you’ve told us about your life before, you were like, a scary accomplished person. You were doing a lot. And now that your life is a bit less…”

“In crisis?” Kath suggested, dryly. Leah winced.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” The tension between them ebbed away. “I know, Leah. Sorry. Maybe I am a little… On edge.”

Leah’s turn to be dry: “I hadn’t noticed.”

Kath gently shoved her friend with her shoulder, finishing her own candyfloss.

“I’m worried about winter,” she admitted, the first time she’d admitted this to anyone. “It’ll be too cold to grow anything. I have enough to survive on until spring, and I have a few ideas, but mostly I’m worried I’ll chew my own leg off from - from sheer boredom! Just me and the snow and the squirrels on the roof. I never thought I’d miss being flat out, but now that things are slowing down, I have this - fear. Anxiety. What will I do all day?”

She almost admitted that she missed being a lawyer, but she couldn’t go quite that far. Not here. Not in present company.

Leah just nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

Kath let out her breath. “Thanks.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For saying I made sense.”

“Pleasure.”

The crackle of a loudhailer made them both start. Lewis stood outside the produce tent, finger on the button, resplendent in his tweed jacket. The two judges from Grampleton flanked him: one from the Women’s Institute, the other from an agricultural magazine. Kath had a healthy fear of them both. The journalist carried an expensive looking camera and kept flicking her lustrous pink ponytail around. Lewis cleared his throat.

“Afternoon, folks! We’re very glad to have you here in Pelican Town for the annual Stardew Valley Fair. I hope you’ve enjoyed the games and our wonderful vendors. Now, onto the main event: the judging of the grange display! We encourage participants to put together a display that showcases their skills and produce. We had a mix of regular and debut entrants this year from all across the valley. We have two commendations and one winner’s cup to give out. Allow me to hand over to Joan to present the prizes.”

Joan, the WI matriarch, hefted the megaphone and squinted down at a list in her hand.

“Our first commendation goes to… The Albatross Café, from Turtle Junction.”

Leah bugged her eyes at Kath. “A café?! Seriously?!” She whispered.

Kath tried very hard not to glare at the perfectly nice-looking couple who went across the square to collect their certificate. Her own heart was sinking fast. She’d seen the Albatross’s display: heavy on the palm-fronds and baked goods. The complete opposite of the rustic charm she and Leah had worked so hard to cultivate.

“They’re eligible,” she returned, through gritted teeth. “We’ll just have to -”

“Our second commendation,” Joan read out, “goes to… Watershed Farm, from Pelican Town.”

Kath felt like she’d just been electrocuted. Leah let out an excited sort of squeak and elbowed her.

“Go on! Get up there!”

Kath glided across the square, a grin spreading across her face. She shook hands with Joan, accepting her certificate. The journalist snapped a picture. There was polite applause and even a reedy wolf-whistle, probably from Sam. Leah was bouncing on the balls of her feet, banging her hands together. And there, at the back of the crowd, was Elliott. He had come. He was applauding her, too, and when their eyes met, he smiled at her. Kath could have taken off right there: launched skyward, straight up. She took her certificate back to Leah and, in a display of blatant affection, pulled the other woman into a hug. They were both laughing. They barely heard first place go to the vineyard over at Rissal. Kath couldn’t stop smiling.

“We did it!” Leah crowed, as Kath showed her the certificate. It was printed on blue paper and signed by the three judges, and Kath was going to frame it and hang it above her bed.

“Hey, nice work, farmer!” Sam had come over, Sebastian and Abigail in tow. He gave Kath a high-five. Abigail asked if she could have Kath’s pumpkin for a jack-o-lantern, and, in a fit of generosity, Kath agreed. The crowd broke up somewhat, the rest piling back into the produce tent for one last look. Leah handed Kath her certificate, still grinning.

“You should get in there. Soak up your justified praise.”

Kath turned, agreeing, and almost bumped into Elliott. He looked wan. The shadows under his eyes were something to see. But he also looked so damned proud that Kath had to hold her breath to keep her emotions at bay.

“Hey,” she said, too brightly, and the wattage of his smile cranked up in return.

“Congratulations on your commendation.”

“Thanks. It’s mostly down to Leah.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Leah interjected, clapping Kath on the shoulder. “Yes, it is entirely thanks to me, you may bow before my genius.”

Elliott’s smile went a little crooked, and Kath actually felt her heart melting at the edges. Damn it. Damn him.

“I see.”

“You haven’t, yet,” Leah pointed out. “Come on. Let’s go marvel at my work of artistic majesty.”

They went, Kath walking between them as though they were her auburn-haired honour guard. There were several people appraising her display, including Marnie. Kath slid between them and set her commendation certificate in the middle, beside the blackberries. Somebody caught her attention as she straightened up. The flicky-haired journalist, accompanied by an older woman with bobbed black hair and a silk scarf tied around her neck.

“Katherine, right? The farmer at Watershed?”

Kath’s old habits swung back into action, though this was a long way from a boardroom. She held out her hand to shake, smiling her professional smile. “That’s me.”

“I love what you’ve done with your display!” The journalist gushed. “I knew Melissa would be interested in meeting you.”

“And I’m Melissa,” Melissa said, offering a brief, firm grasp and a more genuine smile. “I run the Grampleton chapter of the Women’s Institute. We’d love to have you as a speaker at one of our meetings, if you’re interested?”

Kath liked her directness, even if the offer made nerves squirm in her stomach. This is a good opportunity, she scolded herself, and forced a nod.

“That would be great.”

“Are you familiar with the WI?” Melissa asked, and Kath admitted that her nanny had been a member. Melissa nodded, looking pleased.

“Then I’m sure you know what we’re looking for. Something engaging, not too long, with plenty of opportunities for questions. Our members are particularly interested in organic production, ethical consumption, that kind of thing. It’s one of the things that made me curious about you. No pesticides, is that right?”

They spent the next ten minutes in pleasant conversation, before Melissa gave Kath her card and left. The journalist had long since wandered off, promising to cover Kath’s talk in the winter edition of the magazine. Somebody was calling that the last bus to Grampleton was leaving in fifteen minutes.

“... And that,” Leah was explaining, “represents the rise and fall of seasonal work: from seed to ripe fruit, then back to fertiliser. It’s all a bit obvious, but I thought that people might not spend much time looking. Better to be straightforward, right?”

“I quite agree,” Elliott said, nodding. Kath noticed him reach out absent-mindedly, drumming his long fingers on the trestle table. He looked cold. She wondered if he’d been writing, sat in his coat at the typewriter, forgetting to feel his circulation decreasing. Or maybe he’d been out walking. Maybe -

“Hey!” The greeting was more of a demand than a pleasantry; Kath looked over her shoulder and found Haley stood there, polaroid camera half-raised, other hand gesturing sharply at Kath.

“Yes?” Kath asked, and Haley rolled her eyes.

“Picture, dummy! For your wall, or whatever. I know for a fact that Jeanie won’t have anything in print until, like, December. And her pictures are trash anyway.”

Kath snorted. Haley was practically an artist when it came to insults: not so much in the creativity, but the delivery was spot-on.

“Alright, then.”

Haley ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Dream team!” She instructed, with sarcastic bite. “Stand where I can see you!”

Leah pulled her braid over one shoulder and held out an arm to Kath. Elliott stepped backward, out of the frame. Kath tried not to regret him going. She smiled into the lens and Haley snapped the picture. The camera whirred, then spat out a blank square.

“Haley, take one of the three of us!” Leah said, grinning. She held out a hand to Elliott. “Come on, E.”

“And waste my film?” Haley asked, though she was eyeing the picture, watching it develop.

“Yes, please.”

Haley rolled her eyes but lifted the camera again. “Fine. Seeing as you said please.”

“I hardly consider myself a contributor to this success,” Elliott said, mildly, not moving.

“Three!” Haley counted. “Two!”

Kath reached out her hand, too. She was closer to him, stood by the edge of Marnie’s table. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips, and a stupid rush of affection that was a little overwhelming. “Come on,” she told him, as Haley opened her mouth again. He met her eyes. And, to her surprise, he took the step. He even approached a smile.

“Are you sure?”

“Get in the damn picture,” Kath told him, and looped her arm around his waist.

“One!” Haley said. And, as if by magic, when she clicked the shutter the moment froze, captured perfectly in Kath’s mind. She would remember forever the smell of Leah’s natural deodorant, the warmth of her arm around Kath’s waist, the easy way they stood together - and the pleasant scratch of Elliott’s wool coat against her wrist, his hand a gentle weight on her shoulder, the way he made her feel small when he stood this close. She was happy. She was heartbroken. She was triumphant and among friends and full of dread all at once. Winter would soon be here. But for now, the trees were on fire in the setting sun and the starlings were flocking nearby. Kath was surprised to realise that she recognised their whistling calls. Grandpa would be proud.

“There are starlings outside.” The words came out without conscious vetting; she disentangled herself from Leah and Elliott and beckoned them towards the square.

“Don’t you want the pictures?” Haley asked, put out. Kath took them absent-mindedly, before striding into the crisp air. The cobblestones looked bronzed in the sinking golden light. And the trees around the saloon were filled with the flurried motion of half-a-thousand small birds, all jostling and twittering and anticipating something bigger.

Me, too, Kath thought, her heart catching in her throat. Leah and Elliott joined her, still flanking her as though by unspoken agreement. Leah nudged her with an elbow.

“OK, farmer girl. What’s up with the birds?”

Kath nudged her back. “Wait and see.”

They waited. Dusk drew in. Colour leached from the horizon; the sky overhead thickened with blue, a white sliver of moon hanging above the mountains. On some invisible signal, the starlings rose from the trees. The murmuration began.

There were a few people still left in the square, and they all turned to look. Kath stared, too. Leah drew in an audible breath: not quite a gasp, something softer.

“How are they doing that?”

“No idea,” Kath replied, smiling. The birds were massed into an enormous ball, and they flew together in hypnotic formation, shifting like flying water, fluttering above the rooftops. They were close enough that the sound of their wings was audible on the ground, along with the noise of them calling to one another. The air seemed thick with movement and eddying change. Kath couldn’t tear her eyes away.

A few minutes later, the last flecks of the sunset faded from view and the starlings came down to roost. The streetlamps came on. Kath felt herself smiling, still happy, still pained. Then she remembered that she hadn’t disassembled her grange display.

“That was magnificent,” Elliott murmured, still gazing up at the sky. Leah really did sigh then, hand pressed to her chest.

“Yeah. That was really something.”

Kath turned her smile on the pair of them. “Do you mind helping me pack up?” She asked, unafraid, and they nodded.

“How did the pictures turn out?” Leah wanted to know, as they went back into the tent. Kath held them up. In one, she and Leah stood arm in arm, looking proud. The sunflowers Kath had grown peeked over the top of their heads, a floral halo. Kath found it strange to see herself through somebody else’s lens, but she didn’t allow herself to dwell. She shifted her attention to the second- and felt something soft unfurl its wings in her chest. Just as she hadn’t been expecting to see herself as she truly appeared, she hadn’t expected to see Elliott that way, either. Even in shitty polaroid lighting, he was beautiful. The shutter had closed just as he’d been about to smile, and the resulting image made him seem somehow shy. He was a few inches taller than she was, and the way they all stood together: they looked like they belonged. Like they were a unit. Kath liked the feeling more than she dared to admit.

“Good,” she said, belatedly.

“Yes. Very cute,” Leah said. She sounded a little distracted; when Kath looked at her, she gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Just- artist thoughts.”

“Has the murmuration inspired you?” Elliott asked.

“Murmuration.” Leah tried out the word. “That’s a new one. I like it. But- yeah. A few ideas.”

Kath smiled, feeling mischievous. “Good. Now that the biggest event of the year is over, you’ll need something else to do.”

Leah yelped, faking outrage, and the three of them went inside the produce tent, bickering, as the last light faded and a chill wind skimmed the square, mingling dry leaves with flyers for the Oasis Boutique and Grampleton Rambling Society in a swirl of colour and decay.

Chapter Text

Elliott held two letters in his hands and stared out at the ocean. They were begging him to open them. He knew he should; delay would not soften the blow. He was seeing Rosa tomorrow. She would ask.

But he knew what they would say. We regret to inform you…

I can’t tell her, he thought, a sick kind of shame fisting in his gut. I promised her I would do this, and now we are out of time.

He forced his thumb under the flap of one envelope and ripped it open. The paper was vaguely municipal, tinted beige, with a header in green ink. Dear Mr Ferrenzi, we regret to inform you…

Elliott shut his eyes before he could reach the section describing his work’s so-called promise. Then, in a cathartic, if pointless gesture, he tore the letter in two and dropped it into the waves off the end of the dock. Leah would have a fit. But he didn’t feel so stable himself these days, and the paper would degrade eventually. The ink washed away, green into endless blue; soggy scraps sinking to the sand. Elliott decided he would give the second letter the same treatment. He ripped it open and gave it a cursory glance. Then he froze.

Dear Mr Ferrenzi,

I am pleased to inform you that I thoroughly enjoyed reading your submitted manuscript, “The Dark Keeper” and would like to extend the offer of a publishing contract. Congratulations!

For several long minutes, nothing happened. Elliott kept reading those two sentences over and over, as though expecting them to change before his eyes. The waves rushed beneath his feet, back and forth. Sometime later, he realised he was cold.

I have done it, he thought, hoping that clarifying the situation would at last allow some semblance of emotion to break through the fog of numbness. Nothing came. He had achieved his life’s ambition. And all he felt was emptiness.

“What is wrong with me?” He asked. He felt no shame in talking to himself; only the gulls could hear him out here. The words summoned another, unexpected memory: a spring rainstorm, and a knife-like woman in a one-room house.

Why are you like this?

He felt that breathless, dizzying sensation in his chest again, and he reminded himself not to think about Kath. Something strange was happening with her: with him and her, more specifically, and he shied from it like a wild animal from a stranger’s outstretched hand. It was wrong, layers of wrong, so he ignored it. It was probably a side-effect, he told himself, some combination of her generosity and proximity and his sense of impending doom.

I can tell Rosa the truth, he thought, and that at last provoked a twinge of happiness, along with the faintest stirrings of relief. He would keep that promise.

It’s something you go through. And you wish you weren’t the whole time.

Kath, again. Elliott turned on the dock and went back up the dunes, the wind and waves chasing him all the way inside.

~

He had begun to hate his phone. He feared it ringing in the early hours, in the middle of the night, just before he went to sleep. Not that he was sleeping much. He felt again that old, caged sensation that kept him writing compulsively, pacing when his feet grew numb. When the publisher had called back, he’d flinched. But she’d been pleasant, and they’d scheduled a meeting in Zuzu to cover contractual questions and set him up with an editor. Now all he needed was transportation.

Really, he should have called. It would have been wise. But he wasn’t feeling particularly wise: he was cold and on edge. So, he went to the library, abused the old-fashioned photocopier, then walked up through town, pages tucked inside his coat.

The farm gate was latched. A light glowed in the cabin beyond, and Elliott could smell woodsmoke. Kath had lit a fire, then. As he came up the porch steps, he heard the soft sounds of jazz, maybe on a radio, playing inside. When he knocked, the music didn’t stop. Kath opened the door a few seconds later, smiling when she saw who it was.

“Hey, Elliott. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know. My apologies for dropping by unannounced.”

She shrugged, unconcerned, smile still in place. “Come in, then. It’s sharp out there.”

When had she started speaking like a local? He did as she instructed, wiping his feet on the mat. The heat from the fire hit like a pleasurable slap to the face, and the smell of something cooking went straight to his stomach.

“Want something to eat?” Kath asked. “I’m making eggplant fritters. Too lazy for the full parm, I’m afraid.”

He hadn’t thought he was in the mood for humour, but that made him chuckle. When he looked up from removing his shoes, he found her watching him, leaning against her kitchen worktop, arms folded. She was wearing a quarter-zip made from thick fleece - no doubt a hand-me-down from Robin - and she’d pulled her dark hair into a low bun. The contrast from the last time it had just been the two of them in her cabin - well, it nearly took his breath away.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said, and Kath frowned.

“It’s not imposing. It’s helping me out.” When he looked sceptical, she gestured towards her fridge. “I’m serious. If you knew how many eggplants I need to eat before they spoil, you’d understand the noble sacrifice you’re about to make.”

Another chuckle. “Very well.”

“Twist your arm,” Kath said, and actually grinned. “Would you mind putting another log on the fire?”

He unbuttoned his coat, then paused. “Kath. I did come here for a reason.”

“Oh?” She was opening the cutlery drawer, tugging as it stuck.

“I need to ask you yet another favour,” he said, and grimaced. It was her turn to pause.

“Seeing Rosa?”

“I - no.” And the nerves, the excitement he’d been anticipating crashed over him. He shivered, pulling out the sheaf of papers. “Somebody wants to publish my book.”

Kath made an entirely unfamiliar noise: somewhere between a squeal and a gasp. She dropped the fork she’d been holding back into the cutlery drawer. “Elliott!”

“Yes,” he said, “I know. I feel much the same.”

Another grin broke across her face, as bright and dazzling as a diamond. “Then we’re celebrating tonight. Sit. Eat. Be merry.” She punctuated these last words with small flurries of movement: a fork, pressed together with a knife, another prod with the spatula.

“The meeting with the publisher is in Zuzu,” he said, not moving, but Kath waved him away.

“Yes, yes, I’ll drive you. I’ve been looking into buying my own truck, actually. And… There’s somebody I want to visit in Zuzu, regardless.”

“Intriguing,” Elliott said, baffled by the pulse of anxiety that swelled at her last comment. He was still stood on her mat, just as he had been that first time. He felt like he couldn’t move until he’d handed over his gift.

“I’ll tell you over dinner,” Kath replied, brandishing the spatula and poking the sizzling frying pan. “Is that the contract they sent you?”

“This?” Elliott glanced down, then shook his head. He had to force a breath before the words would come out steady. “No. This is the first chapter of my book.”

Kath went still. When she looked round at him, her blue eyes had lost that guarded, shuttered quality he’d become so used to. She’d looked something like this when he’d told her about the Brotherhood, all those months ago, but now the shadow of gauntness had left her, and she was nothing short of radiant.

“Are you sure?” She asked, voice soft enough that the music almost drowned the question out. Elliott nodded. He held out the pages.

“Yes.” Then he smiled with sudden surety. “Though I would ask that you wait until I’m gone to read it.”

“I can do that,” Kath said. She came over and took the pages with a reverence that made Elliott aware of how hard his heart was pounding.

“Thanks,” she said, neatening the stack and laying them on her nightstand. “I can’t wait to read it.”

Elliott hung his coat on the rack and went to build up the fire. Custard was curled up on the rug close by, purring softly. The song on the radio ended and the host started up with filler: they had a nice, soothing voice. There was a clunk as Kath set down the plates.

“I don’t have any wine,” she said, with her own brand of tight apology. “I am brewing some, actually, but…”

Elliott straightened up, took his seat. He was strangely aware of his body, of feeling returning to his feet and fingers, of the heat in his cheeks. He tried to distract himself. “You’re brewing wine?”

“Yes. Is brewing the right word? I should find out.”

“I do not know,” Elliott admitted. Rosa had never touched alcohol, apart from a drop of sherry at Easter, so his education in that area had been somewhat lacking. That thought lodged a knife in his chest; one he tried to blunt through steady breathing. He wasn’t sure what it was about tonight, but his emotions had him on a leash, yanking him back and forth like a yo-yo.

“Well, I’ll be in Grampleton this time next week, and I’m sure they know the proper words for everything. Perhaps I just won’t mention the wine.” Kath took her own seat, raised her glass of water. “Cheers. To you and your book.”

Warmth spread through his belly. “To the book.”

She caught his change to the toast - he could see it in the gaze she slid in his direction - but she didn’t comment. They drank. Ate. The food was good: bread, cheese, eggplant. The knife in his chest remained still. Bearable, for the moment.

“I said I wanted to visit somebody in Zuzu,” Kath said, after the first few mouthfuls. “My nanny, who looked after me when I was little. She lives in the suburbs. I’ve called her and we’ve been planning to meet. She’s retired now.”

The tense knot between Elliott’s lungs relaxed, though he couldn’t understand why. “That’s good.”

Kath nodded to herself. “Yes. I owe it to you, actually.”

“Oh?” A different sensation, the dip of a gull in flight.

Kath took a moment, chewing, swallowing. The fire spat, an ember falling to the hearth.

“I admire the relationship you have with Rosa,” she said. “I…”

And, unusually for Kath, she didn’t finish her sentence. She let it trail off into the trip and twirl of the piano melody, into the roar of the fire. Elliott wanted to save her, to catch hold of the conversational rope before it slithered out of reach, but he couldn’t. The knife in his chest had twisted. He stared at the fire, hands stilling, working to resist the pain. He felt suddenly, breathtakingly alone.

“Forgive me,” he heard himself saying, words reaching like a hand for the hilt sticking out of his ribs, “that I have never asked this before. Who did you lose?”

You need not answer, and I am sorry to remind you crowded on his tongue but didn’t spill free. He couldn’t even do her the courtesy of looking at her. The fire held him captive. Across the table, Kath set down her knife and fork.

“My mother,” she said, simply.

The hilt of the knife fit in his palm like they had been made for one another. Sorrow pulsed there, sharp as a scratch. He mentally grasped it, preparing.

“I am sorry,” he said, slowly, carefully, and it still didn’t feel like enough. Kath turned her head, choosing her own sanctuary. He’d expected her to go back to rigidity, formality, seeking shelter beneath strong beams, but she didn’t.

“I still miss her,” she said. It wasn’t a confession; how could it be? Elliott felt the knife tremble.

“I know.”

Their eyes met. Kath gave him a tight-lipped smile, a ward against her unshed tears.

“Yes. I’m sorry, too.”

He meant to pull the knife out there and then, prepared for a rush of fear and sorrow like so much glistening blood, but Kath surprised him. She reached across the table and put her hand on top of his, like she had in that liminal diner the first time she’d come on a rescue mission. Though he supposed that time, she’d given him a choice. He remembered it very clearly, despite the blurring effect grief was having on his memory. She’d rested her hand between them, palm up, the quietest invitation. He couldn’t refuse. Now, as then, the simple warmth of her touch brought him back from the brink. His mental grip on the knife relaxed. You should, he remembered, always leave foreign objects in the wound if you have no better way to treat the blood loss. His grief for Rosa was a foreign object, but he couldn’t bleed out now. It wasn’t yet over. There were still things left unsaid.

This realisation left him feeling strangely naked, so he turned his hand over and closed his fingers around Kath’s palm. Her hands were so much smaller than his. Callused, too, and the skin a little dry. Elliott lost himself in her touch for the span of a few heartbeats, long enough to duck his head, blink, recover. Then he sat back, letting go. He was under no illusion that Kath could find the same fascination in him as he was starting to discover in her.  

“We had better eat,” she said, the stiffness in her voice confirming his suspicions. He nodded. They were both, presumably, grateful for the radio covering the silence that followed.

“Elliott,” Kath said, eventually, “may I ask you a personal question?”

He paused. “Yes. Of course.”

“Your birth parents. What happened to them?”

The phrasing, he realised, was deliberate: her most careful effort to broach the topic. Her gentleness warmed him all over again. And it wasn’t so hard to answer.

“They are both still members of the Brotherhood. I do not speak to them. The Brotherhood forbids contact with outside forces.”

“Oh,” Kath said, as though the wind had been knocked out of her. This gave Elliott the impetus necessary to continue, though he could not have explained why, even to himself.

“It was my father who was first approached,” he said, feeling strangely safe in the wreckage of his childhood. “He was let go from his job when I was six. The Brotherhood saw his vulnerability and drew him in, though I don’t suppose it took much work. He was already receptive to their ideals. As was my mother. We moved into their compound when I turned eight.”

Kath didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She was listening with her own quiet ferocity, brow slightly furrowed, fingers interlaced. Her eyes were like pools in the firelight.

“I remember a little of life before,” he continued. “I think that helped, when it came time to leave. I knew that what was beyond was survivable. Happy, even. I had a notion of what I was going back to. There are children I grew up with who have lived their whole lives on the compound. They know nothing beyond nine buildings, a kitchen garden and a tree farm. I do not think they will ever leave.”

The hour must have changed, because now the radio was playing swing from the forties, the kind Rosa used to play on Sunday afternoons. Elliott loved the memory; he loved it so much it felt like hate. Leave the knife alone, he told himself. Let it be.

“How did you do it?” Kath asked, softly. Elliott reached clumsily for his cloak of practiced bravado, but found his fingers numb. With a sigh, he let it slip to the floor. He didn’t want to hide from Kath, not really.

“Foolish luck,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice. “I read. I dreamed. I thought a lot, and eventually thinking led me to heresy. I found heresy did not disagree with me. Then I decided to leave.”

“They let you go?”

“I was made an example. A message of discouragement to all who would follow.”

He wondered if she would ask more questions, but she stayed silent, watching him. There was no outrage. No wariness. She listened. He felt that strange stirring in his chest again and cringed away from it.

“Thank you for the meal,” he said, setting his cutlery straight, moving to rise. “It was delicious.”

“How do you carry on?”

He paused. Kath looked across the table at him with a strange intensity, as though she desired something deeper than understanding; to open up the cage of his ribs and crawl inside. I might let her, he thought, then felt burned. He got up, fleeing in a small way, and took up the plates.

“It is something that happened, and it is in the past. I was afraid of acceptance for a long time, but no longer. These are the things that are. I am who I am. Does that answer your question?”

A silence. Then:

“You always do that,” she murmured. “Talk around the point. When you’re -”

And she stopped. Elliott realised he’d been holding his breath. He set down the plates, keeping his back to her, feeling flayed. He did do that. He’d been doing it since Rosa had taught him how; longer, maybe, even back at the compound. A part of him snapped, baring teeth.

“How do you carry on?” He asked, voice too mild, and he was pleased when Kath rose to meet him, her tone growing tight.

“What do you mean?”

“You lost your mother.”

“I didn’t lose her,” she said. She was breathing through her nose, which was what she always did when her patience was tried. “She died.”

That hit him in the gut, deservedly. He bowed his head over the sink.

“My apologies.”

“No. It’s just something people say. It’s always bothered me. And I never say anything, so…”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Thank you for telling me.”

The tension between them relaxed somewhat. Kath gave him a wan smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I walked out of the gates,” he found himself saying. Penance? A peace offering? He wasn’t sure. “I told the elders I was leaving. They gave me my ID card and enough money for a bus ride in front of the entire congregation. Then they all watched as I left. Every step I took, part of me begged to turn around, go back.”

The host on the radio was signing off, leaving them with an old wartime song from the thirties. Kath spread her fingers on the table before her, then looked up.

“But you didn’t,” she said.

“I didn’t.”

“My mother died when I was ten,” Kath said, after a brief pause. “I’m not sure of her quality as a mother, independently ranked. But I loved her. Love her.”

“Grief is love untethered,” Elliott said. His throat had thickened, furred with weighty sadness. And Kath lifted a hand from the table to dab at her eyes with the edge of her forefinger.

“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t usually cry.”

The road forked before him: offer words, offer platitudes, stay still, do nothing. Elliott walked toward the blank and empty space of uncertainty. Leaving the plates in the sink, he went back to the table. He knelt by Kath’s chair. She was staring at him with mute, tearful confusion right up until he hooked an arm around her shoulders and drew her into an embrace. Then, to the relief of his suspended heart, she folded into him. He was tall enough that, like this, she could lean over and rest her head against his shoulder. Her jumper smelled like camphor and something else warm and dusty - animal feed, maybe? Her hair carried a waft of cheap shampoo. He held her while she hung off him, tiny tremors working through her while she cried. What have I done? He thought. I am going mad.

But he didn’t let go.

Kath was the one to eventually straighten up. That surprised him; the way she pulled back slowly, carefully, like she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Her eyes were a little reddened. She tried for a smile.

“Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologise,” he said, realising that his knees were starting to ache. “I-”

I needed you, too. I wanted to be close to you. I need a raft in this storm.

He said none of that, instead getting to his feet and trying not to wince. Kath didn’t press him. She just picked up her glass, swept a breadcrumb off the table.

“Some celebration,” she said, wryly. Elliott smiled.

“I enjoyed it.”

“You enjoy me weeping?”

“No, I-”

“I’m joking. A bad joke. But a joke.”

“Not bad, per se,” he told her.

“Poorly timed?”

“No.”

She shrugged, recovering her usual poise. “If you say so.”

Where had the stiff Kath, the shy, brittle Kath gone? Who was this graceful woman who had taken her place: one who could cry one minute and laugh the next? He turned away before any of this rash feeling showed on his face. His gaze fixed on the wall beside the front door, next to the window above Kath’s bed. Kath’s certificate from the grange display had been pinned there. A photograph was also prominently displayed: the polaroid picture Haley had taken of the three of them that day, all linked together and smiling. It struck him as he looked at it that the photograph was placed so as to be visible on leaving the cabin; that perhaps Kath looked at it every day before she went out to work on the farm. In his lungs, air hesitated. For an instant, he felt painfully, deliciously unsure.

“I should take my leave,” he said, unable to stand it. Kath looked over at him, surprised, but she nodded.

“Alright. Thanks for coming over.”

Elliott slipped into his coat. When he opened the door (not looking at that picture, at his smile, the one that shouted this uncertainty for all and sundry) the cold hit him with force and prejudice. Over by the fire, Custard poked his head up, annoyed by the draft.

“Elliott.”

He looked back. Kath had come closer, tea towel in one hand, wisps of hair escaping from her bun.

“Invite yourself over more often,” she said. A tiny smile. Blue eyes fixed on his.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. He never lied. He hadn’t lied since that first afternoon at Rosa’s, eating iced cakes and listening as she laid out her philosophy. But he couldn’t be honest about this. It wouldn’t be fair. So, he forced a nod, a smile.

“Thank you.”

“See you on Friday?”

“Yes. Friday.”

He left before she could say anything else. The wind followed him home, tugging at the edge of his coat, sneaking in at the wrists, until all his wretched stolen warmth was gone, and he felt, at last, himself again.

~

Kath had taken a test drive, then gone to buy pastries, and still her heart was full of nerves and her thoughts stuck on God. The heart was easy to explain: she was nervous about seeing nanny again. The head could be blamed on Elliott. They’d wandered onto the topic of theology on the way to Zuzu that morning. She couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation; how they’d talked for nearly an hour without stopping, without tension. A part of her sighed. The rest of her gripped the paper bag and slammed the door of Marnie’s truck. She wouldn’t be driving it much longer. All her pumpkin money had been spent half-an-hour earlier on a deposit for a pick-up of her very own, to be collected the first week of November. Kath would never stop being grateful to Marnie, but she was looking forward to independence.

Nanny lived in a “retirement community”: blocks of flats stacked around a drab central garden. Kath despaired at the sad clump of shrubs that passed for decorative horticulture. Evelyn would have conniptions. Well, if today’s visit was a success, perhaps Kath could bring some winter bulbs next time to brighten up these empty borders. This thought warmed her and scared her all at once. When had she figured out how to be generous?

Kath went up to the third floor and rang the bell for flat fourteen. The door opened an instant later. A tall, bespectacled woman with steel-grey hair stood before her, dressed in a navy housecoat and sensible slippers.

“Katherine?” She asked, looking her up and down. Kath smiled, pushing away the ridiculous urge to cry.

“Hello, nanny.”

“Goodness,” nanny said, faintly. “Haven’t you grown?”

They sat in nanny’s front room, drinking tea and eating their pastries off bone china plates. Kath couldn’t understand why she’d been so nervous. This was all the best bits of her childhood: quiet, comfortable, daddy nowhere in sight. Nanny’s tea was even better than Kath remembered. When she asked about it, nanny raised an eyebrow.

“Fontaine’s Ducal blend, of course.”

“Of course.” Kath remembered the packets: gold, with violet lettering. Nanny set her own cup back in its saucer and gave Kath a fond smile.

“Tell me, Katherine. How is life treating you? I thought about you often, you know. It is rare that I lose touch with one of my charges.”

Kath took a moment to marshal herself.

“I’m sorry, nanny,” she began, but nanny waved her away.

“Oh, fiddlesticks to all that. Besides, you are an adult, now. You may call me Audrey.”

“Alright. Well - things have changed, I suppose. I got my law degree, passed the bar. I spent two years working for Joja.” She took a breath, finding it easier. “Then I lost my job, and now I run a farm.”

There was a brief silence as nanny appraised her. Then she looked over at the window, a fleeting smile tugging at her thin lips.

“A farm?”

A nervous laugh burst from Kath like a bird taking fright. “I’m a farmer, nanny,” she said, amazed.

“A perfectly respectable profession. Hardly swinging trapeze on the Nuruthang Peninsula.”

Kath had started to laugh for real, and nanny – Audrey - looked ready to join her.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to shock me, Katherine. I’m very pleased for you. You look well.”

Kath got herself under control, pride flushing through her. “Thank you.”

“Is this your grandfather’s farm?”

Kath confirmed that it was, and then she went into the details because apparently she couldn’t help herself: inventorying her crops, naming her chickens, telling Audrey silly stories from the early days. At the mention of mice, Audrey actually yelped, pressing a hand to her chest. Kath grinned.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have a cat now.” She showed nanny a picture of the ginger miscreant.

Audrey nodded approvingly. “And you’ve made friends?”

“Yes. It’s a very close community, but I think I’m settling in.”

“Good. Good.”

They talked about town festivals, and about Audrey’s games of bridge. She told Kath that she was singing in a choir twice a week, and she had lunch club on a Tuesday.

“I do like it here. I feel a great sense of belonging.”

Kath replied that she understood, then checked her watch and realised she should have been leaving ten minutes ago. Audrey gave her a hug at the door, sending Kath straight back to twelve years old. Nanny had always been a pillar to her, something fundamental and steady. Seeing her again had shored up her confidence, granted her a dose of pride. They agreed to meet again in a fortnight. Kath felt like skipping on the way down to the truck. She drove across town humming and didn’t even grumble at the acres of hospital parking lot.

But when she reached reception, Elliott was nowhere to be seen. She checked the time twice, then ventured a message.

Kath to Elliott: I’m in reception, there’s no rush.

Kath to Elliott: Did I get the time wrong?

She knew she hadn’t. Twenty minutes after their scheduled meeting time, Kath got up from the uncomfortable chair and followed signs for Curtis Ward, brackets, hospice care. Unsurprisingly, she had to go a long way in. It made sense to keep the end-of-life care in a quieter wing.

A nurse was manning a desk just inside the door, curtains behind her screening the rest of the ward from view.

“Can I help you?”

Kath forced herself not to fidget. “Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for a friend - he’s visiting a patient here, Rosa Ferrenzi? I don’t want to disturb them. It’s just that we agreed to meet twenty minutes ago, and he’s not answering his phone. I can wait out here.”

The nurse nodded and Kath stepped back into the corridor. She didn’t have to wait long.

“You’re Kath? Rosa says you can come in.”

Kath hadn’t been expecting that. She opened her mouth to refuse, the but the words wouldn’t leave. The nurse looked professional, expectant. And Kath was curious. Flattered, even. Nerves surged inside her as she followed the nurse onto the ward.

It was the nicest hospital ward conceivable. Spacious, quiet, lots of flowers, cheery privacy curtains denoting individual “rooms”, a cosy communal area at the far end bathed in late afternoon light. Laughter erupted from a bed against the left-hand wall. As they drew level, Kath was surprised to find a small crowd gathered. Three men, two women. The man who was currently occupying the bed had his feet raised to keep his boots off the sheets. When he spotted them, he yelped, rocketing back to his feet. The others snickered. Kath took quick, anxious inventory, and was relieved to find Elliott standing protectively beside the bedside chair. An old woman sat in it, frail and smiling. She had the look of the very sick. Rosa. It had to be. As for the other three…

“Sorry, Nurse Carroll.” The bed-stealer was built like a lumberjack, dark hair close-cropped, a face that leant itself to an outsized grin. The nurse narrowed her eyes.

“If you get those sheets dirty, you’ll be the one changing them.”

He gave her a crisp salute, and Kath’s supposition was confirmed: this was Rosa’s eldest boy, the one in the military. That meant the other two were his siblings. The identification only made her nervous. Elliott rarely talked about Rosa’s children. How did they get along? What would they think of her? Would they be angry that she’d been invited into something that was clearly only meant for family?

“Kath!”

She’d been expecting Elliott to address her, but it was Rosa beckoning her closer. Despite her evident fragility, she was dressed in a pleated skirt and an embroidered cardigan. A dash of red lipstick leant her face a breath of colour.

“Forgive me for not getting up, sweetheart. Believe me, I am thrilled to meet you!” She extended a bony hand and Kath took it. Her accent was archipelago all the way, though Kath hadn’t the ear to tell which island. “My children’s friends are some of my favourite people, you see. Especially Elliott’s. Such a discerning boy.”

Kath went scarlet. Rosa’s eldest, the one from the bed, guffawed, while the younger brother pantomimed outrage.

“Ma! You wound us!”

“Did Elliott’s friends ever relieve themselves in my poinsettia?” Rosa asked, unruffled. Then she gave Kath a conspiratorial smile. “My children are my favourite people. But I must rile them occasionally!”

“Occasionally?” Rosa’s daughter, a tall woman who shared her brothers’ dark hair and warm brown skin, came around to their side of the bed. A small turquoise gem glistened in her left earlobe. “All the time, I think. Nice to meet you, Kath. I’m Mira.”

Rosa indicated Jules (the saluting lumberjack) and Milo (shorter than his brother and wearing a watch that looked painfully expensive). Then the conversation restarted. Kath moved back a little, standing, coincidentally, near to Elliott, positioning herself on the periphery. While Milo started on the story of the cockroach in his living room, Elliott ducked his head and lowered his voice.

“Apologies. Am I late?”

Kath tried not to feel anything in response to his closeness. “Yes. But it’s fine. I’m sorry for intruding.”

“Please, don’t be.”

Rosa made a horrified exclamation as Milo described how his dog had caught the roach in the middle of the night and presented it to Milo as a midnight snack. Mira cackled with beautiful unselfconsciousness. Even Elliott cracked a smile.

“Oh, man,” Jules shuddered. “Don’t miss the roaches. No, I do not.”

“You don’t get them down here?” Milo asked.

“Too cold,” Kath answered, without really thinking. When they all looked at her, she forced herself not to clam up. She did want to make a good impression. These were good people. Elliott’s people. She mustered a smile. “My neighbour’s a biologist. We talk a lot about insects. And fungi.”

“I guess insects are important, right? For farming?”

It was like being back in Marnie’s kitchen in spring, sipping coffee and talking about dinosaurs. Kath felt that same wellspring of kindness bubbling up beneath her feet, surprising her, delighting her. She started talking about bees without really thinking about it. Rosa was particularly interested in autumn roses - she used to grow them in her house on the archipelago - and recommended a few varieties for next year. Mira talked about her houseplant jungle. Elliott shook his head and told them all the story of Kath resurrecting his wilting fern. I am a farmer, she pointed out, and the others laughed. Then Jules checked his watch.

“Nearly four.”

Rosa sighed. “Ah, well. All good things, hm?” She made a tiny noise of pain as she shifted in her chair, and Elliott immediately put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t be morbid, mama,” Mira chided, leaning down to kiss her mother. “We’ll be back on Saturday.”

Rosa rolled her eyes, but Kath could see her hands tightening on Mira’s shoulders. “Fine, fine. You watch that boy with the Bugatti, alright? Never trust a man with a shiny car.”

“Mama!”

“Mama, Milo has a Porsche,” Jules said, kissing the top of Rosa’s head. A very affectionate family, Kath thought, feeling like an observer behind glass. Was she embarrassed? Envious? Both, probably. She made a concerted effort to melt into the background. Elliott picked up a sheaf of paper from the bedside.

“You’ll print that larger for me, hm?” Rosa asked, tilting her head to look up at him. “Forgive my old eyes.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he told her, lifting her hand and kissing it. “Seek comfort, Rosa.”

She drew him down into an embrace. “You tell that publisher to send me the very first copy.”

“I will,” he promised. Kath bit her lip, looking away. Mother issues, she supposed. It made a lot of sense.

“Kath,” Rosa then said, “may I hug you?”

Kath moved like she was in a dream. Rosa hugged her archipelago style, hands on shoulders, a kiss on the cheek. Kath mirrored her, holding her breath, afraid of disturbing the moment. Surely someone will see me, she thought, see me and point. It’s her, there! The one who doesn’t know how to have a family! But even as this idea occurred, she dismissed it. She did know how to have a family. She had a picture of them pinned on her cabin wall. Weird? Yes. Dysfunctional? A little. What family wasn’t?

Nurse Carroll came in with an orderly to help Rosa back into bed, and the visiting party took their leave. Kath and Elliott trailed along at the back. Kath felt strange. Untethered. Maybe it was the love. Maybe it was the hospital. Maybe it was the certainty of death, or Elliott in shirtsleeves and suspenders, carrying a battered leather music case. She made sure to keep her eyes on the tiled floor in case they gave her away.

“Kath - thank you.”

He made her look up, damn him.

“I’m not sure why you’re thanking me,” she said. Elliott stopped, frowning at her, and Kath cursed herself for a fool. But he just reached out towards her face, then stopped.

“My apologies. You have lipstick on your cheek.”

“Oh!” There was heat there, too. Kath hastily scrubbed at her skin with her fingers, hoping to remove both pigment and sensation in one fell swoop.

“Here,” he said, producing a handkerchief from his sleeve and using his thumb, covered by the cloth, to gently clean away the mark. Kath froze like a child, shutting her eyes. I used to carry handkerchiefs, she thought, desperately. I used to be civilised. Self-sufficient, even. What went wrong? When did I throw my heart away?

As soon as his touch vanished, she opened her eyes, put herself back into motion, and drummed up a thank you. Elliott followed half-a-step behind. They bade farewell to his siblings in reception and went back to Marnie’s truck. It was raining outside, thin and misty. Kath knew her hair was frizzing. The drive would take an extra forty minutes, leaving so late. As Kath settled into the driver’s seat, she found herself resenting the delay very much, so she didn’t speak all through the queue out of the hospital parking lot and checked the dash clock three times before they hit loop road. It would be dark before they left Zuzu, pitch black by the time she got back to the farm. Feed the chickens, feed the cat, feed herself. Fall into a cold bed. She didn’t realise she was clenching her jaw until Elliott asked her a question, and she had to make him repeat it.

“Sorry?”

“Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” He repeated. Kath tried to hold onto her malaise but found it unexpectedly slippery. It slid from her shoulders like a heavy coat, and she couldn’t catch it up again. Perhaps because she could acknowledge, even petulant, that she was not winning the worst-day stakes.

“I did. I bought the truck, actually. It drove nicely. Easier than this old girl, at any rate.”

“Excellent.”

“How was the publisher?”

“She was very kind. I can expect a contract by the end of next week.”

Kath was pleased she’d let go of her earlier irritation; she could enjoy this moment fully. “Excellent,” she parroted, grinning. “Would you like me to look it over?”

“That’s a very kind offer.”

She didn’t tell him that she was suddenly excited by the thought of detail, of clause and effect. Traffic was slowing as they approached a junction.

“And you saw your friend?”

Kath propped her elbow on the driver-side door and drummed her fingers idly on the steering wheel. “Yes. Audrey. It was… really nice. Just like old times. She hasn’t seen me since I was eighteen.”

“I imagine you had a lot to talk about.”

“The farm, mostly. I think Audrey was pleased to see me.”

Elliott nodded in her peripheral vision. The stoplight overhead scattered tiny rubies across the windshield, before they were obliterated by the wipers.

“Can I ask you a question?” Kath said.

“Of course.”

“How do you know when you’re fulfilled?”

It escaped her, this confession among confessions, and the release of it sent her into a wobbly run, a lurching syncopation of secret thoughts forced to take the shape of words.

“I - just. I love the farm. I love the work. When I arrived, it was all-consuming, which was what I needed. But - I never hated being a lawyer. I loved it. The environment…”

“The environment was cruel,” Elliott surmised, and Kath nodded.

“I was drowning,” she admitted. “It took a while for that to stop. Longer for me to realise it, to realise how bad it had been. But it doesn’t stop me from missing it?”

They finally passed the junction and joined the queue onto the freeway.

“I hated writing, sometimes,” Elliott said. “Not the action, necessarily, but the result was often unbearable. Stodgy, simplistic, pretentious, aimless… I hated my desk. The typewriter. The loneliness. I stopped many times. And now that I have no words left?” He looked over the handbrake at her, face sharply illuminated by an overhead streetlight. “I miss it. I miss it like an ache.”

Yes, Kath could have said, or she could have asked after the loneliness. But what she really wanted to know was, “Why are you not writing?”

They were halfway up the ramp before he answered. It had taken him several tries to articulate a response. Kath could hear the words getting stuck in his throat.

“I can’t. There’s no flow. I pace and I stare, but it’s all locked up in here.” He gestured to his temple. “I have… Lost the key.”

“When my mother died,” Kath said, her own voice sounding distant, “I stopped singing. I used to take lessons. But I just couldn’t do it anymore. Not for years.” Then she realised what she’d said. “I don’t mean you’ll never write again. Only that grief does strange things. Besides,” a final revelation, one she had no doubt he would ignore, “your book is really good. I loved the first chapter.”

He thanked her, after a somewhat stilted pause. Kath grimaced.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore. If it’s too raw.”

“What was your mother like?” He asked, out of nowhere. It was a question so breath-takingly intimate that Kath felt it tremble around her heart, shuddering like a struck bell. She saw in the wash of streetlights a woman with bobbed hair and a distracted, wavering smile. Mom. The woman who should have been there.

“She was gentle. Graceful. She always looked like she was thinking about something, something far-away. She wanted me to be graceful, too.” The next part had never been shared with anyone, but it slipped from her like a skein of silk on the wind. “She wasn’t a very good mother, in retrospect. But I didn’t know that. I thought all mothers pushed their children away. She would make bargains with me. Darling, I made you dinner. That means you go play quietly, alright? Don’t bother mummy.”

She wasn’t quite crying, but it was close. They hit the freeway and started picking up speed. The streetlights thinned out. It was just the two of them, following brake lights, the heater humming in the background. The rain was getting heavier.

“You deserved better.”

Kath stared fixedly ahead in lieu of pulling over and sobbing her heart out. It was fully dark, now. Cars whizzed past in the inside lane, kicking up spray.

“Yes,” she agreed, when she could speak again, “but so did she.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, not even turning on the radio. Kath’s thoughts spun like a millwheel: slow, inexorable, pouring in, pouring out. Her inherent fear of favours. Shouting - the clipped kind, the controlled kind - in Benji’s shiny kitchen after something innocuous had gone badly awry. I did not have a traumatic childhood! The blowjob she’d given him as shame-faced recompense, one of the few clear memories she’d retained of their sex life. Clear, perhaps, because she hadn’t been thinking about the sex, but about her anger, about therapy, about how she didn’t need therapy. Therapy was for basket-cases. Kath wasn’t a basket-case. She couldn’t be. She didn’t the time.

I’m the whole damn weave, she thought, with a touch of wry hysteria. How didn’t I see it before? No wonder Benji went off with that girl from finance. Kath hadn’t even known her name. She’d just seen her coat in Benji’s hallway, her shoes (lopsided) on the top shelf of the shoe rack. Pretty little kitten-heels. Kath had turned around and walked out. She didn’t know if they’d heard her come in. She didn’t want to know. Just sent Benji’s key back by post, along with a box of accoutrement that had accumulated over their eleven-month relationship. Even the span of it had seemed inauspicious. Whoever heard of lasting eleven months?

Mom always talked about me getting married. A thought resurrected from that period, now trotted out for the re-tread. It didn’t hurt like it had back then. After all, Kath reminded herself, marriage is not compulsory. Not to mention the prospect had never seemed more unlikely. She loved one man in her one-horse town, and he was sitting next to her and firmly unavailable.

Perhaps I will be a spinster, she decided, leaving Elliott at the dunes and driving back up the coast road towards Marnie’s place. That seems like a good life. I will take up bridge and find a choir to sing in, and one day I will stop loving the author who lives on the beach, and I will be happy.

Chapter Text

Spirit’s Eve came and went. Kath spent the evening in Grampleton with Leah, gawking at the decorated houses. They’d driven over in Kath’s new truck to pick up a stack of prints for Leah’s exhibition; Kath persuaded her to pin up a flyer on the village noticeboard, right next to the sign advertising “An Exploration of Organic Farming- with local farmer, Katherine Perks.” This had gone some way towards softening Leah’s anxiety; she kept bringing it up with a sly grin, until Kath eventually broke and forced her into a deal. She could come to Kath’s WI night; Kath in turn could come to her exhibition. They could both applaud one another and drink metaphorical champagne. Leah agreed to this. They drove home and ate candied apples on Kath’s porch. It wasn’t a bad day.

Kath had Elliott’s contract to look over, now, too, and she was so excited that she worked through the whole thing in one sitting, staying up until midnight. She made herself check again more slowly the next night, then a final review the night after, but her conclusion stayed the same: it was a good deal. She told Elliott this on their next trip into the city, stifling a yawn. At least her new truck had comfortable seats. While Elliott visited Rosa, she curled up in the cab and closed her eyes. Where had this exhaustion come from? She did her best to shoulder her way through.

Leah to Cabin Crew: So, we’re all going to Kath’s inaugural lecture tour, right???

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Of course. Should we book a dinner reservation?

Kath to Cabin Crew: I have it on good authority that there will be tea, coffee, and pear tart available afterwards, and also that I will be too nervous to eat anything for twelve hours beforehand.

Kath to Cabin Crew: I really appreciate you both coming.

Kath to Cabin Crew: <3

Leah to Cabin Crew: Kath used an emoji!!!! Is this real life

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Would you like our help with any of the set-up?

Kath to Cabin Crew: I am assuming you’d prefer to cadge a lift with me then catch the bus, so your repayment will be helping me display my farm tools.

Elliott to Cabin Crew: Your wish is our command.

And so they set off the following Thursday, Leah in the middle, Elliott beside her, Kath’s scythe lashed down in the back. “I didn’t think about the liability,” she said, over the music, as they drove up into Emerald Heights. “It is technically a lethal weapon. Maybe I should leave it in the truck.”

“Anything’s a lethal weapon if you try hard enough,” Leah objected. She had dressed up for the occasion, wearing a forest green peasant blouse. Kath hummed, distracted.

“Maybe I should get a guard for the blade? Robin could probably make one.”

“Stop worrying,” Leah told her. Elliott cracked a smile. Kath had to keep her eyes on the road.

Grampleton Village Hall was just as self-possessed as the village that built it: polished parquet flooring, arched windows, porcelain cups for the tea and coffee. Kath was sweating. Leah and Elliott had taken their seats. The well-dressed horde behind them were already drifting over from the hatch to the kitchen. Kath fidgeted with the cuffs of her blue button-up. She’d dressed up as well. Dark-wash jeans and everything.

Melissa strode between the rows of chairs. She was wearing knee-high suede boots and a quilted jacket, and had already plied Kath with tea. “Ready?” She asked, brightly.

Kath nodded, and Melissa clapped her hands together. “If you would like to take your seats!”

Melissa made a brief introduction- local farmer, organic methods, commendation in the grange display- then Kath took her place. Thirty faces, all staring expectantly back. Her confidence, already stumbling, gave an alarming lurch.

“So, Kath- over to you.”

She found herself seeking out the two redheads in the back row. Leah gave her a tiny thumbs-up. Elliott just nodded. And Kath started talking.

She talked for the entire thirty minutes without pause. She followed her mental script, ticking off the bullet points: holistic farming, nature-based solutions, small-scale, high yield. She demonstrated how to use the scythe. She described her work with Demetrius, their efforts to reintroduce toads to the farm ponds to tackle rampaging slugs.

“As my grandpa used to say,” she concluded, “the land is the thing. It’s all-consuming. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

She must have conveyed in the fall of her voice that she was finished, because polite applause broke out almost immediately. Melissa opened the floor for questions. Kath’s throat was beginning to scratch. And then, at last, it was done.

“You’re more than welcome to stay for refreshments,” Melissa offered, as the second round of applause died out and people rose from their seats. Before Kath could refuse, somebody took her elbow.

“Kath? Sorry, I absolutely had to catch you before you were thrown to the masses! I’m Rowena, and this is my husband, Mark.” She was blonde, with a pinched face that bespoke concern over disagreement, and she was dressed in an intriguing mix of wool and athleisure. Her husband was a waxed-jacket specimen, silver-haired and outdoorsy. They each shook Kath’s hand in turn.

“It’s about,” Rowena continued, “your vegetables. Next year’s crop. Mark and I run a veg box business, you see- all organic, all local. We think your farm sounds like a fantastic fit.”

“Fantastic,” Mark agreed.

“Could we perhaps meet for a chat? Get into the detail?” Rowena wanted to know. Kath, mind racing, said that they could. A date was fixed, and Rowena left, Mark in tow, in search of herbal tea. Two more people swiftly took their place.

They stuck out like sore thumbs. It wasn’t just the combat boots, the ripped jeans, or the lip piercing; it wasn’t the side-shave, or the oversized sweatshirt. It wasn’t even their comparative youthfulness. It was the way they held themselves. Tense, alert to some invisible anticipation. Kath felt an instinctive wariness draw her up tight, like a hedgehog curling into a ball.

“Are you Katherine Perks?” Lip-piercing asked. He had a Zuzu accent, and his navy-blue hair made him look paler than he really was.

Kath was still polite out of habit. “I am.”

His eyes widened. “Did you work for Joja?”

It was in the way he said it. Something eager, an evidence of culmination; that this had been so long in the planning as to become a hopeful fiction. On Kath’s part, this was a distant, unnamed dread suddenly manifest. She picked up her bag - incidentally, a bag she hadn’t used since her days in the office - with a fervency unique to the cornered, her eyes flicking to the door. The girl, who looked a little older and had tiny charms hanging from the braids on the unshaven side of her head, elbowed her companion and whispered, “I told you not to say that! You’re going to freak her out!”

“We’re not here to make trouble,” the boy added. “We just want to talk.”

Kath hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “No,” she said, curtly, her heart thudding. “No, I’m sorry-”

She knew her fear made her look guilty, but she couldn’t help it. Before she could flee, however, the girl rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a flyer.

“Please. Take this. I’m sorry if we…”

Kath took the flyer, hoping it would end the conversation, and as she did, her eyes found Elliott on the edge of the room. He was looking over at her, expression concerned. The girl gave her an apologetic smile, then took the boy by the arm and towed him away. Elliott came over almost at once. He could see something in her face. Maybe she had gone white. She certainly felt that way.

“Are you alright?” He asked, reaching out, not quite touching her.

“I need to leave,” she said, sounding distracted. She moved towards the scythe, her vase of dried flowers. “I need to-”

“Then we’ll help you,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

She knew she should lie. She also knew she couldn’t keep hiding it; the idea nauseated her. She felt afraid and alone, and in that moment would have given up any secret to make it stop. “In the car,” she said, folding the flyer with crisp, precise motions: first in half, then into quarters. “I need to say goodbye to Melissa.”

She did this, citing an early alarm, and shook hands. Elliott had drawn Leah into his wake, hefting tools back out to the truck. Kath followed. The two strangers had already gone. Kath thought she might have spotted their car leaving the lot, a set of cramped brake lights set on rickety suspension. It was meaningless, but she felt a little less hunted. Elliott and Leah were waiting by her passenger door. Kath unlocked it, climbed in herself, turned on the engine. There was a strange, halting silence.

“Are you OK?” Leah asked, quietly. “What did they say to you?”

And Kath, finally, told them.

“You know I used to work for Joja,” she began, putting the truck in reverse, carefully backing out of her space. “As a lawyer. Corporate lawyer, technically. But I worked exclusively on their “Civil Defence Team”, which meant that I worked to oppose civil lawsuits filed against the company.” A pause as she checked left, checked right, and pulled out onto the road. Leah and Elliott were totally silent.

“I was very good with detail. Good at parsing reports, distilling analysis into something a judge could understand. I did a few smaller cases. The bigger ones were called “Operations” internally. They all had code names. After six months, I was drafted onto Operation Lustre. The Flag-in-the-Water suit. I stayed there until I was dismissed.”

They passed the boundary for Grampleton and the pine forest rose up around them almost immediately.

“I started to think something was wrong fairly early on. It was the way documents were treated, spoken about. The other cases I’d worked on had this - this unshakeable air of complacency. Of course Joja would win. It wasn’t ever in doubt. Lustre, though… It was different. People were jumpy. Paranoid, even. The whole thing felt wrong. I…”

She trailed off. I should have blown the whistle? I should have gone higher up? How? Who would have listened? She felt these were flimsy excuses, but she tried to convey them anyway.

“I couldn’t do anything. I wasn’t brave enough. And I didn’t really want to believe there was anything wrong. I still believed that Joja was fundamentally a force for good.”

Leah gave her an incredulous look. Kath didn’t blame her. In hindsight, she had been monumentally stupid.

“But I just… I had this feeling. It wasn’t anything noble, you understand. Just that we weren’t following procedure. That things were being obscured. I used to work long hours. Often, I was the last person on our floor. I started making copies of documents. Only a few pages at first, then more. I would put them in the back panel of my handbag, just in case security called me over for a search. They never did. The property I was living in had a secret safe, so I kept the documents in there. Binders and binders full, eventually. I didn’t know what I was going to do with them. I suppose I was waiting for something to happen - a sign that I needed to hit eject. But it didn’t come.”

Her throat grew tight. The memory still burned.

“It was a Sunday,” she said, gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary feelings. “I was sleeping in. Three guys from security - we used to call them bailiffs, they would come and clear out people’s desks when they were fired - were hammering on my apartment door. I went to let them in, and they told me I was dismissed. They took my pass, my laptop, my work phone. One of them sat with me in the front room while the other two searched for anything “clandestine”. They kept saying that someone internal had compromised the case, and it had to be me. I don’t know how I managed to lie to them. I think the decoy safe probably helped. They left, and I sat there for another hour, making sure they were really gone. Then I went to the real safe. And I knew I had to get away.” She snorted a dry laugh. “I thought I would take a few weeks, go through the documents, prove my innocence. For some reason, I was fixated on the fact that I whilst I had broken protocol, I hadn’t leaked anything. I never let those copies out of my sight. I had my boss’s phone number memorised, and I kept calling her from my personal cell, trying to be professional. She picked up that first day. I guess she didn’t recognise my number. She said she’d try to sort things out.”

“But she didn’t,” Leah surmised, and Kath nodded.

“She did ring me. Back in April, months after I’d left. I was so angry I threw my phone clean across the cabin. That’s how I broke the screen.”

There was a silence Kath fancied might be impressed. She resumed her story.

“Anyway. The day after the bailiffs came, I pulled out grandpa’s will and rang Lewis. I packed up the documents into suitcases- I had to go out and buy a new one just to fit them all- and caught the bus. Joja took damages from my account the same day. That’s why I was flat broke when I came here. It’s in the employment contract that Joja can collect a monetary equivalent to damages caused in the case of dismissal with prejudice. Fifty grand, in my case.”

Leah let out a small, pained gasp. Kath shrugged.

“I knew what I was signing up for.”

“Jesus, Kath.”

“Yeah,” was all she could say. “I know.”

“But, like, you just made copies,” Leah said, trying to get her head around it. “How is that so serious?”

“It’s actually a felony,” Kath said, voice so tight she made it sound almost insignificant. “Joja treats all discoverable documents as intellectual property. Campion vs Joja Corp, secondary verdict. Making illicit copies carries a potential prison sentence.”

More silence. Kath felt almost light-headed. Relief, she supposed. The trammelled thing that had been pacing in her brain for the last eighteen months had finally been released.

“I wouldn’t normally encourage you to break the law,” she said, at last, “but I would obviously appreciate it if you kept this to yourselves.”

“We will,” Elliott said. It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d got in the truck. Leah snorted.

“Obviously. Fuck Joja.”

Kath, somehow, smiled. “Indeed.”

“The people who spoke to you tonight…”

Kath pulled the flyer from her pocket and handed it to Leah, who unfolded it and read aloud.

“Students Against Injustice. Use your skills and energy to counter corruption and neglect in deprived communities. We work with established legal firms to focus attention on worthy causes. Great for work experience, volunteering, etc. Current firms include Miller Rock, Asprey & Love, and Harmans.”

Kath had known it right from the start, but it still rocked her to hear it confirmed. Leah looked up.

“Asprey & Love. Aren’t they-”

“Yes. Flag-in-the-Water’s representatives.” She swallowed. “I think they’ve been looking for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was gossip, right before I left,” Kath answered, slowing for the turn off the freeway, “that Asprey & Love had a spy in Joja. Watercooler shit, that’s what my boss called it, but she was paranoid, too. Never started meetings until the door was closed, that kind of thing. But, if it was true, the spy would have heard someone was dismissed over leaking documents. Maybe they even knew my name. If you were trying to get the edge on Joja, wouldn’t you want to track that person down?”

“This is completely batshit,” Leah said, and in the darkness, it seemed like the most reasonable reaction in the world. Kath nodded, mutely. Then another thought came to her.

“In the interests of full disclosure, you should probably know that my dad’s a major investor at Joja. Louis Astor. I use my mother’s maiden name.”

They were coming down the hill into Pelican Town: the boundary sign shone up ahead, glowing in the truck’s headlights. Kath realised she was on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly.

“Kath.” It was Leah. “We don’t care who your dad is. I mean, we care that he’s a shit dad, but that’s not your fault. And we don’t care what you were like before you came here. Like, you’re so obviously not that person anymore. The real question is whether you’re going to call these people and offer to help.”

From fear, to relief, and right back around again. Kath shivered. But a part of her, a part that had grown strong in the rich soil of Watershed Farm, resisted. They were driving down Main Street now, past the shuttered general store. Flag-in-the-Water wouldn’t be much different. Tiny town. Small community. Everyone knowing everybody else.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, feeling pathetic. “I’m too selfish for this.”

“Hey,” Leah said, “hey. Let’s go down to the beach. It’s always easier to make big decisions outdoors.”

“Quite so,” Elliott added, the tone of his voice indicating that he was thinking hard. Reappraising, no doubt, Kath thought, feeling small and ashamed. She took the turning for the dunes, emerging from the trees a minute later. They parked up. Got out. It was bitterly cold. A severe wind screamed off the sea. Leah yelped, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Can you make the decision quick?” She gasped, clinging close to the truck. “Fuck me, it’s cold.”

Despite everything, Kath laughed. She was shivering, too. And, suddenly, it hit her: the people in Flag were suffering. Their children were sickened. Their water brackish. They couldn’t go down to the beach and laugh because salts had turned the sea rusty orange, killing all the crabs. She had been a part of that, or at least part of ensuring that they would never get justice. She’d quashed every last shred of empathy in an effort to do her job well, and for what? More suffering? So, she was afraid. The people in Flag had been afraid for a decade. She had to do something. Had to.

“I’ll call them,” she said, simply. “I don’t want to, but I will. I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Atta girl,” Leah said. She sounded proud. Kath was a grubby creature, but she basked in it anyway. They bade farewell to Elliott, then she took Leah back home and drove up to the farm. She was greeted by Custard’s plaintive meow. Kath rubbed his back, resupplied his biscuit bowl, lit the fire. She felt strangely calm. This was her course, now. She would try and right, in her own small way, her wrongs.

The next morning, she fed the chickens with almost mechanical efficiency, then swaddled herself in her Fairisle jumper and rooted herself on the porch, phone in hand. She couldn’t have done it inside: she’d have felt too trapped. She had to lean over the railing as it was, folding her body in half to prevent all the adrenaline chasing around inside from erupting over the locale. If it’s too risky, I can walk away, she thought, craven in the daylight. But this assurance was enough. She checked the flyer again and hit dial. Don’t go to voicemail, she begged. Do go to voicemail and spare me this, she pleaded, simultaneously. It didn’t. A guy who spoke with clipped received pronunciation picked up after four rings.

“Andy Travis speaking.”

“Hello. My name’s Katherine Perks. I-” she fumbled for a moment, though she’d had this all planned out. “I spoke with two of your colleagues last night. They asked me to ring you.”

“Colleagues?” Andy asked. His scepticism, a perfectly rational thing, made Kath shrivel. She traced the grain of the wooden railing with a fingernail, then fixed her eyes on the treeline to the south.

“I didn’t get their names. They found me, actually. They wanted to know if I would be willing to help with the Flag-in-the-Water lawsuit.”

“Oh, you’re interested in Flag? Well, we’re at full capacity, in terms of manpower. I can let you know if anything changes. Are you a student at Zu U?”

She almost laughed. “I used to work for Joja.”

“So did a lot of us,” he said, lightly. Kath made herself draw in another steadying breath.

“As part of their Corporate Defence Team. I spent eighteen months on Operation Lustre. I might - I might have some information for you.”

There was a considerably more shocked silence. Kath let it happen. Eventually, Andy cleared his throat.

“I must confess, Katherine, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“No,” Kath agreed. “I can see why.”

“We would be interested in talking to you. Perhaps a neutral location?”

“There’s an arboretum downtown,” she said, softly. She had planned this last night, too, unable to fall asleep. “There are two benches on the west side of the duck pond.”

She imagined him scribbling notes.

“Yes. I know it.”

“I’ll be bringing a friend. If that’s alright.”

“I understand. Could you make Wednesday lunchtime? Twelve-thirty?”

Kath replied with the affirmative, then hung up. Tuesday was good. She could drop some canvases off for Leah’s exhibition at the same time. It meant she’d be in Zuzu four days next week, but that couldn’t be helped…

She set her phone on the railing and bowed her head for a moment, suddenly overcome by shivers. Then she pulled herself together and went out to the shed to fetch her gloves. There was underbrush beside the mountain trail that needed clearing. The ground was hard under her boots and her breath puffed into tiny clouds, dispersing in the weak, wind-swept sunshine.

~

Kath took Leah. She’d told them both, her and Elliott, over a quiet bottle of red at the Stardrop the night after she’d called Andy, but she needed absolute certainty at this meeting, and Leah was the one for that. So, there they were: sat side-by-side on the bench on the west side of the duck pond in Zuzu Arboretum. Two mallards sculled unenthusiastically among the lily-pads, making the kind of noises Kath associated with early-morning commuters. Leah nudged her in the side.

“What time is it?”

“How do you live without wearing a watch?” Kath wanted to know, tilting her wrist. “It’s twelve twenty-eight.”

Leah shrugged. She was wearing her nesting doll scarf again, along with an enormous teddy jacket that went half-way down her thighs. “I can always tell what time it is in the valley. Is that him?”

Kath eyed the man skirting the duck pond, wearing the corporate regulation black trench coat and polished brogues. “No.”

They’d looked Andy up on the library computers. He had a headshot on Students Against Injustice: bald, sharp-eyed, tanned. Leah sighed.

“Sorry. I’m a little jumpy.”

“Join the club,” Kath muttered. She hadn’t brought anything with her; she wasn’t even sure she’d reveal her hand and had warned Leah as much. If anything seems amiss, she’d said, aware she sounded ridiculous, I’ll just tell him I don’t want to talk, and we’re getting out of there.

She jumped when Leah elbowed her. “Kath. Kath. I think that’s him.”

Kath jerked her head up- and Leah was right. That was the man in the photograph, Andy Travis. He wasn’t alone. The girl who’d helped corner Kath in Grampleton had come with him. They made an odd pair: him in his suit and tie, she in a belted maroon overcoat, charms glinting in her hair, holographic combat boots shimmering. Leah tensed.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Kath said, her heart beating so hard she was surprised she still had the wherewithal to speak. Andy met her eyes as they drew closer. Kath stood. She liked him; she was wary of liking him; she held out her hand anyway.

“Katherine Perks?” He asked, already returning the gesture.

“Just Kath. You’re Andy Travis?”

“In the flesh. I believe you’ve met my “colleague”, hm?”

The girl flushed. “Sorry. In my defence, I never said…”

She trailed off, ducking her head. Andy tsked.

“This is Clementine. One of my more vociferous students. She had the bright idea to try and track you down. I thought it appropriate that she join us.”

Kath made herself be the bigger person, and held out her hand to Clementine, too. Then she gestured to Leah, still sat on the bench.

“This is my friend, Leah.”

Leah gave them a not-very-friendly wave. Then the meeting was joined. Andy and Clementine sat on one bench; Leah and Kath sat on the other. There was an absurd element of spy craft to it that Kath would have found funny if she hadn’t been so nauseous. Andy wasted no time.

“So, Kath. I did a little research. I’m sorry about that, but I’m sure you understand. I wanted to be sure this wasn’t just a dead end.”

“I understand,” Kath replied. “I would have done the same.”

“It’s just talking, for now. We won’t pressure you into anything. We’re always happy to speak with representatives from Joja, or those who have since moved on.”

Clementine picked up the conversational thread.

“Like Andy said - I’ve been trying to trace a few ex-Joja folk. Please don’t think I like, stalked you, or anything. I just got a hit on your name for the meeting at Grampleton Village Hall. They put a bulletin on their website. I figured we could at least check it out. And after what you said about moving from the city - I was sure. I really am sorry for freaking you out. I know leaving Joja is no joke. Never mind speaking against them.”

“Clem,” Andy cautioned her, “we don’t know that Kath’s willing to do that.”

Kath made sure to take her time before answering.

“I want to help. But I also need assurances. This is a big risk for me. I’ve managed to rebuild my life, and I don’t want that taken away from me.”

Andy and Clem exchanged a look.

“Kath - we’ve talked to a couple of others who left Joja. Even a few who were familiar with Operation Lustre. While we’ve had some good information out of them, there’s never any proof. That’s what keeps you safe. If Joja can’t prove, they can’t accuse. We’ll take every precaution, but this is actually relatively secure. Tell us what you know, and we can go our separate ways. Joja will never be any the wiser.”

The crossroads had finally arrived: the time to commit or turn back. Kath glanced at Leah, who gave her a tiny nod. Kath bunched her hands into fists in her lap.

“I don’t just have testimony,” she said, quietly. “I think my testimony, actually, would be of little use to you.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Alright. What do you have?”

“Documents.”

One of the mallards quacked, startled by a dog on the footpath. Kath felt Leah’s hand on her forearm, squeezing through her coat.

“What kind of documents?” Andy asked. A reasonable question. Kath chose not to answer it.

“Asprey & Love had a break-in a few months back, didn’t they?”

Andy and Clem shared a look, which told Kath all she needed to know.

“Was anything taken?”

“You know I can’t answer that,” Andy said, the rebuke clear. Kath nodded, still staring at the duck pond.

“Sorry. I’m trying to figure out if you have something Joja want, or if they only think you have it. Presumably the latter, given the suit hasn’t been dismissed yet.” She looked at him, mouth very dry. “I have eight binders full of discoverable documents from Operation Lustre. Don’t ask how I got them. But they’re yours. If you think they’ll be useful.”

Nobody spoke. Clementine’s mouth had dropped open; Andy was staring like a thousand thoughts were shooting through his head, each more fantastical than the last. Leah squeezed Kath’s arm again.

“Obviously,” Kath said, lightly, “anonymity and discretion are very important to me. I’m sure you understand.”

“Are you for real?” Clem whispered. “Like, actually, for real?”

“Clem -” Andy cautioned, but she turned to him with wide eyes.

“This could be it! This could be exactly what we’ve been looking for!”

“Clem.” Andy glanced at Kath. “These are all big ifs.”

“I understand,” Kath said, again. Her calm façade was beginning to crack. “If you need time to think…”

Clementine started to speak, but Andy cut her off.

“That would be great. How about I call you?”

Kath got up from the bench. She was shaking, and not from the cold. “Sure. It was good to meet you.”

“Bye,” Leah said, unceremoniously. They left the park in silence, Clem staring after them, Andy reaching into his bag for a notepad. Kath wondered if she was going to be sick.

“You OK?” Leah asked.

Kath took a couple of steady breaths. “Yes. Let’s drop off your canvases, then go home.”

Chapter Text

Leah’s exhibition was a triumph. Kath wore a thrifted Grampleton dress with a Peter Pan collar and spent most of the night stood in the corner, eking out her glass of free fizz and chatting to Elliott. He had put on his burgundy suit coat in honour of the occasion and pulled his hair into a braid. Occasionally, Leah would swing back into their orbit, a little flushed from all the attention, and they would congratulate her. She was sharing the space with a sculptor from Thespa Hills who liked the fluidity of form and, as far as Kath could tell, drugs. Kath and Elliott spent a long time staring at a piece made from white resin that featured both bubble like shapes and a number of aggressive spikes.

“It is called Eternity,” Elliott observed, reading the sign. Kath’s shoulders shook, just once.

“I’m seeing a sheep -” she gestured to the bubbles, “- being consumed by a porcupine.”

His eyebrows went up. “A fascinating observation.”

“Or a sheep-porcupine centaur. A sheecupine.”

“A porcupeep,” Elliott said, straight-faced, and Kath nearly spat prosecco all over Eternity.

The next morning, Clementine called. Kath felt a strange surge of exhilaration when she recognised the voice on the phone. Andy thinks we should wait and see, she said, but I trust you. Can I come to the valley? I understand if you’d rather not meet on the farm, but there are like, fewer Joja people out there, surely.

Kath agreed. For her own peace of mind, she sent up a signal flare.

Kath to Cabin Crew: Reinforcements needed for a photocopying party.

Kath to Cabin Crew: I will provide snacks.

Elliott to Cabin Crew: I don’t believe food is permitted in the library.

Leah: I’m in!!!

They met outside the library at five. The temperature had already dropped below freezing and the ground felt like iron, frost showing on the blades of grass. Kath had brought a suitcase and a backpack full of Tupperware. The library key weighed heavy in her pocket. Lewis had agreed to the loan on the strict condition that she return it first thing the next day. She opened the door and switched on the lights.

“Kath,” Elliott asked, crossing to the checking desk, “is this an illegal copying party?”

“Yeah,” Leah answered for her. She was unwrapping the scarf from her head, looking unconcerned. “Super illegal. Are you worried?”

He met Kath’s eyes. “Should we make a vow of secrecy?”

“We can if you want,” she said, squashing the part of her heart that still trembled for him. “Is there a blood rite?”

Leah stuck out both her hands and wiggled the little fingers. “Pinky promise, obviously. Both morally and legally binding.”

Elliott eyed her. “I’m not sure you’re taking this seriously.”

“I trust you both,” Kath said, simply. “I don’t need you to swear to me.” When Leah pouted, she rolled her eyes. “But we can if you want.”

“Yay!”

They stood in a triangle like they were about to summon a demon and linked little fingers. Kath looked up at Elliott as she took his.

“Your hands are cold.”

“My apologies.”

“That was concern, not admonishment,” she told him, relieved that her face was still red from the cold. “Were you writing without gloves?”

“I lost track of time,” he said, not directly answering. Leah cleared her throat.

“I solemnly do so swear…”

They both looked at her. She shook her hands, and, by extension, theirs, in an encouraging gesture. “I solemnly do so swear…”

“I solemnly do so swear,” they mumbled.

“To protect the secret we share, until death do us part.”

“That’s intense,” Kath muttered. Leah shot her a glare.

“This is your secret! Besides, you said you trusted us.”

“To protect the secret we share, until death do us part,” Elliott repeated, softly. He squeezed Kath’s little finger in his as he did so.

Kath wasn’t expecting to feel affection in such an odd moment, but it rose up inside her like a wave. Stood in the library with her two favourite people in the whole world, darkness outside, the photocopier blinking green. She swore her own oath with undeniable sincerity. Leah declared it sound by the power of the pinky, then they all split to form a production line. Kath had brought, it turned out, close on six hundred pages.

“We can’t copy them all,” she explained, slamming a binder onto a nearby writing desk, “so if I have a quick glance, I can separate them into replicate and ignore piles. There’ll probably be a maybe pile, too. I’ll go over those afterwards. Make sense?”

“What prompted this?” Elliott asked, lifting the lid of the copier. Kath realised she hadn’t yet told him.

“Clementine is coming to Pelican Town next week. I do want to show her the papers, but I also want to have a back-up.”

“Stored in a secret place,” Leah chimed in. “Like in a spy movie.”

Elliott’s mouth twitched. To distract herself, Kath heaved open the binder. Leah whistled through her teeth.

“How did you copy all this? Didn’t you get bored?”

“I was a little obsessive,” Kath muttered, selecting a sheaf and sitting at the desk. “I brought some leftovers from Evelyn’s lesson a few days back, by the way. Pumpkin soup and blackberry cobbler.”

Leah hummed appreciatively. The three of them set to work. A quiet earnestness percolated the atmosphere: the rustle of turning pages, the hum and clunk of the photocopier, Leah drumming her fingers distractedly. It reminded Kath of late nights at university, happy in her own bubble of burgeoning knowledge. They paused at seven to eat soup from the thermos, then went right back to it. A short while later, Kath paused again. Elliott, who had taken over the hole punch, noticed her stillness and gave her a questioning look. She blinked, frowning.

“I think I’ve found something.”

Leah glanced over her shoulder. “What sort of something?”

Kath marshalled her thoughts, staring back down at the sheet in front of her. “This,” she said, slowly, “is a letter from the site foreman at the Istrin Disposal Site. That’s the official name for Joja’s dump out by Flag. He wrote this four years ago, recommending that investigations be undertaken into the groundwater levels near the disposal chambers.”

“Disposal chambers?” Leah asked.

Kath rubbed her forehead. “All potent manufacturing waste has to be stored, or matured, for a minimum of thirty-five years in watertight concrete chambers. It supposedly gives the harmful toxins time to degrade into their less dangerous components. Anyway, the chambers are usually built underground - they’re a bit of an eyesore. That’s why it’s important to make sure the floor of the chamber is above the local groundwater level. Otherwise, you run the risk of the water eroding the chamber and leaching chemicals into the ground.”

“So, somebody wanted that looking into nine years ago?”

“That’s not the bit that concerns me,” Kath said, absently, reading it for a third time. “He references a report that was written years before, back before the site had been shut down. As was noted in the review from 1989, the site already has a higher risk profile. And that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Leah asked. Elliott leaned against the wall, folding his arms.

“That isn’t much to go on.”

“I know.” Kath read the sentence again. What did she see here? Why did she think this was important?

She kept going back to it over the next hour, trying to surprise the answer from the backrooms of her brain. It wouldn’t come. The stack in the “to review” pile slowly shrank. Elliott yawned once, a cavernous thing, and Kath caught herself staring. She jerked her gaze over to the darkened window, then paused.

“Guys,” her voice rasped - she hadn’t spoken since her comment on the report, “I think it’s snowing.”

Leah squeaked, lunging for the doors. “It is!”

“First snowfall of the year,” Elliott said. He sounded a little less enthused. Kath glanced at him. That cabin on the beach was chilly at the best of times. Was that why his hands had been cold? She made a mental note to ask him when they were alone, then went to join Leah at the door. Tiny flakes spiralled down in the pool of electric light, already forming a thin layer on the ground. Kath shivered with sudden delight.

“I’ve never seen proper snow,” she admitted.

“Oh, you’ve come to the best place,” Leah assured her. “Nowhere does snow like Pelican Town.”

Kath believed her. They finished up soon after, filing the copies. Kath was entrusting them to Leah. The three of them walked back over the river into town. When they reached the benches by the square, Leah set down her binder and went capering over to a nearby streetlight.

“It’s lucky to catch a flake of the first snow on your tongue,” she said, imperiously, when they both looked at her. Kath cocked her head.

“Audrey used to say that. I thought it was odd, given that we didn’t get any snow.”

Leah beckoned with a gesture that said, come on, then! Kath did as she was told. She felt awkward, excited, silly. She opened her mouth and looked up.

The snow fell like a thousand stars, swirling out of the infinite darkness. The sight was dizzying. It was also surprisingly hard to catch one. Far from her initial dignified idea - standing and waiting for the snow to come to her - she had soon joined Leah in craning her neck, ducking and diving to try and catch the flakes off-guard. Leah snared one and whooped; Kath followed suit an instant later. They were both laughing. Noses red. Faces like moons set in a sky of hats and scarves. Kath caught sight of Elliott watching them. She threw her mittened hands up at him.

“Come on!”

The sadness that had been haunting his expression retreated. He took a step, opened his mouth - and caught one, first try. Kath laughed in delighted outrage. Leah yelped again.

“That is not fair!”

“The essence of luck,” he shot back, the closest Elliott ever came to sass. Kath grinned, panting. Then she winced, still smiling.

“It’s cold. Shall we get going?”

They did. Kath remembered her concern about Elliott and his cabin. She asked him if she could talk about their next trip to the hospital, and sent Leah on ahead, back to her warm hearth. Then it was just the two of them in the shadow of the dunes and the swiftly falling snow.

“It isn’t really about Friday,” Kath admitted at once. “I just-” Why was her throat sticking now? She glanced in the direction of the ocean, screwing her courage to the sticking place. “Are you warm enough? In your cabin, I mean?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

She smiled tightly. “Think of it as a courtesy.” When that didn’t appear to land, she sighed. “You worried about me, didn’t you? I’m returning the favour. I will, of course, stop. If you’d like.”

A brief silence. Then he grimaced, looking away. “Apologies, Kath. That was very ungracious of me.”

“And I, in turn, give you grace, not least because you just spent three hours making me photocopies.” Feeling bold, she nudged him in the side. “Seriously. Can I help? Light a fire? Lend you a blanket?”

 He smiled then.

“I am not a skilled pyromancer, I admit.”

“Then you have met your match.” A moment. She groaned. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that as a pun.”

The corner of Elliott’s mouth twitched. “Somebody alert the authorities.”

“Not funny.”

They climbed over the snowy dunes and went down to his cabin. It felt very strange to hear the ocean and see the snow. Even the sand was disappearing under a covering of icy white. Their boots crunched.

When Elliott unlocked the door and Kath stepped inside, she gasped, her breath fogging. “I think it’s colder in here.”

He shrugged awkwardly, and Kath caught herself before she said something to embarrass him further. Instead, she busied herself with the fireplace, squinting in the gloom.

“Have you got a-?”

The hiss of a kerosene lamp followed almost immediately, light flaring behind her. Elliott set it on the edge of the hearth. Kath was pleased to see that he at least didn’t lack for dry logs. He even had a small stack of driftwood for kindling. What he didn’t have was a cheap burn, as her grandfather used to call it. She looked over her shoulder and found him already watching her.

“Do you have any paper you don’t mind burning?” She asked, snapping a few driftwood twigs in preparation for the hearth home. “Don’t give me your novel. The first draft will later be worth millions.”

He snorted, moving to his writing desk. “I have a few scraps that have already gone to waste.”

Kath took them from him and nestled the crumpled sheets amongst her driftwood lean-to. Then she struck a match and let the whole thing catch alight. Once the wood was burning, she set a small log on.

“Let that burn until it’s hot, then pile on some of these thicker logs. They should last until the early hours.”

Heat began to creep out into the rest of the cabin. Elliott went into the kitchen and lit the stove. He was making tea, Kath realised. She wondered if that meant he wanted her to stay. She wondered if she could. If she could keep taking what he was giving her, pretending that it was enough, pretending that she wasn’t howling in the dead hours, longing for his heart, praying over his crooked smile. She could probably catalogue every single one, look it up with a reference number.

Her heart jumped in her chest. She sat up straight in the chair.

“Elliott.”

“Hm?”

“Elliott, I’ve figured it out. What I was missing.”

He poked his head around the edge of the screen into the kitchen. “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

Kath got up and started to pace. Her head was running at one-hundred-and-ten percent, the way it always did when she finally grasped something.

“Joja brought in internal regulations around report referencing. Every internal report has an alphanumeric reference. That includes reports done by external organisations on behalf of Joja. That letter the site supervisor wrote - he should have referenced the report. For situations like this. For anyone who might inherit his job. But he didn’t.”

“Could he have forgotten?” Elliott asked. Kath grimaced, fixing him with a look.

“If you forget, you receive a sanction. Wait.” Her thoughts spun faster. “There’s an internal database that covers sanctions from all employees. If I still had a login, I could access it.” Her shoulders slumped. “Which I don’t.”

“If he were to have a sanction, that would prove it was a simple miscalculation.”

“The sanction record might even reference the report number, if the supervisor were particularly thorough.”

“But if there were no sanction…”

“The report reference was deliberately omitted.”

“Not another case of forgetfulness?”

“Supervisors have been fired for less,” Kath said, drily. “I suppose it is possible. But it would be an extraordinary coincidence.”

“Do you not believe in coincidence?” He asked, as the kettle began to whistle. Kath tipped her head to one side, wondering whether she sounded insane.

“I just - I have a feeling. This is important.”

He went to make the tea. When he came back with two steaming mugs, he held one out to her like a peace offering.

“I have a difficult relationship with coincidence,” he confided. “It skirts too close to faith in a higher power.” Kath nodded, about to absolve him of guilt - she knew how he felt about faith - but he continued. “I trust your instincts, however. If you believe this is important, then we need a way into that database.”

Kath felt herself warming, and not just from the fire and the tea. She knew Elliott by now. She knew that he was poetic and open and well-mannered. She also knew that he did not trust easily. Understandably. She reached over and took his hand. The chill was receding from his skin.

“Thank you,” she told him, meaning for everything. He heard her. He met her eyes. Then he drew back, and though Kath knew the disappointment was coming, it still ached in her chest, a dead, desirous thing, sullen and resigned all at once. They drank their tea, then she walked back across the beach alone, snow forming a scattered crown of pearls on her dark woollen hat.

~

Elliott hadn’t felt warmth like it in weeks. The fire roared behind the grate, a comforting counterpoint to the rush of waves outside. He didn’t even mind the light, mellow as it was now that he’d snuffed the lantern. He lay on his side, one arm crooked under his head, and imagined Kath lying there next to him. Her body pressed against his. Warm. Soft. Safe.

He had known he was a little different since puberty, when the other brothers his age began to struggle with sin. They were punished for their lust: for looking, whispering, touching in the night. He, on the other hand, had found no such temptation awaiting him. Even the idea sent a spasm of paralyising shame through his gut. At twelve, he had decided he must have been blessed by Ishim. At thirteen, punished for an involuntary erection, he had sworn he would never stray from the path of devotion. At fifteen, he had decided to stop caring; at seventeen, he thought it no longer mattered. Then he’d met Rosa, and she’d used a word in passing that had shed light on everything. She’d been explaining the real world to him: you’ve got folk who are gay or lesbian, homosexual, folk who like either gender, bisexual - I mean, you studied Latin, right? You can follow along. Pansexual, transexual, asexual. And the last had struck him. To be without sexual desire. Elliott had finally understood. He was asexual. He wasn’t broken. This was just the way he was made.

Until the past few weeks had begun to upend that sense of certainty.

He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started. Only that when he looked at her, his head spun, just a little. He noticed details beyond his usual observance: the short curve of her chin, the way her bottom lip moved when she concentrated (tucked partially under her teeth, a kind of subconscious moue), the grace of her small hands. His veins had widened from footpaths to highways; blood rushed down them wildly, forcing colour to his face. Kath had become his habitual daydream. Their conversations, her laughter, their shared silences - he returned to them again and again, a collector marvelling over a precious object long possessed, but only recently valued. When had this happened? He asked, as though answering this would overlay a pattern of sense. When had he-?

But he couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t as though he shied from touch in general. He cherished Leah’s easy affection, had, until recently, found nothing but gentle comfort in Kath’s embraces. When she touched him now, though…

This isn’t right, he thought, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t supposed to feel this. Guilty boyhood fantasies of love and adoration mingled with the memory of Kath’s upturned face, dimly lit in the Thursgood’s kitchen, her eyes closed. He had felt such horror then. Shame, too - that he had led her on, unwittingly.

And if she were to kiss you now?

She won’t. She has moved on. Regardless, she deserves someone whole.

This is all a reaction to Rosa’s illness, he told himself, another thought he had returned to with painful regularity over the past weeks. A temporary madness. Do nothing, say nothing, until Rosa is gone, and you are yourself again. This will pass as surely as snow in the spring. Do not burden Kath with this. Do not chance your friendship.

Brandishing this, he eventually fell asleep. The fire was still glowing when he woke, hours later, embers holding out against the grey light of a late winter’s dawn.

Chapter Text

Kath crunched back down the snow-covered trail from the mountains all but vibrating with excitement. It had been so easy. Another piece of the puzzle put into place. She had been right. This was the chink in Joja’s armour.

It had been surprisingly straightforward to confirm. She’d gone up to Robin’s, asked after Sebastian, and been told he was already awake. He and Sam were down in his basement room, playing some kind of boardgame. They’d looked up when she’d stuck her head round the door.

“Uh. Hi?”

“I need the services of a hacker,” Kath had said, perfectly straightforward. Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“You feeling OK?”

“I need to get back into my old Joja employee account,” she’d explained, folding her arms. Sam, who’d been shuffling a deck of cards, had winced.

“Oh, man. You’re not getting that back. They deleted mine by accident when I was on break last summer and they had to make me a new one. It was too much hassle to recover the old one.”

The disappointment must have shown on Kath’s face, because Sebastian actually looked fractionally curious. “What do you need it for?”

“I need to check the sanction database.”

“The what?” Sebastian had asked, just as Sam shrugged, “Use mine.”

Kath’s heart leapt. “Seriously?”

Sam got up from the table and wandered over to Sebastian’s desk. “Mind if we use this?”

Sebastian waved in a “go-ahead” sort of way. “I ask again - sanction database?”

“All merits and sanctions are visible to all Joja employees,” Kath had explained, going to stand at Sam’s shoulder. “It’s supposed to encourage high standards.”

“It’s fucked up,” Sam summarised. “But kind of funny. In a dystopian way.” He’d logged in. “Who do you want me to look for?”

Kath had written it down and made Sam send a screenshot, but the proof was there in black and white: Kieran Tullett, area supervisor for the Istrin Disposal site, had no sanctions. One of his merits even praised “meticulous record keeping”. Kath couldn’t have asked for better proof. The site review from the eighties had deliberately obscured. There were answers out there somewhere. She felt it in her bones.

Custard stretched luxuriously as she came through the door. He had claimed the cushion on her most recent acquisition - an armchair from a clearance sale up the valley, wing-backed and only mildly scuffed. Kath started the laborious task of removing her outer layers, still smiling.

“Chéri,” she told him, “we have a break. A lead.” With a flourish, the scarf came loose. “I have missed this,” she said, fondly. “I have missed this feeling.”

She scribbled down her notes, then read until noon. Clementine would arrive from Grampleton at three. Kath was so keyed up from anticipation that she got to the Stardrop a whole twenty minutes early. Leah frowned when she arrived, shaking snow from her coat.

“You OK?”

Kath told her what she’d realised, what she’d discovered. Leah’s eyes narrowed. “You need to find that report.”

“I know. I keep worrying, though. What if I don’t have it? What if it was hidden, even from us?”

“Then you’ve still done something,” Leah assured her. “Want a drink?”

Clementine was late and, surprisingly, a little dressed up. She had a halterneck dress on under her heavy duffel coat and she was wearing berry-coloured lipstick. Kath, who had once been so oblivious, raised an internal eyebrow at her breathless greeting, the way her gaze lingered fractionally too long on Leah’s face. Interesting. More interesting, perhaps, was the way Leah excused herself to the bathroom after Clementine made her laugh. That meant she was feeling something, and she was afraid of it. Kath slid the binder across the table in the intervening pause.

“This isn’t even half of it, but it’s the most relevant documents. The first page is the best thing I’ve found so far.”

Clementine flipped it open, reading fast.

“Where’s the report number?” She muttered. Kath was pleased; she couldn’t have her best friend falling for just anyone.

“Not there. I checked: no sanctions for the site supervisor, or his supervisor.”

Clementine met her eyes. “I think we could use someone like you.”

“Andy thinks I’m a crack,” Kath said, keeping the bitterness out of her voice. Clementine’s expression turned exasperated.

“I’ll talk him round.”

Leah came back with a bottle of wine, and somehow, in fits and starts, the conversation revved, then got going. Kath manoeuvred so that Leah sat next to Clementine (Call me Clemmie) and felt strangely smug about the whole thing. Chemistry crackled off the two of them in waves. Good. Leah deserved to be happy. Maybe this time, for someone, things would work out.

And, when Clementine went to fetch her coat with Leah staring astonished at her retreating back, Kath had an inkling that it might.

Her own hopeless dream continued in the usual fashion: long drives to Zuzu, dinner at the diner, photocopying parties. Kath occasionally joined the family visiting hours, though she was always afraid that she would overstay her welcome. Rosa was very frail now. They were entering the realm of middle-of-the-night phone calls, of the last, slow uncertainty. Kath made Elliott promise to call her, no matter the time. If you need to get here, I will get you here. He had sworn an oath. She could only hope he’d hold to it.

Today, she’d opted not to go into the hospital. Elliott thought she was reading, but she had a more cunning project in mind. The Feast of the Winter Star was fast approaching. She had work to do.

She was so absorbed that when her alarm went off she jumped and stabbed herself in the pad of her thumb. Alternating between cursing and sucking on the mortal wound, she bundled her materials back into the bag and stashed it under her seat. Then she dashed across the gritted parking lot into reception.

But Elliott wasn’t there. She checked the waiting room - no. The nurse on Curtis Ward told her visiting hours had finished ten minutes ago. Kath’s heart sank.

It took her an eternity to find him, combing the endless maze of corridors. He had tucked himself into a small recess near paediatrics, one hand braced against the wall, head bowed. Kath’s insides twisted up when she saw him. Be safe, she told herself, fighting the urge to run to him. Be slow.

“Elliott?”

He didn’t look up. She drew closer to the alcove, using her body to partially shield him from passers-by. “I’m here,” she told him. “I’m here. Take a breath.”

She didn’t tell him it was OK, because it probably wasn’t. Instead, she tried to calm her own breathing, to lead by example. Elliott’s shoulders shook.

“That’s it. Steady now. Steady.”

Kath, the horse girl, rearing her head once more - but it did seem to help. His head lifted a fraction. Kath decided to keep talking.

“It’s biting cold outside. They’re forecasting more snow tomorrow. Custard will be furious. He’s running out of mice to hunt.”

Elliott straightened up slowly. His face held the pallor of terrible news. Kath braced herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked. “Or shall we go home?”

She wanted to hold him. It must have shown in her body language. He wrapped his arms around her before she could think of something to do, and he held on like she was a life preserver. Kath breathed in the smell of him, warm and woodsy above the tang of antiseptic. She imagined comfort passing from her into him, heat transfer, osmosis. His hands were cold on her back. From the shock, probably. Kath leant her head against his chest, feeling his weight, his solidity, knowing things had already gone too far.

“I won’t leave you alone,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

He drew in a breath and let go of her at the same time. “A few weeks,” he said, his rich voice hoarse. “A few weeks at most.”

Kath nodded, letting that sink in.

“Do Mira and Milo have somewhere to stay?” She asked. Jules was already renting a room in Zuzu. Elliott nodded. He seemed, understandably, numb. Kath took his hand.

“Do you need to stay here, too?”

She would place the calls, pay, if he let her. She knew his advance hadn’t come through yet. But he shook his head.

“I would rather not.”

Kath thought that made sense. She chafed his palm between hers with an absent-minded care. “Home, then.”

“They will call,” he said, seeking her eyes, pleading. Kath exhaled, stilling.

“And you call me,” she said, seriously. “Any time. You call me, and I drive you here. Like you promised.”

Emotion surged in his expression, so Kath pulled him back into an embrace. This time, he bowed his head until it rested on her shoulder. Finally small. Kath swallowed down her own tears.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered, again. “Let’s go home.”

That night, Kath lay in her bed, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. She couldn’t sleep. Thoughts and emotions spiralled through her head. A few weeks at most. Elliott’s pale face. He was leaving. He was leaving.

Rosa was dying fast. When she at last found peace, Elliott had explained, she wanted to be buried according to Archipelago tradition. That meant going home to the islands. A mourning takes four weeks, he told her, and Jules has invited me to stay longer. I would like to. I…

She had nodded and insisted that of course he must go, crushing the part of her that wept. But now that she was alone, she could deny it no longer. All her half-formed dreams of a midwinter feast vanished into smoke.

Kath turned over, starting to cry. The idea had always been irrational. She knew that. It was a daydream, a distraction, the frantic longings of a child. She’d wanted it because she’d wanted to pretend things were warm and happy, wanted to pretend that her delusions were real and death was faraway. Elliott would never love her the way she loved him. Rosa was dying. The woods were still wide and wild and shadowy, and Kath had never been able to stop the marching westward dusk.

A year ago, she would have beaten this despair back with a cudgel, not caring how the blows smashed her other mental furniture - but things were different now. When her tears ran dry, she took several heaving breaths and wrapped her arms around herself. Not quite a hug, but good enough.

“You can’t go on like this,” she said, softly. “Not sustainable.” She lifted her head a little, looking at the embers of the fire. “So. What are you going to do about it?”

~

Kath rebuilt her life for the second time in the colourful lights of late December, snow falling outside every window. She started with the bubble of peace she found in her evenings at the library, wading through her trove of contraband documents. She called Clemmie and took up her offer of voluntary work. I could do with something to keep me occupied, she said, off-hand. Clemmie seemed genuinely thrilled. Kath had her first shift in January. She was planning to bring Leah along, just for company. You make projects of people when you’re stressed, she thought to herself, then pushed the idea away.

She met with Rowena and Mark and signed a contract for vegetable boxes. She planned her acreage for the new year and researched fruit trees. She asked Robin how much it would be to put in a real oven and nearly fell over, so instead put up cheap curtains and bought another rug. At the night market, she admired the exotic seeds and sipped coffee and never looked behind her, back at the shack on the beach.

Her final tasks felt a little more humiliating, but she was determined to see them through. Firstly, she set about disseminating the (truthful) rumour that she would be spending the Feast of the Winter Star alone. As she’d hoped, it took two days for the first offering of hospitality to land, and she gladly accepted Robin’s invitation. Second came the gifts. She opted to do this without fanfare or preamble: a brief stop on her way into town. Leah unwrapped her brand-new dungarees there and then with a whoop of delight. Kath, under instruction from Evelyn, had carefully augmented the denim with embroidered patches depicting fiddlehead ferns. Leah declared that it was the best gift she’d ever received, and Kath went a bit red before she went back into the snow. She had to get to the beach before it got dark.

She’d been hoping that Elliott wouldn’t be home, but no such luck- he answered almost as soon as she knocked. Kath smiled awkwardly. The bulky parcel under her arm made it obvious why she’d come.

“I’m getting organised,” she said, not even offering a greeting. “Anyway. Happy Winter Star.”

He took the parcel, looking questioningly at her. Kath gestured dismissively, stepping back. “No reciprocity required. Open it when you’re ready.”

Elliott nodded. “I believe it’s bad luck to open gifts early.”

Kath laughed, moving another pace back. “Tell that to Leah!”

“Thank you,” he called after her, but she only waved. She was already leaving.

She also did some research. Bought stiff card and a biodegradable candle. It was good to be prepared.

It didn’t take long.

~

Kath woke in the middle of the night, muzzy and confused. Her phone was vibrating on the floor. Elliott is calling you. She rolled over, coming awake with a sudden shock. Her fingers fumbled with the screen.

“Elliott?”

“Sorry,” he said, voice fracturing through the phone, and that was how Kath knew it was the end. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“I meant what I said,” Kath whispered, sitting up. At the foot of her bed, Custard settled back down, curling into a ball. “You can call me any time.”

“The hospital,” he said, all he needed to say. Kath ripped back the covers and scrambled for her shoes. Her heart was heavy in her throat.

“I’m coming. Fast as I can. Walk over the dunes, I’ll pick you up in the parking lot.”

“Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

The cold hit her like a blow. Kath sucked in a gasp, stuffing her laces under the tongues of her boots. She fumbled with the lock behind her.

“I’ll be ten minutes,” she promised. Then she started to run.

Truck. Lights. Seatbelt. Gas. She didn’t quite run Elliott over on the road up from the beach, but she did jerk the brakes with a roadkill jolt. He ran up and got in. The moon was so big and bright that it almost drowned the streetlamps. When Elliott leaned forward to fiddle with the dash, Kath realised she hadn’t turned the heat on. No wonder her fingers were numb.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Why are you sorry?” He asked, quietly. He sounded beyond exhaustion.

“How bad is it?”

He stilled. If Kath weren’t worried about ice, she would have turned to look at him. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk it.

“She isn’t waking up,” he said, sounding lost. Kath didn’t know what to do. Trees loomed around them, the tunnel up ahead: black mouth, a strip of yellow stars vanishing into the bend. No ice in there, she thought. She reached out a hand, wordless, beseeching. After a moment, he took it. They stayed that way until the road curved back to the right, the shine of moonlight up ahead. After that, Kath stopped caring about speed limits. The highway was flat and straight and gritted. She drove like an arrow, engine roaring, moon shadows sliding past in a flickering blur.

At the hospital, Elliott flung himself out and ran. Kath followed, but she didn’t call out for him to wait. She remembered the way.

There was a dire quality to hospitals in the early hours. Kath felt it pressing down on her as she took a seat in the waiting room. The light in one of the vending machines was on the blink. Kath stared at the rows of colourful packages and decided it was the food of despair: the food you only ate when tied here, unable to leave even for a moment. She wondered if Elliott was hungry, and thought he probably wasn’t. She didn’t remember eating at all when mom died. Mind, she didn’t remember much at all. The whole thing was a grey blur.  

Eventually, she moved towards Curtis Ward. A nurse intercepted her in the corridor.

“Are you Kath?” He asked. He projected reassurance. When she nodded, he steered her towards another uncomfortable chair. “The Ferrenzi’s are in a private room. Can I get you a cup of tea?”

Kath was relieved, then disgusted by herself. She accepted the tea mechanically and sat, waiting. Eventually, the door to the ward opened.

They came out in the patterns of grief, of disaster; Jules holding his wife, Milo supporting a middle-aged man, Elliott walking with a tear-streaked Mira. Kath half-spilled cold tea as she stood, staining her jeans, not caring. Elliott seemed to almost fall into her. He cried. Kath held him. Eventually, Milo came to take his hands and tell him that ashrin chanai would begin in three days. Tell me, olan, and I will send a car. It’s a long way to the island, but you need to be there. Elliott nodded. Kath scraped all the pieces of herself back together. It was getting light outside.

“Do you want to stay?” She asked him, quietly. “I can drive back and fetch your things.”

He shook his head. “I… I didn’t pack anything.”

Denial, Kath thought, though it was meant kindly. Then he held onto her shoulder and said, “I can’t be here,” and Kath stopped questioning. She drove them back to Pelican Town, her eyes blurring with exhaustion. She stopped by the dunes and realised she was shaking. Her body was drawing a line. Elliott was staring at her.

“Don’t drive home.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Then they both cried. It started to snow with strange finality. Kath locked the truck and staggered a little in the wind. Elliott pulled her to him, shielding her from the cold. In the cabin, she lit a fire. He told her to take the bed. He wouldn’t be able to sleep. Kath took his hand and drew him down anyway. “Lie down,” she whispered. “Still better for you.” She curled around him, fully clothed, on top of the covers. The windowpanes whistled and she fell asleep to the scent of him, to the uncertain rhythm of his breathing, her fingers loosely linked in his.

When she woke, Elliott had got up. He was wearing black trousers and a black suit coat over a white shirt. He’d brushed his hair. Dark shadows stood out beneath his eyes. He was sat on the piano stool, motionless. He had yet to put on shoes.

“What time is it?” Kath asked, muzzy.

“Mid-afternoon,” he answered, not looking at her. Kath suddenly understood that she was no longer welcome. Sorrow settled in her gut, a heavy and familiar weight. She got slowly to her feet.

“Will I see you before you leave?” She asked. It probably sounded like an accusation. It was too late for her to fix it. He didn’t move.

“No. The car will be here early tomorrow.”

Kath had known this was coming, but it still knocked the wind from her. She wanted to touch him. She couldn’t. He was ice, marble, ash; he’d burn her and crumble all at once. Or maybe that was her. She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t think straight. I stand with you in woods both wide and wild.

“Take care,” she said, the weakest parting words. Then, before her courage could fail her (or, perhaps, some stranger instinct- the one that governs farewells), she stooped and pressed a kiss to his hair. It was bitterly cold outside. The truck was a snow-covered lump. Kath drove mechanically back through the town, back into the pines. Custard wailed when she came through the door, demanding a breakfast now hours late. Kath cried as she fed him: for Rosa, for Elliot, for all her own little failures.

~

The dawn found Kath alone in the forest, crunching through the snow. A bird startled as she drew near, shooting into the dark sky with a gunshot crack of wings. Kath had an old-fashioned candle lamp to light the way, a relic dug up from grandpa’s shed. The folded cardboard boat was tucked inside her coat. The matches were in her pocket. She had to cross the bridge over the river to find a stretch of water free from ice. Her fingers fumbled in the frigid air.

On the Archipelago, they believed that souls needed fresh water and a light to find their way to the beyond. Kath had done some reading; improvised, as best she could. She knelt on the bridge and, in the emptiness before dawn, remembered. Rosa – the life she’d brushed up against, experienced through the lens of another. Her vibrant smiles. Her cracked laugh, still somehow girlish despite age and ravages of disease. The way she talked about her children, all her children, with so much palpable love. The way they loved her fiercely in return. And the gift she’d given to Kath, though she’d been slow in receiving it.

“Thank you, Rosa,” she whispered. “Thank you for showing me all that I was missing.”

She drew out the matches, setting the candle on the deck of the origami boat. It was a little lopsided. Leah would have done a better job. But this was Kath’s mourning. Her own tiny funeral. She lit the flame with one quick stroke and lowered the boat into the stream. The water was so cold it took her breath away.

“I stand with you in woods both wide and wild,” she began, her throat already beginning to close up, “and from their shadows I must take my leave,

To seek a vastness yet untravelled, and ancient wonders slowly gone to seed.”

She released the boat. It began to float away downstream.

“Their vines I take to be my hair, their ashen bricks my throne or lordling’s seat,

I hold a knife to shining fruits and sip their juice, my lips assuaging finer meats.

Your letters I will read and write

My own response but never send,

Make do, you must, among the pines,

Make do, my love, and one day mend.

I missed you once in reverie, in poetry and meter counted, in long the diamond dew-drop leaf and bloody dawning’s finest bounty,

But come the marching westward dusk, I cannot look where you belong,

For dappled light and green will lay their claim, and when you rise, already I am gone.”

Chapter Text

Kath received her summons on the eve of her birthday and arrived accordingly at Leah’s cottage two hours before she turned twenty-five. Leah opened the door with her usual warmth, wearing her embroidered dungarees. The customary greeting was exchanged. Kath handed over a bottle of wine she’d procured for the occasion. Leah grinned.

“Excellent. We’ll be needing that.”

Her front room had been transformed from a studio into a miniature movie theatre. Red velvet drapes, cardboard popcorn containers, lamps turned down, two wine glasses on the coffee table. The whole place smelled like fiddlehead risotto. Kath felt her heart softly warming as she looked around.

“Leah - this is amazing.”

“Birthdays are special,” Leah said, over her shoulder, stirring the pot on the stove. “There are bowls ready on the side, grab them for me?”

Kath did. Then she poured the wine. “What are we watching?”

“Oh, I have it on good authority that you’ll love it,” Leah said, not directly answering. Kath rolled her eyes.

“Is this going to be embarrassing?”

“Quite possibly.”

It was. Once they were situated on the couch, Leah queued up the movie, and Kath groaned when she recognised the music.

“Who told you?!”

“Evelyn, of course. That’s the trouble with small towns.” Leah winked. “Nothing’s a secret for long.”

Kath laughed, strangely touched that Leah had gone to such lengths to find her out. Alberich & Suzanna, the terrible, overblown version from the early nineties. All breathy pauses and longing stares. Her one guilty pleasure. She smiled as the lights came up on the opening shot, showing Alberich himself silhouetted against a Laurentian sunrise, calves flexed to the size of small melons.

“A kingdom here I shall build,” Kath mouthed along, and they were off.

They finished the risotto just as Alberich first laid eyes on Suzanna, and Leah paused the film to scurry off and fetch something from the kitchen. It turned out to be a cake, baked by Gus, complete with a single pink candle.

“I can sing,” Leah offered, and Kath, somewhat overwhelmed, said it was alright. The cake saw them through the first two battles, then into the secret tryst in an underground cavern. Leah started laughing when Alberich flung Suzanna’s corset off-screen with such force that it hit a nearby wall with a comedic slapping noise. Kath laughed until tears leaked from her eyes. They quipped their way through the ensuing family drama, the second battle, the death of poor old Berthold, Alberich’s bestie. And then it was the cusp of the third act, at night, on the balcony overlooking the battlefield. Alberich took Suzanna’s small, girlish hand.

“Would that I had known you sooner,” he said, softly. “My fears can know no greater foe than you.”

Kath suddenly couldn’t breathe. Pain lanced through her. Elliott had been gone for a week and she missed him, grieved for him, longed for him, and hated him all at once. Beside her, Leah turned her head.

“Kath?”

It was, in hindsight, unfair to unburden herself to Leah, but Kath physically couldn’t keep it in anymore. She wrapped her arms around herself, curling up on the couch.

“Elliott said that to me once,” she said, quietly, trusting Leah to colour inside the lines. The silence told her that she’d trusted well. It didn’t stop the boiling feeling of shame, but it was too late now. Leah leaned forward, looking stricken.

“Kath…”

“I know.” Kath felt harassed, though she’d been the one to broach the topic. “I know he’s not interested.”

Leah stared into the distance, exhaling. She seemed to be coming to a decision.

“I don’t think Elliott would mind me telling you this, if he hasn’t already. He’s asexual.” She looked back at Kath. “He does love you. Just… Not like that.”

“Oh,” Kath said, faintly. Was that better? Worse? She didn’t know. All she wanted now was to stop talking about it. She told Leah as much, and her friend obliged. They put on something else - a chick-flick - and finished the bottle of wine. Kath used two hands to hold her thoughts away from Elliott, from what Leah had said, trying not to pick up the scab. Because it didn’t matter. She’d promised herself that she would rebuild on new ground. Hadn’t she?

He does love you.

Hadn’t she?

~

It was called ashrin chanai - the forgotten time. Elliott held to those two words like a creed. Every minute washed away by the tide, fleeing like scudding clouds. Time ran through his fingers like a fistful of sand and he didn’t wish for a single grain back. It’s something you go through, Kath whispered in his ear. He pushed her phantom away. He wanted emptiness. He wanted to feel nothing at all.

Rosa’s house on the island was beautiful. No amount of grief could change that. Nonetheless, Elliott found himself often needing to escape. He was ashamed of the relief he felt when the fourth week ended and Jules went back to work. Rosa’s friends began to disperse across the Archipelago. Milo left the first week in February, ready to return to the boyfriend he called every day. Mira, however, remained. Friends were watering her plants; she could work from the terracotta tile kitchen table, headset plugged in. She and Elliott rarely spoke. Elliott was still wearing black. This was one tradition left over from his old life, and he couldn’t give it up. He wore black and went for walks on the beach in the dark, imagining the ocean could swallow him whole. He wrote nothing. He had nothing left to give.

Somehow, The Dark Keeper continued to roll towards publication. His agent, Camilla, was excited, ringing to congratulate him when his advance finally came through. Elliott hadn’t noticed. When he hung up, he turned to tell Rosa the good news - before he remembered. That singular moment pushed him into a grey pall that lasted for days. He wrote nothing, further nothing, acres of nothing; he no longer needed bad poetry to light the fire. In his secret heart, he thought of Kath’s head on his chest in that strange time-between-time, how he’d held her as she’d fallen asleep. And then, of course, he remembered her birthday.

The guilt pushed him to his feet. Mira looked over at him, confused.

“I need to do something,” he explained. Mira smiled sadly. Most of her smiles were sad, these days.

“Something special?”

Rosa’s words coming from her daughter’s mouth were an unexpected comfort. Elliott blinked, feeling drowsy, but awakened.

“Something special,” he confirmed, and picked up the phone.

~

The package arrived the second week in January, after the midwinter rush. Kath didn’t recognise the handwriting. She tore off the brown paper and froze. It was a book. Elliott’s book. Hardback, heavy, the title on the front cover embossed. The Dark Keeper, by E. Ferrenzi. A separate envelope fell to the floor with a quiet thunk.

Kath sank into her armchair, heart beating in her fingertips, and opened the letter first. Dear Kath, she read, and pressed a hand to her mouth.

Dear Kath,

I enclose this letter with a belated birthday gift. I regret that I presented it neither on time nor in person. I know birthdays are important to you – I also expect you would tell me not to worry about it, but I’m afraid I do. There is a lot of time to think and worry here. I suspect that is really the point.

We are two weeks into ashrin chanai, the forgotten time. It is some irony that the forgotten time is spent so much in memory – I have shared many stories of Rosa with friends, family and colleagues, many of whom have travelled hundreds of miles to be here – but I also understand. Already, my recollection of midwinter fades. I know only that you were there, even at the end. You have my gratitude unending.

The funeral was terrible. Cathartic. Rosa wore her heart on her sleeve, and so too do we. Everyone has been kind. The kitchen overflows with food, despite Rosa’s long-term absence from the island. Her house here is very beautiful. I know I have spoken of it to you before, but I would love to show it to you, someday. There are hummingbirds among the roses and the sea is astonishingly blue. Every day is warm. Warm enough to swim, though I have yet to indulge. I learned to swim here when I was twenty-one. Jules taught me. I find I am not yet strong enough to go out into the waves knowing that when I return to shore, Rosa won’t be waiting on the veranda. Silly, isn’t it? I tell myself I will do it tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

But I am rambling. Assuming things have gone to plan, you should now possess one of the first copies of The Dark Keeper. I fear this gift is narcissistic. That was not the intention. I fear I have lost my judgement somewhere along this path, and I am sorry if I have made you suffer for it. Page 359 tells the truth of it, I hope.

I miss our conversations, Kath. I miss you. But I cannot return yet. I still have time that needs forgetting, and I hope that in the process I will recover some sense of self. Be well, Kath. May the coming of spring be kind to you.

Elliott

Kath sat back in her chair, her eyes smarting. Fuck. She missed him, too. She missed him and she was such a fool. He does love you. Just… Not like that.

She turned to page 359. At first, she’d hoped for a passage, a highlighted paragraph – but no, the prose ended on page 356. 359 was the very last page. When Kath realised what it was, she first went back to the start. She wanted to read the dedication printed there.

For Rosa, my dream maker.

As she’d suspected, as she’d hoped. She returned to page 359.

To L, who was there at the beginning, and K, who has been there ‘til the very end. Thank you for all the change you have wrought. My heart belongs to the dunes, forever and always.

A flyer was caught in the meat of the book; Kath pulled it out. An evening with Elliott Ferrenzi, debut author. There were five locations listed, all bookstores in the western region of the republic. The last stop was Zuzu city. First week in March.

~

After seven weeks, another emotion raised its head – he became homesick. He longed, suddenly, for the pale, snow-swept dunes, the sough of the pines, even the bite of a cold wind. It was always summer on the Archipelago; Rosa’s garden was never out of bloom.

I need to go home, he thought, his first moment of clarity in weeks. I need to stop forgetting.

When he went upstairs to start packing, Mira followed him and leant against the jamb.

“Are you going already?”

Elliott got lost in the memory of their first meeting (dinner in a formal restaurant, him feeling like a feral animal confronted with so much painful kindness), so Mira cleared her throat.

“I mean, you won’t start the publicity tour until next week, right?”

He straightened, heart sinking. That couldn’t be right. The Dark Keeper didn’t go on sale until March. And March was…

“Ashrin chanai,” he muttered. He sat on the bed, staring through the open window to the sea beyond. “Time has run away with me.” A brief, bitter pause. “Never did I think I would weep for Pelican Town.”

“You can pull out of the readings,” Mira offered. “Nobody would blame you.”

Elliott felt the grey haze rising again. Contemplating a fortnight of travel, of speaking to strangers, brought on a slow wave of sickening despair.

“I can’t,” he said.

Mira came into his eyeline and, to his surprise, nodded. “This is your dream.”

Elliott dropped his face into his hands. Two days later, he caught the bus back to Zuzu. He dreamed of Pelican Town like it was a distant, sunlit paradise, seeing the place in every detail: in sleet swirling under streetlights, in the warmth of a door opening into the night, in a dark-haired woman crossing the street, the green tails of her scarf flapping in the wind.

~

Kath was feeling oddly buoyant as she climbed the stairs from the subway station, her face flushing as she transitioned from the heat of the train to the brisk chill above ground. Students Against Injustice did their work out of a converted warehouse in Zuzu’s industrial quarter: exposed brick, trestle tables, endless cups of tea. She’d spent the day with Clemmie, combing through the fresh binder she’d carted up from Pelican Town. Still no sign of that white whale report, but Kath was certain they were close. They would find it, and then…

Somebody knocked into her as she emerged onto the street. Kath straightened her bag and rolled her eyes. She didn’t miss this about city living. Actually, she didn’t really miss anything about it. The lights, maybe? The energy? But she’d never really appreciated the energy when she’d been caught up in it. Always somewhere to be. Something left wanting. She shrugged to herself, prodding the button for the crosswalk. She was only staying one night. Then she was scheduled for a long drive. Her stomach looped in a complicated motion as the light flicked green and she joined the throng crossing the street. Her head told her, again, that she was being monumentally stupid. Maybe, Kath acknowledged, forcing herself to live with uncertainty. Maybe.

 ~

Elliott straightened his tie mechanically, suit coat already in place. Camilla had been concerned that he might come across as pretentious, but he’d gently refused her suggestion of wearing something more casual. This was the costume of the new man Rosa had made him into; he wasn’t about to dishonour her memory by donning jeans. His jacket was burgundy today. A green pocket square. Brown suspenders. Clean white shirt - his last one. He thought about returning to Pelican Town tomorrow and his heart lurched. Send his laundry to Jodi. Chase the spiders from his cabin. See Kath. Kath. Kath.

He had a parallel, irrational fear that she would be gone when he returned. It seemed right, somehow, in the narrative part of his brain: she had outgrown all the small things he had long taken for granted; she would have launched stratospheric into a glittering reality more suited to her trajectory. He reminded himself of the Kath who named and loved her chickens, the Kath of the dirty fingernails, but he couldn’t keep from worrying. He knew from their sporadic messages that she was working (“Volunteering,” she called it) for the student group supporting a law firm. I thought I would take a few weeks, go through the documents, prove my innocence. For some reason, he chewed over this stale revelation more than any other. She had never intended to stay. Never intended to put down roots, to live with the weather, to slowly, inexorably, enact change.

To change him. Change him so quietly he’d barely noticed it. Or had it been that everything else had been so loud as to drown her out? Elliott wasn’t sure he’d ever know the answer to that.

“Elliott?” It was Camilla, peering around the bookshelf. They liked to stash him out of sight as attendees filed in: possibly for the dramatic potential, more likely so he didn’t grow dispirited by the turnout.

“Is it time?” He asked, a more familiar nervousness fluttering in his stomach. Camilla nodded. She went out first, gave a brief introduction. Elliott followed. The shop was set up like all the others: a lectern for him, an ambitious collection of chairs arrayed in the open space. To his surprise, more than half were occupied tonight. A book club, he thought, a handful of curious passers-by, and…

His gaze stuttered on the back row. It couldn’t be. But there she was. Dark hair tied back, a grey scarf hiding her throat, spots of colour high in her cheeks. Her smile was almost shy. She raised her right hand in a brief wave, then flicked her gaze to the lectern. Elliott realised that he had a very short amount of time left before his stupefaction would start to look odd, so he cleared his throat. His fingertips settled on the edge of the page: typed, old-fashioned, just like he’d read to Rosa - just like he'd given to Kath. She already knows what happens, he thought, inexplicably. Why did that thought give him courage?

“Thank you all for coming,” he began, ducking his head. The words he’d written, words he’d grown to regard with ambivalence worse than hate, rolled off his tongue. They took flight like tiny golden birds, somehow magical again.

~

Kath hung back as the short queue for autographs slowly dwindled. She hoped the bookshop staff didn’t think she was a stalker. She hoped Elliott was pleased to see her. She could probably have seen it in his expression when he first laid eyes on her, but she’d been so distracted by the state of him that she couldn’t pay attention. He looked hollowed out. Exhausted. And still so, so beautiful.

When at last she was the only one left, he was already standing from behind his trestle table. Kath had been thinking about this moment more often than she cared to admit – would it be awkward? Would they stand like stiff strangers, each afraid to do more than nod politely? – and relief crashed over her as they both moved to embrace one another. Elliott still smelled warm and woodsy, and though he felt too thin, he was as solid as he’d ever been. She held him tightly, then released him.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” he said in return, her favourite crooked smile tilting his lips. “You came.”

“I hope I didn’t impose.”

“Never,” he said, with a sharp kind of sincerity that Kath tasted on her tongue. She smiled wider, emboldened.

“Can I interest you in dinner?”

“Nothing would delight me more,” he said. He introduced Kath to his agent, but the conversation was brief. The two of them were out into the neon night minutes later, the hems of their coats flapping together, mingling as they walked.

They ended up somewhere Kath had never been before – a tiny sushi restaurant too downmarket for Joja and its ilk. The table was the size of a dinner plate; it wobbled when either of them so much as breathed on it. Kath looked at Elliott and felt her heart fill in a single, gasping instant.

“How have you been?” She asked him. He met her eyes, straight-up hazel honesty, and Kath’s heart caught privately in her throat.

“Up and down,” he said, a very un-Elliott cliché. When she just stared at him, he shook his head. He was saved by the brusque waiter. They both ordered, then waited until they had a semblance of privacy again.

“I have been… Surreal,” he admitted. “I struggle to connect with reality some days. Mira tells me this is normal, and she gets it from her therapist, so it must be true. I’m sure the sensation is accentuated by the change in routine. And the insomnia. Some days are so raw I want to hang from the ramparts and weep. Others…”

“You don’t want to get up?”

He nodded. Kath nodded back. They shared a small, sad smile. Elliott’s nigiri was already arriving.

“You are welcome to share,” he said, wielding his chopsticks with aplomb.

“Thank you.”

They ate, then Kath felt she should say something.

“You’re doing this, though.”

“Somehow. Camilla tells me I read well.”

Kath smiled down at her plate. “She’s right. And I’ve read it before.”

“Thank you. Today was the last day, though. I return to Pelican Town tomorrow.”

Kath’s throat tightened. “About that.”

“Oh?”

Ask him. Screw your courage to the sticking place. “I’m actually driving out to Flag-in-the-Water tomorrow. I was wondering if you’d like to come along. It’s…”

She’d meant to say something deprecating, like, it’s hardly the most glamorous vacation invitation you’ll receive, but she couldn’t, because what she really thought was, it’s important to me. And that was too much. He does love you. Just… Not like that.

Elliott stared at her, seemingly caught off-guard. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, like that was a stupid question. “They overbooked rooms at the hotel.” And that gave her the opportunity to explain that it was Students Against Injustice organising the trip, that she was only tagging along, that she’d thought of him because - well. Just because.

She could see the decision moving behind his eyes, and she braced herself for disappointment. She had always known this was a monumentally stupid idea.

“Then I would love to,” he said, quietly. The world opened back up around Kath in those five soft-spoken words, and though she knew it was stupid, she saw beauty in the po-faced waiter, in the splintered haft of her disposable chopsticks, in the condensation running down the inside of the window like a soft spring rain.

They met up the next morning and took the subway back out to the industrial quarter, not speaking much. Kath had left the truck outside the warehouse and was pleased to find it in one piece. She drove them out beyond city limits, then took the freeway going north-east. Fitful patches of sunshine followed them down the road. Eventually, the radio locked onto a bluegrass station, the kind of music that fitted the wide-open plains sprawling either side of the cab. Kath glanced through the window on the occasions when the road was empty. The grass ended in distant, shadowy hills. So different to the valley, with its sheltering cover of trees. Restless winds buffeted the truck as they pushed eastward. Eventually, they crested the top of the plateau, and ocean glittered where horizon had once been. The land between was all salt-flats and marsh. Flag was down there somewhere. Kath stretched in her seat and cruised down, the sun creeping lower at their backs.

They reached Flag-in-the-Water before dark, just. It was a two-street town, crowded atop a thin bank of solid ground emerging from the marsh. Some of the roads made Kath squeak; they were raised out of the mire on stilts, barely wide enough for vehicles to pass unimpeded. But they made it in one piece, pulling up outside the motel with its blinking neon sign. Kath groaned as she got out of the cab, her back shrieking. Elliott fetched the bags.

“Oh,” she said, remembering something she’d forgotten to mention, “Leah’s dating Clemmie now. Just in case it comes up.”

The SAI group were sat at the bar, looking somewhat awkward. Clemmie seemed to be providing the social heart. She waved energetically when she spotted Kath. Today’s outfit: blue skirt with an orange blossom print, a pink mohair cardigan.

“Kath, hey! Come and join us!”

Kath introduced Elliott and bought drinks from the vending machine (it was a Tuesday night; the motel bar wasn’t staffed). She tried to pay attention to the conversation, but she couldn’t. She hadn’t planned any further than this. She was practically anaesthetised with relief, and she couldn’t wait to go to bed. In the middle of one of her long stares, Elliott touched her arm.

“Perhaps we should check in,” he said, pitched below the rest of the talking. Kath nodded gratefully. She bade Clemmie goodnight, then went over to the desk. A rail-thin man with mournful jowls sat in front of a tiny computer screen, humming something tuneless under his breath. Kath leant more of her weight than was necessary against the desk.

“Hey, can we check in? Two rooms, one for Perks, the other for Travis.”

Two room keys were handed over. Elliott enquired after a laundrette and was told there was a machine in the basement, for which he purchased tokens. Kath left him, though she didn’t want to, taking herself off for a shower and an early night. It was only right before she fell asleep that she realised they’d forgotten to eat dinner.

She was forcefully reminded by her hunger the next morning. She met Elliott and dragged him across the street for breakfast in the “caff,” as Flag’s residents called it. The coffee was strong enough to chew; Kath ate pie and felt decadent. Then it was meetings: meetings with Flag’s mayor, with residents, with the other students who all seemed so extraordinarily young. They went out to the salt-marsh shore and saw it stained rusty orange by chemicals. The atmosphere was sombre. A small part of Kath regretted bringing Elliott here. A larger part regretted almost all that she’d done with her life, every standard she’d once thought important. She was deep in thought as they drove back to Flag. Elliott sat quietly beside her. After a while, he cleared his throat.

“Don’t lose yourself to a person you no longer know,” he told her, when she looked at him. “Do not erase yourself in favour of something dead.”

She was so taken with him, so utterly gone. Her smile hurt this time; hurt like she was going to cry.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?”

He only smiled and looked away. In that moment, Kath’s indecision finally solidified. She was going to ask, she was going to ask tonight - she would do it on the veranda at the back of the motel, a shitty little thing she could see from her window. She would probe the painful parts of hope until they flexed or broke; she would bend or break herself, but at least she would know. I will not erase myself, she promised herself, silently, the marsh road rattling beneath them. I will live with courage, even when it hurts.

They had two hours of unscheduled time before the ambiguously named “fuddle”. Kath used it to pace, to wrangle her conscience, and then, last-minute, change into a dress - the same one she’d worn to Leah’s exhibition. Elliott was waiting for her in the foyer, wearing that burgundy suitcoat. He’d even refolded his pocket square. He extended his arm to her like a proper old-fashioned gentleman, and Kath took it. They went down the street to the town hall, a cramped little room that had been set up for a potluck and dance. Kath forced herself to circulate, though she was trying to stay under the radar. Only a few people knew that she was the source of all the interesting new material Asprey & Love were getting, and she wanted it to stay that way. This also gave her a good excuse to stay close to Elliott. They ate together off paper plates, praising the cauliflower cheese, baffled by the Jell-O ham. Elliott told her more about the ashrin chanai, about the melting process of grief. Kath told him her plans for her spring crops. The food was cleared away and, to Kath’s surprise, a line dance began.

Clemmie was the first up. Kath followed, drawing Elliott with her. They tacked on the end of a line, watching the others’ feet, occasionally going the wrong way and causing a collision. Kath laughed, drowning in a heady mixture of dread and anticipation. Elliott’s low chuckles worked hooks into her chest, his eyes harpooning the soft underbelly of her heart. She was going down. Abandon hope - she was already lost.

So, when they went back to the motel on foot, she paused before they went into the foyer.

“Can we talk?” She asked, three words above the salt water. He nodded. He followed her around the back, onto the rickety veranda. Kath leant her forearms on the railing, watching the moonlight on the water. The distant red pinpricks of a cargo ship were a peculiar siren call, to be sure, but she took it all the same.

“Kath?” Elliott asked, barely audible, like the faintest noise would disturb the fragile peace. Kath swallowed. She marshalled all her forces, then told them to stand down.

“Elliott,” she began. “Elliott.”

Chapter Text

The moon was a silver coin, the light casting grey shadows over the reeds and ripples. Kath knew it was theoretically cold, but she couldn’t feel anything beyond the thump of adrenaline. It was time. Time to stop pretending.

“Elliott,” she said, again, because that might be the only word she knew for certain. She’d wanted to look at him, to at least give him that courtesy, but in the moment her courage failed her. She kept her eyes fixed on the distant lights of the ship. “I’ve known for some time that -”

She faltered again. Where had all her neat speeches gone, so carefully crafted? I’m dying without you. Can you call it love if you didn’t so much fall as float into its endless sea? Do you know? Can you help me? She wrapped her hands together and squeezed. Doubt loomed as a sudden, yawning darkness. This was wrong. It was breath-takingly selfish. She knew he was grieving; she knew he would not reciprocate. She was about to fracture their relationship beyond repair, forcing distance along old fault-lines: guilt, shame, discomfort. What right did she have to do this? Elliott had taken no part in the slow and total conversion of her heart. She felt vulnerable. Even tearful. She stared and stared, momentarily frozen in moonlight and lapping water.

Elliott was watching her with his familiar quiet care. No doubt he thought she was having a breakdown. Kath felt like she was having a breakdown.

“I’m sorry,” she said to that end.

“Let fear flee before the swords of honest truth,” he quoted. Kath didn’t recognise the source. She made the mistake of looking at him; she couldn’t look away. Oh, Yoba. She was transfixed.

“Who said that?” She asked, her mouth dry.

His eyes held hers. As though he was searching for something in her face. “Kath…”

“Would that I had known you sooner.” What was she saying? Why was this coming out of her mouth? She kept going anyway. “My fears could know no greater foe than you.”

There was a moment. A perfect, dreadful moment, when time passed but Kath was briefly suspended. Elliott inhaled sharply. Like she’d shocked him. Of course, Kath thought, simultaneously frantic and numb. Then - his hand. On the small of her back. The other on her wrist. He pulled her to him, though that implied some degree of resistance on her part, and she would no more resist him than the tide would resist the call of the moon. Her heart catapulted into her mouth as he crushed her against his chest. She could feel his own pulse thundering, his heart moving his whole body.

“Elliott,” she managed, “please-”

He exhaled, melting around her. Kath couldn’t speak. Everything was still an agony, still uncertain. She pushed back a little, trying to look up at him.

“What does this mean?” she asked, halfway on fire, entirely herself, possessed by the need to know. Elliott at last stirred. He stooped, pressing his lips to her hair with a fervency Kath had never dared imagine. This gesture stripped away her rationality like clapboard in a hurricane. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Elliott slowly straightened. “It means,” he said, seriously, “that we have much to discuss.”

There was a low two-seater bench in one corner of the balcony. An ashtray sat on one of the arms, and cigarette butts littered the ground. Kath had never been anywhere more romantic. She sat pressed up against Elliott - half in his lap, to tell the truth, but could she be blamed? Elliott was hardly helping matters. He had one arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. His other hand covered hers where it rested on his chest. He was so warm. And, Kath was beginning to realise, just as starving for touch as she was. She forced herself to be still, to look into his eyes.

“From the beginning,” she said, sounding breathless despite her best efforts. “Please. Explain how we got here. I thought -” She paused, afraid of sounding juvenile. “I thought you weren’t interested in me.”

“I - yes.” He sighed, expression turning pensive. “I am sorry, Kath. This has all been a surprise to me, as well.”

Kath took a moment to parse that. “Leah told me you’re asexual,” she said, then kicked herself. “I mean - please don’t be angry with her.”

He shook his head. “It’s hardly a secret. Merely - private. I have always relied on my actions to convey my preferences.”

Despite the way he was holding her, Kath’s heart sank. “So…”

“I am changed,” he said, with a quiet thoughtfulness. “Perhaps still changing. I’m not certain. I feel for you as I have never felt for any other.”

Kath assumed for a moment that she’d died. That this was all a brief, feverish vision before the end. But, no - there were still cigarette butts on the ground. Somewhere behind them, a door slammed with a hollow, wall-shaking rattle. Elliott seemed to blink out of a reverie.

“Kath - I don’t want to assume -”

“Assume what?” She felt on the verge of hysteria. “Assume that I’ve been fucking gone for you for- for months?” She blinked away traitorous tears, still twisted where she sat. “You can assume that. You can assume that with perfect certainty.”

His eyes widened. Kath turned her hand over, gripping his fingers in hers. Hope burned bright and painful in her chest.

“I do not know what I will be able to give you,” he said, sounding overwhelmed. “I do not know what I am capable of. You deserve -”

Kath interrupted him. “No. I don’t deserve anything.” When he made to protest, she silenced him with a look. “I want to be with you. In a romantic way. If you want that, too, I can take it day by day.”

He tipped his head, resting his temple against hers. “And if I cannot go where you desire?”

“Then we stop.” It hurt to say, but not as much as holding onto empty promises. “I had to know, alright? I had to ask. I’ve been trying to not say anything for too long. If this doesn’t work, then we’ll do what everyone else does when a relationship doesn’t work out, and we’ll end it.”

An instant later, her words registered. Relationship. Oh, Yoba, what had she been thinking?

“If.” She swallowed. Her throat was dry. “If you want that.”

“Kath…”

“I did some reading,” she continued, “after Leah told me. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted to understand a little better. Asexuality is on a spectrum.”

“Kath,” he said again, and she drew up short.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She had pushed him too far. But he didn’t retreat. When he spoke, however, his voice was stilted.

“This is intertwined with my childhood, my time in the brotherhood. I - I have never questioned it before. There was never the need.”

Kath allowed a moment, then asked. “And now?”

“I…” His hand closed convulsively on hers. “I am at war. The guilt is profound. A part of me despises myself. And I never want to let you go.”

Kath’s breath hitched. She tried to cling to some semblance of good sense, holding fast against the tide of his warmth and his closeness. “Let’s take things slow, then?”

“Do you want that?” He asked. Like he thought she was making some great sacrifice. Kath nodded her head a fraction, knowing he could feel it.

“I’ve done some thinking of my own. I… I really want to try this. With you. I don’t know what that means, how we figure out your boundaries, how we work together, but I want to try. If you want to try – well. That’s what I think we should do.”

Probably the least romantic speech in the universe, but it was what she had. Elliott would want poetry, she thought, distantly. He would want beauty, a beauty she couldn’t give. He would want a muse. And she was just –

“I think,” he said, “that you are right. I would like you to be right, very, very badly.”

Kath pulled back so she could look at him. “Then we’re agreed?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

They both took a moment to experience their new reality. Then Kath, with great difficulty, sat back. She needed her faculties operating at close to one hundred percent for this conversation.

“I need a little time to think. Can we meet up for breakfast? Talk?”

He watched her like she was a mirage. “Yes. Of course.”

“I will run this breakfast like a meeting,” she warned him, a laugh fluttering at the base of her throat. “Agenda. Items. B’s and C’s.”

“B’s and C’s?”

“Benefits and concerns,” she answered without thinking. Elliott’s expression tightened.

“I -”

“No.” Kath cut him off. Her mind was racing. “No, this is important. We’re going into this with our eyes open. Concerns are natural, and I want to hear yours. So, think about them. Not enough that you don’t sleep, mind you - but consider it.”

He regarded her, then snorted a tiny laugh. “As though I will be able to sleep.”

Kath could have swallowed the sun. She gulped, cracked a smile, certain light was blazing from her. Me, neither. She squeezed his hand, then stood. “See you in the morning.”

“In the morning,” he replied. She left him on the veranda amongst the ash and silvery water, watching the distant glow of the moon.

~

Kath hadn’t been lying. She arrived at the diner fifteen minutes early, a neat list written on the back of a motel brochure. She felt electric. Trembly. Her list was the rock to which she clung, her careful consideration, her sanctuary from the painful swing of risk. She gulped down coffee, scalding her tongue. She’d only slept a few hours. Every part of her had called through stained plaster walls, yearning for warm hands, for that warm, woodsy scent. She’d controlled herself, of course, but such a preoccupation was hardly conducive to sleep.

Elliott came through the door at 08:29:30; he stopped when he saw her, as though he’d been worried she wouldn’t show, that last night had been a strange dream. Kath could relate. She felt shyer than spring as he came over.

“Good morning,” he said, quietly. Familiar. Kath breathed out.

“I was a little early.”

He crooked a smile at her. “I waited staring at the door for twenty minutes until I could justify leaving.”

The image of him propped on the edge of a narrow, white-sheeted bed, watching the clock, flushed through Kath like a breath of perfume. She hid just a little behind her coffee cup as he ordered. A peculiar silence then came between them: anticipatory and dreadful all at once, whilst they waited for the illusion of being alone.

“Well,” Kath cleared her throat, fussing with her list, “thank you for attending this breakfast meeting.”

She’d hoped, secretly, that this would make him smile, and when it worked she felt giddy. Worse than any teenager. Concentrate.

“It is my pleasure,” he said in return. His voice pulled on her gut, pitched a little lower, unmistakeably fond. Kath shot him a look, feeling a chink in her armour, digging her own fingers in the crack and pulling as hard as she could without any thought to the consequences.

“Are you flirting with me?”

He looked pleased and embarrassed all at once. “I think the word is attempting.”

Kath pressed her grin back behind her lips, knowing he could see it anyway. “It’s a good attempt.”

The waitress came back with coffee and Kath halted while she poured. Elliott murmured a thank you. And then they were alone again, alone amongst the breakfasters and the hum of the griddle.

“As I was saying, thank you for attending. I’ve drawn up an agenda. I’ll run through it, then if you have anything to add -” She stopped, catching him looking at her. “What?”

She’d expected a nothing, like they’re kids, like they’re play-acting, but this was Elliott. Never had he shied from introspective honesty. He met her eyes.

“You are a marvel, Kath.”

She blushed. “Well. Thank you. If we can continue?”

Breakfast arrived. Kath had chanced waffles, exhaustion making her crave sugar. Elliott had scrambled eggs. A brief vision floated through Kath’s head, of eggs on her own rickety table, sunshine over-easy through the tiny windows. She shooed it away. One thing at a time.

“Firstly, I thought it would be good to talk about expectations. Then we can move on to context and deal-breakers. Finally,” she shot him a dry look, the kind that invited a laugh, “benefits and concerns. Then any other business. I think that should take us to a close.” Then she wavered. “I’m only doing this because structure gives me confidence. I don’t actually expect to run this like a business meeting. I -”

“I know,” he told her, “I know. But I am hardly replete with experience in this area. I trust that we will are capable of seeking clarity. Of – of building something. Together.”

Kath took a bite of waffle to temper her buzzing pulse, trying to quiet the fizzing in her chest. “Alright. I do have some expectations for us, if we’re moving forward.” She cleared her throat. This had been her first summary, hunched over the wobbly desk in her motel room: four scribbled words. “I’d like this to be exclusive. Not exactly conventional for early dating, but then again, conventional…”

Elliott nodded, understanding. “Conventional we are not.”

“Exactly. I – I wasn’t sure if this was absurd, given the circumstances, but I’d rather things be clear. It is a deal-breaker for me if you’d like to see other people.”

She stopped, her throat suddenly dry. Elliott, gorgeous Elliott with a face to make a poet weep; he could do better than her. If he’d decided…

“That is foolish,” he said, softly. “I meant what I said, Kath. You, and only you, have opened this door. I would not show another through it. I’m not sure I could.”

Kath transcended red and went straight to purple. A sip of coffee, a shaky hold on the present. When she was composed, she nodded. “Alright, then. Second expectation. I’d like us to take things slowly.”

He looked up at that. Kath thought she caught a flash of relief there, visible in the way his inner-most shutters cracked to let the light in. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I mean it. And I don’t want that only for your sake. I don’t want to rush. I really don’t see the attraction. We – we have time.”

He let out a breath, squeezing her hand in return. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a favour,” she stressed, “it’s what I want. I should be thanking you for agreeing to my stringent requirements.”

The sarcasm at that last comment produced a quirked smile. Kath went back to her list, though she could probably have recited it in her sleep.

“Third expectation. We’re honest with one another. Even when it hurts.”

Elliott paused, watching her carefully. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He said it with such confusion that Kath had to feel for the tender spot on her heart, holding it still before emotion could spill into the messy space between them.

“I know. I don’t want to hurt you, either. But I think it’s better to understand one another than poke around in uncertainty? Just – it can feel fraught asking for things, sometimes. I want to know what you’re feeling.”

His expression cleared, as though she’d just switched on a light inside his head. “I see.”

“Good.”

They paused to eat. Kath’s waffles were already, unsurprisingly, cooling. Elliott broke the silence.

“I, too, want to know what you’re feeling. What you’re thinking. I want to understand you, the currents of your being.”

Kath tried and failed not to be speechless. Elliott ducked his head.

“I have said the wrong thing.”

“No. No – that’s exactly it. How I feel, too.”

This new space between them; the meeting of eyes, the slow furl of understanding. Kath felt like she could drown in it. She opted to drain her coffee instead. Damn it, she would get through this list.

“Finally. We keep Leah in the loop, but we don’t make things awkward for her.”

“Agreed,” he said, immediately, the easiest of them all, and Kath let out a breath.

“Good. Those are my expectations. Yours?”

“You have eloquently covered most of them,” he said, laying down his fork. He’d already finished his food, reminding Kath she had a way to go to catch up. She hastily laid into her waffle as he folded his hands together in a contemplative fashion. “I suppose, and perhaps this is obvious, that I am not seeking a casual arrangement. I am cautious, inexperienced, inelegant – but not inconstant. I am committed to you. To this.”

“You are never inelegant,” Kath said, covering the wild heartbeat flush that was surely crawling up her neck. I am committed to you. At last, all that lyricism had turned her way; she hadn’t a hope of withstanding it. But, damn him, he drew her on anyway. She mumbled the truth to her pooling syrup. “It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Elliott nodded. Kath pulled herself back together.

“I suppose I wanted to ask – what’s the best way to approach intimacy? Should we talk about it? As I said, there’s no rush. And I don’t view things as an escalating scale. But…”

She ran out of steam. Her waffle was nearly gone; a few bites left, stone cold. Elliott exhaled quietly. Then he took her hand. “I spent a long time talking with Mira last night.” When Kath quirked her eyebrows in question, he looked wry. “I could not think of another who was both informed of my situation and the queer spectrum. She suggested I investigate demisexuality. And reengage the services of a therapist. On both counts, I agree. There are new paths I need to tread.”

Kath blinked, her head running a thousand miles an hour. “That seems sound to me.”

“You are, ah, versed in the terminology?”

“Like I said. I did some research.”

They shared a smile. Kath kept her thoughts deliberately clinical. Deliberately low-key. He might never want to kiss you, she thought, and this prompted a further confession.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. When Elliott went still, she forced herself to continue. “Of – of everything. Of things going wrong between us. I don’t know how to – to make sense of this. There’s no template. Does that make sense?”

He watched her carefully, listening through those hazel eyes. “I believe it does. I have had similar thoughts – that we have no charts, no compass. These waters require navigation, and it will not be easy.”

Trust him to tow her meaning in the wake of clever words. Kath worried the edge of her brochure, causing the cheap paper to fray.

“Exactly. I want to, um, embark? But I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t know how to get there. The feeling…”

“Is daunting,” he finished. She nodded.

“Now that you say that,” she admitted, “the solution seems more obvious.” Elliott drew in a breath, so she squeezed his hand. “To plot our first destination. Not the end of the journey, but the next waypoint.”

He exhaled. “Yes. Yes, that does seem wise.”

The waitress came back over: “Can I get you anything else?” They declined, settled up, left a tip. Outside, a bitter wind screamed across the marsh. Kath retreated hastily into the shelter of her scarf.

Then she paused, because Elliott, beside her, had reached down and taken her hand. It was a surprisingly natural gesture. He had to work a little to interlace their fingers, but it happened. When Kath looked at him, he just smiled sheepishly, colour blooming beneath his cheekbones.

“An early waypoint,” he said, by way of explanation, and in that moment, Kath could no longer feel the cold.

They packed up and checked out, passing Anthony in the foyer. Kath waved but didn’t stop. She was abuzz, breathtakingly selfish, ready to take flight. Elliott was by her side. And together, they were going home.

Chapter Text

“Kath!”

Kath sat on a smile, applying herself with fresh vigour to the softening soil. Leah was half-jogging past the millpond, face alight. Kath had been expecting her. Still, a long dormant instinct for mischief stirred as her friend drew closer. She made a fresh cut with her hoe and called, “morning!”

“Kath!” Leah was panting. Kath wondered if she’d thrown on a coat and come running as soon as she’d heard. She stopped on the edge of Kath’s current patch, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Do you have something you want to tell me?!”

Kath stopped, leaning on her hoe. There was sunshine today – watery, but faintly warm - and that allowed her to squint for added effect. “Well, I’m thinking seriously about investing in a tractor. Big outlay, but big payoff. I could quadruple my effective acreage.”

Leah gaped. Kath’s lips twitched.

“And… Elliott and I are seeing each other. On reflection, you probably did come here to talk about that, not the tractor, didn’t you?”

The unfortunate thing about having Leah as your friend, Kath later reflected, was that she was always armed. Acorns made surprisingly effective missiles. “Leftovers from last year,” Leah had said, unrepentant, as they’d walked back up to Kath’s cabin, the hoe left forlorn on the cleared ground. “And you should be grateful they weren’t conkers.”

“Prickly,” Kath agreed, wiping her forehead to check for dirt. She snorted. “Your face.”

“I practically dropped my phone when Elliott texted me! I just – how? What happened? You’d better tell me. Unless you don’t want to. But you’d better.”

Kath raised her hands in surrender. “Pax. Though we have agreed not to put you in the middle of things-”

“E said the same,” Leah muttered, put out.

“- I’ll tell you. But not until I make tea.”

Leah groaned. “You’re one of us now, you know that? A true native.”

Kath grinned, opening the door. “Thank you.”

She did exactly as promised: tea, then tale. It felt oddly surreal to be relating the events of just a few days prior and finding that she hadn’t, in fact, dreamed it all. Or dreamed any of it. They had crossed an invisible line and found themselves happier on the mythical other side; they were, as she’d said, seeing one another.

“Though we haven’t really done much since we got back. He’s been unpacking, I’ve been back to the grind. Paying the price for leaving this -” she gestured around, “- alone for three whole days.”

“It hasn’t been alone!” Leah objected. “I’ve been checking on your crops, and Shane’s been looking after the chickens.”

Kath sighed, propping her elbows on the table. “I know. I think spring is the season of feeling chronically behind. I’ve been waiting for the milder weather, but now it’s here there’s always something wanting.”

Leah patted her shoulder sympathetically. “You’ve come a long way in a year.”

Kath eyed the sunshine slanting through the window; Custard’s cat flap half unpacked and ready to be installed; the teapot gifted by Robin for Winter Star. “I have,” she accepted.

They’d made it to the porch when Leah frowned. “What did you give Elliott for Winter Star? I asked and he just did his talking around the point thing.”

“He does do that, doesn’t he?” Kath asked, in a thank-Yoba-somebody-else-has-noticed sort of way. Then she blushed. “I made him a quilt.”

Leah pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh… Because he was cold over winter? My heart. That is incredibly romantic.”

“Is it romantic if you do it before you know interest is reciprocated?” Kath asked, squinting at the horizon. “Or is it just creepy?”

Leah nudged her. “We know how this ends. So, romantic.”

“We really don’t.”

“I do,” Leah declared. “I see a perfect future for you both.”

Kath narrowed her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you’re madly in love with Clemmie.”

“And she’s madly in love with me,” Leah answered, lofty tone spoiled by the soft smile skulking at the corners of her mouth. “We’re all going to live happily ever after. Or until one of us dies. Or turns out to be an asshole.”

Kath snorted. “So romantic.”

Leah sighed, leaning on Kath’s porch railing. “You know, it is romantic. It’s incredibly romantic to stand in the face of reality and say, I will not be cowed by your darkness, by your sad and evil things. I will love anyway. I will be loved anyway.”

A tight kind of emotion had come into her voice, one that harked back to something dead and trying to be unburied. Kath felt her own throat tightening with powerful affection. She leant up beside Leah and bumped her with her shoulder.

“I think you’re right,” she said, quietly. Then, after a moment of silence, “I hope you’re right.”

Leah sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. “Hope. Bloody miraculous thing.”

Kath smiled. Her second crop of parsnips, down by the house, were beginning to sprout. Tiny green things amongst the unremitting earth.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

~

The wine bar in Grampleton was a swirl of dark wood and cabaret lamps, low light suffusing with the sweet croon of a muted trumpet. Kath sipped her mojito, feeling a buzz of unexpected sophistication. She’d been to a jazz club in Zuzu once and been disappointed; the floor had been sticky, the chairs leather. Here, everything was upholstered in crushed velvet. Her glass was rimmed with sugar. Sweetness against her lips every time she drank.

She’d dressed in the bathroom, forced to hurry after a drop off at Rowena’s had overrun. At least she’d thought to bring a change of clothes. For one thing, Rowena’s Labrador had decorated her jeans with a patchwork of muddy pawprints. For another, this was not a place for farm clothes. The other women were sharply tailored, leaving faint smudges of lipstick against their wine glasses. Kath self-consciously dabbed her own lower lip, checking that the stain of red was still there. Black dress, red lip. Classic. Or a cliché? She couldn’t decide. It had been so long since she’d been on a date…

The song subsided into polite applause and Kath glanced over her shoulder. Elliott was wending his way between the tables, head down, embarrassed to be late. Kath didn’t care. He had his jacket over one arm, showing off the pressed white shirt and suspenders crossing his broad shoulders. Tan trousers (tailored, she now knew – something Rosa had sworn by). His hair was a shining fall of flame-like satin. She saw the moment he laid eyes on her, the swift run of his gaze over black fabric and subtle makeup, and she had never been more certain before that he, too, saw her as something breath-taking. Particulate joy exploded in her chest.

“A thousand apologies,” he said in a low voice, sliding into the seat next to her. “The bus was delayed.”

Kath squeezed his hand. This was something they were both comfortable with, so she did so at every opportunity. “Don’t worry. I haven’t been here long.”

There was a brief, awkward moment, when neither seemed to know how to start. Kath forced herself not to panic. They had done this so many times: in cars, in waiting rooms, on the way to the beach. Talking to Elliott wasn’t difficult. She wouldn’t allow things to be strange for no reason.

“How was your meeting with Rowena?” He asked, perhaps thinking on similar lines. Kath felt herself relaxing.

“She has the most ill-mannered dog I’ve ever met. Labrador. Named Jaxon, with an x. I know that because he has a personalised water bowl. But she was happy with my potatoes.” She sighed, drawn back into the farm. “I need to cultivate the acreage west of the millpond. If I double my output, she’ll add me to their collection roster. Then I wouldn’t need to trek out here every week.”

Elliott leaned back in his chair, still holding her hand. “Grampleton is not without its recommendations.”

Kath smiled: a quiet, secretive thing. “If I weren’t spending half my time driving, we could spend more time enjoying said recommendations.”

There were waitstaff here; one delivered a glass of wine on a silver tray. Elliott took it with thanks, then sipped.

“I did try to conduct some research,” he said, after a moment, “but I am still at a loss. What do people talk about on dates?”

Kath felt a tiny skip of relief; she smirked into her own glass.

“Before I tell you, I have to ask - what kind of research?”

“It will shock you to learn that I expanded my reading list,” he said, dryly. Kath laughed.

“Romance novels?”

“I did try some. They went on surprisingly few dates. More often, they met by improbable happenstance. Is planning not considered romantic?”

“Personal taste, I should think,” Kath answered, sipping her drink. Then she made sure to catch his eye. “I find planning extremely romantic.”

He relaxed into a laugh, a wonderful sight. Kath decided she’d kept him in suspense long enough.

“Well… Usually people don’t know each other as well as we do. So, covering the basics takes up time. What do you do? Where did you grow up? Tell me about your family! Then, once you’ve established a basic CV, I suppose you can flirt with one another… Or you can talk about the future. That’s a bit of a gamble, I think. On my first ever date, my partner for the evening thought it wise to give me the full and elaborate story of his divorce, then ask how many children I wanted before I turned thirty.” She wrinkled her nose, reaching for her mojito. “Poor form, in hindsight.”

“There must be a word for embarrassment on behalf of someone else,” Elliott said, dryly, “but I’m afraid I do not know it.”

Kath suppressed another smile. “Indeed. At least he worked in another department. Though I did share some awkward elevator rides with him from time to time.”

“I hate to assume cliché – but was there a youthful secretary in his future?”

“Receptionist,” Kath answered, grimacing. “I think they were only together six months. When I left, he was back to bachelorhood.”

Elliott raised his glass a fraction. “To justice, then.”

Kath joined the toast. On the tiny stage, the quartet were preparing for another set. At a table close to the front, a small group was stirring. She paused to watch them, but their intentions soon became clear. As the music restarted, they paired up and eased onto the cramped dancefloor. And they danced – danced like Kath had only seen in movies, black and white in old-fashioned skirts. Nothing fast or frenetic. Just easy. Gentle spins. A steady swing. The bassist grinned and Kath watched, fascinated. When she turned her head to pass comment to Elliott, though, she paused. He, too, was watching the dancers, but instead of interest, she saw longing. Her heart crawled affectionately into her throat and nestled there.

“Can you dance like that?” She whispered to him, leaning close. He nodded, eyes still fixed on the dancers.

“I am a little out of practice.”

Kath could have said, that is so painfully attractive I might die, but she managed to resist. Instead, she settled back against her own chair, alternating between watching the show and watching Elliott. After a while, she shifted her hand to his forearm.

“You know, you could go ask for a dance. That’s a thing people do, isn’t it?”

Elliott looked at her so quickly she was afraid he’d cricked his neck. “Kath – are you sure?”

Oh. He was worried about abandoning her. She wanted to melt, to kiss him, to propel him up there herself so that he might exude his own sparkle. She patted his arm.

“I’m sure.” When he didn’t look away, she smiled. “Seriously.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then, to her surprise, lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles. “I won’t be long.”

Kath sipped her mojito, surprised by her own flash of self-consciousness as Elliott crossed the room. This had been her idea. She’d all but instructed him to go. And he would be back. She reminded herself of these things and was pleasantly relieved to feel herself settle into a sensation akin to security. She had come far in a year. Over by the stage, Elliott was speaking to a woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a teal dress. She laughed, then took his proffered hand. They fell into an easy rhythm together, following the music. Elliott, you liar, Kath thought, openly staring. You are a bloody incredible dancer.

He used his body to craft line and momentum, tipping tiny flourishes when the music called for it; hardly flashy, but certainly noticeable. Occasionally, he used a free hand to hook his hair behind his ears, a gesture Kath found incredibly distracting. His entire being was incredibly distracting. Those long legs bunched and stretched with every turn, the nip of his waist highlighted as he twisted, his strong shoulders like a living sculpture. His partner was grinning, like, OK, stranger, I see you’ve got the moves. Kath’s own stomach fizzed with desire, envy, pride. That one’s mine, she thought, before she could stop herself. Then: I need to learn how to do that.

“Kath? Kath!”

Kath looked up to find Rowena bearing down on her, shimmering like a fish in a bedazzled silver minidress. Her voice was a little harsher than a whisper, though her smile was genuine. “Kath, lovely, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight! Come and sit with me and Mark!”

Kath could handle this. She returned the smile but made no move to stand up. “Oh, that’s so kind. But I’m actually here with someone.”

Rowena’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you?”

“A friend,” Kath lied, unwilling to discuss the complexities of her relationship status with Rowena. “Besides…”

“Well, bring him over, too! There’s a crowd, you know.”

Kath was saved by a new song and the reappearance of Elliott. He was flushed and somewhat out of breath, but he still cut an elegant figure. Rowena took him in, and Kath decided that this was her opportunity. She stood.

“Besides, we need to be heading out. Lovely to see you again, Rowena.”

“Ah – exactly,” Elliott confirmed, reaching for his jacket. Kath had never loved him more. “Shall we?”

They settled their tab before hastening into the night. Kath giggled. She couldn’t help it.

“Sorry.” She wrapped her arms around herself, mirth somehow sharper in the cold. “I’m sorry for springing that on you, I just couldn’t-!”

Elliott hooked his jacket around her shoulders, chuckling. “No, I understand. From what you’ve told me of Rowena…”

“She can be a lot.”

They stayed close, a breath between them, as they walked towards the parking lot. Grampleton’s parking lot was, of course, quaint: tucked behind a lit-up bandstand, somehow both twee and charming all at once. Kath could have laughed at the romance of it all. She didn’t. She just nestled into Elliott’s jacket and walked so her shoulder brushed up against his arm. There is time, she reminded herself. We have time.

She was so busy thinking this that when Elliott stopped, she carried on for a half step, faltering only when she looked back at him.

“OK?” She asked him. And he nodded. And he looked so steady, yet so vulnerable, that Kath froze in place. A secret, instinctive part of her knew what was coming. She stayed very still.

“Kath,” he asked, his voice betraying him, “may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she managed.

He closed the distance between them with a slightly ungainly step, but there was nothing clumsy about the way his eyes lingered on her lips, nothing uncertain in the touch of his fingertips against her cheek. Kath tilted her face up, following. Her eyes slid shut.

They kissed. It was a soft, shy thing. Barely more than a breath. Kath could have drowned in it; a shivering winter sea, screaming like a gull. She was soaring. She was afraid. She wanted with a passion that verged on terror. But her panic didn’t manifest. When she blinked, Elliott was still there.

“OK?” She whispered.

He nodded, his hair falling forward.

“Take your time,” Kath told him. “There’s-”

But he had kissed her again, firmer this time, bolder. Kath was surprised, then she smiled against his mouth. The jacket slipped from her shoulders. Elliott broke the kiss.

“Sorry.”

She laughed, bumping into him as they each tried to recover the jacket. “Don’t be sorry.”

He secured the jacket around her once more, then brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Kath’s grin widened. “Shall we go, then? Give you time to think up some words.”

A crooked smile. Kath coasted on it all the way back to the truck, changing her shoes with the seat moved back. Before she could turn the key, though, Elliott touched her arm and drew her close again. This kiss was chaste, but a little more confident. Kath tried so hard not to lean into him – she failed, but she tried.

“You know,” she murmured, when he’d pulled back, “I was going to ask what you thought of the whole kissing thing. But can I take that as confirmation that it wasn’t too terrible?”

Elliott considered his answer carefully, the way he considered everything. “It was not,” he answered, quietly. “It is strange. But not terrible.”

“Much like myself,” Kath quipped, dryly, starting the engine. They lapsed into comfortable silence as she drove.

“Kath – forgive me for asking. But… you have more experience with these matters. What should a kiss feel like?”

Kath thought about it, one hand on the wheel. She thought she knew why he was asking. She hoped she knew, at any rate.

“I’m hardly an expert,” she said, softly. “I’ve only kissed two people. Well, three, now. But there are kisses and there are kisses, you know? They’re… contextual.” She trailed off, scanning her memory banks. She thought of Benji, then dismissed him. Another recollection presented itself and, despite her embarrassment, she decided to forge onwards. “Have you ever read A Taste of Wild Honey?”

It said a lot that her epitome of romance had come not from real life, but from a novel. Elliott, however, gave no sign of judgement.

“I have.”

“That’s what a kiss should feel like,” she said, simply. “Like everything and nothing all at once.”

“Like good morning. Good evening. Good night. Like hunger and thirst, like a thousand burning fires, like the candle in the window for the weary night-traveller who takes the long road home. Like a greeting. Like a question. Like a kiss.”

Kath’s throat constricted as she listened to him quote the passage, his voice low and deep and somehow in her blood. Because she was still a coward, she choked a laugh. “You have read it.”

“I thought it far-off and beautiful,” he said, distantly. Kath nodded.

“You can’t force it,” she told the white line, watching the pool of her headlights. Her voice was tight with truth. “It happens naturally.”

“Have you experienced that before?” He wanted to know. Kath drummed her fingers on the wheel, suddenly antsy.

“Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?”

“My ex was fine,” Kath said, voice tightening. “He was fine, he was what I expected.”

Elliott just left silence; the truth cracked from the edges of Kath’s heart, leaking from between her lips like smoke.

“Look, Benji was fine. We had some chemistry, I suppose. But – I didn’t feel for him in six months what I feel for you. When we kissed, it was always fine. Not like -” She broke off, unable to continue. This was too much, she cursed herself. This was too much pressure, something she’d sworn she wouldn’t apply even unconsciously. She loved Elliott as he was.

In her periphery, she saw Elliott turn to look at her. “Not like?” He prompted, unbearably soft. Kath swallowed.

“Benji kissed like he was checking a box. Signing off on a document. Good, done, next. I suppose I kissed him in the same way. It was what we were supposed to do. We never asked. We only assumed. Not like you. Not like us.”

Elliott was studying her, noticing her, the way he always bloody did; he paid so much attention he must be permanently broke. Kath could feel her cheeks heating.

“I don’t want to pressure you -”

“How do we kiss?” He asked, his words overlapping hers.

Kath was stymied. “What?”

“How do we kiss?” He repeated, the faintest tremor in his voice.

“You’re the writer,” she said, trying to make light, ignoring the way her throat ached with sudden emotion. Elliott didn’t look away.

“You are my muse,” he said, quietly, matter-of-factly. Kath felt like she’d been given an electric shock. That was the only explanation for the way her brain kind of froze and restarted, for the abrupt sting behind her eyes.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Kath could have said a hundred things in response. But none of them would line up and make sense, so she kept driving while she fought the absurd urge to cry.

“You asked me once why I came to Pelican Town,” he continued, when it became clear she was incapable of speech. “I was looking for a place to anchor my creativity. I thought I was healed from my childhood, and I wanted new surroundings. A small place at the mouth of an endless sea. It could have been anywhere, but in the end I liked the fortuity of the dock outside my front door. A subtle hand of fate, or so I thought.”

“You didn’t need me to write your book,” Kath choked out, still overwhelmed. Elliott nodded, thoughtfully.

“No. Need is a relative term. I can write without you. But the writing isn’t the thing. I could write on a raft – for years, I did. Pelican Town helped pull me to shore, but I was still writing in a shack, still sweeping sand from the floors. Still shivering when the cold came in. Until I met you, I didn’t know what it was like to feel rock beneath my feet. You are the rock to which I have bound my life. I…” At last, he faltered, as though reconsidering all he’d just said. In a more subdued voice, he said, “I understand if this is too much.”

Kath got her shoulder to her throat, shoving it open like a stuck door. She stumbled through it without any grace. “It’s not. It’s not. I keep -”

I keep thinking that I love you. I keep saying it in my mind; it’s a truth I’ve never been able to outrun. I’ve loved you for months and I can only keep it in with all my concentration, the biggest, stupidest secret I’ve ever tried to disguise. I’m afraid that when I say it, this will all crumble, that the last, tiny piece of myself will take flight and go roost with you in that sandy shack on the beach. Cosied up under the quilt. Waiting out the rainstorms. Listening to the breath of the waves.

In the end, she spoke only the very first revelation, the one that wasn’t a revelation at all.

“I keep thinking that I love you.”

And Elliott went very still.

“You keep thinking that you love me?” He asked.

Kath was in freefall, Flag all over again.

“As in, I think that all the time. I love you.” She sniffed. “I wasn’t planning to tell you like this.”

“No. Well. Neither was I.”

Kath nearly took her eyes off the road. As though he could tell she wasn’t taking it in, Elliott said it again, slower.

“I love you, Kath. In every way I can.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispered, blinking away tears. The sign for Pelican Town was up ahead. They were nearly home. “The first bit was enough.”

He waited until she had pulled up at the dunes, until she had the handbrake on. Then he kissed her. Fervently, like he was asking a question, like he wanted to hear her reply. Oh, Kath replied. She slipped a hand into his hair, then cradled his jaw. She took a little control, directing all that desire. He seemed to like that. Maybe more than he was expecting. When he froze, Kath immediately backed off.

“Kath…” He breathed, ragged. She disentangled herself, giving him space. The windshield had steamed up.

“I figured it out,” she said, after a moment, watching him out of the corner of her eye, humour skulking beneath her words. “We kiss like we want more.”

Elliott shut his eyes and laughed.

Chapter Text

Kath drove slow. Impossible to drive any other way, really; tractors weren’t made for speed. Especially not her tractor. Bessie? Kath thought, then dismissed the idea. Too cliché. Annabelle? Beatrice?

The tractor rocked into a rut and Kath yelped, though her hands stayed steady on the wheel. Marnie had given her a ten-minute lecture the day before about the dangers of tractors: Kath had had, “if you roll it, you’re dead,” circling the perimeter of her thoughts ever since. But Beatrice trundled on, righting herself, and Kath breathed a sigh of relief.

“Atta girl, Bea. Only another acre to go.”

Kath had already decided that driving the tractor was as meditative a farming experience as one could achieve. Not even the physical action of doing was available to her. She drove at ten puttering miles per hour, perched on the stool-like seat, bundled in a hat and coat and scarf. Up. Lift. Turn. Lower. The drill rumbled along behind her, sowing her cauliflower seeds at neat intervals. Birds sang in the trees. Mistle thrush, Kath reckoned. She recognised the fluting trill.

In her pocket, her phone began to buzz. Kath pulled Beatrice to a halt and answered the call, engine still chugging in the background.

“Kath Perks speaking.”

“Kath. Can you hear me? You sound like you’re in a tumble-dryer.”

“Oh.” Kath turned the key and stretched her lower back, the sudden quiet almost deafening. “Hey, Andy. Sorry about that. I’m on the tractor.”

“That’s a new one.” He was dry for an instant, then business-like once more. “I wanted you to know – we’ve found it.”

Kath froze. “Holy shit.”

“It was in the last binder.”

“It’s always in the last binder,” she answered, mind racing. “Now what?”

Andy blew out a breath. “Well, it’s only a name. The scientist who wrote the report. Clemmie’s already tracked her down.”

“She’s still alive?”

“Seems that way. Lives up in Nimb. Want to meet her?” When Kath didn’t immediately respond, he added, “We’re going up to knock on her door this weekend. Gauche PI shit, but needs must. Hopefully she’ll talk to us.”

But Kath’s mind was already racing, rearranging appointments, calling in favours. “I’ll be there,” she said. Nimb would be a hell of a drive. Maybe she should catch a cross-country bus from Grampleton. “When you say we…?”

“Me. Liyana, from Asprey. Clemmie. She’s threatening to bring her girlfriend along, too.”

Kath felt a strange sense of overlap. She snorted down the phone. “Her girlfriend’s OK.”

“Looking to set up some kind of art show up there apparently. Obviously, she won’t be in the meeting.”

“Obviously.”

They finalised the plan, then Kath hung up. She needed to get moving. The year might have turned, but it still got dark early. She and Beatrice trundled off down the acreage as, somewhere close, the mistle thrush resumed its song.

Down at Marnie’s, Kath begged another favour. Marnie rolled her eyes and called for Shane. He’d been looking better over the winter, the change noticeable even to Kath. Still not especially talkative, but less red around the eyes. He agreed to watch the chickens, check the sprinklers, and lay down fertilizer. Kath didn’t say anything about paying him – she knew it would result in a pointless disagreement, because she was going to pay him regardless of whether he wanted her to – but she grasped his hand in thanks before she left. There was a light on in Leah’s cottage, so Kath went there next: hello, how are you, art show in Nimb? Leah rolled her eyes. She’d only just finished chatting to Clemmie, who had taken it upon herself to invent said creative function. Kath couldn’t really judge either of them. It was hard to date when separated by a hundred miles. They were taking all the chances they could get.

“Are you going to be insufferable on the bus?” She asked, teasing, blowing on her herbal tea. Leah gave her a middle finger.

“We aren’t teenagers. No necking on the back seats.”

“Hmm,” Kath said, already resigning herself to finding a really good book. Leah stretched her arms above her head.

“Not tempted to ask Elliott along?”

It was Kath’s turn to roll her eyes. “Shall I tell Andy that he’s also working at your mysterious art show? Or perhaps he just happens to have a reading in the northern province.”

“Hey,” Leah wagged a finger, “I’ll have you know Nimb is very beautiful. I’m actually planning to do a lot of painting.”

“It’s only two days,” Kath argued, dismissing the tiny ball of tension in her gut. “We’re taking things slow.”

And they were. There were appointments to keep, crops to plant, words to write. Elliott had told Kath he was on the cusp of something new, and as such he spent a lot of odd hours scribbling or banging away on his typewriter. Like you prepare the soil, he’d told her, I prepare for another story to take root. Digging. Cultivating. Hoeing? Kath had asked, with a crooked grin, and he’d given her such a shocked look she’d felt simultaneously awful and amused in equal measure. I shall, ah, take that one to therapy, he’d told her, ten minutes later. She’d asked if she could hold his hand. He’d reached out. They’d sat quietly for a while, and she’d apologised, and he’d murmured that it was alright. Strange where the stumbling blocks were. Sometimes, it surprised both of them.

Kath was thinking about this with such intensity that she wasn’t prepared to find Elliott stood on the dock. It wasn’t that it was odd, necessarily, for him to be out there; only that he wasn’t where she’d expected to find him. She stumbled over this, feet sinking in the sand. She remembered at last that he had been in therapy that morning. She went to him with the skittering wind, strands of hair blowing in her face.

“Hey,” she said, not poetic, not romantic. He turned to her anyway, cheeks pinched from the cold. Kath wanted to kiss them. She settled for threading her arm through his. “OK?”

A gentle smile stole across his face. He touched her straying hair; his own had been wisely tucked into a scarf. “The skies themselves flatter you, love.”

Kath meant to hit this back, baseball style, but her joy was too big for words, so she simply smiled. Beamed, really, which wasn’t a very flattering expression on her. Elliott kissed her very softly, apparently oblivious. Kath kissed him back. The wind skated across the ocean to hit them with a whump. They swayed, laughed. Grey clouds loomed on the horizon. It was alright. Rain was needed, sometimes.

In the cabin, Kath shivered until Elliott made tea. They huddled on the bed, ankles hooked together, and listened as the squall blew in. This was getting easier. Closeness. Being with one another. Kath loved it.

She told him about Nimb. He walked around the edges of his therapy session, the way he preferred it when there were still things to digest. Kath was content with that, too. She was coming to her own decision. Once the madness of spring was over, she would find her own safe place to talk. No doubt there was plenty knocking around between her ears that could do with dusting off and gently resetting.

Her hand had settled on his, fingertips tracing around the topography of his knuckles. Elliott made Kath feel like a cartographer. She wanted to map his every inch. Each freckle was a star to her, calling for lines, for travel. She worked to hold herself back, but she was certain Elliott could sense it. Did it scare him? Slow, she told herself, moving to withdraw. Slow.

Elliott’s fingers entangled with her own. Kath looked at him, caught. Layers of learned walls piled themselves up on her throat. Don’t tell him. You can’t be vulnerable.

“I feel bad,” she began, which was a triumph in itself: I feel. He was listening. She carried on. “I feel like I’m pressuring you. All the time. I don’t mean to, but that’s not an excuse, is it?”

He nodded slowly. He was half-shadow like this, the windows darkened by rain. Those long lashes shadowing sea-glass eyes. Kath felt a hitch in her chest, like her heart had been caught in something sweet and sticky, gradually slowing, aching with every delayed beat. Elliott squeezed her hand.

“I decided long ago,” he said, with a distant thoughtfulness that Kath admired hungrily, “that I would not do things that were expected of me. I would not tolerate without reason. What makes you think I tolerate this?”

She flushed like she’d been slapped. It was – admonishment? Praise? Both? She turned away, embarrassed. He hummed in the back of his throat, like he regretted what he’d said.

“Kath, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And maybe it was the honesty, or the rain, or the song of the mistle thrush still in the back of her head. Kath looked up at him, teary, hating it, pushing through anyway.

“You really seem to want me around,” she whispered. It should have sounded like a line, but it just came out raw and a bit pathetic, like all her confessions. Elliott received it with his customary grace. His expression wavered from sympathy to resolve. He gathered her in with those beautiful hands, those strong arms, coiling her up like a rope, soothing her distress into something more pliable. She rested her head on his chest. His heart thumped quietly in her ear. The rush of air in his lungs was louder than the sea.

“I want you around,” he said, so perfectly sincere that Kath actually started crying. She never admitted it to him, but she was sure he could tell. He held her, his thumb stroking over the seam of her shoulder, his goodness seeping into her like warmth, like a tide.

~

The night before she left for Nimb, Elliott came up to the farm. It was less planned and more a tug of yearning. They ate fishcakes from the saloon with fresh green beans, splitting a bottle of wine and half-forgetting to drink it. From there, it was a natural progression to the couch, arguing with increasing fondness about the proper use of love poems. Kath vowed that she was a poor recipient for one: she would laugh, or burst into spontaneous and literal flames. Elliott laughed, but she could see the edge of challenge at the corner of his mouth. Was I always going to fall for a writer? Kath wondered, staring openly at him. That look could kill me. A spike of lust so powerful it literally stops my heart.

She watched him purse his lips, swallow. His eyes were threatening revolution; black swallowing the green. His limbs seemed suddenly coltish, almost eager. Kath leaned towards him without conscious thought.

“What happens next?” Elliott asked. He managed to sound remarkably calm. Kath was not calm. She balled her hands together, tethering herself down. They’d talked about this. Being clear. It helped Elliott relax.

“Well,” she explained, “I would like to come over there and kiss you. With a great deal of prejudice. For a while. As long as it takes, actually, for you to get bored and tell me to stop.”

He nodded. Kath didn’t need telling twice. She actually got up onto her knees and crawled to him, climbing him like a scaffold; hand on his shoulder, hand on his chest. Slow, her head shrieked. She really tried. She eased her fingers into his coppery hair, trying for sweet, her trembling giving her away. Their lips met in a rush of breath, an open-mouthed kiss that dipped like a swing. Momentum, Kath thought, dazed. This thing has momentum.

Elliott’s hand eased to her waist. Kath kissed him more enthusiastically, dispensing with words; yes, more. He was so infatuating. Infectious. A drug, like all the songs always said. Were there poems that shared the sentiment? Probably. Her thoughts knocked into one another, loud and rattly and somehow triumphant. She put her hands on him without conscious thought.

He froze beneath her. Kath felt it like a drop in her own stomach – a switch from things being right to things being wrong. She drew back at once, pulling every place where they were touching apart until they were once more their own little islands. Her heart was beating uncomfortably hard. Embarrassment brought her colour; guilt swayed her expression.

“Sorry,” she tried, and when that came out too brittle, she swallowed and made herself try again. “Elliott, I’m so sorry.”

He was breathing slowly through his nose. His hands were spread flat on his thighs like he was forcing himself not to clench them into fists. Kath sat back, feeling very bad. Her first instinct was to lash out with something cold. She resisted it for all she was worth. It was a push-pull game, something she’d learned from a dysfunctional family environment. She’d learned that from reading shit on the internet. A little nod to the therapy she’d promised herself, laying some groundwork. So, though she thought, maybe this just won’t work, and maybe I don’t deserve to be happy, behold, the evidence, she stayed quiet. From the unoccupied armchair, Custard turned his head to look at them both.

Elliott drew in a deeper breath. “I need a moment.”

Kath’s rationality told her that this was not the end of the world - whilst her body acted as though flaming pitch rained from the skies. She wrapped her arms around herself. Calm down. It’s not that bad. He’s not leaving you. He’s not.

“I’m sorry,” he said, after a long, agonising moment. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The fact that he saw her fear for what it really was nearly broke her down. She bit her lip to keep herself from crying.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, ragged. “It’s mine. I pushed you too hard.”

“No.” He unfroze, shifting forward on the sofa. “I didn’t know until it happened.”

“Is this ever going to work?” Kath asked, miserably. She immediately kicked herself. “That came out wrong.”

Elliott took a long, slow breath. “I don’t know,” he replied, quiet and sombre. “I can’t be sure. But I believe the same is true of all relationships. There is no science. Only a gentle art.”

Kath sniffed. Then she carefully tipped her head towards him, smiling with only a few tears. “Put that one in your next book.”

Elliott covered his ears. “Please, no, not the next book!”

They laughed together like a pot on simmer. The tension between them slackened. Elliott shifted a little closer.

“In all seriousness,” he said, seriously, “I consider our conversations to be sacred. I would not lift them wholesale to appease my muse.”

Kath nudged her shoulder against him, then stayed there. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would.” He took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “The real and the fictional deserve clear distinction.”

Kath had a sudden and painful thought. It must have crossed her face, because Elliott squeezed her hand. “What is it?”

“Does real life not compare?” She asked, soft and sad.

Elliott was silent for a moment. Then he touched his fingertips to her chin, raising her head. He kissed her with such aching tenderness that Kath let out a sigh, melting into him. When he withdrew, she stayed perfectly still, savouring the feeling of her heart fluttering in her chest.

“Real life is something I am still discovering,” Elliott said, leaning his forehead against hers. Kath shut her eyes again.

“I think that’s true for everyone,” she replied. Outside, a sharp wind snatched at the gables and rattled the trees. Inside, the fire continued to burn with barely a flicker.

~

Kath: We made it. I miss you. Sorry if it’s too soon for that kind of talk. I’ve been trying not to tell you that since we got on the bus this morning.

Elliott: I love you and I miss you. Too soon is meaningless, in my opinion.

Elliott: I have an idea. May be out of touch for a short while.

Kath: Write well 😊

~

Kath: Holy shit, she wants to talk.

Kath: On the record

Kath: This could be it

Kath: Please don’t tell anyone, this is still under wraps.

Kath: I just had to tell you.

~

Kath: We’re in the motel. It’s kind of terrible, but I don’t care. It was worth it. Sleep well. Eat dinner if you haven’t eaten yet, writer in the flow.

~

Elliott: I have run aground on the shores of procrastination. Time to abandon the typewriter and see if there is anything to salvage in the morning.

Elliott: I am thrilled for you.

Elliott: Sleep well.

~

Kath: Home today!

Elliott: Home today. I await your return with fervour (and crabcakes).

~

Spring fever overtook Kath with the suddenness of a common cold. She was fine – then she was crippled. A tidal wave of runner beans; the chickens starting to lay with aplomb; cauliflowers swelling in their green cocoons. She was on her feet for twelve-hour days, one thing after the other. At first, she turned Elliott away. It was too much to expect anyone to enjoy her company at the end of her farm marathons. She was muddy, sweat-crusted, sore-kneed, bruised. Nothing about her appealed, even to herself. But one Thursday night, she opened her fridge and realised she had nothing to eat besides an overstuffed tub of runner beans – so, she shut her eyes, scrubbed her hands over her face, and reached for her phone.

An hour later, she was poured into a booth at the Stardrop, trying to pretend that she wasn’t tempted to lean her head against the wall and fall asleep. Listen, you brat, she chided herself. Elliott was nice enough to come out at short notice, and all you can do is stare into the distance. Some hospitality you’re showing him.

“Kath?” Elliott asked. Kath snapped to guilty attention.

“Sorry. Sorry – I lost track of things for a moment. What were you saying?” She barely succeeded in stifling a yawn.

Elliott’s gaze softened. He was freshly shaved – Kath wanted very badly to reach over and trail her fingers along his jaw. She resisted by balling her hands in her lap.

“Only that Scrabbit has moved into a new shell.” Scrabbit, the hermit crab who lived behind Elliott’s shack. Leah had been in charge of the name. Before Kath could pass comment on Scrabbit’s living situation, Elliott tipped his head. “You seem weary.”

“Weary. Such a lovely word.” Exhaustion and familiarity had stripped away her filter. “Much better than tired. Tired always has such negative connotations. You look tired. That’s a criticism. You seem weary – well, weariness has a feeling of morality. Earnestness. You have earned your malaise.”

She watched Elliott’s eyebrows lift and felt very pleased with herself. The corners of his mouth were tentpoles, the curve of his lip stretched canvas. She could shelter there. Curl up and be safe.

“I like hearing your thoughts,” he said. Gus brought over their soup. Kath took his fond smile and look between the two of them with good grace. It was percolating now, the gossip that she and Elliott were seeing one another. Kath did not hate it. How could she, when Elliott smiled at her like that?

“I have been a little worried about you,” he said, with conversational easiness. “I understand you are busy. But you have withdrawn a little.”

Kath stared at him across her bowl, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“Hush.” Elliott caught her hand, face still relaxed for all that Kath searched for the inevitable disapproval. “No, I’m not disappointed. I know how hard you work. Please don’t think I’m demanding more of your time. Only that… Well, I would like to support you, where I can. I would be the first to admit that I’m not much good with growing things, but I can cook for you. Clean the house. Hold down the fort, as it were.”

There were several things that seemed very urgent to say in that moment, so Kath took a moment to put them in proper order.

“You grew this,” she told him first, voice quiet, fingers interlacing with his. It was soft and sappy but Elliott liked a hint of that, Kath was discovering – something-something, literary romance. And indeed, his smile hitched higher, becoming more lopsided and even more tender.

“I hardly did this alone.”

“Still.”

They shared a moment: the kind where the connection between them pulled taut and sweet. Then Kath tipped a shoulder.

“Are you asking to move in with me?”

She could feel the surprise moving through her own words; in Elliott’s reaction, similar shock prevailed. His spoon stilled, suspended two inches above the surface of his soup. Kath’s reflexes begged her to apologise, to retract, to retreat behind walls – but she did nothing, stayed vulnerable. Watched him as he took his own steps through this new and uncharted territory.

“I… don’t know.”

Kath would have preferred certainty, but that was alright. It was alright that they were floundering around together. She tried to consider things over the drumming of her pulse.

“I would like that,” she said, honestly. “Though perhaps we ought to start with a trial run. I…” And then it hit her, how much she had assumed, and she really did pull back then. “Oh. I’m sorry, Elliott. I hadn’t really thought it through.”

She could see the shutters creak in his face. He was fighting to keep them open; she hastened onward, hoping to give him a hand.

“I don’t assume that my life is more important than yours. That your life should subsume into mine. I would like us to spend more time together, and I can’t leave the farm, but… I don’t know. I don’t have the answer. Just please don’t think I automatically expect you to slot in with my existence. Things are busy right now, but they won’t be forever. We can carry on as we are.”

An impressive speech, given the state she was in. And she could see that it had been the right thing to say, because the tension bled from Elliott’s shoulders. He abandoned the soup spoon and went back to her hand.

“I understand, now.” He marshalled his thoughts. Kath slipped in a comment, confident it wouldn’t upset the balance.

“I did promise to take things slow.”

A sly gleam in his eyes. “So did I, as I recall.”

“You did offer to cook. And to help around the house. I suppose I thought it would be easier if you were in residence.”

He was approaching a smile. “I suppose it would.”

“Shall we take it -” Kath had to pause, a yawn practically cracking her face in two, “- excuse me. Day by day? I’m too tired to think through all the implications now.”

He kissed her knuckles. “Weary, my love. You’re only weary.”

They took the main course to go and the prickling song of new leaves chased them all the way back to Watershed Farm; up the porch steps; into the remembered warmth of the banked down fire. Later, when the hour grew old enough to demand decision, Elliott held her in his arms by the door. Kath leant her whole weight against him and he supported her without complaint or comment. Her eyes were closed. His woodsy smell was all around her, soft and comforting.  

“I’ll come back in the morning,” he murmured in her ear. “If that’s alright?”

Kath nodded, rubbing her cheek against the softness of his coat. Elliott smoothed her hair.

“It feels as though you’re falling asleep standing upright.”

“Maybe,” Kath mumbled. “Will you let me?”

He gently manoeuvred her so she was leaning against his side. “No, my love. Humans are not meant to sleep upright.”

“Horses can.”

They were moving, and she was making no sense, but Elliott offered an interested noise anyway.

“Can they?”

“Locking mechanism. In the legs…”

“Fascinating. Sit down.”

She did as he asked. She hadn’t opened her eyes, but she could feel he’d guided her to bed. She sagged down without prompting, pillow cushioning her head. Elliott drew the thick covers over her in a smooth motion. At least she was wearing pyjamas. She’d changed in the bathroom while Elliott had reheated dinner. What would they do if he moved in? Would he see her fully nude? Would she ever see him?

“I can hear you thinking,” he whispered, smoothing her hair again. “Let your mind rest.”

Kath heaved a deep, settling sigh. “Thank you.”

He stooped, kissing her hair, then her cheek, then her temple. “See you in the morning. Reach up and lock the door after me.”

She caught his hand before he could leave altogether. “It was open the first time.”

“Hm?”

The night air crept in around the jamb. Kath could feel it on her exposed wrist, prowling over top of her quilt. “The first time you helped me,” she breathed. “I forgot to lock the door then, too.”

She could feel his smile, as potent against her skin as the cold. “How little I knew back then.”

Kath’s own lips curled. She squeezed his hand, unwilling to let go. “Me, too.”

He left. Came back the next morning. He was carrying a bag under one arm, and a bunch of fresh flowers from Pierre’s.

“I thought it might be gauche to bring you your own flowers,” he said, standing in her kitchen with March’s sharp, bounteous sunshine spilling around him, and Kath launched herself at him and he was spinning her like a girl, like a heroine, and they were both smiling so hard and laughing a little that she knew, then, that he was here to stay.

Chapter Text

It was raining on the courthouse steps, a barking August squall. The edges of umbrellas dripped and twitched in the throng; cars soaked at regular intervals down the sopping streets. Andy was answering questions from the gaggle of reporters. Students Against Injustice were waving signs, triumphant. Kath spotted the motel owner from Flag among them and made a mental note to go and say hello later. She couldn’t now, though. This was her final hurdle. She checked her watch. Tried to find her steel.

The revolving door spun open as a hand landed on the small of her back. She knew the touch so well that she took a breath before glancing up and back, a faint tinge of relief nibbling at the edges of all her tension.

“You found me.”

Elliott nodded. He was collected, tailored, dressed more soberly for these important milestones: black suit today, maroon pocket square. “You are nearly there,” he told her, and in that moment, those were the words Kath most needed to hear. She nodded, hope rooting in her chest.

“Katherine.”

The roots trembled but didn’t break. A man approaching late middle age stood before her, dark hair greying, expensive suit already collecting rain droplets. Somebody in his entourage was hastening for an umbrella. They would be too late. Mr Astor wouldn’t want to linger.

“Hello,” Kath said, perfectly polite. She saw her father’s eyes track her up and down, then flick to Elliott. The urge to explain, to try and mitigate, lurched up within her, but she had her therapist’s lessons at the ready. You are not beholden to him. So, she said nothing else, waiting for him to break the silence.

“You’ve cost me a lot of money today,” her father said. Curt. Unfeeling. No mention of their near total estrangement. Katherine wasn’t surprised.

“Yes,” she agreed, keeping her own tone pleasant. Elliott’s hand pressed a little more firmly against her back. She could feel his pride in her, and this, more than anything, began to lift the final fog of dread.

Daddy looked to Elliott once more, and Kath could see what he was seeing: this tall, broad-shouldered man is watching over my daughter. He is not looking at me like he is friendly or he might care about my approval. I have no sway here.

Or maybe that was her imagination. Either way, he stepped back.

“Strong arguments in there,” he said, sending a faint vibration of shock through her. “I heard your style. More than once.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his entourage, back to the cluster of black umbrellas that swiftly whisked him away to a waiting car. Kath stared after him, feeling oddly blank. Andy’s uncharacteristically impassioned speech slowly broke through the numbness.

“… And after three years, we have finally secured the verdict the people of Flag in the Water so richly deserve!”

Cheers from the crowd. Kath looked up, joy beginning at last to spiral outward through her chest.

“We did it,” she whispered. Elliott kissed the crown of her head, ignoring the rain.

“You did.”

~

They left before rush hour traffic began to bite, but they managed an hour with Leah in the corner of a packed-to-the-gunnels upstairs bar, catching up in between the toasts that happened every ten minutes - mainly to hard work! And, also, to fuck Joja! Leah had her hair in a bandana and warpaint daubed on her cheeks. Her artists’ retreat was all set for the autumn – she missed the valley, but Clemmie had needed her here for the hearing. Kath understood. She rubbed it in a little with how much she’d missed her best friend, but it was all good-natured. Nothing could tarnish today. They were so happy, everyone was so happy; Kath didn’t want to leave. Andy snagged her by the door and raised a toast to the best goddamn mole we ever had. Kath covered her face and laughed, red with embarrassment, as Elliott joined in with the rest. The truck seemed very quiet by comparison.

“I could drive,” Elliott offered, and Kath agreed to change over halfway. They swapped at the breakfast diner. Just before entering the tunnel, Kath’s phone buzzed.

Shane: You on your way back?

Kath felt the farmer’s lurch. They’d been gone for four nights, trying to wait out the verdict, and she was always worried that something would go wrong.

Kath: Is everything alright?

“You’ve gone quiet,” Elliott said, over the sound of the radio, which should have been odd because they weren’t talking, but he knew her well enough to hear her different kinds of silence. Kath grimaced down at her phone. Darkness came over the windshield as they ducked into the side of the hill, and she watched her signal bars drop to one, then none.

“Shane texted. I hope everything’s alright at home.”

“I am sure he would call if it were urgent,” Elliott said. He was a careful driver, especially through the tunnel. Despite her worry, Kath reflected on how grateful she was for that. How grateful she was for him in general. It seemed the simplest thing in the world to open her mouth and speak the truth.

“Thank you,” she told him. “For everything. The past few months. The past few years, really. I don’t know how you’ve put up with it.”

With the late-night phone calls, with the frantic trips to the city, with the frustrations, with her temper, with the constant battle between her case files and veg box receipts and his manuscript and submission letters. With her desperate trudging on, unable to ask for help, until he’d come out to find her in the fields past midnight trying to get the last of the seed crop in. Stop, he’d told her. The part for the tractor will be in on Monday. Come to bed. And, because it was Elliott, she’d listened. Because it was Elliott, she’d grown. What was it he’d said? She’d learned to change with the weather.

She wasn’t really sure what she’d expected him to say. When he came out with, “I am so proud of you,” soft and sincere, she felt her throat tightening.

“You’ll make me cry.”

He hummed. Light appeared ahead, faint but promising. An instant later, Kath’s phone buzzed again.

Shane: Everything’s cool

Shane: Elliott’s driving the wrong way, don’t freak out about it

Kath frowned, looking up. They were out in the brilliant golden sunshine, and Elliott was turning into Pelican Town. Then he clicked the indicator left, not right. Kath opened her mouth to say something.

Shane: Seriously

Shane: He’s not lost his mind or w/e

They swung left, through the centre of town. Kath, bemused but intrigued, turned to the driver’s seat.

“How does Shane know you’re driving the wrong way?”

Elliott was perfectly inscrutable, his ultimate tell of being up to something. “I would prefer not to answer that.”

He pulled up outside Pierre’s, which was shut – early, given it was a Friday. Then he reached into the side pocket and pulled out an eye mask. “A necessary bit of theatre,” he said, straight-faced. Kath felt an odd prickle of anticipation. They’d talked about marriage for nearly a year, but she hadn’t pegged him for a set-piece-and-surprise kind of deal. I’ll be happy whatever it is, she told herself, accepting the mask and opening the door. The humid summer air hit her in an unpleasant wave, sticking her court clothes to her skin. Oh, Yoba. She would hope he wouldn’t propose to her in her court clothes.

She lowered the mask and let him guide her. Surprisingly quickly, she lost her bearings.

“You aren’t going to propose to me when I’m wearing my court clothes, are you?” She asked, mostly joking. The laugh she heard prompted a swirl of both relief and disappointment.

“No, my love. I do know you a little.”

“A little more than a little.”

They stopped. Kath felt fingers gentle under the elastic, then lifting the fabric away. Her eyes were still closed.

“You can look.”

She did. They were in front of the Community Centre. And it was perfect.

“It’s finished?!”

Elliott smiled. His inscrutability was beginning to dissolve, so Kath believed what he’d said earlier. “It is.”

“I thought Shane was still waiting on Alex the last of the woodwork?”

“I may have asked him to employ slight mistruth. For the sake of the surprise.”

Kath felt a surge of emotion. She’d become oddly invested in this ramshackle old place – round about the same time she’d knocked on Mayor Lewis’ door and told him the town almost certainly had a case against Joja Corp, and would he like her help to get started? – and she’d prodded at it ever since. Broken many a drill-bit in its walls; fractured a finger trying to wrestle one of the creaky sash windows. Spent two winters helping Shane restore the floors and fix the leaky roof. Had her hands in the guts of the generator out back on more than one occasion, relying on Pam’s knowledge of her bus engines to get it restarted. Kath felt her heart squeeze as she drank in the glossy paint, the clean face of the clock, the shiny brass doorknobs.

“Shall we look inside?” Elliott suggested. Kath didn’t need telling twice. She slipped off her heels and went up the steps. A faint rustle sounded just before she pushed open the door.

“SURPRISE!”

The light and noise and shock of it all nearly knocked her backwards. Luckily Elliott was there to steady her as the throng resolved before her eyes: the familiar faces, their smiles, the bright pop of a camera flash. Hayley straightened, cracking a sly, delighted grin as she checked the viewfinder.

“You look horrified, Kath. Excellent. Front page with this one.”

“Should we start playing now?” Sam asked, from somewhere near the back, and laughter chased around the room.

“Late for your own funeral!” Came Willy’s reliable heckle, as Lewis stepped out of the crowd.

“We are sorry if we scared you, Kath. And -” he cleared his throat, meeting Elliott’s eyes over her shoulder, “ – Elliot has made me promise to tell you that this party isn’t just on your behalf. We’ve been planning to give the Community Centre a proper opening ever since the interiors were finished. But – and the other members of the committee fully agreed with me – it seemed only right that we include you in the celebration.”

“Hear, hear!” Somebody called. Kath thought it might have been Pierre. Lewis raised his voice and carried on.

“Particularly in light of the verdict today!”

Applause broke out, and Sam wolf-whistled. Kath was nearly floating. A smile was pinioned across her face; she wouldn’t have been able to take it down, even if she’d wanted to.

“It’s a great step forward for communities everywhere,” Lewis continued. “And a testament to your hard work. It gives us hope that we’ll be having our own celebration, one day.”

Another chorus of cheers. Lewis clasped his hands together, a sure sign that his address was coming to an end.

“It’s hard to believe you’ve been in the valley for over four years, Katherine. So much has changed, and a good deal is thanks to you. I think I speak for us all when I say we’re grateful for all you’ve done here.”

“You make it sound like she’s leaving!” Robin hollered, and people laughed again. Kath spied the punchbowl on the buffet table and suspected there had been some indulging before their arrival. When she caught the older woman’s eye, Robin smirked in return. “She’d better not be leaving.”

The chatter died down, and Kath felt it was probably her turn to speak.

“I’m not leaving,” she began, and the chuckles took the edge off her nerves. “I’m afraid I don’t have a speech prepared, either. Only…” She swallowed. Looked around at all these people she knew, who knew her, who cared about her and were cared for in return. From the corridor to the kitchen, Jas and Vincent came skittering to a stop, giggling madly. Kath remembered the little kids they’d been her first summer here: Jas hiding behind Marnie’s leg, Vincent keen on worms. She’d seen them grow up, get bolder. She supposed she’d done much the same.

“Only that when I came here, I needed a place to stay. But I found a home, instead. Thank you for being neighbours -” she caught Robin’s eye again, “- and friends.”

“Hear, hear!” Pierre called, ignoring Caroline’s attempts to shush him. Titters broke out; Marnie wiped her eyes and mumbled, “Well said!”

“Sam?” Kath raised her head so her voice carried across the room, “I think it’s time to start playing now.”

He gave her a cheery salute. Somewhere behind all the bodies, Sebastian got the keyboard underway. Chat broke out along with the music. Marnie and Robin engaged in a two-woman maternal race to hug Kath first.

“Kath -”

“We’re so proud of you!”

“You must be delighted!”

“Let the lady breathe,” Shane drawled from behind them, a smile lurking somewhere behind his short beard. “She’s had a long day.” When Kath raised her eyebrows toward him, he answered without prompting, “don’t worry, boss, your chickens are all locked up.”

“Stop talking about chickens!” Marnie scolded, giving Kath another tight squeeze. Robin gasped.

“Marnie, I did not just hear you say that!”

“It’s a historic day,” Marnie huffed. “So I can break the norm if I want to. We shouldn’t be talking about chickens, we should be talking about the fact that Kath handed Joja Corp’s asses to them!”

Kath went red again. “It wasn’t me.”

“Only you,” Robin corrected. Jas popped her head up at Marnie’s side.

“Auntie Marnie, did you just say ass?!”

“Like the donkey,” Shane grumbled, ruffling her hair. “Come on, kiddo. Go check that everyone’s got a drink that wants one. Ask nicely, mind you.”

Jas rolled her eyes. “I’m always nice.”

“Sure, you are.”

They went havering away. Kath, caught by a mood that grew increasingly nostalgic by the moment, watched Jas lean against Shane’s side as they wound back through the crowd, his hand mussing her hair yet again. Vincent ran to his parents, trainers squeaking on the parquet floor. Jodie waved over at Shane, and they exchanged a few words – maybe about the school run, or Jas’s birthday. Shane and Kent went fishing together, Kath knew. She’d run into them a few times up in the mountains. An odd pairing, but perhaps it made sense. Shane was different now. In a good position to help somebody with their own ghosts.

Everyone, it seemed, wanted to talk to Kath, and she was eager to talk in return. Folk had come back for the occasion: Maru, hair now streaked with gold beads and freshly returned from her first international lecture; Alex, bearing new calluses and stories of the Little Grid team he was coaching after work; Penny, arm in arm with her math teacher beau and cradling her now prodigious bump.

“Seven weeks left,” she smiled. “Mom’s going spare.”

“She’s just excited,” David, the math teacher, said. He had a kind, round face, short brown hair, and he both adored Penny and had the patience for her mother. They lived in a cute cottage out by Lower Haywych – Kath had been invited over once or twice. And now they had a baby on the way. Penny, seeming to sense Kath’s train of thought, sighed and surveyed the room.

“Isn’t it strange, how much we’ve all grown up?”

“It must be stranger for you,” Kath countered. “I’ve only been here a few years.”

Penny shrugged. “Time moves differently in the valley.”

Kath acknowledged that this was true, then David took Penny to find a chair. Afternoon wore on into evening. Somebody turned on the little TV in the corner (saved from the backroom of the museum and repaired, begrudgingly, by Sebastian) and kept it tuned to the news channel streaming non-stop coverage of the Joja Corp v Flag-in-the-Water lawsuit. Historic verdict, they kept saying, a seismic event. Kath let the words weave in and out of the party, of the syrupy, golden air. She sat with Evelyn and Alex for a while, praising the latter’s work on the interior cabinets and catching up with his joinery business, listening to the former reminisce. They’d hung a photograph of George beside the noticeboard. Beneath it, a hammered brass plaque read: George Mullner. His spirit lives on. Kath paused with Gus in front of it on her way to fetch more beer and had to swallow down tears.

“Ah, we miss him,” Gus agreed. He sniffed, pulling himself together. “But he had a good life. Here in the valley from start to end. Just how he’d have wanted it.”

Kath nodded. People in the main room were calling goodbyes: Penny and David were heading home. It seemed to Kath in that moment that there was an oddly perfect symmetry to it all. Life and death. The full scope of both. When you rise, already I am gone. Instead of following Gus back to the party, she slipped up the sash window at the end of the corridor and ducked out into the garden, swivelling awkwardly over the sill.

It was a perfect summer’s evening. The sky was a hazy, endless blue. The smell of food and cooling earth mingled with the gentle tang of weed: Kath could hear the quiet communion of the smokers up beside the fountain, but they were out of sight, and she invisible to them. Emily was no doubt among them, finalising the arrangements for the artist’s retreat she organised along with Leah. Maybe Abigail, too, back from the conservatoire. Kath wondered if she’d brought her partner. The cellist had been so lovely when they’d first met everyone at Winter Star… She lowered herself onto the stone bench, stretched her legs out, and allowed her thoughts to settle into slacker shapes. It was over, she reminded herself. They had done it. They had beaten Joja.

The ball in her gut instinctively drew taut as she recalled watching Dr Rakozy testify. Everything had hinged on her – on whether the defence could discredit her. Kath had talked with Andy until her throat was raw, trying to shore up every possible crack, but in the end, everything had depended on the short, spry woman from Nimb who wore patterned headscarves over her greying curls and had tiny rhinestones embedded in the frames of her glasses. We’re going to lose, Andy had despaired. Privately, Kath had agreed. But they’d had no other choice. They were all in.

I remember every report I ever wrote, Dr Rakozy had said, in her scratchy, accented voice, and I recall with absolute certainty that concerning levels of toxicity were discovered at the Istrin Disposal site.

And what year was this? Andy had clarified. Kath had felt the jury leaning forward; felt the turning of the tide right beneath her feet.

It was 1989.

The prosecution had tried to pull it back, but it had been too late. Kath shut her eyes. Relished the moment she’d been too shocked to enjoy at the time. We find the defendant guilty on all counts.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

She tipped her head to the side. Elliott was peering out through the open window, one hand on the sill. He’d lost his suit jacket in the intervening hours; top button undone, sleeves turned up. Kath’s heart was, as ever, pleased to see him.

“I needed a minute,” she said, smile warming softly through her. Elliott nodded. It was a treat to watch him squeeze through the window, one long limb after another. Kath didn’t quite have the energy to laugh, but her smile grew wider all the same. As he straightened up, she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Very impressive. Ten out of ten.”

He came to join her on the bench. “Thank you.”

It was too hot for comfortable closeness, so they sat side-by-side and watched the burnished stillness of a golden, ebbing sunset. Butterflies flitted past in pairs. Out by the fountain, gentle laughter rolled like water. Inside, the thump of music started up again.

“They’ll be dancing soon,” Elliott said. Kath groaned and pressed a hand to her chest.

“My heart wants to dance, but my body…”

Elliott leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “I understand, my love.”

“We’ll dance after the jellies?” She offered, feeling bad for denying him the pleasure tonight, and he nudged his shoulder against hers.

“Of course.”

Kath looked out over the treetops, towards the red roof of Pierre’s – then further still, to the distant glitter of the sea. She groaned again.

“I know I should stay. Catch up with everyone. But…” She heaved a sigh. “I’m so tired. Well, not tired, but I don’t have to energy to do any of it justice.”

“All your justice has already been done,” Elliott said, with a seriousness that meant he was being playful. Kath let her grin off the leash. She tipped her head back, feeling the sun on her cheeks. Less of a tan this year. Stolen by the case. But it had all been worth it.

“Not all of it,” she said. “Joja v Pelican Town, next.”

Elliott grazed his fingertips over the back of her hand. “I was listening, you know. They said you’ve set a precedent.”

The sun, the sun. Kath could drink it in forever. “They did, didn’t they?”

His kiss on her shoulder was petal soft. “Shall we go somewhere?”

Kath held the question like a gift. She wasn’t ready for the night to end. To close the door on a day like this. But she was done partying.

“Yes, please.”

Kath to Robin: Sorry, we’re sneaking off. Tuckered out. Is Maru staying for the weekend? Give Lewis a hug from me (I would pay good money to see that).

Robin to Kath: She is and I will!!!

Robin to Kath: We love you, Katherine Perks

Robin to Kath: And don’t you ever forget it!!!!!

Kath slipped her phone into her pocket and caught Elliott’s hand as they wandered back into town, listening to the hum of the insects seeing out the last dregs of the day. Other than that, it was very quiet. There was no hint of a breeze to lift the posters on the noticeboard: for a concert at the bandstand, for the autumn fair, for S&S Function Band (Weddings, Events, and more!). Kath could feel several inanities pressing at her but decided to leave them for tomorrow. Instead, she said,

“Have you ever had a day so perfect, you don’t want it to end?”

Elliott didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Kath could feel his smile without having to look for it. “Is today one of them?”

“Yes.”

This synchronicity would have been remarkable any other time, but Kath felt that today it just made sense. She laughed.

“If only I’d thought to take off my pantyhose. Then it really would be perfect.”

Elliott stopped. They were beside the carpark; Kath already had grains of sand stuck to the soles of said pantyhose. The dunes before them were half shadow, half bronze majesty. Behind them, small birds swooped low over the river.

“We could swim.”

“Now?”

Yoba, she loved the look of mischief on Elliott. It was like he deserved it more, to make up for the deficit earlier in his life. He made for a shrug, a habit that still looked a little awkward on him.

“Why not? Willy won’t be back until much later. And who else is around?”

Kath nodded, considering. Taylor, the latest custodian of the beach shack, was back home for the weekend. And Pelican Town was all but deserted. She looked over her shoulder, checking for any onlookers. Then she wriggled up her pencil skirt, hitched her thumbs into her pantyhose, and pulled them down. The relief was instant. She was laughing, at herself for being so reckless, at Elliott’s shocked expression. The laughter carried her forward, sending her dashing for the sand.

Elliott caught her at the top of the dunes. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, making her shriek and sending gulls launching for the sky. After a summer baling hay, he was strong enough to carry her down to the beach; after three years in love and love and love, he knew to deposit her on her feet, to kiss her with one hand at her jaw and the other in her hair. Kath responded with the kind of abandon she didn’t usually display out of doors. But when they broke apart, there was nobody around to see them. Kath pressed against him, pantyhose dangling from one hand, swaying and breathless. Elliott pressed back. His hands slid down her sides, undeterred by the dampness of her sweat tacking through her shirt. Sure fingers found the button of her skirt; tugged down the zipper. Kath raised her eyebrows, at the mercy of a happiness so potent she’d never stop marvelling at its breadth.

“My, my. Taking me out of my clothes in public?”

His eyes were hot on hers. “I might point out you were the one who began the undressing.”

Kath smirked. “I can hardly swim like this, can I?”

He leaned closer, breathing her in. “I suppose not.”

They disrobed on the dock. Kath stood with her legs bare, shirt tails half-covering her panties, eyes shaded by her hand. She ought to have been worried about somebody finding them here, but she didn’t have the strength – or was it the weakness? She wasn’t sure. The skin of the ocean glowed like molten metal. She reached up her other hand to pull her hair loose. Elliott had already taken out his own braid and was slipping out of his shirt. He had noticed her preoccupation with the horizon.

“What are you looking for?”

Kath tracked her gaze back and forth across the waves, the way Demetrius had taught her. “Dolphins.”

She heard him fold his shirt, set it down. “They are rare, now.”

Something impossibly beautiful and sad pulled at Kath’s chest with those four words. She bit her lip. The sun slipped lower and lower. “I know.”

She heard him move closer, but not all the way. When he spoke, his voice told her that she needed to turn around.

“But there are rare things still to be found even now.”

His eyes found hers. They were crinkled at the edges from all the light, and he was wearing only dress pants. His feet were bare. He was on one knee. The ring – her grandma’s ring – gleamed gold in his hand.

“I found one,” he said, steadily. “I found you. And I would very much like to spend the rest of my life with you, Katherine Perks. Will you-?”

But Kath could either fall in the sea or throw herself at him, so she chose the latter; a mess of crouching and kissing and something odd breaking apart inside her, because though she’d known it was coming one day, there was something wholly indescribably about the magnitude of experiencing it – of it being real. They knelt together on the dock, and Elliott asked her as their lips met, as the sea soughed beneath them: marry me, marry me, marry me. Kath did cry, then. The gold ring went on her finger. “Marry me,” she told him, nonsensically, and he laughed through tears. Dusk sighed down around them in lavender and twilight and a lone star shining south-south-west. Kath slid off the end of the dock. Elliott held her, his feet anchored in the sand. They breathed together in the cool water and the softening heat of the air. Elliott’s hair clung to his shoulders in dark spirals where it had got wet. Kath kissed his skin, ignoring the tang of salt on her lips.

“Swimming,” he murmured, and she knew what he meant. Her throat was tight with joy. She nodded against him.

A single gull called overhead, winging to its night roost. The moment fixed in Kath’s memory: as strong and indelible as Elliott in her kitchen, as Elliott above the marsh under a broken-tooth moon, as Elliott sat beside her on a rock, suggesting she swim. She had crossed the water now. Months ago. Years, maybe. There was new land open before her. A vastness yet untravelled. It sang in all the colours she had learned to see.

She felt Elliott’s gasp; turned her head with him. Out to sea, a single light bobbed beneath the surface. A jellyfish. Early. Alone. They both watched it drift, though it came no closer. Kath looked up at the sky.

“I didn’t think there would be enough light for them to be luminescent.”

Elliott settled a hand on her sternum. Breathe, Kath. She drank in the rub of his thumb at her collarbone; his fingertips grazing the column of her throat. She breathed.

“They can feel your light,” he said, perfectly serious. “Radiating for miles. It must be a blinding beacon for them. A mythical blaze alighting upon the earth.”

Kath pressed her forehead against his. She was so happy it was unbelievable.

“How have we got here?” She whispered. “How have we overcome it all?”

He knew what she meant. He took his time before answering, thinking it through.

“I don’t know,” he finally murmured. “Only that there was a great deal of doing. And it was hard won.”

Kath nodded. She knew what he meant.

“We should get out of the water,” she said. The waves lapped at her waist, trying and failing to press between them. Elliott hitched up her legs and carried her to the sand. Behind them, rare things swum on, unseen. The night wore dark blue and glinting silver. And they stayed close. They stayed close all the way home.

~ Fin ~