Chapter Seventeen
A middle-aged man with white bushy hair bursts into the pub as I reach the door. After stamping his shoes on the doormat, he folds a dripping umbrella and shoves it into a stand.
‘You’re not going out in this rain, are you?’ he says. ‘Give it an hour and it’ll blow over.’
‘I’m parked close by.’
Rain cascades down the three front steps and streams across the footpath to the gutter.
The streetlights are bright but Cameron, almost across the street, is a blur.
Within moments of leaving the shelter of the porch, my hair is plastered to my face and my dress and sneakers are sodden.
‘Cameron!’ The wind steals his name. ‘Cam! Cam! Wait!’
Still walking, he looks back. Slows down, then waits. As the distance between us closes, I realise what seemed a good idea five minutes ago might not be such a good idea after all. Shadows mask his expression. If he hadn’t had his hair cut, it’d be dripping into his eyes like mine is.
‘Amelie.’ His voice is gruff. ‘What do you want?’
‘My ute is at Maggie’s house.’
He thinks about that. Then turns on his heel and walks with such long strides I’m forced to run to catch up.
‘Stop going so fast!’
He slows his pace, but not by much. ‘Why did you yell “Cam”?’
‘I was shouting. It just came out.’ My dress sticks to my legs; I pull the fabric above my knees. ‘Was it a problem?’
‘You always call me Cameron. Why?’
Self and social awareness. Emotional intelligence. Self-regulation and empathy. He’s clever in so many ways that I’m not. Why do I call him Cameron?
Christmas tree lights sparkle through Maggie’s neighbour’s window. ‘That’s what you were called at school.’
‘The teachers called me Cameron.’ We pass his ute, but he keeps walking. ‘You were the only kid who called me Cameron.’
‘Oh.’
After reaching Maggie’s house, we face each other on the nature strip. ‘We’re not at school now.’
Bottle brush trees, foliage sagging with the weight of the rain, grow either side of us. A streetlight illuminates a patch of grass and rain tumbles into it. Cameron’s mouth is wet too.
‘What do you want me to call you?’ I ask.
‘Take a guess.’
When we kissed, he called me sweetheart. Is that what he wants? What do I want? There are two steps between us and I take them. ‘Alex means nothing to me.’
‘When we talked about relationships, you said you’d never been serious with anyone. It’s not a problem that you were, but I wish you’d been upfront about it.’
‘It was on and off.’
‘Two years of on and off is serious.’
‘It didn’t feel like that.’
He shakes his head, takes a step back. ‘You don’t have to clarify. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘I wanted you to know the truth.’
‘You deserve to be happy, whoever it’s with.’
‘I’ve never wanted Alex. I don’t want him now.’
‘He doesn’t know anything about you.’ He frowns. ‘Nothing about your childhood.’
A four-wheel drive with lights on high beam turns into the road. The car slows, but a wave of water shoots from the wheels. Cameron takes the brunt of it, but now we’re even wetter than we were. Shouldn’t we laugh? The thought that we can’t puts a lump in my throat.
‘University, work, parties.’ My voice is scratchy. ‘Alex knows the good. You mostly know the bad.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The way my parents were. How unhappy I was. The bullying.’ ‘You think that’s all I saw?’ He comes so close that, even in the half-light, I see the green in his eyes. ‘I knew I’d never meet anyone as smart as you. Is that bad?’
I swallow. ‘No.’
‘You pressed your lips together to stop yourself correcting our teachers when they were wrong. Is that bad?’
‘Did I?’
‘You walked through the school gates, day after day, month after month, as if each day would be different.’
‘I wanted to learn.’
‘You wanted more, Amelie, but you never got it.’
‘I liked the animals in Summerfield.’
‘No one was game to ride your crazy grey horse, but you climbed on his back. I saw that too.’
‘I loved him.’
His eyes are even brighter than they were. ‘Your optimism. Your capacity to forgive. The way you smile at children and strangers.’ He searches my face. ‘You’re a fucking Christmas miracle.’
I don’t know whether it’s tears or rain that I swipe away. ‘I didn’t want you to see me as vulnerable. I hated how you were there whenever bad things happened.’
‘You hated me.’
‘I thought you hated me.’
‘I hated how you hid in plain sight, and nobody knew you were there. I hated how you were treated. I hated how you looked through me, how you didn’t want to see me.’
My hands flutter between us. ‘You looked out for me. You were kind. I see that now.’
‘That was when we were kids.’ He takes my hands and tangles our fingers. ‘What do you see now?’
A month ago, I hated Summerfield. A month ago, I hated him. Now …
I stand on my toes and lay my hand against his cheek, and he leans into my palm. When I slide my thumb over his mouth, he wraps his arms around me.
‘I like your hair short.’ My voice is croaky. ‘I like it long too.’
He brushes hair from my face and kisses my mouth as the rain falls all around us.
A hard kiss. A soft one. A searing, searching, fiery kiss that grasps my heart and holds on tight.
I tug his buttons and burrow under his shirt to find his skin and the warm hard strength of his body.
He opens buttons on my dress and kisses my neck, trails his lips down my collarbone.
He sets off a desperate needy tingling from my breasts to my thighs.
‘Cameron …’ My voice is up and down a scale. ‘Can we go somewhere else?’
‘First you have to tell me,’ he murmurs against my mouth, breath as unsteady as mine. ‘What do you see when you look at me?’
I search his handsome face in the way he searched mine. ‘You’re still Cameron, but you’re different.’
Groaning a little, he rests his forehead on mine. ‘You said you didn’t want serious.’
‘I don’t know what it looks like.’
‘It doesn’t look like anything.’ He speaks quietly. ‘You feel it.’
‘Like I’m supposed to feel Christmas?’
With a sigh, he steps back, but when I sway, he takes hold of my hands. ‘I’ll tell you what I feel.’
‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’
‘At school, you were smart and brave, but now there’s more. You’re accomplished and modest. You’re generous and sweet. When you smile, when you cry, when you’re confused, like you are right now, there’s no one more beautiful. That’s why I want you.’
I force words through the lump in my throat. ‘If you want me, why can’t we go to your house?’
‘Last time we got close, you ran. I need to know you won’t do that again.’
‘I’m only here for three more weeks.’
‘You can take my hand, kiss my mouth, use me as a windbreak if that’s all you’re ready for. I want you to communicate, to tell me what you’re feeling.’ He leans in close, presses his cheek against mine. ‘You have to give me something to hold on to.’