by Amanda Doyle
‘Oh, Tad—darling.’ Kerry’s eyes were brimming with tears, but they were tears of overwhelming happiness. ‘If only you’d said. If only you’d told me.’
‘I nearly did,’ confessed Tad, grinning. ‘On Christmas Day, I was all set to do it. “I’ll kiss her,” I said to myself, “and then she’ll know,” but it didn’t work out like that. You suddenly went quite rigid, and I thought, so help me, that there must be someone else—someone special. After all, you did say that you hoped your parcel was from someone special,’ he accused.
‘Yes—I—er—did,’ she admitted weakly. Oh, what time they had wasted! She would have to tell him the truth about that parcel afterwards—not now, though. ‘And then?’
‘Then I got to doing a spot of heavy thinking,’ Tad continued. ‘It seemed strange that this someone special had never written, not even at Christmas. The only person with whom you ever appeared to communicate was old Stenning, and even when you were ill with your poisoned arm, there seemed to be no one you wanted to get in touch with. In the end it was too much for me, Kerry. I wrote to Stenning and asked him, point blank, to find out all he could about you, from the information he had. I must say, when I received his reply, it shook me!’
‘How? I mean, why?’
‘Because you seemed such an extraordinarily independent little person, Kerry, that’s why. You didn’t seem clinging or insecure or full of self-pity, or any of the things that you might justifiably have been in the circumstances. I realized then that you’d been bluffing your way through gallantly from the very start, without ever actually telling a lie. You just allowed me to think things. All this talk of the big family handing around the dishes, and your parents not insisting on university, and hoping a parcel might be from someone special—’
‘That was true!’ broke in Kerry indignantly. ‘It would have been so much more personal, more affectionate, than a cheque, however generous!’
Tad gave a delighted crow of laughter as her meaning dawned.
‘That remark deserves another kiss, Kerry, it really does!’
He took his time, and Kerry decided that kissing Tad was really a very pleasant thing to do, and it was exciting, too, because you didn’t know what sort of a kiss it was going to be until it happened.
This one had a teasing quality.
When he had finished kissing her, Tad gave her a little reproving shake.
‘You held out on me, Kerry, over so many things. It never occurred to me that you might feel this way, but I hoped to make you, some day. I thought things out, and in the light of Stenning’s information, I decided I’d rushed that kiss a little bit on Christmas Day. I got to figuring that maybe you’d never been kissed before, Kerry, and that lack of experience—a sort of stage fright—might account for your withdrawal. At least, that’s what I hoped!’
‘You were right, Tad.’ Kerry’s cheeks were flaming, her admission muffled.
She felt the pressure of Tad’s fingers on her own.
‘Yes, I know, darling. I know now, but I didn’t then. I just hoped that that was the reason. I decided, after that, that I would woo you, Kerry, very gently and very carefully, so that you wouldn’t be alarmed or frightened again, but it was a slow process. I knew so little about you, and you were always so evasive and independent. I began to feel very indignant that you refused to lean on me, even the tiniest bit. I loved you so much, Kerry, and I longed to protect and support you. I was feeling very sore about all the confidences that you hadn’t given me, all the things you hadn’t told me, and your sturdy independences and impersonal treatment were beginning to tell on my patience. Two nights ago, when you were icing the birthday cake, I almost spoke—that’s what I came into the kitchen to do, but when you turned round you looked so tired, you’d been stooped over that icing business for so long, and I thought to myself that it was late, and why not let Hilary have our undivided attention for the very last time, next day, as it was her birthday. So, somehow, I managed to hold my tongue—and how I wish I hadn’t! I’m sorry I just couldn’t stay at the party, Kerry, but when I came in and—saw you—it was more like the recurrence of a nightmare than the pleasant surprise that Hilary intended! Oh, yes, she confessed to me afterwards about her motives, and I must say I was heartily pleased to learn that she loves you almost as much as I do, and needs you almost as much, too—but not quite!’ There was a twinkle in Tad’s eyes as he fished in his breast-pocket and withdrew a small notebook. ‘That reminds me, Kerry. Hilary said I was to give you this.’
He opened the book, and there, pressed between the pages, Kerry saw a little flower. It was a very fragile little flower indeed, on a thin, weak stalk, but its veined petals were of an unbelievable brightness, a deep midnight blue. It was exactly the same colour as the illustrated replica on the packet from Andy’s store.
‘Oh, Tad! It flowered!’ She gazed at it in delight.
He smiled gently, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as they rested fondly on her enchanted face.
‘It flowered, Kerry—just another of those things I thought couldn’t possibly happen! There’ll be more, after this rain. That’s just the first one, but they’ll all come out now, long before we need to switch on to the bore. There’ll be another one or two out, I dare say, when we go back now—that’s if you’ll come, Kerry?’ He was suddenly very quiet, very serious. ‘You’re free to do whatever will make you happy. I know you value your independence of choice, and I respect that as much as you do. It’s a matter of personal dignity that I can understand very well. Maybe I’m asking too much of a young, fresh, beautiful girl like you, to take on a man—an outback character, at that—so much older, and with a readymade family, too. I can only tell you the truth, though—if you say “No”, if you go away from me now, I’ll never be really happy again myself, because my heart will go away with you. What do you say, Kerry?’
There was a pause. Somewhere in the stillness outside, a locust whirred. Kerry put her hand into Tad’s.
‘Let’s go back and see how many flowers are out now,’ she whispered softly.
No further words were needed. Tad drew her gently into his arms, and they kissed lingeringly.
When they stepped out into the hot sunshine, they could see Bob’s figure leaning under the upraised bonnet of the Holden. Kerry followed Tad and watched as the two men checked the distributor and plugs.
‘Bring her over to the homestead when the creek goes down again, will you, Bob?’ Tad suggested mildly.
They grinned at each other, and Bob’s stumpy teeth showed in the familiar, yellow leer.
‘Sure thing, Tad.’ He flicked a meaning glance at Kerry. ‘Maybe I’ll stay for the weddin’.’
‘The wedding?’ Tad sounded stern.
‘Yeah, the weddin’.’ Bob turned aside to spit. ‘I keep me spanners in that box over near the door of me hut,’ he explained, unabashed. ‘It ain’t as if I was eavesdropping.’
‘Oh. I see.’ A pause, while Tad assimilated this piece of information. ‘Well, I reckon the wedding will be just about ready to take place by the time the Brady runs down and you get the Holden back to the homestead, Bob. See you shave first, mind.’
‘Aw, go easy, Tad,’ protested Bob nasally. ‘I ain’t the rakin’ bridegroom, dam it all.’
‘And a suit, maybe?’
‘The silver fish’ve ate me suit, years ago,’ declared Bob mournfully. ‘No point in gettin’ another one just for them little brutes ter dine off it.’
‘Well, how about a clean pair of strides?’ suggested Tad, eyeing the other’s sagging trousers with a certain amount of disparagement.
Bob looked down critically at the rents and grease-stains, baggy knees and fraying bottoms.
‘I’ll bring me spares,’ they heard him promise on a note of resignation, as they walked together towards the landing-strip where the Gillgong plane was waiting.
