After hugging him tightly, I sit CJ on the sofa. When Keith Urban clambers up next to him, CJ takes his paw and strokes it.

  ‘You came a long way in the dark.’ I hand CJ a glass of water. ‘Drink this while I make hot chocolate.’

  CJ blows his nose again before pointing to a cupboard above the sink. ‘Cam keeps it up there.’

  ‘You go to cricket tests with Cameron, don’t you?’

  ‘One Day games too, and we watch cricket on the telly when he has time. We get to talk about team selection, player form, pitch conditions and everything else. I love that.’

  ‘You’d prefer to watch cricket than play it?’

  ‘Now I’m older and in a higher division, the bowlers are brutal. I’m scared of the ball and my batting is crap. I’ve been lying to Cam about going to practice.’

  I tip a sachet into a mug and pour in hot water. ‘Extra milk?’

  ‘Just two sugars.’

  CJ cradles the mug of chocolate, and I perch on a dining chair opposite. ‘You feel bad because you lied, but that can be fixed.’

  ‘Cam always says he doesn’t care what I do wrong, but he wants me to be straight with him.’ CJ swipes at his eyes. ‘He says lying is the worst thing you can do and that’s what I’ve done.’

  ‘You don’t want to let him down but—’

  ‘Mum says if he didn’t help her when she needed him …’ His voice breaks.

  ‘The last thing Cameron would want is for you to feel you owed him anything. He loves you and Anna, and he loves having both of you in his life.’

  ‘Cam has been better than any dad I know. Mum says he’s always been good at everything.’

  ‘Maybe that’s true, but he doesn’t judge people who aren’t like him. Even when he was your age, he didn’t do that.’ My voice crackles like CJ’s. ‘I knew that better than anyone.’

  ‘I want to tell him the truth, but I don’t want to disappoint him.’

  ‘He’ll be happy you’ve been honest with him, and you’ll feel better that you’ve owned up.’ Keith Urban has stretched out on the sofa next to CJ, so I perch in front of him. ‘Does your mum know you’re here?’

  ‘I snuck out.’

  ‘I’d like to call her, just in case she wakes up, so she knows where you are. Can I do that?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to her before I talk to Cam.’

  ‘How about I talk to Anna, and then I message Cameron? He’ll come and pick you up, and you can confess.’

  Anna had no idea that CJ had left the house, but after I reassure her that he’s safe, she agrees they can talk things through in the morning. When I message Cameron and tell him CJ is at the cabin and very upset, he messages right back: Two minutes.

  ‘My hand-eye coordination isn’t too bad, so I could play another sport.’ CJ sips his chocolate. ‘I have a good mate, Reuben, who plays volleyball, and his team is looking for extras.’

  When Keith Urban, who generally isn’t allowed on the furniture, rolls and lies on his back, I pretend I haven’t seen him and return to the chair.

  ‘You haven’t let Cameron come to your cricket matches lately, have you?’

  ‘It made it even worse, him watching me stuff up and then being nice about it.’

  ‘If you enjoy volleyball, Cameron could watch you playing that.’ Wincing, I stretch out my fingers. ‘Volleyball was painful. I hated it.’

  ‘You couldn’t have been doing it right.’ Smiling through his tears, CJ links his hands tightly together. ‘You hold your hands like this.’

  ‘Ball sports and me …’ I shrug. ‘We’ve never got along.’

  ‘Cam said you were great with his cattle and old Mrs Bates’s cat.’

  Tyres on the gravel and I open the door. Cameron, unshaven, scruffy and heartachingly concerned, jumps from his ute and strides to the cabin. When I turn back to CJ, he’s leaning forward on the sofa and crying again.

  ‘Remember what I said,’ I whisper as I take the mug. ‘You’ll feel much better afterwards.’

  I back away as Cameron, expression tender, crouches in front of CJ in the same way he did when I had stomach cramps. ‘What’s up, mate?’

  ‘Amelie?’ Anna’s voice is quiet but clear. ‘Can I come in?’

  I’ve put crisp cotton sheets on the sofa, so I don’t have to climb up and down the ladder to the loft. It’s early morning, and the cramps are at their worst. Keeping the now lukewarm hot water bottle on my stomach, I roll to face the door.

  ‘I won’t be very good company.’

  ‘You poor thing.’ Anna drops a basket onto the dining table. ‘Cameron said this happens every twenty-eight days.’

  Almost a week has passed since we kissed after dinner at the pub. Since then, when our utes have passed on the driveway, we’ve lifted our hands in acknowledgement. He sent a text to let me know Caesar the sheep was doing well and I didn’t need to come back to see him. When I saw Cameron with Julia on the footpath, he nodded politely.

  I hug the hot water bottle more tightly. ‘Did he put this date in his diary?’

  ‘He’s miserable, Amelie.’

  ‘Me too.’

  She smiles kindly as she hands over another hot water bottle—wrapped in a flannelette pillowcase and much warmer than the one I’ve been clinging to. ‘Cam knows what he wants.’

  ‘He might be horrified if I told him what I want.’

  ‘You’ll never know unless you talk about it.’ Anna holds up a slice of quiche before putting it in the fridge. She glances at the ornaments, the dove, the cow and the rosella, lined up on the windowsill. Flicks the glass ball with her thumb. ‘What have you got to lose?’

  Even though I’d let him down, Cameron told me I was smart and brave, accomplished and modest, generous and sweet. Making things right between us isn’t holding his hand and kissing his mouth and telling him I care about him. He deserves more.

  I came back to Summerfield to face my past. What about my future?

  ‘Do you think I could still come to Julia’s for dinner on Christmas Eve?’

  ‘She’d love that.’

  ‘Would it be okay to bring Miss Winters, and Maggie and Rocket, with me? I’ve told them I’ll be here with Keith Urban, and they don’t have much on either.’

  ‘It’s Christmas, Amelie. Everyone is welcome.’

  Chapter 19

  Julia’s garden seems brighter than it was when I was last here. The hedges are neatly clipped and the scent of a newly mowed lawn fills the air. Jimmy, dressed in a reindeer-print shirt, has a beer in his hand and is talking to Cameron, who straightens and turns when I walk up the steps.

  ‘Amelie.’ Cameron doesn’t look me up and down, but I have a feeling he takes in everything. The sleeveless white linen shirt, matching long skirt and strappy white sandals I bought yesterday. My hair loose on my shoulders. A bowl of fruit salad in one hand, a bag full of gifts in the other. As he reaches for the bowl, I check him out too. Sage green short-sleeved shirt, black jeans, bare feet. Damp hair like he’s just got out of the shower.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ he says quietly.

  ‘Thank you.’ Wrenching my gaze away, I look around him. ‘Where is Julia?’

  ‘Out the back. She’ll be happy to see you.’

  I’m following Cameron through the house when I see the spruce that was sitting on a pallet in his shed. The pot has been covered with a pale green skirt appliqued with snowflakes and extra decorations have been added to the tree. Cameron’s wooden ornaments are different from the other baubles and Santa Clauses. The partridge sits on the top of the tree and below the partridge is a single dove (because I have the other one), and hens, parrots, golden rings, geese, swans, dairy cows and ballet shoes. The stars that represent the lords are gold and the thistles that represent the pipers have tall lilac spikes.

  ‘What do you think?’ Cameron, rugged and handsome and now even more serious than he was when I saw his Twelve Days of Christmas the first time around, is still holding my bowl of fruit salad.

  ‘Where are the drummers?’

  ‘I didn’t have time.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Christmas won’t mind?’

  An almost smile. ‘No.’

  ‘Does that mean Christmas is a feeling, but it doesn’t have feelings?’

  ‘It’s good to see you, Amelie.’

  When I went to high school in Sydney, I shared Christmas lunch with my grandmother and her elderly friends, and when I was at university, my friends invited me to their homes. I went to Alex’s parents’ holiday house and had Christmas lunch there. Everyone was welcoming and kind, but I felt like an outsider.

  It would make sense for me to feel like an outsider here too but …

  Cameron, Julia, Anna and Miss Winters are people I thought I knew but didn’t really know at all. I haven’t known Maggie, Jimmy and Audrey long, but would like to know them better. Tara is impressed by my ‘angel dress’ and holds out her arms whenever she sees me. Anna’s and Audrey’s husbands have taken over the barbecue and everyone looks out for Julia, sitting next to Cameron at the far end of the table, even though she tells them not to fuss. CJ and Reuben, a friend from school, touch hands when they think no one is watching. When Cameron presents the boys with tickets and asks if it’d be okay if he came with them to the Boxing Day cricket test, they cheer, grab his arms and spin him around.

  Maggie and I sit at the opposite end of the table from Julia so that Rocket, flicking his tail like a metronome, can scowl in his cage between us.

  ‘I think Rocket would prefer to be on the roof.’

  Maggie grins. ‘He’s hating every minute, but I’m having a better time than I thought I would.’

  When I thread a piece of chicken through Rocket’s cage, he swipes it clear of the bars, bats it around the floor and pounces on it.

  ‘He’s doing well, Maggie.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  I cut another piece of chicken from my kebab. ‘Audrey’s husband is doing a great job on the barbecue, isn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know how he puts up with her.’

  ‘Maggie! Shhh.’

  I suspect Audrey, sitting a few places down, knows we were talking about her because, careful not to get the heels of her patent red shoes stuck between the floorboards, she pushes back her chair and walks towards us.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Maggie mutters, before loading a forkful of food into her mouth.

  ‘I see you’re enjoying Larry’s special marinade,’ Audrey says.

  Maggie, chewing enthusiastically, gives Audrey a reluctant thumbs up.

  ‘The chicken was delicious.’ I put my knife and fork together. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, how are the works on the vet practice going?’

  ‘Frank says he’ll be done by the end of January.’

  ‘What a shame you won’t be here to enjoy the fruits of his labour.’

  I fold my serviette. ‘The new kitchen will be lovely, and the bedroom upstairs now has an ensuite.’

  ‘It was beyond Julia’s means to renovate.’ Audrey lowers her voice. ‘According to Frank, Cam mortgaged his farm to cover the costs. He wanted the job done properly.’

  ‘Good lad,’ Maggie says appreciatively.

  ‘Who is ready for dessert?’ Julia calls out.

  Milly and Benedict both stand. ‘Thank you, Julia,’ Benedict says, ‘but we’d better get back to our dear Belle. We could have been imagining it, but she was restless this afternoon.’

  ‘I put her in the pen before we left,’ Milly says.

  ‘If we need Amelie—’ Benedict sends me a smile, ‘—we’ll know where to find her.’

  People appear to give gifts at any time of the evening, but the gift I have for Cameron isn’t in my bag, and I don’t want anyone to think I’ve excluded him, so I leave my gifts by the tree. We’re all sitting down to White Christmas, Miss Winters’ ice-cream, meringue and frozen berry dessert, when my phone buzzes. With an apologetic glance, I take it out of my pocket.

  ‘It’s Christmas Eve,’ Jimmy says. ‘Tell them you need a break.’

  ‘You did too good a job in handing out my cards.’ I’m smiling as I walk from the table to take the call. Keith Urban, tinsel around his neck, follows me out. ‘Amelie Peterson.’

  Milly’s voice is panicked. ‘There’s something wrong! Please come!’

  ‘Tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘Belle is straining but we can’t see anything coming out.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’ Turning quickly, I bump into Cameron, then take a step back. ‘It’s Belle, Milly and Benedict’s cow.’

  ‘It’s her first calf, isn’t it? What’s the problem?’

  ‘The calf is possibly breech so I could be hours and Keith Urban would have to wait around. Can you ask Anna to have him overnight?’

  He’s frowning in concern. ‘Sure.’

  I’m at the bottom step of the verandah when I look back. ‘Can you also ask someone to drive Maggie and Rocket and Miss Winters home? Can you explain to everyone?’

  ‘No problem.’ Tall and supportive, hair now long enough to be very slightly scruffy, Cameron has one hand on the post and the other at his side. He’ll have more experience in breech births than I do, but if he offers to help, he might offend me. I know him better than I did; he knows me better too.

  ‘I might need your help, Cameron. Will you come with me?’

  A flash of white teeth. ‘Two minutes.’

  I’m still changing into the spare set of clothes I keep in the ute when Cameron throws a bag onto the back seat. He’s added boots to his shirt and jeans.

  ‘I haven’t got my boots on yet.’ Still doing up buttons on my shirt, I open the passenger door. ‘You drive.’

  Chapter 20

  Besides checking I have obstetrical chains and calf pullers, and Cameron reassuring me that many country vets don’t use portable ultrasound machines and it’s not my fault I don’t have one, we speak sparingly on the way to Milly and Benedict’s. Our eyes meet as he unclicks his belt.

  ‘Thank you for doing this.’

  ‘Jimmy’s plum pudding looks like Mount Vesuvius. You’re doing me a favour.’

  The lighting is good, the environment is clean and Belle is contained in the crush. Three ticks for preparation, but Milly, sobbing in Benedict’s arms, is a mess.

  ‘Milly!’

  When she looks up, I soften my tone.

  ‘Belle is stressed, so we need to be calm. Would you like to wait in the house?’

  ‘I want to be here.’ She sniffs. ‘I want to be helpful.’

  ‘Did you get a close look at Belle before you left for Julia’s? What time was that?’

  ‘We put her in the pen around five and left just after six.’

  ‘You would have noticed if the placental membranes, the water sac, was visible.’

  ‘There was nothing.’

  ‘We’ve read up on the early signs,’ Benedict says. ‘She wasn’t noticeably uncomfortable or kicking at her belly, nothing like that.’ ‘It’s unlikely she was in labour before seven, and now it’s only ten. I’ll examine her and see what position the calf is in and we’ll go from there.’

  As soon as I climb the rungs of the crush and, gloved and lubricated, push aside Belle’s tail and examine her, it’s clear the calf is breech. I know the theory on how this works, but I’ve only ever delivered a replica breech calf from a replica cow in a university laboratory.

  ‘Cameron?’

  He’s standing close. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The calf is coming rear first. No hind hoofs visible.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Most calves are born in an anterior position, with their heads and two front feet coming first through the birth canal. In the posterior position, the rear end of the calf presents first. Sometimes the hind hoofs are visible and, if the legs are straight, a calf might be born without intervention. In Belle’s case, the calf ’s rump, positioned as it is, is blocking the birth canal and there’s no sign of the hoofs.

  ‘I won’t be able to turn the calf, but I’ll try to reposition it.’

  I’m dimly aware of what’s going on around me. Benedict’s shaky voice as he reassures Milly that Belle is in safe hands. Cameron handing up a bucket so I can clean Belle’s rear end, then passing up a towel, clean gloves and more lubricant. Once I’m examining Belle again, it’s only her, me and, in my mind, Professor Owosu.

  Professor Owosu, a final year lecturer in livestock practice, was, with good reason, concerned that my textbook knowledge exceeded my technical skills. Whenever he scheduled a practical examination for my class, I was invariably asked to stay back to receive personal instruction on the replica cow or whatever we were dealing with that day.

  This is real life. Check that the cow’s cervix is fully open. Run your hand around the body of the calf and then the pelvis to see there’s capacity for the calf to come through. Check for the tail. The hind legs have to come through the birth canal first. For that to happen, push the calf’s rump out of the way to make space. My arm inside Belle up to my shoulder, I find the first hoof and could cry with relief if only I had the breath when I find the second. I pull them firmly towards me to align the calf’s hips and straighten its legs. A shift. The grip of a contraction. I’m not sure whether it’s me pulling or Belle pushing, but I withdraw my arm and two hind hoofs emerge.

  ‘Good work, baby.’

  I’m not sure whether Cameron’s words are for the calf or me, but his tone is the same as it was when I was in pain and he crouched by the sofa in the cabin.

  While I catch my breath, Milly and Benedict ask Cameron questions. He answers honestly: the calf is in a better position than it was, but we still have to get it out and as Belle has been in labour for a while, there’ll be no guarantees the calf will be alive when we do that. A minute passes. Five minutes. Nothing. I’d prefer not to have to pull the calf out by force, but it’ll be sure to die if we don’t.

  ‘Cameron?’

  He climbs up the rung. ‘Do you want the chains?’