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We were in our own bubble, not paying attention to anyone around us or that our photo was being taken.
Our hands were on the veranda railing, close but not touching.
This was the night of the spark between us, and the embers of longing had never gone out.
I’d tried to block my feelings, tried to convince myself I could be happier with someone else, but it always came back to Tom. It always would.
“Rosie, your hair was very pretty in this photo,” Mum said, still standing. “But Leonie, we must go. Sorry. Photos another day, please?”
Mrs Turner nodded slowly. “Yes, of course. Sorry to have held you up.”
She moved to pick up the album, and I placed my hand down over the photo of Tom and me. “Wait.”
Mrs Turner paused, eyes round.
“Rosie,” Mum sighed. “We must get going. Too many things to do.”
I opened my mouth to speak and closed it again, looking down at the photo. My index finger traced over Tom’s profile.
There was only one thing to say. “I’m in love with Tom.”
My mother gasped and sat back down, her hand resting over her heart. Mrs Turner swallowed hard, trying to contain her excitement.
“We fell in love at his eighteenth birthday party, and I had the most wonderful two weeks of my life, and then it ended badly because of a misunderstanding.”
Mum stared, slack-jawed.
Mrs Turner sighed. “Amanda. Trying to be helpful.”
“Yes,” I whispered, feeling that sting of betrayal, less than before going on the muster. Time would heal that wound.
“You and Tom—wait.” Mum gasped. “The footy awards dinner. When you went as his date. You kissed him outside your room.”
“You knew?” I cringed.
Mum shrugged. “You two looked very guilty.”
“Mum, I’m going to say this again. Richard was abusive, manipulative and awful. I wish you would believe me when I tell you that. The awards dinner wasn’t my fault. He made me question everything that I’m good at, what I wanted for my life. And I’m glad I’m rid of him.”
Mum pulled me in for a hug. “I am sorry. So sorry. He deceived us all. I’ve been telling your father this every night. Forgive your mother, please?”
“Forgiven.”
Mrs Turner swiped a tear from her eye, watching us embrace. “I’ll pop the kettle on.”
I released Mum and sighed. “And it took a funeral, an awards night and a muster to make me realise who was always in my heart.”
My eyes flicked down to the photos of Tom and I.
“At Granny Lynn’s funeral, Tom asked me if I was truly happy about being engaged to Richard. His question shocked me so much. I hadn’t spoken to Tom in nearly four years, and yet he could tell how unhappy I was.” I sniffed. “Honestly, I don’t think I ever stopped loving Tom since his eighteenth birthday dinner.”
Mrs Turner returned with the kettle smiling broadly, failing to restrain her joy.
“You knew.” I couldn’t help but match her grin. “That’s why you got the photos out.”
“I guessed about how you felt. And I hoped. Have you told Tom?” Mrs Turner asked in a rush.
“You haven’t told the boy?” Mum frowned. “You were alone in a hut for two nights.”
