Free Wildflower Hill by Kimberley Freeman Page A

physiotherapist hadn’t given me any false hope. My injury, she said, was a one-in-a-million piece of bad luck for anyone, let alone a dancer. But she had given me good advice: just concentrate on today. To think of all the tomorrows ahead would overwhelm me, immobilize me. Walkfor now. Rebuild the leg muscles. Live in the present, in case thoughts of the past or future flattened me.
    Dad was at work in the hardware store he owned. Mum and Dad had never married; that’s how I had ended up with my mother’s double-barreled surname. Periodically, they made noises about a “celebration of their love,” a thought that both embarrassed me and filled me with soppy happiness.
    Up and down the hallway.
    The knock at the door.
    “Uncle Mike!” I tentatively offered him a hug, silently begging him not to perform one of his Uncle Mike moves like sweeping me up and shaking me around. He was a giant bear of a man, known for bomb-diving swimming pools and complicated prank handshakes.
    “Em! So good to see you. You look beautiful. The Australian sun is doing you some good, then.”
    I didn’t tell him that I wouldn’t cross the road without a hat and sunscreen. I was very attached to my ivory skin. Instead, I said, “It’s nice to be home.”
    “How long you staying?” He closed the door behind him and walked toward the kitchen, not waiting for an answer. “Has Hibbins been on to you yet? What’s the story?”
    I didn’t know what he meant, but it wasn’t unusual for Uncle Mike to go off on a tangent that nobody could understand except him. I followed him slowly, catching up just as he was pulling a beer out of the fridge and setting it down with a clunk on the marble countertop.
    “Want one?” he said.
    “Mum!” I called, aware that she’d want to know UncleMike was here. Whether she wanted to see him was another thing. “Visitor.”
    Uncle Mike twisted the top off the beer and leaned his back against the opposite bench. “So, what did you get?”
    “Get?”
    “Hibbins. Your Nana Beattie’s solicitor.”
    “Nana Beattie. I haven’t called her that since I was eight.” I shook my head. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
    “Jeez, you sound like a Pom. We’re going to have to knock that accent out of you.”
    I heard footsteps on the carpeted stairs. Mum was coming to save me. She emerged into the kitchen looking more poised and glamorous than anyone had a right to while ironing. When she saw Uncle Mike, her whole body tensed.
    That’s when I started to suspect she hadn’t told me everything.
    “Mike,” she said.
    “Louise,” he responded.
    “I asked you to give Emma some space.”
    “Space? I’m her uncle. I wanted to come and see how she was.”
    “Don’t lie. I know why you’re here.”
    “Someone’s got to tell her. You obviously haven’t.”
    “You selfish fool. My daughter has just suffered through two operations and has been told she’ll never dance again. Those other things can wait.”
    Uncle Mike snorted a laugh. “Don’t pretend you’re protecting her, Louise. You want to know as much as I do.”
    I watched the exchange with growing apprehension. “Can somebody explain what’s going on?” I asked with a dry throat.
    Mum turned to me and forced a smile. “It’s all right, we can talk about it later.”
    “I don’t see why we should have to wait till later,” Uncle Mike said. “We’ve already been waiting for years.”
    I shrugged. “I’m curious now. I want to know.”
    Mum glanced at Uncle Mike. Her nostrils flared slightly, a sign that she was pulling her emotions under control. “We’ll take tea in the garden. These things should be done properly.”
    Of course I had figured out this was something to do with Grandma’s estate. Mum and Uncle Mike had never quite recovered from the shock of being left nothing. Had she left me something, then? It was no secret that she doted on me. I’d always had a special bond with her. Sometimes I’d even