Alice scampered through the flower fields. The dead winter grass crackled underfoot and the cold air burned her lungs. At the bottom of the farm the wattle trees blazed yellow, radiant with their sweet scent. The Flowers were already out and working; Alice ducked from their view as she cut away from the flower fields onto the path through the bush. She ran to the beat of the locket bouncing against her chest.
Have-courage — take-heart. Have-courage — take-heart.
When Alice reached the river, she stopped to catch her breath and watched the green water gush over stones and tree roots. She stood there for a while, remembering the sea. It felt so far away, almost as if it was never real, almost as if it was the same as her dreams. She hated that thought, that her life by the sea and everything she loved there would never again be more than the fires she fought in her sleep. That Toby, his paw on her leg when she read to him even though he couldn’t hear, was no more than the flicker of a flame dream. Or her mother, in her garden, her feet bare and her hands tender, no more than a wisp of smoke. Did her mother come to this river? Did she stand where Alice was standing, watching the water gush over the stones and roots? Was her name one of those cut from the river gum? She could almost feel her mother’s skin, the warmth of her arms.
Alice tugged June’s letter from her pocket and unfolded it. When I find the part of my voice that’s missing, please know I will give you every answer I can to every question you have. I promise. Maybe we’ll find our voices together.
She folded it up and put it back in her pocket. Sweat beaded on her forehead as her memories shifted to her father. She remembered him coming out of his shed with his arms trembling under the weight of her new desk, his eyes filled with hope. How quickly they darkened. Smashing his way through the house, throwing her mother’s body against the wall before roaring towards Alice.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Alice clenched her fists by her sides, took a deep breath and screamed. It felt so good she screamed again, imagining her voice might flow with the river and run all the way to the sea, where it could reach the edge of the ocean and sing her mother, the unborn baby and Toby home. All the way home, where they could emerge from her fiery dreams and keep each other safe.
When her throat started to ache, Alice stopped screaming. She undressed and kicked off her boots. Fearful of it being damaged, she unclasped her desert pea locket and tucked it into her clothes. The dark green water rushed by. She dipped a toe in, shuddering at the cold. Dilly-dallied for a while, until she felt brave enough. On the count of three. She threw herself into the river. The cold shock of the water made her splutter to the surface, where she found herself coughing up rose petals the colour of fire. Confused, she looked down. Another petal stuck to her shivery skin. And then another, and another. She glanced upstream. Oggi was crouched by the river bank, setting loose petals onto the water. A thick blanket and a backpack sat on the bank beside him. She sent a splash towards him with a smile.
‘Hi, Alice.’
She waved, scrambling to the rocks.
‘Here.’ He stood to offer her the blanket, turning his head away. ‘I had a feeling you’d swim today, even though it’s freezing.’ Shivering, she took the blanket and wrapped it around herself. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said. His smile warmed her with its brightness. They walked together back to her boots and clothes. He sat and unpacked his backpack. ‘Did you know, in Bulgaria, you get to celebrate being you twice a year? Once on your birthday, and again on your name day. That’s when everyone with the same name all celebrate on the same day. I don’t know if there’s a name day for Alice, though. Anyway, the tradition is that people come uninvited to celebrate, and the person celebrating gives them treats to eat and drink.’
Alice frowned.
‘But I’ve never really liked that idea, so I brought treats with me for you.’
At that, Alice beamed. She sat down beside him. From behind his back Oggi revealed a cloth-covered parcel, patterned in roses, each corner tied in a knot. He gestured for Alice to untie it. The cloth fell away, revealing a pot of fiery-coloured jam and a flat, rectangular wrapped present. She smiled. Oggi took a box of buttered bread, a bread knife and a small, battered flask out of his backpack.
‘I bet you didn’t know that in Bulgaria your birthday falls at the end of rose-picking season. It lasts from May to June, when the Valley of the Roses is covered in roses of every colour. They’re cut one by one, and put into willow-baskets to go to the distilleries. That’s where they’re turned into whatever they’re going to be next. Jam. Oil. Soap. Perfume.’
Alice turned the jar of jam over in her hands. It shimmered in the cold light. Oggi unscrewed the lid of the flask and used it as a cup.
‘This is what we drink when we celebrate.’ Oggi poured something clear from the flask. ‘It’s called rakija.’ He handed her the flask and raised the lid in a toast. ‘We say, “nazdrave”.’
Alice nodded. Following his lead, she raised the flask to her lips, took a sip, and swallowed. They both coughed and spluttered. Alice spat and wiped her tongue on the blanket repeatedly.
‘It’s gross, I know, but grown-ups love it,’ Oggi croaked. Alice pulled a face in disgust, shoving the flask back at him. He screwed the lid back on, laughing. ‘Open your present.’
First she tore open the corner, then in a rush of excitement yanked the brown paper away from the book. It had a cracked spine and yellowed pages, and smelled like the Thornfield Dictionary. Alice ran her fingers over the lettering of the title.
‘I thought you might like it. One of the stories is about a girl from the sea who loses her voice.’
Alice looked at Oggi.
‘And how she finds it again,’ he said.
Without thinking, she leant forward, kissed Oggi’s cheek and sat back before she realised what she’d done. Oggi’s fingers flew to the spot her lips had touched. Desperate for distraction, Alice reached for the boot that her locket was inside. She tipped it out into her palm and held it up by the chain.
‘Wow,’ he said, holding his hand up to touch it. Alice opened the clasp. Oggi studied the photograph of Alice’s mother.
‘Oggi, this is my mother,’ she said, carefully forming her words.
Oggi dropped the locket and sprang back as if she’d pinched him. ‘What …’ His face was frozen in surprise. ‘Alice, you spoke? You’re speaking? What? You can talk?’
Alice giggled. She’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh.
‘She speaks!’ Oggi stood up, running in circles around them. Alice closed the locket and slipped the necklace over her head.
When Oggi came to a stop, he doubled over, his hands on his knees. ‘Time for birthday breakfast?’ he gasped.
‘Yes, please,’ she said, shyly.
‘She said “Yes, please”!’ Oggi laughed. ‘The crowd goes wild!’ He cupped his mouth with his hands and cheered. ‘Alice, this is the best birthday ever and it’s not even mine.’
‘Thank you so much for my presents,’ she said slowly, getting used to the shape of words again. She hugged the book.
‘You’re welcome,’ Oggi smiled. He opened the pot of jam. ‘Mum made this batch specially for your birthday.’ He dipped the butter knife into the jar and spread a thick dollop of jam onto a piece of bread. ‘From her garden, made of roses with my name.’
‘What do you mean?’ She took the bread he offered her.
‘Oh, that’s what colour they are,’ he explained, making a slice for himself.