“Character building?” she repeated, scandalized. “You made me run suicide drills between the rose bushes. I was ten.”
“That was a generous interpretation of a drill. You tripped over your Crocs and fell on the lawn.”
“Oh my days, I still have a scar on my knee!” she said, yanking up her trouser leg to show a faint mark. “Permanent reminder of my trauma.”
“You’re welcome,” I said with a smirk. “Some people pay thousands for Wimbledon memorabilia. You got yours for free.”
The blanket erupted with chuckles. Aunt Caroline clucked her tongue. “Honestly, you lot were a health hazard. I remember coming over once, and Olivia had chalked a scoreboard on the shed wall. It was like stepping into the All England Club, if it had been run by very determined children with no adult supervision.”
Dad chuckled from his spot by the thermos. “You were always bossing everyone about, Liv. Whistle around your neck, shouting about footwork.”
“That was one time,” I protested. “And the whistle was a freebie from a cereal box. Very official.”
“Next time you give a speech at Wimbledon, mention that,” one of the cousins teased. “True humble beginnings.”
I leaned back on my elbows, letting the chatter ripple over me like soft wind. Someone passed around a tin of shortbread, the pieces clattering as we picked through them. Nan sat beside me, shawl still draped tight even though the sun was warm. She patted my leg, tea balanced in her other hand.
“Good to have you home, love,” she said gently. “It’s not the same without you.”
My chest ached in that quiet, tender way. “It’s good to be home.”
She gave me a knowing nod. “Don’t stay away too long next time. These people miss their champion.”
“They mostly just miss my bossiness,” I teased, and Nan rolled her eyes.
“Your mum would’ve loved this. All of us together like this.”
That sentence alone made the air feel a little tighter in my chest. I nodded, staring down at my tea.
“She really would’ve,” Dad murmured. “Especially seeing her girls like this, grown, doing well. She’d be proud of both of you.”
“Well, she didn’t get to see us together much, did she?” Bianca said, too casually,
The words cut in so quickly, I almost missed them. I looked up slowly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She blinked, as if it hadn’t even occurred to her that she’d said anything. “Nothing. Just... never mind.”
“No, say it,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “You’ve obviously been dying to.”
The chatter dimmed around us. Auntie Caroline suddenly remembered she had to check on the pork pies. Nan turned to my cousins and asked them if they wanted a walk. Subtle exits, one by one. Like veterans of the battlefield.
Bianca took a breath, then looked right at me. “You left, Liv. You got on a plane and left me with all of it. Mum’s chemo. The school called every week asking why I was late. But it’s fine, right? Because you were chasing your dream.”
I stared at her, heartbeat thudding. “I was a kid, Bee. I didn’t ask to leave. I went because Mum and Dad thought it was best. You think I had any idea what was happening back here?”
“Well, I did,” she snapped. “I didn’t get to go live some glittery tennis dream in Brisbane. I was here. Watching her fade. Alone.”
My stomach turned. “You weren’t alone.”
“I was,” she said, quieter now. “I just didn’t have the luxury of pretending I wasn’t.”
There it was. The thing we’d both danced around for years, finally dragged into the light and left bare on the picnic blanket.
I swallowed, the back of my throat burning. “I didn’t choose to leave you.”
“But you stayed gone,” she said.
“I didn’t stay gone to hurt you,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice even. “I was chasing something we all thought was a good idea.”
