Just before the end of second period, Kate was making her way to the music room, morning tea in hand—socialising in the staffroom was one of her least favourite activities—when she stopped in the corridor. The door of Tilly’s Literature Extension classroom was open just enough for Tilly’s voice to swim out and reach Kate’s ears. She was reading poetry. Gwen Harwood’s At Mornington.

Slowly, Kate retraced her steps down the empty corridor. She pressed her shoulders against the plaster wall and listened.

Tilly’s voice had a quiet strength as she recited the poet’s memory of being taken to the sea for the first time as a child, leaping from her father’s arms, fully clothed, into the waves of Mornington Beach. Kate rested her head back against the wall. The breeze from the window at the end of the corridor washed over her like the notes of Tilly’s voice. Kate closed her eyes.

She grasped her Tupperware container tighter, imagined Tilly’s lips at her ear, whispering poetry, her voice firm, mouth hot against the shell of Kate’s ear, against the pulse in her neck…

“Are you okay, Kate?”

Kate’s eyes snapped open. Grace stood before her, a curious glint in her eye.

“What?” Kate asked.

“Are you okay?” Grace repeated slowly.

Tilly’s soft cadence continued to slip through the opening in the door. Grace looked toward the classroom.

She pushed off the wall. “I have a migraine,” she lied. “Where are you supposed to be?”

Grace nodded toward the crack in the door. “In there with Ms Wattle—Tilly. I just went to the bathroom…”

“Well hurry up,” Kate whispered. She started back down the corridor to the music room, heart humming as Tilly’s voice trickled after her.

She left the door to the music room wide open.

With Tilly’s Friday afternoons always free of classes, Kate assumed Tilly would be busy writing in the cottage until day’s end. So, when Kate stepped back into the music room just after three thirty—she’d only popped out for a second to take a phone call with a parent—she was surprised to find Tilly at the piano with Lexi.

Over the past month, Lexi had taken to Tilly like a moth to a flame. It had only been last night in the common room that Kate had overheard Tilly telling Lexi that she’d love to hear her recital. Not twenty-four hours later, here they were.

Tilly moved from the piano seat and crossed the room to lean against a student desk. “Mind if I join you both for the tail end of the lesson?”

Kate shook her head. “Not at all.”

As the crescendo swelled, Kate looked across the room to Tilly, focused intently on Lexi’s performance. Kate’s gaze dropped low, to where the small curve of Tilly’s behind rested on the desk. Taking a sip from her water bottle, Kate raised her gaze higher, to the dip of Tilly’s back where the end of her plait tickled low, almost to the high waistband of her floral skirt. Kate held back a sigh. God, she looked so lovely today.