Dare Truth Or Promise by Paula Boock Page A

Mum the other night? You know,” she insisted when Willa must have looked blank. Louie lowered her voice. “About love and everything. You said it just happens, it isn’t something you plan for or know about. It comes from outside and changes everything.
It loved to happen.
Like you and me.”

    The warmth of the crowd at the Duke increased as the temperature dropped outside. Not long after the Golden Grill closed for the night, someone came in and announced it was snowing. People milled out into the road and played in the white hurries, then hopped back inside for a drink. Sid was worried they’d run out of whisky.
    Willa was as excited as anyone. She rushed through the last of the dishes in the kitchen, then headed out of the bar. “I’m going for a walk,” she said to her mother.
    “Hang on Willa, love,” Jolene stopped her. “Where are you going? It’s late to be out walking alone.”
    “Just a little way, to enjoy the snow—come on Mum, everyone’s outside.”
    “Put on some warm clothes—really warm, I mean, and I suppose you’re going to Louie’s, are you?”
    Willa was surprised into telling the truth. “Yes.”
    “Okay,” agreed Jolene, and Willa noticed a little concerned frown around her eyes even though she was smiling. “I just like to know you’re safe, you know?”
    Willa was so excited and thankful she hugged her mother. Jolene’s arms tightened about her, strong and wiry. “Be careful,” she whispered, without explanation. When she pulled away Willa saw her mother blink rather hard, and she was sorry she hadn’t been able to hug her since the Cathy mess.
    “Off you go then,” croaked Jolene, “boots, hat, scarf and gloves, all right?”

    “Got it.” She rushed up the stairs, chose a concoction of woollen garments, bundled most of her hair under a knitted hat and threw a heavy black coat over the rest. On her duchess sat an unopened blue envelope. It had arrived that afternoon. Willa looked at it for a minute, then poked out her tongue and threw it in the bin. She galloped down the stairs and Judas barked in excitement as they took off down the street. He zig-zagged about, sniffing and tossing the snow with his nose, his back legs skidding as he bounded back and forth.
    “Wow! Big spin out, Judas,” Willa laughed as the dog slid across the road until he was facing back the way he had come. There were no cars about and the snow lay several centimetres thick already. It was still and the streets had that magical hushed quality of snow at night. The bush beyond the road hung silent and hunched, gleaming under its cover of white.
    She met Louie coming down the hill, a dark rustling lump in the mauve light, something waving like antlers on her head. “Hail, who goes there?” cried Louie. “On guard!” She came at Willa with a long karaka spear which Judas barked and jumped up at. The antlers, Willa realised, bending over with laughter, were actually the peaks of a large felt jesters hat.
    “You look ridiculous,” snorted Willa.
    “Thank you. It’s what I do best. Come Judas, let us ignoreth the slings and arrows of outrageous bores and cavorteth together in the snow.”
    Willa ran after her and tripped Louie up, then they bumped off each other in their swad of clothes, threw snowballs and pushed each other over. Louie tried capers and somersaults but Judas leapt on top of her and trampled her with his wet paws. Soon they were joined by some more people, including Mo and her brother Jay. Mo had brought some huge plastic bags and they made a scraping sound careering down the hill on them while Judas chased and cut them off, causing a pile-up at the bottom.

    One by one the others went home, and when Mo and Jay disappeared’ Louie, Willa and Judas went up to Louies house. They’d taken to coming and going through the sliding doors into Louies bedroom, so the Angelos didn’t always know. They crept in quietly and tried to get warm in front of Louie’s heater, but Judas