The Longest Afternoon

The sun pressed down on Wattle Creek, and the air above the road shimmered. Inside the house, Mum fanned herself with an old envelope. The ceiling fan clicked but barely stirred the air. “Too hot to move,” groaned Matilda, sliding lower on the sofa. Tilly looked out at the dry garden. “The new seedlings will wilt if we leave them,” she said. She filled a jug at the tap and carried it carefully outside. Matilda sighed, then sat up. “All right, boss. Hand me the watering can.” They took turns watering the plants. When the last seedling had a drink, Tilly wiped her forehead. “There. We’ve saved them for another day.” Matilda grinned. “And I only melted a little.”