by Fiona Lowe
The feminist in her arced up at the macho, staking-a-claim gesture, but the part of her that craved sex sat up, lust tingling.
Gerry laughed and twisted the top off his beer. ‘Don’t hurry back on our account, eh, boys?’
Hoping Chris or Ian would tell Gerry to shut up, Tara hurried Jon inside and straight to their ensuite. She flicked on the shower and pulled off her T-shirt.
‘What are you doing?’
She finger-walked her hand up his chest. ‘Exactly what they think we’re doing. A quickie in the shower.’
He batted her hand away and stepped back. ‘No! Jesus. What’s wrong with you?’
Tears stung her eyes. ‘Nothing is wrong with me.’
His nostrils flared but he didn’t rise to her bait. She glanced at his crotch—nothing rising there either. Despair broke her.
‘Don’t you find me attractive any more?’
His arms rose and fell and his expression lurched between bewilderment and anger. ‘What the hell sort of question is that?’
‘A valid one.’
‘It’s not.’ He picked up her T-shirt. ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but we don’t have time to talk about it now. Put this on. Make the salad. Please. The others will be here soon.’
She hated being told what to do, but what was the point of staying in the ensuite when he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to touch her. But she sure as hell wasn’t putting the T-shirt back on. She tossed it into the laundry hamper, then painted her lips a fire-engine red before stalking into the bedroom.
The ‘gang’ were their best friends—Shannon and Chris, Rhianna and Brent Stevenson, and Kelly and Al Kvant. Jon, Rhianna, Brent and Al had all grown up together in Boolanga. Although Tara got along with everyone, she was closest to Shannon.
Since the arrival of children, the gang’s gatherings had moved from the club rooms and the pub to Tingledale. The large living areas, the pool and the outdoor kitchen made entertaining easy and Jon loved playing host. Tara usually enjoyed it too but tonight, despite the laughs with Shannon, everything felt like a chore.
Shannon came back into the kitchen rubbing her back. ‘The kids are parked in front of a movie and the leftovers are wrapped and in the fridge. I say it’s time to kick back.’
A whoop of laughter floated in from the deck.
‘Good idea,’ Tara said. ‘Let’s head out and join the others. Jon’s lit a fire.’
‘This baby’s treating my bladder like a trampoline tonight. I’ll meet you out there as soon as I’ve had a wee.’ Shannon waddled off towards the bathroom.
Tara was carrying a wine for herself and a mineral water with a twist of lemon for Shannon when she met Kelly coming in from the deck.
‘Need a hand with anything?’ she asked.
By now, Kelly’s timing no longer surprised Tara. ‘Thanks, but it’s all good.’
‘Great.’ Kelly smiled and sat on the couch, her gaze flicking over Tara. ‘Nice top. Bit of a change from the yummy mummy activewear.’
Tara set down the glasses, trying to work out if Kelly was paying her a compliment. Sometimes she found it hard to tell. ‘And a change from the Hoopers blue polo,’ she said.
Kelly snorted. ‘When was the last time you wore one of those?’
‘You saw me wearing it on Friday when you bought the maidenhair fern,’ Tara said tightly.
‘Jeez, Tara, lighten up. Did you lose your sense of humour along with the weight?’
The words stung like a wasp. Lately, Tara had been wondering if Kelly wasn’t married to Al, and if Clementine and Brooke weren’t such good friends, would she choose to spend time with her? She gulped wine, deciding to laugh off the barb. If she defended herself or her job flexibility, it would only give Kelly an opportunity to trot out her favourite line: ‘Sleeping with the boss helps. Joking!’
Kelly worked three and a half days a week at the cheese factory and Tara knew she resented her own limited hours and flexibility. More than once, Tara had tried to explain what she gained in flexibility, she lost in many other ways. The staff didn’t consider her part of their team, and when she walked into the tearoom, conversations stopped. Yet she was expected to organise all the birthday morning teas, throw the farewell parties and baby showers and arrange the gifts. She was never invited to the staff’s impromptu gatherings and was used to the phrase, ‘Oh, we didn’t think [insert any day of the week] was good for you.’ The exceptions to this rule were the invitations to product parties—then she was expected to spend a minimum of one hundred dollars. She had enough scented candles to mask the stench of a sewage farm.
‘What do you think of this?’ Kelly continued, her eyes flashing with indignation. ‘That bitch expects me to come in on my day off for training on the new accounting system.’
Tara was familiar with all the challenges involved to entice trainers to drive up from Melbourne, let alone come on a date when most of their staff were in. She also knew Kelly’s dislike of her boss coloured her attitude to all requests. Kelly had never forgiven Fatima for keeping the office manager job after she’d returned from maternity leave. Initially, Dairyland had suggested the two women share the position, but Kelly, who’d worked for the company a lot longer, had refused to job-share, assuming that would trigger the promotion of her friend Rachael Dean into the position. It didn’t happen. Now, Kelly never missed an opportunity to complain about her boss.
‘She’ll pay you though, right?’ Tara said.
Kelly’s mouth pursed. ‘She probably thinks I’ll just swap my days round that week. But hello! Childcare! She’s not a mother so she has no freaking idea.’
It wasn’t worth mentioning that Kelly swapped her days around whenever she received an invitation to a lunch she didn’t want to miss. Or that Al’s mother loved looking after Hudson and was happy to do it any day of the week.
Keen to change the topic, Tara picked up Kelly’s glass. ‘Want a refill before we go outside?’
‘Sure. It’s Al’s turn to drive.’
Kelly immediately checked her phone. Tara tried not to grind her teeth at Kelly’s social media addiction and walked into the kitchen. Laughter surprised her—she’d thought everyone else was outside.
Jon was standing with his back to the door, his height and breadth blocking her view of whoever he was talking to. Despite the complicated mix of anger and hurt she’d been nursing since the bathroom incident, she couldn’t help smiling at the sound of his deep throaty laugh. It filled the air with his signature enthusiasm and love of life—and she realised she hadn’t heard it very often recently.
It took her a moment to notice the flash of diamonds and the manicured fingers resting on his forearm. They in turn made her aware of Jon’s head tilting down close to the woman’s head. Jealousy sawed through her like a serrated blade.
‘What’s so funny?’ she said, but her voice came out too loud and too high.
Jon turned so fast he swayed. At first, she thought it was a combination of his shock and surprise at being caught flirting—almost kissing!—Rhianna that made him overbalance. But then she noticed his gaze was roving wildly and taking far too long to focus on her. God, how much had he had to drink? Obviously more than enough to make him very drunk.
‘I was telling Jon about Benji and the chickens,’ Rhianna said. ‘I can’t believe he hasn’t heard it.’
Everyone in town had heard that story, including Jon. When Tara had told him, his eyes hadn’t crinkled at her nor had he thrown his head back and belly-laughed. Was it because he hadn’t been drunk, or because she wasn’t Rhianna? Tara’s gut cramped, forcing dinner to the back of her throat. Why had Rhianna been holding Jon’s arm? Was it because she knew he was drunk and unsteady on his feet? Or did she believe she had the right to touch him in such a familiar way?
You’re being ridiculous. Tara took a long steadying breath, locking onto reason. Jon and Rhianna had grown up together and were comfortable in each other’s company. Of course there was casual touching and hell
o and goodbye kisses. Still, the fact Jon was relaxed and laughing with Rhianna when he was so often tense with her slithered under her skin like a snake.
‘We should probably go outside and make the most of the fire before the movie finishes and the kids swarm,’ she said.
‘Good idea.’ But Rhianna didn’t move. ‘Coming, Jon?’
Excuse me! Seething, Tara pushed a bottle of sparkling wine into Rhianna’s hand. ‘Give this to Kelly.’
Rhianna’s gaze flicked between Tara and Jon. ‘Sure. See you out there.’
The moment she’d left the room, Tara said, ‘Oh, my God! How much have you had to drink?’
‘Not mush. Few beers.’
The slurred words made a mockery of his reply, bringing her worst fears into focus. Ian had a problem with alcohol. Was Jon going down the same path?
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You can barely stand up!’
The chatter of young voices drifted into the kitchen. Obviously, the movie had failed its eighty-two-minute promise of holding the children’s attention.
Clementine appeared, her little body drooping with fatigue. She pressed against Tara. ‘Mummy, can I go to bed?’
‘Of course you can, sweetheart.’ Tara hugged her, thankful Clementine always flagged early. ‘Everyone’s going home now anyway.’ She looked straight at Jon, daring him to disagree with her.
The next fifteen minutes were the usual chaos of rounding up children, wet bathers, platters and bowls, along with choruses of ‘thanks for having us’ and ‘night’, before the dark swallowed the tail-lights. During the frenzied activity, Jon had thankfully sobered up a little.
As Tara hustled a grumpy and overtired Flynn into the bathroom to supervise the cleaning of teeth, she said to Jon quietly, ‘Cut off the beers so Ian and Gerry leave and we can go to bed.’
It took Tara half an hour to negotiate with Flynn on everything from toothpaste to how many pages of Artemis Fowl she’d read him. After closing the bedroom door she went straight to the kitchen. Usually after these gatherings Jon cleaned up, but the kitchen looked much as it had before everyone left.
A bark of laughter startled her, immediately followed by the rumble of voices. Her stomach flip-flopped, unable to settle on fury or dismay. Anger marched her outside. Ian, Gerry and Jon sat around the brazier, beers in hand.
‘Ah, there she is—’ Gerry raised his beer in salute, ‘—the most beautiful woman in Boolanga.’
‘Tara, love, any chance of more cheesecake?’ Ian asked.
She waited for Jon to either suggest to his father that he go to the kitchen to see for himself or offer to look for him, but her husband sat mute, staring into the fire, locked in a hypnotic spell by the licking and spitting blue and orange flames.
Tara’s hands fisted by her sides. This shouldn’t be happening—she’d asked Jon to send them home. Then again, not one thing that had occurred since two o’clock should have happened. Not their visitors, not Jon’s rejection of her, not him getting drunk and especially not that unnamed thing she’d interrupted between him and Rhianna.
A rogue wave of hatred for Jon dumped all over her before rolling her in a blast of sand. ‘I’m going to bed.’
CHAPTER
6
Jade spent the morning cleaning. Some days it was enough to know she’d cleaned the unit. Other days, she fought back tears that all her hard work scrubbing at years of ingrained dirt and stained grout was barely noticeable.
She tickled Milo’s toes. ‘One day, mate, you and me and Daddy will live in a brand-new house where no one else has lived before. The walls will be white and we’ll have real pictures on them instead of holes and stains. And we’ll have a lah-de-dah couch like the one in Bennetts instead of a crap one from Vinnies.’
One day when Milo was older and she could work. One day when Corey found a job with a decent employer who didn’t rip him off and paid him what he was worth. One day.
Milo’s head nodded wisely as if he totally understood what she was saying. ‘Ma. Ma.’
Jade’s hands steepled in front of her mouth and her heart doubled in size. ‘Did you just say “Mama”?’
Milo blew bubbles at her.
‘Say it again. Say Mama.’
‘Ma. Ma.’
‘Clever boy!’ Oh, how she wished Corey was here to hear him. Grabbing her phone, she turned on the camera and slid it to video. ‘Milo, say Mama.’
But he’d found his plastic hammer and was banging the throw rug that covered the couch and all its suspect stains.
The volunteer bloke who’d delivered it before Milo was born had told Jade to turn the cushions over. She’d flipped them only to discover the other side was backing.
‘But they’re one-sided.’
He’d given a dismissive shrug. ‘You’re lucky to get a couch, missy. Beggars can’t be choosers.’
She bet he wouldn’t allow a couch like this into his house, let alone sit on it. But she was expected to curtsey and say thank you very much. Well, stuff that!
‘I’m not a beggar, but you’re a bastard,’ she’d said.
He’d dobbed on her to Karen, the social worker at the hospital, who’d talked at Jade about anger management and how it was important to be kind to people who were ‘only trying to help’. But Jade wasn’t angry at the world—she just wasn’t prepared to put up with pricks who thought they were better than her. Just because she needed a bit of help shouldn’t mean she had to accept a couch that belonged at the tip. At least the throw rug made it look inviting, but the moment she sat on it and was jabbed by a spring, the illusion vanished.
Jade texted Corey, desperate to share the momentous news of Milo’s first words: Milo just said Mama
She didn’t expect a reply—Corey had told her he was working fifty kays out of Jerilderie—so she was surprised and thrilled to see three wriggling dots appear.
Tell me when he says dad
Her excitement balloon lost some air. She wanted to smile—after all, what father didn’t want to hear their kid say ‘Daddy’? But if ‘dada’ had been Milo’s first word, she would have been just as excited. Why wasn’t Corey?
She quickly blamed the communication method—there was no nuance in texts. Of course he was excited, but he was probably also disappointed that he’d missed out on hearing Milo. Well, she could fix that.
Holding up her phone again, she pressed the recording button. ‘Milo, say Dada. Da. Da.’
Milo turned towards her, lost his balance and sat down abruptly, bouncing on his nappy-clad bottom. His blue eyes rounded in shocked surprise and then his face crumpled. He let out a howl.
‘Oh, baby.’ Jade picked him up and he rubbed his eyes. ‘You ready for a nap?’
She walked into his room and was about to lay him down in his cot when she remembered that woman’s suggestion about coming to the garden. Jade still couldn’t work out if Helen was legit with her offer or planning to rip her off. She didn’t have anyone to talk to about it either. Mind you, her mother would have said, ‘If it seems too good to be true then it is,’ but Charlene Innes didn’t trust anyone, not even her daughter.
Not that Jade was quick to trust either, and she was especially wary with the staff at Centrelink and Human Services. The maternal and child health nurse was okay, even if she was as old as. Actually, Helen looked pretty old too. But unlike the other women her age in town who wore their white hair cut into neat and identical bobs, Helen’s hair was salt and pepper and cut in a pixie style with magenta tips. The bright colour intrigued Jade. She’d only seen coloured tips on younger women.
She’d love some colour in her own hair, but she couldn’t afford it. Once she’d bought colour from the supermarket, but it turned her hair green instead of the royal blue she’d hoped for. Did the colour make Helen cool or a try-hard?
Old women were hard to trust—they could look kind, caring and understanding, but sear her with a judging look that burned like a brand. A look tha
t sneered and said teenage mother, white trash, lazy and useless, a drain on taxes.
Yeah, right. Jade had so got pregnant to get five hundred and sixty dollars from the government. As if! She’d got pregnant because she didn’t know taking antibiotics nuked the pill and neither the doctor nor the pharmacist had bothered to tell her. By the time she’d realised she was pregnant, it had been too late to have an abortion. Now she had Milo, she was glad she’d been denied that difficult choice, but it didn’t mean being a mum was easy. Most of the time she was doing it on her own.
Like today. She hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Milo. Cleaning kept her busy but it also kept her inside. Some days she stayed in hoping Corey would turn up, but there was no chance of that today.
She settled Milo into the pram. ‘Hey, little man. Wanna go see the picture of the big flowers and the butterflies?’
Milo fell asleep somewhere between crossing the railway line and Riverfarm Road, the rough pavement rocking him to sleep. Jade often walked this route as it took her past some of Boolanga’s oldest houses and gardens. She’d always loved flowers and her earliest memories of school were sitting cross-legged on the oval making daisy chains. Back then, she’d had no idea the flowers were capeweed, she’d just loved the bright yellow petals.
Spring was still her favourite season, when blossom frothed and spring bulbs pushed up flowers that covered the colour spectrum. Since leaving Finley, she’d been teaching herself the names of flowers. When she found one she didn’t know, she took a photo and asked Fran at the library. The old chook might be too eager to push her into a mothers’ group but she was a walking flower encyclopedia. Jade respected her for that.
She snapped a photo of a cluster of white flowers with black centres that grew from a tall central stalk, then kept walking until she arrived at the gates of the community garden. Jade loved these gates. Hammered metal sunflowers were welded to the wire and spray-painted silver and gold. Sculptured bees on wires looked like they were buzzing about the flowers and they bounced in the breeze. At the top of the gate, the words Boolanga Community Garden filled an arch.