A Home Like Ours

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘I suppose I could manage that. Has Lachie had breakfast?’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘I’ll rustle something up then.’

  ‘I can help.’

  ‘No.’ Her heart thumped so fast she heard it in her ears. Bob was looking at her as if he was about to object, so she grabbed the still wrapped paper she’d abandoned on the table. ‘Here. Read this. I’ll be back in a bit.’

  She marched into the kitchen, her mind racing. What could she make? She didn’t have any bacon and she was out of cereal and bread. The kettle on the old wood stove was always close to the boil so tea was easy, but she’d promised more than that.

  Her gaze strayed to the oven and she winced before pulling herself together. Opening the oven door, she checked the temperature, topped up the fire box and fiddled with the dampers.

  ‘Come on, you old bugger. Don’t let me down today.’

  Grabbing flour, sugar and milk along with some of her own raspberries, she got mixing. Although the ancient cast-iron gem scone mould had come with the old stove, she’d never used it. Gem scones were inextricably tied up with love, grief and hate, but today, needs must.

  Holding herself together, she whipped the butter and sugar and poured the mixture into the hot greased moulds. She sucked in deep breaths as she laid the tea tray with mugs, plates, knives, milk, sugar and jam. But when she pulled the golden brown treats from the oven, she lost the battle and tears fell, wetting the oven mitt.

  Memories rushed over her like racing flood waters. Nicki’s smile whenever Helen pulled gem scones out of the oven. Theo’s grin as he scarfed half the batch. His later derision of the treats as ‘Aussie pap’ and his demands for baklava.

  Her chest cramped with regret. This was why she fought the temptation of being lulled into happy recollections of the past. Memories were wolves in sheep’s clothing. They inevitably sank their jagged yellow teeth into her, shocking her with pain.

  Enough!

  She dumped the hot gem scones onto a plate, wiped away the evidence of her tears and marched the tray out to the veranda. Daisy stood up, hopeful of a treat.

  Milo was snuggled on Jade’s hip and she and Lachie were peering over Bob’s shoulder looking at the paper.

  ‘It’s called alliteration,’ Bob said.

  ‘Tea’s up,’ Helen said.

  Bob hurriedly folded the paper, pushing it to the edge of the table. As Helen moved to set down the tray, she asked, ‘What ridiculous headline has Peter Granski come up with today?’

  ‘Slum Sullies Scenic Spot,’ Jade said. ‘Mrs Kastrati would have slashed it with her red pen. It doesn’t even make any sense. The houses aren’t built yet.’

  A wave of nausea rolled Helen’s stomach and her fingers loosened on the tray. It tilted wildly, sending tea sloshing and scones tumbling.

  Bob grabbed it, sliding it onto the table as Lachlan dived for the scones. He caught the plate on the tips of his fingers like a cricketer sliding in for a low ball.

  ‘You okay, Helen?’ Jade asked. ‘You’ve gone sorta grey.’

  Bob pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down before you fall down.’

  She sat, but only because her legs threatened to fold underneath her. ‘Show me the paper.’

  ‘How about a nice cup of tea first?’ Bob reached for the sugar.

  ‘Show. Me. The. Paper!’

  Lachlan exchanged a mystified look with Jade before picking up The Standard. ‘Here you go.’

  The print was blurred and she leaned back, trying to focus, but it was no use. She held out her hand to Bob. ‘I need your reading glasses.’

  He reluctantly pulled them out of his pocket and she slid them onto her nose—they were still warm from his face. The words came into focus, sharp and black against the white.

  A reliable source informs us that a social housing project—insert low rent, low standards and a mess of social problems—is going to be built on some of the most valuable land in the shire. It’s an outrageous proposal. Think about it. Which would you prefer? A beautifully landscaped country club with world-class facilities? Or burned-out cars, used syringes and a ghetto of addicts? Complete the online survey and have your say.

  Helen’s hands shook so hard the paper rustled, but she didn’t know if the trembling consuming her body was shock, anger or both. How had The Standard learned of the submission?

  Safe as houses. Her pre-yoga green tea rose on a sea of acid, the bitterness filling her mouth. This was her fault. Why had she confided in someone she barely knew?

  Tugging the glasses off her face, she tossed them across the table at Bob. ‘You bastard! Of all the people in this town you could blab to, you had to tell Peter freakin’ Granski?’

  Bob rocked back in his chair as if propelled by a slap. ‘I’ve kept your secret. Hell, I’d sooner cross the street than confide in Peter bloody Granski.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’

  ‘Steady on, Helen,’ Lachlan said equably. ‘Uncle Bob might be a wimp around redbacks, but he’s a man of his word. If he said he kept your secret, then he did.’

  Helen ignored him. She only had eyes for Bob, scrutinising his face for signs he was lying—a twitch in his cheek, a lowering of his gaze. But he was looking straight at her, his gaze steady.

  ‘Well, if it wasn’t you, who was it?’ she demanded.

  ‘Why are you being such a bitch to Bob?’ Jade asked.

  ‘There are four councillors who are yet to give you their support, Helen,’ Bob said.

  ‘Bloody men in suits!’

  ‘I have to get to work.’ Lachlan backed away as if Helen was aiming a loaded gun at his head.

  ‘Don’t worry about her,’ Jade said. ‘She’s old and she gets weird sometimes. Here.’ She shoved jam-covered gem scones at him. ‘Thanks for helping with the bedhead. It looks awesome.’

  ‘No worries.’ He ruffled Milo’s hair. ‘See you, squirt. Uncle Bob, I’ll call you about the maize later?’

  ‘Yeah. Good. Thanks, Lach,’ Bob said distractedly.

  Helen didn’t say goodbye—she was already on the phone to Vivian.

  CHAPTER

  15

  The deputy mayor pushed a frothy cappuccino towards Helen. ‘Drink this. You look like you need it.’

  ‘It’s a disaster!’

  ‘It’s not great.’

  Helen’s gut burned and had been since eight this morning. ‘Who would do something like this?’

  ‘Who knows. Maybe someone who hates affordable housing?’

  ‘Or hates women.’

  ‘Well, there is that.’ Vivian stirred her latte. ‘I think we can safely rule out Messina and Cynthia. Craig and Aki are fence-sitters, so I can’t imagine them doing anything, but dodgy Don’s a different matter entirely. He could be our leak.’

  ‘What about the mayor? You said he didn’t want any controversy?’

  ‘True and Granski just made it controversial. Mind you, so are two all-black SUVs coming out of Ainslea Park. It looked like a presidential cavalcade.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Wealthy international horse-racing people who don’t want to be recognised.’

  ‘You mean sheiks?’ It sounded utterly crazy for Boolanga. Almost as crazy as Cinta’s conspiracy theories. ‘I heard a rumour that a Chinese consortium wanted to buy the land to host parties to hunt deer and kangaroos.’

  Vivian laughed. ‘Don’t go drinking the Kool Aid, Helen. The shire would no more sell to the Chinese than fly to the moon.’

  ‘So you don’t think there’s any truth to Granski’s suggestion of a country club?’

  ‘Half the town belongs to the country club on the other side of the river. Building another one won’t give investors good ROI.’ Vivian caught Helen’s blank look. ‘Return on investment.’

  ‘If there isn’t a country club or resort being considered, why would someone leak the submission?’

  ‘Good question. And this is the third “reliable source” article Peter Granski�
��s printed in the last couple of months. After Jon Hooper’s call to arms at the Chamber of Commerce awards, I’m starting to wonder if the Irrigation Road lobby group are bribing a staffer.’

  ‘But this hasn’t got anything to do with car park lighting.’

  ‘It has everything to do with it.’

  ‘How?’

  Vivian read aloud from the editorial. ‘Boolanga’s rising crime rate is of grave concern. Surely, we need to fix this problem before we invite the homeless and unemployed into our town and add to our current social problems.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’

  Vivian’s mouth pulled into a sympathetic smile. ‘Welcome to the rough and tumble of politics. Unfortunately, the Right currently control the mouthpiece.’

  Fury and frustration spun inside Helen like a tornado. ‘How can we hose down these unsubstantiated claims?’

  ‘I’d suggest a public meeting, but you only need a couple of loonies to come along and it will do more harm than good. We want to bring councillors on board, not put the wind up them. We need them focusing on the community’s needs, not worrying about re-election.’

  ‘I want to know which misogynist leaked it!’

  ‘You and me both. Let’s meet with Cynthia and Messina and see if they’ve heard any gossip from the other councillors, because I know dodgy Don will just lie to my face.’

  Helen thought of the months of work, not to mention the love that had gone into the submission. The idea that the tiny housing village might not be built gutted her. ‘I can’t sit back and do nothing.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you do. Write a letter to the editor.’

  ‘Huh! As if Granski would print it.’

  ‘Ah, but he will.’ Vivian’s eyes glinted with the anticipation of a battle. ‘He has to at least appear to show both sides of an argument. Even if your letter’s the only one that’s pro tiny housing, it’s a start.’

  Ideas started popping. She’d ask Roxy and the other women if they’d be prepared to write a letter to the paper. Ask Bob.

  ‘From little things big things grow, right?’

  Vivian rolled her eyes. ‘Personally, I’m not a fan of aphorisms.’

  Neither was Helen but somehow this one felt right.

  Thursday was the day in the week Jade looked forward to and enjoyed the most. The Hazara women worked in the garden and before they left for their English class they always insisted Jade share their lunch. They never accepted her offer of a vegemite or a peanut butter sandwich and at first their refusal didn’t bother her, because the food she packed was for Milo. One of her strategies to make her money last two weeks was eating a big breakfast and skipping lunch. But as the women kept insisting she eat their food, it was making her uncomfortable. Last week, she’d deliberately gone home before lunch to avoid spending half an hour feeling bad about sponging food or upsetting them. Except instead of feeling better, she’d felt irritable and cranky all afternoon. And tired. So very tired.

  Milo hadn’t slept through the night in over a week and he was fractious and chewing everything in sight. He cried when he was held and he cried when he was put down. Why did cutting teeth burn the skin on his bum red as well as his gums?

  When he’d refused to have an afternoon nap, she’d stood at the door of his room and yelled, ‘Just shut up! Go to sleep!’

  He’d gone silent for a second, his face startled at the unfamiliar screeching sounds coming from her mouth. Then his big blue eyes had filled with tears and he’d sobbed, his little body shaking as hard as if she’d struck him.

  Jade’s heart had spasmed, twisting in her chest and pumping out a cocktail of guilt, anger at herself and utter despair. But the taunting chaser was worse—You’re just like Charlene.

  ‘I’m bloody not!’ She’d scooped up Milo and hugged him close, her tears dampening his curls. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  She was desperate to talk to someone and receive confirmation that she was nothing like her mother. But she didn’t have any friends in this hole of a town and no one knew her mother, except Corey. He hated Charlene more than Jade did—although that was hard to imagine. When Milo was born, he’d said, ‘You better treat this kid better than our mothers treated us.’ Jade hadn’t needed to be told—she’d spent the previous six months promising her unborn baby the same thing. And Corey knew she was a better mother—he’d seen how much love and care she gave Milo. He’d tell her she was nothing like Charlene.

  She opened a text and typed out what had just happened, but with each word, doubt crept in. Would Corey really understand how hard it was being at home with a baby all day, every day? It wasn’t like he ever spent any time alone with Milo. He wasn’t so tired that he nodded off in the laundromat and woke up terrified someone had stolen Milo. He wasn’t holding a crying baby for hours on end and finding it hard to pee on his own, let alone take a shower.

  A hot rod of indignation slid in, straightening her spine. If Corey was here helping her, she wouldn’t be yelling at their baby! If the Hazara women had eaten her sandwiches, she’d have stayed for lunch and they’d be cuddling Milo and she wouldn’t have yelled at him. None of this was her fault!

  You don’t like vegemite sandwiches so why should they?

  The thought burned as she stabbed the backspace key, deleting the text. She shoved the phone in her shorts’ pocket, bundled Milo into the pram and walked to the library.

  ‘Hey, Fran, what’s something easy to cook but tastes good and I can take to a picnic?’

  ‘Why don’t you look at taste-dot-com? Ignore the over-the-top fiddly stuff and go for something simple like marinated chicken or club sandwiches.’

  Jade didn’t know what a club sandwich was. As sandwiches were the problem, she checked out the chicken. Instead of buying her weekly treat—a Vodka Cruiser—she bought chicken drumettes and marinated them in soy sauce, honey, garlic and ginger. Bob gave her the garlic and Helen donated coriander, then suggested sprinkling sesame seeds over the chicken. She also gave her some ginger. Jade couldn’t believe that an ugly root had such a beautiful and perfumed flower.

  Now was the moment of truth and Jade held her breath, keeping her eyes on the women.

  Kubra licked her fingers. ‘This is very good.’

  ‘Really? You like it?’ Jade struggled to believe the compliment.

  ‘Yes. You very good cook.’

  ‘Not really. I just followed the recipe.’

  ‘That’s how we all start,’ Helen said. ‘The only difference between a good cook and an average one is interest and learning from disasters.’

  And money. Jade couldn’t afford any disasters if it meant throwing out food.

  ‘Kubra, do you have a recipe for your bolanis?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to try and make them.’

  ‘My mother teach me. Come to my flat and I show you.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Corey will have a fit.

  Corey doesn’t need to know.

  ‘That would be awesome.’

  As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Jade glanced at Helen, who was quiet today—even her magenta tips drooped. Helen didn’t boss the women around like she bossed Jade and usually she asked them all sorts of questions as if she was really interested. But ever since she’d got all bent out of shape over that newspaper article and yelled at Bob—Jade still hadn’t forgiven her for that—she seemed different.

  Jade had asked Bob what her problem was and he’d said, ‘It’s Helen’s story to tell.’ But Jade wasn’t asking Helen. If she did, Helen would yell at her too and tell her it was none of her business. Just like Charlene, only with less swearing.

  But today Helen hadn’t bossed Jade all morning and she’d hardly said anything over lunch. Something was off. Jade didn’t know why she cared, but part of her wanted grumpy Helen back.

  ‘Hey, Helen, you know how you’re obsessed with vegetables?’

  Helen’s brows rose above her glasses, lightening the frown lines. ‘I’d hardly say I’m o
bsessed, but go on.’

  ‘I planted some of that ginger root you gave me.’

  ‘I hope you soaked it in water first.’

  There was no ‘Good idea, Jade’, like Fran at the library would have said, but Jade got a zip of delight at hearing familiar Helen.

  ‘Well, duh, I YouTubed it.’

  Aima said something that was probably ‘Come on, you lot, it’s time to go to English class,’ and the women rose and said goodbye. Helen left too, muttering something about a meeting.

  Milo was asleep and as Jade didn’t need to be anywhere, she pulled out Anna Karenina. It was getting interesting. Anna had just discovered she was pregnant with Vronsky’s baby and Vronsky wasn’t exactly happy about it. Jade could relate. Corey had disappeared for two months after she’d told him she was pregnant.

  But he came back, she quickly reminded herself.

  ‘Hello, Jade. What are you reading?’

  She glanced up at Fiza’s lyrical voice and held out the book. ‘A crazy Russian love story.’

  ‘So many words!’ Fiza laughed. ‘I cheated and watched the movie.’

  ‘How’s your maize?’

  ‘I’m scared to look.’

  Jade really wanted to get back to her book. ‘They’re just plants.’

  Fiza’s sunny smile faded.

  Jade didn’t understand why the seedlings’ survival was so important to the other woman, but something made her say, ‘I could come and look with you.’

  ‘Thank you, but you are reading. I will tell you what Lachlan suggests.’

  Jade had closed her book and was standing before she realised what she’d done. ‘Nah, all good. Let’s go and check them out.’

  Lachlan was waiting at the tent with a massive white bag filled with brown pellets. He pulled off his hat just like Bob did. Jade wondered why they did that when the point of a hat was to keep the sun off their faces. He pushed his sunglasses up too and just like the first time she’d met him, she noticed his eyes were ringed by thick chocolate lashes. Had Bob looked like this when he was younger?

  ‘G’day, Jade. Hi, Fiza, I reckon I might have a solution.’