by Fiona Lowe
They went to bed but they didn’t have sex. Of course they didn’t. They lay side by side, their bodies rigid with bitterness and resentment. Although Tara searched, she couldn’t find a single pond of calm anywhere inside herself to float on. Instead, her feelings of betrayal fermented.
Jon didn’t say another word and at the twenty-minute mark he was snoring gently, air whistling between his teeth. The sound brought her simmering outrage to boiling point and it spilled over, energising her fatigue. How could he possibly sleep?
Except it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. His legs constantly thrashed, tangling in the sheets as if he was fighting something or someone. Was it her? When his foot landed a blow on her shin, she flinched and reached out to shake him awake. Only what was the point? He’d accuse her of self-interest.
She got out of bed and collected her phone from the kitchen before going to the guest room and closing the door.
She texted Zac. He replied instantly, the ping loud in the silent house. She hurriedly turned her phone to silent before typing I wish we could run right now
It’s a full moon. I’m up for it
You serious?
A line of repeating running emojis appeared on her screen—a blonde-haired woman followed by a black-haired man. Her and Zac. Him chasing her. A tingle spun between her legs.
Another text came in. Meet me at Riverbend in fifteen?
She thought about the kids. They didn’t have coughs or colds. Neither had woken with a nightmare in months and these days once they were asleep they were out cold until daybreak.
And Jon? Would he wake up and notice her gone? Would he care?
Did she?
Breakfast was a shambles. Operating on four hours’ sleep, Tara made coffee and lunches on autopilot.
Jon appeared before the children with black shadows under his eyes and three bits of toilet paper stuck to his face. She steeled herself against the few strands of sympathy that wanted to weave themselves around her heart.
Instead of asking how he’d slept, she said, ‘Got into a fight with the razor as well as your wife?’
He grunted and poured coffee. She waited for him to comment on the fact she’d spent more hours out of their bed last night than in it.
‘You coming in today?’ he asked.
Disappointment sat heavily in her gut, but she couldn’t tell if it was because Jon hadn’t noticed she’d been missing or because it denied her the opportunity to tell him she’d gone running.
‘I’ve got that thank you morning tea at the community garden,’ she said. ‘And then I’m catching up with Shannon. Two things you approve of so that should make you happy.’
‘I want you to be happy.’ Something akin to sadness momentarily softened the discontent in his eyes, then vanished. ‘There’s a staff meeting at two.’
‘Two?’
‘Yeah. I changed the time so you could make it.’
She met his combative look with one of her own. ‘I’ve got training at two.’
He didn’t say anything but his face morphed into the expressionless mask she was coming to expect whenever he got angry. He slammed the lid on his keep cup. The cup tipped and coffee swam over the bench. Swearing, he picked up his keys and, without a backwards glance, walked out the door.
‘I’ll clean it up then, shall I?’ Tara yelled at the slamming door. She threw a cloth over the liquid, catching it just before it dripped down and filled the drawers.
Clemmie ran in wearing her school uniform and sat to eat her cereal. ‘Mummy, can Leila and Sammy come over and play after school today?’
Tara ran through the girls in Clemmie’s class and drew a blank. ‘Who are Leila and Sammy?’
‘You know, the twins.’
Flynn picked up the juice box and Tara watched him pouring it into his glass as if that was all it took to prevent him from spilling it everywhere like his father.
‘Can they, Mummy?’
‘Can who what?’
‘Can the twins come over and play!’
Tara’s thoughts drifted to the kids in Clemmie’s dance class and at Pee-Wee tennis and still came up short. ‘But we don’t know any twins.’
Clemmie rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, we do.’
‘We played with them yesterday.’ Flynn put the juice back in the fridge and carried his very full glass to the table.
Tara’s head pounded from a combination of lack of sleep, a prolonged adrenaline rush from running with Zac on a still cool night drenched in moonlight, and sustained anger at Jon. She knew she’d been distracted the previous afternoon, busy building Viagra castles in the air and believing the little blue pill would magically heal her marriage. Huh!
They’d arrived home after swimming lessons and Flynn and Clemmie had been tired and hungry. When they’d bickered over the iPad, she’d sent them outside with snacks. She’d been surprised, but pleased, when they didn’t try to come back inside within five minutes. It had reinforced her belief that the more time kids spent outside, the better it was for their imaginations. They’d entertained themselves so well she’d had to ring the dinner bell to summon them inside. There hadn’t been any time to play with anyone—
Her coffee cup stalled halfway to her mouth. ‘Where did you play with these twins?’
‘On the trampoline,’ Clemmie said.
‘Sammy’s awesome! He can do double somersaults.’ Flynn’s eyes shone with admiration. ‘His big brother, Amal, is going to teach me.’
The neighbours. ‘No!’
Flynn’s knife clattered onto his plate. ‘Why not?’
‘Because they’re dangerous.’
‘Somersaults aren’t dangerous,’ Flynn said belligerently.
But African teenage boys are. ‘The twins shouldn’t have been here uninvited.’
‘They weren’t. I asked them,’ Clemmie said.
‘You should have asked me first.’
‘But you told us to stay outside.’
Her daughter’s logic snapped her already stretched restraint. ‘You know the rules, Clementine Rose Hooper!’
Clemmie’s blue eyes swam with confusion. ‘What rules?’
‘Not talking to strangers.’
‘But they’re not strangers. They’re neighbours.’
‘Exactly. And when Lyle lived there we told you not to go anywhere near him.’
‘Yeah, but he was scary,’ Flynn said. ‘The twins are cool.’
‘I don’t care. You both did the wrong thing so they’re not coming over.’
‘That’s so unfair!’ they chorused.
Something about their united complaint made her compensate. ‘Brooke and Benji can come instead. Now go and get ready for school.’
As Tara reached for the paracetamol, her phone vibrated with a message. She turned it over.
Training by moonlight’s my new favourite thing. Zac had placed a moon between the two running emojis that represented each of them.
Her headache eased. Mine too. Tx
CHAPTER
17
At school drop-off, Tara suggested to Kelly that Brooke come for a play date that afternoon. ‘I’m hoping Benji can come as company for Flynn but I’m happy to have Hudson as well. It will give you an hour or so to yourself after work.’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Kelly said. ‘Seeing it’s Friday, why don’t Rhianna and I bring something and then the guys come too? It’s been ages since we did that. We haven’t seen you since book group.’ An accusatory tone clung to the words.
Tara didn’t want to invite the woman who’d accused her of not appreciating her husband. ‘I’m not sure Rhianna’s—’
‘What about me?’ Rhianna arrived just as the bell sounded.
‘Gang night at Tara’s,’ Kelly said.
Rhianna’s brows rose. ‘Really?’
‘Why really?’ Tara said coolly.
‘I’m just surprised you’ve got the time. Jon said you’re flat out with this crazy marathon plan.’
Tara’s fingers curv
ed into her palms and she focused on the discomfort instead of saying something she’d regret. ‘I thought it might be nice for us to all get together before Shannon gets busy with the baby.’
‘You make it sound like she’s leaving town.’
Kelly laughed. ‘Shan’s never let a kid stop her from socialising before.’
Just like at the last barbecue and book group, Tara was left feeling criticised. Had she really changed or had Kelly and Rhianna?
On the drive to the community garden for the dreaded morning tea—Helen had refused to take no for an answer—she called Shannon and mentioned the barbecue.
‘That’s a perfect plan if it can be tomorrow night instead?’ Shannon said.
‘Too easy.’ Tara got a zip of pleasure at the thought of telling Kelly that the play date for the kids was still on, but not the barbecue the woman had invited herself to. And if Kelly and Rhianna were busy tomorrow night and couldn’t make it, tough.
‘Sensational. Chris and the kids and I will be there with bells on.’
‘Great. But this doesn’t change today’s plans.’
Tara was really looking forward to lunch, because now she no longer had a kid at preschool, she and Shannon were on different weekday schedules. She didn’t see as much of her friend as she used to or wished to and she desperately needed some one-on-one time with her. Perhaps over lunch Tara could broach the topic of Rhianna and Kelly ganging up on her. Or not … Shannon was so easygoing she’d probably tell her she was imagining things.
Tell her about Jon. But that was impossible. Shannon would tell Chris.
‘Actually, Tara, if it’s okay with you,’ Shannon was saying, ‘I’ve got a million things I have to do before we—before the baby comes.’
‘Oh. Right. Sure. I get it.’ The weight of her disappointment almost flattened her.
‘Thanks! You’re the best. See you tomorrow.’
Tara pulled in beside the new sponsorship sign and snapped a photo for the Hoopers’ Facebook page. At the end of morning tea she’d take photos of the gardeners holding some of the donated tools. It would make a change from pictures of the junior football and cricket teams, who Jon sponsored by providing the uniforms.
Before she slid her phone into her handbag, she checked for texts. There could be something important from the school. You tell yourself that …
She created a new text. Hey Zac, I’m still buzzing. Shivers ran up and down her spine as she willed him to reply.
Excellent!
I’ve got an unexpected opening at noon, she typed.
Cool! You want to shift 2pm to 12?
Did she? Of course she did. It meant she’d see Zac two hours earlier. It also meant she could attend the staff meeting at two, but did she want to? Not really. She didn’t want to do anything to oblige Jon, but if she turned up it would appear like a gesture of goodwill. And right now, appearances were the only thing holding their relationship together.
She pressed the thumbs-up emoji.
Eat now! A string of running emojis followed.
Delight twirled and danced inside her as she drove the short distance to the garden car park. The ornamental gates were open, but Helen had told her the morning tea was on the veranda of the cottage so she didn’t enter.
‘Yoo-hoo! Tara!’
She tried not to sigh. She’d met Judith Sainsbury at Ian’s seventieth birthday party and had been stunned when the woman told the catering staff to serve the cake despite the fact the event was at Tingledale.
‘Hello, Judith.’
The woman reached her, puffing slightly. ‘I’m glad I caught you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I want to know who gave you permission to erect that rather large advertising sign?’
‘The sponsorship sign?’
‘Is that what it is?’
Tara was proud of the design and aesthetics of the sign. It didn’t look anything like blatant advertising for the store.
‘The community garden’s logo’s there too,’ she pointed out.
‘You do realise you haven’t donated to the community garden.’
Tara gestured towards the new shed on the adjacent block that was surrounded by burgeoning garden beds. ‘That looks like a community garden to me.’
‘Well, it’s not. Helen’s gone rogue. You’ve given tools to illegal immigrants.’
Tara’s temples throbbed. ‘Illegal immigrants? I thought all of those were in detention centres in other countries.’
Judith huffed. ‘They should be. Instead they’re here in Boolanga, breaking the law. But I don’t have to tell you and Jon about that, do I? Ian said you’ve had to install security cameras at the store. Boolanga’s always been such a safe place, but now! Well, it’s an insult to our values. Our way of life is under threat! To be perfectly honest, Tara, I’m surprised you and Jon were prepared to give those people anything.’
‘Helen said it was for the community garden extension.’
‘Yes, well.’ Judith’s lips pursed. ‘You’re not the first person she’s deceived.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Anger stirred, gaining momentum fast. How dare Helen lead her to believe the refugee garden was part of the community garden.
‘If you want to withdraw your donation, the community garden will happily take over the equipment.’
Something about the glee in Judith’s voice snagged, but Tara couldn’t think why. Then the memory of Helen’s words rushed back: Can I give you a tour and introduce you to the women? Tara’s building indignation ran slap-bang into Helen’s invitation—the one she’d refused. Nausea churned her stomach. Judith wanted her to feel aggrieved and deceived. As much as Tara wanted to embrace that easy out, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d rejected the opportunity to get all the information. She’d been furious with Jon and more interested in meeting Zac. Not only had she donated to a refugee garden, she appeared to be in the middle of a dispute between Judith and Helen. What a mess!
‘I’ll think about it, Judith.’
With her thoughts bouncing as wildly as one of Flynn’s super-balls, she walked to the cottage. Clusters of balloons in Hoopers’ signature colours were tied to the veranda posts and a bright and beautifully embroidered tablecloth covered a trestle table groaning with food. Dishes of dates and figs, yoghurt, dips and flatbread, along with scones, jam and cream battled for space around a samovar.
A group of women wearing red headscarves decorated with intricate beadwork stood chatting together, but three women stood out. Helen, with her spiky magenta-tipped hair; a young woman with a muddy blonde ponytail holding a baby on her hip; and a statuesque black woman wearing a turban the colour of sunshine on a ripened wheatfield.
Tara’s feet stalled. Dear God, what had she done?
‘Tara! Welcome!’ Helen beckoned her onto the veranda and the chatter behind her died away. ‘Ladies, I’m thrilled to introduce you to Tara Hooper. Without her and her husband, Jonathon’s generosity, our garden wouldn’t be thriving like it is.’
Applause rippled around her, but Tara’s gaze stayed fixed on Fiza, who in turn was looking straight at her, her expression unreadable. Tara couldn’t decide if it was a triumphant ‘gotcha’ gaze or one of utter disinterest.
The woman with the baby moved between them, breaking the contact. She shoved a plate of food at Tara. ‘Eat these.’
‘I, um—’
‘No, seriously. Eat them. They’re so good.’
Then hot tea was being pressed on her by a woman with a shy smile, and Helen was introducing her to everyone individually. Tara’s tongue struggled to wrap itself around some of their names and her brain flailed trying to remember them. They shook her hand gently, their eyes cast downwards, before thanking her in quiet tones. Fortunately, Fiza seemed to have disappeared.
A woman called Aima invited her to come and view their garden. ‘We are so happy we grow our food here.’
‘They’re obsessed with chives,’ Jade told Tara.
‘Obsessed?’ A
ima asked.
‘It means you think about them all the time,’ Jade said.
‘Ah! So you are ob-sessed with flowers.’
Jade laughed. ‘Good one, Aima.’
‘What’s inside the greenhouse?’ Tara asked.
‘Fiza’s obsession,’ Jade said.
Tara wished she hadn’t asked.
‘Where is Fiza?’ Helen glanced around. ‘She was keen to show off her maize.’
‘She said she had to go,’ Jade said.
‘Go? Why? She—I hope everything’s okay. It wasn’t one of her children, was it?’
Jade shrugged. ‘I dunno. She said to leave her bowl on the veranda and she’ll pick it up tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to eat lentils every day, but this dip isn’t too gross. Milo’s loving it.’ She swept bread through a red dip and offered it to the baby, who licked it off the crust.
‘Helen, is there somewhere quiet we can have a word?’ Tara’s voice caught on the enormity of what she’d done.
‘Sure. Come inside.’
Tara followed Helen into the cottage’s kitchen and down a dark hall into the living room. Her renovator muscles flexed and memories of restoring Tingledale crowded her. High on love and the excitement of being newly married, she and Jon had spent nights and weekends knocking out lath and plaster walls. They’d found hidden mantlepieces that had been covered up years earlier and, under layers of wallpaper, the remnants of the original paint. Then they’d built the house up again—a commitment to their future as a couple and hopefully a family—installing hydronic heating, insulation, new bathrooms, a cook’s kitchen, and lovingly restoring the Australian fauna and flora motifs in the plaster cornices.
This cottage lacked the grandeur of Tingledale but its bones were solid.
‘Is this the original wallpaper and fireplace?’ she asked.
Helen looked at the faded pattern as if she’d never noticed it before. ‘I guess so. The house belongs to the shire and they do the bare minimum to keep it habitable.’
Could this be a project for Hoopers to showcase their products? Tara’s mind recoiled from the idea so fast it gave her whiplash. Suggesting something like that to Jon would only reinforce her status as a business partner not a lover.