by Fiona Lowe
‘He’s hardly going to admit to it there, is he?’ Lachlan said.
‘No, but we can report on Facebook what’s said every time we ask about the land,’ Jade said.
‘Hang on,’ Helen said. ‘I asked you to take the Facebook page down.’
‘I think we should keep it. When you offered to take it down, Vivian said it wouldn’t make him change his mind about the cottage or the job, so I say stuff ’em. Don’t let him silence you.’
‘Jade’s got a point,’ Bob said. ‘This way we have a voice.’
‘I can’t afford to be sued,’ Helen said.
‘If we stick to reporting exactly what the mayor says, we can’t be sued. And we’ll do the moderating together so Helen doesn’t post any more memes.’
‘Ha ha. Very funny.’
Jade grinned, happiness fizzing in her gut. The conversation reminded her of Mrs Kastrati’s pop debates, which she’d usually won.
Helen refilled her drink. ‘Sometimes the truth lies more in what’s not said.’
‘Where’d they get the money for that?’ Bob said in a squeaky voice.
Helen laughed. ‘God, I’d forgotten that.’
‘What?’ Jade and Lachlan asked simultaneously, exchanging glances.
‘It was an ad from the eighties for a credit company,’ Bob explained. ‘It had cartoon rabbits driving past iconic buildings like the Coliseum asking, “Where’d they get the money for that?” Pen and I adopted it as a joke. We’d say it whenever we drove past an impressive house or walked into a fancy public building.’
‘And?’ Jade asked.
‘And Geoff and his wife bought Ainslea Park, which was a massive leap up from their previous home. It just makes you wonder where they got the money for it.’
‘That’s what Vivian implied,’ Helen said.
‘So we ask some questions,’ Bob said.
Helen nodded. ‘And we do some digging. I’ll talk to Fran at the library. She’s got the back issues of The Standard.’
‘How will that help?’ Jade asked.
‘Sometimes the social pages tell you more than the council minutes.’
Clutching her sponge bag, Helen surveyed the chaos in the bathroom—sodden bathmat, grey bath water in the tub, bottle of baby shampoo oozing its contents down the tiles, a pile of dirty clothes and a neatly folded but whiffy nappy. She rested her forehead on the doorjamb and breathed deeply, hoping to stall the fast rise of her blood pressure towards the red zone. Since moving in, she and Jade had been involved in a series of skirmishes involving the common areas.
Helen turned towards the lounge room and pain exploded behind her eyes. She hopped, rubbing her foot, and saw the offending block on the floor. How could a baby who didn’t walk manage to spread toys into every corner of the unit? Then again, he could commando crawl with lightning speed that amazed and distressed her all at the same time.
Jade was sitting on the couch with a clean and cherry-cheeked Milo, his damp curls starting to spring back. Helen’s heart tore a little and she put the block on the coffee table with more force than intended.
‘Toys don’t belong in the hall.’
‘Jeez, Helen, take a chill pill.’
‘I stepped on it and it bloody hurt! And the bathroom’s a tip.’
Jade reached for a board book. ‘I’ll clean up after I’ve put him to bed.’
Helen was now familiar with the ‘put Milo to bed’ routine. It took at least half an hour. After a busy shift at the café she stank of fried food. All she wanted was to soak in a warm bath and wash the day away.
‘I want to use it now,’ she said.
Jade huffed. ‘Okay, fine. You read to him.’
Helen had spent the last ten days avoiding reading to Milo. Each time she sat on the couch or a kitchen chair, he pulled himself up and deposited a book on her lap. Then he’d stare up at her with those huge blue eyes of his full of hope. She blamed Bob. The day she’d moved in, he’d read to Milo every time he’d produced a book. Now Milo thought she was fair game and the kid was annoyingly persistent. Like his mother.
Like you.
‘You need to clean as you go,’ she said.
Jade’s mouth hardened. ‘I’m doing you a favour letting you live here.’
‘I’m paying rent. This is just as much my house as yours. I’m respecting you by keeping things clean and tidy and you need to do the same.’
The moment the words shot out she regretted them.
‘Stop bossing me around!’ Jade said. ‘All you’ve done since you moved in is criticise me. You don’t have to live here, you know!’
Helen stomped to the bathroom, pulled out the plug, flung towels into the laundry hamper and mopped up the slick trail of shampoo that could make her slip and break a hip. She should have accepted Bob’s invitation to rent his spare room. Not that she had any idea if Bob was neater than Jade, but she had a hunch he had two bathrooms.
Rubbing furiously, she removed the ring of grime then ran the bath, feeling her anger ebb. As the water rushed around her, it brought reluctant memories rising to the surface. Snapshots of what living with a baby was like—the constant interruptions, the never-ending claims on her time. The overwhelming feelings of inadequacy.
Back then, Theo’s income had meant money wasn’t something Helen needed to worry about too much, but he’d been raised in a Greek household—men didn’t do housework. Helen had struggled to keep the house neat and clean, to cook and put meals on the table when Nicki cried non-stop for weeks. Despite the years that separated her from those dark days, a shudder wove through her. Jade didn’t have the luxury of a secure income to offset the worries of raising a child. She was doing it all on her own.
Pangs of conscience poked Helen and she slid under the water, seeking absolute quiet. God, how she craved quiet. And space. She’d lived alone for years and she was too old to share a house with anyone, let alone with a girl who was young enough to be her daughter.
You don’t have to live here, you know.
Her breath rushed out of her lungs and a flotilla of bubbles boomed around her ears. She sat up fast, thinking about Roxy and her cycle of moving in with her daughter and grandchildren and inevitably landing back living in her car within two weeks. Roxy always sounded so positive when she moved in, but the arguments started within two days, straining an already fraught relationship and quickly snapping fragile bonds.
I’m doing you a favour. You don’t get to boss me around.
If she and Jade continued along this path, things would break down fast and Helen’s options were limited. The thought of being beholden to anyone, let alone Bob, terrified her. At least she and Jade were close to a level playing field financially and Helen’s rent was helping to improve Jade’s quality of life. Bob didn’t need extra money—she’d be his charity case and would likely have to fight him to pay rent. She didn’t need that power dynamic.
That left making things work with Jade. But how? In her post-grad studies, Helen had learned some conflict resolution techniques. She’d only ever thought of them in terms of advising others on how to use them. She sank under the water again, fighting the uncomfortable truth. She had to use them herself.
By the time Helen had finished her bath and tidied the bathroom, Milo was in bed and asleep. She walked into the kitchen and rummaged through her food cupboard, pulling out her bottle of Jack Daniels.
‘Jade, I’ve got some JD and you’ve got a bottle of Coke. I thought we could have a drink if you’re happy to share the Coke?’
Jade put down Year of Wonders. The girl read voraciously, reminding Helen of herself at the same age. ‘I s’pose.’
Helen bit off, ‘Don’t do me any favours,’ and lifted two glasses out of the cupboard. After quickly mixing the drinks, she carried them into the lounge. ‘Here you go.’
Taking a seat on the couch next to Jade, she took a fortifying slug of her drink, enjoying the burning heat of the whiskey. ‘Been a bit of a rocky week, hasn’t it?’
‘Little bit.’
‘Sorry I lost it over the bathroom. I get a bit grumpy when I’m tired.’
‘I noticed.’
Instead of jumping on the criticism, Helen took another sip and forced herself to let the silence hang. ‘I’ve lived on my own for a long time. Have you ever shared with anyone before?’
‘I lived with Mum until she kicked me out.’
That answered one question about why Jade was virtually on her own.
‘That’s not exactly sharing though, is it? There’s the whole mother–daughter dynamic.’
Jade grimaced. ‘You mean being told what to do all the time? Like you’re doing even though it’s my house?’
‘I haven’t been—’ She took a deep breath. ‘That’s the thing, Jade, it’s our house. We’re supposed to be sharing. But right now we’re two individuals living under one roof and doing our own thing. That’s why we’re fighting.’
‘I’m not a kid.’ Jade held up her drink as if to reinforce the message.
Helen took in Jade’s unlined face, the faint remains of a pimple, and saw a child. She reminded herself that Nicki wasn’t that much older than Jade, but Nicki was forever a child. Was that part of the problem? What did Helen know about young adults?
Memories stirred and she was suddenly back in the weatherboard house in East Bentleigh with her hand on the timber and glass front door. Where are you going? She was twenty-one and financially independent, but her parents still insisted on a curfew. Jade was a young mother without any family support who’d managed to live independently on a very limited income. It was a sobering thought.
‘I know you’re not a kid,’ Helen said. ‘Just like I’m not your mother.’
‘Hell, no.’ Jade took a deep draught of her drink. ‘You can be a pain but you’re nothing like Charlene.’
Questions spun in Helen’s mind but she didn’t ask them. ‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Yeah.’ Jade’s lips twitched into a cheeky smile that lightened her often dour expression. ‘You’re okay.’
‘Thank you.’ Helen made a decision. ‘I really want to make this work because …’ Her chest cramped and she sucked in a deep breath. ‘Because there was a time a few years ago when I lived in my car. I don’t ever want to do that again.’
Jade stared at her, eyes wide. ‘You were homeless?’
‘For six long and terrifying months.’
She expected a barrage of questions about why and how, but then she remembered Jade’s stories about childhood evictions and her grandmother.
‘So that’s why you’re so passionate about the tiny houses,’ Jade said. ‘Makes sense.’
‘Exactly. And I’m thinking that as Corey’s AWOL—’
‘A what?’
‘AWOL. It’s an army term meaning absent without leave. Anyway, at the moment he probably isn’t giving you any money so my rent’s helping you balance your budget, right?’
Jade grimaced. ‘Corey doesn’t give me much even when he’s here.’
Helen bit down on her automatic criticism of the rat bastard. ‘I was thinking, instead of fighting each other on everything, let’s be a team.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At the moment, the only thing we’re sharing is the rent. I think it will work better if we share more. You know, like a kitty?’
‘I don’t want a cat.’
Helen smiled. ‘I meant why don’t we both put money into a shared purse, a kitty, to buy food? We can plan our meals together, shop together and share the cooking. We’ll save money.’
‘You mean like a family?’
‘I suppose I do.’
‘But you don’t like Milo.’
Air rushed out of her lungs as if she’d been punched. ‘I don’t dislike him.’
Jade’s gaze narrowed. ‘If you don’t dislike him, why do you ignore him?’
‘I don’t ignore him.’
‘You pretty much do.’
‘You’re his mother. I didn’t want to stand on your toes.’
Jade snorted. ‘You’ve told me how to do everything else, so why’d you stop there?’
Helen’s heart raced. It was one thing to admit to being homeless to a young woman who understood hardship. It was another thing completely to talk about why she found dealing with young children difficult.
‘You do a great job with Milo, Jade.’
The shock on the young woman’s face tore a piece of Helen’s heart.
‘Thank you,’ Jade said eventually. ‘It’s the hardest job I’ve ever done.’
Helen thought of Nicki. ‘And it always will be.’
CHAPTER
26
Tara slowed at the sixty sign on the outskirts of Boolanga and her phone, denied access to mobile reception for the last fifteen minutes, buzzed incessantly. She sighed as the bonds of responsibility tightened around her. A year ago, she’d have thought a spa day was an escape from her life. Now it was a solo drive to and from an appointment with Lorraine, the counsellor Donna had suggested she talk to about the challenges of being a carer. ‘It’s a safe environment where you can be honest about your feelings without any fear of upsetting Jon,’ she’d said.
Only instead of discussing carer issues and Parkinson’s, Tara had found herself talking about the gang and how much she missed her mother. She couldn’t tell if it had helped or just made her sadder. She wasn’t sure she’d return. Her life already seemed like a continuous round of appointments without adding in one that unsettled her.
She pulled into the supermarket car park and switched off the ignition before picking up her phone. There was a new excursion form for Flynn on the school app. Jon had emailed the agenda for the staff meeting, and there was a calendar reminder for the book group book she hadn’t read and the meeting she didn’t want to attend.
The phone beeped again and the sender’s name bubbled agitation in her veins before spreading surprise, embarrassment and regret. She hadn’t shared any communication with Zac in weeks—not since Jon’s diagnosis. Why was he contacting her now? Her finger moved cautiously over the text as if she expected it to explode in her face.
Hey, Tara. Hope you and your husband ROK? I get you’re not training ATM. If you want to run with a friend, just text. Your mate, Zac
A droplet of water hit the screen and she wiped it away before realising it was a tear. She didn’t know if she was crying because Zac had been thinking of her and Jon, or if it was the invitation to run. Either way, he was the first person outside of their medical and allied health care team to offer her anything, even if finding time to run was now impossible.
She blew her nose and called Jon. ‘Hi. How are things?’
‘You checking up on me?’
‘No,’ she lied.
‘Good. Because I’m good.’
Her heart ached at his flat and weary voice. Since the disastrous brunch, he’d gone very quiet. Too quiet. It was as if he didn’t want to discuss what had happened in any detail. She assumed, like her, he was grappling with their friends’ apparent lack of understanding of how their lives had not only been turned upside down, but would never return to what they’d previously known as normal. Neither the Stevensons nor the Kvants had requested any further information about Parkinson’s, although Kelly had sent a couple of messages to the WhatsApp group with a vague enquiry about the date of their next get-together. Tara wasn’t putting her hand up for that any time soon.
‘I thought we could have early dinner tonight,’ she said. ‘Can you be home by five thirty?’
‘Why? I told you I’m fine.’
‘And I heard you. This is about the kids. They need a normal night at home with both of us, so I thought early dinner then games.’
It was true, but it also got Jon home so he didn’t get overtired.
‘Good idea. Do we have any C batteries for Uno Attack?’
‘I’m at the supermarket so I’ll grab some. See you soon.’
‘Love you, T.’
‘Love you too.’
She slid her phone into her handbag and walked into the supermarket, grabbing mince to make the kids’ favourite—spaghetti bolognaise with garlic bread. Not that she felt like cooking, but between the barrage of medical appointments and her working full-time, they’d eaten too many frozen dinners and takeaway food. It was time to find a new normal, whatever the hell that was.
When she arrived home, she carried the shopping bags straight to the kitchen and was met by the aroma of onions, tomatoes and spices. Her stomach rumbled and she glanced around, seeking the source of the delicious tang. The stove top was empty as was the oven, then she noticed an unfamiliar slow cooker on the bench. Ian had been a great help with the kids, but he didn’t enjoy cooking so this was an incredible piece of thoughtfulness.
‘Hello, love.’ Ian stuck his head through the sliding doors that led to the deck. She could hear the children playing in the pool. ‘All good this end.’
‘And you’ve cooked dinner too.’ Full of gratitude, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
He laughed. ‘You know I only barbecue so I can’t take credit for that.’
Tara’s anger at their friends dissipated on a wave of guilt—Rhianna or Kelly had finally come through for them. She remembered Lorraine’s suggestion: ‘Give them time, Tara. They’re in shock too.’ She’d been so tied up in her own grief, she’d expected too much of them too soon.
Tears of appreciation welled and she blinked them away. ‘Was it Kelly or Rhianna who dropped it off?’
‘Neither. Fiza brought it over.’
Every muscle tightened with a jerk. ‘What?’
Ian looked sheepish. ‘Yeah, about that. The kids have been playing together a bit after school. With everything that’s going on, love, they need a bit of fun. Flynn really wants to perfect his somersaults.’
‘So you gave in to pester power?’
‘I figured you wouldn’t mind. Not after the way Fiza and Amal helped Jon. I gotta tell you, they’re the politest kids I’ve ever met. To be honest, it’s easier all round when they’re here.’
Tara’s head spun. ‘How are the Atallah twins playing over here connected to Fiza bringing a casserole?’