by Fiona Lowe
A need to make amends prompted her to say, ‘Based on our experience, Jon and I could go to the police and give him a character reference.’
‘You could do that.’
Tara squirmed under the intensity of Helen’s gaze, just as she had under her mother’s. The sensation was the same—she was coming up short. Very short.
‘We will do that,’ she said.
‘What about showing him trust and demanding responsibility?’
‘I don’t follow?’
‘Give him a part-time job.’
Tara’s chest tightened. The annual tradition was to give summer jobs to the children of their employees. ‘We usually only give jobs to people we …’ Know. She hardly knew Amal, but unlike most of the teenagers they employed through the long-standing system of nepotism, she’d actually met him.
‘I’ll talk to Jon about the possibility of a Christmas job, but I can’t promise anything.’
Helen smiled and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Thank you. And thanks for the plants. Sorry, I have to dash to a garden committee meeting. See you soon.’
As Tara watched Helen walk away, sadness dumped over her like thick tar, weighing her down. She desperately missed pre-Parkinson’s Jon—the physically strong and indomitable version of her husband who’d grabbed her by the hand and taken her with him on life’s adventures, easing her way. Now she was easing his way, but who was easing hers?
She missed Shannon so much. If her friend was still here Tara knew she’d be in her corner, like Helen was in Amal’s, cheering and going in to bat for her. She ached for the loss of her mother too. Jane had always been a good listener and given sage advice, even though there’d been times Tara hadn’t wanted to hear it. She’d give anything to hear it now.
Her phone pinged and a slew of messages came in.
Two appointment reminders for Jon and a your prescription is ready from the pharmacy.
Tara, Vivian’s chucking a hissy fit about the bathroom tiles. I told her you’d sort it out. Samantha
Hi, Tara, I need those vouchers you promised for the preschool fete today. Can you drop them off to me? I’m at work. Ta. Kelly
PFA meeting tonight. Be good if you could make this one. Need your support on the car boot sale idea. Rhianna
Thought I’d go to cricket training. Dad wondering if it’s the usual roast tomorrow? Be good if you can manage it. #operationnormal Jon x
Felix is overdue for his annual vaccination. We value your pet’s health. Please make an appointment today at Boolanga Veterinary Clinic
God! Was it too much to ask to go ten minutes without someone needing her?
The barrage of messages pummelled her like waves pounding on a break and she switched off the phone before another one arrived. Before someone else was demanding something of her. Needing her.
The future with all its known and unknown terrors rose up like a spectre. The low-grade panic that had been quietly simmering since Jon’s diagnosis hit boiling point, racing her heart, shortening her breath and lifting her chest in short sharp jerks.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t be the person everyone depended on to support them when she had nothing underneath supporting her.
Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She half ran, half walked to the car.
CHAPTER
27
Helen hurried towards the shelter for the committee meeting, excited about the unexpected donation of plants from Tara. She’d been holding her breath for weeks, fully expecting the Hoopers to pull the pin on the sponsorship, but now Tara was entertaining the idea of employing Amal. Few shocks were good shocks but this one was brilliant. It had gone a long way to restoring Helen’s battered faith in human nature. The mayor might be a self-promoting bastard prepared to bulldoze anyone who stood in his way, but some people still considered others.
The thought snagged. At the thank-you morning tea, Tara Hooper had struck Helen as a privileged and self-centred bigot. She couldn’t help wondering if her act of considering the women instead of throwing the plants into landfill might be connected to her own changed circumstances. When she’d heard about Jon’s diagnosis, she’d wanted to hug Tara. She knew all about the challenges of being a carer and the inevitable toll it took on hopes and dreams, not to mention the unrelenting daily grind. Right now, Tara had the preoccupied air of someone overwhelmed by massive change.
Faint strands of guilt circled Helen that she’d pushed the already stressed woman about a job for Amal. But sometimes a chance only came around once and it was dangerous not to grab it and hold on tight. Next week she’d call Tara and invite her to take photos of the garden for the Hoopers Facebook page. That way she could check if Tara had lost the deer-in-headlights look.
Helen stifled a yawn, knowing she needed a coffee to get her through the committee meeting. Last night, she and Bob had attended the council meeting pumped and ready with a list of questions for the mayor, only to be disappointed when he was an apology. He was apparently out of the country on a supposed fact-finding mission.
Helen hadn’t seen the point of staying, but Bob had convinced her it set a precedent. ‘If we ask the questions this time, we’ll be able to compare Geoff Rayson’s answers and expose any discrepancies.’ So they’d stayed until stumps.
The flip side of Helen’s disappointment had been a quick chat with Messina and Cynthia, and seeing Vivian in action running a tight council meeting. It was a huge job keeping rambling councillors and ratepayers on track. Had Helen any doubts about Vivian’s ability to be mayor, they’d been vanquished by nine o’clock when the meeting closed.
Now, as Helen stepped into the garden’s shelter, she was surprised by the lack of people milling around chatting and drinking tea and coffee. Instead, everyone was seated around the wide table where Judith was holding court and Sharon was scribbling the minutes.
Helen checked her watch. It wasn’t quite ten thirty and Bob was yet to arrive.
‘Morning, everyone.’ She took a seat at the end of the table.
Murmurs of ‘Hello, Helen’ greeted her from most people. Dot gave her a wide smile.
She unzipped her compendium. ‘Did I miss the memo about the time change?’
Judith pursed her lips. ‘Everyone was here so we started.’
The slap was obvious but Helen refused to bite. ‘Bob’s not here.’
‘Bob’s an apology,’ Sharon said.
The last thing Bob had said to her last night was, ‘See you tomorrow’. Was he sick? The thought bothered her.
‘Did he say why?’ she asked.
‘No. It was just a short text saying he was unavailable.’
Sharon’s words stung Helen with unwanted hurt. She briskly reminded herself that Bob wasn’t required to text her if he wasn’t coming—they didn’t have that sort of friendship.
She glanced around the table and did a headcount. Everyone else was here.
‘Did you receive an apology from me, Sharon?’
Sharon looked between her and Judith and chewed her pen. ‘Ah, no.’
Helen met Judith’s combative gaze. ‘The agenda clearly states the meeting starts at ten thirty and not everyone was here at ten twenty-five.’
‘Everyone who is a member of this committee was present.’
‘I’m a member of this committee, Judith.’
A triumphant glint flashed in the president’s eyes. ‘Your position on the committee was attached to your job as the caretaker. As you’ve been stripped of that role, you’re no longer entitled to serve on the committee.’
Helen’s hands fisted in her lap. ‘As a paid-up member of the garden, I’m very much entitled to serve.’
‘The constitution states that the committee consists of a president, vice president, secretary, treasurer and no more than five ordinary members.’ Judith stretched out her arm to indicate the other people. ‘All the positions are filled. You’ll have to wait until the AGM before you can nominate. That’s if you’re still a member
.’
‘I have no intention of resigning.’
‘You may not have but the committee’s looking at disciplinary action.’
If power was an aphrodisiac then Judith was experiencing her first orgasm in a very long time.
Sweat broke out on Helen’s hairline. ‘Disciplinary action? On what grounds?’
‘Engaging in conduct prejudicial to the association.’
‘How have you come to that conclusion?’
Judith jerked her thumb towards the boundary fence. ‘That garden. It’s lowered the tone and impacted on the garden’s good name and reputation.’
Anger streaked through Helen’s veins, then boiled over. ‘I find that hard to believe given the purpose of the garden.’ She pulled a copy of the model rules from her compendium and flicked to a page. ‘To involve a wide range of members from the broader community regardless of age, gender or background.’
‘But we’ve had people drop off the waiting list,’ Sharon said.
‘People join and drop off the waiting list all the time! If they’re not joining because of the garden extension that can only be a good thing. This garden doesn’t need any more racists.’
‘That sort of offensive remark is why we’re pursuing disciplinary action,’ Judith said tartly.
Helen opened her mouth to say she could think of far more offensive remarks made by the committee, but stopped. Discretion is the better part of valour. Bloody Bob and his expressions. Now he had her thinking them.
She looked around the table. Everyone, including Dot, had their heads down studiously avoiding eye contact, either too scared of Judith to speak up or not caring enough to defend Helen. After all, this was volunteering—a supposedly enjoyable and feel-good activity. Most people came along for the company and the cake.
She knew this fight was really only between her and Judith. Of course the despot had chosen today to act—Bob was absent. Helen wasn’t stupid. She knew a war of words with Judith would only annoy the rest of the committee and give the woman more power. She took another tack.
Glancing around at the bowed heads, she said, ‘Has Judith mentioned that if you decide to pursue disciplinary action, you’ll need to form a subcommittee? I have the right to take this to mediation and that will involve at least one full day in Melbourne. Possibly two.’
Murmurs whipped around the table. A couple of heads rose, brows furrowed.
‘I look after the grandkids. I can’t take off to Melbourne for two days,’ Vin said.
‘I can’t afford accommodation in Melbourne,’ Ann said.
‘And if mediation is unsuccessful,’ Helen continued, ‘I can seek my own legal action against the garden and individuals.’
She wouldn’t—she couldn’t afford to—but they didn’t know that.
‘As can we,’ Judith said. ‘Helen, you’re no longer on the committee. You need to leave.’
‘I may not have voting rights, but as a member I can attend any meeting as an observer.’
Judith looked to Sharon, who riffled through the model rules. ‘It doesn’t mention whether a member can or can’t observe a meeting.’
Helen could see the cogs of Judith’s brain turning. She instinctively knew a new agenda item would be added—a call for a special meeting to close this particular loophole.
The gloves were well and truly off. Judith could try, but Helen was ready for a fight and she’d start now by refusing to leave.
Tara stood on the river bank staring at the sun-dazzled water, watching the light play across its tranquil surface. She wasn’t sure how long it was since she’d left the garden or how long she’d been standing here, only that she’d needed to see the river and breathe in the eucalypt-scented air. The hum of insects buzzed and a large tree branch floated past on the brown-blue water. It was rolling along as if it had all the time in the world and nowhere in particular to be except where it was right this minute.
Come with me. Float away.
The river pulled at her, promising tranquillity. Its water would fill her ears and silence all the noise in her world—the insects, the shrieking gang-gang cockatoos, her phone, people asking her for things and the never-ending to-do list on repeat in her head. There’d be peace and quiet in the river. Freedom.
She instinctively took two steps forward towards the promise.
Every nerve ending sparked. Spiralling pain tingled from her scalp to her toes. She looked down, shocked to see her sandals glinting under cold water.
What are you doing?
This wasn’t Riverbend Park. Floating here in an inner tube was dangerous. This section of river was notorious for snags and hidden currents that swirled and dragged, pulling anything that passed under the water. Trapping it in the dark.
Heart pounding, she jumped back. She didn’t want to die.
God, no! She wanted to see her kids grow and thrive. Do things with Jon while he was still active. She had so much to live for, but at the same time she craved some peace to be Tara—her own person. Some time just for her. Some time when she could take a short break from being the wife, the mother, the carer and the employer.
The river winked in the sun and she turned, keen to get away from its hypnotic pull. Back at the car, she reached for her water bottle, but it was empty so she opened the hatch to grab a spare from the cold bag that lived in the car. As she reached for it, her hand hovered over her gym bag. Even though she hadn’t used her running kit in weeks, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove it from the car.
Holding onto the past won’t help you embrace this new future.
‘Shut up, Lorraine.’
She unzipped the bag and fingered the almost new gear she’d bought when Shannon and Chris had left for America. Her mind tried hard to lurch away from what had happened the last time she’d worn it.
Kissing Zac.
Fiza’s phone call.
Jon in hospital.
She caressed the laces of her running shoes and more distant memories stirred. The breeze on her face, the sweat in her eyes, the sensation of flying. Without really thinking, she was reaching down and unbuckling her wet sandals and shoving her feet into the runners.
The moment the light fabric skimmed the tops of her toes and the foam support snuggled under her soles, she wanted to run. Was desperate to run. Knew she had been for weeks.
With no one around to watch her, she changed clothes and set off along the track. Soon, her chest was heaving and her heart racing, and the only noise in her head was the blessed reverberation of her pulse. Her full focus was zeroed in on putting one foot in front of the other and avoiding tripping on raised river gum roots.
She ran.
Time receded.
Nothing existed except her and the track.
‘Tar-ra!’
No! She picked up her pace, determined not to stop. She didn’t want to talk to anyone and lose the bliss of the zone.
‘Tara! Wait!’ The voice called again, closer this time. ‘It’s me.’
Zac. She didn’t turn, but then he was running beside her, breathing hard.
‘Why … are … you … sprinting?’
The zone fractured into a thousand pieces and the world rushed back.
‘Can … you … slow … down.’
No. But her muscles screamed, on fire with red hot pain. Her lungs craved air and silver spots spun in front of her eyes.
She slowed and glanced around for her bearings, recognising Riverbend Park where Zac held his boot camps. Bending over, she gripped her thighs until her vision steadied and her ragged breathing smoothed.
‘How far have you run?’ Zac asked.
‘From Warrabeen Lagoon. It’s the first time I’ve run since we …’ She dodged the embarrassing memory. ‘Since I last saw you.’
She lay down on the ground, not caring about the dust and the dirt of tree litter, and stretched her arms wide, trying to catch a hint of a breeze.
‘That’s ten kay.’ Zac spun the cap off an energy drink and hande
d it to her. ‘Here.’
‘Thanks.’ She chugged it down, relishing the cold.
‘If you haven’t run in ages, why did you decide to do it in thirty-three degrees?’
It was a fair question. Running in the middle of the day between October and March was stupid. ‘I didn’t plan it. I’m supposed to be at work but …’
‘But what?’
She sighed. ‘I think I was running away.’
His dark brows drew down. ‘Running away? From what?’
She rolled the bottle over her hot skin, welcoming the cooling droplets of condensation. Thought about the river and the fright she’d given herself.
‘Mostly from myself.’
‘Should I be worried about you?’
Her heart squeezed at his concern. ‘Maybe. Before I started running like a maniac, I was worried about me.’
‘And now?’
‘My head’s quieter. I feel more like me.’
‘The power of exercise.’ He stared at the river for a bit, then turned back to her. ‘Did you get my texts?’
‘I did. Thanks.’
‘But?’
‘But …’
‘Is it because of what happened?’ Distress twisted his mouth. ‘Please don’t make it about a stupid kiss that won’t ever happen again.’
Her already hot skin burned with old embarrassment, but she realised he was right. It wouldn’t ever happen again. She’d already sat next to him for ten minutes without a single strand of lust stirring inside her.
‘I appreciated the texts, but I don’t have time to run any more,’ she told him.
‘You need to run, Tara. Not just for exercise, but to help you deal with your husband—’
‘Jon.’ It suddenly seemed really important that Zac called Jon by name. ‘His name’s Jon.’
‘You need to run so you can deal with all the stress and shit that comes with Jon’s Parkinson’s.’
‘Stress and shit?’ She laughed so hard she snorted.
‘What’s funny?’ He sounded offended.
‘The counsellor talked about “challenging moments” and “unexpected life events”, but stress and shit are way more accurate.’