by Fiona Lowe
Helen looked straight at the phone Jade was holding steady and took a deep breath. ‘Something’s rotten in the Shire of Mookarii and the attempt to demolish this cottage and the community garden is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s time to ask some hard questions so I invite the mayor to come and talk to me here on the steps of Boolanga’s oldest building. Citizens of Boolanga, please come and ask questions too.’
‘Bit of Hamlet. Nice.’ Bob’s eyes twinkled. ‘I must be rubbing off on you.’
‘If that was true, I’d have said “a plague on both your houses”. You do fall back on Romeo and Juliet a lot.’
‘That’s because I’m a romantic.’
‘Well, I doubt my Hamlet will call Geoff out. If you had something to hide, would you be prepared to face a crowd?’
‘That’s the bread and butter of being a politician.’
‘That was awesome, Helen! The likes are going off!’ Jade’s face shone with excitement and admiration. ‘You’re all over this. Did you protest in the sixties?’
Indignation ripped through her. ‘I was barely born in the sixties!’
Bob laughed so hard tears tracked down his white-stubbled cheeks.
‘Helen, Bob.’ Daryl stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hard hat in his hands. ‘I think it’s only fair to tell you I’ve called the police. I didn’t want to, but taking the keys from the excavator was a step too far.’
‘Fair enough, Daryl,’ Bob said.
Fiza hurried over, her face filled with worry. ‘Oh, Helen, Bob! Is this safe for you?’
‘Nothing to worry about, Fiza,’ Bob said. ‘We’re exercising our democratic right to make our opinions heard. I just wish I’d had breakfast first.’
‘I will bring you food.’
‘Good idea, Fiza.’ Tara got out her phone. ‘Hit me with your orders. My treat. Jade?’
‘Seriously?’
‘Looks like you’re the communications officer so we can’t have you fainting from hunger. You can have anything you want as long as the bakery sells it.’
‘An egg and bacon roll and a hot chocolate would be awesome, thanks. Helen, are you right with Milo? I’m going to call WIN and get some more footage. Back soon.’
‘I’ll pay for whatever Daryl wants,’ Bob said.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got a thermos and the wife made sandwiches.’ Daryl walked back to the truck.
‘Fiza and I will be back as soon as we can,’ Tara said. ‘I’ll call you if I hear from either Ryan or Geoff.’
‘I respect your optimism, Tara, but it won’t happen.’
Squinting into the sun, Helen watched Tara and Fiza leave, then recognised Judith and Sharon, still in their exercise gear. They’d probably been drawn in on their walk back due to the absence of splintering timber and crushing metal.
‘Seriously, Helen, you’re staging a sit-in?’ Judith scoffed. ‘You’ll just get sore hips. Nothing will save this sorry excuse of a garden.’
Given the garden was thriving, Helen considered asking if she needed her eyes tested. Instead she said, ‘What did life do to you to make you so bitter and vindictive?’
Judith’s mouth pursed. ‘Unlike you, Helen, I have a long history in this town. It’s a place where rules are valued. All our members spend time on a waiting list to get their plot. Those people are queue-jumpers.’
Helen’s ire rumbled and flared. Judith was a founding member so she hadn’t spent any time on a waiting list, but ‘those people are queue-jumpers’ meant they were no longer talking about the garden.
‘Those people are women. Some witnessed loved ones being murdered. Racial and religious persecution is why they fled their country and spent years in refugee camps in Pakistan waiting their turn. They came here legally, but even if they hadn’t, I’d still give them a plot.’
Judith snorted. ‘Well, there’s a surprise.’
‘And you know why? Because it’s impossible to apply for a garden bed when you’re in a country that has not only banned gardens, but banned embassies from countries with gardens. So you risk your life to get to a country with a garden where you can plant, grow and harvest. Where you can live the life we take for granted. But when you arrive, you’re told that because you couldn’t apply before you came, you’re at the very bottom of a long waiting list that never moves. You’re in limbo, belonging nowhere. Your internal garden of hope and faith withers. One day you’re told there will never be a garden bed for you. Go back to the country that tortured and raped you and murdered your family. No human being deserves that.
‘These women came here legally and this garden has given them a place to belong. A way of connecting with Boolanga. You’re quoted in The Standard as saying they need to adapt to Boolanga’s ways of life. Well, guess what? Having your own patch of dirt and growing some vegies is quintessentially Australian. No matter our philosophical differences, Judith, I’ve always respected you as a gardener. How can you get excited at the prospect of watching all these healthy plants being wantonly destroyed?’
Judith stood rigid and unusually silent, although Helen was almost certain it was more to do with momentary concern for the plants, not the women.
‘And by the way,’ she finished, ‘the orchard’s going too.’
Sharon gasped.
Judith shook her head. ‘Don’t add lying to your list of sins, Helen. The only thing being destroyed today is your garden.’
‘Why does she sound like she knew this was going to happen?’ Bob said quietly. ‘It’s like she was planning to be here.’
‘And you once said she wielded no power outside the cyclone fence,’ Helen said sotto voce.
‘Everyone’s allowed one mistake.’
He nudged her shoulder and she laughed, not quite believing it was possible in the middle of this mess.
‘Judith, who told you about the garden being ploughed under?’ she asked.
‘None of your business.’
‘Well, whoever it is hasn’t told you the full story. I’ve seen the demolition order and it clearly states everything between the community garden and the road’s to be flattened.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Judith said. But she was already pulling out her phone and dragging Sharon up the hill.
CHAPTER
42
Helen’s stomach rumbled. ‘I hope Tara and Fiza are back soon with food or my lie about being dizzy will be the truth.’
‘Can’t have that.’ Bob dug into his pocket and produced a tin of mints.
As Helen popped two in her mouth, a little red Mazda drove in. Vivian must have seen the Facebook Live and come straight down.
‘Helen, what on earth’s going on?’
‘This is our Current Affair moment, Vivian. Today we nail the mayor and his cronies good and proper.’
‘Vivian!’ Judith made a beeline for her. ‘Are the other councillors coming?’
Vivian smiled her polite politician’s smile. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Judith. I’m just having a private chat.’
‘Yeah, Judith. No queue-jumping. Get in line,’ Jade said, grinning as she filmed.
Vivian held up her hand. ‘Young lady, unless you want to jeopardise everything Helen and I have been working towards, stop filming now. Helen’s already risked more than she knows.’
‘Didn’t you see the excavator?’ Helen asked.
‘The orchard is heritage-listed,’ Judith called out. ‘It’s the envy of community gardens everywhere. Helen says it’s being bulldozed and I need to know it’s safe. I demand Helen shows me the demolition notice.’
A long sigh rolled out of Vivian and she held out her hand. ‘Obviously we’re not going to be able to talk until Judith has her question answered.’
‘Don’t.’ Bob said it so quietly Helen almost didn’t hear it. But even if she’d missed it, she knew instinctively that handing over the clipboard was a bad idea.
She leaned around Vivian and called out, ‘Judith, you’ve known Bob for years and you trust him, don’t you?’
Judith’s eyes narrowed as if Helen had just set a trap.
‘Helen, is this really necessary?’ Vivian asked.
‘Judith, you and Pen were in CWA together for years.’ Bob put his hand on his heart. ‘On Pen’s grave I swear I will read the words exactly as they’re written.’
‘I’m holding you to that, Bob Murphy.’
As Bob looked straight at Judith and read the demolition notice, Helen checked her phone. One missed call and one text. Please call Jessica Szabó WIN News. She forwarded it to Jade’s and Bob’s phones so Jade could respond.
‘… all structures, all trees, flatten the site and remove the debris,’ Bob finished.
‘That’s outrageous!’ Vivian said.
Judith ran at Vivian like a bull storming a red cloth, shaking her fists. ‘I told all of you it was just the garden I wanted destroyed.’
Vivian’s tolerant expression hardened. ‘And I’ve told you repeatedly that this garden is an important part of our community and it stays. If you don’t stop threatening me and step away, I’ll call the police.’
‘Daryl’s way ahead of you,’ Bob said. ‘I thought they would have arrived by now. We’ll need them for crowd control soon.’
A constant stream of people were filling the garden. The Hazara women had arrived and Aima was glancing around looking worried. With Jade tied up filming, Helen wished Fiza was here to explain what was happening. She could see Kubra watching Milo, who was oblivious to the chaos and cheerfully pushing a toy digger in the dirt.
Aima suddenly turned, her headscarf floating in the breeze, and she crossed the garden to meet Lachlan as he walked out of the trees. Helen relaxed.
Judith was arguing with Jade, who was filming her walking towards the Hazara women. Lachlan, standing between Judith and the women, ducked and weaved like a rugby player every time Judith tried to get around him, except Helen knew he’d never played—it was dancing that made him nimble.
I told all of you. Helen rolled Judith’s words around in her head. She knew Judith had spent weeks complaining about her and the garden to all the councillors. Had the gang of four thought they could shut Judith up by making her think this morning was her idea? Except they hadn’t counted on Judith’s passion for the orchard. And thank goodness for that fervour—it would work in Helen’s favour.
‘Oh, my God, that woman.’ Vivian blew out a breath. ‘We both know whose name is on the paperwork, don’t we?’
Helen nodded. ‘And I’m going to out the lot of them today.’
‘It’s tempting, but you risk them banding together to deny everything, sue you for slander and throw you under the excavator. They’ll promise an enquiry, which will take months and buy them time to get all their ducks back in a row. We’ve both worked too hard to let that happen.’
Helen thought about her and Bob’s IBAC complaint that was thankfully lodged in the system and able to complement any internal investigation of wrongdoing. Part of her understood Vivian’s point of view and she’d respected it up to now, but this time she was privy to incriminating information.
‘I hear what you’re saying, Vivian—’
‘That’s a relief. I know it’s hard to hold the line, but today’s not the day to fold.’
Bob’s hand suddenly rested on Helen’s back, his thumb pressing firmly on her lumbar spine. Electricity sparked, detonating tiny explosions all over her. She jerked away, stunned that her body still knew how to respond, and risked a look at him. But there was no flirting sparkle in his eyes—just serious intent—and an almost imperceptible tilt of his head towards the drive.
Three cars were winding their way to the now very crowded area in front of the cottage. Peter Granski and a photographer from The Standard alighted from one vehicle, Fiza and Tara from the second, and Constable Fiora from the third.
Daryl emerged from his cab and spoke to the police officer, while Judith abandoned her quest to get past Lachlan and marched down the hill towards Daryl.
Jade hurried over to the veranda. ‘Judith’s like a chook with her head cut off. I’ve got some awesome footage.’
‘Put it on Facebook,’ Vivian said savagely.
Fiza and Tara distributed the food.
‘Sorry, Vivian,’ Tara said. ‘We didn’t know you were part of the protest otherwise we’d have got you coffee too.’
‘That’s fine,’ Vivian said tightly. ‘But can we please focus on our plan instead of food.’
‘We’ll all think better on full stomachs,’ Bob said.
Daryl and Constable Fiora approached the steps.
‘Morning, Helen, Bob,’ the police officer said. ‘I need you to unchain yourselves so Mr Moore here can carry out the job he’s been employed to do.’
‘Not without a new set of keys, I can’t,’ Daryl muttered.
‘With no disrespect to Daryl,’ Helen said, ‘don’t you think, Constable, you should at least check that all the documents pertaining to the demolition of this building are legal.’
A line of sweat beaded on the young constable’s brow. ‘Why? Is there a heritage listing on this house?’
‘There should be,’ Tara said. ‘And I’ve been told by the mayor that the building’s to be moved not demolished.’
‘Hah! Join the club,’ Vivian said. ‘Geoff Rayson’s skill lies in telling you what you want to know.’
‘I’ve rung him this morning,’ Tara said. ‘I’m expecting him to call back any minute.’
Vivian snorted. ‘Good luck with that. He and Sheree are on their way to Toowoomba to look at horses. But even if he was here, he’d deny everything. It’s what he does time and time again.’ She turned to face the growing crowd. ‘Who heard the mayor on family day? He couldn’t give us a straight answer about Riverfarm, could he? Why? Because he was planning this the whole time.’
‘Save our orchard!’ Judith called out.
‘Save Riverfarm!’ Lachlan yelled, waving his hand like a conductor, encouraging people to join in. ‘No resort! No resort!’
‘That’s a pretty serious accusation, Councillor Leppart,’ Constable Fiora said.
‘I’m just calling it like it is. Ask Helen. She’s had concerns about the mayor’s activities for months.’
‘Concerns aren’t evidence.’ The cacophony of shouts behind them grew louder. ‘I’m going to call the Sarge.’
Tara muttered something that sounded like ‘pig’ but Helen must have misheard.
Vivian cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted into the crowd, ‘The Shire of Mookarii deserves better.’
‘We do!’ they shouted back.
‘Unlike some councillors, I’ve always put community first.’ Vivian started listing the projects and programs she’d instigated until she was drowned out mid-sentence by Judith.
‘It’s the mayor!’
‘Ask the mayor!’ Lachlan chanted, conducting the crowd.
‘Ask the mayor!’ they responded. ‘Ask the mayor!’
‘I thought he was out of town?’ Bob said.
‘Apparently not.’ Helen craned her neck, trying to see around Vivian. ‘I can’t believe he came. Tara—’
But Tara was gone. Helen could see Fiza, courtesy of her height, but not much else.
‘Aren’t we supposed to be the centre of our own protest?’ she said.
Bob patted her knee. ‘A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.’
‘Source?’
‘Greek proverb.’
‘One day you’ll have to tell me how the quotes started.’
‘You’re on.’
‘Ask the mayor! Ask the mayor!’ the crowd shouted.
Constable Fiora’s voice blared from a megaphone. ‘The mayor is not required to answer your questions here. There’s a council meeting on Tuesday night. That’s the place to voice your concerns.’
‘We’re not leaving until we know the orchard’s safe.’
‘Everyone please disperse,’ Constable Fiora continue
d. ‘You’re trespassing.’
‘No, they’re not!’ Helen yelled. ‘This is shire land. It belongs to the community.’
The crowd roared their approval.
‘Councillor Leppart, please come down off the steps. Mrs Demetriou, release yourself and Mr Murphy and be quiet or I’ll charge you with disturbing the peace.’
‘Come on, Helen,’ Vivian said. ‘Once the police start using titles you know they’re serious. It’s not worth getting charged over this. The only person who wins is Geoff Rayson.’
Helen knew it was true. When Sergeant North arrived, he’d organise boltcutters to break the locks, she’d be arrested and the demolition would take place. The only way to protect Boolanga’s heritage, the garden that meant so much to the refugee women and the chance that one day this land would be a garden for rehoused women, was to reveal Ryan Tippett’s authorisation. She’d risk time in the lock-up for that.
She glanced at Bob. His smile not only warmed her, it was full of support and care. Sliding her hand into his, she squeezed and he returned the pressure.
Helen raised her free arm and pointed at Geoff Rayson. ‘Ask the mayor why he had me sacked and evicted from this cottage. Ask him why he’s demolishing it along with the garden and the orchard.’
‘Ask the mayor!’ the crowd chanted. ‘Ask the mayor!’
‘Jesus, Helen! Why?’ Vivian’s face contorted in an agony of frustration. ‘All you had to do was wait five days. Five days and we’d have got all four of them at the council meeting. But Rayson’s an expert snake and you just gave him a way to slither out!’
Helen’s heart pumped doubt as Vivian stalked down the steps to the mayor. She gesticulated widely and repeatedly pointed to Helen, but her lips moved too quickly for Helen to decipher what she was saying.
‘Have I done the wrong thing?’ Helen asked Bob.
But Bob was watching the mayor, who was holding his hand out to the constable. The younger man initially shook his head but after Geoff Rayson said something, he reluctantly handed over the megaphone. As the mayor raised it to his mouth, it squealed, silencing the crowd.