A Home Like Ours by Fiona Lowe (feel good books .txt) 📕

‘I’m going to the police station to make a statement.’

‘They’ll just tell you not to hang around with people like me,’ Jade said. ‘Oh, wait. You’re already doing that.’

He walked out the door without looking back.

You’re so stupid, Jade. She sucked in her lips, pressing them hard and trying not to cry.

Helen sighed, rose and unexpectedly wrapped her in a hug. Jade held herself back from the comfort on offer, waiting for the sting when Helen said, ‘I told you it would never work.’

Instead, Helen said, ‘Milo’s a star. He took three steps.’

‘What? He walked?’ Her excitement was instantly slammed with disappointment. ‘I m-missed it?’ The tears she’d valiantly held at bay spilled over.

Helen stroked her hair. ‘Bob and I made a fuss of him, and I can promise you he’ll do it again and again just to hear the claps. Life just changed, Jade. You’re the mother of a toddler. We need childproof locks for the kitchen cupboards and we’ll have to put everything dangerous or precious out of reach.’

‘Ladies,’ Bob said, ‘given the drive-bys, you should both move in here for a while.’

‘No way!’

Helen’s voice chimed in with Jade’s, and Jade hugged her. She didn’t care that Helen was probably saying no because she hated depending on anyone. She was just grateful Helen wasn’t leaving her.

CHAPTER

35

The Chamber of Commerce was planning a Christmas kick-off, having moved the traditional Santa parade from early December to mid-November.

‘It’s what they do in Melbourne,’ Jon told Tara when she’d complained the change meant bringing the summer casuals’ training forward. ‘It’s a good thing. It focuses everyone’s attention early that they need to buy gifts. We need to be fully stocked and fully staffed when the parade finishes and be cooking sausages and a shirt-load of onions to entice them into the store.’

‘The powerful aroma of hot fat?’

He grinned. ‘That’s the one. Works every time.’

‘Are you bumping a community group off the sausage sizzle roster?’

‘No. I gave Bob Murphy a call and worded him up for peak time. He’s going to have a table of produce from the community garden too. He’s raising funds for an outreach food van to feed the poor and homeless in the district.’

‘Do we have homeless people?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Have we been living in a different Boolanga?’ Tara said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I didn’t know there was a community garden. I’d never met a refugee. I had no idea the police harassed people, and now Boolanga’s got people who are homeless?’

‘You make it sound like we’ve been completely out of touch. We’ve always supported the community.’

‘We’ve supported the mainstream stuff like sport.’

He bristled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

The uncomfortable feeling that kept coming and going settled again in her chest. ‘I don’t know how to explain it. Before you got Parkinson’s, we’d vaguely heard of it, but we didn’t know anything about it because it didn’t affect us. Now it does and it’s making me notice things I’ve either been blind to or chose not to see.’

‘I think I know what you mean. When we installed the ramp at the store entrance we did it because we got audited and it’s the law. I didn’t give much thought to people with movement issues. Now I look at every business I enter with new eyes.’

The big day dawned clear and bright with no sign of any rain on the Christmas parade. The children had insisted Jon take them to see Santa and then to the carnival, probably because he was a softer touch for junk food and rides. Tara battled sadness that they couldn’t all go together and focused instead on making the store as festive as possible. She’d created targeted displays of gift ideas for him, her, them and kids. She’d put the casuals—Sabrina, Darcy and Amal—in charge of helium balloon inflation. Amal had suggested using some of the balloons to create a welcome arch.

As no staff members’ relatives had been impacted by Amal’s employment, Tara hadn’t heard any official disgruntled comments, although that didn’t mean there weren’t any. There’d been a tricky couple of weeks after she and Jon had told the staff about Jon’s illness and the changes in management style with Tara doing more, but once they’d been reassured their jobs were safe, they’d settled and been remarkably helpful. Tara wanted to believe this good will extended to Amal.

With the car park converted into a mini carnival and stage to entertain the parade crowd, there was a constant flow of customers through the store. Tara was troubleshooting and supporting the summer casuals as they found their feet.

A large man in a suit approached the counter clutching a wobbly tower of duct tape, rope, screws, a paintbrush and a punnet of lettuces. Sensing imminent disaster, Tara reached for the plant. ‘Let me help you with that—oh, Mr Mayor.’

‘Geoff,’ he said genially. ‘You’re Jon’s wife, aren’t you? I was just chatting to him and your delightful children. Presiding over the Christmas parade is one of my favourite mayoral duties.’

Tara grabbed an unexpected opportunity with both hands. ‘It’s a great idea to use the car park for the kids’ carnival. Of course, if it was lit, we could hold all sorts of festivals.’

He gave her a politician’s smile. ‘We’re trialling many initiatives. It’s an exciting time for Boolanga.’

Tara was about to press the point that four store break-ins weren’t exciting when she remembered the cottage. She’d been playing phone lotto with the shire, being passed from Parks and Gardens to Engineering to Municipal Resources and back again, even taking a detour to Volunteer Services when someone pressed the wrong button. She was yet to talk to anyone with any authority over the cottage.

‘Geoff, this might seem like it’s coming out of left field, but Jon and I have been discussing the old manager’s cottage at Riverfarm. It’s an important piece of Boolanga’s history and we feel it needs to be preserved.’

‘You won’t get an argument from me. Unfortunately, we haven’t been successful with any restoration grant applications. It’s