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

‘Yeah, that too.’

Her heart raced, but her sluggish mind struggled to generate the questions she needed to ask. She pointed to the cyclone fence. ‘What about next door?’

He consulted a clipboard. ‘No. Just this lot.’

‘Who ordered the demolition?’ Not that she really needed to be told. She was ninety-nine point nine per cent certain who, and why it was happening so early in the morning.

He grimaced and shoved a hard hat on his head. ‘No time for twenty questions.’

‘It’s a pretty simple question. Whose name is on the demolition order? Who’s paying the bill?’

‘Look, love, if you want to stay so your grandkid can watch the show, fine. But—’ he pointed to a tree, ‘—you need to stand back over there.’

He busied himself walking around the tray and doing things she assumed were preparations for unloading the excavator. Once it was off the truck, he’d drive it headlong into the cottage—ripping and slashing, and destroying a hundred years of history. Destroying the dwelling that had rescued her and given her a place to belong. A place to call home.

But it was much bigger than that. It meant the gang of four were making their first strike.

Without conscious thought, Helen grabbed the clipboard off the wheel hub and threw it under the pram with no consideration for the strawberries. Then she rounded the front of the truck and ran for the cottage. After hauling and bumping the pram up the worn bluestone steps, she locked the brakes and sat down hard on the veranda. With shaking hands she found her phone. It took her two attempts to get the numbers right and then it was ringing.

Please still be home. Don’t have left for Shep. Be. Home.

‘Missing me already?’

For once she welcomed Bob’s flippant flirty greeting.

‘I’m at the cottage,’ she said quietly. ‘There’s a demolition order for the entire block.’

‘What?!’

But she didn’t have time to explain. ‘I need chains and padlocks.’

‘Go wisely and slowly,’ Bob quoted. ‘Those who rush stumble and fall.’

‘Not now!’

‘What does the sign on the fence say? There’ll be a name and we’ll have fourteen days to ob—’

The whine of the truck tray joined the bird song and Helen held out her phone. ‘Can you hear that? It’s an excavator being unloaded.’

‘Bloody hell. I’ve got some chain and padlocks in the shed.’

‘Knowing that should bother me,’ Helen said, ‘but good. Bring them. And bring Jade and your phone and the car charger—’

‘What the hell are you doing, lady?’ The truck driver stood at the bottom of the steps, booted feet wide apart, hands firmly on hips.

It went against Helen’s every principle to fall back on the weaker-sex chestnut to get what she wanted. But when it came to a crooked mayor and dodgy councillors, the rulebook went out the window.

‘My blood pressure’s a bit up and down. I get dizzy sometimes so I thought I’d have a bit of a sit-down. I’ve rung a friend to come and get us. I’m Helen, by the way.’

He was silent for a moment, weighing her up. ‘Daryl.’

‘You don’t happen to have any Panadol in the truck, do you, Daryl?’

He sighed. ‘I’ll get the first-aid kit.’

The moment he disappeared on the other side of the truck, she lifted her phone back to her ear. ‘Hurry.’

‘It’s me,’ Jade said. ‘I’m in the shed with Bob. He says he needs better padlocks. Also, I didn’t know you have blood pressure problems. You’re not having a stroke, are you?’ Jade sounded anxious.

‘It’s a ruse. I’m buying time. Tell Bob to come straight here. You go to Hoopers and buy the padlocks.’

‘It’s barely seven. They won’t—’

‘They will. It’s when the tradies shop.’ She saw Daryl’s yellow helmet vanish from the cab. ‘I have to go.’

She deliberately slumped against the veranda post and when Daryl handed her the first-aid kit, she gave him a weak smile. ‘Thanks. You’re very kind.’

He grunted, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. ‘Got a bit of the blood pressure meself. Makes me grumpy so the wife told me it was her or the job.’

‘Oh?’ She hoped the vague enquiry might gain her more information than a direct question.

‘Yeah. Retiring wasn’t a hard choice. Sorry about before. I’m usually fishing at this time of the morning, but me son’s got a big job on. He turned this one down, but then they added twenty-five per cent so I’ve crossed the river for the day.’ Daryl grinned, looking like a totally different man. ‘We’re calling it our Christmas bonus. It’s taking us and the grandkids to Canada for a white Christmas.’

Helen swallowed the Panadol tablet to stop herself from swearing. If anything, it might ease the ache in her hips. ‘That sounds special.’

‘Yeah. Grandkids, eh? Who knew they’d be so much fun. Yours is at the age where everything’s new and fascinating.’

‘He’s a sponge.’ She had an overwhelming urge to brag. ‘He parrots back Greek words as fast as English and he points to all the farm animals when I say their names.’

Daryl pulled out his wallet and showed her a family photo. ‘Mine are bigger now but this is Oliver and Sienna.’

‘They’re gorgeous.’ And she meant it. ‘I see Oliver has your nose.’

‘Yeah. Poor bugger.’ But Daryl didn’t hide his pleasure that she’d noticed. ‘How you feeling? Bit better?’

Guilt thrummed at the strings of her deception. ‘My friend will be here soon.’

Daryl’s phone rang and he glanced at the screen. ‘It’s the boss so I better take it.’ Helen nodded as he said, ‘Hello, son.’

Come on, Bob. Why wasn’t he here? He’d set up his shed in a grid pattern, naming the corridors after Melbourne city streets, and recorded the contents onto a spreadsheet. ‘I can find anything in under two minutes,’ he’d said proudly when he’d added her boxes and furniture to the document. She’d muttered something about OCD tendencies, but right now she’d take it all back if he turned up with the chains.

Daryl had wandered off. What was it about mobile phones, men and the need to walk and talk?

A plume of