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

Everyone in town had heard that story, including Jon. When Tara had told him, his eyes hadn’t crinkled at her nor had he thrown his head back and belly-laughed. Was it because he hadn’t been drunk, or because she wasn’t Rhianna? Tara’s gut cramped, forcing dinner to the back of her throat. Why had Rhianna been holding Jon’s arm? Was it because she knew he was drunk and unsteady on his feet? Or did she believe she had the right to touch him in such a familiar way?

You’re being ridiculous. Tara took a long steadying breath, locking onto reason. Jon and Rhianna had grown up together and were comfortable in each other’s company. Of course there was casual touching and hello and goodbye kisses. Still, the fact Jon was relaxed and laughing with Rhianna when he was so often tense with her slithered under her skin like a snake.

‘We should probably go outside and make the most of the fire before the movie finishes and the kids swarm,’ she said.

‘Good idea.’ But Rhianna didn’t move. ‘Coming, Jon?’

Excuse me! Seething, Tara pushed a bottle of sparkling wine into Rhianna’s hand. ‘Give this to Kelly.’

Rhianna’s gaze flicked between Tara and Jon. ‘Sure. See you out there.’

The moment she’d left the room, Tara said, ‘Oh, my God! How much have you had to drink?’

‘Not mush. Few beers.’

The slurred words made a mockery of his reply, bringing her worst fears into focus. Ian had a problem with alcohol. Was Jon going down the same path?

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You can barely stand up!’

The chatter of young voices drifted into the kitchen. Obviously, the movie had failed its eighty-two-minute promise of holding the children’s attention.

Clementine appeared, her little body drooping with fatigue. She pressed against Tara. ‘Mummy, can I go to bed?’

‘Of course you can, sweetheart.’ Tara hugged her, thankful Clementine always flagged early. ‘Everyone’s going home now anyway.’ She looked straight at Jon, daring him to disagree with her.

The next fifteen minutes were the usual chaos of rounding up children, wet bathers, platters and bowls, along with choruses of ‘thanks for having us’ and ‘night’, before the dark swallowed the tail-lights. During the frenzied activity, Jon had thankfully sobered up a little.

As Tara hustled a grumpy and overtired Flynn into the bathroom to supervise the cleaning of teeth, she said to Jon quietly, ‘Cut off the beers so Ian and Gerry leave and we can go to bed.’

It took Tara half an hour to negotiate with Flynn on everything from toothpaste to how many pages of Artemis Fowl she’d read him. After closing the bedroom door she went straight to the kitchen. Usually after these gatherings Jon cleaned up, but the kitchen looked much as it had before everyone left.

A bark of laughter startled her, immediately followed by the rumble of voices. Her stomach flip-flopped, unable to settle on fury or dismay. Anger marched her outside. Ian, Gerry and Jon sat around the brazier, beers in hand.

‘Ah, there she is—’ Gerry raised his beer in salute, ‘—the most beautiful woman in Boolanga.’

‘Tara, love, any chance of more cheesecake?’ Ian asked.

She waited for Jon to either suggest to his father that he go to the kitchen to see for himself or offer to look for him, but her husband sat mute, staring into the fire, locked in a hypnotic spell by the licking and spitting blue and orange flames.

Tara’s hands fisted by her sides. This shouldn’t be happening—she’d asked Jon to send them home. Then again, not one thing that had occurred since two o’clock should have happened. Not their visitors, not Jon’s rejection of her, not him getting drunk and especially not that unnamed thing she’d interrupted between him and Rhianna.

A rogue wave of hatred for Jon dumped all over her before rolling her in a blast of sand. ‘I’m going to bed.’

CHAPTER

6

Jade spent the morning cleaning. Some days it was enough to know she’d cleaned the unit. Other days, she fought back tears that all her hard work scrubbing at years of ingrained dirt and stained grout was barely noticeable.

She tickled Milo’s toes. ‘One day, mate, you and me and Daddy will live in a brand-new house where no one else has lived before. The walls will be white and we’ll have real pictures on them instead of holes and stains. And we’ll have a lah-de-dah couch like the one in Bennetts instead of a crap one from Vinnies.’

One day when Milo was older and she could work. One day when Corey found a job with a decent employer who didn’t rip him off and paid him what he was worth. One day.

Milo’s head nodded wisely as if he totally understood what she was saying. ‘Ma. Ma.’

Jade’s hands steepled in front of her mouth and her heart doubled in size. ‘Did you just say “Mama”?’

Milo blew bubbles at her.

‘Say it again. Say Mama.’

‘Ma. Ma.’

‘Clever boy!’ Oh, how she wished Corey was here to hear him. Grabbing her phone, she turned on the camera and slid it to video. ‘Milo, say Mama.’

But he’d found his plastic hammer and was banging the throw rug that covered the couch and all its suspect stains.

The volunteer bloke who’d delivered it before Milo was born had told Jade to turn the cushions over. She’d flipped them only to discover the other side was backing.

‘But they’re one-sided.’

He’d given a dismissive shrug. ‘You’re lucky to get a couch, missy. Beggars can’t be choosers.’

She bet he wouldn’t allow a couch like this into his house, let alone sit on it. But she was expected to curtsey and say thank you very much. Well, stuff that!

‘I’m not a beggar, but you’re a bastard,’ she’d said.

He’d dobbed on her to Karen, the social worker at the hospital, who’d talked at Jade about anger management and how it was important to be kind to people who were ‘only trying to help’. But Jade wasn’t angry at the world—she just wasn’t prepared to put up