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

She released a slew of comments onto the page, including one that said Geoff Rayson needs to rethink his priorities. Then in a show of solidarity for Landcare, she wrote a post highlighting their concerns and used one of their photos of the river. She logged out and walked to the café for her shift.

When she got home four hours later, she found dishes dry in the drainer and her kitchen tidier than when she’d left. The bunch of sweet william nestled in a glass of water next to a note that looked like it had been written with a carpenter’s pencil—the letters printed, solid and thick. Thanks for the cuppa. See you at park food. Bob.

Between the garden, the farmers’ market, the food nights and his help with the campaign, she was seeing a lot of Bob. She couldn’t decide if that was a problem or not.

She headed off to bed to the tunes of a cicada band, the soothing hoot of owls and the nails-down-the-blackboard screeches of the flying foxes. Exhausted after a huge day, she shoved in earplugs and fell asleep.

She woke with a start, her heart leaping into her mouth and sweat beading on her skin. Lying rigid, she tugged the earplugs out and strained to hear whatever had ripped her out of a deep sleep. Thick and suffocating silence pressed in on her. She held her breath, waiting for it to break. For the danger to reveal itself.

When it didn’t, she slowly released her breath and let her head fall back on the pillow. It must have been a nightmare. The thought depressed her. After three years of stable housing, she’d thought those terrors were long gone.

Pulling up the sheet to her chin, she closed her eyes and rolled over. A jangling noise crashed around her, the sound old but familiar from her childhood—of dustbin lids being crashed together like cymbals. Wheelie bins didn’t make that metallic clash.

The new shed! Bloody kids!

She lurched to her feet, grabbed her phone and bat light and dragged open the front door. Swearing at the hedge blocking her view and with her heart pounding, she forced herself to step off the safety of the veranda. In her shaking hand, the white LED beam of her torch bounced wildly as she tried to find the shed. When she did, the door was hanging open.

She arced the light again and this time caught sight of two dark shapes running into the orchard. Bastards!

‘Keep going!’ she yelled.

She counted to fifty, watching and listening keenly, but there was no more movement or human-made noise. She did another sweep with the torch, but the garden was empty.

Should she ring the police?

She trudged up to the shed to see if they’d stolen anything. They’d used boltcutters on the padlock, but a quick glance showed all the tools in place on the shadow board and shovels and forks hanging on their allotted rack. Thank goodness one of the buggers had let the door bang and she’d disturbed them before they could pilfer anything. Although why would teenagers want garden equipment?

It was probably just part of a dare. That had been Trent and Jax’s motivation three years earlier.

She checked her phone: 03:51 am. There was no point waking up the good sergeant. She’d call him at eight.

After tossing and turning from four until seven, Helen was pulling on thick socks when loud and rapid thumping on the front door made her jump.

‘Who is it?’ she called.

‘Jade. Open the door!’

Was Jade hiding from Corey? Helen half ran, half slid along the bare boards. She flung the door open, grabbed Jade and pulled her and the pram into the hall. Then she kicked the door shut so hard the slam vibrated the glass in the windows.

Milo screamed.

‘Does he have a gun?’ Helen asked. ‘I’ll ring the police.’

Jade was unbuckling Milo. ‘What the hell are you doing? You’ve just scared the shi—shirt out of him.’

Indignation poured through Helen. ‘I’m keeping you safe.’

Jade straightened, her expression confused. ‘From what?’

‘From who.’

Jade’s eyes lit up in triumph. ‘From whom.’

‘Fine! But save the grammar discussion for later. Does Corey know you’re here?’

Her eyes dimmed but her chin lifted. ‘No.’

‘Does he know you’ve left your place?’

‘No.’ Jade chewed her lip. ‘And I don’t know where he is. Probably halfway to God knows where.’

‘Then why are you hammering down my door like the hounds of hell are on your heels?’

‘Because some bastard’s wrecked my flower bed! They’ve snapped off half my plants and stomped on the others. They pulled out the bedhead and dropped it on Kubra’s chives and they ripped Fiza’s tent. Some of the maize plants are broken. But the worst thing—’ her voice cracked, breaking with despair, ‘—the disgusting deviants shat on my daisies. Who would do that?’

Helen thought about the shadowy figures running towards the orchard. Remembered the ugly words Corey had spoken at the party.

‘Corey doesn’t like you being here, does he?’

Jade looked at her feet. ‘No.’

‘So he has a reason to destroy your garden bed.’

Her head shot up. ‘He doesn’t even know I have a garden bed! Anyway, he’s not like that. It was probably those African kids The Standard’s always talking about.’

‘Why would they damage Fiza’s tent and her plants?’

‘I dunno.’

Helen made herself give Jade’s shoulder a pat. ‘I understand what’s happened is upsetting, but the worst thing we can do is attribute blame before we have the facts.’

‘A minute ago you were blaming Corey!’

‘No. I was pointing out he has more reasons to hurt you than some random kids.’

‘Corey wouldn’t …’ Jade bit her lip.

But Helen knew all about angry young men. ‘I know you don’t want him to have done it, but that’s not always enough. Let’s call the police and then we’ll ring everyone else.’

Every time Jade looked at her flower bed, tears formed. Then she flushed hot with anger at herself. What was wrong with her? Who cried over a garden bed? But since finishing school