by Fiona Lowe
‘Jade!’
She turned and saw Aima, Kubra and Baseera walking towards her carrying boxes and enviro bags. They smiled at her as if they were genuinely pleased to see her. ‘Hi,’ she said.
They clucked and cooed at Milo who squealed in delight.
‘Nice day to garden,’ Kubra said shyly.
‘I didn’t come to garden. I have to give Helen back her gloves.’
‘She is at meeting but comes later.’
Jade knew instinctively that if she left the gloves with these women, they’d return them to Helen and she’d be free to get on with her day. She needed to do a load of laundry at the laundromat and after days stuck on the couch holding Milo, the unit cried out for a clean. But still she hesitated, not quite able to part with the gloves.
Kubra was trying to balance her box of plants on the gate post and deal with the chain. Jade caught the box just as it slid off the post.
‘Do you need some help planting these?’
After planting two square metres of chives in rows—it turned out the women were neat freaks so she’d really needed to concentrate to keep the plants straight—Jade enjoyed her first cup of chai and something they called naan. It was sort of like bread but flatter and tastier.
Helen still hadn’t turned up and Milo, who’d been happily playing in the dirt, was now filthy and fractious.
‘Thanks for this.’ Jade handed Aima the glass. ‘But I should go.’
‘You want me to give Helen the gloves?’
Jade knew she should hand them over and be done with it, but if she did that, she wouldn’t have a reason to return to the garden. The thought made her fingers close tightly around them. ‘Thanks, but I’ll catch her later.’
Aima’s forehead creased under her headscarf and a hot brick of angry disappointment lodged in Jade’s chest. ‘I’m going to give them back to her!’
Aima’s eyes widened at Jade’s raised voice but she kept her gaze fixed on her. ‘Yes, but how do you catch Helen? She is not a ball.’
Jade laughed and the brick in her chest dissolved. ‘“Catch her later” means I’ll see her later. Meet her later. At another time.’
‘Ah! English is hard and confusing.’
‘Is it?’ Jade had never given it any thought. ‘Anyway, maybe I’ll catch you later too?’
Aima smiled. ‘That would be nice.’
Jade strapped Milo in the pram and walked home. When she turned into Serenity Street, she saw Corey’s ute and delight danced and spun in her belly. She ran the last hundred metres to the front door and excitement made her fumble the key. It took two attempts to slide it into the lock and in the juggle of bumping the pram past the wire door and through the front door, Milo woke up crying.
‘Shh, buddy. Daddy’s home!’ She lifted Milo out of the pram and called out, ‘Hi. We missed you!’
Corey sat at the kitchen table nursing a beer. His blue gaze flicked over her. ‘You’ve got forty-seven hours of Corey greatness to enjoy. You could have had forty-eight but you’ve missed an hour. Where’ve you been?’
‘Out for the first time in days.’ She leaned down and kissed him and he squeezed her arse. ‘Did you get my texts about Milo being sick?’
He shrugged, leaving her uncertain if he’d received them or not. ‘He can’t be too sick if he’s been playing in the dirt.’
‘He’s better today so we went to the community garden.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a place where people grow stuff. I think they should grow flowers but mostly it’s vegetables. I got some organic ones for Milo.’
‘Organic’s bullshit.’
Jade disagreed but it wasn’t worth mentioning. ‘You hungry?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You hold Milo and I’ll make you a sandwich.’
‘No way. He’s filthy.’
Corey was wearing a stained blue singlet, grimy work pants and he smelled of sweat, dust and smoke.
Jade saw a chance for some father–son bonding. ‘Why don’t you have a bath together?’
He shuddered. ‘Nup. Last time I did that, he shat on me.’
‘You make the sandwich then and I’ll clean him up.’
‘I can wait.’ He sucked on the beer, then pulled out his phone and checked Snapchat.
Jade stood holding their son while duelling emotions strove for supremacy. Corey hadn’t seen Milo in three weeks, but he didn’t want to cuddle or bath him or give her a ten-minute break from him? Then a breeze of understanding cooled her resentment. Men didn’t get involved with their kids until they could walk, talk or throw a ball. If at all.
Unwanted thoughts of her own father wriggled in. She pushed them away—Corey was nothing like her father.
Jade kissed Milo’s sweaty and dusty curls. ‘Let’s get you washed and into bed, mate.’
When she returned to the kitchen, Corey was sitting in the same chair but a second beer bottle had joined the first. She opened the fridge and pulled out some bread, marg, dev and tomato sauce—Corey’s favourite. As she sliced the crusts off the soft white bread and slid the sandwich onto a plate, she thought about the flavours of the naan and the bolani.
‘Do you want lettuce on this?’
Corey snorted and she wondered why she’d asked when he only ate white vegetables. She joined him at the table and he bit into the sandwich without asking her why she wasn’t eating.
‘I thought the garden would be full of stuck-up women like at Baby Time,’ she said.
‘None of that lot would garden. Might damage their nails.’
She laughed, happy to find a topic they both agreed on. ‘All women who can get pregnant have to wear gloves.’ Corey didn’t ask why or how she knew this, so she kept chatting. ‘But apart from the bossy woman in charge, everyone I met was friendly.’
Corey washed down the first half of his sandwich with beer then tackled the second.
‘I helped them plant chives.’
‘Woof are ’ey?’ he asked around a mouthful of food.
‘A herb. Kinda like thick blades of grass, but hollow. They taste a bit like onion and they use them heaps in cooking. They even put them in naan.’
‘In what?’
‘Naan. It’s bread.’
‘Nah.’ Corey shook his head. ‘Bread is bread and it doesn’t have bloody herbs in it.’
‘It does if it comes from India, Pakistan, Iran—’
She quickly stopped before adding Afghanistan and parts of China, so Corey didn’t say, ‘Fuck, Jade. No one likes a smart-arse.’ She didn’t mean to be one—she just loved to read and watch documentaries, and she had a good memory. But as Corey pointed out, it wasn’t that she was smarter than him, it was because she didn’t work and could watch TV all day and fill her mind with useless information. Except she never read or watched TV when Milo was awake.
Corey was leaning forward now, showing more interest in her conversation than he usually did. ‘Who are these women?’
‘They’re from Afghanistan.’
‘You’ve been gardening with terrorists?’
Guilt jabbed her, the sensation uncomfortable. The first time she’d seen the women in the garden she’d silently called them the same thing.
‘They’re just mums like me. You should see them with Milo—’
‘Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?’ Corey’s chair shot back, scraping against the lino. He was on his feet, pressing his hands down on the table, biceps bulging and the veins on his forearms throbbing. ‘You’ve let them touch my son?’
‘I …’ Jade’s mind spun and slowed at the same time, trying to choose words that wouldn’t detonate a fast-ticking bomb. ‘No. Of course not.’
‘Good. You and me are the ones who look after him. Don’t ever forget that.’
Except you’re hardly here and when you are you ignore him.
The resentful thought shocked her. It wasn’t Corey’s fault there wasn’t much work for him in Boolanga. Of course he had to follow the jobs, jus
t like she had to take care of Milo.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s up to us to keep him safe.’
‘Yeah. So don’t go to that garden again.’
The pronouncement prickled like a burr and her forefinger rubbed a rough cuticle on her thumb until it stung. She valued Corey’s opinion and she understood where he was coming from. Hell, she felt uncomfortable—edgy—when the women talked in their own language. She hated not understanding what they were saying, wondering if they were talking about her.
Mind you, the bitches from Baby Time had never verbally trashed her to her face, but she’d caught some of them exchanging looks that spoke as loud as words. These strange women at the garden, who covered everything except their face and hands, had never sneered at her—not even when she hadn’t wanted to try their food. And when she’d eaten the bolanis, they’d been excited and happy. Wasn’t that being kind? And they genuinely loved Milo. Today, they’d passed him between themselves, entertaining him and giving her a break so she could do some planting. Just be Jade. For the first time in this stinking hole of a town she hadn’t felt judged. She’d felt welcomed.
Welcomed by refugees—the people she was supposed to hate. It was confusing. How did she even start to try to explain it to Corey when she didn’t understand it herself? If Corey didn’t want her to go to the garden, she shouldn’t go. But loneliness already filled so many hours in her week that just the thought of not returning cramped her stomach as bad as period pain.
Wanting to banish the ache, she grabbed his hands. ‘Let’s do something.’
‘Good idea. We can screw while the kid’s asleep.’
This was what Corey did every time he came home. He ate, they had sex and then if he didn’t go to the pub to meet Macca, they watched TV. It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with the routine—it had been happening for a couple of years. But for reasons not entirely clear to her, today she wanted more. She wanted to feel like they were a family—like the people she saw when she walked to the park or along the river.
‘Okay, but when Milo wakes up, let’s go to Warrabeen Lagoon. You can light a fire and we can cook some snags and—’
‘I’m meeting Macca.’
‘Why?’ It came out on a whine.
His blue eyes darkened. ‘I need more lightbulbs so I can finish Cobram.’
Disappointment choked her. ‘Lightbulbs? I thought you were lamb-marking at Conargo?’
‘Doing this job for Macca first.’
Which meant he hadn’t been out of mobile range in the back-blocks of New South Wales. He would have got her texts. Known Milo was sick.
He was busy with work.
Corey put a bottle on the table. ‘I had a win on the pokies so I bought you some Jack.’
She’d have preferred cash, but soon after Milo was born she’d learned that asking for money meant she got squat. It was better to wait and receive random gifts. At least there was a black market at Tranquillity Park. ‘Thanks.’
‘Anything for you.’ He tweaked her boob and gave her a gentle push towards the bedroom. ‘Things are going great, Jade. This job’s clean and easy. I’m done by four most days.’
A whoosh of anger flared as high and fast as a lit match hitting lighter fluid, scorching her from head to toe. ‘Done by four’ meant Corey could have driven back to Boolanga one night and helped her. He could have given her a break from a constantly crying baby.
Her feet stalled just inside the bedroom door. ‘Do you love me and Milo?’
‘What sort of a dumb shit stupid question is that?’ He pulled off his shirt and shucked his pants, dropping them next to the laundry basket. ‘Would I be here if I didn’t?’
For the first time, Jade had no idea how to answer that question.
CHAPTER
10
The rain hit at five o’clock and it hadn’t let up, making it an unusually slow night at the café. That was the big difference between Melbourne and living in Sun Country—up here the locals weren’t used to heavy rain. At the first sign of precipitation, people stayed in rather than venturing out.
‘You want to take some lamb, Helen?’ Con had switched off the rotisserie and was carving the meat. ‘You could freeze it or have a party with your garden mates.’
‘Is it okay if I take the tzatziki too?’
‘Have at it. It’ll just end up in the bin. And take those six bottles of iced tea too.’
‘Thanks, Con.’
Having a hunch about the weather, Helen had harvested some lettuces and tomatoes before her shift just in case. If there was anyone at the park tonight—and it was likely, given homelessness didn’t offer the luxury of staying in on a wet night—she’d be able to provide them with a warm and healthy meal.
When she arrived at Riverbend, the rain had thankfully eased to an annoying drizzle and there were three cars in the car park. She recognised one of them and swore. It looked like things between Roxy and her adult daughter had broken down yet again.
Helen made three trips from the car before lighting the gas barbecue for both heat and to warm the pita bread. Thankful for the undercover picnic area, she spread a cloth, set the table and arranged the containers of meat and salad. Then she opened the drinks box that contained mugs, tea and coffee, hot chocolate, sugar and UHT milk.
There was also a specimen vase in the box and she added a couple of daisies for the centre of the table. Checking she had everything, she warmed herself some bread and made herself a souvlaki. Then she sat, knowing it would encourage Roxy to leave her car and join her.
As she ate, she flipped through the Good Weekend. She had a stack of them in the car—a habit left over from when it had been her home. The magazine could be read, sat on as protection from a damp seat, used to start a fire, and spread out as an extra layer of insulation on cold nights. These days Helen thankfully only read it, although last week she’d scrunched a few pages around her soup pot to keep the contents warm on the way to the park.
She was fully absorbed in an article when she heard footsteps. She glanced up with a smile, expecting Roxy. Her face fell. ‘Bob? What are you doing here?’
Even to her own ears, it sounded rude and she wished he hadn’t caught her by surprise. Wished she could have been quicker to hide her disappointment that he wasn’t Roxy. Then again, social niceties had never been her strength.
Bob shrugged and tousled his dog’s ears. ‘Thought in this get-up it was pretty obvious.’
That’s when she noticed he was wearing a handknitted woollen beanie, rain jacket, fishing overalls and rubber boots. An old cane fishing basket hung from his shoulder and he was carrying a rod and a small esky.
‘Why are you fishing in this weather?’
‘The yellowbelly go crazy in the rain. Plus, I pretty much get the river to myself so it’s win-win as they say.’ He glanced at the table groaning with food. ‘Did the weather put off your friends?’
She ran with his assumption—it was less complicated. ‘They’re always a bit free and easy with time.’
‘Do you mind if I cook my fish on the barbie?’
It was a public barbecue so even though he’d asked, saying no wasn’t an option. But if Bob stayed and cooked, would Roxy remain in her car?
‘I’m happy to share,’ he added, obviously sensing her reticence.
‘It’s not so much that …’ How did Helen even start to explain without giving away Roxy’s situation and breaking her confidence? She couldn’t so she swallowed a sigh. ‘Fresh fish sounds delicious.’
‘Let’s hope. Some cooks say it’s better to put yellowbelly on ice for twenty-four hours, but back in the day people fished and ate the catch straight away. I reckon the key is filleting out the fat, using a splash of olive oil, some fresh black pepper and a lemon.’ Bob whipped out a parcel wrapped in aluminium foil.
Helen laughed. ‘Something you prepared earlier?’
‘The rangers get shirty if you fillet up here so I did it down at the river.’ He carefully placed the f
oil packet on the silver hotplate and checked his watch.
The border collie ambled over, gave Helen a smile and settled at her feet, his weight pressing against her shins. Helen felt her resistance to the animal weaken. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Daisy. You okay with her there? She’s getting on and always goes for the warmth.’
‘It’s a good trade of heat.’
‘Until she gets too heavy.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want me to do the farmers’ market again this week?’
After the debacle at the garden, Bob had ended up running the market stall on his own while she’d been putting out spot fires. ‘It’s not rocket science,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve got it sorted. You go and do your politicking.’ So she had, spending hours on the phone. She’d called as many of the community garden plot holders as she could, extolling the benefits of both the farmers’ market and the garden extension. But Judith had also been calling the members and about half of them sided with the president. The only bright spot was Tara Hooper’s offer of sponsorship.
Helen’s stomach suddenly lurched. In the busyness of the previous fortnight, had she actually thanked Bob for stepping in?
‘Thanks for helping out. I appreciate it.’
‘Too easy,’ he said. ‘Happy to do it again. I’ve got a bumper crop of spring onions and silverbeet I can add to the mix.’
‘That’s kind, but I haven’t had many offers from the members. Dot’s support didn’t transfer from in-principle to practical, although Terri Morton promised rhubarb. I suppose I could bundle up some asparagus and zucchini, but is it really worth the time?’
‘Big things have small beginnings. A man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.’
Helen tried not to roll her eyes at the quotes, thankful this time he’d stopped at two.
Bob’s mouth curved into a self-deprecating smile. ‘More to the point, I enjoyed myself.’
‘Well, if it’s something you want to do …’
‘I thought it was something you wanted to do.’
‘It was.’
