by Fiona Lowe
Jade had regretted asking about the novel, but with Fran pushing the book and the photocopy at her, it felt rude not to accept. As she walked home, she’d felt the weight of an unwanted obligation in the pram basket. She probably wouldn’t have started reading it except the power went out. Without the TV for company, she’d opened the book, surprised at how easy it was to read even with the Russian names. When her head-torch batteries had died, she’d yelled into her pillow.
Now, it was killing her not to read ahead—twice she’d had to claw her fingers back a hundred pages. She loved the excitement that pulsed between Anna and Vronsky but sensed things wouldn’t end well. And Kitty frustrated her so much! Why couldn’t she see how much Levin adored her? But even with the companionship of the big book, Jade was going stir-crazy without adult conversation.
Sunshine poured into the living room, calling her to the community garden, but she had a gnawing suspicion deep in her gut that if she gave in and went, Corey would turn up. He hated it when she wasn’t home to greet him and she didn’t want to lie to him.
Corey had been gone four days. Over the previous eighteen months, she’d learned by a process of deduction that if he was working on a farm he was absent around twelve days before returning for two. But this lightbulb installation job was different so there was a chance he’d be home today or tomorrow. Or not. Experience had taught her if she asked when he was coming home he was always vague on details. If she texted him the question, he ignored it. A few months earlier she’d concluded that asking delayed his return so she’d stopped.
She rubbed the broken skin on her cuticle, welcoming the smart. ‘Stuff it!’
She brought up a new message for Corey and typed I’m lonely. Well, it was the truth. When are you coming home? Miss you so much! Then she added a string of kiss and heart emojis. Corey hated emojis.
‘There’s no way Daddy’s coming home today, kiddo. Let’s go.’
Anticipation sliced three minutes off her usual walk time, but Jade’s bubbling excitement flattened like stale lemonade when she arrived and found the garden empty. Tears prickled and she blinked fast. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t cry over shit like this.
She cuddled Milo, kissing his chubby cheeks, then said brightly as much for herself as for him, ‘Look what Mummy planted.’
She squatted down. The chives were clumping and thickening nicely and the soil was damp. The women must have been here recently, but even so there were snails snuggling up to the tender new leaves on the tomato seedlings. She tossed the marauders out of the bed, planning to stomp on them. After that, she probably should go to the cottage and return Helen’s gloves.
‘G’day.’ It was the bloke from the farmers’ market and an old dog with a friendly face.
She stood up. ‘I’m allowed to be here.’
‘I’m sure you are.’ He extended his hand. ‘I’m Bob.’
Old codgers didn’t usually offer to shake her hand. She couldn’t remember shaking anyone’s hand since she’d won the reading prize at school in year nine. She hesitated for a second then slid her hand into his for a quick shake, pulling it away fast. ‘Jade.’
‘And who’s this little fella?’
‘Milo.’ She looked at her feet then, unsure of what to do or say next.
‘Which bed is yours?’
‘I don’t have one.’ In case he questioned her on why she was here she added, ‘But I helped plant this one.’
‘Good for you.’
She checked his craggy silver-stubbled face for signs he was taking the piss. But he was smiling at her as if he was pleased for her. Or pleased she’d helped.
‘Are you thinking of getting your own bed?’ he asked.
‘Not if you can’t grow flowers.’
‘Who said you can’t grow flowers?’
‘Helen.’
He frowned. ‘Are you sure she said the words “you can’t grow flowers”?’
Something about the way he asked the question made her reluctantly revisit her conversation with Helen. ‘She said, “I can’t eat flowers.” And I said, “You can.” Some anyway.’
His frown lifted. ‘I think she was talking about herself rather than a decree on what you can and can’t plant. If you want to grow flowers, you can grow flowers. The only rules are that you look after the plot and keep it neat and tidy. Don’t let the weeds take over.’
Eagerness fizzed in Jade at the thought of growing dahlias, gerberas and sunflowers. ‘Can I have my own patch?’
‘I don’t see why not. We just have to run it past Helen first.’
Dejection swooped in. ‘I don’t think she likes me.’
He gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘Sometimes I feel the same way.’
Jade laughed. ‘Does she boss you around too?’
‘Little bit. I know she can be a bit spiky, but she’s fair. If you really want a bed, I’m sure she’ll allocate you a space.’ He started walking and when she didn’t follow he turned back. ‘Come on.’
‘Where?’
‘To find Helen.’
Her heart beat faster. She didn’t share Bob’s confidence that Helen would welcome her into the garden. ‘Um … maybe another day.’
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Jade. There’s no time like the present. Carpe diem.’
What did fish have to do with it? ‘Carpe what?’
‘Seize the day. It’s Latin. Horace was a Roman poet and he said something like “Time is fleeing, seize the day and put no trust in the future”.’
Jade had never really trusted the present let alone the future. ‘So it’s an old dude’s way of saying “Just do it”?’
‘Smart girl. Exactly that.’
And although she knew she should be wary of strangers who gave her compliments, especially men—young, old or otherwise—she followed him and his dog.
Helen had just arrived home from her meeting with Vivian when she heard a knock on the front door. No one ever used the front door. Then again, few people visited and she didn’t have a problem with that. It was easier to stay private and keep the past where it belonged if she met people out in the world rather than inviting them into the cottage.
She tugged on the stiff front door and finally got it open to reveal Bob and Jade standing on the veranda. Astonishment made her blurt, ‘You went home with my gloves.’
Jade’s chin shot up. ‘It was an accident. I tried to give them back to you at the farmers’ market but you weren’t there.’
‘I doubt that’s my fault, but thanks for returning them.’ Helen held out her hand.
‘About that …’ Bob’s fingers kneaded the brim of his hat. ‘If it’s okay with you, can Jade hold onto the gloves for a bit? We’ve been having a bit of a yarn and she’d like her own plot. Wouldn’t you, Jade?’
The girl’s gaze fell to her feet before rising to Helen’s face. ‘Yeah. I wanna grow flowers.’
‘Flowers are a one-day wonder,’ Helen said stiffly. ‘You’d be better off growing vegetables so your pension goes further.’
‘True. Growing flowers from seeds and cuttings and enjoying the results is shockingly frivolous,’ Bob said, his eyes twinkling.
Jade smirked and Helen got the message loud and clear—she was being too harsh. Again.
‘If you have a garden plot, you do realise you’ll have to come every couple of days to water and weed?’
‘Well, duh.’
‘If you lose interest, you lose the plot.’
‘If I lose interest, I’ll tell you I’m leaving.’
The comment surprised Helen and she had to concede it was far more honest than what she was used to from other garden members. In the last year, three members just stopped turning up, allowing weeds to overrun their beds. Protracted phone tag and uncomfortable phone calls followed, always with promises of ‘I’m onto it. We’ll do it this weekend’. Nine times out of ten they never showed up and Helen wasted her time issuing the three warnings required by the model rules before the pl
ot could be assigned to the next person on the waiting list.
‘Thank you, Jade. Being told upfront you no longer want the plot would be much appreciated.’
Jade’s kohl-ringed eyes blinked at her, clearly startled. Helen’s permanent irritation with the girl ran into uneasy and prickling guilt.
‘We’ve had a donation of new gloves, so give me back mine and you can choose a pair that fits you better,’ she said.
‘You serious?’
‘No, I just want my gloves back.’ But the joke fell flat. ‘Yes, I’m serious. I’ve just opened the box so you can have the first pair.’
She directed Jade to the box in the hall. When the girl had disappeared into the gloom, Helen stepped out onto the veranda so Bob didn’t ask to come in.
‘Thanks for this,’ Bob said.
Helen still thought flowers were a waste of water and was annoyed that Bob was indulging a teenage fancy. ‘Let’s see if her enthusiasm survives a long hot summer.’
‘She might surprise you.’
And pigs might fly.
Jade reappeared waving a pair of white and mauve gardening gloves. ‘These are so cool!’
Helen was struck by how a pair of three-dollar gloves had lifted the semi-permanent scowl on Jade’s face, revealing a pretty young woman. A very young woman.
Tendrils of care tried to cling but Helen sloughed them away. She had more than enough on her plate and, thankfully, Jade struck her as someone who could take care of herself.
CHAPTER
13
When Tara arrived home from the PFA meeting at the primary school, she was surprised to find Jon still up. For weeks he’d been going to bed early. Once she would have breezed in, kissed him on the cheek and cuddled up on the couch to regale him with tales of powerplays on the committee and how she and Shannon spent most of the meeting rolling their eyes. But that sort of relaxed intimacy was a casualty of the war that was their lack of a sex life.
‘Hi,’ she said to his back.
Jon didn’t turn from staring out the large bay window into the dark. Nor did he comment on the fact she was home earlier than usual.
‘Were there enough icy pole sticks to finish Flynn’s homework project?’ she asked.
Jon loved helping the kids with projects but she usually had to rein in his enthusiasm and remind him he was helping Flynn, not the other way around.
‘Yeah. Done.’
His words came out on a staccato beat. She pictured a frustrated Flynn trying to get his hands on his own project.
‘Are the kids okay?’
‘The kids are fine.’ He turned to look at her, his face lined with fatigue. ‘We’ve got new neighbours.’
She crossed her fingers. ‘The detailed Subaru?’
‘That’s the one.’ He didn’t sound as pleased as he had the first time he’d mentioned the car.
‘You’ve met them?’ she asked. ‘Do they look more like our type of people than the last three?’
‘I haven’t met them but I’ve seen them. They’re definitely not our type.’
Tara’s stomach dropped. ‘They can’t be any worse than the flannel-shirted, dental disaster, pit-bull-owning, five-car-wrecksin-the-yard neighbour.’
‘They are.’
‘How’s that even possible? Lyle did time at Dhurringile.’
‘They’re African.’
Her mouth dried. ‘It might not be so bad.’
‘Hah! So far I’ve counted three kids and one of them’s a teenage boy.’ His throat worked. ‘Jesus! Those bloody kids are giving me enough grief at work. I don’t need them living next door. I’m moving the trampoline to the other side of the garden.’
Tara nodded her agreement, thinking about the group of black teenage boys she often saw around the railway crossing. Was the teen next door part of that gang? Would they hang out next door? Her ripple of anxiety peaked into a wave.
‘Should we install a security system here as well as at the store?’ she said.
‘Already one step ahead of you. Darren’s coming tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
But her relief at the safety and peace of mind a security system offered didn’t compensate for the fact Tingledale was losing its innocence. Still, hope zipped in under the crust of her resentment that had been thickening over the weeks. Jon was protecting her and the children, putting them first.
She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m exhausted. You coming to bed?’
‘Soon.’ But he picked up the remote and turned on the television.
‘Soon’ meant at least an hour, which guaranteed she’d be asleep. The crust around her heart cured into a hard shell.
Two days later, Tara was with Zac at the five-station fitness park that was strung along the walking track by the river. They were doing a strength session as part of her marathon training. Tara understood the importance of leg presses and curls, walking lunges and calf raises to strengthen her legs. But chin-ups?
She stared at the bar above her. ‘Why?’
‘They’re good for your core. They stabilise the spine so help reduce back injuries. Plus they’re great for your grip.’ Zac grinned. ‘You won’t need to ask your husband to open any jars for you.’
‘Well, there is that.’
‘Let’s start on the lower bar so I can show you the correct position. The important thing is to hold your hands shoulder-width apart.’
Tara closed her hands tightly around the bar but all she could feel was Zac’s body heat invading hers. It whipped through her, dominating every thought and igniting weeks of unsatiated need. Her pelvic floor clenched.
‘Before you pull up, make sure you’ve pressed your legs together to maintain a strong midline.’
No problem there—her thighs were already pressed tight, enjoying the delicious tingles. With Zac’s bulk behind her and his breath on her ear, longing raced across her skin, raising a shiver of goosebumps.
‘You mean like this?’ She leaned back and her body spooned against his as if they’d been designed to fit together. It felt amazing. He felt amazing. She wanted to stay there forever. The one tiny part of her brain not drenched in serotonin instructed Move now! But her body knew what it wanted and it didn’t move a millimetre.
‘That’s the way,’ Zac said. ‘Now you lift.’
He stepped back, giving her room to position herself on the higher bar. A moan rose on a sea of disappointment, the sound shocking her.
‘You’ve got this, Tara.’ Zac misinterpreted her strangled sound as anxiety. ‘Remember your hands and start with a dead hang.’
Focus. She hoisted her body’s weight upwards. Her chin rose above the bar once, twice, thrice. Her arms screamed. Searing pain branded every cell, stealing oxygen and depositing burning lactic acid. ‘Can’t … do … Argh!’
Her fingers unfurled and she dropped, bending her knees to more easily take the fall. ‘I hate chin-ups!’
‘I never said they were easy.’ Zac promptly did ten.
She watched his biceps bulge and the rise of blue veins as thick as rivers on his smooth olive skin and allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to run her fingers along those strong toned arms. Then she imagined it.
He dropped to his feet and grinned. Her head spun.
‘Show-off Gen Z brat,’ she managed.
‘Nah. Motivation.’
Tara struggled to cobble together a semblance of concentration. ‘I think you’re confusing your terms. How is me watching you do something I can’t possibly do be motivation?’
‘Inspiration then.’
She snorted. ‘I don’t think so. You know you’re young, fit and buff and you enjoy flaunting it.’
‘And you like watching me.’
The words hung there between them, like a line waiting to be crossed.
She wanted to hurdle it—say the words that would propel her onto the other side—but her mouth dried, sticking the sounds to her tongue.
‘When I started chin-ups I couldn’t e
ven get my chin over the bar,’ he said, the teasing glint in his eyes fading.
An ache throbbed under her ribs. ‘That sounds like more schtick from the personal trainer’s handbook.’
‘Truth. I sucked at them, but your first time you did three.’ He looked straight at her. ‘You inspire me to inspire you.’
Her cheeks were suddenly wet, tears coming out of nowhere. She didn’t know who was more shocked—her or Zac.
‘Shit, Tara. Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
She shook her head and, without a tissue, breathed in a rattly sniff. ‘You didn’t upset me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
But she did know. The lukewarm distance that had entered her and Jon’s marriage bed months ago was now cold and unambiguous. Jon didn’t want to have sex with her and the pain of it threatened to swamp her.
Zac gave her a sideways look. ‘I’ve got sisters …’
Wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, she laughed. ‘Is that code for “Are you premenstrual?” And if it is, I can’t decide if you’re brave or foolish.’ She sighed. ‘I’m just tired.’
And sad. And angry. And frustrated. And I can’t stop thinking about jumping you.
‘Did you go see the dietitian I suggested?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Tara!’
‘It’s on my list.’
‘Well, bump it up. It’s serious. You have to eat the right amount of calories for all the running, and the right food to help your post-exercise recovery.’
For a moment she envied his life. How simple it must be to focus solely on himself.
Her watch beeped. ‘I have to go or I’ll be late.’
‘No worries. I’m teaching a class in fifteen. See you tomorrow.’
Tara whipped home to shower before heading to school. Each week she spent an hour as a classroom helper listening to children read. She was halfway down the hall when the piercing siren of the security system slammed her heart against her chest.
