A Home Like Ours

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Bugger!’

  She raced back to the controls and plugged in the numbers, silencing the alarm. Slumping against the wall, she tried to slow her racing heart, but when her phone rang it added to her jangles. It was the security company.

  ‘Sorry! It was my fault,’ she said. ‘I totally forgot we had one.’

  ‘No worries, Mrs Hooper. Everyone forgets at least once in the early days.’

  ‘I won’t forget again. It gave me a hell of a fright.’

  Delaying her shower to make herself a steadying cup of tea, she was sipping it when she saw a black woman in the garden. Still under the control of adrenaline, she whipped open the door and marched out onto the deck.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  The woman glanced around, clearly startled. ‘I heard the siren.’

  ‘The alarm’s supposed to keep people away not invite them in.’

  The woman’s hand rose to touch the colourful turban on her head before falling back to her side, but she kept her gaze on Tara. ‘I am Fiza. Your new neighbour.’

  Tara couldn’t decide if the woman’s lilting accent was French or something else, but it really didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact she was standing uninvited in the garden.

  ‘What were you planning on doing if the house was being burgled?’ she said. ‘Blind the thieves with your hot pink headscarf?’

  Fiza’s chin lifted. ‘I would telephone the police.’

  Tara scoffed. ‘That’s the point of the security system. Thank you, but we don’t need your help.’

  Fiza hesitated a moment, clearly debating whether to say something else. Tara was about to ask her to leave when she turned and crossed the garden to the old stile the Tingle children had used fifty years earlier.

  Heritage listing be damned. Tara would ask Jon to dismantle the stile tonight.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Jade carefully placed a box under Milo’s pram, trying not to spill the contents. Bob had suggested she ‘strike’ some plants by shoving cuttings into jars of water and he’d even lent her his secateurs. She’d hidden them in case Corey came home and used them for cutting duct tape or prising open lids. She needn’t have bothered—Corey hadn’t been home in over two weeks.

  Just as she was leaving for the garden, Macca arrived, marching into the unit as if he owned it. She’d never liked him. Once, he’d cornered her at the pub in Finley when Corey was in the men’s, dropping his head in close and telling her what a slut like her deserved. Fear and fury had moved her, ducking her under his arms and away.

  ‘Say stuff like that again and I’ll tell Corey,’ she’d hissed. ‘He’ll pistol-whip your skinny arse.’

  Whether it was because she’d got pregnant soon after or Macca knew Corey was a crack shot, he’d never tried it on again. But he always treated her like she was a problem or she existed to pour him drinks and refill the chip bowl. Either way, she found it impossible to relax around him.

  ‘That’s not yours to take,’ she objected as Macca unplugged Corey’s PlayStation.

  ‘It’s not yours to keep.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Secret men’s business.’ He tapped his nose and leered, clearly getting off on the power trip.

  She changed tack as he pushed past her to the door. ‘You better bring it back before Milo’s birthday. Corey wouldn’t miss that.’

  ‘You keep telling yourself that, sunshine.’

  He slammed the door behind him and she jumped. Milo cried.

  ‘Shh, buddy, it’s okay. That horrible man’s gone now and Daddy will be home for your birthday. He misses us. We miss him.’

  You keep telling yourself that.

  An unfamiliar sensation knotted her stomach, heavy and mocking. She did miss Corey. He missed them too. He loved them—she knew that. And the only reason he didn’t text much or call was because he was busy.

  On the walk to the garden, the knot loosened a little, but it didn’t completely untie until she was standing in front of her garden bed. She still pinched herself it was hers. Lifting the cuttings carefully from under the pram, she checked the tiny white roots on a hydrangea, a geranium, a coleus and some Federation daisies. The day before, the supermarket had discounted a half-dead punnet of petunias and she’d haggled them down even further to a dollar, pointing out it was more than they’d get when they dumped them. Her plan was to lavish the annuals with TLC, liquid fertiliser and surround them with snail bait so they created a colourful border.

  She moved a sleeping Milo into the shade, then pulled on the new gloves. Delight buzzed her as she flicked her wrist, admiring the way the gloves fitted her small hands.

  Using the key Helen had given her, she opened the glossy black lock on the shiny silver shed. As she surveyed all the equipment and picked up a trowel and a watering can, she gave a whoop of joy. It echoed back to her. She was a member of the garden and allowed to use all this lovely gear.

  Later, when she was lugging the watering can back from the tap, she saw a flash of fuchsia pink, royal blue and emerald green. A tall and slender woman was walking towards her, her face wreathed in a smile and her hand up in a wave. Jade’s body involuntarily flinched, wary and curious at the same time. She’d never been this close to anyone so black.

  ‘Hello.’ The woman’s teeth were brilliant white against her full dark lips. ‘I am Fiza.’

  Jade had expected a heavy and unintelligible accent, but Fiza was a lot easier to understand than the Hazara women. Just like them, she covered her head, but that’s where the similarities stopped. The Hazaras’ scarves were plain material, mostly black or white, that fell around their faces and covered their shoulders like the habits old nuns wore. But there was nothing plain about Fiza’s scarf or the intricate way it was tied. Three shades of colour—hot fuchsia to barely pink—were braided together across the top of her head and wound in a knot that sat high like a crown. Fiza was tall, like the models in the Vogue magazine Jade had read at the doctor’s, and the topknot was a flash of colour that made her stand out even more. How did she get it to stay on her head?

  Fiza was staring back at Jade, her eyes full of questions. ‘Do I have dirt on my face?’

  Jade’s cheeks heated and a spurt of anger got tangled with her embarrassment at being caught staring. ‘Could I tell if you did?’

  ‘Not as easily as I can see it on your face.’ She pointed to Jade’s left cheek. ‘You have a smudge.’

  ‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ Jade wiped her cheek on her sleeve, prickling with surprise that the stranger had bothered to tell her. People a lot closer to her had allowed her to walk down the street with her dress tucked into her undies or, worse, with period blood staining her pants. She got a sudden urge to explain herself, which was weird, because she hardly ever did that unless it was demanded of her. ‘I wasn’t staring at you. I was trying to work out how you made that cool knot on your turban thingie.’

  ‘It’s not hard. You could do it.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t have to hide my hair.’

  Fiza laughed. ‘Not even on a bad hair day? It’s a handy trick to know. My mother taught me, but you can learn from YouTube.’

  ‘You’re shitting me?’

  ‘Lots of Muslim girls have their own Instagram accounts and YouTube channels for hair, make-up and fashion tips.’

  Jade was still digesting this unexpected piece of information when Fiza said, ‘I hope your new plants grow better than my maize.’

  ‘What’s maize?’

  ‘It’s like corn.’

  Jade was on a fast learning curve about gardening with information from Bob and books Fran from the library had recommended. ‘Did you test the soil before you planted?’

  ‘I did everything the way my father taught me, but …’ Fiza’s straight shoulders sagged. ‘Perhaps I have been away too long. My maize is struggling and I don’t know why.’

  A wail came from the pram and Jade hurried over to unstrap Milo. ‘Hey, buddy, did you have a ni
ce sleep?’

  ‘G’day, Jade.’ Bob crossed the garden and ruffled Milo’s sleep-damp hair. ‘Hello, sport. You just wake up?’

  Milo extended his pudgy arms towards Bob and his glasses. The man laughed, ducked and weaved. Squealing, Milo flung himself sideways and Jade had to tighten her grip.

  Bob grinned. ‘Want to come to Uncle Bob?’

  The nice ones are always the pedos. Corey’s warning sounded loud in her head and she hesitated, even though she didn’t want to.

  Bob was kind. He’d suggested she get her own garden bed and stuck up for her when Helen said she should grow vegetables. He’d even done most of the digging and given her advice whenever she asked. Unlike Helen, he didn’t lecture her and he could take a joke. Not once had he asked her for anything. That niggled. Why hadn’t he asked her for stuff? So she’d trust him with Milo? So he could hurt him?

  Yes. No. Maybe …

  Bob’s smile had faded and he dropped his arms to his sides. ‘Sorry, Jade. Didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’

  The same confusing feelings of anger and embarrassment that she’d got with Fiza shot back into place, only this time she didn’t know if she was cross with Bob, Corey or herself.

  ‘He might break your glasses and I can’t pay for new ones.’

  ‘No worries, love. I understand.’ But the twinkle in his eyes had dimmed. He looked away, his gaze landing on Fiza. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.’

  Jade snorted. Fiza was almost six feet tall, black, dressed like a rainbow and impossible to miss. ‘Jeez, Bob. Get your eyes tested.’

  ‘I was being polite, Jade,’ Bob said calmly. ‘How about you introduce us.’

  Jade was whipped back to school and Mrs Kastrati’s useless lesson on how to introduce someone and give a thank you speech. Who did that?

  She rolled her eyes and chanted, ‘Bob, I’d like you to meet Fiza. Fiza, this is Bob.’ An idea hit her. ‘Hey, Fiza! Tell Bob about your sick maize. He’s a farmer so he might know.’

  Fiza shook Bob’s hand. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Bob. Could you look at my maize? I am in need of advice.’

  ‘Point me at it.’

  They all walked up the hill to Fiza’s plot. Purple and green plants Jade didn’t recognise were growing well, but the bigger bed contained limp-looking seedlings with yellow-tinged leaves.

  Bob squatted down and crumbled some soil in his hand. ‘This looks like a good mix of dirt and compost and your kale and mustard leaves are certainly loving it. Do you know anyone who’s grown maize here before?’

  Fiza shook her head, the tiny crystals on her turban flashing silver in the sunshine. Milo clapped, delighted at the light show. ‘I thought because it is hot here too, growing maize would be easy.’

  Bob stood and dusted his hands on his work pants. ‘Reckon it might get colder here at night than—where exactly?’

  ‘Sudan.’

  ‘Right. Don’t know much about Sudan, I’m afraid. I milked cows for forty years and I grew a few crops to feed them but never maize. But my nephew, Lachie, works with crops. I’ll get him to pop in. He might know where to start.’

  ‘It is not too much trouble?’ Fiza said.

  ‘No trouble at all, love. Meanwhile, I’ve got one of those greenhouse tents in my shed. Let’s erect it over these little battlers and see if they do better with a blankie, eh?’

  Jade handed Bob back his secateurs, wishing she could see everything he had in his shed. ‘What don’t you have?’

  His eyes dimmed again and Jade almost said, ‘Sorry’. She stopped herself in time. It was dumb to apologise when she hadn’t said or done anything to upset him.

  Helen returned from her early morning riverside yoga, pulled the paper out of the letterbox and was walking down the drive when she heard the gurgles and squeals of a happy child. Her heart cramped like it did every time she heard the joyful sound.

  Expecting to see one of the Hazara women, she walked through the trees and stopped short. ‘You’re here early.’ It came out far more accusatory than she’d intended.

  Jade looked up from her kneeling position, her mouth setting into a defiant line. ‘It’s not like I get to sleep in. Milo woke me up at five. And it’s gonna be hot. Bob says there’s no point watering in the middle of the day ’cos the plants wilt.’

  ‘He’s right.’ Helen surveyed Jade’s rag-tag plantings and swallowed a groan at the petunias and hydrangeas—such water-hogging plants. ‘Peas have pretty flowers too, you know, and you can eat them.’

  ‘Yeah, but they need to climb. I don’t have anything for that.’

  Helen thought about the decades of accumulated junk at the cottage. ‘There’s a broken bedhead you can have if you want.’

  Jade studied her plot as if it was a painting. ‘That might look kinda cool. You know, like a piece of sculpture.’

  Helen thought that calling a rusty bit of metal ‘art’ was a stretch. ‘Come and get it now if you like and I’ll give you some pea seeds too. They germinate pretty quickly.’

  Jade picked up Milo, who protested, and strapped him into the pram. She produced a rusk from a bag and he instantly quietened.

  ‘Is he teething?’ Helen asked, surprising herself.

  ‘Yeah. Teething sucks.’

  ‘For you or for him?’

  ‘Both.’

  They walked back to the cottage in silence.

  Helen pointed under the veranda. ‘It’s under there.’

  Incredulity splashed across Jade’s face. ‘It can stay there.’

  ‘I thought you wanted it.’

  ‘Not if I have to go in there I don’t.’

  Helen sighed. ‘I’ll give you a torch.’

  ‘A torch isn’t gonna keep me safe from spiders and snakes.’

  ‘Believe me, Jade, you’ll face worse things in life.’

  The girl’s eyes narrowed. Helen couldn’t decide if she’d already faced confronting moments or if she thought Helen was pulling her leg.

  ‘If you’ve faced worse, then you go in and get it,’ Jade said.

  Helen thought about the confined space under the house and shuddered. Since her experience of living in her car she avoided small dark places as much as possible.

  ‘Perhaps we could ask Bob.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  Jade grinned. ‘He’d do it too.’

  That was what Helen was afraid of. ‘But as independent women, we should do it ourselves.’

  ‘Why? Neither of us wants to. Anyway, blokes get off on that commando shi—stuff. Makes them feel useful.’

  It would make Helen feel beholden. ‘I’ve got a long pole. Maybe I could hook the bedhead and pull it out?’

  A dog barked and Jade pointed to the top of the garden. ‘Or you could just ask Bob. He’s up there, fiddling with Fiza’s tent.’

  ‘No, we can sort—’

  ‘Hey, Bob!’ Jade yelled. ‘Can you give us a hand?’

  Bob’s arm shot up and Helen groaned. She didn’t know which was worse—suffering a panic attack under the house or looking needy in front of Bob Murphy. A young man emerged from the greenhouse tent, joining Bob.

  ‘Who’s that with him?’ she asked Jade.

  ‘Dunno.’ Jade jiggled Milo’s pram to stop him grizzling.

  ‘Morning, ladies,’ Bob said. ‘I’d like you to meet my nephew, Lachlan McKenzie. Lachie, this is Helen and Jade. The cute little bloke is Milo.’

  Lachlan, who was wearing a shirt with an embroidered company logo, took off his Akubra hat and shook both their hands before squatting down to Milo’s level. ‘G’day, squirt. Enjoying that, are you?’ Rusk was smeared all over Milo’s pudgy cheeks.

  ‘What can we do for you?’ Bob asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Helen said. ‘Jade jumped the gun.’

  The girl rolled her eyes. ‘There’s an old bedhead under the house we need.’

  Bob shuddered. ‘Maybe we can fish it out with a pole?’

  ‘That
was my suggestion,’ Helen said.

  Bob threw her a grateful look. ‘I’ve got an old pool pole at home. I’ll duct tape an awning hook onto it and see how we go.’

  ‘Ever since a redback put Uncle Bob in hospital, he’s had a thing about spiders,’ Lachlan said. ‘But if you’ve got a torch, I’ll shimmy in and get it.’

  Jade’s ‘Cool!’ rode over Helen’s ‘You’ll get filthy’.

  ‘No farmer ever expects me to turn up clean.’

  Helen glimpsed a younger Bob in the man’s grin. ‘Well … only if we’re not holding you up.’

  ‘If you want me to grow vegetables this badly, Helen, go get the torch,’ Jade instructed.

  ‘What did your last slave die of?’ she muttered as she took the steps two at a time.

  ‘Talking back.’

  Helen spluttered, losing the fight not to laugh.

  After Lachlan emerged coughing and covered in a hundred years worth of cobwebs, he carried the metal bedhead up to Jade’s plot. Their voices drifted down the hill, Lachlan’s rumbling baritone saying ‘What about here?’ followed by Jade’s husky, ‘A bit to the left’.

  ‘That one knows exactly how to put people into service,’ Helen said crisply. ‘Your nephew’s too kind for his own good.’

  ‘You know we could have got it out with a hook and pole, right?’ Bob said ruefully.

  She smiled, enjoying a rare moment of simpatico. ‘Of course we could have. And stayed much cleaner.’

  ‘Mind you, then Lachie couldn’t have shown off to impress Jade.’

  Helen snorted. ‘I thought he was protecting you from your arachnophobia.’

  ‘It’s just a healthy respect for redbacks, thanks very much. But I reckon he would have elbowed me out of the way regardless.’ Bob winked. ‘It’s what I would have done when I was his age.’

  ‘But Jade’s got a child. Ergo, there’s likely a father somewhere in the picture.’

  ‘I think you’re moving way beyond the thought processes of a young buck struck by a pair of sea green eyes.’

  ‘Cat’s eyes. If you corner her, she’ll bite and scratch.’

  ‘We’re all capable of that, Helen.’ Bob’s stomach gurgled loudly. ‘Excuse me. Lachie arrived before breakfast. Any chance of a cuppa?’