by Fiona Lowe
‘Around eleven? Can I bring you one too?’
‘A latte would be lovely.’
When Tara turned around, Fiza must have left for work and Jon was fifteen metres away. He pointed to the kids and the stage, indicating he was taking them closer to hear the Wacky Warblers, Boolanga’s version of the Mik Maks.
Tara was making her way towards them when she passed Jade and Fatima, who were still deep in conversation.
‘Hi, Tara,’ Jade said, looking over. ‘Thanks for those vinca seedlings. They’re really taking off.’
‘I’m glad they survived. How are things, Fatima?’
‘Great! This time Monday, I’ll be relaxing on Magnetic Island.’
‘Sounds amazing.’
‘But you won’t be able to go to the beach, will you?’ Jade asked. ‘I mean not to swim.’
‘Of course I can. I treated myself to one of these new Nike state-of-the-art swimmers.’ Fatima swiped her phone to a photo of a magenta swimsuit with full-length pants, long-sleeved top and a head covering. ‘It’s super light and dries fast. I can’t wait to snorkel.’
‘At least you won’t get sunburnt,’ Jade said.
Fatima laughed. ‘Or get stung by an Irukandji.’
Tara shuddered. ‘Good point.’
‘Don’t you get sick of always having to cover up all the time?’ Jade asked.
Fatima shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t think about it. Besides, my thighs don’t look good in shorts, so lucky, eh?’ She laughed, her dark eyes dancing. ‘It’s my choice to dress modestly but that doesn’t mean my clothes aren’t smart and fashionable.’ She did a little twirl and the soft fabric of her pretty swing top rose and fell.
‘Did you come here as a refugee too?’ Jade asked.
‘Nah! I’m second-generation Aussie. My grandparents came here from Karachi in the 1970s, but they weren’t the first Badoolas in Australia. My great-great-grandfather came here as a cameleer. He transported supplies between Kalgoorlie and Broken Hill.’
‘He was a Ghan?’ Tara said. ‘Wow!’ She and Jon had ridden the train named after the cameleers and she’d been fascinated by the story.
‘And he helped build the Perth Mosque, but he was sent home when the White Australia policy came in. I often wonder if he left behind any kids. I might have family in WA.’
‘You should do a DNA test at Ancestry.com,’ Tara suggested.
‘Great idea! I might get to freak out some Skips when they find out they have Muslim relatives,’ Fatima teased.
‘Or be surprised you have Aboriginal cousins,’ Tara said. ‘A lot of the Ghans married Aboriginal women.’
‘I think it would be awesome, but my grandparents would be horrified that great-grandfather Ameer hadn’t kept it in his Muslim pants.’
‘So Muslims don’t like mixed marriages?’ Jade asked.
‘Name me a faith that does. I know you hear all sorts of horrible things, but Islam is a religion of peace. But just like Christianity, there are some people who wilfully get it wrong. Mostly men.’
‘I’m not sure Christians go around blowing each other up,’ Tara said.
‘Northern Ireland anyone?’
Tara had no response to that except to ponder the role of men in wars.
Fatima smiled. ‘The world’s a complicated place. If you’re really interested, there’s a great collection of short essays called It’s Not About The Burqa. It’s written by young UK Muslim women and they talk about everything from feminism and sexuality to their faith in the western world. There’s no such thing as one Muslim woman. We’re as different as any group of women be they Christian, Jewish or atheist. The book says it way better than I ever could.’
Tara thought about Fiza, who seemed to have her own interpretation of her faith that worked for her. ‘It sounds interesting. If my book group read it, would you come along and give your perspective?’
Fatima cocked one very dark and well-shaped eyebrow. ‘Isn’t Kelly Kvant in your book group?’
Tara got the urge to both laugh and cringe at the same time. ‘I take your point, but as I’m hosting the next meeting, I get to pick the book.’
‘Well, if you’re sure you want to go there …’
‘I am. And I might invite Fiza. She’s Muslim too. Do you know her?’
Fatima shook her head. ‘I don’t know every Muslim in town, Tara, just like you don’t know every Christian.’
‘Right. Sorry. I guess me asking is like when we were in Greece and people found out we were from Australia—they’d say, “You know my brother, Costa? He lives in Sydney.” Have a great holiday, Fatima. I’ll talk to you when you get back.’
The gold embroidery on Fatima’s headscarf sparkled in the sun as she walked away. Tara turned back to Jade and realised she’d issued the invitation and completely ignored the younger woman.
‘If you’d like to come to book group too, Jade, you’re very welcome.’
Jade looked at her feet, clearly uncomfortable. With a jolt of understanding and regret, Tara realised Jade considered her old and out of touch, just like the teenagers at work did.
‘No pressure, but we could do with a younger woman’s perspective,’ she added. ‘And we’re pretty open. There was a lot of talk about sex when we discussed Anna Karenina.’
Jade’s head shot up, eyes shining. ‘I loved that book.’
Tara forced a smile, trying to forget how she’d used Anna as an excuse to put herself first. ‘I think I should re-read it and concentrate more on Kitty and Levin. What they lacked in excitement they made up for in commitment and understanding, don’t you think?’
‘I s’pose,’ Jade said half-heartedly.
Tara gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. ‘You don’t have to agree with me. That’s the fun of book group. Everyone has a different opinion.’
Jade grimaced. ‘I’m not sure any bloke’s worth the risk of loving.’
Tara saw faint traces of what one day might become hard lines around Jade’s mouth. Combined with the antipathy in her voice, they spread a thin ribbon of melancholy through Tara. Jade was too young to be so defeatist.
Tara thought about herself at twenty. She’d been studying tourism at UTS, living in a share house in Annandale and spending her summers working on the ski fields in Whistler. Boyfriends had come and gone without too much heartache, although there’d been one stressful week living with a false positive pregnancy test after a two-week fling with a Canadian snowboarder. His reaction had been all about himself and nothing about Tara. How would her life have panned out if she’d had a baby then? The snowboarder wouldn’t have supported her. Would she and Jon even have met? Tara wondered about the father of Jade’s little boy.
‘Sometimes men let us down,’ she said.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘And as hard as it is to accept, sometimes we let them down too.’
But Jade didn’t reply, her attention taken by Milo who was squealing and pointing to the stage. The Boolanga Blokes had joined the Wacky Warblers and were singing ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’.
Tara smiled at Lachlan McKenzie. She got a kick out of the fact he was an agronomist during the week and a children’s entertainer on the weekends. Today his face was intricately painted with lion markings and his costume came complete with a mane and a tail. He was lying down, pretending to be asleep, then he yawned, sat up and, using his fist, pretended to clean his ears and eyes. The other performers encouraged the children to call out, ‘Go to sleep,’ and Lachlan did a vaudeville act of wilfully misunderstanding. The glorious sound of children giggling filled the air.
Lachlan jumped to his feet and leaped across the stage as if he was in the cast of Cats. The music changed and Milo clapped his hands in delight.
Tara laughed. ‘Lachlan grabs any excuse to put on a costume and a show.’
‘That’s weird, right?’ Jade said.
‘No, that’s finding joy in the little things. I’m a bit late to the party, but I’m learning if we c
an’t do that, we’re sunk.’
She picked out Jon’s height in the crowd and saw that he and Clementine were following Lachlan’s dance moves. Clementine’s movements were smooth while Jon’s weren’t quite so fluid and his kicks were smaller, but they were both grinning. Tara caught the indecision on Flynn’s face—that moment of wondering if he was too old for such public foolishness but still wanting to take part. Her heart rolled.
‘Embrace the moment, Jade, and dance with your little boy. I’m off to dance with mine while he still tolerates it.’
She elbowed her way through the crowd and hip-bumped Flynn before touching her knee with her elbow and singing along with the crowd.
He grinned, kicked and joined in.
Together they yelled, ‘Nutbush City limits!’
Jade didn’t know what to make of Tara Hooper. The first time she’d met her at the garden, she’d written her off as yet another cool and standoffish woman with a poker up her arse. With her big flashy engagement ring, family-tree necklace and clothes that definitely didn’t come from Kmart or Best & Less, she looked exactly like the ice-queen bitches from mothers’ group. But lately, Jade was picking up a different vibe and it wasn’t just that Tara’s hair was longer than the average yummy mummy or she mostly wore the Hoopers Hardware and Timber uniform of black drill pants and a blue polo shirt. Instead of being all self-involved, she seemed interested in people—like she gave a shit. Maybe all those weeks ago she’d been having a crap day and Jade had judged her too quickly.
Tara was dancing with her family. Jade had seen photos of her and her husband in some of the back issues of The Standard. Back in the day, her husband had been an ace cricketer and footballer, but he sure wasn’t a dancer. He stepped left instead of right, bumping into Tara, then sagging against her for a moment. She slid her arm around his waist and gave him a look that made Jade feel lonelier than she had in a long time. The next minute they were laughing so hard, as if him being unco was the funniest thing ever.
Dance with your little boy.
Jade felt stupid doing the Nutbush on her own, but she did a version holding Milo between her feet and lifting his legs. He giggled and she laughed too, right up until the moment she turned to tell Helen or Bob and Lach—
Her thoughts veered away fast. She’d been trying not to look at Lachlan on stage, but it was hard not to. He danced like he didn’t have a care in the world—like he hadn’t even noticed they were no longer hanging out.
He hadn’t even come to hear Bob’s bombshell about the Tesla—that it had been leased for Craig Dangerfield by a company that was a subsidiary of Sino-Austral Investments. The whole deal looked and stank of bribery. Jade had wanted to post the information onto the Facebook page straight away, but although Helen and Bob couldn’t agree on the best way to use the information, they both agreed Facebook wasn’t it. Jade wished Lachlan had been there to give another opinion.
She missed their easy months of friendship. The way they rolled their eyes together at the things the boomers said, but at the same time shared a deep affection for Helen and Bob. How Lachlan called Milo ‘squirt’ and took the time to say hello to him and play with him even though he could only say nine words. How he gazed at her as if she wasn’t only pretty but the only person in the room who mattered. How his eyes had darkened just before he’d kissed her.
She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Why had she fallen for romantic bullshit when she knew it didn’t exist in real life? And why had Lachlan organised that Harry Potter party date and told her he wanted to take the next step if he was going to get all bent out of shape about Corey in two seconds flat? She wished they’d stayed in the friend zone. At least then he’d still be around, helping to find information about dodgy councillors, and she’d have a mate who was younger than sixty.
When the music finished, the mayor walked up onto the stage wearing his ceremonial robes, the gold of the mayoral medallion glinting like a sun flare and dazzling the crowd. Vivian Leppart followed him, standing off to the side.
‘Now wasn’t that something?’ the mayor said.
Jade was surprised his voice sounded a bit squeaky instead of deep and commanding.
‘The shire’s thrilled to be working alongside the Chamber of Commerce to bring you this wonderful family day. Yes, community’s what we’re all about in Boolanga.’ A smattering of applause broke out. ‘And we’re excited about our new Christmas flags designed by local artist Coralie Baxter, who’s drawn on her connection to country and given us a local but festive feel. We’re thrilled to be supporting the arts in Boolanga and—’
‘So that’s why our rates have gone up! Bloody waste of money,’ someone grumbled.
‘Art won’t fix the mess that’s recycling!’ someone else called out.
As murmured rumblings rolled around the crowd, Jade rose on tiptoe trying to see who was responsible. The mayor looked peeved he’d been interrupted. Jade recognised some of the other councillors with their families, shifting uncomfortably.
Vivian Leppart leaned into the microphone. ‘I share your concerns, Terry, and we’re working hard on finding a solution. Unfortunately, we’re not immune to global forces and now China’s changed its policy—’
‘We shouldn’t be depending on China for anything,’ someone else said.
‘Tell that to the government. They’ve given away our manufacturing.’
‘Bloody yellow peril,’ someone called out.
The mayor’s shoulders squared and he changed from a bit of a pudgy duffer to statesman. ‘Let’s remember that Chinese tourists love our mighty Murray. Their enthusiasm for the district means jobs not only in hospitality but in local agriculture, horticulture and viniculture. They’re a multi-million-dollar industry that pours much-needed funds into our region.’
He spread out his arms. ‘We’ve got wide open spaces, magnificent night skies and no pollution. These are things Asia can only dream about. Ainslea Park now offers glamping so the visitors can ride, enjoy damper and billy tea and sleep under the stars. Boolanga River Boats have invested in a five-star restoration of a paddle steamer to take thirty guests into less-travelled parts of the river so they can see the wildlife and enjoy sunrises and sunsets. But there’s so much more we can do. For our children’s future, we must develop new and innovative ways to engage tourists before they’re tempted to leave Boolanga, and cross the bridge to spend their money at the resort. The shire’s keen to work with local businesses to explore ways of maximising these opportunities.’
‘When you say wide open spaces, are you talking about selling Riverfarm?’ Jade yelled, ducking slightly behind a tall man in front of her.
The mayor squinted into the sun. ‘Not specifically.’
‘But you’re talking about a resort?’
‘Not specifically.’
‘What about social housing?’
‘What about a community pool?’ someone called out.
‘Not specifically.’
‘God, are they the only two words he knows,’ a woman in front of Jade said to her husband. ‘Next it’ll be jobs and growth.’
The mayor mopped his forehead with a hankie. ‘There are no specific plans for Riverfarm. But that said, it seems a shame for the community not to benefit more from its use. I encourage you to formally submit your suggestions for consideration.’
‘Like that hasn’t been happening for years and they’ve ignored every one of them,’ a man grumbled behind Jade.
‘So just to clarify “not specifically”,’ Jade called out. ‘You may or may not have some non-specific, vague and inexact plans to lease or sell Riverfarm to a casino for the Chinese?’
There was an audible intake of breath from the crowd and heads whipped round to see who’d spoken.
The mayor leaned forward, bringing his hand up to act as a sun visor, and knocked over the microphone stand. Reverberations screeched through the speakers as it hit the stage. People pressed their hands to their ears.
The mayor reached for the stand, but Vivian got to it first.
‘If anyone in my ward has specific or non-specific concerns about Riverfarm or anything else for that matter, my office is always open.’
‘As are all the councillors’ offices,’ the mayor said testily. ‘As elected officials, we’re here to serve.’
‘Indeed we are,’ Vivian said smoothly, looking cool and calm while the mayor was tugging at his collar.
‘Go, Vivian,’ Jade muttered. The woman would more than fill Geoff Rayson’s size eleven elastic-sided boots.
‘And now it’s time to draw the raffle, isn’t it, Mr Mayor?’
‘Thank you for the reminder, Deputy Mayor.’
Only Geoff Rayson looked far from thankful—thunderous would be more apt. But Vivian snatching a PR win and showing him up was the least of his worries. Helen and Bob had information that could, and hopefully would, take him and half the councillors down.
Jade’s phone beeped and she checked it, hoping it was Lachlan.
It was Macca. Thought I should help a mate out and check in on you
The thoughtful text surprised her. All good, she replied.
Yeah? Corey’s worried about you
A traitorous warm feeling rolled through her, quieting the question of if he was worried, why didn’t he call or text himself? She typed That’s nice and hit send.
He reckons you must be gagging for it by now. I told him I’d help a slut out
Her lunch lurched to the back of her throat. She swung around but couldn’t see him. Hating that her fingers shook, she managed Fuck you
That’s the plan
Her heart galloped and her phone beeped again. She almost didn’t look. When Bob’s name rolled across the screen she almost cried with relief.
Helen here. Not to be specific or anything but you were awesome.
Another text followed. What about journalism? #uniplans
Jade rolled her eyes, wishing she’d never taught Helen about hashtags.
Just posted a video of the mayor making a monkey of himself on Facebook #askyourcouncilloraboutRiverfarm going off!
