by Fiona Lowe
Bob here. Just wrestled my phone off Helen. Come to tent. Am driving you and Helen home.
Jade had been grumbling all week about Bob’s insistence on driving her everywhere when there’d only been one sighting of the ute all week. But with Macca’s texts burning through her brain, she didn’t want to be home alone this afternoon. She didn’t want to be home alone ever again.
CHAPTER
36
After Tara’s conversation with Al, she held her breath waiting for the cricket guillotine to fall. Should she have done what Al asked? Ripped off the metaphorical band-aid and got the job over and done with? Instead, she slept poorly, woke up tired, irritable and stressed, and spent the day stuck close to Jon.
‘For God’s sake, Tara. I never thought I’d say this, but go for a run.’
A geyser of panic shot through her at the thought of leaving him alone. ‘I’m good. Why don’t you come to the gym with me?’
Really? You, Jon and Zac in the same space?
‘No.’ Jon’s hand jerked through his hair. ‘This isn’t about me, T, it’s about you. Go to the gym, phone a friend, go and annoy the people at the community garden and take some new photos for the Facebook page. Visit Fiza. Just do something that gives me some breathing space!’
His frustration tore through their weeks of unity and she almost told him why she was so on edge. She wanted so badly to badmouth Al and their friends for their lack of support, but she stopped herself, desperate to believe Al had stepped up and done the right thing.
As Fiza worked on Sundays, Tara gave Amal a break from the twins and took the kids to the community garden, joining the Hazara women and their children. If they were confused as to why she’d suddenly arrived, they didn’t show it. There was something almost therapeutic about shutting out everything and only focusing on weeds. The women had insisted Tara take home some fresh coriander, and even though she had plenty in her own garden she’d accepted it, treasuring the care behind the offering.
On Monday night, she tried not to think about Jon at cricket practice. She prepared the kids’ lunchboxes, sent out the book group email and sewed a button on a shirt, before going out onto the deck and watching the light fade from the sky. Her heart clogged her mouth when she heard Jon’s car and it took all her resolve not to rush and meet him.
When he found her, he was clearly exhausted, but smiling.
Her heart settled back in her chest. ‘How was it?’
‘Yeah, good. They’re having a family barbecue after the match on Saturday. You know, the usual BYO meat and a salad or dessert to share. Rhianna will text you an S or a D so we don’t get all desserts like last year.’ He pulled a flyer out of his pocket. ‘And a Kris Kringle.’
The low-grade simmer of stress that came with keeping all the balls in the air bubbled harder. ‘Kris Kringle? It’s still November!’
‘Kelly’s idea apparently. You know how she likes shiny things. Anyway, we haven’t been out much lately and this is an easy way to see everyone.’
Since the brunch, Jon hadn’t suggested another gang get-together, saying he caught up with Brent and Al at the cricket club and she didn’t need the extra stress of entertaining. Tara knew he assumed she was still having a weekly coffee date with Kelly and Rhianna but she’d stopped going weeks ago.
She pictured sitting on a picnic rug, sipping a fruity sauv blanc and listening to Kelly bitch about Fatima and Rhianna moan about how her mother-in-law insisted on correcting the children’s table manners. She knew she’d want to scream at them, ‘None of it’s life and death. None of it’s turned your life on its head.’ The only reason she didn’t say no was because the invitation meant Jon was still on the team. Al had come through. She’d go to the barbecue just to thank him.
‘Sure. Sounds like fun.’
Jon stifled a yawn but he pulled her onto his lap. ‘You sitting out here because you want to make out?’
They’d been focusing on kissing and cuddling and hadn’t strayed beyond it. The fact he’d just suggested it combined with her jittery relief that he’d avoided another hit to his masculinity. She stroked his face.
‘If you play your cards right, you might just get to third base.’
He laughed. ‘When Brent, Al and I were teenagers, we spent hours trying to decide exactly what each base included. I suppose today’s teenagers just google it and the art of conversation is lost.’
She spider-crawled her fingers up his chest. ‘We could write our own playbook.’
‘I like the sound of that. I might even try a little blue pill.’
The lover in her wanted to whoop in delight, but she knew he was exhausted. The moment he fell into bed, he’d fall asleep. Then he’d feel like he’d let her down and she didn’t want all the positive steps they’d taken to be wiped out due to bad timing.
He’s an adult, he has to make his own choices. You’re his wife, not his mother.
But she was also his carer and far too often the lines blurred and tangled, leaving her floundering.
He yawned again. ‘Or maybe not. Sorry. Bowling practice took it out of me.’
Why were they even thinking about having sex at night? Kids in bed was why. Sometimes, amid the demands of running their own business and keeping staff happy, she forgot they were the bosses.
‘You know how the store survives when we have to go to Shepparton for medical appointments and Samantha runs the ship?’ she said. ‘Well, she’s in all day tomorrow. How about we sneak home and try a home run around eleven when your energy levels are high?’
His fingers entwined in her hair. ‘You’d give up coffee with the girls for me?’
‘They won’t even notice.’
‘So a blue pill at breakfast?’
‘I like the way you think.’
Helen was fast asleep when she became vaguely aware of being hot. As she threw back the doona, she heard Milo calling out. She kicked off a blanket, rolled over, adjusted her pillow and pressed her earplugs back in. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to dive back into blissful sleep.
Did she need to wee? The unwanted thought halted the dive. No. Yes. Maybe. Damn it!
With a sigh, she sat up. Milo had stopped crying.
As she padded towards the closed door, it opened and a bleary-eyed Jade stood there holding Helen’s phone. ‘Can’t you hear it?’
Helen pulled out her earplugs. ‘What? Is Milo sick?’
‘No. It’s your phone. It keeps ringing.’
She squinted at the bedside clock. ‘But it’s 3:17.’
‘Believe me, I know.’ Jade handed her the phone. ‘It’s rung four times in the last ten minutes.’
Fear lanced her and she stared at the device as if it was a ticking bomb. ‘Only bad news comes before the dawn.’
‘It’s always darkest before the dawn,’ Jade corrected. ‘I’ll have to tell Bob his quotes are rubbing off on you.’
Helen was about to say, ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ when the phone rang again. She prickled all over and shoved the phone at Jade. ‘You answer it.’
‘How?’
‘Press the green button.’
‘Hello? … Hello? … Who is this?’ Jade pressed the red button. ‘They hung up. How do I find the call log on this dinosaur?’
Helen fiddled with the phone and a list of numbers came up. Jade called the last one. It rang out.
‘It’s not the hospital,’ Jade said. ‘And the police don’t ring with bad news—they turn up at your door. Would it be someone from Melbourne? Maybe your ex-husband died and his family wants to tell you?’
Helen shook her head. ‘We dropped out of contact years ago. Anyway, they don’t have this number. If it was someone I usually call, their name would show up—’
The phone rang again.
‘Put it on speaker.’ When Helen vacillated, Jade pushed some buttons. ‘Okay, talk.’
‘Helen Demetriou.’
‘You have to stop,’ an electronic-sounding male voice said.
‘S
-stop what?’ Her heart was flinging itself wildly against her ribs.
‘You know. If you don’t stop, we’ll stop you. You’d make great fertiliser for that precious garden of yours.’
‘Who is this?’ But even as she said the words, she knew the question was futile. The line beeped at her. She turned off the phone and threw it onto her bed, wanting to be as far away from it as possible. ‘Oh, God.’
Jade grabbed her hand and pulled her into the lounge room. ‘Sit. I’ll get us a drink.’
Helen heard her rummaging through cupboards and she returned with two generous fingers of whiskey. Helen took a gulp, coughed, then cleared her throat.
‘Unless Judith Sainsbury’s lost her mind, I don’t think it’s her. Did you recognise the voice?’
‘No. They probably used something to disguise it so we couldn’t tell. God, I wish we could afford the internet. I want to know if they’ve left any threats on the Facebook page.’
Helen’s mind struggled to think and she heaved in a long slow breath. ‘Wouldn’t that make them too easy to trace?’
‘You can hide if you use a VPN, and they’re probably using a burner phone they bought with a fake ID.’
Helen didn’t bother asking for an explanation of the unknown terms—she’d got the gist. ‘Have you had any threatening phone calls or texts from someone you don’t know? I know I uploaded the video of the mayor, but you asked the questions.’
Jade shook her head. ‘Nothing since those horrible texts from Macca.’
‘I suppose he’s worked out I’m living here.’
‘Probably. And if he knows, then maybe Corey knows.’ Jade twisted her fingers. ‘He probably figures if he freaks you out then you’ll move out, and that way—’ Her voice caught.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Helen squeezed Jade’s shoulder. ‘If you don’t want anything to do with Corey and Macca, take out an intervention order.’
‘Hah! Can you imagine Constable Fiora bothering to listen?’
‘I’m happy to support you with a statement. So would Bob. We saw what happened at your birthday.’
‘But how do we know it’s even them?’
‘Men like that think they own you and they get narky when you do things they don’t like or can’t control. They’d hate me being here, influencing you against them.’
‘Yeah, but the mayor hates you. He kicked you out of the cottage and you’re still posting on the Facebook page. If he’s found out we know about Tucker and Sino-Austral, he’d want to bury you.’
Jade’s phone buzzed with a text and they both froze. She slowly picked it up and all the colour drained from her face.
‘Who is it?’ Helen said.
‘I don’t know the number.’
‘What does it say?’
Jade blinked rapidly. ‘Look out the window, bitch.’
Helen sat up straight. ‘We’re not going to do that.’
The roar of a diesel engine thundered outside and the room suddenly lit up like daylight. Memories assaulted Helen. She grabbed Jade, pulling her under the table just as the deafening sound of throwdowns exploded under the window.
Milo screamed. Jade moved to go to him.
Helen gripped her upper arm, her fingers digging in deep. ‘He’s safe. Scared but safe. You might not be.’
The whip and crack of another round of explosions detonated around them and they clung together. Amid the explosions, two shots rang out. It was history repeating itself.
‘Corey’s got guns,’ Jade sobbed, clinging to Helen. ‘I’m sorry. I never thought he’d hate me this much.’
The gunfire was the finale—the engine roared and the lights swung away.
Milo’s screams rattled the walls and an intense surge of maternal protection flooded Helen. She’d do whatever it took to keep them safe.
They crawled to Jade’s room and snuggled Milo between them.
‘Do you have your phone?’ Helen asked.
Jade shook her head.
‘I’ll go and get mine.’
‘In a minute.’
Helen nodded, understanding how terrifying being alone was, even for a moment. The piercing wail of a siren sounded in the distance and a strangled laugh broke out of her tight throat.
‘I’ve got a funny feeling we won’t need to ring the police after all.’
‘What’s happening now?’ Bob asked.
Helen gripped her phone with one hand and used her forefinger of the other to barely lift the sheet off the window architrave and peek outside. Serenity Street was in uproar. The fourth-generation Australians battling poverty, and dependent on a black market of drugs and anything stolen, were clearly unsettled by the presence of the police. The Hazara families, wrenched from sleep by explosions that didn’t differentiate from the sounds of war, huddled together, traumatised at being plunged back into a past they’d fought so hard to flee. They were likely questioning their safety and how this could happen in Australia. Helen was asking the same question.
Most of the residents were on the street, demanding answers from Sergeant North, who didn’t look as put together as normal. Constable Fiora was rolling out blue and white crime scene tape.
‘It’s those bloody African kids,’ a man said.
Jade rounded on the bloke, whose belly hung heavily over his pyjama pants. ‘Like teenagers can afford to drive a ute fully loaded with halogen driving lights.’
‘Listen, girlie, it only takes one. If I had a gun, I’d shoot the lot of them.’
‘You’re a racist pig!’
‘That’s enough,’ Denny said sharply, but Helen couldn’t tell if the reprimand was directed at the man or Jade. ‘We’ll investigate all leads.’
Helen made a mental note to call Fiza and give her a heads-up of a possible visit by the police. She dropped the sheet and returned to her phone call, thankful Bob had picked up despite the hour. She needed his advice.
Sure, that’s why you called him.
Fine. She did want his advice but she’d wanted to hear his voice more. Wanted to hold onto his sunny optimism and pretend her world hadn’t just spun off its axis yet again.
‘Denny North’s telling everyone to go home, and if they have information or want to make a statement to go to the police station after eight this morning,’ she reported.
‘Hopefully someone saw something.’
‘This is Serenity Street. Even if they did, they’re hardly going to say.’ Her stomach churned. ‘What am I going to tell the police when they ask if I have any idea who might want to scare me? That it’s probably Corey, but it just might be someone the mayor and three dodgy councillors are paying to get me and Jade to shut up? They’ll think I’m nuts.’
‘Not necessarily. Yesterday The Standard led with an article about the mayor’s passionate speech promoting tourism in the district.’
‘Yes, but it didn’t mention a consortium with links to the Chinese. And Granski took a crack at Vivian, saying the infighting about what’s best for Riverfarm needs to stop. All that says is there’s friction, not corruption. None of it points to us being terrorised.’
‘But since family day, you and Jade aren’t the only ones asking questions or posting on Facebook.’
‘But we started the page. We need to find out if anyone else is getting nasty emails, phone calls and visits in the middle of the night.’ She waited for his response but all she heard was a buzzing on the line. ‘Bob?’
‘I’m thinking.’
‘Can you do it faster? Jade’s doing a stellar job keeping the police out of the house, but she can’t hold them off much longer.’
Bob sighed. ‘I know we agreed to hold off until we had concrete proof of at least one more connection with Tuck—hang on, someone’s ringing.’
Tinny on-hold music played and then Bob was back. ‘Lachie’s wheelie bin just got set alight.’
It was suddenly hard to breathe. ‘Oh, God. Are you all right?’
‘Quiet as the grave here.’
‘Can
’t you find a better expression than that!’
‘Sorry. But as worrying as Lachie’s melted bin is, unless something happens outside my place in the next ten minutes, I think it’s answered your question. I doubt the gang of four’s behind it.’
Helen slumped into a chair, her relief at odds with her fear, the combination making her dizzy. She hadn’t wanted to tell the police, because whether they believed her or not, they would have to appear to follow up leads and interview the councillors. It would give the gang of four a heads-up they had some incriminating information.
‘So, we’ve got some breathing space to find out who paid for the Rehns’ holiday,’ she said.
‘I’m not so sure. There’s a council meeting coming up and I wouldn’t trust them not to try to push something through when everyone’s busy thinking about Christmas.’
‘Vivian’s already alert to that.’
‘Doesn’t mean she can stop it.’
‘No, but we can quietly arrange a protest without anyone getting wind of it. Disrupt the meeting so they can’t get into the chamber and vote.’
‘Sounds like part of a plan anyway,’ Bob said. ‘Call me when the police leave and I’ll come over and pick you all up.’
A stubborn part of Helen—the part that didn’t want to depend on anyone—insisted she refuse. ‘Only if Jade wants to come.’
‘She texted me before you called. We need a face-to-face meeting and my place is the safest. We need to discuss how best to go public.’
‘We’ve been through this. There’s no point telling The Standard—their bias is clear. And I don’t trust the police either. Denny North’s default position is to point the finger at the usual suspects and ask questions later. He’s already hinted at rounding up the African kids about tonight.’
‘You won’t get an argument from me about any of that. It’s why I think we should make a report to IBAC.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Independent Broad-based Anti-corruption Commission.’
‘I thought that was about police misconduct. As much as I’d like to report Denny North as racist, I don’t have any real proof.’
