by Fiona Lowe
‘Good plan. And while you’re living here, we’ve got built-in babysitters.’ His face sobered. ‘I’m committed, Jade.’
I’m committed. Two words that had never been spoken to her, let alone been demonstrated, were now being said to her by a man who was content in his own skin. A man who’d shown her over and over that he cared for her and for her son.
And this time she wasn’t running away from her life and making decisions on the fly. This time she had knowledge and information. She was making a considered choice.
‘I’m committed too.’
He grinned at her and grabbed her hands. ‘Looks like we’re going round together.’
‘You’re such a dork.’
‘Yeah, but I’m your dork.’
CHAPTER
44
Tara sat in the break room at the store and read out loud from The Standard.
What started out as an act of civil disobedience by residents Helen Demetriou and Bob Murphy to protect one of Boolanga’s oldest houses from demolition escalated into accusations of alleged corruption in the Mookarii Shire. Allegations have been made against Councillors DeLuca, Rehn, Dangerfield and Leppart for accepting bribes in exchange for paving the way for an investment company to build a resort on the land at Riverfarm. The state government has stood down the entire council and appointed an administrator.
The sacked mayor, Geoff Rayson, was quick to distance himself from his deputy and the other councillors implicated in the scandal. “I’m an open book with nothing to hide and will cooperate fully with any enquiry. I’ve spoken to the administrator and would like to take this opportunity to reassure the people of Boolanga that the community garden, including the new extension and the orchard, are safe.”
When asked about the rumours surrounding his purchase of Ainslea Park, Rayson responded that his wife’s great-aunt died last year leaving Mrs Rayson an inheritance that assisted with the purchase. “It’s disappointing that a private matter has now been made public when all efforts had been made to protect the sensibilities of other family members.”
Mrs Judith Sainsbury has resigned as president of the community garden after ten years in the position. Ms Helen Demetriou has been reinstated as the garden’s coordinator, a role she’d worked in until recently.
In other news, police have charged a youth over a spate of break-ins at Hoopers Hardware, Timber and Steel after cans of spray paint, a worksite radio, pocket knives and other items were found at his home. Investigations are ongoing.
Tara dropped the newspaper in disgust. ‘I know they can’t print Darcy’s name because he’s underage, but bloody Peter Granski hasn’t addressed the fact he’s a white Anglo-Australian.’
‘It will come out eventually,’ Fiza said. She cut three slices of the semolina and yoghurt cake she’d brought to the store and shared them with Tara and Jon.
‘Yes, but if it was one of the black boys, you can be sure he’d have mentioned that.’
‘This is true. And just because the police did not find any stolen goods at those boys’ houses does not mean they are innocent. Like Darcy, they have lost their way.’
Frustration made Tara spear the cake with her fork. ‘Except one of them has been given every opportunity while the others have had to fight for their lives.’
‘Either way, they shouldn’t be stealing,’ Jon said.
‘I agree,’ Fiza said. ‘And their mothers agree too. This was not what we hoped for when we arrived in Australia. The one thing that kept us going through years of loss, heartache and pain was the chance of a better life. We told our children things would be better here. Promised them. But this country makes it hard to belong and our sons suffer.’
‘I keep thinking how Amal said they risked being arrested for free paint so they could spray over the decoy tags Darcy and his mates sprayed,’ Jon said. ‘Can any of them paint more than just graffiti tags?’
Fiza’s chin lifted. ‘I do not know. I want Amal to stay far away from them.’ Her glare softened. ‘Perhaps the art teacher at school can advise you?’
‘What are you thinking?’ Tara asked.
‘I dunno. Maybe a mural on the west wall. They could paint things they remember or miss about where they came from—you know, like Fiza’s maize or animals? Then something they love about being in Boolanga. I’m hoping there’s something.’
‘This is generous,’ Fiza said.
‘Not really. Without evidence, they can’t be charged so I’m hoping this might make them think twice about stealing from us again.’
‘It’s a great idea,’ Tara said. ‘Maybe we can involve some of them in the cottage restoration. I mean, the opportunity to use power tools is a boy’s dream come true, right?’ She typed a reminder into her phone to follow up with the trade teacher at the start of the new year.
‘Fiza, Jon and I are putting in a formal complaint against Sergeant North. We believe his harassment of Amal and his determination to find him guilty was racially driven and it stopped him directing his officers to look elsewhere to solve the break-ins. We want you to know that you have that option too.’
Fiza closed her eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath. ‘I am pleased you wish to do this, but I will not complain against the police.’
‘Why not? You have a case—’ Tara stopped as Jon’s hand slid over hers and she felt the caution.
‘Constantly fighting something is incredibly exhausting,’ he said. ‘If Parkinson’s has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you need to let someone else carry the load for a bit while you take a breather and regroup. We’ll carry this one for Fiza.’
‘Thank you, Jon, for understanding. I hope in the future you will allow me to carry some load for you both.’
Tara thought about the meals Fiza had provided and the childminding. About her unflappability and straight talking. The way she listened. Their shared bond as mothers and wanting the best for their children. As unlikely as Tara would have thought it a few months earlier, theirs was a real and growing friendship.
‘You don’t have to hope,’ she told Fiza. ‘You’re already doing it.’
Tara sat on the deck, gazing up at the stars and ignoring the call of a messy kitchen. After a frantic few weeks, she could hardly believe they were about to welcome a new year. Last New Year’s Eve, they’d hosted the gang and her biggest concern about the coming year had been how Clemmie would transition to school. In hindsight, Clemmie starting school was the least of Tara’s worries. Her daughter hadn’t skipped a beat, but she and Jon had come far too close to falling apart.
‘They’re asleep.’ Jon lowered himself onto a chair opposite her.
She swung her feet into his lap. ‘Clemmie will be up soon enough.’
‘I doubt it. They’re exhausted after playing in the pool all afternoon with the twins.’
He pressed his thumbs into the soles of her feet, massaging them. She sighed and stretched like a cat, loving the sensation of his hands on her.
‘Tonight was nice, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. But I probably ate too many of Fiza’s meat pancakes.’
‘You worked them off playing kick to kick with Amal. Has he given up on cricket?’
Jon grimaced. ‘I have. Anyway, Amal’s more interested in footy than cricket and he’s got form. If he practises over the summer, I reckon he could play for the under-eighteens next season.’
‘Would he want to?’
‘I think so. His face lit up when I suggested it.’ He ran his finger lightly up her calf and she shivered. ‘If you’re cold, I know a good way to warm up.’
‘Do you now?’ she teased, loving the glint in his eyes.
‘Ah-huh.’
He pulled her to her feet. She expected him to lead her inside, but instead he walked her to the spa and tugged her T-shirt over her head.
Goosebumps rose in tingling rafts and she tossed her head, sending her hair into a soft and flirty arc. ‘Exactly how does taking my clothes off warm me up?’
‘Get in and you’ll see.’
Laughing, she shucked her shorts and swung her legs over the edge, sliding into the warm bubbling water. Jon followed a little more slowly, his actions tinged with a mild tremor.
He pulled her onto his lap, bent his head close, and captured her mouth in a long deep kiss. Everything inside her loosened and she wrapped her arms around his neck, returning the kiss, loving the intimacy. Loving him.
She became aware of his erection pressing against her thigh. ‘Did you take a little blue pill?’
‘I did.’
Her heart squeezed. ‘Are we bringing in the new year?’
‘Well, that’s the plan …’
The plan sometimes worked and sometimes it needed extra support and modification. But tonight all she cared about was that Jon wanted her.
She stroked his face. ‘I love you, Jon Hooper.’
‘I love you too.’ He lifted her up and lowered her down onto him. ‘Happy New Year.’
EPILOGUE
Two Years Later
Carols by Candlelight was a Boolanga institution and, despite the long hours Tara had put in at the store during the run-up to Christmas, there was no way she was missing out on their traditional picnic in the park. It was the third Christmas she hadn’t made all the food from scratch, just the mince pies. These days she was at peace with that—the important thing was they were all together.
The first Christmas they’d shared with Parkinson’s, she’d discussed with Jon the idea of inviting all their friends—old and new—to join them at the park.
‘It’s a great idea,’ he’d said. ‘All part of embracing new traditions when the old ones don’t work for us any more. Some will come, some won’t. The choice is theirs. Either way, we’ll have fun.’
So, she’d suppressed the voice that said, ‘Lazy hostessing,’ and had sent out a general invitation: Please join us at Carols. BYO food to share. We’ll supply the mince pies, drinks and picnic rugs.
She’d hesitantly asked Fiza in person. ‘I know you don’t celebrate Christmas …’
‘This is true, but we enjoy the decorations,’ Fiza said. ‘And all the delicious cakes and biscuits.’
Now, Tara looked forward to this gathering as a time to reflect on the year that was. It also signalled the start of a few precious weeks off while the tradies enjoyed summer holidays. She planned to rest and relax, and that included a couple of fun runs. Flynn and Clemmie were joining her this year in a family five-kay run, and Jon would be at the finish line cheering them in.
‘It all looks great, Tara,’ Gerry said. He and Ian raised their cans of Sobah to her in a salute. It turned out that a sober Gerry was almost impossible to beat at any game that involved numbers.
‘Tara!’ Monique waved as she walked past with her family. ‘I just finished a novel that will be perfect for book group. I’ll message you the details.’
‘Sounds great. Have a lovely Christmas.’
Book group didn’t look quite the same as it had two years earlier. When Fatima and Jade joined, Kelly and Rhianna left. Although they and Tara managed polite exchanges at school activities, there was a tacit agreement between the three of them that they no longer shared enough in common to repair a friendship sunk by massive differences in values, beliefs and experience.
The carols didn’t start until dusk, but there was plenty of diverse entertainment—from a kids’ magic show to African drumming—to keep the crowd entertained.
‘I loved my white Christmases in the States,’ Shannon said, ‘but I missed this crazy combination.’
‘Jon and I missed you both,’ Tara said. ‘We’re glad you’re back.’
‘We are too,’ Chris said. ‘Jon and I reckon it’s time to give away coaching the under-eighteens and take over the under-tens. We might just keep up with them.’
‘Merry Christmas.’ Zac handed out stubby holders printed with the gym’s logo. ‘Here’s something to help you with your new year’s resolutions.’
He’d arrived with his girlfriend, Katie, the PE teacher at the high school. They’d been together six months, which was the longest Zac had dated anyone in all the time Tara had known him. She liked Katie—they’d run a half marathon together earlier in the year. Tara still hadn’t given up on her dream to run a full marathon and had pencilled it in for the year Clemmie turned eleven.
‘Zac!’ Jon said. ‘Come and meet Rick. He’s just joined the Young Parkinson’s support group and he’s interested in kickboxing.’
Being kicked off the cricket team had been a defining moment for Jon. He’d battled the disappointment and depression as he did each time he faced another loss. Tara had given him a month to come out of the blue funk and then she’d driven him to the gym.
‘All I’m asking is you try one kickboxing session with Zac. If you hate it, fine. We’ll look for something else.’
It had been a turning point. Since that auspicious afternoon there’d been times she’d accused him of being obsessed with kickboxing.
‘Just keeping up with you, T,’ he’d say with a grin.
She had no complaints that he left work for an hour most days for a session. His strength, stamina and balance had improved and more importantly so had his mood. He was happier and that spun into their lives in ways most people took for granted. Their sex life would never be the spontaneous thing it had once been, but that didn’t mean what they had now was a poor substitute. It was just different. Sometimes Tara thought she should get Embrace Change tattooed on her arm.
Eight months after Jon’s diagnosis, Jill, the woman from the Parkinson’s support group they’d vowed never to return to, had called. ‘Another young couple have contacted us. I wondered if you’d like to meet up?’
For a year, Jeremy and Jon were Sun Country’s Young Parkinson’s support group. Now there was Leanne and Rick.
As challenging as the disease was, it felt good to share what they’d learned. More important was knowing they weren’t alone—others understood the unpredictable road they travelled every day.
‘Fruit and chicken? I’m sure one or the other would have sufficed,’ Bob grumbled good-naturedly, setting down a platter groaning with strawberries and watermelon on the Hoopers’ trestle table.
Helen gave him a gentle elbow in the ribs. ‘Sharing food is sharing love.’
‘And my marinated chicken is now a tradition, old man,’ Jade teased.
‘Enough of the old, thanks very much.’
‘You walked right into that one, Uncle Bob.’ Lachlan steadied an excited Milo, who’d just seen Clemmie Hooper and was leaning sideways off his shoulders desperate to reach her.
‘How did the exams go, Jade?’ Tara asked.
The relief they were over bubbled lightness in Jade’s veins. ‘I passed, so all good. It’s hard to believe I’m halfway through my BA.’
‘She more than passed.’ Helen squeezed Jade’s shoulder. ‘She got three high distinctions and a distinction.’
‘That’s fantastic.’ Tara raised her hand in a high-five. ‘Well done, you.’
Jade’s cheeks heated. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the compliments and congratulations—she’d got used to them now. It was the support that humbled her.
‘Thanks, but I only got those marks because these three looked after Milo and fed me so I could study.’
‘Pfft. It’s what family does,’ Bob said, lifting Milo off Lachlan’s shoulders. ‘Besides, this little bloke gives me bragging rights with the other grandparents at the garden. Some days it’s a photo fight.’
‘I’m telling everyone I got an HD in English literature,’ Lachie teased. ‘Although I still don’t get the appeal of Jane Austen.’
‘Well, I’m just glad it’s over until February and I can enjoy the holidays and the garden,’ Jade said. ‘Milo’s totally into Christmas this year and it’s fun cooking and doing craft with him.’
‘Are you doing anything special over the holidays?’ Jon asked.
Lachlan smiled down
at Jade. ‘We’re going to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.’
‘And we’re staying the night at the Grand Hyatt in Melbourne,’ Jade said. ‘I’m a bit worried I’ll find it too grand and overwhelming.’
‘A good hotel makes you feel at home,’ Tara said. ‘Relax and enjoy it all. You’ve earned it.’
Jade slid her hand into Lachlan’s, still slightly awed that this man was in her life. They’d learned a lot about each other in the last two years. How to be a couple and parents. How to respectfully disagree and work on compromise. At first, she’d feared the squabbles, assuming he’d walk away, but now she was confident in his love for her and no longer panicked. Neither did she put him on a pedestal or take him for granted, but she knew how fortunate she’d been to meet him and learn that not all men are bastards.
‘What do you want to drink, Councillor Demetriou?’ Jon asked.
A thrill zipped up Helen’s spine as it did every time someone used her title. The first shire council elections since the sacking of the previous council had been held in October. Helen’s family—another thrill tingled—had urged her to stand. Bob had managed her campaign, Jade ran her social media and Lachie had designed her posters. She was still pinching herself at the community support. Tara and Jon had put posters up all over the store, the members of the community garden had decorated the fences with her image, and Roxy and Cinta had handed out how-to-vote cards. Helen had expected a hard battle, but it appeared Boolanga was grateful for her role in uncovering the corruption and she’d won easily.
There were four other new councillors, Messina was mayor and Geoff Rayson was her deputy, lending his experience while she found her feet in the job. Helen and Geoff had bonded over being used by Vivian and she’d been relieved to discover he was a caring, albeit naive man who genuinely wanted the best for Boolanga. Cynthia had decided not to stand again and Vivian and her other councillor mates, along with Andrew Tucker, were all spending varying amounts of time in different Victorian prisons.
