A Home Like Ours Fiona Lowe (good novels to read .txt) 📖

nervous. You walked into the bar full of football-star swagger.’

He turned into the car park. ‘Of course I was nervous. You were unimpressed by football. What the—’

The charity bin in the car park had been upended and a mess of clothes and sundry donations were scattered across the concrete.

Jon, stressed and angry, fumbled with his seatbelt latch and swore again. Tara released it and he took a moment to get his uncooperative legs out of the car.

Red, green and blue paint was sprayed across the front of the store in familiar tags they’d seen around town for months. Sometimes the tags looked phallic, sometimes not, but the letters SUC were always incorporated inside them.

‘If they’d broken in, we’d have got a phone call from the security company,’ Tara said. ‘Let’s take it as a win.’

Jon grunted, stepped over the rubbish and opened up the store. Everything looked untouched until they reached the doors that separated the main area from the garden section. Pots lay on their sides, their contents dumped and dying. Garden gnomes wore condoms on their hats and one of the birdbaths had something in it that looked suspiciously like excrement. But it was the pungent odour of blood and bone drifting into the store from the slashed fertiliser bags that made them gag.

‘How did they get in?’ Tara asked.

They looked up simultaneously. There was a clear patch of blue at the edge of the large expanse of green shade cloth that joined the wall and the ceiling.

‘If they dropped in from that height, they should be lying on the floor with broken legs,’ Jon said.

‘They must have climbed down using that.’ Tara pointed to a ladder that didn’t belong in the section.

‘But why?’

‘No cameras? No alarm?’

‘So they risked injuring themselves to wreck the place? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘You ring the police,’ Tara said. ‘I’ll take photos.’

When she returned to the office, all the lightness and enthusiasm that had circled Jon at breakfast had been replaced by a mix of frustration and resignation. He was staring at the blank CCTV as if willing it to show him something.

Bastards! Their planned morning tryst was dead in the water.

‘Are the police on their way?’ she asked. ‘We can’t open until we’ve cleared the rubbish and they’ll want to see it before we do.’

‘Apparently, some lunatic was charging around town last night with throwdowns and a gun and setting bins on fire so we’re low on their list of priorities. North promised someone before three. We’ll clean up the front or we won’t get any customers, but keep the garden section closed.’

‘I’ll text the casuals to come in after school. They can scrub off the graffiti and get started on the garden clean-up.’

‘Oh, my God!’ Samantha appeared in the doorway holding a tissue over her mouth and nose. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Blood and bone,’ Tara said.

The other staff arrived, all recoiling at the stench.

‘Surely, we’re not opening? No one will want to come into the store.’

‘Doesn’t worry me. I’m on timber today.’

‘We can’t work under these conditions.’

The saleyards smelled worse, but Tara knew that comment wouldn’t win her any support. ‘We’ve got masks you and the customers can wear, and I’ll get some lavender oil to put on them as well. We’ll set up fans to try to limit the smell to one area, and we’ll also provide morning tea and lunch from the bakery. Of course, if you wish to take an annual leave day or a day without pay, you can, but I’m hoping you’ll work with us and help us trade through this inconvenience. It would be a shame to let whoever did this see us close for the day.’

‘I blame the refugees and Denny North. Town’s gone to the dogs since both arrived,’ Chris Mancini said.

‘Yeah. Funny how this happened a few weeks after Amal started working here,’ Debbie Sloane added. ‘Bet you regret that now.’

Tara opened her mouth, but closed it as Jon’s hand rested on her shoulder.

‘Tara and I have no reason to suspect Amal,’ he said. ‘Just like we have no reason to suspect any of our valued team members, old or new. But if anyone heard or saw something last night when they were out walking the dog, please let us know.’

‘It was probably the same thugs who terrorised Serenity Street,’ Samantha said. ‘According to The Standard’s Facebook page, it sounded like a warzone. It’s all very well to offer people a new life but they have to live by our rules.’

‘No one is disputing living by the rules. We all have to do that,’ Tara said. ‘I doubt anyone who’s lived in a warzone would want to recreate it.’

The long blast of a horn—the morning’s timber delivery—broke up the chatter and everyone got to work.

Tara thought it might be pushing the staff a bit far by asking them to clear up the rubbish so she and Jon donned gloves and returned to the entrance. Bagging and mopping took longer than expected as a lot of rubberneckers wanted to discuss the night’s events.

‘Isn’t that your personal trainer?’ Jon said.

Tara looked up from dropping rubbish into a bag. Zac was jogging straight towards them, his tanned skin stretched over bulging muscles and slick with sweat.

Her heart kicked up—nothing to do with Zac and everything to do with Jon. A cocktail of memories was playing across Jon’s face—admiration and pride stirred with sorrow. She knew Zac was reminding him of himself at the same age. He’d been just as fit if not quite as buff.

‘Yes, that’s Zac. I thought you met him at the Chamber of Commerce dinner?’

‘Yeah, but he was wearing clothes. Should I be worried?’

Not any more. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Good to know.’ He didn’t wait for Tara to introduce them, but greeted Zac with a hearty, ‘G’day. Zac, isn’t it?’

Zac pulled an earbud out of his ear and wiped his hand on his shorts before extending it to Jon. ‘G’day, Jon. Hi, Tara. What happened here?’

They gave him the quick version and he made all the