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

hooked her gaze and said firmly, ‘I fish here a lot, Helen. Tonight’s not the first time I’ve shared a hot drink with Tracey.’

‘So you know?’

‘That they’re likely homeless? I had a fair idea. It’s bloody sad.’

Helen wasn’t often lost for words but she was fighting to find any in a roiling sea of emotion. Bob had sat down and eaten with these women, treating them with respect and dignity without once giving away that he knew their circumstances.

‘Thanks for being kind,’ she managed.

‘Kindness doesn’t cost a thing.’ But he squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. ‘But it isn’t practical, like you throwing a dinner party. To be honest, I’ve wanted to do more, but had no idea where to start. Giving Tracey booze probably isn’t helpful.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. On a cold wet night, whiskey’s a warming balm. Don’t let your WASP morals get tangled up with practical help.’

He laughed—a joyful rumbling sound that echoed around the park. ‘With a name like Murphy, I’m no more Protestant than the Pope. Mind you, I’m far more lapsed than he is. Give me the great outdoors over a church every time.’ He lifted Helen’s esky and placed it on the table. ‘I’m guessing there’s no point offering them any leftover food when they can’t refrigerate it.’

‘Got it in one.’

‘So how long have you been sharing your food?’

‘It’s not actually my food, but twice a week for the last year I’ve brought leftovers from the café.’

His forehead creased. ‘That long? How come this is the first time I’ve seen you?’

‘I rotate through the parks on both sides of the river. Although as you can see, word gets around. If they can afford the petrol, they come and find me.’

‘Only women?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t that a bit sexist?’

Her jaw tightened and she counted to five. ‘I’m not defending my decision. It is what it is. I won’t turn a man away, but given how it’s usually men who’ve played varying roles in putting most of these women in their current situation, they prefer dinner to be a testosterone-free zone.’

‘What do you mean by varying roles?’

‘When a relationship breaks down, especially if violence is involved, then it’s the women who are forced to flee and leave everything behind.’

‘Sounds like it was an honour for them to include me tonight,’ he said.

He kept surprising her. ‘When you turned up I was worried Roxy would send out the word to the others to stay away.’

‘Ah! So that’s the reason you didn’t greet me with open arms.’

‘Yeah, right. Tell yourself that.’

Bob’s eyes crinkled up as a grin wrote itself across his face and then he winked at her.

With a stomach-dropping thud, Helen realised he’d misconstrued her reply as flirting. God! Had she flirted? No. She hadn’t flirted in a thousand years and even then she hadn’t been any good at it. Besides, she was close to sixty. Did people their age even flirt? Of course they didn’t. Anyway, she was too busy surviving and helping others to do the same.

Studiously ignoring the wink, she focused on rinsing out the cups before stacking them inside the plastic box and snapping down the lid.

‘So how many homeless people do you reckon we have in Boolanga?’ Bob asked, eventually breaking the silence.

‘It’s a transient population so it’s hard to say. But certainly more than the town’s limited emergency housing can accommodate.’

‘So it would be good to offer food on more nights?’

‘There’s a need.’

‘I’d like to help if I could. I don’t reckon I’m too old to dumpster dive.’

‘You’ve heard about dumpster diving?’ She couldn’t hide her incredulity.

‘I read The Age and listen to ABC Radio, Helen,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve heard about the food waste and, as the young ones say, “I know stuff”.’

Helen smiled despite herself. ‘They say that, do they?’

‘My nephew Lachie does.’ He grinned again. ‘Anyway, my point is, do we source more food so we can offer it on more nights?’

We? ‘The food’s appreciated but it’s a stop-gap measure,’ she said. ‘The important thing is stable and affordable housing. When we get that right, everything else falls into place.’

‘Crikey.’ He ran his hand through his hair, which was remarkably thick for a bloke his age. ‘Where do you even start with something like that? The local MP? State or federal?’

‘It’s a combination of local council and state government.’

‘Sounds like you know a thing or two about it.’

‘I do.’ She wasn’t prepared to confess knowing homelessness herself, but after all the months working on the submission, she had an overwhelming need to share her vision. And Bob ticked all the boxes of being understanding, non-judgemental and wanting to make a difference. ‘You know that important project I said was under wraps?’

‘The one that will spread your time thin?’

She nodded. ‘It’s a sustainable tiny housing project for women over fifty-five.’ And before he could query the gender, she said, ‘For a heap of reasons, they’re the fastest-growing homeless demographic.’

‘And this is the plan you mentioned the shire has for the old experimental farm?’

Helen had never met a bloke who listened like Bob. ‘I’m hoping so. I’m still waiting to hear officially but Vivian Leppart’s confident. The land around the cottage is included in the plan and it will connect the village to the existing community garden. Each resident who wants a plot will have one.’

‘Something this big usually gets run up the local rag’s flagpole in the planning stages. Why haven’t I read anything about it before now?’

‘Softly, softly, catchee monkey,’ she quoted back at him. ‘There’s a lot of behind-the-scenes politicking. I’ve been working with the female councillors and they’re working on the men. Once we have the votes and the land’s officially ours, we’ll run a community awareness program outlining the benefits to Boolanga.’

‘Hmm …’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘You might find yourself up against some opposition.’

‘We live in a democracy and people are free to object, but at the end of the day, the shire doesn’t need the community’s permission to use the land. We’re not building close to any existing