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

The cocktail sloshed in Tara’s stomach, turning rancid. ‘I don’t.’

‘The perks of sleeping with the boss,’ Kelly muttered. She didn’t add the usual ‘joking!’

‘Oh, come on, Tara. There’s no shame in admitting your good fortune.’ Rhianna’s one-and-a-half-carat diamond flashed as she indicated the group. ‘You’re among friends.’

Was she though? She really only saw Monique, Dana and Beth at book group—she’d class them more as acquaintances than friends. And her friends in the room should be accepting of her, not demanding she justify the way she lived her life. Nothing about this scenario came close to being in a safe, non-judgemental space—it was an emotional warzone.

Fighting adrenaline, Tara tried to keep her voice steady. ‘I’m as equally fortunate as you, Rhianna. Our husbands’ businesses give us flexibility to work around the children. I see you at tennis on Tuesdays, at coffee on Wednesdays and at our bi-monthly lunches. How am I more indulged than you? Our lives are the same.’

Rhianna’s brows rose. ‘I’m not spending twenty hours a week exercising.’

‘Neither am I.’ Tara fisted her hand in her lap so she didn’t reach out and slap Rhianna’s sardonic cheek. But at least I am exercising.

Perhaps Rhianna read the thought on Tara’s face, because her slightly overweight body flinched. ‘Brent appreciates my love and support of him both at home and with the business. He doesn’t want a trophy wife, and I know for a fact that neither does Jon. Just sayin’ …’

The venomous words poured through Tara, locking her jaw. I know for a fact. How did Rhianna know? That night in their kitchen when she’d found Rhianna with her hand on Jon’s arm, had he been complaining to her about Tara? Or had he confided in Brent who’d told Rhianna? And what had he confided? All scenarios horrified her and words crowded her mouth like arrows waiting to be fired. More than anything, she wanted to scream, ‘If Jon thought I was a trophy wife, he’d be screwing me!’ But there was no empathy or trust in this room. The truth would alienate her even more.

Erin broke the taut silence. ‘These days, Anna would just get a divorce, right? Thank God for no-fault divorce.’

Monique threw Erin a grateful look. ‘Divorce might not be the social scandal it was in Tolstoy’s day, but women still lose more than men. Emotionally and financially.’

‘My father buggered off, leaving Mum with me and my sister,’ Dana said. ‘He never paid her any maintenance and Mum’s super is forty per cent of what the average bloke’s is. She’s worked hard all her life but, unlike him, she can’t afford to take early retirement. Meanwhile, my bastard father’s living in a million-dollar house on the Sunshine Coast.’

‘Well, I’ve got no sympathy for pampered women who screw around on their husbands just because they’re bored,’ Kelly said. ‘So Alexei wasn’t romantic or demonstrative—whose husband is? She got what she deserved. End of story.’ Kelly refilled her glass. ‘So what’s our next book?’

Tara almost said Frenemies.

CHAPTER

12

‘So that’s where things are at with the community garden.’ Helen finished her report with a wry smile.

Vivian matched it. ‘Wow! Poor you. That Judith’s something else.’

‘Thank goodness for Hoopers.’ But Helen wasn’t cadging for sympathy. ‘The extension is all part of the tiny houses plan anyway, but I don’t want people thinking of it as the “refugee garden” or the “housing garden”. It’s one big garden, serving the needs of our diverse community.’

Vivian nodded. ‘Absolutely. It’s a vital tool in building a cohesive community.’

‘Any chance you could come and say those words to the committee?’ Helen asked. ‘Mention the model rules? Remind them that the garden’s on shire land and it exists to reach the broader community regardless of age, gender or country of origin.’

‘I can do better than that. I’ll run a conflict resolution workshop for all the garden members and I’ll give Parks a hurry-up on sending that letter to satisfy judgey Judith.’

‘Thanks, Vivian. Sometimes I feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall.’

‘You’re not. You’re doing an amazing job with the garden and the park food. We’re lucky to have you.’ Vivian tapped her French nails on the folder Helen had delivered to her a few weeks earlier. ‘I’ve read your submission.’

Helen’s heart picked up. ‘And?’

‘Congratulations! It’s a well thought out and beautifully executed document. It’s got the perfect combination of heartfelt personal stories, stats and dollar amounts to soften the hardest bean-counter’s heart.’

Relief and joy swept through her. ‘So you think it’s ready?’

‘I do. Unfortunately, council isn’t.’

Helen’s euphoria evaporated, leaving a heavy weight pinned against her chest. ‘But we’ve got four votes. You, Cynthia, Messina and the mayor.’

Vivian sighed. ‘I won’t lie to you. Geoff’s withdrawn his support. I think he’s pushing for another tilt at mayor and he’s leery of aligning himself with anything that hints of controversy.’

‘But this isn’t controversial. We’re not pulling anything down, and there’s no existing housing so no neighbours to upset.’

‘I know it and you know it, but we have to deal with the fact that men have a different approach to most things.’

Helen was familiar with the concept—marriage to Theo had taught her that much. ‘I want to meet with the mayor but that secretary of his won’t let me near him. Can you set it up?’

‘I’ll do my best, but pushing Geoff isn’t the best way to make him change his mind.’

‘You think I’d do more harm than good?’

‘Please don’t take this the wrong way …’ Vivian tucked some stray strands of her sleek ebony hair behind her ear. ‘I find your enthusiasm refreshing, but I know these men. They like it best when they think something’s their idea. We only need one more vote so we’ll keep working on Don, Craig and Aki. Meanwhile, continue recording the numbers turning up to the park food nights. And why not talk to the bakery and the pub about their leftover food? You can apply for a community grant and formalise