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

it. I’ll happily support the application. All these things help sway opinion.’

Helen sank back in her chair. It wasn’t the first time she’d been told she was like a dog with a bone. But if those men spent one night sleeping rough they’d understand. Perhaps she should suggest Boolanga had its own version of Sleep At The ’G.

‘Chin up, Helen.’ Vivian smiled encouragingly. ‘We’ll get there. Meanwhile, as we’re still chasing votes, the important thing is to keep the submission under wraps. The last thing we need is The Standard getting hold of it and using it to light outraged fires in the community.’

Helen’s stomach sank as she remembered telling Bob about the submission. She quickly reassured herself, recalling his promise to keep the information ‘safe as houses’. The local press was far more of a risk than Bob.

She grimaced. ‘You mean something like that article on the need for overhead lighting in the car park because of Boolanga’s so-called African gang? I told Peter Granski he can’t pass off rumour-mongering under the guise of investigative journalism.’

‘And there’s the problem,’ Vivian said. ‘The traders on Irrigation Road are a powerful lobby group who spend a lot of money advertising with The Standard. Of course Peter supports their nonsense.’

Helen’s nails dug into her palms. ‘But it’s not like we’re building a jail or a toxic waste dump. No one has any reason to be upset by the project.’

Vivian sighed. ‘Never underestimate the public, Helen. We don’t want our progressive housing project to be burned to ash before we’ve even started.’

The thought sent horror scudding through her. ‘Mum’s the word.’

Jade had done what Corey had asked—she hadn’t gone near the garden. If she didn’t count the checkout chick at Foodworks or the bloke on the end of the phone at Centrelink, the only person she’d had a real conversation with in days was Fran at the library.

When Jade saw seven shiny copies of a book called Anna Karenina on the returns shelf, she’d asked, ‘Is this a new release?’

‘No, it’s a classic.’

Jade was whipped back to her senior school years and Mrs Kastrati. The English teacher often banged on about the classics and life’s lessons. More than once she’d said, ‘Jade, if you’d bother to apply yourself, you’re very capable of going to university,’ as if that softened the blow of the returned essay covered in red ink.

Fran picked up the book and hugged it like a teddy. ‘The first time I read Anna, I was at university and I fell in love. I’ve read it about ten times since.’

Jade stared at the thick hardback. ‘How many pages?’

‘Eight hundred.’

‘Eight. Hundred?’ She’d never read anything that length.

Fran smiled. ‘I promise it’s such a great story, it doesn’t seem that long. It was originally published in instalments in a magazine.’

‘Like The Middletons?’ Her mother had always gone straight to the serial story in Yours magazine.

‘Pretty much. Tolstoy wrote about the lives of rich Russian families. Even though it was written over a hundred years ago, not a lot’s changed. We still experience the agonies of falling in and out of love. We still have money problems. We try to do our best but make lots of mistakes, and we spend our lives trying to work out who we are and how we fit in the world. Sadly, just like in Tolstoy’s time, too many people are still living with the threat of war and poverty.’ Fran tapped the book. ‘It’s still very relevant. You should read it.’

Jade was sceptical. ‘I don’t think I could finish it in three weeks.’

‘I’ll just keep renewing it for you until you’ve finished. The Russian names can be a bit confusing at the start, especially as everyone has a formal name and an informal one, but I’ll photocopy the family tree for you. That way you won’t need to keep flipping to the front of the book to check who’s who.’

Jade had regretted asking about the novel, but with Fran pushing the book and the photocopy at her, it felt rude not to accept. As she walked home, she’d felt the weight of an unwanted obligation in the pram basket. She probably wouldn’t have started reading it except the power went out. Without the TV for company, she’d opened the book, surprised at how easy it was to read even with the Russian names. When her head-torch batteries had died, she’d yelled into her pillow.

Now, it was killing her not to read ahead—twice she’d had to claw her fingers back a hundred pages. She loved the excitement that pulsed between Anna and Vronsky but sensed things wouldn’t end well. And Kitty frustrated her so much! Why couldn’t she see how much Levin adored her? But even with the companionship of the big book, Jade was going stir-crazy without adult conversation.

Sunshine poured into the living room, calling her to the community garden, but she had a gnawing suspicion deep in her gut that if she gave in and went, Corey would turn up. He hated it when she wasn’t home to greet him and she didn’t want to lie to him.

Corey had been gone four days. Over the previous eighteen months, she’d learned by a process of deduction that if he was working on a farm he was absent around twelve days before returning for two. But this lightbulb installation job was different so there was a chance he’d be home today or tomorrow. Or not. Experience had taught her if she asked when he was coming home he was always vague on details. If she texted him the question, he ignored it. A few months earlier she’d concluded that asking delayed his return so she’d stopped.

She rubbed the broken skin on her cuticle, welcoming the smart. ‘Stuff it!’

She brought up a new message for Corey and typed I’m lonely. Well, it was the truth. When are you coming home? Miss you so much! Then she added a string of kiss and heart emojis. Corey hated emojis.

‘There’s