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

Jade’s kohl-ringed eyes blinked at her, clearly startled. Helen’s permanent irritation with the girl ran into uneasy and prickling guilt.

‘We’ve had a donation of new gloves, so give me back mine and you can choose a pair that fits you better,’ she said.

‘You serious?’

‘No, I just want my gloves back.’ But the joke fell flat. ‘Yes, I’m serious. I’ve just opened the box so you can have the first pair.’

She directed Jade to the box in the hall. When the girl had disappeared into the gloom, Helen stepped out onto the veranda so Bob didn’t ask to come in.

‘Thanks for this,’ Bob said.

Helen still thought flowers were a waste of water and was annoyed that Bob was indulging a teenage fancy. ‘Let’s see if her enthusiasm survives a long hot summer.’

‘She might surprise you.’

And pigs might fly.

Jade reappeared waving a pair of white and mauve gardening gloves. ‘These are so cool!’

Helen was struck by how a pair of three-dollar gloves had lifted the semi-permanent scowl on Jade’s face, revealing a pretty young woman. A very young woman.

Tendrils of care tried to cling but Helen sloughed them away. She had more than enough on her plate and, thankfully, Jade struck her as someone who could take care of herself.

CHAPTER

13

When Tara arrived home from the PFA meeting at the primary school, she was surprised to find Jon still up. For weeks he’d been going to bed early. Once she would have breezed in, kissed him on the cheek and cuddled up on the couch to regale him with tales of powerplays on the committee and how she and Shannon spent most of the meeting rolling their eyes. But that sort of relaxed intimacy was a casualty of the war that was their lack of a sex life.

‘Hi,’ she said to his back.

Jon didn’t turn from staring out the large bay window into the dark. Nor did he comment on the fact she was home earlier than usual.

‘Were there enough icy pole sticks to finish Flynn’s homework project?’ she asked.

Jon loved helping the kids with projects but she usually had to rein in his enthusiasm and remind him he was helping Flynn, not the other way around.

‘Yeah. Done.’

His words came out on a staccato beat. She pictured a frustrated Flynn trying to get his hands on his own project.

‘Are the kids okay?’

‘The kids are fine.’ He turned to look at her, his face lined with fatigue. ‘We’ve got new neighbours.’

She crossed her fingers. ‘The detailed Subaru?’

‘That’s the one.’ He didn’t sound as pleased as he had the first time he’d mentioned the car.

‘You’ve met them?’ she asked. ‘Do they look more like our type of people than the last three?’

‘I haven’t met them but I’ve seen them. They’re definitely not our type.’

Tara’s stomach dropped. ‘They can’t be any worse than the flannel-shirted, dental disaster, pit-bull-owning, five-car-wrecksin-the-yard neighbour.’

‘They are.’

‘How’s that even possible? Lyle did time at Dhurringile.’

‘They’re African.’

Her mouth dried. ‘It might not be so bad.’

‘Hah! So far I’ve counted three kids and one of them’s a teenage boy.’ His throat worked. ‘Jesus! Those bloody kids are giving me enough grief at work. I don’t need them living next door. I’m moving the trampoline to the other side of the garden.’

Tara nodded her agreement, thinking about the group of black teenage boys she often saw around the railway crossing. Was the teen next door part of that gang? Would they hang out next door? Her ripple of anxiety peaked into a wave.

‘Should we install a security system here as well as at the store?’ she said.

‘Already one step ahead of you. Darren’s coming tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’

But her relief at the safety and peace of mind a security system offered didn’t compensate for the fact Tingledale was losing its innocence. Still, hope zipped in under the crust of her resentment that had been thickening over the weeks. Jon was protecting her and the children, putting them first.

She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I’m exhausted. You coming to bed?’

‘Soon.’ But he picked up the remote and turned on the television.

‘Soon’ meant at least an hour, which guaranteed she’d be asleep. The crust around her heart cured into a hard shell.

Two days later, Tara was with Zac at the five-station fitness park that was strung along the walking track by the river. They were doing a strength session as part of her marathon training. Tara understood the importance of leg presses and curls, walking lunges and calf raises to strengthen her legs. But chin-ups?

She stared at the bar above her. ‘Why?’

‘They’re good for your core. They stabilise the spine so help reduce back injuries. Plus they’re great for your grip.’ Zac grinned. ‘You won’t need to ask your husband to open any jars for you.’

‘Well, there is that.’

‘Let’s start on the lower bar so I can show you the correct position. The important thing is to hold your hands shoulder-width apart.’

Tara closed her hands tightly around the bar but all she could feel was Zac’s body heat invading hers. It whipped through her, dominating every thought and igniting weeks of unsatiated need. Her pelvic floor clenched.

‘Before you pull up, make sure you’ve pressed your legs together to maintain a strong midline.’

No problem there—her thighs were already pressed tight, enjoying the delicious tingles. With Zac’s bulk behind her and his breath on her ear, longing raced across her skin, raising a shiver of goosebumps.

‘You mean like this?’ She leaned back and her body spooned against his as if they’d been designed to fit together. It felt amazing. He felt amazing. She wanted to stay there forever. The one tiny part of her brain not drenched in serotonin instructed Move now! But her body knew what it wanted and it didn’t move a millimetre.

‘That’s the way,’ Zac said. ‘Now you lift.’

He stepped back, giving her room to position herself on the higher bar. A moan rose on a sea of disappointment, the sound shocking her.

‘You’ve got this, Tara.’ Zac misinterpreted her strangled sound as anxiety.