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

She smiled, but it felt forced. Discomfort tangoed with a new appreciation for Amal. Most teenage boys Tara knew could barely string ten words together in the company of adults, but Amal had not only sat with Jon, he’d found the perfect way to keep him calm.

‘Isn’t it wrong the police automatically assume he’s involved?’ she said.

‘They’re just doing their job, T.’

‘I said that too, but how would we feel if Flynn was older and the police always treated him like he was guilty?’

‘That wouldn’t happen.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we’re Hoopers and they know us.’

‘Exactly. But what if Hoopers didn’t have a hundred years of history in the district?’ She bit her lip, toying with the truth she’d been avoiding. ‘What if we weren’t white?’

‘The Wongs have been here almost as long as us and you don’t see the police giving Jack a hard time.’

‘Not these days, but read Lucy Wong’s book. Apparently Boolanga’s favourite Chinese family were persecuted for years. It only stopped when the Greeks arrived in town and to quote Lucy, suddenly the chinks Boolanga knew were better than the wogs they didn’t.’

Jon laughed, but Tara fidgeted. ‘I laughed when I read it too, but now … I keep thinking about how I’d feel if no one believed Flynn. I think we should trust Amal and offer him a job. He’s got all the qualities we’re looking for in an employee. He’s kind, caring and, going on what he does for Fiza in the garden, hardworking.’ She grimaced. ‘He’s already better than some of the new casuals.’

‘That’s not saying much.’

‘True.’

Tara railed at the historical precedent set by Ian that was hard to break. It meant each year they ended up hiring at least one lazy and entitled kid because their father or uncle were connected with the store or their grandfather played golf or bowls with Ian. Inevitably, one or more reluctant teenagers stood around waiting to be instructed, then did the job in a way that oozed ‘massive favour’.

‘By the way, I vote you have that uncomfortable conversation,’ she added.

Jon’s leg jerked. ‘Tell me you’re not thinking we sack one of the casuals to employ Amal? That won’t go down well with the staff.’

‘Even if it’s on merit?’

‘Come on, Tara. You know they won’t see it that way. If you want to offer Amal a job, we have to wear the cost and add him to the team without dropping anyone. After Christmas, if he’s proved himself and the others haven’t, then we can talk about it.’

Tara didn’t need Jon’s raised brows to understand that giving Amal a job was one thing. Convincing some of the staff it was a good idea would be something else entirely.

Helen had gone straight from the garden meeting to her shift at the café, where a steady stream of tourists kept her busy. By the time she knocked off at seven, her legs ached, but she’d driven straight to the park with the leftover food and spent the evening chatting with Roxy, Cinta and three new women.

Helen told the women about the tiny houses project and asked them to ‘like’ the Facebook page. ‘The more people who support the project, the more noise we make.’

‘Any news on the Chinese resort?’ Cinta asked.

‘That’s still an unsubstantiated rumour. The mayor maintains there are no plans for the land, but he’s currently in rural France promoting cultural exchange.’

‘Pah! It’s a junket,’ Cinta said. ‘And a smokescreen.’

Once Helen would have written off Cinta’s comments but these days she found herself agreeing.

‘I’m more interested in his stopovers in the UAE and Hong Kong,’ she said.

‘Buying his wife clothes, is he?’ Roxy asked.

‘More like selling out Boolanga. I just need some solid proof.’

‘You’ll find it. They slip up every time.’

‘Maybe, but I have to find it before he dazzles the rest of council and they agree to getting into bed with an overseas consortium.’

‘I thought you said the three women were on side with the tiny houses project?’

‘They are, but four votes is a majority and the other four are men.’

‘Bastards,’ one of the new women muttered.

‘Talking about men,’ Cinta said. ‘Where’s the delightful Bob tonight? It’s not like him to stand us up.’

‘Not sure,’ Helen said. ‘He must have something on.’

But the words sounded wrong. Since that wet evening when she’d run into Bob at Riverbend, he’d been at every park food night. He was usually waiting for her when she arrived to help set up. She’d assumed he was running late and had then got busy and forgotten. But then she remembered the missed committee meeting and dread upended her stomach. Had something happened?

You’re being ridiculous. He’s a grown man who doesn’t owe you a thing or even a text message.

But the urge to call and check he was okay made her fingers itch for her phone.

Distracted, she listened to the women’s chatter as they finished their drinks. When they rose almost as one to walk down to the river for their after-dinner cigarette, Helen said, ‘Perhaps I’ll see you next week.’

‘If you wait five, I’ll help you pack up after the ciggie,’ Roxy said.

‘Thanks, but I need to get going. It’s only a couple of trips to the car.’

Helen watched the craving for nicotine win the battle over Roxy’s genuine desire to help. ‘Thanks, Helen,’ she said, and hurried after the other women.

Faint vestiges of light played across the darkening sky, casting it in shades of lilac and violet. Helen popped the boot and slid the drinks box in before returning for the esky. The shrieking cockatoos had settled and the cicadas’ song filled the fast-darkening dusk, drowning the indistinct buzz of the women’s voices. She glanced around, checking she hadn’t missed anything, then walked back towards the car.

On the way, she paused to gaze up at Venus shining white and bright in the now inky sky. As she brought her gaze down, something moved in her peripheral vision. She turned and peered, but couldn’t make out the shape of anything other than