A Home Like Ours by Fiona Lowe (inspirational books for students .txt) 📗

Jade had no idea what a Dutch hoe was or what it looked like. She got the impression that the shed could hold a lot more gardening equipment. There didn’t seem to be anyone about so where were the tools? Had someone robbed the garden?

She heard voices and rounded the container, but still couldn’t see anyone. Then she looked beyond the cyclone fence. Ten women—some wearing headscarves—were booting spades into the ground and digging over the soil. They were talking and laughing as if working in the hot sun was the best fun ever. Not that Jade understood a word they were saying.

A familiar heavy feeling settled on her chest, pressing in on her, and she closed her fingers around the wire fence. These women belonged together, just like the mothers at Baby Time. Once again, she was on the outside, looking in. Just like at school. Just like—

‘Jade!’ Helen was striding towards her, wearing the same faded plaid shirt from yesterday and the same clay-encrusted, elastic-sided work boots. ‘You came.’

She almost said, ‘Of course,’ but that wasn’t close to the truth. ‘Yeah.’ She pointed through the fence. ‘What are that lot doing?’

‘Making themselves garden beds so they can plant their vegetables. Put your baby under the tree and I’ll show you what to do.’

Usually older women made a fuss of Milo but Helen wasn’t even looking at him. Jade parked the stroller in the shade, threw an old sarong over it to give Milo some extra protection and joined Helen at a big garden bed that was a tangle of plants and weeds.

‘If you work methodically from left to right, you’ll get everything. There are trowels in the shed and a wheelbarrow. When you’ve filled it, wheel it up to my car.’ Helen glanced at Jade’s hands. ‘You got gardening gloves?’

As if. ‘I don’t need them.’

Helen’s mouth pursed like she’d sucked on a lemon. ‘Yes, you do.’

Jade bristled at the command. ‘It’s just dirt. It washes off, you know.’

‘All women who can get pregnant must wear gloves.’

After Milo was born, Jade had chosen to have a contraceptive rod inserted in her arm to give her complete protection against another accidental pregnancy. But she was curious about Helen’s decree. ‘Why?’

‘Cats poo in the garden and they can carry a virus called toxoplasmosis. I don’t have a lot of rules, Jade, but this is one of them. No gloves, no gardening.’

All her life there’d been rules that everyone seemed to know about except her. Rules that came out of nowhere and bit her on the bum, like the time her mother had walked into the kitchen wearing Jade’s new dress.

‘Mum! I haven’t even worn it yet,’ Jade had said.

‘So?’ Charlene replied. ‘I’ve paid for everything for years. Now you owe me.’

The memory stirred old anger that slammed into her frustration with Helen. ‘You could of told me that yesterday! By the time I walk to the supermarket and back here, Milo will be awake. Thanks for wasting my time. Thanks for nothing!’

Jade wasn’t hanging around for Helen to shrug her disinterest, yell back at her or give her a lecture on respecting seniors. She was about to march back to Milo when Helen pulled a pair of well-worn leather gloves from her back pocket.

‘Wear these today.’

Jade’s anger lessened, but it left behind a confusing sensation that was tiny part grateful and many parts annoyed. She’d felt the same the day before when Helen had suggested she come to the garden. There was something about the woman that made Jade itchy and scratchy.

‘Thanks, but they’re too big.’

‘They’ll do the job for today. I’ll leave you to it.’ Without looking back, Helen strode out through the gates.

Jade didn’t know what she’d expected, but part of her thought Helen might work alongside her for a bit, not just abandon her to spend time with the women on the other side of the fence. Women who didn’t even speak English!

Cold determination coiled the length of her spine. She’d show Helen. She’d harvest this garden bed and keep whatever the hell she wanted.

An hour later, Jade’s back ached. She’d dug up something that looked like a tumour and something with feathery leaves that smelled like liquorice, along with potatoes and carrots. The best find was a huge pumpkin. She was going to keep it and make soup inside it like she’d seen on a cooking show. Corey hated cooking shows, so she only watched them when he was away. Recently she’d been watching them a lot.

The unintelligible conversation continued to drift through the fence and across to Jade, reminding her she was on her own. Mostly she hummed songs to herself to block out the sound, but a burst of rapid-fire jabber made her glance up. Using her forearm, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and felt a dusting of dirt fall and stick to her cheek, pinned there by sweat. More laughter from the women dumped over her.

What the—? Jade slashed hard with a knife and severed four heads of broccoli from their thick and sturdy stalks. Those women had no right to be laughing at her when they were just as hot and dirty as she was.

She dumped the broccoli on top of the fully loaded wheelbarrow, then puffing and panting she pushed the heavy beast to the gates and Helen’s car. Opening the hatch, she found six boxes neatly positioned in two lines of three and an esky taking up the remaining space.

Jade tossed the broccoli onto the ice and sealed the esky before brushing excess dirt off the root vegetables. She was tempted to dump the lot into random boxes so Helen had to sort them. But there was something about the neatness of the arrangement and the colours of the vegetables that called to her, demanding order, so she loaded each vegetable type into its own box.

When she’d finished, she was struck by how much it looked like a painting. Vibrant green zucchinis shone, the deep purple of