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

attack under the house or looking needy in front of Bob Murphy. A young man emerged from the greenhouse tent, joining Bob.

‘Who’s that with him?’ she asked Jade.

‘Dunno.’ Jade jiggled Milo’s pram to stop him grizzling.

‘Morning, ladies,’ Bob said. ‘I’d like you to meet my nephew, Lachlan McKenzie. Lachie, this is Helen and Jade. The cute little bloke is Milo.’

Lachlan, who was wearing a shirt with an embroidered company logo, took off his Akubra hat and shook both their hands before squatting down to Milo’s level. ‘G’day, squirt. Enjoying that, are you?’ Rusk was smeared all over Milo’s pudgy cheeks.

‘What can we do for you?’ Bob asked.

‘Nothing,’ Helen said. ‘Jade jumped the gun.’

The girl rolled her eyes. ‘There’s an old bedhead under the house we need.’

Bob shuddered. ‘Maybe we can fish it out with a pole?’

‘That was my suggestion,’ Helen said.

Bob threw her a grateful look. ‘I’ve got an old pool pole at home. I’ll duct tape an awning hook onto it and see how we go.’

‘Ever since a redback put Uncle Bob in hospital, he’s had a thing about spiders,’ Lachlan said. ‘But if you’ve got a torch, I’ll shimmy in and get it.’

Jade’s ‘Cool!’ rode over Helen’s ‘You’ll get filthy’.

‘No farmer ever expects me to turn up clean.’

Helen glimpsed a younger Bob in the man’s grin. ‘Well … only if we’re not holding you up.’

‘If you want me to grow vegetables this badly, Helen, go get the torch,’ Jade instructed.

‘What did your last slave die of?’ she muttered as she took the steps two at a time.

‘Talking back.’

Helen spluttered, losing the fight not to laugh.

After Lachlan emerged coughing and covered in a hundred years worth of cobwebs, he carried the metal bedhead up to Jade’s plot. Their voices drifted down the hill, Lachlan’s rumbling baritone saying ‘What about here?’ followed by Jade’s husky, ‘A bit to the left’.

‘That one knows exactly how to put people into service,’ Helen said crisply. ‘Your nephew’s too kind for his own good.’

‘You know we could have got it out with a hook and pole, right?’ Bob said ruefully.

She smiled, enjoying a rare moment of simpatico. ‘Of course we could have. And stayed much cleaner.’

‘Mind you, then Lachie couldn’t have shown off to impress Jade.’

Helen snorted. ‘I thought he was protecting you from your arachnophobia.’

‘It’s just a healthy respect for redbacks, thanks very much. But I reckon he would have elbowed me out of the way regardless.’ Bob winked. ‘It’s what I would have done when I was his age.’

‘But Jade’s got a child. Ergo, there’s likely a father somewhere in the picture.’

‘I think you’re moving way beyond the thought processes of a young buck struck by a pair of sea green eyes.’

‘Cat’s eyes. If you corner her, she’ll bite and scratch.’

‘We’re all capable of that, Helen.’ Bob’s stomach gurgled loudly. ‘Excuse me. Lachie arrived before breakfast. Any chance of a cuppa?’

‘I suppose I could manage that. Has Lachie had breakfast?’

‘Doubt it.’

‘I’ll rustle something up then.’

‘I can help.’

‘No.’ Her heart thumped so fast she heard it in her ears. Bob was looking at her as if he was about to object, so she grabbed the still wrapped paper she’d abandoned on the table. ‘Here. Read this. I’ll be back in a bit.’

She marched into the kitchen, her mind racing. What could she make? She didn’t have any bacon and she was out of cereal and bread. The kettle on the old wood stove was always close to the boil so tea was easy, but she’d promised more than that.

Her gaze strayed to the oven and she winced before pulling herself together. Opening the oven door, she checked the temperature, topped up the fire box and fiddled with the dampers.

‘Come on, you old bugger. Don’t let me down today.’

Grabbing flour, sugar and milk along with some of her own raspberries, she got mixing. Although the ancient cast-iron gem scone mould had come with the old stove, she’d never used it. Gem scones were inextricably tied up with love, grief and hate, but today, needs must.

Holding herself together, she whipped the butter and sugar and poured the mixture into the hot greased moulds. She sucked in deep breaths as she laid the tea tray with mugs, plates, knives, milk, sugar and jam. But when she pulled the golden brown treats from the oven, she lost the battle and tears fell, wetting the oven mitt.

Memories rushed over her like racing flood waters. Nicki’s smile whenever Helen pulled gem scones out of the oven. Theo’s grin as he scarfed half the batch. His later derision of the treats as ‘Aussie pap’ and his demands for baklava.

Her chest cramped with regret. This was why she fought the temptation of being lulled into happy recollections of the past. Memories were wolves in sheep’s clothing. They inevitably sank their jagged yellow teeth into her, shocking her with pain.

Enough!

She dumped the hot gem scones onto a plate, wiped away the evidence of her tears and marched the tray out to the veranda. Daisy stood up, hopeful of a treat.

Milo was snuggled on Jade’s hip and she and Lachie were peering over Bob’s shoulder looking at the paper.

‘It’s called alliteration,’ Bob said.

‘Tea’s up,’ Helen said.

Bob hurriedly folded the paper, pushing it to the edge of the table. As Helen moved to set down the tray, she asked, ‘What ridiculous headline has Peter Granski come up with today?’

‘Slum Sullies Scenic Spot,’ Jade said. ‘Mrs Kastrati would have slashed it with her red pen. It doesn’t even make any sense. The houses aren’t built yet.’

A wave of nausea rolled Helen’s stomach and her fingers loosened on the tray. It tilted wildly, sending tea sloshing and scones tumbling.

Bob grabbed it, sliding it onto the table as Lachlan dived for the scones. He caught the plate on the tips of his fingers like a cricketer sliding in for a low ball.

‘You okay, Helen?’ Jade asked. ‘You’ve gone sorta grey.’

Bob pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down before you fall down.’

She sat, but only because her legs