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Chapter Four

Lilly Pilly

( Acmena smithii)

Excellent blank slate for bonsai as it heals well from cutting and the new growth is particularly eye-catching, as it emerges in striking red and glossy shades. It is evergreen with vibrant, rounded, glossy green foliage and dense growth. Low maintenance and tolerant of various conditions.

I t was after a full week: the first Saturday, the Wednesday and then Saturday—today—that I decided Steph had a magnetic device attached to her body. Nothing else could explain Steph's pull, Steph’s ability to make me aware of her location anywhere in the nursery. Perhaps it was a chemical imbalance.

“Angel, what’s attraction? Like, what makes something or someone attractive?”

I blinked away the weird thoughts, and focussed on Kadee, one of my weekly Bonsai Brain attendees. The earnest expression on her face indicated the seriousness of her question. She’d even placed her tweezer spatula next to her bonsai as if having nothing in her hands would fully respect my answer.

“I’m sorry, Kadee. I didn’t hear you.”

Nice.

Kadee didn’t frown at my disengagement. In fact, her expression was pretty much default: eyes boring holes into the person she was talking to, intense stillness as if to glue the respondent to their spot in case they actually walked away. Paul, another member of the group, possessed a somewhat similar fear. He spoke rapidly without pause as if he feared if he took a breath, someone would fill in or finish his sentence with a word that he didn’t want or need and then he had to use the word because the other person had taken charge of the conversation. Therefore, rapid speech that lacked punctuation. Paul had such interesting things to talk about and on his ‘safe’ days, he would regale us with anecdotes of other students’ exploits at his high school.

“So, what’s attraction?” Kadee peered around her piece, and pinned me to my spot at the head of the long table. “I’m trying to work out what makes something or someone attractive. My therapist said I should try to find attractiveness in the world, but it’s hard when it’s all black. Black’s not that attractive unless you’re Jenna Ortega’s nails. What do you think is attractive?”

Touched that Kadee would want my opinion, I pushed away the image of Steph standing in a field holding a bouquet of dried proteas and folded my arms on the table.

“I’m not sure. Maybe honesty. Kind eyes, I guess,” I replied. “A nice smile.”

Kadee nodded. Then, at the other end of the table, Benji lifted his hand, the collection of bracelets clicking together on his wrist. I’d given up trying to get Benji to stop doing that particular gesture like he was in school, but apparently he needed to so he could create space for himself.

“Smiles mean you’re happy and what if you’re never happy,” he said softly, his blonde curls falling over his eyes.

I gazed at him. “Permanent happiness sounds exhausting, Benji. But happiness can be other things. Like me in this place. If I went around grinning like a clown, radiating permanent joy and happiness, then we’d have no customers. Can you imagine the Google reviews?”

The other teens looked up at the joke, either appreciating the effort or theatrically rolling their eyeballs.

“In this place,” I continued. “I’m satisfied. I’m pleased. I’m content. I’m…well, you get the idea. I’m versions of happy and sometimes those states of being don’t need a smile, but can be quite attractive to someone. They can see those versions, and be drawn to them.” I looked at Kadee. “How’s your Lillypilly Acmena smithii going?” I insisted on not patronising my Bonsai Brainiacs and used the scientific names for the plants whenever I could.

“It’s good. I trimmed the primary buds to balance the top layer.”

“Happy with it?”

“Yes.” Then Kadee jerked. “I’m attracted to a plant?”

“Why not?” I shrugged. “I have a strange fascination with the Green Mist Acacias which many would deem unhealthy.”

This time there was more laughter and less eye-rolling.

* * *

On Thursday, Lucas picked up the mail from the post office.

“Bill, junk mail, junk mail…” he paused. “And something from Melbourne City Council.” He tossed it over to me, and I quickly slid my finger under the stuck-down flap. I shook out a piece of paper with single-spaced text.

Steph wandered over. “Anything interesting?” She stood at my shoulder, not reading the letter, but more like just being close. I looked up and fell into those brown eyes, which were looking back with interest.

Maybe Steph was having attractive thoughts as well. Perhaps she needed her own bonsai.

“It’s an invitation of sorts to attend the next council meeting—tomorrow night—to express our concerns in the hope that we might put aside our decision to fire off a fancy lawyerly letter.” I pointed at my chest. “Which we’re still doing, by the way.”

“So, are we going to the meeting as well?” Lucas asked, his brow wrinkled.

“You don’t have to, mate, but if you want, you can come and grumble loudly.”

“I kinda have to stay home and grumble loudly at my Economics essay. Sorry.” He looked contrite

Suddenly Mrs G stormed into the nursery, waving the paper and shouting in broken English.

“This. This council is having the meeting.”

“Tomorrow night,” Steph and I said together.

“Look. Is here. Tomorrow,” she continued, like a veritable steamroller. “At six o’clock.” She thrust the thin paper into my hands and stabbed a finger at the tiny writing.

“It’s really unfair. I’m glad you got a copy as well,” I placated.

Mrs Georgopolis puffed with pride. “I am important community member. This.” Again, the stabbing finger. “This. They ask for concerned citizens. That is us. This is not community feeling. This Walker ’ s is not community.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to her shop.

“Unfortunately, the council and Walker ’ s are meeting their legal obligations, because advertising the meeting is mandatory,” Steph said quietly. “They have to hold an open forum, and besides, council meetings are not allowed to be conducted behind closed doors,”.

I turned to her more square on and raised my eyebrows.

“Want to come along?” I scanned the letter again. “Says here that the reps from Walker's will be there, including the head honcho himself, Ben Walker.”

“Benjamin,” Steph muttered.

“What?”

“He likes to be called Benjamin, so I’ve heard.” Steph shrugged in a somewhat stilted manner, but I grinned.

“Awesome. Ben, it is.” Then I waggled the letter at Steph. “Probably Benjamin. So? Coming along?”

She gave another shrug. “Ok. I’d like to support you—the nursery, I mean.” Steph blushed and I blinked. Either I was being a clueless lesbian—highly likely—or Steph’s face had just admitted to a little attraction as well. Interesting.

I tucked the letter into my apron pocket, and tipped my chin at the door. “I’ll just duck next door to see if the others know about this.” Then I pursed my lips. “It’s only tomorrow night, so that’s heaps and heaps of notice, isn’t it?” I said, the sarcasm dripping from my words.

Having confirmed that Ted and Jules had received their notice, were happy to close early tomorrow, and were all prepared to meet at the council chambers on the dot of six o’clock, I strolled back into the store, nodding with triumphant satisfaction. I was met by Lucas, who was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet while pushing a cart of eight bird’s nest ferns that had arrived from Plants Galore in the ten minutes I’d been gathering the mob and the tiki torches.

“I texted Paul,” he announced. “He’s in the ornithology club at school and reckons that the Walker’s Warehouse is being built on the nesting area of the Eastern Australian spotted finch. He’s passionate about habitat loss.” Lucas gave the cart an extra heave. “He can be a bit of a firecracker in meetings and would love to be there to ask pointy questions.”

With visions of all-out brawls at the bird society’s weekly get-togethers, and a promise that Paul would be wearing his best enviro-politics T-shirt, I delivered a small punch to the air.

“Great. We’ve got another member for our swarm of concerned citizens.”

Steph laughed. “We’re a swarm?”

“Yep. Small, yet mighty. A sixteen year old bird spotter is our secret weapon.”

Lucas cracked up. “And on that note, I’ve gotta get going, Angel. Sorry for the short shift but I’ve got biology tomorrow and I need all the hours of sleep I can get to tackle a cow’s eyeball.”

Steph and I both said, “Ew,” simultaneously, and Lucas grinned, pushed back a couple of palm fronds into their correct angle, then whipped off his apron, folded it, and dropped it on the counter.

Steph gave him a quick wave, then turned to me face on. “Your argument is based on the lack of community, isn't it?”

“Yes!” I replied, emphatically. “Can you imagine those Walker’s staff members not knowing a thing about their section or being so arrogant to customers who don’t know anything? I’d hate for people to experience that. That’s why this place works. I refuse to be one of those lesbians in the nursery or hardware section who doesn't give a shit and props their Blundstone-clad foot on the bottom rail of the shelving rack and gives the customer a smirk that says knowledgeable, patronising, and prone to using words like 'gauge' and 'penetrating oil-based outdoor deck stain’.”

I took a deep breath as Steph blinked rapidly.

“O-okay. Is this why I’m coming tomorrow night? To keep you from saying things like that?”

I gave her a long look, then laughed. “Probably. Maybe you haven’t met too many smirking, hardware lesbians, but they’re out there,” I said dryly.

“I’ve met a few. They’ve exchanged their Blundstones for Colorados when I’ve come into their sphere of engagement at Kings and Queens . ” Steph’s cheeks pinked and I realised that she’d very casually, very quietly, let me know that not only were we part of a small posse of shop owners but members of another small community as well.

Hmm.

I helped Steph move all the ferns to the back of the store.

“Do people really buy these?” Steph asked. “They come across as the sort that would be prone to invading the world given half the chance.”

I let go of my trolley to laugh. “Diabolical plants with a world domination fetish.” I gazed at her mouth which had stretched into a smile, and she seemed to take in my entire face, stopping at my own smile, my eyes. There was an enormous—probably tiny—amount of silence that was warm and rather nice.

“You never know. We’ll have to watch them carefully and create care pamphlets for customers,” Steph said so softly I had to lean in to hear her. Perhaps that was her plan. Good grief. It was all a bit much, so I stepped back.

“It sucks that the meeting is on a Friday night. It’s like they expect no one to turn up.” I widened my eyes in innocence and Steph chuckled. “So, thanks for saying yes to joining us. It means a lot, because you’ve only been working here two weeks. I like that your ideals match this place. I think it’s one of reasons I hired you. Plus, you’re good with the customers.”

Steph blushed slightly. “The senior citizens were a highlight. They’re a hoot. In fact, I’m enjoying everything about Dig It, including all the people here. Everyone.”

Everyone, which, because she was gazing at me so intently, felt like one in particular.

* * *

Our little posse of five—me, Steph, Jules, Mrs G, and Ted—settled into our seats in the arc of chairs available—with an ocean of carpet separating us and the council tables—and were ready to register our verbal complaint via the medium of calm yet clipped lecturn-gripping points of contention. I reckon the others were hoping I’d drunk some camomile tea or something so I could get the Yelling McYelling situation in check. I’d completed my own meditation of scratching Tough’s belly before leaving him at home with a chew bone.

There were a surprising number of people. Probably fifty, which made me wonder if Walker’s had pissed off that many. Though, after the first fifteen minutes, I discovered that not everyone was there for the Walker’s issue. A small-scale developer and his lawyer were there to complain about the caveat placed on the building they wanted to demolish and how dare the council deem the one-hundred year old home a heritage listing. While the to-ing and fro-ing continued, I scanned the twenty council members. Old white bloke, old white bloke, old white bloke, middle-aged white woman, Asian woman, generic twenty-something guy, old white bloke, another old white bloke, a Sikh man with a beautiful red ombre turban about his head, more white people, and then the Walker’s crew. A maybe forty-something man with clipped and heavily gelled hair in a very expensive-looking suit radiated so much confidence that I knew it would come across as arrogance when he stood to speak. I made a bet with myself that the super confident guy was Benjamin Walker. I leaned sideways and murmured to Steph out of the corner of my mouth.

“Is the suit who dipped his head in a bucket of gel our buddy Ben?”

Steph snorted, but I didn’t get to see the grin because she had slumped down further on her chair, almost at one with the fabric, and pulled the fedora-style hat further over her face.

She’d turned up at ten to six wearing the hat, pulling the sides over her hair.

“Nice hat, Steph,” I’d complimented. “I love it, but from the way you’re yanking it down, it’s almost like you don’t want anyone to recognise you.” I’d laughed, and rubbed her shoulder. She smiled at the gentle tease, then grimaced.

“I’ve got a bit of a headache so shading my eyes from the fluorescent lights is necessary.”

“Oh. Shit! That sucks. Go home and have some quiet time with a Panadol or two.”

Steph had straightened and gently waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh no. I really want to see this tonight.”

She seemed overly enthusiastic about witnessing a bunch of people having a massive whinge at the council, but I loved the fact that she was as passionate about our community of shops as we were, despite being our newest recruit.

Steph whispered a “Yes,” in response to my question about suit dude, and I gave myself a mental high-five for winning my bet. Seated beside Benjamin Walker was another bloke who looked like he was aiming for the boss twin trophy. He had the look of a Yes Man. The next person along was intriguing. A fabulously sexy, incredibly intimidating, ice queen-style woman with shoulder-length blonde hair sporting a razor sharp fringe that looked like it would deliver a thousand paper cuts if you ventured anywhere near it. She was scanning the crowd, then her gaze landed on me. I felt like I was being x-rayed. It was disconcerting. Ice queen women weren’t really my type—I preferred the natural, bit chaotic, version—so I was incredibly relieved when her gaze moved on. She paused on Steph, who was still at one with the itchy blue upholstery on the chairs. Her headache was obviously still making itself known, so I stroked her upper arm in sympathy as we sat, and Steph looked up through her eyelashes from under the brim and smiled warmly.

“We come now to our last order of business.” The mayor’s voice cut through my musings—my feelings—and I straightened my spine. Suddenly I was an alert meerkat.

“The potential development of a Walker Lifestyle Warehouse on the north side of the A83 highway. This portion of the meeting is open to citizens to express their concerns, if there are any, regarding the development. Please take note of your time allocation.” He gestured to his right, and all the councillors directed their focus, like fox terriers on a ball, to where he pointed. “We are fortunate to have Mr Benjamin Walker, CEO of Walker Industries with us tonight, accompanied by Mr Harry Kirlew, state manager of Walker Lifestyle Warehouses and Ms Katherine Marcheson, senior lawyer at Walker Industries.”

Ice queen woman was a lawyer. I wasn’t really surprised. I figured you’d need frozen veins to write the policies, procedures, and smart lawyerly language that steamrolled over small businesses. I narrowed my eyes and metaphorically pushed up my sleeves as Benjamin stood at his place at the long council table.

“Let me begin by saying how symbiotic it will be when the Walker Lifestyle Warehouse is built. We support local communities, and inject funds into sporting groups, and supporting charities is a Walker trademark.” He smiled, all teeth and Teflon.

“What does that have to do with us?” Jules hissed. I had the same question.

Benjamin wasn’t looking at the audience. It was like he was pitching an idea to a shareholder’s meeting where people were already on his side in the first place.

He didn’t see us as individual people, and the thought made my blood boil.

Steph must have felt me vibrating with annoyance, because she slid her hand over and gripped my forearm, which caused the vibrations to pivot like an expert footballer to warm tingles brought on by a rather lovely woman.

Two weeks. That was the total amount of time Steph had worked at Dig It, and here I was with warm tingles and a slight flush to my skin all because my forty-year-old heart had decided it really liked Steph. I wanted to quash this brilliant idea of my heart but forearm touches and smiles and delightful repartee were difficult to ignore.

“If I could direct your attention to the first slide.” I jerked myself back from Magical Smiles and Touches land and focused on the large screen that Benjamin was gesturing towards. It contained a stock image of a smiling young person diligently typing into their phone while an aisle of hardware paraphernalia had been green-screened behind them.

“One of the more exciting aspects of the Walker Lifestyle Warehouse is the concept of hardware hacks!” He beamed.

“What the hell’s a hardware hack?” I muttered.

Benjamin ploughed on. “The proposed warehouse on the A83 highway will be a flagship store showcasing the hardware hack innovation.” He flicked to the next slide, which contained the same stock image but now the customer was aiming their phone at a QR code. “At the end of every aisle will be a QR code that sends a customer to a link where they can follow a Walker instructional video to create the item. And all the materials needed for the item they want to build are in that aisle! It’s all at their fingertips! Then!” His grin was a beacon of bright teeth and the ultimate joy in his own genius. “Once they have used the hack, they upload a video or photo of their finished product to any social media platform, tag our company in their post, and earn loyalty points according to the number of likes they receive. It’s revolutionary!” He gestured to the audience in the manner of ‘isn’t it obvious?’

I scanned the applauding councillors. Most were caught up in Benjamin’s enthusiasm, nodding like those bobble-head dogs on the dashboard in cars. Harry—Mr Yes Man—was nodding along as well. Katherine Marcheson wasn’t. The look on her face was indecipherable, but enthusiasm certainly hadn’t made an appearance.

I wondered why we were hearing the sales pitch. What about the rezoning? The location? The taking away people’s livelihood section? It was like they were trying to white-wash the whole situation. Convince us to drop our objection because Walker’s was too wonderful to touch.

Benjamin was still going. “We want to encourage the millennials, the….what’s the one younger than them?” No one answered. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the blokes, the chicks with tools, all the DIY-ers, the lesbians who give any project a go.” I gave a soft growl, and Steph’s hand smoothed its way down my forearm again.

“We want to give lifestyle influencers the ability to access the tools and materials right at their fingertips. Everyone wants to think that they’re a carpentry genius, or a storage magician, or a spray paint …He faded off as if he’d exhausted his repertoire of nouns.

“Savant?” Katherine supplied, with a raised eyebrow, and a few members of the audience snickered.

Katherine Marcheson seriously had no love for Benjamin Walker. I wondered why.

Benjamin continued blathering but I tuned him out. I wasn’t interested in his sales spiel and I’d heard all I needed to hear. I mentally sorted out my questions and rebuttals ready for my turn at the microphone.

“We would like to welcome pre-registered members of the audience who have questions regarding the Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouse.”

Paul, Lucas school buddy, leapt up, all gangly limbs and enthusiasm. “I’m Paul Invaker, the president of Harriston High Ornithological Studies Club. Mr Walker, what are you doing to protect the Eastern Australian Spotted Finch’s nesting area?”

Benjamin looked confused, then turned to Katherine, who gave a slight smile.

“Paul, that is an excellent question,” Katherine began in a smooth voice. “We’ve dealt with this before. Construction on the Sydney Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouse was stalled last year due to an environmental impact study conducted by the New South Wales Conservation Commission. I’m assuming you are aware of their thorough process since you are bringing up this question.” She stared at him and if I hadn’t known better, I could have sworn Katherine was literally telling Paul to get in touch with the Victorian version of the Conservation Commission to set up a meeting about spotted finches. “We do everything within our power to protect the environment.” Again with the stare.

Harry, his military-style haircut, sharp suit and eyebrows all forming a symphony of irritation muttered quite audibly, “There aren’t any bloody finches.”

“Mr Kirlew, the Eastern Australian Spotted Finch lives in grasslands like that over on the proposed site. That enormous area allows for the Eastern Australian Spotted Finch to feed on fallen seeds on the ground and eat some flying insects, especially when feeding their young.”

I was in love with this kid. What an earnest warrior.

“Paul, all I can say is we do everything within our power to protect the environment and will comply with any findings from the Conservation Commission.” Katherine gave him a slight smile.

“Well, ok,” Paul said. “Thanks. I’ll look into it further.” He stepped back from the lectern and arranged himself into his seat as only a teenager can.

Jules stepped forward. “I’m Jules, the owner of Coffee and Crystals, and I’m concerned that the cafe in your warehouse being so close to the highway will take away business from my cafe.”

“I’m sure there’s room for two cafes,” Benjamin laughed, which seemed to set fire to Jules hair follicles.

“That’s just placating me with a crystal ball. You don’t know that,” she said, outraged, then she shook her head. “Look. The warehouse? Great idea. The location? Shit idea. Why can’t the warehouse be moved back further from the suburban stores? The council has that area zoned as semi-commercial. You can’t build there anyway, unless the council change the boundaries.”

The mayor spoke up. “All concerned parties are entitled to put forward a complaint about the relocation of any zone boundaries.” It was like he was reading from a script.

Jules sighed. “Fine. I’ll get onto that.” She walked dejectedly back to her seat, just as I left mine. Right.

“Angel Whitlock. Owner of Dig It, the nursery next to Coffee and Crystals. Now, Benjamin. Can I call you Benjamin? Great.” I didn’t give him time to answer which seemed to irritate him. “Have you looked into how much damage your warehouse is going to do to the local shops?”

Benjamin scoffed. “I understand the necessity of environmental studies but a financial societal-type study would be a complete waste of time. A Walker board member or shareholder would need to be employed in one of your shops to establish a full picture of the impact and that’s unlikely to happen.” He laughed.

“It’d be a damn sight better than just plonking your warehouse over the road without thought.”

I was pissed off.

“Look,” I continued, gripping the microphone stand with one hand like a 1980s glam rock singer. “I like the idea of a Walker’s Warehouse. I was in Sydney last year and needed some tools for my friend’s reno and you lot had everything I needed. So, I get it. But not there.” I pointed vaguely in the general direction of the proposed site. “I also get that there’s a market for the hack-yourself-into-a-corner influencers, but not at the expense of us.” I gestured at the group behind me. “Some of our stores have been here for decades. You’ll demolish us. A Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouse is a great idea, but the positioning is all wrong.”

“You realise that to capture the market of influencers and their need for hacks, we will need proximity,” Harry piped up.

“Yes. And again, not there.”

Then curiosity got the best of me. “You do realise that the original meaning of the word ‘hack’ is to make an absolutely awful attempt at something? The original hack. Temporarily functional but not necessarily reliable or beautiful.”

This seemed to completely throw the mayor, most counsellors, Benjamin, and Harry.

Eventually, Harry answered. “Well, language is changing. We’re keeping up with modern media and modern media is TikTok and YouTube.”

Jules whispered loudly. “Ask them what happens if the influencer fucks it up.”

I grinned, then paraphrased. “What if they don’t create the project successfully? Like match it to the actual product shown in the video? Can they still upload their attempt?”

We were now so far off topic but it was fascinating how people were responding to the question. Katherine seemed glued to the to-ing and fro-ing between Benjamin and me. Harry was shifting in his seat, either uncomfortable in his inability to answer the questions or he was still pissed about Eastern Australian Spotted Finches. The mayor kept muttering, “Well now” at random intervals.

“Absolutely they can,” Benjamin stated firmly. “Customers receive a loyalty point on their account simply by tagging us with their hack.”

I groaned. “I really dislike that word.”

Benjamin laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never used a hack.” He laughed derisively.

“Of course I have. I just didn’t use the word ‘hack’.”

He looked confused. “What did you use?” he asked.

“Common sense.”

Katherine, along with our group, snorted, and I studied her. She gave me a long look in return.

“Angel, I am assuming that you’re going to lodge a formal written complaint within the allocated ninety days?” she asked.

Again with the coaching. It was looking more and more like Katherine, senior lawyer, was sitting on a thin fence with this development. She definitely had a foot in the concerned citizens camp. I wondered why. I heard Steph deliver a single hum beside me, and out of the corner of my eye saw her turn side-on to the front tables.

“Ms Whitlock, while I understand the need for democratic process.” Benjamin threw me a smile—the teeth and Teflon version. “I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an amicable and forward-thinking agreement that will be of benefit to all parties.” The smarminess was dripping off his tongue and all over the walnut stained table. “But if you must lodge a complaint, then make sure it’s within the time frame.”

I decided then and there that Jules needed to sell Benjamin Walker voodoo dolls in Pip’s crystals section of the cafe.

“That’s all we have time for tonight,” the Mayor spoke up. “Thank you to those who registered and put forward their concerns. Thank you to our guests for their attendance.” There was a smattering of applause led mostly by the councillors and Benjamin and Harry themselves.

The meeting ended immediately after the mayor’s thanks and we were ushered towards the exit by the single security guard who’d been asleep in the corner the entire time.

Our small group stood huddled under the light of the lamppost nearest the forecourt of the council chambers.

“Well, as far as meetings go, I’ve attended better,” Ted said, his hands flipping in a gesture of resignation.

“Did you not want to say anything?” Steph asked, her hat now sitting properly on her head.

“No, love. Been there, done that. I just came for moral support. Young Jules and Angel here did a good job with our concerns. Nice and passionate.”

“I am also passionate but my English is not so good. I would have the stage fright,” Mrs G announced. We all raised our eyebrows. I couldn’t believe any situation where Mrs G would have stage fright when speaking her mind.

After a few “See you later”s, Ted, Jules, and Mrs G departed, leaving Steph and me under the lamppost light.

“How’s your headache?”

“It went. Probably about halfway through your interrogation of m—of Benjamin. It was fantastic to watch.” She grinned.

“I can’t say I’m a huge fan of Benjamin Walker. Fancy suggesting that a board member go undercover. What a jerk.” Then I pointed randomly. “But I do like the idea of the QR code, of generation whatever Tik-Tokking their way through the construction of a flat-packed laundry cabinet. But Dig It will feel the financial pinch.” Then I pointed again. “Oh! I tell you who was pretty interesting was the lawyer, Katherine. She really looked like she was coaching Paul, and then Jules. And wow, she isn’t a super fan of Benjamin. It was like she was stepping into both sides of the issue.” I chuckled.

Steph rolled her lips together.

“Angel, I need to tell you something,” she said, frowning.

I contemplated her. Her eyes were darting about.

Suddenly, Paul was upon us. “Thank you so much for the opportunity to have a question for the council.” He waved his arms enthusiastically “The local paper wants to interview me about the Eastern Australian Spotted Finch! That’s so cool!” He put out a fist, which I reciprocated, tapping his, and he repeated the gesture with Steph. Then he was gone, galloping after a tram as it trundled past. I looked back at Steph.

“I want a hundredth of his energy.” I grinned. “You were going to tell me something?”

Steph waved her hand as if to brush away the question. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel.” Then, after another arm rub, she walked toward the overflow carpark of the local shopping centre, presumably to her car.

I sat astride my motorbike for a moment before starting it, wondering what seemed so important to Steph to put a frown on her face but not important enough so she could easily erase it.