Page 7

Chapter Seven

Lemon Silver Cloud Bottlebrush

( Callistemon pallidus )

A very adaptable species as it can be found in all soil types and locations. It is a dwarf form of the larger wild Callistemon species, around head height when mature, although it can be trimmed to be even further smaller. Lemon Silver Cloud Bottlebrush has plum-coloured soft new leaves that age to silver-grey, contrasting with its small pale flowers.

“T hey wouldn’t be instructional videos, Angel.”

Steph was in my office again, having delivered a coffee and kisses. I grinned, then wrinkled my brow.

“Videos?”

“You’re not listening,” Steph sighed.

“Very difficult to listen when my ears are filled with the sound of blood rushing about sending messages that a beautiful woman is kissing my lips and touching my tongue with hers.” I shrugged innocently.

Steph laughed and gently swatted my shoulder. “If you don’t listen, I’ll withdraw the kissing.”

I gasped. “No! I’ll be a good girl.”

That hadn’t meant to have sounded as flirty as it did but the way it made Steph’s eyes darken was wonderful. I wondered if we’d get to a moment when I could say ‘good girl’ again and receive a similar response. The idea made the hair on my skin rise with anticipation.

“Right. The listening,” I continued, and pulled out a plastic milk crate, upturned it, then sat and gestured Steph to the office chair.

“I was saying that someone, probably Lucas, should make some fun videos about the plants here. Maybe put together some reels.”

“I’m not opposed to it as such, but it’s a fad and I don’t think it’s going to increase customers.” I shook my head then looked a little sheepish. “I don’t want to look like we’re copying Walker’s QR TikTok business model.”

Steph huffed. “Believe me. That QR thing is not a business model.” Then she studied me. “You think your customers wouldn’t increase?”

“Foot traffic might, but I’m positive that sales wouldn’t increase. I reckon most of the people carrying hashtag handbags will be tyre-kickers.”

Steph nearly fell off the chair with laughter. “Hashtag handbags!”

* * *

Having persuaded Steph that Dig It wasn’t hash-tagging anyone, I went off to set sprinklers and the mist system for the ferns. It wasn’t as if I was violently opposed to the idea of a video or two. It just seemed like a waste of time.

I shrugged as I reset the timer to daylight savings time, then paused to contemplate Steph. Steph and the kissing situation. It was all a bit fast. One minute she’s starting at Dig It—six weeks ago—then the next minute, she’s kissing me senseless. Attraction had no rules. It was chaos in your loins.

Steph said she needed to leave right on the dot at the end of her shift each day for the next two weeks. Something about tending to some business.Fair enough. It wasn’t any of my business to know what her business was.

My pausing allowed me to peer around the dwarf sickle ferns and stare at Steph. That blonde hair. That slim figure. Those expensive-looking clothes that I couldn’t dissuade her from wearing to a job which generally meant communing with potting mix. Then I locked eyes with her, catching her staring right back. Probably just as lasciviously.

Whenever we were together, we brushed arms. Hands. We’d caught each other sneaking looks, like now. I’d kissed the top of her head yesterday when I found her squatting down, surrounded by terracotta pots. It was warm and comfortable and new and I loved it.I hadn’t ever felt this seen, or had this much attraction aimed at me as I had from Steph.

Maybe this attraction train was going somewhere. Maybe the train had come to the end of its line and stopped indefinitely at the fun and yum station. Who knew? But it was delicious.

Jules thought it was hilarious.

“Told you,” she said the next day, leaning on her counter.

“No need to be rude,” I retorted, sipping on my coffee. I waved to Pip who was setting up her cards. “Apparently Steph and I are enjoying each other’s company.”

“Apparently?” Jules cocked her head

“Yes. Apparently.”

“You haven’t talked about it?”

I sipped again. “Yes. Of course we have. We’re adults, for god’s sake. Steph said that you can’t help attraction and I agreed then she kind of said that just enjoying that attraction was enough.”

“Kind of said…” Jules threw me a slow smile. “Sounds like a proper adult conversation.”

“Shut up.” I gave her a ‘no hard feelings’ eye-roll and headed back to the store.

Where I found a bloke in a tweed cap standing at the front counter.

“Hello. Do you work here?”

I looked down at my gardening apron with Dig It emblazoned across the front. I guess it could have crossed his mind that I’d stolen the apron and worn it about the suburb as an accessory.

“Yep. I’m Angel. How can I help?”

I spotted Steph who was walking towards me, then, as the bloke took his cap off to reveal a buzz cut hairdo, she stopped in her tracks, then spun around and marched away so fast that the fronds of the nearby plants swayed in her wake. I blinked. That was weird.

I turned towards the obtuse bloke.

He smiled, and suddenly a flash of recognition zipped through my brain.

“My name’s Harry Kirlew. I’m the state managing director of Walker’s Warehouses.” He smiled again. A lizard’s smile. Slimy and liable to bite. A Yes Man.

Taking my gaze away from his disingenuous smile, I looked at his hand which he’d stuck out in greeting. I oversaw a mini debate in my head between disgust at shaking Harry’s hand and manners. Manners won out, and after a brief touching of palms, I barely refrained from wiping my hand down the side of my jeans.

“I remember you from the council meeting. What brings you here, then, Harry?”

He smiled again. It was the sort of smile that looked like he’d been to Facial Gesture Gym to focus on that particular mouth movement. “Well, Angel. I do think we might have got off on the wrong foot.”

I tilted my head. “Really? I reckon my feet are firmly pointed in the right direction.”

“Look, I understand how?—”

“You know what? You don’t, actually. You don’t understand how it is. This place…” I waved my hand. “It’s my life, and your warehouse is going to kill it.”

Essentially true.

Then I asked the obvious question. “Why are you here?”

“Ah. Well, I wanted to have a reasonable discussion and also, of course, to visit your establishment—all of your establishments—to get the real story, so to speak. It was mentioned at the council meeting—I believe it was you, perhaps—that we really should glean an understanding of how local businesses would be impacted.”

I blinked at him in disbelief. “Glean? What have you gleaned so far, Harry?”

“I see just how much community is here and I value that as an outstanding element to the structure of our society.” It sounded like he’d flipped a switch and an auto response unit took over. It was pure advertisement speak.

Which was apt because then he handed me the project brochure for the warehouse. It was smooth and glossy, just like Harry. And Benjamin Walker for that matter. I flipped through it, feeling the silkiness of the expensive paper, noting the stock photos of a laughing couple who’d found another laughing couple and now they were laughing together. Why were people in stock photos always laughing? The whole brochure was fake and felt very much like I imagined a Walker’s manager would behave if they were schmoozing a new client for the circular saws display of the tools section.

I handed it back to him.

“No, thanks,” I said.

He frowned, his eyebrows in that same pointy, irritated angle as from the meeting. “Look, we all want the best outcome here. This new warehouse will be Walker Industries’ biggest. It’ll be our flagship, and I thought I’d visit to see your wonderful establishments. Partake in a coffee. Perhaps purchase lunch then buy a…” He peered at one of the potted plants with its label sticking out of the soil. “Grevillea, while I was at it. I also wanted to find out if you would reconsider your complaint.”

I registered two things. Craig’s awesome cranky letter had been received, and we were the only opposition that Walker’s was up against. I was instantly proud of our little group.

Harry continued, inhaling deeply and seeming to grow another inch in his already six feet or so. “It would be detrimental to your businesses if you continued with your complaint.”

I blinked. “It will be more detrimental if we con—” I blinked again. “Did you just threaten me?”

Harry harrumphed then jammed his cap back on his head. “No, of course not. I was simply imparting business advice.” Then after a long stare and a tight smile, he wished me a good afternoon and strolled from the store.

What the actual hell?

* * *

I found Steph in the office.

“Are you okay? You looked like you saw a ghost.” I held her hand, and cupped her cheek with my other hand.

“No. No ghosts. Just…I thought he looked like someone I used to know…” She held my gaze. “From ages ago and therefore not relevant, but I wasn’t about to engage in a conversation. Sorry for being weird.”

“Look, I’ve seen weird in my life and you, Steph Thatcher, are not weird. So don’t worry about it. I’m glad you didn’t come over. It was Harry What’s-his-face from Walker’s . He was basically threatening me with a smear campaign if we didn’t withdraw our letter of complaint.”

Steph straightened, eyes ablaze. “Oh my god, he didn’t! That arsehole!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. He was careful, though. He didn’t say it outright. It was more like,” I paused. “A join-the-dots to get the answer.”

“But that’s absolutely illegal, almost.” Steph paced in the little bit of floor space that the office had, then tossed her hands, all the while muttering to herself. She came to a dead stop in front of me. “What were they thinking?”

I shrugged.

Steph grabbed the sides of my head and planted a big kiss on my mouth. “Do you mind if I finish early? I have something I need to attend to.”

I shrugged. “Sure. It’s only another hour until closing. I can’t imagine a stampede of customers in that period of time.”

* * *

There was a stampede during the week, however. Each day, a constant stream of people filtered through the front door. Some customers. Some browsers.

I wondered why until Lucas waved his phone in front of me on Thursday afternoon.

“Look at this!” He wriggled his hand, which I grabbed to hold the phone still.

“What am I looking at?”

“Us. Dig It. We’re on Insta. We’ve even got an account.”

I plucked the phone out of his hand and tapped the account icon. It wasn’t Dig It.

“ NatsNatives ?”

“Isn’t it cool?” enthused the young customer at the counter. Her friend nodded in confirmation. “It’s that tag PlantsGiveMePower , like an affirmation, right? Think of all that oxygen!” Then the teens grabbed their pots and bounced out through the exit.

I stared at Lucas, who grinned.

“Well, yeah. Not technically Dig It , but NatsNatives mentions us and does these cool dancing plant videos, like stop motion, which people are copying in their own vids and tagging the account. That tag, PlantsGiveMePower , means we’re getting business from dancing potted plants.”

He laughed, then doubled over as he caught my expression. “Angel, this is good news. Don’t be old.”

I glared at him. “I’m not being old. I’m being confused.” I circled my finger at my face. “See? Confused.” I returned my gaze to the screen. The plant, a callistemon , was demonstrating a wonderful interpretation of the Macarena to the dulcet tones of Jennifer Lopez. Viewers could tap the screen to pause the dancing and read the info boxes which gave handy bite-sized hints on how to care for that particular native plant and how it related to mental health.

All the facts were correct. It was very clever, very catchy, and very generous. Whoever Nat was, they were delivering customers to my door.

* * *

“Have you worked out who your Insta angel is, yet?” Pip slapped my hand as I moved one of the Tarot cards.

I was sitting opposite her at the Tarot table at the far edge of Jule’s cafe. Once a month, Pip conducted community forecasts. Everyone in our little tribe had their life map checked or whatever Pip decided was the most appropriate activity for her practice. It was my turn in her roster, and because I was somewhat of a skeptic, picking at the cards to get the process moving along was par for the course. I curled my fingers away at Pip’s soft physical admonishment.

“No idea but it’s hilarious seeing a few teens or twenty-somethings come in to take selfies with plants.”

Pip laughed, then sobered. “Right. What’s your question?” she asked, staring at me intently.

“I don’t have one.”

“Fine. I’ll give you a question. Repeat after me. Where is this mooning over Steph heading?” Pip picked up the first deck of cards.

“I don’t want to know where it’s heading. I like where it is right now,” I said, ignoring her instruction.

“Angel.”

“Okay, fine. Where is this thing I have for Steph heading?” I looked at the deck in Pip’s hand as I asked my question. I knew the drill. “Three?” I asked, knowing that Pip’s expertise ranged from simple readings through to multiple card spreads for sessions that lasted up to half an hour or more.

“Lovely,” Pip said, her black curls bobbing in a symphony of spirals as she shuffled the cards. Then she placed the pile in front of me and watched like a hawk as I lifted a third of the cards with my left hand, placed the new stack next to the original one, then took another third to place it on the other side.

“So, three today,” Pip confirmed. “Let’s do a ‘defining ourselves in chaos’ session.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re so much fun,” she laughed, then wiggled her finger at the cards. “Come on.”

I turned over the first three cards of each pile and laid them in front of me while Pip collected the remainder, then we contemplated what message I was about to receive.

“Have you breathed?” Pip asked, seriously.

“Yes, Pip. I’m breathing.”

“Angel…I’m going to assume your snarkiness is because you’re afraid of what the cards will say. I know you’re a skeptic, but I was right about Tough, wasn’t I?”

“I’m not afraid,” I denied. “I’m like I always am. I have a healthy dose of?—”

“You’re afraid.”

“No. How could I be afraid of something lovely like kisses and?—”

Pip gave a delighted squeak. “You have?”

“Well, she kissed me first. A couple of weeks ago. Then there’s been kisses and nice moments where we’ve shared long looks and—” I snapped my mouth shut.

Pip grinned. “You don’t need the cards. Looks like you know what you’re doing.”

I laughed, then relaxed my shoulders. “No, I need the cards. I have no idea what this thing with Steph is. Do I want to take it further? Maybe. Do I want it to be a thing? Also maybe. She’s very forward and I love it in a breathtaking sort of way.”

“You’re a butch lesbian who’s shy yet utterly thrilled because a bold femme-adjacent woman kissed you.”

I frowned at the cards, then frowned at Pip. “I don’t like these sessions.”

Gales of laughter from Pip.

“Come on,” she encouraged through her last remaining giggles. “Lean into your intuition. You know the cards aren’t fortune-telling. They’re for personal discovery. Your first card represents what you can do to surrender to the the change in your life. Your second offers direction on caring for yourself during this process, and the third card serves as a guide for centring yourself in the midst of this change.”

I squinted at her. “Right.”

“You’ve had a three-card spread before so you know it’s linear. Let’s look at card one.”

We studied the beautiful drawing of a horse and chariot.

“Ooh. The Chariot. Nice,” whispered Pip.

“What?”

“Because it’s facing you, it means the drive for adventure. Transporting you toward a new relationship or career, although the chariot can also show an important journey, and learning. The horses represent libido.” I hummed at Pip’s raised eyebrows. “So there is also the possibility of sexual adventure here. The horses echo the dark and light aspects of the journey ahead.” Pip delivered a deep breath. “Clear?”

“Very. Is there more?”

“Oh, yes. The cards always say more than a simple statement. Look.” She pointed to the dark and light horses. “Ego and arrogance bring problems to your journey.”

“Just as well I’m not full of myself.”

Pip’s face was neutral. “It means don’t close doors just because you think you know it all.”

“Blunt.” I pursed my lips. “Can we go to card two? It’s Temperance,” I chortled.

Pip grunted. “Yes. Well, this is good for you. Caring for yourself, remember? Patience is essential for the control of volatile influences and opposing demands, like the council complaint, maybe. This card says to use your experience and diplomacy to harmonise conflict and keep projects moving forward.”

I huffed a laugh. “Diplomacy isn’t a strong suit.”

“Rubbish. You are diplomatic when you need to be. But,” she tapped the card, “you have to watch for moments of reconciliation so that relationships can be repaired.”

“Who am I going to piss off this time?”

Pip studied me. “Protect yourself, Angel. Maybe it’s you that gets hurt rather than someone else.”

I contemplated the idea. Who was going to hurt me? I couldn’t see any possible candidates.

“What’s this one say? The Hermit?”

“Third card, so a guide for centring yourself in the midst of this change. The Hermit is for circumstances that dictate you spend time alone. You seek wisdom, but to find it you need to distance yourself from friends and lovers. Time alone will create perspective, and encourage healing. The Hermit shows a recuperation period.”

We stared at the card in silence for a few seconds. Then I looked up. “I’m going to be doing a fair bit of reflection soon, hey?”

“Looks like it. Doesn’t hurt to sometimes.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So, that’s it. Interesting check up, Angel. Thank you. I’ll see you next month.” She sounded so much like a medical professional that I laughed, then pushed back my chair and gave her a brief hug.

“Thanks, Pip. I’ll write all that in my journal.”

That was something else Pip insisted upon: a journal for our Tarot sessions. I filled mine in just for curiosity sake. It was interesting to flip back a few pages and reflect on how accurate or not each session had been. Surprisingly, many were dead right.