Page 2 of Love Grows

“This they cannot do,” she said loudly from behind the counter, pointing towards the end of the road with a pair of tongs so that little pieces of batter were scattered into the air. “That giant will block the sun. I not sell lifestyle but they might sell the fish and the chips, and not as good as here. Here the customers say we are the best.”

I highly doubted that Walker’s would have a side hustle selling overly-fried food in the far corner next to the camping equipment, but I needed Mrs Georgopolis to be completely invested in our legal battle.

“They might not, Mrs G, but they could take customers away because they’ll finish their shopping at Walker’s then go through the Macca’s drive through further down the highway. It’ll have an impact,” I said, drawing circles with my finger in the salt on the formica bench. The fish and chip shop really was the poster child for the health and hygiene department regulations, because the aluminium splash backs and floor tiles gleamed. Mr G cleaned constantly, while his wife dealt with the proliferation of customers. This was an establishment that was loved, even with the salt snow on various horizontal surfaces. “And the builders doing the reno on those heritage houses two blocks away might duck across the road.” I tilted my head in sadness.

“Parking.” Mr G’s soft voice cut through the silence, and both Mrs G and I turned. “The parking at new warehouse is free and here it is the meter. People save their money.” He nodded, smiled, and returned to unpacking frozen pieces of whiting.

My mouth turned down. He was right. That was another point in Walker’s favour and I didn’t want too many points on that side of our battle.

* * *

Jules had pinnedher council notice to the board behind the enormous espresso machine, and was glaring at it when I walked in.

“Have you seen this?” Jules jabbed at the air near the board, making the side ponytail of brown hair on the left side of head flick about. The right side of her head was shaved with a zig zag pattern shaved closer to the skin. It was all very cool and totally Jules.

“Yeah. It’s what I’ve come to chat about. We get ninety days if we all band together to lodge a complaint. Are you in?” I raised my eyebrows questioningly, then grinned. “Also, any chance of a medium flat white?”

“Sure, and yes to being in on the complaint.” She fiddled around with a customer’s order, snapped the lid on the cup, and shouted, “Small skinny latte for Stellar!”

I turned, stifling a smile. It took only a few seconds for a woman to look about at the various tables, then slowly leave her seat, and make her way to the counter.

“Is that order for Skylah?” she asked tentatively. Her face was a constellation of confusion.

Jules delivered a beaming smile. “Yep. That’s you.”

“But…” The woman took the cup. “Um…thanks.” She gave a wry smile, shook her head, then wandered away to sit with her friends amongst the cascades of crystals and spiritual artefacts overflowing into the seating area, effectively blending the two spaces into one.

Jules had sourced, from various locations, couches that crouched next to low coffee tables, Pip’s Tarot card reading chair and table arrangement in the corner, and mismatched seats snuggled up to circular or square tables near the counter. It was warm, inviting, and I had occasionally taken advantage of the space to bringing a book from the dust-gathering pile next to my bed, and curl up in one of the armchairs for my lunch break.

I chuckled, watching the confused customer. Jules had seen an episode of some TV show where Starbucks customers in America were constantly either having their name written incorrectly or replaced with an entirely different name on their takeaway cup. Since there wasn’t a Starbucks in Melbourne, Jules had decided to give her customers the American experience. The new names were always nice and friendly and, oddly enough, a lot of people loved it, turning up from adjacent suburbs just to respond to a disembowelled version of their own name, or their pseudonym, yelled across the space. They turned up for the coffee as well. Jules’ coffee was exceptional.

“So, do we need a lawyer or something for the complaint?” Jules wiped down the counter with a tea-towel, then tended to my order.

I hummed in thought. “I’ll say yes, because we’ll need to make sure the council takes us seriously.”

* * *

“Oh,lass. I did wonder when that great Martian landscape would be filled with industry. It looks like it will be sooner rather than later.” Ted pushed his glasses higher up his nose, stepped carefully off the bottom rung of the rolling ladder, then tilted his chin towards the back of the shop. “Do you have time for a cuppa?”

“Sounds lovely. Thanks.” I followed behind, enjoying the gentle squeaks and creaks of aged floorboards. A box of 1990s National Geographic magazines perched on the little ottoman footstool, so I picked it up and placed it on the ground beside the stool then sat, watching Ted putter about with the box of teabags, sugar, and the electric kettle.

“We’ll be the ‘overcoming the monster’ archetype,” he said, a quick smile on his lips which sent wrinkles scurrying up his cheeks to land beside his blue eyes.

I grinned. “Knew you’d find an analogy.”

“Can’t help it, love. It’s in my pores.” Ted passed over a mug of strong tea, then sat carefully on the armchair. “Now, joining in your council complaint sounds grand, but I’m not sure I’ve got it in me to fight that fight.” Before I could respond, he lifted a finger to point at the ceiling. “But because we’re raising an army and with your dependable leadership, lass, I think we’ll make just enough noise. So, yes. Count me in.”

I wanted to hug him, but the dust from the books always tickled my nose and if I was in the process of embracing the man, then sneezed and squeezed, I’d put him in the orthopaedic ward at Royal Melbourne Hospital. So I went with a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

“I know Walker’s won’t be selling books. Not much money in it, really. But it doesn’t matter what they sell, love. It’s what they represent. Here, all four of us are a community. It’s the same with those three shops down the other end of Jameson Street. The news agency, the op-shop, and the chemist. They’ll be affected, too. The product doesn’t matter. I like to think that we actually see our customers. Customers don’t dash in, grab an item or two, and dash out, without saying even a word to the shopkeeper. For some of our customers, even the young ‘uns, we’re a moment of connection. It was like that for my father when he ran the shop, and that’s a good enough reason to sign on.”

* * *

I bouncedon the balls of my feet as I entered the nursery, pausing to admire my archway of Australian native bushes at the entrance. The grevilleas, banksia and proteas were super choices and, with Lucas’ help, they’d created an enticing portal into another world. Well, I liked to think so.

I resumed my bouncing. Everyone was on board and now we could go about the business of finding a lawyer who was thorough, could write frightening letters, and wasn’t exorbitantly expensive. That last thought popped my happy balloon. Bugger. Where were we going to find a lawyer who’d do some cheap scary letter writing? I would have to ask at the community advice centre to see of they knew some professionals who did pro bono work.

Spotting Kahlia in the tiny closet I hilariously referred to as an office, simply because it housed a laptop, a printer, and a filing cabinet, and could be locked via a flimsy hollow-core door, I strode over and delivered a double thumbs up at the entrance.

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