Page 41 of Love Grows

Paterson's Curse

(Echium plantagineum)

An invasive weed which produces purple-blue flowers. It is highly competitive in pastures, replacing desirable plants without contributing to forage value. Paterson’s Curse reduces pasture productivity and is toxic to livestock. This weed can degrade the natural environment, compromising habitat values by crowding out and suppressing native vegetation. Regular monitoring, and early treatment are essential.

Luckily there weren’t customers because they would have run a mile at the expression on my face. Hurt, confusion, betrayal, anger. One giant facial cocktail.

“What’s this?” I thrust the paper in front of her. She squinted at me, then put the pricing gun down and took the sheet of newspaper. Then went deathly white.

“Oh, Angel. I?—”

“You lied to me!” I burst out.

Steph dropped the paper and wrung her hands. “I was going to tell you. I promise. I am Steph Walker. That is true, but I’m also Steph Thatcher. It’s my mother’s maiden name.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re Stephanie bloody Walker.” I flung my arm in the direction of the road at the end of our street. “You’re in charge of all of that up there. So what are you doing here? Slumming it with the plebs? Having a laugh with the board about us poor folk?”

“No! I’m here to make sure you don’t lose your customers, your business. I’m here to?—”

“Rescue?”

“No! I wanted to immerse myself in community. It’s what my mother always believed. To run a successful business, the business must make a difference by retaining the small communities that breathe air into large industry.”

Steph had tears in her eyes.

“Pretty words. You didn’t have to go undercover.” I was vibrating with hurt and anger.

Steph tossed her hands. “Yes, I did. You would never havetold me about Bonsai Brains, or how Ted looks after everyone, or the oldies from the next suburb over who come to talk about bean sprouts, or that you’ve made the whole nursery accessible for hypersensitive people and wheelchair users.” The tears were now falling down her cheeks.

“You don’t know that,” I said, my own tears making their way into my eyes.

Steph rubbed at her face. “Come on, Angel. You and I know perfectly well?—”

“Don’t presume to know me,” I snapped. “This whole time. Nearly three months, Steph. Three months and there were ample chances for you to say something.”

I thought about the council decision in the letter on the back table.

“Did you convince the council, or tell your brother to back off?”

Steph exhaled loudly. “No. I simply talked about community. I told the board the truth.”

Suddenly, I didn’t want to hear her sensible arguments. Her justifications.

I rounded on her and glared. “What car do you drive?”

Steph blinked, and the silence grew awkward.

“Go on. What car do you drive?” I repeated.

Steph paused, then sighed. “This year’s Mercedes S-class coupe.”

I threw my hands in the air. “Exactly. You have no business here.”

Steph clutched her hands at her chest, pressing into the fabric of the apron. “What does the type of car I drive have to do with this? You ride a very expensive motorbike. I don’t understand?—”

“The company pays for it, don’t they?” It was a stupid point to belabour but all I could hear was white noise and that I didn’t want that apron on her anymore. She had no right to wear it. “You don’t belong here, particularly if all you’re doing is reconnaissance.”

“You know that’s not true.”

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