Page 1 of Love Grows

ChapterOne

Coast Banksia

(banksia integrifoli)

Generally a large coastal tree but does adapt well when cultivated as a Bonsai. The large leaves will resize by about two-thirds and become very compact and dense. The bark becomes fissured with age and may sound hollow when tapped.

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me!” I threw the council notice at the replanting table, and stared forlornly as the paper settled onto the loose potting mix.

“What?” Lucas, the high school kid who worked on Thursday afternoons and Saturdays at Dig It, paused, then held up his hands which were encased in gloves two sizes too big so he looked like a muppet.

“There’s a Walker’s being built down the road,” I ground out, pointing aggressively at the unfolded letter.

Lucas gasped. “But they can’t!”

“Ha! Try telling that to Walker’s. They’re a bloody noxious weed.” I plucked up the paper and read aloud the relevant points. “Blah blah Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouse comprising nursery, trade, hardware, and home appliances.” I paused, then restarted. “Blah blah thirty days to lodge a complaint with the council blah blah ninety days if lodging a joint complaint on behalf of more than one business. Please contact blah blah Jesus Christ.” I looked up.

“I’m not sure he’s the bloke to chat to.” The dry response from Kahlia produced a withering look.

“Ha bloody ha. This is serious. A Walker’snursery could wipe us out.”

Kahlia rolled her wheelchair closer to the potting bench, now repurposed as a conference table for our spontaneous board meeting. “You’ve got the complaint letter already drafted in your head, haven’t you?”

I nodded, then leant down to scratch Tough, our work dog—a rescue dog of the white and grey scruffy fur variety—on the head. He wagged his tail, which should have made me smile, but even his efforts couldn’t resolve my despair.

Kahlia grinned. “How many swear words does it have?”

“Many. It starts, ‘Dear Council of Fuckwits, don’t destroy my nursery. Signed Angel Whitlock.”

Lucas snorted, his long blonde hair flopping about his face, and removed his enormous gloves. “Down the road where?”

I shook off the remaining dusting of dirt.

“Straight across the highway by my estimation. The council’s helpfully provided an unnecessarily complex schematic map of its location, but…” I squinted at the paper. “Yep, looks like it’s right across the highway.” Then I sighed. Right across the highway if you walked a hundred metres down to the corner where our road came to an abrupt stop at a ‘T’ intersection with that very busy four-lane highway. There was a very real possibility that customers would drive into an airport-sized Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouse carpark to purchase their next Grevillia or eucalyptus seedlings rather than pop into my boutique nursery. Dig It would be digging itself out of a financial hole. Then I blinked.

“It’s right on the highway.”

Lucas shrugged. “You said.” He picked up Tough and tucked him under one arm like he was carrying a football, which was essentially what Tough resembled.

“No, Listen!” I flapped the letter at him, then waved it at Kahlia. “We really, really have to put in a complaint. That land is still semi-commercial. They can’t put the warehouse there because a Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouse is fully commercial. The zones don’t work.”

“Unless the council is rezoning.” Kahlia leant back in her wheelchair and arched her spine, then rolled her head on her neck. “I havegotto get another massage soon.”

I grimaced in sympathy. According to Kahlia, now six and a half months along, pregnancy and a wheelchair were often incompatible. Then I flicked my finger, taking in both members of my attentive audience.

“They haven’t rezoned yet. They’re just announcing it like they have. Or will. Or are going to wait until the cheque from Walker’s clears because surely they’d have to be paying them under the table.” I squeezed the letter until a concertina-ed end stuck out on either side of my fist like a bad news bon bon. “I need to chat to the others.”

The others were Jules, who owned Coffee Crystals next door, which was a cafe that made money to support the lack of customers for her crystals, gems and the once-a-week Tarot readings given by Jules’ partner, Pip.

Then there was seventy-five year old Ted, whose entire life was his pre-loved books shop, Ted’s Used Books.Pushing through the door—the little bell at the top announcing your entrance—and stepping inside was like travelling back to the 1920s or so. Ted had ladders on wheels, overflowing bookshelves, a cataloguing system that made sense to Ted alone, and the musty smell created by years of literary love.

Mrs Georgopolis’s fish and chip shop was on the other side of Ted’s, and she was known far and wide for her triple-fried chips. After multiple rounds in the boiling oil, the chips were more grease and batter than actual potato, but that’s what made them so delicious. She was also known to be a right old grump but it was all bark and no bite. She told Lucas to get a haircut last week because apparently he wouldn’t find a girlfriend if he couldn’t see anyone. Then she gave him an extra scoop of chips and two more potato scallops. Her age was a mystery, but Kahlia reckoned she was sixty. Tiny five-foot-four Mr Georgopolis, who manned the chiko rolls and Dagwood dogs fry station, wore a permanent smile that lifted his moustache into a joyful bow. He was utterly devoted to his loud, larger-than-life wife.

I’d need all of them onside if our objection was to be taken seriously. Ninety days. It was doable.

* * *

As I had predicted,Mrs Georgopolis had many opinions about the rising cost of potatoes, Covid, the Australian Prime Minister, teenagers, and Walker’s Lifestyle Warehouses.

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