The Shadow House(31)

As I joined the circle, I kept my head down and the meeting continued around me. I felt like everyone was staring. But when I finally glanced up, not one person was looking my way. The whole room was focused on Kit, who was congratulating everyone on a Greenpeace fundraiser they’d all apparently organised a few weeks ago.

‘It’s a great feeling to know that in supporting the fight against global deforestation, Pine Ridge is making a difference,’ he said. ‘Together, we raised a grand total of eight hundred dollars, which makes me very proud.’

Everyone clapped.

‘Now, let’s talk about plans for the wellness centre …’

While he spoke, I took the opportunity to check out the crowd. Layla, Shannon and Mariko were there, their faces unusually sombre. Jenny in purple dungarees and matching headscarf. The retirees, the surfy parents, the botanist and the architect. Paul and Simon (no sign of Al). And horse-faced Maggie, sitting ramrod straight with her arms folded and her nostrils flaring.

After Kit finished speaking, two people I hadn’t yet met stood up and delivered a ten-minute proposal on the development of a therapy space and day spa. I saw Maggie’s eyes darken. A muscle twitched in her jaw.

‘Does anyone have any objections to this proposal?’ Kit asked when the presentation was over.

Several people, including Maggie, raised their hands with their fists clenched tight.

‘Okay, I count six. So, on the count of three … one, two, three.’

Everyone with a fist in the air lowered their arm and held out their hand, either palm down or palm up.

‘Alright, four objections and two questions.’

Kit turned to Maggie, whose palm faced down, and handed her the microphone.

‘I think expansion is a terrible idea,’ she said, loudly. ‘We’re overcrowded as it is, and the original intention of the village is becoming diluted. I make no secret of it; I am opposed to further development, tourists and any more newcomers.’ She flicked a pointed look in my direction.

I blinked.

Kit pressed his lips into a line. He looked like he was holding in a very big sigh.

Maggie stood up and passed the mike across the circle to the next person with their hand out. ‘I agree,’ said a man with dreadlocks. ‘I moved here to get away from the rest of the world. I say we close the community, and keep it closed.’

Across the circle, I saw Mariko roll her eyes. Layla shook her head and flicked me a sympathetic look.

As two other residents voiced similar opinions, the tension in the room rose. I found myself shrinking further into my chair as the meeting dragged on. Eventually, though, Kit was forced to wrap things up.

‘I’m mindful of time,’ he said, wearily. ‘So I suggest we appoint a small group to work out further evaluation criteria, details of which will be shared at the next meeting. Now, let’s move on to something a little more cheerful: our annual summer solstice party on the twenty-second, and the Pine Ridge Christmas lunch. Maggie, would you like to kick us off?’ Kit smiled stiffly and passed her the microphone.

‘Thank you, Kit,’ said Maggie, standing up and accepting the mike as if it were a bouquet of flowers. ‘I’ve got a few surprises in store for this year’s solstice: a special theme and gifts for everyone. Although, I have to say the credit for the idea should really go to our beautiful Pine Ridge kids.’ She beamed around the room. ‘I find their creativity so inspiring. If only we adults had even half their imagination, half their belief, the world would be a better place.’

I wanted to vomit. She might as well have broken into song: that cheesy Whitney one about children being the future.

‘We’re less than two weeks away now,’ she said. ‘So there’s no time to waste. Let’s confirm jobs. We’re going to need plenty of volunteers.’


When the meeting was over, sign-up sheets were tacked to the wall. While everyone around me stood and began writing their names down, I hurried back to the pram, determined to leave before anyone could talk to me. Unfortunately, Kara woke up screaming and I had no choice but to feed her there and then. I lifted her from her pram and took her to a corner to attempt a breastfeed.

Christmas, I thought miserably. I hadn’t even begun to get organised.

Village chat floated around me.

‘What about prawns this year?’

‘Who’s going to dress up as Santa?’

‘How are you getting on with the winter wonderland theme?’

‘We’ve already made heaps of fake snow, we just need snowmen and reindeer.’

I sat there thinking, fake snow? It’ll be thirty-five degrees! I would never get used to hot Christmases; nothing about them made sense. Instead of frosted windows, log fires, mulled wine and twinkly lights, Australia had salads and seafood, tinnies and pool floaties. The shopping-centre Santas all looked dangerously dehydrated. Every year felt more and more like a practical joke.

‘I know!’ said someone. ‘We can get the kids to make icicle decorations and hang them from the roof!’

I looked away, cringing into Kara’s hair, and I realised I wasn’t the only person hiding out, avoiding conversation. Over on the other side of the room, Layla’s daughter Amy sat alone on a chair with a book in her hands. Her head was bowed, her fringe falling in her face. Perhaps it was just because she was so small for her age (if I had to guess, I’d have said more like ten than thirteen), but she looked extremely fragile. Poor kid, I thought. Doesn’t she have any friends?