The Good Sister(31)

*

At 9.15 am, when I’m about to leave for work, Mrs Hazelbury knocks on my door.

‘I’m sorry to bother you so early, Fern, but I wanted to catch you before you went to work. I have a copy of the body corporate documentation here.’ She holds up a stack of papers and places her eyeglasses on her nose. ‘Section 4.2 states that no dogs are permitted in the building, and section 15.6 states, and I quote, “Parking of larger vehicles including trucks, trailers and caravans is strictly not permitted by building by-laws”.’ She removes her glasses and looks at me expectantly. ‘Are you familiar with these by-laws?’

‘I am,’ I say. (In fact, I’d read the body corporate documents very carefully after moving Alfie into my flat, and then done subsequent research on the computers when the library was quiet.) ‘However, by-laws that have a blanket ban on pets have been found to be contrary to section 180 of the Domestic Animals Act, which advises that “a by-law must not be oppressive or unreasonable, having regard to the interest of all owners and occupiers of lots included in the scheme and the use of the common property for the scheme”.’

Mrs Hazelbury blinks. I take her blank expression to mean she needs further explanation.

‘That means that the by-law can say what it wants, but owners corporations do not have the legal power to prohibit pets from private properties.’

Now Mrs Hazelbury understands. I can tell because she becomes red in the face.

‘As for the van,’ I continue, ‘you’ll find it is not a caravan or trailer. It is registered as a standard motor vehicle, and as such does not breach any of the by-laws mentioned. Anyway, I do need to get going now, Mrs Hazelbury, or I’ll be late for work.’

With that, I take Alfie by his lead, walk out and close the door behind us, leaving Mrs Hazelbury standing speechless at my front door.


Everyone is especially kind to me at the library today, and I ascertain it is because of the scene I made at the bowling alley last night. It is also possible it is because there is a dog by my side. With Wally at his meeting today, I had no alternative but to bring Alfie to the library with me. The fact that Carmel is at an inter-library meeting for the morning is a fortuitous twist of fate, and one I take advantage of.

Alfie is a big hit with library staff and borrowers alike. Even the grumpy old folks who’ve been bussed in from the nursing home cheer a little at the sight of him. Linda uses him as a prop during story hour. Gayle goes out to buy dog treats in her break and feeds him so many that he can’t do much more than loll about at my feet while I process returned books into the system. Of course, he chooses the second that Carmel has arrived back from her meeting to poo on the carpet.

‘What on earth is going on here?’ she cries, as I’m on my hands and knees with a spray bottle and paper towel.

I look up. Carmel is wearing those eyeglasses that become sunglasses when you go outside. Except she’s inside and the glasses don’t seem to have realised.

‘Oh, Fern,’ she says, softer now. ‘Hello. It’s good to see that you’re . . . feeling better, after last night . . .’

She trails off. I get the feeling I’m supposed to say something (I’m starting to get the hang of the strange way Carmel talks), but I’m not sure what. Eventually I try ‘Mmm’, and it does the trick, bizarrely.

‘Anyway. As I told you the other day, dogs are not allowed in the library.’

‘Actually,’ I say, ‘owners of assistance dogs have the right to take their animals into all public places and onto public transport, including buses and trains. The Commonwealth Disability Discrimination Act 1992 makes it unlawful to discriminate against a person with a disability who is using an assistance–’

Carmel frowns underneath her rapidly fading glasses. ‘So . . . you’re saying this is an assistance dog?’

I look at Alfie dubiously. ‘Yes . . .’

‘I see. Then I assume you know it is a requirement that assistance dog owners must provide evidence of their disability when requested.’

I don’t reply. But Carmel waits so I throw in another ‘Mmm’.

‘So?’ Carmel says expectantly. ‘Where is your evidence of disability?’

I’ve underestimated Carmel. I’ve also underestimated her glasses, because in this short time, they’ve almost returned to clear.

I cross my arms.

‘Fern, the dog has got to go.’

I frown, looking off into the distance. ‘Sorry, will you excuse me, Carmel? I think I hear someone calling–’

I rise to my feet and am about to walk off when Carmel says: ‘Please don’t walk away while I’m talking to you, Fern.’

I frown. ‘But you’d finished talking. You said the dog had to go, and then I walked away.’

‘But . . .’ Carmel looks utterly discombobulated, ‘you hadn’t answered me!’

I place a hand to my brow and close my eyes, breathing deeply, the way women in old-fashioned movies did before they ‘took to their beds’. I’ve always wanted to try it and it is surprisingly gratifying. ‘You didn’t ask a question, Carmel. How am I supposed to answer a question, if one hasn’t been posed?’

Carmel doesn’t reply, even though that was a question. Like me, she is also breathing deeply. I think she, too, would like to take to her bed.