Free The Slightly Bruised Glory of Cedar B. Hartley by Martine Murray

that she’s the main one; she’s the boss, though she seems more like the head of a family. She’s standing, large and smiling, all bosom and blonde curls, a sheet of paper in one hand, the other hand waving around, leading her attention from one thing to another: from Maude, a small neat woman in a green suit, who manages the office and is trying to fix up someone’s dentist appointment; and then to the man who has come to fix the leak upstairs; and then back to Maude, who has someone on the phone who can’t speak English well; and then to a young man with dark hair who appears to have no idea what’s going on. She gathers him close, and gives him a huge grin and says to us (we’re loitering in the hall, apparently waiting for her attention to fall on us), ‘Oh, Tirese, this is Farid. He’s from Afghanistan. We’re his new family. Have you seen Inisiya? We need her to translate.’
    â€˜I’ll go check the computer club. This is Cedar, my niece, she’s come to help,’ says Aunt Squeezy, pushing me forward.
    I immediately feel ashamed of my very small and self-centred life in front of Eliza, who has in one blow revealed herself to me as some huge-hearted, masterful conductor of this international orchestra of other people’s needs. But at the same time I can tell she doesn’t care how small my world or anyone’s world is. She grins at me, just as she grins at anyone, and puts her hand gently on my shoulder.
    â€˜Good. Can you use a computer?’ She waves her hand in the air, before I can answer. ‘Doesn’t matter, as long as you can speak English you can help just by getting them to practise their English. Why don’t you go with your aunt to the computer club?’ Again she can’t even wait for me to speak because Maude has rushed up to us with something for Eliza to sign, and two more men enter with an older woman. Eliza excuses herself and swoops Farid off with her to greet them. I look at Aunt Squeezy, who says,‘Welcome to the Fitzroy Learning Network,’ and leads me up the hallway towards another room.
    â€˜What is this place?’ I say.
    â€˜Well, as far as I can make out, it was started as a kind of community centre that was set up to help women return to work by teaching them work skills. But, ever since the refugee crisis, it’s had to adapt and become a place for helping refugees.’ She stops and looks at me inquiringly, probably because she has already explained this to me on the way here but I was distracted then.
    â€˜How did that happen?’ I say.
    â€˜Because the housing commission flats, where a lot of refugees live, are just up the road and there was a sign out the front of the centre saying free English classes. Apparently, a man from Afghanistan turned up one day and asked about the class and ever since the place has been flooded with all kinds of refugees who need to learn English, and how to use computers, even just how to catch trams, deal with the unemployment office, all that.’
    â€˜Wow.’
    â€˜But, even more importantly, from what I can see, what the centre really provides is a base, a place the refugees can come to and join in, feel connected, supported.’
    I didn’t know much about refugees, only that they came on boats because the countries they lived in were making life unbearable for them and they needed to live somewhere else. But Australia hadn’t treated them well. They’d been made to stay in detention centres.
    â€˜Where are they from?’ I ask, but before she can answer we’ve opened the door to a large room buzzing with voices. There’s computers along the wall, and a large table in the middle, and hanging around everywhere are all kinds of kids. It’s a bit like a classroom without a class going on, so instead of doing something dull, like maths, everyone is having fun. There’s two giggling girls in the corner taking