Free Hope's Road by Margareta Osborn Page B

have to dip into the principal of her inheritance from her grandmother, but she didn’t care. These prints symbolised her future and she needed a talisman to hang onto, to give her the guts and determination to do what needed to be done. Get rid of Shon.
    â€˜I’ll let you know when the third print comes in. You can have that for a reduced amount seeing you’re taking these two. I haven’t seen a picture of it yet, but if it’s anything like these, you won’t be disappointed.’
    Tammy watched as the woman retrieved the first print from the window and packaged them together. She felt a small kernel of satisfaction uncurl in her belly. They were perfect. She could almost feel herself inside the sphinx-angel’s body, riding the wind, energy suffusing her whole being.
    She was doing it. Getting her life back. Baby steps, that’s for sure, but still it was forward motion.
    And that was what counted.

Chapter 11
    The antique milkcan sat squat on its side, a thick slot cut into the lid for the day’s mail currently spilling from its rusty depths. Tammy pulled the ute into her driveway, wound down the window and hauled out the letters. The old Buddha stared at her from his spot by the front gate-post. She’d never rubbed his belly; she left that kind of hocus-pocus stuff to Lucy. Her friend’s fascination with the blasted thing was the only real reason she left it there. That and Shon. She paused, glanced towards the homestead. He was home. She could see his ute. She looked back at the grey effigy. Maybe it was time to take the sledgehammer to it.
    Then again, maybe she should try rubbing the old bloke. Maybe he could help her kick Shon out.
    She jumped out of the ute and stomped towards the Buddha. Squatting down she rubbed her hand over the old fella’s prodigious belly. Round and round she went. Give me the strength, the guts and the determination to do this. To follow through, kick the bastard out, to survive and learn to live my life again.
    A ute rumbled past on the road behind her. She automatic­ally turned to see who it was. Two people peered through the LandCruiser windscreen: one an earnest little boy, the other a rugged-looking man with a half-smile on his face. Caught you, he seemed to be saying. Blushing, Tammy flung her hand in the air in acknowledgement and quickly stood up, swiping her palms against each other.
    Shon’s twin-cab was parked hard up against the garden fence. He always did that, as though he was clinging to something solid, claiming his right to be there. She marched up the path, taking big long strides in an effort to reinforce her determination to do what had to be done.
    â€˜Shon? Shon!’ she yelled as she walked in the door. ‘What’re you doing ?’ She could hear him, swearing and slamming cupboard doors. The homestead looked like a team of thieves had ransacked the place. Kitchen drawers were turned inside out, the doors on the sideboard in the living room swung dejectedly while the contents lay strewn across the floor. Tammy followed the trail of destruction through the formal lounge and down the long passage towards the main bedroom of the house.
    He was standing beside their antique solid oak bed.
    â€˜What’s going on?’
    â€˜What the fuck does it look like? I’m leaving. Finally got my ticket out of here.’
    The words took the wind clean out of her. She’d been going to tell him to get out, so why was she so shocked that he’d got in first?
    â€˜I don’t love you and I hate living here.’ He had turned from the cupboard to look at her. His eyes were hard and spilling with distaste, his face contorted with anger and frustration. She wondered if he’d ever really loved her.
    â€˜It’s all about you . Your family,’ he raged, his cheeks swelling with self-righteousness. ‘Now it’s going to be about me .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I’ll be