Kindred Hearts

CHAPTER 1 LETTER

CHAPTER 1

LETTER

Lisa Shelny breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into her Richmond apartment and set aside the mail. She plonked herself on the couch and took off her black flats, rubbing the aching soles of her feet and pressing hard into the joints. It had been a busy day. The hours had raced by as she assisted patients, took detailed case notes, and conferred with the health professionals and surgeons. Though PANCH Day Surgery Centre was less hectic than the gruelling years spent at Melbourne Hospital and her overseas nursing work.

She looked out towards the courtyard with the Holland blind half-open, and squinted at the partial glare of the evening sun. She adored her open-plan living apartment with its fully equipped kitchen, large bedroom, and a separate study for her to do all her paperwork.

Lisa stood up and set her bag on the rectangular timber table. She opened the fridge and considered her options. Her choices were either left-over chicken salad or a thick juicy steak. She was famished, so she took out the chicken salad and ate it straight from the bowl while sitting in the quiet. Having lasted just long enough in the silence of the apartment to get a few bites of the salad down, she turned on the TV and settled at the table to listen to the news. She preferred the background noise.

Lisa picked at the remaining egg with her fork. The usual rambling of kidnappings, home invasions, catastrophes overseas, and murders filled the screen. Nothing new.

“Victoria Police have set up a community taskforce with African-Australian leaders to manage youth crime. The Chief Commissioner indicated there has been an influx of public disorder and misbehaviour, particularly in relation to home invasions and car-jackings. The Federal MP Greg Hunt stated, ‘African gang crime is out of control in Melbourne.’ However, Community Leader Richard Deng rejected politicians’ use of the words, ‘African gangs,’” the newsreader said. A clip of Deng’s interview played.

“Most of these youngsters are born in Australia. Let’s call them Australian.”

The screen returned to the newsreader as he made his closing remarks. “It is believed that young Sudanese men in Victoria’s justice system are overrepresented and young Africans are racially profiled.”

Lisa shook her head as she turned away from the TV, forcing the images of her overseas mission from her mind. She took a calming breath and wanted to curse these damn politicians who generalised youth crime to merely Africans. Sure, there had been an increase in home invasions by Sudanese gangs but, all in all, many Australians of non-African descent committed crimes too. She refused to discriminate against someone because of their skin colour or their country of origin.

Lisa set down her dishes in the sink and filled the basin. She watched the suds and water rise. Africa. She’d never told her friends, Julie, Brooke, and Lara, about Africa. All she wanted to do was put it out of her mind and get on with life. What good would it do dredging up the past? She had a good life with her work, friends, family, and volunteer work at the African Foundation. She enjoyed her time at the foundation, tutoring newly arrived primary and secondary students in literacy and job-seeking skills every Saturday morning.

Another life-saver for Lisa had been Zumba at least once a week with Julie. The beat and rhythmic flow of the dance music released tension in her body, and gave her an outlet; a release from all that had happened in the past.

Lisa turned towards the mail, then decided against dealing with the bills right now. She strolled to her bedroom and changed into tracksuit pants and a tight-fitted top. Her bedroom was bare and simple with a timber bed, matching bedside cabinets, a small gold touch lamp, a mahogany tall boy, built-in robes, and an en suite. A decorative cluster of metal flowers hung on the wall above her bed. She smiled at her treasure trove of jewellery on the dresser. Bangles, chokers, earrings, necklaces, and rings were all arranged neatly in the compartments of a decorative jewellery box. She couldn’t leave the house without wearing jewellery. She felt naked without it.

Heading back towards the living room, she grabbed the mail and stepped out into the courtyard with an open view of other apartments. Plants in pots surrounded the glass table with padded chairs. A tall hedge sat towards the end of the wooden fence outside her courtyard. Both the hedge and fence placed a boundary between her apartment and others, affording her a measure of privacy. She had a view of apartments with balconies and occasional passers-by entering or exiting the premises. The warm, gentle wind from the open area blew her hair as she sat down to open her mail. One by one she opened up the envelopes.

As she guessed, the mail was mostly bills. The last envelope didn’t have the type font address she was expecting. It was handwritten with no sender’s address and appeared to have been hand delivered. Who would be writing to her without an address? Goosebumps raced across her skin. She unfolded the letter and began reading. With each word, her heart sank.