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CHAPTER
37
The salads and the corn cobs and the remains of the mushroom frittata had been cleared from the table by the time Joey made his way back. Amy had filled an old lidless esky with water and was dunking her poinciana pods into it under Daisy’s instruction, and the rest of his family were sprawled about the table around the biscuit tin.
‘Where’s Kirsty?’ said Amy.
‘She had to head back to town,’ said Joey. ‘She said to say thanks for lunch.’
‘But she hasn’t even had any cake.’ The wobble in Amy’s voice cut at his heart.
‘I’m sorry, possum face. She’s a little mad with me.’ About what, he still had little clue, but that seemed to be his modus operandi these days. Joey Miles, clueless bachelor.
Maybe he did need a committee to oversee his love-life.
Patty raised her eyebrows at him. ‘You can’t have put much of an effort in, son. Chasing after her in that romantic way … spring sunshine dappling the emerald-green grass … flowers blooming inthe hedges … two young people, their hormones brimming over with chemical attraction … your father would have had me writing poetry about him if that had been him and me. What on earth did you say to have her driving off into the lonely yonder?’
‘My chemicals aren’t brimming, Mum, and I can tell you right now that if they were, you’d be the last person to hear about it.’
‘Love is a natural thing, Joey lamb. And physical expression of that love is too wonderful for you to be getting all coy about it.’
Why couldn’t he have had an accountant for a mother? Someone who wore pearl earrings and was emotionally repressed and who washed her kids’ mouths out with soap when they said fart or bum or willy.
‘Can we drop it, Mum? Please? Kirsty’s made it pretty clear she’s immune to my charms.’
Daisy snorted. Lachy coughedbullshitinto his hand. Even Amy giggled.
Resigned to his fate, he dropped into a chair and let his dad pour him a mug of tea. ‘Fine, whatever. Anyone else want to have a say about my love-life, or lack thereof?’
Lachy grimaced. ‘About before, Kirsty being a candidate for Mrs Farmer Joe. Sorry—we were just horsing around and didn’t stop to think what big flappy ears Amy has.’
‘My ears are so not big and flappy,’ said Amy. ‘They are perfect, aren’t they, Mum?’
‘I think that was rhetorical,’ Daisy said, ‘which means stop talking and go back to your seedpods.’
‘You’d think the muster committee would have better things to do with its time than finding me a wife,’ said Joey. ‘Especially since their Chairman stood down.’
‘Vonnie was telling Frank at the bakery that they might cancel the event,’ said Red Ant.
‘What?’ Patty’s hand covered her mouth. ‘Cancel?’
‘Um … sorry, Mum. I’m sure it was just a rumour. You know what town talk is like.’
Yeah. Town talk was eighty per cent untrue. Joey took a sip of his tea, then thunked down his mug. He’d figured out the perfect way to nip the town’s numpty ideas in the budandmake his mother stop worrying about the muster being cancelled. Oh yeah; he may not be wheeling and dealing in Sydney’s central business district anymore, but Joey freaking Miles was still in form.
‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ he said. ‘Hear me out, Mum, before you say no.’
‘What, love?’
‘I want you to elect me as Acting Chairman of The Annual Clarence River Bush Poetry Muster.’
Silence met his words. Even Amy stopped sploshing about in her tub of water.
‘Youare going to take over running the committee,’ said Daisy.
‘No need to sound quite so amazed,’ he said. ‘My spreadsheeting skills are legendary and I can organise stuff with my eyes closed.’
‘It’s not your organising skills I’m amazed by,’ she said. ‘It’s your mingling-with-locals skills that I’m not so sure about.’
