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Not invited:
Patty Miles (with Robbo), Angelo Lee (disapproves of meddling), Thelma Kwong (Ken said Thelma can’t take sides on controversial community matchmaking projects with the council elections coming), Joey Miles (best if he lets us sort his mess out for him)
Ken opened proceedings by demanding to know why there was a row of empty jam jars drying on the dish rack and the suspicioushint of sugar and citrus lingering in the air. Carol attempted to quell him (unsuccessfully): ‘I’ve decided to sell my cumquat jam at the muster preserve stall this year.’
His chest swelled. ‘How dare you?’
Hogey helped himself to a slab of fruitcake (Carol’s mother’s recipe) and remarked that if all they were going to do was squabble about jam then he’d be off. Ken’s moustache bristled as he announced (challengingly): ‘My cumquat jam is extraordinary.’
Daisy handed Ken a slice of fruitcake and told him to shove it in his gob and be quiet. It was time for business.
The one-and-only agenda item was brought up: MRS FARMER JOE and Carol announced: ‘We may have a problem.’
A scattering of crumbs fell from Ken’s moustache as he responded. ‘Kirsty’s left Clarence, it’s true, but it’s not a problem that can’t be fixed. She’s coming back; I took a booking from her just this morning. Twin room garden view. That girl appreciates an ixora in bloom.’
Daisy asked why it was a twin room booking to which Ken replied: ‘Dunno, love.’
Carol cut in over this (because really, things weredesperateand who freaking cared about a twin room at a time like this?). ‘That’s not the problem. Kirsty thinks Joey has a gambling problem, and when I tried to tell her she was demented for thinking that, she got all huffy. She says it’s a dealbreaker.’
Daisy squawked out something about that being crazy, and then Merv O’Connor, who had been unusually quiet up to this point, drummed his fingers on the tabletop in an annoying manlike fashion which made Carol reflect on how grateful she was that her husband had chosen to pop his clogs fifteen years previously.
‘He has done his dough though, hasn’t he, Daise?’ said Merv.
Daisy cleared her throat. ‘Look, I’m not blabbing about Joey’s financial troubles other than to say the cause was the stock market, not gambling. He bought shares that tanked, and the bank said hehad to repay his investment loan pronto, so he put his Sydney place on the market. There’s nothing dodgy about it. I mean, this isJoeywe’re talking about. Captain Killjoy.’
Ken picked a chunk of diced glacé cherry from the plate and ate it. ‘Someone has to spill the beans to Joey.’
An awkward pause ensued while everyone avoided making eye contact with each other.
‘Shit,’ said Daisy, with which Carol agreed: Daisy had to take the bullet. ‘Might I make a teensy suggestion?’
Daisy was clutching her head, so her voice was muffled. ‘What?’
‘Joeyhas to be the one to tell Kirsty. Which means you need to be the one to tell Joey that someone in town has been talking about him, and not in a good way.’
‘Oh no,’ said Daisy. ‘He’ll hate that. I mean, he’llreallyhate that. Maybe our idea to encourage him to stay in town by helping him find the love of his life was dumb. Maybe this is our fault.’
Merv pressed his hand to his heart (again). ‘Love is never dumb, Daisy. One day you’ll understand that for yourself.’
‘He doesn’t even know she’s coming back. He’s moping about up there on the farm looking like the kid that Santa forgot.’
Carol spoke up (seriously, was she the only one with their brain switched on at this meeting?): ‘So we have a two-pronged strategy. Prong A: we all pretend to be useless at our muster duties so Joey has to stop moping and come down and help us. Prong B: Daisy spills the beans to Joey that he needs to tell Kirsty he’s a great guy without a gambling problem, and somebody—maybe me—needs to give Kirsty the heads up that she should fact-check gossip next time before she runs off back to South Australia and trashes the hard work this committee has put in to making her Mrs Farmer Joe. Are we agreed?’
Daisy, Gavin (Hogey), Merv and Ken spoke as one: ‘Agreed.’
Carol smirked. ‘Meeting closed.’
