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‘That’s … I don’t know. Do you think the community would get behind that?’
‘It’s Clarence history, isn’t it? Of course they’ll bloody go for it. Your girlie’s doing this town proud.’
His girlie. Not a term he’d ever use—he had two sisters and a mother who’d have his guts for garters (could he even say garters?) if they heard him—but he liked the sentiment. Too bad it wasn’t true. Still … Ken’s ideawasbrilliant.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘That is a brainstorm.’
Ken looked so smug, even his moustache was smiling. ‘I have my moments.’
‘Only—the raffle is likely to bring in more than we’ll need, if the price to transport it is similar to what I paid for my farmstay cottages.’
‘So we have two goals. The wide-load truck to transport the plane once flown by Clarence’s own war hero, and the rest goes to the platypus mob.’
‘Pity Kirsty’s not around to hear your grand idea, Ken.’
Ken clapped him on the shoulder and hoisted the ladder up over his shoulder. ‘You’re looking a little sad, Joey lad, and I reckon Ken can help with that. Want to know a little secret?’
He frowned. ‘A little secret. Is that code for small-town gossip?’
Ken rolled his eyes. ‘What a freaking spoilsport. All right then, stay in the dark, why should I care? Let’s get these portaloos stocked up with loo paper before we run out of steam. I like to fold the end of the paper into a little point.’
