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She looked up. ‘Call me Terri. You’re Joe, right?’
He took a seat opposite her. ‘Everyone calls me Joey.’
The lines in her forehead deepened a fraction. ‘Do they? I think Kirsty calls you Joe.’
He nodded. ‘That’s true. But then, Kirsty’s not like everyone else, is she?’
Terri heaved a sigh and tore up a sugar packet into tiny shreds.
‘I’m sorry about earlier. With the tickets and everything.’
‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Joey. Kirsty knows that. She’s just … well, she’s had to put up with a lot from me over the years. She’s seen me slip back into my old habits more than once.’
‘Is she around? She missed out on collecting her trophy. Third prize, which is quite a coup hereabouts. Ken Kwong’s moustache turned green with envy.’
‘Oh, she’s not back yet.’
‘Back from where?’
‘She had to pop up to the plane. She took me to see it yesterday, then when the weather turned bad before, she was worried she’d left the shed door open. Took off in a pelter.’
Shit. Driving the Shannon Gully Road in wet weather was slippery. ‘When did she leave?’
Terri’s eyes widened. ‘Is there a problem?’
He considered prevaricating, but he just came out with it. If he, and Kirsty, and the whole damn town had all spent more time saying what they meant instead of pussyfooting about, maybe he and Kirsty wouldn’t be in their current mess. ‘The creeks are rising, and they all spill down into Clarence River, which means the road out to the farm goes under. The local cops have put out a flood warning.’
‘I’ll call her,’ said Terri, grabbing for her phone.
‘You do that. I’ll go jump in my ute and head out after her.’
He was nearly out of the bar by the time his brain kicked in. This gig wasn’t done, not while they still had ticketholders on the grounds, and tripping hazards to clear, and pie warmers to get undercover.
He jogged back to the marquee, where the committee members were rolling up microphone cables and stacking chairs. Ken and Thelma. Carol, Daisy, Angelo, Merv. Vonnie was on portaloo patrol with Hogey, and Patty had whisked Amy and Robbo off before the rain worsened, but the rest of the committee members were all here.
‘Everyone,’ he said. ‘I need your help.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You know that Mrs Farmer Joe thing you guys have got going on?’
‘Um,’ said Merv, staring away into a corner of the marquee.
‘Yes of course,’ said Carol briskly. ‘Say your piece, son.’
‘Kirsty’s headed out to Wirraway Farm and the water’ll be up over the gully. I want to go after her. Will you lot cover my duties here for me?’
‘You bet we will,’ said Ken. ‘I’ve a torch in my van; you want me to grab it for you?’
‘That’d be great. And Ken, think you can go find Hogey for me? He’s locking the portaloos. If he’s not had too many beers, maybe you could send him out after me. His ute’s the toughest in the district, apparently.’
Ken snorted. ‘You’re the hero tonight, mate. You’ve got this.’
By the time the pub was a hundred metres behind him, the sky was pitch-black and so was most of the town. Powerlines down somewhere, no doubt … even more reason why Kirsty shouldn’t be out driving through floodwater in an area she didn’t know like a local.
He hooked a right on Lillypilly Street and went over the old bridge. He slowed as he crossed, wound down his window, and shone Ken’s torch on the churning water. Another metre and the bridge’d be under. He drove slowly; there was so much water on the roads the cat’s eyes were submerged and the lines were only visible in the distance when he used his high beam. A sedan roared past him from the other direction, doosh-doosh music blaring.
‘Dickheads,’ he muttered. No doubt Sergeant Baxter would be fishing that car out of a ditch later.
He reached Shannon Gully Road after about ten minutes and slowed to a crawl where the road began to dip. He saw the yellow zigzag sign to his left warning drivers of the switchback ahead, his windscreen wipers were going at full tilt, and visibility was down to about three inches, but up ahead, was that … it looked like … well, it looked like red devil eyes blinking at him, but that was probably just the worry in his chest making him leap to dumb conclusions.He inched a little nearer. Not devil eyes but hazard lights, blinking on-off, on-off, smack in the middle of the road.
He pulled over, hauled on the rain jacket Ken had found in his van, grabbed the torch and climbed out of his ute. He left his engine running and his headlights on. If there were any other doosh-doosh dickheads roaring about the back roads, he didn’t want them ploughing into him or his ute.
