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‘Nope.’
‘You’re a shrink, aren’t you, Wombat?’
‘Social worker. Past tense. I’m a publican, now, and speaking of, how’s that beer going? Another schooner?’
‘Nah, mate, I’m meeting Shirl out in the beer garden in a tick.’
The publican caught Kirsty’s eye. ‘I know Carol’s a shandy drinker, but what’ll it be for you?’
‘A beer, thanks. Whatever the locals drink. Any chance of a meal?’ She leaned in to Carol. ‘You fancy a meal, Carol? My treat for all the help you’re giving me.’
The historian looked at her watch. ‘Thank you, love, but I’ll have my shandy and get one of these young fellows to walk me home. I’ve gotAntiques Roadshowon at six.’
The barman plonked a menu on the bar counter. ‘If you want the fancy meals, we serve them out back in the garden from six onwards, but there’s a bar menu that’s available anytime. I have the steak sandwich pretty much every night.’
‘Does it come with chips?’
He set an ice-cold glass brimming with golden liquid on the beer mat in front of her and grinned. ‘Of course it comes with chips.’
She grinned back. He was cute, this younger version of Joe. ‘That sounds perfect. Maybe I’ll have that beer first, though.’
‘No problem. So,’ he said, cocking an eyebrow, ‘how’s farm life going? Joey being nice to you?’
‘Um … okay. I only moved in a few hours ago so it’s a little early to tell.’
Will flashed a wink across at Hogey. ‘Never too early to tell, is it, mate?’
She frowned. Why did she get the feeling Will wasn’t talking about Hogey’s love-life? He leaned his elbows down on the bar as though he was ready to settle in for a long conversation. She hoped someone else was employed to pour drinks, otherwise she and Carol were in for a long wait.
Small towns. She couldn’t decide whether she was happy to be back in one or not.
A chook raffle was doing the rounds of the beer garden when Joey arrived at six o’clock, as ordered by Pete, to prove he wasn’t planning on mooching on his farm for the rest of his life. Two bucks a ticket, same as the tofu-and-veg raffle. Nowhere else but up here at the green end of New South Wales would the chook have been the hard sell.
Someone was playing a harmonica on the timber platform built around the giant trunk of the old jacaranda, paper lanterns coloured the evening sky, and waiters in olive-green Clarence Pub t-shirts were hustling from table to table, dropping off platters of oysters and sweet potato chips and—his eyes zeroed in on a passing plate—was that a rump steak?
Huh. Maybe there was something to this mingling business after all.
His brother, Will, was behind the outdoor bar counter, snicking lids off beer bottles with one hand while filling jugs with ice and water with the other. He did a double take when he saw Joey.
‘I can’t believe it. Joey freaking Miles has crossed his boundary line. To what do us locals owe this pleasure?’
‘Jeez. Come for a beer and get the third degree.’
‘Sorry, mate. Felicity’s been in my ear; I spoke without thinking. What do you fancy? A schooner?’
‘What’s Flick been saying?’
Will shrugged. ‘Nothing. The usual. You know how righteous she can be.’
He frowned. ‘Righteous about what?’
A waitress rushed up to his brother before he could drag an answer from him.
‘Will, babe, no-one can find the cord for the second amplifier,’ she said before rushing off to deliver her tray of drinks.
‘There’s always bloody something.’ He looked at Joey. ‘Place has gone off since we added the live music. I’ll be back in a tick. Can you take over here?’
‘What … at the bar?’
