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“Your father is fine and yes, I’ve booked respite in for Friday. Harry, this is a great opportunity for you so don’t worry about us. Gets you out of the house and on with your career.”
“Every day will be filled with snotty nosed toddlers, pensioners with incontinence, and teenagers looking for free condoms. This isn’t a career making opportunity, Mum. It’s a favour.”
“House painting is not career-making for a doctor either.”
She had me there. “Touché, Mum.”
I’d enjoyed being outdoors and active painting houses with Dad. My arms, shoulders and abs now were tanned, toned and defined. But she had a point. I needed to find meaningful work in my profession again, especially after what happened with my best friend, Simon, and recently at work.
“Tell me more about Ballydoon,” Mum asked. “What’s the pub like? Historic or just full of poker machines?”
I chuckled, popping a roast potato into my mouth, and groaned. Crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. Damn, I was going to finish my contract in eight weeks with my abs buried in a spare tyre if I ate here every day.
“Okay, well.” I glanced around the dining area that flowed into the public bar. “They have a jukebox that takes coins, and the bar is old school timber and looks about a hundred years old. Like it was done in the 1920s. Even has those leadlight windows you like. The carpet though was laid in the 1970s.” I squinted to read plaques on the far wall. “They’ve got historical drawings of a historic sheep station called Turner’s Creek. And there are trophies and photos on the wall for the local rugby league team, the Western Ranges Wombats.”
“You should play for the Wombats while you are there.”
“It’s an eight-week contract, Mum. Not entirely a season.”
“So, play when you can. Be a sub.”
I sighed, popping another potato into my mouth. “Yes, Mum.”
Maybe playing footy was exactly what I needed to counteract the effects of roast potato.
“Other than your bed, is your room nice?”
“Yeah, it’s great. The en-suite and kitchenette are a decent size. The room is more like more like a studio flat. Better than any of the hotels in Stanmore for a longer stay.”
“But the drive from Ballydoon to Stanmore.”
“Taking Lorraine out on the highway each day for a forty-five kilometre round trip is no burden, Mum. Besides, George said they would be booked out with tourists anyway. I really lucked it.”
“Have you spoken to George yet?”
“Nah, he asked me to speak with Pam while he’s recovering from his procedure in Brisbane. Pam’s fine to meet me early before we open tomorrow.”
“That’s a pity. Oh—” A muffled voice in the background said my name. “Your father wants to know how Lorraine handled last night with the drive.”
Images of last night flashed in my mind. I coughed on my potato.
“Tell him Lorraine was a dream. No problems whatsoever.”
“He says make sure you find a good mechanic, so Lorraine is kept in tip-top condition.”
“Tell him of course I will.”
“Right, your father is done dictating his messages. When you finish lunch, can you walk around the town and take pics and send them to me?”
“Have you not heard of Google Earth and Street View?”
“It’s not the same, Harry. Be a good son and take photos for your mother.”
I chuckled again and stared longingly at my food.
She clicked her tongue. “So, any good-looking women at the bar?”
I snorted. For a split second of madness, I contemplated telling her about last night with Anastasia but pulled my brain up in time.
