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What happened in Lorraine, stayed in Lorraine.
“First of all, Mother, stop trying to match-make me from your living room. And to tell the truth, I’ve fallen in love with the cook’s roast potatoes. I should eat lunch while it’s hot.”
“Okay, I love you and I hope everything goes well for your first day tomorrow and you wear a nice outfit. Impress them, Harry. And send me photos. Liam likes it when you send photos, too.”
I shook my head. Somehow, I was amused rather than annoyed that Mum managed to make tomorrow sound like it was my first day of school rather than a capable, university-educated, thirty-three-year-old man about to start locum work.
“Thanks, Mum. Love you too.” My voice cracked, suddenly homesick. “And tell Dad and Liam I love them both.”
“Love you, Harry,” Mum paused before continuing. “Okay, go eat your lunch. Bye now.”
She hung up and I wondered what I was going to do for the afternoon in Ballydoon, the capital of bum-scratch-nowhere.
A couple of old timers laughed in the public bar, and behind me, someone broke a new game of pool.
The waitress behind the bar gave me another smile.
Nothing. No reaction from my body at all. A one-night stand had left me with the libido of a monk. Except when I thought about Anastasia. Which was madness since I’d never see her again.Get your head in the game, Harry.
I needed to get enthusiastic about this contract. Get organised and get oriented about this small town, and Stanmore up the highway.
Bless Mum and her conviction that this job in the country would help me find meaning in my career again.
I picked up my knife and fork and attacked the roast lamb.
Righto, Harry. You’re going to try something new, earn some cash, meet new people and get a new perspective on life.
And get over toxic workplaces with arsehole bosses and properly grieve for your best friend.
I finished my lunch without another look at the waitress. The bartender collected my plate, one arm covered in tattoos. I admitted to him that lunch was one of the best pub meals I’d had in ages.
“I’ll tell John the owner, thanks,” he said, about to walk off when I recognised his jersey.
“Hey, you play for the Wombats?”
He nodded. “You play?”
“Yeah, love it. Played for the university team back in the day.”
“You’re the guest in the studio room, right? Here for eight weeks?”
“Yep, temp job in Stanmore.”
A glass crashed in the public bar and someone called out for a mop.
The man sighed. “I’m Ryan. I’m always on weekend shifts. One of the guys can’t play this week so if you’d like a run on the paddock, there’s a spare jersey. I’ve gotta run and deal but ask John the owner for my number.”
“I’m Harry, I’ll let you know. Cheers.”
“Nice to meet you, Harry.”
Ryan strode off as my phone buzzed.
Andy: messaging for proof of life so we know Lorraine isn’t banged up in a ditch
Mel: hellooooooo Harry?
Steve: Please respond so that these inane comments stop on group chat.
