‘Can I help ya, mate?’ asked the barmaid from behind the bar, where she was polishing glasses.
‘Checking in,’ he said, stepping forward. The girl was in her mid-twenties and wearing a singlet that barely reached the top of her denim skirt.
‘Sure, follow me. I’m Renae.’ She walked around the bar, out through the glass doors and headed left to a tiny reception area. ‘Daniel Tyler, right? Just one night?’ she asked, after consulting the small diary on the desk.
‘Yep.’
Renae raised her eyebrows and gave him the once-over. ‘Just passing through?’
‘Um, no. Here for a little while.’ He watched her waiting, hoping for more details. He wasn’t sharing.
‘Well, here’s your key. Up the stairs to your left, room at the end. Shower’s on the right. Dinner is available at six-thirty until the cook feels like leaving.’
‘Great, thanks.’
‘I’ll be at the bar if you need anything.’
He watched Renae walk away, admiring her petite body. She was very friendly and had a great smile – a prerequisite for barmaids.
As he carried his bag from the car up to his room, Renae flashed him another smile. If he were leaving tomorrow, yes, he’d probably try his luck, but this tiny town would be his home for the next couple of months. He didn’t need complications.
Slotting the old-fashioned key into the lock, he opened the door to his room. His jaw dropped faster than his bag. ‘Jesus!’ A brown threadbare cover lay over the bed, its tassels reaching all the way down to the floral carpet. The room was clean and tidy but unbearably daggy, and the decor made it feel so small. He sat on the bed, sinking down as the worn springs groaned. The musty smell had undertones of cigarette smoke. The newest thing in the room was the TV, which was as thick as a fish tank and definitely not digital. Daniel wondered why he’d even bothered to bring his laptop up. They wouldn’t have wi-fi. The crazy red and black decor of the bar downstairs was starting to look more enticing. He checked his emails on his phone and sent a text message to his mates to let them know he’d arrived in Woop Woop. He didn’t mention that he felt like he’d been dropped in a time machine and rocketed back fifty years.
Tucking his designer wallet into his pocket, Daniel headed back downstairs into the stale, alcohol-tainted air of the quiet bar. There were a few more people now, three guys sitting at the bar and a family of four at one of the tables. Dan pulled up a stool and sat down next to a guy in a blue truckie singlet who looked about his age. The other two blokes were in their fifties, with wrinkled leathery skin covered with spots and wayward hairs. They looked tough and territorial, but when they turned to him they smiled and offered cheery grins. Dan returned the greeting as he wondered what their lives had been like.
‘A newbie, huh? How you going? I’m Zac,’ said the guy on the stool beside him. Zac held out his large hand, callused and stained with dirt. His hands had clearly seen a lot more manual labour in their twenty-odd years than Dan’s had.
Daniel took his hand. ‘G’day. I’m Dan.’ Before he could say anything else, Zac whistled, and seconds later Renae popped back into the bar with a frown on her pretty face.
‘Zac Baxter, I’m not your bloody dog.’
‘Sorry, Nae, but I think this bloke really needs a drink.’
Renae started pouring a beer, watching Dan the whole time with a flirty smile. ‘Yeah, I think you’re right. You do look a little hot and bothered.’
She handed him the beer and before he could get his wallet back out from his pocket, Zac waved a note at Renae.
‘Hey, thanks, mate,’ said Dan, putting his money away and taking a long guzzle of the cold beer. ‘Ah, yep. I needed that. Long day on the road and then I got a flat tyre.’
‘Pretty shitty in this heat.’
‘Is it always this hot in November?’ he asked as Renae dropped Zac’s change on the counter. ‘It doesn’t get this hot in the city.’
Zac laughed. ‘Ya softcock. How would you know, when you’re in an air-conditioned office all day, and then you jump into your air-conditioned car straight to your air-conditioned house? I work out in that heat every day. And my old man still refuses to put in air-con at home. Says it’s for pansies. He likes to remind me that he grew up with just a wet sack hanging in the doorway to cool the breeze.’
Renae clicked her tongue. ‘Yeah, you’re so tough, Zac,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Ignore him, Dan. I’ve spent every summer for years listening to him bitch and moan about the heat.’
Zac squinted at Renae. ‘Haven’t you got glasses to wash or something? Dennis isn’t paying you to chat up the new customers.’
Renae pulled a face and went to serve the old bloke at the other end of the bar.
Daniel chuckled as he glanced at Zac, who had a week’s stubble across his strong jaw. ‘Not cool to upset the barmaid. She’ll cut your beer off,’ Dan said.
‘Nah. Not Nae. She loves it when I tease her. Besides, I’ve known her all my life and I’m one of her best customers.’ Zac scratched at his dusty arm, his nails lined with black dirt. ‘So, what are you doing in Bundara? You look a long way from home.’
‘Yeah, don’t I know it. But this is going to be my home for the next few months. I’m the relief bank manager.’
‘Oh, hey. Greg’s replacement. Man, I don’t envy you. You’re gonna be compared to the plague ’round here.’
‘Great. Thanks for the heads-up. So what do you do, Zac? I’m guessing farming?’
‘Yeah, I work with my old man and my brother on Baxter Plains. It’s outta town about ten k’s. Nine thousand acres, a few sheep and not much crop.’
‘Because of the drought? You really feeling it?’
Zac studied Dan, choosing his next words carefully. ‘The whole bloody district is. Our farm is better off than some, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t struggling. I guess you’ll see all that when you start work. Man, I’d hate to be in your shoes.’
Dan shrugged his shoulders. ‘It doesn’t worry me. It’s just a part of my job.’
Zac almost choked on his beer. ‘You’d better not go around saying that too loud or too often. Folks won’t take too kindly to it. It may be a job to you but these are real people’s livelihoods you’re playing with.’
‘Oh, for sure. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. No hard feelings?’ The look on Zac’s face wasn’t one of forgiveness but he shrugged his muscled shoulders.
‘You won’t upset me. I’ve got a duck’s back but I’m just warning you that others can be a bit testy. Lots of high-strung folks around at the moment,’ said Zac.
Dan nodded, grateful for having met someone not easily offended. He glanced around the unfamiliar pub, feeling more foreign than ever. He had begun to realise that it wasn’t just the scenery; it was the people and their way of life that were different as well.
‘So, you camping at the pub the whole time or moving into the bank house?’ asked Zac.
‘My gear is coming down tomorrow, so it’s just the one night here.’ Thank God, he thought to himself.
‘All right. Well, I haven’t got much on over the weekend so if you need a hand, give me a call.’
Dan smiled, a little shocked. ‘For real?’ If someone had offered to help in the city he’d be worried they were planning steal all his stuff. But this was the country. And there was something trustworthy about this bloke. Open and honest. Rare virtues. ‘Cheers, Zac. That’d be great.’
‘No worries.’
‘So what does a guy do around here for fun?’ Dan asked as he undid the top button of his shirt, the cool interior of the pub refreshing after the oppressive heat.
‘Well, we’ve got the pub and footy season, or we make our own fun.’
Dan threw Zac a questioning look.
‘Don’t worry. Stick with me and I’ll show you some fun while you’re here. I’ll send you back to the city a different bloke. A better bloke.’ Zac slapped his hand on the bar, making Renae look over. ‘Can we’ve another two please,
Nae?’
Dan drained the last of his beer and thought about what Zac had said. He highly doubted that a few months in the bush could change him, beyond drying out his skin and giving him a tan. He was tougher than these country blokes would think; they’d soon find that out.
*
The next day after lunch, Daniel let himself in to the three-bedroom house that would be his home here in Bundara. It was one of the nicer ones in town – around six years old with a modern kitchen and tiles throughout. It was a huge improvement on the pub. He’d only been in the house ten minutes when there was a knock at the door.
‘Hello, anyone home?’
A woman in her forties wearing trackpants and workboots, her brown hair pulled into a loose bun, was standing before him. She looked a little rough, like a strong country woman, he guessed.
‘Hi,’ said Dan, opening the security door.
The woman held out her hand. ‘Daniel? How are you going? I’m Jean Symonds. I’m the senior consultant from the bank. I live three houses down. I saw a bit of movement at the house and thought I’d come and introduce myself, see if you needed any help.’
‘Oh, thanks, Jean. Um, that’s nice of you, but I’ll be fine. I haven’t really got all that much to do.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it and I’ll see you in the office on Monday. But if you have any questions or you’re not doing anything, we have dinner at seven so feel free to pop over then. Our house is the cream one. There’s a ute out the front, ‘SYMMO’ number plates – can’t miss it.’
Dan stood gripping the door and wondering how it was possible that a lady he’d just met was inviting him into her home to share a meal. ‘Thanks again. So nice of you to offer, but I’ve got dinner sorted.’ Dinner hadn’t crossed his mind, but going to the house of a stranger in a town he’d just arrived in was a bit weird. God, for all she knew, he could have been a murdering psychopath.
‘Good luck moving in. It’s the best house in the street. See you Monday,’ she said, before walking back down the footpath.
As Jean made her way home, Dan saw his removalists pull up out the front. It was only a small white truck with Henderson’s Removals painted on the side. He greeted the driver, Paul, who was wearing a fluoro-yellow shirt that stretched across his enormous belly. Dan slipped his hands into the pockets of his denim shorts as he watched the hydraulic back door of the truck open. The sun’s rays seemed to burn through his white polo shirt, and the back of his legs tingled with heat. It was going to take him a while to adjust to the brutality of the November sun. No-one had warned him about that when they sent him out here.
A newish Holden ute rumbled along the street and parked nearby. Its black and white plates read ‘MERRIT7’. He recognised Zac in the passenger seat. Zac climbed out of the ute in what seemed to be the Bundara male uniform: singlet, shorts and workboots. A young bloke trailed behind.
‘Hey, Dan. I was at the shop when I saw the truck go past. Thought you might be ready for that hand. I brought reinforcements,’ said Zac. ‘This is Rick Merrit: butcher’s son and handy when it comes to moving stuff.’
Daniel shook hands with Rick, who was about six feet tall and stood eye to eye with Dan. Rick was solid like a man, but still had the face of a teenager. ‘Thanks for coming,’ Dan said.
Rick shrugged it off. ‘Let’s get cracking, shall we? I’ve still gotta go and pick up the roast for Mum.’
With four blokes it only took half an hour to unload the bed, couch, TV, fridge, a small cupboard and a dining table and a few boxes.
‘Man, you travel light,’ said Zac, after they’d positioned the couch.
‘Well, I’m not here for long,’ Dan said frankly. ‘They’re taking applications for the permanent manager’s position soon, so I’m just here to fill in and check everything’s in order in the meantime. With the last guy pulling the pin, it made things a little hard.’ Dan had bought most of these belongings new rather than dealing with shifting his own furniture from his house in Perth. He figured he’d just give it away when he got back to the city. He wasn’t here to make a home. He was here to work.
‘So you got any kids? A girlfriend?’ asked Zac, collapsing onto the couch for a rest.
‘No and no.’ Dan signed off with the delivery guy, then, turning back to Zac, said, ‘I’m too busy to get involved with anyone. You?’ He thought he should ask, the guy did just help him out.
Zac rolled his eyes. ‘Nah. Not many to chose from out here.’
Rick snorted as he rested against the couch near Zac. ‘I’ve got one, must just be you, hey, Zaccy. You’re wearing the wrong deodorant.’
Zac punched Rick in the arm. ‘Jesus, you’ve got a smart mouth for a nineteen-year-old.’ He stood up next to Dan, resting his hands on his hips. ‘Well, we’re gonna be at the pub again tonight for a pool session. You should drop by for a game. Besides, it’s your shout,’ said Zac.
‘Yeah, mate, the more the merrier.’ Rick held out his hand and Dan shook it. Rick was big and shy, but Dan could see that with more time the kid would open up. He didn’t know many teenagers who’d stop what they were doing to help a stranger.
‘Um, I guess. I had Jean Symonds drop by and invite me for dinner . . .’
Zac waved his hands like he was trying to stop a truck. ‘Nah, nah. You don’t want to go doing that, mate. Jean’s a nice bird but she’ll burn your ears off after an hour, and her hubby, Symmo, has a model tractor collection and he loves showing people every single one . . . in detail,’ Zac emphasised.
Rick was shaking his head, waving his hand across his throat in a slicing motion. ‘Nooo, mate. You don’t wanna go through that, trust us.’ His eyes were wide as though reliving a nightmare.
‘Ookay. The pub it is,’ Dan said slowly. Both guys smiled, happy with Dan’s choice. ‘Well, thanks for your help. You too, Rick. I wish I could offer you a beer but . . .’ He gestured to the empty fridge they’d just lugged in.
‘It’s cool,’ Rick replied, hitching up his low-hanging denim shorts. ‘The pub has plenty, you can thank us there.’ He smirked before following Zac back to his ute
Dan shut the front door of his new house and cranked up the air-con. The place was silent again – just what he was used to. He leaned against the door, wondering just how many other locals he was going to mix with tonight and how many of them would have files he’d have to sift through on Monday morning.
He hoped none of them. He’d never socialised with his clients before and he didn’t want to start now. Besides, it was his dad’s wise advice that was freely given when he’d followed John into banking. He was the son of John Tyler, Sovereign Bank’s managing director. He had to get results.
Chapter 4
MONDAY morning Jonny woke to loud banging on her bedroom door.
‘If you want any breakfast, you’d better get up now, sweet pea, or your brothers are gonna scoff the lot.’
‘I’m coming. Save me some, please.’ She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before throwing back the rugs and sitting up. After Friday’s all-nighter with Ryan watching the first three Star Wars movies, she was catching up on some much-needed sleep. Every time she’d started to get some shut-eye during the movies, Ryan had poked her in the ribs, telling her she was missing the best bits. Needless to say, Sunday morning she’d slept in till eight and this morning was no better – six-thirty. In a household that rose at five, six thirty was a solid sleep-in.
Not wanting to miss breakfast, Jonny didn’t bother to get dressed. Instead she just straightened her worn shearing singlet and adjusted her boxer shorts. She picked up a hair tie from her pine bedside table and gathered her hair in a knot. The carpet was warm underfoot as she shuffled out of her room. Trailing her finger along the rammed-earth walls, she headed to the kitchen, following the smell of cooking. She loved her parents’ house. It had been built when she was eighteen, back when all three boys were still on the farm and they’d had the manpower to make the rammed-earth house themselves. There was something wa
rm and natural about having dirt walls and it sure beat the tin shack at the back of the workshop where she slept some nights.
‘Ah, here’s the sleepyhead,’ said her dad, from his seat at the huge oak table. Jonny went and kissed the top of his bald head; she didn’t like kissing his cheeks because of his snowy-white beard.
Her mum, Sandra, brought Jonny a plate and cutlery. Sandra was the shortest in the family, she wore her blonde hair in a bob and always wore some novelty apron when she was in the kitchen. Today was a Doctor Who dalek with the word Exterminate written across the top. It had been a Christmas gift two years earlier.
‘Thanks, Ma.’ Jonny sat down opposite her dad, next to Zac and her second-oldest brother, Jonathan. Her eldest brother, Edward, ate with his own family at their parents’ old house. He had to help get his wife and kids off to school. His wife, Monique, taught Years Six and Seven. She’d gone back to teaching the moment the kids had reached school age. Edward relied a lot on Monique’s steady income, especially when the farm struggled to pay a living wage.
All of the men had plates of half-eaten sausages, eggs, bacon and baked beans. Jonny wasted no time in piling her own stoneware plate with what they’d left behind. Sandra sat down, not eating but just enjoying the company of her family.
‘So, I like the new chook pen. It actually looks like it’ll stay up,’ Jonny teased. ‘You must have done most of the work, JB.’
Zac scoffed. ‘Him?’ he said, pointing to Jonathan. ‘He’s forgotten how to build anything. He’s a shift worker. All he wanted to do was sleep.’
Jonathan flung a bean at Zac.
‘Jonathan Baxter, you will not throw food in my house unless you want to spend the morning washing the floors,’ Sandra warned, but the twinkle of love in her eye gave her away.
The Sunburnt Country Page 3
