by Ros Baxter
‘Hey,’ he said, stopping suddenly under the shade of a lovely old olive tree. ‘I tasted your yoghurt this morning.’
Gen didn’t know what she had expected him to say when he had stopped and turned to her, focusing hard with those stormy grey eyes, but that had definitely not been it. She was surprised by the blush that crept up her neck and face. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What did you think?’
He smiled at her, and it was so genuine and warm, so like the Brodie she’d known back then, that she was swamped by the urge to wave a magic wand and undo the last ten years. ‘Fan-bloody-tastic,’ he enthused. ‘What’s your secret?’
She tapped the side of her nose. ‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret.’
‘Well, it’s real good,’ he continued, turning and starting to walk towards the chambers again. ‘You should do something about it.’
Had he been reading her mind? ‘Like what?’
‘Get serious; get a business plan. Everything starts with a plan.’ He made it sound so simple.
Gosh, great idea, Brodie, why didn’t I think of that?
‘It’s a little hard right now,’ she said, trying to keep the you-have-no-fucking-idea out of her voice.
‘Oh I know that,’ he said, stopping again to turn to look at her. ‘But it always is, in the beginning.’ He frowned at her, and she got the sense he felt as if he’d mucked something up. ‘Look, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean … I mean, I know your situation is harder than most. I never had kids to look after when I was starting out. I can only imagine how that must complicate things.’
‘No, you can’t,’ she snapped, starting to walk again. ‘You can’t imagine. Anyway, there’s more than that. There’s the certification—that’s everything to start with.’
‘We’ll get that,’ he said, pulling on her arm to make her stop again. ‘You need to go into that meeting today believing that.’
‘Then there’s keeping the community on song,’ she said, thinking through all the delicate pieces of this, the way she always did, listing out and trying to nut though the problems each part presented. ‘Davina is sniffing around again. She wants us back, for some reason.’ She paused, wondering how honest to be. ‘At least some of us.’
He nodded. Go on.
‘And if we splinter, we’re screwed; you know that. Our only chance is getting the whole community certified, and then thinking about how we use our collective muscle to start to produce on the kind of scale where we can make a living.’
His frowned deepened. ‘A cooperative?’
She nodded, wondering what he would make of it. ‘None of us could afford the start-up costs solo,’ she elaborated. ‘And the banks wouldn’t touch us.’ She thought about red-faced Barry Townsend. ‘Most of us are in so deep with them after the latest Devondish stunt, we’ll be lucky if we pull ourselves out of debt before we die. We need some other way of tackling this thing.’
He nodded, slowly. ‘It might work,’ he said. ‘If the DB would go for it.’ He gestured towards the chambers with his head. ‘You gonna raise it there today?’
‘I dunno,’ Gen replied honestly. She’d been trying to think through the right approach all morning, as she served customers and shared gossip. She had tried to feel out which way the town might jump on that kind of proposal. ‘It’s not really the right forum, today is all about the fair, but all the right players are there.’
He was looking at her with an expression on his face she couldn’t quite read. As if he hadn’t expected this from her, maybe? ‘You want my advice?’
Did she? She wasn’t sure. She knew he had to be pissed with her, and God knew Nelly would hate Gen til the day she died for what Gen had done to her nephew, so could she trust whatever Brodie would say? And what if he just told her to forget about it? He didn’t understand—she was fast running out of options.
She took a breath and nodded.
‘Do your homework first.’ His voice was different—measured and focused. She imagined this was how he was in business. He sounded very credible. Powerful, even. He held up his right hand, thumb out, as if he was numbering. ‘First, you need to work out exactly how this would go down. Scope the potential markets, work out the costs—start-up and ongoing.’ He put his index finger out beside the thumb. ‘Two. Talk to Thompson.’
The mayor. Gen’s tummy contracted. Did Brodie know?
‘You’ll need him on side,’ he continued, in a way that made Gen pretty sure he didn’t know. ‘He’s a powerful player on the DB.’
Oh he’s a player, alright.
‘Yep.’ She nodded. ‘What else?’
He took off his hat and spun it in his hands. ‘I reckon you need at least one contract locked and loaded. Maybe not signed up, but someone who wants to buy what you’re selling pretty badly.’
Gen’s heart sank. ‘Where do I find someone like that?’
He smiled, spinning the hat again. ‘I might be able to help.’
Her guard went up. She didn’t need any favours, least of all from someone she was already in debt to a thousand times over for the crap she’d dropped on him a decade before. ‘Why?’
‘You’re welcome, Gen Jen,’ he said, his mouth twisting in an ironic smile.
She raised an eyebrow at him. She wouldn’t apologise. Everyone wanted something—she knew that now.
‘I like it,’ he said finally. ‘This is what I do, what I like. Starting things, making stuff work. And I have a vested interest.’
‘What interest?’ Gen was aware she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t help it. She badly needed to trust someone, badly needed some help, but she also needed to know it was all kosher.
‘I care about this town, Gen.’ He rammed his hat back on his head. ‘I might have left it, but you know better than anyone why I did that. And I care about Nelly. She’s never going to give that piece of dirt up, and I don’t want to see her go down like they did.’
‘Okay.’ Gen exhaled slowly. That all made sense. ‘In that case, I would love your help, Brodie.’
‘Call me Bro Bro.’ He smiled, raising his arm for her to take it again as they made their way into the chambers.
***
Buddy Thompson was holding court at the front of the squishy little meeting room. He was walking them through a PowerPoint to help them follow all the pieces of the plan.
‘Right,’ he said, stepping to one side with his little laser pointer and running down the items one by one. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’ll run through the list again.’
Gen tried to look interested—tried not to focus on the dirt under Brodie’s nails as he scratched rough notes on the pad in front of him. It was hard. He was sitting so close in the confined space she could hear his breaths and feel his knee brush occasionally against hers under the old oak table. Every time it did a bolt snaked through her—knee to thigh to tummy. She was so wired it felt like if he touched her on the arm she might explode.
She trained her eyes back on Buddy. He was dressed, as usual, in a sharp grey suit, and he was handsome, she reminded herself, in a forty-something kind of way. He had the whole Richard Gere thing going on. From farming stock, he had the cred to earn the town’s trust, but he’d been smart and ambitious enough to move into business once he saw the writing on the wall, and let his brothers run the family farms. Politics followed. He also had a truly lovely voice—melodious and convincing, a voice you could close your eyes to and let it wash over you. It sounded like small towns and good times.
‘So, the Spring Fair, You Are What You Eat, is all about showcasing the chem-free tradition of our little community,’ Buddy said, although Gen was positive they’d already covered this. ‘The whole objective of the show this year is getting certified. Organic certification increases our options.’ He spread his hands, appealing to those he knew were still dubious, still hoping to make nice with Devondish. ‘We may still broker a deal with The Big Cow, but if we don’t, we need another way to save this town.’
He nodded t
owards Brodie. ‘Bro Bro’s on it,’ he said, smiling in Brodie’s direction in a way Gen felt was less than genuine. ‘He’s got the certifiers lined up and showing them around town over the next few weeks.’ The nickname surprised Gen. He’d been Bro Bro when he was the town’s seventeen-year-old basketball hero darling, but folks tended not to call him that now that he’d gone away and become rich and famous. She felt like it was kind of demeaning, and wondered if it was deliberate. Buddy knew the history between Gen and Brodie. Was that what this was about?
‘I just go by Brodie now,’ the man beside her said, as if he was thinking the same thing, although he smiled broadly, his blinding Crop King pearler. ‘Seems more appropriate. For a CEO.’
‘Of course, Brodie.’ Buddy smiled in a paternal kind of way. ‘Old habits and all that.’
Brodie nodded and smiled back, but Gen sensed his body tense beside her.
‘Anyway,’ Buddy went on, ‘Brodie’s job is to show the certifiers who we are and what we stand for. The fair will be the culmination—the school will be involved.’ He treated Gen to a warm smile. ‘All those gorgeous kids.’
Gen smiled weakly back. Buddy had been letting her know consistently how much he liked children. His own two were at university in Sydney, but he often told her how much he’d enjoyed them when they were little, and how he would gladly have those days back again. Gen wondered if the wife he had divorced three years ago shared the same glowing memories of raising his kids. Buddy had been a busy man the last fifteen years.
Gen hoped Brodie hadn’t noticed anything unusual in the way Buddy responded to her, but it was a vain hope. Once the Mayor turned back to his PowerPoint, Brodie scratched on his pad: WTF?
She just raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, and trained her eyes back on Buddy.
‘We’ll invite Devondish, of course,’ the mayor continued. ‘I was thinking we could give them some kind of ceremonial role.’ He turned to his left where his brother Clem, a taciturn farmer who seemed older than his fifty years, sat tight-lipped and uncomfortable beside him. ‘What do you think, Clem? Judging best heifer?’
‘I think we should tell Davina and her bunch of city arseholes to go and fuck themselves,’ Clem offered in his quiet, gravelly voice.
Buddy’s smile only slipped for a millisecond. ‘That is, of course, another option,’ he agreed. ‘Not as conciliatory, of course.’
‘That’s why you’re the mayor, Brother,’ Clem grunted.
It was a strange show, but Gen knew them well enough to know that was all it was. The two men respected each other, even if their approaches were worlds apart. Clem and his like knew the town needed someone with the nous and relationships Buddy had, and Buddy’s tenure relied on their good opinion of him.
‘Okay,’ Buddy continued. ‘We can probably resolve those finer details later.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Shall we hand over to our girl to discuss the fundraiser?’
Gen cringed at the ‘our girl’ but sat up straighter in her chair. ‘Sure,’ she agreed.
Fifteen sets of eyes turned to her and she took a breath. She was becoming more used to this, but when she’d first started to attend the Dairy Board and then the Fair Organising Committee, she’d found it intimidating. KD was the one who had set her straight, reminding her that at the end of the day they were just a bunch of old blokes who hadn’t managed to keep their contracts in place, and telling her that she was the future of the town—innovation, change, adaption. She was the one who had started the first home dairy, and who was building a following with her yoghurt, labna and other products.
KD had encouraged her to put her hand up when the spot on the DB came up, and helped her rehearse her little pitch. And in the last six months, the old Milk Men had started to listen to her. Buddy had shown a particular interest in her opinions, or at least in watching her while she voiced them. Gen knew he had ulterior motives, but she liked that he listened to her. It was flattering for a twenty-seven-year-old single mother with no formal training to hold the attention of the room and its urbane mayor. The last year had been hard, and she’d be lying if she said Buddy’s appreciative looks didn’t lessen the sting of your husband walking out on you and your two kids.
‘Okay,’ she started, knowing by now the rhythm of the room and its moods—and that its current one was dead sick of Buddy’s extended lecturing, and needed a short, sharp wrap-up. ‘So there are some things we are going to need in order to showcase the town properly in—’ she looked at her watch, ‘—three weeks time.’ She paused for effect. ‘And we all know the DB, and the council—’ she looked pointedly at Buddy, ‘—have bugger-all funds to provide it.’
She took a breath. ‘So we need a quick fundraiser ahead of the main event. Y’all know we are planning to hold a fast family fun day this weekend for the whole region. Get the kids and families along for some rides and good clean wholesome fun.’ She tried to grin, as if it was some easy piece of cake, not the logistical nightmare pulling it together so quickly had proven to be. ‘And it’ll be a good dress rehearsal for the main event in a few weeks.’
Gen knew how these things usually went down. Once the idea was out there, there was endless debating about who would do what and why they could or couldn’t do the hard bits. To cut it off, she handed around a sheaf of papers, treating everyone to her most sunny smile.
‘Now I know how much we all hate to spend hours nutting through the details, so you know what? I just thought, what the hell? I’m gonna raw up a list of who does what—just a proposal, mind, and if anyone doesn’t like anything on it, we can fix it up today.’ She smiled again, making sure she wrapped each of the old men in the warm smile, and saved the last of the wattage for Buddy. ‘I’m happy to be told it’s not quite the right way to do things, but man …’ She wiped her brow for effect. ‘It’s hot in here, and I’m sure we could all use a drink.’
At the mention of booze, the Milk Men started mumbling agreeably and passing the sheets around, scanning them quickly and largely muttering agreement.
‘I’m fine to bring Clancy down, like you say on here,’ Clem said, placing his piece of paper in front of him. ‘How much you reckon for a pony ride, Gen?’
Gen smiled to herself. It was amazing how quickly all these experienced old guys had started to defer to her for advice on such matters. ‘Five bucks,’ she said, rubbing her fingers together like she could smell the cash already.
Clem whistled. ‘Daylight robbery,’ he muttered. ‘Still. If it gets us what we need.’
‘It will,’ Gen assured him. ‘I pay three bucks for a pop-top juice, Clem, and I’d give way more than a fiver for some nice old guy to take my kid for a ten-minute ride so I can stop having to listen to the whining.’ She covered her mouth. ‘Oops, did I say that out loud?’
They all laughed, and Buddy positively beamed at her.
After a few minor tweaks, the list of events and tasks were allocated and preparations were locked down for the day.
‘Any other business before we adjourn to the Saloon Bar for a drink?’ Buddy eyed Gen meaningfully.
‘Just one,’ an old guy with sparse silver hair pulled into a comb-over, and a long red nose said. He was wearing the same blue jeans he’d worn for the last twenty years, and a blue checked top. He was predictable, but there was something infinitely reassuring about him, and something very sweet. Mike Wilson was from one of the oldest families in the area, and was the stalwart of the DB. ‘I’d like to propose a vote of thanks.’ He nodded towards Gen. ‘To Genevieve Jenkins. For organising a pack of old guys more efficiently than a tax collector.’ He nodded at his sheet of paper. ‘And for putting together a plan for what looks like a great fundraiser.’
Assorted voices around the table started to say ‘hear hear’ but Mike held up his hand. ‘I’m not done.’ He nodded to Gen again. ‘And for being a breath of fresh air on this committee, even with all the other things she has to do. And we all know that’s a bloody lot.’
More hear hears, but Mike held up his hand again. ‘And last but not least,’ he declared, standing up and pushing back his chair manfully, ‘for saving our valuable drinking time.’
All the Milk Men laughed as Mike turned to Buddy. ‘What do you reckon, Thommo? Class dismissed?’
Buddy nodded, and the Spring Fair Organising Committee streamed out in the direction of the street and the Saloon Bar.
Clem clapped Gen on the back as she stood up. ‘First round’s on me,’ he said with a smile. He turned to Brodie. Gen had avoided looking at him during her little speech, knowing she would feel self-conscious. ‘You too, Brodie Brown?’ Clem asked.
‘Sure,’ Brodie said, his face a cold mask that made the bottom drop out of Gen’s tummy. He nodded at her, with a smile so fake it shredded her heart inside her chest. ‘We need to go toast our girl.’
***
‘Really? Buddy Thompson? Isn’t he old enough to be your father?’ Brodie could barely see Gen through the haze that seemed to have descended over his vision ever since he had seen the mayor eyeing Gen off like a tasty side of beef in that meeting. And Gen smiling sweetly back at him. And then the arrogant old prick had completely monopolised Gen at the bar, throwing his arm casually over her shoulder as if he did it all the time, and calling her ‘our girl’.
What the hell? Was this the reason Mac had bailed on Gen? It had to be something, because Brodie knew Mac had been crushing on Gen almost as long as Brodie had. Even after Brodie had broken Mac’s jaw, he had seen the triumph in Mac’s face. It would take something pretty serious for Pete MacDonald to leave Genevieve Jenkins. A dalliance with the mayor might well do it. Brodie’s jaw was set so tightly he felt as if he might snap a tooth or three. His arms were crossed over his chest, as he stood erect by the bar.
Gen put her glass of lemonade down on the bar and crossed her own arms over her chest. She had that look on her face that said she wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone. It was a look he knew well. She had inherited it from her mother, who’d had to woman-up to being a teenage mother in a town that didn’t approve of such things. ‘I think he did go to school with Mum, now that you mention it. Mum had me at seventeen, so I guess a smart guy like you can do the maths.’
