‘Does it make it easier or harder? Having people around who talk about him? You said the other day that you two didn’t get along?’
‘To be honest, it’s a bit strange. The way he was with his mates in the SES, he was a different person to the one he was at home. He never wanted to be a farmer, but he grew up in a time where you took over from your dad, the way he took over from his, and you didn’t really get a choice. You were a farmer and that was that. I think he found his true calling with the SES. That was where his heart was.’
‘But you chose to stay in farming?’
‘Yeah. I guess I inherited the love of the land from my granddad. I always wanted to work the property, I just couldn’t do it under Dad. We rubbed each other the wrong way. I regret not making a bigger effort to get back and see him more often, though. I guess we were the same in that way, both stubborn.’
‘I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to make things right,’ Bel said, and she realised she truly was. The old Dean might have been a little a-hole to her, but she could see losing his dad had been hard and she genuinely felt sorry for him.
‘Thanks,’ he said, giving her a tight smile.
‘Okay, well …’ Bel let the sentence dangle between them. ‘I shouldn’t hold you up.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, straightening. ‘I better keep going. I guess I’ll see you at the movie night?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘See you then.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘I like your new look.’ Then he quickly headed to his ute.
Bel closed the door with a small frown.What on earth was that about?
Later that evening, Bel glanced over at her phone on the bedside table and saw ‘Unknown caller’ flash across the screen. She ignored it because … well, only psychopaths answered unknown numbers. A ping sounded, indicating a message, and she tipped the phone towards her to see who it was from. Only reading the first line, she floundered about trying to sit up and almost dropped the phone. ‘Hey Bel, it’s Tate.’
How had he gotten her number? Obviously from Larkin. She opened the message to read it in full. ‘We’re heading into town to go to some markets. Larkin thinks we all needsome country culture. Just wondering if you’re going? Hope to see you there tonight.’
The markets? Yes! The prospect of going was suddenly far more exciting.
She’d been thinking about Tate since the previous night. The almost kiss had been playing over and over on her mind. Tonight, she’d be super careful. Clumsy clod Mabel would be replaced by cool, calm and collected Bel, bridesmaid extraordinaire—and this time she’d be wearing a proper bloody bra.
Other places had festivals or another major yearly highlight, where the community came together as a whole and celebrated their town. But Wessex had never really had any defining event in its two hundred-and-six-year history. It had slipped through all the festival nonsense and plodded along to its own special beat. It wasn’t on any major highways, and it took a considerable drive from the nearest exit on Newell Highway, about sixty kilometres or so, to reach their little town. For years, the only real traffic was livestock road trains and trucks carting grain to the silos along the train route.
Times had changed, though, as had the population, and tourism was a new industry with a lot of potential. Over the last few years, with the grey nomad revolution and the vast number of younger families choosing to live on the land, visitors had been trickling into places like Wessex. That’swhy the progress committee had decided they needed to do something to help encourage the spike in tourism, with the idea of getting a grant for the ‘big thing’ concocted over beers and chicken schnitzels at the pub almost twelve months earlier. The progress committee had since lifted its game and become a lot more professional, with meetings given an allocated time, in the conference room at the pub, prior to the snooker and schnitty night.
Emma was a driving force behind the new and improved committee. She was a doer—she got things done—and under her leadership, big things had been slowly beginning to take shape, quite literally in this case. The debate about which ‘big thing’ should be the town’s tourism icon—the Big Rooster or the Big Burger—had led to many a heated meeting, with various members walking out during discussions more than once. But the time had come to make a decision.
Today, people would vote, and tonight, the announcement would be made. There was a lot riding on the outcome. There had been rumours floating about that Bob Baxter had been trying to coerce votes from people, but the committee was confident that the appointment of Betty Miller as the chief electoral officer had ensured there was no funny business going on. Betty took her position very seriously.
The markets and movie night were a biannual fundraiser that had been a huge success over the last few years. It had been started to help pay for a number of town-beautication projects, and it had grown considerably since the inauguralevent. Now they had enough stalls to line both sides of the main street for its entire length. Stallholders came from as far away as Dubbo and Orange—they’d even had enquiries from a few who did the Sydney markets. It was quite the event.
Bel glanced up at the heavy grey clouds that had begun to gather throughout the afternoon. No one was allowed to mention the R-word around Larkin but, on more than one occasion over the last few days, Bel had heard the odd whisper asking what would happen if it rained. She never managed to hear any answers to the dreaded question and had decided that Larkin must have had it worked out. She hoped. Surely it would hold off anyway?
Grabbing her fold-up chair from the back of her car, Bel set off to get a good place in the park to watch the movie. Having the ideal vantage point was critical when it came to the open-air movie experience. Too close and you couldn’t see the screen; too far and you couldn’t hear anything. Locals tended to get there early to set up their chairs and blankets and bag the best spots. She’d already done her shift at the bake stall earlier in the afternoon, where she’d smiled her way through a few more surprised looks and the odd gape at her new appearance. She’d been thrilled to hand over her apron and escape.
Bel searched the already impressive gathering of people for a glimpse of Emma then, spotting her friend’s frantic waving, weaved her way in between blankets to reach her.‘Great position,’ she said, nodding as she eyed the enormous white screen set up at the front.
She smiled at Craig and faltered slightly as her gaze moved to the other man seated in a camping chair next to him. ‘Dean.’
‘Bel,’ he greeted her easily.
‘Dump your gear,’ Emma ordered. ‘We have to get to the pub for the official close of the voting poll. You know how Betty will get if we’re late.’
‘Heaven forbid.’
Bel unfolded her chair, helped Lucy scramble up and get comfy then left strict instructions that the three-year-old must guard it with her life. She and Emma left the park to head across the street.
‘Are you sure Craig will be okay?’ Bel asked.
‘He’ll be fine. They’ll convince him to take them to the jumping castle soon. Sucker,’ Emma said with an evil chuckle. ‘I had to bring out the negotiation skills earlier in the week to get them off the playground equipment and into the car when we went into Toormanlee. It’ll be interesting to see how successful Mr I Would Have Had Them In The Car In Five Minutes will go. Anyway, he has backup with Dean. It’ll be fine.’
