TWENTY
Twenty
It was Terry Fuller’s job as announcer to man the loudspeaker, since he was also the president of the show committee and had years of experience on the microphone. Lottie was sure he’d missed his calling in life as a radio voice-over actor as he read out upcoming events and where they were being held across the various locations. The day had a show feel about it—music filled the air, crowds mingled and stopped to talk to neighbours they hadn’t seen in a while. The amusement rides drew screams of delight as they moved with stomach-dropping motion overhead, and the jumping castle was a madhouse of ear-splitting excitement and chaos as children tired themselves out while under-caffeinated parents waited patiently.
Lottie was on a break and had stopped by her mother’s stall to see how she was going when she spotted Damian standing nearby with another man. She hadn’t known what time it had been when he’d finally gotten home the night before, and she’d left before he’d woken up this morning. It really did seem pointless that he should be keeping the motel room when he spent practically every spare minute at her house. She’d thought about bringing up the conversation of moving into her house, but somehow it had just never been the right time or something had interrupted the moment when she’d been about to.
Damian gave her a wide smile as they approached. ‘There you are. I missed you this morning,’ he said, kissing her briefly before turning back to the man beside him. ‘This is Gordon Becker. He’s come across from Armidale.’ Lottie wasn’t sure why she’d assumed he’d be around the same age as Damian, but this man looked a little older. Maybe it was his salt-and-pepper hair, cut short on top with shorter shaved edges around his ears, and his well-trimmed silver goatee.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Gordon,’ Lottie said, smiling and reaching to take his outstretched hand.
‘Same here, Lottie. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Lottie’s gaze swung across to Damian’s in surprise.
‘All good things,’ he assured her.
‘Oh, well, that’s good. Are you enjoying the festival?’ she asked.
‘I am. It’s a great turnout.’
Her mother finished serving a customer and Lottie turned and introduced her. ‘This is my mother, Hannah, and this is her stall. Mum, this is Gordon Becker, a colleague of Damian’s.’
‘Yes, I’ve been waiting to say hello,’ Gordon said smoothly. ‘Damian’s talked up your products and I came to see what all the hype was about.’
‘Is that so?’ Hannah asked, lifting an eyebrow. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Gordon,’ she added.
‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ he said, his smile stretching slowly as he held her mother’s curious gaze.
‘Are you a tea man, Mr Becker?’
‘If I wasn’t before, I’m seriously considering becoming one now.’ He picked up one of the boxes and his lips quirked in amusement. ‘I don’t think I’ve tried anything like these though.’
‘Maybe it’s time to try something a little bit different?’
Lottie stared at her mother. Was that a note of flirtation she detected in her mother’s tone? Surely not. She glanced quickly across at Gordon.
‘Maybe it is.’
She sent a look over at Damian and he seemed to be just as bemused by the whole exchange as she was.
They watched as the two moved to the other end of the stall and Lottie stepped closer to Damian. ‘What was that all about?’
‘I believe we just witnessed the initial courtship dance of an older male attracting a female,’ he said in an impressive David Attenborough imitation.
Lottie giggled. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said. ‘Poor bloke,’ she added shaking her head.
‘Why? Your mum seems pretty into it.’
‘He doesn’t stand a chance.’
‘Aww, come on, for an old guy, Gordon’s in pretty good shape. I’d even go as far as saying he’d be a pretty good catch.’
Lottie gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I know he’s your friend, but my mother is not the courtship kind,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Don’t rule Gordon out so fast. The guy’s got game—look at him,’ Damian said, nodding towards the pair.
If body language was anything to go by, he was right. They were both smiling rather coyly and leaning slightly in, even across the tables that separated them. There was definite chemistry going on there, but Lottie knew her mother’s rule about men. They were okay to have fun with, as long as they remembered when it was time to go.
‘Hmm, well, don’t get your hopes up,’ Lottie warned. ‘Anyway, what have you been doing?’
‘Mainly avoiding Daphney,’ he said, glancing around quickly. ‘She keeps roping me in to do stuff. Later on, I’m apparently the guest judge of the CWA bake-off. Not that I’m complaining about that one,’ he admitted, ‘but earlier, she had me weigh in on the advantages of artificial insemination in sheep while we were greeting all the stallholders in the livestock pavilion. What the hell would I know about getting sheep pregnant? I probably sounded like an idiot.’
Lottie gave a sympathetic chuckle and hugged his arm. ‘I’m sure you didn’t. Besides, most people around here know what Daphney’s like. They’d understand your predicament.’
‘Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I couldn’t get away from Terry.’
‘It’s okay. He was taking his duties very seriously. Did you have fun?’
‘It was a blur of faces and beer—way too much beer,’ he added with a small wince. ‘My head’s a bit foggy this morning. I missed you.’
‘I missed you too,’ she said. ‘But I thought you might need a sleep-in, so I didn’t want to wake you before I left.’
‘I’ve caught glimpses of you running around. They’re keeping you pretty busy.’
‘In the infamous words of Shorty Norton, I’m busier than a blue-arsed blowfly.’ She grinned. ‘Maybe we should just sneak off and hide somewhere for a while.’
‘I like your way of thinking,’ he said, snaking an arm around her waist and leaning down to kiss her. For the briefest of moments, she stiffened, remembering they were out in public, but then she allowed herself to ignore the uptight warnings in her head. So what if people saw her kissing the guest speaker? This was just the local antiques dealer making out with the non-famous back-up guest they’d found to fill the festival position. Nothing to see here.
A screech came over the loudspeakers, causing them to pull away and cringe as a raspy voice declared with a slight slur, ‘Welcome to Banalla. I’m Dougie Walters and I’m going to be your announcer for the day.’
Dougie Walters? Lottie frowned. What was he doing on there?
‘Let’s kick things off with a little limerick I wrote called “Mary McTrunt”,’ he continued.
Oh no .
‘Sorry, I have to go,’ she said, planting a kiss on his lips before turning to rush towards the announcer’s box, where she found Daphney pounding on the door and making a series of unladylike, rather violent threats against the man inside.
‘He’s ruining everything!’ Daphney yelled, turning to face the small circle of volunteers now gathered. ‘Someone get that lunatic out of there!’
Through the glass windows at the front of the announcement box, they could see Dougie sitting, proud as punch, enjoying his moment of glory.
‘He’s locked himself in there and no one can find the spare set of keys.’
Cher came forward and pushed Daphney aside with a flick of her hip. ‘Step aside, Daph. Let me handle it,’ she said before knocking on the door and softening her tone. ‘Dougie, it’s me. Open the door, honey.’
The man’s eyes lit up. ‘Look who’s here. My next guest has arrived. The lovely Cher.’ The speakers echoed across the showground. ‘Just in time, too. I wrote a poem for you.’
‘Oh wow, I can’t wait to hear it. Open the door and I’ll come in and listen to it,’ Cher cooed in a coaxing tone.
‘No, I want to share it with the folks who’ve come along today.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There once was a girl named Cher, who’s voice was as gentle as a purr. Her legs went forever, she was terribly clever and had a set of tits as big as your head.’
‘There are children listening!’ Daphney screamed. ‘Get him out!’
‘It doesn’t even rhyme,’ Shorty muttered to the other bystanders nearby, sounding disappointed.
‘Stand back,’ Damian said to Cher, as he moved from Lottie’s side and rammed the door with his shoulder. It gave way with a splintering jolt. Cher gingerly stepped over the timber fragments on the ground as she went inside.
‘Hey, Cher!’ Dougie slurred, as though surprised to see her. ‘I just read a poem about you, you wanna hear it?’
‘Why don’t you tell me over another drink, down at my bar?’
‘I like your bar,’ Dougie said, smiling. ‘You’re the prettiest girl I know,’ he added with a sigh.
‘You’re a sweetie. Come on, let’s get you out of here.’ But Dougie wasn’t giving up the microphone so easy. ‘What do you reckon folks? Isn’t she beautiful?’
‘Oh, for the love of God,’ Daphney muttered.
‘Thank you, pet.’ Cher plucked the microphone from his hands. ‘I’m sure we all enjoyed that little deviation from the program. Let’s hear it for Dougie, everyone, and don’t forget the matinee cabaret show starts at midday at Madame Dubois with a tribute to Kate O’Ryan,’ Cher said before Daphney switched off the microphone with a glare.
‘Get him out of here.’
‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot, sweetheart,’ Cher said. ‘Come on, Dougie, let’s go and discuss finding you a part in one of my shows. I think you’ve got some natural talent hidden away there.’ She sent Lottie a wink as she escorted the tipsy man away from all the commotion, and order was once again restored.
‘Are you okay?’ Lottie asked, turning to Damian, and running her hand over the arm he was carefully shrugging.
‘Yeah, it’s a bit tender, but nothing major.’
‘Thank goodness you were here, Damian,’ Daphney gushed, batting her eyelashes at him briefly, before turning to face the gathered sprinkling of committee members and bystanders still lingering. ‘And what were you lot doing while all this was going on? Did no one notice that horrible little man getting into the announcer’s box?’
‘He’s harmless, Daphney,’ Lottie said, realising no one else seemed to be about to speak up in the tense silence that followed her chastising.
‘Harmless?’ Daphney’s lethal gaze zeroed in on Lottie’s face.
‘Everything’s under control again.’
‘No thanks to anyone around here,’ Daphney snapped.
‘Here Daphney,’ Hannah’s calm voice cut in smoothly from behind Lottie and she turned to find her mother approaching. ‘Let’s sit down for a few minutes and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea,’ she said, sliding a hand around the other woman’s waist and guiding her across to the festival tent without bothering to listen to Daphney’s spluttering denials about not having time.
Lottie bit back a giggle as she spotted the bag of tea labelled Chill the Eff Out that her mother clutched behind the woman’s back as they walked away.
‘Your mum might just be on to something,’ Damian murmured.
‘If I know Mum, she’ll probably add a dash of her special tea blend to it and really chill Daphney out.’
‘We can only hope,’ he sighed.
‘I’ll see you at the bake-off later, Mr Judge,’ she said, kissing him once more before regretfully heading back into the fray.
Lottie was kept busy, manning stalls for the committee and keeping stall owners happy, ensuring events stayed on track and running a gazillion errands that Daphney kept coming up with and ordering her to complete over the radio. She’d lost track of Damian again but caught up with him prior to the main event—the re-enactment of the coach hold-up.
Terry stood in the centre of the ring and introduced Damian, who took the microphone and opened the re-enactment with an emphatic reading of a poem written in the late 1800s about Jack McNally and his gang, and the many hold-ups they’d undertaken over the years.
Lottie beamed with pride as he waved a hand at the round of applause that followed and jogged from the centre of the ground as the jingle of metal and the clip-clop of hooves filled the arena.
‘That was awesome,’ Lottie whispered as he came to stand beside her.
‘You’re awesome,’ he whispered back, placing a kiss on her lips before they settled in to watch the show.
The big coach—a timber and glass replica of an original coach from the era of the robbery—looked magnificent as it did a lap of the show ring, the heavy Clydesdale horses’ manes floating in the breeze and their big hooves pounding the dirt beneath them. The coach creaked and groaned its way past, complete with a driver, two men dressed as police and another man inside, presumably representing Alexander Compton.
As the coach prepared to do another lap, five men on horseback came galloping into the ring, shooting fake guns and circling the coach until it came to a stop.
The riders surrounded the coach and dismounted and a shootout followed, until the policemen, driver and Alexander all lay dead. The horsemen remounted and rode away with bags of money unloaded from the coach.
The crowd applauded loudly as the coach moved out of the ring, and a short time later riders once again burst into the arena, this time a lone man on horseback, wildly firing shots over his shoulder as a group of mounted police officers followed in pursuit. After a heart-racing few rounds of the ring, the bushranger dismounted and the final shootout between an injured Jack and the police took place, until Jack crumpled to the ground and went still.
Despite the fact Lottie knew it was a staged act, she couldn’t help the clench of her heart as Jack’s final moments played out in front of her. The crowd cheered again, the applause continuing as the riders and the coach returned to the centre ring for a final lap of honour.
‘Wow. That was amazing,’ Lottie said as the last horse went past and the crowd began to disperse.
‘Pretty powerful stuff,’ Damian agreed. ‘Even if a few details were left out.’
‘Well, we couldn’t get everything completely accurate, Mr Historian,’ she said in a mock-haughty tone. ‘We had to work with what we could get.’
‘That’s Professor Historian to you,’ he replied with a laugh.
The afternoon became a little less busy as it wore on. Yet all the way through to pack-down, the markets attracted a lot of people, and the stallholders she spoke to as the shadows lengthened were happy with the way the day had gone. Equally, the shops in town had attracted a lot of business from the visitors strolling through the streets as they took in everything the town had on display for the festival. All in all, it had been an extremely successful day.
The next morning, Lottie woke to find the bed beside her empty and the sun well and truly up. She could hear Damian in the kitchen and smelled the delicious scent of toast, bacon and coffee.
Then the man himself appeared in the doorway. ‘Hello. I was just about to come and see if you were awake,’ he said kissing her gently.
‘Why didn’t you wake me earlier?’ she asked.
‘You needed your sleep. You were dead to the world when I got up.’
‘I was supposed to go back to the showground and help finish up this morning,’ she said with a quick look at the kitchen clock. It had been almost midnight by the time they’d got home after helping with the pack-up, and they’d immediately dropped into bed, exhausted.
‘I’m sure they have it all sorted,’ he said as she walked across to her handbag and pulled out her phone. There was a text from Cher saying that there was no need to come down, that the council had supplied a clean-up team and there was nothing left for the committee to do.
It was rainy and cold outside so they lit the fire in the lounge room. Damian was taking notes as he read through papers, completely absorbed in what he was doing, which should have been frustrating for Lottie. Yet it wasn’t, because she was free to type away on her laptop without feeling bad that she was neglecting him. She loved the way they could both do their own thing separately but together. Every now and then, he’d reach for her leg and give it an absent squeeze or rub, and Lottie smiled, knowing this was a connection she’d never felt before.
She could get used to this. ‘So, I was thinking,’ she said, finally voicing the idea that she had been nervous about bringing up, ‘why don’t you just check out of the motel and stay here for the rest of your visit?’
His hand stilled where he’d been rubbing her leg moments before.
Oh crap. Maybe she was being too pushy. ‘It was just a thought. No big deal,’ she blurted.
‘I think it’s a great idea. But I don’t want to intrude on your space or make it tricky for you if people work out that I’m staying with you.’
‘I’m pretty sure the cat’s out of the bag well and truly by now,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And seriously, I don’t care. I’m a grown adult. I can invite anyone I want to come and stay in my house. Let ’em talk.’
‘I guess I’m pretty much staying here already,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll go and pack the rest of my stuff in the morning.’
It was true that they’d been spending a lot of time together. They’d practically been joined at the hip except when she was working, but even then, he’d work from her back office for part of the day, so their time together wouldn’t really change. But somehow, it made everything feel a lot more … real .
She settled back down against him and smiled. Yep, she could get very used to this.