Chapter 5 Hamish #2
‘Gonna be frost,’ Hamish said, voicing what they all knew. Early frost and no rain. That spelled the end for the fragile shoots of the dry seeding that had managed to push through the parched earth.
‘Hope you’re hungry,’ Hamish called as he heard the crunch of the gravel path along the side of the house he rented in Settlers Bridge.
He could have lived in Lachlan’s old caravan out on the farm, but he kind of liked the sense of division that living in town and travelling the few kilometres out to work on the farm gave him.
Unlike Lachlan, he didn’t feel that the farm was his entire life, and being in town made it easier to keep an eye on the mechanic he’d employed and put in the odd day at the workshop himself, as needed.
‘Would have said not so much,’ Ethan replied as he scuffed across the flaking paint of the back verandah.
A year earlier, he’d turned up in town with Charlee Brennan, but he’d seemed to adopt Settlers Bridge and now headed up from the city a couple of times a month.
He ran a tattooed hand over the short dreadlocks that had replaced the shaved scalp of the previous year.
‘But now I smell that lot, my stomach says different.’
‘Nothing beats a snag on the barbie, doesn’t matter what time of day. Couple of eggs, mate?’
‘For sure. I brought the iced coffee.’ He held up two Farmers Union bottles. It was iced coffee anytime of the day, as Ethan didn’t drink. Said he had to avoid anything that tempted him from sobriety.
Over the summer they’d made a habit of balancing on a couple of rickety old kitchen chairs on the back verandah while they shot the breeze, but this morning the dry frost had them breathing fog.
‘Might eat inside, what do you reckon?’ Hamish suggested as he cracked four eggs onto the rusty barbecue plate.
He paused, then added a couple more. Charity gave him more than they could ever eat.
‘Sure,’ Ethan said, dropping his carry-all to the ground. ‘What’s new in Settlers?’
‘As always, nothing much. Wait, that’s a lie. We had a hardarse lawyer join the group for dinner last night. She’s Pierce’s daughter, but she must take after her mother. She completely ducked the friendly gene.’
Ethan took the paper plate Hamish held out to him.
‘You right, mate?’ Hamish asked, as a sausage rolled precariously near the edge of the plate.
‘Just cold out here, you know.’ Ethan gave an exaggerated shiver to match the tremble in his hand.
Hamish turned off the burner. ‘Colder than a witch’s and not a drop of rain.’ He grunted, acknowledging the flash of satisfaction. ‘I’d nearly forgotten what it’s like to be dependent on the weather.’
‘Guess every job has its disadvantages. Got to say, I’m second-guessing my career choice. The faculty head is an absolute ballbreaker. Seems to have taken a personal dislike to me.’
‘We should probably introduce him to Pierce’s daughter.
’ Hamish held the screen door open with his heel so Ethan could precede him into the house.
Then he put his plate on the kitchen table and pulled out a vinyl-covered chair.
‘So this woman turns up at the restaurant last night with an attitude big enough to fill the room and a chip on her shoulder large enough to feed the town.’
‘I don’t reckon that’s the kind of chip that phrase refers to, but it sounds like she made an impression on you,’ Ethan said, reaching for the bottle of tomato sauce that lived on the table.
Tracey gave Hamish good chutney, but it always seemed more efficient to squeeze sauce from a plastic bottle than get the screw-top jar from the fridge.
‘Greta Thunberg made an impression; doesn’t mean it’s good,’ he muttered.
Truth was, he’d spent a bit of time the previous night wondering where he’d gone wrong.
That was two strikes in a row: Natasha last year, and now Jemma.
‘Reckon I must be losing my touch. She shot me down before I’d even turned on the charm. ’
‘Too many years of having it easy,’ Ethan said.
‘Might be something in that.’ It wasn’t something Hamish should regret; he’d enjoyed being popular throughout school and for a decade beyond.
Even now, it was easy enough to find female company—though he had to head to the city.
Murray Bridge was nearer, but he’d belatedly realised his reputation wasn’t doing him any favours there, so he’d moved his attention further afield.
The problem was, the women he met through the dating apps weren’t quite what he was looking for.
Except he wasn’t ‘looking’, he reminded himself.
That was just Lachlan and Charity—and Jack and Lucie, Wheaty and Gabrielle—getting in his head.
Seeing his mates settling down instead of hanging out together left him feeling like an outsider.
None of the guys were big on talking about feelings or that kind of crap—beyond a half-joking reference—yet it was obvious that they had each found someone they could share more than sex with.
And, increasingly, Hamish was beginning to think that maybe that kind of partnership was important.
God knows, his father had always been an awkward old git, but Mum had balanced him.
The past two years without her had been shit for all of them.
Even now, although technically retired to the seaside fishing village of Robe, a few hours away, the old man was a regular visitor, always finding fault with the way his sons were managing the family property.
At least he wasn’t as aggro toward Lachlan as he had been.
Probably because Charity had helped grease those wheels a bit.
Hamish didn’t know what she’d said to the old man, but around her he was like a bottle-raised bull; somehow she’d managed to calm him down, just like Mum used to.
‘Pass the sauce, mate,’ he said, cutting off his introspection.
They chatted easily as they ate. Ethan might not be country and his appearance—tattooed from the knuckles up, black plugs in his earlobes, short dreadlocks—raised eyebrows in the small town, but he was a decent guy.
‘If you want to dump your gear in the spare room, I’m heading over to Tracey’s directly,’ Hamish said. ‘A few of us are looking at getting her backyard up to scratch, but I’ve got something on later in the morning, so I’d better shake a leg.’
‘I’m in,’ Ethan said instantly. ‘She’s a nice old bird.’
‘Would it matter if she wasn’t? You’re becoming more a local than some of the locals.’
Ethan grinned. ‘Believe me, man, unless you’ve lived in the city, you can’t appreciate what you guys have out here.
It’s … the sense of community. I mean, yeah, Christine’s a bit full on, and old Dave Jaensch is something else, but it’s like you’re all so accustomed to them that you simply accept their idiosyncrasies.
In the city, they’d be ostracised. And you know what?
’ He rubbed a thumb over the tatts on the back of his left hand.
‘Same goes for me. In the city, people will avoid me. But here … you guys actually stop and say g’day. ’
Hamish stood and picked up the plates, taking them to the bin. ‘That’s because you make an effort, man. You do right by us; Settlers will do right by you. Ask Roni, Lucie and Gabby. They’ll tell you how it works.’
Ethan stood, swigging the last of his coffee. ‘Recycling bin, mate?’
Hamish snorted. ‘Then you go and say something that totally outs you as a city slicker. No pickup here, man.’
‘Sprung,’ Ethan replied with a grin. ‘I’m going to head down the street and hand out decks to some of the kids. Want to give me Tracey’s address? Or I’ll just walk the streets—bound to come across a friendly local to point me in the right direction.’