Vera swung the timer on the oven door. ‘Sure.’
‘Look me in the eye and say it like you mean it.’
She brushed what she could of the sticky dough from her hands. Why was Marigold so fired up about this? She looked her in the eye. ‘Marigold Jones. I promise I’ll finish Jill’s quilt. And you know what I’m going to do with it?’
‘What’s that, my love?’
‘I’m going to donate it to your fundraising stall. Maybe you can raffle it off, if it’s good enough, that is.’
Marigold pulled her in for a quick hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘That’s my girl. And it will be perfect, because rag quilts stitched together with love and patience always are. Now I’d best be getting on home to Kev before he starts fretting that I’ve run off with that fine-looking Cody boy.’
Vera jumped, knocking her pastry bag to the ground in a splatter of dough.
Marigold dropped her a wink. ‘Thought that would get your attention. When you’re done stitching, you might want to bake that boy an apple pie. Quilts aren’t the only things that need a bit of attention and patience.’
Vera let out a breath. ‘I don’t know, Marigold.’
‘Shame he couldn’t make it to the wake. That man worked until midnight getting that ceiling finished so we could reopen the hall. I was hoping he’d be there to see how much his hard work was contributing to this community. Kev was tickled pink when he read this week’s Hanrahan Chatter.’
‘Josh worked on the hall? I thought it had electrical problems.’
‘Sure, but the wiring was in the ceiling cavity, and half of the old plaster had to come out, and Josh helped with the rebuild. Crikey,’ Marigold added, waving a spatula in front of her face like it was a fan, ‘that boy is good with his hands.’
Marigold’s words played over in her head as the éclairs puffed in the oven, as she cooled them and packaged them, cleaned her mix-master, countertops, sinks. Josh had worked his butt off to get the hall ready for her aunt’s funeral and what had she done? Instead of thanking him, she’d driven him off with bitterness and lies.
Alone and lonely walk the same path.
But what other choice did she have? She was in a mess, and dragging people into that mess was not fair on them, especially when they were as lovely as the people who had befriended her here.
She thought of the world she’d found here in Hanrahan. Graeme, slipping her bottles of wine and foolish notes. Poppy, naming her tarts; the regulars who breezed in and asked how her day was going, offered her their condolences about her aunt, gave her tips on which Cooma market stall sold the freshest herbs … Kev, tending the rose bushes he’d planted by her aunt’s grave.
She didn’t want to leave, she thought, as she swiped disinfectant across her workbench. And if she was forced to by the courts, she knew this was where she wanted to come home to when she was free.
She didn’t want to be alone.
Marigold’s words played across her mind, and she ducked out to the alley to where she’d binned the old newspapers earlier. Yes, there it was. She pulled out theSnowy River Starissues and rifled through them until she found this week’s Chatter. What had Kev been so chuffed to read?
GOLD RUSH GLORY RESTORED BY LOCAL TRADIEVETby Maureen Plover
Hanrahan’s history has been given a makeover these last few weeks with a ceiling restoration project in the community hall. Local Kev Jones did the research using the Historical Society archives, and hometown vet Josh Cody strapped on his toolbelt to restore the ceiling to its former glory…
How amazing! She’d barely noticed the interior of the hall at the funeral, but she’d have to go back, especially—
‘Oh good,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘The chatterbox of the Australian Alps has gone. You can get outta here now, boss. You look beat.’
‘Graeme, hey. I’m just packing up.’ She folded the paper and took it back into the kitchen so she could read it later in full.
‘I can do that, Vera. You head on home and let me lock up.’
Now was the perfect time; foolish to waste it. She took a breath. ‘You got a minute?’
‘For you? Plenty of minutes. What’s up?’
It was her lucky day when Graeme Sharpe answered her advertisement for a café manager. ‘We have any wine out front?’
Graeme grinned. ‘There might be a busty little pinot noir rosé hiding behind the organic juice. Otago region of New Zealand. So smooth on the palate, you’d think Aphrodite herself peeled the grapes.’
‘Are you interested in Aphrodite, then?’