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‘Our friend, Joyce Juggins, was unwell for some months, but still found time to worry about how George was going to cope after she passed. She and I planned out this gathering between us, and she asked me to read a little something here.’

‘Oh boy,’ muttered a voice behind Josh. He turned to see Kev right behind him. He raised his eyebrows at the old man and received a wink in return. What was Marigold up to now?

‘Dear George,’ she read out. ‘Iwant you to look around you today and see all the lovely folk of Hanrahan who’ve come to see me off. They’re here for me, but they’re here for you too, and they’re getting my sincere thanks for it. You make note of all these faces, George, and when you’re feeling lonely, you know who you can go visit. I’ve baked some casseroles for you and they’re in the freezer—’

The crowd gave a laugh, and even Mr Juggins seemed to see the funny side of his beloved wife still caring for him from the grave.

‘—and I want you to promise me you’re going to take up a hobby. You can take on my role up at the community hall, or join the Men’s Shed down in Cooma. Something with people, okay? Pottering about with your tomato seedlings doesn’t count. Promise me now, out loud, in front of all these good people.’

Marigold looked up at old George expectantly. ‘Well? What do you say, George? Have we got your promise?’

George cleared his throat. ‘Bloody women.’

‘I know, pet,’ she said. ‘And I’m taking that as a yes, and don’t worry about deciding on your hobby, I’ve decided for you. I’ve had an idea.’

A bony finger poked Josh in the back. ‘Really, it was my idea,’ whispered Kev.

He heard a little snort beside him, and caught Vera hiding a grin behind her hand. So. The new café owner had a sense of humour, did she? If he didn’t have Poppy and Hannah and the future of his just-started vet career to worry about, he would have liked to get to know Vera a little better. He let his eyes rest on her face, on the dark sweep of lashes hiding serious eyes, the generous curve of mouth … yeah, alotbetter.

He tuned back in to Marigold, who had a head of steam up now. ‘The Hanrahan and District Community Association is having a few hiccups at present, as I’m sure most of you know. Our hall is closed for renovations, and Vera’—she smiled her thanks at Vera, who stood beside him, blini tray in hand, reminding him of a roo paralysed by a set of high beam headlights—‘has made us welcome. So welcome, in fact, that as President of the Community Association, I have made a decision. I think that instead of postponing our weekly craft meetings until the hall is back in use, we should move it right here into The Billy Button Café’s back room. Once a week, like always, Wednesday evenings. And you, George, can bring along Joyce’s unfinished craft projects and do yourself and the world a favour by joining in.’

‘Oh, hell,’ muttered The Billy Button Café’s lucky proprietor by his side. He glanced at her, ready to offer a commiserating smile at the way she’d been roped in so sneakily by Marigold, when his attention was snagged by the spectacle beyond her, staring in at him through the street-facing windows.

He’d know that kilt anywhere. Hideous orange, with a broad black plaid, teamed with stockings you could use to catch fish and a blouse that had so little fabric it’d struggle to catch a butterfly.

The tortured goth look he could cope with, but there was something new, something glinting silver amid the heavy eyeliner and powder plastered on his daughter’s face. Christ almighty, Poppy had a ring sprouting out of one of her eyebrows.

Oh, hell was about right.

The door to The Billy Button Café swung shut behind Josh and he inspected the glowering face of his daughter.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Six hours and fifty-eight minutes,’ Poppy fired at him. ‘You said it would take five hours tops.’

‘Do I get a hug? Or are we moving straight into the bickering? I’m fine with either.’

‘Idiot,’ Poppy said, and then she stepped forward and he wrapped his arms around her.

‘I missed you, too.’ The prickle of cheap metal dug into his bicep and his mouth kept talking before his brain had a chance to caution him. ‘I’m not loving that eyebrow ring, Pop.’

She stiffened into a plank of outrage and drew back.

‘Too bad,’ she said. ‘You won’t like my tattoo, either.’

‘Tattoo? Wait, it’s illegal for kids to get tatt—’

Her eyeroll silenced him. ‘You’re winding me up, aren’t you? Come on, let’s get over to the clinic and I can show you around. You were a toddler last time you saw your great-grandparents’ building. Hey, where’s your luggage? And come to think of it, how did you get here? The train ends in Cooma.’

‘My luggage is on my back. I caught a bus. I have no interest in old buildings. I do, however, have a keen interest in doing a pee, so maybe you could continue your interrogation when we get to wherever we’re going.’

‘That eyebrow ring has made you very stroppy, Poptart.’

She shrugged, but she didn’t pull away when he reached down to tuck her hand in his, so he left it at that. The backpack she was wearing was more like a decorative handbag with crisscross shoulder straps than actual luggage—clearly, his daughter wasn’t planning on a long visit to Hanrahan.

Well. He’d have to do something about that.

He headed across the park to Salt Creek Flats Road. ‘What are your thoughts on helping out with the clinic animals while you’re here?’