Page 112 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
‘I’ve been telling him for weeks he won’t be getting any more sugar lumps from me until he’s scored a sixty-pointer at the Ironbark Campdraft.’
She smiled. Glory: that was what Kev was talking about. And she was in a mood to want a bit of it for herself, no matter that there might be some (a lot!) of awkwardness involved. Besides, campdrafts within an easy drive of Hanrahan didn’t happen all that often, and being on call every second weekend left her free to go even less often.
‘Don’t worry, Kev. No need to bribe my horse to convince me; I’m going to enter the Ironbark Station campdraft.’
‘Of course you’ll bloody enter it. Aren’t your oldies coming back for it and all?’
Shoot, she’d managed to conveniently forget that. ‘They are.’
Kev turned his head to look at her and grinned. ‘Go get ’em, girl.’
She laughed. ‘If I don’t get more than sixty, you’re buying me a beer.’
‘You’re on.’
CHAPTER
43
Tom spent the afternoon interviewing the third candidate for the position of pub manager and within a handful of minutes he knew he’d found the right one.
Greg Badgery was forty something and his family had been in the pub game for three generations. He’d run country pubs, the last one successfully for a decade.
‘Why are you looking to change?’ Tom said. ‘Moving to Hanrahan from southern Queensland will be a big shock, and I don’t just mean the weather.’
‘Marriage breakdown,’ said Greg. ‘The further I can get away from southern Queensland the better.’
‘No chance of reconciliation? Sorry to be personal, I’m just wondering what happens if we put you on and then you pack your bags in two months’ time and clear off.’
‘Not gonna happen,’ the guy said. ‘Mrs Badgery has taken up residence with someone else.’
‘Right. Look, I’ll be checking your references, but I’m feeling real good about this, Greg. Question: would it bother you to have me on the premises more often than not? I wouldn’t be looking over your shoulder—I don’t know the first thing about running pubs. But I’ve got the liquor licence under my name and I’ve had a business offer and I’m thinking of running it out of this room.’
Greg shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t bother me at all, mate, so long as there’s another room where I can set up some space. Some pub transactions are best done out of sight of the bar, if you get my drift. Hiring and firing, rep visits, that sort of thing.’
‘There’s plenty of space. I appreciate you coming all the way down here for the interview, Greg. I’ll get back to you soon, okay? Feel free to have a look around before you leave; you’ll want to know what you’re up for if you get the job.’
‘Thanks, mate. Appreciate it.’
Tom took a minute to heat up the wheatpack he’d taken to carting around with him. It smelled chokingly of lavender but, man, oh, man, when he propped it behind him in his office chair and leant back on it … it was good.
He thought about Greg while he flicked through a few more files on his computer. Sensible-looking bloke, imposing enough to be able to discourage the young ones who’d had a few from remaining on the premises, but approachable enough for the Hanrahan Pub to be a family venue.
Tom liked him. If his references checked out, he’d be offering him the job.
He hadn’t planned to talk about being on the premises, but the idea of being a country solicitor was growing on him. Close enough to Ironbark that he could drive down every day, but a space of his own. A career choice of his own.
He opened the drawer and pulled out the application Dorley had left him. He could fit in a visit to Sydney for the mandatory hours of the course with his trip to see the specialist in Wollongong.
The phone interrupted him before he could do more than look in his diary. Lynette, his dad’s head ringer, was on the line.
‘Hey, Tom.’
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s Buttercup. Not sure if she’s in labour, but she’s pacing.’
‘Okay.’
