Second Chance Town E-Book

Karly Lane

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 438

Beschreibung

The town of Bundah is dying, with many of its young people fleeing for jobs in the city. A desperate plan to revive Bundah's fortunes - with generous incentives to attract new businesses - results in a flood of people coming to the town to set up shop. As Bundah begins to come to life with the new arrivals a spate of teenage drug overdoses starts to divide the locals. Many are convinced the narcotics trade has been brought to town by one of the newcomers. It doesn't help that the mysterious new owner of one of the local pubs has a dark past. Lucy Parker is a single mother doing her best to support her teenage daughter, Belle, through her last year of high school. It's long been Belle's dream to go to university, so when she starts to turn wayward, hanging out with the wrong kids and experimenting with alcohol and possibly drugs, her mother is deeply troubled. The very last thing Lucy needs is for a man like Hugh Thompson to mess with her heart and disrupt her life. However, it seems fate has other ideas...

Leseprobe

First published in 2016

Copyright © Karly Lane 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Arena Books, an imprint of

Allen & Unwin

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone:[phone]

Email: [email protected]

Web: www.allenandunwin.com/uk

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available

from the National Library of Australia

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Trade paperback ISBN 978 1 76029 181 5

E-book ISBN 978 1 92557 585 9

Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

Cover photographs: Getty Images and Cultura RM/Masterfile

Cover design: Nada Bakovic

To everyone who has ever fallen off the horse, made mistakes, strayed from the path, or lost the plot; dust yourself off, say you’re sorry, get your bearings, and plot a new course.

Today is your second chance.

CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Acknowledgements

One

Lucy Parker stared out of the smudged window. The road leading into Bundah stretched away as far as the eye could see. Baxter’s Fuel Depot, the service station where she’d worked most of her adult life, was either the last business you passed or the first, depending on which direction you were headed. For most people it was the last as they headed out of town, never to be seen again. Traffic into Bundah was rare.

A dusty four-wheel drive went past and Lucy recognised it as belonging to Ken Baxter, the local chamber of commerce president, real estate and livestock agent, and owner of Baxter’s Fuel Depot. If Ken had his way, Bundah’s days of quiet streets would be over for good. All week Lucy had been hearing the mixed opinions about his latest scheme. Ken’s ideas for boosting tourism regularly sparked good-natured debate, until they were dismissed as too ambitious or far-fetched, but this time was different. This time his idea had the potential to really work and that seemed to have sent a ripple of unease through the small community.

Bundah had been a booming timber town until the early 1980s when the industry had been shut down. Like other small rural towns across the country which had been founded on timber, it had begun to shrivel and die.

Not much had changed about the little town over the years. It still had its shady verandah front shops and wide streets—a leftover relic from the days when bullock teams needed room to turn around their massive loads of logs in the main street. Lucy personally thought the main street was the town’s best asset. The architecture remained virtually unchanged from the way it looked back in the 1800s. Unlike other towns in the district which over the years had tacked on bits and pieces to their main street, the result looking like a dog’s breakfast, Bundah still had charm. If only they could get more tourists to take the road less travelled—literally—and explore the area, Lucy felt sure they would be captivated.

For years Ken had claimed he’d return Bundah to its thriving self again, but after so many failed attempts people had stopped taking him seriously. The town couldn’t take another flop like the cowpat-throwing festival. Ken had been positive the festival would draw a large crowd from surrounding districts and become an annual feature on the local calendar . . . and it may have done had more people than cattle actually turned up on the day!

This time, however, Ken had outdone himself. Already there’d been a few enquiries about the ad he’d convinced the chamber of commerce and the Bundah Progress Committee to place in some of the city newspapers. And now, weeks later, a few new faces had started arriving in town.

Lucy pushed away from the counter to go in search of window cleaner. It was time to tackle the dusty streaks that had been driving her crazy for the past few days.

As she wiped the last of the water drops from the now sparkling window, Lucy turned to see a sleek, dangerous-looking road bike ease to a stop in front of the bowser.

The rider, dressed in full riding gear complete with leather jacket, pants and dark-tinted helmet, looked the part of the intimidating, faceless biker. For a moment Lucy experienced something weird, almost like a warning, before she shook off the notion and set aside the bucket of water to make her way across the service driveway.

‘Nice day for a ride. How much would you like?’ she asked, unhooking the nozzle from the pump and waiting for the helmeted rider to unlock the cap on his fuel tank, high on the uppermost part of the machine.

The rider slid off the big black bike with a slow, practised ease, before removing his helmet and sitting it on the seat. He took his time taking off his leather gloves before he turned to face her. ‘I’ll do it.’

Lucy held back her impatience as she waited for the man to practically undress before her. His haughty tone only irritated her further and she held the man’s level stare with a spark of resentment. ‘We offer full driveway service here,’ she said with an abrupt nod towards the front of the station.

She watched as he turned to the faded sign which stated just that. ‘Well, that’s nice and all, but no one touches my bike but me . . . so maybe we could make an exception just this once.’

His voice was deep and had a slight gravelly edge to it that for some insane reason reminded her of smooth malted Scotch . . . Insane because she didn’t even drink Scotch; and, besides, she had no idea if a voice could sound like that! Lucy bit back an irritated sigh and began counting to ten. She had no idea why this stranger annoyed her so much, but a recent quote she’d read on Facebook came to mind—She may not be a sex therapist, but she could spot a wanker when she saw one. A small grin hovered on her lips as she relinquished the pump and turned away to head back inside.

Lucy tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet on her computer screen but her gaze continued to stray to the man fussing about his motorbike outside. Arrogant or not, the guy sure did know how to fill out a pair of leather bike pants. With a shake of her head, she cleared away the wayward thoughts and tried to focus on the accounts.

Numbers. That’s what she needed to focus on. Numbers made sense. They were logical and rational and rarely gave you nasty surprises. They were what she needed to be thinking about, not sexy male butts in tight black leather . . . With a sigh of frustration she turned away from the window and took a sip of water from the bottle on the desk. ‘Focus Lucy!’ she muttered.

A few minutes later she looked up when the bell above the door rang and Mr Sex-on-Legs walked inside. She took his money, giving him his change without a word, and returned to the spreadsheet. Damned if she was going to wish him a good day after his brisk dismissal earlier.

‘Do you know where I can find Ken Baxter?’

‘He’s probably in his office.’ She pointed towards the stock and station office about a third of the way down the main street, surprised he’d come to Bundah for a reason.

‘Thanks. Have a good day.’

‘You too,’ she replied automatically then frowned when she realised she was supposed to be ignoring him. ‘Well, that’s what you get for cutting off your nose to spite your face,’ she knew her mum would have said if she’d been here.

The bike pulled out of the driveway with a low throbbing roar and she chided herself for not finding out more about this guy so she had some interesting information to report. She baulked at calling it gossip. After all, gossip was best left to the older generation around here. It was a skill that needed to be honed and perfected over time to know how to apply precisely the right quantities of curiosity and concern in order to extract maximum information. She should know, she’d experienced the lethal extraction on a number of occasions.

A car pulled into the driveway and Lucy headed out to the petrol pump. A few seconds later two more cars pulled in, both of which she’d filled only the day before and would in no way be in need of fuel this soon. With a small shake of her head, she knew she was about to be grilled for information about the leather-clad biker who was probably, at this very moment, inside Ken’s office talking business.

Hugh Thompson stared at the tall man in the old felt hat and tried not to let his neutral expression slip. So far, he’d only spoken to the guy over the phone, but this wasn’t the image of a real estate agent he’d had in his mind. Where were the slick suit and polished shoes? This guy was wearing faded jeans and a checked work shirt, with a hat that looked to be about a century old and in desperate need of a good wash.

As Hugh had ridden up the mountain range earlier, his excitement had begun to grow. He knew this venture was a winner. The tight corners and breathtaking views of the mountain road were a bike enthusiast’s dream. He’d done his research, he knew that a place like Bundah, tucked away at the top of the range, would be the perfect base for bike riders exploring the different rides the area offered. They had a choice of narrow, twisty roads winding through rainforest, or wide-open highways that went for miles, as well as everything in between. He’d offer a top-notch pub as a destination with excellent food and accommodation and, down the track, maybe even guided road trips for riders who didn’t want to explore alone.

‘It’s a good deal. You won’t find a better pub for this price anywhere,’ Ken said, interrupting his thoughts.

Hugh didn’t bother arguing. He’d already been up to inspect the old pub, which was apparently called the ‘top pub’ as opposed to the ‘bottom pub’ at the other end of town. It had been sadly neglected for the last decade or so, and empty for the last five years after the publican had passed away and his family hadn’t been able to afford its upkeep.

Hugh knew he was in a position to negotiate a good price and, even though the place needed an extensive facelift, he was pretty sure that after three years of getting the place up and running, he’d be able to sell for a big profit. If he managed to get the place up and running, that was. Although God knows, he’d overcome bigger trials in his life.

To say the past few years had been a struggle would be an understatement, but that was all behind him now. This would be a fresh start, a clean slate. Here he might just have a chance to build a future.

He’d done his homework—he always did his homework. Hugh Thompson was not a man to jump feet first into something this big . . . Well, not any more anyway. He liked to be prepared. Even though in his previous life he’d often had to think on his feet, he was never one to rush into anything unprepared and he prided himself on professionalism.

Sadness crept into his chest cavity, unexpected and painful in its intensity as he thought about his old job. He’d been careful not to let his thoughts drift back there too often for this very reason. It took some effort but he pushed away that train of thought, remembering where he was.

‘So? What do you think?’ The real estate agent waited expectantly for some kind of sign.

Hugh could have put the poor guy out of his misery if he really wanted to, but that damn hat was annoying the living Jesus out of him so he decided to let him stew for a bit longer. ‘I’ll think about it. Can you recommend anywhere decent to stay the night?’

If all went according to his carefully thought-out plans, he should be able to double his money and maybe set up somewhere else. Maybe some place on the coast. Yep, three years was doable. How hard could it be?

The bottom pub, or the Emperor if the faded engraving set into the brickwork high above the front door was to be believed, was the only accommodation in town. Hugh booked himself a room and climbed the solid timber staircase wearily. It had been a long ride, but his spirits rose when he recalled the steady climb up the mountain range. There was nothing better than long sweeping curves and tight bends for an exhilarating bike ride. The blood had been hammering through his veins, adrenaline pumping, and nothing else had mattered but feeling the road beneath his tyres and hearing the roar of the engine under him. He’d felt . . . alive.

Hugh unlocked the door of the room and tossed his bag on the saggy-looking bed he’d just paid for. The curtains were a burnt orange colour, probably the seventies originals, and they matched the orange velour bedspread. If he ignored the musty smell, he could almost pretend he was in a swanky overpriced inner city motel. It was all very retro. He particularly liked the authentic cigarette burns in the threadbare bedspread; they just oozed class.

If this was his only competition in town, he might achieve his goal more easily than he’d anticipated. His pub was going to be nothing like this crappy place. He knew his clientele; he’d spent the last two years working odd jobs, saving as much cash as he could to complete the final step of his plan, and in doing so had travelled around the country on his bike, so he knew exactly what bike enthusiasts wanted. The bar would serve cocktails and stock an impressive cellar. He was going to provide clean, not too pricey accommodation with outdoor dining and quality food. After a long day on the bike, these riders wanted somewhere to relax. Yep, he knew exactly what he was doing.

The unknown part was whether he could rely on the clientele to come through for him once the pub was completed. He didn’t want to think what would happen if that part of the plan fell through. If he had to, there were a few favours he could call in, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to. Instead the PR work he intended to invest in would produce results.

With a sigh, he changed out of his riding gear and into jeans and a T-shirt to head downstairs for a meal. He ordered a beer and wandered across to a pair of frosted glass doors marked Restaurant. Walking in and giving the room a quick once-over, he noticed the bold swirling patterns of the carpet and formica-topped tables. The room was old-fashioned—and not in a good way.

Noticing a few of the other patrons glancing over at him, he realised this was another thing he’d have to get used to. It’d been a long time since he’d lived in a town where someone new stuck out. It was something he’d forgotten about, having lived in the city for too many years to count. He gave a small nod of greeting to a couple seated across from him but then lowered his gaze—he didn’t feel like making conversation tonight and he knew it wouldn’t take much encouragement to start up a friendly chat around here.

An image of the woman at the service station flashed before his eyes. Lucy Parker. Ken had been kind enough to provide her name earlier today and he’d tucked it away safely to think about later. He bit back a smile as he remembered their brief encounter. She’d worn her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail which had swung jauntily in time with her hips as she’d marched back towards the service station. She hadn’t been too happy about handing over the petrol pump and he’d watched her abrupt departure, admiring the roundness of her backside covered by faded denim jeans. Part of him had twitched in appreciation, reminding him of what that had been sadly lacking from his life for too long.

Sex had been the last thing on his mind over the past few months. His whole world had almost come crashing down around him and it had taken every ounce of strength to keep it all together. Maybe now that he’d put it all behind him he could afford to blow off a bit of steam if he found a willing woman. Somehow, though, he didn’t think Ms Parker was going to be all that willing, which was a pity. She had a sassy mouth and a body he found all too distracting.

He hadn’t meant to act like a jerk, but she was pretty damn cute when she was pissed off and he couldn’t help stirring her up. Maybe he’d try some of the old Thompson charm on her next time and see what happened. Now if he could just dig around and try to remember where he’d left said charm . . . Judging by how long ago he’d last used it, he was going to need a while to scrape off all the rust and knock out some of the dints before he tried it again.

‘What can I get you, love?’

Hugh looked up to see a thin, middle-aged woman with grey hair piled on top of her head standing beside him with a notepad. Her nicotine-stained fingers held a pen ready to jot down his order.

‘Think I’ll grab the special of the day, thanks.’

‘No worries. Is that it?’ she asked, waiting for him to hand back the laminated menu he’d picked up from the table.

He nodded and watched her hurry back to the kitchen to give his order to the chef. He would have liked to quiz her on a few things, like how busy they got, but decided not to on the off chance that the chef took exception to the upcoming competition and spat in his meal . . . or worse! No, best to play his cards close to his chest, he thought, easing back in his chair as he sipped his beer and surveyed the room.

Two

Lucy finished loading the last of the groceries into the back of the ute and secured the cover, stretching the loops over hooks to cover the rear of the utility and keep her food from flying out while she drove.

The drive home took barely a few minutes, nothing was very far away in Bundah—it was one of the things she liked about the place; that and the beautiful mountains that surrounded their small town. They were situated on top of the range, flanked below by dense rainforest and national parks. She’d moved here at fifteen with her family. Her father had been transferred to Bundah to manage the small bank, but within three years the bank had been restructured and small branches like Bundah were no longer deemed viable. It didn’t seem to matter that the bank was the only one within a ninety-kilometre radius and that, back then, internet banking had never been heard of. Big business didn’t worry about little things like that.

She turned into her street and parked in the driveway of her modest cottage, a leftover from when Bundah had provided workers’ housing for the timber cutters and their families. Lucy loved her little home. It still had a lot of its original fixtures and so much character that she could almost hear the walls telling her their secrets as she lay in bed at night.

It was small, but it suited Lucy and her daughter, Isabella, just fine. They’d moved in when Belle had been a toddler, marking a turning point in Lucy’s life. This was where everything had changed for the better. She’d made her fair share of mistakes and bad choices—and paid a heavy price. Losing her sister and then discovering she was about to become a mother had been the wake-up call she’d needed to get her act together.

The smell of the simmering stew in the slow cooker greeted Lucy as she opened the front door, carrying the groceries from the car. ‘Belle, I’m home,’ she called, then swore quietly as she kicked her toe on the corner of the coffee table.

Unpacking the bags, she frowned as she realised there’d been no answer to her greeting. She left the groceries on the bench to go in search of her daughter.

There was no sign of seventeen-year-old Belle and a quick check of her bedroom showed she hadn’t been home since school finished either, judging by the lack of the usual schoolbag or uniform strewn across the floor.

In the kitchen Lucy searched through her handbag for her mobile. The sound of the front door opening and a muted ringtone signalled Belle’s arrival, and she disconnected the call as her daughter walked into the kitchen. ‘That was well timed. Where have you been?’

Belle gave her mother a guarded look before dropping her backpack on the kitchen floor and opening the fridge. ‘I went to Casey’s to hang out for a while. I didn’t realise how late it was. Sorry.’

‘You know you’re supposed to call me at work and let me know if you’re going anywhere other than straight home from school,’ Lucy said.

‘Yeah, I know. I forgot. Sorry. What’s for tea?’

Lucy frowned, annoyed that Belle could so easily shrug off something this important, but the phone rang and the opportunity to continue the conversation was lost. By the time she’d dealt with the change of time for the next P&C meeting, Belle had already finished her meal and was heading to her bedroom to do her homework.

Stifling an irritated sigh, Lucy served out her own meal and sat down at the small kitchen table to eat. As far as teenage girls went, Lucy knew she’d had it relatively easy with Belle. She’d silently shuddered many times as she listened to other friends complaining about their latest run-ins with their kids. But recently there had been some worrying incidences of drug use amongst local high school kids, and this only added to the list of possible dangers for bored teenagers in a small country town. Only this morning Nicole had mentioned that two kids had been rushed down the mountain to Armidale Hospital the previous night, both in a critical condition after taking an unknown substance. The news had sent a ripple of fear through Lucy and she had an irrational urge to protect Belle by locking her away from all the dangers lurking out there in the real world.

She stood up and took her plate to the sink.

Belle was an easy child to love, happy and outgoing, but over the last few weeks Lucy had noticed a slight distance building between them. Something had changed. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but the fact Belle now preferred going into her room to read or to talk on the phone with friends instead of spending the evening watching TV together definitely wasn’t helping. Lucy wiped her hands on the tea towel and looked pensively down the hallway to the closed door of her daughter’s bedroom. There was nothing concrete Lucy could actually call her on—she was still doing her homework and chores—but there was definitely something going on and it was time to nip it in the bud.

Lucy set her shoulders as she made her way towards the bedroom and knocked on the door. ‘Belle, I thought we might watch a movie together tonight before bed. I feel like watching something soppy. How about it?’

‘I’m doing homework, Mum.’

‘You can finish it off tomorrow, can’t you?’ said Lucy, opening the door to find her daughter sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by open textbooks and folders.

‘You know most parents wouldn’t expect their kids to ditch their homework just to watch TV,’ Belle said haughtily.

‘Most parents don’t have a child who has her homework done at least two weeks in advance. Come on, Belle. One slack night won’t make any difference.’

‘I’m not taking any chances. I won’t get out of this godforsaken town if I don’t get enough marks to get into uni, will I?’

Belle’s tone of voice rendered Lucy speechless for a moment. She’d never heard her speak so vehemently about wanting to leave. ‘What’s brought this on?’

‘I’m sick of being treated like a child! You control everything, even Stringybark, which is mine.’

Lucy held back a moan of frustration at the mention of the property Belle’s late grandfather had put in trust for Belle.

‘When you’re twenty-five you can do whatever you like with it.’

‘When I’m twenty-five it’ll be probably be worth nothing. I heard the other day that Mr Baxter made a fortune selling a place to that German family. It’s half the size of Stringybark. We need to sell it now, while it’s worth something. Come on, Mum. If we sell it I can use the money for uni. I can travel overseas for a year, anything I want.’

‘Which is exactly why your grandfather put it in trust,’ said Lucy, conjuring up an image of the old man sitting on his sunny verandah. Fred Monroe hadn’t always been an easy man to love. He’d been grumpy and gruff and set in his stubborn ways, but they’d forged a bond over mutual loss and she missed him every day.

‘I don’t see what the big deal is. You’ve been working and saving for me to go to uni for years. Sell Stringybark and I can pay my own way. You wouldn’t have to skimp and save any more.’

‘Trust me. You’ll be thanking me later when the money hasn’t been blown on university, holidays and shopping sprees. By twenty-five you’ll have a clearer idea of where it is you want to be in life, which is something you can’t possibly know at eighteen.’

‘See? There you go, assuming that I don’t know what I want to do with my life!’

‘Okay? What do you want to do with your life?’

‘You know what? Don’t even bother. I don’t care any more. I just want to finish school and get as far away from this stupid town so I can live my own life.’

‘Where is this resentment coming from all of a sudden?’ asked Lucy, taken aback.

‘I’ve always felt this way. You’ve just never wanted to hear it before.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Lucy asked, moving further into the room to stand by her daughter’s bed.

‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it, Mum. Let’s just not discuss it as usual and pretend it doesn’t matter.’

‘Belle, for goodness sake, what’s gotten into you? Tell me what’s wrong?’

‘You do realise that at the end of this year I’ll be gone, don’t you?’ said Belle, frowning up at her.

‘Yes. I realise that,’ said Lucy.

‘Really? So you acknowledge that by then I’ll be an adult?’

‘Yes, once you turn eighteen you’ll be an adult.’

‘But until then I’m supposed to stay on a leash around here where you can keep an eye on me?’

‘You’re hardly on a leash, Belle.’

‘Oh please! Where have you been? Why didn’t you call me? Come straight home from school. No, you can’t go to that party this weekend,’ Belle mimicked.

‘What was I thinking, being a concerned parent? Shame on me for wanting to make sure you’re safe,’ said Lucy, shaking her head.

‘It’s not a joke, Mother.’

Lucy raised an eyebrow. Mother?

‘I’m not a child and yet you keep treating me like one. Do you know what they all say about me at school?’ She barely gave Lucy a second to answer. ‘They call me Princess Belle, because I’m never allowed to go to parties or hang out with anyone from school. Like I’m too good for everyone around here!’

‘Oh, for goodness sake—’

‘See! You’re doing it again—brushing me off like I’m a two-year-old kid throwing a tantrum.’

‘What’s brought this on?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Belle snapped, dropping her gaze back to the books on her bed.

‘Clearly it does.’

‘Marty Andrews is having his eighteenth birthday party and everyone else got an invite but me . . . He didn’t bother inviting me because everyone knows I’m not allowed to go anywhere.’

Lucy winced a little at that. Was she really that much of an ogre? It was true she didn’t let Belle go to parties when she knew they weren’t going to be supervised. She knew many of the parents around town did let their kids go to these impromptu parties which were often held out on a property around a bonfire and always involved utes, lots of alcohol and more teenage hormones on the rampage than mossies in a swap.

She also knew the kinds of young girls who went along to these events and she knew their parents. It made her blood boil that because some parents had absolutely no rules the parents who did were considered tyrants.

‘I’m not going to apologise for that, Belle. We’ve been through this before. There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m letting you run wild to do whatever you like. You don’t need to be out at all hours of the night with older kids who are drinking alcohol. You’re seventeen and you’re underage.’

‘You are so old-fashioned, Mum,’ Belle snapped back.

Lucy shrugged before turning to leave the bedroom. ‘You’ve only got to put up with it for the rest of the year. If you change your mind, Meg Ryan and I will be out in the lounge room.’

Lucy thought she heard a mumbled reply but chose to let it slide. So far they’d managed to keep their disagreements civil, but tonight seemed to mark a turning point. Was she going to lose her happy, carefree child to teenage mutiny this close to the finish line?

Just as Lucy was about to sit down at last, a silver Audi pulled up at the bowser. She muttered crossly under her breath. She’d been trying to get the business activity statement finished all morning without success. Pushing away from the desk, she went outside with a smile on her face and a cheery wave. ‘Hi guys, how much would you like?’ she asked the man who had opened his door.

‘Oh my goodness. Would you look at this, Russell? They even fill up your car for you here.’

Lucy paused as she unscrewed the cap, eyeing warily the man who had just climbed out of the driver seat. Was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell; he was too busy waving his hands around excitedly at the other man seated in the passenger side.

‘Is there a loo around here?’ he asked, jumping a little from one foot to the other. ‘I’m about to explode if I don’t get to a toot right now.’

Lucy pointed towards the side of the building.

The passenger, who she assumed was Russell, opened his door and climbed out. ‘Just fill her up thanks, doll.’

Doll? Was this guy serious? Lucy watched the large man do some stretches, and had to bite her lip to stop giggling as he completed his little exercise routine with a few high-knee steps. ‘Been travelling a while, I take it,’ she said.

‘Feels like forever. Who knew how far this little place was from anywhere. Just between you and me, sweet pea, I haven’t been able to feel my butt since yesterday afternoon.’

Lucy gave a sympathetic chuckle. ‘How much further do you have to go?’

‘Thankfully, no further. We’re here to inspect a premises for rent,’ the driver announced, catching the question as he returned to the car.

Lucy looked at the men uncertainly just as the nozzle clicked off to indicate the tank was full. Securing the petrol cap, she allowed Russell to lead the way into the service station to pay.

‘So you’re here because of the ad in the paper?’ Lucy asked.

‘That’s right. We own a coffee shop in Melbourne, but we’ve been thinking about doing something different for a while now. Then last weekend we came across your chamber of commerce’s ad to take a tree change. It sounded exactly what we were after, so here we are on a road trip to check it out.’

‘Well,’ said Lucy, handing over his receipt, ‘I hope you like what you find.’

Lucy looked out the window as the man who’d been driving appeared to be trying to get his passenger’s attention. For a moment she was confused, until Nate Pearce, the local police officer, walked in.

Russell gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Steve’s always been a pushover for a man in uniform.’

Lucy suppressed a smile at the startled expression which crossed Nate’s face as he overheard the comment.

‘Officer.’ Russell nodded politely as he walked out the door.

‘Who the hell was that?’ Nate asked, seeming a little stunned by the whole encounter.

‘I think that was our new café owners . . . or will be if they like the rest of town as much as they liked you,’ she teased.

‘I hope Bundah’s ready for them,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘What can I do for you?’ Lucy liked Nate. He was a nice guy. He’d moved to Bundah about ten years ago with his wife but she hadn’t liked it out here and had gone to visit her parents not long after they’d arrived . . . and never come back. Maybe because they seemed to share a similar past, in which for whatever reasons their dreams had never quite turned out the way they’d supposed to, Lucy had always had a soft spot for him. But early on she had made it clear she wasn’t interested in a relationship and Nate had never pushed the issue. They’d remained good friends over the years.

Nate turned his attention back to Lucy and leaned against the counter casually. ‘Just wanted to have a word with you about Belle.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’ asked Lucy, a hundred different scenarios running through her head at once.

‘Nothing’s happened; it’s all right. I just wanted to give you a bit of a heads-up, that’s all.’

Although her initial fears of accidents and her child lying in an emergency room were put at ease, something about his tone warned her not to let down her guard completely.

‘Look, Belle’s a good kid, but I’ve been spotting her after school hanging around with some kids who, let’s say, I’m on a first name basis with, and not in a good way. I just thought you might want to know.’

‘Yes, of course I do, but I can’t believe she’d be sneaking around like that. She usually tells me what she’s doing.’

Nate gave a tired chuckle. ‘She’s a teenager, Luce. Welcome to my world.’

What was happening to the well-behaved, quiet child she’d always known? ‘Well, it won’t be happening any more. Is it still illegal to lock your teenager in a cupboard?’

Nate’s deep laugh drew a smile from her, but she was only half joking. What were her options if her daughter suddenly decided to ignore the parental rules she’d so far been happy to obey? Lucy couldn’t be there in the afternoons to play warden; she’d relied on her daughter being sensible enough to stay at home alone for the last two and a half years. Surely at seventeen she wasn’t going to have to get her child a babysitter!

‘I really don’t think you need to be too concerned about Belle; she’s just stretching her wings a bit. They all seem to go through it at some stage.’

‘Thank you for letting me know. I really appreciate it.’

‘No worries. All part of the service.’

‘I’m pretty sure Bundah gets a lot more service than most places. We’re lucky to have you looking out for us.’

‘Ah well, it’s not like I get run off my feet with crime around here, is it?’

‘I hope it stays that way. What do you think about the chamber of commerce’s new population push?’

The policeman looked up the road towards the main street with a pensive expression. ‘Hard to say. Could be a good thing . . . depends what kinda people it brings our way, I guess.’

Briefly Lucy’s thoughts went to the leather-clad stranger she’d met yesterday and she wondered if he was an example of what they had to look forward to . . . She couldn’t make up her mind whether that was a good or a bad thing.

That afternoon, as soon as Lucy heard the front door open, she called her daughter into the kitchen.

‘What are you doing home so early?’ Belle asked, her gaze roaming the kitchen, spying the plate of pancakes and hot chocolate waiting at the breakfast bar for her.

‘I took an early mark this afternoon.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted to spend some time with you. Sit down and eat these pancakes before they go cold,’ Lucy said, pushing the plate towards her daughter pointedly.

‘Pancakes? But it’s not raining.’

‘It was a pancake kinda afternoon, I thought,’ Lucy shrugged. It was their thing. When Belle had been younger, weekends and after school on rainy days they’d always made pancakes. Since Lucy had taken on the job of manager at the service station it’d been a while since she’d been home after school—and even longer since she’d made pancakes. It was the down side to securing a better income for her and Belle. She knew how lucky she was to have a full-time job in a small town. It was a luxury becoming scarce in small rural communities. Ken Baxter could be an obnoxious boss, and they had had their run-ins, but on the whole she enjoyed her job and the responsibility of managing a business.

She watched as her daughter poured golden syrup on her pancake.

‘So why are you really home early?’ Belle asked.

‘I’m worried about you,’ Lucy said.

‘Why?’

‘I had a visit from Nate today. He thought I should know about the kids you’ve been hanging around with lately.’

Belle stopped eating and stared at her mother. ‘It’s none of his business who I hang around with. What right does he have running off to tell you about everything I do?’

‘Maybe because he knows you and actually cares about what happens to you?’

‘You mean he’s trying to score points with you.’

‘Don’t go down this track again, Belle, and don’t change the topic.’

‘It’s true! He’s always had a thing for you, Mum. It’s just not fair. He’s spying on me just to get in your good books.’

‘Yes, I’m sure he has nothing better to do than spy on a seventeen year old and report back to me.’

‘Well, it’s none of his business. We weren’t doing anything wrong.’

‘If everything is so above board, how come you haven’t mentioned that you’ve been hanging around town after school?’

‘Because it’s none of your business,’ Belle snapped.

‘I beg your pardon! Somewhere along the line you seem to have forgotten that I’m your mother. I’m making it my business to know what you’re up to.’

‘I’m not a baby!’

‘Then stop acting like one.’

‘You make me so mad! I can’t talk to you any more,’ Belle stood up and moved to pick up her backpack in the kitchen doorway.

‘Sit back down. You don’t need to talk to me, but I haven’t finished talking to you,’ Lucy said, feeling extremely proud of herself for not having raised her voice. Belle folded her arms across her chest and glared at her mother for a few moments until Lucy narrowed her eyes warningly, and then she stomped back to take a seat on the bar stool she’d just vacated.

‘What’s with all the attitude lately? Is this still about that party?’

‘It’s about everything! I’m old enough not to get the third degree about who I hang around with and where I go. I’m over it!’

‘Well, tough. I’m not letting you throw your life away.’

‘I’m not you! And I’m not Aunty Claire either.’

For a moment Lucy’s throat contracted at the mention of her sister’s name. She’d always been honest with her daughter, telling her about her older sister’s addiction to drugs and alcohol as a teenager. She’d hoped that by not pretending it hadn’t happened, she might be able to instil in Belle the dangers of drug use at a young age and stop any curiosity she might have to experiment as Claire had.

Her sister’s overdose had almost destroyed her family. Her parents had been distraught, losing their child, and then, on top of that, a few months later Lucy had been forced to tell them she was pregnant. Her poor parents had gone through a hell of a year. She pushed away the threatening emotion and focused on her daughter. ‘Until the end of the year, you’re stuck with me, so you’ll just have to put up with it.’

‘You can’t make me.’

Lucy knew her mouth had dropped open, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She was absolutely horrified by the way her child was speaking to her. It was as though she’d been possessed by some kind of evil being—who was this kid? ‘I can make you . . . and trust me, things will be different around here from now on.’

‘This is so unfair! You’re punishing me for everyone else’s mistakes. Just because you went and got yourself pregnant at my age, and your sister was a drug addict, doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same thing. I’m not that stupid.’ Belle turned away and stormed off to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

Lucy let go of the back of the chair and straightened slowly. Her daughter’s words had felt like a blow to her stomach. Had she been pushing too hard all these years? She certainly hadn’t intended to make her child’s life unbearable! Maybe she had been a lot more strict with her than some of her friends’ parents were, but they had two parents to share the load when it came to discipline—she only had herself.

Lucy closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. Help me out here, Claire. Am I doing the right thing? How else do I stop her from making the mistakes that we both made? Lucy opened her eyes and strived for a calmness she was far from feeling.

Belle was her responsibility until the end of the year when she turned eighteen and finished school. After that she’d be off to university and she’d be in charge of her own life. All Lucy could hope for then was that Belle would remember the values her mother had been trying to instil in her all these years and she’d know how to make good decisions. It was so hard to start loosening her grip, though. So much could go wrong in the blink of an eye.

Three

The Bundah Country Women’s Association was as much a part of Bundah as the buildings and landscape. Lucy’s own mother was a life member of the national heritage, as her grandmother had been in her day. It was a family tradition and Lucy loved being a part of something so worthwhile.

As in any organisation, there were times of conflict amongst the many different types of personalities but, on the whole, Bundah CWA was a close-knit, hard-working group of women. Lucy knew that if ever she were in trouble, every single one of them would be there to help her out.

‘Oh good, Lucy dear, you’re here . . . at last. Okay, let’s get started,’ Mavis announced loudly as Lucy tried to slip into the old hall unnoticed. She was running late again; she always seemed to be the last one to arrive.

Lucy took a seat next to her best friend, Nicole, exchanging a small grimace for being on the receiving end of Mavis’s not so subtle rebuke.

‘Firstly, ladies, I’d like to start off by addressing a few of the latest happenings around town. As a result of the chamber of commerce’s ad campaign, we’ve had quite a bit of interest. In fact, as of today, I’ve been advised by Ken that we’ve had two firm offers for new businesses and he has sent out applications and prospectus kits to at least a dozen other people requesting more information. I think it’s safe to say that Ken may have finally found a winner.’

There was a ripple of applause through the small hall and more than a few curious questions circulating the room. ‘Now, now, ladies, let’s have a bit of quiet and I’ll go through the information Ken has kindly provided me.’ She waited for the room to quieten and then continued. ‘So, the top pub has been sold to a Mr Hugh Thompson. He’s a newcomer from the city but apparently we don’t have any further information about him.’

‘I’ve seen him. Very handsome man. Was there any mention of a Mrs Thompson there, Mavis?’ Stella Davies called out hopefully. Stella was the town cougar . . . or would have been had there been any eligible younger men for her to pounce on. At sixty-five she was still a firm believer in the old adage that if you’ve got it, flaunt it. She had a penchant for leopard-print clothing and high heels and was a frequent visitor to Mavis’s hair salon for the regular upkeep of her bleach-blonde mane. Lucy had to hand it to her, she’d never once seen the woman with regrowth in the entire time she’d lived in Bundah.

‘Not from what I can see here, Stella,’ Mavis replied peering over the top of her reading glasses with a disapproving glare. ‘Also, the old post office building has been rented and the premises is to be renovated and made into a coffee shop.’

‘Do we know who’s leased that property, Mavis?’ a voice called out from the back of the hall.

Mavis shook her head. ‘I believe it’s two brothers, or so Ken thought, but I’m sure there will be more details to follow.’

There was a hum of conversation as the news was discussed and the newcomers’ chances of success were weighed up.

‘A coffee shop? Well, it’s about time.’ Nicole gave a small squeal.

Lucy gave a small chuckle.

‘What?’

She tilted her head closer to her friend. ‘If it’s who I think it is, I reckon we’re in for a treat!’

‘How is it you always get to meet everyone before I do?’

Lucy gave a shrug. ‘Everyone needs fuel.’

‘So who are they, these brothers? Are they young? Single? Good-looking?’

‘Let’s just say, I’m pretty sure they’re not brothers.’

‘Now,’ Mavis cut in after a few minutes, ‘I think it would be nice to extend a welcome to these newcomers. I thought we could organise a supper in conjunction with the chamber of commerce and the progress committee.’

A chorus of nods accompanied the suggestion and it was tentatively noted to be put to the other two committees at their next meetings. Personally Lucy wondered why they even bothered with all the formalities—just about everyone in the room was a member or on the committee of the other two organisations anyway—but things were always done according to the rule book. They took their committees very seriously around here.

There was a flurry of offers to deliver the invitations to Hugh Thompson, but Mavis declared that she would be personally hand-delivering the invites. As president, she thought that would only be proper. Lucy and Nicole swapped an amused grin as Stella fluffed about in her chair like a disgruntled hen, her hopes of having an excuse to corner Hugh Thompson firmly squashed under the firm heel of Mavis Quillin’s Homypeded foot.

‘So is he as good-looking as everyone’s saying he is?’ Nicole asked as she and Lucy walked to their cars after the meeting.

‘Who?’

‘Oh, please!’ Nicole rolled her eyes and shook her head at Lucy. ‘Don’t give me that. As if you don’t know who I’m talking about! The mysterious Hugh Thompson.’

‘Oh, him.’

‘Yes. Him. Now spill; what’s he like?’

‘I saw him for all of five minutes. He barely said a word.’

‘So how come you’re acting all weird?’

‘I am not!’

‘Are too!’

‘How old are you again?’

Nicole poked her in the ribs and laughed at Lucy’s haughty tone. ‘Old enough to know when you’re all hot and bothered about something.’

She had to concede the woman had her on a technicality: if anyone knew her better than she knew herself, it was Nicole. Nicole had been her first friend ever since she’d moved to Bundah all those years ago.

Lucy had been to more than her fair share of new schools because her father’s job transferred them on a three-yearly interval, but no matter how many times she’d done it, she’d never gotten used to that horrible first-day-in-a-new-school feeling. It had always been a scary, sickening ordeal, but moving to Bundah had been different. From the minute she’d been teamed up with Nicole as her ‘buddy’, the two girls had been inseparable. The down side of having a best friend who knew you so well was . . . that they knew you so well!

‘He’s egotistical and thinks he’s better than everyone else.’

‘Really? Why, what happened?’

‘He wouldn’t let me put the petrol in his stupid bike.’

‘Oh, wow. What a jerk!’ Nicole gushed sarcastically.

‘It was his whole . . . attitude. Trust me, no matter how good-looking the guy is, he’s not worth the trouble.’

‘So he is good looking?’

Lucy gave a frustrated groan. The woman had missed her calling as a lawyer. She could twist and turn words like a pro. ‘If you like your looks, with a bucket load of attitude.’

‘Well, he certainly made an impression on you. This welcome shindig should be all kinds of fun.’

‘What a shame I won’t be attending.’

‘Oh? You’re going to tell Mavis you’re not planning on going? Good luck with that then!’

Lucy’s shoulders slumped at the thought. Mavis was not a person you wanted to get off side. Behind that gentile façade was a very savvy businesswoman who had run her own hairdressing business for over forty years and was behind just about every other major organisation in town. There was no doubt she loved her town and had a heart of gold, even if she could occasionally come across as a bit of a dragon.

‘Cheer up. If it makes you feel any better, no man can remain high and mighty with Stella circling like a hungry wolf. If for nothing else, I’d go for the entertainment value.’

This lifted Lucy’s spirits and she couldn’t quite rein in the malicious grin that followed the thought.

‘Thatta girl!’ Nicole patted her arm sagely. ‘Hey, can you ask Belle if she can babysit for me Saturday night? My darling husband is taking me out on the town to celebrate our anniversary.’

Nicole had married the son of the town doctor. The Fairbridge family had a long history in Bundah. Mrs Fairbridge took great pride in being the wife of the town doctor, and Lucy knew that in the early years of her marriage Nicole had struggled to adjust to her mother-in-law’s high expectations. Mrs Fairbridge’s lifestyle was very different to the life Lucy had led growing up as the daughter of a labourer employed by the local council.