An Endless Summer(26)

I nodded. “That’s a shame, because regardless of what’s gone on between you and Dad I’m the one that needs your help, I’m the one that’s drowning.”

“It’s not your fight, Chook.”

“Isn’t it? If you think about it, the ultimatum you gave Dad wasn’t your fight, either.”

Melba stopped rocking; her eyes cut into me and I knew I’d gone too far and it was time to leave. I stood and hooked my bag over my shoulder.

“Thanks for the tea; no one makes it better than you.”

And before she could reply, I made my own way out the door.



***



By the time I got back to the Onslow, I was so immersed in self-pity that I almost didn’t notice that the scaffolding had been taken down. It was only a voice from nowhere that abruptly stopped me from pushing my way through the door.

“See? Told you it would be finished.”

Sean was perched on a picnic table, sipping a cold beer. He pointed above my head with a broad smile. I followed his eyes to see that the hole was completely patched and a new support beam in place. I smiled.

“Looks great.”

“Wow! High praise indeed.”

Sean reached down into an esky by his feet, his hand delving into the icy recess, and produced a cold stubby and held it out to me. Condensation dribbled down the sides.

“Want one?”

I eyed it sceptically.

Sean rolled his eyes. “Relax, I bought it from you. Put money on top of the till and everything. Bought ice from the servo; I’m a paying customer, I promise.”

“Our only customer,” I said. I closed the distance and took the cold stubby from his grasp. My fingers brushed his and I was unnerved by how that made me not want to meet his gaze.

“Thanks.”

I stepped up and sat on the opposite side of the table, not too close.

“The lawns look good.” Sean took a sip of his beer.

I turned to see the freshly cut grass and whipper-snipped edges.

“I hadn’t even noticed.”

“No, you were too busy sad sacking it up the drive.”

“I was thinking,” I said defensively.

Sean shook his head. “You think too much.”

“Yeah, well some of us have to do the thinking for everyone.” I spotted Matt through the hotel window, doing nothing more than slouching against the bar and laughing at the TV. My brows narrowed as I took a long sip of beer.

Sean followed my line of vision. “What’s the go with him?”

“My dad, in all his wisdom, put him in charge.”

“I see.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me what a great bloke he is and that Dad was right to trust him with the Onslow?”

“Not at all. I wouldn’t put him in charge of a lucky dip.”

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Well, there’s a sound I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“Yeah, well, there isn’t a whole lot to laugh about these days,” I said. I picked at the label on my stubby, keeping my fingers busy.

Sean finished off the last of his beer in a long skull before getting up and chucking it in the nearby bin.

“How old are you now, Amy?” he asked. “Eighteen?”

I straightened. “Nineteen.”

He nodded, in deep thought. “So you’re nineteen, it’s Friday – soon to be Friday night – and you’re basically the gatekeeper of the local pub and yet there’s nothing to laugh about?”

“It’s a burden,” I said, “not a never-ending party.”

Sean sealed the lid on his esky and tapped it into place.

“Well, that’s because you’re not doing it right.”

“So what? What would your advice be, hmm? Invite some friends over, get hammered, have a lock-in and pash someone in a dark alcove somewhere?”

Sean smiled and exposed a brilliant line of straight, white teeth. “Exactly.” He gathered his esky and started to walk towards his car.

“See you tonight, Henderson. I’ll be the one loitering in a dark alcove somewhere,” he teased.

“Very funny.”

Sean reversed his ute and flipped his sunnies into place before flashing one last smile at me and pulling out onto the road. He sounded the horn in two quick toots.

See you tonight?

Shit! Tonight? Friday night.

Much to my horror and regardless of whether the hole was now fixed, the weekend had arrived and there was nothing I could do to stop it.



***



We had no cook, no wait staff, one half-hearted bartender, and me. I prayed for a quiet night in the bar, but it was not to be. Somehow the mid-week scaffolding, the doors being closed, lawns mowed and the mumblings of a DIY project had piqued the locals’ interest. Seemed they’d got to thinking the Onslow was undergoing renovations. I guess it kind of was, seeing as though you could now walk around the bar room without your feet sticking to the floor. You could even lean against the bar without wetting your arm on putrid, soggy, stale beer mats. You could see through the jukebox glass to select songs now that I’d wiped the weeks, possibly months, of grubby fingerprints away. If anyone asked for a beer now, chances were it was actually stocked and cold. I had made a mad dash to the supermarket to grab some boxes of salted nuts and potato chips. I figured maybe it would hold off endless questions about non-existent dinners.