by Ros Baxter
Brodie smiled, as if he enjoyed the old witch flirting with him, and moved closer to where she was sitting, in spite of Nelly making a warning noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a cranky growl. ‘I’m so glad I can help,’ he said, leaning against the kitchen counter closest to Davina and taking a loud slurp of coffee. ‘Now how about you just recap the terms of your little offer here, so I can catch up on the conversation.’
Davina took a breath and smiled maternally at him. ‘We’re willing to reconsider,’ she started. ‘We’ll take your milk, at a small discount for the inconvenience caused by interrupted supply after that latest stunt.’
Brodie nodded as if he got it. ‘By stunt you mean the Dairy Board—’ he paused, as if he was trying to piece it together, ‘—and the major farms telling you to shove your renewal offer where the sun don’t shine?’
‘The very same.’ Davina smiled majestically. ‘It’s all water under the bridge.’
Brodie sorted through what he knew. Davina was no amateur. Why was she back? Why did she need Sweet Pocket milk badly enough to swallow her pride and come calling again, albeit at an even more lousy price? The penny dropped as he watched her sipping tea. ‘The A triple C up your arse over that Southern Downs debacle?’ The Australian Competition and Consumer Commission had named Devondish in an investigation into monopolistic practices in the milk industry, in particular, concerns over a little debacle in the Southern Downs where small farmers who sought better deals from other buyers were being squeezed out.
Davina’s mouth tightened but she didn’t answer.
‘Trying to show them how well you can work with diversity? What a friend you are of the little folk?’
Davina tried on another smile and Brodie shot a quick look at Nelly to check she was okay with him taking over. She didn’t look happy, but neither was she dragging him out of the room by his ear, so he figured he was safe for the moment.
‘We’ve always been good friends with the people of Sweet Pocket,’ Davina started.
Brodie had heard enough. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, had never been able to stand, it was a damn bully, and The Big Cow was one of the worst, for all her smiles and maternal charm. He put his cup down on the sink and moved closer to Davina. Barry leapt nervously out of his chair as he did. The two had been at school together, and while Brodie had never been one to start a fight, he’d never been one to walk away from one when it was required either.
‘Davina,’ he purred, ‘you have never been any such thing. You have screwed this town for thirty years with your shitty prices and your threats of industry blacklisting. Listen to me, you old viper. Devondish is done in this town. And you are done visiting my aunt and trying to screw her over.’
Davina pushed her teacup back and stood, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Is that so, Brodie Brown? Well, I’m not so sure you speak for the town. In fact, you haven’t been part of Sweet Pocket for a very long time. You voted with your feet ten years ago and you lost the right to a say.’ She nodded towards Nelly. ‘I’m sorry for the harsh words, but I won’t stand for this. I’ll take my leave.’
‘Go ahead,’ Brodie said, motioning towards the door. ‘But know this, Davina. Sly Samuels sits on my board.’ Samuels was the most recent ex-head of the ACCC. ‘And we’re good mates. I can tell him things that would make his toes curl. Things I’m sure he’d love to pass on to the new administration.’ He shook his head, as if he found it all very amusing. ‘Those guys just hate a corporate bully. Taking them down is their favourite sport.’
Davina snorted unbecomingly. ‘I’m not afraid of you, son.’
He smiled. ‘Then you aren’t as clever as you think you are.’
***
The Dirty Dozen was already teeming. Norm and Thelma Delorio were working the counter like the true pros they were, taking orders, dispensing advice, and gossiping to beat the band. KD’s parents had owned the supplies store since Norm (then Gianni) had come to Australia as a boy in the 1960s with this family. The Delorios had taken one look at Sweet Pocket, the fat black-and-white cows, the peaceful green groves, and found their niche. Mama and Papa Delorio had long since passed on, but the young Gianni had taken a shine to Thelma Bates, become Norm, and set his mind to making his fortune in the mercantile way of his forbears.
KD had been the only product of their union, but they had taken her dramatic coming-out in their sanguine collective stride, declaring they had always known she was different. Gen thought it was pretty good of them, really—not because a person’s sexuality should determine whether their life was good or bad for anyone, but because that old couple just loved children. Most mornings, Thelma could be found with someone’s babe on her hip as they browsed the store or the market garden, cooing and blowing wet kisses on a cheek. Gen’s own two loved Norm and Thelma like an extra set of grandparents, and Bea had been particularly pouty today when she’d found out that Gen was coming down to The Dirty Dozen after dropping her at kinder.
KD and Gen paused on the threshold before entering the fray. The store most resembled a little old farmhouse, complete with dinky veranda, cramped kitchenette and wild, tangled garden at the rear. It was made of recycled timber, and stood in the main street like a bizarre oasis of rural what-the-fuck among the hodgepodge of heritage buildings and shiny new office space. No one seemed to notice.
Today, three old men were chatting on the veranda, sitting in matching squatter’s chairs and shooting the breeze. They belonged to the dwindling Italian community on the southwest side, and they liked to hang in the cool of the porch even when they didn’t have purchases to make. Thelma would make them espressos and Norm would sit with them in quiet moments to share stories from home.
As Gen loitered in the doorway and tried to summon the courage to have the conversation she knew she needed to, one of them, old Mr Trucello, clicked his fingers.
‘Genevieve,’ he drawled, in an exotic voice that sounded like the tall handsome farmer he had once been and not the shrivelled antique he had become. ‘I been tastin’ your yoghurt.’ He made a kissing motion with his lips and fingers. ‘My old lady buy it for me. Perfecto.’ He repeated the smacking noise. The other old guys sitting with him murmured less articulate agreement. ‘You should do something about that,’ Trucello finished. ‘Make sometin’ of it.’ He paused, showing white, even teeth in a sweet old grandpa smile, then finished with, ‘And most of all, help this town to fuck The Big Cow.’ He made an eloquent gesture with his fist.
Gen smiled. It seemed the sentiment was universal. Sweet Pocket was well done with Davina and with being screwed over for decades.
I’m doing my best, here, Poppa.
But she smiled and patted his hand where it lay on the arm of the chair. ‘Thanks, Mr Trucello. You tell Donna I’ve got something special for her next time.’
The old men all murmured their appreciation as Gen and KD moved off into the store.
‘So sweet.’ Gen sighed.
‘Bullshit.’ KD laughed. ‘They’re checking out your arse. Old Italians.’ She shook her head. ‘They all think they’re the Fonz.’
Once they entered the store, Thelma was on them in seconds. ‘Baby,’ she squealed, running over to wrap KD in a soft hug. She was an older, smaller version of the fine, blonde Kasey. Gen knew from the local gossip that she had been quite the beauty in her day, and young Gianni’s score had set tongues wagging and hearts breaking. ‘You been away too long this time.’
‘What can I say?’ KD hugged her back, hard. ‘Music’s a worse bitch than the land.’
Thelma swatted her. ‘No swearing,’ she scolded, before turning to Gen. ‘Hey, darling,’ she said, her eyes soft for her daughter’s best friend. ‘How’s your ma?’
‘Okay,’ Gen said, not really wanting to get into it right now. ‘How’s business?’
Thelma gestured at the packed space around them. ‘Thumping,’ she said. ‘The fair’s got everyone excited, and the other possibilities too. Hasn’t been this bu
sy for ages.’
Norm swept over to them, planting noisy kisses on the cheeks of the two young women before treating his wife to one as well.
‘Can’t let my bella miss out,’ he crooned, slipping his arm around Thelma’s waist and squeezing her to him. ‘Isn’t she bee-yoo-tiful, darlinks?’ He turned from his wife to appeal to the younger women with expressive brown eyes.
‘Gorgeous,’ they both agreed dutifully.
Gen knew from the local gossip that Gianni had not been so much the catch—short, poor and Italian. It had surprised everyone when he’d won the heart of the town stunner. But Gen got it. Thelma had won an adoring, romantic man with his heart set on making her as comfortable as possible, and he had dedicated every waking moment since he had won her to making sure she knew she was adored, cherished and valued.
Gen stifled a sigh; not so many women could claim so much. Then she looked at her best friend, still wrapped in her mama’s arms. KD had inherited good sense and a sharp brain from her mother. And Gen loved her like the sister neither of them had ever had.
‘So, darlink,’ Norm said, turning to Gen as he gestured at the madhouse around him, ‘you change your mind about coming to help us out here few hours each day?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Gen said, taking a deep breath to steel herself against the burden of what she was doing, ‘I have. If you still want me.’
‘Want you?’ Norm looked as if he had discovered the winning lottery ticket in his espresso. ‘We desire you greatly!’ He beamed and looked confused as his wife and daughter dissolved into giggles at the inappropriate turn of phrase. ‘When you start?’
Gen shrugged. ‘You look like you could use a hand today? I’ve got ’til one, when the meeting starts.’
‘Today it is,’ Thelma said, taking off her apron and handing it to Gen. ‘I’m dying for a break.’
Gen took the apron and wrapped it around her middle. Norm and Thelma knew there wouldn’t be much handover required. KD and Gen had cut their teeth working in the shop before and after school, and on weekends when they were needed. They were not only getting someone completely trustworthy, who was also someone they considered a member of their family, but someone who knew the store backwards, and more about farming than they did.
The excitement and enthusiasm on their faces softened the sting of it all for Gen. It wasn’t that she disliked working here; she loved the store, and she thrived on the contact with the locals. It was just that she’d tried so hard not to have to take on another job. Between the kids, the farm and her mother, and now all this stress with the business and the town, it was all she could do to keep herself sane most days as it was.
How she would fit another moving piece in she wasn’t quite sure, but she knew after the letter from the Child Support Agency last night that she had no real choice. She had to get some more cash flowing if her little family was going to eat. Her dairy was starting to generate some sales, but the volume just wasn’t enough for all they needed on a weekly basis—it was basically just supplementing the running of the farm. It could be more; she knew it could be more. But to do that, she needed to get on her feet, the town needed to get on its feet, and (she couldn’t help thinking) maybe the cooperative idea KD had raised last night was the only way to do it.
But before she could action any of that, she needed work.
So here she was.
She smiled gratefully at Norm and Thelma. ‘Why don’t you two go take a break together? I can handle things here ’til you get back,’
Norm landed a noisy kiss on both her cheeks then turned to his wife. ‘You hear that, my bella? Come and let me make wild love to you.’ He wrapped his arms around Thelma and dipped her to the ground, as if they were dancing.
Thelma scrambled to her feet and straightened her clothes, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ll settle for a coffee, honey,’ she said, making for the door. She threw over her shoulder, ‘You sure you’re gonna be okay, Gen?’
KD answered for. ‘I’m hanging here for a bit. I can help if she’s forgotten anything.’
‘Good girls, darlinks,’ Norm boomed, opening the back door for his wife. Their market garden led to their beautiful old heritage house, in the grand avenue that lay behind Main Street. ‘Lead on, bella.’ He pinched his wife’s bottom as she scooted through, and turned back to waggle his eyebrows at the younger women.
‘Ick,’ KD said, flicking a spare apron off a hook behind the counter. ‘What did I tell you? Old Italians. Now let’s get you settled in.’
***
It was almost one when Brodie stopped by to get the wire for the hedgerows Nelly had insisted the old homestead needed if it was going to look its best for the photo shoot. The morning crowd at The Dirty Dozen had thinned, so he only had to stop three times to accept people’s well wishes and thanks before he reached the counter.
But he hadn’t expected the swift kick to his gut that greeted him at the sight of Genevieve Jenkins, apron tied haphazardly around her waist, a smear of dirt on her nose, red hair cascading like an errant waterfall around her shoulders, standing where Thelma Delorio should be.
Gen was debating the merits of companion-planting parsley and tomatoes with Gerry Joice, and even from where he was standing Brodie could see the old letch leering at Gen’s fitted red T-shirt. It made Brodie’s punching fist flex, even though he had sworn off physical violence the day he had punched Mac in the jaw and left town.
The old guy had no right to be looking at Gen like that.
‘See something you like, Bro Bro?’ KD arched one of those perfect blonde brows at him. She so had his number.
‘Hey KD,’ Brodie drawled, hoping he didn’t look as sprung as he felt. ‘I didn’t know it was Mardi Gras week in Sweet Pocket?’
KD stepped out from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around him. ‘Yessiree. We’re naming a float after you. I’m calling it the Crop Queen.’
‘Aw,’ Brodie said, squeezing her back as a thousand memories of their shared childhood almost overwhelmed him. ‘You’re too sweet, baby cakes.’
Once they pulled apart, Brodie noticed that Gen had finished with the old sleaze.
‘Hey,’ she said, greeting him a helluva lot less enthusiastically than her best friend had. Maybe it was all that confusing shit that had messed up the atmosphere between them after the meeting last night. ‘Cause surely it couldn’t be that she knew he was thinking about her breasts; he was damn sure he was doing an excellent job of keeping his eyes trained on her face. A guy learned some things once he hit his twenties.
He said the mantra to himself. He’d worked on it long and hard, knowing he would need some big guns to cope with seeing her regularly.
She’s not how she seems. She stomped your heart once before. She’s not worth it.
But his body wasn’t listening to his brain. His body wanted to drag him closer to see if she still smelled like vanilla and fresh-cut grass, like she always had. Like she had last night.
‘Hey,’ he echoed weakly, gesturing to the apron. ‘You girls filling in while they take a break?’
Did he imagine the swift set to her pretty jaw?
‘Nope,’ she said breezily, plastering on the smile she used to use whenever she had to make nice with Aunt Nelly. ‘Just picking up some extra work. If you’re after them, they’ll be back in a sec. I’ve got the meet at one.’
Brodie tried to compute. Extra work? Gen already had the farm, the kids, the yoghurt thing, and now the goddamn Spring Fair. Had she turned into some kind of martyr while he’d been away? He studied her closely, noting the dark shadows under her eyes and the strain around her mouth. The light went on.
Money.
He wondered what the deal was with Mac gone. The town was in trouble. No Big Cow meant no cash flow. How bad were things for Greenacres and Gen?
He shot her his most charming smile, mostly because he felt sick to his stomach thinking about her struggling, taking on yet another job while she had those kids to tend. It reminded him o
f how hard Nelly had worked when she’d been putting him through school. He didn’t want Gen to feel embarrassed, and he didn’t want her to struggle.
Even though she’s not how she seems; she stomped your heart once before, and she’s not worth it.
Shut the hell up, he told his persistent brain.
He held out his arm, like Norm might for Thelma, the wire for the hedgerows forgotten. ‘Well now, I’m headed to the meeting myself. Care for an escort?’
Chapter Four
Deal with the Devil
Gen noticed the dirt under Brodie’s nails as they made their way over to the council chambers. She wondered how long it had been since his fingernails had been dirtied like that. ‘Nelly got you on the case?’ She gestured to his hands.
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘She’s got a bee in her bonnet about re-connecting me with the land.’ He lifted his hands and studied his nails. ‘Like I didn’t do enough of that growing up.’
It felt comfortable walking in stride with Brodie. He was taller than her by a good few inches, but her legs were long like his, and they’d always had a comfortable pace. The urge to reach out and grab his hand on the pretence of checking out his nails was deliciously strong. She stomped down on it, hard. ‘What’s she saying?’
‘Good for PR.’ Brodie didn’t look convinced.
The council building came into view around the corner as they crossed the road, emerging from behind the avenue of olive trees, legacy of the many Italians who had settled the area in the fifties and sixties. The old building was pretty, dating back to the turn of the century when the region had first been established as a dairy farming community. It had been an affluent community at its inception, with strong demand for milk to feed the growing urban sprawl of Sydney. As a result, the council chambers were rather salubrious for a town the size of Sweet Pocket. The sandstone facade was punctuated by a grand entranceway, and even played host to the odd gargoyle or three.
Gen didn’t want the two of them to be there already, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Being with Brodie hurt almost as much as it felt right. And she could have sworn she also felt Brodie’s footsteps slow down as the building came into sight.