by Stacey Nash
After pulling a rake-comb through her tangled hair and securing the curly mane into a ponytail, she slipped her phone into her back pocket, and grabbed her keys and purse.
Her white Triton gleamed in the morning sun. Careful not to brush up against the red dust clinging to its sides, Hannah stepped up into the ute.
The ten-minute trip from the old homestead to the main road didn’t drag. Today, Hannah’s mind flitted from one scenario to the next as she tried to find a solution to this cotton problem. She turned onto Louth Road and followed the narrow highway all the way into town. It had never felt narrow until recently, when she’d returned to Mindalby after three years at uni. Now the tiny town where she grew up had a different vibe to it … or maybe she was the one who was different after living in the city. If ‘city’ was what you’d call Wagga Wagga.
The town seemed quieter than usual as she drove through the main street, as if there were a funeral or wedding. Funny, she hadn’t heard of anyone dying and no one got married at nine am, even if it was a Saturday. She pulled up out front of the newsagent and ducked inside. Before she could reach the back counter that doubled as a courier drop-off zone, Hannah froze. Because there on the front page of the Mindalby Chronicle was none other than Cooper. Her twin’s grim expression sat under the headline: Burton calls for action on mill.
She scanned the article and gathered the gist real quick. Cooper was outside the front gates of the gin protesting, and that wasn’t all. He was calling the townspeople to action. Community action.
Well, crap. Pop seeing him using the family name to incite the townsfolk into a lynch mob would cause his old heart to flip. Or fail completely. Cooper needed sorting out.
Chapter 3
Hannah threw her mother’s parcel onto the passenger seat and clicked her seatbelt into place. As the younger, more sensible twin, she was forever cleaning up her brother’s messes and it looked like this one was a doozy. Pulling away from the kerb, she drove right to where she knew he’d be. Some people might call it twin’s intuition but Hannah had realised long ago that was just a way of saying she knew her brother better than anyone else in this world. So of course she knew precisely what he’d be doing.
Hannah pulled into the driveway of Mindalby Cotton Company, where a crowd had gathered along the high fence. The majority were clumped together near the closed gates. At least thirty, possibly fifty, people stood around, some holding placards that she didn’t take the time to read. Hannah was on a mission. She swung the dirty ute into a free space and jumped down out of the driver’s seat. Halfway across the lot she spun around, clicking the remote to lock her car. Some days her memory was worse than old Edna’s, and she had dementia.
Within half a second she’d spotted her dark-haired brother, and it wasn’t because he stood taller than most people—it was because his voice boomed above the din.
‘Keep it up, people. We need to be heard.’
‘We deserve pay!’ The chant rang through the morning air. ‘Together we stand. United we fight.’
Then back to the first line.
Reaching the rear end of the crowd, Hannah squeezed past a middle-aged man. The tomato stake his placard was nailed to clipped her shoulder, and Hannah glanced up at the white cardboard that simply read This is shit.
What an imagination that bloke had. The next sign was a little better: MCC: Our children are hungry.
Only a few days after what should have been payday and already the townspeople were hurting. Concern tugged at her heart. What would happen to all these employees if the place didn’t reopen? This factory was the lifeblood of the town. Without the money it pumped into the area, Mindalby would be home to struggling farms and nothing else.
A few more steps into the throng her jacket sleeve was snagged by cold fingers. Hannah glanced over her shoulder.
‘Hey.’ Wearing a shirt embroidered with the Mindalby Cotton logo, Elsie Sumner frowned. ‘I hope you don’t have a ton of cotton held up inside. It’s a pretty crappy thing that’s happening here.’ She tipped her chin towards the padlocked gates. Poor thing, Hannah thought. She’d been working at the factory for a few years now.
Hannah pursed her lips. ‘We have a bit. Jase is trying to get it out.’
‘Oh.’
The chanting petered off, yet the crowd still thrummed with angry voices. Hannah let her attention wander back to her destination, even as she said, ‘This must be really hard for you.’
Elsie nodded, her worried frown inverting. ‘Are you excited about the girls’ night? It’s been so long since we pulled the old crowd together, and now that you and Gemma are both back in town—’ Elsie’s grin widened, ‘—we have to all catch up.’
Elsie snapped her fingers, summoning Hannah’s attention. ‘So you’re coming?’
Hannah scanned the crowd before bringing her gaze to the girl she’d once sat with in the school playground. She dragged in a breath. ‘There’s a lot going down at the farm right now. I don’t know …’
‘Oh.’ Elsie’s smile fell.
Hannah glanced away again, looking for her brother who seemed to have disappeared. The girls wouldn’t miss her, so she didn’t know what all the fuss was about. She hadn’t really fit in anyway, not after that one party.
‘AND AGAIN!’ Cooper’s shout rose above the crowd. The chant resumed. Hannah looked towards the gates and there he was, head and shoulders above everyone else, hands cupped around his mouth.
She said a hurried goodbye to Elsie and made a beeline for her brother, pushing between rugged-up bodies to reach the front of the gathering. Who knew Mindalby had this many people willing to sacrifice their Saturday morning?
Hannah looked up at Cooper, whose knees were roughly at her face-height. God knew where he’d found two bales of hay to use as a stand. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘Leading this picket line.’
‘What? A picket line?’
Cooper stamped a foot on the top bale. ‘We want—’
‘Cooper!’ Hannah shouted, drawing her brother’s attention back to her. ‘Picket lines are for strikes, not lockouts. They’re supposed to stop workers going inside.’
Her brother ignored her, continuing to lead the crowd.
‘Oi.’ She fisted a hand on her hip, her head craned back to better see him. ‘This isn’t your fight.’
‘Leave him be,’ Jase’s voice came from somewhere to the left. ‘These people need their pay. We need our cotton, and Coop needs his damn tools. That means Mindalby Cotton needs to sort their shit out.’
Hannah peered around Cooper’s jean-clad legs to see her other brother on the ground, clapping in time to the chant, a scowl smeared across his face.
Yikes. Neither of these two should be here. They weren’t factory workers. They weren’t union members. And they were too angry.
‘That may be so,’ Hannah started, but neither of them paid her a lick of attention. ‘Jason!’
Her elder brother raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think this—’ she flung her hand up towards the other Burton sibling, ‘—is the best idea?’
Jase rolled his eyes, just like a petulant child.
Fire burned in Hannah’s chest. ‘Get him the eff down from there.’
‘Or what?’
‘For flip’s sake, Jase, where’s your head?’ Hannah stepped up on the bale beside a still bellowing Cooper and eye-to-eye she ground out, ‘Get down.’
He jumped from the bale. Planting a hand on his broad shoulder, she stepped onto the ground.
‘Burton!’ someone yelled, but all three of them ignored the shout.
Hannah pushed her shoulders back, raising herself closer to Cooper’s height. ‘Stop acting like a jackass.’
‘Hannah, my dear little Hannah.’ Cooper patted her head. ‘Don’t worry yourself silly. Group action works, and putting a little pressure on Mindalby Cotton isn’t going to hurt anyone.’
‘ ’Cept maybe that bastard who stole all our shit,’ Jase interjected.
&nb
sp; Hannah drew a deep breath through clenched teeth. ‘That may be so.’ She turned her gaze on her twin. ‘You opted out of the farm, Coop. How’s this even your problem?’
‘I gotta help all these people.’ He dipped his hand in a wave that took in the crowd. ‘Besides, that arse has half my tools locked up in there and he hasn’t paid a cent for the work we’ve done.’
‘Of course.’ Hannah sighed. ‘The new office was almost finished …’
‘Yup. And security won’t help us get our gear. Say it’s not their problem. That everything within the compound stays put until further notice. Right, Mick?’ Cooper glanced towards his fellow electrician, who stood on the other side of Jase.
‘Too bloody right.’ Mick’s monotone was the sound of defeat.
Hannah sighed at the hell of a mess.
‘Give it up, Coop. A public spectacle isn’t the way.’
‘Mr Burton.’ Some dude in a suit jacket and jeans squeezed between them, his foam-covered microphone brushing against Hannah’s shoulder. ‘May I have a word?’
His microphone was one of the huge ones she’d seen at press conferences on the news. She didn’t take the time to search for a channel logo, just shoved herself around the shortish reporter and in front of her brother. ‘We have no comment.’
The reporter raised an eyebrow and Cooper’s hands fell on her shoulders. Hannah rolled them back to dislodge his grip and spun around, giving her brother a look she hoped was full of indignation. This was a horrible idea. Their name, his face, splashed all over God knew where. And encouraging the townsfolk—
‘Baby sis …’ Coop kicked up the left side of his mouth. ‘No harm. No foul.’
‘Whatever.’ Hannah shoved her fists into her jacket pockets and pushed through the crowd, who even though they’d stopped chanting were still kicking up a bit of noise. Head down, watching that she didn’t tread on any toes, she surged forward. Stupid Cooper. Stupid Jase. It wasn’t just the what-ifs of Pop seeing them. The Burton name carried a certain weight about town—if this turned sour it wouldn’t be good for them to be involved, and the boys should know better. Shoving past people wrapped in beanies and jackets, she muttered to herself about thoughtless brothers and smacked into what felt like a wall.
A mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ and Hannah stepped to the side to get around the protestor.
‘Hannah?’
She stopped, every muscle in her body turning to ice and melting at the exact same moment. The only voice that had ever sent tingles cascading down her spine … no. No way.
It couldn’t be.
She glanced up and met rich brown eyes she hadn’t seen in almost five years. Her heart did a double take and her mouth flooded with moisture. Morgan Harris held her gaze, his eyes soft. Questioning. Understanding. Hannah’s teeth caught her bottom lip and his name flirted with her tongue, but she couldn’t get it out.
‘Are you alright?’
Mute, Hannah stared at him while taking in his every feature. It’d been so long, she’d almost forgotten how good-looking he was. Morgan Harris, the Danny Zuko of Mindalby High, was back in town and—
‘Hey …’ He reached for her, his warm fingers pressing against her exposed wrist. ‘It’s okay. This closure is hard on everyone.’
Right. Right, cotton gin. Closed. People out of work. Farmers out of pocket.
Hannah composed herself by inhaling deeply.
‘Morgan, isn’t it?’ Good God, why had she said that? As if she didn’t remember him. As if she could have forgotten him. ‘Are your folks …’ she trailed off, remembering that no, the Harrises no longer lived in Mindalby. They’d moved away right after Morgan had graduated, the same year as Jase. Less than a year after the hayshed party, where they’d celebrated her brother’s, his best mate’s, birthday. When everything bad had begun.
Pulling her arm back from his touch, Hannah tucked her hand in her pocket. ‘I’ve got to go. It was—’ she couldn’t wrench her gaze away, no matter how desperately she wanted to, ‘—nice … seeing you.’
Morgan frowned, reached into his back pocket and—while Hannah was acting like a lovesick teenager, all gooey-eyed—opened his wallet.
‘Here.’ He handed her a white card. ‘Call me.’
The heat of a blush burst onto her face and Hannah ducked her head. ‘I … ah …’
Morgan slipped the card into her jacket pocket, right alongside her hand. And now that whole limb felt as if it were blushing too. From an almost-touch they’d not shared. She needed to pull herself together. She couldn’t, just couldn’t, go there, even if it now seemed fate had dumped him back in Mindalby.
‘Life’s completely hectic right now. I’m not sure …’ Hannah trailed off. Some sentences were easier left unsaid.
Morgan nodded once, his lips pressed together, and Hannah fled the protest, or picket line, or whatever the hell Cooper wanted to call this thing. She wasn’t sure she could face the memories that came with seeing Morgan. That party might have been years ago, but it was still present enough to feel real.
Chapter 4
Morgan stood rooted to the spot as he watched her walk away. Either he’d said something he shouldn’t have or Hannah was more affected by the factory’s closure than she was letting on. Probably the latter.
Once he could no longer follow her dark curls, and her curvy form had disappeared into the sea of people, he shook his head to clear the fog. Someone must have fired up a barbie, because the scent of cooking snags hit him like a fist to his hungry gut. As if spurred on by the smell, the crowd’s chant picked up again, drawing Morgan back to the spirited folk he was here to help. More than a few fists punched the air, plenty of placards shook, and a variety of voices told the mill’s owner, Don Carter, exactly how they felt about being left out in the cold.
A surly man caught Morgan’s attention. There was something about his thick-set form that felt familiar. With a beanie pulled low over his head and his focus on the ground, the man carried a different air about him than the rest of the protestors. It wasn’t his drawn look, though. It was the guy’s thick beard, standing out with its unruliness. It was his hanging head, his lack of focus on the protest around him. The way he didn’t bother pocketing chill-pinched fingers nor raising his voice with the mob. He just stood there, slack-faced and almost motionless. This man looked defeated. He needed help.
Morgan shoved his hands into his jacket and slipped between two women, their heads bent close together as they gossiped about a fake gas leak. He shouldered past an especially vocal bloke, then came face to face with Hamish Easterby—the father of a girl who’d been a few grades above him at school. A whiff of last night’s stale grog reminded him of the time he and Jase had five-fingered a bottle of Bundy off the Ace in the Hole’s takeaway counter. Alcohol hadn’t been easy to get in a town where every-bloody-one knew exactly who was still seventeen.
Hamish’s glassy eyes narrowed as they met Morgan’s gaze, and the younger man stopped to fish a card from his top pocket.
‘I heard you were here,’ Hamish slurred.
‘Sure am,’ Morgan answered, eyeing the man’s unsteady stance. ‘It’s been a shitty week for Mindalby, eh?’
‘Too right. Bloody Carter—’ Hamish waved an arm towards the factory, ‘—ought to be dragged through the mud for shutting up shop with no notice.’
‘You work here?’
‘Who knows? No one works here right now.’
Not what he’d meant, but Morgan let it slide. ‘How’re you holding up?’
The blue eyes that zoned in on Morgan were clear, as if he’d only imagined the man was drunk at ten in the morning. ‘Fine.’
Right. Ignoring the obvious lie, Morgan pursed his lips and slid the card between his fingers, extending it towards the other man. ‘I’m in town for a few weeks. If there’s anyone you know that may need help …’
For a second it seemed as though Hamish wasn’t going to take the offering. His eyes set on the white cardboard, staring as if to set the thing
on fire. Then slowly he reached out to pinch the card from Morgan’s grip and, turning, said, ‘Good luck, kid.’
The liquidator had wanted a crisis counsellor present, but Morgan knew that didn’t mean everyone here would want support. Chewing the inside of his bottom lip, Morgan moved forward again. By the time he’d found a break big enough from which to scan the area where the surly man had last been, Morgan’s target had vanished. He took stock again, noting a number of people he could have struck up a conversation with, but the few moments he’d spent with Hannah clouded his head. She still looked the same as she had five years ago—full of sass and confidence—but a weirdness coated his tongue. Something he couldn’t quite pin. She’d scuttled away so fast he hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.
Screw it. His head felt fuzzy—stuffed with memories of time spent at Burton Park. He’d been spreading his cards far and wide for three days now. It was time to set up shop. But first, those snags smelled too good to pass up.
***
A little less bounce than normal lifted Morgan’s step as he entered the Ace in the Hole pub. There hadn’t been much to do to set up the community centre ready for counselling sessions. They’d allocated him the smaller of the two vacant rooms; once he’d covered the short side table with a few coasters, a bunch of Banish Blue’s cards and a box of tissues, his work was done. He’d already decided to keep all the paperwork on his MacBook.
After five minutes of tapping his foot against the vinyl floor he’d decided there wasn’t much point in waiting around. He’d not had a single call, let alone an appointment, in the entire three days he’d been in town. So that was how he’d wound up at the pub.
A survey of the large room showed what he’d expected: a watering hole packed to the brim with folk in red and gold Mindalby Cotton caps. He’d seen many of the faces in the past few days—coming and going from the factory gates. Others weren’t so recently familiar. The surly-looking man from the picket lines was holed up in a corner just past the open fireplace. After watching him slug back almost a full schooner, Morgan ascertained that the bloke must have been alone. He made his way to the bar, laid his wrists on its sticky surface and waited. It only took a few moments before an older barman shuffled over and planted a palm on the work side of the counter.