When they stopped midway at a servo for sustenance, he resisted the urge to ask if she wanted to take a break at the adjoining park and eat their hamburgers and chips in the fresh air. It wasn’t wise to prolong the journey. She insisted on paying for his dinner since he’d gone out of his way to collect her from the hospital and had already forked out for the petrol.
‘It’s not that out of the way,’ he said as they trekked back across the car park to his ute.
She turned and tossed him a sceptical glare. ‘Didn’t you say your parents live in Scarborough?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded as he beeped his ute unlocked.
‘I wasn’t on your way.’ She smiled, balancing her meal on top of the vehicle as she opened her door. He should have opened it for her. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate it. So, was there a special occasion today? Or … Oh, you said you visit them every month, don’t you? Does Charlie ever go?’
They were in the car now, had clicked their seatbelts into position and he’d turned the ignition on, but before he could answer, she went on.
‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’ She plucked a chip from its bucket and took a bite.
Normally, he’d agree. He wouldn’t normally talk about his family with anyone, but for some reason he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. ‘No, it’s fine,’ he said, turning onto the open road. With one hand he began unwrapping his burger. ‘Charlie and Mum aren’t seeing eye to eye at the moment. He usually comes with me every month, but not this time.’
‘Here, give me that.’ She leaned across and took his burger, unwrapping it and placing it on top of the paper, back on his lap, so he could more easily eat and drive. Her fingers brushed his groin when she returned the burger and he almost leapt out of his chair. Seemingly oblivious to his reaction, she continued, ‘Do your parents ever come back to the farm? To Gibson’s Find?’
He was silent, still recovering from the accidental encounter with her fingers, but also pondering the answer to her question. He didn’t want to paint his mum in too bad a light – she was how she was. She’d lasted on the land more than twenty years longer than Serena, and when it came to Charlie, she only had his best interests at heart, or so she thought. But her visits were rare and the last one had created such a storm he almost wished she hadn’t bothered. Imogen read his silence as reluctance.
‘I’m sorry, too many questions. Jamie always said I should have been a journalist.’
‘Who’s Jamie?’
‘My husband.’ Her voice cracked slightly on the confession. ‘Charlie didn’t tell you?’
Whoa. He was silent again, turning over the idea that she too had a dud marriage under her belt. ‘No,’ he replied eventually. ‘Are you still married?’
‘No.’
So much sadness dwelled within that one word. So much that he felt uncharacteristically compelled to share his disastrous divorce with her. He hadn’t thought they had anything in common but it looked like he’d been wrong.
‘He’s dead,’ she uttered, so quietly he almost missed it.
But he couldn’t miss the vibe that hung in the air. Gone was the easygoing mood of their journey so far. He’s dead! And what the hell should he say to that? ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem to cut it, but he was sorry. Serena hadn’t died, she’d left. He couldn’t imagine losing a partner when you thought you still had the rest of your lives together.
‘You don’t know what to say, do you?’
‘No,’ he admitted.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard a number of variations but none of them help ease the pain. It’s why I hadn’t planned on sharing my past with anyone in Gibson’s Find. I wanted a fresh slate.’
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
She chuckled lightly. ‘But you still want to say sorry, don’t you? I don’t need your pity.’
‘Hell, Imogen.’ He overtook a beat-up Toyota that was treating the wide road like a narrow English lane. ‘I wouldn’t have a heart if I didn’t feel something. How old are you? Twenty-five? That’s too young to lose a husband.’
‘I’m thirty,’ she informed him. ‘I was twenty-seven when he died but I don’t think there’s ever a right time to lose a partner. For whatever reason,’ she added.
Whether she meant it that way or not, Gibson heard her underlying meaning loud and clear.
‘Charlie told you, didn’t he?’
‘He may have mentioned something in conversation.’
Gibson snorted. ‘So how did Jamie die? Or would you prefer not to talk about it, like I’d much prefer not to talk about my ex?’
‘I don’t mind talking about it. It hurts but it’s getting easier every day.’ She took a sip of her Coke and sucked in a breath then puffed it out again as if psyching herself up. ‘Jamie was a firefighter. He was based in Perth, but they often went further afield when a bad fire took hold in a country area where there weren’t many local firies. Do you remember those terrible fires a few years back, down south, near Margaret River?’
‘Yeah.’ It had been all over the papers and the news.
‘Jamie rescued a little girl from a burning two-storey house. They’re still not entirely sure what happened. He threw the little girl down to his colleagues and was supposed to jump after her – they couldn’t go back through the house, the ground floor was already consumed by flames. But he never jumped.’ She paused a moment and he swore he heard her intake of breath. ‘The floor collapsed, and by the time his mates got to him, it was too late.’
‘I think I remember the headlines,’ Gibson said, racking his mind for something worthwhile to say. ‘They crowned him a hero.’
‘He was a hero,’ Imogen said forcefully. ‘He always cared more about other people than he did himself. Everyone adored him.’
Okay, okay, thought Gibson, I get it. Jamie the hero. And then he realised how ludicrous his thoughts were. What am I? Jealous?
‘I’m guessing that just because he died saving someone else, doesn’t make it any easier for you.’
She sighed deeply. ‘I think it might have made it even harder. For a while, I truly wished he hadn’t gone into that house. I would rather some parents have lost their daughter than me go through the pain of losing my husband. What kind of person does that make me?’
‘Normal,’ he said, the agony in her voice making him uncomfortable.
‘No,’ she replied vehemently. ‘It makes me someone I don’t like. I’ve just seen my best friend give birth. I can barely begin to imagine the pain she and Ryan would go through if anything happened to little Gibson.’
‘Would you change the past now if you could? Not stop the fire, but swap Jamie for the little girl.’
‘No,’ she said again, the fervour of her earlier reply gone. ‘Of course not. That would have killed Jamie, anyway, if he’d failed at saving her.’
Neither of them said anything for a while. The burgers were finished, the chips and drinks consumed, another twenty or so kilometres travelled. When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he asked her something they’d only touched briefly on before.
‘So why a country pub? Why Gibson’s Find?’ He got that she wanted to move away, go some place where everyone didn’t know her history, but it was a massive commitment.
She tapped on her empty Coke can, and in the rear-view mirror, he saw her smile again. ‘Does it sound strange to admit that I’ve always had a thing for the outback watering hole? Dad’s a cop, so we lived in a few country towns over the years, until we moved back to Perth so my older sister could start high school.’
‘Really?’ When he’d first seen her with Amy and Jenna, he’d never have guessed she’d spent time living rural.
‘Yes,’ she said, as if it were a stupid question. ‘Not just WA either. But anyway, the pubs … Wherever we went, whether we stayed or were only travelling through, the first thing I always noticed was the hotel. I just loved them. Their wide verandahs, decorative awnings, Aussie beer signs, dusty exteriors, even their names. I�
��ve actually got a photo album full of the pubs in all the country towns I’ve ever lived in or visited.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nope. At one stage dad worried that I might turn into an alcoholic.’
‘Still, it’s a big step from taking photos of pubs to buying one. And in a place where you know no one.’
‘That was part of the appeal,’ she said. ‘And I know what you’re thinking: How did I afford it? What makes me think I have the wherewithal to make a success of it?’
All those questions had crossed his mind at some time in the past few weeks; right now they didn’t seem as pertinent. ‘You’re doing a good job so far, it seems.’
‘It seems?’ She snorted. ‘Was that almost a compliment, Gibson Black?’
His heart flipped over at the undeniable flirtation in her voice. And dammit, he wanted to flirt back. But that wouldn’t be right.
‘So, how did you afford it?’ he asked instead. ‘I know Cathy and Trev were hanging out to go, but it couldn’t have been that cheap. And you’ve done a lot of work there already.’
‘Jamie had good life insurance,’ she explained. ‘My parents tried to get me to invest it in shares, but where’s the sense of adventure in that?’
‘Nowhere,’ he agreed, realising that her spark and sense of adventure were two of the things he liked about her. She wasn’t afraid to get stuck in, to get dirty – he’d seen that yesterday when he turned up in the ambulance and saw all that she’d achieved in a day.
‘As for experience,’ she continued, ‘I’ve worked in a flash bar in Subiaco almost since I finished high school, managing it for the last four years. I haven’t got any theoretical training in hospitality or business, but what I don’t know, I reckon I can learn. Any further questions?’
‘I think I’m satisfied for now,’ he said, trying not to smile.
‘Good.’ She adjusted herself in the seat, angling her face towards him. ‘Because you were about to tell me about your family and why Charlie and your mum aren’t on happy terms.’
‘I was?’
‘You were.’
‘All right, all right.’ They still had an hour’s drive ahead of them, she’d spilt her heart, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about Serena. ‘About a month ago, Mum came for a visit and tried to convince Charlie to go with them to Perth.’
‘To live?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. And taking Charlie away from the bush would be like taking chocolate away from a woman with PMT. He told them exactly this, but Mum was adamant. She was staying with him for a few days and said she was worried about him living on his own, that she thought he was getting forgetful. She managed to convince Dad and Paris, and they all jumped on the bandwagon, trying to convince Charlie that he’d get a lot out of moving into one of those retirement homes. They totally ambushed him.’
‘Ouch. No wonder he doesn’t want to visit. I can’t imagine anyone telling Charlie what to do.’
‘No, and as you can imagine, he didn’t take kindly to being told they thought he was past it. He was already forced off the farm and into a place in town when Mum wanted to turn the house into a B&B and use his room for guests. That idea didn’t take seed, but he’d moved by the time she changed her mind. No way was he going to move again. After raising a son, and then sharing the house with a daughter-in-law and eventually two grandchildren, he realised he liked living alone. Then Mum mentioned Alzheimer’s and he really lost it.’
‘Oh.’
‘What’s “oh” supposed to mean?’
She hesitated a moment, bit down on her lip before saying, ‘Well, it’s probably nothing. It’s just—-’
‘What?’ He cut in before she had a chance to continue. Discussions about Charlie’s health set him on edge. If he were wrong and Charlie was going downhill, his mother and Paris would never let him forget it.
‘Relax, I’m trying to explain.’ She leaned forward and switched off the radio that had been playing low. ‘I don’t know anything about dementia but I can’t help but notice that Charlie is very forgetful.’
‘He’s old. He’s supposed to be forgetful.’ He forced himself to keep the annoyance out of his voice. She was beginning to sound like his mother.
‘Do you want me to go on or not?’
His turn to sigh. He stared at the road ahead. ‘Sure. Go on.’
‘It’s just little things and not all the time,’ she explained, ‘but I often have to give him instructions more than once. And occasionally I’ll give him a job to do and have to go looking for him because he gets distracted and starts on something else. They’re not big things, but they’re adding up.’
‘Charlie loves working at the pub.’
‘I know,’ she rushed, ‘and I’m more than happy to keep him on as long as his forgetfulness doesn’t get out of hand. But I do wonder if there isn’t more to it than old age.’
‘Nah.’ Gibson shook his head, refusing to believe it. ‘I’m no Alzheimer’s expert, but he’s pretty together for his age. He pays all his own bills, keeps his house clean, does his own shopping. He’s practically a walking encyclopaedia of general knowledge. He still remembers people and always cooks for himself.’ He pushed aside the recollection of how flustered Charlie got that day Gibson had arrived and cooked him lunch – or the time in the shop when he’d forgotten Imogen’s shopping list.
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Both sets of my grandparents died young, so I haven’t had much experience with old age.’
‘But I appreciate your concern,’ he said, not looking at her as he spoke. Since his parents had moved to Perth, the responsibility of looking out for Charlie had fallen solely on his shoulders. Although he didn’t mind, and certainly didn’t see it as a chore, it was good to know Imogen also cared about him. She seemed like the kind of woman who cared about everyone she came in contact with.
The kind of woman who, once upon a time, would have been just his type.
When Imogen and Gibson turned off the highway and into town later that night, the main street was deserted. Security lights glittered in the few shops and dull streetlights struggled to illuminate the road, but the pub was lit up like a Christmas tree. Shadows moved in the windows and a Lee Kernaghan tune blared through the open door. Lights along the verandah showcased bunches of blue balloons on every pole.
‘What’s going on?’ Imogen asked as Gibson slowed the ute in front of the building.
‘The balloons are for Amy,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s a country tradition. Whenever someone in town has a baby, pink or blue balloons are hung outside their workplace to spread the good news.’
‘Aww, that’s really sweet.’ Imogen sighed as he parked. ‘I wonder who organised it?’
‘Probably Karen,’ he predicted. ‘Your new female staff wouldn’t know about the custom – and I can’t see any of the blokes getting it together.’
But he was wrong. When they entered the pub a few moments later, they almost tumbled over in shock at what they saw. Heads swivelled to greet them with full-face smiles. Charlie, Cal and Pauli stood among the punters, lifted their glasses and shouted, ‘Surprise!’
Not only was the painting finished, the floors were polished to the perfection of a diamond, the new furniture was in position and the vintage signs she’d spent weeks hunting down were now hung around the walls in the exact positions she’d anticipated. Someone must have found her plan. Imogen pressed her hand against her chest, trying to take it all in. Words eluded her.
‘Here, come sit down.’ Cal rushed over, took hold of Imogen’s elbow and led her to a stool. Charlie reached across and placed a tumbler of something yellow in front of her. She gulped it down, grimaced at the taste and then took another look around her.
‘Wow.’ It really was the only word for it. ‘I thought I said to leave the work till I came back.’ She glared at Cal and Pauli, but in an appreciative, happy way.
They held up their hands and Pauli nodded to Charlie. ‘It was all his idea. He rallied
the troops early this morning, filled them all with caffeine, and they’ve only just knocked off. He also organised the balloons out front. Did you seen them?’
‘Yes. Thanks.’ Imogen smiled at Charlie, finding it hard to get even two words past the grateful lump in her throat. Perhaps her fears about his mental health were unfounded after all.
Everyone looked at her expectantly. Despite feeling like she could curl up in bed right this second and unsure if she could string together a coherent sentence, she wanted to say a few words.
Instinctively, she looked for Gibson, but he’d already taken a position at the other end of the bar, far away from her. Her heart sank. They’d shared such easy camaraderie during the journey home that she stupidly thought all his standoffishness would be over, that maybe they could be friends. But one look at him now and she knew she’d thought wrong. He couldn’t even meet her gaze. He hadn’t said much since she voiced her worries about Charlie. Maybe he didn’t appreciate her interference. Maybe he was angry.
Pulling herself together, she straightened her shoulders and stood. Cal whistled to get everyone’s attention, which wasn’t really necessary. Imogen cleared her throat and silently prayed for inspiration.
‘Thanks. I wish there was more I could say, but you are all amazing. I can’t thank you enough for giving up your weekend. The place looks fabulous – far better than I imagined – and so perfect for a top secret idea I have.’
Her staff looked at her with intrigue and Wazza shouted, ‘Tell us! Don’t be a tease!’ She sensed Gibson looking as well, but she resisted the impulse to turn and check.
‘I’ve got a few things to investigate before I can tell you more, but let’s just say, I’m hoping all this hard work will reap you some rewards as well.’
With time for one more round of drinks, Imogen forced herself off the stool to take over from Charlie, who deserved a break. For a change, he didn’t resist, instead making a beeline for Gibson. They sat at the very end of the bar, a visual distance from everyone else, Charlie grinning as Gibson talked. Imogen tried not to stare, ignored the desire to buzz about and eavesdrop on their conversation, but it was like ignoring a full block of chocolate in the fridge. If she was curious about Gibson before, now she felt like she could burst with the desperate need to know more about him.
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