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I turned to say ‘no worries’, but he had already gone. I turned back, keen to congratulate both teams on the game, immediately got caught by the buzz of excitement and the sheer mass of people, and completely forgot about Tobe.

I was lost in the frantic mess of happy people and loving every minute of it. Eventually, I managed to prop up at the bar.

‘Howdy, stranger.’

Louise winked at me, her drawl as ridiculous as a summer cloud’s promise of rain. You name it, she does it—publican, bartender, bouncer, town counsellor, secret keeper.

‘So, what’ll it be?’ she asked.

‘Anything wet.’

She poured a shot of rotgut tequila. ‘Bill? Sorry to ask, but have you got anything to chuck in?’

My mouth fell open; I had completely forgotten. Louise read the embarrassment in my face—no one likes being a bad neighbour—and winked again.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ she said. ‘They’re on the house.’

I pushed the drink away.

‘Don’t be an idiot.’

She pushed the drink back. I didn’t pick it up.

‘Please.’

She only said it once; that was enough. And then she looked me up and down. I knew she was licking her lips, metaphorically if not literally.

‘Anyway, you can fix me up later. If you know what I mean…’

I feigned outrage, pretending to look shocked, and we laughed long and hard. What we had suited us both, what we shared satisfied. There was no need to give it a name.

‘Cheers,’ I said, picking up my drink.

‘Cheers.’

_________

Time passed quickly. It wasn’t often that the whole town came together; everyone was too busy just trying to hang on, but they all had shown up and were getting along. From every nearby district and shire, from every town that had somehow managed to avoid the Creep’s attention and died away to almost-nothing anyway, from half a day’s walk away to maybe a week’s worth or more, we had all made the hike. And yet even though the room was packed, no one approached the wall opposite the bar. It was covered in a length of plain hessian, but we all knew what lay behind it: faded photographs, crumbling newspaper clippings, long-forgotten letters, suicide notes, eviction orders.

It was our wailing wall, so that we would always remember. Sometimes, though, it was okay to forget.

The sun slowly set, the bullshit flowed, the booze ran like manna from heaven and everything was right with the world. Max and Maxine—twins, all that was left of the oldest family in town—brought their primitive brand of music to a frenzied crescendo, stopped it dead, and then joined the party. Lanterns were lit. The moon started to rise. A bonfire outside was set ablaze in a wide, shallow pit lined with rocks. The whole time, Tobe’s news spread like a virus. Everyone reacted the same way, rapidly moving from shock to joy to cynicism, telling anyone who would listen that they had better not get their hopes up, that it’s best to save them for a rainy day.

And always a wink or an elbow in the ribs.

When I went outside to take a piss, I found Tobe sitting by himself under a gnarled, long-dead oak tree. He didn’t see me at first; he was staring into space, bathed in moonlight, his face blank, perfectly still. Each time he blinked, it seemed the biggest movement in the world. He didn’t look happy or sad; he looked empty, scarily so. I quickly did my business and then coughed loudly. He instantly came back to life, hurried over, hugged me tightly, led us back inside.

I kept a drunken eye on him and he took advantage of it, thrashing me at pool.

Giving up on him, I dawdled away. I saw everyone: Sheldon, the town waterman, who challenged me to a game of cards and took me for all I was worth; Louise, who caught me standing alone under the stars and swept in for a kiss; Cathy Ng, the mad postie, dressed in a tattered dressing-gown, who hugged me awkwardly. I tried again to congratulate the football players, only to feel a hand on my shoulder stop me in my tracks: Old Man Veidt, looking down his nose at me, resplendent in an old-fashioned suit that was in good repair. His wife stood next to him, an image of old-world glamour in a well-preserved evening dress that would have fetched plenty in trade if you could find the right buyer. They were the oldest folk in town bar Sheldon, who was older than the rocks in the earth. They smiled toothlessly at me and yet somehow still looked smug.

‘How did you like the whiskey?’ Old Man Veidt asked.

In his accent, it came out as ‘viskey’. I looked at him blankly.

‘So, the viskey, ja?’

I had no idea what he was talking about.

‘Tobe told us he shared it vith you. Very kind of him, dear boy. It vas gift, for a favour.’

This time it was Old Woman Veidt who spoke—she shared the same accent. But this time it all made sense. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t want to abuse their generosity.

‘It was good. It had been a long time.’

Diplomatic, I hoped. They both smiled without any warmth.

‘He is strange one, your friend Tobe. Always so busy-busy-busy helping people. Sometimes I vonder…’

I tried to butt in; I had known him the longest, only I had the right to criticise him. But she just rode over the top of me.

‘I think he needs us more than we need him.’

Old Man Veidt, sensing my discomfort, subtly took hold of her elbow, shutting her up. ‘Shall we move outside?’

I was glad for the change of subject, and we staggered out to the bonfire. We shared some of their vile whiskey, sipping from a hipflask, watching the hippy kids who lived up in the hills play their drums and sing in their borrowed voices. Some of the First Country folk sat on the opposite side of the fire, watching hard. They laughed occasionally, shook their heads, smiled sadly, making obvious their respectful yet scornful amusement. The Veidts and I ended up getting caught by the hippies’ beat—we took to the patch of bare earth that was our dance floor. When I ached enough, I walked away, drinking and talking with whomever I found myself next to.

I found myself back at the bar. Louise leaned towards me. Short and stocky—a full head shorter than me—she didn’t make it that close. You could see in her eyes that she had done far too much laughing and far too much crying, and had far too many glasses of long-reserved bubbly.

‘I love this bloody town,’ she said, rapping her knuckles on the bar, knocking my drink into my lap.

I looked down, laughing. A stain had bloomed in my crotch, but what did it matter? Appearances didn’t mean much, that world was long gone. Louise looked at me, eyes bloodshot, unaware of the mess she had made.

‘Where was I?’ she asked.

I shrugged.

‘Shit… Um… That’s right, I was right here.’ She rapped on the bar again. ‘Right where I should be. Now, look, I love this bloody town. And I love the people. Everyone comes in here, sooner or later, and I know everyone’s name and everyone knows mine. I’m good to them all, whether I like them or not. And I do my best to make them comfy. It’s my way of saying thanks…’ she waved around the room, gesturing at everything and nothing, ‘…to the town.’

I blearily looked up at her. ‘So, why leave?’ I was well on the way to being drunk, my vision a little blurry, my voice a little slurred.

‘Bill, I’m not like you or one of those families out the back of Bourke.’ She poured a glass of bubbly from a bottle that had been locked in a dusty glass case behind the bar for as long as I could remember. She cracked a fresh bottle of rotgut tequila, poured me a shot. ‘All I’ve got left is the pub. And I’m out, I’m done, my bore’s run dry. No more water, no more pub.’

‘But…’

‘There are no buts.’

‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘The town would help you out, everyone would pitch in.’