Chapter 1

Fuck it was hot.

Two hours earlier, when I’d stopped at a town whose claim to fame was it had a lot of verandahs, it was 45 degrees celsius.

Forty five fucking degrees.

For those yet to embrace the simplicity and logic of the metric system, it was 113 degrees fahrenheit.

In either system and in any language, it was hot.

The sun was beating down with such ferocity that I thought that if I stopped, my trusty Subaru may become stuck in the tar. Fortunately though, the four wheels didn’t become lodged in the shimmering, sticky surface.

Mirage after mirage appeared on the horizon as I drove steadily westwards towards a town of which I knew very little. In total I counted six vehicles as I headed west. Three of the occupants lifted a few fingers off the wheel in greeting, the rest flew past.

To the south I could see the yellow haze of a bushfire that was scarring its way across the landscape. Dotted along the side of the road lay the putrescent corpses of kangaroos, their torsos either torn open by crows and ravens or bloated to the point of imminent explosion.

A dusty promotional brochure lay on the passenger seat soaking up the oil from the service station meat pie I’d picked up for lunch.

Coolamein, population 8,500.

‘Edge of the Outback’ the brochure declared.

“Out the back of buggery” I said and checked my odometer for the hundredth time.

I had only 175 kilometres of flat straight road left to contend with and I’d be at my new home. My new home for the next two years anyway. That’s how long I’d have to stay in Coolamein to avoid paying back the $10,000 scholarship the government had paid me to coax me out of the city. My girlfriend Natasha, sorry, my ex-girlfriend, wasn’t going to join me. She’d never been west of Parramatta.

Sure we had a fight. I got drunk and she swore at me and called me all sorts of unladylike names. But it was pretty much over anyway. There wasn’t much I could do about it, and to be honest, I’m kind of glad we ended it all. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

It was at least another three hours before the sun would set and at the speed I was travelling I’d be in Coolamein with enough time to get some dinner and check into the Federal Hotel.

Being the disorganised bastard that Natasha always called me, I’d left my appearance into town right up to the day before work began. It wasn’t all my fault because the ‘Department’ had first told me I was heading to Bathurst. Bathurst was okay for Natasha as it had a university and about 30,000 more people than Coolamein. Plus, Bathurst was only two and a half hours from Sydney, not ten.

I find it hard to believe that people actually make a living on the land out here. I suppose the properties are so large that by virtue of the numbers grazed, somehow they scrape together enough money to send their kids off to pretentious private schools.

It was funny how the town suddenly sprung up from nowhere. The first sign of civilisation were, well, the signs. Coolamein BP Roadhouse, The Bridge Hotel, The Best Steaks in Town at The Wanderers Inn, The Best Chinese Restaurant in the Riverina. The best bloody everything.

The Federal Hotel wasn’t hard to miss. There it was in all it’s glory, a massive testimony to the happy days of large wool cheques and excessive alcohol consumption.

I eased the car into a spot outside the pub and as I switched off the ignition, I swear I heard the car sigh with relief.

I thought I was prepared for the heat, but even now, at seven o’clock in the evening, it was still scorching.

I grabbed my overnighter bag out of the back and locked the car. An elderly couple nodded hello as I stood on the footpath trying to get my bearings. There was no sign that said ‘Accommodation’ so I just entered the bar and was relieved to find that the air-conditioning was on blast chill.

Unfortunately the restaurant had a closed sign hanging from the cash register so I headed straight for the bar.

The barmaid was certainly a sight for sore eyes. She had shoulder length blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her figure was petite and she was nothing that I’d had expected from a country pub on a Sunday night.

Sitting at the bar was another girl, who although brunette, was almost as good looking as the barmaid.

I’d always known about Victorian pubs and their strange allegiance to Carlton Draught and this pub was no exception. The only two beers on tap were Carlton Draught and a light variant which I completely ignored.

The blonde smiled at me and with her head tilted slightly to the left she came over to me.

“Hi,” she said, “What would you like?”

“A schooner of Carlton please,” I said, like I’d been doing it for years.

“Oh,” she said and looked back at her friend who just shrugged and smiled, “We don’t have schooner glasses.”

For a moment I thought that she must be kidding me but her friend answered the question I never got to ask.

“No pubs here have schooners,” she said, “Although you’re still in New South Wales, we’re essentially Victorian.”

“Well,” I said smiling to her, “I suppose I’ll have to have a middie then.”

“There you go again,” the brunette said, “You and your Sydney ways.” She got up and moved over next to me.

“They’re called pots here,” she said, “Now ask Georgie for a pot of Carlton.”

‘Cheeky bitch’ I thought, but I did as I was asked and after a fairly clumsy attempt at pouring a beer I was served a delightfully cold ale.

“I’ve only just begun working behind the bar,” Georgie explained.

“Same here,” the brunette said, “We’ve both just turned 18.”

“I’m Julian,” I said, “This is Georgie and you are?”

“Erin,” she said.

“Thank you for correcting me in my errant ways,” I said.

“Oooh fancy talk,” Erin said, setting the tone for the next hour as we flirted and I poured pot after pot down my gullet.

Without any food in my stomach the beer was getting to me, so before continuing I excused myself and went in search of something solid. The girls suggested the oddly named Ocean View takeaway.

One hamburger and some chips later and I was back at the pub only to find another older woman had replaced Georgie, luckily for me the two girls were now in the pool room having a hit.

This lady was herself a stunningly tall blonde with a distinct nordic appearance.

“Ahh,” she said as I sauntered up to the bar, “You must be Julian.”

“Is it that obvious?” I said with a laugh.

“Well they did say you were handsome,” it was her turn to laugh.

She placed a pot of beer in front of me and I watched as Erin, who was wearing a very short mini dress, leaned over the pool table.

“I’m Erika,” she said to me, breaking my daydream of a naked Erin. “I’m the publican.”

A female publican in a country town. Was that unusual? Maybe not.

“Did the girls show you your room?”

I answered in the negative and Erika just hung her head.

“They used to work in the kitchen, but now that they’ve turned 18 within a few days of each other, they’re trying to be big bad barmaids,” Erika said.

She pushed a tray of glasses back under the bar and walked right past another bloke who gesticulated for another beer, and subsequently physically slumped when he was overlooked. Entering the pool room the girls almost immediately stopped playing. With Erin smirking out the front, they came marching back into the bar.

“Sorry,” Erin said, “But apparently we have to show you to your room.”

“It’s up the stairs and to your right,” Georgie said, “It’s not really that hard to find.”

“Georgie!” Erika said sternly.

Georgie looked at me with a devilish look and said “Yes mum, I’ll show him to his room.”

The girls led the charge up the stairs and I had the pleasure of watching Erin’s skirt ride higher and higher as she ascended. Georgie’s skirt was somewhat longer but her firm arse poked delightfully out.

“So,” Georgie said as she opened the door to my room, “What brings you to Coolamein anyway?”

I took in the aroma of stale cigarettes and lamb fat and flung my bag on the double bed. I noticed that like most old pubs, the toilets and showers needed to be shared.

“Work,” I said. “Just work.”

“Oh, okay,” she said before the both of them went giggling back down the stairs.

I had a quick look around and all the other rooms were vacant, meaning that I at least would have a free run at the amenities. At the end of the corridor was another door which had ‘Private’ embossed in gold across it.

I couldn’t help but saunter down towards the doorway and check the area out and also see if I could hear anything. From within the room I could barely detect the sound of a television broadcasting the cricket.

It was only early so I headed back down to the bar for a few more beverages and the chance to flirt with the girls.

They were back at the pool table and Erin was again leaning nicely over the table as she reached for the cue. I had to hold back the urge to slide my hand up under her skirt and rub her firm behind.

“You know I’ll judge you depending on what music you pick.” I said to Georgie as she entered a few songs into the jukebox.

“Will you now,” she said as she flicked her hair back around her neck, “And I’ll be judging you on absolutely everything else.”

“Well.” I said, “So that’s how it’s going to be then is it?”

“Are you up for a game?” Erin said as she nodded at the table. “Or scared you’ll be judged?”

“You’ve got no chance,” I said as I blew the dust off the cue stick. “Does the nudie run apply here in Coolamein?”

“What’s that rule?” Georgie asked grinning.

“If you don’t sink a ball you have to run naked around the bar.”

“Well I don’t think that mum would be too impressed if you went running around the bar,” Georgie laughed.

“I reckon she might,” Erin laughed. “She sure needs it.”

“Hey,” Georgie chided, “You leave mum alone.”

I looked over at Erika who was chatting to someone on the phone. She was a fine piece of work.

“Surely your mum has a significant other?” I asked her.

“An other, yes,” Georgie said, “Significant? I don’t think so.”

I didn’t probe any further but by my estimation Erika was somewhere between 35 and 40 years old. The perfect age.

“So am I just playing Erin or both of you?”

“Seeing as how you’re all manly and all,” Georgie chuckled, “You have to play us both, seeing as how we’re fair ladies and such.”

“OK,” I said, “But you both have to do the nudie run.”

They looked at each other and laughed.

“Not much chance of that happening,” Georgie said. “You can break.”

“Certainly,” I said as I chalked the end of my cue stick, “It’s the least we can do seeing as how we’ll all enjoy watching you two run around the bar in the nuddie.”

My first shot of the evening set the tone for the remainder of the game. I miss hit the cue ball and skewed it off the triangle of balls which barely moved. The white ball slowly, and pathetically, rolled across to the corner of the table near the girls and dropped into the pocket.

Georgie must have nearly pissed herself laughing.

Erin pulled the ball out of the innards of the machine and proceeded to sink three balls in quick succession.

“Lucky start,” I said trying to look unconcerned.

My next ball was almost as bad as my first and afterwards I rested my head on the side of the table.

“Don’t be sad,” Georgie said as she leant seductively over the table, “Your pain won’t last long.”

She was right. After she sunk two balls it was my turn and I sunk the black in the back right corner. The game was over and I hadn’t sunk any of my balls. Nudie run time.

I looked at the old men at the bar and the two girls smiling expectantly at the other end and decided that my best tactic would be to renege on my agreement.

“I can’t go doing a nudie run on my first night in town,” I said, “I have a reputation to start and being known as the guy who did a nudie run on his first night in town is just ridiculous.”

“I knew he wouldn’t,” Erin said, “No balls to show us I suppose.”

Erika was watching us from the bar, and with a look of concern, she came over to us.

“He lost didn’t he?” she said laughingly to Georgie.

“It was tragic,” she said. “He sunk the black on his third go.”

“Ah well,” she said as she grabbed the cue sticks off the girls, “You’ve both been playing since you were about ten years of age, so I’d hope you would win.”

“I think I’ve been hustled.” I said.

“You girls didn’t put money on this game did you?” she glared at them. “You know I don’t allow it.”

Being the noble man I am I came to their defence.

“There was no money involved,” I said. “I just said that where I used to drink it was a rule that you had to do a nudie run if you don’t sink a ball.”

Erika looked me up and down, smiled, and said, “Well, it looks like all those gays at the bar are spared the temptation of watching a young lad like yourself flashing the tackle about.”

“Off you go girls,” she continued, “I’m closing.”

I was surprised that there was no argument, but the girls were up to something, they were whispering to each other and Erin in particular was staring me down.

“Go,” Erika said firmly and they turned and disappeared up the stairs.

She smiled, shook her head at me and said. “You can have one on the house.”

As the bar emptied and Erika tidied up, I flicked through the local paper gleaning as much information as I could about the town that was going to be my home for the next two years.

I also got chatting with Erika who it seemed was looking for a stranger to dump on.

She told me all about how her husband, a former builder and local, had been diagnosed as bi-polar and had ran off to the USA. How he’d spent nearly all her families money before he split, and the battle to grab the ownership of the hotel during the divorce.

“I never planned on becoming a publican,” she laughed derisively, “I’m an architect by trade, it’s how I met Dave, but this was pretty much all that was left intact. He at least bought this outright and I’ve got it now.”

I was about to ask about the private room upstairs but I didn’t have to, she filled me in.

“So now Georgie and I live upstairs in a three bedroom flat that we are sharing for a few weeks with Erin and her older brother,” she shrugged and answered all the questions that I’d been forming. “Erin’s mum and dad broke up a while ago and both left town, so while they’re looking for somewhere cheap to live, I’m letting them stay here.”

“How magnanimous of you,” I drunkenly exclaimed. “How old is the brother?”

She looked in the distance as if searching for the answer written on a far wall. “Not sure, about twenty, twenty two.”

My eighth or ninth beer, I’d lost count, tasted as good as the first and as I drained my final pot and slowly dropped it back on the bar, I was ready to hit the sack.

“Thanks for everything,” I slid off the stool, checked my wallet and steadied myself before heading up the century old stairs.

“I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast,” Erika called out, “You’re my only guest so I’ll make it special.”

“A country breakfast will go down a treat,” I called out from the top of the stairs thankful that I’d chosen this pub as my residence while I searched for a house.

Since the girls had been shooed out of the bar the noise coming from the private room had increased. Some unrecognisable beat was thrumming down the corridor but I knew that Erika would take charge as soon as she was finished locking up. Erika just had that ‘Don’t fuck with me,’ aura about her. Maybe that comes from running a pub.

I checked my phone for any last minute messages and as the room was still fairly warm, I decided to have a quick shower before crashing out. I gathered up my towel and a pair of boxers before heading to the shower.

“Don’t worry about the noises in the pipes,” Erika had finished locking up and was walking behind me. “They’re just old.”

“Right,” I said slightly startled at her appearance. “I’ll make sure that, I’m not worried.” She giggled at my awkwardness and gave me a quick up and down glance as I entered the bathroom. As she passed I watched her finely shaped arse motion down the hall. Like her daughter, I couldn’t help but imagine her naked.