The Peppercorn Project (3 page)

‘I know, but they offered abandoned farmhouses that required massive renovations to make them habitable. The houses Rachel has found are right here in town. All perfectly liveable. All available. All waiting for new tenants. It’s a perfect plan. I just wish I’d come up with it.’ Leah grinned, swinging her leg so her boot kicked Matt in the shin. ‘Come on, Matt, you’re sounding like a party pooper and that’s not like you.’

She was right, but he was still troubled. ‘I don’t know, Leah. What if the type of people this attracts aren’t suitable?’

Leah leaned forwards, eyes sparkling. ‘And what if they are? Keep an open mind, Matt, you might be surprised.’ She grinned. ‘Anyway, I guess by this time on Sunday night we’ll know.’

The interviews were timed to coincide with the school’s spring fair. The plan was for families to experience country hospitality at its best and fall in love with Stony Creek and the people. Hopefully, a weekend was enough time for the committee to get to know the families and work out which ones would be the best fit for their town.

Matt finished the dregs of his beer. Maybe everyone was right. He needed to be more open-minded. ‘I have to admit everyone’s done a good job of getting the place ready. It looks fantastic.’

Leah gave him another little kick. ‘There you go. That’s more like the Matt I know. Keep a smile on your face and enjoy yourself this weekend.’ She finished her drink and stood. ‘I’d better go. Rachel has a list of things she still needs doing for tomorrow.’ With a quick hug, she was off.

Matt caught Joe’s eye. The older man was still glaring at him from the other side of the pub. Matt needed to make a peace offering. It wouldn’t help if he got the only publican offside. He waved his hand and waited for Joe to approach.

‘You off too then, mate?’ Joe asked.

‘Yeah, I’d better hit the hay. It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow.’ Matt checked his watch, surprised to see it was already close to nine o’clock.

‘I hope so,’ Joe said with a smile.

‘Looks like it’s already been a busy day for you here,’ Matt said. ‘That’s great. I mean it.’

It was the right thing to say. Joe’s face lit up. ‘It’s been a bloody ripper of a day and this whole thing’s been good for business. I’ve even had to send one of me boys down to the city this arvo to get more food. The store was running low and they weren’t getting another delivery until Monday. Thank God we’ve still got plenty of meat in the freezers and I’ve got another delivery of grog arrivin’ tomorra.’

‘I’m glad, Joe. It’s all good. And no one’s caused you any trouble tonight either.’

‘Course not. Wasn’t expectin’ any.’

Matt’s eyes swept around the pub again. Other than two tables taken up by strangers, the rest of the crowd was made up of locals and regulars. No wonder Joe was smiling.

‘Yeah, I reckon everyone’ll head off soon. Kitchen’s closed now and they laughed when I told them I don’t do no coffee
lattes
.’ The words rolled off Joe’s tongue like they were foreign. ‘They thought I was jokin’!’ Joe shook his head. ‘What’s wrong with instant coffee, I ask ya?’

Matt laughed. Blokes like Joe would never understand. Matt had mourned the loss of good coffee for months after moving. Thankfully, Shelby had taken over the old bakery, installed a coffee machine and even done a barista course. Now, locals didn’t have to take a trip down to the city for real coffee.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Joe. And tell Jane I said goodnight.’

‘Yeah, all right. Hooroo.’ Joe waved as he walked back behind the bar like a king ascending his throne.

Matt stared at the two new families remaining. They were sitting at separate tables. What was he supposed to call them? Guests? He hadn’t invited them. Tourists? Not a lot of sightseeing to be done in Stony Creek, unless, like him, they were into bushwalking or mountain biking. Competitors? Yeah, that’s what they were. Contestants in a reality game show.

Matt rolled his neck, rubbing the tight muscles. They might be strangers now, but after tomorrow, they might also be the lucky new residents of Stony Creek. What would that make them? Locals? No way! Matt laughed to himself. It hadn’t taken him long to work out that you weren’t a local unless you had ancestors in the graveyard.

Matt nodded politely at one of the men who caught him staring, and averted his gaze. Before anyone could draw him into a conversation, he pushed open the doors of the pub and stepped out onto the street without a backward glance.

*

Voices came from the old timber pew that had sat forever outside the front of the pub. Old blokes sitting in the dark, smoking, chatting and solving the world’s problems. Also no doubt watching the newcomers arrive in town, like Matt had done from his position at the station earlier. He could barely make out the features of the men sitting in the dark, but the orange glow of the tip of their cigarettes indicated there were three of them.

‘G’night, copper,’ one of them called out in a deep gravelly voice reminding Matt of the rumble of a Harley Davidson. That would be Tom Morrison – tough as nails and rough as an old leather boot. Tom ran a large sheep and wheat farm outside of town and was a regular at the pub every night.

‘G’night, fellas.’ Matt stepped off the kerb onto the street, not bothering to check for traffic – there never was any. He touched his fingers to his forehead and tipped his head towards the men in a mock salute. ‘Hope none of you are driving home tonight.’

‘Always the copper,’ Tom said with a throaty chuckle.

Matt bit back a retort. These old codgers didn’t understand how impaired their driving became after a few beers.

‘Nah, mate, we’re not driving,’ another man replied, his own voice raspy from years of smoking. ‘Me missus’ll come and get all of us shortly. Just killin’ time, ya know. Keepin’ an eye on things.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Matt replied. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who thought Joe and Rachel’s idea was crazy.

‘We’re missin’ one,’ Tom called out, stopping Matt in his tracks.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Only nineteen arrived. One hasn’t made it.’

‘How do you know?’ Matt asked.

‘Lived ’ere all me life. I know which cars belong to locals and which one’s don’t.’

‘Maybe one of them changed their minds,’ Matt said.

‘Hope they didn’t hit a ’roo on the way.’ Tom blew out a puff of smoke.

Worry punched Matt in the gut. He swore under his breath. The last thing he needed now was to perform a late night search and rescue. Maybe they were just lost. A GPS on a smartphone was only useful if there was mobile phone coverage, and out here in the middle of nowhere it was patchy.

‘Maybe you should check it out, mate. Head back down the road a bit,’ Bob suggested.

He should, but he’d been drinking too. ‘No. I’d say someone’s just changed their mind.’

‘Unless that’s them now,’ Tom said, as two pale yellow headlights appeared.

Matt swivelled around. He checked his watch and frowned. Surely no one would be arriving this late? He hoped they had a booking somewhere. All available accommodation at the pub was taken, and even the rundown weatherboard shacks that Pat Wallace called ‘cabins’ at the caravan park were fully booked. Matt felt a flash of concern but then dismissed it. It wasn’t his problem.

The headlights moved slowly, as though the driver was uncertain they were in the right place.

‘Yep, this is Stony Creek,’ Matt said to no one in particular, as he stepped back off the road.

Stony Creek wasn’t a ‘blink-and-miss-it’ kind of country town. Drivers heading to Port Augusta always expressed their surprise at the town that popped up out of nowhere just when they thought they were about to drive into the side of the mountain. Of course, in the dark, the driver approaching them wouldn’t be able to see the looming giant that was Mount Remarkable.

The car pulled up beside him and the first thing Matt noted were the registration plates:
Victoria – On the Move
. Somewhat ironic, he thought. The passenger window wound down and the tired eyes of a young boy stared out at him from the front seat. He wore his basketball cap low on his head.

‘Can I help you?’ Matt stooped to peer into the window so he could see the driver.

When he did, his breath caught in surprise. The driver was the prettiest woman he’d seen in a long time.

‘You have
got
to be joking!’ Fletcher exclaimed minutes later.

The cars’ headlights illuminated the cabin Isabelle had booked online. She’d vacillated for days before accepting the offer of an interview and had missed getting a room at the only pub in town. When they’d pulled into the Stony Creek Caravan Park, Isabelle’s heart sank. It wasn’t like any resort they’d ever stayed in. A note was sticky taped to the office door, along with a key and directions to their cabin.

‘It’s only for two nights and it was all that was left when I made the booking.’

‘I bet this whole town is a dump,’ Fletcher grumbled. ‘There’s probably no one here my age either.’

Mietta stirred in the back seat.

‘We’re here, possum.’ Isabelle hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. She didn’t want to admit Fletcher was right – the accommodation was dreadful. She could only hope everything would appear better in the daylight. If not, she’d never be able to convince her kids to move. She exhaled softly, remembering she was out of options. The fact remained, since Dan’s death their lives had changed forever, which meant they were all learning to adjust and find their ‘new normal’ as a family of three, not four.

Judging by what she’d seen on the quick drive through town to the caravan park, the words in the advertisement may have promised more than Stony Creek could deliver. Fair enough, it was dark, and the welcoming committee slightly rough around the edges, but Isabelle was beginning to have a serious case of cold feet.

Fletcher hoisted his bag from the boot and tramped across the hard dirt to the cabin. The door was unlocked and he pulled it towards him, the hinges screaming in protest. He flicked a switch and a dim light spread out from inside the cabin. Dismay was written all across his face.

‘At least the man we met outside the hotel was friendly enough. Perhaps we’ll see him again tomorrow,’ she said.

‘He looked old,’ Mietta replied. ‘But he had kind eyes.’

Isabelle looked at Mietta in surprise. She thought her daughter had been asleep. The man who had leaned against their car when she’d pulled up outside the pub hadn’t appeared that old. Perhaps early to mid-forties. It was difficult to tell in the dark. The single street light had revealed forearms thick with muscle, and after he’d turned and walked away, her impression was that he was a friendly giant. It had also been hard not to notice the way his denim jeans fitted snugly over his long legs. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t noticed his eyes.

*

Five minutes later, after they’d battled the moths and spiders and cobwebs in the concrete toilet and shower block, they were ready for bed. Isabelle longed for a hot shower to wash away the day, but it wasn’t going to happen. She pulled out Mietta’s sleeping bag and unrolled it on the top bunk.

Mietta darted up the ladder before reaching down and wrapping her arms around Isabelle’s neck. ‘Goodnight, Mummy. I love you.’

Isabelle felt the familiar tears pierce her eyelids. She had done so well holding it together all day and Mietta’s hug almost tipped her over the edge. She swallowed hard.

‘I love you too, sweetheart. Are you ready for bed too, Fletch?’ she asked, hoping they couldn’t hear the sadness in her voice.

He sat at the little table in the centre of the cabin, eyes on his phone, thumbs moving furiously over the screen. ‘There’s such dodgy mobile service here.’

‘Who are you trying to message?’

‘I’m trying to Snapchat one of my mates from school.’ He didn’t glance up from the phone.

‘It’s late, Fletcher. Perhaps the coverage will be better in the morning. Anyway, you need to go to bed. It’s been a long day. Mietta will be awake early, which means both of us will be awake too. And we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’ Isabelle yawned, as if to prove a point.

‘What am I supposed to do while you’re at the interview thing?’

Isabelle clenched her jaw. She’d had this discussion with him more than once, and had made him promise to be on his best behaviour. He could be charming and polite when it suited him. Isabelle only hoped he would choose tomorrow’s interview to make every effort to impress and behave like the delightful young man he was. Or used to be.

‘I assume they will want to interview us together as a family,’ she said.

‘We’re not a family anymore,’ Fletcher said under his breath.

Isabelle ignored his comment, but the mumbled words cut deep.

‘Can’t I wander around and explore?’ Fletcher pleaded. ‘It’ll be so boring hanging around with you and Mietta all day.’

Not even a teenager and I’m already cramping his style.
‘Let’s see what happens in the morning, okay?’

‘What time is the interview?’

‘Ours is one of the early ones. Ten o’clock. I think we’re third on the list. They said each interview should go for an hour at most, tomorrow and Sunday. Then on Sunday night they’ll let us know if we’re successful. After the interview tomorrow, you can explore the town to your heart’s content. ’

‘Like that’ll take longer than five minutes.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Sounds boring.’

‘Only boring people get bored,’ she murmured. It was one of Dan’s favourite quotes, but the words felt wrong coming from her lips. She sighed softly. Sometimes she simply had no idea how to handle his bad attitude.

‘Whatever,’ Fletcher said as he climbed into the lower bunk. He rolled over so that his back was to Isabelle and curled himself into a cocoon deep inside the sleeping bag.

His steady breathing soon told that, like Mietta, he had already fallen asleep.

*

Isabelle woke first the next morning, covered in a fine layer of sweat. Her sleeping bag had twisted and tangled around her body, trapping her in the narrow bed. It took a few long moments and a few deep breaths to steady her racing heart. It was months since she’d last had the dream. Only it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. Her living nightmare.

She wished she could wake up and turn back the clock.

Isabelle remembered screaming. So much screaming. Later they said it was her own voice, mingled with Fletcher’s. Eventually they’d prised her off Dan’s body where she had fallen the moment she realised he was gone. She had stretched out on top of him, covered in sand and salt and seaweed, trying to warm him up. They had pulled her away, but not before she kissed him for the last time, her lips pressing against his cold mouth. She had tasted salt again. And she had tasted Dan. Her lover. Her best friend. Together since high school, the flames of romance had burned bright their entire marriage, but in an instant he was gone, the fire snuffed out forever.

‘A heart attack,’ the paramedics told her.

How?
Dan was fit, active, healthy. He had never smoked, never done recreational drugs, never even taken Panadol for a headache! He ate all the right foods and rarely touched alcohol except for the occasional glass of red wine. ‘
Which they say is good for you,’
Isabelle had cried to anyone who would listen.

Weeks later, the coroner confirmed Dan had Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, the most common cause of heart-related sudden death in people under the age of thirty. His heart muscle was abnormally thick, making it difficult for blood to be pumped around his body. It was exacerbated by exercise.

Well-meaning people sent cards, quoting everything from Buddha to the Beatles to the Bible.

‘
To everything there is a season. A time to be born and a time to die.’

‘At least he died doing something he loved,’ others said.

It was true – Dan had lived for adventure. He’d gone to the edge of life, taken risks, lived without fear. But even though he’d packed so much into life it didn’t bring comfort. Nothing did. He was gone. Lost to the ocean forever.

Every time Isabelle remembered that day, the pain overwhelmed her, rising up from within, vacuuming the breath from her lungs.

Mornings were always the hardest. At night came the promise of sleep and a reprieve from all the thinking. Mornings meant she woke to face another day alone. Another day of making decisions alone. Another day of preparing dinner for three, instead of four.

Outside, laughing kookaburras greeted each other, reminding her where she was. She touched the empty place beside her and for a split second grief threatened to pull her back under. She picked up her phone. It wasn’t quite six o’clock. She had hoped to sleep until at least seven. Fletcher was still breathing heavily, but the rustling of covers indicated Mietta was waking. A mussed up blonde head of curls emerged from the sleeping bag.

‘Good morning, sunshine.’ It was what Dan had always said every morning and Mietta seemed to like how Isabelle kept up the simple tradition. ‘Did you sleep okay?’

Mietta nodded, wiping away the sleep from her eyes. ‘What was that noise before?’

‘Kookaburras.’

Mietta’s eyes sparkled with delight and anticipation. ‘Do you think we’ll see kangaroos and koalas if we live here?’

‘I’m sure we will. Come on, let’s get you showered and dressed, then you can have breakfast.’

Isabelle left a note for Fletcher and headed out the door to the toilet block with Mietta. Her breath caught. It had been dark when they’d arrived and she hadn’t realised the caravan park was positioned at the base of an enormous mountain. After driving through endless acres of flat paddocks practically the whole way from Adelaide, the mountain came as a surprise. She’d googled Stony Creek upon hearing about the Peppercorn Project. It lay in the shadow of Mount Remarkable as part of the Southern Flinders Ranges, but Isabelle hadn’t expected the mountain to be so massive. Or so magnificent. She smiled.
Mount Remarkable.
An apt name.

‘Wow,’ Mietta exclaimed, voicing Isabelle’s thoughts. ‘Do you think we could climb to the top?’

Isabelle laughed. ‘I doubt it, darling, but I’m sure there’s a road and probably a lookout.’

‘No road, but there’s a walking track,’ a voice answered.

Isabelle spun around. She hadn’t anticipated seeing anyone else awake and was startled by how quietly the woman had snuck up on her.

‘G’day, love, I’m Pat Wallace. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya! You got in late last night. Thought you’d changed your minds about coming.’

‘Oh, good morning.’ Isabelle stuck out her hand. The older woman squeezed her fingers tightly and Isabelle felt dry skin and callouses. ‘I’m Isabelle Cassidy. And this is my daughter, Mietta.’

Pat nodded. ‘Isabelle. Mietta. Pretty names for pretty girls. How old are you, sweetheart?’ she asked, bending over to peer at Mietta through her thick glasses.

‘Six,’ Mietta replied shyly, before stepping back and tucking herself behind Isabelle’s hip.

‘My son Fletcher is still asleep. He’s nearly thirteen.’

‘Nearly a teenager, eh? You must have been a child bride.’

Mrs Wallace’s curious gaze darted to her left hand. Isabelle was glad she still wore her wedding ring.

‘I was eighteen when I had Fletcher. I’ll be thirty-one at the end of the year.’
Why am I telling this to a complete stranger?
A thought occurred to Isabelle. It might be worth being polite to the old woman. ‘Are you on the interviewing panel?’

‘Nah, love. Rachel King has that sorted. I don’t care who moves into town as long as they’re good people. It’s a great place to live and raise your kids, and I don’t want anyone changing that.’

Isabelle kept quiet, uncertain how to answer.

‘I heard you ask ya mum about Mount Remarkable,’ Mrs Wallace said, looking at Mietta again. ‘The road takes you as far as the war memorial. From there you’ll have to walk. It’s about six K to the top but when you get there you’ll see the best views of the whole district. You’ll see plenty of euros, and the odd emu or two, if you’re lucky. And be sure to watch out for snakes.’

‘Euros?’ Isabelle asked.

‘Wallaroos,’ Mrs Wallace replied. ‘We don’t get many kangaroos around here unless it’s really dry up north.’

‘Oh.’

‘Best mountain bike course in South Australia up yonder too,’ Mrs Wallace continued, pointing in the general direction of the mountain. ‘Is your son into bikes?’

Isabelle stopped herself from shaking her head. If it meant they would win one of the coveted positions, she would happily lie and tell everyone Fletcher was keen to try mountain biking. Fletcher hadn’t ridden a bike since grade one, but they didn’t need to know that.

Mietta fidgeted.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Wallace, but Mietta needs to get to the toilet.’

‘No worries, love. And it’s Pat. Mrs Wallace is my mother-in-law. See ya later. And good luck to you and your husband.’