EPILOGUE
Their coffee came in giant brown pottery cups which were slightly misshapen, as though the kiln that had fired them lived in someone’s backyard—which, now that he thought of it, was likely to be true. If he looked under it, he’d probably see Patty’s initials scratched in there.
‘Better take a look at the weekend edition ofThe Northern Starwhile you’re here, mate,’ said Frank with a wink as he plonked an equally wonky sugar bowl on the table of the Clarence Bakery. ‘Been selling faster than the lamingtons this morning.’
The newspapers sat in an ancient wire basket beside the front door, weighed down with a cowbell that had lost its knocker. Joey read the headline, grabbed a few coins from his pocket to set on the counter, and took a copy back to the booth he and Kirsty were sharing.
He spread the paper open so they could read it together.
CLARENCERESCUE: A COWSHED, A ROUSEABOUT, ANDA WWII PLANE, BYERICMIDDLETON
A community dream will soon become a reality now that Old Bill Bluett’s plane has been promised a home at the Wacol War Museum. Farm owner Joey Miles and rouseabout Kirsty Fox have readied the plane for her final journey, and local historian Carol Wallace is preparing a display of memorabilia to accompany the plane.
‘Finding a home for the Wirraway has been a challenge,’ Kirsty Fox said. ‘And a privilege. My hope has been that the story of Bill andDoreen Annecan be shared with generations of Australians, and thanks to the generosity of the locals of Clarence, we can now pay for safe transport of the plane to her new home.’
She snuck her hand into his. ‘Oh, we’ll have to take this up to Carol and celebrate with her. I hope you’ve left a bit of room for a biscuit from her tin. Everything’s coming right at last, isn’t it, Joe?’
‘Nearly.’
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘What do you mean by that? The bank is off your back. I’ve got a job interview next week with the flight school over in Lismore. Mum’s looking for a housekeeping job so I can rent my place out and pay my mortgage, and Robbo’s finished his radiation treatment. Everything is coming up roses … or ixoras, as Ken would say.’
‘That is all great news, true. Plus, you forgot to mention my avocado seedlings have grown a foot after all that rain. But it’s still not quiteeverything.’
She was smiling at him, like she knew what was coming, and maybe she did. He was a guy who’d learned—finally—to live his life with his emotions wide open. ‘How quick do you reckon we can get the flatbed truck booked to shift the Wirraway out of the shed?’
She looked at him. ‘What’s the hurry?’
He grinned. ‘You remember that idea I had to turn the shed into an event space? Hold art exhibitions there for Daisy’s friends, run functions, that sort of thing … strip out three of the walls, leave the interior as is, all giant timber beams and rusted galvo, but with chandeliers everywhere and a bonfire out in the paddock.’
‘Fairy lights along the rafters. Wine barrel tables,’ she said, warming to his idea.
‘A planked dance floor. We can build it ourselves; you know how much you love it when I wear a tool belt.’
She smirked. ‘You do know what I like.’
He hoped he did, because everything was riding on him getting this next bit right. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ He peeled her other hand off the coffee cup so he was holding both of hers in his. ‘I’ve booked a wedding event to be the first function at the old cowshed, and the groom’s pretty keen for it to be as soon as possible.’
The look in her eyes was telling him everything he needed to know.
‘Are you asking—’
He grinned. ‘I am.’
‘Seriously? You’ve picked here, the romantic, bread-filled interior of the Clarence Bakery, to propose to me, the love of your life?’
He leaned forward and pulled her towards him so he could kiss her. ‘Where better? This place is the epicentre of gossip. It’ll save us all the trouble of having to tell anyone.’