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Walking the last few steps to work that morning Gloria heard the hum of music coming from inside the café where she worked. Smiling as she approached the door, she stopped for a moment as she spied her boss and good friend, Sarah, moving in time with the beat. The large windows of the café and the cutout behind the front counter allowed her to see through to where Sarah was located in the kitchen, singing what seemed to Gloria to be possibly the loudest and most out of tune sound that a pair of human lungs had ever produced.
God, she really does have an awful singing voice, Gloria thought, wincing as Sarah hit a particularly shrill note.
Raising her hand to knock on the glass front door to alert Sarah to her presence she waited for a break in the music. Not finding one she instead rapped loudly on the door. She laughed as Sarah jumped in surprise at the noise, ceasing her singing immediately. Gloria saw Sarah’s body go rigid for a moment before she turned her head to look over her shoulder. A smile broke out across her face as she saw who had interrupted her wailing. Gloria waved and kept laughing as she waited for Sarah to come over to unlock the door.
Walking over to the docking station where a mp3 player resided Sarah pressed pause on the device silencing the music and headed to the front door. “Morning!” Sarah trilled with a smile on her face as she opened the door allowing Gloria entrance into the café. Once she had walked through, Sarah locked the door behind her. “No keys this morning?”
“Oh, God. Why are you always so happy in the mornings? No sane person likes mornings the way you do. Especially not one like today, it’s bloody freezing out there. And no, no keys. Mum borrowed my car to run errands and I forgot to take the key for here off it before I did,” Gloria grumped as she began to unravel her scarf, the two women walking towards the back of the café, through the customer area and into the kitchen. Sarah remained in the kitchen as Gloria took the few short steps further towards the back of the café and the small area where the staff kept their belongings.
Sarah laughed as she returned to working on the slab of chocolate in front of her. Using a knife she expertly wielded it to create perfect chocolate curls. “It is a bit fresh this morning,” she stated simply.
“A bit fresh?” Gloria repeated incredulously. “It’s cold enough out there to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. I nearly slipped on my rear end twice this morning because of ice on the front steps at my place.”
Sarah stopped what she was doing and looked up from her work. “Yeah, it was quite a frost overnight,” she admitted. “Good for business though,” she added, “Just think of all the extra hot drinks we’ll sell.” A wicked gleam crossed her face at the thought of the ongoing success of the business she so loved.
“True. Alrighty then,” Gloria began as she entered the kitchen area once more, pulling her work apron with the logo on it over the top of her black trousers and black button down shirt, “What needs doing this morning, boss lady?”
“Can you switch The Beast on, refill the coffee station, and prep the tables please? Once you’ve done that would you mind popping down to see Frank at the bakery for the rolls and things to see what’s going on? He’s late with his delivery today.”
Gloria nodded her agreement of the tasks set her. “You really can’t refer to Bessie as a beast, you know. You’ll hurt her feelings.” Gloria noted as she walked towards the coffee machine. Switching the power on to the machine she lovingly stroked the side of the machine like an owner would their beloved dog. “She didn’t mean it Bessie. Don’t you listen to the nasty lady.”
“Ha! Nasty lady my ass. That machine hates me and I have the scars to prove it!” Sarah protested. She held up a finger as proof. “See? It attacked me again yesterday.” Sarah could use the overly expensive coffee machine that had been purchased for the café well for the most part, but it seemed to come with a price almost every day. With small burns dotted over her hands, some of which were still healing, Sarah had taken to referring to the coffee machine as The Beast. But Gloria had managed to not only tame the machine she affectionately called Bessie, but had seemingly charmed it into submission, earning her stripes as Sarah’s top barista in the meanwhile.
Sarah reached over as a silence descended as the two women went about their individual tasks and pressed a button on the docking station to resume the music. A male’s voice filled the café together with the sound of guitars and drums. Gloria rolled her eyes as Sarah’s voice began to warble off key along with the singer. Her choice in music didn’t always mesh with her own tastes, but Gloria figured if it made Sarah happy it was worth it.
Watching Sarah Gloria frowned for a moment as her boss put a cake with the now completed chocolate curls on top of it into the display fridge near the front counter. Not for the first time she wondered what Sarah’s story actually was.
***
Sarah had first appeared in Mount Kiernon eighteen months ago. Mount Kiernon was a small town situated on the coast, with mountains looming large behind it. A vibrant mining town in its heyday it once boasted a population of around 5000 people. But with the closure of the mine nearly seven years ago Mount Kiernon had steadily shrunk in population to where it now sat around only 900 people. The months following the mine closing had been particularly hard for the town as people had found themselves suddenly out of work with no prospects of finding anything new around the area.
Many families began to move over the next twelve months as they found work away from the town. Those who remained behind had found it tough. So when the company that owned the mine announced an expansion of another of their mine sites three hours south of Mount Kiernon, a number of the locals who had still been looking for work had applied for and won positions there. Most had chosen to move away to be closer to their new place of employment, but some who had stronger ties to the township had stayed, becoming fly in, fly out workers. Mount Keirnon may have been a small town, but those who lived there were fiercely loyal to it.
With the closing of the mine also came the closure of a large number of businesses within the town. Just a few at first, but the number grew. The bank closed, moving the branch to Penwick, a larger town located forty minutes away. With not enough trade for two pubs, one had closed, the owner moving away to the city of Franklin, located roughly a two hour drive north east of Mount Kiernon and the closest city to the town. The speciality shops that sold trinkets and homewares closed their doors, leaving only one small homemade crafts store that doubled as the tourist information centre remaining. The toy store that was a part of a large national chain went the way of the bank, closing its doors and reopening in the same town as the bank that had left. The people who lived in Mount Kiernon had known it would happen. That it would only be a matter of time before businesses began to leave just as people had chosen to. The buildings that had housed the businesses remained empty as did houses in the town. For sale signs went up, the print on them fading over time as they stood untouched.
Even logically knowing that businesses would close as the population dwindled, it didn’t make it any easier for the townspeople. Those that had chosen to remain behind found themselves becoming even more loyal than before to the businesses that the town had to offer. The locals became desperate to keep businesses alive within the town and not see any more relocate from the township or even worse, to close down permanently.
So it went on for the next few years.
But there was always a light for what sometimes seemed like a dark tunnel to the people and businesses of Mount Kiernon: school holidays. In particular the long break of the summer school holidays. With a long, sandy coastline overlooked by domineering mountains, the idyllic beach located just a ten minute drive outside of Mount Kiernon offered families that visited it a haven to escape from the hustle and bustle of their daily life. The large, shallow sandbank that filled most of the bay was deep enough for swimming while offering a shoreline that was filled with pristine white sand, making it the perfect location for families with young children who wanted to spend time playing on the beach. The locals considered it their hidden gem, and more than a few of them had been quite distraught when a visiting journalist from Franklin who had been staying with her uncle for a weekend in Mount Kiernon, had been introduced to the beach. It wasn’t the fact that the journalist had visited the beach, but rather the article that had soon after appeared in the Franklin Gazette, the newspaper based in Franklin city, that heralded the idyllic spot.
At first the press went mostly unnoticed, but nevertheless there was a small trickle of tourists who began to seep into the town. It was enough for the owners of the abandoned mine to sit up and take notice. Then came an announcement which made the residents of Mount Kiernon both wary and excited. The company who owned the mine and the site on which it was located had decided that the abandoned mine would make a good location for a museum based on mining. A few years after the hardship of the mine originally closing had begun, it started to look like Mount Kiernon might possibly be getting back on its feet again.
To the surprise of some of the more sceptical locals, Mount Kiernon had morphed into a tourist destination. Every school holidays would see the streets filled with families who had driven the few short hours from Franklin on day trips to go to the museum and then the beach. The locals of Mount Kiernon welcomed anyone to their town with open arms, and certainly more than welcomed the money that visitors brought to local businesses with them.
But in such a small town the locals only had the abilities to cater for so many visitors with all their varying tastes and desires. When the Mount Kiernon Bakery had received a request for wheat free, gluten free Turkish bread and had to explain they didn’t have any, Frank, the baker had received a torrent of abuse about not catering to those with allergies. Clive, the owner of the local pub had been on the receiving end of a tongue lashing about not having a large enough selection of imported beers on hand. Even Joan, the proprietor of the small supermarket in the main street had felt belittled at times at the stock she held, or didn’t hold as the case was more often than not, on the shelves of the supermarket.
The one exception was Jenny, a no-nonsense, gruff woman in her forties who had lived her whole life in Mount Kiernon. As the proprietor of the local newsagent that doubled as the post office, she refused to be talked down to or made to feel disparaged by anyone who declared she didn’t hold enough variety in the magazines that sat upon the stands. She was also the owner of a rather acerbic tongue and was never shy in holding back on her opinions of people who chose to comment on the lack of choice available. Jenny was only too well aware as to whom the main clientele were for her business, and it wasn’t the people that came into town looking for a beach read. If they were after a trashy celebrity magazine or a puzzle book, they could find one. But if it was the latest architectural design magazine, they were out of luck. Jenny was proudly unapologetic for this fact and it made the townsfolk love her all the more for it.
Those that visited the town would always remark that they loved the beach, and the museum was interesting, but that there simply weren’t enough shops for them to browse through to entice them to stay any longer than one day in the town. Most tourists would find themselves driving beyond Mount Kiernon and heading to Penwick to go window shopping, eat at a restaurant or to stay overnight. As it was Mount Kiernon only had one guest house, Betty’s Bed and Breakfast. Betty was known for being the town gossip and loved to chat to the folks who were passing through, eager to find out as much as she could about each and every one of them.
The locals of Mount Kiernon would tolerate the way they were often talked down to by visitors to the town, simply grateful for the money that was trickling into businesses, and glad for the customers who brought a new vibrancy to the town along with them. But at the end of the day, when the shops were closed and the tourists returned to Franklin or wherever they may have come from, it was always with a sigh of relief from those left behind in the town.
It had been four long years since the mine had closed, and three more since the mining museum had opened. The ebb and flow of the tourists kept occurring every school holidays, and nothing changed. Sure, the council had tried to encourage new businesses into the area, but with no guarantee of income during the school term, prospective business owners had decided it wasn’t worth the risk for the small reward the school holidays would bring.
So when a bright red sign that read ‘SOLD’ on it went up over the long ago faded ‘For Sale’ sign in what was once the old bank, it became the talk of the town.