‘Please don’t call the police.’ Emily Handford’s voice wobbled and her gaze flicked between him and Serena. She closed the door behind them and stood, hands clenched and pressing into her stomach. Beneath her light brown skin, faint colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Mr Carey, I’m real sorry. This place has been deserted so long, I didn’t think anyone was using it. I’ll move my gear out right away and—’
‘Whoa there. Let’s talk.’
‘There isn’t anything to say. I shouldn’t be here but I had nowhere else to go. Please can you just forget you saw me?’ Emily’s eyes scrunched shut and a shudder passed through her slim-boned body.
‘It’s okay, Emily. I’m not angry but we do need to talk.’ He felt the frown on his face, a frown that expressed his confusion at finding his sometime cleaner squatting in his building. A frown that was nothing but his attempt to understand, but which Emily took for anger and annoyance.
He touched her shoulder and smiled when she opened her eyes, attempting to reassure her. ‘Ah, maybe some introductions would help. Serena Quinlan, Emily Handford. Serena’s designing clothes for the festival and Emily’s a cleaner at the mill.’
Emily eyed Serena with interest, which she returned with a smile and an extended hand. ‘Hi, Emily. Nice to meet you.’
The normal social greeting and Serena’s open friendliness eased the rigid line of Emily’s shoulders; while Paul wouldn’t call it a smile exactly, there was an easing of the strain on her face, a softening of her pinched lips.
Taking that as a good start, Paul led the way into the open space that had once been the Cotton Bale bar. The room was smaller and more intimate than the Ace in the Hole’s bar-room, with a warmth exuding from the wood and stone walls and feature fireplace. Timber floors, scratched and darkened with age, lay dark and dusty underfoot.
Paul picked up three backless stools standing like sentinels around the curved wooden bar and set them beside the French doors. With the electricity to the building off and the overcast sky, it was the only way to see Emily’s face clearly.
‘I’ve no intention of bringing the police into this, but I’d like to know why you had to break in?’
Emily sat opposite him. Pale winter light revealed a purple bruise on her jaw and a fresh cut below her right eye.
Serena gasped and gripped the sides of her stool. ‘Who did that to you?’
Paul’s gut roiled. Emily’s boyfriend wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and he had a temper. Was he responsible for those bruises and the haunted look in Emily’s eyes? ‘Did Mike hit you?’
Emily turned her head and pulled her beanie lower over her ears. Finally, she nodded.
‘I didn’t know where to go. I had no money to give him because of the mill closing. Last night, Mike said he wasn’t there to support me and if my job had gone, so could I.’ She pressed her lips together and looked away, eyes glistening.
Serena put her hand on Emily’s arm. ‘You’re very brave to leave him. Men who abuse women aren’t worth wasting a single thought on.’
Emily bit her lip. ‘I don’t think it’s brave. He said he cared for me then he hit me. You don’t hit people, especially not the ones you care about. You look after each other. One loses their job, you work it out together. That’s what I thought. Cleaning doesn’t bring in a lot of money, but the mill is regular income. Reliable. At least, it was. He thought I was worthless if I wasn’t bringing home a pay packet. That’s not caring.’
Paul shoved his hands under his armpits and pressed his arms hard against his sides, anything to stop them forming fists. Emily had seen fists up close; she didn’t need to see more, no matter if his were bunched in futile anger on her behalf. ‘You’re right, Emily. That isn’t caring.’
‘I know the closure is hitting everyone, some harder than others.’
‘Even if Mike’s work drops off because of it, that’s not an excuse to lash out like he did.’ Paul had a roof over his head, which was more than Emily had. There would be others in the same boat. And if this building could keep Emily safe, he’d do his damnedest to help.
‘Look, it’s not much but you’re welcome to stay here. There’s no electricity but if you can manage with a lantern and primus stove until I can have it reconnected, I have no objections.’
Emily’s eyes grew wide and he saw her throat move as she swallowed. She drew in an audible deep breath and exhaled. Emily’s boyfriend had a lot to answer for if even Paul’s small offer of help made her so emotional.
‘How about it? It will be a bit like camping without the power, but it will be warmer than a tent.’
‘You’re a kind man, Mr Carey. Thank you.’
He held up his hand, embarrassed by her naked gratitude. ‘Paul. And friends look out for each other. Tell me, have you had time to make any plans?’
Emily sat taller on her stool. ‘Not yet. I’m studying business management online. I can use the library computer, and I’ll finish at the end of this semester, although that doesn’t help me right now.’
‘Good on you.’ Serena had been quiet, but she seemed to have taken a liking to Emily. ‘That should open some opportunities for you.’
Emily’s face became more animated and, as she smiled, Paul realised how young she really was. And what a difference the certainty of a place to rest her head had made to her peace of mind.
Certainty, security: things he’d taken for granted because he’d always known them. Precious gifts only appreciated when life ripped them away.
‘I hope so. People don’t realise how bad this closure is going to be. There’ll be others who can’t make rent payments, or buy food. What are they going to do?’
‘That’s true.’ Paul looked around the bar. Dust covered every surface and the air of neglect was strong. But an idea was forming in his head, one that might help a few out-of-work mill workers. ‘You’ve made one room habitable. How would you like an exchange—your cleaning skills for free rent?’
‘I don’t want to be a cleaner like Mum all my life.’ Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Ooh, I don’t mean there’s anything wrong with what Mum does, but I want to do more with my life.’
So did Paul. He squashed down a horrible feeling of having bitten off more than he could chew and stood at the nearest door. If he couldn’t find a way to service his bank loan, both this building and his saddlery would be lost, and the farm would be under threat. But right here, right now, he had an opportunity to make a difference to the lives of a few.
He rubbed a clean patch on the window pane and peered through it. Clouds of dust and an old newspaper tumbled along the street, caught in random mad whirls of wind before a flurry of rain plastered them against the pub fence. On the far side of the street, Trish Jenkins scurried away from the IGA store, her head bowed and one gloved hand gripping the sides of her coat together. A cane basket hung off her arm, heavy with groceries.
Luxuries like employing a cleaner would be the first economies made to household budgets. How would Emily feed herself if she lost her few private jobs? He turned back as Serena strolled to the bar. Leaning over the swinging gate, she peered into the gloom.
Paul already knew what was behind the bar. ‘Two half-empty bottles, one each of vodka and rum. Not much to be going on with.’
Emily joined Serena. ‘Or, you could say you have two half-full bottles. Depends on how you look at it.
‘I can see this place converted into a family home.’ Serena wandered over to the mantelpiece above the wide stone fireplace, a dreamy expression in her eyes.
‘Family home?’ Paul’s breath snagged in his lungs. What was it about Serena that she saw things he wanted; wanted so badly he ached with the longing. Beyond the mountain of debts and the art school lay another dream: a family and home of his own.
‘Why not? People have converted old churches and warehouses into homes. Why not a pub? Imagine a big, open-plan lounge-dining area here. Wouldn’t it be lovely on a summer day to open those doors onto the verandah? I can see it—’ Serena broke off and cleared her throat.
Emily folded her arms and looked around the space, an assessing look on her face. ‘Mr Carey is right. As long as the mill remains closed there won’t be a need for housing at the upper end of the market. But others like me who are chucked out of their homes would appreciate temporary lodgings for a small rent.’
‘Like a hostel? I don’t know—’ He thought of an older couple Warren had mentioned who lived from payday to payday. There were several rooms that could serve as emergency accommodation if need be.
Emily raised her chin and looked up at him, confidence and compassion in her gaze. ‘I could ask Mr Leadbeater if you like. He’ll know of any workers doing it tough. I’m happy to cook as well as clean in return for my lodgings.’
Serena clapped her hands together and spun to face him. ‘That’s a great idea, Emily. What about some sort of fundraiser? People could donate non-perishable food, and you could hold chook raffles or whatever. Is that what you do out west?’
‘Yes, Serena. Just like you do in city pubs.’ His brain tried to catch up with the possibilities contained in Emily’s comments.
Was this a way to both help his community and get through the next few months without losing all he’d worked for?
‘Maybe the CWA committee can organise something. I’ll raise the idea with the president.’
For the first time since Hayden had announced the news of the mill closure to his brother, a glimmer of light appeared in the dark clouds. Many in the community were worse off than he was, but despite his money worries, he could offer a roof over their heads.
As for the Cotton Bale—
Something would turn up before he ran out of savings. He had to believe that.