Page 106 of Down the Track

‘That’s what helicopters are for: visiting people. And luckily, I’ve got one.’

‘How will you get to book publicity events?’

It was as though she’d written a list. Well, that was fine, he could keep telling her all day and all week and all life long if necessary: if she wasn’t going anywhere, he wasn’t going anywhere either.

‘I hate publicity events. Besides, didn’t I tell you? I just wrote Clueless Jones his happy ending.’

‘Oh? He realises his goal to join the police force and become a real detective?’

TYSON: Jesus wept. She hasn’t read any of your books, Hux. Not one.

He grinned. Jo was so busted. ‘Admit it, you haven’t read any of my books, have you?’

‘Um.’ She blushed. ‘No. I’m more of a non-fic reader.’

‘Yeah, yeah, don’t tell me, on exciting topics like the life cycle of prehistoric goannas.’ He leant in so she had her back to the dusty weatherboards of the Yindi Creek Hotel’s shearing shed. Her hat was getting in his way, so he chucked it over his shoulder. ‘The lifelong goal of Clueless Jones—the beating heart of his popularity, and the reason he has a zillion and one fans—is to finally, one day, win the heart of the woman he loves.’

‘Wait. You writeromance?’

She was close, real close, and her dress was real thin now he was pressed up against it, and she had wisps of hair coming loose from her ponytail that were clinging to bits of neck that he had a fair interest in clinging to himself.

‘Looks like I might be about to start,’ he murmured. ‘If only I knew some finicky, list-driven, detail-mad scientist who could help me with some research.’

‘Idiot,’ she said, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her fingernails—which he suspected were as grubby as his were but who the heck cared—scraped up the back of his head.

Hux wasn’t sure if he could laugh and kiss someone all at the same time, but—

TYSON: Man, quit stalling! Just do it already!

Yeah. Turned out, he could.

EPILOGUE

‘How do we play it?’ said Dot, eyeing the small USB stick that had come in the post from a person in Brisbane who’d described herself as Hux’s agent, along with a note:Apparently a woman called Maggie will play this for you at the hotel if you take it up next Monday on your dinner night. Tell her to ask her backpacker to plug it into the USB slot on her big TV if she can’t work it out.

Maggie took the USB from Dot. ‘If I can’t work it out? I didn’t expect to hear such ageist nonsense from Hux’s agent,’ she grumbled. ‘She’s got a bloody hide. However—she’s not wrong.’ She handed the USB over to the latest in her never-ending turnover of young backpackers. ‘Britta, my love, can you get this up on the big screen for us? But pause it once you’ve got it connected. I said six o’clock on the flyer.’

Vince at the end of the bar arced up as the screen switched from some snooker tournament to a blue background with the words PROMOTIONAL VIDEO. NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION. CLUELESSJONES—DEADSETLEGEND—SEASONONE—PILOTEPISODE.

‘Hey, I was watching that!’

No-one paid him any attention, and Maggie bustled about pulling chairs from tables and setting them before the screen.

‘Do I smell popcorn?’ said Ethel. ‘And I haven’t had my glass of wine yet.’

Dot was settling herself in a chair and had such a look of joy on her face that Ethel felt her heart swell; her sister wasn’t dwelling on old times and sentimentality anymore.

‘Hold your horses,’ said Maggie. ‘Britta, can you man the bar, pet? I’m going to put the closed sign up on the kitchen for half an hour or we’ll never get any peace. Oh, and look who’s here! The Huxtables en masse. Everyone, grab some more chairs, we’ve got Ronnie and Malvina, and Regina—and is thatLaura? Hello, love! Long time no see—and Charlie and Sal, and Hux and his blushing bride. Bring that baby over here, Sal, so I can give that cutie pie a squeeze. Fiona, be a love and give Britta a hand.’

‘My shout,’ yelled Hux over the hubbub, leaning forwards to ring the bell over the counter that signalled that someone was about to lay their credit card on the bar so the crowd could go nuts.

‘Bloody hell, I’ll need to change kegs at this rate,’ grumbled Maggie. ‘I’m trying to sit down and watch the telly with you lot, not work my arse off all night.’

‘Aren’t you pleased to see me, my lovely?’ said Ronnie. ‘You’ve had a frown on your face since I got here.’

‘Of course I’m pleased to see you, pet. Be a lamb and find a seat and maybe everyone will follow your example. Now, what was I— Hux. Hux! If that three-legged mongrel of yours sheds even one hair on my good carpet, there’ll be hell to pay. D’you hear me? Hell to pay.’

‘You old softie, Maggie,’ Hux said. ‘Save that cranky-pants attitude for someone who believes it. Now, here’s a glass of wine, and take the baby Sal is trying to give to you before Ronnie hogs her, sit down next to Jo and me, and let Britta run the bar.’

The screen went dark and two thin lines scrolled across it, hovering ephemerally for long enough to be read before they dissolved:

In loving memory of Jessica Huxtable.

Loved. Missed. Never Forgotten.