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The council approved permits on Wednesday. The local newspaper ran a story on Friday: Historic Hotel Gets Second Chance. The article interviewed Alex, Jake, and several locals, presenting the project as a community effort to revitalise Garnet Creek.

That Friday evening, Brian from the Creek Hotel organised an impromptu celebration. Word spread quickly through town, and by six o’clock, the pub was packed with locals wanting to toast Alex’s purchase and the project’s official commencement. The three girls sat on stools at the end of the bar, smiling as the community congratulated Alex.

‘To Alex Miller!’ Brian called from behind the bar, raising his glass. ‘The man mad enough to believe in Garnet Creek’s future!’

‘Hear, hear!’ the crowd chorused, glasses lifting.

Alex stood near the bar, looking overwhelmed by the turnout. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he managed. ‘This isn’t just my project—it’s all of ours. The Royal belongs to this community.’

‘Damn right it does,’ Ted said, clapping Alex on the shoulder. ‘Been waiting twenty-seven years for someone to save that place. About bloody time.’

‘And you’ve hired Jake to manage it,’ Brian added, gesturing to where Jake stood behind the girls. ‘Best decision you could’ve made. I’ve been asking around—the man’s got a reputation for quality work. If anyone can save the Royal, it’s him.’

Jake looked uncomfortable with the praise but nodded his thanks.

‘When do you actually start?’ someone called from the back.

‘Monday,’ Jake confirmed. ‘We’ll spend the first week on safety training and site preparation. Real construction starts week two.’

‘And you’re hiring local workers?’ Harriet asked, her tone still slightly sceptical despite the celebratory atmosphere.

‘As many as want to work,’ Alex said firmly. ‘Fair wages, proper training, safe conditions. This project is for Garnet Creek. It should employ Garnet Creek.’

‘Well then,’ Brian said, refilling Alex’s glass without being asked. ‘Here’s to new beginnings. To saving what matters. And to proving that small towns don’t have to die quietly.’

‘To new beginnings!’ the crowd echoed, and the celebration continued late into the night, the Creek Hotel filled with hope for the first time in years.

***

The next two weeks brought both triumph and crisis in equal measure.

The work crew had settled into a rhythm—early starts, intense labour through the cooler morning hours, breaks during peak heat, then pushing through until six p.m. The roof stripping was nearly complete, the damaged verandah posts removed, and the interior cleared enough to begin structural assessment.

By the end of week two, three more workers had joined. A young bloke named Mitch—not the teacher, but a different Mitch who went by “Bluey” to avoid confusion—came from a property near Barcaldine. Two brothers, Jack and Sam, drove up from a station near Blackall, looking for work between contracts.

‘Sixteen people,’ Jake said Tuesday evening, studying his crew roster. ‘That’s a decent-sized team. We can start running concurrent work streams—roof replacement, foundation repairs, and interior structural work.’

‘How’s the budget tracking?’ Alex asked.

Jake’s expression turned serious. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We need to discuss the foundation.’

Margaret Thornton submitted a formal objection on Saturday, claiming the project would disrupt the town, create noise pollution, and ultimately fail, leaving an even bigger eyesore. The council rejected her objection unanimously on Monday.

‘She’s not happy,’ Sassy reported at Friday night drinks. ‘But she’s outvoted. Bill Patterson and the council are solidly behind this.’

‘Why does she oppose it so strongly?’ Amelia asked.

‘Because she didn’t think of it,’ Sassy said bluntly. ‘Margaret’s used to controlling everything in this town. This project is happening without her input or approval, and she can’t handle it.’

‘Will she cause problems?’ Jake asked.

‘She’ll try,’ Sassy said. ‘But Bill won’t let her. He’s seen what this town needs, and he knows it’s not Margaret’s way.’

The workers began arriving over the weekend. Davo, Thommo, Bec, and Kenny came from their respective stations. Ratty and Col drove in from the gem fields. By Sunday evening, the camping area behind the pub looked like a small settlement as others arrived—swags, tents, a couple of old caravans, vehicles parked haphazardly.

Brian from the Creek Hotel stopped by Sunday afternoon, curious about the growing camp.

‘Quite a crew you’re assembling,’ he observed, looking around. ‘Haven’t seen this many people on this site in twenty years.’