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‘You look beautiful,’ Sophie said, emerging from the van in her own borrowed outfit—a floral dress in ochre and amber shades that made her look like she belonged in the outback.
‘So do you,’ Amelia said honestly.
Jill appeared in jeans and a Western shirt with a sequinned collar. ‘Are we ready for this?’
‘No,’ Amelia said. ‘But we’re going anyway.’
The convoy of vehicles leaving the worksite at six-thirty was impressive. Jake’s truck—with Tom riding shotgun—the girls in Vera, Davo’s Hilux full of workers, Ratty’s Land Cruiser and a few other utes. Ten vehicles in total, carrying over twenty workers to a party in a town that barely had 220 permanent residents.
The Creek Hotel sat on a side street, a classic outback pub—single storey, wide verandah, corrugated iron roof, beer garden out back. But tonight, it was transformed. Lights strung everywhere, bunting in bright colours, a small stage set up in the garden where a band was doing a sound check.
And vehicles. Dozens of them, parked wherever space allowed. Utilities, trucks, a few sedans, a couple of motorbikes and even a small bus. The car park was overflowing and would be until everyone came back for their vehicles the next morning.
‘Bloody hell,’ Sophie breathed, staring. ‘Brian wasn’t kidding about the turnout.’
They piled out of the vehicles, suddenly nervous. The hotel verandah was already crowded with people—men in clean Wranglers and pressed Western shirts, women in everything from sundresses to proper Western wear, everyone looking scrubbed and social after months of isolation.
Brian appeared at the door, resplendent in a gorgeous embroidered shirt. ‘There you are! Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.’
He ushered them inside, where the pub was packed, with three casual bar attendants hired from Emerald for the night.
‘No one local would work,’ Brian joked. ‘They all wanted to socialise.’
The bar was three-deep with people ordering drinks. Tables were pushed to the walls to clear space for a dance floor. And everywhere, people were talking, laughing, greeting old friends and making new ones.
‘This is incredible,’ Jill breathed. ‘What’s happened to quiet little Garnet Creek?’
The crowd was growing as more people arrived. Amelia recognised a few local faces, but most were strangers. A group of ringers stood near the bar, fresh from stations, and a rowdiness that came from months in remote country. A group of young women stood together but kept smiling over at the ringers. Station workers mixed with locals. Backpackers and travellers chatted with longtime residents.
The age range was broad too—from the early twenties to the elderly, everyone dressed up and ready to socialise.
‘Amelia?’
She turned to find a young woman holding up something—a playing card. Seven of Hearts.
‘I think we’re matched,’ the woman said with a shy smile. She was in her late twenties, wearing a simple cotton dress, hair pulled back neatly.
‘Matched?’ Amelia asked, confused.
‘The card game,’ the woman explained. ‘Everyone gets a card when they come in. You have to find your match—same number, different suit. Forces people to mingle. I’m Charlotte, by the way. Local librarian.’
Amelia looked down at her own hand—she’d been given a Seven of Spades at the door without really noticing. ‘Oh! Right. I’m Amelia. One of the workers on the Royal Hotel project.’
They found seats on the verandah, away from the noise, and talked. Charlotte had moved to Garnet Creek six months ago from Toowoomba, taking the job because she wanted a change and wanted an outback experience. She was quiet, thoughtful, and well-spoken.
‘It gets lonely sometimes,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘The town’s so small, and I don’t really fit in with the pub crowd usually. But the library keeps me busy.’
‘Do you like it here?’ Amelia asked.
Charlotte considered this carefully. ‘I think so. It’s not what I expected—harder in some ways, better in others. I’m still deciding how long I’ll stay.’
Before Amelia could respond, a cheerful voice interrupted: ‘Pardon me, ladies, but has anyone seen the other Seven of Diamonds?’
A young ringer stood there, grinning, holding up his card.
Charlotte held up her Seven of Hearts. ‘Wrong suit, sorry.’
The ringer—introduced as Mick—looked crestfallen, then brightened. ‘Wrong suit, but good company. Mind if I join you for a while before I keep searching?’
