Man Drought by Rachael Johns

to his grandfather. Then he put the kettle on. Within five minutes they were nursing mugs of tea and discussing the finer points of AFL. Charlie was a Dockers supporter and Gibson barracked for the Eagles. The big West Australian derby was still a couple of months away, but that didn’t stop Charlie getting excited. Once that topic was exhausted, Gibson decided he’d better make a move.
    As he stood to collect the mugs and ditch the now empty biscuit packet, Charlie spoke. ‘I told you about Imogen’s slab party, didn’t I? I was thinking you could bring your power sander and have a go at the verandah. Imogen reckons people will get splinters from it once she gets the outdoor area functioning better.’
    Gibson froze at the sink. ‘Slab party?’
    ‘Yes.’ Charlie nodded enthusiastically. ‘When Imogen told me all the things she wanted to do to the pub, I realised a number of the tasks could be done relatively quickly with local volunteers. That’s when I suggested she provide the food and the alcohol and throw a party for anyone who helps her fix up the old girl. The whole town will benefit.’
    Yeah, Gibson reckoned the blokes would be lining up for this scheme. ‘Um … when is it?’ he asked, trying to sound noncommittal.
    ‘First weekend in March. And I’m in charge of organising everyone.’
    ‘That’s great.’ He tried to sound like he meant it. ‘But I won’t be able to help. There’s a lot happening on the farm right now.’
    Charlie raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s why you can take hours off in the middle of the day, two days in a row, to visit an old man and eat?’
    Sometimes Gibson wished Charlie
was
completely off with the fairies like his mum and Paris believed. He had no witty or logical reply. So instead he rinsed the mugs and feigned deafness.
    Unfortunately, when his granddad had a bee in his bonnet, he didn’t let up. ‘Sometimes you’re a mystery to me, Gibson Black. I know women haven’t been terribly kind to you, but have you got something against Imogen in particular?’ When Gibson said nothing, Charlie continued, his voice rising in annoyance. ‘You’re downright rude to her and now you blatantly refuse to help when everyone knows you’re usually the first to lend a hand round here.’
    ‘That’s just it,’ Gibson said, jumping on this excuse. ‘I already do my bit for the town, volunteering for the ambulance and chairing the Apex committee.’ Not to mention somehow being coerced into dressing up as Santa Claus at Christmas for the very few children left in the town. ‘I’m sorry Granddad, but I just can’t do it.’

Chapter Seven
    Imogen watched as Charlie scribbled another name on the list of volunteers that now hung on the wall behind the bar, a list that grew longer by the day.
    With only a few days to go until the big slab party, she was beginning to worry that they might have too much help. Thankfully, Amy – a project manager for a major event planning company – would be on hand to oversee things and direct where necessary. Imogen had emailed Amy the list of jobs and the latest list of volunteers, and Amy was going to work out teams and a roster. This task made her feel useful because this late in her pregnancy, she wouldn’t be much physical help. Jenna would no doubt prove a good distraction to any men left with nothing to do.
    Imogen smiled – she couldn’t wait to see her girls.
    Then she bit her lip and stared at the list of tasks she’d been working on, wondering whether she’d left anything off. Most of them were minor – moving furniture, hanging the vintage signs she’d sourcedfrom eBay, a bit of gardening in the deserted window boxes out the front – and could be done in less than an hour with only one or two bodies. Then there were some painting jobs – the whole building could do with a new coat – and facelifting the verandah, which would involve some serious TLC. Initially, Charlie had volunteered Gibson to sand down all the rails