the town, that demolition. Another of the Dean brothers’ enterprises. It was the end of more than the pub when the wrecking ball started swinging. ‘I remember that day.’
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘You would have been what, ten?’
‘Eleven,’ she said, and picked up the coaster. Her father had carried her on his shoulders so she could see over the crowd. When the police turned up they had slipped away, and weren’t part of the fracas that followed.
‘I know they’re just coasters,’ he said. ‘But it reminds me of the old days. Old mates.’
‘The stuff you gave me, of Dad’s. There was a name. Stan Overton,’ she said.
‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ he said.
‘Wasn’t one of your team?’
‘No one I dealt with,’ he said. ‘And I knew most of the other blokes, too.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.’
‘They used these coasters for a long time,’ Sam said. ‘Fred got some deal, in 1977, I think, seventy-seven boxes or something. From Castlemaine. Didn’t see what was coming.’
Jen nodded. She had noticed some dark timber half-dressed by the saw. ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s the wenge we were telling you about. Catches your eye, doesn’t it?’
She stood up to take a closer look. Felt the weight.
‘I’ve got some polished up somewhere,’ he said. ‘Hang on.’
Jen took the piece Sam offered. Black-brown and glossy with a partridge grain. ‘I like that,’ she said. ‘Is it suitable for frames?’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘A little expensive, but no more than you’d pay for lesser quality veneer from a framer.’
‘You can do that here?’
‘For you,’ he said. ‘Yes.’
‘It would be perfect for some work I’m preparing now,’ she said. ‘Stand out a little.’
‘It will that,’ he said.
‘It’s not Australian, though?’
‘African,’ he said. ‘From the Congo, I believe.’
Jen clucked her tongue. If it was a tropical timber, it probably hadn’t been harvested ethically, and was possibly endangered.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What did you say that bloke’s name was?’
‘Stan Overton.’
‘A fella did come in here looking for your dad once. Said he was staying nearby for a while. I think maybe his name was Stan. Don’t know if he gave me his surname.’
Jen sat up on her stool.
‘Some artist from the city,’ he said. ‘Bit up himself, if you ask me.’
‘When was this?’
Sam scratched his arm. ‘Gee,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking it was a week or so before I last saw your dad. But I can’t be sure.’
Jen turned at the call of a catbird and tried to pick it out from among the foliage. She didn’t get those much. Only a kilometre away and a different world. ‘That last Sunday. I remember Dad seemed angry when we left here,’ she said.
‘It was probably about his pay. I couldn’t offer him the work I had been, things were pretty tough. It was cut everyone’s hours, or cut some blokes off altogether, and I didn’t want that. Most of them had families.’
‘Right.’
‘Your dad did some other work for me, on the side,’ he said. ‘He asked me for an advance, and I gave it to him – figured he must have been behind on the bills. Then I heard he’d left … felt pretty bad.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
Sam up-ended his mug. ‘If you’re worried about using a more sustainable local timber for your frames, we could do ironbark, or stain something if you want to go a bit darker,’ he said. ‘But this wenge was taken years ago. However you look at it, you’d be giving it a second life.’
‘Let me have a think about it,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the cuppa.’
‘You okay?’
‘Fine,’ she said.
Carcass
S he had been clambering all over its body in her boots. The grey ghost at the end of her garden had come down with a crash in the night. There had been something of a storm, though without much rain.
It was more like a skeleton, after so many years dead, bleached hard, almost petrified. Like the remains
‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘You would have been what, ten?’
‘Eleven,’ she said, and picked up the coaster. Her father had carried her on his shoulders so she could see over the crowd. When the police turned up they had slipped away, and weren’t part of the fracas that followed.
‘I know they’re just coasters,’ he said. ‘But it reminds me of the old days. Old mates.’
‘The stuff you gave me, of Dad’s. There was a name. Stan Overton,’ she said.
‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ he said.
‘Wasn’t one of your team?’
‘No one I dealt with,’ he said. ‘And I knew most of the other blokes, too.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I was just curious.’
‘They used these coasters for a long time,’ Sam said. ‘Fred got some deal, in 1977, I think, seventy-seven boxes or something. From Castlemaine. Didn’t see what was coming.’
Jen nodded. She had noticed some dark timber half-dressed by the saw. ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s the wenge we were telling you about. Catches your eye, doesn’t it?’
She stood up to take a closer look. Felt the weight.
‘I’ve got some polished up somewhere,’ he said. ‘Hang on.’
Jen took the piece Sam offered. Black-brown and glossy with a partridge grain. ‘I like that,’ she said. ‘Is it suitable for frames?’
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘A little expensive, but no more than you’d pay for lesser quality veneer from a framer.’
‘You can do that here?’
‘For you,’ he said. ‘Yes.’
‘It would be perfect for some work I’m preparing now,’ she said. ‘Stand out a little.’
‘It will that,’ he said.
‘It’s not Australian, though?’
‘African,’ he said. ‘From the Congo, I believe.’
Jen clucked her tongue. If it was a tropical timber, it probably hadn’t been harvested ethically, and was possibly endangered.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What did you say that bloke’s name was?’
‘Stan Overton.’
‘A fella did come in here looking for your dad once. Said he was staying nearby for a while. I think maybe his name was Stan. Don’t know if he gave me his surname.’
Jen sat up on her stool.
‘Some artist from the city,’ he said. ‘Bit up himself, if you ask me.’
‘When was this?’
Sam scratched his arm. ‘Gee,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking it was a week or so before I last saw your dad. But I can’t be sure.’
Jen turned at the call of a catbird and tried to pick it out from among the foliage. She didn’t get those much. Only a kilometre away and a different world. ‘That last Sunday. I remember Dad seemed angry when we left here,’ she said.
‘It was probably about his pay. I couldn’t offer him the work I had been, things were pretty tough. It was cut everyone’s hours, or cut some blokes off altogether, and I didn’t want that. Most of them had families.’
‘Right.’
‘Your dad did some other work for me, on the side,’ he said. ‘He asked me for an advance, and I gave it to him – figured he must have been behind on the bills. Then I heard he’d left … felt pretty bad.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
Sam up-ended his mug. ‘If you’re worried about using a more sustainable local timber for your frames, we could do ironbark, or stain something if you want to go a bit darker,’ he said. ‘But this wenge was taken years ago. However you look at it, you’d be giving it a second life.’
‘Let me have a think about it,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the cuppa.’
‘You okay?’
‘Fine,’ she said.
Carcass
S he had been clambering all over its body in her boots. The grey ghost at the end of her garden had come down with a crash in the night. There had been something of a storm, though without much rain.
It was more like a skeleton, after so many years dead, bleached hard, almost petrified. Like the remains
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