Free Rain Music by Di Morrissey Page A

who’ll work for less than the locals.’
    â€˜What will I do about a replacement for this?’ Ned asked, looking sadly at his damaged four-wheel drive.
    â€˜You won’t get much for this, but I know of a couple of vehicles that might suit you. You’ll probably have to pay a bit more than what you get from the insurance. Get back to me in a day or two and I’ll let you know. If I can’t arrange something from around here, I might have to bring something up from Cairns or from Mareeba.’
    The mechanic looked at Ned’s crestfallen face.
    â€˜Don’t worry, mate. We’ll have you fixed up in no time. Say, why don’t you go and see Yolanda up at the Toppie? She knows what’s going on. I can give you a lift up there. Besides, you look as though you need a beer.’
    The mechanic pulled over in Charlotte Street and Ned thanked him for his help and climbed out. The mechanic waved as he drove away.
    Ned decided he should first sort out his phone. There wasn’t much to be done with his old one, so with some reluctance he got a replacement from the post office. The post office worker let him plug it into a wall socket and fifteen minutes later he transferred his SIM card in to it and switched it on. It pinged with missed calls and messages from his mother and sister. He went to reply to one of the messages, but then stopped as he read the contents more carefully. Both Bella and Josie had sent him texts haranguing him about the dedication. He felt annoyance rising in his chest. He’d explained to Josie that he couldn’t make it. What did they want from him? His father’s face flashed in his mind and he closed his eyes. No, he wasn’t dealing with this right now. He deleted the messages without reading them.
    Next he called the number of the house he’d been told about, but it rang out with no voicemail. It seemed luck wasn’t on his side, so he decided to check out the pub.
    Ned crossed the street and stepped into the weatherboard hotel with its broad upstairs verandah. The year 1885 was displayed over the door. It probably hasn’t changed much since then , he thought. Inside, however, it looked as though it was now a very popular watering hole with tourists. He wandered over to the long bar and put down his guitar case and backpack, then leaned on the counter, propping his sore foot on the brass rail which ran below the bar. The woman behind the bar, who was swishing a beer-stained cloth along the counter, came over to him, and without looking up asked, ‘What’llitbe?’
    â€˜What have you got?’ asked Ned in a reasonable tone.
    The woman jerked her head at the question. ‘What planet you from, mate?’ She gave him a long hard stare, taking in his streaked blond hair and beard stubble, his tanned face, bright blue eyes and lopsided smile. A broad grin broke across her face. ‘Hey, I know you! You’re that singer I saw in Cairns. Ned . . . ?’
    â€˜That’s me. Are you Yolanda?’
    â€˜Sure am. Are you in town for a show?’
    Ned shook his head.
    â€˜Didn’t think so, or I’d have heard about it. What kinda beer you drink?’
    â€˜Better have a XXXX Gold.’
    Yolanda began to pour the beer. ‘So, if you’re not doing a show, what brings you up to this godforsaken place?’
    â€˜Chilling out for a while. Recovering from writing off my car.’
    â€˜Ah, too bad. A prang, eh? How long you gonna be around?’ She pushed a schooner of beer in front of him.
    Ned took a sip, and the beer went down very well after the tepid tea and sweet juices in the hospital. ‘Not sure. I just want a quiet space where I can work for a while.’
    â€˜You write your own songs, don’tcha? That’s cool. Doing a new album?’
    â€˜Not sure,’ said Ned, noncommittally. ‘I’m supposed to move into a place my mate’s friend’s going to lend