Sharon nodded. Truth was her husband really didn’t care about money. As long as he had enough for his booze, he was fine, and he earned enough at the quarry to cover that. He’d be fine without her. But he liked the power he found in her position. Like it somehow transferred to him. Which was why he’d told her to accept Ernie’s offer all those years ago. Why he got around pretending he and Ernie were old mates. Ernie played along with it. If only Roger knew how big a fool he seemed.

Jack said, ‘Ruth has been at me recently. I don’t get what her deal is. It’s not like I’m here every night.’

‘You’re here, what, three nights a week? At max?’

‘That’s right, that’s right,’ Jack said, a slight wobble in his speech. ‘She’s bloody pregnant, but. Bloody hell, Sarge. Anyway. I don’t know about it. And she’s off to Berrambool tomorrow arvo, be with her folks. I should go home.’

‘You should go home.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You think she wants you home?’

‘I know she does.’

‘Then you should go. Be a good bloke.’

‘Maybe. Yeah.’

Still he didn’t move. They sat and listened to the jukebox. The publican, Dan, running back and forth from the bar to the restaurant counter through a swinging door that never seemed to stop. Long-haired farmers, still smelling of cow, seated at the bar, laughing, sloshing their beers. Shoving at each other. Swearing.

She was watching the door as they entered. Two blokes she’d never seen before rumbling to the bar, shoving the locals out of their way. The locals eyed them off, not drunk enough yet to take any serious offence. Sharon heard one of the farmers say, ‘Bloody hell, you right there, mate?’ under his breath, but the two blokes either didn’t hear or didn’t care. They were both dressed for the cold: thick jackets, wool collars. They only waited a moment before the bigger one slammed his hand down on the bar. Dan came running back to his new patrons. Soon they had a beer each and carried them to a table next to Sharon and Jack.

Sharon pretended to be immersed in her beer but Jack, possibly drunker than she or possibly more naive, had no such caution. He watched the pair without shame.

‘You blokes from around here?’ Jack said.

The bigger one, seated facing their table, said, ‘We look like we’re from around here?’

‘Just being polite, mate.’

‘Yeah. That’s what you’re being.’

The other man, who looked a little younger and was a lot smaller, regarded them both. His left eye was slightly lazy, focussed on the door instead of them. ‘We’d appreciate being left alone.’

‘It was just a friendly question,’ Jack said.

‘I get that. All the same.’ The younger one turned back to his larger companion.

‘Righto then,’ Jack said. He looked at Sharon, arching his eyebrows, scoffing under his breath.

Sharon kept an eye on the two men. They looked capable and mean. From Melbourne, probably. Ernie’s contacts? The bigger one kept glancing at her.