She hadn’t believed him so he’d added the clincher: ‘I don’t really have time for babysitting my best friend’s little sister at social engagements.’
That was when she’d stormed off. Crying.
He’d spent the time since fighting the urge to text her to see if she was okay. She would be okay. She’d be better than okay. As soon as she moved on and got him out of her life.
And now it was time for him to move on. He had to focus on building a life to come back to after his surgery: one that he could live no matter how the surgery ended.
He lifted the lid on his laptop and scrolled through his emails, pausing at one that had come through late last night.
I am interested in applying for the position of General Manager at the Hanrahan Pub.
He was two mugs of tea into the morning when a hammering at the front door of the pub disturbed him. Sharon and Darryl had their own key; perhaps it was the new commercial oven being delivered.
It wasn’t.
It was Benjamin Dorley. Thinner, but with clear eyes. His mouth still had a faint downturn on one side, but he was standing on his own two feet and carrying a small briefcase.
‘Hello. You’re looking better than I saw you last.’
‘I wondered if it was you who found me. I’m afraid I have zero memory of that day.’
‘So it was a stroke, then?’
‘Yeah. The doctors reckon the quicker you get to a hospital, the better the outcome, so I have you to thank for that.’
‘No worries, mate. I’ve got your keys here; let me go find them.’
‘Actually—there’s something I wanted to talk over with you. Can I come in?’
‘Er, sure. There’s no heating. I’ve cleared some space in the office so we can talk in there.’
Benjamin sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk and didn’t say anything for a moment or two, so Tom decided to kick things off.
‘That kid you had doing office experience. He was keen to get a reference from you.’
‘Alex,’ said Benjamin with a faint smile. ‘He came to see me in the hospital. His mother’s a distant cousin of mine somewhere on the family tree. He’ll get his reference.’
Tom pulled open his desk drawer and took out the keys to Dorley’s office. ‘I haven’t been back since I collected those archive boxes. Alex lugged them round here for me.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Your office?’
‘I—well. The thing is, Tom, I didn’t know you were a lawyer.’
‘That’s because I’m not a practising one. I have a law degree and I’ve done the minimum post-admission legal experience, but that was all through the Navy. I haven’t worked in a legal office for years.’
‘I’ve got something for you. Had to get the ladies at the library to print it up for me. Technology isn’t really my forte—the wife did all that sort of stuff at the office and when she left, well, that’s when things became difficult.’
‘Control P,’ Tom murmured.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Nothing, sorry.’ He accepted the folded piece of paper Benjamin had taken from his attaché case. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s an application form for the course you need to get an unrestricted practising certificate. Maybe three days, something like that? That’s what us lawyers need in New South Wales to run our own business.’
‘No, wait, I’m not—’ He paused. He wasn’t what? Looking for a future? Capable of attending a three-day sit-down course that involved zero physical capability beyond wielding a pen and a computer keyboard? ‘Three days? Is that all it takes?’
