The train tracks ran through this country town yet trains no longer went past. However, the service road remained running alongside the tracks and provided the last reason for the little town’s existence.
There were only a few buildings left along the road and each of the businesses had absorbed the functions of others with successive closures. The community hall had taken the library under its wing, along with the railway museum. The pharmacy displayed a sign advertising the hours of the visiting hairdresser alongside the faded posters of pain relieving medications. The pub on the corner was the only place to get a meal, but to call its re-heated pies a restaurant would be stretch.
If you wanted a coffee, then the general store did its best. And so it was that a man and a woman held their business meeting there, perched on the rickety plastic chairs to the side of the shelves of cereals, laundry powder, and bread with ‘best before’ dates half-hidden under ‘sale’ stickers.
By the look of him, the man might have been in his sixties, his face lined and weathered. The collar of his flannelette shirt grazed a spot of shaving cream below his ear. He’d gone to the trouble of shaving. This meeting was important.
“So do you think it’ll get through Council this time?” asked the woman, tearing off the paper at the top of the sugar substitute and tapping the powder into her coffee. Her hands were manicured, her fingers puffy with the heat. “There’s no point me coming all this way if it won’t.”
The man took his time to answer, blowing on his black coffee. He brought the polystyrene cup to his lips. Paused. Blew again.
“We’ve got the numbers this time,” he said. “And the changes to McInerny’s property line have already been approved.”
He twisted his head to look around at the town map sticky-taped to the wall. The Council had put it there five years ago for the benefit of tourists but the railway museum had failed to meet expectations and what with the drought, and the floods washing away the bridge near the painted silos, the map was as much a museum piece as the scrap metal over in the community hall.
“And you’re sure they’ll let me give the presentation?” the woman asked. “No filibuster shenanigans this time?”
“No, it’s on the agenda, like I said.” He checked his phone. “Time we should be going, I think.”
“Good.” She drained her cup and got to her feet. “This place is going to thank you, you know. The Data Centre is going to turn this place around.”
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