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This was the real Australia, Amelia knew instinctively. Not the beaches and cities tourists flocked to, but this—the hard country, the stubborn towns, the people who stayed because leaving felt like giving up. So very different from England… but it was beautiful.
After a few days, she had started to feel the rhythm of the place. The way the town woke early—tradies and farmers starting before dawn—then went quiet in the heat of midday, coming alive again in the late afternoon. The way people drove down the main street with one hand raised in greeting, whether they knew you or not.
‘So, what do people do for entertainment around here?’ Sophie asked on Friday afternoon as they gathered at the van after work. The heat of the day was easing, the sun slanting golden across the old pub behind them.
‘There’s a pub in town,’ Jill said, pulling three cold bottles of water from their cooler. ‘The Creek Hotel. I heard some of the locals talking about Friday night drinks. Apparently, it’s the social event of the week.’
‘A pub.’ Sophie brightened. ‘With people our age?’
‘Maybe,’ Jill said. ‘Though from what I’ve overheard at the store, most young people leave for university or work in the cities. But there might be a few around.’
‘I’m in,’ Amelia said. ‘I’d love to meet some locals properly. Everyone’s been friendly enough, but it’s all been quick chats while serving coffee or clearing tables. We can wear our good sandals.’
Jill grinned at her.
The Creek Hotel sat on a corner block two streets over from the main drag. Unlike the abandoned pub where they were camping, this one was very much operational, if slightly shabby around the edges. It was a classic outback pub—single-storey, deep verandah wrapped around two sides, beer garden out back. The walls were painted a colour that might have been cream once, but had faded to something closer to dust. A neon sign in the window advertised XXXX Gold, and the sound of conversation and laughter spilled out through open doors and windows.
The girls walked there as the sun touched the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that hung above the low hills. The temperature had dropped beautifully, that perfect moment between the heat of day and the chill of night. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel edges of the road.
‘Nervous?’ Sophie asked.
‘A bit,’ Amelia admitted. ‘We’re still the new people. The strangers.’
‘We’ve got jobs,’ Jill pointed out. ‘We’re contributing. That counts for something.’
The pub’s interior was exactly what Amelia had imagined an outback hotel would be—worn wooden floors, wooden benches and chairs, a long bar with brass rails and beer taps, and walls decorated with old photos, cattle brands, and a massive set of longhorns. A jukebox in the corner played ACDC, and the air smelled of beer and fried food. Ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, moving the warm air around without actually cooling anything.
A dozen or so people occupied the space—mostly men in their forties and up, a few couples, and a group of elderly women at a corner table. Conversation paused as the girls entered, heads turning to assess the newcomers. Amelia felt those glances, friendly but curious.
‘Evening, girls,’ the bartender called. He was in his sixties, balding, with a belly that spoke of decades of sampling his own wares. ‘You’re the newbies everyone’s talking about. What can I get you?’
They ordered beers and found a table near the window, conscious of eyes still on them. But gradually, the conversations in the room picked up again, accepting their presence.
‘Well, that wasn’t too terrifying,’ Sophie murmured, taking a long drink.
‘Give it time,’ Jill said, but she was smiling.
Ten minutes later, three people about their age came through the door—two men and a woman, all in casual clothes, clearly locals from the way they greeted the bartender. They collected their drinks and turned, spotting the girls. After a brief consultation, they headed over.
‘You’re the new backpackers,’ the woman said. She was pretty, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, tired eyes, and a warm smile. ‘I’m Lisa. I work at the health centre—I’m a nurse. This is Danny and Mitch.’
Danny was stocky and muscular, with oil-stained hands and an easy grin. Mitch was taller, leaner, with wire-rimmed glasses and had the look of someone who worked in an office.
‘Mind if we join you?’ Danny asked. ‘Not often we see new faces under forty in this town.’
‘Please,’ Amelia said, gesturing to the empty chairs.
They settled in, and the conversation flowed easily. Danny worked as a mechanic at the servo. Mitch taught at the tiny local school, which combined pre-school, primary and secondary, with a total of twenty-three students. Lisa had grown up in Longreach but moved to Garnet Creek for a nursing job two years ago.
‘So, you all just rocked up and got jobs on the spot?’ Danny asked, shaking his head in admiration. ‘That’s classic small-town stuff. Can’t get staff for love or money out here.’
‘Why’s that?’ Sophie asked.
The three locals exchanged glances.
‘Because the town’s dying,’ Mitch said bluntly. ‘Sorry, but it’s true. We’re losing more locals every year. Young people leave school and never come back. Families leave because there’s no work beyond farming, and the drought’s made that hard. We used to have over two hundred people here. Now we’re down to maybe a hundred and twenty, and half of them are over sixty.’
‘There’s nothing here for us,’ Lisa added, sadness in her voice. ‘I love my job, but I’m lonely. There’s no one to date, nowhere to go except this pub on Friday nights. My friends are all in Brisbane or Townsville, living their lives. Sometimes I feel like I’m just... waiting.’
