Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I thought you were going to bring the kids,” I groaned to June as she pulled up outside Steamy Sips.
She frowned as she caught sight of several grey-haired men spinning on poles through the café window.
Breeze had caved and allowed them to install three poles for their weekly classes, on the condition that the stripping part remained fictional and they repaired any ceiling damage.
“What kind of place is this?” June asked, eyes glued to the man in yellow tights completing a perfect back hook spin.
“I’ll fill you in on the way,” I said, giving a thumbs up to Harry, who was now transitioning into a back arch. He’d been working on that all week.
June was one of those drivers that made you slam on your imaginary brake constantly and close your eyes when she drifted around corners, so you didn’t have to witness how close you came to your own death.
The drive to Tenderheart was only 20-minutes, but I practically kissed the pavement as soon as I could peel my shaking legs from the car.
June snorted and pulled a bunch of store-bought flowers from the back seat.
How did she always know to do things like that?
She had inherited all these social cue understandings that seemed to have skipped me altogether.
I scowled at her, and she smiled. She loved being the favourite.
Although Dad claimed he didn’t have one, he’d always treated her differently from me.
And he’d treated Josh differently from both of us.
Josh was the angel. Well, literally now.
Discomfort pooled in my stomach as I remembered that I’d only seen Dad once since Josh's funeral and he’d not been in a good place mentally. The grief had paralysed him. Whereas I seemed to compartmentalise it somewhere and not have to deal with it at all. Sort of.
“Ready?” June asked, adjusting the hem of her black capris.
“No,” I said, staring at the front window of the terraced home I grew up in. Its curtains had remained drawn since Josh died, like a black mourning veil.
“We’re not doing this again, are we?” she sighed.
I rolled my eyes and raced her to the front door, which was on the side of the house under the carport. Because apparently I still needed to win races against my sister at thirty-five.
The man who answered the door looked surprised to see us. He squinted against the brightness coming through the open door.
“Hi, Dad!” I choked out an enthusiastic tone. I was always happy to see him, truly, but it came with the looming sense that I was in trouble. I just never knew what I’d done.
“Riley! I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, his brows pulling together.
“And me, Dad,” June chimed in, appearing from behind me at the base of the steps. She shoved the flowers into his hands.
“Both my girls,” he smiled. “What have I done to deserve such a visit?”
“It’s been a long time, is all,” June said, wrapping her arms around his slouched shoulders. “And Riley has something to ask you.”
I elbowed her. No need to make it sound ominous.
Dad looked pleased to see us, but he didn’t open the door any wider. His white hair flopped over his forehead, and the whiskers on his cheeks told me he was overdue for a shave. June reached for the door, but Dad gently took her wrist.
“I’m not prepared for visitors,” he mumbled, looking down at his grey hunting socks slouching off his feet. I understood immediately. There was something behind that door he didn’t want us to see.
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said, trying to sound gentle. “We’ve just come to visit. We don’t care what it looks like. Honestly.”
June caught on and leaned against the door. “Remember the things we used to find in Riley’s room? Apple cores, week-old breakfast plates… and that time she’d brought in roadkill and tried to mummify it? Can’t be worse than that.”
Dad chuckled as he remembered. “Whatever happened to that rat?”
“You made me throw it in the bushes down the back gulley,” I scowled, my arms crossed. It’s not like June never did disgusting things. I remember her being enthusiastic about sniffing Tommy, the neighbour kid’s bum, and him sniffing hers.
“After she wrapped it in bandages and drew all those symbols on it,” June added.
We were doing Egyptian studies at school. I was curious. I’d like to see any other student so committed to a subject. Pulling its brain out through its nose was where I drew the line, though.
“It can’t be worse than that,” June said again, trying to reassure Dad.
He nodded and shuffled back from the door.
As soon as I stepped in, I was overwhelmed by the smell of decaying produce.
I tried to arrange my face to make sure it wasn’t scrunched, and that I looked as normal as possible.
Dad walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, picking up bits and pieces as he went before plonking them in an overflowing pile next to the breakfast bar.
I imagined he did that a lot. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, and there wasn’t an empty space to do anything on the bench.
Debris of leaves and fur from the cat had been tracked through the carpet that hadn’t been vacuumed in months.
“It’s such a sunny day,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Huh? Oh, yes. Very warm,” Dad replied, standing awkwardly with his hands in the pockets of his track pants. I wasn’t used to Dad not having a commanding presence. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Remember when we’d sunbathe for hours out on the back patio during the holidays?” June said, throwing me a look. “I’d kill for that sun on my skin now. I’m seriously lacking vitamin D.”
“I’d kill to have that patio now,” I added, picking up on her hint.
“Well, you know you could own a house like this, Riley, if you applied yourself and stuck to a full-time job. Work your way up,” Dad said.
Not exactly where I was going, but I was relieved to see a glint of the father I knew.
“Riley has some house-related stuff to ask you, actually,” June said. “Shall I make us some tea so we can sit out back?”
Dad visibly relaxed. Anything to avoid our sitting on the laundry-covered sofas.
“Tea, yes. I’ll make it though. You two go get that D,” he said, waving us down the hallway.
I almost laughed, and June elbowed me. “Hey, Dad told us to,” I grinned.
Jokes aside, I didn’t need telling twice. I’d never seen the house like this. Growing up, Dad had been a fastidious cleaner, and his inspections when we cleaned were brutal. Water spots on the shower? Not good enough. Dust on the skirting boards? Start again.
I glanced into his bedroom as I passed. The duvet was crumpled on a bare mattress, with laundry and papers strewn across the floor. I was surprised he had clean clothes at all. My heart sank as I realised he probably didn’t—and was dressing out of the pile.
“I don’t know if it’s the right time to ask him,” I whispered to June as we both stretched out on the wicker seats on the patio.
They were laced with spider webs who had taken advantage of the lack of human contact.
The patio looked out onto a long yard with a stand-alone garage to the left and a vast gully down the back.
We’d spent many weekends and holidays building forts and pretend camping back there, and in later years meeting our boyfriends to practise necking.
“What harm can it do to ask? I don’t think he can get much worse,” she whispered, leaning forward. “By the way, isn’t it weird that the lawns are perfectly mown?”
I hadn’t noticed until she pointed it out. But she was right. Even the edges were neat.
Dad thumped through the door with a pot of tea and a tray of gingernuts. Classic.
“Lawns are looking great, Dad. What are you using?” June asked as she pulled the cane table forward.
“Oh. Not sure actually,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Charlie’s been doing them.”
June and I exchanged looks. Charlie was dad’s nemesis neighbour of thirty years.
They were continuously trying to outdo each other in boat size and tool quality, and one of them always had something to moan about the other.
His hedge always falls over the fence when he’s trimming.
Who mows their lawns that early on a Sunday morning? That sort of thing.
“Charlie from next door?” June asked.
Dad cleared his throat and began pouring the tea from where he sat on a small wooden bench he’d built for us many years ago.
“He started coming over and doing them a few months ago. They were probably annoying him. He does his and then he does mine,” he shrugged. “Still a little early on a Sunday morning in my opinion.”
“Wow,” June said, her brows raised. “A temporary truce in the war.”
I had to smile at that. Little pieces of my dad were still there, under the grief.
As Dad listened politely to June’s updates—Ella starting dance, Marlo getting a certificate at Friday’s school assembly—I churned over what I needed to ask him.
Odds were he’d be as surprised as June and I both were.
Anything to do with Bellamy House was a no-go zone in our family, and our questions and memories had been repeatedly shut down until we learned not to bring it up at all.
We were one of those families where it wasn’t valued, at least by Dad, to share anything but success, and even those you had to be humble about.
No high-fives here. There was a gruff well done followed by the expectation that you were now expected to outdo yourself. The goal post was always moved.
Dad shuffled in his seat and poured himself a cup of tea.
“So, what’s this thing about a house?”