Chapter 12 Bardy
BARDY
Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
Why does he feel like he’s in a Shakespearean play?
Coffee had been good. He hadn’t expected Kate. At first, he was thrown. Hoping to get close to Pia? Yeah, the woman he could barely talk to. But actually, having Kate there had worked. God, what a shit time she’d had. Brave woman.
Still, in the end, being together had worked.
Then why does he keep coming back to the three of them and thinking it is like something he’s taught?
He is now on his way to see Lou. Had suggested they meet at his house, as it’s Lou’s day off. They would normally go to the pub or for a walk. Or both. But Bardy wants to see Lou’s garage. Can’t help feeling his friend has been holding out on him. Lou the woodturner.
Lou answers the door wearing a pink spotted apron.
One of Tina’s. But no cerise sweater. Normal checked shirt.
His hands are black. He catches Bardy looking at them.
“I’ve been having a go at the silver,” he explains, leading the way down the hall to the kitchen.
Theirs is an Edwardian house, long and thin.
Enough bedrooms for their two kids, Gina and Mark.
Long gone now, Paris and London. Bardy wonders if Lou will ever sell.
Maybe buy a box like him. No. He won’t change a thing. Just like the café.
The silverware is laid out on the kitchen table. Photo frames, vases, platters. Mainly family gifts for their silver wedding anniversary. Lou stands looking down at them. “Oh, fuck it! That will have to do.”
Bardy isn’t fooled into thinking he is swearing because of the cleaning.
Nearly five years since Tina died. Six months before Hana left. They hadn’t been close, the two women, but maybe her dying had made Hana think. You only get one shot at this.
“Coffee?” Lou asks from beside the kettle, ready to fill the coffeepot on the stove. Bardy can hear Lou’s dad saying, “Always use boiling water.” Long dead now. But Lou and Bardy still following his instructions. Well, he was Mafia, wasn’t he? Bardy smiles.
“What you grinning at?” Lou demands.
“Thinking about your old man.”
Lou nods. “He was okay, my dad.”
“For someone in the Mafia.”
Lou snorts. “Can’t believe you bought that one.”
“We all did. You were a scary bugger even back then.”
“Yeah, right.” Lou—big stomach, nearly bald, in a pink apron—scoffs.
But Bardy thinks his friend carries it well. Like . . . what was his name . . . Clemenza in The Godfather.
They don’t ever really talk about Bardy’s dad.
Only the once, Lou had said—not looking at him—“Hard man, your dad.” Bardy’s not sure he even replied.
Grunted probably. But it was enough. An acknowledgment from the Mafia that Bardy hadn’t had it easy.
No abuse. Nothing like that. But maybe that’s why he took to the oddballs that he taught and fostered. Knowing you don’t always fit.
“Come on then, let’s see this garage of yours,” Bardy demands.
Ten minutes later, they are sitting on plastic-latticed beach chairs surrounded by shavings and old bits of wood, finishing their coffee.
Lou has shown Bardy his lathe, his band saw, and the work bench, and explained the range of gouges he has suspended on the walls in order of size.
Bardy is impressed and something else. Lou kept mentioning the guys down at the wood mill, Tony and Jakub, who were helping him.
Is he jealous? Does he feel left out? But then hadn’t he been a bit of a misery lately? Staying in, feeling sorry for himself?
“Fancy a beer?” Lou asks, nodding at the ancient fridge in the corner.
“Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?” is Bardy’s instant response. Always makes Lou laugh. Good to share a drink and laugh with your best friend. Bet Lou doesn’t do that with Tony and Jakub.
His chair creaks as Lou sits back down, handing Bardy a cold bottle.
They sit for a while in silence, glugging their beers.
“I had coffee with Pia and Kate today,” Bardy says, suddenly glad Kate was there too. Less likely Lou would make fun of him.
“Was Tay okay?”
Ah, how to say this . . . “Oh, we went to the gallery by the park.”
“Oh.”
“Pia’s idea.”
Why is he lying? He hadn’t wanted to go to Luigi’s. Had forgotten it was Lou’s day off. Didn’t want to be watched by the man who sucked his stomach in for the beautiful Dane.
A pause.
“Not true.” Bardy shifts in his seat. God, is this thing going to collapse? “Thought you’d take the piss.”
Bardy can feel his friend relax as Lou laughs. Maybe Tony and Jakub aren’t that bad. It might be good to meet them.
“What did you talk about?” Lou asks.
“Lots of stuff. Lockdown, funnily enough.”
“Can’t see those two as rule breakers. As rebels,” Lou observes. He hurries on, looking worried. “You didn’t tell them, though? About . . .”
Bardy shakes his head. “Code of omertà, mate.”
Lou puffs out a breath, “Not so bad now when you think about it. After what all those bastards did. Partying and the like.”
“Kate had to go through chemo around then.”
“She okay?”
“Seems to be.”
“That’s good.” Lou nods. He has a tear in his eye, which Bardy ignores. “That’s good,” Lou repeats.
“What we did wasn’t so bad,” Bardy tells him.
“No. But best not say,” Lou says, firmly.
The plastic beach chairs creak beneath them. The same chairs they took down to the riverbank at 4:00 a.m. some mornings during lockdown, to share a few beers and chat. Somewhere no one could see them. Two lonely, brokenhearted rebels.
“You know she’s out of our league, mate?” Lou sighs.
“Who? Pia?” Bardy returns to the present.
“Yeah, you and I are idiots, we wouldn’t get a look in. She’ll be with some tall, good-looking type. Property developer or banker.”
“She’s not . . .” What’s he trying to say? Not pretentious. Gentle. Very direct sometimes. A funny mix. Was that her being Danish? He has no idea.
“She’s not what?” Lou prompts.
“Not Hana.”
Where did that come from?
A longer pause. More beer slugging.
Lou talks at his bottle. “Thought you were getting better. But recently . . . I don’t know, mate.”
Nor does Bardy.
“You going to tell me? Or just keep acting the bollocks?”
Bardy remembers sitting in Lou’s café, wondering, What’s the point? That certainly hadn’t got him anywhere. So he says it.
“Hana’s moving to New Zealand.”
He relives the shock and hopelessness he felt when he read those text messages. Hana had been living in Wales for some time now, but she always came back a few times a year to see their old foster kids and, he hopes, to check up on him.
“Oh, mate.”
They sit in silence. Then Lou prizes himself from the chair and gets a couple more beers from the fridge. Eventually, Lou asks, “And Ned?”
“Going to stay there. Met this woman. Friend of Tom’s.”
“Serious then?”
“Seems so.”
“I always thought you might . . .”
“Yeah. Me too. Was looking at a place . . .”
“They living near each other? Tom and Ned?”
“Same town. Just outside of Auckland.”
“And was the place you were looking at . . .”
“Yep, nearby.”
“And the lads knew?”
“No, hadn’t really told them, well, not told them, told them. Just talked vaguely. Wanted to get a few things sorted.” Bardy had thought they had gotten the drift. He’d always been solid with his sons, even after the split. But now he wonders if they had any idea of what he’d been hinting at.
“And Hana?”
“Yeah. Same area. Look, I get it. It’s where she grew up. Wants to be near the boys.”
“Couldn’t you still go?” Lou answers his own question. “Nah, that’s not going to work.”
“Maybe for a visit. Yes, definitely for a visit. But living next door to Hana? Always bumping into her? Not a hope. And what would she think? Me following her to New Zealand? Nope. Best move on. About time.”
Lou nods consolingly.
“It’s her home, not mine,” Bardy declares, “I’d be like a bloody cuckoo.”
“Don’t you mean kookaburra?”
Bardy snorts. “You’re thinking of a kiwi, mate.”
He can sense rather than see Lou’s grin.
“No, gotta move on,” Bardy repeats, wondering who he is trying to convince.
“And you thought maybe Pia?”
Bardy thinks it’s good of Lou to pretend he stands a chance.
“What d’you think?” Bardy replies.
They look at each other and start to laugh. Ten-year-old boys, cracking up at a joke. Not two old men in danger of putting their arses through plastic beach chairs.
They have moved on from the beers and decided to get something to eat. Indian or Thai, maybe fish and chips. Lou says, Anything except Italian.
As they walk into town, Lou remarks, “Not sure everything’s okay with Tay.”
“What do you mean?” Bardy says, anxious.
“The women who she works with.”
“At the call center?”
“It’s a bit more than that, mate. She’s doing well. Been promoted to a team away from the phones.”
Why doesn’t he know this? He really has been self-obsessed. Perhaps it’s a good thing Tay set up the creative group for him. Now he feels even worse. She has been looking out for him, and he has been letting her down.
“What about the women?” Bardy asks as they turn into the high street.
Lou pauses in front of a Thai restaurant, and Bardy nods his assent. Lou opens the door, and they wait behind some other couples looking for tables. Lou continues, “They’re all a lot older than her. Middle-aged, and I think they treat her like she’s one of their kids.”
“She won’t like that.”
Lou looks thoughtful. “Do you know what, I think to start with, she did like it. They made a fuss of her.”
Why did it work so well with Hana, then? Not a fuss maker. But interested in Tay. And all the others. Gave them space, just to be. Is that what Hana had needed? More space? Bardy realizes Lou is waiting. Needs a prompt.
“But now?”
“I guess she’s finding out what it can be like to be one of their kids. Bossing her a bit. Not really listening . . .”
Bardy consoles himself: he does listen.
“Are you listening, mate? You seem miles away.”
Bardy turns a laugh into a cough. “And . . . ?”
“I don’t know if there’s much more to say. I just think maybe she’s upset about something.”
“Oh.”
Bardy doesn’t know what to do with this.
He should have known, shouldn’t he? But it’s not too late.
Hana may be off to the other side of the world, but he can still be there for her.
Try to get to the bottom of what is bothering Tay.
And he’s not alone. He has Lou the woodturner by his side. An odd couple for sure.
A waiter joins them. “Table for two?” he asks.
They nod.
“Shall I take your coats?”
They nod again.
“And would sir like me to take his apron?”