Chapter 2
2
Hamish
‘Natalie, when did you last talk to Dad? I’ve rung a couple of times and he hasn’t answered.’ Hamish stared mindlessly at the muted flat-screen TV. It took up half a wall. Ostentatious, to say the least. He shifted the phone to the other ear and waited for his sister’s reply.
Nat huffed out a long breath. ‘I dunno. A week, maybe ten days. Whenever I think to ring it’s usually too late in the evening. He goes to bed at some ridiculous hour.’
‘Then I’ll keep trying.’
Natalie tutted. ‘Not like you to stress over Dad not answering his phone. Even though he is eighty-eight, going on eighty-nine—’
‘Get stuffed, Natalie. I know how old he is.’
‘If you are so worried, why don’t you jump in that fancy car of yours and take a drive out and visit him? You’re the one who’s retired and has time on your hands. That’s if you remember the way, of course.’
‘How long since you’ve driven across to see him?’ he snapped, and when there was no ready reply, he smirked. ‘I thought so. That long ago you can’t remember.’ When he’d dialled Nat’s number, he’d expected the conversation to go something like this. It always did. His sister was younger than him by six years and his only remaining sibling, but that didn’t mean he had to like her. ‘Let me know if you hear from him. A text message will suffice.’
‘Ditto,’ she said and hung up before he could.
‘Happy families,’ he muttered and dropped the phone onto the couch beside him. It bounced and slid between the cushions.
He scanned the tastefully decorated fifth-floor inner-city apartment. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of: luxurious, close to every conceivable amenity, his own undercover car space, a view of the parklands and within walking distance of the city’s night-life. He’d worked damned hard to salvage and build on what little he’d had left after his divorce from Andrea. He’d regrouped, saved for a deposit and bought the apartment. Because his work took him away for long periods, he’d leased it out and worked his backside off to pay for it. The thought of being older and homeless had terrified him.
Now, after living in the apartment permanently for a year, he’d finally drummed up enough courage to admit to himself that he hated it. He’d never felt more hemmed in than he did now, verging on claustrophobic. Why hadn’t he had more insight after years spent working in the wide-open spaces? And would he feel differently if there was someone special sharing the space? Except for a miracle, that situation was unlikely to change any time soon. A substantial part of it was him and his reluctance to open up to another person. Although he knew that about himself it didn’t mean that he didn’t yearn for things to be different. But with one failed marriage under his belt, he had no desire to repeat the same mistakes again. But if he did want to meet someone he needed to get out and about more, because hell would freeze over before he’d resort to the internet or dating apps to find a partner.
He scooped up his phone and swore, loud and explicitly. The curse bounced around the walls, absorbed by the plush furnishings, which only added further to his disquiet.
* * *
The next morning, after a night spent tossing and turning, Hamish made several phone calls. He sat in dappled shade outside a Melbourne Street cafe and sipped his second espresso for the morning while he waited for his enquiries to be addressed. The wait wasn’t a long one and by midday the following day, his luxury apartment was on its way to being listed for sale. It had occurred to him that he’d have nowhere to live if it sold quickly. But he’d have means and he’d be able to take his time deciding where to settle. Wherever that might be, it would have a yard and a shed and he’d be able to see and occasionally chat to his neighbours over the fence. In the meantime, going back to work was always an option because accommodation was generally part of the deal and his previous boss would have him back on the payroll in a flash.
What Hamish did know for certain was that after he’d made the decision to sell the apartment, he felt easier than he had in a long time. What ridiculous flight of fancy had had him believing a retired diesel mechanic who’d worked in the outback for decades would feel at home in a multistorey inner-city apartment? Granted, he had been city born and raised and he’d expected to slot back easily into urban living, and he had mates who lived nearby and there was the golf course. Not forgetting the purchase had been a sound investment in a prime location. But in the end, none of it had been right for him, except perhaps the last point, given the asking price suggested by the agent.
As well as listing his apartment, Hamish made several more attempts to raise his father. There had been no news from Nat and he had a nagging feeling he should be doing more. As fathers and sons went, they weren’t close, but they spoke regularly, at least every month or so, if only for a few minutes. By mid-afternoon Friday, Hamish felt he could deliberate no longer. His father was old and increasingly frail, so he rang the Cutlers Bay police station to ask the local copper to make a welfare check on his father.
‘That’s right, Theo Adams,’ he said to the policemen who’d identified himself as Sergeant Cooper. ‘Thirty-four East Terrace. He lives alone since my mother died and he isn’t answering his phone, which is unusual. He’s nudging ninety.’
‘Maybe he lost his phone?’
‘He doesn’t have a mobile phone, only a landline.’
‘Neighbours?’
‘I’m sorry, sergeant, I don’t know his neighbours.’
‘Have you tried the local hospital?’
‘They would have contacted my sister if he’d been admitted. She’s listed as his next of kin. The last time we spoke, she hadn’t heard anything.’
Sergeant Cooper confirmed the address and Hamish’s contact details. ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,’ he said.
The policeman’s voice held no hint of judgement or censure and for that, Hamish was grateful. The stone that settled in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about his father and the frayed state of their family ties was recrimination enough.
After he’d hung up, Hamish paced and tried not to dwell on the likely reasons for his father not to be answering the phone.
* * *
At seventeen minutes past five that same afternoon, Hamish’s phone rang. He snatched it up, surprised to see the call was from his sister. He was expecting it to be Sergeant Cooper.
‘Dad’s been taken to the hospital,’ Nat said breathlessly and without preamble. ‘They said you’d called the police to check on him. He was unconscious when the policeman found him.’
Hamish’s heart raced; he felt the pulse of it through his entire body. The saliva in his mouth dried up. He licked his lips. ‘Unconscious? Did they say what had happened? Is he going to be okay?’
‘The nurse didn’t say much, just that we should come as soon as possible. Dad’s GP has a copy of his advanced care directive, so let’s hope there’re no unnecessary heroics.’
Said with Nat’s characteristic bluntness, the words gave Hamish a jolt. He hadn’t known his father had an advanced care directive. ‘I’ll go,’ he said. ‘It’ll take me ten to throw a few things in a bag.’
‘I can’t leave until Robyn finishes her shift at the servo and picks up the kids. She works until nine. Pete’s away.’
Robyn was the youngest of Natalie and Pete’s four children, and her partner was a fly-in fly-out worker so Nat often had their two children in tow. Hamish shook his head. He didn’t begrudge anyone wanting to have a family, but four children? Was it any wonder that Nat and Pete were endlessly broke and always complaining about not having enough of anything? Now his sister had a horde of grandkids and he sometimes wondered how much she enjoyed the perpetual babysitting and out-of-school care she provided at no cost.
‘I said I’d go,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Nat said. ‘I’ll come as soon as I can.’
Hamish dragged a canvas duffel bag off the shelf in the walk-in robe and started shoving in jocks and socks.
‘Take you a good two and half hours, maybe longer,’ Nat said. ‘Peak-hour traffic and all the weekenders heading to the peninsula. Main North Road to Port Wakefield Road would be your best bet.’
‘I do know how to get there, Natalie, believe it not.’
‘Of course you do. I suppose your fancy ute has GPS.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘I’ll let you get on with it,’ she said but didn’t disconnect.
Hamish paused. ‘Was there something else?’ He went into the ensuite and hunted out his toiletry bag.
‘No, I suppose not.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’ll ring the hospital and tell them you’re on your way. See if there’s been any update on Dad’s condition.’
‘Right. Let me know if you find out anything new.’ One-handedly, Hamish shoved his shaving gear, toothbrush and toothpaste into the bag, impatient now to get on the road. Why hadn’t he asked the police to do a welfare check earlier in the week?
‘Travel safely,’ Nat said and was gone before he could reply. She’d sounded shaken, although still her usual snarky self.
Hamish slipped the phone into the pocket of his jeans and went back to the task at hand.
Twenty minutes later, he was accelerating onto Main North Road and trying not to speculate too much about what he might find when he reached his destination.