Chapter 9
9
Hamish
The festive season was more ho-hum than ho ho for Hamish. All Christmas did this year was provide another reminder of how dysfunctional his relationship with his only sibling had become and how alone he was in the world, even more so now both his parents were dead. Loneliness wasn’t something he’d ever given much thought until recently; he’d always had his work. Ruminating on the way his father had died could account for why he was contemplating his own situation. The more he thought about Theo’s suicide, the less he understood. And the remorse for any part he’d unwittingly or otherwise played in his father’s demise snowballed. He’d read and reread a copy of the suicide letter, searching for what might be hidden between the lines. He’d found nothing.
In the days leading up to Christmas he’d lunched and had a few drinks with a couple of mates after they’d played eighteen holes of golf. It’d been a welcome distraction. His mates had both returned home to wives and families and Christmas festivities and Hamish had experienced a feeling of what he suspected was genuine loneliness. It frightened him, so, on Christmas Eve, he’d made himself go out on his own for a drink and dinner, and listened to live music afterwards. He came home feeling lonelier than ever.
From his sister, he’d heard nothing since their trip to Cutlers Bay. The day hadn’t ended in total disaster, but it very nearly could have. Pete and Carmel’s bloke had got themselves nicely mellow at the Cutlers Arms hotel while the others had had lunch at Rosie’s Cafe. Not only that, they’d kept everyone waiting back at Theo’s place while they drank their fill and then some. It was almost five when they’d finally tumbled out of Carmel’s car and staggered up Theo’s driveway. Nat had been incandescent with rage. Robyn and Bridie had left at three with Cate and her boys. Carmel had had the foresight to switch to lemonade or they would have been spending the night at Theo’s.
To make matters worse, Pete, not being the seasoned drinker Carmel’s boyfriend was, had been sick twice on the way home. It’d only been Hamish’s rapid response to Pete’s distress that had prevented his brother-in-law throwing up in the ute. That would have stretched even the firmest of friendships and theirs was hardly that. Not Pete’s proudest moment. Nat had been monosyllabic with fury. When Pete wasn’t being sick he’d slept and Hamish had borne the brunt of her anger. When he’d dropped them home after nine, he’d never been more pleased to see the back of them. He wouldn’t have wanted to be in Pete’s shoes when the poor bloke sobered up.
Needless to say, there’d been no invitation to spend Christmas Day in their company. Cate and Nigel were the only family who’d thought to include Hamish: he had a meal with them Christmas night; the usual Christmas fare served outside on their leafy deck with a view out over the twinkling city lights. It was a balmy evening. Very pleasant. After they’d eaten, the boys went inside to do whatever it was they did on their devices.
‘Mum’s still not talking to Dad,’ Cate said. ‘Not since the Cutlers Bay incident. Dad comes across as a real pushover and most of the time he is, but even he has his limit.’ She picked at the bowl of cherries on the table and popped a couple into her mouth.
‘More wine, Hamish? Cate?’
‘No thanks, mate,’ Hamish said.
Cate held out her glass and Nigel topped it up before emptying the bottle into his own glass.
‘Mum forgets that Dad was very fond of Grandpa Theo and he has every right to grieve in his own way.’
Nigel murmured his agreement. Hamish swatted at mozzies. The coils weren’t doing their job.
‘Besides, I’ve never known Dad to get as drunk as Mum reckons he was. Was he that drunk?’
‘He was,’ Hamish said. ‘Could barely scratch himself. That bloke of Carmel’s thought it was a huge joke.’
‘Barry. He’s a thing of the past. Carmel gave him the flick after that. One positive thing to come out of the whole fiasco.’
‘Poor old Pete. A couple of days after the event, he rang and apologised for almost throwing up in my car. Said he still felt crook.’
Nigel laughed, a low rumble. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later. Cate’s mother would be enough to drive the staunchest teetotaller to drink.’
Cate snorted and threw a cherry at him. He ducked and they both laughed.
Hamish left for home not long afterwards. On the drive, he tried not to think about anything except how enjoyable the evening had been.
* * *
Pete showed up on Hamish’s doorstep totally out of the blue early on Boxing Day morning. Hamish invited him in.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
‘Nothing, thanks, mate. I thought I’d head off to Cutlers Bay for a few days, until I go back to work. Hole up at Theo’s. Things at home are—’ He shrugged, his attention focussed forensically on his feet. ‘I wondered if you had a key. I wasn’t game to ask Nat.’
‘There’s a key under the pot by the front door. The one with the dead geranium in it.’
‘Right. As simple as that.’
‘Yep. Sure you won’t have a coffee?’ Hamish filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘You look as if you could use one.’
‘And you don’t mind if I go there for a few days?’
‘Course not. Why would I mind?’ He held up a second mug and Pete shook his head. He returned the mug to the cupboard. ‘Have you told Nat your plans?’
‘Nope.’
Hamish studied his brother-in-law. ‘So when do you go back to work?’
‘In the new year.’
‘Anything I can do?’
Pete’s gaze flicked to Hamish’s and then back to his sneaker-clad feet. He hissed out a breath. ‘Nah. Thanks, mate.’
‘You’ll need to turn on the power at the meter box. Hot water service heats overnight so no hot showers until tomorrow. There isn’t anything much in the way of food. Tea, coffee, a few tins of beans and the likes. A couple of cartons of long-life milk. Nothing the mice can get at.’
Pete nodded.
‘The supermarket’s open every day. Closes earlier on weekends and public holidays. And there’s the cafe. Excellent coffee. Food’s pretty good too, if you don’t want to cook. It’s closed on Mondays.’
Pete cleared his throat and looked up. ‘Thought I might do a spot of fishing on the beach at Rocky Point. That’s if the gear’s still in Theo’s shed. We used to chuck a line in every now and then. Catch a couple of whiting if we were lucky.’
Hamish raised his eyebrows. Something else he didn’t know about his father. The kettle boiled and he made instant coffee. Two teaspoons full, no milk or sugar.
‘What do I say if Nat asks me where you are? Unlikely, but you never know with her.’
Pete scoffed. ‘I doubt she’ll even notice I’m not there.’ He folded his arms. He was brawny. Balding. Not short, but not tall either. ‘Do what ya gotta do, mate, she’s your sister. Just don’t get on the wrong side of her, not on my behalf.’
‘I reckon that ship sailed a long while ago.’
Pete’s mouth tilted into a wry smile. ‘Yeah. Well, I’ll leave you to it.’ He backed away, towards the front door.
Hamish followed. ‘Take care, Pete. Give us a hoy if there’s anything I can do.’
‘Cheers, mate,’ Pete said and lifted his hand in a waist-high wave.
Hamish closed the door after him. He fetched his coffee from the kitchen and took it out onto the balcony that overlooked the parklands. He’d always assumed his sister’s marriage was solid. Maybe it was and this was only a minor blip. Hamish knew from his own marriage there were plenty of those. But regardless of Pete’s casual remarks, underneath it all he’d looked lost and a trifle sad. When he finished his coffee, he realised with a start that he hadn’t even tasted it, so caught up had he been in his musings.
Should Hamish call his sister? Visit her? Give her a metaphorical shake and hope it was enough to bring her to her senses? Maybe if they’d had a closer sibling relationship he’d feel comfortable doing that. But in the interests of self-preservation, he decided not to poke his nose into something that wasn’t his business. If that meant he was a coward, then so be it.
When his own marriage had been floundering he hadn’t confided in Nat nor his parents, not until he’d moved out. His mother had been the only one to show him any sympathy. Nat’s comment was ‘I’m surprised you stayed together as long as you did. There’s only room in a relationship for one selfish person.’ She’d know , is what Hamish had thought at the time. How she was treating Pete now only reinforced that belief.
Although, he would never have called Andrea selfish. He’d always considered her as being driven . Focussed. She’d always known what she wanted out of life and God help anyone who stood in her way. But that didn’t make her selfish. She could be extremely thoughtful and generous. And fun. That left him as the selfish one in the marriage. There was a novel idea. Was refusing to compromise when it counted selfish? If so, then he was guilty as charged. But only ever when it came to his job, or so he liked to think.
It was when Andrea took a promotion in her job and her salary ended up much higher than his that things got dicey. She wanted him home more to support her. The more she asked for him to find a job back in the city, one that didn’t require long stretches away, the more he’d dug his heels in and stayed out bush. In the end, without children, there was nothing to keep them together. Not when all they did when they were together was bicker.
Back then, Hamish had wondered if she’d found another bloke and that’s what had propelled her into finally asking him to leave for good. But there’d never been anything to suggest that. As far as he knew, she’d remained single to this day. Maybe some people just weren’t meant to partner up, were better off on their own. His stomach rumbled. Breakfast and then another game of golf with his mates. The thought of either activity did little to lift his mood. He shook his head in an attempt to shift the melancholy that had moved in along with the memories. No point trying to make sense of any of it, he thought. It’d only ever do his head in if he did.