Chapter 11
11
Hamish
Pete and Hamish had never been the back-slapping, have-a-few-beers-together type of brothers-in-law who shared confidences—or anything else, for that matter. There was a mutual respect there, but basically they didn’t know each other well at all. Natalie was about all they had in common.
So when Hamish had arrived unannounced at Theo’s place the day after Boxing Day, Pete had folded his arms and gaped at him. Much the same way Hamish had responded when Pete had shown up on his doorstep the day before.
Hamish had grabbed his duffel bag out of the ute and explained that his apartment was on the market. ‘The agent has arranged several private inspections over the next few days and she wanted me out when they were there,’ he said. ‘Easier for me to pack up and leave altogether and then she can come and go with the clients as needs be. And I only had to clean up the place once.’
Astonished by the news, Pete said, ‘What are you gonna do when it sells? Go out bush again?’
‘What I end up doing in the long run is anybody’s guess. Might even buy a campervan and take off.’
‘I thought you liked the apartment, that it was what you’d always wanted. Flash bachelor pad, close to the city and the night-life.’
Hamish shrugged. ‘You know how things often turn out—reality rarely lives up to the dream.’
‘You’re telling me,’ Pete said.
Pete hadn’t asked any more questions, accepting Hamish’s explanation at face value, and had kept to himself for the remainder of the week. They’d shared a beer and their evening meal, but Pete had spent most of the daylight hours out at Rocky Point dangling a fishing line in the water. Not that Hamish had envisaged end-to-end brotherly bonding sessions when he’d decided to gatecrash Pete’s getaway, but he had looked forward to company other than his own.
Pete ended up going home on New Year’s Eve. Prior to his departure, there’d been several long after-dinner telephone conversations that he’d always taken outside. He hadn’t said much to Hamish about the calls, but reading between the lines, Hamish had surmised that Pete had been talking to his wife. Given he was going home, Hamish assumed they’d finally sorted out whatever it was that had driven Pete to seek refuge in Cutlers Bay in the first place.
Lunchtime Saturday, after he’d helped Pete pack his bags into the car for the trip home, Hamish said, ‘I take it everything worked out with Nat?’
‘As well as it ever will. I’m getting too old to take her crap anymore and I told her that. Theo’s death reminded me how short life is and you want what’s left of it to be the best it can be. And if the best thing for me ends up me being on my own, so be it. I know the girls would never hold it against me. Let’s hope Nat got the message this time.’
‘Bloody hell, as bad as that. I had no idea. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s been brewing for a long while. And you’ve had your share to deal with over the years.’
‘Did Nat know you came here?’
‘I didn’t say where I was. We didn’t discuss it but she might have guessed.’
Hamish stood by the kerb and watched until Pete’s car turned the corner and was out of sight. He glanced up and down the tree-lined street and idly wondered where the woman who worked for Ruth lived. Further up the street, two young lads were tooling about on their pushbikes. A maroon middle-of-the-range SUV drove past and the driver waved. Hamish waved back, but had no idea who was behind the wheel. A surly-looking man slumped in the passenger seat and the driver was too young to be the woman who worked at the cafe. An L-plate was on display in the back window. The car eased into the driveway of a tidy stone bungalow a few doors up on the opposite side of the road. A slim teenager with dark hair climbed out from behind the wheel and car doors slammed. She collected a bulging bag of groceries off the back seat and carried them to the front door. The man had already disappeared down the side of the house. Hamish went inside.
At first it’d felt strange staying at his parents’ place without either of them being there. Even when his mother had been alive, he’d never felt overly welcome the few times he’d visited, but he’d always liked the old stone cottage. Now it was shabby, paint peeling on the woodwork, and the garden his mother had once tended so lovingly was a tangled and dying mess.
When his father had retired, his parents had moved to Cutlers Bay, much to the bewilderment of their two children. While Hamish had fully understood the lure of country living, Nat never had. City born and bred and happy to remain that way, she’d never missed an opportunity to castigate her parents for their retirement choice and the fact it was two-and-a-half hours’ drive from her home. It had occurred to Hamish that they might have desired, consciously or not, to put as much physical distance as was acceptable between themselves and their daughter and her brood.
One afternoon, not comfortable just to sit and twiddle his thumbs while Pete fished at Rocky Point, Hamish had sorted through and bagged up all his father’s clothes and shoes ready for the op shop or the rubbish bin. He messaged Nat to tell her what he was doing. When she didn’t respond, he carried on. There was little left of their mother’s clothes and personal possessions and he left them for Nat to deal with. In a million years, he’d never have imagined it’d be him clearing out his father’s wardrobe. There was nothing he wanted to keep for himself. He wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, he was taller and leaner than his father had ever been. Pete was more Theo’s build, or what he had been before old age had shrunk him several sizes. He’d gratefully accepted a couple of newish woollen jumpers and three shirts still in their packets, along with a selection of unworn socks and jocks. Hamish recalled the clothes the hospital had returned to him and Nat in a black garbage bag with a yellow tie: a pair of ratty old trousers; the threadbare collar of the faded flannelette shirt; underpants with perished elastic at the waist; socks with holes in the heels and a pair of scuffed leather shoes. The clothes his father had been wearing when he’d gassed himself in his car. And here in the chest of drawers smelling of mothballs were so many clothes that had never been worn.
After Pete had gone home, Hamish loaded the bags into the back of the dual cab. He drove downtown and dumped them into the metal bins he’d noticed in the lane adjacent to the op shop. The bins were full to overflowing after his contribution. Clearly sorting out stuff at home was something people did during the Christmas–New Year holiday break. How many unwanted Christmas gifts had already found their way into the op-shop bins or the rubbish tip? What a waste.
He drove home via the main street. Rosie’s Cafe was closed. He wasn’t after coffee, rather company—anything to distract him from the thoughts spinning endlessly in his head. He passed the hotel, the only business showing signs of life. Without second-guessing himself, he eased the vehicle into the first vacant parking space. Five minutes later he was perched on a stool at the front bar with a cold beer in front of him.
‘Cheers,’ Hamish said. He raised his glass to the barman, an older bloke with slick-backed hair and a sizeable beer gut, his face beetroot-red. He looked as if he could expire at any moment.
‘Leon!’ yelled a grizzled old bloke propping up the bar a few stools down from Hamish. He held aloft an empty glass. His eyes were red-rimmed and rheumy, his slouch that of a front-bar fixture. Every pub had them.
‘Hold your horses,’ the barman, Leon, snapped. ‘I can only see to one person at a time.’ He didn’t hurry with Hamish’s change before wheezing off to serve the restive regular.
Hamish was halfway through his pint when a man walked into the front bar. He was tall and solid, at least a decade or more younger than Hamish and vaguely familiar.
Hamish eyed him as he came up to the bar.
‘It’s Zach—Cooper,’ the man said and they shook hands. ‘Are you here sorting out your parents’ place?’
‘Ah, Sergeant Cooper. Didn’t recognise you out of uniform. Yeah, making a half-hearted start. Plenty to do to keep me occupied.’
‘Are you going to sell up?’ Zach asked. Leon placed a can of diet cola and a glass of ice on the bar in front of Zach, who paid the man. ‘Thanks, mate.’ He poured the drink, took a long pull, licked his lips and said, ‘Expecting a big turnout tonight, Leon? New Year’s Eve and all.’
‘Nah. There’s a shindig out at the sports club and a few private get-togethers around town, or so I’ve heard. My guess is it’ll be pretty quiet here. Just the regulars. Usual crowd in the dining room.’
‘Well, I’ll be around and I’ll check in from time to time,’ Zach said.
‘Cheers,’ Leon said and nodded. He glanced at Hamish’s glass. ‘Go again?’
‘No, I’m good, thanks.’
Leon huffed and trudged off.
‘So the house?’ Zach said. He leaned against the bar, angling himself towards Hamish.
‘Yeah, the plan is to sell it in due course. It’s the car I don’t know what do with.’
‘A 2017 Holden Commodore, VF, if my memory serves me correctly. Some of the last Holdens to be manufactured in Australia.’
‘Spot on. He bought it new, believe it or not. Mum tried to talk him out of it. A V6 for a man in his eighties was completely over the top. But he wouldn’t budge. Said he’d never had a new car and wanted one that had been made in Australia. He’d only clocked up thirty-three thousand clicks … barely run-in. It’s just sitting in the garage collecting dust and it would be a shame to wreck it.’
‘I’d almost guarantee there’d be someone around town who’d snap it up, if the price was right. There are those who can’t help themselves when it comes to a bargain and they don’t ask, or even care, why it’s a bargain.’
‘True,’ Hamish said and stared into what was left of his beer. ‘In the end, it’ll be up to the executors of Dad’s will. Just the same, I’d feel uncomfortable if it was sold without mentioning what happened.’
‘I can understand that,’ Zach said, after a thoughtful pause. ‘But if it was me wanting to sell it, I’d let it slip to the likes of Leon and he’d put the word around. I can think of a few blokes in the vicinity who would be tripping over themselves to get at it.’
‘You think so?’ Hamish said. He looked sideways at Zach. ‘I reckon this is one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had.’
The policeman grinned.
‘But I’ll have a word with the solicitors. They might be happy for it to be disposed of locally.’
‘Save them a job,’ Zach said, with a lift of his wide shoulders. He tipped up his glass and drained it then crunched on a mouthful of ice.
Hamish finished his beer and stood, pushing the stool into the bar.
‘Catch ya later, mate,’ Zach called to Leon.
The publican acknowledged it with a nod that made his jowls wobble. Hamish and Zach walked out together.
‘Are you staying around town for a while or heading back to the big smoke?’
‘Might go home tomorrow or Monday,’ Hamish said. ‘I’ll be back and forward for a while, getting the place ready for sale.’
‘You know there’s a local real estate agent? Bryan Chalmers. He’s a straight-up-and-down sort of a bloke. Been around the area for decades.’
‘I’ve seen where he is. When the time comes, I’ll point the solicitors in his direction.’
‘Good luck with it,’ Zach said and clapped Hamish on the back. ‘I don’t envy you. Helluva lot for you to deal with, you and your sister. Yell out if there’s anything I can do.’
After Zach had driven off, Hamish glanced up and down the near-deserted main street. Should he pack up and drive home to Adelaide now? He could be home before dark. Then he could wander down to Elder Park or into the city. Grab a bite to eat, have a beer or two. There’d be something happening, somewhere. Bring in the new year with all the other revellers. Or he could retrace his steps into the bar here and have another beer—or three. When he’d had his fill all he’d need to do was stumble back to his parents’ place and crash.
But it was hot and booze would only make him feel more melancholy. Before he could talk himself out of it, he returned to the house, packed up and drove back to Adelaide and his empty apartment and his empty life.