Chapter 14
14
Hamish
In the first week of January a young professional couple made an offer on Hamish’s apartment, twenty thousand more than the asking price. Unashamedly bemused, Hamish said to Brooke, the estate agent, ‘I thought the idea was to offer less than the asking price and then we’d negotiate?’
‘If you have your heart set on negotiating, we could ask for more,’ she said. He must have looked skeptical or downright dubious because she continued, ‘They’ve done their homework, Hamish. They like it and don’t want to miss out. They’re in a sound financial position and they’re not going to the bank cap in hand—always positive for the vendor, which in this case is you.’
‘And you know this because?’
‘It’s my job to know,’ she said and he was hard pressed not to be irritated by the condescension in her tone. In his opinion, she was young and cocky. Over-confident. But her reputation preceded her and if the sale went through as smoothly as she was predicting, she’d have lived up to that reputation.
Hamish didn’t sleep much that night. He tossed and turned and worried that he was doing the wrong thing, that he’d been impetuous because he’d felt unhappy and dissatisfied. If the sale went through he’d have six weeks to find a place to live. Where that might be, he had no idea. In the years before and after his marriage the places he’d called home had been determined by where the work was. Post-divorce, this apartment and the imagined lifestyle that went with it had been the ultimate goal. The light at the end of a lifetime of damned hard work in the most inhospitable places imaginable.
Around five he drifted off, only to awaken a couple of hours later feeling heavy-eyed and morose. Being the weekend and with nothing much on his agenda, he made himself stay in bed until eight; his golfing mates were holidaying with their respective families. Idly, he wondered what the Cutlers Bay Golf Club had to offer. He’d driven past the golf course several times and it appeared well tended and utilised.
After he’d risen and showered, he wandered down to Melbourne Street and claimed a table at his usual cafe.
‘Macchiato, Hamish?’ asked the server when he presented himself at the counter. She was a regular, always ready with a smile and, although he’d never say it out loud, he thought of her as a cleanskin: one of the few servers who didn’t sport sleeves of tattoos.
‘Thanks, Brittany. And two slices of toast with Vegemite while you’re at it.’
‘You’ve got it. Outside?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’ll bring it over.’
He picked up a newspaper on the way to his table, but didn’t read it while he waited, rather, he stared moodily at passers-by. People were out and about before the day heated up.
Brittany came with the toast and coffee. ‘Cheers,’ she said and laughed. ‘Excuse me for saying this, Hamish, but you look as if you partied hard last night.’
‘Nothing as exciting as that, Brit. I just didn’t sleep well.’
‘Yeah, totally hear you. My grandad says the same thing: that as he’s got older, he doesn’t sleep as well. Have a nap in the afternoon. That’s what he always does.’
She winked and bounded off. Hamish gaped after her. Grandad? Father he could have accepted, but grandad ? He swore under his breath. The woman at the table next to him, around his age, had obviously heard the exchange and openly smirked. Hamish took a deep breath and started in on his breakfast. Then he read the paper until a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder right before a familiar voice said, ‘Mate, when you weren’t home, I thought I’d find you here.’
‘Pete. What’s up?’
‘Nothin’ much. Want another coffee? I’m gonna order one of those latte things.’
He was back in a matter of minutes and pulled up a chair opposite Hamish. He was wearing Stubbies and a T-shirt, with sneakers on his feet. No socks. The T-shirt had seen better days.
‘You’re not on the outer with Nat again, are you?’
Pete shook his head. ‘Nah. She wanted some “me time” this morning because she’s looking after her grandchildren this arvo. Robyn’s brats.’
‘Aren’t they your grandchildren as well?’
‘Not today,’ Pete said and folded his arms. ‘Any news on the sale of your joint?’
Hamish updated him, pausing when Brittany appeared with their coffees. Pete had ordered a pear and flaked almond friand to accompany his latte.
‘What’s with the girlie food?’ Hamish said.
‘I’m getting in touch with my feminine side.’
Hamish blinked. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah, well, Carmel suggested I try that and then I might understand more where her mum’s coming from. As it is, mate, most of the time I don’t have a freaking clue where she’s coming from.’
‘Carmel wasn’t taking the piss?’
‘Sort of, but I took her point. Bloke’s gotta do his bit.’
Hamish glanced at the friand and then at Pete. ‘Let me know how it goes,’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t put money on it.’ Pete grinned and bit into the friand. Three bites amid a shower of almond flakes and it was gone.
‘Actually, that was quite nice,’ Pete said and nodded sagely. He dumped two packets of sugar into the latte, stirred it vigorously and then downed it in one swallow. He frowned at the empty glass. ‘That didn’t even touch the sides. Might have to go again. You?’
‘Okay, but let me,’ Hamish said and took a twenty dollar note out of his wallet.
Pete came back after ordering and said, ‘This fancy stuff is expensive, for what you get. Might have to stick with pies and iced coffee after all.’ He put the meagre change onto the table in front of Hamish. ‘Thanks, mate.’
Hamish folded the newspaper and pushed it to one side. ‘How’s work?’ he said. Pete delivered rainwater tanks for a manufacturing company in the suburbs. He was often on the road for days at a time.
‘Busy. Never lets up. I’m off to the Riverland on Monday, back Wednesday.’
‘Do you ever get fed up with it? Ever wanted to do something different?’
‘Nope,’ Pete said, without hesitation. ‘Great way to see the countryside. I’ve been everywhere, man.’
‘Do you reckon it puts more stress on your marriage? Being away like you are?’
‘Nah, not from where I’m sitting. If anything, it’s the opposite. Gives us a break from each other.’
A waiter came with Pete’s second latte and an apricot Danish. He deposited it on the table without speaking or smiling and shambled off.
‘I said the same to Andrea once and did I ever get a mouthful. She said that might have been true if we’d ever spent long enough together in one hit to need a break from each other.’
Pete chuckled. ‘You never were around much. Lucky you didn’t have kids.’ He picked up the pastry. ‘You want half?’
Hamish shook his head. ‘And there was no luck about it. I knew from the get-go that she didn’t want children and I didn’t care much one way or another. Would you still be with Nat if you hadn’t had children?’
Pete stopped his vigorous sugar-stirring to stare at Hamish. ‘Never thought about it. We both knew we wanted kids,’ he said and the teaspoon clattered onto the saucer. ‘But, mate, isn’t it lonely on your own? Nat can be a pain in the arse, but we sometimes have a good laugh together.’
‘So what was that all about, you know, when you took off to Cutlers Bay a couple of weeks ago? If you don’t mind me asking.’
Pete’s cheerfulness faltered. He took a sip of the coffee and carefully returned the glass to its saucer. ‘Like I said, she can be a pain in the arse and she didn’t like it that I had a few beers with Baz. Dunno if it was the beers or the fact I didn’t go to lunch with you blokes that upset her the most.’ Pete sighed. ‘I’d had enough of her sniping that day. We were there to farewell your old man. And then Baz kept lining up the beers. Seemed like the right thing at the time, although I didn’t think so the next morning. Haven’t been that hungover since my twenty-first.’
‘Are your parents still alive?’ Hamish said, ashamed for not knowing or remembering. ‘Nat’s probably told me …’
‘Yep, they’re both still going strong. They live in Mount Gambier and I do a run down that way with tanks every so often.’ Pete stacked his crockery, pushed it into the centre of the small table and stood. ‘I’ll catch you later. Thanks for the coffee. I’m on my way to Bunnings to get a few things. I’m putting up more shelves in the shed. I hope everything goes smoothly with the sale. Keep me posted.’ He pushed his chair into the table.
‘Will do.’
He paused. ‘Made any plans for another trip to Cutlers Bay? Clear out a bit more of your parents’ junk?’
‘No immediate plans. I’ll need to be around for the next few days to sign whatever the agent needs me to sign. Plus I’d better get started packing up the apartment.’
‘Yell out when you need a hand to move,’ Pete said. ‘I’ve got a six-by-four and we could hire one of those U-Haul trailers.’
‘Thanks, Pete.’ First he’d need a place to move everything to.
Hamish watched his brother-in-law amble off down the footpath. Nat wasn’t the easiest person by a long shot and good on Pete for doing whatever he could to smooth things over in his marriage. He had to give the bloke credit for trying. Sadly, Hamish couldn’t claim the same. Had he even wanted his own marriage to work? He accepted that he’d never given it a fair go. He hadn’t made much of an effort, not when it’d really counted. He was beginning to believe that Pete was right: it was lonely on your own. The vision of how the future might pan out for him wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, but if he stayed on the course he was on, the most the coming years would bring was greater isolation and loneliness.
What his father had done to staunch his loneliness and downward spiral to total dependence horrified Hamish. Nevertheless, the longer he ruminated on it and the more parallels he could draw with his own life, the closer he came to assimilating the reasons why his father might have chosen the path he did. Hamish could lay no blame, but that did nothing to absolve his own remorse. Could he have done more for his father over the years? Should he have done more? And what about Jonathon, his younger brother? How had Hamish failed him? Had he failed him? The cold, hard facts were that Hamish had little in his life to be proud of. Sure, he’d been a hard and conscientious worker, respected in his trade, but the only person who’d ever benefited from that had been himself.
Hamish stacked his empty cup with Pete’s. He could linger a while longer, put off the inevitable return to the empty apartment. But sitting there cogitating wasn’t good for his mental health. And he’d already had three coffees and it was Saturday morning and there were people waiting for tables.