Chapter 20
20
Hamish
‘The car’s been sold,’ Hamish informed Nat. They were talking on the phone late Saturday afternoon. ‘The bloke picked it up after lunch.’
‘How much did you get for it?’ Nat demanded and Hamish could have hurled the phone across his parents’ kitchen.
‘Is that all you can think about? The money? It was me who picked it up from the police station in Kadina and drove it back here and then I cleaned out the damned thing, Nat. Take a moment to consider what that might have been like.’
‘He didn’t die in the car, he died at the hospital,’ she said.
‘Splitting hairs, Natalie.’ He told her how much the car had sold for and that the buyer had paid the money directly into an account nominated by the solicitors. He didn’t mention the sixty bucks he’d spent on a slab of Pale Ale for Zach. He’d willingly bear that cost just to be rid of the Commodore.
‘When are you coming back to Adelaide?’
‘Don’t know. I might stay and clean out the garage now that the car’s gone. If there’s anything I think you or Pete might want, I’ll put it to one side. Any idea when you’ll drive across?’
Natalie took a moment to process all of what he’d said. ‘Maybe next weekend. If Pete’s not away.’
‘Will you overnight it?’
‘Let me talk to Pete first, see what he wants to do.’
‘Your call.’
‘Will you be there? Have you sold your apartment yet?’
Hamish cleared his throat. ‘A few things in the pipeline. I should know more soon.’ Fibbing for sure, but with only the faintest tinge of remorse this time. He’d tell her when he was good and ready.
‘Terri gave me a ballpark figure of what the place should fetch, depending on how much work we do first to tidy it up.’
We? With a flare of annoyance, Hamish said, ‘So when are you planning to do some of that tidying up? If you’re going to benefit, isn’t it only fair you do your share?’
He could almost hear Nat’s hackles rise, but what she said next surprised him.
‘I hate being there, Hamish. It’s too sad now that Mum and Dad have both gone. I wouldn’t care if I never saw the house or Cutlers Bay ever again. You probably don’t understand because you weren’t as close—’
‘Quit while you’re ahead, Nat,’ Hamish said through gritted teeth. ‘You know nothing about how I might feel.’ And as bizarre as it might sound, when he was here, he felt closer to his parents than he had when they were alive.
Nat sniffed but held her tongue.
‘I’ll keep working here while I wait to see what happens with the apartment. Who knows what might lie just over the horizon?’
‘Nothing more than what’s on this side of it,’ Nat said. ‘You ought to know that by now, you’ve been looking for most of your life. I’ll talk to Pete and he might come up on his own. He’ll know what things of Mum’s I’d want to keep. Dump the rest.’
After the call ended, Hamish sat at the kitchen table and stared at nothing. Was Nat right? Had he always been so busy chasing what was just over the horizon that he’d missed what was right in front of him? Sobering thought, if it had even a grain of truth in it. He stretched and yawned, contemplated a beer but put the kettle on instead. His stomach rumbled. Ruth’s big breakfast was all he’d eaten today and that was hours ago. Coffee in hand, he went outside and sat on the back step. It’d been a nice day, the heat tempered by a gentle sea breeze that seemed to pick up around mid-afternoon on days like this. The neighbour over the back was mowing grass and a dog barked off in the distance. Hamish drew in a long breath and then let it out slowly, willing himself to relax along with it. The backyard was a peaceful spot with its requisite gnarly old lemon tree and leaking galvanised-iron rainwater tank. Remnants of what had once been a vegetable patch took up a large corner of the yard, a carefully chosen spot protected from the scorching late-afternoon summer sun. Next to it a small garden shed housed a lawnmower, wheelbarrow and other gardening equipment. None of it would have seen the light of day in a long while. By the tap, a coiled, faded hose with a sprinkler on the end was tangled up with weeds. Testament to these observations was the back lawn: long ago browned off and now dead from lack of water. Hamish sighed and leaned back against a verandah post. While he sipped the coffee he went back over the conversation with Nat.
He didn’t know what to make of her admission that she’d prefer not to visit Cutlers Bay ever again. Hamish’s snarky self reckoned it was nothing more than Nat being Nat, a veteran at avoiding unpleasant situations and things she didn’t want to do. It’d been like that when they’d been growing up. Being the youngest, their parents had shown Nat far greater leniency than either he or Jonathon had experienced. Then, after Jonathon’s death, in the eyes of their father everything had been Hamish’s fault. Hamish had always found Natalie difficult and hard to like. He’d searched for understanding but found he had none. If you took away their parents they really had nothing in common. In the cold light of day, when the house sold and the estate was settled there would be little reason for him to pursue an ongoing relationship with his sister. The thought left him feeling vaguely regretful, but steadfast.
* * *
Hamish heard raised voices in the pristine stillness of early morning. He paused to listen. It was Sunday and he’d been up since dawn, methodically piling half a skip load of junk in the driveway in front of the garage. He heard the muffled thud of a slammed door and then nothing more. He shrugged and kept on with what he was doing. Several minutes later, he noticed a dark-haired teenager hurrying along the opposite footpath, her arms tightly crossed, shoulders hunched. He recognised her as the L-plate driver. Had the raised voices come from where she lived? What had it been about? Hamish chided himself for being nosy. Not enough going on in his own life if he had the time and inclination to be curious about what was happing in the lives of the neighbours.
Having worked up an appetite, he was looking forward to another one of Ruth’s big breakfasts, but the cafe didn’t open for the best part of an hour. He took a video of the growing pile in the driveway and sent it to Nat with a message: See anything here you want?
Moments later a reply whooshed back.
Is that a table tennis table leaning against the shed?
Yep.
Mum and Dad playing table tennis???
Hard to imagine. There’s a crate with bats and balls, nets, etc. Do you want it?
NO! I’m just surprised. I had no idea.
And with you being so close— Hamish paused and then deleted the words and wrote: If you want anything in the pile let me know asap. Nat responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He carried on adding to the pile.
Rosie’s Cafe was humming when he let himself through the front door some time after nine. Ruth was at the coffee machine and he was surprised to see the young woman he’d seen earlier scurrying along the footpath ferrying coffees and teas to waiting customers. Hamish didn’t dwell on how pleased he was to see Ruth or how disappointed he was to see table three taken.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Looks busy.’
‘Just your average summer Sunday morning. What can I get you?’
‘Same as yesterday, thanks. And who’s the girl waiting tables?’
‘Mia, Allie’s daughter. Why?’ Ruth regarded him with a steady gaze.
‘No reason, except that she walked past Dad’s place earlier this morning. She was probably on her way to work.’
Ruth nodded and returned her attention to the drink she was preparing and the girl called Mia flashed past and scooped up the two waiting cappuccinos. A young man with slicked-back hair and a blindingly white T-shirt came in through the kitchen door.
‘George! Not a minute too soon,’ Ruth said. ‘Take over here, please, and I’ll get back to the kitchen.’
‘Sure thing,’ George said, tying on a waist apron.
‘And how are you?’ Ruth added and pointed out the order she was up to.
George nodded. ‘I’m good, thanks.’ They switched places.
‘Now, Hamish. The big breakfast? Long black or macchiato?’ Ruth scanned the dining area. ‘Table one okay?’
‘Yep, and make it a macchiato.’ He paid and made his way to the table. It felt strange not to be sitting at table three but the couple there appeared firmly ensconced with their bacon sandwiches, coffees and newspapers. Mia was on her way back to the kitchen with her hands full of empty cups and crockery. Hamish scrolled through the morning’s news headlines on his phone and it wasn’t long before Mia was there with his coffee and breakfast cutlery.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Mia Thomas. Ruth told me where you’re staying and that we’re practically neighbours. Who knew?’
‘Hello, Mia. I’m Hamish and yes, we are. My parents lived at number thirty-four before they died.’
‘I heard about your dad. I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Did you know them?’
Her mouth turned down. ‘Not really. The old lady—I suppose she was your mum—anyway, when I was younger I’d see her in the garden and she’d always say hello. And then later, sometimes she’d be up the street or in the park in her dressing gown and slippers and she couldn’t remember where she was. Me and my brother Cody would take her home and the old man—your dad, I guess—well, he could be a bit cranky with her.’
‘Mum had dementia and Dad looked after her. It wouldn’t have been easy on either of them.’
‘That’s exactly what my mum said. She said your dad used to come into the cafe but not on the days I work.’ Mia flashed him a smile. ‘Nice to meet you, Hamish. I’d better get on or I’ll have the boss on my back.’
‘Yeah, right. Nice to meet you too, Mia, and thanks for telling me about my mum. She loved her garden.’
‘It used to look really pretty,’ she said, gathering up empties as she went.
Hamish’s appetite deserted him. He stared down at the cooling coffee and fought the urge to get up and walk out. Get as far away from this place as he could, back to wherever he’d been when the neighbour’s children had been walking his forgetful mother home to an uncertain reception. Nat might be right in never wanting to come back to Cutlers Bay. Then there’d be fewer reminders of how often and how deeply he’d failed his parents, especially his mother.