Chapter 37
37
Hamish
When it came to women, Hamish’s track record was far from exemplary and he was in a quandary about how quickly and easily the situation with Ruth had spiralled out of control. He admired her and enjoyed her company and had found himself wanting to support her in whatever ways he could. Not rescue her, as she’d so flippantly implied on Saturday. The response suggested her interpretation of the situation between them was at odds with his own. She was definitely not a woman who needed rescuing; her independence and straightforwardness had been what had attracted him from the get-go.
He sat at the kitchen table late Sunday afternoon, empty coffee mug in front of him, mobile phone next to it. He picked it up and the screen burst into life. He stared at it for several seconds and then carefully placed it down beside the coffee mug. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d followed the same sequence since he’d as good as hung up on Ruth. He wanted to contact her, but the age-old fear that she might reject him again held him back. Let her be the one to make the next move , he’d told himself more than once. But she had made the next move—she’d rung back seconds after he’d hung up and he’d ignored the call. Why hadn’t he answered? Out on the seventeenth hole, he’d held the phone in his hand and let it vibrate, all the while knowing it was Ruth. She hadn’t left a message.
When he couldn’t dance around the truth any longer, he’d finally admitted to himself that he’d been hurt and angry. He’d felt as if he’d given of himself, only to have it thrown back in his face. But then stealthily, over the ensuing hours, reason had prevailed: she would have been worn out after a busy Saturday in the cafe; she had a long drive ahead of her and was anxious to be on her way; she would have been stressed and frustrated because her car wouldn’t start. In hindsight, what a mature adult would have done was quit the game of golf and driven to her place to help, regardless of her protestations. But he hadn’t been a mature adult; he’d had a little tantrum. And now he was uncertain what his next move should be.
Nothing in his life felt anything like inspiring. He’d heard not a peep from his sister, not since the money to buy her share of the house had been deposited into her credit union account. Done and dusted and proof that he’d been right all along: he only ever heard from Nat when she wanted something, usually money. What disappointed him more was that he’d heard zip from his brother-in-law. He’d thought that their relationship had strengthened in the aftermath of Theo’s death, but not so. Was he going soft, letting himself be distracted and disappointed by such things?
Work on the house had come to a standstill. Jeff was yet to send the promised plans and without them, Hamish’s hands were tied. Not one to stand still for long, he was itching to get the project moving. But there was no point knocking out doors and windows and tearing down walls before he had plans he was satisfied with. Not to mention the required building approvals. Sure, there were umpteen jobs he could do in the back and the front gardens, but when the renovation was in full swing, the place would morph into a building site and anything he did to the gardens now would inevitably need redoing. More to the point, he’d made the decision not to spend another dollar on the property until he had the plans and a clear idea of what the renovation would cost.
Who could blame him for feeling bored and dissatisfied and becoming fidgety with it?
Hamish grabbed his wallet and car keys. He’d cheer himself up with one of Peg’s hamburgers and a side serve of chips. He’d treat himself to a beer with it.
On the drive to the takeaway, he passed the workshop of the only mechanic in town. A decades-old white Holden station wagon was parked to one side. He shot around the block again, slowed to a crawl when he came to the workshop and confirmed that, yes, it was Ruth’s car. How long had it been parked there? Had she even made it to Adelaide to see her niece? The thought gave him pause and a little twinge of something else. Guilt perhaps?
It was dusk when he returned with his meal, the cab of the ute smelling like the inside of Peg’s shop. He turned into his street and his headlights flashed on something bright and shiny and there was Cody and his mate, only metres away in the middle of the road, fooling around on their bikes—no lights, no helmets. Hamish’s heart did a loop inside his chest. He slammed on the brakes and the vehicle shuddered to a halt. His mouth went dry. He jammed the ute into park and pulled on the handbrake, unclipped his seatbelt and threw open the door.
‘Have you blokes got a bloody death wish?’ he yelled, advancing on them.
They sniggered. Cody’s mate gave Hamish the finger and then they fishtailed their bikes and took off into the gloom, their insolent laughter trailing behind them. Seized by an impotent anger, Hamish shook his fist at them.
The porch light of the house adjacent flicked on and he heard a door open. ‘Is everything okay?’ a male voice called.
‘Yeah, just some idiot kids on their pushbikes.’ In that moment he felt old and ridiculous.
A grunt and the door closed again with a thud. Hamish climbed into the ute and slowly drove the short distance home. Tomorrow he would visit Cody’s mother and talk to her about her son’s reckless behaviour.
* * *
Monday afternoon he’d loitered in the front garden, on the lookout for the maroon SUV Cody’s mother drove. Via Leslie Giles, his back-fence neighbour who was always up for a chat when she spotted him in the backyard, he knew Allie’s shift at the new job finished at three pm. When he clocked her car go past, he was across the road in a flash to bail her up before she’d reached the front door.
‘Allie, can I have a quick word?’ he called and she swung around, surprised.
‘Hello, Hamish. What’s up?’
‘I’ve come about Cody and the lad he hangs out with,’ he said, out of breath by the time he reached her.
She stiffened. ‘That’d be Noah Collins. What have they been up to?’
He thought she looked weary and not at all happy. He tried to lighten his demeanour. ‘I almost ran into them last night, messing about on their bikes in the middle of the road, no lights or helmets.’
‘Cody does have a helmet,’ she said, ‘but because it’s not the latest, you-beaut style, he refuses to wear it.’ She shifted the bag she was carrying from one hand to the other. ‘Did you say anything to them?’
‘Yes, and it wasn’t very well received, believe it or not.’
A corner of her mouth tipped up in half a smile. ‘I’d believe it. All I can do is talk to him. As far as Noah goes—’ The smile faded. ‘He’s a hard nut, that one.’
A stocky man in denim jeans and a faded blue singlet barrelled around the corner of the house. ‘What’s going on, Alison?’ he said and then directed his belligerence towards Hamish. ‘And who the hell are you?’
Hamish introduced himself. ‘I live on the other side of the street, a few doors down.’ He held out his hand. The man ignored it.
Allie blushed. ‘This is Brett, Mia and Cody’s dad,’ she said.
‘Howdy,’ Hamish replied, with effort. ‘I’m here about your son. He’ll get himself killed if he doesn’t take more care on his pushbike, him and that mate of his.’ Allie winced. Hamish ploughed on regardless. ‘No helmets, no lights—they’re an accident waiting to happen.’
‘What’s it to you?’ Brett said, his mouth contorted with defiance.
‘I’ll tell you what it is to me,’ Hamish said, clenching his hands into fists. He took a step closer to the other man and jabbed a finger at him. ‘I don’t want to be the poor mutt whose life is turned upside-down because he comes around the corner one night and knocks one of those idiots off their bike, all because they don’t have lights, helmets, hi-vis vests or anything!’ He was practically shouting when he felt a firm hand grip his forearm.
‘Hamish,’ Allie said, ‘I—we will talk to him, won’t we, Brett?’
Brett moved back a pace and folded his arms across his hairy chest. ‘You need to get that anger under control, mate,’ he said, self-righteously. Allie rolled her eyes.
A powerful urge to be away from there hit Hamish like a freight train. ‘Thanks for your time,’ he said brusquely. He took off, gravel crunching underfoot, desperate to put as much distance between himself and these people as fast as he could. What was the matter with him? First, the dream had come back and now he’d had a gross overreaction because he’d let some bogan push one of his buttons.
‘What the effing hell was that all about?’ he heard Brett say as he rounded their gate post and struck out onto the footpath. He hadn’t heard Allie’s hissed reply but his fertile imagination didn’t take long to conjure up several likely responses, none of them favourable to him. Didn’t people understand how whole lives could be changed in as many seconds as it took a hapless—or drunk—driver to careen around a corner and into unsuspecting boys on bikes?
He went inside and slammed the front door, then went from room to room and drew the blinds at the front windows. While he was doing it, he craved a return to multistorey living for the first time ever. One of the few positives of a fifth-floor apartment was that being high in the sky made him oblivious to the happenings down on street level.
He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face and hoped he wasn’t beginning to unravel completely.