Chapter 40
40
Ruth
The alarm woke me from a deep and dreamless sleep. It took moments for me to orientate to where I was and when it was and then all I wanted to do was pretend I was someplace else at least a thousand miles away and go straight back to sleep. Recklessly, I closed my eyes and imagined what the morning might look like if I didn’t have to get up and open the cafe. Of course I dozed off and woke with a start, shocked to see the time: under an hour until the cafe opened. I flew out of bed and into my clothes after the briefest of washes. Hair into a twist, tinted moisturiser, lipstick and I was good to go. The muffins needed to be into the oven … no, today was Saturday and it was croissants. In my haste to get the oven on I left my phone on the kitchen bench where it’d been charging overnight.
Six hours later I was back in the flat after a hectic shift in the cafe. I picked up the phone and there were four missed calls from Elliot and nothing from Hamish. Why hadn’t it been the other way around? The phone clattered back onto the bench. I needed a cup of tea and a sandwich to fortify me before I returned Elliot’s calls.
Alas, he beat me to it by half a sandwich.
‘Have you been talking to Lana?’ he barked, in lieu of a greeting.
‘I didn’t ring her, she rang me . And I’m not the one who’s been pestering her. You need to stop it, Elliot. She’ll call the police next time, which she has every right to do.’
‘Is that what she said? That I was pestering her?’
‘I think the word she used was bothering.’
‘I thought she was lonely, enjoyed the company. Wanted to talk about Robert, the good times we’d had.’
‘And that would be fine from time to time, but not every day. You need to back off, let her grieve in her own way, in her own time, on her own .’
‘All right for you to say. You have plenty to occupy your time, people around you every day. All I do is sit and brood.’
I drew in a long breath and willed myself to remain calm. ‘Elliot, would you like to come and stay with me for a few days? A change of scenery might give you a boost and I could use some help, now that I’ve made the decision to put the business on the market.’
‘What sort of help?’
‘Tidying up the garden, sorting out stuff, the odd maintenance job, some painting.’
He grunted. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Shall I drive down next weekend? We could eat out, see a movie?’ If I could get Gordon to fix my car first.
‘Why would you do that if I’m coming up there?’
‘Okay. When do you think you’ll come?’
‘It won’t be this week. Dentist and eye appointments. I think I need new glasses. I might bring my clubs and have a hit of golf with Hamish.’
Good luck with that . ‘The spare bed will be made up and ready. And please promise me you won’t bother Lana, not at all.’
Nothing but empty silence from the other end of the phone.
‘Elliot? Promise me. I don’t want to be bailing you out of jail.’
‘All right. You have my word, old chook,’ he said.
My chest tightened. He might have agreed but the defeat in his voice heightened my unease. Mindlessly, I chewed through the remains of the chicken sandwich, washing it down with lukewarm tea. For a few minutes, I seriously contemplated ringing Stacey, ignoring what Lana had asked. Stacey was family, Lana wasn’t, not really. But then, what could Stacey do except worry? It’d spoil the last days of her stay in Melbourne with her mum. Then she’d be home and three thousand kilometres away again. I frowned. What would Gloria make of all this? Could I talk to her? She’d been married to Elliot for a couple of decades. If anyone knew him, it was her.
I dropped my head into my hands. What was I thinking? Gloria divorced him because she knew him so well. Dumping on her wouldn’t be fair at all. I cursed again, under my breath. Then my phone pinged.
A message from Allie flashed onto the screen: He’s back, A.
I picked up the phone, fumbled the password. Allie answered on the second ring.
‘When?’ I said, my heartbeat a rapid tattoo in my chest.
‘Just now. I went outside to bring in the bin that no other bugger thought to bring in yesterday and I saw him pull into his driveway. Funny thing is, a few minutes later he left again.’
‘Oh,’ I said, and for some uncanny reason I glanced over my shoulder and there was Hamish at the door, hand raised and about to knock on the glass. ‘He’s here.’
‘Ah, so that’s where he was going in such a hurry. Bye.’
I stood, took the three steps required to reach the door and slid it open. ‘Hamish,’ I said, through the screen.
‘Ruth.’
We stood there, either side of the flimsy flywire. I didn’t know what to say. It was as if all the spiels I’d rehearsed for a situation such as this had vaporised.
His hand rasped across his mouth. ‘I got your note,’ he said. ‘I need to explain.’
I flicked open the flyscreen and gestured for him to come inside and he stepped past me. He smelled of sweat, his jeans were grubby, his shirt was crumpled and his hair was a matted mess. Red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in a while. Had he lost weight?
‘Coffee?’ I took down two mugs.
‘Love one.’ He stood awkwardly by while the coffee machine powered up.
‘Do you want something to eat?’ My default mode: offer food when you don’t know what else to do.
‘Nah, thanks.’
When I put the mug of coffee on the table he sat in the chair I’d vacated, his back to the door. I propped myself against the sink and took a sip. It was hot and chocolatey, my favourite dark roast blend. Late in the day for coffee, but I didn’t care.
‘It’s hard to know where to start,’ he said.
‘At the beginning?’
His laugh was hollow; humourless. ‘That’d be my childhood, I guess.’
I glanced pointedly at the kitchen clock. ‘The abridged version, perhaps?’
This time the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. ‘The abridged version it is.’ The clock ticked as he visibly collected himself. Should have I braced myself? Was I in for a shock?
He cleared his throat. ‘When I was fifteen, my younger brother Jonathon was knocked off his bike by a drunk driver and killed. He was eleven. Natalie was nine. I was with him when it happened, but I didn’t actually see it happen. Nevertheless, Dad blamed me for letting it happen. I was the oldest, I should have been looking out for him, blah, blah, blah.
‘Mum never held me responsible, not for one second. Even in the depths of her grief, she saw it for what it was: a tragic accident. As you can imagine, my family was never the same after that.’ He fiddled with the handle of the coffee mug then picked it up and drank what was left in one gulp.
I was speechless. What family would be the same after experiencing something like that? But to blame a teenage boy for such a tragedy?
He carefully placed the mug back onto the coaster. ‘Over the years, and in my defence, Mum chipped away at Dad, finally getting him to see that it had been an accident, not my fault at all. But Dad still blamed me, I think just for being alive when Jonathon was dead.’ He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. ‘So, Allie’s lad Cody and his mate are often out on the street fooling about on their bikes. Sunday evening I went out for a hamburger and when I came back, I could have easily cleaned up one—or both—of them. It was nearly dark, they were in the middle of the street, no lights on their bikes, no helmets, no hi-vis … Scared the shit out of me. Monday, I went across and caught Allie when she came home from work. We had a civilised discussion about it and she said she’d talk to them, but then—’
‘Brett came along,’ I said and sat down across the table from him.
He nodded. ‘How did you know?’
‘Allie told me.’
He wasn’t surprised. ‘Pushed my buttons, big time. I came this close to punching the dickhead. Ruth, I’ve never so much as raised a hand to anyone, ever. I went home feeling quite rattled. I threw my swag and a few other bits and pieces into the ute and went bush. I needed to get away from here—from everything—for a few days. Life’s been full on since Dad died. Talk about things never being the same again.’
‘Did you tell Allie about your brother?’
‘Nope. Apart from an aborted attempt to explain to Andrea in the early days of our marriage why I had such a dysfunctional relationship with my father, you’re the first person I’ve ever told.’ He sat forward and rested his forearms on the table.
‘What about your sister? You’ve never talked about it with her?’
‘Not in a constructive way. And as a family, we never discussed it. Mum and I did, very occasionally. I dunno if not talking about it was the only way Dad could deal with it. I’m convinced Mum’s dementia was partly caused by the stress of suppressing all that grief. If it weren’t for a handful of photos I found in an old album, it would be as if Jonathon had never existed.’
‘I wonder what your sister remembers?’
‘I’ve always wondered if she actually saw the accident happen. She didn’t have a pushbike so she wasn’t with us, but we were out on the street not far from home. And she was a sly kid, always popping up where you’d least expect her to be, knowing stuff she shouldn’t.’
‘Do you think you should discuss it with her? It might help you both.’
‘Yeah, I’ve thought about doing that but decided it’d be pointless, now that Mum and Dad are both gone. Plus I’d never be one hundred per cent certain that she’d told me the truth.’
‘Truth based on the memories of a nine-year-old would be a pretty wobbly thing, if you ask me. I can’t even remember being nine.’
He frowned. ‘No, but then your brother wasn’t killed when you were nine. You don’t forget something like that.’
‘Not unless you wanted to forget because you were somewhere or doing something you weren’t meant to be and the memory is too traumatic.’
‘Truthfully, Ruth? If she does have baggage or demons or whatever, she can deal with them however she sees fit, just leave me out of it. No happy endings in the dealings I’ve ever had with her.’ He rubbed his eyes and yawned.
‘Another coffee?’
‘No, thanks. A shower and a solid night’s sleep is what I need. But I found your note when I got home and I wanted to apologise for being such a jerk last Saturday. You were already under pressure and I put you under more.’
‘Not all your fault, Hamish. When you rang, I was preoccupied, trying to get my head around my car not starting because, after all the planning and rushing around, I was going to be late anyway. And I’m so used to solving my own problems. I don’t expect you or anyone else to bail me out whenever I get into strife. You have your own life. I have mine.’
‘But we’re friends, aren’t we?’
‘I’d thought so.’
‘And friends should be able to expect certain things of each other, within reason? Isn’t that a part of what good friendship is about?’ He stood and pushed the chair into the table.
He was waiting for me to reply but I didn’t know what to say. Had I forgotten what it was to be a good friend? Or was I just out of practice?
He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s okay, Ruth. Five nights out under the stars with no internet gave me ample time to navel gaze. Thanks for the coffee. I’m in dire need of a shower and a change of clothes because I stink. I’ll see you later.’
I didn’t dispute what he’d said or offer a raincheck for the missed meal invitation in the note. Sure, he’d apologised and so had I, in a roundabout sort of a way. Mostly we’d justified our actions and behaviour. No mention of when we might see each other again.
His visit left me feeling oddly unsettled and not at all happy.