Chapter 41
41
Hamish
True to his word, Jeff emailed preliminary plans for the proposed renovation by the end of the week. Jeff had offered two options, including one that would be way cheaper than the other. Hamish was torn. The more expensive proposal appealed; in it, Jeff had captured everything Hamish had imagined. But he needed to be realistic. The time away in the bush had given him the clarity he’d been lacking. He had no idea what the future might hold, no clear vision of what he wanted it to hold. He’d thought he had but it’d turned out to be nothing more than a mirage.
He spent Sunday morning poring over the plans, walking through the house, contemplating each room; tromping around the yard, thinking, imagining, dreaming, common sense always bringing him back down to earth with a thud. When he thought about Ruth, which he often did, he wished he could ask for her take on Jeff’s ideas. But he felt as if she’d drawn a line in the sand when he’d visited her on Saturday afternoon, a line that indicated she was committed to her independence and saw reliance on others as unacceptable. It wasn’t dissimilar to how he’d lived his own life, relentlessly self-sufficient. He drafted an email to Jeff outlining his decision, but didn’t send it. He’d sleep on it, see if he felt the same way in the morning.
He was up well before the sun on Monday morning. After a coffee watching the sun rise from the back verandah, he booted up his laptop, reread the email and sent it. There would be no renovation, at least not now.
Builders were early risers so he wasn’t surprised when a return email dropped into his inbox within minutes: No worries, mate. And you don’t owe me anything except a couple of beers. I enjoyed the ride across. I believe you’ve made the sensible decision. If you’ve no plans to live there long term, why spend money you’re unlikely to recoup? Tidy it up, paint it and sell it. Keep in touch. Cheers, J.
By eight he was at Laurie’s place, mowing the older man’s lawns as promised. It was a beautiful day, clear, warm with a gentle breeze. Hamish cleared the house gutters and trimmed back a bush that was encroaching on the driveway. Around ten, Laurie hobbled out with a cuppa for them.
‘How’s the knee?’ Hamish said, pulling up an empty milk crate to perch on. There was a plate with slices of fruitcake. It only took one bite for Hamish to know Ruth had made it.
Laurie sat himself down in an old cane chair and propped his foot on another milk crate. ‘Physio’s satisfied with the progress. Slow but sure, she says. I have to take her word for it.’
‘You’re not still doing the floors at the cafe, are you?’
‘I couldn’t, as much as I want to, but Ruth insisted on bringing food around yesterday even though I hadn’t earned it. Thank goodness that young Mia is helping her after school.’
Hamish hadn’t known that. What else was happening at the cafe that he didn’t know about? And why did not knowing bother him so much?
‘Ruth should sell that cafe, get out before she runs herself completely into the ground. It’s a younger person’s game, working a business like that,’ Laurie said and eyed Hamish expectantly.
Oh no . Not going there. He was beginning to get the gist of how things worked in country towns like Cutlers Bay. The lowdown on Ruth’s future plans for the cafe would not come from him.
When Laurie accepted there’d be no inside info from Hamish, he reached for a second piece of cake. ‘She’s done the town proud setting up the cafe and carrying on for as long as she has. It’s a credit to her.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me. Is there anything else you need me to do while I’m here?’ Hamish said.
The older man cleared his throat and shifted in the seat. ‘Not for me as such, but Esme next door, she could do with a few jobs being done. Jobs I’d normally do for her and will again when I’m fit and able.’
‘Her lawn and what else?’ Hamish had noticed the overgrown patch of grass next door.
‘Trim back the salvias along the fence and pull a few weeds. With that drop of rain we had last week and now the sunshine, you can almost watch the damn things grow. Use my mower and edge trimmer and anything else you might need. She’s not short of a bob and she pays me by the hour. I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to do the same for you.’
‘What about that bloke I’ve seen around the town, the one with the beat-up old Falcon ute and trailer? Mower and all the gear on the back?’
‘That’d be Chris Lehman. Not much older than you would be my guess, but the poor bugger needs two knee replacements. Old footy injuries. He still does a few jobs but only for his long-term clients.’
‘I see. I guess I could help your neighbour out, this once.’
‘Good on ya! I’ll ring her now,’ Laurie said and Hamish did a double take when the man pulled a sleek new iPhone out of his shirt pocket. He stood and wandered to the end of the verandah to give Laurie privacy.
‘What about tomorrow morning? Nine?’ the older man called out moments later.
Hamish gave him a thumbs up.
Another short exchange and Laurie pocketed the phone, a satisfied grin on his ruddy face. ‘You’ll get real coffee over at Esme’s, a cut above my Blend 43.’
After lunch and before he began clearing out the front sitting room ready to paint, Hamish forced himself do something he’d been putting off for a long time. The thought of doing it now knotted up his insides and made his palms sweat. But it was time.
He took out his wallet and flicked through until he found the tattered business card he knew was in there; had been for about five years. Lenard Schiller, Psychologist , followed by a mobile phone number and an email address. No website or social media. Hamish knew this because he’d checked every now and then over the years.
Way back, when he’d done work servicing diesel generators and the likes for an outback earthmoving company, he’d often overnight in one of the construction fly camps. One evening he’d been chatting with the company medic, who was also the safety officer. He couldn’t remember what their conversation had been about except that she’d sought him out in the mess the following morning at breakfast and handed him this card. She’d winked and said, ‘His books are closed but mention my name and I reckon he’ll open them for you.’
Five years was a long time. That Lenard Schiller was out there some place practising as a psychologist was a long shot. That his contact details had remained the same after five years was an even longer shot. Hamish picked up his phone and dialled the number on the card.
* * *
Hamish was shifting furniture into the middle of the sitting room when Ruth knocked on the front door. With the curtains gone and the Holland blind pulled up as far as it would go, he’d watched her walk up the driveway carrying an insulated shopping bag.
‘I’ve been baking for the cafe,’ she said when he opened the screen door. ‘Pecan pie. I thought you might like a piece for afternoon tea.’ She sounded hesitant.
‘A man would be a fool to say no to a piece of your pecan pie. Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.’
She paused at the sitting room door and scanned the chaos within. ‘You’re prepping ready to paint? Somewhere I have a stack of old sheets I’ve used to cover furniture when I’ve painted. You can borrow them if you like.’
They went through to the kitchen. ‘Ah, so you’ve bought yourself a coffee machine,’ Ruth said, eyeing the compact appliance on the cupboard and the rack of coffee pods beside it. ‘I guess we won’t be seeing you in the cafe anymore.’
Hamish shrugged and took the kettle to the sink to fill. ‘An impulse buy,’ he said. ‘I was in Port Pirie Saturday morning on my way home and they were on special.’
Ruth smiled but Hamish noticed that it didn’t quite reach her blue eyes. ‘You don’t have to explain to me,’ she said. ‘After all, Rosie’s is only open five days a week and coffee is a seven-day-a-week addiction.’
‘So, what’ll it be? Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please.’ She put the bag on the table and lifted out the pecan pie. ‘A piece each for now and two for you for later.’ She held up a jar of whipped cream.
‘You spoil me,’ he said.
‘It’s my way of attempting to put things right.’
He opened his mouth to protest but her serious expression stopped him.
‘Let me finish. I defended the way I’d behaved but I didn’t apologise for my part in the misunderstanding. I’m sorry, Hamish. My life has been devoid of close friends for so long I’ve forgotten how to be such a friend.’
The kettle boiled and switched itself off. Hamish ignored it. ‘I don’t think that’s entirely correct. I’m a bit out of practice in the friendship department myself. And I have baggage, lots of it.’
‘We’re in our seventh decade, Hamish. No-one gets this far in life without accumulating baggage, but time is running out and we shouldn’t waste another moment of it. Now, are you going to make that tea? And do you want whipped cream with your pie?’
He watched her collect two plates from the cupboard and add a generous dollop of cream to each slice of pie. He made the drinks. They sat outside and had afternoon tea. Ruth brought him up to date with her progress towards getting the cafe on the market.
‘The hardest part will be telling the staff. They’ll all be worried about their jobs, naturally,’ she said. ‘I’ve got no idea how the community will react. I don’t know if I should care about that or not.’
‘Not something you can control, Ruth, so I wouldn’t worry about it at all. I know one person at least who’ll fully support you. People notice how hard you work.’
‘And who would that one person be?’
‘Laurie—and me, so really that’s two.’
‘He said you were mowing his lawn and seeing to a few jobs. That was decent of you.’
‘Not especially. He’s helped me out a lot and that’s probably added to doing his knee in.’
‘Not to mention mopping my floors. But he says helping us lifts his spirits. Swings and roundabouts.’
On her way out, Ruth said, ‘Come by and pick up the old sheets whenever you like. I’d offer to drop them off but my car’s kaput again. Gordon took it away earlier.’
‘But didn’t you buy a new battery?’
‘Turns out it wasn’t the battery after all. Earth leakage or some such thing, or so Gordon thinks. Let’s hope he’ll be able find what’s wrong and fix it. Expeditiously and economically.’
‘Fast and cheap?’ Hamish folded his arms and frowned. ‘If it is earth leakage it could take a bit for your mechanic to locate and isolate the problem. Depends how good he is. You might end up needing an auto electrician.’
‘That all sounds like wonderful news, not to mention expensive,’ Ruth said, with a familiar hint of sarcasm.
‘If he’s competent at what he does, he’ll sort it, no problems.’
‘One can only hope,’ she said.
It was on the tip of Hamish’s tongue to offer her the use of his ute if the need arose, but he kept silent. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was out to rescue her again.