Chapter 46
46
Ruth
I arrived at East Terrace right on five on Saturday afternoon, as per our arrangement. Hamish’s bemused expression when he answered my knock hinted that me coming for a meal had slipped his mind.
‘Am I early?’ I said, when he pushed open the screen door for me to enter.
He glanced down at his paint-splattered hands and T-shirt. ‘No, time got away from me. Sorry.’ He sounded distracted, almost in a daze. ‘Give me ten minutes to shower and change. The salad stuff’s in the fridge if you want to make a start. Spuds are in the cupboard under the sink.’
I had a moment’s déjà vu when he came into the kitchen a while later, smelling of soap and towel-drying his hair. I was at the sink peeling potatoes. I put down the knife and wiped my hands on the tea towel tied around my waist in lieu of an apron. ‘Better now?’
‘Much better, thanks,’ he said. ‘Busy day?’
‘Not especially. Are you all right? You seem a bit preoccupied. Or is it the paint fumes?’
He shrugged and flung the towel over the back of a chair. ‘Natalie came, just showed up out of the blue,’ he said, curling his top lip. ‘Wanted to brag about her new car and talk about Jonathon.’
‘Your brother?’
‘It was a Nat I’ve never encountered before. She was actually quite civil, after a bumpy start.’ He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, holding up a bottle of wine. I nodded and took down a glass. He filled it with riesling. ‘Until today, the subject of Jonathon has always been taboo.’
‘Did you ask her?’
‘Ask her what?’
‘If she saw the accident happen.’
‘No, I didn’t. But she did admit that she’s been having therapy. She accused me of deserting her back then.’
‘How so?’
‘I suppose I did. Virtually the day I turned sixteen, I left home to start an apprenticeship and I’ll confess I didn’t give my younger sister more than a passing thought. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Nat described it perfectly when she said “the place was like a morgue, but without the body because we weren’t allowed to mention him”. And she knew about the photos of Jonathon, the ones I found in the old album. She said Mum used to look at them whenever Dad wasn’t around and then she’d cry and hide them again afterwards. There’s nothing right about any of that.
‘I tell myself it was a lifetime ago, I wasn’t much more than a child myself, and most of it was out of my control. None of it can be undone. That might have been true for teenage Hamish, but I grew up, became a man and I made so many choices that I see clearly now for what they were: self-serving and avoidant, just like my father.’
‘Oh, Hamish,’ I whispered. There were no words. I went to him and slid my arms around his waist, resting my head in the curve where neck meets shoulder. I felt him sigh and with it went any hesitancy he’d been hanging onto. He clung to me like a man drowning.
When it came time for us to step apart, I immediately felt bereft and then awkward, acutely aware of what a novice I was with intimacy such as this. And here I was in my seventh decade. What had I done with my life?
Hamish’s half-smile suggested he had an inkling of how I might feel. Was it because he felt the same?
He reached for my hands and gently tugged me towards him. ‘Thank you,’ he said and dropped a light kiss onto my forehead. Then, without a moment’s notice, he kissed me fully on the lips; a proper kiss, deep and with feeling and impossible to resist. I was sixteen again, finally kissing the boy I’d been crushing on for months.
This time when we parted there was an entirely different vibe between us. No less awkward but infused with another type of tension.
‘And don’t you dare imagine that came of gratitude,’ he said. ‘It’s been coming for a while, don’t you think?’
‘I have wondered, even hoped on occasion, but had never been entirely certain, not about any of it.’ I propped my backside on the corner of the table. ‘But that could have been self-delusion, Hamish, because it’s been decades since I’ve had a relationship that went any further than a couple a dates. And while I’m baring my soul here, there doesn’t seem to be the same urgency as there was when I was younger. A desire to savour rather than gulp.’
‘That’s the funny thing about getting older: the less time I have, the more likely I am to bide it. But tell me, do you have at least a flicker of urgency?’
I laughed and reached up to wipe lipstick from his mouth with my fingertips. ‘That colour doesn’t suit you and, yes, I’d say there’s definitely a flicker of urgency there.’
‘Pleased to hear it,’ he said. ‘And speaking of appetites, I’ll get the barbecue fired up.’
‘Shall I do enough so you have leftovers for tomorrow? There looked to be plenty of steak.’
‘Ruth,’ he said, ‘you certainly do know the way to a man’s heart.’
* * *
The glow from my evening with Hamish carried me through the long and intermittently boring trip to Adelaide the following morning. Especially the part where he came out to see me off. I hadn’t had a send-off like that for decades. Even now the memory sent a tingle right through me. His parting words had been, ‘Imagine how good we’ll get at this, Ruth, the more we practise.’ I was looking forward to that, but not without a whisper of trepidation. Bodies change as they age. A targeted discussion with my GP might be a timely idea.
So far, the car had started perfectly every time and my confidence was slowly trickling back. At Port Wakefield, I stopped to stretch my legs and message Elliot, to remind him I was on my way. The servo coffee was disgusting, but I drank it. What I’d find when I reached my brother’s place was anyone’s guess; better to be caffeinated than not.
Elliot surprised me, yet again. The townhouse was spotless and if his cheerfulness proved real and not forced, I’d say he was doing way better than he had been.
‘My cleaning lady has returned with a new knee and minus five kilos. Remarkably spritely and just as well, because I was about to disappear under the pile of dirty dishes and old newspapers,’ he said.
And empty wine bottles, I thought but didn’t say.
‘You have a dishwasher, Elliot, and a recycle bin. How hard can it be?’
‘I’ve decided I loathe housework, anything domestic, actually. That was one of the few positives about being married—Gloria did it all.’
‘So you reckon it’s women’s work, do you? My bet is you being such a sexist was one of the main reasons Gloria left.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, old chook,’ he said, taking a step back.
‘Sorry,’ I said, instantly remorseful. Although what I’d said held way more than a grain of truth. Gloria had never confided in me, but Stacey had. ‘I didn’t come to pick an argument, Elliot, you just pushed one of my buttons.’
‘I’ve never imagined you having buttons,’ he said, a study of uncertainty. ‘You’re always such an agreeable person.’
‘Oh, I have buttons and opinions and everything! Plenty of them. I’ve even been called feisty, believe it or not. Five years behind a cafe counter agreeing with whatever customers say and not upsetting the staff has dulled my edge.’ I went through to the kitchen and reached for the kettle.
He was right behind me. ‘I thought we could go out for coffee … lunch perhaps? Have others wait on you for a change?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ I said, rapidly warming to the idea. A slow lunch on a Sunday was something I’d relished in a previous life. ‘Where did you have in mind?’
* * *
That night, sleep would not come. I’d slept in Elliot’s spare room often enough for it not to be that. I felt tense, out of sorts, as if something untoward was about to happen. I couldn’t think what. My life was moving along nicely. The business was only weeks away from being on the market and Bryan was cautiously optimistic; Elliot appeared to be managing well enough; my friendship with Hamish was heading in a direction I’d only ever considered fanciful.
And then, like a light bulb bursting, there it was, the root of my unrest: I was on the threshold of a total upheaval of life as I’d known it for so long.