Chapter 49
49
Ruth
Before Hamish had a chance to open his mouth to answer my question, the phone rang again. Thinking it’d be Bryan, that he’d forgotten to relay an important detail, I didn’t so much as glance at the caller ID before answering.
Silly me, because it wasn’t Bryan, it was Lana.
‘Oh, no,’ I said when I recognised her voice. ‘What’s he been up to now?’
‘He’s in hospital, Ruth, having tests and a scan. They think he might have had a stroke.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ I said, pulse roaring in my ears. ‘What happened?’
‘Apparently, he was talking to his neighbour when he began acting peculiar, slurring his words, taking gibberish, and she had the wherewithal to dial triple zero for an ambulance.’
‘Is he conscious? Should I come now?’ The roaring in my ears was enough to almost deafen me. Hamish held my gaze, his frown deepening.
‘Would you? Come now?’ She sounded at the end of her tether.
‘Of course I’ll come now. Which hospital?’
‘Same as Robert. I’m sorry,’ she said and her distress made complete sense. ‘I won’t leave until you arrive, Ruth. He shouldn’t be here on his own, although I haven’t been allowed in to see him yet.’
‘Hold tight, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
The phone went dead. I imagined Lana pacing the polished corridors in her high heels, waiting for news, any news, good or bad.
‘They think Elliot’s had a stroke,’ I said to Hamish. ‘I must go, now.’
‘I’ll take you,’ he said, already on his feet. ‘Put together whatever you’ll need for an overnight stay.’
‘My car’s good to go, I have a full tank of petrol. Aren’t you playing golf tomorrow?’
‘Not tomorrow and your car might be good to go, but you’re tired, you’ve had two glasses of wine, Elliot is your brother and this has come as a shock.’
I couldn’t argue with him—I didn’t have the energy or the desire. My hands were shaking and I felt like I could throw up any moment. What if Elliot died? Surely life would not be so cruel as to take him so soon after Robert? There’d only be me left.
‘I must ring Stacey,’ I said, searching for the phone I was holding in my hand.
‘Do it in the car on the way. Now, collect what you need and we’ll go.’
‘What will I need?’ I stood there as if I were frozen, unable to move. What should I pack for? Another funeral? I’d had my funeral dress dry-cleaned and it was ready to go again.
Hamish gripped my arms, looked me in the eye and said, ‘Focus, Ruth. Where’s your overnight bag?’
We were on our way twenty minutes later after a quick stop at Hamish’s place to collect what he’d need. Stacey didn’t answer so I left a voice message but hadn’t heard back. At Port Wakefield, Hamish bought coffee and I called Lana.
‘How is he?’
‘Stable. They’re not saying much to me. Stacey’s on her way.’
‘Did they ring her first?’
‘No, they rang me. Elliot’s electronic health record has Robert as his next of kin. When Robert was alive we shared the same mobile phone.’
‘I’m sorry it had to be you,’ I said. ‘Thanks for getting in touch with Stacey. How was she?’
‘Shocked. She’d talked to her dad only last night. Said they’d had a good old chinwag. She thought he’d sounded more like his old self.’
I didn’t mention to Lana how worried I’d been.
‘He’s only a decade older than me,’ I said to Hamish. We hadn’t talked much the whole trip but I was so grateful I wasn’t on my own. We passed the Gepps Cross Hotel; not much further to go. ‘If it is a stroke, I wonder how bad it is? Will he recover enough to manage on his own?’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ruth. Not until you have more information.’
He was right but it was impossible not to get ahead of myself. If this left Elliot unable to look after himself, who would care for him? Stacey had her own family thousands of kilometres away. That left me. Or a care facility.
Hamish reached for my hands, limp in my lap, and gave them a squeeze.
When we arrived at the hospital he pulled into the drop-off bay at the well-lit entrance. ‘I’ll find a park and come in,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you wait in the car? The waiting room chairs are uncomfortable and the vending machine coffee is awful.’
‘You might need someone to lean on, Ruth, and I’m offering to be that person.’
Tears welled in my eyes. ‘I would appreciate that. I know some people loathe hospitals … I can’t say I like them much myself and I didn’t want to presume. He’s in the stroke unit. Message me if you can’t find it.’
I shivered when I climbed out of the ute’s cosy cab. It was cool, already after eleven, and several ambulances were lined up outside of accident and emergency. Lana had given me instructions on where to find the stroke unit. When she spotted me walking towards her in the corridor, her relief was palpable. Her eyes were shadowed, her hair messy and she wore sweats and sneakers. It’s the first time I’d ever seen her without makeup and high heels.
‘They let me go in briefly. He’s awake and doing all right,’ she said. ‘Very pale and tired. The doctor wants you to let the nursing staff know you’re here and she’ll come and talk to you. Elliot knows you’re on your way. Stacey’s plane is somewhere between here and Cairns.’ The facts were delivered in a monotone.
We hugged stiffly, I thanked her and she left, powering off down the corridor as if something was after her. She couldn’t wait to get out of the place and I fully understood. The last time I’d been here was when my other brother had died. Before that, Mum. If given a choice, I would have stayed in the car.
* * *
Two hours later, Hamish and I walked out into the night. He’d waited without comment in the uncomfortable chairs, drunk the awful coffee and held me when I’d stumbled. ‘Where to?’ he said, studying me in the bright artificial light of the entrance way.
‘Elliot’s place. He said for us to stay there. I know where the spare key is.’
We didn’t talk much on the way, except for me giving a few directions. I felt pummelled, as if I’d done several rounds in a boxing ring.
It wasn’t until we were sitting down with hot drinks that Hamish asked, ‘How was he?’
‘He’s had a mild stroke. The doctor said there’s evidence of other small strokes in the past. They’ll keep him in a day or two for more tests and then he can come home, under the care of his GP. Stacey’s on her way or I’d have had to shut the cafe because he’s not meant to be on his own. Hopefully she can stay a few days.’
‘If she can’t, I’ll stay with him,’ Hamish said. ‘So you can be where you need to be the most right now.’
I gaped at him. My tired brain wouldn’t process anything more.
He chuckled. ‘Day at a time, Ruth, that’s the most any of us can hope for.’
Sharing the queen-sized bed in the spare room seemed the most natural thing for us to do. We’d never shared a bed before but I was too exhausted to feel nervous. After hot showers, we crawled between the cool sheets. Hamish held me and I slept.
* * *
By the end of the week, Stacey had flown home again. Elliot was ensconced in a private rehabilitation facility for a month (Why not? He could afford it.) and I’d had a firm offer for the business, including the building and the flat. Bryan was confident the business would sell, but not as assured the building and the flat would go with it. ‘The buyer’s eager, but I don’t think her bank will come at it with the same enthusiasm,’ he said.
I signed wherever he instructed me to, told myself over and over that I was doing the right thing and began trawling realestate.com.au . It was so depressing. Units, townhouses, apartments—anything in reasonable proximity to Elliot were all over and above what I’d be able to afford. And what bank would lend money to a sixty-two-year-old woman without a job?
After the contracts were signed, I had no choice other than to tell the staff. Reactions were mixed. Mia was miserable; Suzie couldn’t have cared less and Erin accepted that she was the last on and likely to be the first off. Gayle was the most apprehensive: when my idea of swapping Erin’s shifts had flopped, she had taken on the extra hours because her partner’s shifts had been cut. Lorna, who’d taken on Gayle’s lunchtime shift alternate Thursday and Fridays, had merely raised her eyebrows at the news. Out of everyone, Liz was the only one who came across as smug. When I asked what it was she knew that I didn’t, she tapped the side of her nose with a forefinger and said, ‘I reckon I’ve already worked out who my new boss is.’
‘Really?’ I said, but probed no further. By this time, I knew the prospective buyer’s name and had my own suspicions about who she was. A process of elimination really. Cutlers Bay wasn’t exactly a metropolis and not every resident patronised the cafe, so when a new face popped up again and again …
Bryan said the buyer had been around since before Christmas caring for her elderly mother, who’d since gone into care. She liked the town and wanted to stay to be near her mum, but she needed a job. She’d had experience working in cafes. ‘A bit different from owning one,’ was all I said.
With the contract signed, I found myself in a different kind of limbo: did I start packing up the flat or not? Look for somewhere temporary to store my things? That I could be without an income and a home in the not-so-distant future was a constant source of consternation. Every time I worked my way through the situation I’d end up at exactly the same spot: there was never going to be an easier way to go about this.
One evening after I’d closed the cafe, I was on the phone offloading to Elliot. He had a week left in rehab before discharge. The occupational therapist was satisfied. Elliot was bored with the food and the view from his room, but I could tell he was apprehensive about going home. On his own, twenty-four-seven.
‘Come and stay with me,’ he said. ‘Until you find somewhere of your own. You can put all your gear into storage.’
‘If the flat’s sold, I might have to do that,’ I said, unable to inject enthusiasm into my reply.
‘Don’t worry, old chook, it’ll be fun.’
I wasn’t as convinced. I had this awful vision of us pottering around his townhouse like a couple of old farts. Beyond depressing.
We said our goodbyes not long after that and I kicked off my sneakers and lifted my feet onto the sofa. It was almost dark. My stomach rumbled but I couldn’t muster the energy to scrounge for food. Imagine a life living with my older brother? That’s what a dried-up old spinster would do.
The thought made me shudder. I pushed it aside and dozed.
The slam of a car door woke me. Then the rap of knuckles on the sliding door. I wondered what time it was.
The door rumbled along its track and the kitchen light came on. ‘Ruth?’
Hamish. I blinked into the glare, stood up yawning and walked through to the kitchen. ‘I was talking to Elliot. Must have dropped off.’ I felt fragile, as if I might shatter. ‘How was golf?’
‘Excellent. I’ve joined the golf club.’
‘You have?’
‘Yep.’ He went to the fridge, grabbed a beer. ‘And I was talking to a couple of the blokes afterwards, that’s why I’m so late. I ran the idea past them.’
‘What idea?’ Had I missed something? Something major?
‘Starting a home gardening and handyman business.’
I stared at him, mouth open. Then I burst into tears. Eyes squeezed shut, shoulders shaking, I hugged myself tightly as I blubbered like a child.
‘What’s happened, Ruth? Is Elliot all right?’
‘I want my mum,’ I wailed among the tears and the snot. Mum would know what I should do. She’d always known. I just hadn’t always listened. I would listen now, if only she were still here. Hamish came close. Familiar, but not.
He didn’t touch me, rather proffered a handful of tissues.
I took them, mopped at the mess on my face and hiccoughed loudly. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered, mortified by my outburst.
‘Here,’ he said and pressed a glass of water into my hand. ‘Drink it.’
I meekly did as I was told. He pulled out a kitchen chair and I sat but couldn’t quite work up the courage to look at him. The scrape of another chair on the vinyl floor; the tired complaint of the table as he sat down and rested his forearms on its surface.
‘Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ he said, his voice gentle, coaxing.
I sniffled, flicked my gaze to his and then away again. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ I said.
‘At the beginning?’
My lips twitched, remembering a time not so long ago when I’d said the same to him. ‘You surprised me, that’s all. On top of everything else, I suppose I’m feeling a bit swamped by it all. Here I am on the verge of having to leave Cutlers Bay and here you are joining the golf club and starting a business.’
‘Who said you have to leave? There’ll be life after Rosie’s, Ruth. When you step out from behind that counter permanently you’ll see the town and the community through a different lens, I guarantee it. The longer I stay, the more at home I feel. It’s as if I’m becoming who I’m meant to be now, not just the bloke who used to be a diesel mechanic, or the son of that poor bastard who topped himself in his own car. You have so much to offer this town and community, and if you stay here I know it won’t take you long to work exactly what that might be.’
‘What about Elliot? He’s anxious about going home, being on his own. He offered for me to come and stay with him, if the flat’s sold, until I find a place of my own.’
Hamish eased back in the chair, his expression impossible to interpret. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No, the very idea horrifies me. It’s what I’d been thinking about before I dozed off. That I have a certain … obligation where he’s concerned.’
‘Personally, my belief is that he doesn’t expect anything of you or from you.’
‘Easy to say that, but hard to sit on my hands and not do anything when he’s struggling.’
‘But you are doing plenty already. You visit him as often as you can, you’ve offered to have him stay here whenever he wants. You’ve stacked his freezer with meals so he doesn’t have to bother when he gets home. Time for you to concentrate on yourself for a bit, Ruth, don’t you think?’
I sniffed, blinking away more ready tears. ‘What about us?’
‘As far as I’m concerned there is no what about . There is only an us . You and me, together. Or have I got that wrong?’
I shook my head, too overwhelmed to speak.
He stood, came around the table and pulled me to my feet. Linking his fingers with mine, he said, ‘Ruth, if you decide your place is with your brother, that’s your decision and I’ll support it.’
‘But it wouldn’t be much of a life, would it? Let’s face it, I’d end up being nothing more than his live-in housekeeper. And I’ve been away from Adelaide for a long time … It’s hard to make new friends or breathe new life into old friendships. When I came back from overseas the last time, I caught up with one of my oldest and dearest friends. We’d been at primary school together and I thought we’d just pick up where we’d left off. Not so for her. She said, “Why would I bother, Ruth? You’ll only up and leave again.” She was right. I moved here and we haven’t connected since.’
‘Cutlers Bay is not so far away that we couldn’t spend as much time together as we wanted to. But just so there’s no misunderstanding, Ruth, that would not be my first preference. I want to be with you every day.’ He tugged on my hands, pulled me towards him.
I slipped my arms around his middle. ‘That would be my first preference too, and I think Selina might have been right: I have made a lot of friends here. And you know what? You might be considering starting your own business, well, I might just have a few ideas of my own.’
‘Yeah? Like what?’
‘A community wardrobe.’
‘A what?’
‘Remember what I told you about Angie, Zach’s wife? What she said to me once, as a throwaway line when a friend of hers borrowed some of my clothes? Well, I’ve thought about it a lot since and I reckon I could make something like that work.’
‘Go on. But first, if you don’t mind, have you eaten? Because I’m ravenous.’
Right on cue, my stomach grumbled again. ‘There are leftovers from the cafe.’ I’d shoved them into the fridge before I’d called Elliot. It took ten minutes for me to set out a simple meal for us. While we ate, I outlined my idea to Hamish.
‘It would work something like this: I would invite local women of all shapes and sizes to be a part of it. Every woman has clothes in her wardrobe that she’s never worn, or worn only once or twice but they’re too good to chuck. They’d choose what clothes they’d be willing to loan to others. I’d list it all online, maybe with photos, and then when someone came to me and said, I’ve been invited to a wedding and I’ve got nothing wear, I’d find something in the community wardrobe for them to wear based on their size, what’d suit them and so on. They wouldn’t be out of pocket and I guarantee they’d feel like a million dollars when I’d finished with them. I can sew. I can do repairs, alterations, that sort of thing. What do you think?’
‘Where would all these clothes be kept?’
‘With the person who owns them. In the register I’d document that Mrs So-and-So is a size eighteen and has a pink-and-grey mother-of-the-bride outfit she’ll never wear again but doesn’t want to part with and would be happy to loan to someone in need.’
‘You have given it some thought. But what about men? Women aren’t the only ones who, on occasion, have nothing to wear. And you’d need some rules, wouldn’t you?’
‘Sure, about damage and dry-cleaning and the risks associated with loaning out your clothes. Simple. No reason it couldn’t work for men or anyone. Tons of perfectly good clothes end up in landfill and yet we never have anything to wear.’
He pinched a fold of his faded cotton shirt. ‘Most of my clothes end up in the ragbag. That’s about all they’re good for by the time I’m done with them.’
After we’d finished eating, Hamish rested his elbows on the table and said, ‘So how do you feel now? Headache?’
‘Much better, thanks. No headache. I still feel a bit fragile but I’ve had a lot to take in during the past few months. And it’s not over yet.’
‘We’ll get there, you’ll see. Day at a time, Ruth.’ He stacked our plates in what was becoming a familiar ritual. ‘Dishes first and then a movie. What do you say? It’s Friday night and tomorrow’s not a really early start.’
So that’s what we did. And he stayed, all night. The first of many—or so I hoped.