FIONA MCCALLUM has enjoyed a life of contrasts. She was raised on a cereal and wool farm in rural South Australia and then moved to inner-city Melbourne to study at university as a mature age student. Becoming involved with an executive high-flyer and accidently starting a writing and editing consultancy saw her mixing in corporate circles in Melbourne and then Sydney. She returned to Adelaide for a slower paced life and to chase her dream of becoming an author – which took nearly a decade full of rejections from agents and publishers to achieve. Fiona now works as a full-time novelist and really is proof dreams can come true. Having survived many ups and downs and heartbreaks, a constant has been the support of a handful of very dear friends for which she will be eternally grateful.
Fiona writes heart-warming journey of self-discovery stories that draw on her life experiences, love of animals and fascination with the power and support that comes from strong friendships. She is the author of eight Australian bestsellers: Paycheque, Nowhere Else, Wattle Creek, Saving Grace, Time Will Tell, Meant To Be, Leap of Faith and Standing Strong. Finding Hannah is her ninth novel.
More information about Fiona and her books can be found on her website at www.fionamccallum.com and she can be followed on Facebook at www.facebook.com/fionamccallum.author.
Also by Fiona McCallum
Paycheque
Nowhere Else
Leap of Faith
The Wattle Creek series
Wattle Creek
Standing Strong
The Button Jar series
Saving Grace
Time Will Tell
Meant To Be
FIONA MCCALLUM
Finding Hannah
www.harlequinbooks.com.au
In memory of my dad, to whom I owe so much.
Gone for many years, remembered every day.
Contents
Also by Fiona McCallum
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Hannah stirred and rolled over to face her husband. She returned his beaming smile and snuggled up against him as he held his arms out wide, then hugged her tight.
‘Merry Christmas, darling wife,’ Tristan said, kissing Hannah on the top of her head.
‘Merry Christmas, darling husband,’ she said, kissing his chest. Her heart glowed. She loved Christmas, just loved it! Always had.
The Whites had never been keen on spending huge amounts on presents, nor the religious side of it, but they had put on a big feast every year and opened up their house and welcomed everyone who didn’t have family or anywhere else to go on Christmas Day. It was always a wonderfully joyful and raucous affair, even with the majority of guests being around Hannah’s parents’ age. Sadly some were no longer with them – like dear old Pat who was apparently a teetotaller on every day except Christmas, and tended to get mischievous after just a few sips of champagne. Hannah and Tristan still laughed at the shock he’d got the first year when the old lady had caressed his bottom while he carried a tray of drinks. Tristan and Hannah had only been going out for a few months and Hannah had been afraid he’d be frightened off. Instead, he’d put down the tray and drawn Pat into a haphazard waltz, and had instantly become a firm favourite with all. One of the things Hannah loved about Tristan from the get go was his ability to think quickly on his feet. No doubt that was one of the reasons he’d progressed so quickly up the career ladder. She figured the extra six years of life experience he had on her helped too. And his charm and broad, disarming smile and the twinkle in his big brown eyes.
Giving up the all-day, open-house Christmas extravaganza the Whites were well-known for had been one of the biggest things that had bothered Daphne and Daniel about downsizing and moving into the retirement village. But for the past five years Hannah and Tristan had more than capably kept up the tradition, with Hannah’s parents always declaring each year’s celebrations were better than the last. Not that they would say anything else.
Hannah was lucky. In her view, she had the best parents in the world. They were generous with praise, encouragement and their love, were never controlling, and only gave opinions when asked. She knew how fortunate she was. So many of her friends had mother issues or father issues. Sometimes she even felt a little guilty when her friends quizzed her in tones of disbelief – did she really get on so well with her parents? ‘Yep, afraid so,’ she’d say with a laugh.
Hannah felt comforted by knowing that whatever happened she could talk to her parents and they would help her to put everything into perspective and sort through any problems. Not that much had ever gone wrong so far in Hannah’s thirty-one years of life, except the common angst that came with teenage hormones and discovering that boys and girls really were very different. But both parents had equally helped steer her through, and after a few bruises to her heart she’d found Tristan.
Dear sweet Tris, who was kind and gentle and encouraging and strong and capable – all the best qualities of her parents rolled into one. Except Hannah thought he was a little obsessed with playing golf and computer games. Both complete time wasters in her opinion. But at least when he was out on a Saturday she could do things around the house in peace or go shopping with friends. She understood how important networking on the golf course was in the business world. And if pretending to be some kind of fictitious character and shoot or hide from aliens in some pretend, online world was how Tristan unwound after a long day, then who was she to argue? He worked hard and was doing well in his career. So, each to their own, she told herself regularly – to the point that it was almost a mantra. Though she didn’t like that sometimes she was forced into the role of nagging wife in order to get him to help her with something or other.
The only other major criticism she had of Tristan was that he initially really wasn’t much into Christmas. But she’d managed to change that. When they met, Hannah knew that Tristan had thought she was nuts loving Christmas so much. Thankfully he was now almost as nutty about it all as she was.
Hannah still sometimes found herself mentally shaking her head at their first discussion about Christmas. They were out for a casual cafe meal and she’d been completely stunned – rendered speechless several times.
‘So, what does your family do for Christmas?’ she’d asked.
‘Nothing really.’
‘Don’t be silly. Nobody does nothing for Christmas!’ she’d cried.
‘We don’t. Not anymore,’ he’d said with a shrug.
‘But you at least put up a Christmas tree and exchange presents, right?’
‘I don’t even know if Mum still has any decorations. I can’t remember the last time I saw a Christmas tree up at the farm.’
Hannah had stared open mouthed. No way!
‘So you used to celebrate, then?’
Hannah had let out a slight sigh of relief. There was hope for him yet.
‘I guess Mum and Dad didn’t think there was much to celebrate after Scott died,’ he’d added with another nonchalant shrug.
‘Scott who?’
‘My brother. He was fifteen – two years older than me. He got drunk, took the family car and crashed it.’
‘Oh god. I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How come he knew how to drive at fifteen?’ Hannah said, frowning.
‘Oh, we were both driving from the age of eight – it’s normal when you grow up on a farm.’
‘You poor thing. How awful. And your parents, how sad for them.’
‘Thanks, but it was ages ago. Luckily no one else was involved. It certainly put me off drink driving, I can tell you. But please don’t mention it to Mum and Dad when you get around to meeting them. They blame themselves.’
‘Right. Okay.’ The last thing Hannah wanted was to upset anyone.
‘Anyway, I guess that was the end of Christmas as I knew it. Not that it was a really big deal in our house before then, anyway. Well, not that I remember.’
With wide eyes Hannah had watched him take a sip of beer. She could tell that Tristan found it hard – almost impossible – to talk about his brother, even though he tried to sound as if he’d got over the accident.
‘So, for Christmas Day,’ Tristan began, changing the subject, ‘do your parents prefer white or red wine – or should I take one of each?’ She was still too stunned to speak.
‘Hannah?’
‘Sorry? What?’
‘What wine should I take on Christmas Day?’
‘Oh. Bring both. Dad will want you to have any bottles we don’t open.’
In the years since, she’d learnt that when a member of the Ainsley family didn’t want to discuss something there was no making them. Tristan had inherited a clever ability to carefully deflect a conversation without appearing rude or even particularly defensive. The few times she’d tried to discuss Scott’s death Tristan had answered politely then carefully shut down the conversation.
‘Yes, we were close and we got on well. Of course I miss him. But there’s no point dwelling and being morbid about it. He made a stupid decision and now he’s not here. End of story. There’s really nothing more to tell, Hann. Honest. I’m fine about it. Really.’ He’d sealed the conversation with a kiss and Hannah was left feeling sad, right to the pit of her stomach – as much so in empathy for his loss, but also for his burden in holding it all inside. She couldn’t help feeling that if he really was okay with it then he’d be able to talk about his brother, sharing happy memories of him, laughing about their little boy antics. But she also knew that not talking about it, closing the door on it, was another way of dealing with something. If that was Tristan’s way – and it clearly was – then it was not for her to judge. She was only a bystander to his grief – which she hadn’t even realised until then he was carrying – and not actually living it. She might do it all differently in his shoes, but then again, she might not. But what she did know was that she’d be there if at some point he did want to open up to her or if it did all catch up with him and he fell apart. Hannah was also left to silently wonder if the Ainsley family had really never been much into celebrating Christmas or if they had been and stopped the year of Scott’s death. She just couldn’t get her head around Christmas not being a huge deal – for anyone.
These days, since retiring, Tristan’s parents were rarely home for Christmas, anyway. In fact, they were away more often than they were at their Adelaide property.
They were currently making their way around Australia in their caravan – right now they were in Tasmania. Perhaps they did celebrate in their own way. She liked to think so. But it didn’t matter, Tristan had been welcomed into Hannah’s family as the son Daphne and Daniel had longed for but never been blessed with. And he had fully embraced the Christmas spirit. While Hannah was grateful, she sometimes felt a little guilty that it meant she got Tristan to herself every year rather than doing miles to visit with both families or having to miss out on spending time with her own parents due to distance, like some of her friends did.
Ah, Christmas, Hannah thought, enjoying the feel of Tristan’s strong arms around her and the smell of him. Even though she loved Christmas Day and all it entailed, Hannah also loved these precious moments of just being before they got up and set everything in motion.
‘Well, no rest for the wicked, it’s Christmas!’ Hannah said, giving her husband another kiss, and then a gentle, good-natured shove.
She leaned over to where the phone handset sat on its charger on the small bedside table.
‘Happy Christmas!’ she bellowed as soon as the call was answered.
‘And a happy Christmas to you.’ It was her mum, Daphne. ‘Dad’s here. I’ll put him on then we can have a longer chat.’
‘Good morning, darling heart. Merry Christmas.’
‘Hi, Dad, and a merry Christmas to you. Can’t wait to see you.’
‘What time will Tris be here?’
‘No changes. Eight-fifty, on the dot.’
‘Great. Well, we’ll see you soon. I’ll put your mother back on. No doubt you have things to discuss.’
‘Okay. Catch ya later.’
‘Now darling, should I pop in a few extra oven mitts too?’ Daphne White said.
‘No, I have plenty here, Mum.’ As always.
‘What about the vegetable peeler. You have one of the special ones, don’t you? You know my fingers don’t work like they used to.’
‘Yes. I know, Mum. I have two of the peelers – remember, you gave them to me.’
‘I wouldn’t remember my head if it wasn’t screwed on these days, dear. Anyway, that’s good. Peelers. And what about tea towels?’ Hannah heard what sounded like a pen scratching paper – Daphne ticking items off on a list – and smiled. As much as the Whites loved Christmas, they loved lists – making them and following them, Daniel not quite to the same extent as the women.
‘Good idea. Thanks, Mum. We can never have enough tea towels. And did you remember to get out a couple of aprons?’
‘I did. They’re right here. Oh, I know! What about sheer covers – it’s going to be warm so the flies will be out and driving us madder than usual.’
‘I’ve got yours already, remember? Everything is under control, Mum. We went through the lists together last week. It will all be fine and you don’t need to worry about a thing.’ As her mum grew older, the more long-winded and frustrating these conversations became. But Hannah didn’t mind. She loved her mother and found her growing frailty and recently acquired slight ditziness quite sweet and endearing.
‘I know, dear, sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I don’t think you can cope, I just …’
‘You just like to help. I know. And just having you here to peel all the veggies and be my slave will help heaps.’
‘Yes, well, you just sit me at the bench and I won’t be any trouble at all.’
‘You’re never any trouble, Mum.’
‘I’d like to at least feel useful and helpful.’
‘You’re very useful and helpful, Mum. And you always will be.’
‘Well I would be if it weren’t for this damned arthritis and forgetfulness. You know, last night I put your father’s coffee in the fridge instead of the microwave. Dear, oh dear, some days I’m as silly as a wheel.’
‘I’m sure you were just distracted for a moment. Anyway, Mum, we’ll have nothing less than happy – it’s Christmas.’
‘Yes, golly, listen to me feeling all sorry for myself. I’m just being a nincompoop. So, that’s all, then?’
‘And the presents.’
‘Don’t worry, they’re in a box beside the front door all ready to go. We can’t leave the house without tripping over them.’
‘Good one, Mum. I’ll see you soon. Get ready to cook up a storm.’
&nbs
p; ‘Right you are. Ready and willing.’
‘Brilliant. See you soon. Love you.’
‘Love you too. Bye for now.’
‘How are they? All ready to go?’ Tristan asked, as Hannah wandered into the kitchen.
‘Yes. They’re well. Looking forward to the day. Did you call your parents?’
‘I did.’
‘How are they?’
‘Good. They send their love.’
Tristan made coffee while Hannah sat at the bench and read through her extensive to-do list, that was timed to the quarter hour and which she’d almost completely memorised. All Tristan had to do now that he had phoned his parents, was to collect her parents twenty minutes’ drive away.
Then, when they arrived, Tristan and her father would sit and chew the fat whilst eating their way through the nibbles Hannah had put out for them, and she and Daphne would retreat to the kitchen to get the cooking underway.
After Daphne and Hannah had done the vegetables and organised the meal so it could be left to cook largely unattended for an hour or so, Tristan and her parents would sit around the tree with Hannah on her knees beside it handing out presents. They did it early, before anyone outside the family arrived. There had always been an unwritten convention about three presents being exchanged – nothing too expensive, but three gifts. Daniel, who hated shopping, regularly separated one present into three in order to make his quota. The year Hannah was twelve she’d received a remote-control car, batteries and the remote – all wrapped separately. She loved surprises and unwrapping a remote-control car sure had been a surprise!
‘Right, so it’s true, you really wanted a son,’ Hannah had ribbed.
‘No dear, he just wants someone to race with,’ Daphne had said.
‘Guilty as charged!’ Daniel had grinned as he’d proceeded to unwrap a present from his wife – his own remote-control car. Father and daughter had had a ball racing each other on the concrete paths around the house for the next few months. Hannah loved that she had so many fond memories. She really had enjoyed a happy childhood and blessed life.
‘How’s it all looking? Anything you need me to get?’ Tristan asked as he picked up the car keys.
Finding Hannah Page 1
