Finding Hannah

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘No, thanks, I think we’re good.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind …’

  ‘Yes, I know, there’s always the Chans.’

  This was another ritual – Hannah was meticulous in her planning and rarely forgot anything. She would start buying supplies weeks out from Christmas and only left the perishables until last thing – like a squirrel gathering its nuts and preparing for the winter. It was all part of the fun for her. She couldn’t understand anyone who moaned that Christmas was stressful. As far as she was concerned, with a bit – or a lot – of planning, it didn’t need to be.

  The Whites hadn’t joined the seafood craze so thankfully she didn’t have to be out queuing early at the fish markets. No matter the weather, they always had the full cooked shebang – stuffed roast turkey and a leg of lamb, mountains of roast vegetables. Their cool offering was a leg of ham, which Hannah – and her mother before her – prepared on Christmas Eve.

  Everything was closed on Christmas Day, anyway. Well, everything except the little corner shop at the end of their road run by the Chan family. Hannah wasn’t sure what religion they were or if they were just industrious and clever enough to cash in on the frenzy that was Christmas Day.

  ‘Good on them,’ Tristan had declared the first year he’d driven past and seen the queue outside the shop. ‘Successful business is all about demand and supply – supplying a demand.’

  ‘Okay, so how long do you think the line-up to buy forgotten batteries and last-minute vegetables will be this year?’ Tristan asked with a cheeky grin. After her parents arrived they would discuss the size of the crowd waiting for the Chans’ store to open at nine forty-five. They had even started taking bets on the length of the queue, which had been known to stretch right around the corner.

  ‘Just to the corner – no further,’ Hannah said. ‘Surely people will have learnt by now.’

  ‘Come on, no one will ever be as organised as you, my darling,’ he said. ‘Look, we even have a list of the lists we have,’ he said, picking up a piece of paper.

  ‘Cheeky devil,’ she said, dragging a tea towel from the bench and throwing it at him. ‘Be grateful, mister.’

  ‘I am. And I wouldn’t have you any other way, my love,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her and planting a kiss on her neck before nuzzling it. ‘I love your list-making obsession.’

  ‘Just as well. And there’s nothing wrong with being organised. Anyway, it’s not my fault – it’s in my genes. Blame my mother,’ Hannah said, pouting.

  ‘Oh no, she has my eternal gratitude,’ he said with a theatrical wave of the tea towel in his hand.

  ‘As it should be,’ Hannah said, catching the tea towel and putting it back on the bench.

  ‘Okay, so is that your final bet? I’m writing it down,’ he said, going to the fridge and holding up the whiteboard marker. ‘Last chance.’

  ‘Yep, to the corner. So, what say you, smarty pants?’

  ‘To the post box.’

  ‘Ooh, we have a bold prediction from Mr Ainsley this year,’ Hannah said, picking up a serving spoon and using it as a pretend microphone. ‘No worries, that’ll just be another ten bucks you’ll owe me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too quick to call it, Mrs Ainsley.’

  ‘Well, we shall see, Mr Ainsley.’

  ‘Yes, we shall!’

  ‘Okay, I’d better be off. See you in a bit,’ Tristan said, kissing Hannah.

  ‘Drive carefully.’

  ‘Always. You be careful with the knives. And no peeking at the presents,’ he said, grinning.

  *

  As she carried sprigs of rosemary for flavouring the leg of lamb in from the garden, Hannah glanced at the Weber kettle with its lid off and loaded up with heat beads all ready to be lit to cook the Christmas lunch. Where was Tristan? He needed to light it. She shook her annoyance aside. He’d be here. Tris was nothing if not reliable. Though, he did have her parents to contend with.

  No doubt Daphne had put the house keys somewhere and forgotten where or lost her lipstick, or something. Hannah checked her watch, compared it to the schedule, grabbed the extra-long matches from the bench top and raced back outside to light the kettle.

  Back inside, she sat for a moment at the bench to double-check her list. She frowned and tapped her fingers on the bench. They were meant to be opening presents by now. She thought about phoning Tristan, but then remembered she’d seen his phone beside the fruit basket earlier. She frowned. So much for being able to phone him to get something from the Chans’. Should she phone her parents? No, they’d be along any minute. They’ve just got caught up in the Christmas festivities, she told herself. Anyway, both her parents’ mobiles usually lived in the bottom of her mother’s handbag and were rarely heard. And, if they were, it’s unlikely her mother would pick one up in time.

  Hannah found herself becoming tense at the thought that just being half an hour late would put her carefully planned schedule out completely. Oh well, in the scheme of things, no one would die if the meal was dished up at one o’clock and not twelve-thirty and people turned up while the lounge room floor was still strewn with discarded wrapping paper and ribbon, she decided. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world, either. She tried to relax but the feeling that something was wrong, something more than her precious schedule being disrupted, was creeping into her mind.

  In an effort to keep herself busy and the unease at bay, Hannah took the vegetables out of the fridge. She missed her mother’s chatter beside her. The house felt strangely empty and echoing, even with the Christmas carols playing in the background.

  Finishing the vegetables, she was shocked to find Tristan and her parents were now almost an hour late. Shit, she’d better get the meat on.

  She shifted between worry and annoyance at struggling to hold the large, heavy tray whilst getting the meat safely onto the racks above the white ash-covered coals.

  There had been a spate of burst water mains across some nearby suburbs recently. Perhaps that was the hold up. She hoped they weren’t stuck on a road the other side of a major incident, though a burst water main or malfunctioning traffic lights were more preferable to think about than the obvious …

  Hopefully her best friend Sam would be here soon with her husband Rob and boisterous four-year-old boys Oliver and Ethan. The distraction would be good and depending on what mood the kids were in the three adults might even get to relax over a glass of bubbly. Better yet, Tristan and her parents would come bursting in, her father making his usual ‘dad joke’ about it being a ‘White Christmas’ despite it being the middle of summer. And then, after they’d all stopped groaning and rolling their eyes at him they’d explain about whatever had held them up whilst apologising profusely – her mother giggling from a bit too much egg nog. Hannah smiled. She really was very lucky to have family and friends she adored so much.

  Samantha had been Hannah’s best friend since they’d met on their first day at university, standing in the quadrangle turning their maps around trying to figure out where their first classes were on the huge campus. Sam was also an only child, but one who had serious mother issues. Thank goodness Sam had such a lovely, supportive husband in Rob – who also happened to have become one of Tristan’s best friends. The two men hadn’t really had much of a choice when Sam and Hannah spent so much time together.

  A sense of relief washed over Hannah as a triple honk of a car horn sounded. She rushed to see if it was Tristan and her parents or Sam and Rob and the boys. She tried to keep the disappointment and concern at bay upon seeing Sam and Rob’s red wagon at the kerb. Hannah raced outside and across the lawn to meet them.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ they all shouted. The twins, dressed in Superman outfits, tumbled out and began racing around the lawn with their arms spread out. It was hard to tell if they were pretending to fly or chasing each other.

  ‘Boys! Stop! You need to take that noise out into the back garden. If it’s okay with Auntie Hannah.’<
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  ‘Off you go,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Quietly through the house,’ Rob called after them as they took off up the steps towards the front door.

  ‘Give me strength,’ Sam said, handing Hannah a large fruit and cheese platter before stepping out of the car. ‘Sorry, the boys are a little ratty this morning. They stripped the tree of candy canes,’ she added as they made their way inside. ‘I thought I’d managed to put them up high enough, but apparently not. I’m about ready to give them away if you’re interested,’ she said wearily.

  ‘Not exactly a great sales job there, Sammy. So, thanks, but no thanks,’ Hannah said with a laugh.

  She liked kids, especially Oliver and Ethan. They were dear, sweet, well-brought-up little boys, if a bit rowdy at times. She wanted kids – she and Tristan were trying, well, not seriously trying; they’d simply stopped taking precautions to not get pregnant. Hannah loved the idea of being a parent, having someone else to love, a small person to raise, but she also quite liked the freedom of not having that responsibility yet. She saw far too often how frazzled Sam and Rob were.

  At first she’d thought Sam being laid back about cleaning and domestic matters generally would have helped, but later she wondered whether being ordered and organised might hold the key. On one hand she was keen to put it to the test – not to compete with Sam and prove a point – but on the other she was terrified of parenting bringing her undone, not to mention changing her and Tristan’s relationship.

  It was clear from watching Sam and Rob that despite them still being clearly devoted to each other, the twins required – and received – the most attention.

  ‘I’ll just go and check on the boys. I can’t hear them – and that’s never a good sign,’ Rob said after dumping an esky in the kitchen.

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Sam said. ‘You finally get some peace, but then you have to go check and disturb them because, as Rob said, silence is never a good sign. Oh, I tell you …’

  ‘And you wouldn’t change it for the world,’ Hannah said.

  ‘No, I probably wouldn’t. They are dear little things most of the time,’ Sam said, smiling. ‘Now, enough about me,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘What’s going on with you? Where’s your cheer and sparkle on this fine Christmas morning? A White Christmas, no less!’

  ‘Oh, ha-ha,’ Hannah said, rolling her eyes at the tired old joke, but smiling despite herself.

  ‘So, why so glum?’ Sam said, holding her friend away and scrutinising her. ‘And don’t say you’re not, because I can read you like a book. Has something happened to Daphne and Daniel – where are they? Daphne’s usually installed here at the bench. And Tristan should be out standing over the Weber.’

  ‘No. I don’t know where they are. They should have been here over an hour ago.’

  ‘Ah, they’ve probably got caught up sampling all the egg nog. You know what those retirement village residents are like – mob of soaks, all of them. Tris would be overruled in a second.’

  ‘Yeah. I hope you’re right. You didn’t hear about any accidents or anything on the radio, did you?’ Hannah suddenly wondered why she hadn’t turned the radio on herself or logged onto the computer. But she’d been too busy trying to convince herself they were just a bit late, and trying to keep everything else on schedule.

  ‘Sorry, we had to have the Wiggles on at full blast.’

  ‘No worries. Lunch might be late, but it’ll be fine.’

  ‘So says the queen of impeccable timing.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m trying to convince myself it’ll be fine. So don’t you go bursting my bubble.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll come bustling in here soon enough complaining about the traffic, or whatever.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help? Perhaps I can be Daphne and peel the veggies until she arrives?’ Sam said, settling herself on a stool and looking around.

  ‘Thanks, but everything’s done.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Rob said, coming into the kitchen, ‘they’re flat out on the lawn pretending to fly and pretending they’re not plum tuckered out.’

  They shared a chuckle.

  ‘So what can I help with?’ he asked, looking around. ‘And where’s Tristan and your parents, anyway?’

  ‘We don’t know. You can pour us a drink, darling. God knows, we need one. Champagne, Hann?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, that would be lovely. I think I’m all done here for now,’ she said, casting her eye over her list.

  They had just got settled with drinks in hand when Oliver and Ethan appeared.

  ‘Can we please have a drink?’ they said, both speaking at once.

  ‘Of course you can,’ Sam said, but stayed put.

  ‘It’s okay, darling, you sit there. I’ll deal with it,’ Rob said, getting up and putting a hand to his wife’s shoulder and a kiss on her forehead as he passed.

  ‘You’re the best,’ Sam said, and raised her glass to him.

  A few minutes later Sam and Hannah cocked their heads at hearing the sound of car doors closing. Hannah took another sip of champagne as she resisted going out to give Tristan a small piece of her mind. But the last thing she needed was an argument on Christmas Day. They had a dozen more guests arriving in less than an hour.

  They looked at each other quizzically when the doorbell sounded.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Rob called.

  ‘Thanks,’ Hannah replied. She’d better ease up on the champagne if she wanted lunch to be perfect. The few sips she’d had had gone right to her head and she felt a little too relaxed to be bothered getting up. If Tristan and her parents had their hands full of gifts Rob would help them, equally if it was someone who’d turned up early. The Ainsley house, which had been the White house before them, was known to be open and welcoming all day at Christmas. People often dropped in for a drink on their way to or from somewhere else.

  Hannah was distracted from her thoughts by Oliver and Ethan sidling up to the Christmas tree.

  ‘Can we please have a candy cane, Auntie Hann?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘If it’s okay with your mum.’

  ‘Don’t you think you had enough at home?’ Sam said.

  ‘But, Muuuum, it’s Christmas,’ Ethan whined.

  ‘Just one,’ Sam said with a resigned sigh. ‘And then sit quietly on the floor to eat them.’

  They carefully plucked a brightly striped piece of hooked candy from the tree and sat down.

  ‘You’ve got to pick your battles,’ Sam said as she and Hannah watched them in silence.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Um, Hann, these officers need a word.’

  Hannah turned with a frown already set on her face. She’d almost forgotten the doorbell had rung. Two uniformed policemen now stood in her lounge room beside Rob.

  ‘Mrs Ainsley?’ the taller, younger of the two men asked.

  Hannah stared at them as if seeing them but not quite comprehending who they were. She felt strange, suddenly weak, and was thankful she was sitting down. She should get up, but didn’t think she could; she was glued to the chair and her legs felt like jelly. Her heart was starting to pound extra hard, and extra slowly, too. It was as if time had stopped still. Hannah continued to stare, frowning, struggling to find the dots to connect, let alone connect them.

  ‘Darling, perhaps you’d better take the boys outside,’ Sam said to Rob, nodding at the two boys who were staring with a mixture of awe and bewilderment at the officers.

  ‘Boys, come with me please.’

  ‘But, Daaaad,’ Oliver whined.

  ‘Now, boys.’

  Ethan’s bottom lip drooped but the twins climbed to their feet and reluctantly stomped out, clutching their sweets.

  ‘Mrs Ainsley?’ The younger of the two men asked, looking from Hannah to Sam and back again. Hannah swallowed, tried to find her voice. Failed. Nodded.

  ‘Yes. I’m Mrs Ainsley – Hannah,’ she finally managed to croak out. She felt the champag
ne in her stomach bite and she had to consciously swallow back the rising bile. She felt her hands begin to shake. Gradually her heart started to pick up pace. Tears began to prickle. There were only two reasons why the police would come knocking on your door on Christmas morning – someone was badly injured or someone was dead – or someones.

  She felt Sam sit down beside her and pick up her hand.

  ‘I’m Sergeant Patrick O’Brien,’ the younger policeman said. ‘And this is Sergeant Barry Dwyer. We’re from the Major Collision Investigation Unit.’

  ‘We’re sorry to have to inform you that a vehicle registered to this address has been involved in an accident.’ Again it was the younger man who spoke. What was his name again? Had they given their names? She blinked and frowned.

  ‘Tristan? My parents?’ Hannah asked in barely a whisper, despite knowing the answer. They were dead. She knew it. Otherwise the police officers would have bundled her into the car and whisked her off to the hospital, lights and sirens blaring. This was too calm, too measured. Too final.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ the older policeman said, shaking his head slowly. ‘They died at the scene.’

  ‘But they can’t be, they’re only an hour late.’ Hannah felt all she’d known escape her and disappear down her face along with the streaming tears. She so badly wanted to turn back time, stop the clock, for this not to be happening.

  She sobbed while Sam held her. It seemed to take forever, but gradually the tears subsided. For a moment she felt self-conscious and bad for the officers having to see her break down, but then there probably wasn’t much they hadn’t seen or dealt with. A box of tissues appeared in front of her. She looked up. Rob stood over her, his face drawn, his eyes red, and his hand holding the tissues was shaking.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, trying to offer him a consoling smile. She sniffled as she plucked a few out. She had to be strong. Tristan and her parents would want her to be strong. It would be expected. And falling apart wouldn’t bring them back.

  ‘What happened?’ she heard Sam ask quietly.