Finding Hannah

by Fiona McCallum

  Hannah was surprised to hear the doorbell chime, and got up to answer it.

  She almost melted into Sam’s embrace as she was flooded with relief at seeing her friend and being spared for at least the time being from finding ways to entertain herself.

  ‘God, it’s good to see you. Coffee?’

  ‘And you. Yes, please. I’m escaping the boys. They’re driving me nuts. So how are you doing? And it’s me, Hann, so no censoring. Okay?’

  ‘I’m lonely, Sam. I hate being on my own. And now I’m back at work I officially hate weekends.’

  ‘It …’

  ‘Please don’t say it’ll get easier. I’m sick of all the clichés. Sorry, but I am. You know one of the sad things I’ve discovered?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have absolutely no interests. Tris was my whole world. And now he’s gone I have nothing.’

  ‘You have me and Rob and the boys and a tonne of other friends who love you, Hann.’

  ‘I know, and it’s lovely, but what I need is to keep busy, but to do that I need interests, things to occupy me on the weekends. I’m sorry, I’m just being a sad sack.’

  ‘Well, you’re allowed,’ Sam said. ‘What about gardening? I see a lawn and some weeds out there that’ll need some attention soon.’

  ‘Fun, Samantha, I want to enjoy myself. Well, at least try.’

  ‘Fair enough. I couldn’t think of anything worse, either. I wouldn’t have the patience, but you love being neat and orderly. You could keep the garden neat and looking good, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Mmm. Probably.’

  ‘How about golf? I’m sure Rob would love some company at the driving range. He seems to have gone right off it since losing Tris.’

  ‘I think I’d rather garden.’

  ‘You could take up flamenco dancing or yoga, or something. Hann, there’re plenty of things you could do if you want to get out.’

  ‘So says the one who dreams of being a recluse,’ Hannah said, raising her eyebrows at Sam.

  ‘It’s weird, isn’t it? You’re yearning for activity, company and entertainment whereas I’d love nothing more than to be left alone in complete silence. So, I’m probably not the one to help you solve your problem. Sorry.’

  ‘I wish I was creative and could lose myself in some project or other. Like you can,’ Hannah said wistfully.

  ‘Maybe you are creative. Have you ever actually tried?’

  ‘I know I can’t draw, for a start.’

  ‘Being creative’s not just about being able to draw. Perhaps you need to explore it a bit. Is there anything you’re passionate about?’

  ‘No. I was passionate about Tristan. He was my world. And now he’s gone,’ she said, looking down at the floor. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. And dragging you down in the process.’

  ‘What about going back and doing some study?’

  ‘Maybe sometime, but right now I don’t think I could focus enough. Anyway, I want to have some fun, not bog myself down further.’

  ‘Hmm, fair enough. You know what I do when I’m searching for inspiration?’

  ‘Visit art galleries, look at art?’ Of course Hannah knew; it was her friend’s favourite activity. She hadn’t accompanied Sam much since she’d had the twins. Hannah had enjoyed their gallery trips, but for her it had been more about spending quality time with her friend than enjoying the art.

  ‘Fancy coming along to an exhibition opening with me?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This afternoon. Two o’clock.’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘Please, Hann. You know how I hate going to these things on my own and I really want to go.’

  ‘What about Rob?’

  ‘He’s home with the boys,’ Sam said. ‘I want to be able to study the art, not run around after two boys.’

  ‘You’re seriously getting back into it, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I think I am. So, it’s time I started mixing with the arty-farties.’

  ‘That’s fantastic.’

  ‘So, will you come?’

  ‘Okay.’ Hannah knew she couldn’t say no to Sam. Rarely could, but after all Sam and Rob had done for her, the least she could do was provide some moral support to her friend. And right now she’d probably agree to almost anything to escape the house and her loneliness.

  *

  The one thing Hannah hated about stepping into an art gallery – well, those with art for sale; public galleries were different – was the feeling of being scrutinised by the owner. Hannah thought about their silent stares and pursed lips while he or she tried to ascertain your net worth and if you could afford to buy and thus whether you were worth giving some attention to or not. She figured it didn’t help that she didn’t look in the slightest bit arty in her floral blouse and jeans.

  Hannah picked up a pricelist from the pedestal and went over for a closer look at a series of brightly coloured abstracts on a nearby wall. To Hannah they looked like someone had simply thrown different colours of paint at a canvas, though she knew good art wasn’t created that easily. And while they weren’t to her taste, she suspected that these works were good, ‘accomplished’ – wasn’t that the word? And of course being two and a half thousand dollars for a small square canvas told her as much. She liked the colour placement, which despite appearances was most likely very carefully considered. She’d once made the mistake many years ago of saying to Sam that a five-year-old child could splash paint around and do just as good a job. Sam had shot her down by saying she found abstract the hardest style to paint.

  Hannah walked into the next room and gasped as she took in the colour of the wall – a stunning duck egg blue-green.

  ‘Great, aren’t they?’ Sam said, coming up beside her.

  ‘Huh? Oh, yes,’ Hannah said, now looking at the black-and-white lino-cut prints. ‘I was actually more interested in the wall colour, though. How do you think that would look in my house?’

  ‘It’s an incredible colour. Where were you thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just love it,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘It would look fantastic in your kitchen. Are you thinking of repainting?’

  ‘I wasn’t until I saw this. But maybe that’s what I need to do – change the house a bit. Perhaps then I’ll feel more settled.’

  ‘Well, it would give you something to do.’

  ‘Oh, I’d get someone in. I can’t paint.’

  ‘Of course you can paint.’

  ‘But what about the edges? I don’t think my hand is steady enough.’

  ‘There are all sorts of gadgets at the hardware shops to help with that. I painted the nursery, remember?’

  ‘Yes, but you’re talented in that area.’

  ‘But you’ve never tried, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Though, I don’t think you should rush into anything. You don’t want to be painting it over in six months when you’re feeling different about life, or the colour makes you feel cold in winter.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Hannah said, thoughtfully.

  ‘Hey, I know, why don’t we go to some open houses and see what’s popular in the area of interior design?’

  ‘Oh. I guess that’s one way to find out.’ Hannah could feel the idea beginning to run away from her.

  ‘You know, according to The Block judges, wallpaper is all the rage at the moment. Maybe you might want to look into that.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about redecorating, I just saw this colour and liked it.’

  ‘Fair enough. Now, shh, I need to study the art. How clever are these lino cuts?’

  ‘Very,’ Hannah said, peering at the small detailed images before finding herself drawn back to the walls behind. She’d love to know the name of the colour.

  They made their way through each room of the double-fronted bluestone cottage. Hannah saw a lot of art she liked while Sam oohed and ahed and made notes beside her. They’d done a complete circuit and were just about to lea
ve when Sam insisted on taking another look at the lino cuts.

  From her body language of nibbling her lip and shuffling her feet, Hannah could tell her friend was desperate to whip out her credit card and get a red spot put beside one of the remaining unsold five pieces. While Rob earned a reasonable wage, she knew money was tight with Sam not working and the expense of twins to raise.

  Hannah slipped out quietly and approached the desk with her pricelist.

  ‘Can I buy number 39, please, the lino cut titled “Picnic”,’ she whispered, looking around as she thrust her credit card towards the gallery owner. ‘It’s for my friend as a surprise,’ she added, feeling the need to explain her odd behaviour.

  ‘Wonderful choice. And what a good friend you are,’ the man cooed quietly, as he processed her payment.

  ‘The exhibition ends on the thirtieth so you can collect it then,’ he whispered, handing her card back.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There you are,’ Sam said, appearing at the desk beside Hannah.

  ‘Yes, I was just waiting to ask about the wall colour behind the lino cuts,’ she said with her eyebrows raised in question to the man behind the desk. ‘Do you happen to know the name of it?’

  ‘Well, actually, it doesn’t have a name. It’s a colour I concocted myself. I couldn’t find the exact shade I wanted in the samples – for any of the rooms.’

  ‘Oh. Okay. Thanks anyway.’

  ‘All of your colours are fabulous,’ Sam said. ‘As is the art.’

  ‘Thank you. Sorry I can’t help with the colour,’ he added with a warm smile. ‘The exhibitions will be changed each month and we’re all about fostering new local talent. We have many exciting works and artists coming up, so do please come back regularly.’

  ‘Thank you. We certainly will,’ Sam said, beaming back.

  ‘Yes. Thank you. It’s been lovely,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Sam said when they were back in the car.

  ‘Not at all. I enjoyed it.’

  ‘It’s a bit funny that you liked the paint on the wall more than any of the works of art, though.’

  ‘I liked the art, too, but you have to admit that colour was pretty special. I wonder if it would be too much as a plain wall, or if it needs the pieces to break it up.’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d have the patience to mix paint colours. I’d have to just find one I liked.’

  ‘And there’s always wallpaper to consider. That colour with a design in silver over the top would be stunning.’

  ‘Hmm. I’m starting to feel overwhelmed already,’ Hannah said with a laugh.

  ‘You’ll stumble across the perfect thing when you’re meant to. Just start by looking at magazines and open houses. God, I’d have loved one of those lino cuts,’ Sam added wistfully. ‘I thought I did very well to resist.’

  ‘You certainly did. Well done,’ Hannah said, laughing.

  ‘Do you think the tax office would allow it as a deduction in the name of research?’

  ‘I think you’d be pushing it. And you have to earn money to need a tax deduction.’

  ‘Hmm, good point. Damn.’

  ‘Are you doing lino cuts?’

  ‘Thinking about it.’

  ‘I’m so excited you’re getting back into your art.’

  ‘Well, it’s early days. And I’m not sure I know what I’m doing anymore. I’m not sure I know anything anymore. Sorry, don’t mind me. Seeing the work of talented people always makes me feel morose and inadequate – you know me. So, what do you fancy doing for lunch?’

  ‘I think you’re very talented, but you don’t seem to believe me. Come on, let’s get a sandwich or a pie or something and go and sit in the botanic gardens.’

  ‘Good idea. I know just the bakery. It’ll be nice to be able to sit without two children clambering over me or asking endless questions. Though I might need dessert since I won’t be eating little people’s leftovers – unless you’re not going to eat your crusts,’ she added, smiling.

  ‘Oh, ha-ha.’

  *

  ‘Right, let’s see if there are any flashy houses for us to look at for inspiration,’ Sam said, opening up a newspaper that had been left on one of the tables in the bakery.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know …’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt to look. And, anyway, I still have two child-free hours left to make the most of,’ Sam said, checking her watch. ‘If there’s nothing nearby fitting the bill, it’s not meant to be. Okay?’

  ‘You do realise there’ll be hordes of people. There always is.’

  ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You know Peta and Sidney do this nearly every weekend – it’s like a hobby for them.’

  ‘What, wander through open houses – just for fun?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘That’s crazy. So, is there anything?’ Hannah was feeling a little curious. She was keen to see what people were doing with colour.

  ‘There’s a viewing before an auction just over at Camberwell in half an hour. Looks nice. Estimate is nine hundred. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m game if you are.’

  ‘Right, just make sure I don’t put my hand up and bid.’

  ‘Same goes for me. I’m the unhinged one, remember.’

  *

  An hour later Hannah and Sam walked back to the car after the auction, feeling a little stunned. They’d been disappointed to find the house was not at all flashy. Neat and tidy, but far from being a candidate for a magazine spread. Clearly someone had used some very clever lighting for the photos or Photoshop was involved. They’d stayed to the end, unable to tear themselves away before finding out which of the many people who had gathered on the lawn out the front would be the new owners and how much they’d paid. A young Asian couple bought it for four hundred thousand dollars over the reserve.

  ‘Wow,’ they both said several times, looking over at each other with wide eyes.

  ‘And it was beige,’ Sam said.

  ‘Yes, and it was beige,’ Hannah said with a laugh.

  *

  Hannah remained standing on the path after waving Sam off. It had been a good afternoon and she didn’t want her mood to change, which it would if she went inside where she had nothing to do. But it was too warm and the sun too fierce for a walk or run. She’d go later. So what could she do now? Looking around her didn’t yield any inspiration so she reluctantly put her key in the door with a sigh. She’d defrost something for dinner.

  After dumping her bag in the kitchen, Hannah found herself suddenly craving something fresh for dinner. She wasn’t sure what, but not one of the reheated meals she’d been living on. They were lovely and homemade, but still not quite the same as eating fresh food. Suddenly she craved a grilled lamb chop with pumpkin and potato mash and peas. With a shock she realised she hadn’t even been to the supermarket alone yet. Raelene had filled the pantry before she’d left and for milk and bread Hannah had been dropping by the Chans’s store. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Without a second thought she grabbed her car keys and handbag.

  As soon as she dragged a trolley from the stack, Hannah wished she hadn’t come. Nothing in the brightly lit supermarket, filled with row upon row of enticing packaging, felt familiar. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t remember where anything was. It was as if she’d stepped into a foreign country where she couldn’t speak the language. It didn’t help that she had left the house without a list. She’d never done that before. She’d thought she could do this, but it suddenly felt impossible. But she couldn’t go straight back out, she’d have to make her way to the far end and go out through a checkout.

  Just try, Hannah. Focus. You can do this. One step at a time. The voice in her head was kind and sounded a lot like Tristan’s.

  She wanted to sit on the floor and sob. But instead she took a deep breath and then, rig
ht in front of her, she spied potatoes and just beyond, pumpkin. She felt a glimmer of triumph. Now she just had to find the lamb and frozen peas and she was done. Was there already a bag in the freezer? She wasn’t sure and didn’t care – her meal wouldn’t be complete without them. And she was determined now.

  Despite feeling focussed, Hannah made her way around the store like a zombie. She tried to ignore feeling embarrassed at how she must look to all those people who were striding through the aisles. A few seemed to give her a wide berth, clearly thinking she had something contagious or she was a bit deranged. She tried to make the most of her trip and get other things as she moved down the aisles. She really didn’t want to have to come back too soon. She suddenly didn’t like being so close to this many people – some pushing past her, others bumping her trolley, rushing back and forth, reaching around her.

  She found herself standing and staring dumbly at the shelf in front of her and then frowned. She usually picked up something from this aisle. She knew she did. But what was it? Her frustration turned to annoyance.

  For god’s sake, Hannah, you’ve done this every week – up and down, pluck, pluck, pluck. You can do this.

  Hey, Hann, it doesn’t matter. You can try another day.

  Again the voice could have been Tristan’s. Hannah bit the inside of her bottom lip hard. She hated the way her mind played these cruel tricks on her. Oh, Tris, why aren’t you here to help me?

  ‘Excuse me, do you mind if I just …’ she heard a voice say and looked around.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, stepping aside and nearly bumping into a small trolley where a prettily dressed but surly looking girl of around eight stood.

  ‘Are you okay?’ the young woman asked, peering at Hannah.

  ‘Yes, fine, thanks.’

  ‘Here,’ the lady said, smiling sadly at Hannah and handing her a tissue. Hannah put a hand to her face and realised her cheeks were wet.

  ‘Thank you. Just having a bad day,’ she said, feeling the need to explain.