The Artisan Heart

by Dean Mayes

  Max Trumbridge had known then that his dear friend was gone.

  Hayden remembered Max recounting this little tradition to him at his father’s funeral. The knowledge of his father’s solitude and withdrawal from his best friend had disturbed him, and yet the irony of Hayden’s own exile here now was not lost on him. As much as he might dread stepping outdoors some days, he knew avoiding it was unrealistic.

  He was looking forward to seeing Annette, though a much less pleasant task had played on Hayden’s mind since he’d forced himself to sober up.

  He reached into his pocket to make sure he’d remembered the two business cards he’d fished out of his mess of a wallet and set aside—there were a couple of important calls he needed to make. A crinkled piece of paper was caught against one of the cards. “Kinschinder’s Market” was printed in cursive script across the top. It was the receipt from his last shopping errand for Bernadette, before everything had fallen apart. Disgusted, Hayden shoved it angrily back into his wallet.

  As he rounded the bend, Hayden spotted a few locals, who nodded a greeting without recognising him directly. He responded with a polite nod of his own.

  A PAIR OF EYES TRACKED him from behind a rail of the rotunda. They watched him until he passed out of view behind a poplar. The small person they belonged to darted down the rotunda steps and dropped to the creek below.

  Following the line of the creek, under the huge timber pylons that supported the old fire station, the shrouded figure crossed back and forth, using exposed stones to traverse the babbling water.

  A LONE FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE MEANDERED past Hayden and the unfamiliar driver gave him a friendly toot of the horn in greeting. A smartly dressed older woman with curly wisps of sandy hair emerged from Walhalla’s post office. She adjusted the straps of a well-loved apron, the breast pocket of which held a collection of coloured pencils, then armed herself with a broom and began sweeping the front stoop and path.

  Sensing a presence, she lifted her head and her features lit up.

  “Doc Luschcombe!” she exclaimed in a Yorkshire lilt. “My goodness, when did you arrive in town?”

  Hayden paused and nodded to Margaret Parton, the postmistress. “A couple of days ago,” he said. “I have some business to attend to here, and the cottage has been neglected.”

  “Well, it’s ever so good to see you, Doctor,” Margaret beamed, leaning on her broom. “The town hasn’t been the same without a Luschcombe presence here.”

  Hayden’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Margaret.” He stepped forward and rounded her. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  As Margaret waved him off, Hayden caught the scent of fresh coffee from inside the next store down. Through the window of the café, Hayden saw a pretty young woman serving breakfast to an elderly couple and his gaze lingered on her momentarily, noting how animated she was as she engaged them in conversation.

  The owners must be new, he thought.

  He continued on, looking back over his shoulder as the brilliant orb of the sun crested the hillside.

  THE SMALL FIGURE EMERGED ONCE more from below a rise in the park. This time, remaining stationary, the child clutched the thick tufts of grass, keeping just out of view as the man passed the veranda of the café and continued on down the road.

  HAYDEN ARRIVED AT MAX AND Annette’s general store and turned his attention to a structure beside it—a bright red telephone booth, a relic from the 1950s, which had become something of a mascot for the town.

  Looking around him, Hayden stepped into the booth, setting the basket at his feet. With the business cards in hand, he lifted the receiver, inserted a prepaid card and punched in a number.

  He called the hospital first, hoping he might be able to speak with Ainsley Rafter to see if there had been any movement on his case. Unfortunately, Rafter wasn’t available. From the sound of his secretary, he suspected Rafter did not wish to make himself available to Hayden right now.

  The other call was to the representative body for medicos in South Australia. Hayden was somewhat relieved to talk to the liaison who would support him throughout the investigation. He explained his situation—the fact he had neither a phone of his own nor access to the internet. He promised to fix this as soon as he could.

  With both calls completed, Hayden replaced the receiver and removed the card.

  Upon leaving the phone booth, he halted.

  Annette Trumbridge was standing just a few feet away.

  He half expected Annette to offer some sort of scolding for not coming to see her as soon as he arrived back in Walhalla. Instead, she held her arms out. Her grin broke as tears threatened. She covered the distance between them in short order to embrace him.

  “My Lord,” Annette’s voice cracked. “I must be shrinking. You seem taller than I remember.”

  Hayden chuckled, feeling his own emotions threaten. “Please don’t cry, Nette. I can’t handle any more tears.”

  He proffered the basket. “I thought I’d better bring this back. Sorry I haven’t been in to visit.”

  Annette patted his cheek affectionately. “You don’t have to explain, love. I could have come up to the house myself. I just…didn’t know what I would say, what I could say.”

  Hayden tilted his head. “Stuck for words? That’s not like you, Nette.”

  Annette issued an exaggerated gasp and grinned, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs for good measure. “Well, at least the Luschcombe sense of humour is still in there. Come and have a coffee.” Annette reached around his waist and steered him towards the store.

  Hayden managed a smile. “If I said no, you’d make me anyway. So I guess I better say yes.”

  Entering the store, Annette took the basket from Hayden and gestured towards the dining area. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just fire up the machine.”

  Sitting down, Hayden took a moment to reacquaint himself with the inviting interior of the restaurant. The decor was smart and homely. A fire crackled in a wood heater over in the far corner. Glenn Campbell’s “Wichita Lineman” played from a radio perched on the mantelpiece.

  He’d spent much of his childhood here and, aside from some recent renovation, it appeared much the same now as then. His attention was drawn to a chessboard sitting atop a pedestal table in the corner of the dining room and he drifted across to it. The ornate stone pieces were stationed at various locations, indicative of a game in progress, however he noted a layer of dust coating the pieces. Hanging from the edge of the board by a piece of tape was a paper sign.

  Do Not Touch.

  Hayden knew right away who the participants of this long-dormant contest were.

  Annette appeared from the kitchen, carrying two plates upon which sat plump scones, jam, and cream. She ferried them to the table. The aroma rising from them made Hayden’s mouth water.

  “Just baked this morning,” Annette said, inviting him to join her at the table.

  Taking up his seat opposite her, he surveyed the spread, impressed. “You?”

  “Oh God, no. I couldn’t turn out anything this good. We get them delivered to us early. We usually sell out by the end of the day.”

  A quiet settled between them as he spread butter over his scone. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Whose turn is it?”

  Annette regarded the chessboard in the corner. “Your father’s. Max won’t let anyone dare to get near it. I suppose that means your dad’s turn transfers to you.”

  “I’m not nearly as good as Russell was,” Hayden said.

  “Neither is Max. You’re more evenly matched now,” Annette suggested. “So, I take it you haven’t got the phone on up at the cottage?”

  “Among other things,” Hayden licked jam from his upper lip. “I’m still trying to work out Russell’s solar power system. I’ve managed to get the fridge working. It’s on a gas supply. I’m sort of fumbling around in the dark with a pair of hurricane lanterns. It’s not so bad. I don’t mind living rustic.”

  “What if Ber—someone needs t
o get in touch with you?”

  Hayden fingered a crumb on his plate. “I’d rather contact people only when I need to. Although it doesn’t help that my phone is lying in a dozen pieces on the highway between Adelaide and the border.”

  Annette sliced through her scone and set her knife down. “Well, you don’t need to use the public phone. Ours is available whenever you need it. We’ve got a good internet connection, too, since we moved our satellite mast farther up the hillside a couple of months ago.”

  “Thank you,” Hayden said. “I don’t want to drag you into what’s going on. Everything is awkward enough as it is.”

  Annette levelled her gaze. “Hayden. You’re like a son to Max and I. You know we’re here for you.”

  Hayden pressed his lips together, grateful.

  “From the sound of that thing with the hospital, I’m sure they’ll find you weren’t at fault.”

  Hayden hesitated. “I lost control, Annette. I pushed back and crossed a line—one that should never be crossed.”

  Annette folded her arms. “Surely, they’ll take into account the behaviour of the father. Max said he attacked you—he’d have been a danger to everyone there. They were lucky you acted.”

  “If only it were that simple,” Hayden said, wrestling with embarrassment.

  Annette reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “What about Berni?”

  Hayden felt his stomach knot. “Bernadette made her decision about us. I’m not prepared to deal with it just yet.”

  Annette sipped thoughtfully. “I can only guess at how difficult this must be. You should know—she has called here. A couple of times, in fact.”

  Hayden looked up from his plate. “She has? When?”

  “Not long after we realized you were here. She sounded…awkward.”

  Hayden blinked. “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing. There wasn’t anything to tell and we wouldn’t, in any case.”

  Hayden leaned back in his chair and fingered the handle of his coffee cup. “I appreciate that.”

  “But at some point, you will have to face her.” Annette’s gaze was sympathetic, though her observation was steadfast. “Do you think there’s any chance of working things out?”

  A weariness came over Hayden. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure I want to work things out. All I can see is—” He lifted his hand and prodded the side of his head. “I can’t even bring myself to say it.”

  Annette shook her head. “Come on. Have your coffee and we’ll organise some more groceries for you.”

  At the mention of groceries, Hayden reached into his pocket and pulled out a crinkled fifty-dollar note. He slid it across to her.

  “Hayden,” Annette began to protest.

  “Take it.” He pressed it into her palm. “I’m not going to be a charity case to either of you. You’ve still a business to run.”

  Annette took the bank note, but made her disapproval known. “Well, I will cook you dinner at some stage and I won’t have any arguments.”

  Hayden pulled a face at her. “Okay.”

  Pivoting in his seat, Hayden turned in the direction of the chessboard. He stood and went across to it.

  “Your dad’s pieces are black,” Annette said as she spooned some jam and cream onto her scone.

  Clutching the knight in his fingers, Hayden moved it forward, knocking out the white bishop opposite. He smiled at Annette. “Game on.”

  A SHADOW FELL ACROSS ONE of the restaurant’s outdoor table settings, just beside the window. The child peeked up over the sill, ducking out of view when Annette turned towards the glass.

  Waiting several moments, the child risked another attempt, drawing level with the window frame and looking across at the man standing beside the chessboard. She grimaced angrily, clenching her hands into fists. Then he turned, and she was forced to hide again. The child retreated from the shop window and disappeared.

  ~ Chapter 9 ~

  HAYDEN LOOKED UP FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT AND LOCKED HIS ELBOWS, INHALING SHARPLY. HE WAS STRADDLING THE roof of the cottage, having ascended a rickety ladder and negotiated a path between a small array of solar panels mounted above the veranda to appraise the damage over the kitchen.

  He had little idea what he was doing. Whenever any sort of home maintenance was required in Adelaide, a contractor was called. He’d always been willing to try, but Bernadette considered it a waste of time.

  You might be a capable medico, but let’s leave the house repairs to the experts.

  Hayden made a face at the echo of her voice, and then refocused his attention on the roof.

  He’d managed to assess the damage over the kitchen and was relieved to find it was confined to a single sheet of rusted iron. The adjacent gutter was clogged with leaf litter and sludge, causing rainwater to collect and spill over. The rust had eaten a basketball-sized hole in the tin, allowing for a clear view to the kitchen below.

  Though the ceiling plaster underneath was sodden, the supporting structure appeared sound. So long as he was able to make the roof watertight, it wouldn’t take long for the damp ceiling to dry completely.

  Hayden was amused to see a small amount of smoke from the stove escaping through the hole, which meant he’d probably also need to give the chimney a good clean.

  Yet another task to add to the growing list.

  He’d discovered, to his dismay, his father’s work shed was locked and, maddeningly, the key was nowhere to be found. Luckily, Hayden had found several sheets of roofing iron in good condition stored under a tarp beside the shed, out of the weather. He’d scraped together some roofing nails and a dirty old hammer from the accumulated junk under the back porch.

  Balancing over the damaged section, Hayden prized the roofing nails out and pocketed each one. Then, he wrangled out the corrugated sheet and shunted it down the roof where it sailed over the edge and clattered to the ground. Wiping his hands against his jacket, he nodded with satisfaction.

  ACROSS THE ROAD FROM THE cottage, sheltered in the thick foliage of a hibiscus, a huddled figure watched the intruder on the roof.

  The child’s cheeks burned with resentment and she slapped her fist against an adjacent branch. In the makeshift cubbyhole of her own creation and shrouded in a bright yellow rain jacket and hat, she clenched her jaw, surveying the property and working out where and how to sneak past the intruder, to the rear.

  She did not care who he was. That he had so rudely taken over the cottage, in the process taking hostage her two best friends, was unforgivable. She feared for their safety and was determined to rescue them from this monster.

  Gathering up the length of a broom handle, she checked the paper mask she’d attached to one end. On the mask, she had drawn a fierce face with large red eyes and sharp fangs. This was her weapon. She was confident no one would mess with her while she wielded this in her hands. Her little cheeks flushed red underneath the brim of the hat, and getting herself into a crouch, she wiped her nose in anticipation.

  Today would be the day.

  HAVING CLIMBED DOWN FROM THE roof, Hayden went to the back veranda, where he had positioned two workhorses. A good sheet of corrugated iron lay over them.

  His failed attempt at turning the leg for Bernadette’s chair taunted him suddenly, but he brushed it aside.

  “I can do this,” he growled.

  Stuffing a handful of nails into his tool belt, he returned to the ladder with the new sheet and climbed up to the roof. Hayden manipulated the sheet into position, until finally it slotted into place.

  A snug fit, he mused, impressed with himself as he secured the sheet to the timbers.

  He almost couldn’t believe how easy it was.

  “Handier than I thought.”

  Hayden leaned back and wiped his brow. His eyes drifted north along the road as it wound its way out of town. A grubby four-wheel drive appeared around a far bend, its tray piled high with firewood—so high, in fact, the vehicle slewed over the road under the weight. As it
drew closer, Hayden noted it was moving with considerable speed.

  He shook his head. There was only one person in the mountains who drove like that.

  “Charlie Kraetzer.”

  The vehicle’s horn began to blast, echoing through the valley. At first, Hayden frowned, thinking it was meant it for him, and he raised his hand in a hesitant wave. As he prepared to turn back to his work, the vehicle’s headlights flickered, their high beams shining bright in the daylight. Hayden watched as the crazy vehicle continued to honk and flash. Glancing down over the front of the cottage, he saw a small figure dressed in bright yellow, standing in the middle of the road.

  A child!

  He gasped, dropping the hammer.

  Without thinking, Hayden pushed forward and slid down the roof, his body accelerating on the slippery iron. Realising he was out of control, he grasped at empty air, scrambling to arrest his slide.

  “Oh God!”

  Puffing his cheeks, he sailed over the edge of the veranda. Hayden grasped at the air, somehow managing to grab a length of guttering as he dropped. He pulled it with him as he fell in a heap on the steps below. Despite the explosion of stars he saw bursting before him, he did not wait.

  He sprang to his feet, careened down the steps and burst through the gate, locking his sights onto the tiny figure in the road.

  He baulked when the child whipped a long object into view, oblivious to the four-wheel drive that was bearing down on them—a steel beast hell-bent on murder.

  Hayden swept the child up in one arm without breaking stride. A scream of tyres on bitumen split the air and the truck veered at the last moment, close enough that Hayden felt its slipstream. It swerved, bouncing over the verge, and ploughed into the cottage fence, widening the area of damage. The engine gave one last scream of protest as the wheels spun, kicking mud and grass into the air, then it fell silent.