The Artisan Heart

by Dean Mayes

  Isabelle set her cup down. “Don’t go too far—and don’t go snooping about. It’ll be lunchtime soon.”

  Grinning, Genevieve dashed past the policeman, squeezing his hand before disappearing inside the house.

  Isabelle refocused on Gregor. “What brings you into town this morning?”

  “Ahh,” Gregor began. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you. You wanted me to keep you in the loop…about Mitch.”

  At the mention of that name, Isabelle’s expression tightened.

  Gregor cleared his throat. “I’ve had word this morning from my man down at Barwon. Mitch’s parole hearing is scheduled for this week.”

  Isabelle went still as Gregor continued. “I thought you might like to consider the paperwork we spoke about. The control order?”

  Isabelle remained silent for a long moment. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “You better come inside.”

  GENEVIEVE SKIPPED INTO THE KITCHEN, rounded the table, and grabbed her woollen pullover from the back of the chair. She pulled it over her head, then noticed a thick folder sitting on the table. Beside that was a set of keys on a key ring emblazoned prominently with the emblem of the Victorian Police Force.

  Genevieve’s gaze went to the kitchen window, then to the folder on the table. She bit her lip thoughtfully. Unable to resist the urge, she reached out and lifted the manila cover of the folder over and back, revealing a document inside with a small photograph paper-clipped to its edge.

  Genevieve tilted the document towards her.

  The face of the man in the photo was hard, with cold blue eyes that looked up at Genevieve and reflected off her own azure irises. Much of his face was defined by a bushy beard, but it gave him none of the gentleness Genevieve usually associated with men who wore beards—men like Uncle Max. And yet she was drawn to this face, as though she sensed something familiar about it.

  Genevieve scanned the document quickly, knowing that she shouldn’t be sneaking a look.

  There was a name at the top, a name she did not recognise.

  Mitchell Crowley.

  A sudden vibration underfoot caused Genevieve to gasp and she slapped the cover of the folder down. She backed away from the table, glanced once more through the window, then turned and disappeared into the front of the house.

  HAYDEN BALANCED AT THE TOP of the ladder, assessing the damage to the ruined guttering. The child’s interruption yesterday had prevented him from finishing his task.

  A good fifteen feet had ripped free of the anchoring brackets and twisted to the point of uselessness.

  As he leaned sideways to reach one of the anchor brackets, the ladder began to slip along the front of the veranda. Hayden panicked, feeling the slide coming, and he scrambled to right himself. Hissing through gritted teeth, he managed to grab the roof at the last moment, though he was now holding on at a precarious angle.

  “Dammit!”

  Somehow, he managed to right himself, exhaling until he was sure he was safe.

  He looked around, hoping no one had seen his incompetent display.

  Across the road, sitting cross-legged in front of the hibiscus, was the child.

  “What on Earth?” Hayden exclaimed. Twisting on the ladder, he balanced himself so he could sign. “I thought I told you not to come back.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she just sat there, watching him, which exasperated him further. “Where is your mother? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  The child shook her head. “I take school at home,” she responded.

  Turning back to the roof, Hayden unhitched the gutter from its remaining brackets and watched as the twisted length clattered to the ground. He descended the ladder after it, brushing himself off when he reached the ground. “So, why aren’t you having your lessons?” he gestured.

  Genevieve crossed over onto the grass in front of the gate and peered around the large body of the camellia before responding. “I have lessons in the morning. Mum needs to work on the house in the afternoon and she has her job in the evening.”

  Hayden regarded her as he retracted the ladder and lowered it to the ground.

  Genevieve opened the gate and climbed the steps. “Can I help?”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” Hayden grumbled aloud as he faced her.

  Genevieve blinked.

  “You’re just a kid,” he signed dismissively, glancing at the veranda roof. “There’s nothing you can help me with.”

  “I’m seven years old,” Genevieve shot back, puffing out her chest. “I can do anything I want to.”

  Hayden opened his mouth to respond but the child stepped closer to him.

  “Besides,” she continued, her cheeks reddening. “It’s partly my fault, what happened to the roof.”

  “Your fault?” he signed, puzzled.

  Genevieve scratched the side of her nose thoughtfully. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have fallen down and wrecked the guttering.”

  Hayden found himself incapable of a retort.

  She had a point.

  “Wait here,” he signed.

  Ascending to the porch, he retrieved a notepad, pencil, and a builder’s tape measure from a bench. Genevieve craned her neck, trying to see what he was doing, then stood straight as he returned and came down the steps to her, holding the pencil and pad out in front of him.

  She took them and frowned.

  “You write down what I tell you,” he instructed, then signalled for her to follow.

  Hayden plunged into the overgrown garden bed, turning a circle a few meters away. He proffered the tape measure in front of him, advancing the silver end out towards Genevieve. “Take this.”

  Genevieve clasped the tape in her fingers as Hayden indicated behind her. She reversed in that direction, pulling the tape along with her and turning at the other end, where she waited as Hayden set the tape measure down on the edge of the veranda. She followed suit, hooking her end over an edge.

  “Okay.” He offered a thumbs-up. “Ready?”

  Genevieve lifted the pencil and pad as Hayden squinted at the tape measure. “Five and five,” he signed.

  Genevieve wrote the numbers down. No sooner had she done so than she saw her end of the tape flick away as Hayden retracted it. She returned to the middle and offered the notepad to him.

  “I need to work out how many brackets I need,” he signed.

  Hayden counted out where the original anchor brackets had been, including the two or three that remained in position. He turned towards her, preparing to sign, when Genevieve thrust the pad up at him.

  Anchor brackets—ten.

  “Ten?” Hayden frowned. “Why ten?”

  Genevieve pointed at the roof. “Five to replace those that were damaged, and five spares. Just in case.”

  His brow creased in question but Genevieve shrugged. “You don’t want to go all the way to the hardware shop in Moe and realise you haven’t got enough. Mum always says that.”

  “She tell you that from experience?”

  Genevieve shot him a questioning look.

  “Never mind,” he signed, then climbed the veranda steps.

  “What are you going to do about your fence?” she queried, when she had his attention once more. She pointed over her shoulder. “It looks ridiculous with a big hole in it.”

  Hayden shook his head. “Charlie Kraetzer said he would fix it. I’m expecting he will.”

  Genevieve blew a raspberry, attracting Hayden’s indignation. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he croaked.

  “Mum says Charlie Kraetzer is as useless as tits on a bull!” Genevieve pressed her thumbs to her forehead and whipped them outward, screwing up her features for emphasis.

  “You shouldn’t talk like that. It’s not polite,” Hayden admonished, suppressing a smile.

  “Why did you hit the fence?” Genevieve asked.

  Hayden hesitated. “Because,” he began, searching his remembered vocabulary for an answer. Raising his left hand, he tapped his thumb t
o his temple and wiggled his fingers. “Because I was foolish.”

  Genevieve frowned. “Why were you foolish?”

  “I was—sad,” he replied. “Sad and angry at myself. I wasn’t concentrating, and I hit the fence.”

  Genevieve considered this for several moments. Then, as if it were of no consequence, she shrugged. “Okay.”

  She trooped down through the gate and began picking up the ruined palings, stacking them to one side.

  Before Hayden could decide how to react, she glanced up from her work and snapped her fingers. “Well, come on! This mess won’t clean itself!”

  Hayden had to bite his lip against a sudden urge to laugh and he shook his head and went to join her.

  ISABELLE APPROACHED THE COTTAGE, HANDS in the pockets of her overalls. As she reached the bend in the road, she spied Hayden and Genevieve down by the fence, signing at one another.

  What on Earth?

  She continued forward, keeping her attention on the pair as they finished tidying up the shattered fence palings and debris. They proceeded through the gate and into the cottage garden.

  Isabelle approached the edge of the property, unobserved.

  Wearing an oversized pair of gloves, Genevieve waited as Hayden hacksawed sections of metal, then handed them to her. Genevieve then ferried these to the pile outside the gate.

  Isabelle watched in amazement. Hayden signed a warning to Genevieve to be careful, and she nodded before continuing her task with vigour. On the return trip, Genevieve tucked the work gloves under her arm and signed prolifically, expressing concern that Charlie Kraetzer would fix the fence, then remarking that she hoped it didn’t rain before they had the chance to install the new guttering.

  They?

  Her daughter was completely at ease, as though Hayden Luschcombe was someone she’d known all her life. Isabelle’s jaw locked.

  Tossing one last section of guttering onto the pile, Genevieve turned and halted mid-step as her mother emerged into view. She waved, skipping across to the gate to sign a greeting.

  When Isabelle’s stony expression didn’t shift, Genevieve gripped the gate and cast a nervous glance at Hayden, who had set down the hacksaw and stood as her mother approached.

  She could almost feel her mother’s withering glare as it alternated between her and Hayden. Unconsciously, she began fidgeting, then stepped back as Isabelle pushed open the gate and stepped inside.

  She signalled to Genevieve with a brisk flick of her head. “What have I told you about talking to strangers?” Her fingers danced ferociously.

  Genevieve paled, looking down at the ground as Isabelle placed her hands on her hips.

  Isabelle turned her attention to Hayden.

  “I-I’m sorry,” he offered, wilting in her presence. “I told her—”

  “Can’t be bothered getting paid, grown-up help? You’ve gotta shill off a child?” Isabelle demanded.

  Hayden stepped forward, holding up his palms in an attempt at disarmament. “The child was safe,” he assured her.

  “The child has a name,” Isabelle shot back, an angry tick manifesting in her cheek. “Genie knows never to talk to strangers. I would’ve thought being a paediatrician, you would know better than anyone not to encourage it.”

  Dammit!

  Isabelle spun on her heel away from him and clenched her teeth, annoyed with herself for having let slip she knew full well who he was.

  Hayden defended himself, something he should have done years ago. “Your daughter is the one who keeps coming here—I haven’t asked her to. I don’t need you, of all people, standing there and accusing me of acting inappropriately.”

  Isabelle turned back and jerked her chin at the unexpected acknowledgment. “I ha-have to—” she ducked her head so the brim of her hat obscured her features. “I have to go now.”

  Isabelle marched towards Genevieve and shepherded her away from the cottage at speed.

  ~ Chapter 12 ~

  MAX KNOCKED THREE TIMES AT THE DOOR OF THE COTTAGE AND STEPPED INTO THE RESURRECTED INTERIOR. AN INVITing fire crackled in the sitting room fireplace. The dusty tarps that had covered the furniture in the living area for so long had been removed, and a pair of table lamps cast a warm glow.

  “Good evening,” he greeted cheerily.

  Hayden looked up from his post at the kitchen sink, where he was washing a dinner plate as a kettle steamed on the stovetop.

  Seeing Hayden’s startled expression, Max felt a jolt of embarrassment. “Sorry, son. I should have waited. It’s just—your mum and dad—they always expected me to just, you know, open the door.”

  Hayden waved Max in with a soapy hand. “I’m sorry, Max. I should’ve remembered that. Come in, come in.”

  Max took off his gumboots and sidestepped to the hearth in the sitting room, rubbing his hands together as he soaked up the warmth of the fire. As he glanced around the room, he noted a pair of ladders, some drop sheets, paintbrushes and rollers over by the far wall.

  “Ah—gonna liven up the old girl, huh?” he remarked.

  “Mm-hmm,” Hayden mused. “I thought I’d better set about getting it somewhat presentable.”

  “Presentable?” Max’s face fell. “You’re not selling up?”

  Hayden let his gaze wander around the interior. “Haven’t decided yet. There’s a lot to sort through.” Gesturing with a nod, Hayden indicated towards the far end of the cottage. “I’ve been here over three weeks and I still haven’t even looked in Mum and Dad’s room.”

  Max sensed the younger man’s hesitation in the mention of his parents. “Can’t?” he ventured.

  Hayden shifted on the spot. “Something like that.” He gestured towards the stove. “Kettle’s almost boiled. Tea?”

  “Actually,” Max began. “I thought we might go for something a little more…robust. How about coming for a swift half at the pub?”

  Hayden set the plate down on the countertop and Max saw his jaw ripple. “I’m not so sure I want to head out. I had planned on turning in early.”

  “On a Friday night?” Max harrumphed. “Come on. You’ve been holed up here by yourself for too long. We only ever see you when you come in for supplies. A beer would do you good. And I know Ivan would love to see you.”

  “I’m not keen on being around a whole lot of people, Max. I’d much rather just stay in.”

  “Hayden. Tourist season’s long past. There’s not going to be many people out and about. It’s not like the pub will be packed to the rafters. Come on. It’ll just be for a little while.”

  Hayden considered Max’s offer. Wiping his hands on a towel, he sighed and peered through the kitchen window.

  “Well, if it’s just one or two. Let me grab something warm for myself. I’m sure it’s freezing out there.”

  Max’s eyes twinkled. “Of course it’s freezing. This is Walhalla in the autumn.”

  AS THEY WALKED THROUGH THE deserted centre of town, Max repeatedly glanced sideways at Hayden, concerned at how quiet the younger man was. While being quiet wasn’t something new, Hayden held himself taut and Max could sense his anxiety. For his part, Hayden knew his friend was concerned. He wasn’t used to being able to talk freely with anyone—especially back in Adelaide.

  As they rounded the bend and passed under the shadow of Walhalla’s famed stone retaining wall, Max cleared his throat and prepared to speak, but Hayden beat him to it.

  “I’ve been given a date for my disciplinary hearing,” he ventured.

  Max looked expectantly at the younger man, waiting for him to continue.

  “I spoke to the Medical Representative liaison from the public phone box this morning. They’ve agreed to set up a teleconference with me in six weeks’ time. I’ll have to travel to Moe in order to participate, though. I still haven’t got a serviceable phone line at the cottage, and of course internet here is out of the question for me.”

  “If it’s a simple matter of the internet, we’ve got that available at the store,” Max offered. “Yo
u don’t need to drive all the way to Moe.”

  Hayden studied Max nervously. “Are you sure? I don’t really want to involve you in any of this.”

  “Nonsense,” Max dismissed him. “As Annette and I have already said, we’re here for you, son. We don’t want you to have to go through all of this alone.”

  “I’m worried, Max. It all happened so fast and I was already in a terrible state. I can’t be sure I wasn’t at fault. If they make a finding against me, I could lose my registration.”

  This was perhaps the most vulnerable Max had ever seen Hayden. He wanted to reassure him that everything would work out fine, that he couldn’t possibly be found negligent. But he recognized that Hayden was better placed to know the complexities of such a process. He felt powerless to offer anything adequate that would comfort his friend in that moment. He gave Hayden a pat on the back.

  A chill breeze sailed through the valley as the two men walked silently past Walhalla’s Corner Stores and down towards the general store. A series of bird calls echoed high up on the ridge. The creek babbled softly. Hayden huddled himself tighter and pushed his hands further into his jacket as he peered up at a night sky ablaze with stars. A bank of clouds was beginning to drift in from the southwest.

  He glanced sideways at the general store, noting the dark windows.

  “Where’s Annette this evening?” he asked.

  “Oh, she’s helping out with some babysitting duties,” Max replied. “It’s a regular thing she does. Gives me the opportunity to have a moment to myself.”

  Both men chuckled.

  “I didn’t think there were many children up here in the mountains,” Hayden remarked.

  “This time of year, there aren’t—save for one or two. She used to help out a couple of families over the hills at Rawson, but neither of us are keen on travelling the Walhalla road at night, with the high cliffs and the rock falls and all.”

  Hayden gave a nod. “Can’t argue with that. I’m surprised there aren’t more accidents.”