by Dean Mayes
Isabelle narrowed her eyes at him. “Elephant. Pffft—that’s gonna cost you.”
RECLINING AGAINST HAYDEN’S CHEST AND feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, Isabelle nursed her cup of hot chocolate and gazed into the dancing flames in the grate.
“I should probably think about heading off,” Hayden mused into her ear. “You’ve got another big day ahead and an early start to contend with. I wouldn’t—”
Isabelle’s hand darted out and clasped his thigh. “Don’t you dare move. I’ve just gotten comfortable and you’re not going to take that away from me.”
She flashed him a coquettish smile. His expression shifted. “I just don’t want to…be in your way. Complicate things. Especially not for Genevieve. She needs to feel, I don’t know—steady?”
Isabelle turned towards him. “And this is why you are so damned attractive.” She kissed his cheek. “I want you to stay.”
Hayden relaxed.
“Did you give any more thought to your dad?” Isabelle ventured, angling her head to rest it on his shoulder once more.
There was a pause. “I did, actually.” Hayden said. “But this is gonna require me standing up for a minute.”
Isabelle groaned, but she leaned away from him and slapped his shoulder. “Hurry up.”
He disappeared into the shopfront, retrieved his jacket, and returned, sitting down and laying it over his legs as he searched an inside pocket. He drew out a bundle of envelopes and held them out to her.
“Letters,” he declared. “All of them from him and all of them written after Mum died. I found them in a leather case.”
Isabelle blinked. “The leather case?”
“Mm-hmm.” He handed them to Isabelle and she took them, setting her mug down at her feet.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
Hayden shook his head and rubbed his brow with his thumb.
Isabelle took the first envelope and read the letter inside. She raised her hand to her mouth as she studied the shaking cursive. Regret, grief, and sorrow were woven throughout Russell Luschcombe’s words. Letter after letter, Isabelle saw moments of reflection. Recollections of love and pride for his son, absolute dedication and devotion to his wife. Affection for Walhalla and its people.
They were a life condensed and immortalised on paper. The legacy of a proud man—but a broken one.
“H-Hayden,” she exhaled. “This is—I can’t even begin to—why couldn’t he say any of this to you?”
“Grief? Pride? Ironically, the very same pride he was noted for his entire life.” Hayden shrugged. “I think he felt unable to find a way to reach out. So he resorted to these. I suspect he had every intention of sending them. But he didn’t. He became too sick. Had withdrawn too far. Who knows?”
Hayden went to the very last letter in the bundle and drew it out. Isabelle took it.
“He wrote this two weeks before he died,” Hayden mused. “It is, essentially, a personal expression of his last will and testament, telling me he’s leaving me the cottage, to do with as I please.”
Isabelle opened the letter, shadows from the fire dancing through the paper.
“Your mum and I loved it here,” she read aloud. “This cottage gave us so much. It was our haven. It was the canvas upon which your mum created her most beautiful masterpieces. It has always been a place of peace and love and laughter. Though you are under no obligation to hold onto it, son, please know that I leave it to you in the hope you might find your own peace here. Hayden, I want you to know how important you are. Not only to your Mum and I, but to so many people. You are a fine young man. Be true to yourself, to who you are. Let people see you for you and don’t let anyone—anyone—try and mold you into what they want you to be.”
As she read the last sentence, Isabelle’s voice cracked with emotion and she wiped away tears. “Hayden, this is beautiful.”
“I should be angry.” Hayden held himself taut, but he couldn’t maintain it. “I don’t want to be. I mean, how could I stay angry at the old bugger after all—this?” He patted the bundle between them.
“Some would,” Isabelle said.
Hayden’s lip hitched. “I’m tired. I’m tired of holding onto the past when what I need is to embrace the future. Who’d have thought…” Hayden touched the corner of the last letter. “It would be Russell—Dad—telling me to do that very thing.”
Isabelle set the paper down and rested her elbow on the back of the sofa, supporting her head in her hand. She studied him in profile. “Well,” she said. “What do you think about that idea?”
Hayden’s gaze drifted over the flames. “I think—” He turned to face her. In the firelight, he took in Isabelle, her strength and her beauty.
“I am ready for the future,” he whispered.
~ Chapter 23 ~
As the sun crested the eastern hillside, its rays bathed the valley in a glorious morning gold. Spring had arrived.
Trees blossomed into flower, their fragrance mingling with the mountain currents and instilling a sweetness into the air. Bird life nested in their boughs, nursing newborn chicks. Mammals, both ground-dwelling and climbers, were emerging to forage and drink from the babbling Stringer’s Creek, and in some instances, venture into areas of human habitation. Garden beds throughout the township erupted with brilliant colour.
Armed with a growing bundle of kindling wood, Hayden stooped beside the creek across from the bakery, to add some thicker boughs to his pile. He had been collecting the loose timber for the fireplace, having snuck out and left Isabelle to sleep in a little longer. At first glance, the wood appeared wet, but with some time in the sun, it would be dry enough for use.
Securing his load, Hayden paused as a trickle of sweat caused an itch under the edge of his beanie. Balancing the bundle, he reached up to scratch his forehead.
From the bend in the road, Hayden caught sight of a single car out of the corner of his eye. A low-slung yellow coupe hugged the corner before continuing towards him. It passed, its highly tuned engine barely audible above the sound of its tyres on the slick bitumen. He stepped out onto the road. Genevieve came into view from the side of the house, pulling an old red wagon behind her.
Then he froze.
Low-slung yellow coupe. A whisper-quiet engine. A car he’d always hated.
Alarm bells clanged in his head and he whipped his head sideways so fast he felt a painful twinge in his neck.
As the car disappeared around the next bend, Hayden caught the unmistakable symbol of four interlocking rings adorning its rear. Below that, South Australian plates.
It was an Audi. Bernadette’s Audi.
His grip on the kindling wood slackened. Genevieve jumped as she saw the wood clatter to the ground. Hayden’s arms fell to his sides.
The world began to spin, and he felt sick.
It can’t be.
“What is it?” Genevieve signed, frustrated he wasn’t looking at her. She clapped her hands to get his attention. “What’s wrong?”
Hayden extended his palm towards her.
“Wait here,” he croaked.
BERNADETTE SLOWED AS SHE APPROACHED the general store. She identified a parking space and slipped the coupe in behind Gregor Aldersea’s police four-wheel-drive.
Cutting the engine, she peered out the windscreen and tapped her finger on the edge of her knee. After a pause, the door clicked and she got out and stood beside the car, hitching the collar of her coat up around her neck. Despite the warmth of the morning sun, she felt frigid. She wasn’t surprised. This place was always cold.
Setting her sunglasses in place, she regarded the store. There were breakfast patrons chatting and laughing at outdoor tables. The door to the restaurant opened and she spied Annette carrying breakfast orders. Bernadette caught a whiff of bacon and her stomach growled. Annette set the plates down and looked up at the expensive car and its owner, unmistakable in her long black coat and expensive stiletto boots.
Bernadette managed an awkward s
mile in response to Annette’s look of shocked recognition, but it was an exaggerated attempt she couldn’t quite pull off, and it faded in an instant. She crossed the road and Annette wiped her hands on her apron, as if unsure whether to retreat into the café. “Hello, Annette.”
“Bernadette,” Annette offered in a neutral tone. “I-I…It’s good to see—”
Bernadette bit her lip. “It’s okay, Annette,” she said. “You don’t have to pretend on my account. Obviously I’m here to see Hayden. We need to talk.”
Annette appraised her. “That’s a long way to come just to talk.”
Removing her glasses, Bernadette looked down at the road. “Well, it’s a little hard when he won’t answer his phone. Somehow I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t even have it anymore.”
“We did pass on your messages,” Annette said, defensive.
Bernadette acknowledged her with a curt nod. “I didn’t want to drag you into our problems. It’s no one’s business but ours.” The air between them seemed to crackle with tension. “Annette, I don’t want to make this awkward. I would like—”
“Berni?”
Both women turned to see Hayden standing several yards from them.
Bernadette stiffened, noticing how different her husband looked.
His hair was unrulier than she’d ever seen it and gone was his cleanshaven chin. It had been several years since she’d seen him wear facial hair of any type, let alone several days’ worth of beard. The stylish urban wardrobe she’d curated for him was in evidence, but his expensive jeans were unkempt, with a tear in the left knee, and over his tailored shirt he wore a thick moth-eaten pullover that appeared to be handmade.
Bernadette opened her mouth, but her words caught. Tears threatened, yet she smiled in spite of them.
“Hayden.”
She took a tentative step towards him, but Hayden remained welded to the spot. His expression was flat.
“We need to talk—” she began.
She stopped.
They had an audience. Behind Hayden, a woman and a girl had stopped beside the old post office. The woman looked on, her face stony, while the child glanced between Hayden and her.
Bernadette stifled a lump in her throat as Hayden glanced over his shoulder at them. When he turned back, she withdrew her hands from her pockets, unbuttoned her coat, and parted it. “We need to talk, Hayden.”
Hayden watched, aghast, as Bernadette rested her hand on her stomach.
Her round and unmistakably pregnant stomach.
Isabelle blanched. Annette gasped as her head turned from Bernadette to Hayden, then to Isabelle and Genevieve. Even the breakfast diners were looking on.
Isabelle backed away, stumbling on the path as she pulled Genevieve along with her.
HAYDEN LEANED AGAINST THE BENCH in the kitchen of the cottage, holding a square of glossy paper. Bernadette sat at the dining table. His expression hadn’t changed from the moment he’d met her outside the general store. The only hint at his state of mind was the visible tremor of his hand.
“T-twenty—twenty-one weeks?” Hayden’s voice was a whisper as he stared, dumbfounded, at the ultrasound image.
His baby.
The image was date-stamped July third.
The foetus was well formed. Internal structures well defined. It was holding one of its tiny arms up and its thumb hovered millimetres from the ghostly profile of its face. Whoever the radiographer was, Hayden thought, he or she had a steady hand in capturing an image of such high quality.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“I only found out at thirteen weeks,” Bernadette explained, cupping her hands in her lap. “I thought I was just run down. You know—with everything. I saw my GP and she confirmed it. We did the math. Turns out, the weekend we had away at McLaren Vale at the end of March with the Longmures and the McLachlans was more successful than we’d anticipated.”
Hayden glanced at Bernadette and bit his lip hard. She was resting her hands on the table in front of her now. He noticed she was wearing her wedding ring.
“Hayden, I don’t know what to say to you, except that I’m sorry, about everything. I know I made a terrible mistake.”
“A terrible mistake?” Hayden whispered.
Bernadette stood and wandered out into the middle of the living room. “I want to try again. I want to start over. I know we’re in a bad place—that we’ve been in a bad place. Obviously, this changes everything, but I know we can—”
“What does James think about all this?” Hayden interrupted.
Bernadette appeared stung by his barb. “J-James,” she stammered. “It was just the once. I don’t talk to him anymore.” His tension grew as she considered her next words. “I tried to reach you, Hayden. I really did. I wanted to try and work things out between us, but you wouldn’t answer me!”
“I don’t have my phone anymore.”
She wiped at her eyes. “I figured as much. I know you needed time after what happened. To heal. And I wanted to give you that.” Bernadette lowered her head again. “I treated you so badly and you didn’t deserve any of it.”
Hayden remained quiet and set the ultrasound image on the table.
She moved her hand towards the centre of the table. “I’ll give you some time alone with this. I’ll book into Windsor House or the Star, perhaps.”
Hayden ground his teeth. “Everything is booked out for the Ljusfest. You’ll have no chance of getting in anywhere.” Shaking his head, he pointed towards the bedroom. “You can take my bed,” he said. “I’ll take the sofa in the lounge.”
Bernadette looked over her shoulder, noting the open door to Hayden’s room and beside that, Lavinia and Russell’s door. Her brow creased, but she didn’t say anything.
The kettle on the wood stove began to whistle. He turned and lifted it. Setting it down on the sink, his gaze drifted out through the window.
Bernadette watched him, worried. Under normal circumstances, she would have been able to guess at his thinking from his slight twitches or the subtle movements of his facial muscles. But now, he was unreadable.
Suddenly, he walked to the coat hook beside the front door.
“Where are you going?” Bernadette asked.
Hayden slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “There’s food in the fridge,” he said, without looking back.
He opened the front door and left.
HAYDEN ARRIVED AT THE BAKERY to find it locked and the blinds drawn. He checked his watch. It was late morning. There was no reason for Isabelle not to have the shop open.
He stepped in under the veranda. The “closed” sign hung inside the glass door. Through a small gap in the blind, he could see only darkness.
Hayden knocked, then backed up to peer at the second-floor window.
There was no answer. The van was parked in the driveway.
He knocked again, more urgently this time. His mind was reeling. He needed to see Isabelle. To make sure she was all right. Nothing else mattered.
Please, please answer.
There was the sound of movement inside. The lock turned and Isabelle opened the door, but only partway. Her eyes were ringed red and her cheeks were puffy. It was clear she had been crying and Hayden felt his heart breaking.
“Isabelle,” he began. “I-I don’t—I didn’t anticipate any of this. I didn’t know.”
Isabelle sniffed and rested her head against the door frame. “It happened before? Before the affair?”
Hayden’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. “I guess so.”
Much to his surprise, her lips formed a sad smile, but the weight of her grief was clear. “You weren’t to know, Hayden.”
He looked at her, somehow hopeful. But she dashed that hope with her next sentence. “You have to go. You have a lot to work through. We can’t—I can’t be involved in this.”
Her voice faltered. She tried to remain strong, but she crumbled. “Go, Hayden. Please go.”
She disappeared into the
darkness of the shop. The door closed and she locked it.
Hayden stood there, stunned.
He stepped back onto the road, lingering as if he might somehow think of something, anything, to make things better.
He knew he couldn’t.
He looked to the upstairs window. There, standing with her nose pressed against the glass, was Genevieve.
Like her mother, Genevieve was distraught. Tears ran down her cheeks and she clutched Lily the Bear close to her chest.
Hayden felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.
He walked away as his own tears gathered.
GENEVIEVE CLIMBED THE STAIRS IN the darkness, one hand holding onto the banister, the other holding Lily. She hadn’t let go of her bear all day.
She hadn’t felt much like eating earlier, having witnessed the exchange between Hayden and the stranger, and then her mother’s reaction to seeing them. Feeling her tummy growling, Genevieve had gone downstairs to fetch herself a glass of milk.
The scene from this morning played back in her mind. Genevieve didn’t know who that woman was but she sensed her mother did. Annette certainly knew, judging by the shock on her face.
No one had explained anything and Genevieve was scared. Scared that she and Hayden couldn’t be friends anymore. Scared that Hayden and her mother couldn’t be friends—that they couldn’t kiss or be happy. Her mother had been so happy with him.
It wasn’t fair.
At the top of the stairs, Genevieve noticed a light in her mother’s bedroom. Tiptoeing softly, she sidled up and peered around the door frame, just enough so her mother wouldn’t see her. She was sitting up in her bed, resting against her pillows. She held her thumb between her teeth, chewing at the nail. She was crying.
Genevieve’s heart thumped in sympathy and she went to turn away when her foot landed on a squeaky floorboard. She could tell it had made a sound.
Isabelle lifted her head and saw Genevieve in the doorway, mortified at having been caught. She reached out to her. “Come,” she beckoned.
Genevieve entered and circled around the bed.
