Long Hot Summer

by Victoria Purman

  “But you’ve admitted it yourself. You were away, which means you’re not here all the time, are you? She needs to be somewhere where there is care around the clock. With staff to help her if she has another fall.”

  Did Alice know? “Are you saying you want to put her in aged care or something?”

  “I’ve been discussing it with Simon and we both think it’s for the best. This property is valuable. If she sold it, there would be enough to cover all the entrance fees and ongoing costs and she’d have some left over.”

  Plenty left over, and she knew exactly who would want to get their hands on it. She looked at Alice, tried to be impartial about what she was saying. Of course Alice loved her mother and, in part, Hannie couldn’t argue with the concern about the fall and her age. With her own suspicions growing, she had thought herself that it would be safer for Mandy to move.

  But it couldn’t happen like this, not with Alice telling her mother what she should do. Mandy was tough and independent-minded and if she was told, rather than convinced, she would rail like a bull at a gate and refuse. Hannie’s advantage was that she knew Mandy as both an aunt and a friend, a friendship she cherished and respected. Alice only knew Mandy as her mother.

  However, at the end of the day, Hannie wasn’t Mandy’s daughter. Alice was. She tried to approach the issue diplomatically. “By what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound like your discussed this with your mother.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Hannie shook her head. “We both know what she’s like, Alice.”

  Alice lifted her chin haughtily. “I know she’ll listen to you. You’ll have to speak to her about it. She seems to disregard everything I say and every idea I have.”

  “Perhaps it’s the way you say it,” Hannie replied.

  Alice’s reply was quick and icy cold. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Not everything has to start out with an accusation. Alice. If you listened more, you might hear the truth.”

  Hannie knew how Alice worked. Fourteen years ago, the day after the school party, Alice had come over to Hannie’s house. When Hannie had answered the door, Alice had screamed in her face. “This is all your fault. You’ve been trying to get Dylan all along, haven’t you? You’re the reason I broke up with him. He cheated on me with you. I’ll never forgive you, Hannie, you bitch.”

  Hannie slipped two folded serviettes on the tray. Why were those memories so vivid, still? She cleared her throat. “Have you tried talking to your mother?”

  “You know she won’t talk to me about this stuff.”

  “Well, try harder. If you come in here acting like a matron, she’s going to get her back up.” Hannie loaded up a wooden tray with the quiche, the salad, and the plates and took them into the living room.

  Mandy put her book down on her lap as they approached. Her injured ankle was propped up on a pillow on the long sofa.

  “Hello, darling,” she said to Alice who’d walked in behind Hannie. “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought I’d come up and see how you are.” Alice sat in one of the two armchairs opposite the sofa and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her fingers entwined together. “How’s your ankle? Are you in any pain?”

  “Oh, nothing really. It throbs a bit. I’ve had much worse.”

  Hannie was a silent witness to the conversation between mother and daughter. She sliced the quiche and added a scoop of salad to Mandy’s plate before handing it to her.

  “Thanks, Hannie. You’re a treasure.”

  Hannie didn’t miss the sharp look that crossed Alice’s face.

  “Mum, Simon and I have been talking...”

  Mandy was about to put a piece of quiche into her mouth. She stopped. It dangled in midair.

  “Yes?”

  Hannie sat on the other armchair, across from Alice, watching as the tension twisted her lips.

  “Your fall... we’re worried about you. We think it’s time for you to move.”

  Typical Alice. She’d obviously learnt nothing.

  Mandy chewed a piece of quiche. She forked up a tomato with a chunk of feta and ate that, slowly. Then, she plastered a smile on her face and said, “Nope.”

  “Mum,” Alice implored. “At least listen to what I have to say.”

  “You can talk all you like, darling, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m perfectly fine here in the home I’ve lived in for fifty years. This is the house I came to the day I married your father, you know. Eighteen years old, I was, and madly in love. Every inch of this house contains a memory of him. I’m not leaving it.”

  Alice flicked a glance at Hannie, looked for moral support. Hannie sat back in her chair.

  “But Mum, it’s not safe for you anymore.”

  “It’s perfectly safe. And Hannie is a minute away and she does a pretty damn good job of making sure I’m fine. I’ll never go hungry as long as she’s around. If I need anything, I can call her.”

  Alice gave Hannie a sideways glance. “Yes, well. Which brings me to my other point. Simon and I believe you should be charging a proper rent for the cottage. It’s not fair to you that she pays nothing but a peppercorn rental for something that could bring you in hundreds of dollars a week. All that foregone rent could be in the bank earning you extra income. It could help you pay for the care you’ll need.”

  Mandy’s cutlery clattered on her plate. Hannie startled at the sound.

  She slowly turned to face her daughter. “Stop right there.”

  “But, Mum, she—”

  “Not another word. It was my decision to ask Hannie to live in the cottage and it’s still my decision. Honestly, Alice. What on god’s earth led you to believe that that was any of your damn business?”

  “I’m your daughter. That gives me the right.”

  “No, as a matter of fact, it doesn’t. Is there anything else about my life you have an opinion about?”

  Alice said nothing. Her lips were pinched together in a snarl.

  Mandy smiled at her daughter. “Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now tell me. How are my grandchildren?”

  Later that afternoon, Hannie was back in her workshop. Her iPod was playing and her favourite songs filled the silence as she began to work on Beck’s piece. She’d spent a lot of time that afternoon, once Alice had left, thinking about mothers and daughters and the legacy one left the other. Beck wanted to create something for her new baby, Bella, an heirloom which had memories of her own grandmother, to create memories for the next generation. No matter how much some railed against that love and that concern, mothers and daughters were linked by more than simply DNA. Despite their disagreements, she knew that deep down Mandy loved her daughter and she knew Alice loved her mother.

  She hated to admit it, but she could see Alice’s point of view on one thing. Her cousin might not have had the best style of approaching it, but part of her argument was right, that Mandy should consider moving. And she wasn’t even aware of Mandy’s health issues.

  The trouble for Hannie was that there was a subtext to what Alice had said. She’d basically accused Hannie of ripping off her aunt, of exploiting her generosity by staying at the cottage. If Alice only knew that she had bigger plans for her life and her business.

  But how could she move ahead with them now, with things so uncertain with Mandy’s health and the potential that she was only going to get worse. Dylan had mentioned Parkinson’s Disease.

  That night, after Dylan had left, Hannie had hit her laptop to consult Dr. Google. She hadn’t known anything about the disease, what the symptoms were or what the prognosis was.

  But she knew all of that now. If it was Parkinson’s, it was only going to get worse. Sure, there seemed to be medications available to lessen the symptoms, but there was no recovery.

  Hannie wondered if she should tell Alice about Dylan’s suspicions. But that would involve going behind Mandy’s back, betraying her trust and all the love she had shown her by allowing her to live in her cottage.

/>   Once again, Hannie felt stuck in the middle.

  At school, it had been between Alice and Dylan.

  And now, it was between Alice and Mandy.

  Chapter Six

  Hannie was on a roll.

  The disagreement between Mandy and Alice two days before, and all the thoughts in her head about her future, had inspired her in a way she couldn’t control. She had risen early on both days and, despite the continuing heat, had been at her desk sketching and thinking and working the metal of the heirloom piece Beck had given her. From experience, she knew that when inspiration struck, it was best to forget everything else and work. While Ted protested as he usually did when he wasn’t getting his run outside, he was happy enough to sleep by her feet in her studio while she worked.

  Hannie loved the quiet of her cottage and her studio. When the fire risk was low, she loved the calm serenity of Reynolds Ridge. Aside from her visits to Mandy and letting Ted outside for a pitstop, she had been at her desk all day and in the evenings, too. She was so happy about the piece she was crafting for Beck. Hannie had decided on a brooch in silver. She’d formed three hearts out of the metal and fitted them to their points met, almost in a circle shape. At the point of meeting, she’d set three of the small diamonds from the vintage piece, and there it was. The three hearts – representing grandmother, daughter, and granddaughter – were strongest when they were joined, and the diamonds shone and sparkled where they met.

  Hannie had just finished soldering the brooch clip to the back of the circle of hearts when Ted growled and sat up. When she checked, his gaze was fixed on the hallway.

  She never locked her door out here, no one did. There were footsteps on the slate tile and Dylan appeared in the doorway to her studio.

  Ted barked in a greeting and Hannie tugged off her glasses and blinked.

  “Those things are weird,” Dylan said with a chuckle.

  When her vision cleared she saw he was holding a bottle of bubbles. There were drizzles of condensation on the dark green bottle.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “I thought you might like a drink.”

  She shook her head, as if waking herself from a daze. “What time is it?”

  Dylan glanced at his watch. She did too, noticing his strong, tanned forearm. “It’s four.”

  She shook her head. “No thanks. I don’t drink when I’m working.”

  He stepped into the room. “Why? Is it dangerous or something?”

  “I work with sharp tools. What do you think?” She reached for a tiny pair of pliers and squeezed them in his direction.

  “Then I think you should probably put down those tools and have a drink with me.”

  Hannie cocked her head. “What makes you think I want a drink with you?”

  “Put it this way. I want a drink and I thought you might like to join me.”

  Hannie tried to read his expression. He wasn’t giving much away. The bubbles did look cold, which would mean they would also be delicious. And they were neighbours now, right? There wasn’t a law that said she couldn’t have a drink with her neighbour. Perhaps this was what they needed to make sure they were on the same page with everything.

  “I’d love one.” Hannie hopped of her stool and Dylan followed her to the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to wash my hands. The flutes are in the cupboard above the toaster.”

  Hannie made a quick beeline for the bathroom. She splashed cool water on her hands and squirted some rosemary and orange hand wash into her palms. It was her favourite. Then she flicked her face with cool water from the tap and wiped her hands on a towel. She’d been sitting at a desk for almost two days straight and she needed that. She checked her reflection in the mirror above the hand basin. Her face was bare of makeup, her cheeks were flushed from the heat. She hoped it was from the heat. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. And it would do. She was who she was. She didn’t make a habit of waiting around the house fully made up in case a man came calling. She snorted. Who was she all of a sudden – Scarlett O’Hara?

  When she returned to the kitchen, Dylan had already popped the cork and had poured two flutes full of honey-coloured liquid.

  “Here,” he said as he lifted one to her.

  “Thank you.” She sipped the cold bubbles and savoured the pop and sweetness against her tongue. It really was delicious. She sighed with delight.

  Hannie wondered if she should wait for Dylan to break the silence. He’d always seemed the strong, silent type to her back in the day. But there was something about the look on his face that said unsettled. He was frowning and his eyebrows were knitted together. He’d said before he needed a drink. Had something happened?

  She decided she wasn’t the strong, silent type. She could be a friend to him, right? A shoulder to cry on, so to speak? “So, Dylan. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

  Dylan almost spurted his champagne across the island bench at her. “What?”

  “Well, you turn up on my doorstep saying you need a drink so I figure something must be up.”

  He grinned. “I lied. That needing a drink thing? That wasn’t the exact truth.”

  “What is the truth then?”

  “What I should have said was that I wanted a drink with you.”

  Damn the tingling that started in her toes and shimmied up her legs.

  “I thought you deserved it. I’ve seen for myself how much you’ve been helping Mandy. Preparing meals for her. Hanging out her washing. Feeding her chooks and collecting the eggs. Chasing after that damn goat.”

  “Zelda.”

  “The goat’s called Zelda?”

  “Yep.”

  “After Zelda Fitzgerald?”

  “Yes.” Hannie almost swallowed her tongue. Dylan, the football dude, the butch firefighter, knew who Zelda Fitzgerald was?

  “Don’t look at me like I’m a dumbass. I know who Zelda Fitzgerald is. We studied The Great Gatsby in high school, remember?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He continued. “So, I’ve seen you running that whipper snipper all day and all the damn night to make sure the grass around her house and yours is kept low.”

  She looked him and waited a moment to process all that he’d just said. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been sitting up on that veranda of yours and spying on me?”

  He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I’m up there on the ridge. It’s the perfect position to spot grass fires.”

  That look on his face was doing all kinds of things to Hannie. Things she couldn’t admit to. “That is bullshit, Knight.”

  “It’s true. You know how bad the weather’s been the past few days. When that north wind gusts, and the temperatures are as high as they’ve been, anything could happen. The whole region’s on severe bushfire alert.”

  “I know what a fire danger day looks like, Knight. I grew up here, just like you did, remember?”

  “I know, I know. Give me a break, will you? It comes with the job. Professional firefighter by day. Volunteer firefighter every hour I’m not on the trucks.”

  “Did you know the police have been patrolling the ridge again?” Hannie took another sip of bubbles. “I’ve seen the patrol cars around the place. On the back roads.” The boys and girls in blue made a habit of it in the summer, when known firebugs cruised the hills, lighting devastating fires and watching them destroy property and livestock and livelihoods and, tragically, people. In recent years they’d even taken to knocking on their doors, letting the suspected arsonists know they were being watched. Hannie couldn’t imagine what kind of thrill a fire gave someone. Those people needed help; that was for damn sure.

  “Who do you think I’ve been working with?” Dylan said quietly.

  “Oh. The police? Really?”

  He nodded. “This is a secluded spot, especially with all the small tracks here in the valley and up to the ridge. Someone could get up to no good and no one would ever see. So when I’m off
shift, I keep a lookout.”

  Hannie decided it was reassuring to have someone so close to keep an eye on people and properties. Very reassuring indeed.

  “Well, that’s good to know.” She raised her glass to him in a salute. “Cheers to you, our regular neighbourhood fire warden.”

  “Cheers to you, our regular neighbourhood good samaritan.”

  Hannie was taken aback at his description of her. She didn’t think of herself that way. She often felt guilty that she didn’t do as much in the Reynolds Ridge community as she would like. The netball club always needed coaches and umpires. She’d played all through her school years, not very well but with incredible team spirit, but hadn’t gone near the club in years. Then there was the local library and the tourist information centre and the community garden. They all needed people but she’d been reluctant to get involved. She told herself it was because she was getting her business up and running and what with seeing clients, designing and making the jewellery, her promotion and publicity, and social media work, she had little time left over. She’d been doing more and more around the property as well, to keep Aunt Mandy safe. And there were only so many hours in a day.

  Dylan picked up the bottle and topped up their glasses. “So, Hannie. Tell me about you. Your life these days. What you’ve been up to.” He pulled up one of the barstools at the kitchen bench and sat down. He was settling in for a chat. Hannie sat down too.

  “What’s there to know? You know me. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We caught the same bus to school every day for twelve years.”

  “A lot’s happened since those days,” he said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

  Oh, the tingles. At the sexy sound of those words on his lips, there were sparks in her stomach and behind her breastbone.

  And then, Justin Timberlake.

  Hannie heard the song in her head as if it were blaring from her iPod.

  It was “Cry Me a River”. It had been playing when he’d kissed her.

  She hadn’t been able to listen to that song in all the years since.