‘Well, we know that. The poor man.’
‘Yes. Oh, Jo, it’s got me all out of kilter.’
‘Of course it has. It’s a huge thing you’ve done, Hannah.’
‘In some ways it was such an ordinary interaction, but something has changed. I’ve changed. Well, I don’t know, actually. I must have changed a bit otherwise why would I have finally gone to the courthouse after a year of avoiding it?’
‘Why did you go?’
‘I’m not entirely sure.’
‘Okay. Perhaps the better question is, what made you suddenly decide to go? How did you discover the case was back on? You’ve always been very clear about not following it. Which I think is fine, by the way. It’s entirely up to you.’
‘One of the lifts at work was out of order, the other was being extra slow. I was watching the TV in reception while I waited and there it was on the news. I guess it was closer to my mind than before because someone had mentioned at the New Year’s Eve party I was at. Anyway, suddenly there I was, sitting beside Henry sharing my lunch with him.’
‘Well, you were clearly meant to meet him.’
‘I see that. But why? All it’s done is unsettled me.’
‘You said you felt changed. Is there something else as well as meeting the driver?’
‘You know how important my job has been and how upset I was about being forced to take time off?’
‘Yes, you’ve always said it’s been your anchor. Now you’re back, are you finding it doesn’t have the same appeal, the same comfort for you that it did before?’
‘That’s exactly it. Oh, Joanne, you’re so wise. So, what do I do? I don’t know what else I’d do for work. I thought I loved my job.’
‘I’m sure deep down the love will still be there when you’ve dealt with whatever else seems to be going on in your mind and distracting you. Or maybe it’s served its purpose and it’s time to move on. That could be it too.’
‘That’s no help,’ Hannah said with a laugh.
‘I’m afraid some of these things only you can decide on.’
‘I feel so … Oh, I don’t know. Not let down, but …’
‘Let down?’
‘Sort of. I gave it a year – didn’t make any major changes. I’d hoped … Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Perhaps you’d hoped everything would be magically better? That you’d served your time?’
‘I think so, yes,’ Hannah said a little sheepishly.
‘It doesn’t quite work like that.’
‘So I’m beginning to see. So much is different, but so much is the same, frustratingly so. I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense.’
‘You are to me. It’s the futility, the frustration that after tragedy life, generally, simply carries on. You’ve gone through this incredible upheaval, had your foundations, your beliefs, your everything shaken to the core. You’ve done your best to navigate, survive the horror, only to find that a lot around you is unchanged, that beyond your inner-circle nobody knows or cares what you’ve been through. It’s as if the world has simply shrugged and said, yeah, whatever, it’s all happened for eons before and will continue to.’
Hannah stared at the slightly breathless Joanne, and blinked a couple of times.
‘Wow,’ she said.
‘Yes, I know exactly what you might be feeling. And what’s more, you want what you’ve been through to somehow mean something but have no idea how to go about it. But, take it from me, nothing will do this for you, Hannah – no amount of charitable donations, changing jobs, moving house, et cetera, will relieve it. It’s inside you. You have to find your reason for living and making peace with it all. And to have met the truck driver, Henry … Oh, I’ve just realised. How ironic that his surname is Peace. Now there’s a sign if you ever needed one! So, how do you feel about him – other than unsettled? What did you think of him?’
‘I feel sad for him. I pity him. I’m disappointed for him. And, you know what? I’m disappointed in him. Angry too – but not because he was the driver. I’m annoyed that he’s dropped the bundle. He’s left his wife because he’s ashamed. But he hasn’t done anything wrong.’ Hannah was getting more and more exasperated and animated. ‘So, he might not have the nerve to drive a truck anyone, but that’s no reason to give up on life. Jesus! I don’t get it.’
‘Some people don’t have the inner-strength to draw on, Hannah.’
‘I know I should be more sympathetic. I just can’t imagine giving up. I didn’t.’
‘Unfortunately, men are good at solving things in a practical sense, but when it comes to not having a black and white answer or several clear options, often they struggle. Women are more used to analysing things at an emotional level and nutting out solutions, sometimes obscure ones. That makes us better equipped to deal with emotional upheavals. And that’s what feelings are. Henry is feeling let down by his company, feeling guilty about the accident, feeling inadequate as a man for no longer being able to provide for his family as he thinks a man should. Sorry, I’m going on. And I’m generalising. This is all just my opinion.’
‘But it makes sense. So, what do I do?’
‘About what?’
‘Henry.’
‘Oh, darling, it’s not your place to make him whole again. That’s up to him, just as you’ve had to find your own strength and put yourself back together. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I care about you, Hannah. So, so much.’
‘But I had you and my other dear friends. I wouldn’t have got through it without you all.’
‘I’m sure Henry has his friends too.’
‘But he doesn’t.’
‘Well, that should tell you something, Hannah. Please don’t let him drag you down by taking him on as a cause.’
‘That’s pretty much what my boss, Craig, said,’ Hannah said quietly.
‘By all means if you know of someone who can give him a job, pass on his details. But don’t get emotionally involved. He might be a nice enough man. But, equally, you don’t know anything about him. The fact that he’s separated from his wife is a red flag too, in my opinion. He’s fragile, Hannah. I’m sorry, but the best gift you can give him you already have – forgiveness. I think you’re underestimating the impact of you simply talking with him and being kind will have had. You have probably just given him the key to unlocking his healing. Leave him be, Hannah.’
‘He said he’s imagined me spitting at him or trying to tear his eyes out.’
‘So, just consider what sharing your lunch with him might have meant then.’
‘Hmm. I guess.’
‘Please don’t think I’m being horrible.’
‘Never, Jo,’ Hannah said.
‘You being such a lovely person with a big heart makes you very vulnerable, Hannah. Clearly you were meant to meet him. But perhaps that’s all it was meant to be.’
‘And maybe it’s more about him than me,’ Hannah mused.
‘I’m sure it is. Now, I want to show you something.’
Joanne led her outside to the community garden where there was a new wooden arbour with a timber bench beneath it.
‘Eventually there’ll be lovely pink climbing roses all over it.’
‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ Hannah said, looking around and taking it all in. As she read the brass plaque, her eyes filled and she had to keep blinking to clear her vision.
IN MEMORY OF DANIEL AND DAPHNE AINSLEY TRUE FRIENDS TO ALL, TRAGICALLY TAKEN TOO SOON, 2015.
‘Hey, I wanted to cheer you up, not upset you more,’ Joanne said, draping her arm around Hannah and squeezing her tightly.
‘It’s okay. Oh, Jo, it’s lovely. They would love it. Do you want me to donate for it? The village can’t be …’
‘The village didn’t. The residents took up a collection and a couple of the men did the handiwork. They wanted it finished for the anniversary. Your parents were very much loved, as are you. Now, shall we go and see them?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t ask you to …’
‘You’re not, I’m offering.’
‘You know, I’ve changed my mind. It’s been such a big, emotionally draining day that I think I want to go home and cuddle the cats. Sorry, but I think I’ll go another day. When I’m feeling differently.’
‘Of course. You don’t need to apologise, Hannah. If you ever want me to go with you, just ask. And if you decide you’d rather go alone or with someone else, that’s entirely up to you.’
‘You know, I’m not sure I ever want to go there, if I’m being completely honest,’ Hannah said, her cheeks beginning to burn. ‘I know I should, but …’
‘There’s no should about it. If you want to, do, if not, don’t. You hold them and your memories in your heart and that’s wherever you are. That’s what counts.’
‘I’m glad I had them put somewhere – god, how awful does that sound? – but, you know, seeing your memorial makes me wonder if I did the right thing. I didn’t exactly rush into it, but now I’m thinking I should have done something else.’
‘There’s nothing to say you can’t do something else as well, and at any time. Hannah, there are no rules. Grief is hard enough without you putting more pressure on yourself. You have to do whatever feels right to you – and only you.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Hannah blurted, desperate to divert the conversation away from herself. ‘Well, not really. I’m changing the subject completely. You should know, Sam’s husband has left her. He’s decided he’s actually gay and has gone off to, I guess, find himself – or a man. If it wasn’t my darling Sam involved, it might be a little bit funny.’
‘Oh dear. How is she?’
‘Sad. In denial. Bless her.’
‘The poor darling. I think Sam’s just gorgeous.’
‘She is. I wanted to give you the heads-up – better in person than on the phone. I think I’ll organise a lunch soon for all of us – remind her how many people love her. It’s not a secret, so when the time comes or if you happen to bump into her there’s no need to pretend you don’t know.’
‘Okay. I think a lunch is a lovely idea. The one you put on for your birthday was so special. When are you thinking of?’
‘Oh, well, I’ve just only this minute had the idea. This weekend’s a bit short notice. I’ll ask around and see when everyone’s free. How are you situated?’
‘Free as a bird – at this stage I have no firm plans that I can’t easily change at short notice.’
‘Great. Pencil in Sunday week. I’ll call you when I’ve decided. I’d better let you get back to work. Thank you so much for your friendship – it means a huge amount to me.’
‘And to me. I’m so glad you dropped in.’
‘Me too. I feel so much better,’ Hannah said, hugging Joanne.
‘Good. Drive safe and give the gorgeous Holly and her sweet little kittens lots of cuddles from me.’
Chapter Twelve
Hannah couldn’t stop wondering what to make of Sam’s text message.
Can you come over? Stay for tea. I need your help.
Hannah had replied:
Okay. See you at six?
Sam hadn’t given Hannah cause to worry about her state of mind, but then she hadn’t given her a reason not to either. Their contact had been confined to daily checking in via text messages and the odd brief phone call. It was clear to Hannah that Sam had withdrawn a little. She was just hoping it had more to do with Sam getting back into her art and not, as she suspected was the case, that she was upset over her marriage. Regardless, Hannah knew all she could do was sit back and wait for Sam to come to her if she needed to.
On the tram home from work Hannah tried not to think what might be behind the message. It clearly wasn’t medical or urgent. It could be that Sam needed help carrying a particularly large or heavy artwork or something. Hannah couldn’t quite shake the thought that Sam had chosen text message rather than phone call so she couldn’t be interrogated. Perhaps she simply didn’t feel like talking, or didn’t want to disturb Hannah at work. Hannah almost laughed at herself – she’d never been one to let her head get this caught up in unknowns. She tended to accept that if she were meant to know something she eventually would. Sam was the one who couldn’t stand a mystery and insisted on nutting everything out. Though, Hannah had to admit she had enjoyed the distraction of thinking about the text these last couple of hours.
She’d spent a quiet weekend at home reading and visiting with Beth and her cats. She’d hoped she might get bored enough to look forward to going to work, but her strategy was flawed considering the exciting book she was currently devouring. She continued to wonder how to change her feelings of disappointment around everything being a little too ordinary while carrying on and hoping the universe – yes, she had to admit she was now a firm believer – well, she was certainly starting to be – might show her a sign. Preferably the sign would be so obvious that she couldn’t possibly miss it or the meaning behind it. She agreed with Joanne that what she was feeling most likely wasn’t about her job. And she did feel she owed Craig her loyalty. So, while she wasn’t entirely content, she was resigned to staying in her job. She’d largely managed to put Henry Peace out of her mind too, though she would call him about the trees at some point when she got her head a little straighter. If he asked for her help with something in particular she could consider it. But again Joanne was right – he had to sort himself out and couldn’t be her concern.
Right now, she had to concern herself with Sam and the boys. After far too much thought, Hannah decided it really was unlikely that another major crisis was unfolding in Sam’s life and that her best friend probably only needed her to hold the stepladder while she changed a light bulb, or something of that nature.
‘Hann, thank God you’re here!’ Sam cried, throwing the door open before Hannah had even had the chance to ring the bell.
‘Has something happened since you messaged me?’ Hannah said, frowning.
‘No.’
‘It didn’t sound like it was urgent. Sorry, I would have come straight away.’
‘I know. I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Well, you are now. What’s up?’
‘I’m a nervous wreck.’
Hannah’s stomach flipped. God, what now?
‘Perhaps I’d better come in,’ she prompted with a gentle smile.
‘Shit. Yes. Jesus. Sorry. Come in.’
‘Where are the boys?’
‘Sleepover with kids up the road.’
Ah, Hannah thought, that doesn’t help things. Sam was good at putting on an act in front of the boys and hiding some of her true emotions. Sometimes Hannah thought Sam should be an actress rather than an artist, she was so good at it.
‘How about you sit down and I get us a cup of tea?’ Hannah suggested.
‘Okay. That would be good. Thanks.’
‘Yum. Something smells good,’ Hannah said as they walked into the kitchen.
‘Shepherd’s pie. Not quite the weather for it, but still …’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Uh-oh, Hannah thought, taking in the empty sink and spotless kitchen.
‘Yes, it’s the closest I’m getting to being creative at the moment,’ Sam said, clearly reading Hannah’s thoughts that procrastination was at play.
‘Right. Now, slowly from the top, tell me what you need my help with,’ Hannah said, placing two mugs of tea on the rustic table and sitting down.
Without a word, Sam picked up the landline handset sitting on the table, pressed a few buttons and put it back down again.
A bland female voice said: ‘You have one saved message, received at two p.m. today.’
And then a male voice came on, ‘Hello, Samantha, this is Roger Huntley from Hill Street Art Gallery in Prahran. A friend of mine saw your work at the Southbank market recently and passed your details onto me. I’m having an exhibition starting early April and I’ve had an artist cancel due to illness. If you’re interested in discussing your work and potentially exhibiting with me, please
call me. The number is …’
‘Wow, Sam, that’s fantastic! See, I told you the markets were worth doing. So, what did he say? Which of your pieces is he interested in?’
‘I haven’t rung him. That’s what I need your help with – do I call him?’
‘What? Of course you bloody call him. Sam, what’s got into you?’
‘I’m a wreck.’
‘Well, you need to pull yourself together. It’s a great opportunity,’ she said, her frustration bubbling over.
‘What if he doesn’t want me?’
‘Then you wait for the next opportunity to come along or you go out looking for it yourself. But you won’t know what this Roger Huntley has to offer if you don’t call him back. You can’t let Rob leaving stop you from chasing your dreams, because one day you’d look back and see what you did and hate yourself for it. And him.’
‘I can’t do anything. I’m creatively paralysed.’
‘Oh, don’t be melodramatic, Sam! The juices will flow again, they always do. But if you believe they won’t, well, then you’ve got no hope. Jesus, Sam, you’re the strongest, most positive person I know. What’s got into you?’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Of what?’
‘Failure. Success. Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Sammy, darling, you need to pull yourself together. You’ve never been scared of anything. What’s the worst that can happen? Seriously, what?’
‘He likes my work and I can’t do anything for him,’ Sam suggested.
‘Well, that’s unlikely. The boys will be at school in a few weeks and you’ll be bored and won’t be able to help yourself. What else?’
‘He doesn’t like anything I’ve done.’
‘So, we drown our sorrows in a bottle of gin and stick pins in a voodoo doll of him. You’ve always been so philosophical about how subjective art is, Sam.’
‘That’s all well and good until you actually care. And put yourself out there. I was never really serious about it like I am now.’
‘I’m your friend, so this is said with all the love in the world. Samantha Barrow, you are being utterly ridiculous. Now, just pick up the god-damned phone and call the man and find out what he has to say. You can always stall him by simply setting up a time to meet. I’m sure that’s really all he’ll want right now, anyway.’
Making Peace Page 9