The Shadow House(63)

He gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his sad eyes, and I noticed that under the layers of melancholy, Dom Hassop was a good-looking guy. He was a little shorter than average, with thick salt-and-pepper hair and light blue eyes. His sharp stubbled jaw and deeply etched frown lines were softened by dimples, an almost button nose and an easygoing manner that suggested he’d once been fun to be around. He had one of those faces that was both young and old, where you could see both the boy and the man. Kind of like Rob Lowe, but without the waxy Hollywood sheen.

‘So she’s alright?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yeah. I mean, she’s always a bit dazed after she wanders, but other than that she seems fine.’

‘That’s good,’ I said, when what I really wanted to say was, I’m sorry.

‘It’s confusing for her,’ Dom continued. ‘She often doesn’t know where she is or what she’s doing – like sleepwalking, I guess? And then when she comes home she’s exhausted. It’s a big old walk and she’s no spring chook.’

I nodded. ‘It’s amazing she makes it all the way without hurting herself. How old is she?’

‘Almost seventy-seven.’

That surprised me. I’d had her pegged as older.

‘Which isn’t actually that old,’ said Dom, catching my expression. ‘Not these days. But, you know, the body follows the mind.’ He wiped his glove across his forehead then reached down into the grass and picked up a bottle of water from among lengths of timber. I noticed a toolbox, as well as an electric drill.

‘You’re working,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I can come back another time.’

‘Nah, it’s nothing major, just replacing a few fence posts. I was about to take a break actually. You drink tea?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Tea would be great.’

Dom led the way into the house, through the front door and into a modest hallway with a bulging coat rack. It was dark inside but cosy, with a small sitting room to the right and a galley kitchen to the left. Straight ahead was a staircase that led to the first floor.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, heading into the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. ‘Between Mum and the farm, I don’t always have time to clean up. I’ve just hired a part-time carer to start in the new year, though. It’s a bit of a stretch financially but I think we’ve reached a point where we need it.’

I wondered if by ‘we’ he meant him and Bess, or perhaps him and a partner? He was definitely giving off a single vibe – not sleazy, just in the way that you know someone is on their own. The house showed no signs of a woman’s touch, either. No dainty shoes or handbags left lying around, no flowers or scatter cushions. The decor was quirky and outdated – olive carpet, pastel paintwork, cracked leather sofas and lots of dark wood panelling – and the walls were mostly bare. There were pictures running up the stairs, but instead of family snapshots and wedding portraits, the frames displayed somewhat unsophisticated charcoal drawings of owls and geese in flight, suggesting nothing but the possibility that Dom enjoyed sketching in his spare time.

I followed Dom into the lino-and-formica kitchen. ‘It must be tough on you,’ I said. ‘Doing everything on your own, I mean.’

‘It can be.’ He took a couple of mugs from one of the cupboards, then unscrewed the lid of a jar and picked out two teabags. ‘My brother used to help out a bit before he moved up to Byron, but he doesn’t get down here much anymore.’ The kettle boiled and he poured hot water into the mugs. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘A little milk, please. No sugar.’

Dom made the tea and handed me a cup. ‘Let’s go back outside,’ he said. ‘It’s too nice a day to stay in here.’

We went out through a different door at the far end of the kitchen, a sliding screen panel that led to a patio and barbecue area.

‘Mum never used to be this bad,’ Dom said, taking a seat at a trestle picnic table and gesturing for me to do the same. ‘She used to be happy with a movie and some snacks and the odd stroll around the orchard. But then about a year ago she started getting restless, agitated. I’d come back and find her room empty and the front door wide open. I’d mostly find her on the farm somewhere, which seemed fine. If that’s what she needed to feel independent, great. But then I started getting calls from you lot at Pine Ridge to let me know that she’d made her way over the hill … which is, you know, not so fine.’

I sipped my tea, thinking about Bess’s hand clamped around Amy’s skinny wrist.

‘I feel like I should lock the doors, but I don’t want to be a jailer.’ A sunbeam danced across Dom’s face and he squinted, sending a spray of lines from the corner of his eyes out towards his temple. ‘And if she can’t get out, she gets even more upset, throws a tantrum. She’s becoming more and more like a child as she gets older; sometimes she’s just like a little girl.’

The pain on his face was hard to look at. I thought of my own mother, how perfectly healthy she was right now, but how one day she might be struck with something similar. What would I do then? Would I finally go home? Could I care for my parents the way Dom Hassop cared for Bess? My mum, maybe. Not my father. Never him.

‘You have a beautiful place here,’ I said, quickly changing the subject, eager to move the conversation on. ‘The orchard is spectacular.’