An Unquiet Place Read online

  Tim smiled. ‘You’ll see, the shop gets busy. There won’t be a lot of time.’

  ‘People sit here and read, especially in winter when Tim lights the fire,’ said Chris.

  ‘Our new stock and the till are over here,’ said Tim, leading the way across the passage. This room too was filled with white-painted bookshelves, but they displayed glossy books, covers facing out.

  Hannah crossed to the desk where a new computer presided over the shelves below, stacked with ledgers. Chris caught her frown. ‘Honey, you could do this in your sleep. It’s just running the shop and managing stock, and we have Barbara to help you. You could do it easily without her, but she’s retired and loves the company. She makes enough pocket money to take her to Joburg to see her daughter.’

  Tim chipped in, ‘She’ll show you the computer system. It’s pretty up to date but not difficult to use – even I manage it.’

  Tim and Chris walked Hannah back through to the kitchen.

  ‘Mind the doorstop,’ said Chris, pointing to an old Victorian iron holding the door open. ‘That thing has taken at least two of my toenails!’

  ‘But it’s too cute to abandon,’ said Tim. ‘It’s the real thing, you know. I love the idea of little irons lined up on the woodstove to heat. So romantic.’

  ‘Unless you actually have to iron with them, I’d imagine,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Exactly.’ said Chris, laughing.

  They stood with her on the deck outside the kitchen.

  ‘We so love this place.’ Tim’s eyes glittered with tears. ‘Selling it would have broken my heart. You know, I advertised for a manager for six months without a single response. And then you called out of the blue! It’s providence or fate or something …’ Tim turned to Hannah, anxiety pulling his brows into a frown as leaving became real. ‘I feel like we’ve dumped this on you. Will you be okay?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Hannah, forcing a confident smile. ‘I’ll give it my best shot anyway.’

  ‘She’s going to be brilliant,’ said Chris with his hand on Tim’s shoulder. He looked across at her and winked. ‘There are a dozen people in this town who’ll be knocking on your door tomorrow to help you. And, as of Tuesday next week, we’ll be online to field any questions you have. I left a file in the kitchen with basic information. Emergency numbers, refuse collection days – useful stuff.’

  Hannah smiled at him, feeling marginally encouraged by his faith in her.

  ‘And anyway,’ he said, ‘you’re a bright girl, you’ll figure it out.’

  Their white BMW SUV was parked in the street, jackets and a laptop on the back seat.

  ‘Bye, gorgeous girl,’ said Chris, hugging Hannah warmly.

  They drove away, leaving Hannah staring after them, feeling as though she had been run over by a train.

  From deep inside her own car, she heard a mournful yowl.

  ‘Oh, Patchy!’

  When the cat was safely, if grumpily, shut in the bathroom, Hannah set about unpacking her car.

  At last, she turned on the kettle and began opening all the old-fashioned canisters on the counter. Tim and Chris seemed to have collected every possible flavour of herbal tea. Eventually, the biggest mug she could find was steaming on the counter, the scent of Five Roses drifting in the warm evening air. The men had stocked their retro-style fridge for her, and it burgeoned with produce and expensive-looking deli packages.

  She moved to the edge of the deck leading to the garden and sat on the top step, hunching over her knees and sipping her tea. She breathed deeply and hung her head back, looking up at the now pale sky. Swallows and swifts were wheeling about in the last light and, as the garden dimmed, a bat dropped out of the eaves behind her and disappeared into the evening. Hannah was bone-tired from her day’s driving, but underneath that was a pump of anticipation. It had been many years since she had not known what tomorrow held for her. Nobody had given her permission to be here; in fact, her parents didn’t even know where she was. She felt a trickle of rebellion and, laying her cheek on her knees, found herself smiling.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A knock at his kitchen door broke Alistair Barlow’s concentration. He sighed, pushing his chair back from his desk as he heard his mother call hello. Her footsteps thumped briskly on the wooden floors as she came down the passage towards his study. Sarah Barlow stopped in the doorway, looking at her son. Spreadsheets were open on his computer screen and his desk was piled with paperwork. His hair was tousled into a crest where he had pushed it back repeatedly. He knew he looked tired.

  ‘What, Mum?’ he said, resigned to her intrusion.

  She ignored his question. ‘What are you busy with?’

  He pushed his hair back again and glanced at the screen. ‘Game sales mainly. I’m trying to keep on top of admin so that the farm audit in February isn’t a panic like last year.’

  ‘You’ve got a lot on your plate, Alistair. You know how much better your father is now that he doesn’t have to worry about all this desk work? It was never his strong point. I’m just sorry it takes up so much of your life at the moment. I’d love for you to get some time to do other things, see some people …’

  ‘What were you wanting, Mum?’ said Alistair, hoping to divert her attention away from his social life.

  ‘I’m heading into Leliehoek and was wondering if you needed anything?’

  ‘No, I’ve got everything I need,’ he said shortly.

  ‘No, you don’t. Your kitchen is practically empty.’

  ‘How would you know that, Mum? Been going through my cupboards again?’

  ‘No, of course not, but I did check in the fridge. You’re down to half a litre of milk and a beer.’

  ‘Sounds like enough to me,’ said Alistair deliberately, knowing this would rile his mother.

  ‘Alistair Barlow!’ said Sarah, rising – as she always did – to the bait. ‘I stand by. I watch you limp along with your life without so much as a comment. I love you. I don’t think you realise how hard it is for me to see you like this.’

  ‘Like what, Mum?’ Alistair sighed and leant back in his chair.

  ‘You’re becoming a recluse. You never go out. You never see any of your old friends. You’ve lost interest in all the things you used to love doing. We’re worried about you. I mean, your sisters and I are. Your father takes your side. He says you need time, but it’s been eight years, Alistair! Isn’t that enough?’

  Alistair’s eyes hardened. Pushed beyond his usual resignation, his voice turned cold and he said slowly, ‘Do not, for one second, think that I don’t know exactly how long it has been.’

  Sarah stepped into the room towards him, her face filled with concern.

  Alistair turned from her to his computer, and said, ‘I live with what I did every single day.’

  ‘You did nothing, Alistair. For heaven’s sake! What’s it going to take for you to let go of this crazy guilt?’

  ‘Please just go, Mum. I’m not up to going around and around this with you today.’

  ‘Alistair, I’m your mother. I can’t help loving you.’

  ‘Is it loving or suffocating, Mum?’ he said sharply.

  He heard her intake of breath and he winced inside. There was no satisfaction in hearing her footsteps retreat down the passage and the front door slam shut behind her.

  In the kitchen, he moved the kettle onto the gas hob. Leaning back against the counter, he scrubbed his face with his hands, willing his head to clear. He opened the fridge for milk and saw, stacked in a neat pile, five plastic ice-cream containers. Each was neatly labelled in his mother’s handwriting. Chicken curry, bolognaise, oxtail stew, cottage pie, sweet-and-sour chicken.

  ‘Dammit!’ he said, as guilt rose.

  Back in his office, his coffee stood untouched, the surface wrinkling into a cold skin. The view from the window looked across the farmyard to the old stables where ploughs and water tank trailers now lined up with two tractors. His thoughts saw a different view, though. Eight years ago
, horses had dominated the yard. The ring of hooves, soft snorts and grumbles, and that sweet, dank smell were as much part of the house as the stones themselves.

  Alistair sighed, pulling himself back to the present, and trying to see through the past to the work open in front of him. He laid his head down on the desk instead, his cheek pressed to the old wood. His gaze came to rest on a carved frame. The glass in the frame caught the sun, and he shifted it slightly. His smooth face was grinning down at Marilie, one arm pulling her towards him. Her wedding gown trailed in the dust of the farm road, but her eyes and smile were serene as she looked directly through the camera to the present. Alistair grabbed the frame and, opening the bottom drawer of his desk, stuffed the picture beneath a pile of scrap paper. Enough. He pushed himself out of his chair and headed out the house, sliding his keys off the hallstand at the back door.

  The dogs sped around the side of the house like a tornado at his whistle. The diesel engine of his Toyota Hilux roared to life, and the dogs went mad at his door, jumping and play-biting at one another. Once out the yard, he turned off onto a track that would take him to the higher pastures of the farm.

  As he drove, he noted the small herd of blesbok grazing on the hillside and counted four calves. He had lost a few last year to predators. Jackals had obviously been at the carcasses but he had wondered, and secretly hoped, that a leopard might’ve been responsible. He had looked for tracks, but knew that leopards living wild in the ravines and pockets of forest would never be seen.

  Alistair was passionate about rehabilitating the land. He’d researched shifting farming practice to imitate the natural grazing patterns of the old herds that used to move through the Free State in their thousands. Years of eliminating the use of insecticides and other poisons had made a visible difference in the landscape. Veld flowers and bulbs had appeared this past spring like had never been seen in his family’s memory. The hillsides had been a pink wash of Watsonias, the cooler folds of land filled with the flash of white arum lilies.

  Hunting and trapping were forbidden on the farm, and they were seeing the results. Animals that had not been seen on the farm for generations were returning, and with them came the ecological knock-on of plants and insects and birds.

  He had had many arguments with his father in the beginning but, slowly, as Alistair was given more leeway with the farm, his father had seen the changes and relented. Now, as his dad withdrew from the active running of the farm, Alistair saw him enjoying the farm more than ever. He walked every day with his binoculars, came home excited he had seen something new.

  Thinking about his parents snagged something in Alistair. He and his sisters had grown up secure and much loved. Their childhood had been idyllic, dreamlike even, he thought now. It had done absolutely nothing to prepare Alistair for the brutality that life was to throw him.

  The dogs caught up with the pickup and overtook Alistair as he slowed to handle the uneven, rolling track. Hugging the side of the hill, the track wound steeply to meet a wire fence gate at the top. Alistair left the engine idling as he unhooked the loop which pulled the wire-and-pole gate taut. He dragged the gate across and dropped it on the grass. The Toyota crested a rise, and a wide plateau opened up in front of him. A steel wind pump towered over a round concrete reservoir. Leaving his door open, Alistair crossed to it and stood up on his toes to peer into the dam. The end of a black rubber pipe jutted out into the reservoir, dripping into the deep green water. As Alistair sank back onto his heels, his boots squelched into mud. A concrete trough lay to one side, filled from the reservoir by a pipe with a shut-off valve controlling flow. Today, the water in the trough overflowed, leaking down and pooling on the ground. Alistair squatted, reaching into the water to examine the valve. The surface had been warmed by the day’s sun but, below the surface, his arm slid into smooth cool water. The orange plastic float controlling the water flow looked cracked. Kobie would have to come up with some tools and repair it.

  Alistair stood, wiping wet hands on the back of his jeans. The sun was low in the sky now, and the light bent the wind pump’s long shadow to the east. It was silent. No wind stirred in the line of eucalyptus trees and there were no animals about – there never were. The water was good, and so Alistair and his father kept the water trough filled, but it had a desolate feel, this part of the farm. It was stony, the vegetation growing in sparse patches rather than the thick cover of grass which grew elsewhere.

  He hadn’t liked this place as a child, and still found it strangely unsettling, creepy even. It was only as an adult, when he could override the irrationality of his deeper feelings, that he came up here. In fact, like today, he came as an obstinate show he could override emotion with logic; that the deeper currents could be pushed back by will.

  He turned back to his vehicle to find all three dogs sitting in the cab, watching him. The dogs’ tongues lolled out the sides of their mouths, their tails thumping the plastic upholstery. ‘Out! Lee, Jackson, out!’ The black and cream Labradors jumped out the car, leaving the biggest dog of them all, the Rhodesian ridgeback, sitting in the cab. He sat resolutely looking out the front windscreen. ‘Grant! Out, you mopey mutt!’ said Alistair, leaning on the open door.

  The dogs trotted behind the Toyota, their exuberance exercised out of them for the day. Back on the gravel road, Alistair gunned the engine and the Toyota leapt forwards. Grant, with his long loping stride, gave a last push of energy and came bulleting past the cab. No doubt he would already be grinning on the step when the truck pulled into the yard. Alistair smiled for the first time that day.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hannah surfaced through kilometres of sleep, pulled by desperate yowls coming from the bathroom. Grey light seeped from beneath her curtains. She stretched to turn off the bedside light, surprised at how deeply she had slept. Usually, she lay awake for ages, needing the light to keep the darkness at bay. But now she had no memory of anything after climbing into bed and pulling the quilt up. It was a first.

  In just her sleep shorts and T-shirt, she carried Patch out into the garden. Her bare feet sank into the wet grass, the dew chilling her toes. She watched as the cat, with wild wide eyes, slunk slowly across the lawn into a flowerbed, looking for a toilet spot. Hannah averted her eyes, feeling ridiculous as she did so. A few minutes later, Hannah scooped up the cat and retreated into the kitchen. ‘Patch, a week inside for you, I think. Just until it feels like home.’

  Hannah’s stomach growled, last night’s toast long forgotten. She found a glass canister of muesli which looked homemade, rich with nuts, and topped it with thick Greek yoghurt. Her pantry would no doubt retreat to ordinary once she had finished Tim and Chris’s supplies.

  Out of the shower, she rubbed her wet hair with a towel and ran a brush through it, wincing at the snagging long tangles. Todd had insisted it always be ironed into sleek brown waves to the middle of her back. Said it was her best feature. She had slashed it short in defiance and rage when she’d left him. It had grown out a bit, now brushing her shoulders, long enough to pull into a ponytail to keep it out of her face. She didn’t own a hairdryer any longer, and simply pulled a hair elastic onto her wrist for later. A glance in the mirror had her grimacing at the unmade-up face reflected back at her. Maybe jeans and a T-shirt were too casual for a store manager. Maybe she should get some proper shoes.

  She took a breath, pulled her shoulders back, and stepped into the passage, unlocking the interleading door. As she drew the door closed behind her, the Yale lock on the shop’s front door clicked back. A Doc Martens boot pushed the door open, and there stood a woman with spiky white hair, balancing a quilted bag and two take-away coffee cups. They stood for a moment, staring at each other, before the woman said, ‘You must be Hannah.’

  ‘And you would be Barbara?’

  ‘I would, yes. Take these, will you?’ Hannah grabbed the cups and followed Barbara to the desk, watching her stow the embroidered bag in a drawer. Though Barbara’s mouth did not smile, her eyes crinkled as
she said, ‘Tim is a nut, but even I was surprised that he would dump this shop on you and disappear.’

  ‘I’m not sure who is more of a nut, him or me,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Barbara, humour evident on her face as she looked Hannah up and down. ‘Let’s just say that being … unusual … is an advantage in this town. It’s a small place and people will make it their business to know all of yours. Being on the quirky side means they’ll write you off as eccentric and not delve too deeply into your life. Believe me, I know this.’

  Hannah took in Barbara’s dangly guinea-fowl earrings and black waistcoat, embroidered with little mirrors, and believed her.

  ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road. You stand here,’ said Barbara as she ushered Hannah in behind the desk to the computer. ‘I always say the easiest way to learn a new system is to do it.’

  She had Hannah practise all the applications on the computer, learning to record sales, register stock, and find books using the store’s software. She then showed Hannah the cataloguing system, which ordered the shelves, so that she could go directly to the right shelf for any particular book. They spent a good two hours working through every aspect of the shop’s systems.

  ‘As you have to do things, you’ll figure it out and then get more comfortable with it,’ Barbara said. ‘And people here already know all about you, so they’ll cut you slack if you make mistakes.’

  Hannah looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean, they know all about me?’

  ‘Part of Tim’s charm was his willingness to chat to customers. They will all be in on Monday to see you for themselves.’ Barbara grinned at Hannah’s discomfort. ‘Don’t look so worried. They’re harmless. Mostly.’

  ‘Great,’ muttered Hannah.

  Still grinning, Barbara hauled a large cardboard box from under the desk. ‘We’re not open today – Tim felt you should have a day to adjust. I thought we could go through this box of second-hand stuff. It’s been sitting here for ages, but what with Tim and Chris’s getting ready to go and my manning the shop, we simply haven’t had the time.’