I wanted to ask my dad a million and one questions about John Hammel because, despite him being my ancestor, I didn't know a great deal about him. I knew about his death, but hardly anything about his life. From what I’d heard and what my dad had told me, the man who wrote in the journals was not the same man they described. My dad painted him as a layabout who had got himself into trouble, couldn’t see a way out and decided to end it. I didn’t buy a single word, especially not now. John wasn’t like that, but everyone seemed determined to tarnish his name. Everyone except me.
My dad woke up with the devil of all hangovers, so I was forced to start the chores early without him, which was okay because it gave me time to gather my thoughts and decide which questions I’d ask him without raising too much suspicion. I didn’t want him to figure out how much I knew.
My dad joined me in the yard as I was about to feed the sheep in the barn. He looked worse than he probably felt, or maybe he didn’t. I had never had a hangover, so I didn't have a frame of reference. Barney was sniffing around next to me.
‘Thanks, kiddo,’ he said, ruffling my hair.
‘Sure, Dad. What was with the beer binge last night? Normally you wait until the weekend to get shitfaced.’
‘Oi, language. Bad day.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Those buggers who were supposed to be staying at the cottage cancelled last minute, so obviously I charged them the full amount.’
I had to admit, I was relieved because it gave me more time to make a better cover for the massive hole I’d bashed into the wall last night.
‘Uh, Dad. Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure. Make it quick. I need to go and see Diane.’
‘What for?’
My dad paused, staring ahead into the distance. His eyes darkened in a way that told me he was holding on to a lot of things; things he probably didn’t want me to know. ‘Just … village stuff.’
It was typical of him to be vague. I knew better than to ask him to elaborate.
‘Right. Anyway, I need to know more about John Hammel.’
Clearly, this wasn’t the question he’d been expecting because he choked on thin air, quickly pulling out a tissue from his pocket and wiping his mouth.
‘Why’d you want to know about that wanker? Thought I told you to stay clear of the past.’
‘You never said that. No, it’s for a … school project. An essay I want to write. I’m looking into the family curse as well as trying to figure out how he died. Do you know if he kept any … journals, or anything like that?’ I held my breath. Chances were, if he knew about the secret room at Rosemore Cottage then he would have cleared it out by now and destroyed as much evidence as he could. Either that, or he did know about it and kept it hidden away like a forgotten relic of the past.
‘No one keeps journals in this family.’
‘Maybe ninety years ago they did. They didn’t have computers and stuff, did they? Must have had to record information somehow.’
‘I don't know.'
‘Would the village council know?'
‘Iamthe village council and I’m telling you; he didn’t keep any journals.'
‘Then how do you know he killed himself? Like … is there evidence that he killed himself? Maybe the village council kept records over the years. Where can I find details from years back?’
My dad took a deep breath in through his nose and held it. ‘For your own good, please … just … stop. It will all be over soon.’
‘What does that mean?' I asked.
He turned to me, and I could have sworn there was a tear in the corner of his left eye. ’I have to save the family.’
‘Okay, Dad, you’re starting to freak me out now.'
‘I have to go and see Diane. Finish up the chores, then get to school. I expect you to be home on time today. We have work to do.’ He looked me up and down. ‘What are you wearing?’
Oh shit, I’d forgotten I put John’s coat on again this morning. I should have hidden it.
