The Family Tree (12 page)

Just as she had started on the university assignments her mobile rang and she scrabbled for it inside her handbag. ‘Hello?'

‘Hi.'

‘Hi.'

‘It's Sam.'

Kate grinned. ‘Yes, I did realise that. After all, it's only been a day so I'm not likely to forget quite so soon.'

‘Yeah, well.' Sam cleared his throat. ‘Listen, did you come by the house today?'

‘How did you know?' Even as she asked the question, Kate glanced at her watch and was amazed to find that it was past five o'clock. Judge Judy and her tight-lipped smile were long gone and the news was on. She had been reading her own fiction for well over two hours.

‘Because it's pretty obvious, that's how.'

Kate suddenly realised he was talking about her little clean-up. She leant back in the couch and smiled. ‘Just thought I'd pick up a few things while I was there. You know, help out.'

‘Well, don't.'

‘Pardon?'

‘I said don't. Look, no offence but we're more than capable of picking up after ourselves. We are all adults, you know. And if you come round
and start that sort of caper while we're all out, it's like you're the
maid
, for Christ's sake. Anyway, wasn't your whole idea to get
away
from all of that?'

‘I suppose,' replied Kate rather begrudgingly. She felt hurt.

‘Besides, you left a load of washing in the machine and now I have to go and bloody well hang it up.'

‘Hey, didn't you just say that –'

‘So I'd really rather prefer it if you didn't.'

‘Fine then,' snapped Kate as she sat up straight. ‘I'll just stay away, shall I?'

‘That's not what I meant and you –'

‘You're just trying to pay me back.'

‘Me pay
you
back! Christ almighty! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!'

‘What's
that
supposed to mean?'

‘You know exactly what that means!' Sam's voice was rough and edgy. ‘But you can't have it both ways. You can't demand your own space and then come around here and clean up after us as well. It just doesn't work that way, sweetheart.'

‘Fine then! Have it your way!'

‘Good!'

Kate listened to the dial tone in shock. Sam had never, in all the time she had known him, ever hung up on her before. She flicked her phone shut and tossed it across the couch where it hit
Tangled Webs
with a dull thud.

Even through her anger Kate recognised the silliness of the argument. Being forbidden to clean up after her own family? If only that had happened years before! Then her anger bubbled up again and drowned out any humour. How
dare
he hang up on her!

A key scrabbled in the lock and then the front door swung open and closed again. Angie came into the lounge room carrying a stack of three Chinese takeaway containers. She looked slowly at the cardboard box and the spread of papers surrounding Kate and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

‘Sorry,' Kate started to gather the pieces together. ‘I was looking through some old stuff for inspiration.'

‘Finding it hard to get going?'

‘Yes. Very.'

Angie reached down with her spare hand and plucked a stapled sheaf of papers off the couch. She raised her eyebrows again. ‘
The Yellow Eyes of Darkness
?'

‘I know,' Kate laughed, but only because it was expected.

‘God, you'll give yourself nightmares.' Angie scanned through the first paragraph or so and then put it back down. ‘Now I
definitely
need a drink.'

‘You realise that's probably where the yellow eyes come from in the first place?' asked Kate rhetorically as she tossed the papers she was holding into the cardboard box and followed her cousin towards the kitchen. Angie put the containers down on the dining room table and then stared at the flowers on the island bench.

‘You're getting flowers
already
? My, don't we work quickly!'

‘They're from the kids.' Kate picked up a gerbera and laid it across her fingers. ‘They sent them for good luck. With the writing.'

‘How lovely!' Angie smiled at Kate, clearly pleased for her. ‘Kids are amazing, aren't they?' Angie started to set the table perfunctorily. ‘Just when you wonder why you bothered, they do something that blows you out of the water.'

‘Tell me about it.' Kate poured two glasses of wine and carried them over to the table. She sat down and prised open one of the takeaway containers. The nutty smell of satay chicken overlaid both the flowers and her anger at Sam as her stomach tightened in anticipation.

‘Couldn't be bothered cooking,' Angie sat down opposite and peeled the lid off the fried rice.

Kate grinned. ‘I thought you were on a diet.'

‘I am. That's why I got Chinese.'

‘But these are all loaded with calories.' Kate waved a hand at the rice. ‘Why do you think that's called
fried
rice?'

‘Well, I could have got deep-fried chicken and chips, couldn't I?'

‘Yes, but –'

‘So these are by far the better option. Now, eat up before it gets cold.'

Kate looked at her cousin with some amusement, but her mind was really elsewhere. She ate in silence, only pausing to take the occasional sip of wine or to send a fleeting smile of appreciation towards Angie whenever they caught each other's eye.

‘Oscar said to say hi,' said Angie after a while, scooping up some more rice. ‘He dropped in at the shop to give me two boxes of his old books. I think he's trying to make the house look less crowded.'

‘Do you know, I really admire you two. You've got such a good relationship. Almost like brother and sister.'

Angie raised her eyebrows. ‘Which would make Melissa what?'

‘You know what I mean. Although I did think you might get back together for the first few years. Not now though.'

‘
He
would have liked to.'

Kate looked at her with interest. ‘Really?'

‘I have a hypothesis.' Angie used her fork to punctuate the words. ‘Men cope less well with change, mainly because they're lazier. So while the idea of freedom sounded great to Oscar in theory, the reality wasn't as appealing.'

‘So did he actually ask you? To get back together?'

‘Well, yes. In an offhand way.'

‘Maybe that's why he kept the house all this time.' Kate plucked a tiny curled prawn off her plate and popped it into her mouth. ‘Hoping he'd wear you down. That you'd end up back there simply because you didn't want to hurt his feelings.'

‘Not a chance,' said Angie firmly, scooping up the last of her rice. ‘I'm very fond of the guy, but not
that
fond. And I love being single.'

Kate laid her cutlery across her plate and patted her stomach. ‘That was delicious, Ange. Thanks.'

‘My pleasure.' Angie picked up her wineglass and stared at her cousin thoughtfully over the rim. ‘So, moving on from Oscar and my magnetic attractions, you're having problems getting started, then?'

Kate picked up her fork again and pushed a snow pea around her plate. ‘Yes. Very much so.'

‘Well, you know what they say. Write about what you know.'

‘
And
I've managed to have an argument with Sam.'

‘When did you see Sam?'

‘I didn't.'

Angie took a sip of wine and looked at her quizzically. ‘So . . . it was a telepathic argument then? Like he sent you the finger via thought transmission?'

‘He rang. To tell me to stop cleaning up after them.'

‘I can see why you'd be upset. What a bastard.'

Kate grinned weakly. ‘Doesn't matter, I'll sort it out.'

‘Excellent. Then back to the MO. Did you hear what I said before?'

‘Write about what you know?' Kate dropped the fork with a clatter and sighed again. ‘If only it was that simple.'

‘Well, why isn't it?' Angie regarded her for a few moments and then, when no answer was forthcoming, continued regardless. ‘I mean, I'm no expert but every writer I've ever listened to has always said the same thing, so there must be something to it.'

‘Yes, but what
do
I know?' blurted Kate. ‘My life has been full of absolute
nothing
. Happy childhood, happy marriage and now miserable middle-age. That'll make for
fascinating
reading.'

‘You're hopeless.' Angie rolled her eyes. ‘Everybody has
something
to write about somewhere. You've just got to dig it out.'

‘Yeah? Like what?'

‘Like . . . something. It doesn't have to be earth-shaking. It could be even about raising kids, or suburbia, or what about when you were overseas? Maybe, somewhere, there's the tail end of a mystery that you could pad with imagination. Use what you know and turn it into fiction. That's what they say.'

‘Good for them.'

‘Well, I'm going to go and watch some television.' Angie pushed her chair out and rose. ‘Your turn for the dishes. And please feel free to join me when you've finished being so negative.'

Kate closed up the takeaway containers and stacked them on top of the two plates. Then she moved them to one side, put both elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands. Write what you know! It was easy for those pretentious writers with their oh-so-full lives. Living in exotic countries, or sitting on balconies with other literary souls whilst they discussed existentialism or whatever. What was
she
going to write about? How to make an edible school lunch? How to survive a family holiday with all members of the family still intact? How to make a teenager clean their room?

Kate got up and carried everything over to the sink. She knew Angie was right, that she was being far too negative, but she couldn't seem to find the energy required to lift.

As if on cue, Angie came into the kitchen with her empty wineglass in hand. She opened the fridge and took out the bottle, holding it up. ‘Do you want another?'

Kate turned and shook her head. ‘I think I need to stay sober.'

‘Not necessarily. Some pretty good writers were drunks, you know.'

‘I think that only works if you're male. Like Hemingway.'

‘You could be right.' Angie refilled her glass and then replaced the bottle in the fridge. She looked at Kate pensively. ‘This is really getting to you, isn't it?'

‘Yes, it is. It's like I kept blaming the fact I wasn't writing on my circumstances, when it was really me all along.'

‘God, Kate! It's only been one day!'

‘Yes, and all I managed to write was one bloody word –
Title
.'

‘
Title
?' repeated Angie, trying, without much success, to smother a grin.

‘Hysterical, isn't it. I think I will have that drink after all.'

Angie moved out of the way. ‘What about what I said before? Write what you know. And stop trying to measure your life against all those others, which you seem to think are so full. That's just the grass always being greener. You know, even a happy childhood makes for interesting reading. And ours wasn't exactly conventional. Just start with memories and build from there. Or you could even . . . no, doesn't matter.'

Kate looked at her curiously. ‘What?'

Angie sucked her bottom lip for a moment, as if in two minds about continuing. ‘Well, I was just going to say that the issue isn't about getting published at the moment, is it? I mean, you just want to get into the swing of things, so you could even use it in a sort of
therapeutic
sense. Maybe write about what happened last year . . . you know, Uncle James and all.'

‘And why do you think I need that?'

‘
Anybody
would need that after –'

‘Do you know what?' Although Kate's tone was quite friendly, her gaze was not. ‘I am heartily
sick
of everybody assuming that I have ongoing issues over all that. My father died. Fathers die every bloody day. And, yes, mine died in a particularly . . .' Her voice petered off for a moment. ‘But that doesn't mean I need to bloody well
write
about it. God, next you'll be suggesting I
do
publish it, and make money off his death.'

‘Hey, that's not what I –'

‘You know what?' Kate gazed at her cousin narrowly. She put down her glass. ‘You know how you suggested I find a little mystery to write about? I just thought of one. How about your mother? How about that?'

‘You can be such a bitch.' Angie picked up her wine and walked out of the kitchen.

Kate stared after her balefully but then, as her cousin disappeared, she closed her eyes and gulped in air, letting it out with a huge sigh. She felt tears hovering and rubbed both eyes. Then, with lids still closed, she watched the jewelled effect play across the insides like one of the kaleidoscopes she used to have as a child. She sighed again, opened her eyes, and then went after Angie to try to make amends.

In the lounge room the television was still on but Angie was no longer watching it. Kate walked slowly up the stairs and, from the midway point, looked up towards her cousin's firmly closed bedroom door. She hesitated and then went back down the stairs and stood at the lounge room window, staring out towards the communal driveway. She did
her neck exercise and then, when that didn't work, started massaging her temples. What on earth had got into her? Angie was only trying to help. And she, Kate, had launched into full attack, spearing straight towards the jugular.

A slim elderly lady emerged from the next door unit with a dog on a lead beside her. It was a rather handsome cocker spaniel of the blue roan variety. Kate watched the pair head off up the driveway at a rather spry pace. The thought suddenly occurred to her that, really, she should run after them and pick a fight. About anything. That way, what with having already alienated Sam and Angie, she could make it a hat-trick.