The Family Tree (13 page)

K
ate pushed her chair away from the desk. She read through what she had written and then quickly highlighted the whole lot and deleted it. She sat back again and stared at the blank screen, with the cursor now blinking accusingly. Minutes ticked by and she did not move, then finally she leant forward and reinstated the words.

Angie was right, anything was better than nothing. And maybe some fragment of memory, or just random thoughts, would lead her somewhere.

Kate laced her hands across her stomach and stared up towards the ceiling. She decided to work backwards, from now, until she tripped over something that inspired. The last year was out of the question, and before that was a two-decade expanse of family life. Marriage, kids,
suburbia. And although many a good book had been written around these themes, she knew instinctively that it wasn't what she wanted to concentrate on. Not now, not yet.

A small grey spider tiptoed slowly along the edge of the cornice, pausing every so often to lift a leg and wave it gently in front, as if testing the waters before commitment. Eventually it arrived at the corner, where it flattened itself into the plaster joint. Kate looked away and then back again, marvelling at the way the spider was now hidden. If she hadn't seen the journey, she would never have guessed it was even there.

There was always the year she spent in Europe, which held
definite
potential. With a smile, Kate let her mind skip along the same path her feet had trodden so many years before. But it wasn't long before she reached certain detours that made her eyes widen, and her smile deepen, and she realised that writing about that particular year might be a mistake at the moment. Later maybe, when Sam was feeling less threatened.

Just then the doorbell rang and Kate ran downstairs to answer it. Somewhat to her surprise, Shelley stood on the threshold with Emma in her arms, already struggling to be put down. Kate grinned with pleasure. ‘Shell! How
lovely
to see you!'

Shelley looked slightly taken back at her mother's enthusiasm. ‘You too, Mum.'

‘And aren't you gorgeous!' Kate took one of Emma's flailing arms and the little girl immediately stopped wriggling and began to shake hands with gusto.

‘Can we come in?'

‘Of course!' Kate let go off Emma's hand and stood back, shutting the door behind them as they came through. ‘Well, this
is
a surprise. Do you want a coffee?'

‘Yeah, sure. Thanks.'

‘Follow me.' Kate led the way towards the kitchen. She put the kettle on as Shelley lowered Emma with a sigh of relief, placing the child next to the dining room table with a couple of plastic toys that she pulled from her oversized handbag. Then she sat down at the table and crossed her legs, looking over at her mother curiously.

‘So, how's it all going?'

‘Good. Very good. Did you get my message? About the flowers?'

Shelley glanced over at them, still sitting on the bench. ‘So you liked them?'

‘I
loved
them. And I know it was your idea,' Kate smiled at her daughter. ‘It was really thoughtful. Thank you.'

‘No worries. So your book's off and racing then?'

Kate busied herself with preparing the coffee. ‘Well, it's not as simple as that. Let's just say I've made a start.'

‘Great.' Shelley started drumming her fingernails against the table. ‘What's it about, then?'

‘I'd prefer not to say just yet. Don't want to jinx it.' Kate brought the two mugs over to the table and sat down herself, trying to ignore the steady tapping. ‘Nothing personal. It's just a superstition that writers have.'

‘Really? I've never heard of it.'

‘Well, that's probably because you're not a writer.'

‘Fair enough.' Shelley stopped tapping and reached down to steady her daughter, who had hoisted herself up on the side of the chair and was standing, albeit with quite a wobble. After a few moments, during which the wobble increased in intensity, she let go of the chair and then folded, sitting back down on her padded bottom with a thump.

‘So . . . how're things going at home?' asked Kate casually.

‘God!' Shelley rolled her eyes. Then she sighed for added emphasis.

‘Oh? What's up?'

‘Dad is driving us
nuts
. Either he's walking around like a bear with a sore head, or he's nagging us to pick up, or wash up or whatever. I usually just go out to the bungalow after tea so as I don't have to listen to it. God! I thought
you
were bad!'

‘Really? Well, that doesn't sound like –'

‘As for that damn vacuum cleaner.
Shoot!
All you have to do is take a bag of chips into the lounge room and he's got the vacuum out all ready to go.'

Kate smiled ruefully. ‘I could always take it, I suppose. After all, it
was
my Christmas present.'

‘You're as bad as he is.' Shelley stopped tapping as she gazed at her mother with disbelief. ‘Why on earth would you want something like that for Christmas?'

‘What makes you think . . . no, doesn't matter.'

Emma pulled herself back up onto the chair and this time, after stabilising herself, took an unsteady step sideways. This was clearly more than her tenuous balance was capable of because for a moment she swayed there, with legs apart, and then, with a surprised expression, went backwards and landed on her padded posterior once more.

‘Good try, Em!' said Kate encouragingly, before turning back to Shelley. ‘I feel like I've missed so much. I mean, she's trying everything now.'

‘You're talking like you've been gone for months!' replied Shelley, rather disparagingly. ‘It's only been a couple of days!'

Fortunately Emma saved her having to answer by crawling rapidly around to her grandmother's chair and trying her standing up trick with this clearly more appreciative audience. Kate leant over and put a hand supportively on the baby's back as she pulled herself upright again and then stood proudly.

‘Listen, Mum, what're you doing on Friday?'

‘Why?' asked Kate, immediately suspicious.

‘It's just I need a babysitter. And, yes,' Shelley held up a hand as her mother's mouth opened, ‘I
know
that you're trying to work on your book. But I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.'

‘I thought you took Emma with you on Fridays?' Kate lowered the baby to a sitting position and turned back to her daughter curiously. Shelley had a part-time job as a waitress but also worked every Friday and the occasional Saturday morning at Angie's bookshop. On these days she usually took Emma with her as there was a portable playpen set up in the storeroom.

‘Yeah, I do. But this Friday we're doing a bit of a stocktake so I'd
really
like to have her looked after. Please?'

Kate knew that she should politely refuse, because if her family were ever to grasp the equal importance of
her
time, then she would have to make a stand. But it was easier said than done. Mainly because she
missed
her contact with them, even though it had only been a couple of days, and she wanted to feel connected. She didn't want the fence she was building between them to be six-foot paling, she just wanted a small picket divider that made a statement but could still, if needed, be easily stepped over. Besides, a day with the baby would be
fun
.

Kate took a sip of coffee to disguise her willingness. ‘Well . . . okay. But just this once. You have to understand that –'

‘Thanks, Mum! You're the best!' Shelley gave her mother an appreciative smile which was almost immediately replaced by a frown. ‘
God
, I wish I could work at the bookshop full-time. Then I could tell the restaurant to shove it.'

‘I know.' Kate tried to muster up some sympathy but, as she had been hearing this refrain since soon after Shelley had started waitressing nearly four years ago, it was getting quite worn. Besides, she was fairly sure her customers felt the same way. ‘At least it's only three days a week now. It could be worse.'

Shelley gathered her long hair together over one shoulder and ran her fingers through it broodingly. Then she flipped it behind with an impatient gesture and sipped her coffee. ‘If only Auntie Angie tried to build the business up. Advertised or something.'

‘But she's happy with it the way it is.' Kate was also heartily sick of this conversation, which invariably followed the other. ‘She gets a good living, so why expand? Then she'd just be run off her feet.'

‘Well, she
wouldn't
be run off her feet if she hired me full-time, would she?'

‘Take it up with her, then,' Kate shrugged.

‘God, thanks for your support.'

‘If you mean the fact that I'm babysitting for you on Friday instead of working, then you're welcome. Do you want another coffee?'

‘No thanks. Got heaps on today.' Shelley bent down so that she could gather Emma's toys and shove them into her bag. She stood, smoothing down her jeans.

Kate hoisted Emma up onto one hip. ‘Who's going to spend the day with me on Friday then, hey?'

Emma's eyes crinkled as she grinned back and reached out one finger to touch her grandmother's lip gently. The grin faded as she concentrated and then, quite suddenly, she thrust the finger into Kate's mouth and hooked her lip neatly, pulling it outwards and downwards with surprising strength. The baby laughed gleefully.

‘Damn!' Kate grabbed the finger and disengaged it before rubbing her lip. ‘That really hurt!'

Shelley glanced across casually. ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, I should have warned you. She's been doing that lately. Thinks it's funny.'

‘Well, it's not,' Kate passed the baby over to her mother and then sucked her bottom lip, which was throbbing painfully. ‘And you need to cut her fingernails.'

‘Bad girl,' Shelley said to her daughter, in a voice that could just have easily said ‘well done' or ‘next time go for her nostril and see if you can deviate the septum'.

Still sucking her lip, Kate took Shelley's bag from her and led the way to the front door. She opened it and preceded them out into the sunshine. It was a bit warmer today than it had been for a while, and the forecast was for steadily building temperatures until they reached the high-thirties by the weekend. Kate shaded her eyes and looked up the driveway for Shelley's car. ‘Where did you park?'

‘Out by the front.'

‘I'll walk up with you.' They walked companionably up the concrete driveway, Emma busily flexing and un-flexing her fingers.

As they reached the row of letterboxes, a young woman of about Shelley's age turned into the driveway pushing a large three-wheeled stroller. She was a Nordic-style blonde with a statuesque figure that was emphasised by a denim miniskirt. Inside the stroller was a baby of about a year and a half who could easily be used as evidence that cloning was already in practice. The young woman frowned at Shelley for a moment and then her face cleared into a smile. ‘Hello, what are you doing here?'

Shelley grinned. ‘Just visiting my mother.' She waved a hand in Kate's direction. ‘Kate. She's living in one of the units for a while.'

‘Really? So am I!'

‘Get out. Are you? How funny!'

The young woman smiled over at Kate. ‘My name's Bronte.' She gestured towards the stroller, where the baby sat placidly. ‘And this is Sherry.'

‘We go to mother's club together,' said Shelley. She turned back to Bronte. ‘So which unit are you in?'

Bronte waved towards the one at the front. ‘That one. It's actually my mother's and I'm house-sitting. She's in Tasmania for a while.'

‘Lucky you.'

‘Pardon?' said Kate, rather taken aback.

‘The house-sitting,' said Shelley quickly, with a grin. ‘Not the Tasmania bit.'

‘Look, Sherry, here's your friend Emma.' Bronte bobbed down by the stroller, took hold of one of her daughter's plump hands and pointed it towards Emma. Sherry responded with a supreme indifference.

‘She's a lovely baby,' commented Kate politely. ‘How old is she?'

‘Nineteen months. But she's rather big for her age. And advanced.'

Kate glanced down at the occupant of the stroller who, although a large-ish baby, did not seem to be displaying any significant signs of advancement. In fact, she had barely moved a muscle since they had arrived, obviously content to sit and watch events docilely. Emma, on the other hand, was wriggling determinedly in her mother's arms, trying to get her hand loose.

Bronte stood up again. ‘Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you come in for a bit? I'm sure the girls would
love
to play with each other.'

‘Okay, great!' agreed Shelley with some enthusiasm, getting control of Emma's hand again and clearly forgetting that she had so much to get done that day.

‘Oh, and you too of course, Kate,' added Bronte with a courteous smile.

‘No, but thanks anyway. I'll leave you to it. And I'm sure we'll meet up again at some stage. See you Friday, Emma.' Kate waved and then headed back down the driveway. She felt suddenly ancient. Because it seemed impossibly long ago that she had met with other mothers like
that. Where the only thing they had in common were their babies, but that was all they needed. And with a jolt Kate realised that it
had
been a long time. Twenty years, in fact.