The Family Tree (21 page)

Kate shut the door and walked into the lounge room, jingling her keys in her hand. It was surprisingly neat, with cushions in place and magazines fanned across the coffee table. She continued on into the dining room and glanced towards the kitchen. No dishes to be seen, island bench wiped down and tea towel hung neatly over the oven handle.

‘Caleb! Jacob!' called Kate loudly as she went through the kitchen and down the passageway. ‘Hello? Anybody home?'

She knocked on Jacob's bedroom door and then, when there was no answer, pushed it open. It was almost reassuring to see this room in its usual state of disarray. Floor covered with rumpled clothing, smudged glasses half filled with a partially solidified liquid, the bed a mass of tangled sheets and inside-out clothes. And the smell: a muskily unpleasant combination of perspiration, unwashed sheets and what was probably rancid milk. But there was nobody there.

Kate closed the door again and tried Caleb's room. This room was very similar, only minus the rancid milk smell. But it was also uninhabited. She closed the door and headed back to the kitchen, where she peered out of the window, scanning the backyard from the decking over to the pool. Apart from Hector, who was sleeping at the top of the steps, it was empty.

Frowning slightly, Kate turned and leant back against the sink. She
realised she was actually rather disappointed, that she had looked forward to somebody, anybody, being home. Especially Sam. In fact, her decision to return the boxes at this time of day stemmed from the sure knowledge that he finished work at about 4.30 pm each day and was usually home by now. Kate let her breath out in a shallow sigh, and noticed that there was a note stuck to the fridge underneath a magnet spruiking the expertise of a local plumber. She reached forward, slid it out and read it.

Hi Shell, don't forget to feed Hector. His tablets are on the washing machine. We'll be back from Eildon late Sunday afternoon. Have a good weekend. Love, Dad
.

Kate's frown deepened. Eildon? They hadn't been to their block of land for a quite a while, so why would Sam suddenly decide to spend a weekend there? And, judging by his ‘we' and the empty house, it seemed the boys had gone with him. And nobody had even thought to ask her.

They had bought the block outside Mansfield, on the shores of Lake Eildon, shortly after Shelley was born. It was originally purchased as an investment, but soon turned into a favourite holiday destination. As a family Christmas present that year, her father had given them a secondhand caravan and they towed it up to the block as a permanent feature. A few weeks every summer thereafter, and the odd weekend during the year, had been spent up at the lake, where they were often joined by Oscar and Angie and Melissa and even, sometimes, by her father.

But in a strange parallel, as the kids had grown older and not as interested in family holidays, so too had Lake Eildon shrunk. Until the lake was no longer even near their land, but rather a twenty-minute walk over a dried honeycomb of cracks surrounded by grassy cliffs that were once shores. As the drought pushed the lake further away, the businesses that thrived around it had suffered also. The holiday units that had thronged the land alongside were now mostly empty, their boat ramps leading blindly down to the dry lake bed. Buoys, their bright colours long faded by the relentless sunshine, studded the expanse like
odd vegetation. And the floating petrol station now lay grounded, a forlorn reminder of how vibrant the lake had once been.

Their investment, which peaked about ten years after they bought it, dried up alongside the water. So that even if they put it on the market now, it wouldn't sell. Too many similar blocks were on the books, at ridiculously cheap prices. So they had decided to simply hang on to it and see what happened. Occasionally one of the kids headed up there, with friends, to spend a few days in the caravan and enjoy the solitude and freedom. But each time she or Sam mentioned spending a weekend there, something always intervened and the trip was postponed.

Now it seemed that he had made the time, then followed through without even mentioning it to her. And that hurt. Although things
had
been a trifle strained, she'd really thought that last Friday night had gone some way to getting them back on track.

Kate pushed away from the sink and refixed the note to the fridge door. Then, trying to ignore the dull ache behind her eyes, she went down to the car and piled the concertina file and the shoebox on top of the cardboard box before carrying the lot around to the side of the house and then underneath. After she had put them all back in their correct places, Kate went back up to the house and locked it securely. She was just getting into her car when Shelley's Astra pulled up at the kerb behind her.

‘Hey, Mum! Wait up!' Shelley stuck her head out of her window to call over to her mother and then opened her car door and got out quickly.

Kate closed her own door and walked over. ‘Hey Shell. How's everything going?'

‘Good, good. Listen, are you doing anything tonight?'

‘Well, I . . . um,' Kate bobbed down and looked into the rear of the car, where her grand-daughter was fast asleep, her head lolling to one side of the car seat.

‘It doesn't matter too much if you are,' said Shelley generously. ‘Because Daniel's mum said she'd have her. I just thought you'd be easier. Closer, you know.'

‘Well, maybe you should let her have a turn. She'll be looking forward to it.'

Shelley flicked her hair back and nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose.'

‘Where are you off to?'

‘This new club in Ringwood. Should be fun.'

‘Oh, good.' Kate watched as Emma stirred slightly, her fingers splaying, and then settled again. ‘Listen, what's up with your father going to Eildon?'

Shelley shrugged, her dangly earrings brushing against her shoulders. ‘Just some sort of boys' weekend. Whatever. Hey, what are you doing for Easter?'

Kate frowned. ‘A boys' weekend? And you weren't invited?'

‘Correction. But I have a life. Would you believe tomorrow I'm taking Em to the Healesville Sanctuary? With Daniel? We're doing our bit to present a united front for her. Good idea, huh?'

‘Yes, great idea. So when did they decide this then? About Eildon?'

Shelley shrugged again. ‘I don't know. And what's with the twenty questions?'

‘Just curious,' replied Kate casually. ‘That's all.'

‘Okay, well I'd better get going. I still have to get Emma ready and stuff. Were you coming in?'

Kate shook her head. ‘No, just leaving.'

‘Okay then,' Shelley opened the back door of her car and gently undid Emma's seatbelt. ‘Come on, honey. We're home now.'

Kate watched as her daughter emerged slowly with the baby across her chest, her flushed little face leaning against her mother's shoulder. Shelley readjusted her load, putting one hand securely behind Emma's back as she straightened. Kate reached into the car and hooked Shelley's handbag, which she slipped over her daughter's arm.

‘Thanks, Mum.'

‘So . . . you've got the house to yourself then?'

‘About time.' Shelley closed the car door deftly with her hip. ‘Jacob's really driving me nuts. And Caleb's not much better. I wish your six months'd hurry up. They're much worse when you're not here. Even Dad.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, absolutely.' Shelley was already heading up the driveway, the top of Emma's head just visible beyond her shoulder.

Kate took a deep breath and let it out with a slow sigh. She felt a slight throbbing at her temples and did her neck exercises, hoping to head it off. She wondered if Sam had already arrived at Eildon, whether he had finished work early to get a head start or whether he had waited until 4.30 pm before swinging by and collecting the boys. In which case, she had only just missed them. Would it have made any difference if she'd been fifteen minutes earlier? Would he have then asked her along for the weekend? And why, most importantly, regardless of missed timings, hadn't he invited her in the first place?

‘Do you know, I'm really glad you got takeaway tonight.' Angie picked up a fat, golden chip and pointed it accusingly at Kate. ‘You were beginning to make me feel guilty with your home-cooked meals.'

‘So after all the effort I've put in, you'd rather I just get fish and chips?'

Angie nodded. ‘Every now and again. So that I don't feel I have to cook.'

‘You
never
cook.'

‘Exactly.' Angie popped the chip into her mouth and then spoke around it. ‘And I don't want to feel guilty about it either.'

Kate leant back on the couch and smiled. ‘Glad to be of service.'

‘Well you won't have to do anything for the next week or so. Not for me anyway.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I've promised Oscar I'll stay at the house. He's been called over to Hong Kong, for business. Leaves on Monday and he's stuck over there for Easter. So he asked me to stay there, which means you'll have the unit to yourself. No excuse not to write now!'

Kate was not sure whether this was good news or not. ‘But why do you have to stay there?'

‘Oh, you know Oscar.' Angie waved her hand. ‘He's got this bug in his head about houses that are on the market being greater candidates for burglary.'

‘So
you'll
be the security?'

‘No, apparently his theory excludes houses that are clearly being occupied. I think he's being paranoid but I owe him a few favours. Mind you, I didn't tell him I was going away for the Easter weekend anyway. I'm staying with Diane Weston. Remember her? My friend from uni? She lives in Bendigo now. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him. So anyway, I expect to see the MO almost finished by the time I get back. Though you still haven't told me what you're writing about.'

‘Pardon?'

‘Well, we had that conversation ages ago, about you having trouble finding something to write about. And I assume you've come up with an idea in the meantime because you haven't mentioned it since. So?'

‘Well . . . I
have
come up with something,' acknowledged Kate slowly, tucking her feet underneath her. ‘But if you don't mind, I'd like to keep it under wraps for a while. Writer's superstition.'

Angie shrugged. ‘Far be it from me to jinx your creative flow. Want to watch the news?' She reached over and picked up the remote control from the coffee table, next to the grease-spotted butcher paper that held the few remaining chips. She flicked the television on and a beetle-browed gentleman immediately appeared, pontificating about the fact they were heading for the second hottest March on record.

‘Why are the guys always the distinguished ones?' asked Angie critically. ‘Don't females ever get older in TV-land?'

‘I think it's against the law,' replied Kate absently, her mind elsewhere. They would have arrived in Eildon by now, without a doubt. Probably had fish and chips for tea as well. Lots of chips with a piece of battered flake for each of the boys and about three or four steamed dim sims for Sam, with plenty of soya sauce. Then maybe they'd go fishing at dusk, or just sit outside the caravan on folding chairs, having a few beers as they watched the sun set into the clear, smog-free horizon.

‘What's on your mind?'

Kate blinked and looked at Angie, who was staring at her curiously. ‘Pardon?'

‘Well,
something
's obviously up. You're staring at the curtains as if they've done you a personal injury.'

‘Sam's taken the boys up to Eildon for the weekend.'

‘And?' asked Angie, frowning. Then her face cleared. ‘Ah, but he didn't ask you?'

‘Yes. Don't you think that's odd?'

‘Maybe they just wanted a boys' weekend.'

Kate shook her head dismissively. ‘They never have before. Besides, they asked Shelley but she didn't want to go. And it's not just that he didn't
ask
me, he didn't even
tell
me.'

‘Oh. Well, that
is
a bit odd then.'

‘Thanks.' Kate plucked some fluff off her tracksuit pants and then looked back at Angie. ‘Do you think he's trying to teach me a lesson?'

‘A lesson? What about?'

‘Well, you know. Like you don't want us, so we don't want you either.'

‘Not a chance,' replied Angie without hesitation. ‘That's not Sam's style.'

‘I wouldn't have thought so either.'

Angie picked up the remote control again and turned the television volume down. ‘Maybe he's trying to do what
he
thinks is the right thing. Leave you alone, let you get some writing done. I mean, it's not like he's been here every second day, is it?'

‘I'm not sure that makes me feel better.'

‘What I mean is, maybe he thinks the more he leaves you alone, the sooner you'll come back.' Angie leant back and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. It slid neatly across the polished surface and tumbled off onto the carpet. ‘Besides, hasn't that always been the way he plays things? When things get uncomfortable, steer clear and wait for it to settle. You use humour to deflect and he uses avoidance. And he's not the only guy who worships at that particular altar. Mind you,
I
was married to a guy who liked to talk things to death. And then resuscitate them and start all over again.'

Kate nodded. It fitted, but it didn't alter her disquiet at not being invited. On the television, the weatherman was now holding the fort, a backdrop of fast-moving clouds behind him. The temperature for the next week flashed up on the bottom half of the screen so, even without hearing him speak, Kate could see that the hot spell was going to start easing in a few days. At last. She watched as the names of country towns scrolled across, with their expected temperatures, and then frowned as she turned back to Angie. ‘Does your aunt still live up in Ballarat?'