The Family Tree (24 page)

‘Well, because she left.' Kate stared at the older woman. ‘You know, shot through. With Thomas Painter.'

‘Oh,
I
see!' Auntie Faye's face cleared and she laughed. ‘I've given you the wrong end of the stick, haven't I? I don't miss Sophie at
all
, honey, because I'm never given the chance to!' Still laughing, she pointed over Kate's shoulder and then waited until Kate turned. ‘I'll tell you a secret. See that road over there? Well, you head down it about three miles and then turn left by the milk bar and Sophie's house is the fourth on the right. So, you see, how can I miss her? I see the woman every other day!'

K
ate arrived home early afternoon on Sunday. She hadn't really planned on getting home so early but simply ran out of things to do. After leaving Auntie Faye's, she had followed the older lady's directions to see for herself. It was a very ordinary-looking house, made of red brick and with striped awnings pulled all the way down to keep out the heat. Confirmation rested with the garden gnome that squatted next to the letterbox, clearly a close relative to the one now in the back seat. Hot and sticky, Kate sat in the car for almost twenty minutes while trying to come to terms with the news. Nobody either came or went. The entire neighbourhood remained quiet and peaceful and immobile.
An extremely unlikely setting for a mystery novel, especially given that this discovery should qualify as the climax.
I'll tell you a secret
. . .

After she finally left, Kate drove into Ballarat itself and found a public bathroom where she splashed water on her face and reapplied some foundation. Then, rather distractedly, she played tourist for the remainder of the afternoon, browsing the shops along the main street and buying herself some supplies, like a book and some paracetamol. Eventually she went back to the car and headed out of town, driving aimlessly down the Midland Highway while she replayed the lunchtime conversation over and over again like a cassette tape. She arrived in Geelong just as the sun was casting the horizon in a fiery glow that promised yet more sunny weather for the following day, and found a motel with a pleasant view of Port Phillip Bay.

It was a relaxing evening but one that was shadowed by a certain numbness. Kate knew that this was a protective device, a sort of anaesthetic that prevented her from fully acknowledging, just yet, that all of the casual understandings hitherto shoring her life were being eroded, one by one. It wasn't as if she was
refusing
to face anything, just postponing the inevitable. Instead letting segments drip-feed into her consciousness, so that, every so often, she could shake her head and say
Well, isn't that amazing
? rather than dive into the facts and let them consume her.

But the numbness also prevented her from fully enjoying her little holiday, because awareness throbbed just beneath her temples. So that she needed a sleeping tablet to fully switch off on Saturday night, and the next morning, when she sat by the foreshore trying to read her new book, the words blurred together and she had to read each sentence several times. Even then it didn't make sense.
Nothing
made sense.

So it was almost a relief to get back to the unit and shut the front door behind her. The phone started ringing almost immediately, so she dropped her things by the foot of the stairs and hurried to pick it up. ‘Hello?'

‘
Mum
! How come you gave Jacob that lamp?'

‘Pardon?'

‘The lamp!' repeated Shelley, her voice climbing in pitch. ‘Grandpa's lamp! It's on Jacob's
desk
!'

‘Well, it was just that he –'

‘You
knew
I loved that lamp! You
knew
it!'

The persistent throbbing that had continued behind Kate's temples fell into rhythm with Shelley's voice. Stabbing with each emphasis. She sat down on the armrest of the couch. ‘Look, Shelley, actually I
didn't
know that you loved the lamp. And it just so happened that Jacob was giving me a hand with some of Grandpa's things and he saw the lamp there.'

‘But that's not fair!'

Kate shrugged. ‘He asked if he could have it.'

‘Oh,
I
see,' replied Shelley with sarcasm. ‘So all I need to do is
ask
, is that it? And here was I trying to do the right thing by waiting. Well then, can I have Grandpa's secretaire, and his armchair, and all of his pictures?'

‘For goodness –'

‘Hang on, I'm not finished. I really like that one of his parents he used to keep next to his bed. And can I also have that grandmother clock he used to have in the hallway, and his dressing-table, and his desk?'

‘This is ridiculous.'

‘So it's ridiculous when
I
ask but not when
Jacob
does?'

‘You're being incredibly childish,' snapped Kate, standing up again. ‘So unless you're going to be reasonable and stop shrieking at me, I'm going to hang up.'

Shelley's voice dropped to a wail. ‘But can't you see how
unfair
it is?'

‘What about his desk set?'

‘What?'

‘His desk set,' repeated Kate. ‘The maroon leather one that used to sit on his desk all the time. His father gave it to him for his twenty-first birthday.'

‘Really?' asked Shelley slowly, considerably calmer already. ‘So it's like a family heirloom? And I could have it?'

‘Yes. It's in box number six under the house. Don't make a mess.'

‘Okay. Um, thanks.' Shelley paused before continuing quickly. ‘And Mum? I'm sorry about before, it's just I saw the lamp there and I couldn't
believe it. Like, I
did
love it . . . but it was more having something of Grandpa's. You know?'

‘Yes, I know. I really do.' Kate kept her voice flat. ‘Listen Shelley, is your dad back yet?'

‘No, not yet. And now I'm off under the house. Thanks, okay?'

‘Okay. Bye.' Kate hung up the phone and massaged her temples gently. Her mind flicked up to Eildon, where she imagined the boys packing up the car, or maybe enjoying a last beer. But preferably not Sam, as he would be driving. She hoped that they didn't leave it too late to hit the road, as the traffic could be heavy.

Kate shook her head and then stood up, stretching. She was surprised to see that Angie wasn't home, being a Sunday, but not disappointed. Because that was yet another problem. What was she to
do
with this new information? The first step, obviously, was to process it properly. But then would sharing it with Angie become the second step?

She went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then leant against the island bench as she waited for it to boil. The problem was that, until now, she had not really perceived Sophie as a
person
. There had been no photos of her around the house as she and Angie had been growing up, and no real mention of her in conversations. She was simply a shadowy figure from the past, possessing no real substance other than the fact she had left behind a mystery.

Therefore it had been relatively easy to begin the research into her story, because that's all it was – a story, which was missing an end. As relevant as a host of other tales that had grasped her imagination, like whatever happened to the little French dauphin, or to Anastasia, the tragic Russian princess. But now it was so much more. Sophie was a real woman, living a real life. She was a silly girl who had been swept off her feet by an older man, she was a wife who had fallen again for her first love, and she was a sister who couldn't lie well. Then she was a young mother, giving up her only child through guilt and duress, and a woman who had been forced to start all over again. She had lived an entire life between then and now, so that her story
had
no end, and no part where everything could be tied off neatly and given closure.

Kate made her coffee and took it, with her laptop, upstairs to her bedroom. There she methodically entered all of the newly discovered facts into her research file. There were several things she should have asked Auntie Faye but hadn't thought to. Like, was Thomas still alive? Had the union between him and Sophie been happy? Kate found herself sincerely hoping that it had been. Sophie deserved at least that much.

‘Been home long?'

Kate glanced up at Angie and nonchalantly closed the laptop. ‘A while. I didn't even hear you come in.'

‘I'm not surprised. You looked like you were in another world. I take it the writing's going well?'

‘Not bad.'

‘Well, tear yourself away and come downstairs.' Angie's eyes were smiling. ‘We're having champagne. I've got news.'

‘What news?'

Angie's eyes smiled even further. ‘Come down and I'll tell you.'

Kate followed her cousin downstairs curiously. Her pillow and overnight bag were still piled in the foyer, with the garden gnome lying on top. Angie glanced at it on her way past and grinned. ‘Auntie Faye must have liked you. She doesn't give those away lightly, you know. So, did you enjoy yourself?'

‘Actually, yes. Apart from the heat, and the food.'

Angie opened the fridge and drew out a bottle of champagne. ‘Don't tell me she gave you her chicken noodle and seafood soup?

‘Is
that
what it was?' Kate sat down on a dining room chair and shook her head. ‘No, it couldn't have been. There wasn't a noodle in sight.'

‘She drains them out first. Just uses the stock.'

‘Then why on earth doesn't she simply use chicken stock in the first place?'

‘Says it doesn't taste the same.'

‘That could only be a plus.'

Angie grinned at her and got two champagne flutes out of the high cupboard. Then she levered the champagne cork out carefully and
poured the frothy liquid into the glasses. She carried them over to the table and passed one to Kate. ‘Ta da!'

‘Okay then, what's the big news?'

Angie sat down and took a sip of her champagne. ‘Patience, m'dear. Patience.'

‘Sometimes I think you haven't grown up at all,' Kate laughed. ‘You used to do exactly the same thing then, too. Make me wait whenever you had something to say.'

‘I'll give you a clue. What are you that I'm not but would like to be?'

‘This sounds more like a Dr Seuss riddle.' Kate took a sip and gave it some thought. ‘Um, married to Sam? Grey-haired? Wrinkled?'

‘You found
one
grey hair last year and haven't had another since. That doesn't qualify. And I'm fond of Sam, but no thanks. As for wrinkles, I've got my own.'

‘Okay, I give up. What am I that you're not?'

‘A grandmother,' answered Angie, her grin becoming smug.

‘A
grandmother
!' repeated Kate with surprise. ‘Since when have you wanted to be a grandmother?'

‘That's not the point.' Angie waved a hand impatiently and then raised her eyebrows. ‘Come on, where's your thought processes today? Don't you get it?'

Kate frowned, and then her face cleared. She stared at her cousin. ‘Melissa?'

‘Yep.'

‘Oh my god, Ange! Congratulations!' Kate suddenly hesitated. ‘It
is
congratulations isn't it? I mean, it's not . . .'

‘No, it's very much planned, apparently. Not that she'd told
me
they were trying.'

‘So tell me all about it.' Kate leant forward. ‘When's it due? Are they going to get married? What's going to happen with her job?'

‘Well, the baby's due in early October. They didn't want to say anything until they were sure everything was okay. And, no, I don't think they're planning on getting married. Maybe later. As for her job, I assume she'll take maternity leave.'

‘I wish we knew him better,' said Kate. ‘I mean, we've only met him the once. When she brought him over. Last June.'

‘I know.' Angie fell silent for a moment and then brightened again. ‘But he did seem really nice. Very supportive. And
she's
happy, that's the main thing.'

‘True . . .' Kate glanced across as something occurred to her. ‘Hey, do you think that's why Mel wanted you to come over for a year?'

‘I
know
it is. And she asked me again.'

Something in Angie's voice made Kate pause and look at her cousin searchingly. ‘And now you're thinking about it, aren't you?'

Angie stared down at her flute, and then turned the glass stem slowly with her fingers. ‘Yes, I am.'

‘But Ange! What about –'

‘I
know
,' interrupted Angie impatiently. ‘But it's like this might be my
only
chance. She's already saying that they're just going to have the one, because of their careers and such. And . . . well, I keep thinking about when I had her. I mean, I know I had my aunt around and Oscar's parents, but it's not really the same as having a mother there.
You
know that as well as I do.'

Kate nodded slowly, understanding quickly followed by a flash of guilt that annoyed her. It wasn't as if she had known about Angie's mother back then. She looked at Angie earnestly. ‘Look, I
really
wish I could say I'd look after the shop for you. But it's such long hours and . . .'