The Family Tree (29 page)

‘I know which one,' snapped Kate. ‘Why?'

‘Because he can't go on like this,' said Sam, with annoying patience. ‘Don't get me wrong, I
know
he's good at computers, but if he wants to make a living out of it then he needs to be realistic. Go to university or something.'

‘He's not going to do that,' replied Kate with certainty. ‘That'd put him in competition with his brother.'

‘It would be totally different courses!'

Kate sighed. ‘Which makes no difference and you know it. Just give him time, Sam. And support. Something will come up sooner or later. Especially as
he's
getting really sick of the whole thing, I can tell.' She paused to give a half-smile. ‘You'll probably laugh about it one day.'

‘Yeah, when they cart me off to the asylum, I'll be laughing hysterically.'

‘Hope you don't expect many visits. I've never been keen on manic laughter.'

Hector emerged from underneath the table and rubbed himself against Sam's chair like an overgrown cat. Sam reached down and gave his neck an energetic ruffle, then he looked across at Kate. ‘Listen, I need to talk to you about what's next. With the land. The development.'

‘No,' Kate's face shut down. ‘I don't want to know.'

‘But you need to be –'

‘No,' repeated Kate. ‘Look, I
know
we've all agreed, and I
know
it has to be done. But I just don't want to talk about it, okay?'

‘Okay, sweetheart.' Sam gazed over her shoulder at the house and then took a gulp of his wine. ‘Well then . . . so how's the writing going?'

‘Good, good.'

‘That's what you always say. But does that
really
mean good, or does it mean lousy but you don't want to admit it?'

Kate suddenly felt tired, drained. ‘Bit of both.'

‘Want to talk about it?'

‘Not really.'

‘Do you want to talk about
anything
?'

Kate glanced across at him and then at Emma. The baby was holding tight to her Easter egg with chocolate-covered fingers and had managed to suck a gummy hole right at the top. This was the part she was concentrating on, pressing her face against the egg and smearing chocolate in a circle around her mouth.

Sam followed her gaze. ‘I think the kid likes chocolate.'

‘I think so,' agreed Kate, turning back to face him. She paused for a moment. ‘I
was
going to write about Angie's mother.'

‘Angie's mother? Didn't she shoot through?'

‘Yes. Left when Angie was a baby.'

‘Maybe she just needed some space.' Sam looked at her expressionlessly. ‘Maybe she wanted to write a book or something.'

Kate stared at him narrowly. ‘Very funny. And very wrong. She actually ran off with the one-eyed next door neighbour.'

‘Which shows she wasn't shallow at least.' Sam regarded her thoughtfully. ‘So you've changed your mind?'

Kate picked up her glass and tilted it slightly, watching the liquid undulate until it settled at an angle. ‘Yes. See, at first it just seemed like a challenge. Almost abstract. Then when I started finding out things, it became more personal. More real.'

‘What'd you find out?' asked Sam curiously.

‘For starters, Angie's mother was engaged to that neighbour that she ran off with. Before she married Frank, that is. And that's why he bought the land, to settle down with her. But she jilted him and married Frank instead. Then later on they had an affair.'

‘So he kept an eye on her, did he?'

‘Very funny. The point is that they're
still
together. Living in Ballarat.'

Sam frowned and then looked at her searchingly. ‘Hang on. You know this how?'

‘That's the bit that started me changing my mind about the whole
thing. See, I spoke to Angie's aunt, and it turns out Sophie, that's Angie's mother, and her bloke are just living around the corner from her. And have been for years.'

‘Good god,' Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘And how's Angie taking all this?'

Kate glanced across at Sam, knowing she looked sheepish but not being able to do anything about it. ‘Well, I haven't exactly told her what I know.'

‘You
what
?'

‘Hang on, it's not like I was keeping secrets,' exclaimed Kate defensively. ‘Well, not deliberately. Not after the first bit, anyway. I was always
going
to tell her. Then it sort of snowballed. Bloody hell! I never expected the damn woman to be
alive
, did I?'

‘In that case, I'd be writing a letter of complaint if I was you. Extremely selfish of her.'

‘Don't be a smart-arse,' snapped Kate. ‘And for all I know, Angie's known everything all along and not told
me
.'

‘Well, that'd be her choice, wouldn't it? Did you even tell her that her mother was going to star as your main character?'

‘Um . . . no.'

Sam shook his head. ‘Well, come on then, Kate. You must admit it's a bit audacious. How would you feel if someone decided to write about
your
mother without mentioning it?'

‘Whatever.' Kate shrugged, knowing she sounded just like one of her offspring. She thought of all she had discovered about her own mother: the abused child, the pregnant bride, the horrible woman. She glanced back at Sam. ‘Did my father ever talk about my mother to you?'

Sam looked puzzled. ‘No, why?'

‘Nothing about the sort of person she was? Or her background?'

‘Not really. Just that they had a great marriage and all that.'

Kate reached for the wine bottle and topped up her glass. ‘While I was finding out all this stuff about Angie's mother – and despite what you may think, it
did
just snowball – I also found out some pretty amazing stuff about my own mother. Her childhood. Things like that.'

‘Write about her, then,' said Sam promptly.

Kate grimaced and then took a sip of wine as the idea floated down, and then settled. Far more comfortably than she would have expected.

‘But you
are
going to tell her, aren't you?'

‘Of course I am. And for god's sake, it's not like I've known for
years
.' Kate glared at him, her irritation inflated by guilt. ‘It just sort of happened. And there's no need for you to smirk either. It's not all
that
often I stuff up.'

Sam pushed his chair back suddenly and stood up. ‘I'm getting a camera.'

‘
Christ
, you can be a jerk. I only . . .' Kate petered off as she followed his gaze. Emma, having now finished the body of the Easter egg, had her face down on the highchair tray as she vacuumed up every little bit of chocolate she could find. The result was a gooey mess of spittle and chocolate smeared across the tray, her bib, and her hands, even her wrists. As if sensing the audience, Emma paused and looked up, beaming. Chocolate covered her face, plugging one nostril and clumping over her eyebrows.

‘My god,' said Kate. She started laughing.

‘Back in a second.' Sam grinned at her as he jumped up and went inside.

‘Is that nice, Em?' asked Kate, still laughing.

‘Num, num!'

‘Very num num, it seems.'

The door of the bungalow could be heard slamming and then shortly afterwards Shelley appeared, running up the path. ‘Guess what!'

‘What?' asked Kate, already knowing the answer.

Shelley arrived at the bottom of the stairs and leant against the railing, peering up at her mother while she caught her breath. ‘Auntie Angie! The shop! Mine!'

‘Am I supposed to fill the gaps?'

‘She says. That I . . .' Shelley took another breath. ‘She says that if she goes overseas I can either manage the shop all by myself or I can – get this! – I can
buy
it!'

Despite a flash of annoyance at Angie, Kate couldn't help but smile at her daughter's enthusiasm. ‘That sounds great, Shell, but promise me we'll talk it through before you make up your mind? Discuss the pros and cons? I mean, it'll be a
lot
of responsibility.'

‘I
know
!' Shelley came up the steps. ‘My
very
own business! And I already know what I want to do with it. For starters, it
has
to be computerised. Totally. Then I need to extend into that little back room that's a total waste of space when there's so much stock. Then I need to –' Shelley glanced over at her daughter and her eyes widened.

‘Yes. Your father's gone to get a camera.'

‘A facecloth would be more effective,' commented Shelley, rather wittily for her.

The sliding door shot open and Sam stuck his head out. ‘Have you seen my glasses? And where's the camera?'

‘No, and try the middle drawer of the desk,' replied Kate as Sam's head disappeared again.

‘I'm going to tell Dad.' Shelley hurried across the decking past her chocolate-covered daughter and through the sliding door before it was closed again. Kate could hear her clearly as she followed Sam into the house, telling him the news.

She finished off her wine and then leant back. The silvery-grey of the sky had now started to deepen to a pewter colour, as the mostly invisible sun set beyond the thick clouds. The overcast weather, together with the encroaching dusk, should have lent the backyard a gloomy façade, but Kate thought it looked almost magical, with corners darkened by mystery. And she felt snug and secure, sitting on the decking with warm swathes of light cascading from the windows behind her.

She thought about Angie, and what her reaction would be to her mother's proximity. Or whether, indeed, she already knew. Then she thought about Sam's rather accusatory suggestion that she write about her
own
mother. This time she allowed the idea time to expand, and realised that it actually made sense. After all, strangely enough her mother had turned out to have the more
compelling
story. Heartbreak and triumph, intrigue and tragedy. And it was wrapped up with a sense
of ownership that meant it was hers to do with what she wanted. With
this
story there were no other stakeholders. Maybe, if she worded it right, when she told Angie she could even infer that this was what she had intended all along.

As the idea gained traction, Kate shook her head in sudden denial. It was like many other impromptu ideas, great in theory alone. Every single thing that she had discovered about Rose had brought with it an ache. And these were details that she had uncovered by
accident
. To deliberately focus on something that brought pain even in a peripheral state would be foolish indeed. And she had enough to cope with already without asking for more.

T
here were several messages on the answering machine when Kate got back to the unit late Monday afternoon. She had fully intended to return in the morning but had been roped into baby sitting Emma again, who had come down with a bad case of diarrhoea and been unable to attend crèche. Kate took her bag upstairs and then made herself some tea and sat down on the armrest of the couch to
listen to the missed calls. They began with Oscar, sounding rather petulant.

I've left a message on your mobile and I've also
tried
ringing home, so could you please ring me back
if
you can find the time? I just want to know how the house is going? Any nibbles?
Thank you.

Hello there, honey. Oh, did I speak before the tone? Was that the tone? I'll start again. Hello there, honey. It's Auntie Faye. I just got your message but I'm a bit confused. Did you say you were coming up on Easter Sunday? Be lovely if you are. Ring me and let me know so I can make something special. Bye!

Auntie Angie? Are you home? It's Shelley. I just wanted to talk to you about . . . something Mum said. About the shop. Anyway, I'll try you on your mobile
.

Hello there Kate, it's Angie. Just ringing to see how you're going. Hope you had a nice Easter. Mine was . . . interesting
. Very
interesting indeed. Perhaps we'll talk about it when I get back on Tuesday. The shop's still shut that day so maybe we can do lunch? Anyway, see you
.

Hello? Angie? What's the point of having a mobile if you don't answer it? It's Monday morning now and I'd really like a call by tonight if that's not too much trouble. I'll be back tomorrow. Oh, and Happy Easter. Hopefully, I'll speak –

Kate pressed fast forward and Oscar's voice sped into a high-pitched Donald Duck whine for a few seconds before the tape stopped with an emphatic click. She pressed delete, wiping all the calls, and then let herself slide down onto the couch.
Very interesting indeed
– what did that mean? Even as she asked the question, Kate knew that the answer was already there. Auntie Faye.

Angie was clearly referring to the conversation that Kate had had
with her aunt, so this was confirmation then. She
had
already known the content. Otherwise she would have sounded far more emotional. Ergo she had discovered nothing new, except for Kate's involvement. So much for not keeping secrets. This thought had barely formulated before it was followed by an awareness of the inherent hypocrisy. Kate smiled at herself, but without humour. It seemed there were only two possibilities: one where everybody had a secret except Angie, and the other where everybody had a secret except Kate. Until recently, that is.