The Memory Tree (18 page)

Sealie felt a little stab of jealousy. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so—taken over by anything.’ She patted his shoulder in an awkward gesture. ‘Don’t worry, Big Bro. You’ll be off on your honeymoon before you know it.’

‘Might as well take Dad. It’s his money.’

The young couple had decided upon a week at Coolangatta. It was the best Zav could afford with his part-time job at the brewery. While he was working extra shifts, he thought bitterly, his father was convincing Kate to accept a honeymoon on Hayman Island. When Hal announced that he had booked the flights and accommodation, he looked so happy that Zav felt it churlish to object. Even so, it made him feel less of a man.

‘You don’t mind, do you Zavvie?’ Kate said later. Her eyes were big and anxious. ‘Your dad was so pleased and—I didn’t know how to tell him we had our own plans.’

Sealie had been excited about the marriage and had paid little attention to Hal’s obsessive behaviour. It was her first experience of a wedding and as far as she knew, it could have been normal. Now she thought about it, though, Hal had taken responsibility for everything. She was not concerned about the money. They had always lived comfortably and she trusted that her father would continue to provide. But he had even chosen the colour for her bridesmaid’s dress. ‘Yellow,’ he said, head on one side. ‘A buttery yellow.’ She had to admit that it suited her beautifully, but surely clothes were women’s business.
Poor Daddy
, she thought with sudden insight.
He’s trying to be mother and father
.

While it arose from her anxiety to please, Kate’s choice of tall, dark Sealie for bridesmaid created a charming foil to her petite, blonde prettiness. They spent a good deal of time together choosing material and patterns; shopping for nightgowns and negligees; twirling with self-conscious beauty as acolytes knelt at their feet with mouths full of pins.

In the three months leading up to the wedding, Zav felt he hardly saw his future bride. ‘They’re off again,’ he complained to Mrs Mac, who was ironing a large pile of shirts. ‘If it’s not dresses, it’s caterers or florists or bloody hairdressers.’
What could a hairdresser do to improve Kate’s hair?
He loved it long and straight and loose around her face. He didn’t even like to see it in a ponytail.

He was on edge—fidgety, as Mrs Mac used to say. She looked up and bit her lip. ‘Weddings are like that, Zav. There’s lots to do and most of it is women’s work.’

‘Or father’s.’

Mrs Mac sighed. She had never approved of Hal’s apparent preference for Sealie. While she knew that Hal loved his son dearly, she wished he were able to demonstrate this more openly. There were times when her heart ached for both of them, but now she was impatient with Zav’s surliness.

‘Your father just wants the day to be special,’ she said. ‘You should be grateful. He’s spending a fortune . . .’

‘He’s always found that easier.’

‘Easier than what?’ She knew, of course.

‘Nothing.’ Zav was uncomfortable with her probing. ‘Now—what are you wearing to my wedding? I reckon a miniskirt’s the go.’

She flicked him with a freshly ironed shirt. ‘Cheeky young devil. Let me remind you my legs are pretty good for an old girl.’ Zav kissed the top of her head. She barely came up to his shoulder. ‘I’m decorating the cake tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You can help, if you like.’ Mrs Mac’s gift was a four-tiered, homemade fruitcake. She’d been attending a cake-decorating course and was looking forward to putting her new skills into practice.

‘Can I lick out the icing bowl?’

‘Silly boy. When will you ever grow up?’

‘I’m not sure I want to.’

Sealie had never developed the teenage slouch. At sixteen, she carried her five foot nine lightly. Her back was straight and her head set gracefully above long, deep collarbones. Unfashionably curly hair caused her some grief, but it provided a perfect frame for her serious, oval face. She was already beautiful, but with an unattainable, ‘don’t-touch-me’ air that scared most of her male contemporaries. They hung around behind their Beatle fringes, sniggering and calling out to girls whose prettiness was safe and ordinary. One by one, pairs formed and reformed but none of them included Sealie. From her girlfriends, she had to endure hours of chatter and speculation about their love-lives.

At that age they failed to understand why such an amazingly good-looking girl was not asked out by every boy she met.

The wedding changed her status. She was to be the only bridesmaid and got to go shopping for clothes with the incredibly cool Kate. Better still, the best man was to be James Willis, who looked almost exactly like Paul McCartney. And he was
twenty-two
, with glossy brown hair and not a pimple in sight.

You’re soooo lucky, Sealie.

He’ll have to hold your hand.

Dance with you.

You look older than sixteen. I wonder if he’ll try anything?

Clare! Not at her brother’s wedding!

Why not? Anyway, what are you wearing?

Sealie was wearing a yellow, silk chiffon dress draped like the statues she’d seen of ancient goddesses. Aphrodite? Diana? She got her mythologies confused but knew what she meant. In the V-neck she was to wear the pearls that the young Hal had given her mother. She was even able to wear heels, as James was over six foot tall.

‘Cream rosebuds,’ said Kate, as she flicked through the florist’s catalogue. ‘We’ll both wear a circlet of cream rosebuds in our hair. Only I’ll have a short veil.’

‘Perfect,’ sighed her young bridesmaid.

Sealie was earning pocket money taking the Saturday beginners’ classes at the studio. As soon as Zav told her about the wedding she began an unaccustomed savings campaign. While Hal gave her a generous allowance, she wanted her gift to be from
her
, not her father. She prowled through the shops in her spare time, regretfully rejecting many beautiful items as beyond her means.

‘What would you and Kate like?’ she asked her brother. ‘I want to buy you something really nice.’

Zav ruffled her hair. ‘Don’t worry about a gift, Seal. We don’t expect you to spend your hard-earned on us.’

But Sealie did worry and was finally pleased to find a cream leather photograph album with gold embossing on the cover. She had it engraved:
Xavier and Kate Rodriguez, 22 February 1967
. It came in a handsome cream box which she lined with tissue paper and tied with a pink ribbon.

11

A
ND AROUND THE TWILIT GARDEN,
there are lanterns in the trees—Chinese lanterns, glowing a secret, Oriental orange, and perfume from the trellis-climbing jasmine—white and yellow stars that fill the dusky corners of the garden, heady with scent and promise. And interlaced with the music, the disembodied cicada song, proclaiming the heat-to-come; and the thick summer air, like fog, like will-o’-the-wisp, enveloping the figures on the lawn, drawing beads of sweat on foreheads and breasts, staining cotton shirts and silk dresses, as the dancers sway and drink and sing and sway and drink and sing until, with a soft exhalation, they fall gracefully, one by one, onto the lawn and the scattered wicker chairs.

The day had been perfect. From the moment Sealie awoke (just after six—an hour earlier than usual) the summer sky was awash with blessings. Sealie felt the anticipation she still remembered, of her child-self waking up on Christmas morning. Now, as then, she lay a moment with her eyes closed, savouring the thought of the day to come before bounding out of bed with a kind of energising joy.

‘Happy’s the bride the sun shines on,’ beamed Hal as she joined him for breakfast.

‘Happy’s the bride the sun shines on,’ echoed Mrs Mac as she came in a few minutes later.

‘Happy’s the . . .’

‘Already been said, Godown.’

Godown, who was escorting Mrs Mac to the wedding, winked at Hal in glee. ‘I hope my shirt’s ironed properly.’

‘Of course it is.’
The cheek of him!
Mrs Mac had spent a good deal of time pressing its snowy splendour. She hoped he’d like the smart silk suit she’d chosen for herself.

Sealie spent the day in a kind of ecstasy. Hairdresser, florist, hurried snacks, makeup. Perfume dabbed on wrists, behind ears, and covertly, on breasts. She and Kate, sisterly, perched on the bed in their slips, toasting their faith in the future. Passers-by pointing. Neighbours clapping the wedding car with its uniformed chauffeur. The short drive from Aunty Mae’s house to Yarra Falls where Zav waited under the magnolia.

In sickness and in health
, my mother and father promised.
For richer or for poorer, for better or for worse
, they pledged lifelong fidelity.

Godown sang ‘O Perfect Love’ and Mrs Mac felt her throat swell as she touched the corsage Zav had given her. All these people she loved—they’d been given a new start.

Godown wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Mrs Mac caught him in the act. ‘You’re an old softie, Godown Moses,’ she said.

Sealie sat beside James at the wedding supper.

‘You look fabulous,’ he said. ‘Zav, how come I’ve never met your gorgeous sister before?’

‘Hands off, James. She’s still at school.’

Sealie spluttered in her soup. Zav could be so embarrassing. ‘Shut up, pig,’ she said inelegantly and groaned at her own gaucheness.

James grinned. ‘I can wait,’ he said. He put his hand dramatically over his heart. ‘I could wait forever for someone so beautiful.’

To her dismay, Sealie could think of nothing to say. Later, a number of clever and witty ripostes presented themselves, but here, now, she could only grin feebly. She was grateful to James who continued to chat easily until the dancing started and the need for conversation thankfully diminished.

As Sealie whirled in James’ arms, she saw Zav and Kate, holding each other close as they swayed in the gathering dusk. Her brother’s dark head was bent over his bride’s, which nestled lightly on his chest. They looked more than happy. There was a kind of quiet joy in that moment that brought tears to her eyes.
Let them always be as happy as this
, she prayed, before the moment passed and the band struck a new tempo. The bridal couple held hands and swung wide, laughing as more of their friends joined them.

The music slowed yet again. ‘Yesterday . . .’ the singer began, and Hal, in a kind of trance, moved onto the floor.

‘May I?’ He tapped James on the shoulder and held his daughter in the awkward embrace of a man not used to dancing. Sealie took the lead and guided him as he fumbled the steps. She looked up at him and smiled with affectionate amusement at his clumsiness. Hal looked at the dark hair, the smiling eyes, the pearls at her throat.

‘I’ll learn to dance one day,’ he said. ‘I’ll never forget how beautiful you were the first night I saw you dance . . .’

Before he could finish his sentence, Zav swept Sealie away. ‘My turn,’ he said, uncharacteristically flushed from excitement and champagne. ‘You do look gorgeous, Little Sis.’

As the night drew to a close, Sealie sank into a chair in a haze of happiness. It was all far beyond her expectations. She had danced all night, not only with James, but a multitude of others, all of whom told her she was beautiful. One young man had whirled her behind the shrubbery and kissed her, his mouth tasting, not unpleasantly of whisky. Another had whispered suggestively about what they might do later in the evening, sending small shivers of excitement through her body, even though she had no intention of taking up his offer. For now, it was enough to be admired and desired—she had her whole life ahead of her for the rest. Nevertheless, tonight she felt she had left the last vestiges of her childhood behind. The shadowy path to the future was suddenly drenched in moonlight.