The Family Tree (10 page)

Kate had been to the unit many times since Angie had moved in, and had even stayed there overnight on several occasions, but this was different. She suddenly realised she was smiling rather foolishly, and was grateful that she had chosen to move in while Angie was at work. She decided to begin with a tour. As if she had never been there before, or just needed to mark the unit with her presence.

She started by going up the staircase that sat to one side of the small, tiled foyer. At the head was a small landing with three doors. The one on the right, and towards the middle of the house, led to the small study that now housed all of Melissa's possessions, packed neatly into boxes. The other two rooms were bedrooms, with an ensuite in between. Kate walked eagerly into her own room. Here Melissa's bed dominated, with the built-in wardrobe and ensuite sliding door on the inside wall and a dressing-table on the other side. Against the far wall with the window was her father's desk, its glossy walnut almost as reflective as the mirror.

For a moment Kate stood staring at the desk, picturing her father
sitting there and writing up the meticulous account books he had kept for the market garden. Her Uncle Frank, with his oft-stated motto ‘We'll cross that bridge later', had quickly been relieved of any book work when it had become obvious his bridge-crossings were always going to be more turbulent than the family could afford. Instead her father had spent part of each evening transcribing receipts and forecasting expenses before filing everything away neatly in the deep, beautifully dovetailed drawers.

Kate realised that, consciously or subconsciously, she had replicated the desktop as it had been during her father's use. A framed photograph of her children sat on the left-hand side, just where the gilt-edged one of her parents' wedding had lived during his time, while on the right was a green-glass banker's lamp almost identical to the one he had owned. The only real difference was her laptop that sat front and centre ready to be put to use. This last thought shook Kate out of her reverie and she closed her eyes briefly. Then she moved out of the room, leaving her father behind.

Back downstairs, past the tiled entrance, was a small but cosy lounge room. The entire unit had been painted in a functional cream that matched the speckled cream carpeting and allowed any splashes of colour to stand out in bold relief. The lounge room led directly to the dining area and the kitchen, which were separated from each other only by an island bench. Two stools edging the bench matched the Baltic pine table and chairs which, in turn, matched the kitchen cupboards. Both rooms were much sunnier than the lounge room, courtesy of the large window by the table and the sliding door unit that led directly to the backyard.

It was easy to imagine lazy Sunday breakfasts here, or even late-night mugs of hot chocolate sipped in semi-dark silence. Kate smiled again and moved over to the sliding doors to gaze outside, where the small yard had been cobblestoned and largely contained within thick Merbau pillars, jade-green trellis and clear rippled perspex roofing, to give it a courtyard effect. This had then been filled with clematis climbers, luxurious bird's-nest ferns and, the pièce de résistance, a partially in-ground octagonal spa.

Kate tried to control her smile, but soon gave up. Because everything was perfect, unbelievably perfect. The entire unit, from its soft colour scheme to this beautiful courtyard, seemed to be filled with a natural simplicity that promised in abundance the one thing she craved the most – time. Here there would be no interruptions, no dependencies, no neediness. And no excuses either.

‘
There
you are!'

Kate opened her eyes and smiled lazily at her cousin, who was framed within the open sliding door. She stretched out one hand and pressed a button on the side of the spa, cutting off the throbbing jets. The bubbles dissipated, leaving an airy froth across the surface of the water. Kate picked up a glass of riesling that sat by the spa and held it aloft. ‘Welcome home. Cheers!'

Angie shook her head. ‘It doesn't take you long to settle in, does it?'

‘Not at all.' Kate took a sip of wine and then put the glass back down before leaning against a cushioned backrest and grinning at her cousin. ‘So, how was your day? Sell many books?'

‘Bit slow actually. But that was okay, gave me a chance to catch up on some shelving. I won't ask how your day was, it looks pretty obvious.'

‘Mmm.' Kate stretched her arms out on the rim of the spa and allowed her legs to float up towards the surface. ‘Why don't you join me?'

‘Maybe later. Don't suppose you did anything about tea?'

‘I most certainly did, you doubting Thomas. There's a casserole of honey chicken in the fridge. Just needs to be heated up.'

‘I'm impressed,' Angie smiled. ‘In that case, I'll pop it in the oven and get changed. Then I might have a glass of whatever you're drinking.'

‘It's a particularly nice drop,' Kate mimicked Oscar's voice. ‘From a wonderful little winery that's off the beaten track up Seymour way. Superb place, m'dear.'

Angie grinned. ‘Don't be mean. And try not to overindulge while I'm gone.'

Kate watched her cousin close the sliding door. She had turned the
spa temperature down earlier but now, with the onset of early evening, the water was starting to feel cool. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before gathering the energy to get out.

Kate dried herself off as best she could and then shrugged her terry-towelling dressing-gown on and, underneath, awkwardly shed her wet T-shirt. Leaving it spread out on the trellis with the towel to dry, she picked up her glass and went inside just as Angie came into the kitchen, now dressed casually and with her hair in a ponytail.

‘Nice outfit,' commented Angie as she added some rice to a pot of boiling water.

‘Thanks.' Kate tucked her dressing-gown securely around her and sat down at the table, immediately feeling the dampness of her knickers soak into the terry-towelling.

‘So how'd Sam take you leaving today?'

‘He's fine,' replied Kate airily. ‘I mean, he's not
happy
about it, but I think he understands. And I'll make it all up to him down the track.'

Angie glanced over at her expressionlessly. ‘And I take it we didn't start writing our masterpiece today?'

‘I don't know about you but
I
didn't. Today was settling-in day.'

‘Mission obviously accomplished.'

‘You're not going to turn into a nag, are you?' asked Kate mildly.

‘Sorry,' Angie sighed, then smiled wryly. ‘I'm just tired. Back-to-school rush.'

‘Well, you can relax now. Have a glass of wine.' Kate looked around and took a deep breath. ‘God, I
love
this place. There's no
clutter
. No piles of crap needing to be put away. No music blaring, or socks to be sorted, or dishes to be washed. And no bickering either.'

Angie stirred the rice. ‘Give us time.'

‘You know what I mean. Anyway go on, have that wine. I'd get it for you but my dressing-gown isn't terribly secure and I don't want you to lose your appetite.'

‘Believe me,
nothing
ruins my appetite. You could dance naked on the tabletop and it wouldn't make any difference. Although I'd probably disinfect it afterwards.'

‘Are you saying I'm not clean?'

‘I'm just saying that I prefer to eat my meals on surfaces that haven't been contaminated by naked females going through a midlife crisis.'

Kate leant back in her chair and regarded Angie thoughtfully. ‘Is that what you think I'm doing? Going through a midlife crisis?'

‘Well, aren't you?' Angie opened the fridge and took out the bottle of wine, pouring herself a glass and then refilling Kate's. ‘I mean, don't see it as some sort of derogatory label, but you
are
middle-aged, and you
are
going through a crisis. Ergo, you're going through a midlife crisis.'

‘But it makes it sound like I'm about to buy a red sports car or pick up some blond toy boy.'

‘You wish.'

‘Not really.' Kate grimaced. ‘Firstly, I don't find the wind-blown look terribly flattering. I just end up looking like a stunned mullet with beehive hair. As for the toy boy, I'll take quality over quantity any day. Young guys are like rabbits.'

‘Interesting comparison.'

‘What about you? Planning on replacing Oscar any time?'

‘Believe me, he's irreplaceable.'

‘What happened to that guy you went out with last year? The one with the nose?'

Angie shrugged. ‘He was okay, but did I tell you he collected Disneyland memorabilia? Not that there's anything
wrong
with that, but it was all through his house. And opposite his bed was a poster of Goofy saying “aw, shucks”,' she glanced over at Kate expressionlessly. ‘Which, without going into details, could be rather disconcerting at times.'

‘Oh, details please!'

‘Not a chance.'

‘Spoilsport. So tell me about the other people here then. In the units.'

‘Well, next door is Mrs Jarvis, she's an older lady. Very nice. And up the front is Terry but she's in Tasmania for a while, so her daughter's looking after the unit. The guy next to her is away as well, he's some type of actor and he's in a play touring Australia. So his unit's empty. And that's it. Not terribly exciting, I'm afraid.'

‘Not terribly exciting is exactly what I want.' Kate took a sip of wine and watched Angie as she stirred the rice. ‘What about you? Is
exciting
what you're after?'

‘Not necessarily.' Angie hesitated, as if in thought, and then began stirring again vigorously. ‘Melissa wants me to move over to England.'

‘What!'

‘Just for a year or so,' added Angie quickly, still stirring. ‘She reckons I could afford to take a year off now that . . . you know.'

‘I know.' Kate waved a hand dismissively over that part of the equation. ‘But don't tell me you're thinking of it seriously? What about
Fully Booked
?'

‘Well, that's the point, isn't it? There's no way I'd find a manager I could trust enough for me to flit over to the other side of the world. Except maybe you, and you're not interested.'

This last was said almost as a question so Kate shook her head emphatically to lay the idea to rest. Then she looked at her cousin curiously. ‘But would you have considered it? If I'd been willing?'

‘Not really,' Angie shrugged, lifting the ladle out with a few grains of rice clinging to it. She blew on them lightly. ‘I've got to sort myself out here first.'

‘Maybe you could go over on a holiday? A month or so?'

‘Maybe. I'll play it by ear.'

‘And in the meantime, do find yourself a toy boy. Reclaim your youth.'

‘Reclaim it? I don't even remember it.'

Kate ran her fingers through her damp hair to fluff it up, and then tucked it behind her ears. She took another sip of wine and smiled contentedly. It felt very strange to be sitting and watching someone else prepare a meal, with nothing to do but engage in light conversation. And every so often a stray thought would sidle away to wonder what was happening at home. She had left a casserole there also, but had anybody thought to put it in the oven? Had Jacob emerged from his room? Was Emma being strapped securely into her highchair? Was Sam just now getting home, tired and dirty, only to be confronted with the reality of
her absence? Would she ever find somewhere to store her residual guilt so that it was unable to seep out and infect her enjoyment?

‘I suppose we should really work out something about cooking.' Angie carried the pot of rice over to the sink and poured it into a colander. ‘I mean, it's not fair that you should do it every day just because you're home.'

‘I don't mind.'

‘Well, you should. You're supposed to be working, and you need to treat it just like you would if you were at an office.'

Kate thought about this and then nodded. ‘You're right. Well, what about taking it in turns?'

‘Okay, but don't forget I'm on a diet.' Angie banged the colander sharply against the side of the sink and then spooned some rice onto two plates. She waved a hand dismissively at Kate, who had just started to rise. ‘Sit down. It's under control.'

‘You sure?' Kate remained half out of her seat as she looked at her cousin questioningly. It wasn't just that she felt she
should
help, but she actually
wanted
to. It wasn't an altogether pleasant feeling merely sitting by.

Angie waved her down again as she set the table briskly. ‘Anyway, so when does the masterpiece begin?'

‘I wish you'd stop calling it a masterpiece. It makes me feel weighed down by expectations before I even begin.' Kate smiled to lighten the words.

Angie ladled chicken and thick honey-soya sauce over the rice and then brought the two plates over to the table. ‘Actually it's a bit pretentious of you to assume I was serious. But no problem, how's this? When does work on the mediocre opus begin?'

‘Ha, ha.'

‘Mediocre opus,' repeated Angie in low, sombre tones, as she sat down opposite Kate. ‘See, it'll be your MO. And if you aim for mediocre, you can't fail, can you?'

‘Actually, yes. I could finish up with
below
average, or just plain lousy.'

‘A real positive thinker, aren't you?'

Kate didn't bother answering, instead she picked up her fork and began eating.

‘So what's your MO going to be about anyway?'

Kate looked up. ‘I don't really know yet.'

‘No ideas at all? You're just going to sit there and wait for divine inspiration?'

‘Something like that.'

‘Great plan.'

‘I thought so.'