The Family Tree (25 page)

‘Yep, I know.' Angie twirled the glass another ninety degrees and the champagne sloshed inside the glass.

‘Maybe you could go for the birth? And I take over for just a month or so?'

‘Or maybe . . .' Angie petered off and glanced up at Kate. ‘I've been thinking about this all day and, well, maybe I could get someone else to do it for the whole year.'

‘Who?'

‘Shelley.' Angie held up her hand as Kate's eyes widened. ‘Let me finish. Look, she loves working there,
and
she's really good at it. She'd manage perfectly.'

‘That's a hell of a lot of responsibility. What if something happened?'

‘Like what?'

‘Fire. Theft. Terrorism. Some sort of book fungus disease.' Kate shook her head. ‘Seriously though, you
know
Shelley. I mean, on the one hand I'd be thrilled for her because she'd love it. But then, also, she's been dying to expand your business ever since she started working there. You leave her alone for a year and it won't be the same. She'll either ruin it entirely or turn it into some sort of global corporation.'

‘I know. And that's why I also came up with an alternative plan.' Angie paused momentarily. ‘Which is that I just sell her the business.'

‘
What?
'

‘Hang on, just hear me out. I could sell it without too much trouble on the open market, but I'd really like it to go to Shelley. Not just because she's family, but because she's so damn
keen
. She's like I was when I started. And for her, I
do
think it'd be a great investment. It brings in a living as it is, and she may even improve it.'

‘But what about you? When you come back?'

Angie shrugged. ‘I don't know. But I think I'd
like
to not know. Firstly because it takes all the pressure off me, and secondly because it'd be nice to float for a while. And by then I'll be able to afford to. You know I've done nothing but think this all through today. And I've been working six days a week for an awfully long time. I'd really like a break.'

‘So where would she get the money?'

‘From her share of the development, of course.' Angie held up her hand again. ‘And before you object, look at some of the positives. She'd have a job she loved and something to focus her energy on. Plus she could take Emma to work with her whenever she wanted. And it
is
a really sound investment, trust me.'

‘I do. I can see it's a great opportunity. It's just . . .'

‘Look, Kate, I really don't mind. I'm running it by you first, that's all. But I'm just as happy to offer her the managership for a year and, if I still feel the same way, sell it then. To her, or somebody else. It's no skin off my nose.'

Kate took another sip of champagne and thought over the proposal.
She knew she was being overprotective, but it was sometimes difficult to really
perceive
the children as adults. And risk-taking just made her feel uneasy. Although clearly Shelley herself was okay with taking risk, ergo Emma.

‘Why don't I leave it with you?' said Angie, watching her cousin's face. ‘Mull it over while I'm at Oscar's place, and let me know what you think. I promise I won't mention it to Shelley till I get your feedback.' She waited for Kate to nod and then changed the subject. ‘So, what do you think of me as a grannie, hey?'

‘It'll take getting used to,' Kate smiled, glad to be distracted. ‘I haven't even got used to
me
as a grannie yet.'

‘I'll have to buy a rocking chair. Start knitting.'

‘Oh my lord!' Kate started laughing. ‘Oscar will be a
grandfather
!'

‘I'm not sure whether he's as thrilled as I am,' Angie grinned. ‘He still sees himself as suave and youthful.'

‘Hey! What about the unit?'

‘I've thought about that too. I wouldn't be going until about September so it won't affect you. I'd just rent it out for a year, that's all.'

Kate looked across at her cousin, at the familiar scattering of freckles and the wide, generous mouth. ‘I'll miss you.'

‘Hang on, it's not even certain that I'm going yet!'

‘It'll happen.' Kate nodded, suddenly certain. And also sure that it was the right thing for Angie. But, god, would she miss her. Although nowadays, with phone calls and emails, it wasn't as bad as it once would have been. And this was something special.
Family
was something special. She thought about Auntie Faye, and how thrilled the older woman would be with the news. Then she thought about Sophie, and wondered what her reaction would be. She would be a great-grandmother, when she'd hardly been a mother. And suddenly Kate knew that Angie
must
be told, that there was really no alternative. The generations had to be given the chance to expand, in either direction. But now was not the time for such news, and champagne was not really the right accompaniment.

K
ate heard Angie leave for work the next morning, but rather than go downstairs and say goodbye, she closed the laptop and crawled back into bed, staring at the ceiling as she continued her reflections on how best to explain to her cousin about her sleuthing, and the results. Even though she kept telling herself that she now had at least a week to think about it, the subject, together with the heat, had proved a barrier against sleep for the greater part of the night.

Around three o'clock that morning, Kate had finally come to the conclusion that her first instinct, which had been to simply hand everything over to Angie now, was actually ill advised. Instead what
she really needed to do was to fill in some of the gaps
before
presenting the information. Otherwise, she was giving her as many questions as she was answers. And that wasn't fair. She fell asleep with that thought but woke only an hour later, on the heels of a frightful dream where she had been trying to close a door, desperately, but something had been pushing against it. She had lain awake then, damp with sweat, and tried to distract herself by revisiting her dilemma. And finally admitted that filling in the gaps was as much for her benefit as it was for Angie's. Having come this far, she just wanted to finish it and then bestow the whole package, neatly tied together, as a fait accompli.

Six o'clock brought a noisy kookaburra to a nearby tree, and also the rather bitter acknowledgement that she might as well finish the investigation as that was all it was ever likely to be. Because Sophie's story simply wasn't hers to write. Even if she somehow gained Sophie's permission, and Angie's, and Auntie Faye's, it would feel not only larcenous, but also exploitative. Profiting from someone else's pain.

The kookaburra let out a series of echoing, full-throated warbles and then one more, as an encore, while he flew off. Kate rolled over with the sheet tangled around her legs, and hugged the pillow against her chest as she stared at the empty side of her bed. At home, even when Sam wasn't beside her, she could still see the indentations left by his body, or smell his particular smell on his pillow. But here there was nothing except an empty expanse, the sheets still relatively neat and the pillow fluffed and even. Maybe she wouldn't see the whole six months out after all. Maybe she was never
meant
to write a book. Maybe this had never really been about that.

Kate kicked the sheet away with an energy that pulled it out from the other side of the bed and brought a sheen of sweat to her forehead. The humidity on the top floor of the unit already felt thick and heavy, like an extra layer of bedclothes itself. But the change was due through today so that, at least, would soon be over. Kate tucked her sweaty hair behind her ears and then sat on the side of the bed and stared blankly towards her father's desk. Would going home be admitting defeat?

She realised that she was staring at the wedding photo of her parents,
which she had placed by the lamp on her desk. So she got up and put it in a drawer out of sight. Then, shedding her clammy T-shirt and knickers, she strode into the ensuite for a much-needed shower.

Fifteen minutes later, and now clad in a loose shift dress, Kate went downstairs for coffee. Her eyes still felt grainy with tiredness but it was far cooler here, with the upper storey acting as a type of insulation from the warmth, so while the kettle came to the boil, she fetched her laptop and set it on the dining room table. She stared at the screen broodingly. There seemed to be three major questions needing answers:

1. Was Thomas still alive?

2. Did he and Sophie have any children?

3. What was Uncle Frank in jail for (and how long)?

Of course, there were other questions, like why hadn't Sophie ever attempted to see Angie later on? Especially after Frank died? After all, the man had been dead for nearly
thirty
years. Kate massaged her temples and then shook her head, mystified, but decided that she had to have
some
limitations, and those more emotive angles needed to be left for Angie to unravel. If she wanted to.

She suddenly realised that she no longer felt bitter that this would never be a book, instead she felt almost
relieved
. As if she had been playing poison ball and had just managed to offload it. She smiled, rather ruefully, and went back to her list. The logical source of answers for the first two was Auntie Faye, but she would have to be careful to ensure that her interest sounded casual, and not investigative. Kate brought up the telephone directory on the screen, put in a search for Faye Wharton of Ballarat and seconds later had the number before her. On a sudden whim, she also entered Painter, with the initials TJ and then tapped her fingers impatiently as she waited. Suddenly there it was – the correct address, with TJ & SM in residence.

So he
was
alive then. Kate's stomach clenched with a shaft of indignation. Her uncle and her father were both gone, but one-eyed, wife-stealing Thomas Painter lived on. She swallowed bile and then took a deep breath, reasoning with herself over the ridiculousness of her reaction. Why shouldn't he be alive? His life, or death, had no
impact on what had happened to either of his cousins. It would have happened regardless. She stabbed at the delete key, hard, erasing the first question on her list.

Before she could dwell on this any further, Kate went into the lounge room and picked up the phone, dialling Auntie Faye's number. It went straight to an answering machine but before she could think of an appropriate message the doorbell rang, breaking her concentration. With some relief, Kate hung up the phone and went to open the door. Recognition came slowly as she stared at the rather short elderly woman standing on the porch. It was the mercenary member of the poker-playing set.

Kate smiled politely. ‘Hello. Bev, isn't it?'

‘That's right,' Bev nodded, clearly rather relieved to be recognised. ‘And I'm sorry to interrupt you, but, ah, there's been something on my mind since last week. When we spoke to you.'

‘Oh. Okay.' Kate felt her interest tighten. ‘Do you want to come in?'

‘No, no. Won't take a minute. I was going to wait till tomorrow, when I'm over here with poker anyway but, well, it's been preying on me a bit.'

‘Really? About Sophie Wharton?'

Bev shook her head. ‘That's the thing, it's not. So it's probably irrelevant but I thought, with you writing a book and all . . . I didn't want to give the wrong picture. Or not the whole picture anyhow. But you mayn't even be interested in that bit.'

Kate's curiosity was now fully roused. ‘Why don't you just tell me, then I'll let you know if it's relevant or not?'

‘Okay then.' Bev pursed her lips slightly and then continued: ‘It's the other one we spoke about. Rose Kimber. The one that married Jimmy Painter.'

‘Yes?' managed Kate as she forced her expression to remain politely curious.

‘I seem to recall we were quite hard on her. Called her a few nasty names.'

Kate's breath caught. ‘And they weren't true?'

‘Oh no,' Bev frowned and shook her head. ‘They were all true. But there's more to it than just that. So if you were to mention Rose in your book, then I'd hate to think you went with what we said, without the rest.'

‘And the rest is?'

‘She had a dreadful background.' Bev stared at Kate, the intensity of her gaze giving emphasis to her words. ‘A
really
dreadful background. Her father wasn't a terribly big man, but he was an absolute brute. Drank heavily.'

Kate took this in, slowly. ‘Oh. But what about her mother?'

‘Now she was an odd one. Used to sing to herself while she was walking, I remember that. Just quietly, as if she was in her own world. Not that she went out much. She was a bit slow, see. Not quite all there. But whether she was
always
like that, or whether it was because of the home life, who knows?'

Kate wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Any sisters? Or brothers?'

‘No, Rose was an only child.' Bev furrowed her brow as she thought. ‘She was a few years younger than me but I
seem
to remember my mother once referring to Mrs Kimber as having had a lot of miscarriages. Though I can't really recall.'

‘It must have been dreadful for her,' said Kate slowly.