The Family Tree (32 page)

‘Don't you think it'd be easier just to buy a pencil case?'

‘No, you twit. This is to measure breast sag. If you're all pert, then the pen would just roll out. You couldn't hold it at all. But if you're not, then you have to see how many pens you can hold. That tells you how saggy you are.'

‘So how saggy are you?'

Angie peered down, considering. ‘I'd say I'm a two pen girl nowadays.'

‘That's all?' Kate looked at Angie's chest doubtfully.

Angie reached inside her clothing and pulled the pen out. ‘Ouch! God! But here's a handy hint: if you try this at home, remove it slowly. Do you want a go?'

‘I think not.' Kate turned back to face the water and took a drag of the joint. She could see the outside light of the next door unit and wondered what Mrs Jarvis was doing and how she would react if Kate climbed the fence and made some surreptitious vampire-type sounds in her backyard. She giggled.

‘I'm hungry.' Angie sounded surprised.

‘Me too.' Kate took another drag and passed it behind to Angie.

‘Auntie Faye sent some of that soup down,' said Angie. ‘D'you want me to heat it up for you?'

Kate looked at her suspiciously. ‘And what'll you be having?'

‘I'm going to order pizza. Bugger the diet, I deserve a break.'

‘Then, as tempting as the soup sounds, I think I'll give it a miss and join you.'

‘I should make you have it, as a penance.'

‘Just the thought is penance enough.' Kate brought her hand gently back towards her through the water. ‘This must be what it's like in a womb.'

‘And so the conversation comes right back to my mother.' Angie sounded annoyed but when Kate turned, concerned, her cousin was grinning.

‘Hey, Ange?'

‘Yes?'

‘I'm sorry about your mum. And I understand why you didn't tell me.'

‘Me too.' Angie took a drag and held it. Then she blew the smoke out past Kate's shoulder. ‘Have I told you lately that I love you?'

‘You don't have to,' replied Kate, facing the water again. ‘But ditto.'

‘Pizza?'

‘Yes,
please
.'

‘Coming right up.'

Kate stretched an arm out along the spa either side and leant back. She could see a scattering of stars through the perspex roof, like the lit ends of thousands of joints, only incandescent white instead of red. She smiled lazily, then closed her eyes so that she could be
enveloped
by the buzz within her head. She imagined it was like a tide, moving stealthily downwards all the way to her toes. She wiggled these and the euphoria immediately seemed almost alive, an entity of its own.

She could hear Angie faintly, from inside the house, ordering the pizza. And Kate realised she wasn't just hungry, she was
ravenous
. She opened her eyes and began scissoring her legs gently, loving the ripples that spread across the water. If she blocked out Angie, then the gentle tide and her own shallow breathing were the only sounds that existed. Life wasn't just good, it was marvellous. Past, present and future. And there was nothing that couldn't be grasped within her hand if she so chose. Kate swam her fingers through the water before lifting them to clench at the substance of the air, of
life
, as droplets trickled down her arm. There, it was done.

T
he next day was a hangover, from start to finish. Kate knew it wasn't so much the marijuana but everything else that was doing the damage. The chocolate eggs during the day, the fish and chips, the bottle of wine, the plate of nacho corn chips with melted cheese and sour cream that Angie had made while waiting for the pizza, and then the pizza itself because even though they were now full, it seemed a shame to let it go to waste. Nor the bottle of soft drink that came with
it, which they had diluted with scotch because it had just seemed right, at the time.

All merged overnight to create a potent mixture that sat uncomfortably within, every now and again sending up bubbles of indigestion that left a sour taste in their wake.

She and Angie passed each other at odd times throughout the day, mostly silent in their suffering except for the odd sociable phrase, like: ‘This is all your fault' or ‘Just kill me now'. And every time Kate would see in her cousin's face what she knew was mirrored in her own. Bloodshot eyes, pale clammy skin, and a furrowed brow that was born of a persistent headache. And the knowledge that it was all self-inflicted.

After that, Wednesday started off as a wonderful day. Kate emerged from beneath her doona and realised that the world seemed fresh and clear once more. She showered with a euphoria that felt almost drug-induced itself and threw on tracksuit pants and a T-shirt so that she could catch Angie before she headed off to the shop. She found her standing at the sliding door, staring outside at the courtyard.

‘Feeling better?' asked Kate with a smile.

‘
God
, yes.'

‘Me too.'

‘Did you know we left the stuff outside?' Angie pointed to the side of the spa, where the zip-lock bag could be seen lying on the cobblestones with the matches and Tally Ho papers beside it.

‘I'll clean it up today. But for a purveyor of illegal substances, you're not very hip with the terminology,' commented Kate. ‘You should call it weed, or dope, or even pot. Speaking of which, has the kettle just boiled?'

‘Yep.' Angie turned around. ‘Sam rang yesterday. Did I tell you? He left a message on the answering machine. I think it's about the development.'

Kate nodded as she tipped hot water into her mug and added milk.

Angie watched her. ‘God. Do you know, I only ever tried the stuff a few times when I was young, but I
never
felt like I did yesterday. I thought I was going to die.'

‘I think that was all the crap we ate. And the alcohol. Not the marijuana.'

‘Well, I'm too old for it whatever. But . . .' She paused and then grinned. ‘It
was
fun, wasn't it?'

Kate grinned back, with interest. ‘The best.'

‘Although next year I think I'll stick to chocolate.'

‘You'll probably be in England. Playing grandma.'

‘Then you'll have to come visit. And definitely don't try bringing that with you.' Angie gestured outside. ‘I don't want to visit you in some dingy prison. And you'll be all po-faced because of the internal search.'

‘Believe me, if I was threatened with an internal search, I'd be handing over all contraband before they could even get their gloves on. And keeping my legs crossed.'

‘With that image etched on my consciousness, I'm off to work.'

‘Nice to know you'll be thinking of me, then.'

Angie rolled her eyes and then grabbed her handbag from the table and headed outside, the front door slamming behind her.

Kate sat down at the table. Even with yesterday's fallout from their little mind-altering sojourn, she had no regrets. Apart from a very enjoyable evening, she had managed to resolve the whole mother issue with Angie quite marvellously. And the additional information only served to reinforce her early decision to discard Sophie as writing material. The mysterious scarlet woman had metamorphosed into a middle-aged woman whose ordinariness eclipsed her past. Besides, whenever her mother was mentioned, a slither of bitterness had slid through Angie's speech. A book based on her mother's life, detailing the abandonment of Angie herself, would be like stabbing her in the back. Again.

She thought about the other discoveries. That her uncle had never been a jailbird, just a soldier. Which made the whole Sophie thing even more understandable. There she'd been, little more than a teenager, engaged to responsible young Thomas who was busily putting down roots, when along came the older, handsome rake of a man, complete with army uniform emblazoned by medals from the Korean War.

Kate smiled, warmed by contented relief. She thought about her
father, and Angie's theory that he was a confirmed bachelor, regardless of his brief marriage. Kate liked this image; it made sense, and transformed his whole life into something eminently more satisfying. For her as well as him. She suddenly realised that it had been some time since she had last
really
visited the house. And that it was exactly what she felt like doing right now.

Kate grabbed a banana for a quick breakfast. She peeled it as the engine warmed up and then held it between her teeth as she reversed up the driveway and out onto the road. The day was not quite as overcast as it had been lately, but it was still cloudy and the sun kept disappearing, so that one minute the road was dappled with sunlight and the next it was strewn in shadows. Kate stopped at a café around the corner to buy a cappuccino. She fitted the plastic lid on tightly and balanced the disposable cup on the passenger seat as she drove the rest of the way.

Later she was to wonder, with a sort of masochistic curiosity, how long it was before she realised exactly what was wrong. At the time, though, she was feeling so damn content that it didn't register.
Couldn't
register. The leap was just too big. Instead she coasted to a halt by the kerb and then slowly frowned, twice glancing towards the neighbouring properties, thinking that she had made some ridiculous mistake and was parked outside the wrong place. Each time her gaze was brought back again and nothing had changed. Except everything.

Because the whole house was gone. Completely. Missing from the foundations up, with not even a piece of roofing or a weatherboard plank to mark where it had once stood. All that was left was a patchy piece of dirt, which stood out starkly amongst the weeds.

Kate turned off the ignition, almost automatically, and then sat with her hands on the steering wheel and stared. Although she could see it was gone, she was having enormous difficulty actually registering this as fact.

Kate got slowly out of the car and walked up onto the footpath. She felt stiff, like an old woman. Now that she was closer she could see the grey stumps upon which the house had once rested. And she could also see the more practical evidence of obliteration. Long trench marks
scarred the gravelled driveway, and then veered off to loop around the dirt itself, leaving an almost decorative pattern of tyre-tracked mutilation.

Kate walked over to the driveway and up along the side of the trenches. At the top she stopped for a moment to stare at the rhododendron bush that had edged the kitchen window. It sat torn and crushed, rippled with the herringbone pattern of heavy tyres.

There was a rubbish pile by the back fence, with the Hills hoist on top, one arm jabbing drunkenly towards the sky like the mast of a stricken ship. And, right by the fence, on top of the foliage from the lemon tree, was the wrought-iron setting from the backyard.

Kate stared at it numbly. The table lay on its side, two legs bent inwards where it had landed. The still-green flamboyance of the lemon tree lent it the lie of life, even when they were damned themselves. Underneath was a tiny scrap of bright royal blue, incongruous amidst the dirt. It was the Easter egg, now flattened into an oval pancake oozing chocolate from the seams.

Kate walked away quickly, then stopped where the side gate had once stood, where not even a fence post now remained, and stared over at the compacted dirt again. Suddenly, as the sun came out from behind a cloud, everything was illuminated as if within a spotlight. Just as quickly though, the sunlight disappeared behind another cloud bank and it seemed even darker than before.

The stumps delineated the layout of the house, but Kate didn't need them. She tracked from hallway to lounge room, kitchen to laundry, bedroom to bedroom. She hesitated outside her father's bedroom and then retraced her steps. Over and over and over, walking in the front door, standing at the kitchen window, gazing around the lounge room, staring down the passage.

Now her mind was full of noise. The radio in the kitchen, the television in the lounge room, the sound of the bath being run, Angie playing somewhere. And everyone talking, laughing, interrupting, shouting at once so that, finally, she had to get out just to be able to think. Back over to the driveway, where the clamour was only a distant
memory. And as the echo faded, Kate suddenly realised that her eyes had filled with tears that were now tracking wetly down her cheeks. And the numbness had started to recede. To be replaced by a white-hot anger so pure and absolute that it was painful in itself.

The anger continued unabated through the drive back to the unit. Beside her, on the passenger seat, the cappuccino tipped sideways and the plastic lid flipped off, tepid coffee gushing over the seat and down beside the door. As Kate pulled into the space before the unit, her mobile phone rang but she ignored that also. Because
that
wouldn't do, it was too small, too delicate.

She got out of the car and slammed the door, hard, before heading inside. Straight to the phone.

‘Hello?'

‘It's me.'

‘Kate! I just tried to ring you.' Sam's voice was deep with relief. ‘Now, I know –'

‘I've just been there.'