The Family Tree (7 page)

‘Tell me what to do, Dad.
Please
tell me what to do.' Kate closed her eyes, still keeping the image alive. ‘I really need your help, because I'm suffocating here.'

The silence that followed stretched until it became unbearable, and it
had
to be filled. So finally the words came. ‘
You're
suffocating? Try being buried six feet under!'

Kate smiled, despite herself. ‘But Dad, I don't know what to do. At all.'

‘I take it you found my book?'

‘Yes. When I was packing up the house . . . afterwards. Angie said you bought it for me for Christmas. So I kept it till then, put it under the tree.'

‘That was a bit maudlin, wasn't it?'

‘Exactly what Sam said.' Kate traced his jawline again, gently. ‘But I thought it'd make it seem like you were still here.'

‘Did it?'

She sighed quietly, the breath warming her cheek. ‘No.'

‘Ah, girl. You've got to stop with all this, you know. Doesn't do you any good. And you know why I bought that book? Because you need a kick up the you-know-what. If you want to bloody write, then just do it.'

‘It's not as simple as that. I mean, there's not even anywhere for me
to
write, and then there's all the interruptions, and everybody wanting –'

‘Here we go again. Christ, just read it. Maybe it'll give you some ideas
to make time. And I'll tell you something for nothing, if you
don't
do something soon, you're going to drive the rest of us nuts. Or yourself.'

Kate fell silent as tears built up behind her eyes. She swallowed and then clenched her lips together, waiting until the tears abated before opening her eyes slightly and whispering across the table: ‘But . . . well, don't you think I've left it too late? I mean, I'm forty-seven years old. I think I've missed the boat.'

‘Christ! You talk like you've got one foot in the grave. And, believe me, you don't want to do that before it's time. There ain't much in the way of entertainment there. Anyway, what's forty-seven? Some of the greatest writers in the world didn't do their best stuff till they were near ancient! But what the hell, it's your choice.'

‘Yes, I suppose it is.' Kate shifted her focus so that her father's face softened. She thought about the vacant room in Angie's unit, quiet and peaceful and undemanding. ‘Dad? Did you hear about Angie getting a boarder?'

‘You mean how you'd like to
be
her boarder?'

Kate rested her finger on her father's chin. ‘Yes.'

‘Well, go for it, girl.'

‘Really?' Kate felt a bubble of excitement. ‘But I can't just shift out . . . can I?'

‘Why not? You lot can afford it now, what with flattening my house. I mean, you're going to make a killing on all these units here, aren't you?'

‘Oh god, Dad. I didn't –'

‘Doesn't matter, love. Do what you have to. I owe you that much. But the point is, this is your chance. I don't know whether you can write or not. I reckon you're good at it, but then I'm your father. By the way, you get that from your mum, you know.'

Kate smiled at the gift. ‘Yes, so you've said.'

‘But anyway, I'll tell you something for nothing here –
you
need to find out whether you can write a book or you'll never settle. If that means moving out for a bit, then so be it. If Sam's got any sense, he'll see it's a small price to pay to stop your . . .'

‘Whining?'

‘Yes. And it's not like you're splitting up or anything. Not like Angie did. No, just look at it like it's your office. You don't even have to sleep there, just spend the days, and see what happens.'

‘My office,' repeated Kate softly, scratching a fingernail absentmindedly at the paint that rimmed her father's face.

‘Exactly. Although sleeping there mightn't be a bad idea either, maybe even get rid of those dreams you've been having. Besides, it won't do that lot of yours any harm to have to fend for themselves a bit. Especially the kids. They run you ragged.'

Kate grimaced defensively. ‘They're not that bad.'

‘Sure they are – basically nice
and
spoilt rotten. But right now you need to get back to them. Sort your life out. And I've got to skedaddle.'

‘I don't want you to go.'

‘Tough, you've got no choice. By the way, sorry I couldn't go the same way as your uncle. It was hard on you, love, I know.'

‘Yes, it was. Still is.'

‘Wasn't your fault, you know. It was mine. Should never have involved you. But that's life, and if this helps you, then I say go for it. Now, for Christ's sake, stop picking at my damn table.'

Kate opened her eyes fully and her father's face vanished. She stared across the wrought iron for a moment before sitting up and pulling a sleeve over her hand to wipe down her face and then press hard against her eyes. When she removed it, the tabletop had turned into a kaleidoscope of images, all in sparkling greys and browns. Slowly, her focus came back but the face was still gone. Along with his understanding, and compassion, and reliability. All that was left was a circle of lumpy brown surrounding a knob of darkened rust. Which, from this angle, just looked like a rather well-used nipple. Despite herself, Kate smiled as she put a finger out to run gently over the areola. Perhaps she would be better off forgetting about the writing and instead harnessing her creative side into sculpture and using this as her first piece. She could call it ‘Corroded Motherhood' and sell it for a fortune.

‘S
o you see it wouldn't be a separation at all. More like a . . . well, long service leave. Six months tops. A
hiatus
of sorts.'

Expressionlessly, Sam walked slowly along the tiled lip of the pool, dragging the leaf catcher through the water to skim curly-edged brown leaves and the odd twig off the surface. Kate, from her position perched on the steps of the decking, watched him carefully and waited for some sort of response. Anything.

‘And the unit would be like an
office
. Where I do my work.'

Sam lifted the leaf catcher out of the water and swung it through the air like a celebratory banner. A sparkling spray of water followed its arc until he banged it against the fence, hard. The leaves tumbled damply into the garden and then he hefted it back up again, splashing it down into the pool to continue his methodical progress.

‘And this would still be
home
. I mean, I'd be coming back here all the time.' Kate waited patiently for an answer but none was forthcoming. Hector wandered slowly up the path and then stood hesitantly for a few moments before lurching up beside her where he collapsed across the step, panting. She put out a hand and ruffled the pouched fur around his collar, then turned back to Sam. ‘You know, staying over, and coming on Fridays to do your books. Like usual.'

Sam lifted the leaf catcher up slightly and watched as a bee clambered drunkenly up the rim. Once clear of the water, it spread its wings
several times, trying to dry them. Sam brought the leaf catcher over to the edge and tapped it gently on the concrete, letting the bee fall to the ground in a scattering of leaves. After a moment, where it couldn't be seen, the tiny insect crawled clear and then stopped by the pool gate, unwilling or unable to make a definitive bid for freedom.

‘I know you don't understand and I am really,
really
sorry about that. But it's something I need to do. And I just can't do it here. I need to get . . . away.' Kate spoke slowly and without looking at Sam. Instead, she stared at the bee, mentally urging it to flight.
You can do it, just give it a try
.

‘You know what really pisses me off?'

Kate's gaze flicked upwards, to her husband's face, staring at her impassively as he leant against the leaf catcher.

‘It's that I
built
the bloody bungalow.' Sam jabbed a finger accusingly in the direction of the bungalow, behind the jasmine-covered trellis. ‘All because you wanted somewhere to do your bloody writing. So you've had plenty of chances to do whatever it is you
need
to do. But no, you wait till now. And don't think I don't know why. It's because you're trying to punish me.'

‘Punish you?'

‘Don't play the innocent, Kate, it doesn't suit you. You're trying to punish me for building the units, it's as simple as that.'

‘What!' Kate sat up straight and stared at her husband, taken aback by the accusation. ‘That's ridiculous!'

‘You reckon I railroaded you into the whole thing; you've made no secret of that. So now it's payback time, hey?'

‘That is the stupidest thing you've ever come up with. As if I'd –'

‘And what
also
pisses me off is that you're not taking it out on Angie, are you? Yet she was just as keen about the whole plan!' Sam picked up the leaf catcher and thrust it down into the pool, turning away from Kate as he began slapping it through the water, sending the leaves away on waves rather than collecting them.

Surprise transformed into anger, measured by the tightening of Kate's lips. She pushed Hector off her lap and spoke curtly. ‘The fact that you
feel driven to raze my father's house to the ground has absolutely nothing to do with my wanting to write. I have
always
wanted to write, and you bloody well know that. As for the bungalow, it's not exactly
empty
. In case you haven't noticed, it's got –'

‘I know it's not empty!' Sam stopped punching the leaf catcher through the water and stared at her again. ‘I'm not a bloody idiot. But you're acting like you're some sort of martyr. I mean, I built the damn thing for
you
!'

‘For me? Or just to shut me up?'

‘What's the damn difference?' Sam punctuated his words by swinging the leaf catcher through the air again and slamming it against the fence with a thud that echoed along the palings. Clearly gaining some sense of satisfaction, Sam arced the catcher backwards and then walloped it against the fence once more. This time the thud was followed immediately by a crisp snapping sound and the head of the leaf catcher fell into the garden bed.

Kate clapped twice, slowly. ‘Well done.'

Sam stared at her thin-lipped, the leaf catcher pole still grasped within his hands like a weapon. After a few moments he turned and javelined it into the garden bed where it impaled the earth at an angle, the broken end quivering gently. Sam watched it for a moment and then turned back. ‘I spent three months building that bungalow in my spare time. Three bloody
months
! Every weekend, every spare minute! And do I get any thanks? No, of course not. Instead, you just go and give it away!'

Kate jerked back, affronted. ‘Hang on a damn minute! You act like I just handed it over on a whim. For god's sake, Shelley was –'

‘Without even
discussing
it –'

‘Pregnant! And didn't have –'

‘With me! Or trying to –'

‘What the
hell
!'

Kate whirled around to face the sliding door, which was where this last rejoinder had come from. Standing there was Caleb, looking from one parent to the other with amazement. Kate opened her mouth to explain but Sam spoke first.

‘Sorry mate. We're just having a bit of a chat.'

‘Some chat. I'm surprised the neighbours haven't rung to complain.'

‘It wasn't that bad,' said Kate defensively.

‘And we're finished anyway.' Sam picked up the leaf catcher head and tossed it into the pool, where it floated into the middle, the net dangling deeper in the water.

‘Whatever.' Caleb cocked an eyebrow at his mother and then went back into the house, leaving the sliding door half open. He was followed relatively quickly by his father, who slammed the pool gate shut and passed Kate on the steps without even a glance.

She watched as he slid the door closed and disappeared from view. Then she turned to face the pool and took in a huge lungful of air, which she let out again in a rush. Hector, perhaps sensing that she was in need of comfort, edged his way closer again and laid his head down in her lap, looking up at her mournfully.

The half-drowned bee had now disappeared from sight. Kate wanted to believe that it had made a successful bid for freedom, but thought it more likely that it had finished its life on the bottom of Sam's runners as he strode angrily away from the pool. The moral being that you only have a brief period of time to break free, otherwise you'll be flattened.

She sighed and tried to muster up the energy to follow Sam inside and try to explain, again. But instead she leant backwards against the pillar supporting the steps and stretched her legs out, forcing Hector to rearrange himself. Maybe she could write things down? That way she wouldn't be distracted by incidentals and could state her case clearly and concisely. This thought cheered her, so she occupied herself by mentally constructing a dot point series of excellent reasons for her plan to take place.

Kate had just reached dot point number seven (
it'll be an excellent opportunity for enhanced bonding with your offspring
), when the sliding door opened and Sam came through, carrying two glasses of red wine. Without speaking, he placed them gently on the outdoor table and then sat down on one of the chairs, facing her.

‘Is one of those for me?'

‘Obviously.' Sam stretched a leg out and gave the opposite chair a push with his foot. ‘Come on, let's talk. Without yelling.'

Kate was washed by a wave of relief, which gave her the momentum to push Hector off her lap and get up. She crossed over to the chair while the dog followed, settling himself underneath the table. Kate sat down, watching Sam. ‘I thought you weren't speaking to me.'