The Memory Tree (6 page)

‘So, that’s it then. No more appeals?’

‘That’s it. I’ve got five weeks to prepare the . . . well, to prepare the house—and Zav, of course.’

Cassie stirs her coffee and looks at her friend shrewdly. ‘And what about you? Are you prepared?’

Sealie has two close friends and she tries to be honest with them. It’s her way of being honest with herself. She pauses before speaking.

‘I truly don’t know. I’ve been visiting him all these years, but home . . . That’s different.’

Back at her computer, Sealie tries to understand her feelings. One part of her is horrified at the thought of Hal’s homecoming, another part longs to have a father again. How wonderful it would be, if, when Hal came home, things returned to the way they used to be.

Even after Paulina’s death, the house remained a home. Sealie thought gratefully of Mrs Mac and the cooking smells that welcomed her after school. She had loved nothing more than when she and Zav sat in the kitchen eating freshly baked scones for afternoon tea. She remembers one such time when Hal came in, spattered with the cold rain that was falling outside. He grabbed a scone in each hand and looked at Mrs Mac with his crooked grin. ‘One for me and one for Ron,’ he said unrepentantly as she glared her disapproval.

‘Who’s Ron, Daddy?’ Sealie asked.

Zav looked smug. He knew.

‘Later Ron.’ Hal roared with laughter and Sealie nearly choked on her scone. Daddy was so funny.

After Paulina’s death, the dance lessons continued. Hal made sure of that. Every Saturday morning, Mrs McLennon would twist Sealie’s hair into the regulation bun before Hal drove her to her class. At the same time, Zav’s friends would pick him up to take him to his football or cricket or tennis. Hal waited for Sealie in the car, reading the paper, until she came out, flushed and excited, to tell him her news.

One morning, about a year after her mother’s death, she flung herself into the car.

‘Daddy, we’re doing colour fairies and I’m going to be centre front! At the Town Hall. I need a red tutu and red shoes. Guess which colour fairy I am. Can we stop at the ballet shop on the way home?’ Unable to contain her excitement, she bounced up and down in her seat.

‘I reckon we can manage that.’ Responding to his daughter’s excitement, Hal’s mood became buoyant. He grinned widely. ‘Then we’ll go for a milkshake to celebrate.’

They ordered the dress and shoes, drank their milkshakes and arrived home to find Zav cleaning mud off his football boots.

‘How did it go this morning?’ Hal asked.

‘We won. I kicked two goals,’ the boy replied.

‘Well done, son. Guess what? Sealie’s going to be centre front for her item at the Town Hall concert.’

Mrs McLennon frowned. ‘Two goals,’ she said. ‘Good for you, Zav.’ But Zav ducked his head and concentrated on his boots.

It wasn’t always like this. Mrs McLennon could remember a time when Hal and Paulina would come home after the match, eyes shining, rubbing their cold hands and a mud-spattered Zav and toddler Sealie rushing in before them, shouting their news.

‘What a match,’ Hal would say, unwinding his scarf. Sometimes he lifted his son’s hand in the victory gesture favoured by boxers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the cham-peen footballer of the world. Xavier Rodriguez!’ He’d ruffle his son’s hair. ‘Five kicks!’ he’d say, or, ‘you should have seen the mark he almost took!’ There was always something to praise, and Hal’s enthusiasm was infectious. He had a flair for limericks, and Mrs Mac never forgot Zav’s.

Young Zav was a footballing kid

A cham-peen in all that he did

When he ran on the ground

With a leap and a bound

The other team ran off and hid.

When Hal recited his rhyme, they would all fall about laughing. It didn’t matter how often they heard it, they laughed. Not because it was funny, but because they were happy.

While Sealie deals with exigencies of rubbish removal, parks maintenance and chlorine for the local pool, Zav has no such distraction. He lingers in bed and stares out at a shabby grey sky. The crossword lies half-finished on the floor and the breakfast dishes pile in dirty disarray on the bedside table. At eleven o’clock, he feels the need for a coffee and reluctantly struggles into his dressing gown. Bending down to find his slippers, he feels the familiar pain behind his eyes and stands up wearily. He has only been up a few minutes and is already considering a return to the unmade bed. A moment later, he straightens his back. No, coffee will help to clear the headache and he wants to surprise Sealie by cleaning the house and having her meal ready when she comes home. Zav is well aware of the sacrifices Sealie makes on his behalf, and on his good days, tries to show this in small, manageable ways. After finishing his coffee and washing the dishes, he wishes he hadn’t asked her to pick up his library book. He could have done it himself, he now thinks, bored with the day already. It’s several hours before he needs to start the meal.

There is something about a sensitive tooth that impels you to test it with the tip of your tongue. Despite your resolve, you delicately probe the cavity. Despite the exquisite shaft of pain, despite all evidence against such an action, you return to the sensitive source as Zav does now.

Would things have been different if Hal had shown him the affection he had shown Sealie after Paulina’s death? In response to Hal’s apparent indifference, Zav had made an extraordinary effort to excel. He had to be, and was, top in everything—dux of his class, captain of his sporting teams. He sought out the prettiest, most popular girls and with his dark good looks, charmed every one of them. At each success, he looked to Hal for approval but had to make do with the handshake and the familiar
Well done, son
.

He confronted his father only once, a few days before his graduation from high school.

‘I’m getting the maths and chemistry prizes as well as dux and the all-round sporting cup,’ he announced after dinner. He and Hal were alone that night. Sealie was staying with a friend and Mrs McLennon had gone to the cinema.

‘Well done, son,’ came the familiar response.

Zav wanted to shout, but his voice was subdued. ‘Is that all you can fucking well say?’

‘No need to swear,’ Hal admonished. ‘It’s a sign of lazy thinking.’

Hal was an old-fashioned sort of father who doted on his daughter. The motherless little girl with her cloud of dark hair and soulful grey eyes, inspired the gentle chivalry with which he had treated his wife. He expended his softer sentiments on Sealie, his daughter, his baby. It was okay to kiss your daughter goodnight, to hug her when congratulations were due, but your son . . .? That was a different matter altogether.

Of course Hal was proud of Zav’s academic success and considerable sporting achievements, but as his son grew older, the best Hal could do by way of acknowledgement was a gruff
well done
and sometimes a handshake or manly punch to the shoulder. Without Paulina, who encouraged physical contact, he reverted to his own upbringing and kept himself in check. In this, he was not so different from many of his contemporaries. Fathers just didn’t hug their sons in the fifties and sixties. More’s the pity, if you ask me.

Zav emerges from his reverie and looks at the clock. He’ll make a casserole. That will fill in some time. As he chops the onion, he’s visited by an image of his daughter. Me. Grace. Amazing Grace. His face is pensive as he reaches for the carrots.

Perhaps that’s why I was so pleased when they told me the baby was a girl. I had a model for being a good father to a daughter. A
 
son would have been very problematic.

It takes some willpower, but he turns away from that thought and resists further probing. He scrapes the carrot almost to oblivion.

That evening, Sealie is heartened to see that Zav is dressed and to smell the comforting aroma coming from the kitchen. She kisses him affectionately.

‘Smells yummy, Zav. I might have a glass of wine after I get changed.’ She goes upstairs and returns, her suit jacket replaced with a bulky jumper. Zav pours her some wine. He pours himself a Coke. He can’t risk mixing his medication with alcohol. They watch the news in companionable silence. Sealie was going to remind her brother that she was driving up to Ararat the next day, but the years have taught her caution. Zav seems okay right now. Why not enjoy the moment?

As he prepares to say goodnight, Sealie reluctantly mentions her trip tomorrow. He frowns and tells her not to wake him, so she indicates that she has set the table for breakfast.

‘Everything’s there ready for you,’ she fusses.

‘I know. Thanks.’

‘You will get up?’

‘I won’t starve to death, for Christ’s sake.’ He sees the hurt flash across his sister’s face. ‘Joke, Seal,’ he says hastily. He kisses her lightly and heads for his room.

‘You’re sure you locked the doors?’