The Mimosa Tree

by Antonella Preto

  ‘She’s seen me all right. They’re coming this way.’

  ‘It’s all over,’ I say, starting to cry.

  ‘Are they going to take you away?’

  ‘Oh yes. Right after they kill me.’

  ‘Mira,’ he says, taking my hands in his. ‘Tell me the truth, do you want to go home?’

  I am looking into his eyes, but somehow unable to see him. The thought of Via and Siena finding me hiding behind a bush, stoned, is too much to bear. I can feel sweat forming on my upper lip, feel my heart squirming in my throat. Via’s flatfooted thumping is getting closer and closer.

  ‘I’m not ready,’ I whisper.

  And with that assurance, Harm springs into action.

  ‘Stand back,’ he says pushing me toward a nearby bush. ‘This is no place for amateurs.’ When he is satisfied I am well hidden, he leaps out from behind the wall and into the path of my aunts. From where I am hiding Harm is clearly visible, but I cannot see Via or Siena.

  ‘Morning ladies. Lovely day for a–’ And then I see Via’s hands grab his collar and he gets pulled out of view.

  ‘WHO ARE YOU?’ shouts Via. ‘WHY IS YOU HIDING?’

  For a second I think I’m going to have to jump out and save him, but then Siena comes to the rescue.

  ‘Via,’ she says calmly. ‘Let the boy go. You’re scaring him.’

  There’s a pause and then a reluctant grunt from Via.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with her?’ says Harm, gasping like he’s been deprived of oxygen.

  ‘WHAT IS-A YOU NAME?’ demands Via again, and while every nerve in my body is alert and tingling at hearing that voice, Harm remains surprisingly unruffled.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ he says calmly. ‘But my name is Arthur.’

  Oh my God. No one talks to Via like that and gets away with it. He’s going to die. We are both going to die.

  ‘Let me handle this, Via,’ says Siena, and when Via doesn’t object I breathe a sigh of relief. With Siena there to mediate there may be some hope for him yet.

  ‘Sorry about my sister, Arthur. She’s a little upset. We both are. Our niece has gone missing and we think she might be staying somewhere on this street. We just want to talk to you.’

  ‘Next time you might want to consider starting with a simple hello.’ Did I just hear Via growl? ‘So what do you want to talk about?’

  ‘Do you live around here?’

  ‘Yeah, I live at that house,’ he says, and I am hoping like hell he is pointing in the other direction. ‘But I only moved in a week ago so I don’t think I’ll be able to help you much.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Siena, clearly disappointed.

  ‘Stupid!’ says Via speaking in Italian so that Harm can’t understand her. ‘Can’t you see this idiot is lying to you? He’s wearing make-up,’ she says, as though that is evidence enough that Harm can’t be trusted.

  ‘So, Arthur,’ says Siena, ignoring Via’s interruption and keeping her own voice friendly and calm. ‘Maybe you’ve noticed a boy around here, about your age? His name is Hamish or Harm.’

  ‘Nope. Sorry,’ says Harm and he steps back into my view. I see him scratch at his chin, stare to the side as he pretends to think hard on the question. ‘Oh, wait a minute, there was this guy. Lived in that house over there. But he moved out. I think he said they’re knocking the place down.’

  ‘When did he leave?’

  ‘Gee, I don’t really remember. Maybe it was a day or two after I moved in.’

  ‘For the love of God! Has he seen our Mira or not?’ says Via getting impatient, and I can clearly picture her jabbing Siena in the arm.

  Harm looks confused.

  ‘She wants to know, was there a girl with him?’ explains Siena. ‘Our niece, her name is Mira.’

  ‘A girl? No, don’t think so. He was on his own, which is strange because he was such a good-looking guy.’

  Siena sighs deeply. I can hear Via light up a cigarette, and the familiar smell wafts in my direction.

  ‘Mother of God,’ says Via quietly in between deep drags of her cigarette. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘This isn’t your fault, Via,’ says Siena, and I can hear that she is crying. ‘You did what you thought was right. I’m sorry, you must think we are crazy. It’s just that we are so worried about her. Mira’s never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Hey,’ says Harm, obviously moved by their sadness. ‘Wherever she is I’m sure she’s okay. I’m sure someone is looking after her.’

  ‘I really hope so,’ says Siena. ‘Not knowing is the hardest part. I just hope she comes home for Christmas.’ And she dissolves into sobs.

  ‘Come on,’ says Via and her voice sounds quaky too. ‘Let’s go. Let this idiot get back to his boyfriend.’

  When they start to walk away Harm turns to grin at me. He gives me a thumbs up.

  ‘Just one more thing,’ says Siena and Harm whips his hands behind his back and turns to face her. ‘Why were you hiding from us?’

  ‘Well,’ says Harm clearing his throat. ‘You were yelling at that old man. I figured it would be a good idea to stay out of your way.’

  ‘I see,’ says Siena.

  Harm strokes his neck. ‘You gotta admit, my instincts were pretty spot-on.’

  ‘Thanks for your help, Arthur. Again, I’m sorry if we scared you.’

  ‘Good luck!’ shouts Harm after them. After a while he motions for me to come out of the bushes. ‘Okay, they’ve gone.’

  I untangle myself from the bush. I’ve got scratches on my arms, and there are small green leaves all through my hair. I have to jump around to try and get the pins and needles out of my foot.

  ‘That was fun!’ says Harm laughing. ‘Close, too, but I think I threw them off the scent.’

  I start pushing the trolley. ‘For now. My aunts aren’t going to give up that easily.’

  ‘Relax,’ he says putting his arm around my shoulder. ‘We got away with it! That’s the last we’re going to see of them. It’s touching though. I think they really care about you.’

  Of course they care, I think, but I don’t say this to Harm. I am starting to understand that his family are very different to mine. His parents leave the country with little thought to how he is going to survive. My family insist on accompanying me to the toilet. We park the trolley in the grass which is so long now that only the red handle can be seen above it.

  Inside we sort our sensible supplies into the pantry but our junk food is laid out on the table like a fluorescent, shiny smorgasbord. A blunt knife, a gas burner with three blocked jets, and quickly diminishing daylight are just some of the challenges I have to overcome in order to meet my promise of authentic Italian bolognese sauce.

  ‘That’s smelling great already,’ says Harm, as I add a few tablespoons of tomato puree to the frying mince and onions.

  ‘Let’s hope it tastes all right. I’ve never made this before.’

  ‘Really? So how do you know what to do?’

  ‘I’ve watched,’ I say, smiling as I stir. ‘We eat a lot of pasta.’

  And truly, as I cook this meal that I have seen my mother cook from since I can remember, it feels like I was born knowing how to make it. When the tomato puree has turned the meat a deep red, I add the canned tomatoes, some salt and pepper, then turn the heat down to let it simmer. After a few hours I am satisfied that what I have bubbling on the stove is not a bad effort. I light some candles and sit at the table. Harm leans over the pot and takes a big, appreciative sniff before plunging in with an oversized wooden spoon.

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ he says, breathing around the burning sauce in his mouth.

  I snort and wave my hand. ‘It is not even close to being as good as my mother’s. She would be horrified with this effort.’

  ‘It must be weird,’ he says, jumping on the bench and rolling a cigarette. ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like to know I am never going to see someone again.’

  It bothers me how h
e can be so detached about the subject of my mother, as though it is nothing more than an interesting philosophical question to ponder. After seeing his parents in action, however, I know that for Harm the idea of actually loving someone and being loved is not one he has had much experience with. His words have started me thinking about Mum again and I’ve got that burning in my eyes and heaviness in my chest that means I am seconds away from bawling. Grief is like an eternally patient dog. It will sit in the corner obediently, head on paw, tail wagging slowly until it hears its name.

  ‘You know,’ says Harm laughing. ‘Your aunt Via is exactly how I pictured her. Did you see how terrified that old man looked? If you hadn’t dived out of sight in time that could have been me getting the third degree.’ He shudders at the thought.

  ‘I still can’t believe they didn’t see me.’

  Harm looks at me curiously. ‘Are you disappointed they didn’t find you?’

  ‘I’m not sure anymore.’

  ‘I really like having you here, Mira. I wish you never had to go.’

  ‘We can’t stay here forever. They’re knocking the house down, remember?’

  ‘We could just move on to the next place,’ he says smiling whimsically. ‘It’s summer now, we could sleep under trees and starlight for a few months.’

  I want to assure him that I’m staying, that I will follow him wherever he goes, but the words just don’t form in my mouth.

  ‘Harm, this is the most fun I’ve had in my life,’ I say and it’s true. The best and worst times of my life are happening at the same time.

  ‘But you want to go back, right?’

  ‘What I want to go back to doesn’t exist anymore.’

  ‘You’ll go back, I know it. I’m going to miss you, Mira.’

  At that moment the stove hisses as boiling water spills out of the pot and over the flame. Harm takes the lid off and turns it down.

  ‘Thanks for today, Harm. It was nice to forget. For a while, anyway.’

  ‘Forgetting is a specialty of mine.’

  ‘Here,’ I say handing him the open packet of pasta. ‘Just cook it and add the sauce. I’m not really hungry anymore. If it’s all right with you I’m just going to go to bed.’

  ‘No problem,’ he says. ‘I’m used to being on my own.’

  I watch as Harm empties the pasta into the pot. He stares at it as though it’s the most fascinating thing he has ever seen, and it is weird to me that the cooking and cleaning that I find so familiar and painfully ordinary he could find so exotic and interesting. As I am musing about this he looks up at me, grinning wide with sauce stains on his cheeks. I smile, pick up a candle and follow the music down the hallway to the bedroom.

  ***

  In my dream I am walking around Harm’s house, and I am looking for my mother. I search through rooms, but when I can’t see her I start to look in stupid places, like the fridge, under the mat and in the fireplaces. I don’t find her, I don’t smell her, and nothing I touch reminds me of her. Then I realise the real problem is that she can’t find me because I am not where I should be. I find my bag, pull it over my shoulder and run home as fast as I can, desperate to let her know that I am not really lost.

  In my dream I know my mother will be waiting for me. When I wake, however, I remember that people don’t come back from being dead. No matter how much I will it or want it or scream for it, my mother won’t be at home, and the idea of returning to that empty house fills me with sorrow. I turn to where Harm should be, realise that he didn’t come to bed last night. I look at my things, still packed neatly into the milk crate where I put them that first night, whilst Harm’s have been scattered across the floor again, clean and dirty laundry mixing unashamedly. Sighing, I go look for him.

  He’s not in the kitchen. I push a pair of shoes off the chair and sit down. I am shocked to see how after one day our kitchen has returned to what seems to be its natural state. This is a far cry from the clean sheets and shiny floors of my mother’s house. Mess, I decide, is like an ever rising tide. If you stop filling your buckets and tossing it out the window it just keeps coming in until you’re neck-deep and drowning in it. I brush my feet against the floor and there is so much dirt that it feels like sandpaper. I lean my arm on the table and it slides across something slimy which I can’t identify. Nothing feels safe to touch and I curl my knees into my chest, pull my arms into my sleeves to try and protect myself.

  I have a sudden longing for a vacuum cleaner. And home.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let them know I’m okay? They did seem pretty upset. The idea of speaking to Via makes me nervous, but if I call now there is a good chance Siena will answer. I reach across and pick up the phone. Surprisingly there is a dial tone. Slowly, hesitantly, I begin to dial.

  ‘Allo?’ says my aunt Via.

  Shit.

  In my head I am saying I’m okay, I’m okay, but nothing’s coming out. Via’s breathing sounds impatient; I’ve probably disturbed her from some important polishing or disinfecting. In the background I can hear Marco and Sera playing, laughing. And that’s all it takes to get the tears falling.

  ‘Allo? Allo?’ says Via again, then I hear her gasp. ‘Mira?’

  I slam the phone down.

  It takes me a few minutes to calm down. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, run my fingers through my hair. I picture her at home, still clutching the phone to her ear hoping to hear my voice. I’m trying to visualise a smile on her face or dreamy relief, but it’s not working. I know exactly how she would look right now, and it is not pretty. If anything my phone call has made things worse. And yet, I can’t call her back. If I let her voice into my head again she will have me. I know my aunt Via can drag me home with just her voice. Unable to let go of the image of Via screaming and yelling and clutching that telephone, I do what I know is the right thing. I pick up the phone again and dial quickly.

  ‘STOP CALLING ME YOU SLIMY CREEP!’

  ‘Umm, Felicia, it’s Mira.’

  It takes her a moment to switch gears.

  ‘Mira? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else!’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ and I smile because it’s so rare to hear Felicia get worked up about something. Even the word ‘creep’ sounds dirty coming from her. ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘Well, yes, but it’s not important right now. Tell me where you are? Are you okay? Are you with Harm?’

  ‘I’m not with Harm,’ I say and as I don’t know where he is just now, this feels technically true. ‘Look, I’m okay. There is nothing to worry about. Actually that’s why I called. Can you call my aunts, tell them to stop worrying?’

  She pauses before speaking again. ‘Are you serious? Why don’t you just call them yourself? Better still, why don’t you just go home! Mira, what are you doing?’

  ‘I can’t. Not yet. Just tell them, please? I don’t want anyone crying about me anymore. Tell them to forget about me, to just get on with their lives as best as they can. I’m going to look after myself now.’ My words are making me cry, but down the line I hear Felicia sigh in exasperation. I know we haven’t been the best of friends lately, but I did expect a bit more sympathy. I feel like she’s not taking me seriously, like she thinks she’s talking to a child.

  ‘Mira,’ she says. ‘Do you have any idea what this is doing to them? They lost their sister and now they have lost you! Have you even considered how they are feeling about you running away from home?’

  I prop the phone to my ear with my shoulder then rub my eyes. Running away from home? Is that what I did? How can what I did be compared to a childish whim? Consider how they feel? What about me? It’s easy for her to sit there and judge me, but what does she know about losing someone you love? Typical, perfect bloody Princess Felicia. Nothing bad ever happens to her.

  ‘Fine, don’t worry about it. Why did I ever think you would understand? You’ve never understood a thing about me! The only people that ever mattered are Mum and Harm. Thank God I still have Harm.�
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  ‘So you are with Harm!’

  ‘Yes I’m with bloody Harm. So what?’

  ‘You just lied to me!’

  ‘Whatever. It doesn’t matter, okay? None of this stupid conversation matters.’ I lean back in my chair, notice a strand of spaghetti dangling from the ceiling. ‘I’m sorry I bothered you. Don’t talk to anyone for me, okay? I’ll write them a letter. Just forget I ever called.’ And I should hang up right now, but instead I find myself waiting to hear what she will say. She lets me hang there for a very long time before speaking again. When she does it’s clear that she is crying, and because my grief is like a thinly covered wound, I start to cry again too. I am crying so often these days that sometimes, like now, I am not even sure what I am crying about.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mira. You’re right. I don’t know what it feels like to lose a parent, but I know how much you loved your mother. Only a fool couldn’t understand how this is tearing you apart.’

  She breaks down into sobs.

  And suddenly I realise how much I miss her.

  ‘Felicia,’ I whisper through my tears. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  ‘Just let us help you. Stop pushing everyone away.’

  I can hear Harm singing and I know he is going to walk through that door any minute. It shouldn’t matter, but I don’t want him to see me on the phone. I feel dirty, like I am being unfaithful somehow.

  ‘I have to go,’ I say but my hands are gripping the phone tightly.

  ‘No wait! I can come and get you. We can just talk.’

  I hang up the phone.

  Seconds later, Harm steps in through the door. I smile at him, then turn away quickly and swipe at the wetness around my eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Outside,’ he says with a go-on-ask-me-more-questions look.

  ‘All night?’

  ‘Most of it.’ He comes over and takes my hand. ‘Come on. I’ve got something to show you.’