by Isla Evans
‘Okay, okay. We’ll watch her.’ Kate wondered how Angie would handle this, and whether she would stick to her promise not to offer Shelley the business, just yet.
‘Hey, what’s the deal with all Grandpa’s stuff?’ asked Caleb suddenly.
Kate looked at him defensively. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the great hand-out. Jake’s got the lamp, Shelley’s got the desk set. What about me?’
‘You’re giving out your father’s things?’ Sam stared at her, clearly astounded.
‘You can have the carriage clock if you like,’ said Kate quickly, but with a sense of weariness. ‘You know, the little gold one that used to sit near the candelabra. Or you can have the candelabra. Or both. I don’t care. They’re in the same box that Shelley got the desk set from. Ask her.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
Sam was still staring at her, but his surprise had given way to a sort of wary gratification. They made eye contact and he looked away, picking up the bottle of wine and topping up their glasses. He held it enquiringly over Caleb’s. ‘More?’
‘Nah, I’ve got some study.’ Caleb stood up, grabbing a few Easter eggs. ‘I’ll just take some supplies to help me along.’
Kate watched him leave and then turned back to Sam and stared at him narrowly, daring him to say something.
‘So . . . just you and me then?’ Sam leant over and plucked a piece of lettuce out of the salad bowl. The lettuce dangled limply and Sam had second thoughts, dropping it back in again.
‘Seems that way.’
‘What’re we going to do about Jake?’
‘What?’ Kate frowned, confused by the sudden shift.
‘Jacob. You know, the kid who sleeps till lunchtime and then spends the rest of the day, and half the night, on his computer. Eating everything in the fridge. That one.’
‘I know which one,’ snapped Kate. ‘Why?’
‘Because he can’t go on like this,’ said Sam, with annoying patience. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I know he’s good at computers, but if he wants to make a living out of it then he needs to be realistic. Go to university or something.’
‘He’s not going to do that,’ replied Kate with certainty. ‘That’d put him in competition with his brother.’
‘It would be totally different courses!’
Kate sighed. ‘Which makes no difference and you know it. Just give him time, Sam. And support. Something will come up sooner or later. Especially as he’s getting really sick of the whole thing, I can tell.’ She paused to give a half-smile. ‘You’ll probably laugh about it one day.’
‘Yeah, when they cart me off to the asylum, I’ll be laughing hysterically.’
‘Hope you don’t expect many visits. I’ve never been keen on manic laughter.’
Hector emerged from underneath the table and rubbed himself against Sam’s chair like an overgrown cat. Sam reached down and gave his neck an energetic ruffle, then he looked across at Kate. ‘Listen, I need to talk to you about what’s next. With the land. The development.’
‘No,’ Kate’s face shut down. ‘I don’t want to know.’
‘But you need to be –’
‘No,’ repeated Kate. ‘Look, I know we’ve all agreed, and I know it has to be done. But I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?’
‘Okay, sweetheart.’ Sam gazed over her shoulder at the house and then took a gulp of his wine. ‘Well then . . . so how’s the writing going?’
‘Good, good.’
‘That’s what you always say. But does that really mean good, or does it mean lousy but you don’t want to admit it?’
Kate suddenly felt tired, drained. ‘Bit of both.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘Not really.’
‘Do you want to talk about anything?’
Kate glanced across at him and then at Emma. The baby was holding tight to her Easter egg with chocolate-covered fingers and had managed to suck a gummy hole right at the top. This was the part she was concentrating on, pressing her face against the egg and smearing chocolate in a circle around her mouth.
Sam followed her gaze. ‘I think the kid likes chocolate.’
‘I think so,’ agreed Kate, turning back to face him. She paused for a moment. ‘I was going to write about Angie’s mother.’
‘Angie’s mother? Didn’t she shoot through?’
‘Yes. Left when Angie was a baby.’
‘Maybe she just needed some space.’ Sam looked at her expressionlessly. ‘Maybe she wanted to write a book or something.’
Kate stared at him narrowly. ‘Very funny. And very wrong. She actually ran off with the one-eyed next door neighbour.’
‘Which shows she wasn’t shallow at least.’ Sam regarded her thoughtfully. ‘So you’ve changed your mind?’
Kate picked up her glass and tilted it slightly, watching the liquid undulate until it settled at an angle. ‘Yes. See, at first it just seemed like a challenge. Almost abstract. Then when I started finding out things, it became more personal. More real.’
‘What’d you find out?’ asked Sam curiously.
‘For starters, Angie’s mother was engaged to that neighbour that she ran off with. Before she married Frank, that is. And that’s why he bought the land, to settle down with her. But she jilted him and married Frank instead. Then later on they had an affair.’
‘So he kept an eye on her, did he?’
‘Very funny. The point is that they’re still together. Living in Ballarat.’
Sam frowned and then looked at her searchingly. ‘Hang on. You know this how?’
‘That’s the bit that started me changing my mind about the whole thing. See, I spoke to Angie’s aunt, and it turns out Sophie, that’s Angie’s mother, and her bloke are just living around the corner from her. And have been for years.’
‘Good god,’ Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘And how’s Angie taking all this?’
Kate glanced across at Sam, knowing she looked sheepish but not being able to do anything about it. ‘Well, I haven’t exactly told her what I know.’
‘You what?’
‘Hang on, it’s not like I was keeping secrets,’ exclaimed Kate defensively. ‘Well, not deliberately. Not after the first bit, anyway. I was always going to tell her. Then it sort of snowballed. Bloody hell! I never expected the damn woman to be alive, did I?’
‘In that case, I’d be writing a letter of complaint if I was you. Extremely selfish of her.’
‘Don’t be a smart-arse,’ snapped Kate. ‘And for all I know, Angie’s known everything all along and not told me.’
‘Well, that’d be her choice, wouldn’t it? Did you even tell her that her mother was going to star as your main character?’
‘Um . . . no.’
Sam shook his head. ‘Well, come on then, Kate. You must admit it’s a bit audacious. How would you feel if someone decided to write about your mother without mentioning it?’
‘Whatever.’ Kate shrugged, knowing she sounded just like one of her offspring. She thought of all she had discovered about her own mother: the abused child, the pregnant bride, the horrible woman. She glanced back at Sam. ‘Did my father ever talk about my mother to you?’
Sam looked puzzled. ‘No, why?’
‘Nothing about the sort of person she was? Or her background?’
‘Not really. Just that they had a great marriage and all that.’
Kate reached for the wine bottle and topped up her glass. ‘While I was finding out all this stuff about Angie’s mother – and despite what you may think, it did just snowball – I also found out some pretty amazing stuff about my own mother. Her childhood. Things like that.’
‘Write about her, then,’ said Sam promptly.
Kate grimaced and then took a sip of wine as the idea floated down, and then settled. Far more comfortably than she would have expected.
‘But you are going to tell her, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am. And for god’s sake, it’s not like
I’ve known for years.’ Kate glared at him, her irritation inflated by guilt. ‘It just sort of happened. And there’s no need for you to smirk either. It’s not all that often I stuff up.’
Sam pushed his chair back suddenly and stood up. ‘I’m getting a camera.’
‘Christ, you can be a jerk. I only . . .’ Kate petered off as she followed his gaze. Emma, having now finished the body of the Easter egg, had her face down on the highchair tray as she vacuumed up every little bit of chocolate she could find. The result was a gooey mess of spittle and chocolate smeared across the tray, her bib, and her hands, even her wrists. As if sensing the audience, Emma paused and looked up, beaming. Chocolate covered her face, plugging one nostril and clumping over her eyebrows.
‘My god,’ said Kate. She started laughing.
‘Back in a second.’ Sam grinned at her as he jumped up and went inside.
‘Is that nice, Em?’ asked Kate, still laughing.
‘Num, num!’
‘Very num num, it seems.’
The door of the bungalow could be heard slamming and then shortly afterwards Shelley appeared, running up the path. ‘Guess what!’
‘What?’ asked Kate, already knowing the answer.
Shelley arrived at the bottom of the stairs and leant against the railing, peering up at her mother while she caught her breath. ‘Auntie Angie! The shop! Mine!’
‘Am I supposed to fill the gaps?’
‘She says. That I . . .’ Shelley took another breath. ‘She says that if she goes overseas I can either manage the shop all by myself or I can – get this! – I can buy it!’
Despite a flash of annoyance at Angie, Kate couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s enthusiasm. ‘That sounds great, Shell, but promise me we’ll talk it through before you make up your mind? Discuss the pros and cons? I mean, it’ll be a lot of responsibility.’
‘I know!’ Shelley came up the steps. ‘My very own business! And I already know what I want to do with it. For starters, it has to be computerised. Totally. Then I need to extend into that little back room that’s a total waste of space when there’s so much stock. Then I need to –’ Shelley glanced over at her daughter and her eyes widened.
‘Yes. Your father’s gone to get a camera.’
‘A facecloth would be more effective,’ commented Shelley, rather wittily for her.
The sliding door shot open and Sam stuck his head out. ‘Have you seen my glasses? And where’s the camera?’
‘No, and try the middle drawer of the desk,’ replied Kate as Sam’s head disappeared again.
‘I’m going to tell Dad.’ Shelley hurried across the decking past her chocolate-covered daughter and through the sliding door before it was closed again. Kate could hear her clearly as she followed Sam into the house, telling him the news.
She finished off her wine and then leant back. The silvery-grey of the sky had now started to deepen to a pewter colour, as the mostly invisible sun set beyond the thick clouds. The overcast weather, together with the encroaching dusk, should have lent the backyard a gloomy façade, but Kate thought it looked almost magical, with corners darkened by mystery. And she felt snug and secure, sitting on the decking with warm swathes of light cascading from the windows behind her.
She thought about Angie, and what her reaction would be to her mother’s proximity. Or whether, indeed, she already knew. Then she thought about Sam’s rather accusatory suggestion that she write about her own mother. This time she allowed the idea time to expand, and realised that it actually made sense. After all, strangely enough her mother had turned out to have the more compelling story. Heartbreak and triumph, intrigue and tragedy. And it was wrapped up with a sense of ownership that meant it was hers to do with what she wanted. With this story there were no other stakeholders. Maybe, if she worded it right, when she told Angie she could even infer that this was what she had intended all along.
As the idea gained traction, Kate shook her head in sudden denial. It was like many other impromptu ideas, great in theory alone. Every single thing that she had discovered about Rose had brought with it an ache. And these were details that she had uncovered by accident. To deliberately focus on something that brought pain even in a peripheral state would be foolish indeed. And she had enough to cope with already without asking for more.
NINETEEN
Dear Dad, I was cleaning the filing cabinet out at home and I found some of the rosters I’d written up last year, when you were sick. Towards the end. For people to drop in, or bring a meal when the meals on wheels weren’t coming, or just make a cup of tea. They have all the timings included. Not just for home help and the nurse, but for all of us. Then there’s the one I was working on at the end. With twenty-four-hour coverage, sleepovers included. Trying to buy a bit of time. You never saw these because we didn’t want you to think you were a burden, even though I know you did anyway. But now I’m thinking maybe we should have shown you, to demonstrate how many cared. And how much.
PS: But actually they’re not just about you, are they? I suppose they also speak volumes about us, as a family. But I didn’t see it that way then. Not at all.
There were several messages on the answering machine when Kate got back to the unit late Monday afternoon. She had fully intended to return in the morning but had been roped into baby sitting Emma again, who had come down with a bad case of diarrhoea and been unable to attend crèche. Kate took her bag upstairs and then made herself some tea and sat down on the armrest of the couch to listen to the missed calls. They began with Oscar, sounding rather petulant.
I’ve left a message on your mobile and I’ve also tried ringing home, so could you please ring me back if you can find the time? I just want to know how the house is going? Any nibbles? Thank you.
Hello there, honey. Oh, did I speak before the tone? Was that the tone? I’ll start again. Hello there, honey. It’s Auntie Faye. I just got your message but I’m a bit confused. Did you say you were coming up on Easter Sunday? Be lovely if you are. Ring me and let me know so I can make something special. Bye!
Auntie Angie? Are you home? It’s Shelley. I just wanted to talk to you about . . . something Mum said. About the shop. Anyway, I’ll try you on your mobile.
Hello there Kate, it’s Angie. Just ringing to see how you’re going. Hope you had a nice Easter. Mine was . . . interesting. Very interesting indeed. Perhaps we’ll talk about it when I get back on Tuesday. The shop’s still shut that day so maybe we can do lunch? Anyway, see you.
Hello? Angie? What’s the point of having a mobile if you don’t answer it? It’s Monday morning now and I’d really like a call by tonight if that’s not too much trouble. I’ll be back tomorrow. Oh, and Happy Easter. Hopefully, I’ll speak –
Kate pressed fast forward and Oscar’s voice sped into a high-pitched Donald Duck whine for a few seconds before the tape stopped with an emphatic click. She pressed delete, wiping all the calls, and then let herself slide down onto the couch. Very interesting indeed – what did that mean? Even as she asked the question, Kate knew that the answer was already there. Auntie Faye.
Angie was clearly referring to the conversation that Kate had had with her aunt, so this was confirmation then. She had already known the content. Otherwise she would have sounded far more emotional. Ergo she had discovered nothing new, except for Kate’s involvement. So much for not keeping secrets. This thought had barely formulated before it was followed by an awareness of the inherent hypocrisy. Kate smiled at herself, but without humour. It seemed there were only two possibilities: one where everybody had a secret except Angie, and the other where everybody had a secret except Kate. Until recently, that is.
Kate was just putting away her things from the weekend when she heard the front door slam. She froze for a moment, frantically trying to remember if there was any chance she had left the door open, and then rushed from the room. Immediately coming face to face with Angie.
‘God!’ Kate put a hand up to her chest. ‘You gave me a heart att
ack!’
Angie grinned. ‘I have that effect on people. It’s my overwhelming personality.’
‘Wait a second.’ Kate could feel her heart still beating rapidly underneath her hand. She took a deep breath. ‘I though you weren’t back till tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, but I’ve spent a week there and nary a burglar in sight. So I’ve called it quits.’
‘Oscar’s rung for you. Twice.’
Angie rolled her eyes. ‘I know. I spoke to him before. He’s just panicking about the house. Now, to more important things, are you hungry?’
‘What are the choices?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Angie slowly, but with a smile. ‘Or no. Just the two, I’m afraid.’
‘Very funny. I mean what did you have in mind?’
Angie turned and started walking down the stairs, talking over her shoulder. ‘Fish and chips and a bottle of wine. To celebrate Easter.’
Kate followed her. She could feel her heart still throbbing but suspected it was now more apprehension than surprise. On the bottom step sat Angie’s handbag, a bottle of chardonnay and a loaded shopping bag. They carried them into the lounge room where Angie unpacked a fat parcel wrapped in butcher paper and a tub of coleslaw.
‘Dig in!’ she announced, opening the chardonnay. ‘And note that the fish is grilled not fried. Much better for the waistline.’
Kate grinned. ‘But of course.’
They ate in silence, pausing every so often to smile companionably or to take a sip of the wine. It started to rain lightly, bringing a rhythmic patter that seemed to enclose the house within its beat. Kate knew that she was postponing the inevitable, that the subject had to be broached at some stage, but for now welcomed the food as an excuse.
‘Want to go in the spa?’ asked Angie suddenly.
Kate stared at her. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course I am. Come on, it’ll be fun!’
‘But it’s raining!’
‘So? The spa’s enclosed anyway. Where’s your sense of adventure?’