by Isla Evans
Kate frowned at the smirk on his face, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, turned her head as the car coasted to a halt. To stare through the windscreen at the block of land, their block of land, and the house that now sat squarely by the driveway where the caravan had once lived. It was strange enough to see a house here, any house, but this house – it was unbelievable. And it took her a few minutes to fully acknowledge it, without the rhododendrons, and the side gate, and the whole context she was accustomed to.
‘I don’t believe this.’ Kate undid her seatbelt and got slowly out of the car, still staring. The weatherboards were the same dirty-white colour, with mission-brown trim around the windows and the front door with its diamond pane of frosted glass in the centre. The same curtains even hung at the windows. Strangely, though, the whole house seemed lower somehow, and slighter straighter. But there could be no doubting its provenance: it was her father’s house, here, in Eildon.
‘Surprised?’ asked Sam from behind her.
‘Um . . . yes,’ replied Kate, rather numbly, not really wanting to talk. And anyway, it would be impossible to find the right words.
She walked slowly up the dirt driveway towards the house, trying to tread lightly lest the scrunching of her footsteps break the spell. But the house remained, alien-like within its oasis of grey dirt. No vegetable patch behind, no garden beds in front, no anything – except an oddly gnarled, naked tree to the side with its many-fingered branches grasping at the heavens as if in supplication. Sam came alongside, glancing at her every so often to gauge her reactions. She slowed by the strange-looking tree, a trickle of recognition bringing incredulity.
‘It’s the lemon tree, from your father’s house.’ Sam grinned with obvious pride. ‘I got an arborist to help me, which is why it’s been trimmed so drastically. He said there’s a fifty-fifty chance of it taking. But I thought it was worth a chance.’
‘Definitely,’ replied Kate, running her fingers over the nubbly tip of a branch but staring, once more, at the house itself.
‘And it’s like it goes with the house, you know? A family tree.’
‘Definitely,’ repeated Kate. She sent the tree some brisk best wishes through her fingertips and then continued on. When they reached the porch she realised there was only one step up to the front door now, instead of three, which explained why the house appeared lower. She stepped up and then looked back down at Sam, shaking her head with disbelief.
He grinned. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘This is . . . amazing. Absolutely amazing.’
‘You like?’
‘I . . .’ Kate turned around and looked at the house again. ‘I’m in shock. I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then don’t say anything.’
‘But how did you do this?’
‘House removalists,’ replied Sam promptly, stepping up onto the porch. ‘It got moved in two sections, just after Easter.’
Kate stared at him. ‘So when I was screaming at you, it’d already –’
‘Been moved,’ Sam finished, stepping past to open the front door. He rattled the doorknob several times but it was clearly locked so he turned to her with a slight frown. ‘Have you got a key?’
‘Have I what?’
‘Got a key?’
Kate started to laugh, almost hysterically. ‘Do you mean to tell me you’ve moved this whole house, and brought me all the way up here, and you can’t get in?’
‘We could always try knocking, I suppose,’ said Sam, doing just that. The sound of his knuckles against the wood echoed as Kate’s laughter abruptly halted. With her mouth still open, she stared stupidly at the door. And then it began to open.
For an awful moment, she was struck by the prospect that her father would be framed in the doorway, smiling at them welcomingly. What a surprise! Come in, come in, make yourselves at home. The idea filled her, blocking her throat. But before she even had time to acknowledge the ridiculousness of it, the diamond-framed door swung all the way open and suddenly there were Shelley and Caleb crowding the threshold, with Jacob just behind them. All yelling in unison.
‘Surprise!’
‘Happy birthday!’
‘About time!’
Kate stared at them, absolutely dumbstruck. It was suddenly all too much; it was difficult to actually register their presence, in the house. She could see that they were delighted by her bewilderment, and the success of their surprise. And she could hear them still talking at her, and each other. ‘Did you guess?’ ‘How come it took you so long?’ ‘What do you think of the house?’ And she could hear Sam behind her, laughing along with them. And then she felt his hands on either side of her waist, propelling her through the doorway and inside.
Kate found herself being led towards the kitchen. Everything was the same, yet everything was different. It was her father’s house, without doubt, and the house she had grown up in, but it was fundamentally altered at the same time. The views through the windows were different, the sounds were different, even the smell was different. And it fleetingly occurred to her that this might be a good thing, the best of both worlds.
Sam guided her towards a kitchen chair and Kate sat, her numbness starting to dissipate in the face of noisy familiarity. Her foot brushed against something soft yet solid underneath the table and she glanced down. Hector lay there, in a mound of ruffled grey-black fur, his back rising and falling as he slept. It was all amazingly unbelievable. The house, the family, the dog. And then she realised that the chair she was sitting on was one of the old ones, which had always sat in this large country-style kitchen, surrounding once again the formica table that had been stored upside down under her own house. In the centre of the table was a chocolate mud cake, with eight candy-striped birthday candles.
‘We brought some furniture up last weekend,’ offered Caleb, still grinning.
Sam was watching her carefully. ‘Just a few bits and pieces to make it livable. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Don’t mind?’ repeated Kate, already shaking her head. ‘I don’t mind at all. In fact . . . no, I don’t mind.’
‘Hey, guess where we were when we rang you this morning?’ said Shelley, pulling out a chair opposite her mother. ‘Outside the McDonald’s in Lilydale! Already on the way up here!’
‘I had no idea.’ Kate finally managed a smile. ‘What about you, Caleb?’
‘I was inside, that’s what all the noise was. Ordering breakfast. We needed a break because the damn dog kept farting every five minutes. Hell of a trip.’
‘So you all knew then? About the house?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Shelley waved a hand dismissively. ‘We’ve been helping get it sorted.’
Jacob looked at her with disdain. ‘What’d you mean “we”? You’ve been up here once, Caleb and I’ve been up here nearly every weekend.’
‘We had to get the footings dug out,’ said Sam to Kate, by way of explanation. ‘Before the house was moved. And then there was a bit of work needed after.’
Shelley was staring at her youngest brother. ‘I’ve done my bit.’
‘Well, I still can’t believe it.’ Kate stared around the kitchen, noting each and every familiar object.
‘You like?’ asked Sam, watching her.
Kate nodded. ‘I like.’
‘For starters, I’ve looked after the house while you’ve been up here,’ continued Shelley, still focused on Jacob. ‘And then I worked like a Trojan when I was here. Which is more than –’
‘God, don’t start.’ Sam sat down heavily and looked from one to the other. ‘It’s your mother’s birthday! How the hell are you two going to go with the bloody shop?’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Shelley turned to her mother excitedly. ‘Shoot! You should see the computer program Jake’s got going! It’s terrific.’
Jacob nodded modestly. ‘Yeah, it’s not bad.’
‘I’m actually quite jealous,’ commented Caleb, with a grin at his siblings. Jacob stared back with a slight frown, as if he thought he was
being teased.
‘Where’s Emma?’ asked Kate, suddenly realising her family was one member short. ‘Didn’t you bring her up?’
‘Asleep.’ Shelley lowered her voice. ‘In Grandpa’s bedroom.’
‘Oh.’ Kate thought suddenly of Angie, opening the envelope tonight, and felt anew the satisfaction of having handed the story over, as well as a trickle of relief that she wouldn’t be there to watch her read it. Later on they could open a bottle of wine and, if Angie wanted to, discuss it a bit.
‘We’re only staying the one night.’ Caleb pulled out a chair and sat down astride it, facing his mother. ‘I’ve got uni on tomorrow.’
Shelley grimaced. ‘And I’ve got work.’
‘And I’ve got all the time in the world,’ said Kate, suddenly realising the truth of this. She looked out the window and marvelled again at the strangely familiar view. ‘So maybe I’ll never go back.’
‘And leave me with this lot?’ Sam glanced at his children with irritated fondness, although a touch more of the former than the latter. He put his hands down on the table and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Coffee? Then you can cut your cake.’
‘Thanks. And . . . thanks.’
‘I’ll have one too, Dad,’ said Shelley, standing up. ‘I’ll just go check on Em.’
Sam filled the electric kettle. ‘And you boys can go out and get the stuff from the car. There’s my overnight bag, your mother’s birthday presents and a sports bag with her things.’ He turned back to Kate. ‘I even grabbed your laptop out of your room. In case you want to do some writing while you’re here.’
Kate smiled, because it was simpler than verbalisation. Through the kitchen window she could see the crest towards the rear of their land, where it dipped down to what was once an out-reaching shore of Lake Eildon. This made for a rather straight horizon, with just the occasional gum tree as a contrast against the sky. No hilly backdrop, or multitude of houses, or fences, or the familiar cat’s cradle of electricity and telephone lines.
It was almost surreal to see this view through her father’s window. As if the house had been relocated in some sort of Wizard of Oz-style tornado. Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more. But it was more than just the view, it was the presence of the house itself. Its very existence. From overwhelming fury at its demolition, Kate had gradually made her way towards an acknowledgement that the house was gone. But each time the word forever had crept across her consciousness, it had been like an emotional assault.
She looked across at Sam and said softly, ‘I wonder if you know how much this means to me.’
‘Well, I certainly got a hint when I spoke to you on the phone last month.’ Sam smiled at her, and then his smile faded. ‘But, yes, I think I know.’
‘I can’t believe you did this. For me.’
‘You underestimate how much this house means to us all.’ Sam put a mug of coffee in front of her and then sat down, facing her. ‘You should have seen their reaction when I suggested this. To be honest, the only thing I was worried about was . . .’
Kate stared at him as he petered off. ‘You thought it’d keep bringing back memories for me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. It’s different here, so . . . I don’t know. Anyway, if it does happen, then I’ll just have to deal with it. Or maybe I’ll do what you said – channel those memories.’
‘Why not?’ Sam nodded. ‘Bloody well use it. I reckon your father would appreciate that.’
‘Are you talking about Grandpa?’ asked Shelley, coming in with a very flushed Emma whose tousled blonde hair stood up in a mohawk. She wriggled in her mother’s arms so Shelley unceremoniously deposited her on Kate’s lap.
‘Hello there, sweetheart,’ said Kate, loving the pliable heaviness of the child. Emma blinked at her and then leant her head sleepily against her grandmother’s chest and put her thumb in her mouth.
Jacob and Caleb arrived back, carrying the belongings from the car which they piled haphazardly by the doorway.
‘Sustenance!’ said Caleb succinctly, staring at the mud cake.
‘Just a minute.’ Sam frowned as he opened a few drawers. ‘I’m sure we brought up some . . . here we go.’
‘Are we doing presents now too?’ asked Shelley, sitting down next to Kate and drumming her fingernails against the table.
‘Yeah, the whole birthday thing.’ Sam lit a match and held it to one of the candles. As it flamed, Jacob reached across and plucked it from the cake, holding it against other candles while his father used the match.
As her family started singing happy birthday, with a distinct lack of tunefulness, Kate gazed from one to the other, trying to control the smile that was spreading across her face. She still felt numb, but it was a delicious numbness that allowed through a filter of delight and deep appreciation. Halfway through the song, Emma took her thumb from her mouth and started to clap enthusiastically. Kate paused with her eyes on Sam, sitting on the other side of the table. The candle flames were now elongating upwards, casting his face in mottled light and shade. And she suddenly realised that this was as good as it gets. Which was just fine.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First and foremost I would like to acknowledge my father, Maurice Vivian Evans (1927 – 1988), who was the inspiration behind the nucleus of this story, even though I wish it wasn’t the case.
I would like to thank all the rest of the assorted relatives hanging around on my own rather misshapen family tree. Without you lot I would never have been able to write about families – warts and all!
And thanks also to my own little branch: Michael, Jaime and Caitlin. You guys are a never-ending source of weird and wonderful material. Keep it coming but maybe tone it down for a while – just to give me a break!
A big thank you to all the readers (from the website) who emailed to let me know their ideas on the title for this book. And thanks also to the friends and family who weighed in on the debate. We were really stuck for a while there, so your input was invaluable. Hope you all like it.
Thanks also to the real Angie (Storm) for lending me her name (guess who I merged you with?), and thanks to Mr Chris Egan from the titles office, who generously answered all my questions, and also to my agent Rick Raftos and his staff. Finally thanks once again, as always, to everyone at Pan Macmillan, especially Cate Paterson (whose patience is admirable, even when stretched!), Louise Bourke, Jane Novak and now also Julia Stiles (aka Edward Scissorhands), who was able to expertly trim away the dross and reveal the story beneath.