How to Grow a Family Tree

by Eliza Henry Jones

  I sit there for a little while longer, trying to work out what I’m feeling. Then I hear grunting and banging coming from around the back of the building and I warily peer out the door.

  It’s Matthew, ripping at the long grass with his bare hands. There’s a sort of furious energy about him that makes me catch my breath.

  ‘Matt?’ I say.

  He pauses and takes a deep breath. After a moment he wipes his nose and sits down, his chest heaving.

  ‘What if you get bitten, too?’ I ask. ‘Get out of there.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Come inside.’

  He stands up. He’s soaked through his grass-covered t-shirt, but it’s hard to tell whether it’s from sweat or rain.

  ‘You alright?’

  We sit with our backs against the wall of the pavilion.

  ‘It’s my fault he got bitten.’ He swallows. ‘He was in so much pain. He screamed the whole way to the vet.’

  ‘He’s going to be fine. Dad just told me.’

  ‘But he was in agony.’ Matthew closes his eyes. ‘I was going to do the grass yesterday, but I didn’t. I was lazy and Jube copped it because of me.’

  ‘It’s just one of those things. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘It is. It’s my responsibility and I blew it.’

  ‘You’re a kid! It’s your dad’s responsibility, not yours.’ I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him so badly that I sit on my hands. ‘It’s not on you.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘It’s not!’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s egocentric to think that it’s your fault. You don’t want to be egocentric, do you?’

  ‘Ego what?’

  My phone buzzes and I look down at it. Clem, asking how the dog is. I put it away without replying and poke Matthew in the leg. ‘He’s going to live because you guys got him to the vet. And Muriel was telling me how you make sure he’s vaccinated and flea-ed and wormed and everything. Those things matter. That’s the stuff that counts – not that he went nosing around where he shouldn’t have and got bitten.’

  Matthew rests his head in his hands. ‘What if it had been a kid?’

  ‘It still wouldn’t be your fault, Matt!’

  ‘See? Stell’s got it right.’ Ginny and Richard come into the pavilion and sit down next to us. Ginny hands around cans of soft drink, cold from the fridge. She wipes her mouth and knocks her leg against Matthew’s. ‘It’s not your fault, you idiot.’

  ‘It is.’

  Richard sighs. He’s got the cash tin next to him and I tap it with my finger. ‘We got enough yet?’

  He shakes his head. ‘But we will. Everyone loves Jube.’

  Matthew groans. ‘God. Asking people for money this close to Christmas. And it’s all my fault.’

  Ginny leans in very close to him. ‘I’m about this close to knocking you out and waking you up in a few weeks when everything’s sorted, you know? Give yourself a break.’

  ‘I did this to him.’

  ‘A snake did this to him,’ Richard says, shrugging. ‘Not the snake’s fault either, actually. It was just being a snake. You know whose fault it is? Really?’

  ‘Whose?’ Matt asks quietly, glancing sideways at Richard as though he very badly wants to be convinced.

  ‘The guy who up and left Jube here. The one who called him Psycho. He didn’t know we’d take care of Jube. He didn’t know Jube would hang around here and sleep in people’s homes. He just left him for dead and didn’t even care. It’s his fault.’

  ‘And your dad’s,’ Ginny mutters.

  Matthew shakes his head. He’s covered in flecks of grass. ‘I was sleeping.’

  Ginny sighs. ‘What?’

  ‘Yesterday. I was going to do the grass, but I fell asleep. I only meant to sleep for ten minutes, you know? But I slept the whole afternoon.’

  ‘Because you work your arse off here every day and your dad keeps you up at night with all his yelling and ranting,’ Ginny says.

  ‘I fell asleep and Jube could’ve died. A kid could’ve died.’

  Ginny stands up. ‘That’s it – I’ve had it. It’s been a really long day and I’m knackered. Matt, you’re an idiot. Richard, good job on the money. Stella, good luck with Matt.’ She disappears out into the night.

  Next to me, Matthew presses his palms to his eyes and takes a deep breath.

  Richard runs a finger around the edge of the money tin. ‘It’s all fine, Matt.’

  ‘It’s not, though.’

  Richard glances outside. ‘I’d better get back to Mum. She gets worried after dark. I’ll see you guys later.’

  ‘See ya,’ I say.

  Matt trembles next to me.

  ‘It’s all okay.’

  Matthew’s dad is calling for him, but he doesn’t think to check in the pavilion.

  Matthew holds his head and, as his father’s voice recedes, he starts to cry. Silently, his whole body shuddering. He cries and cries. I think about all the things he’s trying to manage and I guess it sort of makes sense that this had been enough to skitter him past breaking point. Particularly when he doesn’t have a reading list of self-help books to fall back on.

  I open my mouth to say something, to fix things. But I realise that nothing I say to Matthew right now will make a difference. Nothing I’ve read about, anyway.

  Instead, I lean my head on his shoulder and don’t say anything at all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Later that night, Mum, Taylor and I watch a reality television show that I can’t stand. I sit with them anyway. I want to get some snacks, but know Taylor will yell at me if I make too much noise while she’s watching High Life.

  ‘I heard about that dog,’ Mum says. ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘Dad found him,’ I say. I can’t stop thinking about Matthew. I’d sat with him for an hour, until he’d stopped crying and his breathing had returned to normal. I’d asked if he wanted to do something, go to the river, or go get some food. I’d even asked him back home, where I knew one of us would have to sit on the floor of the annex because there aren’t enough chairs. He’d shaken his head and disappeared. I keep craning my neck to look out the window, although it’s too dark and wet to see anything even if he did happen to wander past.

  Mum looks up at me. ‘What?’

  ‘Dad found him. If he hadn’t, Jube would’ve died.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mum blinks. ‘That’s good. That’s great.’

  ‘Is that the black dog?’ Taylor asks. She’s spent the day at the beach with Adam. They’d gone hiking around the bay. She smells like salt and keeps leaving little piles of sand everywhere.

  I try not to think about her sandy feet in our shared bed. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s okay.’ Taylor stretches. ‘Now, stop talking. High Life’s on.’

  ‘Stell?’ Mum says, still looking at the television.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How’d you go? With the letters?’

  ‘Fine.’

  She glances at me then. I wonder if she can tell that, instead of opening them, I’ve been running my fingers over them, guessing at the unknown shapes and words inside. I wonder if she’s gone looking for evidence of torn envelopes. It’s stopped raining. We look at each other and then there’s a cough from outside, the sound of the hammock creaking as Dad lies down in it.

  ‘I might go talk to your dad,’ Mum says, standing up and heading outside to where Dad’s stretched out on his hammock. He’d strung it up under our clothesline because that was the only place with space. It’s pretty hot out there, but if you hang a sheet over the top of the clothesline, it looks kind of nice. Not that I’ve ever touched it – there’s no way to tell what sort of germs could be festering in it.

  I lean against the doorway, watching my parents outside. Taylor glances at me and then back at the television. I strain to hear what Mum’s saying to Dad, but I can’t. After a moment, she climbs into the hammock next to him and I wonder what it means.

  ***

  �
�This is pathetic,’ says Lara, sitting in the water up to her waist. She flicks at the surface of it and grimaces. She’s come back from her stay at her family’s caravan in the holiday park with sunburnt cheeks and shoulders. It’s the evening of Clem’s birthday and his parents had said they’d do a special dinner for us, but then they’d both forgotten and we’d ended up at Lara’s.

  ‘He’s – how does one say it in Stella-speak? – processing. And the pool’s not pathetic. It’s relaxing,’ Zin says. ‘You’re so negative.’

  Clem’s up one of the trees at the back of Lara’s garden and doesn’t comment. He’d taken one look at the plastic pool, which was way too small for him, and headed to the back of the yard. He’s in a pair of board shorts and has the belt I made him tied around his head.

  ‘Can you fix him?’ Lara asks me in a low voice, nodding at the tree.

  ‘Fix him?’

  ‘Yeah. Just do your usual Stella thing and fix him.’

  I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Anyway, I’m seventeen,’ says Lara in a louder voice. ‘I just don’t get why Mum thought a blow-up pool was an appropriate early Christmas present.’

  ‘It’s a big one,’ Zin says helpfully. ‘And it’s super hot today.’

  ‘Still.’

  ‘It’s nice to have a break from all the rain,’ Zin says. ‘Don’t you reckon? They’re going on about the river flooding if it keeps raining like it has been.’

  ‘The river won’t flood,’ Lara mutters.

  ‘It has before.’

  ‘It won’t again.’

  I close my eyes and tip my head back against the inflated edge. I can feel Zin’s feet against my shins and a few rocks beneath the plastic bottom of the pool.

  I used to daydream about my friends – about what our next big adventure would be; about what they were getting up to. When I was with them, I felt peaceful, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

  Right now, I keep thinking about Fairyland. I’m wondering if Cora’s keeping her kids cool enough in the heat. I’m wondering if Richard’s been given any more money for Jube and whether Matthew’s calmed down about the whole snake-bite thing. I wonder how Jube’s going and whether everyone’s in the pool. I’m thinking about them all so fiercely that I don’t notice Zin and Lara talking to me until Lara pokes me in the head.

  ‘We know about Fairyland.’

  ‘I didn’t tell them!’ Clem calls from the tree.

  ‘Heard it from some Ascott kids,’ Lara says. ‘Some guy called Adam’s been telling people.’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘Anyway – Clem explained it to me. Sort of. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I’m a bit mad,’ says Zin. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘Because it’s embarrassing.’

  ‘But we’re your best friends,’ Zin says.

  ‘Sorry. It’s just all so messed up. Can we talk about something else?’ I glance up towards Clem, who’s climbed higher into the tree.

  ‘It must be depressing,’ Lara says. ‘Living there. It’s like a homeless shelter.’

  ‘Not everyone there’s totally broke,’ I snap. ‘And so what if they are? Some people like the village feel, you know? It’s got a real sense of community.’

  ‘And drug busts,’ Lara mutters. ‘And violence.’

  ‘So? What about the guy around the corner from Clem’s who killed his wife? What about your uncle!’

  ‘Don’t bring my uncle into this, Stella. He made a mistake.’

  ‘I’m just saying, some people at Fairyland have problems, same as anywhere. But most people there are great. They’re doing their best.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ Zin says, glancing at Lara. ‘I’m sure Fairyland’s great.’

  ‘I didn’t think so at first, okay? I thought I was going to die if I moved there. I was so freaked, I couldn’t even bring myself to say anything to you. But I was wrong. And so are you. The people there are . . . they’re good people.’

  ‘We never said they weren’t,’ Lara says, sounding tired.

  ‘What are our plans for Christmas Day?’ Zin asks as Clem jumps down from the tree.

  Clem, Lara and Zin all have huge family Christmases where their houses end up festooned with wrapping paper and chocolates and puddings. They all invite me to Christmas lunch.

  ‘I’ve told you, I’ve got plans,’ I say.

  ‘But we’ll still meet at night-time, yeah? The four of us? Christmas movies and leftovers?’ Clem says, and there’s a note of panic in his voice.

  Lara and Zin are quiet.

  ‘Right, well. I’m heading off,’ says Clem. ‘Thanks for the cake and presents and stuff.’

  ‘Where?’ Lara asks, but Clem doesn’t answer.

  ‘Stella!’ she mouths, making waving motions. ‘Go!’

  So I climb out of the pool, pull on my shorts and t-shirt, grab my satchel and follow Clem out into the street.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ I ask.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Alright. I’m staying over.’

  He glances at me. ‘You are?’

  ‘You’re too pathetic to leave alone.’

  We walk to Clem’s place in silence and the house is locked up and dark.

  I blow up the air mattress and drag the sleeping bag down from the top shelf of his wardrobe. Anywhere else would be hot and humid for a sleeping bag, but Clem’s parents have ducted heating and cooling and the house is almost too cold.

  Clem hasn’t moved from the floor.

  I roll over to face him. ‘I’m so full of pizza I can barely move.’

  ‘Hmph.’

  I prod his arm and, after a moment, he prods me back. ‘You okay? You wanna talk about it? I’m good at talking about stuff like this.’

  ‘I know. I know you are.’ He sighs. ‘You’d think I’d be used to them doing this, but it hurts every time.’

  ‘They love you.’

  ‘I know they love me, in their own screwed-up way. Just not enough to actually make any time for me.’

  We hear the sound of a car pulling up, the opening and shutting of the door.

  ‘Clem?’ his father’s voice calls up the stairs.

  Clem sighs and stands up, going slowly downstairs. I can’t hear what they’re saying, just the low ebb and flow of voices belonging to people who no longer really know how to talk to each other.

  I look around Clem’s room. People’s rooms fascinate me. Taylor had regularly thrown out everything in hers and redecorated with things she’d got cheap from the op shop. So much of Clem’s bedroom is just as it’s always been; the same toys and figurines he’d had on his shelves when I met him in kindergarten when he was still living in his old house. The same wooden aeroplane hanging in the corner. The same little chest of drawers, the same wardrobe.

  Clem comes back upstairs, his feet heavy on the steps.

  ‘What did he say?’ I ask.

  ‘Not much.’ He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket. ‘You can take my bed. I don’t mind the blow-up one.’

  ‘Nah, I’m all settled. Seriously. What did your dad say?’

  ‘I told you, not much. But he did give me money.’

  I peer at it. ‘Bloody hell.’

  Clem shoves it at me. ‘Take it.’

  ‘No way. It’s yours.’

  ‘I don’t want it, okay? I don’t want it. Take it or I’ll toss it out the window.’

  I reach for it slowly and tuck it under the blow-up mattress, knowing that I’ll hide it in his room before I leave in the morning.

  ‘Have you read your letters yet?’

  ‘I will,’ I say. ‘After Christmas.’

  Clem gets into bed and I must fall asleep, because suddenly I’m awake and it’s after midnight and I can hear both Clem’s parents moving around the house, arguing with each other in voices that aren’t quite low enough. I reach for my letters, which are tucked into my backpack. Clem is sitting on his bed with his knees up under his chin, listening to them
and staring out the window at the trees and the sky and the moon.

  I drowsily stretch up one of my hands and Clem reaches down and takes it.

  ‘Thanks for staying, Price,’ he murmurs. His fingers squeeze mine, just as I’m falling back to sleep.

  ***

  I wake up to a squeal and Clem swearing. I sit up and blink as Clem’s mother drags him out of bed.

  ‘This is not on!’ she says. She grabs him by the arm. ‘How dare you? Under our roof! You’re a child!’

  Clem jerks free. ‘Nothing happened, Mum! And I’m not a kid – I’m eighteen!’

  She turns to me. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Stella. I’m calling your mother.’

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘She needs to know you’re completely off the rails.’

  ‘Off the rails?’

  ‘Both of you, stay up here. No touching. And keep the door open.’

  I sink back down onto the blow-up bed, frowning. Clem puts his head in his hands and groans.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I ask, rubbing at my eyes.

  ‘Mum’s happening,’ he says.

  She comes back into the room, looking calmer. ‘Your mum’s on her way.’

  ‘Um. Alright.’

  She sighs and sits down at Clem’s desk. The books on parenting I’ve read say that it’s good to do that. That it makes parents seem more approachable and open, or something. It suddenly occurs to me that those particular types of self-help books are full of crap because there’s nothing approachable or open about Clem’s mother, right now. ‘I know you probably feel like grown-ups, but sex is a very adult thing, with adult consequences.’

  ‘Sex?’ I echo. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Mum! Oh my God! We’re friends!’ Clem bellows. ‘We’re just friends!’

  ‘Oh, please! Anyone can see the way you look at her!’ His mother rolls her eyes. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday?’

  Clem goes bright red.

  ‘Mrs Liu?’ I say, my voice very quiet. ‘I promise you – there’s nothing going on. Clem was just really upset you both missed his birthday and I stayed to make sure he was okay, that’s all.’