How to Grow a Family Tree

by Eliza Henry Jones

  ‘Do you reckon he stole it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you reckon he bought it with money he got from gambling?’

  ‘Probably. I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you going to open them or not?’

  ‘After Christmas.’

  ‘Christmas is pretty much finished.’

  I don’t bother with a response. I’m trying to work out how to put the letters into some sort of chronological order. It feels important to read them in the same order that she wrote them. Whoever she is. Whoever Kelly is.

  ‘Stella Russo,’ I mutter.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Mum and Dad called you Stella,’ Taylor says. ‘She must’ve had another name picked out.’

  ‘I doubt it. She was pretty young, according to Mum. I don’t think she ever planned on keeping me.’

  ‘But you have names picked anyway – even when you’re a kid, you do. You know what you’d call your kids.’

  ‘Really? You’ve got names?’

  ‘Lacey and William.’

  ‘Lacey?’

  ‘Yeah. I like it.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Taylor sits up and studies me. ‘Maybe you’re a Ruby.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Amy? Samantha? Charlotte? Bronwyn?’

  ‘Stop saying random names!’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ Taylor says very gravely. ‘Kelly Junior.’

  ‘You’re distracting me.’

  ‘Calm down, KJ.’

  ‘Do not call me that.’

  Taylor flops onto her stomach and peers at the letters. ‘Are they postmarked?’

  ‘Not that I can see.’

  ‘Maybe she dated them? Like, the letters themselves?’

  ‘You reckon?’

  Taylor shrugs and reaches for one. ‘Why’s this so hard for you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, you do.’

  ‘I guess because it makes it real. Like, she’s always felt a bit make-believe and now she’s a real person who gave me up.’ I frown. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is it about Fairyland?’

  I glance up. ‘What?’

  ‘Like, do you think you’re embarrassed or something? About living here? I know Mum is. I think she’s secretly hoping you’ll put off meeting Kelly until we’ve left here. If we leave here, I guess.’

  ‘No. I’m not embarrassed.’

  Taylor picks at a scab on her leg. ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I want to open the rest of them, I just can’t.’

  Taylor suddenly rips open one of the envelopes and hands it to me. ‘There,’ she says. ‘It’s open.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dear Stella,

  Today I moved into my new house. It made me think about the place with the big garden and holes in the floor that I lived in for a while when I was pregnant with you. This house reminds me of that one, with its big garden and how you can hear the waves when the wind’s blowing in from the right direction. I wonder if you like big gardens. I guess most kids do.

  I hope you get to see my place one day, but I guess that might not happen and that’s okay, too.

  Kelly

  There are flowers and leaves tucked in with the sparse handwriting and crisply folded paper. The ones from the earlier letters are brown and flaked, and I wonder what Kelly thought when she tucked those green things in with the words she probably knew I wouldn’t reply to.

  The letters smell gummily of glue and of paper and, mostly, of the wildness of greenery that has known the wind and sun.

  ***

  I don’t really know who Kelly is by the end of my feverish letter opening. Each letter, shorter than the one before. None of them are effusive; none of them paint much of a picture of who she is. I’d thought that reading the letters would tell me about her, like getting a sense of a character in a novel. And I supposed it would give me an idea of who I am. But there’s nothing there of her. Or of me.

  Just the contact details in the latest letter.

  Just that.

  Taylor kicks the wall above our bed and pulls out her earphones. ‘What a let-down, though,’ she says for the tenth time.

  ‘Stop talking.’

  ‘I thought it would be her carrying on about how it was the biggest mistake of her life and how much she wants to know you and how heartbroken she is that she’s never seen you.’

  ‘I still don’t know what it means. If I’ve changed my mind,’ I say.

  ‘Probably just that you haven’t replied,’ Taylor says impatiently. ‘And that’s probably why it’s such a short letter – I wonder when she sent the first one?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Hey, Mum!’ Taylor hollers.

  ‘Don’t yell, Taylor,’ Mum says, sticking her head into our bedroom. ‘What is it?’

  ‘When did the first letter come?’ Taylor asks.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The first letter that Kelly sent Stella. When was it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Taylor.’

  ‘You do too,’ Taylor says crossly. ‘When was it?’

  ‘I really can’t remember.’

  ‘Four,’ says Taylor.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How old was she when she had Stella?’

  ‘Young.’

  ‘Stella was four, right?’

  ‘I’m going back out,’ Mum says, shaking her head.

  ‘Well, it’s obviously been going on for long enough for you to feel really guilty,’ Taylor calls after her. ‘Five? Three?’

  ‘Six, okay? She was six!’ Mum yells from the annex.

  ‘No need to yell,’ Taylor says, smiling. ‘There you have it – over a decade of silence. My letters would probably be pretty short by now, too.’

  ‘I guess so.’ I close my eyes. Six! I imagine what things would’ve been like if I’d opened the letter then, if Mum hadn’t secreted them all away. I wouldn’t have realised what a big deal they were if I’d opened them when I was that young. They would have just been like anything else; part of the unremarkable fabric that made up the rest of my life. I feel a tremble of anger run through me. She’d really had no right to do that. Particularly not once I got older.

  ‘Kelly must really want to know you,’ says Taylor. ‘To keep writing. Don’t think I would. I would’ve written you off as a lost cause years ago.’

  I bundle my knees up under my chin and stare at the letter, which is written in very neat handwriting, her name signed without flourish.

  ‘A lot of people wouldn’t write at all, I don’t reckon. You’re lucky, KJ,’ Taylor says with a sigh.

  ‘Stop calling me that!’ I stalk out into the living area, where Mum smiles at me tentatively from the wicker couch, where she’s watching the Christmas movie marathon.

  ‘I heard paper ripping earlier. Have you opened the letters?’

  I cross my arms, not ready to tell her that I’ve opened every single one. ‘Why does everyone keep hassling me about them?’

  ‘You don’t have to open them,’ Mum says quickly. ‘In fact, I can keep them for you. Until you’re ready.’

  I frown. ‘No.’

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘And I’m probably going to try to meet her.’

  Mum’s breath catches. For a moment, she’s absolutely still with her head bowed down. She takes a deep breath and then snaps back into action, her voice too high and fast. ‘I wouldn’t worry about anything like that just yet. It’s a big thing for anyone to do. And you’re seventeen and it’s brand-new news.’

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘You don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I know. But I need to. I’ll always wonder, otherwise.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’ She brushes my hair from my face and I let her. ‘It’s all such bad timing.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Are . . .’

  ‘What?’

 
; ‘Are you going to tell her? About living here?’ There’s an edge of worry in her voice that I don’t understand.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I pause. ‘I’ll have to have a good think about it. If it feels right, I will.’

  Mum squeezes my hand. ‘It probably won’t come up,’ she says. ‘Probably no need to say anything about Fairyland.’

  I can see Taylor watching from the bedroom. It’s strange if you think about it. It’s like Mum and I share something that Taylor’s completely excluded from. And a part of me is glad – I need it. This closeness. This attention. But the other part of me just feels sad. Things will never be the way they were. There’ll be shifts in power, now. Tiny little quakes that ripple through our family.

  ‘Does Dad know about the letters?’ I ask.

  Mum shakes her head. ‘I haven’t told him.’

  My parents used to tell each other everything. When I was young, I’d thought they could communicate without words. Mind to mind. Taylor and I practised, but it always ended with her getting impatient and knocking me down.

  ‘Do you want me to tell him?’ Mum finally asks.

  ‘I don’t know!’

  I’ve been so preoccupied with Kelly and Mum that I’ve forgotten about Dad. Reaching up for my necklace, I give the charm a squeeze as I suddenly think about my biological father. Who is he? And does he know about me?

  ***

  Dad walks to the vet each day to visit Jube. He’s been researching snakes on the laptop, things about anti-venom and recovery rates. ‘It’s lucky I found him when I did,’ Dad says. ‘It’s really lucky.’

  ‘You did good, love,’ Mum says and squeezes his shoulder.

  ‘He can stay here,’ Dad says. ‘If he needs to. When the vet thinks he’s ready to leave.’

  ‘Thought you hated dogs,’ says Taylor without looking up at him.

  I grit my teeth, wondering how she doesn’t get it. It isn’t about Jube. Not really. Or maybe she does get it and just doesn’t care. With Taylor, it’s always impossible to tell.

  ***

  That night, there is the sound of yelling and things thudding and I think of ignoring it, but I don’t. I think of all the kids racing around on their bikes and playing in the pool and how the place changes at night. All places do, I suppose.

  I go outside to see if there’s anything I can do to help. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. But there’s nothing to do. Except to listen, except to be awake and ready, just in case.

  Eventually, I go back inside to bed. Next to me, Taylor mumbles about Adam and the moon and Christmas elves, and I can hear Mum snoring in the next room. I suppose I’ll start sleeping through it, but I hope that doesn’t happen. The sound of Fairyland in chaos; in conflict. Sooner or later, it’ll just be what home sounds like.

  ***

  The feeling of the phone against my ear makes me feel nauseous. I close my eyes, imagining myself far away. I focus on the sound of the river. The trees nearby. Even the sound of those that are distant. I focus on my breathing. On counting each breath as it leaves my lungs.

  Then I see Clem walking down the road, being followed by a sparklingly clean ute with a nervous driver inside the locked cab. I end the call, my heart thudding.

  ‘Clem? What the hell?’

  ‘I ordered you guys fruit trees!’ he says, pointing at the tray of the ute. There’s a forest of trees swaying as the ute makes its way over the rutted gravel.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Taylor asks, coming out of the annex. ‘Plants? Did Clem get us plants?’

  Trisha comes out of her cabin, looking dazed. ‘Are those . . . peaches?’

  ‘Clem, you can’t just . . .’

  ‘Can’t what? Where do you want them?’

  ‘Anywhere,’ Trisha says. ‘Oh, wait until Richard sees this! He’s going to lose his—’

  ‘Clem!’ I say. ‘You can’t just do this!’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Just . . . this!’

  ‘What’s wrong with it? I used the birthday money from my parents that you wouldn’t take.’ He stares at me. ‘I thought you’d like it.’

  The man from the nursery unloads the plants outside Trisha’s place. I shake my head and stalk off, Taylor following me. ‘What’s with you?’ she asks.

  ‘He’s trying to fix everything! He can’t just swan in with his expensive trees and fix things!’

  Taylor starts to laugh. I stop walking. ‘What? What’s funny?’

  ‘He’s doing what you do! Marching around trying to fix stuff. He probably sat down with a list entitled, What would Stella do? And this was at the top.’ She laughs and laughs. ‘I love that this has pissed you off. It’s like the definition of hypocrisy.’

  ‘Didn’t know they taught you words with that many syllables at Ascott.’

  ‘You can bag Ascott all you want, you’re still a hypocrite.’ She pauses. ‘And Ascott did better than Sutherbend in results this year – did you hear?’

  ‘Rigged,’ I mutter.

  ‘Anyway. Are you going to make that call again?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kelly. Are you gunna call her?’

  I pull my phone back out. I know if I don’t do it now, I’ll keep putting it off. Maybe forever. I glare at Taylor and then I dial.

  ‘Hello? Kelly speaking.’

  Kelly sounds younger than I thought she would. Younger than Mum. I close my eyes and count to three and then I say the words I’ve been practising, over and over.

  My name’s Stella Price. I’m your daughter. Except the words won’t come out. I shove the phone at Taylor. For a moment she looks startled, then she clears her throat. ‘Hello, it’s Taylor Price here.’ She pauses and then smiles slowly. ‘No, you don’t know me. I . . . I’m with . . . your daughter. She’s sitting right in front of me.’

  ***

  After my shift at the pub the next day, Zin texts me, inviting me over for pizza and movies. I slide my phone back into my pocket without replying. I find Mum fiddling with the dials of the electric oven with a frown on her face.

  ‘Mum,’ I say.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I need . . . you tomorrow.’

  Mum raises her eyebrows. ‘You need me? I’m meant to be working. What for?’

  ‘Well, I’m meeting up with Kelly Russo and I want you to come with me, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re meeting with Kelly? I thought . . . I thought you weren’t going to do anything about that for now.’

  ‘I changed my mind.’

  ‘Well, can you reschedule? Tomorrow’s very short notice.’

  ‘No. I can’t.’

  Mum sighs. ‘Is it local, at least?’

  ‘Just in Sutherbend Main Street. Ritz Café. At eleven.’

  ‘Eleven. Okay.’ She prods at the oven again. ‘You’re sure? That this is what you want?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure.’

  I go out of the cabin and think about sitting by the river, but what I really want is pizza. My friends. Even if it is a night of eye rolling and concerned expressions. I text Zin back, telling her that I’m on my way. It’s a nice night, with just enough of a breeze to keep me cool as I walk slowly across Sutherbend. The footpath is thick with puddles, and more than once I don’t see one and my foot plunges into the tepid, oily water.

  ‘Just in time! Pizza just arrived!’ Zin calls as I step into the hallway. Zin’s older brother pokes his nose out of his bedroom. ‘Go away,’ Zin says, waving a hand at him. ‘I’m serious!’

  I go into the living room. Lara and Zin give me a pizza-smelling hug, but Clem just smiles and doesn’t get up.

  ‘Price,’ he says. We haven’t spoken to each other since he delivered all those trees yesterday.

  Zin starts opening pizza boxes, offering me each one in turn until I pick up a slice of vegetarian. Lara glances from me to Clem without commenting.

  ‘What’s been happening?’ Zin asks. ‘How was your Chrissy?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘How was yours?’


  Zin starts giving me a blow by blow of everything that happened between her brothers and sisters and cousins over Christmas. When she pauses for breath, Clem reaches for another piece of pizza. ‘You’re not carrying the letters around anymore?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, not in her bra anyway, you perve,’ says Lara.

  Clem flushes.

  ‘Actually, I opened them,’ I say.

  ‘What’d they say?’ Zin asks breathlessly.

  ‘She didn’t really put much in them. Not really.’

  ‘Heavy,’ says Lara.

  ‘I’m seeing her.’

  Zin gasps. ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow. It’s no big deal.’

  ‘It’s a huge deal! Omigod – are you nervous? I’d be so nervous. Do you want to talk about it?’

  I nibble on my pizza.

  Zin pounces and lands near my feet. ‘What do you think she’ll be like? Do you reckon you’ll have this, like, instant connection? Or will it be really awkward?’

  ‘Zin, quiet time,’ says Lara.

  Clem looks like he’s going to reach out to me, but then stops himself and clears his throat, reaching for another piece of pizza.

  Zin latches onto my arm. ‘It’s just so exciting! Oh, I’m so excited for you, Stella. It’s one of those life-changing moments, you know?’

  ‘Stop talking,’ says Clem. ‘Can’t you see you’re freaking her out?’

  ‘I’m not freaked out.’

  ‘She’s so freaked out,’ Lara says. ‘Way to go, Zin.’

  ‘I’m not freaked out!’ I say, but a moment later I have to wander out into the backyard and sit on the grass and concentrate on my breathing.

  The back door squeaks open. ‘Price? You right?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be in soon.’

  I sit out there for a while, though. It’s a nice night, even with the mosquitoes buzzing around my face and legs. When I go back in, the others are halfway through a movie. Lara and Zin are engrossed, but Clem looks up and makes room for me.

  ‘Feeling better, Price?’ he asks, really quietly. He’s wearing the stupid belt.

  I don’t look at him, but I nod and I feel him pat my head, just once.

  ***

  Taylor stays up with me late that night. She lies across the bed, examining the Judy and Charlie photo. I sit cross-legged, a notebook in my lap.