How to Grow a Family Tree

by Eliza Henry Jones

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, she’s obsessed with it now. Goes in every day and wallows around.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let her hear you say that.’

  ‘But she won’t admit she likes it. I caught her in it the other day and she told me she’d tripped in.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She was wearing her bathers and had a smoothie in her hand. Her lying game needs work.’

  After school, I go to Fairyland. Our cabin is empty so I head down to the water, where Matthew is sitting on the bench, staring out at the still-swollen river. All the beds of flowers and vegetables have been washed away and I stare at the places where they’d been before the water came. There’s a lot of silt and rubbish and it smells, but it still feels like home. It’s a place I’ve missed. Matthew’s got a portable CD player crooning on the bench next to him. He glances up and smiles.

  ‘Had to salvage it from a hundred metres down the bank,’ he says, thumping the bench.

  I frown. ‘You don’t look good.’

  He runs his hand over the peeling wood of the bench. ‘They’re closing Fairyland in a few weeks.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The flood. Even though none of the cabins got touched this time, there are problems with the insurance and the owners have decided it’s not worth it. I don’t know. Dad’s flipping out.’

  ‘Where’s everyone going to go? Where are you going to go?’

  ‘Dad’s got work somewhere in Adelaide so I’m heading there, I guess.’ He stares up towards the cabins. ‘I don’t know where everyone else is going to go. Richard and his mum have gotten housing in that big block near the cinemas. We’ve been trying to . . . help people find places.’ He sighs. ‘But I know some people are going to end up on the street and there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing.’

  ‘They’ll be okay,’ I say. I wonder where we’re going to live. My family and me.

  ‘I hope so.’ He looks at me. ‘Are you going to come back? Or have you officially moved in with Kelly?’

  ‘I was never going to stay with Kelly forever. And she doesn’t want me there anymore, so . . .’

  ‘Did she say that?’

  ‘Said she had a work thing and I’d have to go home.’ I flex my fingers. ‘She didn’t even get me a key. Some nights I’d be sitting outside her place until ten o’clock, waiting to be let in.’

  ‘Wow. So she’s kind of messed up?’

  ‘She’s so messed up. And I can’t help her. I can’t.’

  ‘No,’ Matthew says. He sighs again. ‘You probably can’t.’

  ‘She was going to keep me,’ I say, like I’m an object; a pet. ‘She was going to keep me and her mum was going to help her raise me. And then . . . and then her mum died and her dad made her give me up.’ I take a deep breath.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Stella.’

  ‘I keep imagining this other life I could’ve had. And I figure Kelly would have been different if her mum was alive. And I could’ve had this whole different family and never even known about Taylor or Mum and Dad. It’s weird.’

  ‘So weird.’ He’s quiet for a moment. ‘I’d like to see my mum. I’d like to go up and visit her and ask her why she left me.’

  ‘Do you think you will?’

  He pauses. ‘No. Probably not.’

  We sit in silence for a while, watching the lap of the water. ‘Hey, Matt?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Ginny said something a few weeks ago that got me wondering. Did Taylor cover for you with the library fire?’

  ‘Yeah. She did. It was an accident – a stupid physics project. I knew I’d still cop it, though. But Taylor said it was her – took the blame. She said . . .’

  ‘She said what?’

  ‘That she’d been trying to get your parents to agree with her transferring to Ascott for two years.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because she . . . you should really talk about this with her.’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  ‘Because she was tired of feeling like she never lived up to you at school. She wanted to just be her, you know? So she took the heat, went to Ascott, met Adam.’ Matthew shrugs. ‘Happily ever after, right?’

  ‘She and Adam are still broken up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He’s moved away.’

  ‘Oh.’ He smiles a little. ‘That’s awful.’

  Another song comes on and it’s another crooning, soft sort of song. The sort that Mum puts on after Taylor and I have gone to bed.

  ‘Mum and Dad dance, sometimes,’ I say to him. ‘Mum says it reminds her of all the happiest times in her life.’

  I rest my head on his shoulder. After a moment, he rests his head against mine and I feel a sigh rumble through him. He mumbles something under his breath that I don’t catch.

  ‘Huh?’ I say, lifting my head slightly.

  ‘Nothing,’ he says. But I think I may have heard him. I think he’d murmured into my hair, over the music, I’m scared.

  ***

  When I walk past the pavilion, Dad’s inside curled against the far wall with his notebook in his hand. He tries to smile at me, but he can’t quite manage it.

  ‘Good to see you, Stella.’ His voice is stiff, like we’re strangers. ‘How’s Kelly’s?’

  ‘Fine.’ I sit down next to him. Jube comes out of the bushes, startling both of us.

  ‘Three hundred and eighteen.’

  ‘What?’ I jump. I’d been thinking about the place closing down. How so many people will just say ‘good riddance’ and not understand what’s actually being lost.

  ‘Statues of fairies and angels and things in Fairyland Caravan Park. I keep wondering if they were part of the original plan, or if people just slowly added them.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s being shut down.’ I curl my knees up under my chin.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where will we go?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve got it covered. You know, I’m so sorry, Stell. About everything.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I just . . . I wish I could go back and do things differently.’

  ‘Mum says you gamble because you’re depressed.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You know, I’ve spent the last few years justifying it to myself – I had a terrible childhood. I’ve got depression. But you know what? I still have a choice.’

  I don’t know what to say to this.

  ‘Each time I go to the pokies or the track, I’m making a choice. And I’ve been pretending that I don’t have a choice, or that I’m making the right one. That I’m making good choices for all of us, even if your mother can’t see it. And then other times I pretend that I have no choice, at all. That it’s just what I do, you know? But I do have a choice. And I’ve chosen badly, every time.’

  ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘Just know, Stella. You always have a choice.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mary texts. She says that Kelly’s working late and would I like to stay with her? She offers to pick me up from Fairyland on her way through from a client’s house inspection. I meet her on the street.

  Mary studies me. ‘You right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I fiddle with the seatbelt. ‘Mary? How did . . . Can you tell me more about Kelly? What did she do when your mum died? Did she cry?’

  ‘No. She didn’t, I don’t think.’ Mary frowns. ‘I don’t really remember properly – I was so swallowed up in my own grief, you know? But no. I think she just pulled inside herself so tightly that she was almost comatose.’

  ‘And the flowers saved her?’

  ‘No. Not the flowers, exactly. Remembering Mum saved her. And that’s her job, every day. Her whole life is about remembering Mum.’

  ‘Did she have friends? Before me?’

  ‘It’s not before you, Stell. You’re entirely separate from all that.’ She changes gears. ‘But yeah, she had friends. Maybe it was a f
riend who . . . did it. I don’t know. She hasn’t really had friends since. It’s sad.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can live without friends.’

  ‘Yeah – I’d go pretty loopy without my friends to gasbag to. Kelly says my head would explode.’

  ‘My best friend’s not talking to me,’ I say, because that suddenly seems like the most urgent issue I’m dealing with. I watch the streetlights stream past. ‘Because I’ve been shutting him out and then I made a bit of a move on him, but he wouldn’t make a move back and now we don’t talk.’

  ‘What kind of move?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it! I’ll never talk about it, okay? I tried to kiss him! And he just held my hand and wouldn’t let me! He’s given up on me.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘He hasn’t texted me in weeks.’

  ‘Have you texted him?’

  ‘I’m respecting his space.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like he’s given up, Stella.’

  ‘He has! He has given up! He wouldn’t even eat his canteen pie.’

  ‘What was he doing? Before you made your move? When you shut him out?’

  ‘Trying to hang out. Texting a lot. I didn’t really reply.’

  ‘Well, he’s obviously trying to give you space. He hasn’t given up on you.’

  ‘He’s given up.’

  ‘Stella, I think I can help. I know what it’s like to be in that confused, deranged love-life space.’

  ‘Yeah, but you actually have a love-life. This is not my love-life. He’s not giving me space. He doesn’t want to be friends. He doesn’t want to be anything.’

  ‘Why’d you try to kiss him?’

  I jump. ‘What?’

  ‘Why’d you try to kiss this guy?’

  ‘Because I was sad,’ I say.

  ‘But why him?’

  ‘Because . . .’

  ‘Because why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You do know,’ she says. ‘I know I haven’t known you for that long, but I am kind of your aunty. And you don’t strike me as the sort of girl who’d try to kiss someone that important to you if you didn’t have feelings for him.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I mutter, fiddling with the door handle.

  ‘Stella, is this the boy Kelly’s mentioned to me? The one you’ve been friends with since forever?’

  I blink. ‘Kelly’s mentioned him? I didn’t even know she was listening.’

  ‘Of course she was listening! She’s just got this really bad habit of coming across like she’s not. Anyway – is that the boy?’

  I cross my arms and nod. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Text him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Text him – ask him to come over to my place.’

  ‘He won’t come. I told you – he’s given up on me. I’m not worth it.’

  ‘Prove me wrong, then,’ Mary says. ‘Go on. I dare you. You’ve got nothing to lose, do you?’

  ‘Just the last of my dignity.’

  ‘Sounds like that went out the window with the kiss attempt,’ she says. ‘Seriously. Text him.’

  I sigh. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Loser has to jump off Lockwood pier.’

  ‘Seriously? That’s a really high pier.’

  ‘I’ve done it before. You in?’

  ‘Well, I guess it won’t hurt you to do it again,’ I say. ‘I’m in. What do I need to write?’

  ‘Tell him you miss him and you’d like to see him. And give him the address.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Alright. He’ll ignore it, but alright.’ I type out the message and hesitate before I press ‘send’. When I do, I can’t stand looking at my phone.

  ‘See?’ she says. ‘That wasn’t so hard. And now we wait.’

  My phone buzzes. I read the message quickly and then I groan.

  ‘What?’ Mary says.

  ‘I’m not telling.’

  ‘Stella.’

  ‘I really don’t want to jump off the pier,’ I say.

  ‘What did he say?’

  I sigh. ‘He said he’s getting straight on the train.’

  ***

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind him popping in?’ I ask Mary for the tenth time.

  ‘No. Of course not! How many times do I have to tell you that it’s fine?’

  The buzzer goes and we look at each other. ‘Go on,’ she says, clapping her hands. ‘Answer it! Don’t keep him waiting! I should make myself scarce, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Actually, I’d like you to meet him,’ I say.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I open the door. Clem smells of nice cologne, which I know he only wears when he’s forced to or when he’s nervous.

  He starts bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘I might not know what it’s like to . . . to have a gambling dad or live in a caravan park or be adopted. But I know you, Price. And that has to count for something, right?’ He notices Mary and flushes. ‘Sorry,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t be. I’m Mary. Stella’s aunt. I’m an aunt!’

  ‘Clements.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  Clem pulls a face. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She grins at us and then disappears into her bedroom.

  We go outside into her pretty little garden, which is so much more inviting than Kelly’s. Clem reaches for me and I think of all the things I’ve been telling myself about him. I wonder if they’re true. He’s wearing the belt, the stupid, crooked belt. It’s frayed and faded, now. As though he’s been wearing it non-stop since I gave it to him.

  ‘I thought you’d given up on me,’ I say.

  Clem looks so shocked that I almost laugh. He sits down on a garden bench and stares at me. ‘What?’

  ‘I thought . . .’ I shrug. ‘I don’t know. You’ve been completely off the radar. You ignored me in biology.’

  ‘Oh, Price. Because I thought that was what you wanted!’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ I whisper.

  ‘About that night . . .’ he says. ‘When you came over.’

  ‘You don’t need to say anything.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to do something that you’d regret . . . I didn’t want you to regret me.’ His voice is tiny. He shakes his head. ‘I wanted to. Just not like that.’

  I swallow. I don’t know what to do with my hands.

  ‘You’re my Price.’ He holds out his hand, but doesn’t look at me.

  ‘I know,’ I say.

  ‘And I don’t mean as friends.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t mean as friends.’ He squints away from me. ‘You’ve never just been my friend.’

  I think of him tugging at my shirt and holding me the day we found Dad at the track. All those moments, pieced together into something so precious and dazzling that for a second I can’t think. I continue to stare at him. He continues to squint into the distance.

  ‘Clem?’

  He doesn’t move, but I can tell he’s holding his breath.

  ‘I’m glad,’ I say. And I don’t have any feeling words for this moment. I don’t need them.

  His whole face lights up and he jumps to his feet and kisses me, and it’s the strangest and most familiar thing in the world. He smiles at me, his face closer to mine than it’s ever been before. ‘I thought I’d screwed it all up for good,’ he says, pulling me tightly against his chest so that I’m overpowered by the smell of cologne and by the very fast beating of his heart.

  ‘Why didn’t you just call me?’

  ‘I figured you had enough going on without me adding to it,’ he says. I feel his lips press against my forehead. ‘That’s all.’

  Clem’s always been there when I’ve let him be. And even when I’ve done everything I can to stop him, to drive him away, he’s still here. Ready to drown himself in cologne and jump straight on a train. Waiting for me.
>
  ***

  That night, I stare up at the blank ceiling above the bed in Mary’s guest room. Mary’s painting is erratic, which is evident in the dribbles and brush marks. I can feel her energy. So unlike the ceiling above the bed I’ve been sleeping in at Kelly’s. That’s too empty; too clean. There’s nothing there of any stories, any people. Life hasn’t marked it, and I feel as though a splash of Taylor’s food or a scorch mark or a flood mark would sort of improve it. At least then you know the people you love have been there. Love makes me think of Clem, and my whole face flushes hotly against the cool pillowcase.

  I think of how Kelly spends her days. She does all the sorts of things I’ve been telling everyone around me to do, to better themselves. She sits in the sun when she wakes up and drinks herbal tea and eats lots of dark, leafy greens. She takes vitamins and goes to yoga and keeps her house calm and ordered. But Kelly is still broken. She’s done everything right, and it’s not enough to fix her. I’ve been so obsessed with people being fixed – with me fixing them – and what good has it done anyone? What good has it done me?

  I close my eyes and imagine myself back to the cabin with the mouldy smell and the worn-out, squeaking wicker furniture. I imagine myself back to the jungle wallpaper and the shells glued all across the ceiling, like stars.

  It’s nothing like Kelly’s beautiful garden, where she is alone. And what a shame it is, to have a space that beautiful if you’re never going to share it with anybody.

  ***

  The next day, I meet Mum at a café near her work and we drink milkshakes. Mum’s eyes are red-rimmed, but I don’t say anything important until she’s halfway through her caramel malt.

  ‘I want to come home. Wherever that is, after Fairyland. Wherever you guys are, I want to be there with you.’

  She stiffens. ‘Are things not working out with Kelly?’

  I shake my head. ‘She’s not my mum.’

  Mum blinks very quickly.

  ‘She doesn’t want me there, Mum. And I wasn’t ever moving in with her permanently, I just wanted to get to know her. But that doesn’t mean I want her to be my mum. It doesn’t mean I want to live with her. I’ve already got my mum. I’ve got you.’

  ‘Oh, Stell.’ She cries then and she holds me so tightly that I can feel every tremble in her body. Her crying becomes sobbing, and she turns away and blots her face with her sleeve.