The Memory Tree

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Matt skipped ahead: Complete carbon content to be recorded … piles of branch wood left behind to provide homes for wildlife … Pallawarra’s seeds harvested and germinated at Hobart’s botanic gardens.

  ‘Well?’ asked Fraser.

  ‘I’m impressed, I’ll admit it,’ said Matt. ‘But not convinced.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ said Penny. ‘This is the most wonderful tribute to Pallawarra.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, Penelope,’ said Fraser, ‘I have something private to discuss with my son.’ He gestured towards the library. ‘Matthew, if you don’t mind?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, he followed his father from the room.

  * * *

  Fraser gestured for Matt to sit on the couch, then settled himself into a chair opposite. ‘What will it take to convince you that my change of heart is genuine?’

  Matt didn’t know. An explanation that fitted with what he knew of his father, maybe? Something to show this epiphany was real? Dying or not, Fraser’s sudden turnaround was too far out of character.

  Fraser stroked his chin. ‘The share price of Burns Timber is way down.’

  ‘Hallelujah.’

  ‘Our half-yearly profit report is due at the end of the month.’ Fraser poured himself a scotch and raised the bottle to Matt.

  Matt shook his head. ‘What’s any of this got to do with me?’

  Strings of tendons stood out on Fraser’s scrawny neck as he drank. ‘It will show a substantial drop in returns.’ Matt could see the wheels spinning in his father’s head. ‘On Friday I’m closing down the woodchip mills.’

  ‘Permanently?’

  ‘Permanently.’

  Matt was too suspicious to be pleased. What was Fraser’s angle? ‘That will mean laying off contractors in time for Saturday’s election. Haven’t you done Kate Logan enough damage?’

  ‘I’m not trying to hurt Kate.’

  ‘Well, you’re doing a bloody good job of it.’

  ‘The writing’s on the wall, Matthew. Woodchip revenue has crashed. By comparison, value-added timber profits are rising. Do the sums.’ Fraser rubbed his eyes. ‘Burns can’t compete anymore in the world woodchip market.’

  There was a ring of truth to his father’s words and he’d dropped his standard patronising tone. Fraser took another drink and slumped in his chair. The skin of his face shone with an odd translucent pallor, and his face was pinched. He looked ancient. A sarcastic response died on Matt’s tongue.

  Fraser handed him a pamphlet. The FSC is an international organisation, established to promote responsible management of the world’s forests. It sets standards, including independent certification and labelling of timber products.

  Things were getting clearer.

  ‘Our biggest market, Japan, will no longer buy woodchips without FSC certification. Others will soon follow,’ said Fraser. ‘It’s as simple as that. If we continue to woodchip old-growth forests, we can’t get FSC approval, and we won’t be able to sell a darned thing.’

  There it was at last. Matt laughed, a great, grateful belly laugh. This was what he’d wanted all along, what he’d been waiting for. An answer that made sense, a reason to trust his father.

  ‘So that’s why those ridiculous stockpiles of woodchips just keep on growing. Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?’

  ‘You know the answer to that already, Matthew.’

  ‘I want to hear it. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Fraser sighed. He looked tired and resigned. ‘You may have thought there was an ulterior motive behind my change of heart.’

  Matt whooped with satisfaction. ‘As if I didn’t anyway. You’re a practical man, Dad. I knew there was something you weren’t telling me. Think I’ll have that drink now.’

  As Fraser poured him a scotch, Matt’s phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him. Another text from Sarah. A photo in lingerie this time.

  ‘Problems?’ asked Fraser.

  That was an understatement. Ever since Sarah had found out about Theo, Matt had been playing a dangerous game. Sarah was still furiously genotyping devil samples at the University of Hobart, weaving them a DNA lifeline – the enormity of the task keeping her away from Hills End. But it was a temporary reprieve, and it had not prevented her from waging an intense phone campaign. Bring Theo to the zoology department, she urged him. They could take it from there.

  Matt had walked a fine line between keeping her hopes up and holding his ground. He longed to come clean with Sarah, tell her that he had no romantic interest in her. Tell her that he wanted his wife. But he dared not provoke her, so he flirted, dissembled and dutifully listened to Sarah’s plans for Theo, even while planning ways to thwart them. Fraser would have been proud of him. He couldn’t go on like this forever, but if he stopped stalling, what then? Matt turned off his phone.

  ‘It must be difficult,’ said Fraser, studying him with shrewd eyes. ‘Convincing Dr Deville to stay quiet.’

  ‘Quiet?’ He wouldn’t let Fraser get him on the back foot again. ‘Just say what you mean for once, Dad. It will make a nice change.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll be blunt. What does it take to convince a molecular biologist to conceal a thylacine?’

  The improbable question sucked all the oxygen from the room. Okay, so he was on the back foot after all. Was there anything Fraser didn’t know? Perhaps it was too late to protect Theo’s family, Matt thought wearily. Too many people knew. Perhaps he should just step back and let the cards fall.

  ‘So Penny told you about Theo.’

  ‘She did,’ said Fraser. ‘But I knew long before that. I’ve known for most of my life. You should have known too. It was a mistake not to trust you, Matthew. It’s time to set things right.’

  His father’s words were impossible to fathom, as if he’d just pronounced the earth flat or the moon made of green cheese.

  Penny peeped through the door. Matt beckoned her in, holding up a hand against his father’s protests. ‘I will keep no more secrets from my wife.’ He patted the seat beside him.

  Fraser looked from Matt to Penny, and back again. ‘Very well.’ He opened a drawer in the sideboard and took out a leather-bound journal. It looked ancient, with intricate lacing, ornate engravings and a shining jewel set in the cover. He handed the journal to Matt. ‘The diary of Isabelle Abbott, Daniel Campbell’s daughter. It’s yours.’

  Matt accepted it with great reverence, almost afraid to touch. ‘Is that a real diamond?’ He ran his forefinger over the jewel, which seemed to burn with a fierce internal fire.

  ‘Some history.’ Fraser cracked the knuckles of each hand, readying himself. ‘Our family is not descended from Tasmania’s founding industrialist, Henry Abbott, as you and the world believe. Yes.’ Fraser smiled. ‘That was my reaction too, when I found out. Our true forebear is Luke Tyler, the young convict immortalised by the legend of Last Stand Cave.’ The longcase clock ticked like a time bomb in the still room. Its lunar dial showed the moon was full. ‘Isabelle conceived a child with Tyler when she was just seventeen. She married Henry Abbott’s son under sufferance to conceal the out-of-wedlock pregnancy. That child, Luke Tyler’s child, is my grandfather.’

  Matt was rooted to his chair, couldn’t move even if he’d wanted to. He’d always loathed his connection to Henry Abbott, who was by all accounts a monster. And now, it turned out, he was the descendant of a convict instead, like half the population of Tasmania. But … ‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘Is that what you’re so sorry you didn’t tell me?’

  Fraser heaved a great creaking sigh, like a big tree in the wind. ‘Old secrets cast long shadows, Matthew.’ His father’s face was anguished. He was finding this, whatever this was, genuinely gruelling. ‘Daniel Campbell fought against the passage of the Thylacine Bounty Scheme back in the 1880s.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Matt.

  ‘When his lobbying failed, he and Isabelle conspired to hide a group of thylacines away from the bounty hunters – in the secr
et valley up at Tiger Pass. Campbell’s protégé, Luke Tyler, dynamited the entrance to seal them safely in. The creatures have lived there ever since, thriving for more than a century. Tyler was a brave man, Matthew, a champion. Our family owes him a great debt. More than one actually.’

  Fraser poured himself a fresh drink, and opened the French doors leading to the garden. Bruno and Sasha trotted in, plumed tails waving. ‘Bruno here is descended from Tyler’s dog, Bear, just as we are descended from Tyler.’ He pointed to Isabelle’s diary. ‘It’s all in there. Read it carefully and privately, my boy. You’ll find more surprises. That Luke Tyler did not die at Last Stand Cave, for example.’

  ‘He didn’t?’ The world Matt knew was shifting.

  ‘He escaped, reinvented himself and returned to Tasmania as the wealthy Colonel Buchanan to marry Isabelle, the only woman he ever loved.’

  Matt stroked Bruno’s great head, his mind spinning. The famous family scandal when Isabelle Abbott ran off with a South African millionaire – that was Tyler?

  ‘But I digress,’ said Fraser. ‘The thylacines’ existence has been a closely guarded secret through the generations. Your grandfather told me the story when I was fifteen. I was charged to pass it on to my oldest child in turn.’ A pause. ‘I failed in my duty.’

  ‘You think?’ Matt felt hurt flooding his body, like he’d been flayed. Penny reached for his hand. ‘How exactly did I qualify to be the only one in my family kept in the dark? The only one, through a hundred and fifty years of history? Me of all people. Daniel Campbell is my hero, Dad. He’s why I’m so passionate about Binburra, about the land that he fought to protect. I did a project on him at school once, although you wouldn’t remember.

  ‘The Person Who Most Inspires Me,’ said Fraser. ‘That was the topic.’

  ‘I chose Daniel Campbell. You could have told me about the tigers then. What a perfect time to have told me, but do you know what you said instead? “Stop daydreaming about working at Binburra. A dead-end job,” you said. Bloody hell, Dad, I’ve dedicated my life to that place. I had a right to know.’

  ‘You did, absolutely.’

  ‘So why, Dad? Why did you keep the tigers from me?’

  Fraser looked to be in pain as he spoke. ‘In the aftermath of your mother’s death … your sisters. You know how I was. Many things were left undone.’

  ‘That’s not enough,’ said Matt. ‘I need more.’

  ‘Perhaps I was jealous. How I would have loved for you to admire me in such a way, to want to follow in my footsteps.’ Fraser sculled another scotch and put the glass down with a trembling hand. ‘But it was more than that. You were such an honest boy; you hated keeping secrets. I didn’t believe you could be trusted.’ Fraser’s hand was still shaking. He studied it dispassionately. ‘I misjudged you, Matthew. Forgive me. You kept this secret of your own accord, and at great personal cost. You have lied, compromised your marriage, misled Sarah Deville – all to protect our thylacines.’

  Was Fraser crying? Small sobs graduated to open weeping. Matt had never seen Fraser cry. It disarmed him and he hugged this strange father he’d never known, felt his thin bones, soaked him up.

  ‘Shut up, will you, Dad. McGregor will think I’m murdering you. I suppose he knows everything?’ Fraser nodded, and buried his face in Matt’s shoulder. ‘Of course he does. We wouldn’t want McGregor to be the odd man out here, would we? That distinction must be reserved for me.’

  His father gave another muffled apology.

  ‘I tell you what,’ said Matt, gently disengaging Fraser from his shoulder. ‘I forgive you. I forgive you for every unfair, rotten thing you ever did. I forgive you for Mum. I forgive you for Christy and Cathy. I forgive you for not being there, for not trusting me. I flat out forgive you. I’m doing this as much for me as for you.’

  Fraser pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Matt took it and softly wiped his father’s face.

  Penny was staring at them both, astonished.

  ‘Right,’ said Matt. ‘Is there anything else I don’t know about? Anything at all? I’m warning you, Dad, you’d better tell me now.’ Matt looked hard at Penny. Something flitted across her face, a sort of shadow. She smoothed her hands down the front of her green cotton dress. ‘That includes you, Pen.’

  ‘A bit rich, coming from …’ she began, but something in Matt’s expression silenced her.

  ‘Anyone?’ asked Matt.

  Fraser blew his nose. ‘Theo is stowed in my studio freezer.’

  ‘Bloody marvellous,’ said Matt. Both Fraser and Penny hung their heads, contrite like caught-out schoolkids. ‘Now, Dad, if you’ll pull yourself together, we have a lot to talk about.’

  Chapter 34

  Someone was banging on the door. Matt clutched for his happy dream.

  ‘Rise and shine.’ Drake’s voice came into the bedroom. ‘I need a favour.’

  Matt dragged the pillow over his head and made a rude gesture. His mind ran over last night’s events, struggling at first to separate fact from fiction. What he needed was time to make sense of it, but Drake kept talking, his words relentless – hunting Matt into the new day.

  ‘Give me a minute,’ said Matt with a groan.

  ‘I don’t have a minute.’ Drake’s tone was far too cheerful for so early in the morning.

  Matt sat up, scratched his head and glared at Drake. The whistling kettle lured him into the kitchen. Cardboard boxes stood stacked by the door.

  ‘How-to-vote cards,’ said Drake. ‘It’s election day.’

  Matt vaguely remembered Drake telling him that he’d started his own political party in opposition to his mother. He picked up a leaflet. Vote 1 Sustainable Tasmania.

  ‘Since Mum committed electoral suicide on national television, we’re only manning the main polling places. Hellgrun should walk it in. I’m driving down to Hobart to be with my folks. They’re going to have a rough night.’

  ’So?’

  ‘So can you run these how-to-vote cards out to the local booths?’ Drake handed Matt a list, then went outside and came back with some large laminated posters of his own smiling face. ‘Just string one of these up and leave a box of cards underneath. Oh, and remember to vote for me.’

  Matt made himself a coffee while Drake waited expectantly. ‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I owe you one,’ said Drake.

  ‘Just one?’

  Drake took a sip of Matt’s coffee. ‘What are you doing tonight?’

  ‘Going to Fraser’s to watch the election. Pen’s coming too.’

  ‘You and Pen? You’re good?’

  ‘I’m going to beg her to move back in.’

  ‘About bloody time. So Sarah’s finally fair game. You do know she thinks you and her are some sort of thing, don’t you? She almost had me convinced of it.’ Matt drained his coffee down to the dregs. ‘Shall I set her straight for you?’ said Drake.

  ‘No,’ Matt answered, quickly. ‘I should do it myself.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Drake. ‘But hurry up, will you? I plan to drop in on her when I’m in Hobart. If I’m lucky she’ll pick me up on the rebound.’

  * * *

  Matt ran through the morning chores with Jake, then packed the boxes and posters into the car and set off on his grand tour. The government had pulled out all the stops. At each polling place, no matter how tiny the school or how remote the hall, their spruikers were out in force. On the payroll, according to Drake. Matt had never seen anything like it. Banners and placards and posters and streamers, all bearing Kate’s chic smile. The actual candidate didn’t rate a photo. Kate was billed as the star of the show, and since Fraser’s revelations, that presidential strategy had backfired badly on the Government. Although still running in her own electorate, she’d been forced to resign as Premier, and there hadn’t been time to print new signage.

  At Tancurry, Kate’s bountiful bunting seemed to be the only thing holding up the run-down hall. Just as well the polling officials were already th
ere. Without protection, his flimsy posters and brave little cardboard boxes might well have met with foul play. Matt set up his final booth, voted for Drake and glanced at his watch. Still time to stop at the bakery for breakfast and buy something to bring for tonight. A cake to celebrate maybe? What was the etiquette for a first dinner in more than a decade at your father’s house?

  Matt pulled up outside the bakery. The car parked in front of him looked familiar. Matt froze, but apparently Sarah’s vision wasn’t based on movement. She turned and waved, called out his name. Doris Briggs, sitting outside the shops, waved at him too. Interfering old biddy. Matt wondered if he could simply drive away. Too late. Sarah was at the window. He wound it down halfway

  ‘I’ve taken the weekend off,’ she said. ‘To surprise you.’ She looked relaxed, happy, unaware there was a problem.

  ‘Great,’ said Matt, forcing a smile.

  ‘Want to do something later?’

  ‘I’m not working this afternoon,’ he lied. ‘How about I take you to lunch?’ He was already winding up the glass.

  ‘Brilliant.’ Sarah blew him a kiss as the jeep moved off.

  * * *

  Matt drove straight to Ray’s house and rang Penny.

  ‘Matt, is that you I can see out in the street? Come on in. Ray won’t bite.’

  He wasn’t so sure. The word going around town had him and Sarah in the middle of a full-blown affair. Thankfully Penny believed him, despite the rumours. At the pub last Saturday night, Ray had got himself so drunk and worked up that he’d tried to round up some sort of posse to go out to Binburra. Nick Byrne had calmed him down, headed off the trouble. But Nick had visited on Sunday morning in his official police capacity and warned Matt to steer clear of Ray. Penny herself had told Matt she was worried about her uncle, thought he was erratic and depressed, but couldn’t get him to the doctor.