The Memory Tree (42 page)

‘Thank you.’ Mrs Mac blunders her way to the lift, to the bus, down her street until she can close her own door and abandon herself to tears.

The surgeon has a chubby face and small, blunt fingers
. Surprising for a surgeon
, Sealie thinks idly through a pleasant haze of pethidine. She always imagined that surgeons had long, slim fingers. The nurse hands him Sealie’s chart.

‘Now,’ he says, all businesslike. ‘Selina Rodriguez. D’you mind if I call you Selina?’

Sealie grins faintly. ‘If you need to call me back from the Great Beyond you’d better call me Sealie. I’ve never really answered to Selina.’

The surgeon smiles and makes a note. ‘That’s a good girl. Always best to keep a sense of humour.’ He holds out his hand. ‘I’m Roger Penfold. It seems that you have a nasty cyst on your left ovary. We’ll have to take a look, but I’m almost certain that we’ll have to remove the whole ovary.’ He watches Sealie’s face as he says this. ‘We’ll do our best to save it—but no guarantees.’

Sealie gnaws at her lip but says nothing. She won’t meet his gaze.

‘It’s all outlined on the form,’ he continues, handing her a piece of paper. ‘Removal of cyst from left ovary. Permission to remove ovary if the surgeon deems it necessary.’ He pauses. ‘This is your opportunity to ask any questions.’

Sealie sums up the courage. ‘What about . . .’ She bites her lip again. ‘Babies?’

Penfold looks at her chart. ‘Let’s see . . . You’re forty-six . . . pre-menopausal. You have no children?’

She shakes her head and he pats her hand in a fatherly gesture. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. At your age . . . your chances of pregnancy are quite—reduced anyway. With one ovary . . . that reduces the possibility by another fifty per cent.’

‘Do what you have to.’ Sealie signs the form and lies staring at the ceiling. She’s too tired to cry. She turns on her side and says goodbye to the child she has always believed was waiting in the shadows.

5

A
S EXPECTED
, S
EALIE HAD AN
ovary removed and is weak and teary. She has lost weight in the months since Hal’s return and, after visiting her in hospital, Mrs Mac is determined to give her a break.

‘That poor girl is worn out from out looking after other people. She needs looking after herself now and I’m telling them that the minute I get a chance.’

Alice approves. ‘Good for you, Eil. Don’t you wear your
self
out on those lazy sods.’ She’s getting on, is Alice. They both are. Still, Alice has always called a spade a spade. ‘I don’t like the thought of you in the same house as that madman. Why not take her away on a little holiday?’

‘Maybe when she’s a bit stronger. But not with me. A young girl’ (Mrs Mac still thinks of Sealie as a young girl) ‘doesn’t want to go on holiday with a woman old enough to be her—’

Alice hears the tremor in her sister’s voice. ‘I hear Noosa’s nice,’ she says. ‘Of course nowadays a lot of folk go away to Bali or even Fiji.’

Returning to the house, Mrs Mac calls a meeting. ‘I’ll cook,’ she says. ‘I’ll look after Sealie. Do her laundry. Clean her room. I’ll do for Moses—he’s my husband, after all. But you two . . .’ She narrows her eyes at Zav and Hal who are sitting as far away from each other as possible. ‘Apart from meals, you two will have to do for yourselves.’

‘Yes, Mrs Mac,’ they reply meekly.

Sealie has contracted an infection, and it is five days before she’s discharged. When she comes home to the house that Hal built, she finds it populated as it had been so many years ago. There is her father, Hal; my father, Zav; Mrs Mac (to look after Sealie); and Godown (to look after Hal). Sealie herself completes the rollcall.

Zav finds the medication, and after removing several days’ worth, gives the little assemblage of bottles and packets to Godown. ‘Here. He trusts you.’

Godown takes the responsibility reluctantly. He had hoped that their shared distress at Sealie’s collapse might have been the beginning of some kind of reconciliation, but Zav’s resolve is absolute. For Mrs Mac’s sake, and for day to day contingencies, he speaks to Godown. He is scrupulously polite in these encounters but resists real engagement.

Upon his sister’s return, Zav immediately resumes his silence with his father.

Zav is often absent during the day. After breakfast, he tidies his room, maybe does a bit of laundry and then reports to Mrs Mac for duty. He learns how to vacuum, clean the bathroom, iron his own shirts. Mrs Mac watches him at these tasks and is pleased to see some vigour return to his demeanour
. Tough love
, she thinks.
That’s what he’s needed all along.
After doing his chores he sits a while with Sealie and then disappears on his own errands.

Activity is good for Zav, but so is responsibility. And he’s pleased that he is about to take responsibility for the blight on their lives. He still has the little capsules and pills he stole from Hal’s supply, and is waiting till the time is right. Sometimes at night, he takes them out and holds them in the palm of his hand. One is quite pretty, a transparent capsule with tiny coloured granules inside. It reminds him of the hundreds and thousands that Mrs Mac used to sprinkle on white bread for their birthday parties. Fairy bread, it was called. When he turned seven he told Mrs Mac that boys don’t eat fairy bread. He came to regret this, and always sneaked the leftover slices from Sealie’s parties.

Zav needs a strategy. He has the means but needs both the knowledge and the opportunity. He doesn’t want to cause his father pain. He had scribbled down the name of the drugs before giving the containers to Godown, but even for those he can decipher, he has only a very hazy idea of what they might do. There are no relevant books in the local library. He needs specialised information. He overcomes his fear of computers and asks the librarian how to use the internet.

‘What are you looking for?’ she asks. ‘I’ll take you through the steps.’

‘Sardinia,’ he says for no particular reason. ‘I want information on Sardinia.’ And he becomes familiar with more than he ever cared to know about that island. Airports and ferries; the mining industry—bauxite, antimony, gold, lead and zinc, he learns. The librarian returns at intervals to see how he’s getting along. They both agree that Alghero looks like a nice little town. The librarian, recently single, can’t help him enough. Zav chafes with impatience, but knows from his crime novel reading that he can’t afford to rouse suspicion.

He goes to another branch of the library and types in ‘Risperidol’. There is very little information beyond the fact that it is used in some cases of paranoid schizophrenia. He knows time is running out and decides to empty all the capsules and crushed tablets into Hal’s night-time hot chocolate. It should be easy enough to distract Godown.

Zav will not allow himself to think beyond the act itself. He makes no plans to cover his tracks. Doesn’t care if he’s caught. This, he believes, is his one heroic gesture. He can avenge my murder while setting his sister and himself free. It never crosses his mind to wonder how Sealie might feel when her brother murders her father. From his point of view, it all seems so noble, so logical.

What is there about my family that drives them, not only to kill, but to perceive this act as altruistic? There was a family legend of a great-great-something uncle in Peru who smothered his wife in her sleep. There’s no record of his reasons, but I’ll bet anything you like they included the greater good. Seriously, I’ve begun to wonder if there’s something dodgy in our genes.

Zav needs to carry out his plan before Sealie is well enough to take over again. She accounts strictly when it comes to medication; he knows this from his own experience. He encourages Mrs Mac to be firm with her, to make her rest. It’s not difficult. She’s still weak. Her body and mind, finally having an excuse to rest, conspire to siphon off her energy, and she spends her days reading and napping. This lassitude is pleasant, almost addictive, and Sealie indulges herself. Gives herself permission to let go. Brenda visits with a casserole and an apple pie, and Cassie brings flowers and takes her to a film. Both women encourage her to take it easy. Scottie comes by after work and they sit and watch television like an old married couple. Mrs Mac incorporates him into the family meal and he takes on the dishwashing.
A very nice young man
, Mrs Mac frequently reminds Sealie, who responds with a noncommittal grin. She likes having him around but is not ready for another proposal. Zav seems to approve, and she wonders idly why she thought he would not. She’d be angry if she had the energy.

By the third week, the weather is warm enough for her to spend some time outside on the banana lounge Zav bought for her. She’s grateful beyond all proportion for this sign that her brother cares. Pleased to see evidence of his hitherto infrequent thoughtfulness.

Hal takes a week to recover from the drama of Sealie’s collapse. The steel-grey shards of noise have come and gone and he strains to understand the red, staccato voices that snap at his consciousness like terriers. Mercifully, before their message is delivered, he himself is delivered by Godown who is now in charge of his drug regime. The spring envelops Hal with an intensity of green and he spends much of his time in the garden. He’s gentle with Sealie, bringing her a rug if a breeze springs up, a book, a cup of tea. Sometimes he sits beside her. They don’t say much, but it feels like absolution.

Zav comes and goes and Hal’s eyes follow him with a hungry sort of love.