Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Jen awoke and lay listening for a few moments. She could hear a scuffling sound coming from Liam’s room and glanced across the small landing. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor looking through a box beside an open cupboard.
She grunted in amusement and relief and propped herself up on her elbow and watched as he studied one photograph after another before setting them carefully down.
It seemed her expectations of her son were too low. She’d thought he’d have a restless night after the scare he’d got yesterday, but he hadn’t called out once. It gave her hope.
She rose, pulled on her dressing gown and went over to kneel beside him. He looked up with a smile and continued looking at the photo in his hand.
She kissed the top of his head. ‘What have you found?’
‘Photos. Of people.’ He held one up. ‘Who are they?’
She took it from him and looked at the familiar face of her grandmother.
‘That’s Hope when she was young. She was my grandmother. Your great-grandmother.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘She doesn’t. She died years ago.’ Jen continued looking at the photo, her gaze shifting to the background. ‘See here?’ she said, showing Liam. ‘That’s the tree by the front fence.’
‘It was smaller, then,’ said Liam, picking up another photo.
Jen began rummaging through the box. ‘I don’t remember seeing any of these before. Where did you find them?’
‘In the cupboard. Gran said I could have a look to see if there was anything I liked there.’
‘I think she meant puzzles and toys.’
He looked up with a flare of anxiety. ‘Not photos?’
She ruffled his hair. ‘She’ll be very happy that you like looking at the family photos. Goodness knows, we kids didn’t pay much attention back when we were young.’
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because we grew up with the people and the places.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess it was all familiar.’
He rummaged further into the box of photos piled one on top of the other before plucking out a yellowing one of a man in uniform. ‘And who’s this?’
‘I don’t know.’ She took this one from him, too. ‘I’ve never seen him before.’ She turned it over to see if there was any writing on the back. She squinted and held the faded script up to the light. ‘1942. I don’t recognise him. Nor the soldier’s uniform.’
‘Isn’t that the tree up the hill?’ asked Liam.
‘Yes, it is.’ She looked at Liam in surprise that he recognised the tree. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Grandma took me up there to show me the old Māori cemetery. There were lots of flags and photos and this big tree on its own.’
‘It’s called an urupā. The Māori cemetery.’
Liam scrambled over and, leaning on her, peered at the photo. ‘That tree looks smaller, too.’
‘It would be. It was taken over over eighty years ago.’ She tapped the photo in her hand as she looked into the mid-distance. ‘That was in Ngaire’s time. I wonder if she had a boyfriend who was in the army.’
‘Ngaire?’ he asked, looking up at her.
‘My great-grandmother. She died only five years ago. She was over a hundred.’
Liam thought for a bit. ‘Do I have a great-grandmother?’
‘No, sadly not. Hope was Ngaire’s daughter — your great-grandmother — but she died many years ago. I never knew her.’
‘Was Hope old?’
‘No, she died young, when she was only in her late forties, the year before I was born.’
‘Maybe that Hope’s dad.’
Jen flipped the photo over and looked at the date again.
‘1942.’ She shook her head. ‘No, the timing is out. I don’t know the exact date Hope was born but it must have been a few years after the war ended.
Besides, Hope’s dad was Tamati, who was Māori.
And this man looks nothing like Tamati. I’ve seen lots of photos of him and his whānau. ’
‘What’s a whānau, Mum?’
‘It’s the Māori word for family.’ She smiled. ‘They teach Māori at school. I think you’ll enjoy it.’
As Liam continued searching through the box of photos, Jen tapped the photo thoughtfully. Even though the dates didn’t fit, it seemed strange that her great-grandmother had kept a photo of a stranger amongst her things.
She’d never seen this man before, which wasn’t surprising given where the photo had been found, and she wasn’t even sure whether he was wearing a New Zealand or American uniform.
She looked again, more carefully this time, at the face of the man in the photograph.
The breeze ruffled his fair hair, and he was smiling.
But not in that wide, cheery ‘I’m having my photo taken’ kind of way.
She pulled her reading glasses from the pocket of her robe and peered more closely.
No, his smile was gentle, and his eyes were looking, really looking at the person who was taking the photo.
At a guess, she’d have said this soldier was in love with the person behind the camera.
Fanciful, no doubt. Alistair would have said her author’s imagination was running away with her. But Alistair had said a lot of things that weren’t true. She studied the soldier’s expression again. No, it definitely wasn’t a photo of a casual acquaintance.
She stood up. ‘I’ll see if your Gran knows who it is.’
Leaving Liam happily exploring, she went into the kitchen where her mother was folding some laundry.
‘Good morning, darling,’ said Kate. ‘Are you two ready for your breakfast?’
‘Don’t you worry, Mum. I’ll do it later.’
‘How did Liam sleep?’
‘Very well. Much better than I thought he would.’
‘I think he’s more resilient than you think,’ Kate said, placing the laundry basket on the table and walking up to Jen. ‘What have you got there?’
Jen passed it to her. ‘A photo of someone in the army, by the looks of things. Taken up at the urupā. Any idea who it is?’
Kate took it and peered closely at it. ‘It’s tiny.
I can hardly make anything out.’ She looked around at the table.
‘I’ve a magnifying glass here somewhere.
Aha!’ she said, sitting down and holding the magnifying glass over the photo.
‘Definitely taken at the urupā. No idea who it is though.’ She looked up at Jen. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Liam found it in a box of photos stored in one of the attic cupboards.’
‘This house is crammed full of things and memories. Not my memories though,’ she said, still looking at the photo. She looked up at Jen with a slight frown. ‘No idea who this is. I’d say a member of the family — a cousin maybe — except for the fact that this chap is blonde. Most of us are dark.’
Jen took the photo back from her mother. ‘Except for Lucy and Dan. They’re blonde.’
‘True. Although we’ve never figured out where that gene came from. All your father’s family were dark-haired Scots.’
‘Hasn’t anyone done a family tree?’
‘Your dad did one. He was primarily doing his own family but looked at mine, too. We wondered if there was a connection generations ago.’
‘Was there?’
‘Not that he discovered.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Where’s what?’ asked Kate, rising to put the kettle on.
‘The family tree.’
‘Probably in one of the boxes somewhere. Or you could try Dad’s desk. It could still be in one of the drawers.’
‘Weren’t you interested?’ Jen was curious.
‘No, not really. My life revolved around my mother and my grandmother. My mother and I were both only children. And we knew Grandma Ngaire’s family of cousins.
They were all around. So, no, no-one thought about researching a family tree.
But have a look in your dad’s desk. See what you can find.
But later. You need to get ready for work. ’
‘Ah, I’m not sure about that. I thought I’d ring Lucy to see if she can spare me.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m concerned about Liam after yesterday. You saw what state he was in.’
‘Honestly, Jenny? I think you should keep to the usual routine. Liam will get used to it. He simply mistook Sam for Alistair. It’s shadowy near the door in his bedroom.
It was a simple mistake to make. I doubt it suggests he’s fearful of all men.
But I know of a counsellor who you and Liam could see, and she can work with him to make sure he’s able to move on.
But in the meantime, I think we should carry on as normal.
And normal doesn’t mean you staying with him every minute of every day. ’
It confirmed Jen’s gut feeling. Liam looked and behaved with more ease every day. ‘Yes, I guess you’re right. I was thinking the same thing, but then I’d begun to doubt my own instincts.’
‘Never doubt them, Jenny. Have you thought any more about school?’
‘I have. I’m still worried that he’d find it overwhelming, but I agree; it’s important that he makes friends and doesn’t dwell on the past.’
‘Why don’t you go and meet Megan, the new entrants’ teacher, and have a chat with her? I’m sure you’ll like her. She’s a good friend of Lucy and mine, and I think she’ll set your mind at rest and answer any questions you have.’
Jen nodded. ‘Good idea.’
‘Shall I text her to say you’d like to call in?’
Jen grinned. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t done it already!’
‘I’m restraining myself!’ said Kate, reaching for her phone. ‘Shall I?’
‘Please.’
Kate repeatedly stabbed at the screen with one finger before sliding it back on the table. ‘Done.’
The phone immediately pinged, and Kate picked it up again. ‘Twelve-thirty, OK?’
‘Great.’
‘It’s done. You’ll like Megan. She’s a lovely woman, and she’s been through a lot, so she’s very sensitive to other people’s needs.’ She turned away. ‘Right! Let’s get things moving. I’ll put breakfast on.’
‘And I’ll get Liam.’
‘Tell him we’re going snail hunting this morning. They’re making a mess of my vegie patch.’
‘It’s not like you to kill snails, Mum.’
‘I don’t. They will be removed and taken somewhere more appropriate. Somewhere away from my vegies. No need to kill something just because it’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Smiling at her mother’s words, Jen went upstairs and chivvied Liam into dressing.
Instead of returning to her own bedroom, she went downstairs and into the front drawing room.
It wasn’t much used anymore but had been when she’d been young.
Then it had been her father’s domain, and she’d loved hanging out with him.
She’d used to curl up on the green velvet chaise with its bumpy brocade and mismatched cushions and read.
As she grew older, writing had replaced reading.
Her father had been an editor and had often brought his work home.
While he’d sit at his oak desk, manuscript spread before him, annotating with his red pen, she’d let her imagination play.
Play, she mused as she opened his desk, smelling the same inky, dusty papery smell as before, edged with tobacco.
It took her right back. Sent a shivery tingle through her body.
Instead of looking for the family tree, she let her fingers trail over the pens tidily put together in one of the small drawers, which she doubted had been touched since her father’s sudden death.
It had happened shortly after she’d left New Zealand and had caused her only trip back home. She still missed him.
She opened the top drawer where he’d kept his blank paper and pulled a pad onto the desk surface, smoothing her hand over it.
Before she knew it, she’d drawn up the chair and taken a pen and begun describing the garden, back in the 1940s, back when a soldier had looked at a photographer with love in his eyes.