Inheritance (31 page)

An hour later Fran is still there, down with the donkeys, one arm over a patient grey back, scratching ears, no doubt berating her mother to the understanding beasts. Every now and then Fran glances up the hill to see if Jeanie is still there.

Jeanie waits, aching for her. Wants to hold her tight, but respects Francesca’s need to come to terms quietly with all this new and startling information. She shifts the pieces of mug into a pile with the toe of her shoe, but will not go inside to find a pan. She waits.

At last Francesca stamps her way up the hill again and flops onto the bench. She seems calmer. Jeanie smiles, pats her daughter’s arm.

‘I think you should read this,’ she says, handing her Teo’s letter.

‘What? Not more revelations? Give me a break.’

‘It’s from your father.’

Francesca looks quickly at her mother, then down at the paper. ‘Have you read it?’

‘Yes,’ says Jeanie. ‘It came with a letter to me, which you can see too if you like.’

Fran takes it and turns away to read. After a quick skim she reads it out aloud. 

Francesca stumbles over the Samoan words, then tries again. She looks at her mother severely. ‘You told me a whole bunch of lies!’

‘I did – I’m so sorry dear. It seemed the right thing,
and then somehow I got into the habit of it.’

‘All that stuff about the handsome Italian!’

Jeanie smiles sheepishly. ‘That happened to Elena – sort of.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘She saw your exhibition by chance, and recognised the old mill you painted. Then the attendant gossiped about your Italian father and she knew who I must be. That’s how she found me. Elena told me that Italian story, back in Samoa.’

‘Mum, you are outrageous!’

Jeanie is relieved to see her daughter’s rather admiring smile.

‘How could you send me to Italy on that wild goose chase?’

Jeanie feels a little of her old spirit rising. She’s had enough of apologising.’ You were very keen to go,’ she points out. ‘I think it’s good to have a mission when you’re travelling.’ She risks a grin. ’You enjoyed it didn’t you?’

‘That’s not the point!’ But Francesca can’t keep up the severity. She giggles. ‘My God, Mum, what a story! It’s like out of a book. So you had an affair?’

Jeanie looks sideways at her daughter. ‘He was very nice. A rather wild young man. Very handsome and a terrible flirt. Elena says he’s settled down now and has become quite pompous.’

Francesca frowns. ‘Pompous? He is not. I think he sounds lovely. Look at the way he’s invited me to meet my brothers and sisters.’

Jeanie is amazed at her daughter’s readiness to move on. Already she’s defending him – has accepted him and
his family. Francesca is happily planning to meet a new family, while Jeanie is still shaking from last night’s terrors.

‘Anyway,’ says Francesca, squinting into the sun, ‘I was sick of all that Italian stuff. Look at how my work has changed this year. I expect I felt instinctively that I had Samoan blood. Do you reckon?’

‘It’s possible, yes.’

‘Genes have to count for something, don’t they?’ Francesca puts down her mug and turns, smiling, to hug her mother. ‘I’m rather glad you gave me a Samoan dad. Wait till they hear at school!’

‘Your father asked you to keep it quiet for a bit, remember?’

‘Oh yes.’ Francesca shrugs as if this request is not too important. ‘But that awful creep last night, Mum. Whatever made you marry him? I can’t believe it! What a basket case.’ She shudders.

Jeanie can think of nothing to say.

‘I suppose it’ll be all over the papers,’ says Francesca. ‘That can’t be kept quiet. Am I allowed to talk about that then?’

‘It’ll be a news item I expect. Poor Stuart would rather have enjoyed making the news.’ Jeanie rubs at her painfully bruised shin. ‘I’d rather not talk about him just now. Maybe one day.’

‘Poor Mum.’ Fran takes a mouthful of cake. ‘Shall we go and meet my new dad then? What’s Samoan for hello?’

‘Talofa lava.’

‘God, you remember!’

Elena stands at the door of her Wellington home, her arms spread wide in welcome. ‘Talofa! Talofa lava! Welcome my dear friends!’ Her large body is clad in a striking puletasi, a simple navy lavalava overlaid by a dress of patterned blue and white flowers. Tucked into her ear a spray of red geraniums. She dances down the few steps of her little Wellington house, to engulf Jeanie and Francesca in a bone-crushing hug. She steps back to wipe tears from her eyes. ‘Jeanie,’ she says more quietly. ‘My dear Jeanie, what a time you have had. We will talk quietly later, I promise.’ Then, raising her voice again, ‘But come in, come in! My new family!’

There is such pride, such a transparent joy in her words!

Jeanie holds back for a moment as Elena draws Francesca up the steps and into the house. Already she is fearful of the new possibilities. Her life is moving too fast. After years of living quietly on Stewart Island, and then in Gore, she has become unused to change. The two weeks since Stuart’s death have been crammed, day after day, with one new experience after another. Journalists, a TV crew, the police, arranging time off school, having to think all the time what to say, what to leave out. Fran has taken to all the attention naturally and with gusto; has managed to avoid any mention of her Samoan parentage, while rather milking the drama of the suicide for the benefit of friends and the general public. Jeanie needs time now on her own, doing nothing. Letting her changed life settle into its own rhythm. To be honest she would rather not have this meeting just yet, but Fran is
so excited, Elena so insistent.

Jeanie walks slowly into this narrow little cottage, which Elena is in the process of leaving. She hears lively conversation down the hall; exclamations, introductions. Music is playing – something with an island flavour. Jeanie recognises the hip hop sound of a CD Elena has given Francesca. A new Samoan band called The Mau. It feels too cheerful, too celebratory. Already Jeanie is longing for home. She sees piled plates waiting in the kitchen. Surely Elena hasn’t arranged a big party for this delicate – this difficult – meeting? She feels her legs trembling; wants to turn around and walk away but forces her feet one after the other down the hall.

She stands in the doorway. Though the rest of the house is like any other suburban home, this room is Samoan. It is bare of furniture, the floor covered in woven palm matting. Bright cushions are scattered and every inch of space on the walls is taken up with tapa cloth hangings, bright flowery lavalava, photographs, festoons of shell lei, artificial flower lei, even lei made from sweets, strung in line. An enormous potted palm stands in one corner. It too is festooned with lei, so that it seems to be flowering. The whole effect is so bright, so relentlessly cheerful that Jeanie, for a moment, can hardly bear it.

The others are already seated on the floor. Elena is talking and laughing, telling the story, again, of how she found Jeanie. An old lady sits on a pile of cushions. The man must be Teo. He looks at her steadily for a moment. Then, with a small, uncertain smile, he motions her to come in and sit down.

Jeanie is glad of his formality. She takes two or three
steps into the riotous room and then her legs fold. She sits a little distance from Teo; nods at him. He seems just as tongue-tied as she is. All they can manage is a smile.

Elena makes up for them all. ‘Such an occasion! What do you think, Jeanie? My brother has grown fat and too serious? And this lovely Francesca. So now I can call you niece!’

Teo shakes his head, gravely, and Elena quietens. Jeanie thinks that Elena, who is usually a shrewd reader of mood and atmosphere, is just as nervous as the rest of them.

‘Thank you, Teo, for your letter,’ says Jeanie at last. ‘Or should I call you by your title?’

He shakes his head. ‘In this room, Teo will do. It’s I who should thank you.’ He looks at Francesca quickly and then away again. Jeanie knows what he’s looking for. ‘You have a lovely daughter,’ he says. ‘It’s good to meet her.’

Francesca looks from one to the other, grinning. No doubt inventing romantic stories, past and future.

‘How is your wife?’ asks Jeanie.

‘Not well. A little better. Thank you. It has been a very hard time. We can travel in a few days. Did Elena say she’s coming with us?’

Jeanie nods. Elena has taken the position in the hospital; has urged Jeanie to think about returning to Apia to work with her there. Jeanie has been noncommittal. It’s too early to plan. At the moment all she can think of is her quiet home in Gore, her donkeys, the children she teaches.

Francesca turns to Teo, a little shy, catching his grave
mood, but bursting with questions. ‘Tell me about your other children. Are they like me? Do you have photos? Will they want to meet me do you think?’

‘Ue, lots of questions!’ He smiles at her, painfully it seems to Jeanie. ‘In a while you will surely meet them. Not yet. They have enough to deal with now; their mother coming home. Her dying.’ He gestures to a photograph on the wall. ‘There they are.’

‘Oh! I didn’t see it!’ Francesca stands to examine the big framed photo just above her head. She turns back to Jeanie in delight. ‘Look, Mum! This one is like me. Don’t you think?’ And then to Teo, rather hesitant after the talk of death, ‘Am I allowed to know their names?’

Jeanie draws in a shaky breath. It’s all too much.

The white-haired old lady rises creakily from her pile of cushions. Jeanie realises with a shock that this is Simone. For a moment she panics. Is Hamish here too? How can she juggle all the different versions of the truth? The different understandings?

Old Simone seems to understand something of her confusion. She takes Jeanie’s arm in a companionable way, smiling but saying nothing, then steers her out of the room and down the corridor. She must be over eighty, but her step is firm, her body tall and upright. They walk together outside into a pocket-sized garden at the back of the house. It’s quiet there in the brisk morning sun; the sound of traffic is distant. A blackbird sings somewhere close by.

Simone plucks a dead head or two from the little flowering kowhai bush. ‘Jeanie, chérie,’ she says, ‘it’s so wonderful to see you.’ She seems quieter than Jeanie remembers, but, apart from that, no older than she
looked twenty years ago. ‘Shall we leave those Samoans together for a moment? This is not an easy time for you, yes?’

Jeanie finds herself crying. The tears pour down her face. Great sobs heave upwards, shaking her body.