Inheritance. Part 17

'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 s.h.i.+n. '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 h.e.l.lo?'

'Talofa lava.'

'G.o.d, 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-crus.h.i.+ng 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 cus.h.i.+ons are scattered and every inch of s.p.a.ce on the walls is taken up with tapa cloth hangings, bright flowery lavalava, photographs, festoons of sh.e.l.l 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 cus.h.i.+ons. 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 t.i.tle?'

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 cus.h.i.+ons. 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, cherie,' 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.

'Oh dear,' she gasps, helpless to stop the earthquake within. 'I didn't want this.'

Simone hands her a handkerchief. 'My dear, this is natural. I expected such a thing. Come. We'll sit here for a while.'

There's a little wooden bench, just like her one at home, set under a tree. They sit side by side, watching a cheeky blackbird pecking at the patch of gra.s.s at their feet. From time to time Simone reaches a freckled, bony hand to pat Jeanie's knee. She says nothing for a while then begins quietly.

'Elena asked us Hamish and I to come and share her triumphant surprise. That woman! Not always so sensitive. But she has found you and that is very, very good. Perhaps you needed to be found?' She looks shrewdly at Jeanie, 'Perhaps at the moment you think not. But we all need our past, no? It must have been difficult to disappear so thoroughly; to say goodbye to all that life, as you have done?'

Jeanie's sobs are diminis.h.i.+ng slowly, but the eyes still leak. She nods, shakes her head; nods again, unable to speak.

'Hamish, by the way, has not come. He said to send his love, but he thought that I would be more than enough on my own! That rude man.'

Jeanie nods, glad of Hamish's kindness. She could not have coped with him as well. His knowledge.

'So. You are found and Stuart is dead. We read the news so horrible. Even in death he could not leave you alone. The papers made a small story of it. I can imagine much, much more, you poor soul.'

She takes from her purse an envelope and hands it to her. 'Hamish asked that you have this.' She hesitates, fingering the envelope, then bursts out, 'Jeanie, I can feel that inside is a key. Tell me because my Hamish is tighter than a clam is this by any chance the key to your old house in Apia?'

Jeanie smiles at Simone's obvious curiosity. 'I expect it will be.'

Simone cries out. 'So! That man has known where you are all this time? Has looked after your affairs?' Her French accent blossoms in her mock fury. 'Wait till I confront that wretch my husband!'

'He didn't know, Simone, don't be angry with him. He knew my bank account in Wellington, that's all. He's looked after the house.'

'And ours too! Jeanie my darling, we are still neighbours in Samoa! While we still live, of course.' She frowns for a moment looking at her wrinkled hands.

Jeanie suddenly feels such warmth towards this old friend. 'Hamish has been very kind. I needed him to be discreet.'

'But from me! No, I could have looked after you too! You must have longed for good friends.'

Jeanie smiles. 'Yes, yes I suppose I did. At first. I suppose I have always wanted to ask a friend if I was doing the right thing.' She looks quickly at Simone, afraid that she has said too much. Simone looks closely at her; nods as if in response to something she has discovered. Jeanie's heart lurches to think what this formidable old lady might say next.

'I hope you have treasured still a few good memories of those dear islands?'

'Yes,' Jeanie says quietly, surprising herself. 'I thought I had managed to bury them, but recently they have returned. The smell of frangipani blossoms!'

Simone chuckles. 'And of scented coconut oil on handsome brown bodies! Oh cherie, if only I was young again!'

'And palusami fresh from the umu.'

'Palusami!' Simone cries. 'Don't torture me. I have tried every way to make it here. It's not the same.' After a moment she adds. 'And beautiful Palolo Deep.'

Jeanie nods, thinking of that other palolo.

'You will go back one day,' says Simone. 'That is for the future, perhaps. For the present food. You must build your strength, for all that will come. Elena has prepared enough for an army, and I myself have brought some good healthy things from our garden. Shall we go in now?'

As they climb the steps to the house Simone says, 'That Teo such a wild young boy and now so different, so serious. Hamish says he is a good leader for Samoa. We will see how he manages a new daughter. You mustn't let him and Elena engulf her.'

Jeanie smiles at last. 'She's quite strong willed. I think Fran will manage to choose her own way.'

'Good.' Simone stops to kiss Jeanie lightly on her cheek. 'Just like her mother.'

... 'But surely,' Jeanie continued, 'in some circ.u.mstances, the truth would be too painful?'

'Life is painful,' Aunt Mary answered, a little sharply. 'Best get to know that early.'

Jeanie couldn't leave the argument; wanted to, but found the words had a will of their own. The need for absolution rose like a bubble through all her long-held repressions. 'What if it had been true, Aunt Mary? What if Dad's birth was the result of rape and violence? Wouldn't it be better, then, to hide it from him?'

Aunt Mary s.h.i.+fted in her chair impatiently. 'I have no interest in hypotheticals. It's more than enough coping with what is in front of your face. Surely, Jeanie, you can find some real problems without fussing about the past? More tea?'

GLOSSARY OF SAMOAN WORDS AND PHRASES USED IN THE NOVEL.

'Ai muamua ona tautala ai lea eat first, talk later.

'aiga extended family.

aualuma the group of unmarried young women who attend the village taupou auoi tafefe! expression of surprise and dismay.

afakasi half caste ali'i high chief.

Inu au fualaau Take your pills O Ani o la'u uo well then Ani my friend.

ue! interjection (of surprise) umu traditional Samoan oven using hot stones; the food covered with wet banana leaves fa'afetai lava thank you very much fa'asamoa the traditional Samoan way faipule t.i.tled orator.

fautasi large canoe used for ceremonial occasions fiafia party Fono Parliament fale open-sided thatched house falelaeti'iti'i small hut on poles over the lagoon, used as a toilet kilikiti Samoan cricket, played with a three-sided bat and any number of players lavalava cloth tied around the waist, covering the legs man or woman lei a garland of flowers, sh.e.l.ls, seeds or even sweets loa a tree whose seeds are used for dye lo taua mea lilo our secret place masi a food made from fermented green bananas Masiofo honorific given to a woman of highest rank.

matai t.i.tled leader moso'oia type of tree mumu loose-fitting tent-dress for women nu'u village paopao dug-out canoe with small outrigger.

palagi white person palolo the s.e.xual part of a reef worm a delicacy palusami delicacy made with young taro leaves and coconut cream patele priest pisupo tinned corned beef pule dignity, power (of a leader) puletasi tight-fitting two-piece dress for women sa'ofa'i ceremony of handing over t.i.tle sau! come!.

soifua! May you live!

sene cent siva a dance performed by women Susuga a polite way of addressing a t.i.tled person taupou village virgin: a ceremonial position teine girl.

tala dollar talofa lava h.e.l.lo tama man Tama a 'aiga most high-born families in Samoa tapalolo fis.h.i.+ng for palolo taro a large root vegetable, always served on special occasions.

end.