JAZ sat with the diary still open on her lap, absently fingering the uneven edge of the thick page. For some reason she’d been reminded of Ange Watson and her stand-over tactics. She pushed the thought away and focused on the Shetlanders. She asked, ‘What Maggie said was true? They didn’t know how to use an axe?’
‘Well, there aren’t any trees as such on Shetland,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘Grandma told me she hadn’t even seen a tree until they travelled to London.’
‘Far out!’ Jaz remembered some photos she’d seen of Stewart Island in a tourist brochure. Still covered in dense bush, with secluded beaches and sunlit sea, it’d seemed pure heaven. Maggie’s description put a different spin on it. She leafed back through the pages. ‘Why did they expect to find farmland? Were they fed a pack of lies?’
‘I expect the immigration agents were told to paint a glowing picture,’ said Gi-Gi.
‘That’s so dishonest!’ Jaz stopped abruptly, knowing she’d lost the right to question others’ honesty. She felt her cheeks flame with sudden heat. Keeping her face turned away from Gi-Gi, she closed the diary and put it on the side table.
Fortunately, Gi-Gi hadn’t noticed anything. She was saying, ‘To be fair, the government agent here really did think Stewart Island was a great opportunity for people from a poverty-stricken place like the Shetlands.’
While she was talking, Jaz’s eye was drawn to the blue and white bowls arranged on top of the kitchenette cupboards. She’d always wondered why Gi-Gi insisted on bringing such ordinary china to the rest-home when she’d had to get rid of most of her precious possessions. Now she knew. ‘Those bowls – they’re Annie’s?’
Her great-grandmother nodded. ‘She gave them to Maggie as a wedding present.’
‘Awesome! Can I?’ Jaz carefully lifted one down. She ran her finger over the cracked and crazed china, thinking about the Shetland women setting out their small treasures so far from home. ‘Why Stewart Island, of all places? It’s miles away from anywhere.’
‘It was on the main shipping route,’ explained Gi-Gi. ‘Sailing ships took advantage of the steady westerly winds in those latitudes. The island wasn’t as isolated then as it is now.’
Unconvinced, Jaz got up to put the diary away. As she wrapped it in its tissue paper, she said, ‘There wasn’t anyone else around though, apart from that Bill Manners. And he didn’t exactly make things easy for them. It all sounds majorly hard work.’
‘To us, maybe,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘But they were well used to physical work and that level of isolation.’
Jaz went to make the tea. Despite what her great-grandmother said, the Shetlanders seemed to have found it tough going. She lifted the beaded muslin cover off the tray left ready by the kitchen staff. ‘Yum – my favourite!’ Unable to wait, she took a surreptitious bite from a Chelsea bun sticky with brown sugar and raisins as she poured the tea. The baked goodies served up by the rest-home were hard to resist – she’d miss them if she gave up her visits.
When she handed Gi-Gi her cup, the old lady spoke as though there had been no pause in the conversation. ‘I think it was more the sudden freedom from authority.’
Jaz did a double take. ‘What? D’you mean … being without lairds and suchlike?’ When her great-grandmother nodded, taking a sip of her tea, she said slowly, ‘I thought that was why they came out here?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Gi-Gi. ‘But Shetlanders were used to being told exactly what to do and how to behave.’
‘You reckon they couldn’t handle it?’ Jaz was dubious. They seemed a stroppy enough lot to her.
‘They were very young,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘As well, much of what they were dealing with was new. They’d had all their familiar props knocked away.’
Over the next few days, Jaz found herself thinking about what Gi-Gi had said. Was that why her parents were so freaked out? Had Dad losing his job knocked their props away? Maybe, maybe not, she decided after running through a mental checklist. Dad was back in his suits, going off to meetings. The whisky bottle was no longer out on the kitchen bench and he was getting on with his life. She’d heard him whistling in the shower. But now that he was working all hours of the day and night once more, she’d not seen any more glimpses of his lighter side. Maybe Mum’s disapproval of what he was doing had sent the jokes back underground. That aside, he did seem okay again.
It was harder to be so sure about Mum. She’d given up the cleaning frenzy, but the meals she cooked had deteriorated. Her mother had always prided herself on her cooking, saw it as part of her creative streak. Thai mostly, and she’d had a thing about Moroccan food for a while – chickpeas and filled pita breads. Now she seemed to have lost interest. They’d been eating boring casseroles and salads, night after night. Even more telling, since that initial blow-up over her nose stud, Mum had been off her case – not even the usual interrogation about homework.
At first, it’d been a relief. But now Jaz found herself wishing that Mum had asked how she’d paid for the nose stud, even forced a confession from her about the shoplifting. She’d become increasingly uncomfortable about that. Last night she’d dreamt about being trapped, with the chemist’s assistant looming over her. The woman had swelled and swelled until Jaz was pinned against the wall, unable to breathe. She’d woken sweating, still hearing the echo of Ange’s laughter in the background.
This particular afternoon, the house was dead quiet. Dad was still shut away in his study. Matt was out. There was no sign of Mum. She suddenly felt the need to talk to her. She looked in every room in the house then went outside. Nothing. She was about to give up when she heard activity from the studio at the back of the garage.
Feeling foolish at how urgent finding her mother had become, and no longer entirely sure why, Jaz hovered in the studio doorway.
‘You’re blocking the light,’ said Robyn. ‘Did you want something?’
She sounded her usual self, even if not exactly thrilled to see her. ‘Uh – not really. Just wondered what you were up to.’
‘Well, in you come then.’ Her voice more friendly, Robyn turned back to piling pottery into a carton.
‘You’re taking all this down to the community centre?’ Jaz retrieved a chunky coarse-glazed blue jar she’d always rather liked. Not that she’d said so at the time. Her heart beat faster as she tried to work out how to bring up the topic of her nose stud, maybe confess how she’d had to pay for it. She was beginning to think that punishment would be better than being gnawed at by guilt.
‘I’m getting rid of them.’ Her mother dumped a stack of platters in the carton and wiped a cobweb from her arm. She had smuts on her face too, but Jaz didn’t think she’d appreciate being told.
‘But aren’t these your good pots?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘You said you were pleased with them.’
Her mother picked up a mug and looked at it, then shrugged and tossed it into the carton. Jaz winced as it shattered. ‘I was deluding myself,’ Robyn said, and laughed. She swept her hand along the shelf, sending the rest of the mugs crashing into the carton.
‘Stop it – you’re scaring me!’ Jaz flung her arms protectively around a set of squat caricature figurines as Mum approached them purposefully. All thought of confession vanished. She couldn’t have picked a worse time. Relief at putting the moment off mixed uneasily with renewed doubt about her mother’s state of mind. ‘Mum?’
Robyn looked at her, then at the figurines she was sheltering. She sat down abruptly on a stool and ran her fingers through her mop of hair, transferring more black dust. ‘This all seems so pointless now. Suburban time-filling.’ She plucked one of the figurines from Jaz’s arms and examined it. She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not a bad likeness, I suppose.’ She gave it back to Jaz.
‘It’s really clever,’ said Jaz, beginning to relax. This was more like the Mum she was used to. She looked at the boot-clad Helen Clark roped to the Beehive. ‘It’s – witty. You’re not throwing these out.’
‘You can have them if you want,’ said Robyn. ‘They’re no use to anyone else.’
‘Thanks, I will.’ Jaz put the little figurines into a box. ‘Honestly, Mum – don’t be so hard on yourself!’
‘Don’t you be so patronising,’ Robyn said with a hint of her old tartness. She picked up a jug from the work bench, considered it, then put it back.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Jaz protested. She waited a moment, but Mum didn’t say anything more. Jaz tried to pick her words carefully. ‘If you’re giving up potting, what will you do instead? You’ll go stir-crazy sitting around here.’
‘What do you suggest?’ Robyn looked at her. ‘Any bright ideas?’
Jaz thought. ‘For starters, you could try talking to your friends instead of fobbing them off. Maybe someone knows of a job you could do.’
‘Like what?’ At least Mum was listening.
‘I dunno, do I?’ Jaz shrugged. ‘You trained as a librarian, didn’t you? Couldn’t you get a library job of some sort?’
‘That was a long time ago. My skills are way out of date after ten years of being the good corporate wife for your father.’ Lines that Jaz hadn’t noticed before dragged at the corners of Robyn’s mouth. ‘Besides, everything’s computerised now.’ She got to her feet and rummaged through the pile of empty cartons in the corner.
‘Oh come on, Mum,’ Jaz protested. ‘That’s a bit defeatist. You could retrain – isn’t that what people do?’ She shied away from that comment about Dad.
Robyn dumped the fresh carton on the bench and looked consideringly at a shelf of bowls of various shapes and sizes. ‘Nothing’s that simple, Jaz. Leave it now. I don’t want to talk about this any more.’
‘But …’ Jaz gave up as her mother firmly turned her back on her. ‘Oh, have it your way, Mum. I was just trying to help.’
The crash of the shelf being cleared was her only answer. Thwarted, Jaz left her to it. Conversations with her parents these days always seemed to end up in the wrong key.
Later, at dinner, Jaz sat poking her fork through a hastily thawed and reheated sludge of unappetising casserole. Dad started a monologue about some scheme he’d dreamed up. He was becoming so boring. Maybe she should campaign for the return of Mike the Man? For a moment she thought of designing a placard and picketing his office. But what was the point – he’d probably not see the joke. Jaz squinted at a piece of greyish meat she’d retrieved, then discarded it for a mouthful of salad.
Dad was still droning on. Now it was something about the importance of matching people skills to jobs. Already resentful about the failure of her earlier conversation with Mum, Jaz couldn’t help herself. During a pause in the spate of words, she said loudly, ‘Pity you don’t practise what you preach when it comes to Matt, then.’
Mike sighed. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
He didn’t have to sound so long-suffering. ‘Isn’t that what he’s doing? Sorting out a job that suits his skills and interests?’ Jaz ignored her brother’s swift kick under the table.
‘That’s quite different. Matt knows we’re concerned about him not getting a sound educational …’
‘Quit talking about me as though I’m not here.’ Matt cut across him. ‘I’m not changing my mind. End of story. Finito.’
Jaz stared at him, disconcerted. Matt was usually so laid back. But now his face was white along the line of his clenched jaw, and she could see the tension in his shoulders. Why had she opened her big mouth? She’d hit the wrong note again.
Now Mum was putting her bit in, making things worse. ‘Don’t be like that, Matt darling … all we want is the best for you.’ Robyn pushed the casserole dish towards him. ‘Have some more?’
Jaz winced.
‘Not the way I see it,’ said Matt. He waved the casserole away impatiently. ‘What you’re doing is crapping all over my decision.’
‘No need to be crude,’ said Mike. ‘We think you can do better, that’s all.’ He pulled the dish towards himself and ladled some more meat and gravy onto his plate. Jaz shook her head mutely when he lifted his eyebrows at her.
Matt was not to be deflected. He raised his voice. ‘Better in whose books? A son working in sport doesn’t quite fit the executive scene?’
Mike opened his mouth to protest, but Matt was on a roll now. ‘All you’re really worried about is maintaining some sort of fake image for your business cronies. Stuff this being my career choice.’
‘Calm down,’ said Mike, folding his table napkin. ‘Let’s talk about this sensibly.’
‘Too late for that.’ Matt’s voice steadied, but Jaz could hear the hurt behind the coolness. Her anxiety grew as she looked from one parent to the other. The silence thickened.
Matt was the first to speak. ‘Okay, that’s it.’ It was his turn to discard his napkin. He pushed his chair back. ‘Best all round if I move out, get out of your face. Surf ’n’ Soul can find me a pad in the sail loft.’
As all hell broke loose, Jaz didn’t wait to hear any more. She fled to her room. She’d made things heaps worse. Everything she did these days made things worse. Downstairs, the raised voices fell abruptly silent. The door slammed and she heard Matt’s footsteps coming upstairs. She heard drawers opening and closing. He was packing?
Before she could react, Matt knocked quietly on her door. ‘I’m off.’
Jaz flew at her brother and flung her arms around him.
‘Hey!’ Matt peeled her off and put her down at arm’s length. ‘Hey! What’s your problem?’
‘I was only trying to stick up for you. This is all my fault.’ She hugged her arms to her chest.
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ he said. ‘Just looking for an excuse, wasn’t I? So I could clear out and set up on my own. Gotta life to live, roads to travel – all that.’ His voice trailed away, and Jaz could tell that in his mind he’d already left his family behind.
‘I’ll miss you!’ Tears threatened as she envisaged life without her brother.
Matt was unmoved. ‘Don’t be such a drama queen.’ He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you down at the Estuary, won’t I? Anyway, what about those new friends of yours – spend more time with them.’
Then he’d gone. Jaz stared at the Barbara Kendall poster through tear-blurred eyes. She didn’t think she wanted to spend more time with Ange Watson. Get a grip, she told herself as the tears spilled over. No wonder Matt had got fed up with her. She didn’t like herself much any more. Everything was so complicated.
She scrubbed angrily at her face, wincing as she knocked the stud in her nose. That was another complication. She’d been trying to ignore it, but her belly button had definitely become infected. Cautiously she peeled off the protective wad of lint. Bits of crusty stuff tweaked at her skin as she swabbed them away with cleanser. She stood up and checked her stomach in the mirror. That reddened swollen lump was still leaking gunge. The bar was lopsided. Gingerly, she tried to move it into a better position, but touching it made her feel squeamish, and it hurt.
The next day, although it was only mid week, Jaz caught the bus to the rest-home after school. She didn’t have the energy to play Ange’s games right now. The other girl would spot she was upset and zero in. Nor did she want to go home. With Matt gone and her parents pretending it was okay, the less time she spent at Dalethorpe Place the better.
Then, to top everything off, that woman from the chemist got on her bus. She looked right at Jaz as she pushed past to a seat just behind her. Jaz broke out in a sweat. She sat rigid. She didn’t dare draw more attention to herself by getting off at Gi-Gi’s stop. But when the woman eventually left the bus and Jaz risked a surreptitious glance at her out the window, she realised she was nothing like the chemist’s assistant. Shaken by the trick her mind had played, she got off at the next stop and slowly walked the long way back to the rest-home.
‘I wasn’t expecting you, was I?’ Gi-Gi was surprised to see her. She looked anxiously at the covered tea tray. ‘The staff won’t have brought extra for you.’
‘We hadn’t planned anything,’ said Jaz, hurt that Gi-Gi thought she came just for the food. ‘I didn’t have anything better to do, that’s all.’
‘I certainly don’t have anything better to do,’ said Gi-Gi drily. ‘But what about your new friends? Shouldn’t you be spending some time with them?’
‘Oh, they were busy,’ said Jaz evasively. After what had just happened on the bus, spending time with Ange and her group had lost much of its appeal. Seeking escape in Maggie’s world, she retrieved the diary from the desk and found the page where they’d left off last time.