Page 43 of Sanctuary at MacLeod's Cove
‘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.
Chapter Thirteen
