Late January
Dear Mum,
You’ll be pleased to know I finally knuckled down and passed my Level 3 exams. In a few weeks, I’m off to Wellington to study IT at Victoria Uni. Sorry, Mum, but the Masters in French you wanted me to do is going to be beyond me. To tell you the truth, I think Madame Hourdin was relieved. I never did get to grips with the subjunctive. They tell me Vic has a good athletics team, but I don’t see myself making it big in sport. For me, running is more about that work-life balance you’re always going on to Dad about. You can run out a lot of angst in a few circuits on the track. And I suppose it’s a good place to meet new people, as well.
You might not have heard, but I have a girlfriend. Yeah, I know, get out the best china. She’s pretty special. Her name is Skye, which is appropriate, if you know what I mean. I think you’d like her. One thing’s for sure, she doesn’t put up with any crap from me. Even my famous hang-dog look doesn’t score any points with her! Skye’s going to do a degree in natural sciences at Massey. With her in Palmy, there’ll be a couple of hours drive between us, so we won’t be hanging out every other day at the pub, but we’re hopeful. That is, I’m hoping she isn’t too impressed by brawny agricultural blokes in their Swanndris and gumboots.
Since we’re on the subject, Dad is seeing more of his secretary and, when I move out, she plans to move into the house. Maybe you already knew about Marilyn, Mum. Maybe she’s the reason you disappeared. Detective Pūriri says it’s possible. He says people have shot through for less and he reminded me that, with your illness, maybe you couldn’t help yourself. It’s true, you’re prone to being a bit emotional. I’m not trying to make you mad, Mum, I’m just stating the facts. Anyway, I made Dad promise not to sell the house, just in case you come home, and he’s okay with that, although I’m not sure Marilyn was too chuffed. I’ll admit I was angry about her in the beginning, Mum. Okay, if I’m fair, I was a bit of a shit to her, but she’s hung in there. She’s really got it bad for Dad, treats him like he’s a movie star or something. Since I’ve met Skye I understand it more, how a person can make you feel like you could jump off a skyscraper and land safely on the footpath without so much as bending your knees. Don’t worry, Mum, I’m not planning to do anything stupid. I’m not suicidal. All I’m saying is, I’m trying to give Marilyn a chance.
I’m really looking forward to getting stuck in at uni. It’ll be good for me, a change of scene. A chance to put some stuff behind me. The months since you disappeared haven’t been too flash. Some days, I wonder if you walked all the way to France for the milk. Sorry. It helps if I make a joke. It’s better than crying.
I’ve missed you, Mum. Everywhere I go, I scan people’s faces, looking for you, but I have to stop that. It’s gutting. Besides, I figure if there was a way you could contact me, then you would’ve done it by now. I guess that means something bad has happened, and you can’t come home. I try not to think about that. Then Grandpa reminded me that you’re always with me, part of me, because I’m your son.
Anyway, wherever you are, Mum, I just want you to know that I love you and I’ll never, ever forget you.
Your loving son and Master Warrior,
Adam.
Adam slides the letter into an envelope and seals the flap.
‘Dad? You there? I’m off out for a sec. Gotta stick something in the post.’
Dad puts his head around the door, a pair of kitchen tongs in one hand. ‘Don’t be long, mate. I’m firing up the barbecue for lunch. Thought I might cook us up a couple of snarlers. Marilyn’s making a salad. We’ve got to get it cleared away before the cricket starts.’
Adam walks along the street to the dairy, taking the same route Mum would’ve the night she disappeared. It looks set to be another long, hot summer afternoon: another great-to-be-alive Sunday. In one front yard, a couple of kids squeal as they leap over a sprinkler. The little one is completely starkers. Mrs Steele, out watering her flowerbeds, waves at Adam. In return, Adam raises the envelope and flaps it like a flag. Somewhere nearby, someone is mowing the lawn. The drone shifts. Change of direction.
At the dairy, Mum’s face stares at Adam from the poster taped to the window. The colours have faded after a month of summer.
‘Hey, Mum,’ he says.
Then, holding the envelope to his nose, Adam breathes in its clean papery scent before slipping it into the post box. He figures it has as good a chance as any of reaching her.
Wherever she is.