Cassy
She and Justin spent most of the next day and night in the meditation room, digging up forgotten memories. Poisonous images: her father’s gritted teeth, her mother’s cold shoulder; a fist here, a shout there; abandonment, rejection and fear.
Sometime during the early hours of Saturday morning, Justin asked Monika to let Cassy into the office so that she could transfer everything in her bank accounts to Gethsemane. Cassy was tired beyond thought and sickened by her newly unearthed memories. Her happy childhood was a lie. Gethsemane was true.
‘None of us own anything here,’ Monika said, as she cut up Cassy’s bank cards with a pair of scissors. ‘Otto and I sold our house, our investments, signed over our pensions. And pow!—our stress was gone.’
The computer was on. Everything was ready. At the last moment, Cassy hesitated. ‘What if things don’t work out for me here?’
‘Are you thinking about divorce before you’re even married? You have to earn our trust if you’re going to become a Watchman.’ Monika peered into Cassy’s face, frowning. ‘Are you sure you want to be a Watchman?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Well then, do this one last thing. Then it’ll be chamomile tea, and snuggle down, and off to sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be very special. The children are putting on Joseph. We’ll have a barbecue.’
Monika’s voice was calm and reassuring. Cassy’s hands seemed to move by themselves, typing in her bank’s address and navigating the security system. Once she’d begun, it felt easy to log into her accounts and transfer everything in them to Gethsemane. Click, click, click. Thirty-two thousand pounds. There. Now she was free.
•
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat was a big success. Rome brought the house down as a laid-back pharaoh; Monty and a gang of other tiny tots played an adorably chaotic flock of sheep. Suva, Malindi and an older girl called Beersheba had created Joseph’s rainbow coat by sewing together hundreds of rags. Spirits were high and the audience easy to please.
Cassy stayed behind to help sort out costumes and props. Then she and Aden wrapped their arms around each other as they wandered towards the beach, where barbecue smoke twined over a backdrop of glittering water. One day soon—they didn’t yet know when—they’d become Partners. For now, they were in a blissful hinterland. Aden was humming ‘Any Dream Will Do’.
‘Gets in your head, doesn’t it?’ he said.
‘Tell me about it.’
Spring had melted the snow on Tarawera, and the valley seemed to be smiling; but Cassy had something on her mind.
‘Aden?’
‘Mm?’ He was watching Justin and some children who were paddling in the shallows, hampered by Peter, who cavorted around them.
‘How do you feel about Kerala now? I mean …’ Cassy felt mortified to be raising the subject of his first wife, but she persisted. ‘She was a Gethsemane girl. You had three children. Now you’re starting out again with a townie who knows nothing about farming or sustainable living. I’m just wondering whether I should be jealous.’
He sounded bewildered. ‘Jealous?’
‘I don’t want to be battling with the ghost of a perfect woman.’
He stopped walking and turned to take both her hands. For once there was no trace of a smile. ‘Kerala and I were only seventeen. Gethsemane was smaller in those early days; there really wasn’t anyone else for either of us. We weren’t perfect together, but we made the most of it. You, Cassy, are my destiny. It’s not comparable in any way.’
‘Really?’
‘Stop asking, or I’ll set Gaza on you.’
They were standing close together, smiling goofily at each other, when Liam appeared.
‘Sorry to break up the party,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘But we need your muscle, Aden. That stage is bloomin’ heavy, and it’s got to be moved before Dusk Call.’
‘Shall I come?’ asked Cassy.
‘No!’ Aden rubbed her back. ‘You can’t be lifting.’
Cassy watched him go before walking on to where Rome was organising a game of rounders.
‘First post, second post, third, fourth!’ he yelled, jogging the perimeter of an imaginary circle and dropping jerseys to mark the bases. ‘Who’s got the gear?’
Malindi came scampering from the direction of the school, clutching a bat and a yellow plastic ball, holding them out to Rome with a grin of pure adoration.
‘You’re a star, Malindi. Okay—who’s bowler for this team? You, Jaipur?’ He tossed the ball to Athens’ son: the dark-eyed, athletic pin-up of a teenager who’d played Joseph in the musical. ‘I’ll be backstop, then, if nobody else wants the job. Ah, Cassy! Please will you keep the score for us?’
The batting team sat on the grass to wait their turns, and Cassy lazed with them. Suva and Malindi were giggling about Jaipur, who they both thought was ‘lovely’—though Malindi thought Rome was ‘really lovely’.
The lovely Jaipur began the game by bowling to a four-year-old called Zanzibar. She could barely lift the bat and swung about three seconds too late.
‘Aw,’ said Malindi, sounding motherly. ‘Zanzi’s such a cute little button.’
Jaipur came and stood within arm’s length of the tiny batter.
‘Look at the ball, Zanzi,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t take your eyes off it. That’s right. Ready?’
She planted her feet wide apart, eyeing the ball as though it were made of gold. Jaipur aimed it right at her bat, so that she couldn’t miss. There was a tock of plastic on wood before the ball plopped onto the grass a couple of feet away, and both teams cheered. Zanzibar stood with a dazed smile, drinking in the applause.
‘Now you have to run,’ explained Jaipur.
Everyone yelled, Run! Run, Zanzi!, but she didn’t move.
‘C’mon, little sis,’ said Rome. Abandoning his duties as backstop, he took the child’s hand and trotted alongside her. He was more than twice her height and had to stoop as they ran. Meanwhile the fielding team gamely pretended to lose the ball among some cabbage trees until Zanzibar was safely home.
‘Who’s Zanzibar’s mum?’ asked Cassy.
‘Skye,’ said Malindi.
Cassy had seen Skye out at the colourful beehives, wielding a smoke box while she collected honey. She was always singing under her breath; bright eyes in a thin face.
‘Beekeeper Skye? She’s just a child herself.’
‘I think she’s about twenty,’ said Suva, adding casually, ‘Justin rescued her from being a prostitute. This man was making her do horrible things.’
‘Poor girl,’ said Cassy. It didn’t seem the sort of discussion she should be having with two eleven-year-olds, so she dropped the subject.
One by one, the batters took their turns while Cassy kept score in her head. She lay on her back and looked up at the sun, idly wondering what time it was. Then—abruptly—she sat up.
It’s Imogen’s wedding day.
That same sun would soon be shining through her friend’s bedroom window. She, Becca and Cassy had planned to share a bottle of bubbly while they got ready. They’d dance around to music as they did one another’s hair. It would have been fun. What kind of a bridesmaid doesn’t even get in touch on the wedding day?
‘Feeling okay?’ asked Suva, peering at her anxiously.
‘I have to go to the office.’
‘Why?’
‘To contact my friend. She’s getting married today! How could I have forgotten?’
‘Um …’ Suva was blinking rapidly. ‘Have the Companions said you can do that?’
‘Surely I don’t need permission?’
‘They have the office key,’ said Suva, leaping up and brushing grass off her knees. ‘I’ll go and ask.’
‘Shall I come?’
‘No. Stay here.’
And she was gone—whirling down the hill as though her life depended upon it. Cassy watched the stick-thin figure disappear among a crowd of people on the beach. Until now it had felt liberating not to be bothered with communication and technology, but today she longed for a smart phone and a few bars of signal. Then Zanzibar plonked herself down, stuck out her feet and asked Cassy if she thought she had funny toes.
The batting team was all out when Justin came strolling up. Rome threw him the bat. ‘You’re in, old man!’
‘Okay,’ growled Justin, crouching like an ace at Wimbledon. ‘Do your worst, Jaipur.’
Cassy had never seen Justin so playful. He smashed the ball up the hill, prancing around the circle of jerseys while the fielding team scrabbled to shake it from the clutches of a kowhai tree. He took clownish steps, pretending to be riding a bicycle—turned and jogged backwards on his long legs—then tiptoed with his arms up, like a tall, thin ballerina. Peter bounded beside him, and even the dog seemed to be laughing. Justin finally put on a turn of speed when he saw that Rome had the ball and was about to hurl it at fourth post.
That last-moment sprint was a second too late. The ball hit the jersey—Rome and Jaipur both screamed, Gotcha!—and the fielding team did a victory dance.
‘Betrayed!’ cried Justin, as he trotted back to Cassy. ‘By my own son!’
‘You did it on purpose.’
‘Who, me?’ He took her arm. ‘Come for a walk?’
It was an honour to have him to herself. Everyone in Gethsemane wanted a piece of this man, and he’d given her so much already. They skirted the beach and made their way onto the headland, climbing among the wooden crosses.
‘They don’t have names on them,’ said Cassy.
‘No. They’re here to mark the life of a Watchman as part of the whole, not as an individual. But I know each one. This,’ said Justin, gently laying his hand on a cross, ‘was for a lady called Barbara Svenson. She and her husband gave this land to Gethsemane, and died here.’
The little hill wasn’t high, but it was steep. Peter galloped to the top and back three times before Cassy and Justin had reached halfway.
‘I hear you’re worried about your friend’s wedding,’ said Justin.
Cassy was embarrassed, but grateful to Suva for telling him, not one of the Companions. Justin was a safe haven.
‘I am. Imogen.’ She paused for breath, her hands pressing into her sides. ‘I was meant to be a bridesmaid. I feel awful about it! She’ll be really upset. I thought if I could phone, wish her luck, say sorry …’
Justin sighed. ‘But, Cassy, you’ve made your decision. You’ve chosen Gethsemane. In a week’s time you’re going to become a Watchman.’
‘I am.’
‘And when you made that choice, you knew what it meant, didn’t you? All of us have given up our Outside lives. Narcissism and negativity creep in from the world. We work hard to keep them out.’
Cassy felt crushed. ‘I know. Sorry.’
He’d begun to smile. ‘Still. This is important to you. So give me Imogen’s address, and your message, and we’ll have flowers—chocolates, maybe?—delivered today.’
‘Justin, that’s brilliant! Thank you! If I could get into the safe and grab my credit card …’
‘No, no.’ He waved his hand, dismissing her offer. ‘You haven’t got one any more, remember? Gethsemane will foot the bill. It’s our gift to you.’
She tried to thank him again, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
‘No more thanks,’ he said. ‘But from now on, you have to let go of your past.’
They’d reached the highest point of the headland. A single weathered cross commanded a view of all Gethsemane. Below them, clear water washed against a rocky outcrop. They gazed at the ridges and creases of hills, cloaked in bush and pine forest. The volcano crouched like a sphinx, guarding the lake. Cassy could hear the children playing rounders, the chatter of the picnic. This is my home, she thought.
‘Will I have a new name?’ she asked. ‘When I become a Watchman?’
‘Of course.’
‘Who will I be?’