CHAPTER 28

Emma

‘Call an ambulance?’

Emma’s mum waved her phone at Dr G, kneeling on the floor beside Loko, who was sitting up now, but not exactly being the ideal patient.

‘There appears to be more blood than damage.’ Dr G had given up trying to swab Loko’s face. ‘Most of it due to nosebleed, though the nose appears to be unbroken. He was unconscious for only seconds, but I can check later for concussion. I observed also that he sustained a few hard blows to the torso, so he may have broken ribs. And I should examine his abdomen for—’

‘Don’t touch me.’

Loko said it through gritted teeth.

‘A ruptured spleen can be fatal,’ said Dr G, mildly. ‘I would strongly advise undergoing a CT scan.’

‘Ambulance — yes or no?’ said Emma’s mum.

‘No!’ said Loko. ‘No quacks anywhere near me.’

Grimacing in pain, one hand holding his ribs, he tried to stand. Emma stepped forward to help him, but he threw up his free arm to ward her off. The furious expression on his face stopped her protest mid-utter.

On his feet, breathing hard, Loko demanded, ‘Bring the car to the door.’

Emma was acutely aware that everyone was waiting for her response. Dr G, now stripping off his latex gloves. Her mum and dad, who’d come as soon as she’d phoned them. The only one missing was Devon, sitting on the back steps, having taken himself out of the way.

‘I’ll drive you,’ said Emma’s dad.

‘Not necessary.’ Loko replied. ‘Emma — we’re leaving.’

Another order. But he was in pain, humiliated — who behaved well under those circumstances? And how else would he get back to camp?

‘No can do, buckaroo.’

Emma’s mum. Stepping in. Sorting shit out.

‘Unless you want to crawl home,’ she told Loko, ‘you’ll go with Jacko. Emma’s got family matters to attend to.’

Loko’s smile wasn’t nice. It said, ‘That’s right. Hide here with Mummy, little girl.’

If Emma had been in her usual state of mind, she would have flipped him the bird, and good riddance. But seeing Dev like that, insane with rage — it had knocked her sideways. And then his expression when she’d yelled at him: a mix of misery and challenge, like he was telling her, ‘Welcome to the real me.’ That wasn’t Dev. That wasn’t how her world worked.

‘It’s the Wood Sprites camp, Dad,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

And she walked to the nearest window, pressed her cheek up against the cold glass. Kept her back to the door, so she couldn’t see Loko hobble out.

‘Need any help?’

Her mum, asking Dr G. Another person Emma didn’t want to face right now.

‘I’ll take the gloves and swabs, dispose of them at the surgery,’ he replied.

‘Good thing Jacko keeps the first-aid kit topped up,’ Emma’s mum remarked. ‘Or you’d have been making do with torn strips of frilled apron.’

‘This floor will need cleaning, too. Obviously. And where is Devon now? I’d like to examine his hands for fractures.’

Dr G sounded oddly cool and detached, but Emma assumed that was because he was still in professional mode. He’d been quite the superhero tonight, holding Devon back until he’d settled down, ordering him to fetch the first-aid kit and then doing the full A&E action on Loko, calm, purposeful and efficient. Whereas all she’d done was yell at Dev and phone her parents in a panic. Like a little girl.

She should speak to Dr G. She should do something useful.

Too late.

‘I’ll fetch him,’ said her mum. ‘He’s on the back steps — should have brought him in earlier. Shock and cold air could give him hypothermia.’

Twenty seconds later, she rushed back in. ‘He’s gone. Driven off. Bugger.’

Her mum was genuinely upset. Why not? Dev was like a son to her.

‘I’ll call him.’ Emma’s mum pulled out her mobile.

‘He won’t answer if he’s driving,’ said Emma.

Devon had always been the sensible one when it came to cars and phones. The sensible one full stop.

‘Crap.’ Her mother shoved the phone back in her jeans pocket. ‘Well, no point mooching around here. Let’s sling a bucket of bleach on that bloodstain and head home. Tea and a biscuit at ours, Doc? Something stronger if you like.’

‘Thank you.’ Dr G was putting on his jacket. ‘But I’ll say goodnight.’

Shit. Time for Emma to woman up.

‘Hey.’ She hurried over to stand in front of him. ‘You were pretty amazing, how you dealt with all that.’

‘Thank you.’

Where was the kind, funny Dr G she’d been out with only the night before? The Dr G who’d turned out to be a way better kisser than she’d expected? For all the spark in his eyes, the dude in front of her might as well be reading the newspaper on the train.

‘Look, I know I didn’t mention Loko,’ she said. ‘But why would I? He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not a thing. He’s just a guy I—’

‘No need to explain.’

He’d started doing up his buttons. Navy wool pea coat. Classy. Emma wanted to fold her arms, but she knew it looked defensive. She shoved her hands in her jacket pockets instead.

‘So?’ she said. ‘Does that mean we’re cool?’

‘Oh …’

He ran a weary hand over his head.

‘Cool is what I have never been, and never will be, I’m afraid.’

In his apologetic half-smile, she saw a hint of the man from last night.

‘Take care, Emma.’

And with a nod to her mother, he exited.

They all had. Dr G, Devon and Loko. Exited stage left.

‘Grab a bucket and brush, Em,’ said her mum. ‘It looks like a slaughterhouse in here.’

When her dad got back home, Emma and her mum were still up, sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating Krispies. Well, her mum was eating Krispies. Emma had no appetite.

Her dad retrieved a beer from the fridge, joined them at the table. King scrambled up from his prone position on the floor, rested his head on his master’s leg.

‘Is he going to press charges?’ said her mum.

‘Doubt it.’

Her dad removed the bottle cap with his hand. Chances were it wasn’t a twist-top.

‘He hates the pigs more than he hates quacks. I received quite the lecture about the evils of our neo-liberal fascist regime. Until I told him to shut up.’

‘Did you stop the car before you let him out?’ her mum asked.

‘Camp’s over a mile from the road. Long walk when you’re sore as hell is probably punishment enough.’

Her dad reached down to fondle King’s ears.

‘Bloke’s an A-grade arsehole, Em.’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Was it serious?’

Emma was touched. Her mum wanted to know if she had a broken heart.

‘I wasn’t in love with him,’ said Emma. ‘But I liked hanging around with him. He wasn’t an arsehole all of the time.’

‘Use of past tense noted, with some relief,’ said her mum. ‘Onwards and upwards.’

They were great like that, her parents. If she’d hooked up with a douchebag, then that was a mistake, sure, but they knew she knew that; she didn’t need their censure on top of her own. Their priority was to support her, not tell her how to live her life.

Maybe she should have done the same with Devon? If she’d just lent a friendly ear and not pushed him — more accurately, ridden roughshod over him — then he wouldn’t have got wound up to breaking point. He might still be grumpy and alone, true, but he’d be grumpy and alone his way, on his terms.

No reply yet to her messages and texts. He’d probably gone home, Emma decided. His family would look after him. Wouldn’t ask too many questions, either. Devon had always been a good kid. Honest, clean living, reliable. They trusted him.

Like her parents trusted her.

Should she tell them? About Loko’s group? About what she’d done? Her dad always said you had to live by your principles. Talk was cheap — it was your actions, not your words, that counted.

He’d also given her the advice she’d passed on last night to Dr G — that how other people reacted was their responsibility, not yours. But now Emma could see that it wasn’t so simple when you were the one having the reaction. When it was you feeling threatened, fearful or rejected. She could see the sense now in what Dr G had said — that we should at least consider the impact of our actions on other people. We might still choose to act, but we couldn’t rightly plead ignorance when the shit hit the fan.

Thing is, she hadn’t fully considered the knock-on effects, and now it was too late; what she’d done she couldn’t un-do. So Emma guessed she had two choices: fess up and face the music, or keep schtum and hope it all went away.

If she did the former, how would her parents react? Her dad would be angry about the website because it had hurt people he liked and respected. Her mum would be worried that Emma might fall foul of the law. Both would think her moral compass had gone awry; no matter how noble your principles, your actions should never cause harm. It was possible neither would ever trust her wholeheartedly again.

And if she kept schtum, she’d have to live with the deceit all her life.

A real dilemma, the kind with horns. Ha ha — an Emma-dilemma. Pity it didn’t feel all that funny.

Her mum was yawning behind her hand.

‘God,’ she said. ‘Feels like three a.m. but it’s barely gone eleven-thirty. Time for bed.’

‘Heard from Dev?’ her dad asked.

Emma shook her head.

‘I’ll pop round to his place tomorrow morning,’ she said.

‘Tell him he can take tomorrow night off. I’ll ask Sid if she can step in.’

‘Might be out of luck there,’ said her mum. ‘Sidney’s got a bit of drama happening.’

‘Aidan acting up again?’

‘No, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so stop guessing.’

‘You’re the boss,’ said her dad, and pulled his wife to him, so he could kiss her cheek.

They loved each other so much, Emma thought. Better than that, they were friends. Best mates. Had been for nearly forty years, since her dad was seventeen and her mum fifteen. Unbelievable, really, but the evidence was right in front of her, had been since she was old enough to see it.

Usually, her parents’ happiness made her happy, too. She’d always loved how well they treated each other, the mutual respect, the way they showed affection by helping each other out, having each other’s back. All Emma’s life it had felt like a point of pride. A place of safety, too; it reassured in the comfortable, familiar way of a favourite soft toy.

But tonight, it made her miserable. With everything she’d done to screw up people’s lives, did she deserve affection or respect? If she couldn’t be honest or generous or caring, why would anyone want to get close? No wonder Dr G had cut her dead. For all his professed self-doubt, he knew what was good for him. And that wasn’t a person like Emma.

‘Your bed’s made up, Em,’ said her mum. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

‘Night, kid,’ said her dad. ‘It’ll look brighter in the morning.’

And the pair of them headed off to their room.

It’ll look brighter in the morning. Said with love, and because that’s what her dad believed. No problem that couldn’t be solved if you put your back into it.

Better start stiffening her spine now. Because of the two choices, fess up or keep schtum, Emma knew there was only one she could live with — even though it would come with a world of hurt.

Tomorrow morning, however, her top priority was Devon. She’d get up early, head round at breakfast time. And hope that’s where he was, because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

The Pohio-Ladbrooks lived on the other side of Gabriel’s Bay, in a neat thirties roughcast bungalow that had always housed however many whanau members were in need of a place to live. Extra accommodation included a pop-top caravan and converted shed in the back garden. Beyond that was farmland. The farmer was an old family friend who let Devon graze Tiu on his paddock, stable him in the old stalls when he wasn’t at Lightning Tree, keeping other horses company.

Emma had fond memories of playing in the fields, and in Devon’s garden, which, in those days, seemed enormous, with mature fruit trees and a vegetable garden that was out of bounds lest they incur the wrath of Devon’s granny, who could be found stooped over it every day.

Kuia Agnes was dead now, as were Devon’s other set of grandparents, but despite having smoked for the first sixty years of his life, Koro Tama kept on keeping on. The old guy must be nearly ninety now, Emma thought, as she took the corner into Devon’s street. Still sharp. Still liked to tease.

What the hell?

Emma brought the Bluebird of Crappiness to a more abrupt halt than she’d planned. Who the heck were those people sitting on the footpath outside Devon’s house? On blankets and an old sofa that had been dragged from God knows where. At eight o’clock on a freaking Sunday morning!

As she approached, Emma could see the group was made up of youngish women, and one dude. Holy shit, these were Devon’s stalkers! The diehard last-standers who hadn’t been chased away by the fiercer Pohio-Ladbrooks. Which was pretty much every Pohio-Ladbrook to be fair, so this lot were either not easily frightened or nuttier than squirrel dung.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded of a girl aged around twenty, sporting green hair, rainbow leggings and a Powerpuff Girls T-shirt.

‘Why do you want to know, bitch?’

The dude. Slim, dark-eyed, camp. And soon to be dead meat.

‘Cos I’m Devon’s number one honey,’ said Emma. ‘His main squeeze.’

‘Oh, please,’ said the dude. ‘He’s not even into women.’ He waved his hand dismissively at the others. ‘Which I’ve tried to tell them.’

‘Uh huh,’ said Emma. ‘Because you know him so well, right?’

‘Better than you, Coyote Ugly.’

Emma got out her phone.

‘Calling police, mama?’ The dude laughed. ‘She drives by, we just smile and wave.’

He ducked his head back as Emma thrust the phone in his face. On it was a photo of her and Devon, arms around each other’s waists, taken at Emma’s leaving party.

‘Me and my man,’ she said, turning it so the whole group could see. ‘Later, losers.’

Insults of variable quality followed her as she walked up to the front door.

‘Emma!’

Devon’s mother looked thrilled to see her, even though Emma hadn’t been to visit them once since she’d been back.

‘Hi, Mrs Pohio-Ladbrook. Is Devon home?’

‘Come in, come in!’

Devon’s mum opened the door wide.

‘You get past those porangi youngsters OK? They give you any trouble?’

‘No trouble,’ said Emma, hoping the group had noted her warm welcome, the kiss on both cheeks from Devon’s mum. Losers.

‘Go knock on the boy’s door, wake him up,’ said Devon’s mum. ‘Don’t know what time he got in last night. Then come in the kitchen and have a cuppa with us.’

Emma knew the house as well as her own. Had spent many an afternoon in Devon’s bedroom, doing homework, listening to music, talking shit. It had always been super tidy, even when he was a teenager. Self-discipline. Dev had it in spades. Usually.

She knocked. No answer. Could he have hurt himself more than he let on last night? She tried the door.

‘Dev?’

The room was empty. Bed was made, neat as if he were at military school. Shit.

He wasn’t anywhere else in the house; his mum would know. Come to think of it, Emma hadn’t seen his car parked on the street. Double shit. Where was he?

His mum was waiting for her in the kitchen. No way she could stay. But no way to leave without saying goodbye.

Popped her head round the kitchen door. Only Devon’s mum and dad, and the two dogs.

‘Emma!’

Devon’s dad was just as pleased to see her as his mum. Judging by the amount of slobber now on her hands, so were Lolly and Dolly.

‘Hi, Mr Pohio-Ladbrook. So sorry, I can’t stay — something urgent’s come up.’

‘Devon still in bed?’ His mum frowned. ‘That boy is usually up with the sun.’

‘He’s not home,’ said Emma, trying to sound cool. ‘Maybe at a friend’s?’

‘You could try Barrett Tahana,’ said Devon’s dad. ‘He and Dev have been spending time together lately. I wouldn’t be so keen except Millie was a wahine marohirohi. Hope her tama has learned his lesson, got back on the straight and narrow.’

‘Thanks, I’ll do that,’ said Emma. ‘Nice to see you both. Sorry I can’t stay.’

‘Next time, hey? Don’t be a stranger.’

God, they were so nice to her. If only they knew …

‘Planning the wedding,’ she told the group on the footpath, as she strode past. Felt rather than saw the raised middle fingers.

In the car, she dialled Gene. Barrett worked for him.

‘Emma.’

Gene didn’t sound like his usual chirpy self. Probably hadn’t woken up properly yet.

‘Hi, have you got Barrett Tahana’s mobile?’ she asked. ‘Want to see if he’s with Dev.’

‘I’ll text it to you,’ said Gene, briskly. ‘Listen, Emma, you know that stuff you — arranged — for me?’

‘What about it?’

‘You haven’t arranged for anything similar to happen in other places?’

‘What other places? What do you mean?’

‘Otto Visser had his barn set on fire last night.’

‘So?’

Emma was impatient to get on, find Dev.

‘So were you behind that?’

‘What the fuck, of course not! Why would I be?’

‘You sure?’

‘Jesus, Gene, I know what I’ve done and what I haven’t!’ said Emma. ‘A fire in Otto Visser’s barn is nothing to do with me!’

‘OK, OK! Just checking.’

‘Text me Barrett’s number, please. I’ve got to go.’

‘Coming your way,’ said Gene. ‘You be careful out there.’

The phone beeped, and then it rang. Her mum.

‘Hi?’ said Emma, hoping it wouldn’t take long.

‘I’ve got Tai Te Wera in the kitchen,’ said her mum. ‘He came to see you, but we’ve all had a very interesting chat. And now we’d like to hear your side of the story.’

Emma closed her eyes. Breathed in.

‘I’ll be home in five minutes.’