TWENTY-FOUR

Monday evening. Outside, the wind is howling its last gasps. Little by little, light and warmth are returning. Every now and then the wind resists the change and works itself up into a fury slamming against house walls and swelling suddenly against cars on the motorway, but these outbursts are short-lived and everyone knows spring is really here this time. Heads are lifted higher, faces wear smiles, florists sell as many ranunculas and anemones as they can buy and there is a ripple of interest in the shops that sell labels like Jane Daniels, Trish Gregory, Ashley Fogel. In New York the firemen are still searching.

Every light is on in Olga's Café. There are balloons, streamers, and glasses of bubbly. There is a big banner which says 'Happy Birthday Rose' strung right across the room and the tables underneath it have all been pulled together to make one long table. You couldn't get a bigger contrast from the afternoon.

The Hutt Hospital waiting area was long, narrow, but not dreary any more. The walls were freshly painted in a rich cream with a sea-green trim and there were new curtains in the same colour on the windows lining the outside wall. The floor length was divided into areas where people who had diabetes, cancer, or heart conditions sat and waited to be called. Since Rose was here three months ago the old chairs have been replaced with really comfortable new chairs in the same sea-green. It should be too much green but it's not. At the far end there was an area where boxes of brightly coloured toys waited for the next child to unpack. Rose had read somewhere that toys were the biggest carriers of infection to kids, but what were you supposed to do? Ban them? Along the wall, opposite the windows, there were pamphlets, brochures, posters, all to do with the particular disease represented in the area opposite them. In the cancer area, the posters featured lots of advice and suggestions on how to cope when you were told you have cancer. They tell you what the Cancer Society offers, they advertise workshops on a variety of topics. There was also a noticeboard on the wall with the names of the doctors on duty that afternoon.

At the reception area just inside the doors a couple of smiling women sat behind computers and when you presented your card they invited you to go to your particular area and sit down. Rose and Olga walked to the middle section and sat on two of the new chairs. She noticed that lots of the posters and brochures still feature smiling women. Rose had often thought she would prefer a brochure with a woman looking serious and a message saying the whole process is scary, unpleasant, scarring in every way, but it has to be done and that's that.

The doctor who'd given Rose the fine needle aspiration had said, 'Barring accidents, you'll recover physically within a year; emotionally it will take a whole lot longer.'

Olga nudged her. Rose saw two men, one handcuffed to the other. One of them wore the blue shirt, navy trousers of the prison service, the other wore jeans and T-shirt. He stared challengingly at the eyes which fastened on him from all parts of the room. A nurse came out from an internal corridor. She smiled at the men and they moved off into the heart condition area.

'Shit,' muttered Olga, 'be a bugger if he has a heart attack while he's handcuffed to the guard. For the guard I mean.'

Rose grinned. A nurse appeared from the cancer clinic section and held out her hand for their cards. 'Thank you Mrs Anthony,' she said.

'It's not Mrs.' Rose corrects this same nurse every time, but the nurse either can't or won't alter her greeting. If you're female you're Mrs, if you're male, you're Mr. None of this Ms stuff. Rose would prefer them to use her first name, and some do, but not this one.

'We need to talk,' Olga said softly. She'd arrived at The Book Stops Here a good half hour before the appointment although the hospital was only a few minutes' drive away. Carlos was early as well though so there wasn't much chance to say more than hello.

'They rolled up the big guns on me last night Rose.'

Rose couldn't imagine what she meant.

'Puti, Marama and Makere got on to me. About you.'

'What about me?' Rose's voice came out louder than she meant it to. She coughed, oh bugger they'll think I've got lung cancer, smiled casually at the other women and the lone man who were sitting in the cancer area.

'They said I'm not treating you right. They say I should ask you to come and live with me and stop this one-night-a-week business. They say it's not fair on you.'

Rose couldn't help it, she burst out laughing, then thought, for God's sake Rose, you're in the hospital waiting area. Nobody laughed out loud there.

'And,' Olga grinned, 'when I said I had and that you'd refused they said I couldn't have done it right. I said I had done it right. They said my trouble was I went at things like a bull at a gate. They say I have to try again. I told them to go home and have a lie-down and a cup of tea.' Olga enjoyed mimicking her sisters' emphasis.

Rose decided to ignore this. Not the time or the place. 'Did you find Knock-Knock?'

'Of course.'

'You are being really irritating,' Rose hissed.

'Oh really?'

'All right, all right. I want to know about Knock-Knock first.'

'We found him,' Olga said, 'we found him.'

'Where? How?'

'I've got connections,' Olga said out the side of her mouth. She looked just like the little girl Rose first knew at Wai-iti Primary. Rose felt her eyes widen.

'Yes, well,' Olga said, 'only something I do if I'm really determined, but I thought if anyone knew where Knock-Knock was Matiu would.'

'Matiu?'

'One of my not-so-salubrious rellies,' Olga said. 'He likes to keep in with me, never knows when he might need me to put in a good word with the whānau. Used to be called Matiu, but since he joined the Bros he calls himself Spike. He made a few enquiries and eventually we found Knock-Knock. Boy was he thrilled to see us, I don't think. We must have looked like the three Furies when he opened the door. And then he saw Matiu standing behind us. Decided he'd better talk.'

'So what happened?'

'Hope I'm right Rose, I said you wouldn't be pressing charges, but on one condition, that he do some work for Safe and Secure. Kind of periodic detention without going through the courts. We need painting and gardening done and he needs to work. Matiu says Knock-Knock started a horticultural course at polytech but never finished it. However, he did enough to know not to pull out the roses and he's never been a prospect as far as the Bros are concerned for which we can all be thankful. The thing is we've got this house to rent, want to buy it actually, but that's for the future, we've got a cheap rent providing we do it up. It won't be used for accommodating the women long term, but it's a good central place to take them while we get their particulars and find them a safe place to stay. It's in a quiet street, and it's an ex-state house actually so it's not too daunting and not too obvious. We think it'll be perfect.'

'But will Knock-Knock? Be perfect?'

'Oh yes. If he steps out of line he'll have to answer to me. If that doesn't work I'll call in Matiu. Knock-Knock, whose real name is Miki, hails from further up the coast so we know his family. I think he might now have some glimmerings about personal responsibility.'

It was Rose's turn. 'Oh really?' she said.

'I know,' Olga said, 'but I felt a bit to blame too. I should have pointed out the possibility, no, probability, that he'd do it back only worse.'

'I wasn't in the mood to listen.'

'Are you now?' Olga asked and wouldn't you know it, the nurse chose that moment to beckon them into the clinic.

Immediately everything that has happened in the last three days, the row with Olga, the baby, Lizzie, Royston, Ada's tape, Jo, even Sib and Louise, all vanish as they follow the nurse into the clinic. There is now only one thing on Rose's mind. She is weighed, has lost a little bit, oh hell, and then it's into the room where the surgeon will see her. She removes her jersey and her bra and gives them to Olga to hold. Rose sits on the bed and Olga in one of the old chairs. Obviously the refurbishing hasn't extended to these rooms yet. The patients' chairs are still the same badly upholstered dingy clay colour and the table and chair where the surgeon sits look as though there'd be trouble giving them away.

They wait. They talk, but it's the kind of talk that goes on just to fill a space, not going anywhere. They both give it up and wait in silence, listening to the hum of voices from the next room, one of which is the surgeon's. Someone was receiving good or bad news. 'We're having dinner at the café tonight,' Olga said suddenly as if the silence is too much to bear.

'Are we?'

'You didn't think I was going to let you get away without celebrating your birthday did you? I've found a new chef. She'll be cooking. Puti and Marama will help her. Makere's hopeless in the kitchen but she can throw a few balloons around and keep her eye on the kids. That OK?'

Is it OK? What does that mean? The party seems to have grown and Rose doesn't really care. Why not, she thinks, why not. What does it matter? The surgeon hurries in followed by two medical students. He smiles at her, introduces the two students, she introduces Olga, he picks up her file, nods as he reads. It's a folk dance where they all know their moves off pat. 'Right,' he says. He asks her how she is and she says she's fine. He asks if she has any worries and she says she hasn't. A lie, but he hasn't got all day. She holds up her arms and he steps back to survey her breasts. The two students stand behind him and watch. While she's still sitting he pokes and prods underneath her arms, around her shoulders and neck. Then she lies down on the bed while he palpates and kneads her breasts. Time holds its breath. Occasionally he goes back to a place and those probing fingers go over it again. These seconds are the worst in her life and they never get any better. The world turns another hundred years before he says, 'No lumps or bumps where there shouldn't be. Good.'

She can't speak. She hears her breath come out in a rush as she sits up. Olga hands her the bra and jersey, he pulls the curtains around her and she puts her clothes back on. When she's dressed and has pushed the curtains aside he smiles happily at her. 'Everything looks great,' he says, 'and we'll see you again in three months. If you have any worries in the meantime ring me.' He smiles, the students smile, Rose and Olga smile, and he goes, the bringer of good and bad news off to deliver one or other to someone else. The two students scurry after him.

It's OK. It's OK. It's OK, Rose thinks as she sits at the end of the long table in Olga's Café, I've got another three months' grace. She smiles at Sibyl and Kitty. Sibyl looks happy. She's delighted with the trunk. Claude has cleaned and painted it and it looks like new. Kitty picked up Sibyl after school and carried it out to stow in the boot. Sibyl has begun collecting bits and pieces and, surprisingly, is really enjoying it. She had thought it might be a bit gruelling and perhaps it might be, who knows, but for the moment, she's rediscovered lots of things, especially songs she used to sing. 'So much of my younger life was tied up with dancing,' she says, 'I still know all the words too. Amazing.' She's brought her camera tonight because she wants a photograph of Rose's party to put in the trunk along with the other older mementos. Sibyl starts chemo on Wednesday, but tonight she's laughing, lively, joking with Olga and Puti, directing Makere with the balloons. Kitty watches her smiling. Poor Kitty.

On a small table beside Rose is the carrycot with Simmie asleep in it. Which is very considerate of him, Rose thinks. She's had more time away from him than she likes. Nearly all yesterday and practically all day today apart from lunchtime. He's very forgiving though and Bridget has been positively enthusiastic. 'He's so cute,' she says, then she sees Rose's expression and says, 'Yes all right Rose, I'd have looked after him anyway.'

It's amazing really how Bridget's settled into their lives. Who would have thought a relation of Peter's would fit in so well after the way his daughters behaved. 'You can choose your friends but not your relations,' Ada always said.

Elena and Claude are on their way. Marama and Puti are, as Olga said they would be, in the kitchen assisting the new chef.

Rose sees Olga teasing Makere about some of the balloons which are already hanging limply. 'We need a pump,' Makere says, 'we need more air.'

'You need some more hot air,' Olga says, 'ask those two in the kitchen. They got more than they need.'

'If you don't shut up I'll do just that,' Makere threatens.

Jo and Wesley have promised to come after they've visited Lizzie. Lizzie has to make some decisions. For the time being Royston will be at his parent's house, but that solution might not be the one Lizzie chooses. Neither she nor Jo sound quite sure they want to live together in the same house, even temporarily. They are like two soldiers from opposing armies who've declared a truce but who know war could break out at any time. The main thing is to do what's best for Simmie. Rose sees that Lizzie is genuinely fearful of what that other Lizzie might do. She might go out of control again. She is severely shaken by her own fallibility, panic-stricken and ashamed, partly because everyone will know, but mainly because she did what she did. She can't rely on herself and it's a shock. How will she face anyone when she can't even look at herself in the mirror? As for Royston, she knows they must meet, they must talk. Somehow they must meet and talk if for no other reason than that they are Simmie's parents. 'If it's any consolation,' Rose told her, 'he'll be feeling exactly the same. And you heard Alice say that any woman who's ever had a smidgeon of post-natal depression and anyone who's ever looked after small babies knows exactly what you were going through. They won't pass judgement, believe me.' Lizzie remains unconvinced. She will come out of hospital tomorrow and so far has not decided where she will go from there other than saying categorically she will not go back to the house where she and Royston lived.

'Don't end the tenancy,' Alice advised Malcolm who's all set to do just that, 'it's not the right time to be making those sort of moves. Believe me they'll both feel differently in six months. If their rent can be kept up I'd keep the place on at least for two months.' Wesley and Mr Hipp say of course, if that's what Alice thinks, they will contribute towards the rent in the meantime. Both Wesley and Ellie Hipp are clinging to Alice as though she's a lifeline, a guide along this uncharted path they both walk. In any case, until Lizzie and Royston decide what has to happen regarding the future they must all wait. 'That might take months,' Alice warned everyone. Later she says to Rose, 'What about Simmie?'

'He stays with me,' Rose says, 'he stays with me. That's what Lizzie wants.'

'Good,' Alice says, 'as long as 'in the meantime' is OK with you. And Olga.'

'It has to be,' Rose says, 'it's all right Alice, I know it has to be. And,' Rose sighs, 'there'll be others no doubt. No sense wasting all this learning is there.'

'Oh,' Alice says, 'good. Good.'

'Just remember how lucky Lizzie and Royston are,' Alice says later.

'Lucky?'

'Plenty of people in their situation have no one. No one who wants to be involved anyway. Lizzie and Royston are two of the lucky ones.'

'OK?' asks Olga, sitting down beside her. She looks wonderful in a new purple shirt and white trousers. 'I'll probably spill something on this first time out,' she'd said, 'but I couldn't resist it.' Rose is wearing a top and trousers Elena loaned her. She's really grateful for the black pants and the bright peacock-blue shirt, but has made a vow that tomorrow she will definitely buy herself some new clothes. Other people's clothes are chosen for other people.

Olga gets up to hug Alice and her husband. Behind them there's an influx of people. Olga's sisters' husbands and children, followed by Carlos and Leo. They all just get seated when in walk Claude and Elena. Puti brings out the special chair she's borrowed for the evening, and Elena sits and is comfortable and everyone relaxes. All have observed Rose's command that there be no presents. 'Enough is enough,' she tells Olga.

There is a little hiatus as wine and water are poured by Puti and Marama, and the older children move from person to person with trays of delicious nibbles. The poor new chef, thinks Rose, this must be a bit of an ordeal.

'Everyone,' Olga calls, 'Puti, Marama, time to get this show on the road.'

'Need a hand?' Leo asks his mother.

There is a flurry at the door. It's Jo and Wesley. Jo is waving an envelope. 'Rose,' she says, 'Rose it's from the Stacy Committee.'

Rose starts to tremble. 'I can't open it,' she says to Olga.

'You?' Olga scoffs, 'you can do anything Rose.'

So Rose opens it. The Skeleton Woman has been awarded first in the novice class and second in Viewer's Choice. The judge's report is enclosed, but the decision was unanimous. Congratulations Miss Anthony.

There are shouts and hugs, cries of triumph and laughter and then someone says, 'What's your next project Rose?'

Rose smiles because she knows exactly what it is. 'A shield,' she says, 'a Shield for the Children. It will hang just opposite the door of the new house.'

'It will be the first thing the women and children see,' Olga says, 'He Hīra mō ngā Tamariki'

'He Hīra mō ngā Tamariki, cool,' one of the kids says and everyone raises their glass to toast the Shield for the Children.

Olga smiles at Rose enquiringly.

'Yes,' Rose smiles back, 'yes. Go for it.'

So Olga stands up and Rose stands up and everyone smiles and Olga says, 'Rose and I are going to live together.'

Rose says, 'We're going to buy Claude's place and he and Elena are going to buy the little house next door.'

'And everything,' Olga says with a big smile, 'is blissful.'

More toasts, more smiles, Claude says its great and hugs Elena who is weeping with joy. Puti, on behalf of her parents and her whānau says kei te pai, kei te pai — well, she says a lot more than that, but that's the gist of it. Sibyl and Kitty nod approvingly, Bridget smiles, Leo lifts his glass to Rose, Carlos raises an arm in a victor's salute, the children hand round more nibbles, Alice and her husband hold hands, even Jo and Wesley smile. For some reason Rose thinks of a small, stocky man who liked to stand in the rain in the dark green of the Catlins and of Ada smiling and she knows that somewhere out there beyond the wind and the stars the Skeleton Woman is dancing, tappitty tap, tappitty tap.

One day that girl will hear her, but in the meantime Rose has got some living to do.

Between Rose and Olga, Simmie, in his carrycot, immune to the excitement, dreams the dreams that all babies who are safe dream.

'I didn't want it,' the woman says, 'who would? Who'd want a love that separated me from one of my children? It was a cross of stars. Brilliant, once-in-a-lifetime, grab it and don't let go sort of thing, but at the same time a cross. I'm not religious, but that's how I felt about it. My love for him was a cross. A cross of stars.

From Peter Paul Pearl's unfinished novel,
The Cross of Stars.