22.

Akaroa,

5th August, 1854.

Ma chère Maman,

I have barely the force to propel my pen across the page to write the terrible words it must. My heart tells me the words are a lie, but then I catch sight of the young body laid out before me in our parlour and I have to believe them.

My Jules, Maman. He has succumbed to the winter, when spring was but a month away. How shall I bear it?

‘Good to see you!’ Annie bent over Sue and kissed her cheek.

Sue pointed to her other cheek. ‘Both cheeks, please, where I’ve been.’

‘Tell me all about it.’ Annie leant towards her.

‘How long have you got?’ Sue laughed. ‘Let’s order first.’ When they had done so, Annie enquired gingerly how things had been between Sue and Ben while they were away. Sue’s initial response was guarded. ‘Okay. At least some of the time. At the beginning. And at the end.’ It seemed almost too hard to get into, but, at the same time, Sue knew she wanted to talk about it. All of it. Once she had started, she could not stop. The food arrived and Sue’s went cold on her plate. Having finished her own meal, Annie swiped a persistent fly from Sue’s, while she listened and asked the occasional question and made encouraging or soothing noises.

‘When it came to the point, I couldn’t do it, Annie. I had wanted to, but I just couldn’t. I know it’s old-fashioned and staid, but perhaps that’s what I am. It was like I had to go that far, to the brink, to find out.’ Sue searched her friend’s face for censure, but did not find it. ‘Poor Gérard. Left waiting while I spied on him. That wasn’t very brave or honest, was it? I had started out feeling so bold and New Age, and finished up scuttling like a rat to avoid discovery. It was shameful.’ She ran an index finger back and forth along the rim of her plate, avoiding Annie’s gaze. ‘I made my peace with Jayne, but I haven’t told Ben yet and probably won’t. The point is it makes me look at him differently. We have yet to discover what the future holds, but I can hardly judge him, not any more.’

Annie nodded and gestured that Sue should eat. Sue picked up her fork and poked at the food.

‘I had thought we were happy – I had thought I was keeping us happy – but I suppose we had slid into melancholy without my noticing.’ She put a forkful of cold quiche in her mouth and grimaced. ‘I can’t do it for them, can I? I can only try to set an example by looking after myself better and giving them some space. Funny, you know, I thought they weren’t giving me enough space,’ she said.

It was Saturday morning and the house was quiet. Charlie had spent the night at Patrick’s flat, Jason was still asleep and Ben had gone for a run, part of a campaign to get fit and stave off middle-age. Sue could have joined him, she supposed, but running was not really her thing. Perhaps she should join a gym. She would think about it; she had her own source of income now – she was surprised to discover how liberating it felt, and she had her father to thank for it. It was as if in death he was helping her move forward.

She sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and The Press, savouring her time alone. Working her way through the paper, she came to the property section and scanned the coloured photographs, as was her habit. One picture leapt from the page. She put down her mug with a thump, slopping coffee on the newspaper, and stared. It was Brigitte’s house!

Brigitte’s house was for sale. Sue read the advertisement: ‘Historic cottage. 3 bedrooms, open-plan kitchen/living, 1 bathroom.’ All in miniature, she thought. She paced the kitchen. ‘I wonder what they expect for it,’ she said aloud. ‘No harm in asking.’ She picked up the phone and dialled the agent’s number.

‘It’s been a rental property, kept in top quality condition,’ said the agent. ‘Commands good rentals. You’d be interested as a business investment?’

‘No. Well, perhaps.’ And before she could stop herself, Sue added, ‘My great-great-great-grandparents built that cottage.’ She asked what price the vendors wanted.

‘Hard to say, but places like this come up only rarely.’

‘Can’t you give me an idea?’ Sue felt irritated by the agent’s vagueness; surely she had some idea.

‘Well, they’ll look at offers over 395 thousand.’

I can manage that, Sue thought, thanks to Dad. ‘Can you show it to me?’ She had started something she needed to continue, whatever the outcome. ‘As soon as possible. Today?’

They arranged to meet at the cottage at 2pm. Sue rang Russell with the news and left a note for Ben.

Events proceeded at a rate that startled Sue. She discussed with Ben her desire to use her inheritance to buy the cottage and was pleased he approved. Sue agonised over how high her offer should be to cut out other buyers – a game of cat and mouse in which she was a novice. She had set her limit at $400,000, which would use all her nest-egg. But she could think of no better use for it, and mentally thanked her father for his wily ways. In the end, she decided to offer her best price up front; no point messing about or she might lose it.

Sue hardly slept that night.

Next day she learned that the vendor was prepared to consider her offer, since it was cash, but the price would have to be negotiated upwards, due to other offers received. She would need another $12,000 to shut out the competition. Sue did not have it. In her disappointment, she rang Ben at the university. She could not prevent the catch in her voice.

‘You really wanted it, didn’t you?’ Ben said. ‘I wanted you to have it, too.’ Sue was flooded with love for her husband; he was starting to understand, to understand her. There was a pause. ‘We could take twelve from our joint savings.’

‘No, Ben. That wouldn’t …’ Wouldn’t be right? Wouldn’t be fair? Would partially defeat the purpose?

‘It’s still a reasonable price – for these days. I thought you didn’t have a dog’s show at 400.’

‘I wanted to do it myself,’ she said, wondering if Ben would understand that.

‘What’s more important?’ asked her husband. When she thought about it, he was right; there was no point being pigheaded.

When Sue called the realtor, Mary Pickersgill, to say she would meet the vendor’s price, she learned her offer had not yet been withdrawn.

‘Serendipity,’ said Sue, breathing freely once more. But would the competitor put in a counter-offer? She hovered over the phone all afternoon, the suspense unbearable. When it finally rang, she picked up on the first ring. ‘Mary?’ she erupted.

A deep, male voice answered. ‘Not likely.’ It was Bob Springer.

Sue could not disguise her surprise and disappointment. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘I’d like to arrange a time to call when your husband and Jason will be there. When would be good for you?’ Sue wanted to shout “NEVER”.

The next call was Mary. ‘Success,’ she said. ‘The cottage will be yours. Sue? Are you still there? Sue?’

Sue was there, but she also was not; she was floating in the mid-1800s, watching a family of five settling into their new home; for the first time having more than one room to live in, wooden floors to keep away the dust and mud, a sturdy fireplace instead of a smoky, make-shift one fabricated from corrugated iron, glass in the windows and a veranda to protect from the weather. She imagined herself occupying the house, making it hers in a way that would preserve their tenancy, so that they would live there with her – Brigitte, Claude, Jules, Marie and Cathérine.

It was difficult to reconcile her extreme exhilaration over the purchase of the cottage with the sense of doom which still encompassed her regarding Jason. Ben and Jason were talking, and Jason had been in every evening, including Saturday. That was not good in the long run, Sue knew; he needed to be out with friends. But it would take him a while to find another pack to run with.

‘You’re taking things to their illogical extremes, disaster-mongering,’ said Annie, when Sue rang to share her news about the cottage and then her anxiety about the policeman’s impending visit. ‘I can see why you would, but that doesn’t make it sensible. Sure, you have to take it seriously, but Jason’s never been in trouble before. He’s basically a good kid. And you’re good parents.’

‘I know. Or, rather, I thought I knew. Jason didn’t do much, a bit of shoplifting – that’s serious enough – but what’s worse is his profiting from the others’ stealing.’ To Sue, this seemed sneaky and cowardly and possibly manipulative; not in keeping with the son she knew.

‘Get the door, please, Jason,’ Sue said when Detective Constable Springer rang. Jason’s eyes widened, but he complied. Charlie tactfully announced she was off to Patrick’s for the evening.

‘Excuse the casual gear,’ said Springer. He appeared even younger without a suit, his trim, muscular figure emphasised by the cut of his navy and grey tracksuit. He carried a clipboard. Sue wondered what was in store.

As if directed, they slipped into the same seating formation as on Springer’s first visit. He told them no charges were to be laid against Jason, since he was a first offender, and the matter would not need to be referred to the Youth Justice Coordinator if they could reach an agreement about certain things this evening. That sounded like good news to Sue; she edged forward on the sofa.

‘This agreement,’ she said, hopefully.

‘I must be satisfied strategies are in place to prevent Jason getting into any more trouble. I suggest that the three of you have some discussion about what you think will help.’

‘What, now?’ When Ben saw this was exactly what Springer meant, he turned to Sue, who nodded. She was sorry for Ben being put on the spot, but glad at the same time, and pleased he was taking the lead.

Ben shifted his gaze to Jason. In a firm but kindly voice, he laid down the law. Sue felt herself relax. ‘Those friends have got to go,’ he said. ‘No question,’ he added, as a protest started to form on Jason’s lips. ‘You are to tell us where you are going and with whom.’

‘Dad. I’m not a kid.’

‘Yes, you are. That’s the whole point.’ He glanced at Sue. She wanted to say he was doing well. He continued to lay down new rules, including a curfew. Jason groaned, but it was a half-hearted protest.

‘We want you home for dinner each night, too,’ said Sue. ‘You’ve made a good start since we’ve been back,’ she added. She glanced at Springer to see if he was satisfied yet.

‘And there are some things Jason needs to make up for,’ Springer prompted.

Ben took a deep breath. ‘You need to apologise to the shop managers you stole from and arrange to pay them back.’

Spots of high colour appeared on Jason’s cheeks, while the rest of his face was unusually pale and set. ‘Can’t I just write to them?’

‘I think your father’s right,’ said Springer.

‘Dad will go with you, won’t you, Ben?’ said Sue, mentally crossing her fingers. Ben turned abruptly to Sue. She smiled, willing him to say the right thing. He gulped, his Adam’s apple working up and down.

‘If you’d like me to,’ he said. Jason nodded.

Springer was scribbling on his clipboard and nodding, too. ‘And I would suggest Jason give something back by agreeing to do some community service. Any ideas about that?’

‘What about helping in an after-school programme?’

‘Oh, yeah, right, Mum. Can you see it?’

‘You have lots to offer, Jase.’

‘Your Mum’s right, Jason. Is there anything you’d rather do? Like working in an old people’s home?’

‘Kids’d be better than wrinklies, I guess. Wouldn’t be for long, would it?’

Something had been eating away at Sue just beyond awareness. Now it rose to the surface and burst through in a cartoon bubble – Nintendo. Tempted as she was not to raise any more problems, common sense told her that if they were to help Jason, they must start with honesty and directness. ‘There’s something I’d like to ask Jason about,’ Sue said to Detective Springer. Turning to Jason, her heart fluttered in her throat; she was nervous of her own son, scared of losing him. Gripping the upholstery, she continued, ‘That Nintendo, where did it come from?’

Jason became intent on picking at the unravelling hem of his hoodie. ‘I told you.’

‘You did, but I’m asking you again.’ Sue watched him squirm, and wanted to stop, but knew she must not.

‘What’s this?’ Ben asked.

‘I think we should let Jason tell us,’ said Springer, leaning towards Jason, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped between them. In the silence, Sue could hear a blackbird trill an incredible aria. Underrated birds, she thought, momentarily distracted. She pulled herself back to the well-worn room, in which so much family life had been lived. And this, another story in the saga.

‘Jase?’ she asked gently.

‘All right.’

‘All right – what?’ Ben’s voice was not as gentle.

‘I took it.’ Jason’s expression was defiant, challenging, as he shifted his gaze from one parent to the other. ‘He wouldn’t miss it. He has everything – that part was true.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘I suppose you want me to give it back.’ Sue’s heart sang. She wanted to swim across the ocean of carpet that separated her from her son and to hold him close. Instead, she smiled at him and nodded.

Springer seemed satisfied, too. He said he would visit again in a month to see how the agreement was working. He shook Jason’s hand firmly and said he had every confidence he could do it if he tried, although it would not be easy at times. ‘Not for any of you,’ he added. Sue thought so, too, but now believed they could succeed. Not only would it save Jason, it might also help save their marriage.

Settlement date was the end of the month. The 31st was a Monday, so Sue drove to Akaroa alone. She drew up alongside the white, picket fence, her heart pounding. It’s mine, she said to herself. She would share a roof with Brigitte and Claude, enter their lives. Their footsteps would be in the memory of the kauri floorboards, released with every tread of her feet; their voices in the tawa walls, circulated when the southerly wind forced itself through the cracks in the tongue-in-groove. Their whispers and dreams, trapped under the attic ceilings, would drift and engulf her as she lay sleeping where they had lain.

Sue opened the wide gate across the driveway to one side of the house, and drove the car onto the property. She climbed the steps to the veranda and unlocked the front door. Pushing it wide, she stepped once again into the living room.

A steep flight of narrow, open-tread stairs rose ahead of her, while a door to her right gave into a small room. At some time, probably in the last fifty years, with the passion for open-plan living, someone had removed the wall between the front room and the kitchen. They had extended the lean-to to create a small bathroom behind the stairs and expand the kitchen. Fruit trees in flower were visible through the kitchen window. Using the large iron key that protruded from the backdoor lock, Sue let herself into the garden.

The section was long and narrow, probably only part of the original. It was all lawn, fruit trees and shrubs. No vegetable or herb garden; Sue could take care of that. At least the fruit trees had not been cleared to make the place low maintenance. Sue could barely see the neighbouring houses because of the foliage. A sense of privacy and containment engulfed her, making her feel safe.

Returning inside, she climbed the stairs, little more than a stepladder, to the attic rooms, imagining having to climb up there carrying children or laundry – umpteen times a day. And how was she going to get furniture up there? One room was larger than the other, the stairwell and landing taking a piece from the smaller. Sue ducked her head to avoid striking the lintel as she entered the larger room. She stood by the dormer window and looked down into the perennial border, its rainbow colours offset by the white of the picket fence. She felt held by the tight-fitting, church-like space of the dormer. Brigitte had looked out this window countless times; Sue wondered what she would have seen; probably just empty scrubland initially. But also sky and hills – light and shade. Sunsets. Water – no longer visible over other buildings. Turning her back to the light, she surveyed the room. ‘This will be my bedroom,’ she announced to the bare walls and sloping ceiling which contained the space and all its memories. Ben might find the low pitch of the ceiling claustrophobic, but she had not bought the cottage for him. Her footsteps echoed on the kauri floorboards, a mellow, hollow reverberation. She crossed to the side wall where a pair of larger, multi-paned, casement windows overlooked the side garden and the neighbouring cottage. Furniture can be lifted in through here, she thought. What furniture she did not yet know, but first she needed a bed – a double, she thought, sizing up the space.

A bare lightbulb hung in the centre of the room. It would need a shade.

As Sue crossed the landing into the smaller room, she heard a sharp rap on the front door. Hurrying in, she flung open the dormer window but the veranda blocked her view. ‘Just a minute,’ she called, and rushed down the stairs, stumbling halfway. It would certainly take time to get used to this staircase. Flustered and out of breath, she opened the door.

‘Surprise. And congratulations.’ Russell was holding aloft a bottle of wine, two mugs and a paper bag from the bakery. ‘I wanted to be your first guest,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought lunch.’

‘You are so sweet. Let’s take it into the garden.’

They sat in the sun on the back doorstep and toasted the house, the past and the future.

‘Perfect,’ said Sue.

Over the past few years, Sue had been accumulating surplus household items against the day the children would go flatting. They were stored at the back of the garage – cutlery, a bag of old towels, odd coffee mugs, her father’s dinner set, an occasional table. The children would have to go without, she decided. She now wished she had kept her father’s lounge suite when he moved into the rest home, although there had been no space to store it. She went online to TradeMe seeking furniture that would fit the cottage, both in size and style, and put in a bid on a sofa and two chairs. She and Annie spent a satisfying afternoon doing the rounds of the second-hand shops, coming home with a painted bedside cabinet, a carved headboard for a double-bed and a floor rug. A disparate collection of dining chairs and an extending oak table remained to be collected. Sue would have liked to furnish the cottage with period chattels, to have rendered the interior as authentic as possible to the time in which Brigitte and Claude had lived there, but that was impossible.

Ben surprised Sue by offering to transport everything to Akaroa the next Saturday morning. With a well-laden trailer, bed base and mattress tied firmly on top, they set off. The lowering nor’west sky predicted a southerly change. Hot gusts of nor’wester slammed the sides of the trailer as they skirted the base of the Peninsula, past Tai Tapu and Lake Ellesmere. They wound slowly up and over the hills. From The Hilltop, they could see the southerly sitting off the coast. Looking down into Akaroa this time, Sue had a sense of coming home. She was amazed how different the view had appeared each time she had come over the hill since that day with Hank and Gaye, and it was not merely a reflection of the weather.

‘It’ll be a race between the weather and us,’ Ben said, as he turned the station wagon downhill. It would be his first sighting of the cottage, other than from photographs, and Sue nervously anticipated his reaction. He had voiced no doubts about her motivation for buying the property, for which she was grateful. She knew he could see no attraction in having two properties to care for, one in your so-called relaxation time, but Sue believed she could manage without calling on him with any regularity; that was important to her. She was seeking an independence she had never before experienced, never before aspired to, yet had no question that it was the right thing to do. But she wanted Ben’s approval; she was not wanting to drive a wedge between them. She held her breath as they approached the cottage and stopped outside, waiting for his reaction.

‘Hm. Looks in good repair,’ he said. ‘Quaint. Is there some sort of ritual we should carry out?’

Sue laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. She turned his face towards hers and gazed deep into his eyes. ‘Kiss me,’ she said, ‘and wish me luck.’ He did.

In a frenzy of activity, they unloaded the trailer, filling the living room with a jumble of furniture. They talked and laughed as they stubbed their toes, bumped into corners and were trapped in the doorway between the sofa and door jamb. They shuffled the second-hand fridge into place near the back door and manoeuvred the sofa under the front window. It felt good to be working together; they made a good team, and Sue said so; they used to make a good team, years ago when they were renovating their villa. ‘I’ll organise heavies to get the bedroom furniture through the upstairs window during the week,’ she said.

The southerly arrived with a blast. A snowstorm of apple blossom swirled in the back garden. Brief, torrential rain followed and the temperature plummeted. Sue shivered. There was a small woodpile stacked against the side of the house. She would have liked to light the log-burner and make the place cosy. ‘I should have brought my own car and stayed on,’ she said, surveying the shambles; she wanted to start finding homes for things, making the cottage her own.

‘Everything will still be here tomorrow.’

Ben was quite right. And there would be lots of tomorrows. Besides, Aroha and Hemi were coming to dinner.