I’m dying. My body hurts all over. My head aches horribly. When I open my eyes all I can see are fireworks. Oh, God. This is far worse than the other times Lizzie came to me. I open my eyes again and the sea glitters at me with a thousand tiny suns. But at least now I can see it’s the sea, not fireworks going off inside my head. The band of pain round my skull begins to release its grip. I carefully stretch my body, one limb after the other. The blood returns to my feet and hands, making them prickle. I’m cold, cold as death, despite the warmth of the sun.
It takes me ages to push the kayak out into the shallows. My muscles won’t do what I want them to. But once I’ve paddled very slowly out of the bay I’m able to catch the tide, and the currents carry me towards Karaka Bay with little effort on my part. It’s certainly better than plodding over the hills. Next time I’ll come by sea again. Hang on. Next time? Do I really want a next time with Lizzie? Haven’t I got enough misery of my own without taking on hers as well?
A firm voice inside my head that sounds a lot like Rae’s says, ‘Look, you can’t stop now. You owe it to Lizzie to see it through to the end.’
But I’m too tired and sore and sad, Rae. I want it to stop.
‘There must be a reason why she’s telling you her story. Think about what she said,’ the voice says sternly. ‘Surely there’s something to indicate what she wants you to do. Think, Bel!’
Okay, okay, I’m thinking. What happened? Matthew got drowned, Lizzie gave away her secret, Jack Dawson went ape. Any message in that lot? Not one that I can understand. What else? The last straw for Lizzie was Atutahi taking Matthew’s body away. She’d left Marama’s hut to find out what they were doing with the body. Then what?
I don’t know. Lizzie wasn’t able to keep telling me her story. Something made her stop too soon. Presumably there’s a reason for her confiding in me — but what is it? Tears of frustration sting my eyes and I blink them away furiously. I just don’t know!
I’ll have to go back to Dawson’s Beach and meet Lizzie one more time. It’s the only way. A few more tears trickle out, and this time it’s because I’m scared and I’ve had enough of Lizzie and her problems — and I want to go home. Home the way it used to be.
But eventually I make myself stop blubbing, splash some freezing seawater on my face, and turn the kayak towards the jetty at Karaka Bay. I’ve got to face the world again, whether I want to or not.
The Christmas Day celebrations are still going strong when I get back to the farmhouse. Shit, I’d forgotten about the party. I plod up the path, feeling completely psyched out. My eyes still hurt. The light’s making everything too sharp round the edges. It’s like having a hangover — but I haven’t touched a single drop.
Miraculously, I manage to slip into the bedroom without having to talk to anyone. I slam the door, pull off my damp clothes, crawl under the bedcover, and shut my eyes against the glassy stares of the horses on the wall. Instantly I fall into a deep, black sleep.
I sleep through the evening and into the night. I don’t even hear Tracey come to bed, although she tells me the next day that she sneaked a can of beer and couldn’t stop giggling and tripping over my gear on the floor. She keeps on asking me how much I had to drink. ‘Boy, you were really zonked!’ she chortles. ‘Didn’t even move when I fell on your head!’
But I had actually woken up in the dead of night with everything pitch-black and Tracey snoring like a hippopotamus, and for a nightmarish second I couldn’t even think who I was. But then I felt a warm cat body curled up behind my knees and I reached down to stroke the silky fur. The soft purr vibrating under my fingers gave me some comfort.
On Boxing Day everyone helps tidy the place up. For once I’m glad to do mindless chores like picking up beer cans and washing dishes. For minutes at a time I can block out the voice in my head nagging about when I’m planning to go back to Dawson’s Beach.
I put some food down in the cats’ bowls. Cleopatra, the patchwork one, rubs against my legs and purrs loudly. Black Caesar sits and watches me with disdain then saunters over to inspect his bowl. Which one of them is my mysterious night-time visitor?
In the afternoon, Steve takes Glynn to a friend’s house farther up the channel to stay till New Year’s Day. As I wave goodbye from the jetty I realise that, funnily enough, I’ll miss my big country cousin. He’s sort of solid and cosy to have around. Like the cats.
Once Steve gets back from dropping off Glynn, he and Lorna settle down in front of the television to eat leftover potato chips and watch the cricket. No farm chores today. Tracey has already disappeared over the hill to visit Apple. The words are out of my mouth almost before I realise: ‘I think I’ll go over to Dawson’s Beach for a swim. Is it all right if I take a kayak again?’
Steve squints out the window at the blue sky. ‘Forecast’s pretty settled for today.’ He looks at me with raised eyebrows. ‘You took one out yesterday while we were partying. How’d it go?’
‘Piece of cake.’
A roar goes up from the crowd at Eden Park and Steve’s gaze strays back to the TV. ‘Make sure you wear a life vest and keep close to the shore. We’ll expect you back in a couple of hours. Okay?’
The kayak trip is almost as beautiful as the previous times. Almost, because this time I can’t get rid of the sick feeling in my stomach. The quiet glide over clear green water finishes all too soon. I wish I could just turn round and paddle home again.
It’s a kind of relief to see the protesters’ camp bustling with activity. People are scurrying round, putting up another smaller tent and propping up the big banner. I barely glance at Lizzie’s stone chair as I pull the kayak up on the sand. She’ll have to wait a while. I need to see Daniel.
I don’t even have to walk all the way along the beach. He must have spotted me straight away. He comes jogging towards me. ‘Bel!’ he says, his smile so wide that my heart shoots up in my chest and threatens to choke me. ‘I knew you’d come today!’
‘How’d you know?’ I say stupidly.
He laughs. ‘I just knew.’
I try not to look too obviously at his smooth skin and his silky black hair and the muscles moving under his sleeveless white T-shirt. ‘Can we … uh … talk for a while?’
‘Sure.’ He waves towards a small, heaped bank of sand. ‘Welcome to my parlour. Won’t you take a seat, mademoiselle?’
‘Isn’t that what the spider said to the fly?’ I ask as we sit down close enough to rub shoulders.
‘Well, Madam Fly, you can buzz off any time you feel like it.’ But as he says the words he picks up my hand and laces his fingers through mine. It’s like an electric shock. ‘But I really hope you won’t.’
I wish I could tell him about Lizzie. But it’s impossible. He’ll think I’m nuts. Instead I say, ‘You lot look pretty busy today. Are you digging in for the rest of the summer?’
Daniel shakes his head. ‘Nah. There’s a television news crew flying in to interview us in a couple of hours. My grandmother says we must look as if we’re going to be here for months.’
‘Television? That’s tremendous publicity for you, isn’t it?’
‘You bet. Mere’s over the moon about it. This’ll be her big chance to tell the world how unfairly we’ve been treated.’
I study his face. There’s a shadow in his eyes. ‘So why aren’t you jumping for joy too?’
His mouth tightens and he stares at our linked hands. ‘It’s Mere. She says she’s dying. Once this interview is over we’ll be packing up and going back home. She says she wants to die in her own bed.’
‘What? I thought she said …’ I put my hand over my mouth. Shut up, Bel.
He glares down at the sand as if he hates it. ‘Yeah, I know, I know. All those times she said she wanted to die on her own land. But that was just shock tactics. To make people take notice. She knows she can’t last that long. Once the TV people have gone it’ll all be over. End of show.’
‘I’m sorry.’ There’s a pause. He’s holding my hand so tightly it’s going all tingly. ‘Will it really?’ I ask.
‘All be over?’
He scowls. His hand clenches even tighter on mine, but I don’t think he feels it. ‘No. Never. She’s been teaching me for ages — all the whakapapa, all the ancestors. The whole tangata whenua bit. She’s told me what I have to do.’
‘What does she want you to do?’
‘When she goes I’ve got to become the leader, the ariki,’ he says in a serious voice. ‘I’ve got to teach the family about their heritage. Show them how to find their mana again. Fight for our rights. Get the land back. These are the promises I made to my tupuna. I won’t let her down.’
It’s like hearing an echo. Matthew and Daniel, both so totally obsessed with a cause. And look what happened to Matthew. A cold shiver creeps down my spine. Daniel senses my unease. ‘Hey, what’s the matter? Are you cold?’ His voice sounds normal again, thank goodness.
‘No. It’s nothing. Umm … these promises you made to your grandmother …’
He chuckles. ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing freaky. I don’t have to throw myself off the Cook Strait ferry. She just wants me to go to university and study law. Become a lawyer for my people. Be smart. Beat the Pakeha at their own game, that’s what she keeps saying to me. Our fight will eventually be won on paper.’
‘So what was all this for, then?’ I wave a hand at the campsite.
He draws big, fat teardrops in the sand between his feet. ‘She wanted to do something to put heart into the family before she dies. She needs to be sure we’ll all work together after she’s gone.’
‘Do you reckon she’s really sick? Like, how does she know she’s going to die?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know how she knows. But I believe her. Totally.’
I remember that time on the beach when the two of them seemed to communicate without words. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it. ‘Uh huh,’ I say carefully.
‘It’s weird,’ he says, so quietly I can hardly hear him. ‘Sometimes I feel as if she’s putting thoughts inside my head. I see her looking at me and it’s like I can hear her talking. I can feel her telling me what to do and what to say.’ He rubs his fingers through the patterns on the sand. ‘Oh, shit, that sounds crazy. I’m sorry. I bet you think I’m totally screwed up.’
‘No.’ I realise I have an opening of a sort. ‘Look, things can happen to people and there’s no obvious explanation for them. Like your grandmother sending messages to you.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Or meeting people from the past. Spirits and ghosts and stuff.’
Much to my relief, he nods. ‘Yeah. The past, the present, the future — how do we know they’re separate? Maybe they’re all here right now, swirling around us. My tupuna wants me to learn the Maori way of looking at things as well as the Pakeha way. She’s taught me stuff that isn’t in any school textbook.’
I clear my throat. ‘Yeah … but what about ghosts? D’you believe in them?’
He shrugs again. ‘Mere says they’re all around. Still living with us. Like family only you can’t see them.’
I Iean forward so I can look into his face. ‘Daniel, do you believe that? Seriously?’
‘Sure. I’m Mere’s grandson, aren’t I?’ He grins. ‘Bel, why are you asking me these questions? Have you seen a ghost?’
I try to tell him. Honestly. I open my mouth and try to say yes but nothing comes out. I shake my head wildly and blurt, ‘So you’ll be leaving Dawson’s Beach soon?’
He nods, still staring thoughtfully at me. ‘Yeah. In a few days.’
I can’t stop myself saying it even though I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. ‘So I won’t see you again?’
He leans towards me so that our noses are only a few centimetres apart. ‘Bel, does that matter to you?’
For an instant I think of doing what the old Bel would have done. Laugh it off, give a smart-mouthed answer. But instead I return his stare, eyeball to eyeball. ‘Yes, it does.’
‘Cool.’ He leans forward and kisses me gently on the lips. I can’t believe it. I’ve imagined this so often. But it’s far sweeter than I’ve ever dreamed. ‘More than cool,’ he murmurs. ‘Fantastic. You’re a very special person, Bel.’
Suddenly his gaze slips away from mine. He sinks back on the sand, dropping his chin on his chest. I stare in confusion as he shakes his head vigorously, making the long, black hair sweep across his neck. ‘What’s the matter? Dan?’
‘Sorry. Got to go,’ he mutters, standing up.
‘Go? Right now? But …’
‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘She wants me.’
‘Who?’ I ask although I already know.
‘Mere,’ he says, rubbing his forehead hard with his fingers. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Can’t she wait a few minutes?’
He shakes his head, not able to meet my eyes. ‘Sorry, Bel.’ He turns on his heel and trudges towards the camp. He makes me think of a dog being dragged on a lead.
I get up and stare past him at the distant tents. I can see Mere standing in front of the biggest tent, hands on hips, looking along the beach. She’s been watching us. She saw us kissing. And she summoned him without even opening her mouth. How dare she? Scrawny old hag! I give her the fingers.
She stares at me along the length of the beach. Suddenly panic shoots like an arrow into my brain. I have to get away from her! I turn and run. Even though a small part of my mind knows that she’s making me feel the fear, I can’t stop running. Gasping for breath, almost sobbing, I stumble over the sand and finally clamber on to the rocks at the end of the beach.
Instantly the fear begins to fade. I’m out of reach. I crawl into Lizzie’s stone chair, warm from the sun. It’s like coming home. I hunch over, folding my arms tightly across my stomach. I want to make myself small, so small that I’m invisible. No-one can see me but Lizzie. Come and find me, Lizzie. I sing the old song to myself, the ballad of love and loss. My voice cracks and breaks on the high notes but I keep on. For the first time I really understand what the words mean.
But Lizzie doesn’t come.
I sit and hum and rock back and forth and stare at the sea till my eyes water. Then I shut my eyes and sing the song again in my best ringing choir voice right through to the end. I’m singing to the sea and the rocks and the hills. But nothing happens. She’s not here. ‘Lizzie,’ I whisper in despair, ‘Where are you? Why don’t you come? How can I help you if I don’t know what to do?’