Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. There’s going to be another party at a house several bays up the channel, the one where Glynn’s been staying for the last few days. The last thing I want is another party. I can’t stop thinking about Lizzie, but I just don’t know what to do. Should I go back to the beach one more time? What if the magic’s gone? What if Lizzie’s given up on me — because I’m too stupid to figure out what she wants?
Maybe there’s another way of finding out about Lizzie Dawson. Something written down somewhere, in history books or whatever. The best person to ask would be Glynn. But he’s not around. Just my luck.
Lorna and Steve must have noticed me mooching round the place because Lorna gives me a big smile across the dinner table and says, ‘I can hardly wait till the Rawlings’ New Year’s Eve party, Bel. They always bring in a band for the night and last year they had fireworks as well. You’ll love it.’
I carefully swallow my last mouthful of zucchini. It’s delicious, oozing garlic and butter. If anyone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d end up enjoying zucchini I’d have laughed myself sick. ‘Umm … no, I won’t come, thank you,’ I reply.
Lorna’s smile vanishes. ‘You certainly can’t stay here on your own on New Year’s Eve,’ she protests. ‘Bel, you’ll have fun. I can guarantee it. There’s always dozens of young folk there.’
Tracey pipes up. ‘The Rawlings always invite all the hunky guys from off the holiday launches. It’ll be choice! You’ve got to come, Bel.’
Pity she said that. It makes me think of Daniel and I’m trying very hard not to think of him. Him and his witchy grandmother. ‘Sorry. I just don’t feel like another party.’
Lorna gets up from the table, frowning and biting her lip. She goes to the bench and starts dishing up dessert. Uncle Steve pushes his plate to one side and stares thoughtfully at me, leaning forward on his elbows. I squirm, not able to meet his gaze. Uncle Steve keeps on making me think of my father. He’s what Dad would be like if he ever decided to relax and get some fun out of life. It makes me feel weird. ‘It’s only a few hours, Bel,’ he says mildly. ‘The forecast isn’t too good for tomorrow night. We’ll be keeping an eye on the weather and coming home before she starts to blow up. Well before midnight, I suspect.’
‘But I don’t want to go!’ I’m trying hard to sound calm and reasonable but it’s not working.
He sighs. ‘What if we say you have to come?’
‘Then you’ll have to carry me down to the launch and throw me in.’ My laugh sounds more like a hiccup.
‘What if I said that seeing you won’t go, then none of us will go?’
‘Oh, Dad!’ Tracey wails. ‘That’s not fair! I’ve been looking forward to the Rawlings’ party for ages! Everyone’s going to be there! Why can’t she stay here on her own if that’s what she wants?’
Deep lines furrow across Steve’s forehead. ‘It’s that lot at Dawson’s Beach I’m worried about. What if they have a New Year hooley and decide to pay us a friendly visit?’
‘Look, I’m perfectly safe with them,’ I tell him. ‘Honestly. I told you before, I’m friends with Mere Ihaka’s grandson.’ Well, I was, till his grandmother interfered.
Lorna puts dishes of peach crumble and homemade ice cream down in front of everyone. My mouth waters even though I’ve just eaten a plateful of meat and vegetables. But no-one picks up a spoon. ‘Bel,’ Lorna says quietly, ‘For a while there I thought you were feeling a bit happier about life. You seemed more … relaxed. But just in the last few days you’ve gone all quiet again. What’s the matter? Is it anything we can help with?’
I stare down at my crumble. I have a crazy urge to laugh. Which particular problem will I tell her about? Lizzie abandoning me? Me not being smart enough to figure out why Lizzie told me her story? Daniel running away from me? Or all the other garbage that’s still messing up my life?
Lorna suddenly claps her hands. ‘Hey, you two, take your desserts and go and watch TV. I want to talk to Bel. Alone.’ I don’t look up. There’s a scraping of chairs and Steve and Tracey troop obediently through the door. ‘That’s better,’ Lorna says. ‘Eat your crumble while it’s still warm, Bel.’
‘Look …’ I begin.
‘Shush. Eat your crumble.’
So I eat. It’s just as good as it looks. How I’ll miss Aunt Lorna’s cooking when I go back to Auckland. Even the vegetables.
‘I’m putting the kettle on for a cup of tea,’ she says. ‘Want one?’
‘Okay.’ I’m full to bursting but I need something to hold on to. ‘That phone call from Mum this morning — I suppose she told you they’ve bought the house in Titirangi they were looking at?’
‘She probably didn’t tell you that all my gear’s been moved there. She’s unpacked everything and arranged my bedroom. She’s ordered new curtains and bought a new rug and a new duvet cover. Pink and blue and yellow flowers. And Reuben is building a bookcase for me. She says I’ll just love it.’
Lorna pours two cups of tea. ‘I see. Go on.’
‘They’ve decided to fly down to Picton on the fifth. She would have told you that. They’ve got it all worked out. Neat and tidy. You can drop me off in the launch and I’ll meet Reuben and the three of us can go off and be jolly tourists together. Then we’ll fly back to Auckland and live happily ever after.’
Lorna stares into her teacup. Eventually she says, ‘Well, at least it means you’ll meet him on neutral ground. Bel, you should give the man a chance. You can’t go on refusing to meet him forever.’
‘I don’t have any choice, do I?’ Even to myself I sound pathetic and self-pitying.
Lorna changes chairs so she’s sitting next to me. She takes my hand. The skin of her palms is rough from gardening. She smells of cooking, all warm and sugary. For some silly reason this makes me want to cry. ‘We deliberately haven’t talked to you about your parents, Bel,’ she says, ‘mainly because we didn’t want to stick our noses in.’ She strokes the back of my hand with a fingertip. Mum used to do that ages ago when I was very small and couldn’t sleep. ‘This isn’t easy for either of us, but do you want to try talking about it now? Would it help?’
I shrug. ‘There’s really nothing to talk about. I have to go back and live with Mum and Reuben and go to a new school and that’s all there is to it.’
Lorna sighs. ‘But that’s not all there is to it, Bel. You wouldn’t be having such a hard time if it was.’
‘Well, I just have to get over it, don’t I?’
‘Look, how do you feel about the divorce? Honestly?’
I snort rudely into my teacup. ‘Mum asked me that. But she didn’t really want to know. She kept on telling me what she knew I was feeling.’
It’s Lorna’s turn to snort. ‘I’m not going to do that. Crikey, I wouldn’t dare! You tell me what you feel.’
I look down at her finger rhythmically stroking the back of my hand. Why should I confide in her? She’s a nice person, but I don’t really know her. She’ll probably tell me to pull myself together and stop being so self-obsessed.
But then I think, what do I have to lose? Things can’t get much worse, can they? I take a deep, shaky breath and say, ‘I feel pissed off. Totally furious with all three of them. Hurt. Betrayed. Sick inside. I don’t care if I never see Mum and Dad ever again. Seriously.’ I stop, waiting for a shocked protest but Lorna doesn’t say anything. Not even a gasp. So I go on, ‘I hate them both. And I especially hate that creep Reuben. If it wasn’t for him none of this would have happened.’
Lorna has a little smile on her face. ‘Well, I don’t know if it’s what you want to hear, but that all sounds perfectly normal to me.’
I stare at her. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I mean it! Just look at what they’re doing to you.’ She starts counting on her fingers. ‘One, they’re uprooting your whole life. Two, they’re dragging you away from your home and your school and your friends. Three, your mother’s crazy about a man you’ve never met and she foolishly expects you to love him just because she does. Four, your father’s feeling so sorry for himself that he’s forgotten all about you and run away. Five, they’ve sold the house you’ve lived in all your life without even giving you a chance to say goodbye to it. And finally, they’ve packed you off to stay with relatives like an unwanted pet. Because you were being a terrible nuisance and biting everyone within reach.’
We stare at each other. I wrap my hands round my teacup and hold tight. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘You know what I think?’ Lorna says, her voice sounding a bit wobbly. ‘The very worst thing they’re doing is not allowing you to have perfectly normal reactions to what’s going on.’
I shrug. I don’t trust myself to speak.
‘This definitely warrants another cup of tea.’ Lorna picks up the teapot. ‘Bel, sorry if I sound like a know-it-all adult. But at your age it’s almost impossible to see your parents as people in their own right. They’re just your Mum and Dad. Always there, a part of your life. And now they’re suddenly doing all these stupid, selfish things that parents aren’t meant to do. It must be a real shock.’
I take a sip of lukewarm tea. It doesn’t help the lump in my throat very much.
Lorna leans back in her chair. ‘God knows how they ever managed to fall in love,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Kate was like a butterfly. Light and free and beautiful. I’ll always remember watching them dance together at their wedding breakfast. Andrew was so solemn and stern, concentrating hard on not making a wrong step, while she was giggling and laughing. She kept on whispering in his ear and he’d shake his head as if he was trying to brush off an insect.’ She looks at me. ‘Do you want to hear this? I can shut up if you don’t.’
‘It’s okay,’ I tell her.
‘I don’t know how they lasted this long together,’ she went on. ‘I suppose it was because of you. To tell the truth, I wasn’t all that surprised when I got Kate’s letter telling me about the relationship with Reuben.’
‘So if the marriage was a mistake then I’m a mistake,’ I blurt out. ‘They shouldn’t have had me. I’m standing in the way of all their plans.’
‘Oh, Bel.’ Now there are real tears in Lorna’s eyes. ‘You’re not a mistake. Never. You’re an important part of their lives. Believe it.’
‘Try telling Mum and Dad that,’ I mutter.
‘It’s true,’ Lorna says earnestly. ‘It’s just that their lives are changing right now and they’re not coping very well.’
I take a deep breath. ‘So my life must change, too.’
‘Yes. It must. I know you don’t believe me, but one day you’ll be happy again.’ She rubs her palms down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Lord, there I go, telling you how you’ll feel. Just like your mother. Sorry, Bel. Guess I’d better shut up.’
‘You’ve done better than her,’ I whisper.
Lorna squeezes my hand. ‘Just hang in there, Bel. With everything you’ve got.’
I squeeze her hand in reply. ‘Aunt Lorna?’
‘What?’
‘I still don’t want to go to the party.’
Lorna laughs, a deep, rich belly laugh. ‘No, my dear Cinderella, we won’t make you go to the ball. If you want to stay home and cry in the cinders all night that’s fine by me.’ She stands up. ‘Oh, crikey. The dishes. I’d completely forgotten about them.’
I pick up the teapot in its knitted cosy and hug it to my chest. It feels a bit like the hot-water bottle Mum used to give me when I was little and had a stomach ache. ‘Tracey and I will do them,’ I tell her.
They leave for the Rawlings’ party about tea time the next day, laden down with sausages, beer, and strawberry trifles. Once Queenie has chugged round the point, I pull up a chair in front of the big picture window in the lounge and eat the plate of cold meat and salad Lorna left for me. The sun is slipping down behind the hills so part of the bay is in shadow. The water in the channel is a dark, silvery grey, but because there’s no wind it looks thick, like mercury. The hills on the far side of the channel are still sunlit, but edged with a froth of dirty grey cloud. I wonder how often Lizzie stood on Dawson’s Beach and watched the shadows creeping across the flanks of the hills, eating up the light.
I can’t stop thinking about Daniel. The shiny black fall of his hair that I’ve never been able to stroke, the smooth brown skin of his face that I’ve never felt under my fingertips, the soft little hollow at the base of his throat that I’ve never kissed. I feel an actual ache in my chest. How can I love someone I hardly know? Someone I’ve only spoken to a few times? It’s illogical. But logic doesn’t come into it. I love him and that’s it. And I’ll never see him again.
Two days ago the interview with Mere was on a current affairs show on television. We watched in fascinated silence as the old woman stood like a queen on the sand of Dawson’s Beach and told the world what had happened to her tribe. Her face seemed young again, no longer stained and wrinkled. She paced up and down, she thrust her fists out — and I could almost see the taiaha of her ancestors held tight in her grasp.
‘Look at the sand!’ she commanded. Obediently the camera lens scanned along the beach. ‘What do you see?’ She paused dramatically. ‘Footprints! The footprints of dozens of people. If footprints stayed in the sand, if footprints were never washed away by the sea but built up layer by layer, whose footprints would be the very first ones? Whose feet trod this shore before all the rest?’ The camera focused closely on her face. ‘The feet of the Ngati Whetu tribe were the first to mark this sand! For hundreds of years they lived and fought and died here. Those footprints might be invisible now — but I say to you, they are still there!’ She pointed at the sand with a stiff forefinger. ‘This is our land, our foreshore, beloved by our ancestors, and we will fight to the death to get it back!’
‘Well, you can’t help admiring the old dragon,’ Lorna had said after the interview finished. ‘She’s certainly got something about her that makes you listen. Even if you don’t agree with what she’s saying.’
‘I hope the old dragon and her pups pack up and take themselves off now they’ve had their moment of fame,’ Steve growled. ‘I’ll sleep a lot easier knowing they’re gone.’
Early in the morning, after the interview, Lenny had turned up on the kitchen doorstep, fuming. We were still eating breakfast. ‘Bloody useless buggers,’ he’d growled, stamping into the kitchen and parking himself in the chair right next to me. ‘You wait. Now they’ll want to grab the whole frigging country because they’ve had five minutes spouting off on TV.’
Lorna frowned. ‘Young ladies present,’ she reminded him.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘They make me bloody wild, wanting everything handed to them on a plate.’
‘Reckon they’ll pack up soon,’ Steve said, stuffing the last piece of toast into his mouth. ‘And good riddance to ’em.’ He stood up and jerked his head at Lenny. ‘Come on, mate, let’s go, or she’ll have you washing the breakfast dishes.’
‘Why does he hate them so much?’ Tracey asked after they’d gone. ‘The Maori, I mean.’
Lorna frowned as she gathered plates up off the table. ‘Well … he had a bit of trouble with someone from that tribe a few years ago. But often there’s no reason for it. Some individuals just need to hate other people.’
‘He’s like a grizzly bear,’ Tracey said. ‘Growling and snarling.’
‘Did you smell the beer on him?’ I asked. ‘What a pong!’
Lorna put the plates down with a crash. ‘No, I didn’t! Are you sure, Bel? Steve’ll be furious if Lenny’s drinking on his own. We always knew he had a problem with alcohol but he promised us he’d only drink when he went into Picton.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m sure. He was sitting right next to me. And when I met him walking to Dawson’s Beach he smelt the same then.’
Lorna turned back to the sink. ‘Oh, damn. Damn! I’ll have to tell Steve. It’d be a blasted nuisance if we’ve got to tell Lenny to go. He’s really good with the stock. And it’s so hard to find anyone fit enough for farm work who’s prepared to live in an out-of-the-way place like this.’
‘If you let Glynn stay here instead of sending him off to university you wouldn’t have to worry about finding farm hands,’ I said sweetly.
‘Humph,’ Lorna said, loudly clashing cutlery in the sink.
So now it’s New Year’s Eve and here I am on my prison island. What would I like to be doing right now? Not sitting here on my own staring blankly at Tory Channel, that’s for sure. And not getting bored out of my brain talking to strangers at some noisy party either. What I’d really like is a repeat of last New Year’s Eve. Rae invited me and a few other girls round to her place and we watched horror movies and drank punch with a bottle of vodka tipped in when Rae’s mother wasn’t looking. And we screamed our heads off and danced like loonies when midnight struck. Oh, Rae, how I wish you were here. I really need a friend.
A big ferry cruises into view, heading towards the Strait. It’s the only thing moving out there. Its white shape stands out starkly against the darkness of the sea and the hills. I can just see the dolphin outline on the blue funnel. I watch it pass while thoughts tangle themselves in my head. Daniel, Lizzie, Matthew, Mum, Dad, Rae…
I don’t want to think any more. It’s too confusing. I grab a sweatshirt, go out the back door, lock it and tuck the key under the mat. Goldie lifts her head off the rug and looks at me hopefully, but I shake my head and say, ‘Don’t even think about it.’ She groans and puts her head down again.
Dusk is falling as I walk down to the jetty. More clouds are boiling over the hills on the other side of the channel, thick and grey, like dirty soapsuds. I remember Steve’s warning about the weather forecast. There’s a storm coming. But there’s still no wind and the black water lies motionless round the wooden piles.
A loud noise startles me. A kind of bang, not really close but close enough. It came from the direction of Lenny’s cottage. Steve said something earlier about Lenny going into Picton for New Year’s Eve. So why is there a noise at his cottage?
I jog back up the main track and turn on to the path that leads under the macrocarpas to Lenny’s cottage. While I’m still in the shelter of the trees I stop and stare at the ramshackle building. The door is closed but there’s a light shining through the open windows and I can hear what sounds like a television. Lenny certainly isn’t in Picton. A sliver of fear slides down my backbone. I’m alone on the farm with him. I wonder if Steve and Lorna know he’s still here. I bet they don’t.
I stare hard through the fading daylight at the doghouse sitting near the corner of the cottage. It’s empty and the chain is lying in coils on the ground. Ripper is probably inside with Lenny. Suddenly there’s another bang like a piece of furniture being thrown at the wall, and a kind of roar. Shit, what’s he doing?
I want to turn and run back to the farmhouse and lock myself in. But something makes me creep through the open gate and across the grass towards the lighted window. I have to see what’s going on. I stop a metre away from the window, off to one side. I can just see inside the room. Lenny is stamping up and down, a bottle of beer clutched in one hand. Every few seconds he lifts the bottle and takes a swig. The beer overflows down his chin and wets his T-shirt. His hair is bristling and his doughy face is red and patchy. His eyes are tiny slits between the bulges of his cheeks and forehead.
When he’s not drinking from the bottle, he’s talking. His voice goes on and on in a deep growl but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Then he shouts loudly and lifts the hand that I haven’t been able to see before. He’s holding a rifle! I freeze. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can only stare at that gun waving round in the air.
‘Bloody black bastards!’ Lenny roars. ‘Stealing everything — other blokes’ wives, other people’s land, you name it. I’m gunna go ’n’ teach them a frigging lesson! What d’you say to that, boy? How about some nice juicy mouthfuls of fat Maori arse? What d’you say, Ripper, old mate?’ The dog barks briefly. ‘That’s my boy. Only you ’n’ me got enough balls to give ’em what they deserve!’ He takes another swig from the bottle. ‘Gotta wait till dark. Then you ’n’ me ’n’ the old rifleman here can go ’n’ scare the shit out of ’em.’
I back away from the window very carefully. As soon as I’m close to the trees I turn and run. He’s going over to Dawson’s Beach. With the gun. If the protesters are still there … I have to warn them. Lenny’s waiting till dark. It’s not quite dark yet. If I take a kayak I can be there in 15 minutes.
I scramble down the track and race over to the kayaks lying high up on a patch of sand where the waves won’t reach them. What else? A paddle, dummy. And a life vest. I run over to the locker at the end of the jetty and haul out what I need. I yank the vest over my head and drag the kayak down to the water’s edge, scraping over a few sharp stones as I go. Sorry, Glynn. I push it out into the shallows, yelping as the freezing water soaks through my jeans and sneakers.
I mustn’t tip out. Remembering all Glynn’s words of advice, I ease myself carefully into the kayak. Fate is looking after me because I wobble but stay upright.
I begin to paddle, gently at first, but then faster and faster as I feel more confident. The yellow hull of the kayak slices silently through the water like a knife through silk. I round the point and head up the channel, keeping as close to the shore as I dare. Rocks and seaweed move like torn black curtains under the water. I don’t remember seeing those before. Am I too close to the shore? Maybe the tide’s lower? I mustn’t hit a rock. I veer slightly out into the channel. But not too far or I’ll get caught in the tide.
A few minutes later I feel a gust of cold wind stroking along my cheek and parting my hair. The black water ahead of me heaves itself into little waves as the gust races past. The storm. I’d forgotten about the storm. I risk a look over my shoulder. A grey blanket is rolling over the hills. Faster, Bel. My arms swing the paddle furiously. My heart races like an engine in my chest. Lenny, gun, Daniel. Lenny, gun, Daniel. The words pound furiously in my head in time to the strokes of my arms. I’ve got to get there before the storm. And before Lenny.