The Moon is Missing: a novel

by Jenni Ogden

  “I get that,” said Lara. “Totally. It was a horrible accident. If anyone was to blame, it was Granddad and Fiona. But it was so long ago, and all they did was fall for each other when they shouldn’t have. I don’t think we should blame them any longer. It’s too exhausting.”

  “Sweetheart, I never meant to tell you about Granddad and his affair with Danny’s mother like this. I knew I had to tell you, and you’d want to know the truth. I was getting up the courage to tell you some evening when we’d had a nice day and a lovely dinner and were feeling happy and peaceful.”

  “This way was much better. Like a thriller.”

  “I know you’re just putting on a brave face for me. We’ll talk it all through more sensibly when we’ve recovered from today. It’s a big thing for you to take on board. It’s taken me a while to even begin to get my head around it.”

  ”It’s exciting. Now I’ve got new grandparents and an uncle and two cousins I never knew I had. And a place to stay in Queenstown and New Orleans. What’s not to love?”

  “We’ll talk more about all that later, when I’m down on flat land.”

  “Uh oh. More intrigue. OK Mums. Let’s get you down the mountain.”

  But we didn’t leave the top of the Pa straight away. There was another reason we’d come up here. Not that I’d known this, but Lara had.

  “Granddad told me that if we did come up here there was something we needed to see. He wouldn’t tell me what but he said I had to look around just to the side of the rock for a hollow between some big flax bushes. Somewhere on the side looking towards the beach.”

  My eyebrows went up. “Perhaps he found some Maori artifacts there. He had a good eye for them.” I scrabbled in my shorts pocket. “I discovered this in these old shorts when I put them on this morning. It’s been here all these years. Thank goodness I didn’t throw all my old clothes in the bin. I pulled out a small stone adze and gave it to Lara.

  “It’s beautiful.” She ran her finger across the edge. “It’s still sharp after all these hundreds of years. Where did you find it?”

  “Right here on the Pa. On the saddle that Christmas Day when Danny and I had our picnic lunch. He found it actually, and gave it to me. I was nervous about taking it away from here, but Danny convinced me that it was just one of many, and that whoever made it was probably one of my ancestors, one of my tupuna. That he would be happy to know it was with me, given in love.” I shivered. “Perhaps if we had left it here none of this would have happened.”

  “You never did have a gift for logical thought,” said Lara. “If none of this had happened, you and Danny would never have met and fallen in love, and made me, your fabulously talented daughter.”

  Chapter 28

  I stayed in my sunny place while Lara fossicked about in the flax.

  “ Hey, Mum, I’ve found something. Come over.”

  Gingerly I made my way to where she was kneeling down, examining something intently. I felt fine though. No fast beating heart.

  My eye caught a dull gleam in the grass and I dropped down beside Lara, pushing back the tangle of green growing over the sides of the dirty slab of stone, almost hiding it from view. Through the covering of time and moss that coated the surface of the bronze plaque set into the stone, I could make out fragments of words and numbers. A ‘D’ in curly script and a date ending in a ‘9’. The ache in my throat told me that this was what Dad had wanted us to find.

  “It’s for Danny,” isn’t it,” Lara whispered. “It’s a memory stone for Danny.”

  Ripping out handfuls of grass we scrubbed at the stone’s face, but that quickly proved ineffectual and we looked around for something else to use. Then I felt a nudge as Lara pushed the adze into my hand. “This is why you brought the adze with you,” she whispered. “Why Danny found it.”

  I leaned over the plaque and gently traced the flowing ‘D’ of his name. Lara pulled off her T-shirt and rolled it into a soft ball and scrubbed at the bronze. Gradually the moss and crusty soil came away, liberating an inscription still filled with the soils of time and hard to read. I put the adze to use again, perhaps 500 years or more after it had been last employed. It fitted perfectly into the rifts carved much more recently into Danny's memorial. We worked steadily, painstakingly scraping and freeing each letter and each number. Memories of happy times on the island, as a girl and as a young woman, with my family and with Danny, floated gently through my head. But no sad memories came to haunt me as Lara and I worked together, and I didn’t try to read the words that our efforts were gradually revealing until we’d liberated the very last letter. The plaque shone dully in the sun now, the old-fashioned lettering standing out, finally free of its camouflage.

  Danny Leaumont

  April 1961 - January 1989

  -Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, we love you so-

  Always remembered by

  Georgia and Lara,

  Seamus and Hannah.

  Through my tears I heard a tui calling and then a voice as sweet soaring into the sky. Lara was standing, gazing out to sea, her hands crossed on her breast, her voice as pure and clear as the love that shone in her glowing face.

  “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

  From glen to glen, and down the mountain side,”

  As the plaintive words sang through my mind and lodged in my soul, I could hear Dad and Danny singing with her. Grandfather, father and daughter. And as she came to the last verse, I heard my own voice singing with them as I stood side by side with Lara and completed the circle.

  “And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,

  And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,

  For you will bend and tell me that you love me,

  And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”

  We had our last supper that night on the weathered old table on the deck, the candles flickering in the still night. The meal was simple but delicious; fresh snapper with garlic and black pepper, sprinkled with grassy olive oil and barbecued in foil over the little fire outside, accompanied by part baked, part burnt potatoes done in the ashes, and a salad made from the straggly lettuces and bolting rocket in the vegetable garden—survivors of the mild winter. With our last bottle of sauvignon blanc, we drank toasts to Adam and Finbar, to our happy future together again as a family, and rather sadly to our little house and beautiful island.

  “Here’s to the Barrier,” said Lara, clinking her glass with mine. “And Mums, here’s another special toast; to the memory of Danny.”

  My throat constricted as I looked at my beautiful daughter in the candlelight, the red flames in her hair reminding me of Danny sitting at that very same table so long ago. “To Danny, may he rest in peace,” I said, clinking my glass with Lara’s.

  After dinner we washed up, packed the last few bits of our belongings, and settled down in an easy silence in the two old chairs by the empty fireplace. It was not long before Lara, already half asleep, came over to say goodnight.

  “Don’t be late, Mum; we’ve got an early start in the morning.” Dropping a kiss on the top of my head, she disappeared into the bunkroom.

  I lay back and closed my tired eyes. It must have been an hour or more later when I woke, uncomfortable in the lumpy chair. The only sounds I could hear were the quiet noises of the night—the distinctive call of a morepork before it swooped on silent wings to snatch an unsuspecting mouse, the occasional lonely cry of a shearwater flying from its day out at sea to its nesting site on the summit of Mount Hirakimata, the muffled rumble of breakers on the beach far below, and close by, the regular breathing signaling my daughter’s sleep.

  Pulling myself out of the chair, I tiptoed out the door into the gentle night. The moon was not yet up and the sky was black velvet punctured with thousands of stars. I looked up at the Southern Cross and its pointers, always the easiest constellation to find however dazzling the Milky Way. My bare feet made their own way to the beach, down the steep track they had known since babyhood.r />
  The warming seas had encouraged luminescent algae to flourish, and in the black night it glowed and bloomed an eerie greenish-white in the breaking waves. I’d gazed on the unearthly sight many times in the past, but never before had it seemed so magical. The horizon lightened, and I ran down the sand to the very edge of the breaking waves, watching the perfect circle of the full moon rising majestically out of the sea, paving a silver path to my feet. The warm breeze on my face, fragrant with sea and grass smells, the briny taste on my lips, the low roar of the surf as it rhythmically immersed my feet in cold glowing foam, the black sea cut through with the ribbon of moonlight, and behind me, protecting the house where I’d been born, the Southern Cross. Yes, this was home.

  Happiness, pure and sweet, flowed through me for the first time in many long months, and then I saw him. At first I thought it was a fleeting shadow falling across the silver path as a wisp of cloud passed in front of the moon, now riding well clear of the horizon. But then I saw the flash of a green shirt, and copper sparks flying from his hair as the moonlight set it on fire. In the sigh of the wind and sea I fancied I could hear his warm, husky voice, finally setting me free.

  Let me go, Georgia, and take back your heart...

  The whispered words faded as the moon slipped behind a cloud. When the silver path reappeared, he had gone, and I could no longer hear his voice in the wind.

  Epilogue

  LARA

  Great Barrier Island, New Zealand

  January 15th, 2010.

  It is peaceful here on the hammock on the deck overlooking the bay. Mum and Dad are sleeping in their bedroom, and brother Andrew and Becky in the bunkroom. This year Danny’s brother John and his wife and their two sons are in New Orleans, but they were with us here last summer. I can hear laughter from the tents on the grass to the side of the house where the rest of us sleep at night: Andrew’s son and Finbar in one, Andrew’s daughter and Lara in another, and Adam and I in the third. The permanently open doors of our tents look out across the sand dunes to the beach and the Pa.

  It’s a hot summer afternoon; this morning we exhausted ourselves making our annual pilgrimage to the top of the Pa where we remember Danny as Lara sings. Always Danny Boy. Mum and Dad don’t make the final climb with us any more; they manage to get to the saddle even though Mum is 79 this month and Dad is 80. They live here permanently on the island now, both of them busier than they ever were in Auckland, organizing community events, and joining in on numerous conservation efforts to preserve the island’s rare birds, lizards and plants. Dad still keeps them fed on fresh fish and Mum supplies their organic greens from her raised garden behind the house.

  We come over here every chance we get. I have more time since we moved home to New Zealand three years ago. My work as a neurosurgeon, one of five at Auckland Hospital, is as challenging as it ever was in London, but I have no desire to take on any higher role. The London Department only had to suffer under Jim Mason’s command for a year before he tired of the endless meetings and resigned at the same time as I did. But in his case it was so he could make more money as a full-time private consultant. To my joy, Karen Jenkins, my dear friend from Thibodaux, applied for and won the Directorship, and replaced sleazy Jim with warmth, empathy and brilliance. In her Christmas letter she wrote that she still loved it, but planned to move sideways in another two years. When she retired at sixty, she would return home to Louisiana and find a place to settle close to a good crabbing estuary.

  Adam is a full professor now at Auckland University, and Finbar begins his last year at grammar school in February. He is the captain of the First Eleven, and Adam never misses a game. And Lara. She flew through her repeat year of school in London, even passing math! By then she’d decided that a further school year wasn’t for her; medicine had been a passing phase, but music stayed her passion. Savannah’s reference probably helped her get admitted to the Bachelor of Music in Jazz Studies at Loyola University in New Orleans. She was nearing the end of her degree now, and already sang three nights a week in Lara’s Piano Bar. Savannah had bought Voodoo Magic from old Kat when she’d decided it was time to fly off on her broomstick to Florida, where her daughter lived. Lara and Leroy took charge of the renovations and turned it back to the moody club I remembered, but without the smoky atmosphere. The new name had not been Lara’s choice; she’d wanted to call it Danny’s Piano Bar again, but Savannah over-ruled her. “Time to move on,” she said.

  Savannah will be 94 later this year, and no longer feels spry enough to come to Great Barrier. She is well cared for in her Garden District home by Leroy and Fiona, who returned to New Orleans the same year as Lara went to live with her great grandmother.

  Tonight is the annual Great Barrier Island concert under the stars, where all the locals gather and enjoy two hours of entertainment with the summer visitors. As always it will be colorful, and the range of abilities displayed by the performers staggering. Most of them can sing in tune at least, which lets me off the hook. And always there are a few special performers. It is not hard to attract top acts from Auckland and elsewhere in New Zealand. Who wouldn’t want a weekend surfing and fishing on the most beautiful island on earth?

  We were all seated on the grass in front of the canvas-covered stage before the first act came on; the children from Okiwi School with their Maori songs and a haka. Not a dry eye in the crowd after that start. Bands, dancers, budding opera singers, bluegrass, a folk duet, heavy metal, more Maori songs, a Beatles band. At 10pm the compere climbed back on the stage and waited until the crowd stopped their chatter.

  “Right, we’ve come to the end of another great concert. Just one more special guest to end on.” He waved his arm in our direction. “Seamus McKinlay, come on up here, you old bastard.”

  Dad got up from the folding canvas chair he was, as a nod to his age, allowed to sit on, and walked up the steps. He looked mighty fine, tall and straight, his hair pure white but as thick as it had ever been. He looked down at us all, hushed in anticipation.

  “Sorry, folks. You’re not going to hear my old voice tonight. I’m passing the baton to my granddaughter. She’s going to blow you all away. Come on up, Lara.” He beckoned to Lara sitting in the grass next to me and she gave me a quick kiss on my cheek before she joined her grandfather at the mike.

  I felt Adam’s warm hand close around mine as my eyes feasted on her slim form, from her bare brown feet, to her faded blue jeans and sea-green shirt. She detached the mike from its stand, and as Dad sat down at the piano beside her and played a chord, she smiled her Danny smile and shook her Danny hair and said, “Mum, this song is for you.”

  And cradling the microphone like a kiss, she closed her green eyes, and sang,

  “Georgia, Georgia…”

  Her voice rose into the dark sky and through the stars and past the moon and settled on top of the Pa.

  “Just an old sweet song

  Keeps Georgia on my mind.”

  READING GROUP QUESTIONS & TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION

  Dear Reader,

  Before I became a novelist I had a different career— teaching, researching, and practicing clinical psychology and neuropsychology. Writing character-led fiction clearly involves some understanding of human psychology, but I have discovered that it also draws on my knowledge of psychology in ways that are so subtle that sometimes it is an editor or reader who discovers a theme in my story that I hadn’t planned. Once it is pointed out, I can see how it grew out of the psychology of the characters and their interactions.

  Reading novels also deepens our understanding of psychology, and comes with significant psychological benefits. The very act of reading prompts our imaginations to soar, more so than when watching a movie. With a book we need to imagine so much about the characters and locations, and this fires up complex systems in our brains. Apart from escapism, reading fiction has been shown to increase our ability to empathize with other people different from ourselves or with different views from ours, and allows us to expe
rience other worlds, sometimes realistic, sometimes pure fantasy. It also gives us a way of ‘rehearsing’ situations and how we might react, respond, and feel, should we be faced with similar situations in the future. Reading allows us to go at our own pace, not the speed required by watching a similar story on a screen, and thus gives us time to think more deeply about issues raised by the story. Of course, many fictional characters show terrible judgment –that’s part of the story—but we can learn from that as well. I shudder to think how the recent Covid-19 pandemic, when in its early stages, affected some readers of pandemic horror stories.

  Thus the discussion topics that follow are going to be a little different from the questions typically found at the end of many ‘bookclub’ reads. With my psychologist’s hat on (perhaps not a hat, but after all these years a permanent part of my brain) I have expanded some of my story-related questions into areas probably more suited to a workshop for psychology students! To discuss all of these could take a very long bookclub session, giving little time for the other important function of bookclubs–a catch-up with friends. So pick one or two topics and leave the rest for your later contemplation. Indeed as seasoned bookclub readers, you will have no problem ignoring my discussion topics entirely if you have more fascinating byways to follow!

  1. Work-Family Balance

  (a) At the start of the novel, Georgia and Adam each had a full-time career. How well do you think they balanced their parenting roles with their careers? How fair was this? In an ideal situation, do you think factors like gender, age of children, the relative ‘importance’ of the parents’ jobs (e.g.: teaching university students and conducting research versus saving lives, or significantly different salaries), the passion each parent has for their work, and how ‘good’ each parent is at parenting, should be considered when parents decide how to manage this balance?