by Kris Pearson
“Things might be different at the memorial service. There’s music.”
He gave a grim smile at her change of subject. “Any sign of Kieran?”
“Only in the far, far distance. And that’s where he’ll stay if he has any sense.”
“Wouldn’t guarantee that.”
Anna gave a short laugh. “But I think Jason would. Anyway, Wildwood’s the perfect venue. Finished enough to look respectable and to show the locals they don’t have to go further afield for classy functions in future.”
He scraped his hand over his chin, thinking he needed to either get his scruffy beard properly trimmed or else shave it off. “I guess. Anything I can bring?”
“Not food. There’ll be so much they’ll be lucky if half of it gets eaten. And no flowers. They’ve suggested donations for Leukemia Research.”
“Makes sense. Makes more sense than anything else right now.”
He heard Anna’s deep sigh. “Mmm,” she said. “See you tomorrow. I don’t think bubs will be turning up today.”
*
The silver Lexus rolled to a dignified halt in the big graveled parking area. Ollie stepped out. Asphalting still to be done, he noted; wedding guests in fancy shoes wouldn’t want to risk them on these stones. But even in the short time since he’d last seen the place there were obvious changes. Construction rubbish removed. A low timber edging around the parking area and a border of shrubs planted, all mulched with bark nuggets. A sign directing guests to the gently rising ramp to the open front doors – now painted gleaming countryside green. And the 1971 280SE Mercedes Benz Cabriolet on display in its big glass box – a fantastic wedding car for the luckiest of brides.
James peered in at it, obviously impressed. “You reckon Jossy will be arriving at her own wedding in that?”
“Yep – with Cam as chauffeur because I doubt he’d trust anyone else with it.”
His father laughed. “That’ll be different. What a pair. I imagine they’ll keep each other on their toes.”
“I imagine you and Mum kept each other on your toes, too. But here you are, still married and apparently happy.” He sent James a grin that probably looked more cheerful than he felt.
“Had our moments,” James said. “I think every couple does.”
Ollie couldn’t help reviewing some of the ‘moments’ he and Mei had shared. The shock of finding her sliding out of Anna’s truck. Her reaction to his offer to hide in the new house with him. That walk on the lonely beach when they suddenly couldn’t keep their hands off each other. And later.
Good moments, every one. Would there ever be any more?
When they passed between the gleaming green doors they found the high-ceilinged main function room at Wildwood already abuzz with quiet conversation. Sunlight flooded the beams and lit up the golden timber. Tall vases of flowers and foliage decorated the corners of the big space, warring with the perfumes and colognes of the dressed-up locals.
Cam and Jason were distributing chairs. “We have a hundred,” Cam muttered to Ollie and James as he pulled some from the stack he’d just put down. “We’ll put out fifty. I’ve no idea how many we’ll need.”
At that moment a chorus of shrill young voices piped up from somewhere outside. “Hold it down. Hold your horses,” a deep male voice bellowed. “Whakarongoa. Kia mau ki raro.”
The complaints fell away. Ollie recognized Uncle Eddie Hakaraia’s forceful tone and grinned. Had Eddie brought the whole family? Then a dozen or more school-age children in traditional Maori costume filed in, followed by several much older boys.
“Update that to seventy chairs,” Cam said, rushing away.
Ollie watched as Eddie led his party to the food tables at the back, laden with biscuits and cakes and buns and sandwiches. He handed each child a disposable plate on which he’d written a name. “Choose three,” he ordered. “E toru. E toru anake. Choose carefully. Three each. Then put your plates down that end of the table for later. I’ll be watching.”
The children fell silent, concentrating on finding the best goodies.
Uncle Eddie winked at Ollie and James. “Never fails to keep them quiet,” the big man murmured. “Very sad day though. Mrs Chan was part of the Bay for so long. She had a good word for everyone.”
“And she had plenty to complain about,” James said. “She had a tough life – barely stopped moving from what I could see.” He touched Ollie on the shoulder. “We might grab a seat and get out of the way,” he suggested.
They sat. Soon most of the chairs were full and a buzz of quiet conversation filled the big space. Cam dived out to his storeroom again and brought back another armful of chairs as Bill Hughes strode front and center, looking impressive in a dark blue suit and holding a sheaf of papers. The few last people took their seats and the noise slowly ebbed away.
“Everyone please stand,” Bill requested. The Chan family filed in from a room at the back and walked, eyes down, to take the empty seats in the front row. Zhang Wei, his two sons and their wives, and last of all, Mei.
Ollie had been gazing around from his aisle seat, desperate to catch a glimpse of her. Now he knew why she hadn’t been visible. She looked pale and fragile, her hair drawn back into a severe bun, her ears missing their customary glitter of jewels. Her black suit and white blouse could almost have been a work uniform. His vibrant rock-chick was long gone.
He ached to coax her into a warm embrace so he could comfort her. To gently unravel her tight hair, to see her smile. Chance would be a fine thing. The best he could manage was a swift touch on her hand as she passed. She sent him only the quickest glance, but she left behind a faint waft of the perfume he recognized before it was drowned out again by the other stronger scents in the room.
Bill Hughes consulted his papers. His neck bulged over his too-tight collar and tie, and he cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we’re assembled here today to share memories of Mrs Yu Yan Chan and to remember her long life here with us in Scarlet Bay. First of all, someone who needs no introduction because he’s been here almost longer than any of us. Mr Eddie Hakaraia.”
A soft ripple of laugher accompanied Eddie as he moved slowly and majestically into Bill’s position. He spoke in Maori, repeating each short sentence in English… a melodic blend of both languages that easily held the audience’s attention. “Good morning everyone. Our community will miss our dear friend Mrs Chan. So many of us knew her and appreciated her unfailing good cheer and industrious nature. Today the student kapa haka group that I coach will present their own unique farewell to her.”
He raised a hand as though offering the audience a gift. “You might be more used to seeing haka performed before the All Blacks rugby matches. On those occasions it is to intimidate the opponent. But for times like this, it is to show great respect for a person who has lived an exceptional life. So here are some of our young people – our tamariki – who will give you what I hope will be a passionate performance.”
He gestured to the group to come forward, and there was rustling of clothing and scraping of chairs. “The whole of the body should speak,” he added. “Every part putting forth emotion. The eyes, the feet, the arms, the voice.” He took several slow steps backward as the group approached up the central aisle, one of the young men wailing and posturing and being answered by the others. When they reached the clear area at the front they wheeled around as a single unit and commenced a thrilling chant, all now stomping and slapping their hands against arms, chests, and thighs. Rolling their eyes. Thrusting out their tongues. Even the youngest were fiercely committed.
The hairs rose on the back of Ollie’s neck, and some of the older Maori people present joined in with their own responses. It was spellbinding.
The last notes died away and total silence fell. Eddie bowed his head briefly, then encouraged his troop to return to their seats. Their chests rose and fell from their efforts, and some of them glanced sideways and grinned at parents or friends as they walked back after a jo
b well done.
Bill resumed his role of MC, indicating everyone should now sit. “Magic,” he said hoarsely. “We’re in good hands with young people like these. In my long working life with the police I saw both the good and the bad sides of the community. We’re lucky to have this opportunity to see how disciplined and dedicated our youth can be. Future leaders for sure. The national news bulletins are far too keen to run the dramatic items and not mention the less sensational stories. I think we’d all agree that was totally inspiring.”
He dropped his volume a notch or two and spoke to the front row. “It has been my pleasure to know your wife and mother for the whole of the time she lived in Scarlet Bay. She and you, Zhang Wei – and your sons Jiang and Yanlin, and your daughter Meifeng – all became exemplary citizens in your adopted country of New Zealand. I’d now like to call upon my wife, Thelma, to share the first of many wonderful memories of Mrs Chan.”
Ollie listened with half an ear to Thelma’s story of how Yu Yan had been too busy to attend formal meetings of the service club they both belonged to, but how she could always be relied upon to help in practical ways like distributing leaflets through the shop, donating vouchers for raffle prizes, and so on.
Essie followed, leaning heavily on two walking sticks after her hip operation. She described Yu Yan’s cheerful assistance with picnics for the junior surf lifesaving members, and her first aid skills which had been invaluable if they’d needed to wait for ambulance paramedics to arrive after beach mishaps.
Bill Denton, past owner of the campground, praised her willingness to work long hours when he needed cabins cleaned and tidied for guests at peak times ‘when my regular ladies
couldn’t stay late’.
By now the children were shuffling in their seats, plainly losing interest, so Bill signaled to Eddie and he instructed them to collect their plates of food and go out to the parking area. “Hoolie,” Eddie added to his lanky great-nephew, “There’s a chilly bin with fruit drinks and disposable cups in the back of my car. You spread them around, eh? And keep the noise down out there.”
“Sure thing, Uncle,” Hoolie said, leading the straggle of plate-bearing children out into the sunshine.
“And next, Yu Yan’s daughter Meifeng will play some traditional Chinese music in memory of her mother,” Bill announced. “She’s asked me to tell you the title is Night Song.”
Ollie’s attention returned in a flash, his gaze never leaving Mei as she walked to a chair placed near the back wall. On it sat her erhu, wrapped in its familiar length of golden silk. She unwound the shining fabric from the long-necked instrument and Bill positioned the chair more centrally for her.
Mei took a quick look around, and Ollie could have sworn she edged the chair sideways so their eyes couldn’t meet again. His spirits descended even further into hell, but he sat transfixed through the plaintive melody. So much sorrow and beauty flowed out through her slender fingers.
She resumed her front row seat and he prayed she’d turn far enough so he could see her again. No such luck as the tributes flowed on and on and the chair seat became ever harder under his lean butt. He glanced at his watch. Almost an hour and a half gone. How much longer?
Then, mercifully, Bill began to bring proceedings to a close. “If we’ve no-one else wanting to speak, the tea-urns are hot and I think we can now enjoy the delicious spread provided by our local ladies.”
“Just me,” James said, rising swiftly to his feet beside a surprised Ollie before the stampede could begin.
From the front row, Zhang Wei exploded upright like a Jack-in-a-box. “Not you,” he yelled, eyes bulging and neck taut. “Never again you. Not welcome. You steal my wife!”
“Dad?” Ollie demanded, astounded.
The rest of the crowd, no doubt lulled into as much inattentiveness as Ollie, jerked alert and began to whisper and crane their heads around.
“No!” Zhang Wei’s sons exclaimed in unison.
But he didn’t stop. Bristling with fury, he flung out an arm in James’ direction, pointing an accusing finger and stabbing the air. “All those years ago when she young and beautiful, you took her from me. Stole her away. Hurt me and hurt her. Hurt our family. You not speak!”
“Jesus, Dad,” Ollie muttered, stunned at the accusation, and even more stunned it might be true because his father had stayed standing, and had also stayed silent. He showed no signs of disputing the claim.
“We go,” Zhang Wei demanded loudly from the front of the room. He marched off. With heads held high, his children followed like well drilled soldiers.
*
“That went well,” Jossy muttered, swiftly separating Ollie and James from the crowd and leading them through to the kitchen in the big old house, away from prying eyes and the escalating buzz of speculation. Magdalena, who’d missed the bombshell, was transferring hot sausage rolls and small savory pies from oven trays onto big platters. The little Italian woman sent them a cheery smile and bustled off.
Jossy motioned for them to sit on the big black leather sofa at one end of the airy room. “Tea or coffee, Uncle James?” she asked in a carefully neutral tone.
“Did you do it?” Ollie demanded, turning to his father, just as Magdalena returned for another armful.
Jossy leaned back against one of the counters. “Maybe not right now, Ollie?”
He waited until Magdalena had departed with her second load. “Now sounds good to me,” he snapped. “Did you do it, Dad? Because you’ve just spoiled any chance I’ll ever have with Mei.” He ran both hands back through his hair, leaving it a spiky mess. “She once said you tried to steal something from her father, but I assumed you’d maybe offered a low price for the land the shop stands on. Then she clammed up and wouldn’t say any more.”
James slouched down into the cushions, fiddling with his expensive watch, and looking much smaller and older than Ollie had ever seen him. “She was beautiful,” he said quietly. “She was lonely. In a new country, with that pig of a husband.”
No denial.
Jossy raised a hand to her mouth and Ollie tried to swallow his disbelief. “Already with children?” he asked.
“The two boys,” James muttered.
Jossy turned away and ran water into the electric kettle. “So you did?” she said as she pushed the switch down.
“Not proud of it, and it never happened again,” James said, finally connecting with Ollie’s accusing gaze. “Thirty years ago. Long time.”
“And what about Mum?” Ollie yelled. “What about me? Was I born?”
“Shush!” Jossy warned.
James loosened his tie and cleared his throat. “Barely. Only just. Ginny was crippled with post-natal depression.”
“Yeah, right,” Ollie couldn’t help inserting.
James shook his head. “She didn’t want me. She didn’t want you. She didn’t want to be married. She didn’t want to be alive. It’s why we waited so long before we risked having Beau.” He looked up at Jossy. “It’s a shocking condition when it’s really bad. I hope you never get anything like it.”
“I should be so lucky,” she said bitterly. “I’m the one who can’t get pregnant. These bloody drugs for the eggs are bad enough.”
“Oh, my dear,” he said, reaching out a hand which connected with nothing. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me for not remembering that after all you went through.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, then burying his face in his hands for a few seconds before looking up at Ollie again. His eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Yes, guilty as charged. We both knew it was wrong, so we didn’t see each other often, and only for a few weeks. It was never re-kindled.”
“Did you know he knew?” Ollie asked, still boiling on Mei’s behalf, but calmer now his father had admitted the affair and assured him it was so long in the past.
“I hadn’t a clue. He never said a word. Not that I exactly sought out his company. It seemed best to stay well clear. God knows we had nothing in common.”
> “Except his wife.”
“Yes. Well…”
Ollie made an effort to smooth his hair down again. “Did you know I was keen on Meifeng when I was a kid? Her dad always yelled at me. Stopped me dating her or even speaking to her. I never knew why, but it makes sense now.”
“Horrible sense,” Jossy muttered. “He was more or less okay with us girls.”
Ollie glanced up at her. “You weren’t trying to steal his wife or daughter,” he said, bitterness spewing out with the words.
“Cuzzy,” she murmured, crossing the floor between them, laying a hand on his shoulder and patting it to comfort him. “Things might work out yet. Once the heat’s died down.”
Ollie had a sudden terrible thought. He turned to James again. “Did Mum know?”
James shook his head. “Don’t think so. She was too wrapped up in her own misery to notice much else.”
Father and son stared at each other. Then Ollie said, “Good luck with it staying secret now.”
“Don’t rub it in,” James said.
Jossy returned to the counter and tipped boiling water into a square black teapot. “Thank heavens Auntie Ginny wasn’t here today.”
“Small mercies,” James said. “Although if she had been, it might have stopped him – especially if she’d been the one to stand up.”
“I’d better take the last of these in,” Jossy said, pulling a final tray of sausage rolls from the oven and tipping them onto the remaining platter. Then she returned a few to the tray. “Tea there. Make coffee if you’d rather.” She nodded toward a jar on the counter. “Some of old Mrs Galbraith’s ginger biscuits, but I’m betting you’d rather have the sausage rolls.”
“Thank you, Josslyn,” James said, wrestling with the top button of his shirt and finally managing to undo it. “More than I deserve.”
She left the delicious fragrance of meat and pastry behind her as she departed. In the sudden silence James turned to Ollie. “You and Mei? I certainly see the appeal. She looks exactly like her mother at the same age.”