Marama came into the hut. ‘Eh, he make you smile. I like see you smile.’
‘Oh, Marama, he’s the best thing to happen to me in my whole life,’ I whispered.
But her face grew anxious. ‘Eri, take care. Kapene Tiaki see in your heart, we have trouble.’
‘Matthew’s a friend,’ I told her. ‘Surely Jack can’t stop me having friends.’
She frowned. ‘Kapene Tiaki top man here. He do what he likes. Eri, he must not know what you feel.’
I looked at her worried eyes, and pulled my shawl closer. She sometimes seemed to see into the future, foretelling accidents and storms with uncanny accuracy. What was she seeing now?
CHAPTER 10
I’m in love. Love, love. It’s all I can think of. I open my eyes and quickly shut them again as a bolt of pain drills into my forehead. Matthew. No, not Matthew. Lizzie is the one who loves Matthew, not me. Oh, God. What’s the matter with me? Why does my head hurt so much?
I force my eyes open. The sea sparkles up at me, reflecting the sun in a thousand flashes of light. Under the surface of the water, branches of thick, brown kelp move lazily backwards and forwards. I fix my eyes on them, trying to calm the pounding in my head. The fronds sway, slowly, gently, as if they’re dancing. The headache begins to fade.
I wriggle round on the stone chair and gaze along Dawson’s Beach. While I was lost in Lizzie’s world a launch has come in and anchored next to the runabout. There are probably close to 20 people gathered in front of the tent now, including a swarm of children madly digging holes in the sand. Someone’s standing by the barbecue and even from my end of the beach I can smell sausages frying.
Finally I spot him. Next to his grandmother. She’s on the canvas chair, back ramrod straight and arms crossed. Daniel is sitting on the grass beside her with his legs drawn up and his chin resting on his knees. Is he watching me? I can’t tell. I stare at the hunched figure until my eyes water and I have to rub them to take away the sting.
Daniel, Dan. All I can think about is the smooth, golden skin of his shoulders, warmed by the sun. What would his skin taste like? Honey? And there’s the way he walks, sort of feline, both relaxed and alert at the same time. And his eyes, sometimes black with secrets and the next moment bright with hidden laughter. And his mouth, with that mysterious half-smile …
Oh no, I think I’m falling in love. Crashing headfirst, in fact. Me, Bel Carlson, who doesn’t even believe in true love. I’ve told Rae that often enough, much to her amusement. I bury my head in my hands. What’s going on? Lizzie, are you doing this to me? Is this some kind of action replay of what happened all those years ago?
For some strange reason I suddenly think of my mother. What did she say? ‘I feel like I come alive when I’m with Reuben.’ I’d thought the idea was a load of garbage, but it’s not. It’s true. I can feel it right now. Lizzie with Matthew, me with Daniel — it’s like having champagne fizzing through your veins instead of blood. It’s smiling all the time when you’ve got nothing to smile about. It’s wanting to run and dance and punch the sky… Oh, Lord, what would Rae say if she knew?
When I get back to the farmhouse after a long walk, the headache firing on all cylinders and my newly-found elation withered by the heat, I find my news is already out of date. They know all about the land protesters at Dawson’s Beach. The bush telegraph is running hot. Uncle Steve and Glynn and Lenny have come back to the farmhouse early and now they’re sitting in the shade on the front verandah with Lorna, drinking cans of beer. Looks as though Lenny is allowed to drink under Steve’s supervision when he’s on the island.
‘Oh, good,’ Lorna says as I plod towards the front steps, ‘the wanderer returns. We can get a first-hand account now. Bel, you’ve been over to Dawson’s Beach, haven’t you? Did you see the Ihaka mob?’
Two of the farm dogs gambol in front of me, their black eyes smiling and their pink tongues flapping. I’m so tired I just about fall over them. At least Ripper’s nowhere in sight. ‘Yeah,’ I say, sinking on to the bottom step and pushing dog noses away from my face.
‘Lady! Charlie! Down!’ Steve barks. The dogs lie flat with their muzzles on their paws and stare at him.
‘Well?’ Lorna says impatiently. ‘Did you see them or not?’
‘Uh huh.’
There’s an expectant silence, broken by scratching noises as one of the dogs tries to get a flea out of its ear. Lenny drains his can of beer with a long, loud slurp.
‘Bel,’ Lorna wails, drawing out my name till it sounds like the bleat of a sheep. ‘What are they doing? How many of them are there? Tell us!’
I lean my head on the verandah post and shut my eyes and say, ‘About twenty. Plus children. They’ve put up a tent. And a banner that says, “We Claim Our Land and Foreshore”. They’ve got sleeping bags. And a couple of barbecues. And cartons of food.’
Lorna draws in her breath. ‘Twenty! Did they say anything to you?’
‘Yeah. They told me to piss off.’
‘How dare they!’ she gasps. ‘What a nerve!’
Lenny suddenly bangs his can down on the floor of the verandah, making me and the dogs jump six centimetres into the air. ‘Bastards! Who the hell d’they think they are? Taking over the beach! I’ve a good mind to go over there and tell them to piss off themselves! You reckon, Steve? What’s say we go over and give ’em an earful?’
Steve stares out over the channel for a minute. His face looks very lined and craggy. ‘No,’ he says finally. ‘We won’t give them the satisfaction. Making a scene is exactly what they want us to do. I reckon we should just leave them alone. They’ll get sick of it in a few days and pack up and go home.’
Lenny scowls. ‘Christ! Just let the bastards take what they want? Let ’em think they own the whole bloody country? Not frigging likely!’ Lenny holds his beer can up in one meaty hand till we’re all looking at him then he slowly crushes it.
Steve frowns. ‘No way, mate. We leave them alone. I don’t want anyone going over there and causing trouble. Can’t you see? That’s what they want to happen. So that’s why we won’t go near them. Okay?’
Lenny glares at the can in his hand. ‘Show of strength,’ he growls. ‘That’s what we need. Show ’em who’s boss round here.’ He takes hold of the can with both hands and twists each end. I can’t take my eyes off the crumpled aluminium. What’s he going to do next? Chew and swallow it?
‘We don’t go near them,’ Steve repeats firmly. ‘Okay, Lenny?’
Lenny shakes his head disgustedly and heaves himself to his feet. ‘Bastards,’ he mutters, stamping down the steps. ‘Useless dole-bludging wankers. Never done a decent day’s work in their lives. Take, take, take, that’s all they’re good for.’ He treads heavily across the grass in the direction of his cottage, grumbling to himself. I hear one of the dogs give a low growl in its throat as he goes by, as if in sympathy with his mood.
‘Oh dear,’ says Lorna. ‘He’s not very keen on Maori people, is he?’
‘He told me once that his wife ran away with a Maori guy,’ Steve says. ‘Took their little baby with her. He hasn’t seen either of them since.’ He frowns. ‘I have a sneaking suspicion the guy belonged to the Ngati Whetu tribe.’
There’s an uncomfortable silence while we think about this.
Tracey comes out of the shed and wanders over to the verandah. She manages to trip over my legs as she sits down. ‘Hey, Bel,’ she says, leaning into my shoulder, ‘Did you see the bad guys? Have they got knives and stuff?’
I close my eyes. ‘They’ve got a tent and a banner and a pile of sleeping bags. And a guitar.’
Tracey sits up straight. ‘Oh.’
Lorna says, ‘Bel, maybe you shouldn’t go over to Dawson’s Beach while they’re camping there. No point in sticking your nose into trouble. You can swim here at Karaka Bay.’
That makes me open my eyes pretty quickly. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly. I won’t get into trouble. There’s a young guy with them. We sort of started talking.
He’ll make sure I’m okay.’
‘I know who it is! Daniel!’ Tracey shrieks. ‘Weirdo Daniel Kelly! Bel’s got a boyfriend! Bel’s got a boyfriend!’
I shut my eyes again and wish I could shut my ears too. And remove myself a hundred kilometres away.
‘Daniel Kelly?’ Glynn says. ‘Bit of a strange customer. Always taking off on his own. Looks as if he’s on another planet half the time.’
I sit up and glare at him. ‘There’s nothing wrong with him! He was very pleasant and polite to me, if you must know.’
Glynn blushes and ducks his head. I look at Lorna and put on my most innocent expression. ‘Honestly, Aunt Lorna, I’ll be fine. Dan said I’m welcome to come to the beach any time.’ He hadn’t actually said as much but I’m sure he’d implied it.
She still looks worried. ‘Oh, Bel, I don’t know …’
I decide to lay it on a bit. ‘Dawson’s Beach is a really neat place. I always feel much better when I’ve had a few hours there. More relaxed.’
Lorna drains the last drops from her beer can and stands up. ‘Okay. I suppose so. I guess I’ll have to trust you to keep out of trouble, Bel. I don’t want to be your jailer.’ She fixes me with a stern eye. ‘But use your common sense. If any trouble blows up, I want you out of there immediately.’
‘Yes, Aunt Lorna.’
She eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t say anything else. She goes into the house and Glynn trails along behind. Tracey stands up, mutters something under her breath about some people getting away with murder, and pounds up the steps. The cane chair creaks as Steve hoists himself up. ‘Lorna’s right,’ he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘We just want to give you some time out while you’re here. We don’t want to impose a whole lot of restrictions. So we have to trust you to behave sensibly.’
What on earth do they think’s going to happen? A revolution? ‘Of course I’ll be sensible.’
‘Good girl.’ Steve gives my shoulder a squeeze, thuds down the steps, and disappears round the side of the house with the two dogs leaping at his heels. I move to his chair, sinking into cushions still warm and moulded from the weight of his body, and close my eyes again. Maybe just a little catnap …
The next day is the day before Christmas. Lorna and Steve are expecting a couple of dozen people for the traditional barbecue lunch on Christmas Day. They’re coming from farms and houses scattered all through the bays of Tory Channel and Queen Charlotte Sound. We really don’t have a lot of preparation to do because everyone always brings tons of food. But Lorna wants us to help with cleaning the house, tidying the garden, putting out the cutlery and crockery, decorating the Christmas tree — and of course, making four of the luscious strawberry trifles that she’s famous for throughout the Sounds. With homegrown strawberries, naturally.
It’s not till the afternoon that Glynn’s free to give me a kayak lesson. We use the yellow single-seater kayak. With a wetsuit and a life vest on I feel like an over-inflated balloon. Tracey sits on the jetty with Goldie and laughs hysterically every time I tip out. Every time Tracey laughs Goldie barks, which drives me crazy.
It’s like learning to ride a bike. I think I’m all nicely balanced and begin to dip the paddle, when … zap! I’m upside down getting a faceful of water again. Glynn stands for ages in the chilly water, wearing a wetsuit, patiently holding the kayak steady while I wobble like a jelly inside it.
Finally, when I’m just about to give up in disgust I find my balance. Gingerly I pick up the paddle and dip it into the water. I don’t tip over. Another stroke on the other side. Still upright. I’m actually moving through the water. ‘Hey, look!’ I yell.
‘That’s good. You’ve got the hang of it now. Paddle along the beach for a few metres then stop,’ Glynn says, wading after me. ‘Wait till I catch you up then you can try turning round.’
‘Okay!’ I paddle carefully along, enjoying the smooth glide of the kayak through the water. Then I dip my paddle over to one side as if I’ve been doing it for centuries. The kayak slips round in a tidy circle and I’m facing the way I came.
‘Bel, I told you to wait for me before you turned,’ Glynn says crossly, splashing towards me.
‘Piece of cake,’ I say airily. ‘Let’s go for a cruise. Where shall we go? Dawson’s Beach?’
He glares at me. ‘Think you’re an expert after one hour, do you? All right, Dawson’s Beach it is. Hang on while I get sorted.’ He turns away and begins to wade back to the shore. Then he pauses and stares back over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you set off without me!’ he snaps.
‘No, sir,’ I say meekly, giving him a salute. That’s a mistake because it makes me wobble madly.
Glynn pulls on a life vest, pushes out the red kayak, and paddles out to me. ‘We’ve got to keep close to shore to stay out of the rip. Make sure you stay on my shoreward side,’ he instructs.
‘How long does it take to get to Dawson’s Beach?’ I ask.
He gives me a sly grin. ‘Takes me about ten minutes on my own. Should take twenty with you along.’
‘Let’s go,’ I say, dipping my paddle into the water with slightly more force than necessary.
‘If you’re not back by dinnertime I’ll send Dad to rescue you!’ Tracey hollers from the end of the jetty.
The trip to Dawson’s Beach is absolute magic. We glide over the surface of the water like two birds riding a current of wind. We pass gnarled fingers of rock reaching out towards us from the shore, some of them sporting weird tufts of grass. The rocky points protect tiny sheltered inlets where a thin crescent of yellow sand transforms the water from deep turquoise to pale aqua. Sometimes the inlets have no sand at all, just masses of tree ferns like green starbursts, dipping the tips of their fronds into the water. In one bay a tree trunk has fallen into the sea and along its length sits a row of black and white shags stretching their wings wide to dry in the sun. They look like clergymen, arms outstretched to embrace the congregation. I laugh aloud, and Glynn turns round and grins at me.
We take twenty minutes to get there because I keep stopping to drift and stare around me. Yachts with lollipop-coloured sails cruise past us, their occupants sending us friendly waves. The fast ferry crawls down the middle of the channel and a minute later we jerk up and down in its wake, luckily without me turning turtle. Seagulls swoop low over our heads with a squawk and a velvety rush of feathers, and for once I don’t envy them their freedom. I feel as light and free as any bird.
Then we round another point that looks vaguely familiar and there’s the long pale curve of Dawson’s Beach. Only the runabout is moored off the beach, but it still looks as if there’s at least a dozen people at the camp. Several are lying stretched out on the sand, sunbathing or sleeping. A handful are playing a very slow game of cricket. The banner has drooped in the middle and two people are busy fiddling with the ropes holding up the poles.
‘Looks like a church picnic,’ Glynn comments, balancing his paddle across his kayak. ‘D’you want to go ashore?’
I look at him challengingly. ‘Why not?’
He shrugs and dips his paddle into the water. We glide into the shallows until our kayaks bump gently on the sand at our end of the beach. We pull the kayaks up out of the water, strip off our life vests, and sit down on the sand, side by side. Glynn looks self-conscious and a bit pink in the face. He keeps shooting quick glances along the beach.
I know Daniel will come to me. I don’t know why I know, I just do. And I’m right. After a minute a figure moves away from the banner and begins walking along the beach towards us. ‘Who’s that?’ Glynn says under his breath.
‘That’s Daniel,’ I say, loving the sound of his name on my tongue.
Glynn just grunts.
Daniel comes up to us. He’s still got a bandana tied round his hair but this time it’s red. He’s wearing old jeans with large rips in the knees, and nothing on top. His feet are bare. I wish I could jump up and run my fingers over the muscles of his chest. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Okay if I join yo
u?’
‘Hi,’ I say in an ultra-casual voice. ‘Take a pew. Daniel, this is my cousin, Glynn. Glynn, Daniel Kelly.’
Glynn squints up at him. ‘We’ve met,’ he says brusquely.
Daniel grins at Glynn. ‘Yeah. Ages ago. The youth club.’ He sits on the sand beside me. I can hardly breathe. I’m acutely conscious of his hand, brown and sinewy, only a few centimetres away from mine. ‘So you’re back already?’ he says to me, with a lift of an eyebrow.
‘Glynn just taught me how to paddle a kayak,’ I say, gesturing at the two kayaks pulled up on the sand. ‘This is my first expedition.’
‘Rats,’ Daniel says in a very disappointed voice. ‘I thought you were coming to join the land protest.’ I look sideways at him and see he’s teasing me.
‘Looks as if you’re doing just fine without me,’ I say, nodding at the large group down the other end of the beach.
‘A new face would add a bit of variety,’ Daniel replies, the glint still in his eye. ‘Especially a female one. We haven’t got many of those.’
We sit in silence for a minute, watching the waves pouncing on the sand. Then Glynn surprises me by blurting out, ‘Hey, Dan, look … exactly why are you here? Making a protest on this particular beach, I mean?’
Daniel leans forward and peers at Glynn. The hint of humour vanishes from his face and he looks stern. ‘Why are we here? Good question. I’ll make it short and simple. We’re here because this land belonged to the Ngati Whetu tribe for centuries, as far back as the whakapapa can stretch. You with me?’ I nod, Glynn just squints out to sea. Daniel goes on. ‘In the early eighteenth century the tribe was attacked by the Ngati Toa and virtually wiped out. A handful escaped but most of the survivors were taken as slaves. It was a terrible betrayal because the Ngati Whetu were faithful allies of the Ngati Toa.’ He pauses, breathing heavily. ‘The ones who got away either fled or took up with the Pakeha whalers. They had nothing left, not even a canoe. All they had were their memories and their mana. A few years later Te Rauparaha decided to give some of the Ngati Whetu land to the Pakeha in exchange for guns and tobacco and whisky.’ I can see the muscles quivering in his cheeks. ‘He had no right to give away our tribal land,’ he says in a choked voice. ‘It belonged to my family.’
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