One Winter Morning

  We reach the ridge of the hill to find Allie, Griff and Tui sprawled out on the ground, each of them pretending to be asleep. Tui, who is snoring loudly between bouts of giggles, opens one eye and peers up at us.

  ‘I can’t believe this lot fell asleep waiting for us,’ exclaims Kit, playing along.

  Tui, unable to stop her body from shaking with laughter, sits up and emits a hiccup so loud that it prompts Beavis to leap sideways in fright. Then, reaching up and grabbing my hand for leverage, Tui pulls herself clumsily to her feet and runs off ahead along the path.

  ‘I’ve got dust all over my arse,’ says Allie, brushing ineffectually at the offending patch of dirt. ‘Help a girl out, will you?’ she adds to Kit, and I avert my eyes as he attends to her bottom.

  ‘You’re my hero,’ I hear her say, turning just in time to see her plant a kiss right on his mouth. And, was it my imagination, or did she just sneak a glance in my direction to make sure I was watching her do it?

  It would have been more subtle if she’d lifted her leg and peed on him, I think wryly – and for a second or two, I consider taking Allie to one side and telling her that she has nothing to worry about. Not where I am concerned, at any rate. I’m not after a repeat of my disastrous ‘date’ with Billy a few weeks ago. That drunken sham of an evening proved to me that not only am I in no way ready for a romantic relationship with anyone, but that I have no desire for one full stop.

  14

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ Hayley says, taking a breath. ‘Your mum is in England?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

  ‘And it turns out that you have a half-sister called Tui. Hang on, is that Tui as in the travel agent?’

  ‘I think we can assume that it refers to something else in New Zealand,’ I say, almost slicing through my hands-free headphone wire with the bread knife. While it’s dinner time where Hayley is, I’m currently busy making my breakfast in the apartment block’s shared kitchen.

  ‘And,’ Hayley goes on, ‘as if all that wasn’t complicated enough, you’ve also met a gorgeous man, who just so happens to know both of them.’

  ‘Er, excuse me?’ I protest. ‘I haven’t “met” a man – not in the way you’re insinuating.’

  ‘But you like him,’ Hayley points out, and I grit my teeth.

  ‘As a potential friend, yes.’

  ‘And he’s gorgeous,’ she adds.

  ‘I barely know the guy,’ I insist, opening the fridge and replacing the carton of eggs.

  ‘But you know enough to like him,’ she teases. ‘The first thing you told me after his name was how good-looking he is.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘OK, so I made that bit up – but I know for a fact that he’s good-looking. I can tell from how gooey your voice goes when you talk about him.’

  ‘Must be a poor connection,’ I counter, and she cackles.

  ‘Unlike the one between you and this Kit bloke, then.’

  ‘Hayley!’ I implore, opening a drawer in search of a whisk to mix up the eggs, but finding only a half-empty box of matches and a rusty vegetable peeler. ‘I told you – it’s not like that. He’s got a girlfriend, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Billy will be so upset,’ she adds. It’s clearly a joke, but one with a sting in its tail.

  ‘Can we drop the subject of Kit now?’ I plead, choosing to ignore the mention of Billy.

  Hayley sighs forlornly, and I give up on locating a whisk, fetching a fork from the draining board instead.

  ‘OK, have it your way,’ she says. ‘But you can’t blame a girl for hoping – a nice holiday romance might have cheered you up a bit.’

  Now it’s my turn to sigh.

  ‘For the last time, you earthworm brain, I did not come to New Zealand to find a man – I came here to find my real mother.’

  ‘I know.’ Hayley’s voice is smaller now, her tone more contrite. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So, what do you think I should do?’ I ask, cursing as the toast pops up. I haven’t even ignited the gas under the egg pan yet.

  ‘Hmm,’ Hayley begins, and I hear her tapping her fingers on something as I hunt in vain for a reheat button on the toaster. ‘That depends. How are you feeling about your mother now? You know, now that you’re there, and you’ve seen where she lives?’

  ‘Well, I guess if she’s horsey then she can’t be all bad,’ I allow. ‘And Tui is an absolute sweetheart, so I have to give Bonnie some credit for raising her. But I still feel like I know hardly anything about what she’s like as a person, you know? And there are no photos of her anywhere at the yard – not that I saw, anyway. She’s still faceless to me.’

  Hayley makes sympathetic noises while I pour the beaten eggs into a pan and pick up a wooden spoon and scramble them. It’s not going to be the best breakfast I have ever made, given that I forgot to buy butter, salt or pepper.

  ‘It must have taken serious guts to just walk on in there,’ Hayley allows. ‘But you did it – you faced your biggest fear on the very first day.’

  What I haven’t yet admitted to Hayley is how strange it felt to be so close to horses again. I stay away from the stables at home because I can’t bear to be around so many reminders, not just of my life before the accident, but of Anna, too, and my poor darling Suki. I thought it would be the same at Koru Stables, that those familiar smells, sights and sounds would invoke that terrible, gasping grief again – but they hadn’t. Or perhaps I hadn’t let them. I had kept my eyes averted and my hands firmly to myself.

  ‘I suppose I might be a bit braver than I thought I was,’ I agree. ‘But I have to admit, the whole thing felt like one long, extended moment of madness.’

  ‘Not madness,’ Hayley tempers lightly. ‘Courage.’

  The eggs are cooked at last, and I take the pan across to my plate and scrape the contents unceremoniously on to the cold toast. Hayley and I continue to talk as I eat, her chatting loudly to mask the sound of my chewing. She’s seen David, she tells me – they bumped into each other in the Co-op.

  I know I should really be calling my adoptive dad every day while I’m here, but for some reason, I don’t feel ready to share the details of my Frisbee golf game with Kit, Tui and the others with him yet. For a few precious hours, as the five of us sweated and laughed our way around Queenstown Gardens, the coal-dust blackness in my heart was swept away into the corners. The memories of Anna were still there, of course, but they didn’t feel as all-consuming as they usually did, and because I was not with anyone who knew me, or anything at all about Anna’s accident, thoughts of her had receded quite naturally to the back of my mind for once. That was yesterday, though, and with each breath, that gloom is stealing back through me. I may be pretending to Hayley that everything is more or less fine – even joking around with her about Kit – but the truth is, I feel like I’m on the edge of an emotional precipice.

  ‘So, what are you up to today, then?’ Hayley asks, as I finish the last of my meal.

  ‘Probably just go for another wander around,’ I say vaguely. ‘Maybe book a skydive.’

  ‘Funny,’ she deadpans. Then, so quietly that at first I think I may have misheard her, ‘You could always go back to the stables, you know.’

  The first time I headed out here to Paradise Valley, I at least had a purpose for coming. This time my reason is simply that I have a very persuasive best friend, one who pointed out to me that getting to know my new half-sister better was the only thing that really made sense. It certainly made more sense than jumping out of a plane, even though, as I laughingly informed her, I was definitely not serious when I suggested that.

  Hayley wasn’t wrong, but now that I’m back here, facing the gate with the long stony driveway beyond it, I realise that I need a different excuse for anyone I might encounter at the yard. I can’t very well roll up and tell the truth – but where does that leave me? With a lie, and I hate lying, even when I have no choice.

  Decid
ing to leave it up to chance, I push through the trees and make my way towards the office to the right of the main yard. Perhaps I can pretend to have lost my purse and have come back to see if it’s here? That feels plausible … ish.

  Before I can get there, however, I catch sight of Tui over in the largest of the outdoor schools. She is up on the back of a stocky chestnut pony, her reins knotted to stop them trailing, and as I draw nearer, I see that her stirrups are crossed over the front of her saddle, too. Allie, who is standing in the middle of the arena holding a long lunge rein and whip, sees me and inclines her head in a brief greeting. Feeling thus encouraged, I pause to watch for a few minutes, my elbows up on the fence.

  ‘Try to deepen your seat,’ Allie instructs, cracking her whip on the ground so that the pony begrudgingly shifts into a loping trot.

  Up in the saddle, Tui begins to bounce and flail, her usual merriness punctured by a frown. Gripping the pommel until her knuckles turn white, she starts to slip helplessly to one side, and Allie is left with no choice but to pull the pony up.

  ‘You need to relax,’ she tells Tui soothingly. ‘Don’t grip the saddle with your knees, make your legs go all floppy.’

  ‘All right, all right. Jeez!’

  ‘Now, shall we try that again?’ suggests Allie, and Tui promptly nods, which I remember could very well mean no. Before I have time to call out to Allie, though, the whip has cracked yet again, and this time the startled gelding sets off with more gusto, almost unseating Tui and bringing her rapidly to tears.

  That’s it. I’ve seen enough.

  Ducking under the fence and striding briskly to the centre of the school, I take the lunge rein from a shocked Allie and ease the chestnut pony to a walk.

  ‘Halt,’ I command.

  The pony halts.

  ‘Tui, are you OK?’ I ask.

  After wiping her cheeks with the bottom of her bright yellow Pokémon T-shirt, Tui shakes her head.

  ‘Yes, I think so, Genie, yes.’

  She remembered my name.

  ‘Good,’ I say, wrapping the rein more tightly around my fingers. Allie is yet to say anything, but I imagine the hostility is radiating off her like steam off a pudding.

  ‘Now, wriggle your bottom backwards until you feel comfortable – that’s it. Then lift up that chin until you can see the clouds. Can you see them?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ Tui shakes her head again.

  ‘Right, now I want you to imagine that there’s a really heavy stone in the heel of your boots – can you do that?’

  Tui closes her eyes, her tongue poking out through her teeth as she concentrates, and as I hoped, she drops both her heels and lifts her toes into the correct position.

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ I say. ‘Now hold on to the saddle, and we’ll try a walk first – OK?’

  I give the little cob his head, and after a few hesitant steps, the pony begins to relax and lengthen his stride. Tui’s knees are still pressed against the saddle like a vice, but after a few more circuits, she, too, begins to soften. Whenever she drops her chin, I ask her to tell me which clouds look like animals, and when I sense her beginning to wobble, I simply remind her of those magical weights in the heels of her boots. After ten minutes, during which time Allie has sat down on a plastic jump block behind me, I call out to Tui that we’re going to try a trot again.

  ‘This time,’ I say, before she has the chance to feel scared, ‘I want you to imagine that there’s a big spring at the top of your legs, like a slinky. Do you know what a slinky is?’

  Tui shakes her head with enthusiasm.

  ‘When your pony starts to trot, the only thing that needs to move is those springs. Everything else on your body can stay still, OK? Shall we give it a try?’

  ‘OK, Gee-nie,’ Tui sings, but I notice that she tenses up a fraction. Tossing Allie’s proffered whip to the floor, I click my tongue against my teeth until the pony takes the hint, then let the rein go slack again, so he isn’t left fighting for his head. Enjoying this new freedom, the sturdy little pony slips effortlessly into a slow, comfortable trot, and Tui, quite miraculously, finds and deepens her seat.

  ‘Better?’ I call, as she’s on her sixth rotation, and this time, as she says yes, she’s nodding.

  ‘You clearly know your stuff,’ Allie remarks. I expected her to be annoyed with me for muscling in, but she seems genuine in her praise – a fact that strangely makes me feel even more of an imposter.

  ‘Not really,’ I say, glancing down at my sandals.

  ‘It’s bloody clever of you, to use imagery like that with Tui,’ Allie continues. ‘I’ve been trying to get her basic seat better for months, then you come in and nail it in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I begin, but Allie holds up a hand.

  ‘Don’t be – I’m stoked that Tui’s finally enjoying herself up there. Isn’t that right, Tui?’

  ‘What?’ bellows Tui, causing both of us laugh.

  ‘Right, come on, Missy.’ Allie takes the lunge rein and tows Tui and the chestnut pony back towards the stables. ‘And you, too, other Missy,’ she calls over her shoulder.

  Feeling all of a sudden light-headed with happiness, I set off after them through the dust.

  15

  Bonnie

  It had been a very long time since Bonnie had let herself think about Seth Cooper. Back in 1992, when she had returned home to New Zealand from England, forever changed but determined not to let on why, both Seth and baby Evangeline had plagued her thoughts on a daily basis. She had veered from regret to sadness to relief to guilt and back again – it was a seemingly never-ending cycle of confused emotion, and far from dissipating along with her post-pregnancy hormones, the feelings had intensified, building up to a crescendo of catastrophic misery.

  It was during those days of total and utter despair that Bonnie had come the closest to confessing everything to her elderly parents, but fear always stopped her in the end. She told herself that they would be angry and disappointed, but what scared her the most was the possibility that they would want her to take it all back. And she couldn’t do that, not even if she wanted to. She had made her decision, and she was adamant that she must stick to it no matter what.

  Now, however, Bonnie had to try and recall all those mixed emotions. She had to go back even further, back to the day she had first met Seth Cooper, and try to make sense of what followed. She wanted her daughter to understand, but she, Bonnie, needed to understand, too.

  Tracey had just brought her up a cup of tea, and Bonnie took a fortifying sip, trying her best to cast her mind back to that fateful afternoon. Closing her eyes, she pictured the cosy but cluttered interior of Sunrise Café as it was then, with its scrubbed Formica tables and polished wooden floor. She remembered how the coffee machine used to hum when it was idle, and how the smell of frying bacon would waft up the back stairs from the kitchen. There was a bell above the door that jangled whenever customers came in, and Bonnie knew that sound would have heralded the arrival of Seth. She would have looked up in greeting, perhaps smiled the only genuine smile that he would ever see on her face. Because after that she was always too self-conscious, aware of how he saw her, and how her gestures would be interpreted. She never had been able to fully relax around him.

  That was it, she thought, reaching at last for her pen. She had her starting point.

  I was attracted to Seth as soon as I saw him. I guess you’re a bit too young to remember the band Nirvana, but I bet you know who Kurt Cobain is, right? Well, imagine a slightly less grubby version – that is what Seth looked like. The fact that I was a massive Nirvana fan at the age of eighteen definitely helped when it came to his allure, but it was also eye-opening to meet a man so unlike the boys I had grown up with back in New Zealand. They were all big meatheads – or so I thought then – but Seth was slim with long hair. I had never met anyone who looked quite like him, and as such, he caught my attention straight away.

  Sunrise Café was not far from the University
College London campus, so we often had students popping in for coffee or toasted sandwiches. I used to eavesdrop on their conversations as I cleaned the tables, and they all seemed so knowledgeable and worldly-wise, with their fashionable clothes and their packets of Silk Cut. Seth intimidated me just as much, but unlike the other students, he used to come in with one of his professors. The two of them were Friday-afternoon regulars, and over the weeks that followed, I got to know both of them quite well. Tracey had a soft spot for the young professor, and would give him free custard tarts, but for me it was all about Seth.

  Dating wasn’t something I had ever done before at home. My parents were overprotective in the extreme, and aside from the odd kiss at a school dance or something, I hadn’t had much experience with boys. That’s not to say I didn’t want any – I did – it just wasn’t worth the row that I would face at home. I think Mum and Dad must have known that I would start meeting boys once I went travelling, but I guess they figured what they couldn’t see wouldn’t worry them as much. Or I thought so then. Now, of course, I know better. When you’re a parent, you are always bloody worrying.

  Anyway, as you can see, I was quite an innocent eighteen-year-old – and very naive, too, even if I pretended that I wasn’t. I wanted everyone to believe that I was as self-assured and mature as all those other girls my age that came into the café – and I especially wanted Seth to believe it. Have you ever liked a boy so much that he occupies your every waking thought? Getting a flash of the teeth from Seth would keep me going for days, and I would spend the hours that I wasn’t around him plotting what I would say when I was.

  But nobody was more surprised than me when he turned up after closing one evening and asked me out. Tracey had left early for the day, and I had the radio turned up full blast and was dancing around like a right dafty. When he walked through the door, I was so shocked that I whipped round with my cloth in my hand and swiped him right in the eye. Oh my God, I was bloody mortified – I almost cried. But Seth just laughed and made some joke about it being better than a wet fish. He was like that, you see, so confident and funny with it. I couldn’t understand why someone like him would choose me, and therein, I suppose, lay my biggest problem.