Tracey had popped out to, in her words, ‘smash and grab the sale rails’, leaving Bonnie alone to finish her story. And she really must finish it today – she had already encroached on too much of Tracey’s time and hospitality – and she was missing Tui – and home – with an ache that had begun to keep her awake at night.
Pulling her notepad across her folded knees, Bonnie continued to write.
On the evenings that I didn’t see Seth, I would usually stay in with the professor. His wife was still trying to decide what she wanted, and I felt sorry for him spending every night by himself. He must have had other friends, but perhaps they felt awkward given the circumstances, or maybe they didn’t even know what was going on. Either way, he seemed content to just hang out with me – and he started teaching me how to cook. I’ll admit, I was bloody useless back then – could barely bake myself a spud – but the professor taught me how to do a traditional Sunday roast, and how to test if spaghetti was done by throwing it against the kitchen wall.
We used to eat dinner off our laps in front of the box, then he would get stuck in to the red wine. I sometimes thought that he might be drinking a bit too much, and it used to make him maudlin if he had more than a glass or two, but I didn’t feel like I could tell him off. The professor was a grown man – who was I to educate him on how to deal with his marriage problems?
It took him a few weeks to open up about the reasons behind their estrangement, and actually, when I think back, it was probably an accident that he told me at all. We had gone into his study because he wanted to lend me a book, and when I was in there, I spotted a whole shelf of baby books. There were titles that covered everything, from eating the right diet while pregnant to anthologies of names, to self-help stuff about falling pregnant in the first place. I was curious as to why there was such a massive collection, and when I asked the professor about it, the whole story came tumbling out.
He and his wife had tried for a baby for years without success, he told me. They’d done all the tests, been poked and prodded and whatnot, only to find out that a baby would never be on the cards. The professor had assumed it would be down to him, but in fact, it was the other way around. His poor wife didn’t have the capacity to carry a baby – not even if they went through IVF. And while the professor had made his peace with the idea of not becoming a parent, his wife had not and would not. It was this that had caused all the rows, and was the reason behind her decision to walk out.
I knew a little bit about this, because my own parents had struggled to conceive me. I arrived a long time after they had given up on me, and so I knew how much I meant to them, and how treasured I was. I had yet to meet the professor’s wife, but my heart went out to her. It still does – even more so now than then – because now I know what a wonderful privilege it is to bear a child. And it is you who taught me that, Evangeline.
Bonnie stopped as her tears hit the page, the ink below them smudging as she wiped a hasty finger across the paper. It was hard, reliving all of this, trying to get back inside her mind as it was then. She recalled how happy she had been when she discovered she was expecting Tui, and how that initial euphoria had been tempered by an almost immediate redoubling of guilt. Tui was wanted from the moment of her conception, and that love which burned like an insistent flame within Bonnie had only grown in size and ferocity since. She knew that she loved Evangeline just as much, but it was a more confusing type of love. Because while Bonnie did not know her firstborn daughter, Evangeline was still part of her. For a long time now, that had been enough, but now Bonnie wanted more. She needed her daughter to know her, and to know Tui as well.
30
The strangest thing happened when I woke up this morning – I felt happy.
Not the shiny-new-coin type of happy, but I do feel lighter somehow, as if something has lifted off my shoulders for good this time. And, in the spirit of lightening the load, I have decided that it is finally time to get my hair cut.
‘It’s a lot to take off – are you absolutely sure?’
The young stylist is standing behind me, scissors raised, and our eyes lock in the mirror.
‘Very sure,’ I tell her. ‘It’s only hair, right? It’ll grow back.’
‘It’s the most hair I’ve ever seen,’ she admits, but it’s obvious that she’s more excited than concerned.
‘It’s time,’ I say simply, because it is. I have kept on growing my hair for years now because Anna loved it so much, but since she died, all it’s really become is a reminder that I have lost her – and a big, heavy, difficult-to-dry one at that. Very soon it will be long enough to sit on, and being here in the heat has made me realise how completely ridiculous that is. Even Anna would agree – I’m sure of it. She would probably laugh at me for letting it get this straggly in the first place.
‘Are you ready?’
The hairdresser is poised to cut, my curtain of dark locks draped over one of her arms.
‘Do it!’ I urge her, then shut my eyes as she begins, relishing the sound of the blades as they saw through the strands, slicing and snipping and freeing me of all that weight.
Just as I did as soon as I woke up this morning, I smile.
‘You’ve cut your hair.’
Kit looks so surprised that for a moment I falter, bringing my hand up to self-consciously pull at the chin-length strands.
‘Not me – a hairdresser did it.’
‘Well, yeah,’ he says, picking up an empty water bucket and walking with me over to the stable tap. ‘I didn’t think you’d taken the shears to it yourself.’
‘You don’t think it’s too short?’ I ask, cringing as he uses his spare hand to ruffle it.
‘Nah.’ Kit grins. ‘It suits you.’
‘Is Tui around?’ I ask him, dipping my chin so he won’t see how much his compliment has pleased me.
‘Last seen causing trouble in the hay barn.’
I find Tui playing chase with Beavis up in the rafters, and splutter as a great wave of dust floats down to greet me. The hay smells sweet and pungent, and I don’t mind that it stirs up my memories today. Being around the horses is becoming easier with every day I spend here, and while Kit told me to aim for around ten this morning, as we would be leaving for Oamaru not long after that, I decided to come early on the off chance that Tui fancied another riding lesson.
‘Genie!’ she exclaims, sliding down over the bales on her bottom. ‘New hair. Wow.’
‘I had it all cut off,’ I announce proudly, bracing myself as she runs over and throws her arms around me. She’s always so ready to cuddle, and I’m always so grateful to receive said hugs.
I have learned that my half-sister is straight-forward when it comes to her likes and dislikes, and if she didn’t want me around, then I would soon know about it. Tui is not capable of being false – she simply isn’t made that way – and I find being around her refreshing as a result. Adults are so good at pretending, and since Anna’s death, most of them have been tiptoeing around me, acting as if they want to be there, when in reality my misery chokes them. I grew sick of being treated like an invalid months ago, but then it still angers me if anyone tries to make light of my situation or – even worse – tells me that it’s time to ‘move past’ my grief. They can’t win, I don’t let them, and so I guess it’s easier for them to be fake. That’s on me as much as them.
But Tui has no idea that Anna ever existed, and so she behaves exactly as she wants to around me, regardless of what I think. Kit isn’t all that different, either. While he is aware that I’ve lost someone I was close to, he hasn’t automatically smothered me in pity. I believe that he treats me exactly the same way he treats everyone – I’m not getting any preferential allowances made simply because my mum died, and I’m very grateful to him for that.
‘You look like a famous lady,’ Tui informs me now. Her own rather wild-looking hair is full of hay.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ I say, feeling the morning’s lightness flit up yet another
notch.
‘I got you another present,’ I tell her, holding up a carrier bag, then laugh as she makes an unashamed grab for it. Beavis, who took slightly longer than Tui to make his cautious way down from the top tier of hay bales, wags his tail at the sound of crinkling plastic.
‘No, Bea, it’s not for you,’ sings Tui, holding the bag high up out of reach. Beavis puts his little brown head on one side, and wags his tail through the dust.
‘Go on, open it,’ I urge, and Tui promptly closes her eyes tight shut and reaches in a hand.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims, pulling out the box. ‘Gloves!’
I hadn’t been able to resist when I spotted them in an equestrian store back in Queenstown.
‘They’ll help you to hold the reins better,’ I say, as Tui shakes her head.
‘Great.’
‘Are you sure you like them?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Tui extracts each maroon riding mitt and gazes at them in awe. ‘I love them, Genie. Thank you, oh, thank you, darling.’
Wrapping an arm around my neck, she pulls me towards her and plants a great big wet kiss on my cheek.
‘Steady on!’ I laugh, extracting myself. ‘Now, shall we ask Kit if I can give you a lesson on Keith? We can put him on the lunge rein if you like?’
‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’ cries Tui, jumping up and down with such exuberance that Beavis scuttles sideways to avoid being squashed. Then, grabbing my hand, she pulls both of us out of the barn.
After a bumpy start, Tui settles into her sitting trot and even feels confident enough to try one loop at a canter. Whooping with delight as Keith swooshes his chestnut tail and lengthens his stride, Tui lets go of her reins to wave at Kit, who has come to check on our progress.
It feels miraculous to watch her up there enjoying herself, so much more confident than she was even a week ago. Far beyond the boundaries of the outdoor school stand the jagged silhouettes of the mountains, each one surrounded by an ocean of blue sky. A gentle breeze carries the whisper of birdsong, insects hum their busy tunes in the trees, and I drink it all in – the sounds, the sights and the sense of peace that has been building inside me all day, in this country of such beauty, and space, and quiet.
Looking again towards where Kit is standing, his thick tattooed forearms resting on the fence, I note that he is also captivated by the sight of Tui. The two of them have an uncomplicated closeness that would be easy for me to envy, the kind of connection that can only be built over time, on a foundation of trust and familiarity. Tui is lucky to have him – they are fortunate to have each other.
‘Ready to try a little jump?’ I call out, and Tui shakes her head with such passionate agreement that she almost falls right off into the dirt.
‘Whoa!’ I cry, just as Kit shouts the exact same thing, and Tui looks at each of us in turn before bursting into fits of laughter.
‘I scared you!’ she cackles, laughing so hard that I find myself joining in. Kit, who has now vaulted the fence and is strolling towards me, smirks wryly at the two of us.
‘Flaming pair of crazy chooks,’ he remarks, patting Keith’s hot neck as I pull Tui and the pony to a standstill.
‘Have a quick breather,’ I tell her. Then, turning to Kit, ‘Can you help me build a few jumps?’
We collect the blocks that are stacked in the far corner, then Kit returns to fetch the poles, while I count out the correct strides.
‘I can’t believe how much she’s already improved,’ he says, using his foot to lever one end of a pole into its slot. ‘You’ve worked wonders with her.’
‘I didn’t do anything, really,’ I say, throwing in a shrug for good measure. ‘She just needed to think about it in a different way.’
‘That’s true of a lot of things in life,’ he replies, sounding thoughtful. ‘Often, I find that if you turn a problem on its head, it tends to solve itself.’
If only that were true, I want to say, but I’m unwilling to put a dampener on such a positive day.
‘All set?’ I ask, as Kit bends down to arrange the final set of poles into a crossbar. Tui flaps her legs ineffectually against Keith’s sides.
‘Just squeeze with your ankles,’ I call. ‘That’s right – perfect.’
The chunky pony shuffles forwards and I note with pride that Tui has remembered to gather up her reins, and is holding them correctly with her thumbs balanced on the top. Keith is arching his neck like a dressage champion now, which reminds me unavoidably of Suki. My horse was as far removed from a riding-school plodder as it is possible to be, and was more likely to prance sideways than trot in a straight line, but she did like to stay on the bit and flutter her eyelashes at everyone. A shameless flirt, but so beautiful with it. She was only eight when she was killed. No age at all.
‘Jumps! Jumps! Jumps!’ Tui choruses, and I hear Kit tutting at her good-naturedly.
‘Come on, then,’ I say, crossing the outdoor school. I swap the lunge rein for a shorter one and clip it on to Keith’s bit.
‘I’ll jump them with you on the first go.’
Tui’s whoop of joy as we clear the first fence together is so loud that Kit claps his hands over his ears.
31
The drive up the coast to Oamaru takes a little under four hours, and as luck would have it, Griff is taking a coach that way, dropping a few travellers off in the town before heading towards Kaikoura for the night, returning the following day, so Kit, Tui and I are able to sneak a lift there and back. Tui insists that I sit next to her, choosing seats just behind the middle exit, while Kit stays up at the front with his friend.
As before, Griff spends a portion of the journey talking into the microphone, telling stories and pointing out local landmarks, and I listen with interest as he explains more about Maori history, and how many of the areas that we are driving past were named. A trail of clouds is smeared like icing sugar across the sky, and when I point them out to Tui, she solemnly proclaims that they look like ‘fluffy Frisbees’.
She seems a bit tired after her triumphant morning ride, her usual cheer dampened by a pensiveness that I haven’t seen from her before. When we stop for a toilet and coffee break an hour or so into the journey, I take Kit to one side and ask him if she’s OK.
‘Just narked off because she had to leave Beavis behind,’ he explains. ‘And I think she’s missing her mum.’
I swallow hard to remove the lump in my throat.
‘Of course she is.’
‘I reckon Bon’ll be home in a few days,’ he adds, too distracted by a gesticulating Griff to notice the wan expression on my face. ‘I got a text from her this morning, just checking in.’
‘Oh?’ I stuff my clammy hands into the pockets of my denim shorts.
‘Yeah, she said she’s almost done over there.’
I wonder for at least the thousandth time what my birth mother has been doing in England all this time. Could she really be there looking for me? And if she is, why hasn’t David been in touch to tell me? Then again, I have screened a few of his recent calls, and I’m not even sure why. Perhaps it is because I am getting through each day by allowing myself to live in the moment, rather than thinking too much about the consequences, and I am enjoying my state of denial too much to risk anyone questioning it. I know I will have to go home eventually, but the more time I spend here in New Zealand, with Tui and my new friends, the less I can imagine leaving.
Once back on the road, I suggest that we play I-Spy, which seems to perk Tui up – especially when I go along with her outlandish choices of ‘V is for very big tree’ and ‘A is for almost-red door’. Needless to say, she wins every game by a landslide, and is still hooting with amusement about the fact when the coach rolls into Oamaru.
‘Penguins!’ cries Tui, as she spots a sign advertising the colony, twisting her fingers together and humming with excitement. She has an adorable way of rocking from side to side when she is especially animated, and she does this now, her untidy plait swinging in tandem. She’s wearing blue leggings and
a white Koru Stables polo shirt today, the front pocket of which is trailing a thread, and there are Velcro-fastened trainers on her feet. I already know that she can’t quite manage to undo the fiddly straps of a bridle, so I imagine shoelaces are a stretch too far. I don’t look all that different to her today, opting for casual attire of shorts and a plain black vest top, plus my trusty walking boots. I have gone from hating them to practically living in them, and I now feel like a dimwit for packing two pairs of heels – I haven’t so much as looked at them since the day Kit and I climbed the Tiki Trail.
I keep forgetting about my shorn hair, and it’s odd to reach up and find my neck completely exposed. Not odd in a bad way, though – in truth, I feel about two stone lighter. I only wish I hadn’t waited so long to get it done.
Tui predictably wants to go straight to the blue penguin Colony as soon as we have waved goodbye to Griff, and it takes all of Kit’s immense patience to stop her throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street. ‘The penguins are all out at sea now, they don’t come back to their nests until night-time,’ he reminds her, promising her an ice cream if she behaves herself.
‘You can have one, too,’ he jokes to me. ‘If you’re a good girl.’
We check into a cosy bed and breakfast overlooking a horseshoe bay, then stroll down the hill into the centre of town. A four-lane high street is dotted with shops, cafés and meandering pedestrians, and as we wander further, I take in the limestone architecture and cobbled lanes. It’s obvious even to a non-history buff like me that this North Otago town has embraced a Victorian theme – an assumption Kit confirms as he leads us past a steampunk museum.
He must have been here many times before in his tour guide days, because he seems to know exactly where everything is, and takes me and Tui into antique shops and a retro toy store, before nipping into the New Zealand Malt Whisky Distillery to pick up a bottle.
One Winter Morning Page 17