Just Say (Hell) No (Escape to New Zealand Book 11)

by Rosalind James

  “I think so,” Nyree said. “But I think it would be normal to be a bit… confused. Conflicted. You know you’re giving them to somebody else, but they’re still yours. Of course they are. It’s almost like magic to see them growing in there, isn’t it? Even over just a few weeks, how much bigger they are. Identical twins, especially. Rare, and special. But sad, too. At least, I’d feel that way.”

  “Anyway,” Ella said, determination evident in the very way she stabbed her carrot into the hummus, “I think I need to start looking at parents. I haven’t yet, because it seemed too far away. Also because Mum keeps asking me, like I’ll go past the sell-by date and nobody will take them. People want babies. But what if I find the right people, and they don’t want both of them?”

  Nyree glanced at Marko, but he wasn’t coming up with anything, so she said, “Who is it that you talk to about it? In the… ministry, or whatever?”

  “Social worker,” Ella said. “I’m supposed to ring her, but I haven’t. That’s mostly for later anyway, for forms and things. There’s a website to choose the parents. Like used cars. Pages and pages of them. I looked with Caro before, but then I haven’t. Like I said.”

  “I have an idea.” Nyree arranged her kumara chips onto a baking sheet, scattered leaves of baby kale around them, sprinkled the whole thing with olive oil and salt, and slid it into the hot oven. “You could narrow the parents down. Say—five or six couples who look right to you, and who are in the North Island, if that’s still what you want. You could ask the social worker to ring all of them and see if they’d be interested in twin boys. And more than that. If they wanted twin boys, were excited about them. Then your list would either be narrowed down, or you’d know they were all good with it, whoever you chose.”

  Marko, who’d been opening a can of beetroot slices and cutting veggies, said, “That’s a good thought. Always good to narrow down, then narrow down again. Decision tree.”

  “Huh,” Ella said. “I could do that.”

  “Nyree could look with you,” Marko said, slapping his burger patties into the pan. “Or Caro. Or even me, if you want me to vet the fellas, give you my impressions. Do you want to go to Tekapo for part of your school holidays, by the way? I’m taking Nyree from Sunday to Wednesday. You can stay longer, or come back with us on Wednesday. Either way.” Which sounded casual, but was probably Marko walking a tricky line between looking after Ella and letting her make her choices. Nyree had already figured out that there was always more to him than you saw. He was like an iceberg. Not because he was cold, because he was exactly not. But because most of him was under the surface.

  “Ha,” Ella said. “That’s a tough one. People talking about me here, or talking about me there? Being here’s better, probably. At least I can say I don’t care what they think. Reckon I’ll come back up with you on Wednesday. And stay up at your house with Caro while I’m there, not in town with Mum.”

  Marko had been standing, spatula in hand, with an eye on his burgers. Now, he looked up. “What do you mean, people talking about you here?”

  Ella shrugged. Too casually, maybe. “Just things people say, and looks, you know. In school. Even in New World. You should’ve seen the look this lady gave me last week, like she couldn’t believe it. News flash, people get pregnant. I can’t wait until I’m thirty weeks gone, standing in the checkout in my school uniform, with everybody looking at me and being all amazed and horrified. That’ll be a fun time.”

  “We should practice, then,” Nyree said. “What to say. What do you think, Marko?”

  “Ha,” Ella said. “He’s not going to be any help. He’d just look like he was going to hit them, and they’d shut up and move on before he lost control. That’s not going to work for me, not unless I batter them to death with my belly.”

  Marko looked like he wanted to hit somebody right now. Nyree said, “You could say something funny, maybe. Something over the top. Like they make some comment, and you smile and say, ‘Quadruplets. Fertility drugs, eh. Only three months gone, can you believe it?’”

  “Except then they’d talk to me more,” Ella said. “Or talk about me so I can hear. That’s the worst. Why do girls whisper, like that makes it all right? They know I’ll hear. They want me to hear. They just want to pretend they didn’t mean to. At least blokes just go on and say it, or laugh in that way where you know why they’re doing it. At least they don’t try to hide it. I know, though. I’ll say, ‘Aliens,’ then walk away.”

  This rage. It burned. “Good one,” Nyree managed to say. “Or ‘Reptiles.’ You could whisper it like it was a secret, then stare at them until they walk away.”

  Ella was smiling at last. “Bit rude, though.”

  “Nah,” Nyree said. “Not if they say something first. That’s what’s rude. More than rude. Hurtful, and meaning to be.” She wished she were still chopping. She needed a knife in her hand right now. She took a breath and said, “You can handle it in a couple ways, I guess. Glare at them like Marko, confront them. Or look at them like… all wide-eyed, and a bit deaf. Smiling, even. They’ll be so confused. Or do either one, whatever you feel like. If you choose your response, it gives you power.”

  “Why should they have an opinion anyway?” Ella burst out. “It’s like that book. The Scarlet Letter. Like, the bloke’s all respected, or he’s even cool, because he got me pregnant, like that’s some kind of accomplishment or proof of his manliness or something, but me? I’m supposed to be ashamed. Like you were talking about, the thing that happened to you with the Highlanders. Why is that all right to do? Why should that letter be on me?” Her hand trembled on her bowl of carrots, and her eyes were bright. And still, no tears fell.

  “I didn’t read that book,” Nyree said. “And I don’t know why it’s that way, but I know it’s wrong.”

  “It’s American,” Ella said. “The book. Old. Somebody said it about me at school, so I read it. Lame as.”

  Marko flipped his burgers, and Nyree came back to herself, opened the oven door, and turned over her kumara chips.

  She thought about cruelty, and she thought about courage. She knew which one was harder. She also knew which one was better.

  Three o’clock Friday afternoon, and the Captain’s Run was finished. Time to go home and start the pregame rituals. Except not today.

  At least it wasn’t raining. It might be tomorrow, but today, it was clear. Which meant, Marko hoped, that they’d have a good turnout, despite it being the last day of school before the start of the autumn holidays.

  When he pulled into the carpark, he headed for the orange cones as he’d been directed, and a woman in a smart pantsuit pulled the cones out of the way and waved him in. Behind him, three other cars followed suit, and Marko stepped out with the others, four doors shutting in synchronized fashion, clunk clunk clunk clunk, as smooth as the Men in Black.

  Marko shook hands with Ms. Clark, the deputy head, and introduced the others. She said, “Come on around. Our P.E. teachers have everything set up for you. We appreciate your coming out.”

  Boys and girls both, dressed in their navy blue and white P.E. uniforms and split into groups already. Chattering and laughing, most of them jumping out of their skins at seeing Hugh Latimer and, especially, Koti James. Pretty Boy was flashing his smile, and Marko was glad to see it. The more special this was, the better.

  After that, it was familiar. Running lines with the kids, coaching, encouraging, instructing, taking them through passing drills. Making it fun and offering up the thrill of celebrity, Kiwi style.

  Kors was proving a draw of his own, he saw. Tall, well built, tattooed, and good-looking, with his share of Koti’s flash and Koti’s skills. Around Marko, though? The kids got quieter. Shyer.

  Suited him fine. He wanted the boys a little scared.

  No, he wanted them scared as hell.

  It was a school visit like a hundred others he’d done, with the Highlanders and the All Blacks both, over the past thirteen years. Except that this one was personal
.

  It went on for thirty minutes, as they’d planned, and then the teachers blew their whistles, the head made her thank-you speech into her portable microphone, the students applauded, and in another minute, the autograph requests would begin.

  Hugh should have stepped forward, but he didn’t. Marko did.

  He took the microphone from the head, looked around, and said, “Cheers, guys. Thanks to my teammates for taking the time as well. Maybe you’ve heard, but we’ve got this match tomorrow. You’ll be wanting to support the North Island, and I hope blue’s your favorite color. But we’re here for another reason as well. It’s been a wee secret, but my cousin’s a pupil here now, which makes this place pretty special to me.” He jerked his chin at her and said, “Come on over, Ella, and say hi.”

  She was nervous. He saw it. And handling it the same way he would have, the same way she’d handled all of this. With her head up and her eyes forward, walking towards the pressure.

  She hadn’t known they were coming until they’d arrived, but you’d never have known it. Her belly was that much bigger than it had been on Monday, seeming to grow every day, and she could have looked awkward in her navy maternity shorts and the white top that stretched over her bump. Instead, she looked tall and strong and confident. Like a warrior. And he’d never been prouder.

  She came up to him, facing away from her fellow students, and for the first time, her chin trembled. “Thanks,” she said, then looked across at the other boys. “Thank you for coming.”

  Marko gave her a cuddle for everybody to see and said, “Nah. What else is family for?” He held up the microphone again, then, and said, “Right. If any of you kids wants an autograph, we’re here for ten minutes with our signing hands ready. They’re also our passing hands, so get in quick. We don’t want to wear them out.”

  After that? The deluge began. He scrawled his name in the usual black felt pen, over and over again, on rugby balls, P.E. uniform shirts, and last-minute sheets of paper, and did his best not to look, as Ella had said, like he was going to hit somebody. And when the first rush was over and he had time to look around, he did.

  Koti and Hugh, each with a crowd around him still. Koti showing off, flipping the ball between elbow and hand, back and forth, and Hugh shaking his head, calling something across at him that probably had to do with show ponies and saving your flash for the paddock. And Kors standing a little apart, his signing efforts abandoned, holding hands with Ella. Carefully, like it was the first time, and like she was precious. As Marko watched, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, looked down, then looked up again. Kors was talking, and she was smiling up at him, her face prettier than ever. Glowing. And there was some sort of blockage in Marko’s throat.

  Five more minutes, and it was all over. They were all shaking hands with the head and deputy head, and it was back to the cars.

  “Thanks,” he said when they got there. It wasn’t enough to say to fellas you’d been playing with only a few months, who’d given up their precious personal time anyway, the day before the match.

  Another kind of family. Teammates.

  “Nah, mate,” Hugh said. “No worries.” Marko thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. “See you tomorrow,” he said instead, then climbed into his car, reversed, and was gone.

  Koti followed suit, and Marko was left with Kors, who wasn’t getting into his car.

  Kors said, “Before you say whatever it is, I have something to say myself. I haven’t got pissed since Dunedin.”

  That wasn’t what Marko had been expecting. “Oh,” he finally said.

  “Yeh,” Kors said. “Embarrassing, wasn’t it. I heard it from my dad. I heard it from my Koro. I heard it from everybody. Call it a turning point. Look, mate. This is the chance I’ve been working for since I was six, and I’m not going to stuff it up. I’m not going to stuff things up for Ella, either. If I was looking for something easy, I’d be looking someplace else.”

  Marko smiled, and Kors looked confused. He actually took a step back, in fact. Marko’s smile might not look as friendly as he’d assumed. Kors checked himself fast, though, and stepped forward again.

  “Mate,” Marko said. “Message received.”

  Nyree woke slowly on Sunday morning, swimming her way up from the black depths, then breaking the surface like a whale breaching.

  To be fair, though, it had been a busy night.

  She didn’t open her eyes, but it was definitely morning, because the birds were singing outside. Closer to home, Marko was kissing the spot between her shoulder blades. She stirred, but she couldn’t go far, because he was on top of her. He pressed his lips to her spine again, then moved his mouth on down, and she sighed.

  The hands that had pulled down his opponents with brutal strength the night before were stroking down her arms now. Her shoulders, her upper arms, her forearms, then all the way to the pillow she grasped in both hands. She lay face-down, naked on the bed, and felt the wonderful weight of his body pressing her into the mattress, the strength of those big hands wrapping around her wrists, the heat of his lips brushing over her skin, lower and lower, sending shivers up her body from every place he touched…

  The deep voice, low and amused. “Time to get up.”

  She moaned. “No. Can’t be.”

  He laughed and closed his teeth gently over her skin. “Wake up, princess. I called Air New Zealand and explained what an important bloke I am, but they won’t hold the plane. Bastards.”

  “No, you didn’t. And if somebody would get off me, I could.”

  He rolled off her, giving her a slap on the bum along the way, and she sat up, let the duvet drop around her hips, stretched her arms over her head, laughed at the look on his face, and said, “Boy, you’re too easy. How long do I have?”

  “Half hour.”

  She yelped and jumped out of bed. “A half hour? Your mum’s picking us up at the airport. I’m going to look like…”

  “Did you meet my mum? And I tried earlier. You sat up and yelled, ‘But the carpet!’ You looked awake, but I came back in and here you were, still asleep.”

  She was already pulling on her black silk dressing gown, which was all she’d been wearing when he’d come home from the match the night before. She may have been lying on his bed with that robe barely closed, waiting for him, but he had tackled with all that ferocity, and what was a woman to do? And he ought to realize why she’d dreamt about the carpet, as much time as she’d spent on it. She remembered it. It had been that kind of night. The kind where you used all the furniture, and he used all of you. When her head and back had been draped over the foot of the bed, her palms pressing into the floor, and his big hands had spread her thighs wide while his mouth went to work on her… it should have been uncomfortable, and maybe it had been. It had also been helpless, and erotic as hell.

  “What about Ella?” she decided to say.

  “Making you tea and toast.” He was lying on the bed, leaning against the headboard in a navy blue T-shirt, jeans, and bare feet, his ankles crossed, his dark eyes amused, and every single bit of him absolutely oh-yeh-baby-touch-me-like-that sighworthy. “Suitcases are in the boot, and Cat’s… well, not in her carrier, but she’s considering it.”

  She headed into his bathroom. Fast. She was washing off the smell of sex, at least, before she met his father. And his grandmother. She didn’t need makeup, but there was a limit. Before she shut the door, she said, “I’m calling the Herald and telling them you won’t travel without your kitten.”

  He laughed. “You do that. I’ll tell them you sing show tunes in the shower.”

  “I’m Maori,” she said. “It’s practically required.” And then she shut the door.

  Four hours later, she wasn’t laughing. Two hours’ drive out of Christchurch Airport, and ever since they’d passed through the tiny town of Geraldine and turned inland, they’d been winding their way upward, closer and closer to the majestic march of the snow-capped Southern Alps that stret
ched all the way across the horizon, the tallest peaks lost in cloud.

  Marko glanced across from the driver’s seat. “All right?”

  “What? Yeh. Of course.” She gave Cat a stroke. That helped. The kitten had wanted to ride in Marko’s lap, of course, but had eventually settled for the inferior substitute.

  “Are you nervous?” Ella asked from the back seat. She was sitting behind Nyree, because, as she’d pointed out, “You can push the seat all the way up, and I want to sleep anyway. Plus, people always want to see the mountains.” Now, apparently, she was awake. “You don’t need to be nervous. You’ll see.”

  “She will,” Olivia said from behind Marko. “But of course she’s nervous. We should be nervous. I wonder why I’m not? How many years has it been since you’ve brought somebody home, Marko?”

  He groaned and swung the car around another curve. “Mum. Please don’t share.”

  “No, really?” she asked, sounding nothing but curious. “Why would that be a secret? You invited Nyree home because you like her better than you’ve liked anybody else in the past ten years or so. That’s not a secret, and it’s wonderful. What’s the point of games? We’re only here for a little while. Why not put your heart out there?”

  Nyree told Marko, “I can actually see your jaw bunching. So you know.” He shot her a glare, and she laughed out loud.

  He said, “I’ve shared my cards of the day with Nyree, Mum. She knows all about the Fool and the Two of Cups and taking the leap. About hiding behind your barriers, or shooting from behind them, or whatever it was. You can’t embarrass me any more than that.” He pointed to a spot off to the right. “There you are, Nyree. Those are merino.”

  She said, “Oh.” They were in the foothills, heading up to the high plateau. Alpine vegetation, short and scrubby. The air outside, she’d bet, would be thin and chilly. Like Dunedin, and not. More wild, and more open. Stark. Primeval. And a herd of merino sheep, their fleece dirty-gray and winter-thick already, wheeling like a flock of starlings. Moving as one, impossibly synchronized.