by Derek Hansen
‘My God!’ she cried, as she threw her arms around him and kissed him full on his lips. She lifted her head and screamed with joy and triumph, an action that drew Mickey’s head hard against her breasts. All her problems were solved. Gone! It was only when she felt Mickey struggle that she realised what she was doing. She pulled back so that he could breathe, but her breasts were still mere inches from his face.
‘I’m sorry, but you can’t imagine what this means to me!’
‘Did I object?’
‘You’ve saved my life, do you know that?’
‘God knows, you’ve taken years off mine.’ Mickey smiled, embarrassed, still caught up in the feel of her lips and the crush of her breasts, intimacies he’d always imagined with Gloria and never expected again from anyone else. Rosie took his hand and pulled him gently up out of his chair, eyes locked onto his like radar. Mickey had seen that look before, a long time before, but hadn’t the slightest doubt what it meant. Systems reactivated and long dormant parts stirred. Rosie led him indoors and, even though Mickey had never set foot in her home before, he knew exactly where they were headed.
Angus stood at the end of the track where it opened onto Rosie’s plot, mouth open and speechless. Like Mickey, he had absolutely no doubt what Rosie had in mind. He’d come up to offer his expertise with the radio. After due consideration and much muttering, he’d decided his best interests lay in helping the Navy rather than having more neighbours. He’d intended to become Red’s backup – well, not so much his backup as his controller. Angus saw himself as the organiser and decision maker, and Red as the willing pair of legs. Under his guidance, he was certain that they could satisfy the Navy’s requirements.
That had been his intention until he’d seen Rosie hijack the officer and drag him off to her lair. He was stunned and outraged, but more than anything, he was stung by this further proof of his failure. It could have been him. Should have been him! He’d been given his chance but hadn’t been smart enough to take it.
‘Damn you!’ he said aloud and in anguish. ‘Damn you and your scheming ways!’ Everything she did only served to confirm his worst fears. She was destined to torment him, to tempt and tease him to the point of madness. He stumbled blindly down the trail, overwhelmed by bitterness and resentment, yet still searching for reason not to give up hope. What if he changed his ways, apologised, offered to help? What if, what if, what if? His mind reeled with options fanciful and fleeting, owing more to desperation than to reason. He had to do something or leave, because it was a situation he could not bear to live with. But what could he do?
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Rosie didn’t rush to hike over the hills to Fitzroy. Red still hadn’t quite finished the track, and there was no need. She had enough diesel and food to get by. Besides, the colder weather had lessened the pungency of the toilet. It was enough for her to know that a solution was on hand whenever she was ready. She’d busied herself by preparing her garden for spring planting and enjoying the things she treasured. She decided to take advantage of a brief dry spell to give her kilim rugs a long overdue beating, dragged them out onto the veranda and draped them over the rail. It was the kind of work Rosie relished, the kind she’d rarely found time for back in the rat-race in Auckland. She’d already cleaned up the old anchor, revarnished its woodwork and put it in pride of place in her living room. She’d done the same with the oxen yoke, and together they gave her a sense of permanence, a feeling of belonging and of being part of the island’s history. The bach no longer bore any trace of Bernie’s previous occupancy and had become her home, saturated in her taste and character. She was debating whether to wash her rugs when Angus appeared at the top of the track. Rosie believed her months at Wreck Bay had prepared her for anything, but nothing had prepared her for the Angus who marched up to the foot of her steps with half a dozen pink roses in his hand.
‘Morning, Angus,’ she said. ‘Are they for me or are you lost?’
‘Good morning, Rosie. How are you?’
‘Fine. And you?’
‘Oh, I’m fine.’
‘Are you lost?’
‘No . . .’
‘Then I assume the roses are for me.’
‘Aye, they are. Winter blooms. I grow them in a little sheltered sun trap. They think it’s spring.’
‘They can think what they like, they’re beautiful. Come on up.’
‘Thank you.’
Rosie took the roses from him. ‘May I ask what the occasion is?’
‘I’m not a young man, Rosie, and I am rather set in my ways. I concede my rudeness has been unwarranted and I’ve come to apologise.’
‘You’ve what?’
‘You heard me. And I mean it, mind.’
‘Angus, I’m overwhelmed. Sit down, sit down! I’ll go and find a vase for these and put the kettle on.’
Angus sat. He hadn’t a clue what to say next. ‘I see you’re managing,’ he called out. ‘New paint and guttering. It does you credit. It’s not an easy life out here.’
‘I rather suspect you wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Rosie. She placed a tray of cake and biscuits on the table. ‘Am I right?’
‘Aye, possibly.’
‘I’ll get the tea and while we drink it you can tell me why that’s so.’
Once again Angus wondered if his visit was a terrible mistake. He’d barely said hello and already she wanted him to tell her his life story. He gritted his teeth and decided to acquiesce in the hope that she’d tell him something about herself. It wouldn’t hurt to know the background of the woman who was potentially the mother of his child.
Rosie brought the tea out and sat down. ‘I’m all ears,’ she said.
‘Have you heard of place called Achiltibuie?’
‘No.’
‘Have you heard of Ullapool?’
‘No.’
‘Few people have. Ullapool is about as far as you can go on the north-west coast of Scotland. Achiltibuie is little bit further, a small fishing village loved by summer visitors. If they ever came in winter they’d never come back. My father was a crofter. We had a few sheep and a garden, and did a bit of fishing in summer. There were seven of us, three boys and two girls, and two others that didn’t make it past their first year. There is more food in my house now for one person than there ever was in the croft for seven. There was no radio or cinema. I remember sitting around a fire in the evenings when I was a lad, listening to tales my uncle told of faraway lands. He was Chief Engineer on the Dumbarton and encouraged me to follow in his footsteps. From the day I was born I was destined to leave Achiltibuie. I had no choice in the matter. Achiltibuie is no different from many villages in Scotland and casts off its surplus. There was no work nor the prospect of any and families could not afford to carry passengers. I knew I’d be forced to leave once I was old enough.
‘My uncle paid for me to go to England when I was ten years old, to relatives in Barrow up in the north. I worked hard to become an engineer but other boys had a gift I lacked and they were the ones who got the jobs. In the end I joined the Lancashire constabulary. One day I read about New Zealand and it rekindled dreams of the fair country in the southern oceans my uncle used to talk about, the wee bit of Scotland transplanted to the other end of the earth. There was nothing holding me in Barrow, so I sold everything I owned and bought my passage. You’ve seen my face on television so you know the rest.’
‘Who could forget those eyebrows?’
‘Are you mocking me?’
‘Not at all. I think they give you character.’ Rosie laughed. ‘But tell me something, if things were so dire and so hard as a child why do you still hanker for that life?’
‘Aye, there’s no denying it was hard, but it was also good. Man pitted against nature. None of the silliness or shallowness of these times. Now, is there more tea in that pot? It’s your turn to tell me about yourself.’
‘What about your writing?’
‘I don’t discuss my writing
!’
‘Okay, calm down. What can I tell you about myself? Not a lot. I’m a child of privilege born into a family of doctors. I was educated to be a doctor, became a doctor, even married a doctor. One day I ceased being a doctor and a wife and lived happily ever after.’
‘You’re a doctor?’
‘Yes, Angus. Didn’t Red tell you?’ Rosie was stunned by Angus’ sudden intensity. His face had lit up into an almost beatific smile.
‘A doctor? Of medicine?’
‘Yes. I really wanted to be a witch doctor but no one was offering the course.’
‘A doctor! That changes everything.’
‘Changes what? What are you talking about?’
‘Of course your father was a doctor! I’d forgotten. Red told me about Bernie’s letter so I knew he was a doctor. He never told me you were a doctor.’
‘Would you have been nice to me if you’d known?’
‘Aye, I would’ve.’
‘You would’ve mended my guttering, shifted my toilet, fixed my boat?’
‘Aye, I would’ve helped.’
‘But you wouldn’t have helped a market researcher, a reporter or a fruit picker?’
Angus began to realise the dangerous ground he’d trespassed upon. ‘I’m not saying I wouldn’t have helped.’
‘You’re not saying you wouldn’t have but the fact is you didn’t.’
‘No . . . I didn’t, there’s no denying it.’ He stared unhappily at his plate. ‘I did apologise, you know.’
Rosie softened but wasn’t ready to forgive. ‘Yes you did, and for your sake it’s best I don’t forget it. Oh my, is that the time? Thank you for the roses and the chat.’
Angus stood instantly. ‘Thank you for the tea. I’ll not keep you from your work. Is there, perhaps, something I could help you with?’
‘Thank you, Angus, but I think I’ll manage.’
‘Well, the offer stands. I enjoyed your company.’
‘People have always complimented me on my bedside manner.’
‘Aye, well, I’ll be away. You’re welcome to drop by my house anytime.’
‘I can hardly wait.’
‘Aye, I’ll be off, then.’
‘See you later.’
‘Aye.’
Rosie watched Angus walk off down the track, wondering whether boiling the Scot in oil would be too merciful.
Angus left Rosie scarcely able to contain his joy. Rosie was a doctor! From a family of doctors! He saw her as ideal breeding stock and couldn’t help speculating on the wonderful gifts she could pass on to his son. His joy was not diminished by the recognition that he still had a long way to go before he could present her with his proposition. But he’d broken the ice and established a basis for friendship. He’d made the offer of help and believed it was only a matter of time before she took him up on it. Then he could begin to build the debt of gratitude.
‘There is hope,’ he told himself, and the realisation sent a thrill through his body. There was still hope after all.
Two days passed before Rosie saw Angus again. She’d begun to make a chocolate cake when she realised the omission from her last order. She’d run out of cocoa. There was no point in going around to Red’s because he’d gone fishing, and their relationship hadn’t reached the stage where she could help herself in his absence. She could have changed her mind and made a sponge but she had a craving for chocolate. There’d been nights when she and Norma had eaten an entire Cadbury’s family block between them and fought over the crumbs. Her craving left her no choice but to pull on a jersey and boots and head off down the hill to make a house call. She wondered how Angus would react to the breach of protocol when she came begging cup in hand.
As she turned up the path by the pohutukawas she began to have second thoughts. She wasn’t sure she wanted to face Angus as a pathetic woman on the scrounge. But her heart was set on making a chocolate cake and, in that instant, she realised there was no limit to how low she would stoop to get what she wanted. She entered the clearing below his bach. The sound of his typewriter carried clearly to her. Oh well, she thought, in for a penny . . .
‘Hello, Angus!’
The typing stopped. She waited until his lean frame filled the doorway. She was determined to get the first word in and set the agenda.
‘It’s Dr Trethewey. I need some cocoa for medical research.’
‘It’s you, Rosie. Come on up, come on up. I was just about to put the kettle on. You’ve time for tea?’
‘I dare say my research can wait.’ Rosie laughed and climbed the steps up onto his veranda. She was both puzzled and pleased by Angus’ reaction. He’d done a full about-face, but for the life of her she couldn’t think why. She decided to press the advantage while she still had it. ‘I need a whole cup of cocoa but don’t leave yourself short whatever you do. I’ll replace it when I get my next order.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve plenty. Sit down, sit down! Aye, it’s nice to see you, Rosie.’
‘Give me all you can spare,’ said Rosie. Angus made no move to take her cup.
‘Bonnie will look after you while I put the kettle on and get your cocoa.’
Rosie was totally bemused and determined not to relax until she had the cup of cocoa firmly in her possession. Angus had the same idiotic smile on his face that had appeared when he discovered she was a doctor, and that worried her. There was something sickeningly syrupy about him, and she knew Angus well enough to know he never did anything without good reason. Bonnie jumped up on her lap and arched her back to be stroked.
‘What’s going on, Bonnie? He’s not growing marijuana out back, is he? Not getting into the sauce more than is good for him? Come on, you can tell me, I’m a doctor.’ But Bonnie was too blissed out on the new softly padded lap and wafts of Rosie’s bath oils and perfumed talc to respond. ‘You’re as stupid as he is,’ said Rosie.
‘Tea and cocoa. You may as well take the whole packet. I have a spare.’
‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll get you another.’
‘Now, what kind of research is it you have in mind, exactly?’
‘I want to know how much chocolate cake I can eat in a hot bath before the steam makes it go soggy.’
Angus laughed nervously. ‘No, seriously.’
‘I am serious.’
‘You eat chocolate cake in the bath?’
‘I’m about to.’
‘Well, I never.’
‘Well, you should. I’ll save you a piece.’
‘Aye, that would be nice. I’ll not eat it in the bath, mind.’
‘Angus, don’t you ever get the urge to live a little?’
‘If that’s living I’ll happily stay the way I am. Now, is there anything else you need? Some sugar, perhaps?’
‘No, I have everything I need, thank you.’
‘Good, good. And the work? How is the work going?’
‘Fine. I’m waiting for a wet day to strip my benches and table back to kauri and varnish them.’
‘There’ll be plenty of them before winter’s out. Anything else?’
‘I’m thinking of getting a couple of men in to move the toilet and dig a new cesspit.’
‘What?’
‘When Red finishes the trail up to Tataweka, I’m going to walk through to Fitzroy and hire a work crew.’
‘You’ll do no such thing! I’ll not stand for it!’ Angus slammed his cup down on the table. His eyebrows danced and bristled. ‘I’ll not have this place crawling with strangers! Have you lost your senses, woman?’
‘Welcome back, Angus.’ Rosie tucked the packet of cocoa under her jersey and stood. If there was going to be a fight she wanted to make sure her cocoa didn’t become a casualty.
‘I’ll not have strangers here! Do you hear me?’
‘Hard not to. Now, you listen to me. You cope your way and I’ll cope mine. The toilet needs moving and I need men to help me move it. End of story.’
‘I’ll speak to Red. He’ll not allow it either.’
‘It’s not your business or Red’s. Good day!’
‘Not so fast, not so fast. I’m sorry, Rosie, I’m sorry for shouting.’ Angus slumped forward with his head in his hands. ‘Dear God, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just don’t want strangers here. We’ll do the job for you. Red and I will move your toilet and dig a new pit. Will that satisfy you?’
‘Both you and Red had your chance. From now on I do things my way. You both value your independence and I value mine. I’ll not be beholden to either of you. Good day!’ Rosie left clutching the packet of cocoa as tightly as she could, trying not to smile until she was out of sight.
Angus watched in utter desolation as Rosie disappeared behind the tea-tree. Somehow he’d done it again and pushed her away from him. ‘Damn you!’ he said, although he knew he only had himself to blame. A packet of cocoa did not amount to a debt of gratitude and Rosie had denied him the opportunity of ever building one up. It wasn’t just Rosie who disappeared behind the tea-tree but the last flickering and spluttering of a dying dream.
He made no attempt to detain her or engage her in conversation when she brought the wedge of chocolate cake she’d promised him. He’d intended to feed the cake to the birds for fear that it would stick in his throat and choke him. But it was freshly baked and thick with chocolate icing. He weakened and put the kettle on instead. As he sat out on his veranda he watched Red motor back to his mooring and begin to swim ashore with his fish box. It was a sight he was accustomed to; he could almost predict every move Red made. He was unprepared when another naked figure dashed into the water and swam out to greet him. Red disappeared behind the trees as he brought the fish box ashore, then reappeared when he rejoined Rosie. Late winter and the two of them were frolicking about in the shallows like children. Angus suddenly felt very old.
The rain came the following morning and settled in for five days. The leaden, sluggish clouds matched Angus’ depression. When Red brought him fish he declined to answer his call and pretended he was out. He didn’t want to see or speak to anyone. He tried to immerse himself in his writing but few thoughts came, and those that did failed to sparkle. When he tried reading, he soon wearied of his books and spent his days either gazing through his rain-hazed windows or into the flames of his Stanley. He could not recall a time when he’d been more unhappy.