Gith

by Else, Chris

  'You're thirty-one. Although I sometimes think you act like you're fifty. I'm not really sure that Te Kohuna's the best place for you. Or for Anna.'

  'Now you're trying to get rid of us.' I tried to make it into a joke but it didn't come out that way.

  'Don't talk stupid. You know what I mean. It's too small. There's not enough people. There's not enough to get you out and about.'

  'There's the show,' I said.

  'Huh?' She waved it away.

  'Anyway,' I went on, 'I don't see you getting out and about too much.'

  She looked at me like that wasn't worth answering, and then her face kind of softened. 'I've had my life,' she said, 'or the biggest part of it. And it's been a good one. The farm. You kids. Your Dad. I mean, he's a cantankerous old sod at times. And he was hard on you and Bill, especially you. But he's always been there, you know? For all of us. He's always cared. He's always loved us.' Suddenly her mouth twisted and she gave a big sniff and covered her eyes with her hand.

  I put my arm round her and gave her a squeeze. I felt like crying myself.

  'He's not dead yet,' I said. 'And neither are you.'

  She laughed, sniffed again, pulled a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her long skirt and wiped her nose.

  'He ought to retire,' I told her.

  'Don't tell me. He's so stubborn. It's Bill I feel sorry for. He could do with some more help but your Dad takes any talk of hiring someone permanent as a personal insult. I mean, like today. Bill won't make it here, and that's not fair.'

  Maybe she was hinting that Gith and I should move back up to the farm but that didn't seem likely, given her talk of us getting out and about.

  I looked at her. She was thinking. The jazz band started into 'Putting on the Ritz'. From somewhere to the east there came the whop of a shotgun. Then another. And another. Was that Gith pulling the trigger? The thought of her suddenly left me feeling empty. I dropped my cardboard cup on the ground next to hers and trod on them both.

  There wasn't much to say after that. Ma and I both felt awkward and it was a relief when Oliver and Joanne turned up with Matthew in tow, dressed in riding gear like his mother.

  'Where's Dad?' Joanne asked.

  'He and Anna have gone shooting,' Ma said.

  'Aaaw.' Matthew pulled on Joanne's arm. 'Me, me, me.' At eleven years old, he was the nearest thing the family had to a spoilt brat. Like mother like son, you could say.

  'No, dear, I've told you,' she said. 'You can't do everything. You're here for the parade and the show jumping.'

  'I hope you're in,' Oliver said to me.

  'What — show jumping?' I knew what he meant. What the hell else were we doing standing next to the Riley if we weren't in the parade?

  He ignored me anyway. 'Coordination,' he said. 'That's the key.'

  'Who's the marshal?' I asked.

  'Brian Falks.' He turned and looked about, craning his neck. 'Ah, there he is.'

  'You'll lead off,' I said.

  'I expect so.' He rubbed his hands together. Keen to go.

  Joanne turned to me. 'We've been hearing about you. Or at least your place.'

  'What?'

  'Oliver went to school with Kerry Ryan. We had him round for a drink last night.'

  Why didn't that surprise me? 'So you know all about it then.'

  'Oh, he was very discreet. Of course he has to be, doesn't he?'

  'He's in charge of the whole investigation,' Matthew said.

  'That dead woman.'

  'We don't know she's dead,' Ma said.

  I remembered the lake and the feeling I'd had up there.

  Should I tell Kerry Ryan about that? Bloody hell, he was best mates with my toffee-nosed sister. I felt even less like talking to him than I had before.

  Oliver looked at his watch. 'Right, let's get ready.'

  He walked away. Joanne and Matthew were left to trail along behind. Ma and I watched as they headed off to the beginning of the row of cars.

  'He always seems as if he's looking for a regiment to order around,' Ma said.

  'So does she.'

  She gave a little snort. 'You're right, there.'

  Joanne and Matthew got into the Phantom, while Oliver talked to Brian. Then Brian moved away and started to tell the other drivers what to do, waving them out and pointing where they should go. There was more shooting from the skeet range. No sign of Gith and the Old Man.

  'There'll be hell to pay if she misses it,' I said.

  'Here they are.' Ma pointed to where they were coming through the crowd. He was hobbling as fast as he could while she was bouncing and skipping along, trying not to leave him behind. As they got closer I could see that she had a big grin on her face. He did too, soon as he spotted us. Gith raised her arm, fist clenched, and shook it.

  'You seem to have done all right,' Ma said.

  'Bloody hell!' The Old Man stopped in front of us, caught his breath. 'She's a bloody natural, an absolute bloody marvel!' His eyes were shining. He could hardly get the words out fast enough. 'First shot was useless, missed it by a mile, but then I showed her how to track. And bang!' He lifted his stick and pointed it upwards. His left hand pumped at it. 'Bang!' Another pump. 'Bang!' Another. 'Nine in a bloody row!' He laughed. 'Christ, you should've seen Gray Tackett's face. He was dead set on his nephew winning it. I wish I'd had a bloody camera! He let the last three go real quick and at different angles but she got the lot!'

  I looked at Gith. She grinned and lifted her hands like she had a gun. 'Pag!' she shouted. 'Pag! Pag!' Then she jumped at me, flung her arms round my neck.

  'Ken, you're next.' It was Brian Falks, waving us into the line of cars.

  Gith got into the driver's seat. I asked Ma and the Old Man if they wanted to come too.

  'No,' Ma said. 'We'll see you later. I need a decent cup of tea.'

  He agreed. 'Yeah. You two go on.'

  There were a couple of cars behind us. The last, a '56 Chevvy in metallic blue with mag wheels, brought up the rear in true Yank tank style. Joanne and co were leading off, driven by a chauffeur all rigged out in uniform.

  Gith turned the key and the engine fired smoothly. She waited until Jim Parline had three metres or so on us and slipped into first gear. Rolling gently forward.

  The show-ring was a roped-off area in the middle of the football pitch. Big enough for the sheep dog demo and half a dozen fences for the pony club. We went in through a gate between two piles of hay bales and turned to the right. The crowd was close on that side. Gith took her hand off the wheel and waved. A few people, mainly kids, waved back. It felt good to be there.

  'Pag,' I said.

  She laughed.

  'Every day something new with you,' I said.

  'Tho?'

  'Are you happy?'

  She looked at me. She was happy.

  'I'm happy,' I told her.

  'Pag,' she said.

  ***

  AFTER THE PARADE we went to the Rural Women's tent, where they gave Gith a plastic bucket with a slot cut in the lid and a bag of blue and white ribbons for people to pin on to show they'd made a donation. The collection was for research into leptospirosis, the Rural Women's latest charity. Gith and I walked slowly through the crowd. She managed a steady stream of donations just waving her bucket at everyone who caught her eye and giving them a big smile.

  It was eleven o'clock and the day was growing warm. We walked up past a row of stalls. There was somebody with a bunch of quilts and another selling hand-knitted baby clothes. The bloke who kept bees down Basingstoke Road had jars of honey lined up in rows on a long trestle table. There were a fair few people about now; all ages, from the retired folk moving slowly along, down to the wild kids chasing each other, kids who often hung round the shops in the main drag. There were a lot of faces I didn't know — people from Katawai and Tapanahu, I guessed, and maybe even from Basingstoke.

  Suddenly, in front of us, was Tommy Loumis with a big pink teddy bear wearing a tartan waistcoat.

/>   'Here you go,' he said, holding it out to Gith.

  We stared at him.

  He laughed. 'First prize in the beginners' skeet,' he said.

  Gith had her bucket in one hand and the bag of ribbons in the other but she held out her arms and wrapped them round the bear.

  'Fantastic,' I said.

  'A worthy winner,' Tommy said. 'Nine out of ten. The next best was seven. There was a protest but I overruled it.'

  'Protest? Why?'

  'Ah, it was nothing. Some people are never happy.' He turned to Gith. 'Congratulations.' He gave her a little bow.

  'Thankth,' she said.

  'We'd better put that in the car,' I told her.

  She squeezed the bear harder to show she didn't want to. It was more than half a metre high and there was no way she could carry it if she was going to go on collecting.

  'Let me have it then.'

  She squeezed the bear again but then she handed it over. She gave Tommy a grin and shook her bucket at him.

  'Okay,' he said, laughing. He fished in his pocket and dropped a coin through the slot, picked a ribbon out of the bag and pinned it on his shirt.

  We walked on.

  At the end of the row was a bigger tent — the bar. The sight of it made me thirsty. I looked at Gith. I figured she would be suffering too, in all that Victorian gear.

  'Do you want something to drink?' I asked. 'Juice?'

  She shook her head.

  'Go,' she said, meaning I should get myself something if I wanted to.

  I couldn't make up my mind but then remembered Ma talking about giving her more freedom.

  'You're sure you'll be okay?'

  She screwed up her eyes to show how dumb I was. She'd be okay.

  'I'll look after the prize,' I said. 'Promise.'

  I watched her walk away. She stopped in front of a bloke I didn't know and showed him the bucket. His hand went to his pocket.

  There was a bunch of people inside the tent, standing round the end of a long trestle table with glasses in their hands. One of them was Hemi Williams, out of uniform this time. I bought a beer and joined him.

  'How are the boys in blue getting on?' I asked.

  He looked over his shoulder and then waved me away from the group and over towards the open side of the tent. We stood together watching the sunlit crowd.

  'They've got prints and DNA from Austria,' he said. 'Things'll move now.'

  'They're going to make an arrest?'

  He shook his head. 'Couldn't say. They don't tell me that kind of stuff. I'm just the local fella.'

  I wanted to ask him how they could make an arrest when they were looking for the wrong kind of vehicle. Then a few metres away I saw somebody walking past. Right on cue, I thought.

  'You know that bloke there? The one with the shaven head?'

  'Yep. Wayne Wyett,' Hemi said.

  'He lives in Ramp Street.'

  'That's right. Number 16. What you want with him?'

  'He drives a white van. He's on my list.'

  Hemi turned and looked at me. 'Careful,' he said.

  'Well, you jokers have got it all wrong and somebody has to do some real investigating.' I wasn't sure I should be saying this.

  'It's not your job, bro,' Hemi said quietly.

  I said nothing. Took a pull at my beer.

  'Who else is on your list?' Hemi asked.

  'Rick Parline and Colin George. Plus Ray Tackett.'

  No answer.

  'They're not going anywhere if they're looking for a white wagon,' I said.

  Hemi shifted from one foot to the other, wriggled his shoulders. 'I told them what you said. I had a word to the boss man, Inspector Ryan.'

  'And?'

  'He's going to take it into consideration.'

  'Yeah right.'

  'I don't know, bro. They seem to be making good progress.' He sipped his beer. 'She could be wrong.'

  'She could be but she's not.'

  'They reckon two witnesses say Anneke got into a white wagon.'

  'Two?'

  'Mavis Blake and Monty Praguer.'

  Monty? Bugger Monty, I thought. Who needs enemies when you've got mates like that?

  'And just a word of advice,' Hemi said. 'You go around talking about your list, you're going to get all sorts of people agitated. I mean, it's not a nice thing, eh, accusing people.'

  'Fair enough,' I said. He was right. I felt a bit ashamed of myself.

  Hemi looked at his watch and knocked back the last of his beer.

  'I gotta go meet the missus,' he said. 'Give her a hand with the kiddies.'

  'See you, mate.'

  'What's with the teddy bear anyway?' he asked. I still had it under my arm.

  'Gith won it. First prize beginners' skeet.'

  'Whoa!' His eyes widened.

  'Anything wrong?'

  'Sweet as, bro. Fine by me.' He turned away towards the bar. I watched him get rid of his empty glass and then walk out into the sunlight. He waved to me as he went by.

  ***

  I FINISHED MY beer and left. I could see Gith about fifty metres away over by the coffee stall. She seemed fine, panhandling a donation from a woman who I thought was Susie Smeele. The jazz quintet was into another set now. The music drifted on the air, twisted out of shape by the little breeze. It could have been 'McNamara's Band'. A cheer went up from somewhere near the show-ring. The pony club was taking to the jumps, maybe. If so, Joanne would be down there rooting for Matthew. He was a clever kid on a horse.

  'Oh, Mr McUrran. Sir.' It was Billy Cleat shuffling towards me, leading with his right shoulder like he was scared I was going to hit him. I was tempted.

  'What?' I said.

  'About that job.'

  'There is no job. I told you before.'

  He looked at me with big soft eyes. 'Oh.' He sounded real disappointed. 'Well. Your toilet, you know. Round the side of your place. I could clean that. Sir.'

  'I don't need you to clean it. And I don't want you near my place. Okay?'

  'Oh. Okay.' His mouth was doing the chewing thing, the way his mother did. His eyes got rounder. 'A job would be excellent, sir.'

  Christ, I thought. How do I get rid of him? I pulled out my wallet and gave him a ten dollar note.

  'Here,' I said. 'Just stay away from my place, okay?'

  He grabbed the note and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. 'But I can't take your money, sir. Unless I do something for you.'

  'Just keep out of my way. That'll be fine.'

  'Oh, well . . .'

  'Bugger off!'

  He turned, wriggled away. I watched him go. At the corner of the drinks tent he stopped, stared at a girl who was walking past. She was plumpish, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Billy had his mouth open. I guessed he was licking his lips. Then he saw me watching him. He gave a weird sort of grin, half saying sorry and half thinking it was funny, and then he shuffled off.

  What the hell had I done? Why for Christ's sake had I given him money? I couldn't make it out. Did I feel sorry for him? No, the opposite. He was disgusting. I wanted to wring his neck. Was I scared of him then? The creepy way he moved around. The way he called me sir. Like he was trying to make out he was so low and worthless when all the time underneath . . . He's like me, I thought. The words just popped into my head like a voice had said something. And then I did feel scared.

  'Ay up.' It was a real voice now, behind me. The Old Man.

  'Hi.' I turned towards him. The light seemed extra bright suddenly. It made me screw up my eyes.

  'What's that then?' He pointed his stick at the bear.

  'Gith's prize for the skeet.'

  He laughed. 'Boy, that was good. That made my day.' He looked at me. 'Feel like a beer?'

  'Just had one,' I said.

  'Beat me to it, did you?' He jerked his head towards the bar.

  'Have another?'

  'Might as well.'

  We started walking. He looked at me.

  'Your shout,'
he said.

  'Bloody cheapskate.'

  We were nearly at the tent when our way was blocked by Gray Tackett and his two sons. Gray looked like something had bitten him.

  'She shouldn't have got that,' he said, pointing at the bear.

  'Why not?' I asked.

  'Completely bloody irresponsible, putting a gun in the hands of a handicapped person. What sort of precedent d'you think that's setting?'

  'Oh,' I said. 'So you're the protester, are you?'

  'She won it fair and square,' the Old Man said.

  'Completely bloody irresponsible,' Gray said again, staring at us. His son Ray was standing next to him with his arms folded and a frown on his face. He was a big bloke, Ray. Bobby, beside him, stared at us wide-eyed. I guess he was upset by the tone of our voices.

  'You're talking crap,' the Old Man said, taking a step towards Gray.

  'I bloody am not.' He turned to me. 'You've got a gun at home. What happens now? You get her interested in those things and the next thing is she wants to play with them. No way I'd let Bobby handle a gun.'

  'Gith's not an idiot like Bobby,' I said. It just came out.

  'Hey!' Ray balled his fists and leaned forward, pressing up close to me.

  I lost it then. Just for a second. 'Fuck off!' My hands were on his chest, pushing him back. He took a swing at me. I ducked and his fist whistled past my left ear.

  'That's you Tacketts all over,' the Old Man said. 'Just can't take it, can you?'

  Ray spun round towards him, fist up.

  I figured it had all gone far enough. I stepped forward, stretched out my arm as a barrier between Ray and the Old Man. They were staring at each other, mad as hell. The Old Man wasn't going to back down.

  'Steady on,' I said.

  Ray grabbed my wrist and swung my arm out of the way.

  I put it back.

  'No call for violence,' I told him. 'Sorry for what I said.'

  'Easy up.' Gray was on the other side, his hand on Ray's shoulder.

  Ray stepped back, gave a flick of his head.

  Bobby was hunched up, making a moaning sound.

  'Sorry, mate,' I told him.

  He looked at me with big scared eyes. He reminded me of a little kid, or a puppy even.

  'Come on.' Gray turned away. After the three of them had gone a few steps he looked back at us. 'Mark my words,' he said, shaking his finger. 'You'll live to regret this.'