Kaitangata Twitch Read online

  Lee and Meredith stared at one another in the twilight.

  ‘Do you hear it flicking too?’ she almost asked him, but in the end she just grinned and took the big shell he held out to her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Big huge thanks, Lee!’

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ Lee said. ‘And if I see you again before Christmas comes, I’ll say it again. Happy Christmas twice over.’

  12

  The Gallaghers enjoyed Christmas that year, once city people stopped asking Mr Gallagher to get their gardens in order for the holidays. Granny and Grandpa Gallagher, who had moved to the warmer north a few years earlier, came south for Christmas.

  ‘It’s just so beautiful here,’ Granny Gallagher said, over and over again. ‘Funny how when you actually live in a place you never look at it properly.’

  ‘Worth fighting for, isn’t it?’ Mr Gallagher said. ‘And believe me – we’re going to fight. We’ll organise, you’ll see.’

  ‘We’re going to fight,’ said Kate, like her father’s echo.

  ‘Why don’t you come back and live here again?’ Rufus asked his grandmother. ‘We’d cut lots of firewood for you so you’d stay warm and we’d come round visiting every day.’

  ‘Hard to resist an offer like that, isn’t it?’ said Mrs Gallagher, grinning her two-ways grin. ‘Rufus loves cutting firewood.’

  ‘Or you could buy more heaters,’ said Rufus quickly. ‘They don’t ruin the forests.’

  ‘They use power, though,’ said Kate sternly. ‘Rivers get dammed and whole forests are drowned just so that people like you can run heaters.’

  The days went scudding past like yachts on windy water, each one the same, each one different, and the submissions against the District Scheme were still not quite finalised. ‘Sebastian was shrewd, releasing the plan just when he did,’ said Mr Gallagher, speaking as if the whole scheme were part of Sebastian’s private plot. ‘People go away on holiday and forget about home problems for a while.’

  They picnicked on Kaitangata. Fire restrictions had come in just before Christmas, so there were no island barbecues, but they filled their picnic baskets with long loaves of French bread, salad tenderly folded in clean teatowels, slices of Christmas ham, thermoses of coffee and tea, and bottles of lemonade. Meredith and Rufus and even Kate ran up, down and over Kaitangata as if they were exploring it for the first time. Hundreds of yellow flowers bobbed along the edges of the tracks. Rufus called them dandelions.

  ‘Hawksweed!’ Kate corrected him. ‘Look! Thin stems, not fat ones! And those blue flowers that look as if they’re just hanging in the grass without any stems at all, they’re harebells, I think.’ The waves offered the sand present after present – streamers of fine red seaweed and the hundreds of shells shaped like the horns of tiny seagoing unicorns, along with the rubbish dropped out of boats or washed away from other people’s picnics. When her father organised the family to clean up (exclaiming ‘Pollution! Pollution!’ in the irritated voice that Rufus copied so well), Meredith tested herself against her memory of dream–terror by deliberately picking up any stranded gloves, fearing as she did so that their plastic fingers would suddenly tighten on hers. But they remained nothing but gloves, swollen only with wet sand. Far stranger were the feelings Meredith had from time to time that somebody else was moving around Kaitangata, watching them from behind rocks and gorse . . . which was quite possible, since other people were free to picnic there. But no one else seemed to feel what Meredith could feel, or see what she believed she could see. She was not sure she was seeing it, either.

  Yet what do you do when, in the middle of your holiday cleaning and collecting, you find yourself staring down at a bouquet of formally arranged flowers? – flowers so fresh that they could not possibly have been thrown up by the sea? It was a hot summer day, but Meredith felt herself grow chilly looking at those beautiful flowers. The dark red roses (still opening), the love-in-a-mist, the sprays of what she now knew to be Queen Anne’s lace, the paper frill and the white ribbons were immaculate. The scent of freesias seemed to rush up towards her, filling her whole head. Meredith shut her eyes, and breathed out, refusing to accept any presents Kaitangata might offer her. Shivering, she turned and walked blindly away. A few metres off, pretending to be picking up one of the many pieces of water-washed glass that lay like jewels among the shells, she bent over and secretly looked back under her own arm. The patch of sand where the flowers had waited for her was empty. ‘You’re dreaming,’ she told herself severely. ‘Dreaming while you’re awake . . . if you are awake, that is.’ But if you were having a waking dream, would it be the sort of dream you could ever wake out of? Could you wake when you were awake already, or would you have to go on dreaming it for the rest of your life?

  At New Year they went to a party at the Kaa Inlet.

  ‘Let’s all dance,’ said Mrs Gallagher. ‘I could really use some light-heartedness.’

  ‘Amen to that!’ exclaimed Mr Gallagher, giving her a bear hug and waltzing her away.

  ‘So! How’s it going?’ said a voice. Meredith turned to find Lee Kaa grinning down at her. ‘How about a dance? You do your thing, and I’ll just stand here swaying. That way I won’t get too dizzy.’

  ‘OK!’ said Meredith, grinning back. They faced each other, smiling and dancing in their different ways.

  ‘You keeping in mind what I told you, back a bit?’ asked Lee, swaying slowly. ‘Steering clear of Kaitangata?’

  ‘We’ve had a few picnics there,’ Meredith admitted. She looked up at Lee. ‘Do you ever dream about it?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Lee.

  ‘Do you ever hear it?’

  ‘I used to,’ he said rather sadly. ‘Back when I was a bit younger than you. But then Shelly disappeared and after that – silence. Silence for about fifty years.’

  ‘I hear it,’ said Meredith. ‘I hear it calling for something to eat. I think it’s hungry. And I think Sebastian Cardwell might have something to do with it waking up. I mean, my granny was remembering things the other day, and she was telling us the Gentrys were planning to build a house on Kaitangata before Shelly disappeared out there, and now Sebastian Cardwell’s planning to change the whole bay.’

  Lee swayed and nodded.

  ‘First there was me, and now there’s you,’ he said. ‘Maybe when that little old island wakes it needs someone to talk to.’

  ‘I see a bit every now and then,’ Meredith admitted. ‘But mainly I hear. Flick! Someone calling in. A sound, but not really a sound.’

  ‘They say it’s a Maori thing,’ said Lee. ‘But Pakeha, Maori, I don’t think it matters too much. I remember Shelly was set at a bit of an angle to the rest of her family. She was a wanderer, and girls were expected to stick around home back then.’

  ‘Did she have that very fair hair?’ asked Meredith, remembering the child–figure she had seen on the island. ‘Young-whitish, not old?’

  ‘She did!’ Lee almost snapped it out, but looking as if he were asking her a question, not answering the one she had asked him. The music stopped and people clapped. Lee went on. ‘She went out to Kaitangata for that birthday picnic and never came home again. So the island might borrow her shape from time to time. I mean, she’s not using it any more . . .’ His eyes seemed to bore into her, and his voice sank into a whisper. ‘We are what we eat. ’Nuff said, eh?’

  And then, as they stared at each other, a cry went up that it was two minutes to midnight, and everyone had to sing Auld Lang Syne, and Po kare kare ana, the one song in Maori that everyone, even the non-Maori speakers, knew by heart.

  So Meredith began the New Year thinking, as she sailed and picnicked, hugging her grandparents, arguing with Rufus and living an ordinary–extraordinary family life, of what Lee Kaa had told her as they danced. She had the idea he might have told her even more, if midnight and the New Year hadn’t interrupted him.

  13

  Suddenly, the holidays were over. Granny and Grandpa Gallagher said goodbye in a way tha
t was both sad and smiling. Mr Gallagher went back to work, loading his small truck with gardening tools and setting off to trim and dig. Sometimes Mrs Gallagher went with him, for she could work a chainsaw, hammer a nail and turn a compost heap with the best of them. The oldest donkey foal was sold, and went off to a new home. And soon it would be time for school again. Kate would be catching the big bus that carried students over the hill to the college, while Meredith and Rufus would take the minibus to their smaller school, a couple of miles down the road in the opposite direction. The house lost its untidy, sling-anything-anywhere, holiday feeling as Mrs Gallagher began a brisk New Year tidying – ‘spring-cleaning’, she called it, even though it was late summer.

  ‘Put this stuff away,’ she ordered. ‘Shove the photo albums at the end of the bottom bookcase shelf, Meredith. I think there’s room if you squeeze a bit.’

  Meredith managed to push the photograph albums in beside a series of Life books about famous painters. Then she went on sorting through the carton which had been dumped on the window seat, so that Mrs Gallagher (who had begun at ground level with mopping) could vacuum effortlessly. A green triangle with a gold centre looked out from under the ancient folds of newspaper, lining the carton. A dusty book, bound in green and gold, had been trapped there, probably for years. As Meredith pulled it out, a small, square blue box slid out along with it.

  Meredith opened the box. It was lined with dark blue velvet and held a silver ring, embossed with long, entwining fingers . . . two hands meeting and clasping one another. She slid it onto her own finger and held out her hand at arm’s length, wondering where she had seen that ring before. Overhead, the vacuum cleaner fell silent, and Meredith remembered. It was Rufus who had described a ring like this one. She remembered who had been wearing it, too.

  ‘Hey Mum,’ Meredith called up the stairs. ‘Guess what? Sebastian Cardwell wears a ring like this one.’ Her voice sounded odd in her own ears, disapproving, but also a little frightened.

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Mrs Gallagher. ‘What ring?’ She came charging downstairs, and Meredith held out her hand, fingers spread. An odd, half-smiling expression flitted across her mother’s face. Meredith could not believe it. Her mother suddenly had a flirting look. As she pulled the ring off Meredith’s finger, she dropped it, and it tinkled on the floor, making a soft yet metallic wheeling sound as it rolled away. Meredith ran after it and snatched it up before it disappeared under the piano.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Gallagher. ‘You’ve discovered something that’s almost a guilty secret. Did you say Sebastian is still wearing his?’ Mrs Gallagher shook her head. ‘Poor old Sebastian!’

  ‘Was Sebastian Cardwell your boyfriend ?’ asked Meredith, astounded to think her mother might ever have loved anyone except her father.

  ‘Oh, we went out together, years ago,’ Mrs Gallagher said. ‘Before your father came back to the bay.’

  ‘Does Dad know?’ asked Meredith.

  Mrs Gallagher gave her an impatient look.

  ‘Of course he does,’ she said. ‘There was nothing much to it. Nothing heavy, though your father loves to think he saved me.’ Then she stopped, and seemed to think twice about what she was saying. ‘Well, it wasn’t serious as far as I was concerned anyway. Sebastian acted all devastated for about five minutes, but that’s the sort of guy he was . . . is. I mean he’s one of those people who just must win, no matter what. He was really nasty about it back then . . . told a lot of lies about me, which really hurt at the time. That’s partly why your dad is so savage about him. And, even now, Sebastian probably loves the thought of getting his own back, just because I slung him over all those years ago.’

  ‘What sort of lies did he tell about you?’ asked Meredith.

  ‘Lies about what we’d done together . . . that sort of thing,’ said Mrs Gallagher rather vaguely. ‘But then within a week or two he was going out with Sally Appleton and whizz-bang! they were married well before me and your dad. So, don’t let that old stuff worry you! It’s ancient history.’

  ‘But he gave you a ring!’ exclaimed Meredith. ‘And he’s still wearing one just like it.’

  ‘OK – maybe he was more serious than I was,’ said Mrs Gallagher, shrugging. ‘Or perhaps he just happens to like that particular ring. Mind you, I – well, looking back I suppose I led him on a bit. But it was such fun having a boyfriend with a lot of money. And I didn’t dream for a minute that your father would come back from overseas. He won that scholarship and whoosh! he was off and away, swearing we’d never see him again. I mean, I’d always had a bit of a crush on your father. A lot of girls did, because he was so neat.’

  ‘Neat?’ exclaimed Meredith, thinking of her father’s straggling ways.

  ‘Not neat – neat!’ said Mrs Gallagher. ‘“Neat” meaning, you know, spunky. Wild hair . . . a dancing step. A bit like Rufus, really. Funny to think of it now, but your dad couldn’t stand the bay in those days.’ She sat down on the window seat, held the ring up and looked at Meredith through it. ‘I really thought he’d gone for ever. Just think! If he hadn’t come back when he did, your name might have been Meredith Cardwell.’

  ‘Don’t!’ cried Meredith, hating the thought of being anyone except herself. Her mother reached out and hugged her.

  ‘I was only joking,’ she said. ‘Joking with myself, really. Merry, I love our donkeys and our little truck and our gardening greenie life. Sebastian is a bit of a monster – always was. He can be really, really spiteful. But I think he’s a bit lost too – always was and always will be.’

  ‘He’d never be as neat as Dad,’ declared Meredith.

  ‘No way!’ agreed Mrs Gallagher. ‘But back when we were all at school together, I must say your dad and one or two others did give Sebastian a hard time something which your father hates to remember now. Sebastian began it all – well, mostly he began it; he was always a bit of a skite. But there were times when they gave him more than he ever bargained for. And back then he was – what do they say these days? – vertically challenged.’

  ‘Vertically challenged?’ repeated Meredith, screwing up her face.

  ‘Shortish,’ said her mother, holding her hand at knee height. ‘Of course, he’s every bit as tall as he needs to be these days. Being rich adds to your height, doesn’t it? And now it’s our turn to be challenged – financially challenged.’ She laughed.

  ‘He’s a rich ratbag,’ Meredith said quickly, still haunted by that other family of children her mother might have had. She imagined a ghost of herself, same hair, same eyes, but with Sebastian Cardwell’s lopsided grin. She imagined other versions of Kate and Rufus along with children who had never been born. For a moment they hovered in her head like ghosts, shut out of life because Kate and Rufus and Meredith herself had crowded in ahead of them. ‘Has he actually got any kids?’ she asked, a little surprised (seeing there had been so much gossip about Sebastian Cardwell) to find she did not know.

  ‘Two by his first marriage to Sally,’ said Mrs Gallagher. ‘They’re up in Auckland, I think. One by the second – but I never knew his second wife. Neither of his marriages lasted. And if I’d married him it wouldn’t have lasted either. He’ll never be half the man your father is. But how do you know he still wears a silver ring like this one?’

  Meredith reminded her mother that she and Rufus and Kate had met Sebastian Cardwell out on Kaitangata before Christmas.

  ‘No wonder he kept staring at Kate,’ Meredith said. ‘He told Kate she looked just like you. And kept looking up and down her legs.’

  ‘Oh did he indeed?’ said Mrs Gallagher, sounding suddenly annoyed. ‘Well, his luck’s out again. Kate might look a bit like me, but she’s your dad’s girl through and through. She wouldn’t give anyone like Sebastian the time of day.’

  ‘She hates him,’ Meredith agreed, staring down at the ring and at the two hands folded so calmly and confidently together.

  ‘That ring always reminded me of the sort of ornament they used to put on graves back in the old
days,’ said Mrs Gallagher. ‘I used to imagine it tightening around my finger . . . cutting off the circulation or something. Oh well! Back to the slaughterhouse.’ At the bottom of the stairs she glanced back over her shoulder ‘And hey, Merry, better not mention that ring to your father. He can get a bit jealous at times, because Sebastian’s done so well. In a secret, fairytale way Dad wouldn’t mind being rich, but of course he’d want to be rich for noble ecological reasons.’

  She winked at Meredith, and disappeared. A moment later the vacuum cleaner started roaring again.

  Meredith put the ring on again. It was too big for her, yet she rather enjoyed the heavy, grand feeling of a silver ring. Stretching her hand out in front of her, admiring the look of it, she suddenly remembered the enchantress she sometimes became in her dreams. Looking along her own outstretched arm as if she were sighting something along the barrel of a gun, she put on her magical calling voice. ‘Shelly! Shelly Gentry!’ she whispered. The words seemed to run across the skin of her arm like drops of water. Flick! It seemed someone was trying to answer the call. Meredith was suddenly frightened at what she was doing. Quickly she slid the ring off, pushed it back into the blue box, dropped the box into the carton, and picked up the green-covered book instead.

  Once she was holding it, she remembered that someone had once shown it to her. It was an old history of the bay written on behalf of a group called the League of Mothers. As she flicked through the pages, she glimpsed recipes, anecdotes, recollections, pieces of family history. Some pieces were autographed. There were names of the Kaa family, the Appletons, a Mrs Jeffrey Cardwell, a Daphne Ponty. A flower, dried and dusty, had dropped from between its pages. Flick! A picture blinked at her from one of the pages, and was lost. Meredith forced herself to turn back slowly, then found herself staring at an old photograph with a sad black frame around it.

  The girl in the photograph, rather younger than she was, smiled back at her, as if they were old friends . . . a girl with fairish hair which looked as if someone had taken a lot of trouble to make it curl. But it was not her arranged curls or the frilly dress, or the birthday cake standing on the table beside her, that made Meredith catch her breath. It was the bunch of flowers she was holding – red roses, love-in-a-mist and Queen Anne’s lace caught up in a paper frill and tied with white ribbons.