Gith (8 page)

In the end it seemed like there was only one way through. I
bought Scotty's share in the Riley, quit the job at Finch Street
Auto and became Gith's official caregiver. The Health Board
gave us an allowance and we got a bit more money from
the trust. Michelle thought the arrangement was weird
and she wasn't happy about the loss of income but she
could see that it was the only way to get some peace in the
house.

'We should never have taken her on,' she said one night
when we were in bed.

'But we have.'

'Yes, I guess so. But why?' She sighed. 'I mean, we're only
young. Twenty-four. Why should we be saddled with that?'

'I don't mind.'

'No. You don't.' That's the trouble, she might have added,
but she didn't need to.

'And I worry, you know?' she went on. 'What if she gets
loose or something? What if some bloke gets hold of her and
knocks her up? Then we'd be into abortions and things — or,
worse still, have a baby on our hands.'

'She can go on the pill.'

'Oh God. Would she remember to take it? Maybe we
should get her tubes tied.'

I couldn't believe that. I didn't know what to say. I started
to boil. 'For Christ's sake, she's not a bloody animal. You talk
like she's a dog or a cat that you can just get fixed.'

'She may as well be for all the use she is.'

THE TE KOHUNA Annual Show is always on the first
Sunday in February. It's held in the Domain, which is to the
north of Anzac Street beyond the war memorial. In the old
days it was all agricultural, with the local farmers showing
off their prize bulls or their ploughing. There was still a bit
of that, but now there were also a lot of other things, like the
classic car parade and the skeet shooting. People turned up
from all over the district to flog off their arts and crafts or
their tomato relish. The guy from Bibliotalk had a stall for his
books, and the Smeeles usually brought along a bunch of stuff
from Bank Antiques. There was live music and plenty of food
and a big tent with a bar in it. Generally, the whole thing was
just everybody walking round and having a good time.

Ma and the Old Man got to our place first thing. Ma was
already dressed in her Victorian outfit and the Old Man had
made a special effort too. He was wearing his tweed suit and
a shirt and tie. There was even a hankie in his top pocket. He
had a walking stick to help with his sore ankle. He was still
limping a bit but he wasn't complaining.

Ma and Gith went into the living room to get Gith's outfit
sorted out and the Old Man and I stood on the back verandah
and looked out at the sunlit paddock. He raised his stick and
pointed at our sheep.

'How's the faecal consistency?' he asked.

'All right,' I said.

'Hmmph.'

The Old Man has a thing about faecal consistency. And
faecal egg count. For a good few years he and Bill had only
been putting their ewes to rams that had droppings like
marbles and the lowest egg counts. The aim was to cut the
need for drenching and dagging. I never bothered with the
ins and outs of it but I knew they were happy with the way it
was going. One of the Old Man's proudest boasts is how little
dagging they do.

When Gith was ready we found we had time on our hands.
Pita Ratene, who mans the pumps for us on weekends and
when we need a break, hadn't turned up.

Pita was in his mid-fifties. He used to be an office
administrator at the freezing works in Katawai until they had
a reshuffle and he was given the push. Somehow he never got
round to finding another full-time job. I guess he figured the
kids were grown up and his mortgage was paid off so why
should he bother? He finished up spending most of his time
doing the garden and working his TAB account. Plus he did
odd jobs here and there, a bit of book-keeping or minding the
store now and again.

While we waited for him we made a cup of tea and sat
down in the kitchen. Gith was excited, wriggling around in
her chair. It worried me a bit, this mood. If she got too wound
up she could easily get pissed off with her lack of words and
flip into a black rage. Ma and the Old Man were good with
her though. They could both get what she said and read her
hands pretty well by now, and if one didn't get her meaning
the other would generally pick it and keep things going.

'Are Bill and Leece coming down?' I asked.

'Leece'll be here. A bit later,' Ma said.

'What about the kids?'

'They'll be here.'

'They've got jobs to do.' The Old Man made it sound like it
was good for them. What he didn't say was that Bill wouldn't
be coming because he had too much on his plate. I thought
about saying something but stopped myself. Keep the peace,
you silly bugger.

Ma said she wanted to pop in and see how Len was doing
but the Old Man talked her out of it. There wasn't time now.

Pita turned up, said sorry for being late, and we set off. Ma
and the Old Man went first, and Gith and I followed behind
in the Riley. It was a pretty short trip from our place, maybe
fifty metres along the main drag to the war memorial and
then left another eighty down Anzac Street to the Domain
gates. Gith took it at a steady twenty-five mph by the Riley's
old speedo.

There was a big crowd already. Dally Yankovich was acting
as main marshal, directing visitors to the car park and the people who were
doing stuff to wherever they had to go. Gith wound down the window and he
leaned in, pointed her to the left to the line of pine trees on the western
boundary where the classic cars were getting together. I could see Oliver
Marsden's 1927 Phantom, and the Packard that belonged to a bloke from up Tapanahu
way. Giving Oliver a chance to show off the Phantom was the main reason there
was a car parade at all.

Gith drove slowly through the crowd. The grass seemed
dry and the ground underneath firm enough. With luck we
wouldn't finish up in a bog like we did one year. There were
six cars there already, including the Smeeles' 1937 MG TA.
Gith stopped and backed into the place at the end of the row
so that the Riley's bumper was half a metre from the fence.
We got out.

My sister Joanne had already spotted us and was coming
towards us. Dressed up in her riding gear and with her blonde
hair bouncing with each stride, she looked like the mistress
of the manor, which in a way she was. Oliver, I saw, stayed by
his car, guarding it maybe, even though I was sure he'd have
somebody else to do that — and to drive it for him. Where
was my nephew Matthew?

'Hello, brother mine,' Joanne said.

'Hi.'

Joanne looked Gith up and down. 'And aren't you the
picture? Very authentic.' She turned back to me before Gith
could make a move. 'Where's Mother?'

'She'll be along. The Old Man's still hobbling a bit.'

'Right. Well, the Victorian ladies need to drop into the
RW tent, which is over there by the food marquee. Dreadful
smell from all those sausages and onions but there we go.'

'Gith will want to drive in the parade,' I said. 'And maybe
look around.'

'Of course. All she has to do is pick up a collection bucket
whenever she feels like it. You can manage that, can't you
dear?'

Gith rolled her eyes just a bit.

'Gith,' she said.

'Fine. Good. Well, you can give Mother those instructions
too. Tell her I'll catch up with her later. All right?'

'Sure.'

'Good.' Joanne turned away and headed back towards
where Oliver was standing.

'She's in one of her bossy moods,' I said.

Gith grinned. Then she turned and looked at the car next
to ours. It was a Zephyr Zodiac, brilliantly restored, in white
paint with gleaming chrome. The Riley looked a bit scrubby
in comparison. In seven years Gith and I still hadn't finished
it. The bodywork looked great, done out in maroon panels
with black posts and roof, but there were a lot of spots on the
bumpers where the rust had been. We had never got round to
sending them away to be rechromed.

The Zodiac driver was about my age and wearing a leather
jacket. He had blond hair and a down-turned mouth that
made him look grumpy, but he caught my eye and grinned.
Friendly enough, then.

'What is it?' I asked. 'A Mark III? '65?'

'Well picked,' he said.

I held out my hand. 'Ken McUrran.'

'Jim Parline.'

I remembered the name. 'You've got a brother. Rick?'

'That's right. He's here somewhere.' Jim looked around,
scanning the crowd.

'He drives a white van, right?'

'For work, yeah.' He was frowning, trying to figure out
what I was getting at maybe.

Let it pass, I thought.

'This is Gith,' I said. 'She may be dressed like Queen
Victoria but, in fact, she's a shit-hot mechanic.'

Gith grinned at that.

'Where are you from?' I asked.

'Palmerston North. I come up to see Rick now and again.
It was him told me about the parade. I know it's for locals but
I thought, shit, why not?'

'All welcome,' I said.

'Hmm.' He gave me a sideways look. 'Except for hitchhikers
maybe.'

'Well . . .' What he said pissed me off. It was like he was
running Te Kohuna down.

'The cops making any progress?' He sounded keen to know
and I thought maybe this was the real reason he was here. I
checked on Gith but she wasn't listening. She was looking
through the window of the Zodiac.

'What does Rick say?' I asked.

Jim just laughed. 'Rick lives in a world of his own.
Everything's strictly business. His business. He reckons you've
got a sex offender living here though.'

'Could be.' It was weird but I didn't want to talk to him
about Billy Cleat.

'Likes slicing girls up?'

'Something along those lines.'

He grinned like it was a real neat idea. I didn't like him. I'd
almost rather have Billy Cleat. No, that wasn't true but still.

I had nothing to say but it didn't matter because Ma and
the Old Man turned up right then. Just in time. He eased his
backside onto the wing of the Riley to take the weight off his
foot.

Ma fanned herself with her hand. It was going to be warm
in those outfits.

'Joanne was here,' I said. I turned and looked up the row
of cars towards the Phantom but she and Oliver had gone.
'I guess she's off somewhere bossing people round.' I passed
on the message about the collection buckets and the Rural
Women's tent.

'Yes, I know all that,' Ma said. 'Six people have told me
already.'

'What's the plan?' the Old Man asked.

'Looks like you should find somewhere to sit down,' she
told him.

'Nah. Bugger that. I'm here to enjoy myself. I want to have
a go at the skeet shooting.'

Gith made a move.

'Thoot,' she said. I wasn't sure what she meant.

'You want to come too?' he asked her.

She lifted her hands like she was pointing a gun into the
sky.

'You want to have a go?' He gave a big laugh.

'I'm not sure about that,' Ma said.

Neither was I.

'What time does it start?' I asked.

'Beginners are at nine-thirty,' he said.

'The parade's at ten.'

'Well then. Perfect timing.'

'We'll have to get lined up first. Sort out the order of the
cars.'

Gith was watching us like we were a tennis match.

'She can come with me,' the Old Man said. 'Guarantee I'll
have her back here by ten.' He turned to her. 'What do you
say?'

She nodded. 'Gith, gith.'

'See?' He looked at me, pleased with himself.

Shit, I thought. Gith's sense of time was not her strong
point. Whatever she started into she was usually there till the
finish. There would be hell to pay if she missed the parade
though. On the other hand, there didn't seem much I could
do about it. She was old enough to make up her own mind. I
looked at Ma. She shrugged. Gith laughed.

It was then that I saw Monty Praguer standing next to
Jim Parline's Zodiac. Jim had gone off somewhere and Monty
seemed like he had something on his mind.

'Gidday,' I called to him.

For a second he looked at me like he didn't know who I
was but then he grinned.

''Ello, 'ello, as the cops would say.' He came over, shook the
Old Man's hand.

'They're not here, are they?' Ma asked.

'Oh yes they are. Inspector Ryan, for one. And a couple of
others going through that car park with a fine-tooth comb.'

He turned to Gith. 'And how are you, girl?'

She smiled, gave him her okay move. Then she lowered her
hand and made a stroking move down beside her right knee.
'Tham.'

'Left him home,' Monty said. 'He'd get too excited here.
Might finish up doing some damage.'

'Would you like a dog?' Ma suddenly asked Gith.

Gith stared at her like she had never really thought about
it and then she smiled.

'Bill and Leece's bitch is due to pup any day,' Ma said.

The Old Man laughed. 'Christ, you're free with Bill's
money! That's a prize-winning huntaway. Those pups'll be
worth five hundred apiece!'

Ma wasn't to be put off. 'But still. The principle of the thing.
It would give Anna something to think about — an interest.
Other than cars, that is.'

'She's got another interest,' the Old Man told her.
'Shooting.'

'Don't be ridiculous!'

'Ah-ha.' Monty looked at Gith. 'If you're as good with a
gun as you are with an engine, you can come out with me any
time. We'll bag us a big fat pig, for sure.'

And then he started to tell us about his last hunting trip
— no, his last
successful
hunting trip, when he and the bloke he
was with bagged a hundred kg porker. Once he got started on
this sort of thing Monty could be a bore (no pun intended),
and there was a long story of how they'd tracked this animal
into a gully up the top end of Pakenga Valley Road. He got
so into the swing of it that he didn't feel somebody coming
up behind him, a tall bloke with a short army-style haircut.
Moss Vield. Monty just went on talking and Moss just kept
on standing there. After a while the rest of us started to get a
bit uncomfortable. Moss was taller than Monty by a good ten
centimetres and it seemed like he was staring down on the
top of Monty's head. Nothing in his face. He barely moved
a muscle. Finally, Monty got to the point. Sam and Blackie
had the pig bailed up. Monty and his mate both got in a shot,
dropped the porker stone dead.

Silence. Monty looked from one to the other of us
— maybe he was waiting for us to clap. I pointed to Moss.
Monty turned round, found Moss almost on his heels.

'Jesus!' he said, jumping sideways.

Moss swallowed, still standing ramrod straight. 'You want
that quad bike?' he said in a tone so flat it hardly seemed like
a question.

'No, mate. No.' Monty told him. 'Decided against it.'

Moss turned and walked away.

'Shit,' Monty said, 'he's a weird bugger.'

Suddenly there was a burst of music: trumpets, sax and
slide trombone with the beat and shuffle of the drums behind
them. It was the Mangatiki Jazz Quintet with 'Chatanooga
Choo-choo', their signature tune.

'Here we go,' the Old Man said, doing a little shuffle in
spite of his crook foot.