Nature of Ash, The (27 page)

I’m so drained by the time I’m finished, Lucinda has to help me to the car. I try not to look at anyone as we hurry back down the corridor, but Lucinda slows when she spots Simon Chan, who’s going in to back up my claims.

I shake his hand. ‘I owe you one, eh? I’m sorry I got you involved.’

‘No worries, matey. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but there are millions of people around the world who care. We
will
reach them and, when they know the truth, they’ll act.’

With his hope ringing in my ears I’m bustled away to Grandma, who’s sitting in the back seat of the car, smiling calmly despite not having a bloody clue what’s going on. Not that I’m much better: I can’t even remember what I just said.

We drive around to a side entrance of the airport and there’s a helicopter waiting on the tarmac, its rotors already spinning. With all my high-flying adventures I reckon I’ve blown my quota of carbon credits for life. After a little coaxing and a lot of shoving, we manage to get Grandma into her seat and belt her in. God knows what she thinks is going on, but she’s clutching her handbag like a life ring.

Once we’re in the air Jeannie and Lucinda rehash every word I spouted in the interview while Grandma ohs-and-ahs over the view. I close my eyes. Think about the probable consequences. They’ll try their bloody best to deny everything — and their henchmen will come after me. There’s even a damn good chance they’ll paint my little thrown-together family as the next Muru. Now
there’s
a fucking quirk of fate.
Note to self: Dad was right.
Irony
is
just hypocrisy with style.

The pilot sets us down at Raurimu, where Trav is waiting with the car.

‘Thank you for everything,’ I say to Lucinda. I hug her goodbye.

‘Thank
you
,’ she says. ‘You did a very brave thing. Those of us who hate what’s going on will keep on fighting for the truth.’

‘Me too,’ I say. ‘One way or another. Come up and see us soon.’ Now I turn to Jeannie, who’s got her arm looped around Trav. ‘Hell, Jeannie, I hope I haven’t dropped you in the shit. You’ve done so much for me. What can I say?’

‘Promise to be careful. And keep in touch.’ She rests her hand on my cheek. ‘And look after my boy.’

‘I will. See you up here at Christmas if things don’t calm down first.’ I kiss her and quickly turn away. Leave her to say goodbye to Trav. Help poor confused Grandma into the car — she’s looking tearful now, and I’m not sure how much more disruption she can take. Or me.

Late afternoon we all make our way across the river to the bushy glade I found our first time here. Our new home. The sun filters down between the tree ferns and nikau, casting about a muted golden light. Jiao stands between her parents, Mikey holds Grandma’s hand to keep her steady.

I open up the canister as the birds sing a hymn to freedom, and we each take out a handful of ashes to sprinkle on the forest floor. It’s much grainier than I expect: a mix of ash with tiny flecks of bone. I raise my arm and let it trickle through my fingers. A sigh of wind picks up the dust and swirls it, the particles catching in the filtered rays before they’re absorbed into the air and simply disappear. Like memories. They fill a certain physical space inside your head. Yet when you take them out and shake them loose, they deconstruct.
And though they grow smaller and smaller, by some freaky quirk of nature they crystallise into something abso-bloody-lutely beautiful before they vanish from view. But it doesn’t matter that you can no longer see them. That’s okay. Because your heart knows that they’re always there.

Grateful thanks to Tom Watkins, Maari Gray and Paul Buchanan, and to Whitireia Polytechnic for their research support. A big thank you to Jenny Hellen and the team at Random House NZ, Joe Monti (BG Literary, New York) and special thanks to editor Jane Parkin. And to my incredible first readers: Rose Lawson, Julia Wells, Belinda Hager, Nicky Hager, Debbie Hager, Helen Los and Brian Laird — thank you all so much for your excellent advice, love and ongoing support.

For more information about our titles go to www.randomhouse.co.nz

Smashed

The Blood of the Lambs trilogy:
The Crossing
Into the Wilderness
Resurrection