Second Chances (16 page)

Go on, go on!
begs Mum
. Here’s a nice, kind, sympathetic person
.

‘Okay,’ I whisper, and swallow. ‘The balcony’s very long, you see. It runs the whole length of the house. All the bedrooms on that side open onto it. Kit and I are at one end, then the twins, then Sacha. We’ve an old sofa out there, beside our bedroom door. Last night I couldn’t sleep, so I went and sat out there. I was looking at the stars.’

For pity’s sake, Martha! Throw yourself at her mercy.

Kura fishes in her handbag and hands me a tissue. ‘Why couldn’t you sleep?’

‘I’m a bit of a night owl. I was enjoying the peace. I heard a door open and Finn came pottering out from his bedroom. I wasn’t surprised because he often sleepwalks. I once found him curled up in the dog’s bed. Muffin was most disgruntled.’

Kura smiles. ‘So Finn came out . . .?’

‘He walked down to the far end where there’s a rail at right angles to the long one. It was so dark, I could hardly see him at all. I stood up. I was planning on taking him back to bed, but I wasn’t rushing. It doesn’t do to make sudden movements, you know? The next moment I realised he’d climbed onto the rail, right at the other end—maybe thirty, forty feet away from me. It all happened so quickly. I ran, I ran and I screamed at him. Then he was falling . . . oh my God, he was falling, he was falling, and I heard him hit the ground.’

I feel the thud. It knocks the breath out of me.

Kura waits as I curl in on myself. She doesn’t try to touch me, doesn’t invade my grieving with her own need to console. She gives me time before she speaks again. ‘How high is the handrail?’

‘Oh, I don’t . . .’ I hold up a hand. ‘Waist height to an adult, even a bit less than that. It’s old. I think they’re made higher nowadays.’

‘So Finn’s about the same height?’

‘Um. Bit taller, maybe.’

‘And it’s made of what? Metal?’

‘No, no. It’s all the original wood. Turned posts. Finn climbs anything, just like a monkey. He knows not to play on the balcony rail normally, of course he does, he’s not
stupid
. He wasn’t awake. Poor little guy . . . I should have locked his door.’

Kura has horizontal lines on her face, like a child’s portrait of an old person. ‘Martha.’ She leans closer, searching my eyes. ‘Are you safe?’

‘Am I . . .? Of course I’m safe. It’s Finn whose life is in danger.’

‘I think you know what I mean. Are you safe at home?’

I stare her down, my mouth pressed into the tissue. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree. There’s no villain. This was an accident.’

‘I’m here to walk alongside you.’ Her hand rests briefly on my upper arm. ‘I’m here to help you to help yourself. If you need to get your other children out of that home, I can help. Tell me: what do you need to go forward from here?’

‘I need . . .’

Help!
Mum’s actually shrieking. It’s out of character.
You need help!

‘I don’t know how I got here,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here. I need to wake up now, please.’

Later, I sit in the chair and watch Finn breathing. He’s so tiny, in that adult bed. Kura has found me a toothbrush. She’s also given me her phone number.

She wants to help. I wish she could help.

Fourteen

Following Ira’s instructions, I drove halfway to Jane’s café before turning off towards the sea. We bumped our way down a rutted track until we reached a set of sandy yards where horses milled around.

The three children and I climbed out, dazzled in the strong sunlight. There were two men working among the animals, wearing broad-brimmed hats and dusty leather boots under their jeans. You could have filmed a western, then and there. I tried to look confident, but I wasn’t. Even the twins were subdued. This wasn’t our world at all. I wished I’d taken Kit up on his offer to come with us, but those blank canvases were calling him, I could tell.

One of the men looked up. It took me a moment to recognise Ira under the leather hat, though those waist-length dreadlocks should have been a giveaway.

‘Dudes!’ he cried delightedly, vaulting the fence. ‘Great to see you. Hi, Sacha. Hey, this is my Uncle Tama.’ He gestured back at his companion, who lifted a hand. I saw the hawkish nose and walnut-tanned skin of the shepherd in the rain. ‘Come and meet a little fella,’ said Ira, beckoning the children away. ‘Just a week old.’

I was left to sit on the fence, watching Tama Pardoe’s tall, spare figure. Thinking he hadn’t noticed me there, I was trying to guess his age. The charcoal hair curling around his neck was liberally streaked with silver, but his movements were those of a young man. Flies settled on the horses’ ears and swarmed into their eyes, making them throw up their heads. A scuffle broke out with a squeal and a kick, but he calmly ignored it. Horses followed him almost like dogs, nuzzling against his back.

He was lifting a hefty saddle from the fence when I heard his voice for the first time. He didn’t look at me. ‘You coming?’

‘Me? No!’ I realised I’d injected a girlish giggle into the word, and cursed myself. ‘Definitely not.’

‘Any reason?’

‘Well, because . . .’ I was caught off-guard. ‘This isn’t for me, it’s for the children.’ I watched as he placed the saddle on a horse’s back and reached underneath for the girth. ‘It’s their turn to have adventures like this. I’ve
had
my turn. I’m just the mother.’

He smiled quietly to himself, and deep furrows appeared around his mouth.

‘My job is to sit on the fence and wave,’ I said. ‘My job is to take the photos. And I’m a bit, er . . .’

He straightened. ‘A bit?’

I heard myself burbling. ‘I had riding lessons when I was small. I loved horses—typical little girl—but I could never get past my fear. When I was fourteen, a horrible bully of a horse pretended it was terrified of a windsock and bolted. I screamed blue murder and my teacher yelled, “Show him who’s bo-o-ss!” Then the horse slipped in the mud and we both went down.’

Tama nodded unemotionally. ‘Happens.’

‘I broke my leg in three places.’

He looked across at my leg, and I stretched it out to show him. ‘Here, here and here. I spent six weeks in traction. Never enjoyed riding again.’

‘C’mon, Ruru,’ he murmured, tapping the leg of a magnificent piebald creature.

‘I’ve seen this horse before,’ I confessed. ‘And you. In the rain.’

‘I know.’ The great horse lifted a heavy foot and Tama cradled it against his knees, examining the underside. Ruru stood quietly, swishing his tail at the flies.

‘No shoe,’ I noticed.

‘No shoes on any of ’em.’ Tama grasped another colossal saddle and swung it effortlessly from the fence. ‘These horses aren’t like anything you’ve ever ridden before.’

I looked sceptical.

‘They don’t bolt,’ he said.

‘They would if I was on ’em.’

‘No. They wouldn’t. They’re working horses. Now, Martha McNamara— just the mother—would you like to hop down here and give me a hand, or are you going to sit up on that fence like a fantail, and chitter away while I do all the work?’

By the time Ira reappeared with the children, each self-consciously wearing a riding hat, I was doing my best to groom a honey-coloured mare called Kakama. Her foal, a leggy miniature of his mother, bounced around nearby.

‘Kakama’s for you to ride one day,’ Tama had said, as he handed me the brush. ‘So you’d better make friends.’ Then he’d smiled his private smile, and left me alone.

Sacha stood beside me now, watching him lead two horses, a hand lightly resting on each. Dust danced around his boots. I felt her elbow jab my ribs. ‘Eye candy, isn’t he? As old guys go.’

‘Sacha!’ I felt myself blush, possibly because I agreed with her.

She patted my arm. ‘I know, I know. You love Kit. But it’s not a sin to do a little window shopping, is it?’

‘Get away with you,’ I said, smiling. ‘Go on, go riding.’

One by one, Ira and Tama gave their pupils leg-ups. After a little girth-tightening and stirrup-adjusting the five began to wind their way out of the yard. Finn and Sacha looked elated; poor Charlie was terrified, clinging to the saddle and doing a fair imitation of a sack of potatoes.

‘This probably isn’t the kind of riding you’re used to,’ grunted Tama, flinging himself carelessly onto Ruru’s back. He held the reins in one hand, and his stirrups were long. I noticed that Ira didn’t even bother with a saddle. ‘There’s no bit in their mouths. How would you like to run around with a piece of metal on your tongue?’

‘This saddle’s like an armchair!’ Sacha rocked back and forth.

Tama showed his little posse how to turn. ‘These guys
want
to work with you. So you don’t yank at the reins. You don’t lean forward, you sit back.’ He glanced at Charlie. ‘That’s it, my friend. Perfect.’ Instantly Charlie’s chin lifted and his back straightened.

I climbed onto the fence with my video camera, thinking of the film I’d send to Dad: Finn’s ebony hair, blue sky, streaks of cirrus, two men who looked as though they’d been born on horseback. A flashing diamond of a sun, and dust in clouds around twenty hooves.

When the riders strolled away between the dunes, I resisted the temptation to follow on foot. I’d brought some work to do for the Maori culture paper, so I fetched it from the car and sat under a tree. The rest of the herd began grazing nearby. I could hear their strong teeth as they tore at the grass. I felt almost marinated in peace.

I think I’d dozed off when Finn’s shrill chirrup heralded the return of the adventurers. He was telling Tama and Ira all about Muffin and how she had flown on a plane. They rode up bright-eyed, buzzing and wet.

‘We swam in the sea,’ piped Charlie. ‘Our horses really swam! The waves came right over us. And Sacha and Ira galloped!’

The best sight of all was Sacha. Her cheeks were flushed, her tawny eyes glittering as she slid to the ground and kissed her horse’s neck.

‘How was it?’ I asked, and she laughed breathlessly.

‘That was the best hour of my life.’

I cornered Tama in the yard. ‘They’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

The following Friday morning Sacha lugged a backpack downstairs, clutching her flute in its case.

‘Can you give me a lift to the bus?’ she puffed. ‘I’m late, and the driver’s a complete jerk—won’t wait ten seconds.’

‘Sure.’ I eyed the backpack. ‘Got everything you need for the fireworks party?’ I was about to ask for Bianka’s address and telephone number when I checked myself. Sacha was sixteen, and she had her mobile.

Kit fished in his wallet. ‘For a taxi,’ he said, handing her two twenty-dollar notes. ‘Just in case. If you don’t feel right for any reason and you want to get out, you can always call a cab.’

‘I won’t need this,’ she protested, trying to give the money back.

‘Keep it for emergencies,’ said Kit. ‘And remember: you can call us any time of day or night. If you don’t feel safe, we’ll come and get you. We’ll moan and complain like buggery but we’ll come and get you.’

Dimpling, she kissed her stepfather’s cheek. ‘You’re a big leprechaun softie.’

‘And you play your parents like you play that flute,’ retorted Kit. ‘With scary skill. Be good.’

Sacha drove as far as the road. She had to slide the seat way back and shot down the track, spinning the wheel one-handed before slewing to a halt by the letterbox.

‘We start study leave next week, because of the exams,’ she said. ‘This is turning out to be a pretty cruisy term for me. We get loads of time off.’

I tweaked her ear. ‘You’re still wearing Ivan’s locket.’

‘Whatever happens, he cares about me. As long as I’m wearing this I’ve got a friend with me.’

‘How’s orchestra?’

‘Good. Oh—I’ve got a form for you to sign. I’m taking the performance diploma next year. My new flute teacher’s inspiring! She’s played all over the world.’

‘Wonderful. You’re lucky.’

The bus hove into view, and Sacha scrambled out. ‘So you’ll meet me tomorrow, eleven o’clock, by the cathedral fountain?’

‘Sure will. Have fun.’

She blew me a kiss as she ran, ringlets streaming in a westerly wind. I watched her hop aboard the bus and disappear into its gloomy interior. Grinning faces were pressed mockingly to the rear window, smeared against the glass like Halloween masks. Why do the troublemakers always sit at the back of a school bus? It was the same when I was at school. I know, because I was one of them. We used to lob things at passing bicycles.

An apple core rocketed out, curving in an elegant parabola before exploding onto the bonnet of my car. It was followed by a yoghurt pot.

‘Clean, green New Zealand,’ I sighed, selecting reverse gear. ‘One hundred per cent pure.’

*

Kit threw the balcony doors open early the next morning. It was still dark outside, though I could see a fiery gleam on the rim of the sea.

‘What on
earth
are you doing?’ I whispered.

‘Sorry.’ He padded closer, kneeling on the floor to kiss me. I felt his unshaven cheek. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up.’

I grabbed him by the ears, trying to haul him back into bed. ‘Get in, you silly man,’ I ordered. ‘It’s freezing out there!’

I saw his smile, white in the half-dark. ‘My plan is to get up at this time every day for a fortnight,’ he said. ‘That view from our balcony is astonishing. Have you ever wondered how it is that nature always whips the pants off anything man-made, in terms of sheer beauty? I’m going to paint it every morning, bang on sunrise. Hopefully I’ll end up with fourteen very different studies.’

‘Bloody Nora! Why the hell would you do that?’

‘It’s an exercise. I need to understand the way the light works.’

‘That’s it.’ I pulled the duvet over my nose. ‘You’ve gone bonkers. I knew this would happen.’

He looked hopeful. ‘Um, d’you want some tea? It’s going to be a lovely day.’

The rising sun glowed on Kit, humming to himself as his gaze shifted from horizon to canvas. It also found me, curled on the shabby sofa under a duvet, sipping tea and feeling supremely content.

At eleven o’clock, I spotted two girls sitting on a bench beside the cathedral fountain. They were facing one another, deep in animated conversation. When I tapped Sacha’s shoulder, she jumped up.