After the Fall (20 page)

‘Pan pipes.’

‘Pan pipes. Then he played this lament for her on those same pipes. So it has to sound kind of ethereal, like those creepy patupaiarehe playing their wooden flutes. Brrr!’ She pretended to shiver. ‘Come to think of it, Syrinx and Ira’s Hinemoana have a lot in common, don’t they? They should set up an enchanted maidens’ self-help group.’

As she spoke, her phone began to vibrate. She took a look at the screen, and frowned.

‘Who?’ I asked, leaning closer.

‘Tabby.’ The phone disappeared into her pocket.

‘I see you’ve taken off your locket.’

‘My—?’ She touched her throat.

‘Your locket that Ivan gave you. Does that mean you’ve moved on?’

‘No.’ A shadow of anxiety darkened her face, and I fervently wished I hadn’t mentioned the wretched thing. ‘I left it by my bed, and now I can’t find it. Really worried. I just hope it’s in the house somewhere.’

‘It will be,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Okay.’ Tama watched me climb out of the car. ‘No Sacha, I see. That must mean it’s your turn today?’

‘Yes!’ yelped Charlie. ‘She promised!’

I raised both hands. ‘No, no. Sorry. I’m chauffeur.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Tama placidly, and I felt a twinge of disappointment.

Finn climbed up on the fence to practise his tight-rope walking, while Ira and Charlie went to see the newest foal. Tama soon had me picking out some spiny seeds that were caught in Ruru’s piebald coat. It wasn’t easy because the massive horse loved to wander around the yard, nudging his master’s shoulder.

As he moved unhurriedly among his animals, it struck me that Tama Pardoe seemed entirely content precisely as he was. How many of us can claim to be unequivocally content? Everyone believes they would be happy
if
. . . if they had a different job, perhaps, or they hit a lottery jackpot; if they had better-behaved children, a bigger house, a happier marriage. Me, I’d always reckoned my cup would overflow if I had a bikini body.

‘Ever thought of becoming a Buddhist monk?’ I asked.

‘I am a Buddhist monk.’

‘
Really?

’ ‘No, not really.’

When it was time for the riders to go, Charlie made one last appeal to my better nature. ‘
Please
come,’ he begged. ‘You’ll really, really love it.’

The wide eyes were too much. ‘Okay,’ I blurted. ‘But if I break my leg, you’re all
dead
.’

If he felt any triumph, Tama hid it well. There was just a twitch of the mouth and a brief, dark-eyed glance in my direction as he reached for another saddle. ‘You’ve met Kakama,’ he said, patting the mare’s creamy neck. ‘She’s your hostess for today.’

I managed to get myself astride without nose-diving right over the top and off the other side, and the five of us headed sedately through the dunes. Kakama’s foal cavorted alongside, whinnying. Finn and Charlie were already confident, singing as they rode and occasionally breaking into a bumpy trot as we crossed the beach and began to walk along the glittering sand below the high-tide mark. It was a glorious scene, but I couldn’t admire it. I’d forgotten how insanely high you are when perched on a horse.

‘I feel awfully . . .’ Waves swirled around Kakama’s legs. ‘I haven’t done this for . . . um, and these great big saddles are pretty wacky.’

Tama was riding beside me. He leaned down and disentangled a twig from Kakama’s mane. ‘You’re looking good.’

Gradually, I was soothed by the leisurely sway of the horses’ gait. I could hear the boys behind us, yakking, bending Ira’s ear. I began to feel more secure. Actually, I felt great. Tama was right: Kakama wasn’t about to bolt. She had no malice. If she’d been a human being, she would have been the kindly sort who makes tea and pats your hand.

Eventually, Tama glanced at me. ‘Shall we take the brakes off?’

I gulped.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, with infectious confidence. ‘She will take care of you.’

‘But the boys—’

‘—Will be safe with Ira. They won’t set off after us, I promise. Now, never mind rising in the trot; in fact, never mind trotting. None of that English riding school malarkey. And don’t lean forward!’

‘I’m not sure—’

‘You’ll be okay, Martha. Trust me. Watch this.’

And with no apparent effort, Ruru had broken into a gallop. It was instantaneous. Tama stayed upright, hat flying behind him on a cord while sand shot up around him. Kakama behaved like a lady, though, and made no attempt to race. When Tama pulled up and whirled around, I was stroking her muscled neck and trying to rally my courage. I admired this man, and childishly wanted his approval. I longed to be a daredevil but I was paralysed by the memory of a horse bolting, tumbling, a leg snapping. Ahead of us lay a long stretch of unbroken sand, but then the beach curved around a headland and was scattered with wicked boulders.

You’ve got children!
Mum was apoplectic.
How can you consider such
selfishness?

‘Go on, Mummy,’ called Finn scornfully. ‘Don’t be a pussy-wussy.’

‘Okay.’ I shut my eyes. ‘Okay. Here goes.’

No, no, no! You’re hopeless. You’ll break your neck this time.

‘I won’t. Tama says I’m safe.’

You’ve a long way to fall, Martha.

‘Shush.’

Your irresponsibility knows no—
‘Oh, piss
off
!’ I yelled aloud, and kicked with both heels. Kakama’s power was overwhelming: I felt as though I was driving a Porsche and had jammed my foot flat onto the accelerator. I could hear the boys cheering—
Go Mummeee—
as the foal threw up his tail, bucked gleefully, and dashed alongside. Tama fell in too as we tore along the sand.

I thought I was going to die. No, really. I leaned forward and clutched at the saddle and a handful of cream-coloured mane, sobbing in rigid terror at the wavelets flashing past. The rocks on the headland loomed ever closer, and I imagined the carnage when we hit them.

Then I heard Tama’s voice. ‘You’re fine.’ He sounded amused. ‘Martha, settle down, girl! Sit back.’

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to release my grip on the saddle and straighten up. Nothing bad happened. With a rush of joy, I relaxed into the rhythm. It was like being injected with exhilaration. Pounding along the foreshore, salt spray flying up around us, I felt as though I would never be frightened again. I wasn’t a mother. I didn’t have two little boys who needed me every moment; I didn’t have a husband who waltzed with alcohol and depression; I didn’t have a beloved daughter who was growing apart from me. I was Martha, and the gates of freedom were creaking open. I heard myself whooping.

Tama slowed as we neared the end of the beach. Kakama—behaving immaculately—did the same without my having to ask, settling through an easy rocking-horse canter into a dignified walk. My heart was smashing right out of my ribs as we sloshed through a couple of feet of waves and safely rounded the headland.

‘See?’ said Tama, replacing his hat. ‘No problem.’

‘Whew.’ Shakily, I leaned forward to kiss Kakama’s sweating neck.

Another beach stretched before us, rockier and edged by pine plantation. The air smelled of seaweed and resin. I felt a sense of something deep within myself, something I didn’t quite recognise. After thinking for some minutes I realised that I was actually proud of myself. I’d done something I’d been afraid to do. For once I hadn’t sat on the fence and watched my children; I hadn’t been the photographer, the waver-off, the cheerer on the sidelines. It had been a long time since I’d had an achievement that wasn’t vicarious.

Mum was appalled. She launched a major nagging offensive, but I shoved her bodily into a cupboard and locked the door. I could hear her muffled protests, hammering and demanding to be let out.

‘What a buzz,’ I said. ‘I feel ten years younger.’

Tama smiled, and the grooves deepened beside his mouth. ‘You’re not just the mother. Or just the chauffeur. Or just the wife. I see too many parents sitting on that fence while the kids do all the living.’

We turned back, chatting easily about local history. Tama described how the early farms would have shipped their wool to Napier from the beach, and their supplies in. He talked about a Maori walking track that ran along the coast before any Europeans arrived. He also had a stash of tall tales about his Scottish grandfather. When Hinemoana’s hill came into view, I remembered the enchanted maiden.

‘Ira told us her story,’ I said. ‘How she was abducted by the patupaiarehe.’ ‘The people of the mist.’ Tama looked thoughtful. ‘Y’know, I was talking to a joker who reckons they still exist. Swears he saw a couple of’em in the headlights of his car. Scared him so much, he was still shaking a week later.’

‘Did you believe him?’

Tama considered the question for a moment, while a breeze stirred the silver-tinged charcoal of his hair. ‘D’you believe in the Loch Ness monster?’

At the end of November, Kit and I took the boys across the hills to Taupo for the day. It was a birthday treat. On their actual birthday they’d be starting school, hurled onto the inexorable treadmill of education. Sacha politely elected not to come, and no amount of bribing or emotional blackmail would change her mind.

Even so, we had a marvellous time. Kit and I lolled in geothermal hot pools while our offspring screamed down a taniwha-mouthed water slide. We picnicked beside the roar of the Huka Falls and spent an hour entertained by the bizarre spectacle of adrenaline junkies hurling themselves off a cliff with bits of elastic strapped to their ankles.

Both boys were fast asleep as we drove up to Patupaiarehe. A brilliant moon was rising above the sea. Kit and I got out of the car and stood for a few minutes at the edge of the garden, wrapped around one another, entranced by the magical light.

‘It’s so still,’ I whispered. ‘We could be the only people in the whole world.’

His arms tightened around me. ‘Now there’s a happy thought.’

We heard Finn stir, and became parents again. ‘Looks as though Sacha’s got company,’ said Kit. ‘See the car down by the smoko hut?’

I walked a few steps closer and squinted along the track. I could just make out the pale shape of a vehicle. ‘Who d’you think it is?’

‘How should I know?’

I tiptoed closer still.

‘You’re a disgrace,’ said Kit. ‘Here, have a camera with a zoom.’

‘Shush. I’m trying to listen. She might have a man in there.’

‘Why don’t you just wire the joint and be done with it?’

‘She’s my baby girl,’ I protested.

‘I’m not sure the young male population around here see her in quite that light. Leave’em be, Martha! You don’t want to catch her doing anything embarrassing, do you?’

‘Nope. That’s where you come in. I want you to get straight down there and make sure there’s no shenanigans.’

In an open display of insurrection, Kit laughed and turned on his heel. ‘Mummy’s gone a bit bonkers,’ he remarked, leaning into the car for Finn, who was drowsily humming with Bob tucked up his sweatshirt. ‘For Pete’s sake, Martha, stop acting like a KGB colonel. Come inside and froth up some of your famous coffee.’

I took his advice, and it wasn’t long before Sacha appeared in the kitchen doorway at the vanguard of a small crowd. Close behind her was Bianka, who greeted Kit with her usual self-possession. I could tell he was struck by her old-fashioned glamour, or perhaps it was the blackberry-coloured lipstick. Sacha gestured at two more girls. ‘Teresa and Taylah.’

Bianka was a hard act to follow, of course, but this duo was spectacularly unmemorable. They had too much eyeliner, straightened hair and a conspicuous lack of dress sense. Neither managed to raise their gazes from the ground, let alone greet me like human beings. I tried to engage them but they just looked gormless. They could have been any pair of production-line teens, anywhere in the western world.

‘And Jani,’ said Sacha.

A young man appeared from behind the group. You could tell whose brother he was, and whose son. He shared the same bloodless beauty as his sister and mother; green eyes, and a suggestion of freckles. He laid an arm around Sacha’s shoulder, and said what a magnificent place we had here. We asked him about his university course. It turned out that he was studying architecture, and Kit’s eyes lit up.

‘Coffee, guys?’ he ventured hopefully. But they were just off. Inevitably, the dull girls had to be home by eleven, so Sacha walked her friends to Jani’s car.

‘Well,’ observed Kit, ‘I think the politburo can agree unanimously that Jani Varga is a dish. If vampires are your thing.’

‘An improvement on Ivan.’

‘Maybe.’

‘But I don’t think I trust him,’ I fretted. ‘He’s too old, and there’s something just a little too smooth.’

Kit laughed as he opened a tub of Pamela’s ginger crunch. ‘No man will ever get past quality control. If you have your way, that girl will live and die an old maid.’

Sacha stood waving as the car crossed the cattle grid, then came skipping back to us. She looked tail-waggingly pleased with herself, like a gundog dropping a pheasant at the feet of its master. ‘Lovely, isn’t she?’