Trilemma (26 page)

Christopher smiles again. “Those were the days.”

He and Ben share memories of rugby tests past until Vivienne decides it's time for us all to go to bed.

“I guess the accident must have wrecked his life,” I say to Ben as we lie on crisp linen sheets under luxurious covers.

“He was the embodiment of every boy's dream: handsome, talented, popular, big rugby contract just about to be signed. As I recall, there was a huge outcry because he was driving drunk, went off the road, and killed his girlfriend and his best friend. They threw the book at him. So, yes, I'd say it destroyed his life.”

“Although he seems happy here with Vivienne.”

“It's a nice lifestyle, but your sister is hard going. I couldn't hack living with her.”

“It is the most beautiful house I think I've ever seen.”

“But he can't see it.”

“Vivienne's an artist. She can't help but create a beautiful living place. It's who she is.”

“He's a good-looking chap. I guess he goes with her décor.”

“She dotes on him. Wouldn't you like me to dote on you like that? Ben, darling, let me get you some more Manchego?”

“I like you just the way you are, Lin. Don't go all darling on me, please!”

“Anything you say, dear.”

“Not that either! I like your family, Lin.”

“I do too. I am so glad we found them.”

“They don't want to talk about the house in Wellington, do they?”

“I'm best off asking Alison. And I'll ask her why they didn't try to contact me.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Or the day after.”

“You're procrastinating.”

“I know. But it's Christmas. A family Christmas. I haven't had one of those for a long, long time. I don't want anything to spoil it.”

For Christmas I give Ben a new leather jacket. He smiles and thanks me, but puts the jacket to one side. Maybe he'd rather keep wearing the tatty old thing he's had for years, but I've already stolen it and consigned it to the dustbin, so he'll have to wear the smart new one I've given him.

He hands me a tiny package wrapped in a wisp of blue tissue, tied with a thin gold thread. Inside is a blue stone with swirls of gold and speckles of red. As it rolls around my palm, the gold glistens.

“I got paid with an opal for a piece I made for an Aussie miner,” he says.

“It's beautiful.”

“You can have it made into a—well—anything you want.”

“But you shouldn't have. I mean, you should have sold it. I know you need the money.”

Ben rewraps the stone in the tissue paper and folds my hand around it. “I wanted to give you something special, something valuable.”

I smile at him and have to blink because suddenly my eyes water. I had forgotten what it was like to be given a special, valuable gift. No one has for a long time.

We escape after being fed an elegant breakfast of fresh fruit and expensive muesli. As we walk through the pasture, I warn Ben to watch his feet so he doesn't tread in cow pie—
pats, they're called cow pats, Lin, Alison had corrected me.

Cheryl is lying on the divan downstairs watching morning television but bounces up to hug her brother. The bruises have faded and she is looking her pretty self again.

“Merry Christmas, sis,” he says and gives her a wrapped parcel.

She's like a child in her enthusiasm to open her present. “Oh! Thank you, Ben, it's lovely!” He has given her a wooden picture frame he has made himself. The photograph it frames is of the four children, playing in the children's area on the ferry.

“Not the best-quality photo,” he apologizes. “But it was all my cell could take.”

Her lip starts to tremble, so I hastily hand her my gift.

“Oh, Lin! An iPhone! Just what I always wanted.”

“I got you the white model. More interesting than black, don't you think?”

Ben and I wait outside for Cheryl to get dressed.

“When I said she could do with a new cell phone, I didn't mean you to buy the most expensive on the market.”

“I can afford it, Ben. And she liked it, didn't she?”

“You're as bad as Vivienne.”

Alison's house is buzzing with energy and family. Wal's mother, Flo, sits in state in front of the television. Wal's sister, Magda, a very large girl with a very wide smile full of very white teeth, is in the kitchen while her husband, Murray, helps Wal move tables and chairs to make enough seating for all of us to eat together. Murray keeps stopping to tell Wal about the deals he's just made. Ben steps up to take the end of a table from him and moves it where it needs to go.

“Bloody Asians are pushing up the prices for land,” Murray says.

“Steady on, mate,” Ben says. “Anyone's got a right to buy land.”

“Foreigners shouldn't be allowed to, particularly the slant
eyes,” grunts Murray, without even a glance in my direction. “Bloody Government needs to do something about it!”

Jess is in the corner ignoring everyone, her fingers busily texting. Four children ranging in age, to my untrained eye, from about five to ten race around the yard and in and out of the house, playing with the water pistols they received from Santa this morning. I stand very still while two of them duck around me shrieking with laughter.

“Outside!” yells Magda.

The room is dominated by a huge Christmas tree decorated with a rainbow of balls and toys and streamers, and colored lights that blink on and off. A pile of discarded wrapping paper is strewn around the base of the tree.

“Jess!” calls Alison. “If I've asked you once, I've asked you a dozen times to get a box and tidy away that paper.”

Jess stalks past us to the tree and picks up an armful of paper and stalks out to the back of the house. Today she is wearing a pale-lemon-colored dress and a flower behind her ear. A pink ribbon, a gold tinsel bow, a scrap of red crepe, and a twist of multicolored Christmas paper fall from her grasp along the way.

“Wal! Wal! Get Ben and Lin a drink. Oh, don't put it there! Put it there!” and Alison gesticulates until everything is just so, then bustles back into the kitchen to tell Magda how to boil the eggs.

I follow Jess, picking up the scraps that fall.

“Which bloody rubbish bin do I put the wrapping paper in, Mum?”

“The paper bin, Jess. The paper bin. Not that one, the other one. And don't you swear at me, young lady!”

Jess drops her armful of paper and rolls her eyes. I shake my head at her and am rewarded with a small smile.

“She's doing my head in.”

“Nice dress,” I tell her. “You have a real gift.”

Her eyes fix on mine, and I get a wider smile this time.

“Do you think so, Auntie Lin? You've got beautiful clothes, I can tell they're from overseas.”

“France and Italy, mainly.”

“What's it like in Italy? I'd love to go to Milan.”

I smile at her. “Someday you'll have to come traveling with me.”

Her eyes are very bright and she is about to say something more, but her mother calls her into the kitchen.

Vivienne and Christopher arrive, dressed to kill. Vivienne wears pale-pink Trelise Cooper, a Kiwi designer with a nice line in color and fabric. Christopher wears a crisp, white linen shirt and fawn jeans. I can see why my sister is clutching his arm so adoringly. He really is a very handsome man. They navigate the room to avoid the aged granny and the children and settle themselves at the most comfortable seats.

Eventually, order is brought to all proceedings, and we are all squeezed around the tables ready for the feast. Alison brings out a tureen and starts ladling a dark-red soup into bowls and passing them down the table.

“Chilled spiced cherry soup,” she announces.

Just then a car screams up in a shower of gravel, and she pauses and looks out the window.

“It's your brother,” she says. “Get another couple of chairs.”

A younger version of Wal struts in with a German shepherd at his side.

“Yo, bro!” he says, slapping Wal on the shoulder. “Hey, Ali,” kissing my sister's cheek. “Ma,” another smack for old Flo.

He nods at Magda and Murray and offers his hand to Ben and then to me.

Cheryl gets her own kiss. “Good to see you again, gorgeous!”

Nicholas walks in the door behind him. My blood slows.

“Met Nick down the road and told him he should tag along,” says the dark young man.

“Lovely to see you!” Alison says.

Vivienne sees my frown.

“Nick is our property agent, but you know that, don't you, Lin?”

“Tie your dog up, Matiu,” says Wal. “I don't want him amongst the sheep.”

“He wouldn't harm a fly.”

“We don't want him to be tempted. Remember the mutt you brought here last year?”

“It wasn't his fault.”

Wal sees me staring and assumes it's the conversation that is worrying me. “Once they get a taste for killing, they don't stop. We had to shoot the brute.”

Matiu ties the dog up on the back porch, and Alison lays another two settings. We all shuffle together a little more to make room.

Across the table, Nicholas smirks at me. Does my family know about him and me?
Oh, God, I can't let Ben know about it!

“What happened to Taihape?” asks Wal.

“Still there last I heard, Witi.”

“And wotshername? Or did she get a better offer?”

“I got the better offer, bro,” his brother replies and his black eyes move around the table, flashing a smile at Cheryl. “Didn't want to miss Ali's cooking.”

Alison smiles in satisfaction. “Jess, clear the bowls. The beef will be ready in a tick.”

Wal brings out the roast filet of beef and carves it at the table. Alison carries in a bowl of new potatoes and a bowl of ratatouille. Magda follows with the salads.

“Give Ben a bigger piece, Wal. A bigger piece!”

“Hey, did you hear the joke about the Kiwi, the South African, and the Aussie?” asks Nicholas. “They were touring Dubai and got caught drinking, so they get hauled up in front of the big Pooh-Bah, and he sentences them to twenty lashes each. But as it's Christmas, he tells them they can have a wish before they get the lash.

“Well, the South African says, ‘Okay I wish for a pillow!' And he straps it to his back. But it only lasts five strokes before it's in ribbons, and then he's screaming like a woman. So the Aussie guy, he says, ‘I'll have two pillows, thanks, mate,' but his pillows only last for ten strokes and then he's screaming like a girl.

“The Pooh-Bah turns to the Kiwi, and says, ‘Well, I know New Zealand is a very beautiful country, so I'm going to give you two wishes before your lashes.' The Kiwi guy says, ‘Thanks, mate, because you're a man of taste and discrimination my first wish is to get one hundred lashes instead of just twenty.'

“What a man! thinks the Pooh-Bah. ‘And so what is your second wish to be?'”