by PJ Vye
Chapter Forty-Five
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Mataio.
Sunny had settled into life on the farm easier than she expected. She’d never gardened before—never even owned a pet, other than her short time with Ipo. In return for her accommodation on Junior’s property, she prepared meals for the workers and tended her own kitchen garden. She spent her evenings helping Atali with her lessons, and travelled to Apia once a week to help at the refuge. Now that much of the western world had changed its focus from creating wealth to growing food to survive, the demand for English language songs had diminished to zero. With no online income, and no tourism work, she needed Junior and his farm.
For six weeks she’d focused on settling into a routine, and every time thoughts of Mataio arose, she squished them down with hard physical labour and rigorous Math and English lessons. Today, with him standing in front of her, she knew she wouldn’t stop until she’d change his mind.
“What do you mean it’s not a good idea?” she said. “She’s your daughter. She expects to see you.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“It’s called parenting,” she said.
“I’m not a parent.”
He was infuriating. She knew full well the rejection of a parent at a young age, and she wouldn’t have it for her own daughter. Mataio needed to man up. He’d chosen to stay on Upolu and work only a thirty-five-minute drive away, so how could he deny himself or his daughter this relationship?
“Junior said you had to sort this out before they’d hire you,” said Sunny.
He began to walk away. “I just can’t talk to you.”
“Please, Mataio, wait.”
She followed him toward the coconut grove, the pigs trotting behind them like they expected something good to happen.
“Stop,” she shouted. “I won’t let you walk away from this.”
He stopped but didn’t turn. “Is she here now?”
“She’s inside. She’d love to see you.”
His voice lowered. “It’s not that I don’t want to see her. I do. But it’s better for her if I don’t.”
Sunny had heard it all before. She needed a different tack. “How many times did your dad hit your mum before he killed her?”
He spun around and took several steps closer. “Hundreds.”
“How many times did he hurt you?”
He shrugged, not answering.
Sunny pushed a finger into his chest. “I won’t let you hurt her. Or me. Not even once. I am not your mother. You’re not your father. We’re different people.”
“I know that.”
“Are you sure? Do you really think I’d let you hurt Atali? Do you know what I’d do to you?”
“Stop, Sunny.”
“I’m stronger than your mum, Mataio. Much stronger.”
His expression could burn skin. “You think so?” he said. “How do you explain your relationship with Judd?”
“True. I let him hurt me. But I know the difference now. I’ve learnt. Judd was my apprenticeship.”
Mataio shook his head. “You think my dad always treated Mum badly? He was charming at first, and kind and sweet when she fell in love with him. He didn’t suddenly become a violent person. He did it slowly. Groomed her. Made her dependent. Made her think she couldn’t live without him. Made her feel less than human. Slowly. In a million little ways, he brought her down.”
“I’ll be watching, Mataio. Vigilant. Nothing will get past me. And I’ll talk to you about it. I’ll say, ‘This hurts Atali when you do this’.”
“I won’t risk it.”
“One shot.” She held up a finger. “Don’t you deserve one shot at being a father? Don’t you deserve something out of this life for yourself?”
“How many times do I have to say no before you stop asking?”
“Tell me you don’t love that little girl.”
He dragged up his head like it was the heaviest thing in the world.
“Sunny—”
“This offer won’t last forever, Mataio.” She turned and walked toward the house, the pigs romping happily behind her.
Chapter Forty-Six
Mataio knocked on his aunt’s door and heard a familiar shuffle as she approached. He dropped Ipo’s lead just as the door opened and hid to the side. He watched as the old woman recognised the dog she hadn’t seen in five years.
“Is that you, Ipo? I must be going mad,” she said, and leaned down to pat his head. Ipo’s tail thumped the ground as he recognised his former owner. “How did you get here?”
Talula stuck her head around the corner and her face fell when she saw Mataio.
She wore the same blue floral dress he remembered from the house in Frankston. She didn’t seem to have aged—in fact, he thought she looked younger than he remembered.
“Aunt,” he said, surprised at the depth of his voice. “It’s good to see you.”
Tulula clicked her tongue, the very sound both a comfort and a torment. She didn’t answer, but led the dog inside and let the door swing open. He followed her in, despite the lack of a formal invitation.
The room was dark but well equipped. Better than most families in the area. This was the house his money had bought the family when he’d been working as a doctor in Melbourne. His uncle, now an invalid, had spent the money well. There were walls, ceilings and floors, inside plumbing and a fully functioning kitchen. On the bench sat a pile of mangoes and it gave the room a tropical aroma.
Tulula found a dish and filled it with water, then pulled a bone from the fridge and allowed the dog to chew it, even though he slobbered on the mat. She didn’t seem to mind. Tulula ignored Mataio as he moved to a chair, unsure if he should sit or stand for what was to come.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Tulula stayed in the kitchen and continued peeling and chopping mangoes, her hands unwashed after touching the dog.
There would be no permission to speak, so he went ahead anyway. “Can you forgive me?”
The sound of the knife against the chopping board got louder.
“Aunt, I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am.”
The knife rose higher still as it slammed into the soft fruit. Even Ipo looked up from his bone.
“Aunt, I wanted to say thank you, for so many things. But mostly for what you did for Sunny and Atali.”
The cutting stopped.
“And for taking me in and raising me like your own. I would swap my life for La’ei’s, in an instant. You know that.”
He couldn’t look at her and wondered if the silent knife was poised at his head.
“I wanted to bring Ipo back to you, because I’d do anything to make things right. I know I can’t do that, and I’ll not remind you of the mistakes I’ve made by coming here again. But I needed to see you one more time to tell you this.”
He stood and patted the dog’s head. “Good boy, Ipo. You stay now.”
“Wait,” she said.
He waited.
“You stay away from Sunny, you hear me?”
The authority in her voice reminded him of the old days. Although her English sounded like a second language again now. “I will.”
She wagged her finger and it reminded him of Sunny. “You no good for that girl.”
“I know that. I won’t do to her what my father did to my mother.”
“Huh?” She seemed off balance at his words.
A door banged and an older man on a walking frame approached. “Who’s here?”
A lump formed in Mataio’s throat. His uncle would hate him more than Tulula did. Mataio deprived Uncle Akamu of his family for twenty years. “Uncle, it’s Mataio. It’s been a long time.”
“Mataio.” The syllables fell off his lips like they tasted bad.
The man could barely raise his head. When he did, there was no hatred. Only pain and suffering. Mataio mentally diagnosed Camptocormia, a condition where the spine bends and can’t be straightened.
Tulula helped his uncle settle in the chair. “I was just telling Mataio to stay away from Sunny.”
“Why is this dog here?” asked Uncle Akamu.
Ipo raised the lids of his eyes at the old man and then dropped them back as if nothing could surprise him.
“This is Ipo. I got him for Junior as a puppy, when he was stuck in bed and couldn’t leave the house,” said Tulula, chopping mangoes again.
Uncle ignored her.
“Mataio,” said Uncle. “Your old man was a bastard. He killed your mother and he made you watch.” He took a few short breaths. Tulula stopped chopping. “But then you let us think our daughter was missing when you knew she was dead. You kept this family apart for twenty years. I should knock you down.”
Ironic, considering he could barely walk. Mataio only nodded and said, “Yes.”
“But our son was dead and you brought him back to life, and now he marries into a great family and makes us proud every day.”
“You are my only family, and with your permission…” He couldn’t say it out loud. He had cousins and aunts and uncles and an entire family tree of distant relatives he’d only dreamed about meeting.
“You stay away from that girl,” interrupted Tulula again.
“I understand, Aunt. I will.”
“Why must he stay away from that girl?” his uncle asked Tulula.
Mataio answered for her. “Because I’d wear her down. Like my father did my mother.”
“No, no. Sunny much stronger than Siiva was,” said Uncle Akamu, shaking his head and pointing his walking stick at Mataio.
Something kicked inside him. He shoved it back down but at the same time, he needed to know more. “You think so?”
“Much stronger. Sunny knows her own mind. She doesn’t tolerate a second of bad behaviour from anyone. Not even your aunt can boss her.”
“I’m sure my dad was a nice guy at first.”
“You’re nothing like your father,” said Uncle Akamu.
He wanted to hear his uncle say it again. Over and over. But it couldn’t be true. Could it? “You don’t know me, Uncle. I’ve not seen you in over twenty years.”
“You saying I don’t know a man’s worth? Look at you. You are a doctor. You bring honour to your Samoan heritage. Your mother is in you and she is proud. You are a strong Samoan man. Stand up and be the father you wish you’d had.”
“You stay away from Sunny,” repeated Tulula, her knife waving in her hand.
“Why?” asked Akamu loudly, wound up from his speech. “They have a child together.”
“Because I told Margo that Sunny was single and Margo’s son is in need of a good sturdy wife. He’s a good boy but misty. Needs a strong woman to hold him up. Sunny be perfect for her boy. I promised an introduction.” Tulula pointed her knife at Mataio. “Don’t you get in the way, you hear? Margo already paid me in mangoes.”
Uncle Akamu and Aunt Tulula began a fiery argument that Mataio remembered from his days living with them as a teenager.
He left before they came up for air.
Mataio walked the beach for hours, his bare feet in the sand. This may have been the same beach his father walked when he first met that young, beautiful Samoan girl just out of school. Impressed by the look and language of an Australian man who seemed to know all the answers and have all her wishes and dreams for the future in the palm of his hands.
Siiva, only two years older than he’d been when he buried La’ei. He knew nothing of the world back then. Neither had his mother.
His mother never had the chance to forgive herself for that one mistake.
Could he?
Sunny was stronger than his mother. Those words seemed to whisper from every direction. In the wind, in the waves, in the sky.
Could he allow himself to love?
Could he have the life he wanted?
One shot. Did he deserve one shot?
Did his mother deserve one shot, to change her life? If she’d lived, would she have left his father? Everything pointed to a yes. Somewhere inside him, he knew she would have. His mother wasn’t strong enough. He might not be his father, but he wasn’t his mother, either. He could be strong enough. If he could live by ten rules for almost twenty years, then he could do this.
He took out his phone and wrote a new list.
Eleven Reasons
1. Sunny
2. Atali
3. I am not my father or my mother
4. I can practice medicine
5. I can know my Samoan heritage
6. I can live by the beach
7. I can serve my community
8. I can have sex
9. I can have a family
10. I can manage my behaviour
11. I can be forgiven
He had eleven reasons. He really only needed one.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sunny walked the boundary refuge fence from the front gate all the way around and back again. It stood twelve feet high with barbed wire around the top. It looked like a prison from the outside, but inside, it felt safe. Over the next few weeks, they’d plant hedges along the fence to hide the wire and eventually it would feel like an oasis of safety for the young occupants and their workers.
The local police investigators had come through with the information she’d given. Carrie had been located in Sweden and an extradition had been ordered. Samoa wasn’t the only country wanting to prosecute, and with the more pressing issues of famine and anarchy throughout the world, the Samoan crime squad left the punishment to be enforced by the Swedish authorities. The money she’d taken was gone.
Tomorrow, they’d plant out the south quadrangle to taro so they could trade for food. With flights into Samoa restricted, tourism non-existent and export limited to ensure Samoa could feed its people first, the refuge had to rely on its own wits to survive, and that included growing their own food.
The parcel of land, now fully secure with the fence, could produce enough to feed the children and their carers for years if needed. It’d be tough, and the monotony of eating taro might be difficult, but they’d survive until the world found its feet again.
Sunny recalled Laurence’s prediction that there’d be no need for C2HO anymore. He’d been right. With food supply so limited, the people of the world no longer needed an obesity pill. Another case of, ‘be careful what you wish for’.
The dinner bell rang and the children playing handball turned and ran to the food hall, Atali happily skipping along behind them.
Sunny walked the edge of the fence again, kicking the soil at the base of the poles to check their strength. The sooner they planted the edges, the sooner the wire would be hidden.
“Do they work?” A deep, gentle voice startled her.
She looked up to see Mataio, his fingers curled on the wire, on the other side of the fence.
“Looks like they do.” She grinned despite herself. He wore a casual smile—a word she’d never associated with him before. “It keeps the troublemakers out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And the innocent safe.”
“Touché,” she said.
“You did this, I hear,” he said. “You organised the fencing and paid for the whole lot.”
She nodded. “It was my fault they were vulnerable. So, it was my job to fix it.”
“I know what you mean,” said Mataio, meeting her eyes.
She looked away. “It’s not the same.”
“We make mistakes,” he said. “We keep trying to fix them. I guess that makes us human.”
“Well, I am. Can’t be sure about you,” she said, with a straight face.
“Touché,” he said in a playful tone.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting. “I’m so angry with you, Mataio.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Atali’s here. You want to see her?”
He looked conflicted. “Yes. But can I talk to you first?” he asked.
Sunny folded
her arms and prepared herself for the onslaught. “Is there anything left to say?”
“Are you happy here? In Samoa?”
She waited, expecting more from the question. When he didn’t continue, she answered. “I guess.”
“Is it home to you?”
“Home is wherever my family is. I have more family here than anywhere else.”
Mataio released his fingers from the wire and took a few steps along the fence line in the direction of the gate. She did the same.
“I didn’t know how wrong I’d felt my entire life until I came to Samoa,” he admitted as he walked. “There’s something in the air. I don’t think I could live anywhere else. Atali should grow up here. This is home.”
Sunny continued to walk along the fence line with him. “Are you ready to have a relationship with your daughter?”
He hesitated. “Do you trust me?” he asked eventually.
“Not at all.”
His head nodded approval. “Good.”
“I’ll be vigilant,” said Sunny.
“Good.”
“You’ll get one shot.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Good.” Sunny smiled. That’d been easier than she expected. Where was the catch?
Some children had finished eating and resumed their game of handball in the yard, Atali among them.
Mataio stopped walking, though he was only a few metres from meeting Sunny at the gate.
He’d changed. She recognised a shift in the way he stood, the way his eyes rested on her. The same way they had when he’d watched her play the violin all those years ago.
He spoke slowly, each word carefully pronounced. “When Kimbo called to say he was holding you hostage, do you know the first thing that went through my mind?”
“That you’re an idiot?”
“Yes. That. But I also knew somehow you’d be all right.”
She didn’t believe that for a second. She’d seen how riled he’d been when he picked her up from the street. But she went along with it. “Why?”
“I knew he was capable of hurting you. But I knew he was stupid, and you were smart. And I knew you could take care of yourself.”
