by Nell Grey
“I met Rawiri working on the waka. He seems happy to be back.”
“Yeah, he’s a livewire, that one. His mum’s lives out in the wops. It’s a two hour round trip for them twice a week. Didn’t use to have much luck getting him here, but since the waka he’s back after every weekend.”
Over the next two hours he was introduced to all of the five boys.
In addition to Rawiri, there were twelve-year-old twins whose parents were dairy farmers way up north. The hostel was a home from home for them too, and they dumped their things in their rooms in record time, racing down to play on the games consul in the living room. Noah, a quiet seventeen-year-old, joined them a short while later with Mateo, another older boy. He raised an eyebrow towards Shaun.
“Who’s the Pom, eh?”
Ari bristled.
“This is Shaun. He’ll be staying here, helping me. In case the baby comes in the night and I have to go to the hospital with Michelle.”
“Good to meet you.”
Shaun extended his hand. Mateo stood motionless. He was easily the largest school student there. Six four and broad.
“I’m eighteen. We don’t need no Pākehā babysitter.”
“We’re not going into this now, Mateo,” Ari batted back breezily. “Principal Kara has kindly employed Shaun to help me out. And that means I get to spend a little time with Michelle and the baby when he or she makes an appearance.”
“What’s Pākehā?” Shaun asked quietly.
Ari’s eyes met his.
“White man.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t stress. He’ll come ‘round. And we’ll soon whip ya into shape. Get rid of that Pommy accent of yours and have ya talkin’ like a Kiwi.”
Mateo made a small huffing sound as Ari started recounting his trauma of assembling the new cot he’d bought the day before.
“What’s Mateo’s problem? Is it me?” Shaun asked once he and Ari were alone in the kitchen again.
“Ah, ignore that. He likes to think that he’s my right-hand man.”
Ari went over to the fridge.
“So, now everyone’s here, we’ll get the show on the road, eh? And get these snags on the barbie.”
“Snags?”
“Yeah, man. Sunday sausage sizzle.”
Ari laughed at Shaun’s mystified face and handed him a bag of onions to peel and slice.
“Welcome to New Zealand, my friend,”
It was after ten when Shaun finally had a moment to himself. The boys were all in their rooms, but not before they’d consumed a mountain of sausage and fried onion sandwiches, run off afterwards with a good hour of touch rugby.
Shaun had piled in and Rawiri had run the socks off him, but even Ari admitted he wasn’t bad for a Pom. Mateo even grudgingly started passing Shaun the ball.
He lay back on his single bed. The place might be on a different continent and in a different context, but hostel living was familiar ground after the years in social care and then the army. He liked it here he decided, closing his eyes. Ari was generous and welcoming, and they were a good bunch of boys.
In a couple of days Claire would be arriving at the Lake Lodge. She’d be starting her journey soon. He tried to block it from his mind but his stomach churned at the thought that she would be near him again.
He’d bought a ute for her to use before he left. It was nothing fancy, but it would mean that she could drive safely over the rough tracks to town when she needed supplies.
He reached for his phone and texted her. He couldn’t help it, his heart pounded when he pictured her reading it.
He so needed to get a grip.
‘Have a good flight. Shaun’
He stretched over and reached for Jake’s diary in his bag.
‘Jake Saunders’ was written carefully in capitals on the inside of the front cover. Inside, the writing was spidery but easy to read once he got used to it.
The first entry under January 1st was dated January 7th. And seeing as there were only a couple of entries in the whole book, Jake hadn’t been much of a diarist. He’d given up writing before the end of the first month. Still, Shaun was curious. What was Jake’s life at the lodge like?
January 7th
‘Mikey McCloud at the station asked me to keep this diary since the last comings and goings. It’s evidence, Mikey says. If you’re not me reading this, forgive the spellings and bad grammar. I’m no scholar.’
Shaun smiled. Neither was he.
‘After Constable Harris drove up to the camp in the forestry, I’ve not seen hide nor hair of those Cobras thugs.
Been a peachy New Year week and the lake’s been buzzing. Some kids up from town camped New Year’s Eve and did a fair bit of boozing, letting off a bit of steam. They were good kids though. Cleaned up after themselves before they left. I’d give my eye teeth to be that age again. There’s been a lot of boats out on the lake and a fair few families up here in the daytime, swimming and having picnics.
Been into town for supplies today. Got me some feed for the chooks and enough groceries to last a couple of weeks, now I’m getting new visitors staying with me.
Rowdy, the rooster’s still playing up. Wish I never agreed to have him off Frank. He’s a rum bird that one, alright. I’m sure Frank passed him off to me so as he could get a lie-in. The so-and-so’s waking me up at six every morning. And the worst of it is that I can’t bloody catch the little blighter to take him back.
Frank’s pesky rooster, Shaun chuckled. Some things hadn’t changed. But who were the Cobras?
The snake sprayed on the boarded-up door was a cobra too. Was the graffiti marking their territory? How long had it been there?
He put Jake’s diary down onto the floor by the bed. Jake had written that the police had sorted the Cobras out, and he’d not seen hardly anyone apart from a couple of fishermen with boats in the couple of months he’d lived there. The gang was probably long gone by now.
His phone pinged, making him jump. Hardly anyone knew his number.
He pulled it quickly from the charger to read the text.
‘Thank you, Mr Cobain. I’m super-excited about coming to NZ. I look forward to finally meeting you.’
His stomach flipped. Mr Cobain. It sounded so formal. So excited to be coming out here. And so unsuspecting of who her boss really was.
The gnawing in his gut unsettled him. He never got like this, nervy and nauseous. It was real now. She would finally be with him again.
He put it down to the fear that she’d freak out and leave when she found out who exactly Mr Cobain was. He hated deceiving her. But he was only doing this to keep her safe.
He hoped she’d see it that way.
All he wanted, he told himself, was to have one chance to talk things through with her, tell her what really happened that night at the farmhouse. Anything more was too much to hope for.
Chapter 11
---------✸---------
“I can’t believe I’ve slept for fifteen hours straight!”
I’m embarrassed to find myself in my pyjamas in front of Celia.
But she laughs it off as she strolls into the Lake Lodge kitchen.
I check the clock on the wall and cringe. It’s three in the afternoon, for goodness sake!
Celia sets an apple pie she’s baked for me onto the counter-top.
“Ah, thank you. That’s so kind.”
Smoothing my bed-head hair down, I go to fill the kettle.
“Sorry, about this. Guess my body’s not set up for time travel.”
“No worries, honey. That ole’ jetlag’s a bugger, I’ve heard.”
“What a view!”
I almost drop the mug as I take in the lake.
I’d feasted on the lake view last night at dusk. You can’t exactly miss it. And I’d done a quick nosy scoot around the lodge too, but I was so exhausted that within half an hour I’d crashed out, fast asleep.
But now, going through to the lounge area with our mugs of tea, I can s
ee the full vista of the lake in the sunshine through those wonderful full-length shuttered windows.
“It’s so beautiful here.”
I’m already eyeing up the route along the shoreline where I’ll go for a run later.
“And quiet. If you need anything, you give me a call, love. And you’ll be coming over to our house for supper tomorrow, I hope?”
“You sure? I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“You’re not. So I take that as a yes, then?”
“Yes! Thanks Celia.”
My new neighbour smiles back at me.
We chat for a while, talking about Greece and my whistle-stop tour of Italy, and I get my camera out to show her.
“You take a pretty good photo. I love that one of the coloured houses on the cliffs.”
“Cinque Terra. It was amazing. I went out on a boat to take those.”
“You need to take some of the lake.”
“Oh, I will. In the morning, when the light’s best. Not that I’ve seen it yet.”
I look down guiltily at my pyjamas.
“I’ve been dying to take Frank to Europe before we’re too old,” Celia says wistfully. “That shop of his, it’s a millstone. Not been farther than Auckland in the last twenty years.”
“Well, there are worse places to be.”
“You’re right, there.”
She’s gazing out at the lake too.
Now that we’ve broken the ice, I pluck up the courage to broach what I’ve been dying to ask.
“Uhh… my new employer, Mr Cobain,” I throw in casually. “What’s he like, then?”
“You not met him yet? Have you not had a skype call with him, or anything?”
Celia gives me a concerned mother look.
“Struth!”
“I answered an ad online a friend sent me. Then Mr Cobain texted me.”
“So, how d’you know he’s not an axe-murderer? Or that he’s not one of them dodgy types that’ll lock you up in a basement or’ll sell you to a gang and auction you off for the Asian sex trade?”
“Uhh … I …,”
“Y’ need to be more careful, love.”
She shuts up abruptly, realising that I’m rattled.
And I am. I feel the knife on my neck again and the blood draining out of me as I go a little giddy.
“Honey, are you alright?”
She clucks over me, making me sit down on one of the green velvet sofas. She’s staring at the scar on my neck.
“You’ve gone white as a ghost. My big mouth runs away with me sometimes. I’ve been watching too many films. You’ll be fine here. Mr Cobain’s a real gent.”
“Yeah, he seems nice.”
He’d left me a note on the worktop.
‘Welcome to NZ’
It said that he’d stocked up the fridge and to make herself at home in any of the empty bedrooms.
“He said he’d call me once I’ve settled in.”
I took the room at the front of the main house with a glorious view of the lake. It’s next to the one his things are in. If that’s awkward, I’ll move.
“He’s a Pom,” Celia runs on, eager to recover things. “Early thirties, I’d say. But I think he might be...?”
Celia looks at me searchingly.
“What?”
“You know?” she adds conspiratorially, “I think…. he’s… batting for the other team.”
“You mean he’s gay?”
“Frank says I’m a loony, but I’ve sussed him.”
“Why d’ya think he’s gay?”
“When I hinted about a couple of lovely girls who’d jump at meeting a handsome fulla like him, he says to me he’s not interested.”
“P’raps he’s got a girlfriend?”
“And him out here, on his own? No, there’s no one else, I’m sure of it. And y’ gotta admit, he’s pretty handy, eh? He’s done this place up real tasteful. He’s got that artistic eye they have, ya know, for colours and design and whatnot.”
I relax a little and take a sip of tea.
“Hmm … I did get the advert from this job sent to me by my gay friend.”
I realise I’m adding more weight to Celia’s theory.
“If Mr Cobain is anything like my friend Jason, I’ll be fine.”
Celia looks at me triumphantly.
“And he can’t fish to save his life, sweetie,” she shares with me in confidence. “So don’t be thinking you’ll be livin’ on trout from the lake. The fish are quite safe from him. My advice to you, love, is to fill up your freezer.”
◆◆◆
After the morning madness of boys showering, getting their school stuff together and clamouring for their breakfasts, Shaun found daytime at the hostel eerily quiet. And if he was being honest, a little tedious.
In the mornings he helped with cleaning and laundry, shopped for groceries and prepared the boys’ meals. In the afternoon he tried to go for a walk or he’d go with Ari to throw a line off the rocks into the sea.
What was it with Kiwis? Every time, Ari caught three, even four fish. He’d still caught nothing. Ari thought he might have better luck spear-fishing and promised to take him when the sea was calmer. He had a sniper’s aim, after all. He hoped to God he’d be better at that.
Shaun checked his watch and felt that now familiar churn in his gut that came every time he thought about her. Claire had been at the lodge for two whole days.
When would be the appropriate time to contact her?
And if he called would she recognise his voice? Probably. It was too risky.
As her employer he needed to keep it formal. Dictate the terms of communication he concluded, overruling his impetuous fingers that were itching to video call her there and then.
Everyone was busy with homework and Ari was over at Michelle’s parents’ place, where he lived when he wasn’t at the hostel. Mateo had his final exams coming up, so he’d hardly seen him and Rawiri had finished his work and was playing a video game. They were a good bunch of boys.
He sent her a short chat message. He hoped she’d settled into the lodge and that she was enjoying living at the lake. It was quite vanilla. But, it was all he could think to say.
There was no reply. Feeling restless, Shaun fetched Jake’s diary from under the bed. He needed something to distract his thoughts.
January 17th
The weather’s been real hot lately. I think we might be in for a drought. The lake level’s dropped to the lowest I seen since I’ve been here and I’m visiting all the campers reminding them about the fire ban. Nine times out of ten they’re as good as gold.
Every day over the last few days I seen them Cobras buzzing around on bikes near the lake. Something’s off. Never had no bother in ten years from them, and all of a sudden it’s like they’re circling.
I called the station about it. Mikey says that they’ll keep an eye. They’ll probably send a squad car this way when they’re up north next.
Perhaps it’s just me, but I kind of feel protective of these two. They’ve been with me a week now, and even though I shouldn’t get attached, that little one she’s as cute as. A bright little button of a thing she is.
Her mum got a bit munted last night on the wine and let it all slip out. First time she’s said anything about why they’re here. The little girl’s dad was mixed up in drugs in London. An accountant or something like that, she said. Anyways she was the main witness at the trial.
It explains why it’s taken a good week to get rid of that strung out look of hers, but she’s starting to relax a bit more now. Get used to our Kiwi ways.
Shaun’s head was spinning. He’d presumed the place was a weekend fishing retreat. But it was, in fact, a safe house all along. He flicked through the diary, there was one entry left and it was short.
Jan 24th
All I can think is that they’ve had a tip-off from someone. How else would they’ve known?
Why else would they have tried to shoot Chantelle and litt
le Isla?
I put the fire in the kitchen out before it could take hold. It was damn lucky I heard the glass smash or those petrol bombs would of done for the whole place. Bastards would’ve torched us in our beds.
The police whisked the two away right there and then. In the middle of the night.
I called my man in the consulate the next day but he was clammed up tighter than a gnat’s arse too. Would only tell me that they’re both safe. That’s good I suppose. But I miss them and I don’t mind saying it. It was nice having them around.
It’s real quiet here now, though there’s plenty for me to do. The potshots those Cobras took went right through the roof on the west side wing and it’ll need fixing before the winter rains set in. I’ve boarded up the kitchen as best I can ‘til I get some glass.
A shiver ran through him as he began to join the dots. He flicked through the diary. There were no more entries. He couldn’t leave it like this, he needed to know more.
Did the Cobras have a contract to kill the woman and the girl?
Posing as a hitman he knew how the contracts worked. Like some old-fashioned wanted poster in a Wild West saloon bar. Wanted Dead or Alive. Only now it was posted up on the dark web. And somewhere, on an encrypted message board in cyberspace was a wanted poster, a contract out on him too.
He only had half the tale. What had happened afterwards to Jake?
He grabbed his phone.
“Frank, it’s Shaun.”
He hoped he didn’t sound rude but this couldn’t wait. He had Claire out at the lake. He needed to check that the threat was gone.
The line was a little crackly with a poor signal.
“I’ve read Jake’s diary. I need to know. Was he killed by the Cobras?”
He talked softly into his phone in his room, hoping that his voice wouldn’t carry and the boys couldn’t hear him.
Frank confirmed the worst.
He told him everything. It was a relief, Frank admitted. He hadn’t known what to do for the best. Keep it zipped or blab.
