The Scent of Apples

by Jacquie McRae

  ‘That’s OK. I can Google it.’

  ‘Yeah, just type in Trichotillomania. I’m not sure how you spell it but it should come up. Look, I better get going. Here’s my salon number if you want to get hold of me. I’m always looking for models to practice on. You have a beautiful face.’ Weketia passes me her card.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She kisses me on the cheek like we’re old friends before she flits out the door.

  I sit at the table for ages. Soaking up all I’ve just learnt.

  I walk slowly down the hall to the telephone. I lift the receiver and ring Mum. Then I wait.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Boys’ faces are the first thing I see in the morning.

  ‘See ya,’ Kawharu says, handing me a chook feather. ‘It’s from Molly.’

  I’m barely awake but sit up in bed. I have a dull headache from sleeping with my hair tied up. I remember that Mum is picking me up this morning, and the dullness turns into a thud right in the middle of my temple.

  I slide my fingers along the feather, and it comforts me. I have an urge to feel the softness against my lips, but a small face in front of me, with one missing tooth, waits for me to respond.

  ‘That’s so sweet. Thank you, Kawharu.’

  He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing.

  Kawharu had taken me to see his bantam chooks when he got back from the marae. His chest puffed out as he showed me the chook run he helped to build. I got the long tour, which included seeing which boards he nailed in, and being introduced to each one of the bantams. Molly was the mother and also his favourite.

  Tainui holds out a present, scrunched up in Christmas paper.

  ‘It’s a wētā,’ he says.

  When I hesitate, he grins. ‘Go on, open it.’

  Inside a matchbox, nestled in cotton wool, is a small dead weta. It must be from Tainui’s collection of coloured glass, birds’ nests and small skeletons, which crams a shelf in his bedroom.

  ‘Thank you both. I’ll treasure these.’

  Unlike Kawharu and his coolness, Tainui looks like he’s just given me a diamond. Charlie ruffles his hair as she sits down on my bed.

  ‘You two better hurry up and get changed or Mum will drop you at school in your pyjamas.’

  Tainui and Kawharu study each other. One has a pair of pyjamas with cowboys on it and the other has aeroplanes. They both run out of the room giggling.

  Charlie passes me a present wrapped in purple tissue paper. A coloured rose made from flax is tied to the parcel with flax fibres.

  ‘Rukawai made you the flower.’

  I untie the rose and place it beside me. Under a layer of tissue paper is a small notebook. Painted on the black cover, a bright orange monarch butterfly spreads her wings. Charlie’s signature is scrawled at the bottom.

  ‘I thought this might come in handy.’

  I hug it to my chest, not trusting myself to speak.

  ‘I’m not saying goodbye, just see you later.’ Charlie wraps her arms around me. I’m starting to get used to all their hugging.

  Hautai pokes her head around the door.

  ‘Come on Charlie, we’ll be late. I’ll be back soon, Libby.’

  ‘OK. You better go, Charlie. Thank you. For everything.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything, but you’re welcome. Don’t forget to warn your mum I’m coming to stay.’

  *

  I wrap up my gifts and lay them gently in my suitcase. On my way to say goodbye to Koro, I pass the photographs hanging along the hallway. After spending only a few days with the family it’s easy to see which ancestor left a fingerprint on which child.

  Koro sits in a wicker chair by a huge picture window. Morning sunlight is captured on the side of his face and in his thinning grey hair. He doesn’t turn to look at me as I come into the room, but starts talking while looking at the sparkling waters in the bay below.

  ‘I was just thinking how every new day offers us another chance to start again.’

  He turns to face me.

  ‘It’s time for you to leave, isn’t it Libby?’

  I nod.

  Koro leans forward in his chair and speaks in Māori.

  ‘Maranga mai, kia kaha.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Stand up and be strong. I’ll see you when you come back.’

  I’ve learnt enough in my few days in Whāingaroa to know that if Koro says I’m coming back then I’m coming back. I kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You better go make friends with your mum.’ He winks at me as I leave the room.

  Tyres crunch on the gravel outside.

  *

  Mum storms up the path. Every part of my body is on high alert, like it’s just had a blast from a cold shower. I know I’m in deep shit, and I haven’t got a clue how to dig myself out. I suck in a big breath and open the ranch slider.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes, but Hautai’s not back from dropping the kids off at school.’

  ‘I told you I’d come to get you at nine and it’s nine.’

  She turns and marches straight back up the path to the car. I quickly scribble a thank you note and prop it up on the kitchen table beside a vase of wild daisies that Kawharu picked for his mum.

  Mum throws my suitcase in the boot and slams the lid down.

  I slide in to the passenger seat, and stay as close to the door as possible. She starts ranting before I’ve had a chance to put my seat belt on.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing, Elizabeth?’

  ‘I just wanted to stay at my friend’s.’

  ‘So you chose to lie about where you were, instead of asking me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have let me come if I asked.’

  ‘You have no idea what I would have said!’

  The kānuka trees scratch at the side of the car as we wind our way to the bottom of the hill.

  ‘Be honest, Mum.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ She glares at me.

  ‘You don’t really want to hear what I have to say. You’ve never really wanted to listen to anyone else’s views.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ she yells.

  ‘Yeah it is, Mum. Especially if they’re black or poor.’

  Her face is all red, and I heard the tremble in her voice. It feels great to be making her mad, and so I push her more.

  ‘It’s a pity God’s already taken, as he’s about the only person that would be perfect enough for you. No wonder Dad had to leave you. I will as soon as I can. Patrick was the lucky one!’

  Bullseye.

  I see the hurt look in her eyes, a second before the road disappears and is suddenly replaced by toetoe and flax bushes. Everything goes in slow motion. We slide off the road and into the ditch. I feel like I’m watching a movie as I see Mum’s head hit the side window and watch the blood trickle from the cut.

  The car comes to a standstill just before the sewage pond.

  ‘Shit. Mum.’ I unbuckle my seat belt and lean over towards her. ‘Say something!’

  Nothing.

  ‘Mum!’

  She nods.

  Thank you, God. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I think so. My foot’s stuck.’

  I look down and see that her foot is stuck under the brake pedal and has a large gash on it. I push my door open and run around the car to her side. I use all my strength to pull open her door through the dense kikuyu, and drop down on my knees. She winces with pain as I lift the pedal up and release her foot.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘You alright, Elizabeth?’ She sounds like she’s woken from an anaesthetic. It seems to take forever for her to focus on my face.

  ‘Mum, I’m fine. I’m so sorry.’ I am crying: huge hiccupping sobs.

  ‘Shh. It’s not your fault. I wasn’t watching the road.’

  ‘I didn’t mean what I said.’

  ‘It’s OK, Elizabeth.�
�

  ‘No. It’s not. Mum, I’m so sorry.’ I want to take my words back, but words have a no-refund policy: you don’t get to take them back and swap them for something nicer. I feel a drop of wet on my hand. Blood. Shit.

  ‘I’ve got to get some help. I’ll be back.’ I disappear before she has a chance to protest. As I clamber out of the ditch, I hear her yell out to me to be careful. A car comes around the corner. I start waving like a lunatic and then recognise Hautai.

  She pulls off the road immediately, and then sees our car in the ditch.

  ‘Is that your mum’s car? Are you all right? Is your mum OK?’

  I nod in answer to all her questions and follow her as she pushes through the grass to the car. She leans down and starts talking to Mum. I hear something about an ankle, and then Hautai makes Mum put her right arm around her neck and pulls her from the car. She wraps her arm around Mum’s waist and helps her to walk to her car.

  ‘Open up the back door for me, Libby. Careful of your head,’ Hautai tells Mum, as she helps her into the back seat. I slide in beside her and take her hand.

  She pats the top of it. ‘It’s just a bang on the head; stop looking so worried.’

  ‘What about your ankle?’

  ‘It’s not broken. It just needs a bit of ice.’

  We wind our way back up the driveway. I’m surprised to see Koro sitting out on the porch.

  Hautai leaps out of the car. ‘What on earth are you doing out of bed?’

  ‘You’re not going to be able to hide me in a back bedroom forever. Libby, nice to see you back. I wasn’t expecting to see you quite so soon, though.’

  ‘Koro, this is my mum.’

  Mum leans on Hautai’s arm for support as she hobbles up the path. ‘Hi, I’m Anne.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Anne. Libby, go inside and put the kettle on for your mum.’

  By the time I get back, Mum is sitting in one of the armchairs with the stuffing oozing out. Her foot is up on an overturned crate with a pillow on the top. Hautai has covered a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel and wrapped this around Mum’s ankle.

  ‘Here, Libby,’ Hautai says. ‘Hold this on your mum’s ankle and I’ll ring Tama at work and get him to pull your mum’s car out.’

  ‘I can just call a tow truck.’

  ‘It’s no problem. He works at the mechanic’s at the top of the hill. He’s got a winch on the front of his ute, and he can check if anything’s damaged.’

  I sit on the ground beside the crate, and look up at the cut on Mum’s forehead. Thank God, it’s stopped bleeding.

  ‘So, where did you come off the road?’ Koro asks.

  ‘Down by the sewage ponds.’

  ‘Oh. Taniwha corner. We get a lot of cars going off there. Years ago a lady and her baby fell out of a bus on that corner. Apparently the doors just flew open and she fell out.’

  Mum and I look at each other. We both know that it wasn’t a taniwha that made us crash. It was me. Me being mean to Mum so I could feel better.

  ‘I’m just grateful that nothing happened to Elizabeth.’

  For a moment we both just look at each other. My shame makes me speechless.

  Hautai comes in, adds a few crushed leaves to the pot and pours us all a cup of tea. While we drink it, she bandages Mum’s ankle. I’m relieved to see the cloth bandage, as I don’t think Mum could cope with some flax being woven around her foot today. A few minutes later, Tama drives up the driveway in our car, and another boy follows in the red ute.

  ‘She’s all sweet,’ Tama yells out to us. He thumps on the bonnet and then jumps in his ute and heads off down the hill.

  ‘I didn’t even get to thank him or give him any money,’ Mum says.

  ‘Don’t be silly, he wouldn’t take any money. We better get you to the doctors’ and get them to check out your ankle,’ Hautai says.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine to drive.’ I see Mum scan the room and take in the overflowing washing in a wicker basket and the newspapers piled up high beside an armchair bathed in sunlight. ‘I’m sure you’ve got enough to do.’

  ‘Nothing that can’t wait. Come on, let’s get you in the car. Libby, I’ll get you to keep an eye on Koro.’

  ‘Yeah, in case I try and escape,’ Koro says.

  Koro and Hautai look at each other, but both their eyes are smiling. I wouldn’t be surprised if either one of them poked their tongue out. Hautai eases Mum out of the chair, and between us we manage to get her into the passenger seat of the car.

  Hautai squeezes her ample frame into the driver’s seat, and after a few crunches from the gear box sets off down the hill. Mum looks worried as she stares out the passenger window at me. I want to run and tell her she’ll be all right, but they disappear from sight before I get a chance.

  Koro slurps a cup of liquid that he’s poured from a pot simmering on the stove. After only a few minutes he says he feels drowsy, and goes back to bed. While they’re gone I fold up the washing and do the dishes. I make piles of letters and books on the table, and put the vase of wild flowers in the middle. The box of flax and bandages is still by the front door.

  I spot an old spade standing up in the veggie garden, and take this and the box around the back of the house. I’m not sure how deep the hole is meant to be, but I dig until I hit a rocky base. I figure the box will just disintegrate, so I throw it all in and cover it up with dirt.

  A branch from a gnarly old tree swipes at my arm as I try and pass it. The sprawling tree has a few bloated plums on the top branches, and cankers have formed along the limbs. I know from my experience of our apple trees that these will eventually strangle the life from the tree.

  I grab hold of a branch and place my foot in a V shape on one of the lower limbs, and keep climbing until I find a hollow in the tree to nestle into. I tuck my legs into my chest and, like the king of a castle, survey the kingdom below.

  The ocean stretches from the horizon all the way up the inner harbour. I watch the movement of the sea as it sneaks along the shore, wearing down the rocks as it travels by. Driftwood hitches a ride to its next resting place. Maybe the only thing in life you can count on is the fact that nothing ever stays the same.

  Further down the branch I’m on, a large lesion leaks sap. Bacteria would have entered and infected the bark through the open wound. An image of Charlie up this tree plays over in my mind. Her legs dangling from the limbs, swinging backward and forward until she let go of whatever it was that was pissing her off.

  I shimmy along the limb and let my legs straddle either side of the branch. I think I’ll have to live up here for a year to let go of all the bits that I’m holding onto. I’m like the Kenyan dung beetle, piling up bits of crap into a tight ball and burying it deep so no one else can get at it. I inhale a huge breath of salty ocean air. I’m not sure if it’s being up a tree or the air that clears my head.

  I know Koro was right when he said that we forgive so we can move on, but I’m not sure how I forgive a dead person for leaving me behind.

  From my perch, I see Hautai’s car wheezing its way back up the hill. I’m standing out on the porch to greet them by the time they make it to the top.

  ‘Looks like you might be held prisoner here another night, Libby,’ Hautai says, as she pulls herself from the car. ‘But no broken bones, and just a few butterfly stitches.’

  A smile spreads across my face, but disappears the moment I remember Mum. I search her face to see how she’s coping.

  ‘Hoty kindly said we can stay here the night. I’ll drive us back first thing in the morning,’ Mum says.

  ‘It’s Hautai,’ I whisper in her ear. ‘As in, Father Christmas, “ho ho ho”, and “tie” like Dad wears.’ I was glad Charlie wasn’t around: she would have said ‘ho’ as in ‘skanky ho’.

  Hautai didn’t seem to mind that Mum got her name wrong. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re sure about who you are. It doesn’t really matter what people call you.

  ‘Libby, you can help me cha
nge the sheets on the boys’ beds, and you two can stay in there.’

  ‘What about the boys?’

  ‘They can go down the hill and bunk at Aunt Amelia’s. They’ll love it. Their bums won’t move from the couch ’cause she’s got Sky TV, and she’ll feed them until they’re about to pop.’

  *

  Mum physically jumps when the kids pile in the door after school. In among school bags being thrown on hooks and homework being thrown on the table, Hautai introduces Mum.

  ‘Was there blood, Libby?’ Tainui asks.

  ‘Tainui, don’t be a dork,’ Rukawai says.

  I think Mum might have an aneurism when Charlie bounds up to her like a Great Dane.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Morgan,’ Charlie says, as her smile spreads from her lips to her eyes.

  Other than the fact that Charlie is wearing cut-off jeans and a tee shirt that says Get your own life, I could swear that the Charlie that pours Mum cups of tea and charms her all night is an imposter. She doesn’t swear once. I can only imagine that she has some inner radar that senses how much Mum can cope with.

  I wonder if Charlie might have slipped a few leaves of something in Mum’s tea as I catch her slouched back in the armchair. On Mum’s list of things not to do, slouching would rank in the top ten.

  I have my fingers and legs crossed all night that Mum won’t say something racist, but she actually seems to enjoy the company. Kawharu takes some photos off the wall and introduces her to his dead relatives, and she even laughs when Tainui shows her his Michael Jackson moon dance. If I hadn’t been the person that caused the accident, I’d say that the knock on the head did her good.

  When it’s time to go to bed, I feel like I’ve been up for three days.

  The boys’ room is painted a wasabi green. The dark mahogany headboards are plastered with stickers, mostly advertising Bonita bananas and Yummy gala apples. The brown sheets that we throw on the beds are near threadbare, but smell like sweet lemons.

  We both lie under the covers, even though the air is humid. My thoughts whizz around in my head, and I’m sure that some of them escape and are whirring in the quiet air above me. A night light plugged into a corner socket gives off a soft glow. I try falling asleep, but it’s not happening. I push myself half up and lean on my elbow. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I made us crash.’