Gith (9 page)

***

WE STOOD AROUND just talking, and then Gith and I
went over to the food tent and got us all a cup of tea. Ma
moaned because it wasn't hot enough and said we should have
gone back to their car where she had a thermos. Jim Parline
came back and chatted for a bit before he drifted away again.
At nine-twenty the Old Man figured it was time for the skeet
shooting.

'There'll be a queue,' he told Gith. 'We'd better move it.'

She drank the last of her tea and put the cup down on the
grass.

'Be careful,' I said.

She frowned and stepped towards me, pushed me in the
chest. Then she waved me away with the back of her hand.
It was the second time in a few days she'd made that move,
telling me to back off or go away. Just for a second it was
almost like she didn't need me any more.

'Come on,' the Old Man said.

I watched them go. It felt weird — kind of scary and
worrying. I wasn't sure why. It wasn't the guns. Or not
especially. Then I thought about it and figured this was maybe
the first time in eight years that Gith had done something
new without me being there. In fact, except for the odd times
I went to the pub or took a trip to Katawai without her, we
spent just about all our time together.

Ma was watching me. She picked my thoughts easy.

'You need to let go a bit,' she said. 'The girl needs her
freedom.'

'You think it's a good idea now then, do you? The shooting?'
It came out sharper than I intended. I sounded like the Old
Man.

'I'm not talking about clay pigeons,' she said. 'I'm talking
generally. Maybe it's not my place to say, but Anna needs a
life . . .'

'She's got a life.'

'. . . and you do too. Maybe there's a nice bloke somewhere
for her, and I'm quite sure there's somebody nice for you, if
you only care to look.'

I didn't want to hear words like that.

'You say she's independent —' Ma went on.

I stopped her. 'She is.'

'And yet you worry about her constantly.'

No I don't, I wanted to say. But she was right. And there
were reasons. There were still times when Gith got to doing
something that seemed seriously odd. Like a couple of months
ago she'd gone to make a cup of tea in the back room of the
service station and she'd finished up making seven of them,
all in a row. The only reason she had stopped at seven was that
there were no more cups.

'You really need to get over Michelle,' Ma said.

That wasn't the point, not at all. But suddenly I was trying
to dodge a whole lot of feelings that were coming at me.

'I was over her before it started,' I said. 'We were bad news
right from the beginning. Chalk and cheese. Shit and sugar.'

'That's not a very nice thing to say!'

'Don't get me wrong. I was the shit, not her.' This was
making it worse. The last place I wanted to go was my breakup
with Michelle. 'Anyway,' I said, bullocking on, trying to get
away. 'I'm not that over the hill, am I?'

'You're thirty-one. Although I sometimes think you act
like you're fifty. I'm not really sure that Te Kohuna's the best
place for you. Or for Anna.'

'Now you're trying to get rid of us.' I tried to make it into a
joke but it didn't come out that way.

'Don't talk stupid. You know what I mean. It's too small.
There's not enough people. There's not enough to get you out
and about.'

'There's the show,' I said.

'Huh?' She waved it away.

'Anyway,' I went on, 'I don't see you getting out and about
too much.'

She looked at me like that wasn't worth answering, and
then her face kind of softened. 'I've had my life,' she said, 'or
the biggest part of it. And it's been a good one. The farm. You
kids. Your Dad. I mean, he's a cantankerous old sod at times.
And he was hard on you and Bill, especially you. But he's
always been there, you know? For all of us. He's always cared.
He's always loved us.' Suddenly her mouth twisted and she
gave a big sniff and covered her eyes with her hand.

I put my arm round her and gave her a squeeze. I felt like
crying myself.

'He's not dead yet,' I said. 'And neither are you.'

She laughed, sniffed again, pulled a crumpled tissue from
the pocket of her long skirt and wiped her nose.

'He ought to retire,' I told her.

'Don't tell me. He's so stubborn. It's Bill I feel sorry for. He
could do with some more help but your Dad takes any talk of
hiring someone permanent as a personal insult. I mean, like
today. Bill won't make it here, and that's not fair.'

Maybe she was hinting that Gith and I should move back
up to the farm but that didn't seem likely, given her talk of us
getting out and about.

I looked at her. She was thinking. The jazz band started
into 'Putting on the Ritz'. From somewhere to the east there
came the whop of a shotgun. Then another. And another. Was
that Gith pulling the trigger? The thought of her suddenly
left me feeling empty. I dropped my cardboard cup on the
ground next to hers and trod on them both.

There wasn't much to say after that. Ma and I both felt
awkward and it was a relief when Oliver and Joanne turned up
with Matthew in tow, dressed in riding gear like his mother.

'Where's Dad?' Joanne asked.

'He and Anna have gone shooting,' Ma said.

'Aaaw.' Matthew pulled on Joanne's arm. 'Me, me, me.' At
eleven years old, he was the nearest thing the family had to a
spoilt brat. Like mother like son, you could say.

'No, dear, I've told you,' she said. 'You can't do everything.
You're here for the parade and the show jumping.'

'I hope you're in,' Oliver said to me.

'What — show jumping?' I knew what he meant. What
the hell else were we doing standing next to the Riley if we
weren't in the parade?

He ignored me anyway. 'Coordination,' he said. 'That's the
key.'

'Who's the marshal?' I asked.

'Brian Falks.' He turned and looked about, craning his
neck. 'Ah, there he is.'

'You'll lead off,' I said.

'I expect so.' He rubbed his hands together. Keen to go.

Joanne turned to me. 'We've been hearing about you. Or at
least your place.'

'What?'

'Oliver went to school with Kerry Ryan. We had him round
for a drink last night.'

Why didn't that surprise me? 'So you know all about it
then.'

'Oh, he was very discreet. Of course he has to be, doesn't
he?'

'He's in charge of the whole investigation,' Matthew said.

'That dead woman.'

'We don't know she's dead,' Ma said.

I remembered the lake and the feeling I'd had up there.

Should I tell Kerry Ryan about that? Bloody hell, he was best
mates with my toffee-nosed sister. I felt even less like talking
to him than I had before.

Oliver looked at his watch. 'Right, let's get ready.'

He walked away. Joanne and Matthew were left to trail
along behind. Ma and I watched as they headed off to the
beginning of the row of cars.

'He always seems as if he's looking for a regiment to order
around,' Ma said.

'So does she.'

She gave a little snort. 'You're right, there.'

Joanne and Matthew got into the Phantom, while Oliver
talked to Brian. Then Brian moved away and started to tell
the other drivers what to do, waving them out and pointing
where they should go. There was more shooting from the
skeet range. No sign of Gith and the Old Man.

'There'll be hell to pay if she misses it,' I said.

'Here they are.' Ma pointed to where they were coming
through the crowd. He was hobbling as fast as he could while
she was bouncing and skipping along, trying not to leave him
behind. As they got closer I could see that she had a big grin
on her face. He did too, soon as he spotted us. Gith raised her
arm, fist clenched, and shook it.

'You seem to have done all right,' Ma said.

'Bloody hell!' The Old Man stopped in front of us, caught
his breath. 'She's a bloody natural, an absolute bloody marvel!'
His eyes were shining. He could hardly get the words out fast
enough. 'First shot was useless, missed it by a mile, but then
I showed her how to track. And bang!' He lifted his stick
and pointed it upwards. His left hand pumped at it. 'Bang!'
Another pump. 'Bang!' Another. 'Nine in a bloody row!' He
laughed. 'Christ, you should've seen Gray Tackett's face. He
was dead set on his nephew winning it. I wish I'd had a bloody
camera! He let the last three go real quick and at different
angles but she got the lot!'

I looked at Gith. She grinned and lifted her hands like she
had a gun. 'Pag!' she shouted. 'Pag! Pag!' Then she jumped at
me, flung her arms round my neck.

'Ken, you're next.' It was Brian Falks, waving us into the
line of cars.

Gith got into the driver's seat. I asked Ma and the Old
Man if they wanted to come too.

'No,' Ma said. 'We'll see you later. I need a decent cup of
tea.'

He agreed. 'Yeah. You two go on.'

There were a couple of cars behind us. The last, a '56 Chevvy
in metallic blue with mag wheels, brought up the rear in true
Yank tank style. Joanne and co were leading off, driven by a
chauffeur all rigged out in uniform.

Gith turned the key and the engine fired smoothly. She
waited until Jim Parline had three metres or so on us and
slipped into first gear. Rolling gently forward.

The show-ring was a roped-off area in the middle of the
football pitch. Big enough for the sheep dog demo and half
a dozen fences for the pony club. We went in through a gate
between two piles of hay bales and turned to the right. The
crowd was close on that side. Gith took her hand off the
wheel and waved. A few people, mainly kids, waved back. It
felt good to be there.

'Pag,' I said.

She laughed.

'Every day something new with you,' I said.

'Tho?'

'Are you happy?'

She looked at me. She was happy.

'I'm happy,' I told her.

'Pag,' she said.

***

AFTER THE PARADE we went to the Rural Women's tent,
where they gave Gith a plastic bucket with a slot cut in the lid
and a bag of blue and white ribbons for people to pin on to
show they'd made a donation. The collection was for research
into leptospirosis, the Rural Women's latest charity. Gith and
I walked slowly through the crowd. She managed a steady
stream of donations just waving her bucket at everyone who
caught her eye and giving them a big smile.

It was eleven o'clock and the day was growing warm. We
walked up past a row of stalls. There was somebody with
a bunch of quilts and another selling hand-knitted baby
clothes. The bloke who kept bees down Basingstoke Road
had jars of honey lined up in rows on a long trestle table.
There were a fair few people about now; all ages, from the
retired folk moving slowly along, down to the wild kids
chasing each other, kids who often hung round the shops
in the main drag. There were a lot of faces I didn't know —
people from Katawai and Tapanahu, I guessed, and maybe
even from Basingstoke.

Suddenly, in front of us, was Tommy Loumis with a big
pink teddy bear wearing a tartan waistcoat.

'Here you go,' he said, holding it out to Gith.

We stared at him.

He laughed. 'First prize in the beginners' skeet,' he said.

Gith had her bucket in one hand and the bag of ribbons in
the other but she held out her arms and wrapped them round
the bear.

'Fantastic,' I said.

'A worthy winner,' Tommy said. 'Nine out of ten. The next
best was seven. There was a protest but I overruled it.'

'Protest? Why?'

'Ah, it was nothing. Some people are never happy.' He
turned to Gith. 'Congratulations.' He gave her a little bow.

'Thankth,' she said.

'We'd better put that in the car,' I told her.

She squeezed the bear harder to show she didn't want to.
It was more than half a metre high and there was no way she
could carry it if she was going to go on collecting.

'Let me have it then.'

She squeezed the bear again but then she handed it over.
She gave Tommy a grin and shook her bucket at him.

'Okay,' he said, laughing. He fished in his pocket and
dropped a coin through the slot, picked a ribbon out of the
bag and pinned it on his shirt.

We walked on.

At the end of the row was a bigger tent — the bar. The
sight of it made me thirsty. I looked at Gith. I figured she
would be suffering too, in all that Victorian gear.

'Do you want something to drink?' I asked. 'Juice?'

She shook her head.

'Go,' she said, meaning I should get myself something if I
wanted to.

I couldn't make up my mind but then remembered Ma
talking about giving her more freedom.

'You're sure you'll be okay?'

She screwed up her eyes to show how dumb I was. She'd
be okay.

'I'll look after the prize,' I said. 'Promise.'

I watched her walk away. She stopped in front of a bloke
I didn't know and showed him the bucket. His hand went to
his pocket.

There was a bunch of people inside the tent, standing round
the end of a long trestle table with glasses in their hands.
One of them was Hemi Williams, out of uniform this time. I
bought a beer and joined him.

'How are the boys in blue getting on?' I asked.

He looked over his shoulder and then waved me away
from the group and over towards the open side of the tent.
We stood together watching the sunlit crowd.

'They've got prints and DNA from Austria,' he said.
'Things'll move now.'

'They're going to make an arrest?'

He shook his head. 'Couldn't say. They don't tell me that
kind of stuff. I'm just the local fella.'

I wanted to ask him how they could make an arrest when
they were looking for the wrong kind of vehicle. Then a few
metres away I saw somebody walking past. Right on cue, I
thought.