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  ‘You’d better bugger off, Toni. I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘I can see. Jesus, this stinks.’ She curled her nose up in the direction of the box. Rose pushed it further away with her foot.

  ‘So where did you go last night?’ Toni asked.

  Rose started to cry, and then after awhile she stopped.

  ‘Who told you?’ she asked presently.

  ‘The Wrights.’

  ‘They bought the house?’

  ‘You ought to know. It was your house they bought.’

  ‘I didn’t ask the land agent.’

  ‘You see, you don’t know what’s going on under your nose.’

  ‘I didn’t want to know.’

  ‘Never mind Kit, I do love you Rose.’

  ‘I know. Hey, I wish I’d been in films, Toni. If I couldn’t make director at least I’d like to have worked the boom. Do you think it’s too late for me?’

  Toni’s silence stilled her. ‘So what did you hear?’

  ‘They said you were walking around in their garden at midnight carrying a box in your arms. You crouched down by the beans like you were going to take a pee, then you crawled along on your hands and knees parting the dahlias and peering into them in the moonlight.’

  ‘I bought all those dahlias. They should have been lifted last season. They weren’t up to much this year.’

  ‘And then you had a wander round under the nectarine tree and shook a couple of branches, and they still weren’t sure it was you but Tassie Wright who’s actually okay stopped Dan from ringing the cops because she could see it was a woman and she had a hunch who it was and thought maybe it was best not to call them, for which Allah be praised. Then Dan had had enough and said he wasn’t going to be spooked out of his own house and put the light on.’

  ‘And I took off. Yes. I wanted to bury Roach at the old house. He never liked it much here. And I thought the kids would have wanted to put him there. Stupid really.’

  ‘Is this Roach in here?’ Toni tapped the carton. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Hold your nose.’ Rose ripped the wide band of tape holding the carton together with one sweeping motion. Toni peered in, her face registering disgust; she drew a sharp retching breath. Rose picked up a stick and lifted the body under the muzzle so that she could see it better.

  ‘Still think people like me?’

  She flung the box into the hole she had dug and the body spilled out of the box. She shovelled dirt over Roach in quick angry bursts.

  ‘So the Wrights’ve got a good story. Who else have they told it to? The whole town? Will it be in the paper tonight?’

  ‘They told me. They knew you were my friend. They were worried.’

  ‘Worry, oh shit. People love gossip. Kendall’s wife on hands and knees. All right, so that’s what I did. I’m a retard. But look, it was bad luck they got up then, they don’t usually stir at that hour of the night.’

  ‘You’ve been there before? Since you moved?’ Toni was shaking her head, trying to get rid of the image of the dog.

  ‘Yes. Now and then.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I liked that house. L-shaped beastly Beazley. Ticky tacky box. I miss it. Bloody awful colour we painted it, but the paint was on special, d’you remember us buying it and all the summer we spent weekends painting it?’ She hesitated. ‘It’s okay, I won’t go back again. I’ve finished with it. Will you tell them that? Will it shut them up?’

  ‘How long’s that dog been dead, Rose?’

  Rose considered her friend Toni Warner whom she had known, more or less, for ten years.

  She thought she knew her, but then again she was not sure.

  She knew about Toni’s periods and fluid retention and what she was taking to help the situation, like Vitamin B6 and when that didn’t work primrose oil, and how she’d given it all away and was simply practising TM because she realised it was stupid doing work on the body without doing work on the head.

  She knew, too, that Toni was sharp and clever and had a great capacity for remembering things, like quotes out of books and bits of poetry; she was very good at almost everything she undertook and careful about not going in for things she might do badly.

  She cultivated a dangerous outspokenness.

  Sometimes Rose almost wished Toni would make a mistake. Yet when it came down to it, where it mattered, there was nobody else like Toni.

  ‘Three days. And no, I haven’t told the cops because I didn’t want to talk to them any more. I needed some space to work something out.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Inside the house the phone began to ring. Rose packed the earth down flat on the ground with the back of the spade and stood up, wiping her face. To Toni, she appeared not to hear the phone. Out of habit Toni began to walk to the house, her step quickening, even though it wasn’t her phone, arriving in time to pick it up before it stopped. When nobody answered, she put it down. Behind her Rose stood in the doorway.

  ‘That is the thirty-fifth time that telephone has rung and the caller has hung up without answering in forty-eight hours,’ she said.

  ‘God. Truly?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Is this your phantom caller? You didn’t tell me that it was still happening.’

  ‘I didn’t think you believed in him.’

  Toni looked uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t realise it was so bad.’

  ‘It’s worse than that.’ She touched the side of her head, let her hand fall.

  ‘Forty-eight hours? That’s two days, what about the day before that?’

  Rose’s forehead wrinkled. ‘There were no phone calls the first day. But it goes like that, sometimes there aren’t any.’

  ‘So there must be a pattern?’

  ‘You’d think so. But I can’t see it. Anyway, seriously, why should anyone believe me? I mean, I could have invented them all, couldn’t I? Well, you can see I’m nuts, absolutely doolaley, you’ve got proof. Haven’t you?’

  ‘Look, I’ve just picked up your goddamn phone and heard them hang up.’

  ‘That could be someone who doesn’t want you to know they ring me.’

  ‘Is that what Telecom says?’

  ‘Something like that. I mean, that’s what they would say. It’s called covering every eventuality.’

  ‘Listen, didn’t you hear me? I believe you. I believe in you.’

  ‘Okay. So that’s good. Thanks.’

  ‘Has Kit got a girlfriend?’

  ‘He says not.’

  ‘Of course he’d say that. But he’s a politician.’

  ‘Do you know something I don’t?’

  Toni looked sideways at her. ‘Lots of people have girlfriends and boyfriends. Lovers, if you prefer.’

  ‘So you think this scumbag that’s driving me out of my skull is a woman that’s after Kit? That what you mean?’

  ‘It’s been known to happen.’

  ‘Original. Look, they all say that. Well not in so many words. Anyway, these aren’t toll calls. They can trace toll calls.’

  Toni nodded, agreeing. ‘Okay, and he doesn’t have a girlfriend in town. I buy that.’

  ‘I’m glad I’ve got you to keep me informed.’

  ‘Have you kept records of the calls?’

  ‘Miles of them. I’ve showed them to Telecom. Waste of time.’

  ‘Rose, can I look at them? Would you let me take them away and study them? Please.’

  Rose hesitated. ‘Yes, sure. Do what you like with them.’

  She opened her desk and pulled out a well-thumbed notebook. ‘Dates, times, the lot. They cover the last three months, that’s when I started keeping a record.’

  ‘I’ll get it back to you in a day or two.’

  ‘There’s no hurry.’

  Toni followed her quick glance to a suitcase standing by the wall.

  ‘Are you going to Wellington?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Kit’ll be pleased.’

  When
Rose didn’t answer, Toni put her arms around her. ‘I really do love you, Ro. Fuck politics.’

  In the doctor’s waiting room Sharna threw up and Basil ran around in a state of frenzied activity, throwing books and toys all over the place. When he had done that he sank into lethargy but at least he was quiet while Katrina picked everything up and put it back in its place. The receptionist just watched her and Katrina thought, Stuff it, why should I do this? but she did anyway. She couldn’t bear sitting there with the woman just looking at the mess and wondering what was going to happen next. Then Basil came to life and did exactly the same thing all over again. This time Katrina didn’t put anything away.

  She had been waiting for an hour. A well-dressed couple in their late thirties had gone in ahead of her, not looking at each other. She thought, I bet they’re having problems about screwing, I’ll bet he’s impotent, I’ll bet the doctor spends hours counselling them. Sharna began to cry and Katrina fed her surreptitiously, afraid that Basil would start performing, but he looked half asleep again. It was, in all, an hour and a half after her appointment that she actually got to see the doctor.

  She had planned it all so carefully, but instead of everything she meant to say, she came out with, ‘If you can spare me five minutes, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  He grimaced, looking her over. Katrina reckoned Mungo Lord couldn’t be more than thirty. He was new to the practice; he did paediatric work at the local hospital as well. There was no option but belief: Basil was in good hands. She thrust him in the doctor’s direction.

  After the examination, she asked, ‘Is there much wrong then?’

  ‘Nothing much. Here’s a nutrition chart, you might like to have a look through that. And be firm about his bedtime routines.’

  Katrina knew she ought to be reassured but she still felt uneasy. She thought of ringing Rose to get her opinion, but then she remembered her problem with the phone. It was kind of discouraging, and besides, phoning Rose wasn’t her regular style, even if she had made rather a habit of it lately. Perhaps she would just tell Minna. But in the end she did dial Rose’s number. There was no answer.

  She let the phone ring for a long time, willing Rose to answer, trying to let her know who it was, or at least, if she was in the house, to sense a friendly presence so that she would be encouraged to answer. It had begun to feel absolutely necessary that she talk to her sister.

  After awhile she replaced the receiver, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the bench. The house smelled of fried onions. Minna came in, as Katrina had expected she would anyway. Katrina said, more waspishly than she meant, ‘If you’re going to hang around here make yourself useful.’ She attacked the pile of dishes that had accumulated again and Minna picked up a teatowel. When they had done that chore they vacuumed and dusted together.

  Nobody could say that Basil lived in a dirty house.

  The night before, Jason and Poppy had watched Starship Intercourse and the first half of Terms of Endearment (Poppy had seen it eight times). First thing in the morning they watched Bodacious Tatas, then the second half of Terms of Endearment and finally half an hour of Neon Maniacs — 12 Good Reasons to be Afraid of the Dark, before Jason decided that it wasn’t to his taste and went off to return them all to the video shop.

  When he got back Poppy was sitting on the steps of the caravan wearing her hat. She sat up defiantly. Beside her, Larissa tried to entice her back inside but she wouldn’t budge.

  ‘What is it?’

  Larissa turned a stricken face to him.

  Inside, the place had been turned over. The diarama that had been the first thing he built in hospital, in the awful months when he was coming to grips with the fact that he would never ride the Harley Davidson again, lay on its side. He had made and painted each of the figures in the charge of the Scots Greys at Waterloo piece by painful piece. Sergeant Ewart, captured by Jason in lead and colour, seizing the colours of the 45th French Infantry, lay headless on his side. Scattered off the shelves was a whole detachment of cuirassiers and a half-finished charge of cavalry officers.

  ‘Cops. Did they take anything?’ He turned things over himself as he spoke, checking his stash. It was undisturbed.

  Larissa shook her head. ‘They were having fun.’

  ‘Why didn’t you stop them?’ he shouted at Poppy. She sat up, more rigid than before, on the step. ‘Ah, forget it. What about your place?’ he asked, turning to Larissa.

  ‘Yeah. They didn’t break anything of ours. Gary was there.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Buggered off. I might have known. D’you reckon they’re onto something?’

  ‘I dunno.’ She picked up a soldier. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘You’re weird,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand these. How you’ve got the patience.’

  ‘Anybody could make them.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I never had much patience for learning anything.’

  ‘You could of. I know you could.’ Then, because he did not want her to see how he felt about certain things, and because he had loved the soldiers too, he swept up a handful of them and deposited them in the kitchen tidy in the corner of the caravan.

  ‘You could fix those.’

  ‘Kid stuff.’ He shovelled more of them up and soon there were none left. ‘Why does your aunt hang around here?’ he asked her when he was finished.

  He asked Rose that, too, standing in the gateway while she loaded her car.

  ‘Have you been potting Larissa to the cops?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘Of whose? Oh I know, you’re at the park. Jason, isn’t it? What would I pot her about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then what are you worrying about?’

  ‘Somebody’s hassling us.’

  She straightened from filling the car boot. ‘Somebody’s hassling me too.’

  ‘You! Don’t make me laugh.’

  ‘It’s true. And I suspect everybody. So you’d better watch out.’

  He saw that she meant it. Turning to go, he said on impulse, ‘I look out for Larissa.’

  ‘You do?’ Her voice was surprised, a touch incredulous.

  ‘Somebody has to.’

  When he had gone a little way down the path she called after him quietly. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I appreciate that.’

  He turned back again; she stared after him, smiling, a little puzzled, but friendly. He wished he knew her, and thought what a shame it was that it probably wouldn’t happen.

  As she headed south, Rose drove past the church Paul attended, on the outskirts of the town. The church was situated at the edge of the reserve that sloped away to the lake. It was the only stand of native bush left in the district; the foliage formed a backdrop to the plain white squared-off building. Paul’s second wife, Joylene, was going into the church with a group of women. She was dressed in bright colours, her pelvis thrust slightly forwards as she balanced on stiletto heels. Rose had a good chance to observe the group because a traffic officer pulled her over to the side of the road. He looked embarrassed when he saw it was her.

  ‘Are you in a hurry, Mrs Kendall?’ he asked. ‘There’s a demonstration heading this way, and we’d like it to get straight through and out of town. People are in a funny frame of mind.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll wait,’ she said. It went through her head How strange, he’s apologising to me. It used to be me that stopped the traffic. Did he remember this, or had the politics escaped him?

  Watching in the rear-vision mirror, she saw a group of twenty or so people led by Wiki heading towards her. Getting out of the car, she slammed the door behind her and walked quickly away from the road, up the grassy verge towards the church, keeping her back to the marchers. A choir began to sing inside, Joylene and her friends at practice. Loving shepherd of Thy sheep/ keep Thy Lamb, in safety keep. Rose remembered watching Places in the H
eart twice over on a flight to London with Kit last year. It was about a woman somewhere in the middle of America who nobly made friends with a black man in spite of the disapproval of the local people; she bore widowhood bravely and sang in a church just like this. Only the trouble was that the actress had also played the Flying Nun what seemed like a hundred years ago, when television was still black and white and Olivia — her child, her baby — when she was not much more than a toddler, had gone to a second-storey window and stepped out of it, thinking that she too could fly, trusting the air to hold her up, believing that anyone really could do anything.

  She hadn’t been hurt but she might have been; she might have died. Rose believed that the safety net that had caught her was her own love, her own will for her daughter’s survival. But nets failed and love was unreliable; it had done nothing for Larissa, and Olivia was far away. So was Richard. To be in Weyville and love them was not enough, as Toni had hinted when she spoke of Kit. Neither belief nor idealism, neither marching nor friendship could sustain them. For here she was with her back turned on her own friends, who had taken to the roads against her, against belief, or perhaps on account of it.

  The marchers had reached the intersection. Suddenly behind her the choir emerged from the church and began singing louder, as if in supplication, surrounding her. There was nowhere to go but to become part of them. Joylene had her head bowed over her hands. Suffer not my steps to stray/ from the straight and narrow way …

  Down the road, coming towards the marchers, another group had appeared, carrying a banner emblazoned PEASANT POWER. At the front of the march a kilted bagpiper squeezed his instrument and burst into ‘Amazing Grace’. A cheer went up behind the piper. Overhead flew a top-dressing plane, trailing another banner: TOWN AND COUNTRY UNITE.

  The choir sang louder, and Joylene raised her arms above her head. ‘Praise the Lord,’ she cried. One singer could not bear it a moment longer and broke ranks, running to the edge of the road. ‘Why don’t you all get back to work?’ she shouted at the marchers, though it was difficult to tell which group she was addressing. ‘Work shirks,’ cried another, and soon they all stood shouting, except for Joylene who kept on singing. Nobody appeared to notice Rose.