Page 13 of Bay of Plenty

We were still comforting her when Bevan clomped in on her beloved clogs, these a sunny yellow, and hugged Mum too.

Mum waved us away and got to her feet.

“Bloody hell, wahine.” Bevan offered me her charcuterie plate. She’d been my best friend at high school after Janey disappeared. “Saw photos of you with the straight black hairdo. Flash as.” Her smile created deep dimples in her skin, like her dad’s. “Smell you, Princess Grace.” One of our silly sayings. We lapsed into cackling like teenagers. The laughter bounced her curls and the cherubic face that had inspired her parents to name her Anahera—angel. A headstrong toddler, she’d renamed herself Bevan.

“Ilikedyour huge red hair,” Kui said, slicing some goat cheese onto a cracker and drizzling it with Bevan’s honey. “You were a character, all right.”

Grimacing, I said, “Yeah, like a frizzed-out clown character.”

“Nota clown,” Kui insisted. “But definitely, everyone could see you coming.” When Kingi, Janey, and I hid in a corner of the library, “wagging” math, she’d always spot my bright orange mop. It had given me away when I hid from my bullies too.

“I’d love to see Kingi,” I said, changing the subject. “How is he?”

Kui tried to pull her hair forward, even though she’d tied it back in braids. I remembered that gesture from when her husband left her with bruises. The memory pinched inside me. “A knock on the old noggin from windsurfing,” she’d say, though I never saw her out on the water.

“Kingi’s not—” She bit her bottom lip. “He’s not living here.”

I started to ask for details, but Mum slipped her hand into Kui’s and squeezed it.

Kui’s unconscious tic could mean Kingi was back in prison. The times when I’d asked what he was up to, Mum was never sure. My scalp prickled with guilt. I hadn’t bothered to follow it up.

“I miss Kingi so much that sometimes my whole body aches,” Kui said. “But we can’t meet, maybe ever.” She shook her head sadly.

Rosemary broke the melancholy silence. “Anyone for Kui’s drunken mussels?” A chorus of “sweet as” rang out as she handed around the platter.

*

When the conversation returned to nearly normal, I took Bevan aside.

“I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.” I grimaced. “I’ve been an absolutely shite friend. Loved the photo you sent of you and Rina.”

“Ka pai.” She waved her hand. “No worries, mate, you were busy.” But she cupped her chin like she used to when she was hurt.

No wonder. In high school, we’d spent countless hours plotting our lives as ass-kicking journalists in London. After Janey disappeared without a trace and Kingi had his own stuff going on, Bevan and I found each other in the library and became best friends. At eighteen, we left for the one-year course in journalism at the polytechnic, after which we’d planned to fly to London. I was blindsided when she decided to return home and take a job with the local paper. I thought she’d lost her ambition.

Now, she was the editor of that same newspaper. Inphotos of her online, the office wall behind her was filled with prestigious national and international awards. And I was unemployed.

“I have some more news,” she announced as we joined the others. She clicked her clogs together, and the others grinned as if they knew already. “Rina’s pregnant. We’re going to be mums.”

I squealed with joy and hugged her.

A knot twisted in my chest. I’d had the same conversation with Shay only this afternoon. Was there still a place for me in her life? I’d neglected this old best friend. Was I about to lose Shay too?

I disappeared into the kitchen, diving into the fridge for some bubbly to toast Bevan while Mum stacked champagne flutes on a tray.

“Look. Lucky last,” Mum said, tray in hand. “CeeCee’s arrived.”

The woman appeared about the same age as me, and she looked fabulous in a tie-dyed romper, her deep tan glistening, and her crimped blonde hair floating in the sea breeze.

“Who’s CeeCee?” I murmured to Mum.

“You know,” Mum said. “Snow’s girlfriend.”

Snow’s girlfriend?Not good. Now I couldn’t ask Bevan and Kui about the winery. But maybe with some subtle prompting, this woman might let a few details slip. Centering myself with a deep breath, I reminded myself to keep my emotions in check. I couldn’t show my hostility toward Snow and put her off.

Now she was closer. Gliding over the threshold, she reminded me of a girl at high school called Teeny. Had she changed her name? A memory flashed of Teeny’s first year of high school. She’d been tucked under Janey’s arm, gazingadoringly at her. After Janey died, she hung around with those two girls who’d bullied me senseless.

“Teeny”—I pushed the head of my fear and anger underwater—“is that you?”

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