Page 15 of Kiwi Sin
“What?” I asked. “He’s my … I live with him.”
Afoa stared even harder. “He’s married, though.”
“I know he’s married,” I said.
Some more staring. “Maaate. You don’t mean …”
“What?” I asked. Why was this odd? “It’s OK. I don’t interfere with his wife.” Wait. That sounded bad. “I mean,” I hurried on, “I don’t interfere in his life with his wife.”
Yet more staring. I said, “I live in their granny flat. For now.”
“Oh.” His face changed, and laughed hugely, slapped me on the back with a force that threatened to buckle my knees, and said, “I try to be an open-minded fella, but Drew Callahan? Pardon, Sir Andrew? I was thinking, ‘Nah, can’t be,’ and then thinking, ‘Love is love, I guess,’ and all that. And, I mean, Luke Armstrong. There’s a surprise, if you like. But …”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Which wasn’t exactly a first in my life. I said, “They’ve both been very kind. Their kids as well,” which was all I could think of.
“What’s going on?” That was another bloke, whose name was Ollie.
Afoa said, “Got a dark horse here. Know whose granny flat he’s living in? Sir Andrew bloody Callahan’s, that’s who. Who’d have thought it? What are you doing slumming around the place with us, mate?” he asked me.
“Uh …” I said. “Because I know building, and Gray gave me a job. You know why. D’you know Drew, then?” My dad, my brother, and I were all working on this job, and unfortunately, every man here knew why. We hadn’t said anything about Mount Zion, but the events of that morning had been shown on TV, and they’d caused a splash, apparently. Sometimes, it seemed like people Outside knew as much about each other as people at Mount Zion, at least if those people had been on TV.
“Mate,” Ollie said, “you don’t know?”
Twomoreblokes turned up now, and everybody was talking at once, until eventually, I got it. Drew was Sir Andrew Callahan, legendary former captain of the All Blacks, two-time Rugby World Cup winner, current coach of the Highlanders, and national hero. I knew nothing about any of those things, or about rugby, either, how it was played or who did it. It was a game, that was all I knew, it was on television, and the blokes on the job tended to chat about it during morning smoko, especially about the Highlanders’ chances in the upcoming season, which they disagreed about at a passionate level. From the way they were talking now, rugby was something very much akin to religion, blasphemous as that was, and so was Drew. Pardon, Sir Andrew.
I also learnt that Gray, my new boss, had been an All Black as well, and that it mattered.
“I didn’t know all that,” I said, wishing once again that I could hide the extent of my ignorance for a while, until I’d observed enough that I wouldn’t constantly be showing it. “Drew offered me a place to stay until I find my feet, that’s all. A granny flat that he and his wife weren’t using. Kind of them.”
“Wish somebody’d offer me a free granny flat in their posh house,” Afoa said. “And a rugby contract while he was at it, eh.”
“Maybe that’s why he offered it,” I said. “Because he knew I wouldn’t know how to play rugby, or ask anything about it, either. It’s all news to me.”
The foreman appeared, then, and said, “Were you lot planning to join us in the safety meeting this morning, or is it too much trouble to interrupt your gossip session?” and put a welcome end to the chat.
When Drew came to collect me that evening, though, I said, climbing into the Mercedes once again, “I’m sorry that I didn’t know your name. You could’ve told me. I know I’ve got heaps to learn.” Trying not to be self-conscious about it, and failing. He and Hannah—LadyCallahan—had been that kind, and I’d been so impossibly rude.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“The title. Sir Andrew. And your wife’s a Lady. I’ve been calling you the wrong things.”
He laughed. “Nah, mate. Drew’s OK.” And never mentioned it again.
Also, the lamb chops were excellent. Drew and Hannah told me how to cook them, but unfortunately, they turned out to be much too dear for my budget, because I was saving every penny I could. Back to the sausages, then.
Goals, though. I’d learnt about goals, and I liked the idea.
Buying rack of lamb, and cooking it. Not feeling like an alien. And more independence. Another new concept, but Drew and Hannah and their kids weren’t my family, and this was a temporary kindness, that was all.
Goals.
7
GUTS
Oriana
Things didn’t get much better at school over the next month. I still ate lunch with Frankie, but now, Frankie had friends. Three of them, in fact. I suspected they were the cleverest girls in Year 12, because they talked endlessly about the world and its problems, and they seemed to know so much about all of it. At the moment, I was eating my sandwich, keeping my head down and listening, as usual, as a girl named Ivy said, “Because capitalism is a fatally flawed system of social organization, that’s why, trying to sort us all into our slots as obedient little widgets for the Man. People are more complex than that, though, and their needs and contributions aren’t just economic.That’sthe fatal flaw.”
