Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Milford Sound
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Te Anau
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rebecca’s Journal–1996
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Havenswalk
Chapter Forty
Queenstown
Chapter Forty-One
Cardrona Valley
Chapter Forty-Two
Wanaka
Chapter Forty-Three
Haast
Chapter Forty-Four
Jackson Bay
Chapter Forty-Five
Rebecca’s Journal–1998
Chapter Forty-Six
Fox Glacier Village
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Rebecca’s Journal–2002
Chapter Forty-Nine
Havenswalk
Chapter Fifty
Akona’s Place
Chapter Fifty-One
Kaikoura
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Rebecca’s Journal–2003
Chapter Fifty-Four
Nelson
Chapter Fifty-Five
Havenswalk, Day One
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Day Two
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Day Three
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Day Four
Chapter Sixty
Day Five
Chapter Sixty-One
Day Six
Chapter Sixty-Two
Day Seven
Chapter Sixty-Three
Day Eight
Chapter Sixty-Four
Day Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
21 Heron Cove
Broadmeadow Dublin Ireland Urope The World 15 April 1985
Dear Mammy,
This is Cathy. Mrs Mulvaney said to rite you a letter. Is it stupit to rite to dead people? Mrs Mulvaney said it will stop me being sad. When I sleep anjels will come and read my letter. Is that true? Are you a anjel with wings? Is Daddy a anjel to? I hope you are in heven not hell. I saw a picture of hell. It is worse than a vulkayno. Is heven far away? Mrs Mulvaney said it is not. Mr Mulvaney flys in the window at night to see her when she is in bed. I dont know what to rite. She said rite the cat sat on the mat the cat sat on the mat and the words will come good. Nero dose not chase cats now. He is fat and old and sleeps with Becks and puts hairs all over the dubay. It is 3 months since you and Daddy are dead. Our house is sad like rain that wont go away. I like Kevins house best. We play Chuki Egg on his XZ Spectum and Mrs Mulvaney make us fish fingers and chips. Lauren is home from hospotal. The doctor cut the plaster off her legs. All her brooses are gone. She looks nice again. She dont talk to me or Becks or Julie She only talks when shes sleeping and wakes me up. The doctor gave her pills to make her smile but she just stare stare stare at the wall and dont make a face even when Becks komes the notts in her hair. Gramps says Becks is our Mummy and Daddy now. If we are bold the woman with the blak case will take us away. She come lots to our house and rites things down. 2 can play that game Becks said and she has a black book now. She rites when the woman rites and they stare stare stare at each other but not like Lauren. Lauren is just the same as a zombi in a film.
We went to the grave today. Becks gave us seeds to plant. She said stop crying stop crying you are doing my head in. I see you and Daddy all the time. Then I look again and I see red dots that’s all.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX to you and Daddy
Cathy
Chapter One
Havenswalk, New Zealand–October 2008
She will ring her sisters this morning. Now, right now, while the day is still under her control. Right now, Cathy repeats to herself, before Hannah arrives for work. Right now before her son starts demanding, ‘Have you done it yet…why not…why not?’
Once yesterday, and twice the day before, she tried to ring but lost her nerve, hung up before the line connected. Today she will tap out the digits, the correct prefix, wait for the ringtone. But what then? Should she make small talk, apologise, accuse, beg, rant or sob? Should she opt for nonchalance? Whoa there, Rebecca. How’s it going, Julie? How do you do, Lauren? Remember me? It’s Cathy, your long-lost sister calling from New Zealand…yes…I know it’s over fifteen years since we spoke but time passes…and you know how it is…what can I say…?
Half-formed sentences and muddled apologies run through her mind as she walks across the lawn towards the grapefruit trees. The grapefruit is ripe and falls easily into her hands. When the basket is full, she lingers for a moment by the shore. She loves this time of morning. The pause between stillness and motion. The mist has cleared and the rising sun is pinned bright as a brooch against the throat of the mountain.
In Ireland, the dark evenings have settled. Leaves are bronze and falling. Children in masks are knocking on doors and dogs are howling.
She remembers the dog,
