Part 24 (2/2)

'I still think those two girls are incredibly boring.' I knew I was needling, but I couldn't help it. 'Those skinny ones, Taylah and . . .'

'Teresa.'

'That's the ones. I really don't know what you see in them.'

'Better boring than narrow-minded and judgemental.' Sacha was picking up every packet in the pantry, looking at the labels.

'Don't be cheeky. What are you after? Dustpan and brush, I hope. Noodles all over the floor.'

She found a bag of mini chocolate bars and unwrapped one, jamming it into her mouth. 'Anita's not responding to radiotherapy,' she mumbled. 'I don't think she's going to make it. D'you think she's going to make it? The dad's in denial. Can you believe that?'

'Yes, I can. Are you-'

'He won't let anyone say the word cancer, wants to pretend it isn't happening.' Sacha poured boiling water over her noodles, talking loudly. 'I think narrow-minded people are the real villains, trying to repress free speech and free thinkers . . . I mean, why should we live by the rules of people who know and understand nothing about us? It's my age group who understand the technology, your generation haven't a clue, can't keep up with all the changes. You're just totally out of date. You're-'

'I am not out of date.'

'-dinosaurs, and you know what happened to them? We actually rule the world because we have the knowledge. Knowledge is power!'

'You're spouting rubbish. Go and have a shower and get changed.'

She looked sidelong at me. It was quite sinister. 'Why?'

'And bring down your was.h.i.+ng. There are piles of it in your room.'

'How do you know what's in my room? Christ, will you back off? I'm not a frigging two-year-old!'

'Well, you're behaving like one!' I sounded like one of the hens. No, it was worse than that: both in words and tone, I was my own mother. I'd never thought that day would come.

'You can't handle it, can you?' snarled Sacha. 'Everyone has to be totally reliant on you, or you fall apart. You've got to be everyone's little saviour.'

'Look-'

Her anger filled the room. 'You're pretty pleased with yourself. You think you're a legend as a human being. You always have to be the life and soul of the party. It was my birthday but you had to be the centre of attention, dancing on the verandah. I could hear your fake laugh from the smoko hut.' She tossed her head, imitating bra.s.sy, pretentious laughter. 'Other women fancy your husband-that's a real plus for you! You've got something they want.'

'Why d'you have to get all hormonal and h.e.l.lish now, Sacha? You used to be a dream teen.'

She lifted the corner of her lip. 'Trophy husband, complete with s.e.xy Irish accent. What a devilish charmer! n.o.body would believe Kit had a little problem, would they?'

'He hasn't. Not any more.'

'Well, he was a honey pot last night. You'd better watch out, Mum. Mind you, perhaps you've got your own distractions. I saw you rus.h.i.+ng across the paddock to meet Tama Pardoe.'

'Don't you dare!'

Behind me, the door to the hall creaked. The boys tiptoed in. 'What's the matter?' Charlie almost mouthed the words. 'Why are people shouting?'

To my amazement, Sacha threw herself to the floor and pulled her brothers onto her lap. Gone like a puff of smoke was the horrible hormone monster.

'I love you guys,' she whispered, and held them to her chest.

Then she went to bed and slept and slept, like a princess in a tower.

Twenty-four.

I'm woken by a door shutting. Kura Pohatu is back, and there's a new purpose in her gait. It's as though she's rolled up her sleeves.

Day and night have merged; sleep and waking, nightmare and reality are one and the same. I am in a strange room, with a television and a pile of magazines. I struggle to remember how I got here.

Kura folds herself into the same chair as before. 'Sorry,' she says. 'One of the paediatricians wanted a word with me.'

'That's all right.' I try to shake the fog from my head. 'I think I should be getting back to Finn now, though.'

She watches me shrewdly for a final moment. She's taking aim. Then she fires. 'Has Finn ever broken a bone?'

'Um . . . yes. A toe.'

'Nothing more than a toe?'

'No. Why?'

'The team took another look at his X-rays this morning.'

'What for?'

'Until now they've been working to save his life. They concentrated on vital organs. Now he's stabilised they've been able to look for signs of . . . Well, Martha, what if I just tell you that Finn has a fracture to his right wrist.'

'I know he has. We all know that. He's got a b.l.o.o.d.y great plaster cast on it.'

She shakes her head impatiently. 'I haven't made myself clear. This break is older, though close to the site of the new injury. The orthopaedic surgeon thinks it was a greenstick fracture and estimates it occurred several months ago, maybe six months or more.'

'That's impossible.'

'There is calcification where it's healed, but we have no record of Finn's being presented to a doctor or emergency department. Why is that?'

I struggle to understand. Perhaps I'm still dreaming. 'Six months?'

'Or possibly earlier. Certainly since you arrived in New Zealand. That was a year ago, wasn't it? All right. Well, since then.'

'No, no. Finn has never broken his arm.'

'I'm afraid he has.'

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