One Winter Morning Read online

  Pausing a moment longer to gather her thoughts, Bonnie listened to the sound of the rain, and searched inside herself for a beginning. As the sky outside the house began to darken and the moon glowed bright among the stars, Bonnie picked up her pen and began to write.

  I arrived in London for the first time on 5 October 1991. It was a Saturday, and the station concourse at Paddington was crowded with people rushing this way and that. I remember that I glanced instinctively up towards the vast glass ceiling as soon as I stepped off the train, searching for any remaining signs of the IRA bomb that had gone off in there a little under eight months previously. There were none – everything had been patched up – and I made a mental note to let my folks know when I next called them.

  All I had heard for the past few months, you see, was scaremongering about how dangerous London was, and how terrorists were intent on blowing up the entire city and everyone in it. I wanted to reassure them that I was safe, but underneath that was a need to prove them wrong, too. I had insisted on taking this trip – no, strike that – I had pleaded and begged that they let me go. No way was I going to end up running home to New Zealand like they – and every other blighter – assumed I would.

  There is something you should know about the eighteen-year-old me before we go any further with this story. That girl was impulsive. Now, you may think that’s a good trait, but when you couple it with naivety, which I also had by the bloody shovel-load, then it becomes slightly more problematic. My folks knew this, of course – they suspected that my desire to go on a big adventure would only get me so far, before my lack of experience caused me to screw up in some monumental way. Either that, or homesickness would get the better of me.

  In the end, of course, it was a combination of both those things – but I have never regretted a minute of it. I wanted to make that clear from the outset, before I tell you the story of what happened, because I know what you must think of me. Hell, I bet it’s nothing I haven’t thought about myself over the years. But the truth is, even after everything that went on, and all that I have gone through since, I would not change a single moment of it.

  And that’s because of you.

  Bonnie paused, her pen hovering above the page as she read back over the words she had just written. Was she coming across as too flippant? Should she take out the word ‘bloody’ and replace it with something less crass? Then again, she mused, wasn’t the whole point of this exercise to show her daughter who she really was – and didn’t she use swear words on a daily basis, some far worse than the innocuous ‘bloody’?

  With a sigh, Bonnie sat up, dropping the pen on to the tabletop and stretching out her legs. She had barely slept on the multiple flights, too strung up by nerves to concentrate on any of the films or TV shows on offer. Eventually, she had found a playlist in the entertainment bundle entitled ‘chill time’, only to find that not even panpipes and gentle chanting could soothe her jittery heart.

  She should sleep on it, that’s what she should do.

  There was a crash from one of the downstairs rooms, and Bonnie guessed that her host was starting to prepare supper for the two of them. Again, she marvelled at how accommodating her old friend was being. After all, it wasn’t every day that a person you hadn’t seen for over twenty-five years turned up on your doorstep without warning, then proceeded to bawl like an agitated baboon.

  ‘Bon, love?’

  She was calling up the stairs now. Bonnie got to her feet and trudged in her socks over to the bedroom door. The landing was painted purple and smelled faintly of lavender – probably thanks to the bowl of potpourri on the windowsill. The sight of such a chintzy and dated item brought tears back to Bonnie’s eyes, and she blinked them away with a smile.

  ‘Yeah?’ she replied.

  ‘Dinner in half an hour – and I’ve opened a bottle of red.’

  Bonnie thought of her page of scribbled words, of how much more of the story she had yet to tell, and how much tougher it was going to get before she reached the end. She was glad that she was not alone, but then, she thought, as she switched off the bedroom light and made her way towards the inviting warmth of her old friend’s kitchen, perhaps she never really had been.

  9

  It takes me a full minute to process what Kit has said. A whole sixty seconds where I simply stand, my mouth ajar, gazing at him in disbelief.

  ‘Bonnie’s gone to England?’

  Kit makes a show of checking his watch.

  ‘Should be there by now, I reckon,’ he says. ‘At least, I hope she is, otherwise it means the poor old coot got lost somewhere en route.’

  He is clearly amused. I am anything but.

  ‘Did she say why?’ I ask, clutched with a sudden fear that the reason might be me. Could my biological mother be trying to find me at the exact same time that I am trying to find her? No, why on earth should she? But then why is she there? Why now, on this week of all weeks?

  Kit puts his head on one side. He appears to be sizing me up, deciding whether or not I can be trusted with an answer. I feel too scrutinised to meet his gaze, so I stare instead at the lettering on his shirt. I hadn’t noticed before that the ‘O’ of ‘Koru’ is a spiral shape, while the ‘K’ has been shaped to look like a horse rearing up on its hind legs.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ Kit continues, ‘Bon didn’t actually give me a reason as such – just told me she had something important to do and asked me to keep an eye on Tui.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, distracted. Kit shifts his boots through the dirt.

  ‘Are you feeling all right there?’ he asks as I sway to the right. ‘Come on, let’s get out of this heat, yeah?’

  I follow him over to the shed-cum-office, keeping my eyes on his back rather than the nearby horses.

  ‘Here.’ Kit takes a can of Coke out of a small glass-fronted fridge and passes it to me.

  ‘Sit if you like,’ he adds, gesturing to a battered yellow sofa that has been pushed up against the wall.

  I do as he says and sit down, while Kit perches on the edge of a wide wooden desk, folding his arms across his chest once again and looking at me in the same way Anna used to look at the cryptic crossword in the Sunday paper.

  ‘Thanks,’ I murmur after a moment, cracking open my drink and taking one sip, then another. I find that I’m very thirsty, and the sweetness of the cola brings me back to myself a bit.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I’m not usually like this. You must think that I’m a right weirdo.’

  I try a smile, and he follows suit, unfolding his tattooed arms and sticking his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts.

  ‘Bonnie knew me a long time ago, when I was a child,’ I blunder on, wondering as I say it why I feel the need to explain myself to this man – this total stranger. Perhaps it’s because there is an aura of kindness surrounding Kit, and for reasons I don’t completely understand, I feel as if I can trust him. Just not enough to tell him the whole truth, of course.

  ‘She knew my parents,’ I tell him, the need to embellish my story fuelled by his silence. ‘That’s how I got this address, and I just, you know, thought it might be nice to surprise her with a visit.’

  Kit takes this in, a slight frown casting lines across his forehead, and I wonder how much he knows. Is Bonnie the sort of woman who would be open about her past? Would she confess to giving up her own child?

  ‘How long are you planning on sticking around?’ Kit asks, only for the phone on the desk to ring. I wait while he answers, listening in silence as he jokingly chastises the caller about a late delivery of sugar beet.

  ‘Where were we?’ he prompts, replacing the receiver in its cradle and rooting through the mess of papers on the desk until he locates a pen, which he uses to write something on the back of his hand.

  ‘You were asking me how long I was in New Zealand for,’ I remind him, and he nods, giving me his full attention once again. Kit looks quite unlike any man I have ever seen before, and the more I take in his broad shoulde
rs, pale green eyes and easy, relaxed manner, the more I warm to him.

  ‘And?’ he presses.

  I lift my shoulders in a half-shrug. ‘I was planning to stay for two weeks or so, but—’

  Kit interrupts me with a laugh.

  ‘Two weeks?’ he exclaims. ‘Strewth! You’ve flown all the way here from England and you’re only staying for a fortnight? You can barely tickle the udders of this place in that time.’

  I finish my Coke and start looking around the office in search of a bin.

  ‘Well, I’m not really here to sightsee,’ I counter. ‘I came to see Bonnie.’

  ‘Hell of a long way to come and a heap of money down the gurgler just for a visit,’ he says, not unkindly. ‘I’m guessing she must be pretty damn important to you.’

  I emit a small, non-committal ‘Mmm’, and Kit leans across and plucks the empty can from my hands, crunching it effortlessly between his own.

  ‘Well, if it’s Bon you came for, I’d suggest you change your return flight,’ he says. ‘She told me she’d be away on her big OE for at least three weeks, if not longer.’

  It feels as if he’s just slammed a door shut in my face.

  ‘OE?’

  ‘Overseas experience,’ he explains. ‘Sorry, Kiwi lingo.’

  ‘Right.’

  I can’t even muster up enough energy to feel despondent. I feel as if I could lay down my head on this tatty old sofa and sleep until Bonnie returns from England – perhaps forever. Giving in to weariness, I slump back against the cushions, shutting out the sight of Kit, of his consideration and decency. I wanted this to be simple; I wanted to get in, meet Bonnie, get some answers, and get out.

  I feel the sofa shift and open my eyes to find that Kit has sat down beside me. He’s far enough away that our legs aren’t touching, but I can still sense the heat of him.

  ‘Are you staying somewhere around here?’ he asks, and I respond with a limp smile.

  ‘In Queenstown,’ I say. ‘I got a taxi out here, but now I’m not sure what …’

  I trail off yet again, and Kit’s expression softens.

  ‘Don’t worry – I have to drive this latest group back into town in an hour or two, so you’re welcome to hop in the gas guzzler at the same time, if you like?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I rush out, relief at his offer colliding with humiliation that I should have done something so dumb. ‘That would be really helpful – if you’re sure it’s not a problem?’

  As much as I want to get away from this discombobulating place and back to the relative safety of my little apartment, where I can lock the door behind me and pretend that this afternoon never happened, I’m surprised to find that I also feel forlorn at the idea of leaving. I really must be cracking up.

  ‘No worries,’ Kit replies cheerfully, standing up again before I get the chance to say anything else. ‘I just need to head out into the yard and get a bit of graft done – you happy to hang out in here for a bit? Or,’ he adds with a wry grin, ‘you could always shovel some dung?’

  I’m just about to reply when sounds of a kerfuffle filter in from outside, followed by high-pitched giggling, and the next second the teenage girl from the minibus erupts noisily into the room, the little caramel-coloured dog following closely at her heels.

  ‘He’s after me! He’s after me!’ she yelps, darting behind Kit and collapsing into peals of deep, throaty laughter. The little dog sits back on its haunches then springs forward straight through Kit’s legs, and starts attacking the girl’s shoelaces.

  ‘B-B-Beeeea!’ she cries, swatting half-heartedly at the puppy between bouts of mirth and loud hiccups. ‘Don’t bite me, Bea. Don’t you do that. Naughty boy.’

  Kit is evidently very amused, and I remain mute on the sofa as he bends over and scoops the offending mutt up from behind his ankles.

  ‘Are you chewing Tui’s shoes again, little mister?’ he says in a mock-stern voice, waggling an authoritative finger as he lifts the dog up to his face. ‘Now, what have we talked about?’

  The girl stops laughing and gazes up at the puppy, her attention fully focused and her feet shuffling from side to side on the dusty floor. I had guessed her to be in her mid-teens when I saw her earlier, but her childlike behaviour suggests she is far younger. She hasn’t looked at me once since bursting into the office.

  ‘Oh, B-B-B Beeea,’ she croons, holding out her hands for the puppy and then beaming when Kit lowers him gently into them. The dog looks up at his mistress and wags his stubby tail, licking her on the tip of her nose until she starts giggling all over again.

  ‘Off you go, you pair of bitsers,’ Kit jokes, pointing towards the open doorway and grinning broadly as Tui gallops back through it. ‘And don’t get into any trouble!’ he calls after them, before turning back to face me. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says, fists on hips. ‘Tui can be a handful, but she’s a corker.’

  ‘She seems it,’ I say, standing up from the sofa. ‘A corker, I mean.’

  I’m smiling genuinely as I say it, but Kit looks thoughtful.

  ‘I know Bonnie’s struggled with her at times over the years,’ he replies, his pale eyes narrowing. ‘But she loves her so much, you know? The two of them make a great team.’

  As the meaning of his words begins to penetrate, it feels as if all the warmth is being drained from the room.

  ‘A good team?’ I repeat nervously.

  Someone shouts something in the yard, and Kit glances over my shoulder, giving me a precious few seconds to steel myself for what I know he will say next.

  ‘That’s right,’ he confirms, giving me a look laced with even more curiosity than before. ‘I guess you didn’t know? Tui is Bonnie’s daughter.’

  10

  I put the call through to David as soon as I shut the apartment door behind me, not checking or caring what time it is back in the UK. It takes him an age to answer, and he sounds half asleep when he does.

  ‘Genie?’

  ‘She’s in England,’ I say, my voice high and shrill. ‘Bonnie is in England. She left New Zealand two days ago and now she’s where I was and I’m here, on the opposite side of the goddamn world to her!’

  There’s a grumble of sorts from the other end of the line.

  ‘It’s five in the morning, Genie – hang on a minute.’

  David dares to yawn.

  I am powerless to stop the red mist from descending, and I begin to pace furiously around the apartment as I wait for him to come to his senses.

  ‘I don’t care what time it is!’ I rant. ‘For God’s sake, Dad.’

  I haven’t called David ‘Dad’ since I was about nine years old, and the word causes us both to fall silent for a moment. He decides not to comment, instead telling me again to ‘give him a minute’. There’s a rustling noise as he presumably clambers out of bed, and a short while later, I hear the unmistakable sound of a kettle revving into life.

  ‘I need coffee,’ he croaks. ‘Then I can think straight.’

  ‘Why the hell would she go to England? Do you think it’s because she wants to see me?’ I am asking myself the question almost as much as I’m pleading with David to answer it. I can hear him clanking about in cupboards and picture him flat-footing around the kitchen. Anna redecorated that room not long before she died – she was so proud of it.

  ‘Did you tip her off?’ I demand. ‘Did you write to Bonnie and warn her that I was coming?’

  David sighs.

  ‘Why would I do that, Genie? I want you to meet each other.’

  There’s another pause as the water finishes boiling, and David clears his throat.

  ‘Even if I had, that wouldn’t explain why she came here. Surely if she wanted to see you and knew you were on your way, then she’d just stay put.’

  He’s right, of course, but I am not in the mood to admit that I might not be.

  ‘But do you think she’s in England looking for me, though?’ I say. ‘The timing could be a weird coincidence.’

  ‘I supp
ose it’s possible, darling,’ David allows. ‘But it could be for another reason entirely – perhaps she has other friends here.’

  He pauses then, as if something has occurred to him that he doesn’t want to share with me.

  ‘What were you going to say?’ I demand.

  ‘Nothing,’ he assures me. ‘I was just thinking out loud, poppet, that’s all. I honestly don’t know enough about Bonnie’s life to give you a decent answer, but if she does happen to turn up here looking for you, then of course you will be the first to know.’

  ‘What shall I do now, though?’ I lament, frustration making me collapse on to the bed. ‘Should I get a flight back? Or shall I wait? I just got here, though. Oh, I don’t know what to do.’

  The tiredness that came over me in the little office at Koru Stables earlier returns like a sullen thump, and I feel suddenly so weary that I can barely lift my head off the pillow. In the weeks immediately after Anna’s death, I slept more than I ever had before. My unconscious state became my safe place, somewhere I could curl up and forget what had happened.

  ‘Who told you Bonnie was in England?’ David asks now, dragging me back to the present. ‘Someone at the stables?’

  ‘That’s the other thing,’ I tell him, fighting to keep my voice steady. ‘It turns out that I’m not Bonnie’s only child, just the only one she didn’t want to keep. She has another daughter, a girl called Tui. I saw her today.’

  There’s a profound silence as David takes this in.

  ‘Oh, gosh. Are you sure?’ he asks. His voice sounds strange and constricted. ‘It’s definitely Bonnie’s child? Not her stepdaughter or something?’

  I picture Tui’s wide grin and tangled black hair and recall her joyful, mischievous nature. I assume the fact that she is my actual living relative, the first one I’ve ever met, is yet to properly sink in, because my response so far has been to remain stoic. Kit had no reason to lie to me about who she is – in fact, he doesn’t seem to me to be the type of person to lie about much – but despite knowing that it’s true, I can’t feel it yet, or appreciate what it means. My lips can say the words and my ears can hear them, but my heart has simply slammed its doors. I came to New Zealand to find my mother – that in itself is big enough. I don’t have it in me to take on anything more than that – not yet, anyway.