shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the sharp scoria and settled down to wait, inhaling the smoke deeply and blowing it languorously out through her nose in the manner of the movie stars she’d seen at the pictures. She liked it here: she could smell the saltiness of the sea and knew that if she stood on the wall she’d be able to glimpse the sparkling blue Waitemata Harbour itself.
By the time the bus was approaching she’d finished the cigarette and flicked the butt into the garden behind her. She could see Nan standing just inside the door, swaying gently as the bus rattled to a halt. Then the door flapped open and out she stepped, looking as regal as ever despite her height, which was only five foot two. She always said she didn’t know how Colleen had managed to grow to be five foot six, because neither she nor Patrick had come from tall stock.
As she almost always did, Rose Murphy was wearing a dark dress belted at the waist, a black cloth coat despite the warm weather, sturdy lace-up shoes and a dusty black cloche hat from the 1930s, which her granddaughters always referred to as ‘Nan’s po’. An umbrella poked out of her large crocodile carry-all, alongside a bunch of something green and leafy.
Allie gave Rose a kiss on the cheek, loving the smell of the lily-of-the-valley talcum powder that seemed always to surround her.
‘Hello, Nan, you look nice today.’
‘Thank you, Allison dear,’ Rose said. ‘And so do you. Are they treating you well?’
Allie knew she meant at Dunbar & Jones, for whom her grandmother had always had a great respect, even if she did do a fair bit of her shopping at Farmers now because she was only on a pension.
‘Yes, they are. Very busy, though.’
‘Christmas shopping or the royal tour?’
‘Both.’ Allie took Rose’s bag. ‘Is this spinach?”
‘Fresh from my garden.’
‘Yum,’ Allie said, even though she hated the way spinach always seemed to get stuck in your teeth.
They walked in silence for a moment, then Rose asked in a confidential tone, ‘How’s your mother?’
‘She’s good. Busy, too, at the tearooms.’
Rose hmmphed. ‘And your father?’
‘He’s been out painting nearly every day.’
Rose made a face that suggested she found that hard to believe. ‘And Pauline and Donna?’
‘Same as always.’
‘Oh, well,’ Rose said.
They walked on, dawdling as they passed a garden vibrant with summer flowers.
Rose closed her eyes and breathed in though her nose. ‘Stock always reminds me of your grandfather. He used to give me lovely great bunches of it.’
‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ Allie said. She waited a second, then asked, ‘Nan?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a problem. Well, it’s not a problem really. But it might be.’
Rose kept walking, but inclined her head to show she was listening.
‘There’s a boy at work and he’s asked me out, to the pictures on Wednesday night.’
‘Well, that sounds nice, dear.’
‘Yes. But he’s…’ Allie struggled to find the right words. ‘Well, his name’s Sonny, Sonny Manaia.’
‘Ah. A Maori boy?’
Allie nodded. ‘And I was wondering, what do you think Mum and Dad would say? If I went out with him.’
Rose stopped, withdrew a spotlessly clean handkerchief from her sleeve, removed her glasses and started polishing them. ‘Are you keen on him?’
‘Yes,’ Allie said, startling herself by how emphatic she sounded.
‘Well, you know how narrow-minded your father is.’
‘But not always, Nan. And he used to work with plenty of Maoris on the wharves and he often said what good blokes they were.’
‘That’s not the same as letting your daughter go out with one, though, is it?’
‘I suppose.’ Allie felt herself growing more and more uncomfortable, talking about Maori people as though they were…well, not like everyone else.
Rose put her glasses back on. ‘Does he come from around here?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t
By the time the bus was approaching she’d finished the cigarette and flicked the butt into the garden behind her. She could see Nan standing just inside the door, swaying gently as the bus rattled to a halt. Then the door flapped open and out she stepped, looking as regal as ever despite her height, which was only five foot two. She always said she didn’t know how Colleen had managed to grow to be five foot six, because neither she nor Patrick had come from tall stock.
As she almost always did, Rose Murphy was wearing a dark dress belted at the waist, a black cloth coat despite the warm weather, sturdy lace-up shoes and a dusty black cloche hat from the 1930s, which her granddaughters always referred to as ‘Nan’s po’. An umbrella poked out of her large crocodile carry-all, alongside a bunch of something green and leafy.
Allie gave Rose a kiss on the cheek, loving the smell of the lily-of-the-valley talcum powder that seemed always to surround her.
‘Hello, Nan, you look nice today.’
‘Thank you, Allison dear,’ Rose said. ‘And so do you. Are they treating you well?’
Allie knew she meant at Dunbar & Jones, for whom her grandmother had always had a great respect, even if she did do a fair bit of her shopping at Farmers now because she was only on a pension.
‘Yes, they are. Very busy, though.’
‘Christmas shopping or the royal tour?’
‘Both.’ Allie took Rose’s bag. ‘Is this spinach?”
‘Fresh from my garden.’
‘Yum,’ Allie said, even though she hated the way spinach always seemed to get stuck in your teeth.
They walked in silence for a moment, then Rose asked in a confidential tone, ‘How’s your mother?’
‘She’s good. Busy, too, at the tearooms.’
Rose hmmphed. ‘And your father?’
‘He’s been out painting nearly every day.’
Rose made a face that suggested she found that hard to believe. ‘And Pauline and Donna?’
‘Same as always.’
‘Oh, well,’ Rose said.
They walked on, dawdling as they passed a garden vibrant with summer flowers.
Rose closed her eyes and breathed in though her nose. ‘Stock always reminds me of your grandfather. He used to give me lovely great bunches of it.’
‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ Allie said. She waited a second, then asked, ‘Nan?’
‘Mmm?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a problem. Well, it’s not a problem really. But it might be.’
Rose kept walking, but inclined her head to show she was listening.
‘There’s a boy at work and he’s asked me out, to the pictures on Wednesday night.’
‘Well, that sounds nice, dear.’
‘Yes. But he’s…’ Allie struggled to find the right words. ‘Well, his name’s Sonny, Sonny Manaia.’
‘Ah. A Maori boy?’
Allie nodded. ‘And I was wondering, what do you think Mum and Dad would say? If I went out with him.’
Rose stopped, withdrew a spotlessly clean handkerchief from her sleeve, removed her glasses and started polishing them. ‘Are you keen on him?’
‘Yes,’ Allie said, startling herself by how emphatic she sounded.
‘Well, you know how narrow-minded your father is.’
‘But not always, Nan. And he used to work with plenty of Maoris on the wharves and he often said what good blokes they were.’
‘That’s not the same as letting your daughter go out with one, though, is it?’
‘I suppose.’ Allie felt herself growing more and more uncomfortable, talking about Maori people as though they were…well, not like everyone else.
Rose put her glasses back on. ‘Does he come from around here?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t
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