Spearo 2n3h2y

IN OF SPEARO

Spearo took me back to a time when I was first exploring the underwater world, as a young teenager. The descriptions of Sean’s first dive were so familiar! It is an extremely accurate depiction of the sport of spearfishing, and it combines the reality and technical aspects of spearfishing with the thrill and adventure of exploring the undersea realm. The way it weaves familiar threads of family, friends, conflict and friendship (love?) will enable it to resonate well with a range of ages and interests. I am sure this will whet the interest of many young adults, and I only wish this book had been written when I was this age. A captivating read from first page to last.

Pat Swanson - three time New Zealand spearfishing champion and record holder for snapper and kahawai. He is also an Ambassador for Experiencing Marine Reserves and a specialist science teacher.

To my parents who gave me Mahia

First published by OneTree House Ltd, New Zealand

Text © Mary-anne Scott, 2020

978-0-9951171-2-9

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Cover: Tom Scott with kingfish. Photo by Blair Herbert.

CHAPTER ONE

Sean slid into a vacant workstation on the mezzanine floor above the library where Mrs Robertson let students hang out on computers during their breaks. No one took much notice of him; small, quiet kids didn’t stand out in the library and anyway, the students huddling up there were withdrawing from school, not embracing it. He opened up Google Maps to hover above Zimbabwe before selecting satellite view to visit Bulawayo and walk the dusty streets. Then he moved up again to fly above his old farm, the grey roofs of the outbuildings, the brown, dusty earth surrounding their land and the tall trees that mostly hid his old house from aerial view. He peered through the treetops trying to the way his white house became yellowed in the low, afternoon sun. The way the steel-mesh window screens glinted on hot afternoons and the way Yogi lay panting on the warm concrete steps, always waiting for Sean. ‘This is annoying. Why the hell won’t it work?’ The voice, from the boy one seat along, jolted Sean back to the library. He glanced over to see Mason Leadbetter hunched over his keyboard, long legs snaking around the chair legs, his head sunk into his hands in frustration. Sean braced for rejection, before saying, ‘Can I help?’ ‘Do you know anything about editing?’ Mason didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I need to get this boat and a bit of coastline out of my clip but every time I cut the frame, I butcher the music.’ He gave a big sigh. ‘I’m useless at this stuff.’ Sean was in two of Mason Leadbetter’s classes. He already ired the way Mason was friends with everyone yet not friends with anyone special. At the beginning of the year Mason was voted class mediator, but to the teacher’s annoyance, he’d said, ‘Thanks for the votes, but maybe pick someone else. I’m

not a class leader sort of guy.’ They eventually ran another ballot and the honour went to someone bossy. Sean shuffled his seat closer. ‘I can probably sort it; I’ve done a bit of that stuff.’ ‘Cheers.’ Mason stabbed at the section he wanted removed. ‘It needs an edit at 25 seconds and at two minutes, three.’ ‘Why do you want them removed? Is the boat stolen?’ ‘Ha ha. Nah, the boat’s my old man’s, but I’m ing a spearfishing video and I want to disguise the location.’ ‘Why?’ Sean leaned over to grab the mouse. ‘Otherwise, everyone wants to dive where the best fish are,’ Mason said as if that was obvious. ‘You have to take the soundtrack off to edit the clip.’ Sean knew it would be an easy job to tidy up the video: his mother had made safari documentaries on their ranch many times and she’d taught him to erase and add footage. ‘Do you want the water noise reduced, too? It’s drowning out the music.’ ‘Yeah, ta.’ Mason tapped out the beat of the song as Sean made the changes. ‘Good music, huh?’ ‘What is it?’ ‘Touch. Hybrid Minds.’ Sean had never heard of them but mentally added the band to his list of things to check out. ‘What sort of camera were you using?’ ‘Just a GoPro.’ ‘It’s really clear.’ Sean finished the editing. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing the whole thing.’ ‘Sure,’ Mason said. He was peering into a grease-stained paper bag he’d found after digging around in his backpack and he frowned at the slice of cold pizza he

withdrew. ‘The topping’s come off.’ ‘Mine used to do that,’ Sean said, ‘but now I chuck the cheese on first so everything sticks.’ ‘What are you? A chef?’ ‘Desperate. If I don’t cook, I don’t eat.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘My mother works really long hours, so I make the meals.’ ‘There’s just the two of you?’ Sean wished he could say three. It was a year and a half since his father’s sudden death and saying ‘two’ still felt like a betrayal. He nodded, seeing the word wouldn’t form. ‘Want some pizza? You’re Sean, aren’t you?’ ‘Yeah.’ They both knew Mason didn’t have to introduce himself. Sean took a doughy triangle to fold into his mouth. It took a lot of chewing but gave him time to brush away the memory of his father which threatened to derail any conversation. ‘I survive on a diet of stodge and seafood because my mother’s gone off – just for a while, I hope.’ Sean ired the way Mason casually slipped in his private information; he knew he’d never be able to talk about his father like that. Mason wiped his greasy hands down his uniform and said, ‘Shall we run this clip?’ Sean brushed his own hands clean and nodded. Mason hit start. The screen filled with the sight and sound of an aluminium boat racing across the sea. Thanks to Sean’s editing, only the bow was visible. The camera moved to a wide view of the choppy sea before it focused on a close image of each wave. Then the picture sank seamlessly underwater. The bubbles cleared, the seabed came into view. ‘Sick,’ Sean said. ‘I know, right?’ The camera followed a black-gloved hand over rocks and through seaweed. The next frame showed a boulder covered in grey lumps.

Then, the hand was back in the picture, this time holding a flat-topped knife, which the diver used to prise three of the lumps off the rock. ‘Is that you?’ ‘Yeah.’ There was pride in Mason’s short reply. ‘What are you getting?’ ‘Pāua.’ Mason looked at Sean. ‘Do you know about pāua?’ Sean squinted at the screen. ‘They look like perlemoen so maybe. Do they have beautiful shells?’ ‘Yeah. Basically, they’re posh snails with black flesh and they’re under pressure, mostly from poachers, so we’re only allowed 10 per diver.’ ‘Bloody poachers,’ Sean said more angrily than he meant to. ‘There’re greedy people everywhere in the world, huh?’ He changed the subject by tapping the screen. ‘Why’s your knife flat-topped?’ ‘So I don’t damage the pāua. I might take an undersized one and have to put it back. They’re haemophiliacs.’ ‘Those people who can’t stop bleeding? There was a guy at my old school who was one of those.’ ‘It’s kind of rare and there’re better outcomes now.’ ‘What are you? A doctor?’ Mason laughed. ‘No, but my old man is.’ They watched as Mason measured the pāua before stashing them out of sight. ‘One hundred and twenty-five millimetres to be legal,’ Mason murmured as if Sean had asked. ‘How come you only took three?’ ‘I went up for air.’

‘You mean you’re holding your breath all that time?’ ‘Well, I’ve cut and pasted a bit; cinematic licence,’ Mason grinned. ‘But I’ve done heaps of diving so I’ve increased my . . .’ he waved his hand around searching for the word. ‘Capacity?’ ‘Yeah, but we say dive fitness. I’ve trained my body to get used to higher levels of carbon dioxide so I don’t feel the urge to breathe as often. It’s called free diving.’ ‘Why, though?’ Sean shook his head. ‘Surely diving with tanks is easier?’ ‘Scuba diving’s a different sport,’ Mason said dismissively. ‘You’re not allowed to harvest pāua using scuba gear; you can’t even have the gear on your boat.’ Mason pointed at the video. ‘This is better.’ ‘How?’ ‘One breath, one spear and hopefully one fish.’ He pushed his chair back and started packing up his stuff. ‘You’re under the sea, in the fish’s environment, and you select your meal.’ ‘How did you get into it? Spearfishing, I mean.’ ‘Some mad-keen spearo gets you fired up.’ ‘Spearo,’ Sean said, trying out the word. ‘It’s heaps of fun. We’re the pig-hunters of the sea – one on one with our prey.’ Sean thought it sounded noble and he liked the way Mason cared so much. ‘I’ve never caught a fish in the sea before.’ ‘Never? How can that be?’ ‘Zimbabwe’s landlocked.’ ‘What’s that mean?’

Sean stood up, too. ‘There’s no coast; we’re surrounded by other countries.’ Mason was tying his jacket around his waist to go, but paused, ‘No coast? No sea at all?’ ‘Four neighbours, nearly five because we almost touch Namibia in one corner.’ ‘Namibia,’ Mason said, trying out the word the way Sean had tried out spearo. ‘I’m going to look that stuff up tonight.’ Sean wished he could show Mason the map of Africa. He wanted to see Mason’s reaction to the expanse and majesty of his country. He’d love to point out his old school and the family ranch with big game wandering free. But he couldn’t bring himself to suggest any of that, so he said, ‘Maybe you could tell me more about spearfishing sometime.’ ‘Yeah. For sure.’ Mason slung his bag on his back. ‘I’ll be the mad keen spearo who gets you hooked.’ Sean didn’t think he wanted to jump off a boat, or shoot fish with just a lungful of air, but he was desperate to make a friend, so he said, ‘Cheers. I’d like that.’

CHAPTER TWO

Sean wiped spattered fat from his computer screen. He was pulling apart a cooked chicken for the recipe he was honing in the new style of cooking he’d called Cuisine De. Tonight, he was preparing Cuisine de C. His mother wasn’t sold on the idea but, as Sean reminded her, he was the chef. He absentmindedly ate strips of chicken while he watched a diver use his speargun to jab a shark on the nose when it swam too close. ‘Something smells good,’ Mum said as soon as she opened the door. She draped her coat on the back of the chair, put her bag on the table and looked over Sean’s shoulder. ‘What are you watching?’ Her voice was upbeat and Sean knew she’d be relieved he wasn’t soaring over the grasslands of home on the magic carpet of Google Maps. ‘I’m looking at a person spearfishing; there’s a guy in my class who does it.’ ‘That’s nice,’ Mum said, but he knew she wasn’t listening. She sifted through the mail on the table. ‘More bills. This country is expensive, hey?’ ‘You said it would be cheaper.’ ‘Ja, ja, well, we’d be fine if we’d been allowed to bring cash out.’ ‘Would’ve been better if we’d stayed where we were.’ ‘Please, Sean, not tonight. I’m tired.’ She put her bright face back on and peered into the dish. ‘This looks good. I’m guessing it’s a C night with all that carrot and chicken.’ She tried to eat a piece of cooked chicken, but Sean moved the bowl. ‘That’s not hygienic,’ he said. Mum kept up her bright, phoney smile. ‘How was school?’

‘Great. Two people spoke to me. Someone asked me to edit a video and someone else tried to make me buy a raffle ticket.’ ‘Sean.’ ‘It’s true.’ He diced up a bundle of chives. ‘But what’s weird is that the raffleticket person was raising money to go on a volunteer programme to Africa. She’s going to save the Big Five from trophy hunters.’ Mum’s head shot up. ‘Good luck. As if that’s going to happen.’ ‘She had a poster with a trumpeting elephant on it.’ ‘I’m sorry, Sean.’ She tried to reach out to him but he stepped away to open the fridge. ‘Just adding celeriac and chilli, then dinner will be ready.’

Two weeks ed before Mason and Sean spoke again. It was the end of the day and students were filing out of the classroom but Mason lingered by his desk, eating his way through a bag of foul-smelling Twisties. The orange dust coated his fingers. ‘Hey, that fundraising thing for Donelle Kirby? Is that stuff she’s talking about for real? What’s the story with trophy hunters?’ Sean glanced over his shoulder to be absolutely sure Mason was speaking to him before he answered. ‘Ja, it’s real. Trophy hunters are a problem but they do bring money into the economy which is supposed to help finance parks and wildlife.’ ‘Are you saying trophy hunters aren’t bad?’ ‘I’m saying poachers are worse. They slaughter without contributing anything.’ Sean eased his computer from its bag. He wondered if he could keep Mason’s attention long enough to show him an example. ‘Do you want to see what poachers do?’ ‘Yeah. Show me.’ Mason sat down at a desk and Sean opened his laptop. He went into photos and tapped on a folder.

‘This is our ranch, was our ranch, maybe still is.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘My parents ran safaris – not in the rainy season – just when it was okay for tourists.’ ‘Did you have wildlife wandering around your house?’ ‘Impalas, giraffes, sable –. But I guess you’re asking about the Big Five that that girl Donelle was talking about.’ ‘Yeah. Leopards and elephants and stuff?’ ‘Not hanging around the house, only if I went on safari with my parents or teachers or with workers from the ranch.’ ‘Did you have poachers on your property?’ ‘I’ll show you, but I’m warning you, it’s not pretty.’ Sean tapped on another folder. He felt pleased Mason wanted to see his pictures, even though he hated this particular content. He clicked on a small photo, then expanded it to show a dead elephant lying on scrubby, brown land under an enormous sky. A man in classic safari gear was dwarfed in the picture. The elephant lay on its side, tusks missing and Sean heard Mason’s sharp intake of breath when he noticed the absent foot. ‘Oh God.’ Mason peered more closely at the stump. ‘Why take its foot?’ ‘For a coffee table. The hoof’s heavy, you know, and the poachers didn’t have a vehicle, so they only carried one away.’ Sean leaned back to let Mason see it clearly. ‘Is that the poacher?’ Mason asked pointing at the man. ‘No, it’s my father,’ Sean replied. ‘He came across this mess when he was out checking water levels, two days after the elephant was butchered.’ ‘Who took the photo?’ Mason leaned even closer. ‘Has your father got a gun?’ ‘Mason!’ A sharp voice made Sean jump and he spun around to see a tall girl standing behind them with her hands on her hips. ‘Dad’s waiting. He’s so wild. You told him you’d be at the gate and he rang me in a volleyball meeting

because you’re not answering!’ ‘Shit.’ Mason leapt up and ran to grab his bag from the front of the classroom. ‘My phone’s in here.’ He waved a hand at Sean, ‘Sorry, sorry, gotta run. Thanks for showing me.’ The door swung in its frame. ‘That is disgusting.’ Sean recoiled from the expression on the girl’s face. Her chin jutted out as she stared down at the computer with a hard, mean look. ‘Do not show stuff like that to my brother. You’re condoning the crime when you flash that around.’ ‘Wh–? What? I didn’t –’ ‘Of course, you didn’t. You’re too puny to kill a fly, but you’re evil for looking at that. I can’t believe they let people like you into this country.’ She marched from the room, her back straight and her arms swinging. Sean’s hands shook as he closed down his laptop.

‘Spit,’ Mason shouted. ‘Put big globs into the glass, then rinse your goggles off.’ Sean spat and rinsed. ‘Now put your mask on and make sure it’s tight. Feel okay? Secure?’ asked Mason, sitting back with a towel wrapped around his shoulders against the biting wind. Ominous grey clouds darkened the water. ‘Put your snorkel in and swim around on the surface.’ Sean clutched the ladder, his knuckles white with cold, and dipped his head into Mason’s pool. He saw the speckled blue of the bottom with the stone shimmering there. Mason tapped his shoulder and when Sean came up he shouted, ‘Ears underwater! You have to learn to equalise.’ Sean sank deeper, the cold water covering his head like a clamp. He couldn’t hear Mason any more so he released his grip on the ladder to push off. When he breathed through the snorkel the air filled his lungs. It seemed momentous.

He’d gone to school with a sore throat that morning and it had worsened as the day wore on. It was only because of Mason’s tossed invitation yesterday to come around and learn more about spearfishing that he hadn’t quit school early. The lesson in the freezing pool wasn’t the learning Sean had expected. Two more stones dropped in beside him and he knew Mason wanted them picked up so he scooped all three in one go. This is easy enough, he thought, kicking for the surface. The water rushed by his body making him feel fluid and weightless. But when he surfaced, he breathed deeply, inhaled water in his snorkel and coughed until he nearly choked. ‘Blow the air out of your snorkel as you come up,’ Mason shouted. ‘Try again.’ He took the stones from Sean. Sean blew the air out and wondered about abandoning the lesson. Mason had lent him wetsuit pants and a vest that domed between his legs but his head, feet and hands were bare. He’d lost feeling in them all. His head ached the most and his ears screamed for mercy. He began to climb out but Mason chucked the stones in again, so Sean dived once more. When he resurfaced, Mason’s sister was there. Her hair was the same colour as Yogi’s, Sean’s golden retriever, but her eyes weren’t brown and kind like Yogi’s, they were steel-blue and critical. She pointed down at Sean. ‘Make him take his snorkel out underwater.’ ‘It’s his first time.’ Mason flapped the corner of his towel at her feet. ‘Get lost, Nicole.’ ‘Teach him properly, then.’ Nicole leaned forward and shouted at Sean exaggerating each word, implying he was thick. ‘Take your snorkel out when you’re diving. If you black out on the bottom, you’ll inhale water. You’ll die.’ Sean looked dubiously at Mason. ‘Do divers black out?’ Mason shrugged. ‘All sports have dangers. Anyway, she’s right for another reason. If your snorkel’s in your mouth there’ll be bubbles, and the fish will hear you and stay clear.’ Mason picked up the stones. ‘Come on. One more turn.’ He threw them in three different directions. ‘Get them all in one go.’ As Sean turned to dive he heard Nicole say, ‘And then I’m training, so get him,

and his snotty nose, out of the pool.’ Sean reached up to wipe his face and felt a line of snot attached to his cheek. Despite the cold, his face burned as he dived again. He scooped up the stones and brought them to the top. ‘I’m too cold,’ he said. ‘My legs are going to fall off.’ ‘Just one more – but with these.’ Mason held some flippers up for Sean to try. ‘Quick, before the Lady Nicole berths.’ Sean glanced at Nicole who had scooped her hair into a ponytail and was stretching a hood over her head. His teeth chattered with a life of their own as he struggled to pull the flippers on. ‘Gimme two lengths without coming up for air,’ Mason instructed. Sean lowered his body into the water and set off. The fins propelled him like an outboard motor making him feel sleek and strong. But he’d had enough. At the end of two lengths, Sean tried to stand but he was clumsy in the fins. They were too long to switch from floating behind him to standing. He kept sinking, so he drifted to the steps to wrestle them off. When he glanced up, he saw Nicole holding her phone towards him, filming his efforts. Mason stepped in front of her to help Sean pull his flippers off. ‘This water’s freezing!’ He handed Sean a towel, then went back to the pool, cupped water in his hands and threw it over Nicole. ‘Stop that. You can’t just film people without asking.’ ‘I did ask, but he was thrashing or drowning or something weird.’ ‘Ignore her.’ Mason gathered up the snorkel, mask and fins and dumped them on a pool lounger. ‘That’s the three basic things you’ll need, then a wetsuit and gun.’ Sean tried to keep his voice casual. ‘I might need to invest in some of that.’ He wrapped the towel around his neck, dragging it high over his aching head and ears. ‘Yeah, you should.’ Mason pointed at the driveway, lifting the latch on the pool gate as he said, ‘Dad’s home. I want to see what he’s got. Come over when

you’ve dried off.’ He ran towards his father without glancing back. Nicole’s disdain wafted around the pool enclosure. Sean gathered his sweatshirt and shoes to hurry after Mason but she didn’t move to let him . He fumbled his scuffed shoe, dropping it on her foot. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry.’ She mimicked his Zimbabwean accent. Before he could pick up his shoe, Nicole edged it into the pool with her foot. ‘Get rid of one of your hooves and see how it feels.’ ‘What?’ Sean bent down to scoop it out. ‘What?’ she imitated. Anger at her unfairness welled up in him. He pushed past, unclipped the gate and said, ‘You’re so mean. No wonder your mother ran off.’ Nicole’s face was unreadable except for a muscle that moved by her mouth. He wanted to say sorry straight away, explain that he was hurting about stuff too, but she had turned away. The gate clanged as he ran towards the garage.

CHAPTER THREE

Mason’s father was tall and strong-looking as Sean’s Dad had been, but he was much older. He had a big, swinging stomach barely covered by his bloodstained, ripped Tshirt and his face wrinkled into kind lines when he grinned from under his peaked cap. ‘Call me Ritchie,’ he boomed, holding out his hand, ‘unless you’re on my boat, then you call me Captain.’ He wrapped his left hand around their handshake and Sean didn’t want him to let go. ‘I hear you’re learning to snorkel. You must be tough if you’re in the pool on a cold day like this.’ Sean smiled, his headache easing a bit. Ritchie’s hands weren’t rough but his face was as weathered as an African farmer’s. ‘Were you diving or fishing?’ Sean asked, just for something to say. ‘I don’t dive and I wasn’t really fishing, either. A cobber needed a hand to lift his craypots before the weather hits and we stumbled across a school of snapper looking for shelter.’ Ritchie opened the lid of a white bin so Sean could look at the jumble of reddish-grey fish with black, googly eyes. ‘I couldn’t resist,’ he grinned. ‘Amazing.’ Sean crouched down to touch the slippery, scaly skins and to breathe in the smell of the fish stall at the market back home. One tail in the chillybin flapped and there was an answering response from further down the pile. ‘Are they alive?’ ‘They’re dead, but sometimes they twitch a bit. Would you like to take some home? How many at your house?’ ‘Just me and Mum but since I’m the cook I’d better say no ’cause I wouldn’t know what to do with them.’ ‘Just the two of you?’ Ritchie looked surprised. ‘And where’s that accent of yours from?’

‘Zimbabwe.’ ‘Beautiful country, but very troubled, huh?’ Ritchie didn’t seem to expect an answer. He lifted two fish up by their tails and Sean followed him into the kitchen where he slapped them on the bench. ‘Once I’ve prepared these, I’ll tell you how to cook them.’ He nodded his head at a towel lying on a chair. ‘Put that around your shoulders, you look colder than these fish and they’ve been on ice.’ ‘Thanks.’ Sean shifted the wet towel at his neck down to his waist and put the dry, but fishy-smelling towel around his neck. He resisted the urge to lie on the heated tiles of the kitchen floor. Ritchie dealt to the fish with an overgrown potato peeler and talked to Sean over his shoulder as he worked. ‘You may not have had snapper before but they’re beautiful cooked whole, as long as you’re not spitting out scales.’ Transparent flecks flew off the fish as he scraped the skins with noisy, vigorous swipes. The flecks settled around the bench top, the floor and a few stuck to the window. It wasn’t the sort of kitchen hygiene Sean approved of. Ritchie ran a big calloused hand over the fish with a delicate touch and pronounced them ‘perfect’. ‘Just like that?’ ‘Not yet.’ He took a long-pointed knife out of the drawer and slit the fish from halfway down the side with a slick, practised action. He pulled the guts out from both fish and scraped them into the sink. ‘A bit of lemon, some pepper and salt and cook these little beauties in an oven heated to about 180°.’ ‘Do I cover them?’ ‘Good thinking. Some tinfoil perhaps but not too tight.’ Ritchie glanced up at Mason who wandered into the kitchen just then, holding food containers and a thermos from the boat. ‘Your friend here knows how to turn the oven on. It can’t be rocket science after all.’ Mason grinned. ‘Don’t go showing me up, Sean.’ ‘Would you like to stay and eat with us?’ Ritchie asked. Sean wanted to say, ‘I can’t because I’ve said something terrible to Nicole,’ but instead he replied, ‘I’ve got a headache. I’d better go.’

Ritchie slid the fish into an airtight container and ed it to Sean. ‘I see sick people every day and I’m guessing you’re in for a bout of something.’ ‘I might be,’ Sean said and he sneezed right on cue.

Back home, Sean laid the two fish out side by side in an oven-proof dish. He stared at their dull, ugly faces, their pouty fish-mouths and decided he knew how they felt. His headache had moved to his neck and arms, and the cold ache of his frozen feet had moved up his legs. He went to lie down. He jolted up from a vivid dream about flippered feet when the front door slammed and his mother’s shouting completed the job of waking him up. ‘Why was this door unlocked? Why is it so cold in here? And what’s going on with these two fish? There’s a dirty fly sitting on one.’ He heard her stomp to his bedroom door. ‘Have you been at school today? Are you sick?’ Sean groaned. ‘I might be. I hurt all over.’ ‘Bloody hell.’ Mum always swore about health matters. Ever since Sean’s father had died, she was hyper-alert for possible dangers and she ran to get the thermometer. ‘Jeepers! Don’t tell me you’ve been swimming,’ Mum shouted from the bathroom. When she came back with the thermometer she also carried the wet togs Sean had dumped in the tub. ‘Who does this cossie belong to?’ ‘Mason. He gave me a snorkelling lesson. The pool was way cold. Outdoors. Not heated.’ ‘Snorkelling?’ She flapped the sodden material above Sean’s bed. ‘Why?’ ‘Because I’ve got a mate. He’s crazy about spearfishing. So am I.’ ‘No, you’re not. Spearfishing isn’t something we do.’ Mum shoved the thermometer under Sean’s tongue before he could reply. As she felt his forehead she tutted about the absurdity of spearfishing. ‘I can’t imagine what you were thinking. It’s winter!’ Mum snatched the thermometer out to peer at the display. ‘Where’s my glasses?’ She thrust the probe at Sean. ‘What’s this say?’

‘It says any amount of temperature is worth it if someone talks to me at school. It says I am going to learn spearfishing.’ ‘Sean Phelps! You’ll make friends, it’s just a matter of time. The last thing you need to be doing is drowning or being eaten by God knows what in the sea. A stingray might spike you.’ ‘It’s safe. The other night you said, “That’s nice” when I said I was watching videos on spearfishing.’ ‘That doesn’t mean I want you to try it. We never did that in Zimbabwe.’ ‘Because there’re crocodiles and pollution in the rivers. Everyone here is crazy about the sea. The most inland point in the country is like only about a hundred and twenty kilometres from the coast.’ ‘They also play rugby and cricket and –’ ‘I’m too small for rugby,’ Sean shouted. ‘Every person in my class, even the girls, are bigger than me.’ He felt hot tears pricking his eyes. ‘You’ve dragged me to this place because you wanted to leave. You didn’t care about me fitting into this crap country so you shouldn’t care about the sport I choose.’ ‘Will you listen to yourself?’ ‘Mason is the first person who’s really talked to me which proves how bad it is. You have to take me back.’ Mum sank onto the bed, dropping the wet togs on the floor. ‘Sean, this can’t go on.’ ‘No, it can’t. What would Dad say about you leaving Uncle Pieter to manage everything? He’d be angry.’ Mum tried to interrupt but Sean carried on speaking. ‘Leroy said July struggles every day to keep up and the place is falling into ruin.’ ‘Enough.’ ‘And I miss Yogi. Leroy won’t know how to get her meds into her. And he sent me a picture of the acacia tree, it’s dying and Yogi was chained up in the background.’ The threatened tears started to burst their banks and Sean’s

shoulders shook. ‘My school’s a dive, the weather’s disgusting and so are the New Zealand sausages. Everything’s crap.’ Then he buried his head in his pillow and cried; messy, noisy sobs. ‘Argh, shame. Everything is crap.’ Mum pulled Sean up and half-suffocated him in a hug. ‘All right now, I hear you. I’m sorry, hey? Please don’t cry.’ She stroked Sean’s hair back off his face. ‘Ja, I know it’s tough – it’s been a mean old time. But we can’t go back, you know. We just can’t.’ ‘Well, I’m leaving as soon as I’m old enough.’ ‘I’ll miss you.’ Mum’s voice was soft and there was pain in her words. She chewed the edge of her thumb. ‘So, what are we going to do?’ ‘I don’t know.’ She felt around for the thermometer. ‘Lemme check your temp, just now. I need to be sure.’ ‘I’m fine. I already had a sore throat and the cold water made my head ache. I need a job to buy a wetsuit. You can go diving in any weather if your wetsuit has a hood.’ ‘Diving’s not natural. Why do you want to be putting your head under the sea? Do you want to eat fish? I’ll buy fish.’ Mum stood up and paced the tiny space between Sean’s bed and the door. ‘I suppose you want to catch the fish yourself, hey? What say we go on a fishing charter? You and me? I’ll save up.’ Sean shook his head. ‘I want to be with Mason.’ ‘Can’t you do that but not dive?’ ‘He’s crazy about diving. It’s the only reason he’s talked to me. I’m learning.’ Mum sighed. ‘Your father was just as bloody stubborn. Tell you what,’ she said, ‘I’ll get you pain relief, cook that fish if it’s salvageable and then you’d better educate me. Show me what spearfishing is about, hey?’ Sean nodded, wiped his sleeve across his face, then leaned under his bed to drag up his laptop. ‘You just need some mad-keen spearo to get you hooked.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Where’ve you been?’ Mason Leadbetter cut across the river of students filing through the school gates and slipped in beside Sean. ‘I thought you’d gone back to Zambia.’ ‘Zimbabwe. No, I was sick, man. The snorkelling lesson in your pool nearly killed me before the sharks could.’ ‘You’ve just proven my theory.’ ‘That sharks kill?’ ‘That beginner divers are obsessed with sharks.’ Mason stuffed half a strip of liquorice into his mouth. He stood a head taller than Sean and wore his hair just a fraction longer than the regulation length so it curled out of his beanie and blew in the breeze. He walked with a confidence that made other students glance his way. ‘More people are killed by cows every year than by sharks.’ ‘That’s not reassuring. Cows aren’t killing those people in the sea.’ Mason laughed. ‘Try this then. There’re about a hundred shark attacks on humans worldwide every year –’ he held up his hand when Sean tried to speak, ‘but people kill a hundred million sharks each year.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Sometimes they don’t kill them, they just cut off the fins so the sharks are left to die.’ ‘My father used to say, quite often it’s the humans who are the animals.’ Mason raised one eyebrow. ‘He used to say that?’

Sean nodded and said, ‘He died.’ That was all he felt able to say and Mason must have realised as much. His reply was equally short. ‘I’m sorry.’ Sean wanted to keep walking with Mason so he launched into a new subject to keep him there. ‘That elephant I showed you left a baby behind.’ ‘What happened to it?’ ‘My dad saved it. He tied it to his Land Rover and radioed to say he was taking it to a sanctuary, miles in the other direction and –’ Mason asked, ‘Did he save it?’ ‘Ja, ja. He saved it.’ ‘That’s one good thing, then.’ Mason snapped off another piece of liquorice and chewed for a while. ‘Are you still interested in spearfishing or have you gone off the idea?’ ‘I’ll be in, for sure.’ He heard himself ask, ‘Back in your pool?’ ‘You should have proper lessons at school.’ ‘Who teaches diving here?’ ‘Jamieson. The big, bald dude who takes senior Maths. We call him Blubs. He’s a keen diver, he’ll get you going. I asked him.’ ‘You did?’ Sean felt a wash of happiness that made him stand a bit straighter. ‘You asked for me?’ The school seemed less cruddy and the weather less hideous. ‘What did he say?’ ‘He said he’s gunna start doing classes again on Tuesdays and you can – he only takes people who’re serious.’ ‘I’m serious.’ ‘I know, mate. I told him.’

Sean had been sick for a week and yet Mason called him ‘mate’. He couldn’t believe how much the day had picked up. ‘Does it cost? What about a snorkel and stuff?’ ‘No cost. Blubs likes teaching divers and he has spare gear. But I’ll get my friend Kura to bring you a wetsuit. It’ll be cold.’ ‘So, tomorrow?’ ‘Just turn up; midday at the pool.’

Five girls and Sean turned up for the dive class the next day. Damn, Sean thought as he huddled outside the gate trying not to let his panic show. Back in Zimbabwe, he’d been in an all-boy school and the only girls he’d known were connected to the ranch or the daughters of his parents’ friends. ‘You must be Sean.’ Blubs unlocked the padlock, dumped some kickboards and spare fins on the benches and turned to the group. He had the thick neck and big arms of a bodybuilder, but a baby face, with pink skin and blue eyes. He blew his whistle and shouted, ‘Gather in! You’ve all had lessons together before, but Sean mightn’t know you, so introduce yourselves.’ He turned to Sean. ‘Diving’s a buddy sport, so always take the time to meet other divers.’ Sean nodded, but kept his eyes peeled, hoping a guy might show up to balance the numbers. ‘I’m Pix and she’s Amber.’ The girl called Pix slung her arm around Amber’s neck. ‘Come on, girls,’ Blubs said. The identical ponytails on each girl flicked as they laughed at a private joke. Then Amber said, ‘No, I’m Pix and she’s Amber.’ Sean looked at the ground. ‘That’s not helpful,’ Blubs grumbled, before moving on to the next two girls. ‘I’m Vika.’ The tall, thin girl who said this drew shapes in the wet surface with her toe. She glanced up briefly.

‘Juno,’ the next girl shouted like a challenge. She had her face mask on and the snorkel hung down the side of her face. The last girl had a warm smile that dimpled each side of her face. She limped forward and Sean saw her foot was bandaged. ‘Kia ora. I’m Kura. I’ve got your snorkel and mask.’ ‘Oh. Right. Of course.’ Kura was Mason’s friend. He smiled, ‘Thanks.’ ‘I want you all to get in and warm up with 10 lengths. You can come up at five and then stay under for the next five.’ Blubs moved away from the group. ‘What’ve you done, Kura?’ ‘Sprained my ankle in gym, sir.’ She laughed off the injury. ‘I’ll sit over here and listen in, if that’s okay.’ ‘Are we allowed fins?’ Pix or Amber called from the pool. ‘Not for this exercise; you’ll work harder without them.’ ‘Five lengths without air?’ Sean asked. ‘Well, obviously you’ll be breathing through your snorkel. This is a dive class, huh?’ He squinted at Sean. ‘What diving experience have you had?’ ‘Just one lesson in Mason’s pool.’ ‘Well, you give me three lengths total and come up at the end of each one.’ Blubs picked up his own snorkel and mask and said to Sean, ‘Do you know how to equalise your ears?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’ll teach you the Valsalva manoeuvre which is fine for you to start with. I can’t imagine you’ll be going deeper than 10 metres for a while.’ Blubs put his snorkel in, pinched his nose and blew. He looked disgusting. ‘Looks gross,’ Blubs said and Sean wondered if he could read his mind. ‘But you must take care of your ears. Just don’t blow too hard or too long. Now get in that water!’ Sean had been a reasonable swimmer at his old school, a lifetime ago, but last week’s illness and his long abstinence from swimming seemed to have taken

away some condition. He swam steadily but slowly, managing just the three lengths. The school pool was old, with cracks and faded markings, compared to the flash facilities he’d had in college back in Zimbabwe. He shuddered as he moved over a floating sticking plaster. After the snorkelling exercise the group divided into buddies, Sean with Vika, and they practised breath control. He watched the big clock on the wall as she sat on the bottom holding her breath. She burst up at 51 seconds. ‘Phew!’ They switched places so Sean had his back to the clock and he ducked under hoping to beat her 51 seconds but forgot to take a big breath first. He surfaced at 32. ‘What? That’s ridiculous.’ Vika laughed. ‘Gimme another turn; I want to beat a minute.’ Sean couldn’t help grinning when she came up at 51 again. ‘You go.’ He took a huge breath of air and managed to hold under for 48. ‘I’m useless.’ He peered around at the wall clock wondering if Vika had cheated on calling the time. ‘You are useless,’ she said. ‘It’s not the inhalation of oxygen that’s important,’ Blubs said as he came over to help, ‘it’s the exhalation of carbon dioxide that counts. So, breathe out your stale air first.’ Vika breathed out a long steady exhale, then managed to make one minute and one second. ‘You did it,’ Sean said. ‘It’s not a competition,’ Blubs called out. ‘It’s something you work out in your own time.’ Sean nodded, puffed out as much air as he could before he inhaled, then he sat on the bottom and tried to sing Happy Birthday twice through. His chest thumped and his body begged for air halfway through the second time, so he pushed for the top.

‘Ha!’ Vika pointed over his shoulder at the clock. ‘What do you think that was?’ ‘I dunno. Maybe 59 seconds by the way you’re acting.’ ‘One minute, two seconds.’ They both laughed. The whistle blew again and Blubs made them all put their fins on. He used his pen to stab in the direction of the clock. ‘Time yourselves to swim a length, then check how long it took you and spend that long again recovering.’ Sean wasn’t sure he had another exercise in him but the girls had already left, so he got swimming, too. He finished his quota then drew attention to himself by breathing in before he’d cleared his snorkel. The trapped water he inhaled set him off on a coughing fit that nearly ended in a puke. A slender, brown arm dropped down in front of his face and Sean looked up to see Kura standing beside the pool. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been there.’ Sean clutched her arm and felt himself lifted out in a seemingly effortless swoop to be dumped on the edge of the pool. ‘I suppose you do that to all the fish,’ he tried to joke. ‘Mostly I gaff them but you looked dead already.’ She limped off to get his towel and Sean heard her say hello to someone else in the stands. He swivelled around to see Nicole sitting up there with her phone out, filming him, again. ‘What’re you doing?’ Blubs called to her. ‘Filming.’ ‘Yes, but why?’ ‘Media studies assignment, sir. On basic dive instruction.’ ‘All right then. But you should’ve checked with me first.’

‘Sorry! Check, check,’ she called back. Later, when Sean came out of the changing sheds he found Blubs hauling the guide ropes back into place. ‘You’re from Zimbabwe,’ he said. ‘My ex-wife’s new husband is from there so I recognise the accent. What part?’ ‘Bulawayo.’ ‘Tim’s from Harare, I’ve seen photos. It’s a beautiful place. What brought you to New Zealand?’ ‘Mum’s wanted to come for ages. Her grandmother’s from here.’ The two brief sentences belied the arguments and the years of stress as friends lost their farms and livelihoods. His mother had felt trapped and angry about the excesses of Mugabe’s rule. Even though Dad agreed the politics were corrupt, he only had a Zimbabwean port and as Mum used to say, ‘That’s no bloody use to anyone.’ ‘I’ve heard it’s tough for you guys to leave,’ Blubs said, gatecrashing Sean’s memories. ‘Yeah, but I’m going back as soon as I can.’ He gave Sean a sideways look. ‘You finding it hard to settle? You were away last week.’ ‘I was sick.’ Sean shrugged. ‘I thought I was fit but I’m not.’ ‘Diving’s a different sort of aerobic exercise, so don’t overdo it. You’re using Mason’s gear?’ ‘Yes, but I need my own. I need a job.’ Blubs nodded. ‘You can’t bring money out of Zimbabwe, can you?’ ‘Only furniture and stuff.’ ‘I might be able to get you some work,’ Blubs said. ‘They’re getting this pool painted; we’ll be looking for keen students to help. I’ll keep you in mind.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Ritchie Leadbetter leaned on the pool gate with his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. The weak, springtime sun warmed Sean and Mason as they lay on the loungers chatting. ‘You’re both hard at work?’ Ritchie called to them. ‘Sean’s trained every Tuesday for the whole winter. His swimming’s all right; we’re just talking about diving.’ Ritchie twisted his arm to peer at the fluorescent dial on his chunky watch. ‘Talking’s all well and good; how about a shore dive?’ ‘Really?’ Sean stood up. ‘In the sea?’ ‘Where else?’ Ritchie laughed. ‘Check the tides, Mason, but I’m sure our timing’s good.’ Ritchie nodded at Sean. ‘Do you need permission?’ ‘Mum’ll be fine about it,’ Sean said, hoping he was right. His heart thumped. Mason crouched over his phone. ‘Tide’s outgoing, but turning in two hours.’ ‘Couldn’t be better. Can you be ready in 10?’ Ritchie tipped the dregs of his coffee into the garden and headed back to the house without waiting for an answer. ‘What gun shall I use?’ Sean asked Mason. Ritchie’s hearing was sharp, he turned back. ‘How about you leave the guns for today, get used to the rocks and currents?’ ‘Have you swum in the sea before?’ Mason asked when Ritchie finally moved away. ‘There’s a photo of me, with umm, with, at Mozambique, when I was about

four.’ Sean thought of the picture that always hung on his bedroom wall of himself as a chubby four-year-old sitting high on his father’s shoulders in shallow waves. He was sure he could still feel the grip of his father’s hands on his fat, little shins and could even the sound of the sea. ‘Four? Seriously?’ And then after a pause, ‘Coming?’ Sean glanced up to see Mason holding the gate open for him. The memory had made him falter. Nicole decided to dive, too. She threw water bottles, sunscreen and towels in a bag, then shoved the bag into the car. Mason pulled an old wetsuit out of a cupboard for Sean. ‘Shall I put this on now?’ Sean held it up. ‘No way. You’ll roast like a chicken in an oven bag.’ Nicole pushed past them to go back into the house. ‘You already look cooked,’ she sniped as she took in Sean’s pink face. ‘Who gets sunburnt in September?’ Sean felt his face blush even pinker, but Mason laughed her off and bowed low as she ed. ‘We’re grateful you’re ing us, Your Highness.’ He pointed at her retreating back. ‘She’s handy to have along in case there’s a dispute over the Queen’s Chain.’ ‘Shut it,’ Nicole called over her shoulder. Sean waited until she’d gone before asking, ‘What’s the Queen’s chain?’ ‘Publicly owned land next to the foreshore – s’posed to be all around the country – basically means every New Zealander has the right to access the sea.’ ‘Anyone can dive off any bit of coast around the whole country?’ ‘That’s the idea, but it doesn’t always work; the system’s a bit chaotic.’ Sean nodded. A chaotic system was a concept he understood completely.

• • •

Ritchie parked as close to the sea as possible, letting them spill onto a grassy knoll above a cove. Sean gaped. He breathed in the fishy, salty air and felt the breeze on his face and the spiky grass under his feet. Gulls squawked as they fought for morsels in the rock pools and the noise of the waves crashing on the reef sounded like distant thunder. Each hurtling wave was a personal challenge that Sean doubted he was up to. Ritchie left them with snacks and fresh water before driving away to pick up an anchor rope. ‘I can only give you an hour,’ he called, ‘It’s just a quick look around but make sure one of you is always spotting Sean.’ Everyone suited up, with Mason and Nicole squabbling over flippers and pinching each other’s gear. ‘Turn your camera off,’ Mason said. ‘You’re creepy the way you always film people.’ Nicole shrugged. ‘It’s a project.’ She turned her camera on Sean. ‘Today I’m capturing a new diver’s impressions as he goes under the sea for the first time.’ She stepped closer and said, ‘Even more astounding, I’m thinking our new diver has never been in the sea before. Sean Phelps, how are you feeling about this?’ Sean blushed and said, ‘Yes, I have,’ and ‘Dunno.’ ‘I’m going with highly excited,’ Nicole said in a sarcastic tone. ‘He’s been to Mozie-something,’ Mason said. ‘Mozambique.’ Sean pulled the mask onto his head. ‘When I was a baby, but I hardly it.’ ‘Mozambique. Mozam-bique!’ Mason lay back in the shallow water. ‘How far away was that from your house?’ ‘Two days’ drive.’ ‘Oh god, that’s impossible to imagine.’ Mason pointed at the rock in front of Sean. ‘Mind out for barnacles, they bloody hurt.’

‘Do they?’ Sean looked around. ‘He doesn’t know what a barnacle is,’ Nicole murmured into her microphone. She called out, ‘Barnacles are crab-like urchins that prey on fingers and toes.’ ‘Whatever, Nicole.’ Mason stood up to lean over and tap at the rocks under Sean’s feet. ‘These spiky, hard lumps are barnacles. They pick a rock when they’re about six months old, grow hard shells straight onto the surface, then stay there forever.’ ‘What do they eat?’ Sean paused to stare at them. ‘They sift plankton with their feathery feet.’ ‘Really?’ He crouched right down. Sean had spent hours researching deep-sea fish but he’d scarcely thought about rock pools. He wished he could stay here, safe, poking around, exploring. ‘What’s plankton?’ ‘Microscopic floating shit. Come on, get in.’ ‘Ow.’ Nicole clutched her toe. ‘A barnacle kicked me with its feathery foot.’ Mason grinned at Sean. ‘I know what I’d like to kick with my feathery foot.’ Sean laughed as he sank into the water and felt the relief of it seeping into his wetsuit, cooling him down. ‘Why don’t you snorkel here for a while?’ Mason gestured to the shallow rock pools as he pulled his flippers on. ‘Take your time to get used to the sights. There’s almost no surge so you won’t hit rocks. Your snorkel will scarcely get wet.’ Sean sat on the slippery bottom and stared at the wide shallow basin around him, a baby pool for baby divers. ‘Where will you be?’ But Mason had already pulled his mask down like a shutter and was adjusting his mouthpiece. He gave a wave before turning to flipper into deeper water, just his shoulders and snorkel visible. Nicole filmed him leaving before turning her camera on Sean. Ignore her, Sean told himself. His bum shifted along the sea floor as he tried to pull his own flippers on. A small wave bumped him, shifting his other flipper out of reach. He knew Nicole got that footage.

Finally, Sean was ready. He slid off his perch and put his head under the water. The sea floor came into view; the same jagged, barnacle-crusted rocks and occasional slick surfaces that were exposed on the shore, but now, everything was darker and slower. Weeds swayed in the current, which carried floating debris and tiny fish. A crab scuttled from a crevice to a spongy lump right beneath his face. He stared and stared. He forgot about Nicole, he forgot about everything as he took it all in. Sean could hear his own breathing, raspy and loud at first then becoming less frantic and steadier. When he dropped lower, to let the water cover his head, he could still hear the sound of his breathing but it was a comforting, lulling sound, a constant reassurance that air was reaching him. A sea drift edged Sean towards the rocks but once he concentrated on using his flippers he found he could move in a relatively straight line. Mason came back after 30 minutes with a couple of crayfish in his catch bag. ‘Nicole’s looking along some deeper ledges with her gun, so why don’t you come and check out the other side with me?’ Sean followed Mason over different terrain, boulders rather than jagged rocks, with a reddish-brown weed covering many of the surfaces. He ran his glove through the weed and microscopic flecks swirled wherever he touched. As soon as the shallows became deeper, Mason stopped to talk. ‘This is a good place to get used to diving.’ He demonstrated by breathing out, in, then bending forward with one leg high in the air before disappearing into the water. Sean tried exactly that. It wasn’t deep but he noticed an increased pressure on his eardrums so he kept swallowing to equalise. His snorkel gurgled like a drink bottle filling with water. It was different now, a bit darker with more current to consider. Sean tried to keep up with Mason who was peering into crevices and looking under rocks, but doubt plagued him. Could he get up easily? He swam between two sharp pillars and dropped into a dark hole that resembled the entrance to a cave. He wondered again if he was safe. You’re fine, his brain said, but panic battled reason. I’m not fine, I’m not fine, I’ve been down here for ages. I’m drowning. His heart banged behind his ribs like an animal in a cage. He spun around to reach the surface and

caught his sleeve on a jagged edge. The surface was so close but felt unreachable. He broke through, coughing, choking, nearly spewing. Mason followed Sean up, fortunately missing most of the drama. ‘It’s beautiful, huh? Do you like it?’ ‘Ja, man. I love it. I was just checking I could get up, you know, that air was still up here.’ He tried to laugh off his panic. ‘I know what you mean.’ Sean was sure he didn’t know. Mason looked so natural in the water he could’ve been born with flippers instead of feet. But it was good being out here as Mason’s dive buddy so he blew in his snorkel to clear it, wiped his mask clean, instructed his heart to ease up and began the whole process again. The next dive was easier. He edged along a ridge behind Mason, holding the waving kelp and rocks to keep low. Sometimes he let Mason get ahead of him around a rock so he could concentrate on calming his heart. Little creatures swam haphazardly around him, going about their business of finding dinner. Sean watched a small, silver fish dart into a rock that looked split in two like an apple. When he peered in to follow its progress, he saw three grey lumps attached to the rock at the back, in the dark. They had to be pāua. They were exactly the same as the lumps on Mason’s video, so Sean went to the surface making sure he marked his rock. Mason came looking for him. ‘All good?’ ‘There’s pāua here, but I don’t have one of those knives.’ ‘I wish. No pāua this close to shore.’ Sean shrugged. ‘They look exactly like the things you collected in your film.’ Mason took his knife out. ‘Show me.’ They dived together, a confusion of bubbles. Sean struggled at first to find the divided rock but suddenly it was there. He pointed, then backed off to let Mason peer into the crevice.

Sean watched as Mason leaned in with his knife. Just as the first pāua went into Mason’s catch bag Sean had to go up for air. Even though he didn’t harvest the pāua himself, he still felt like a spearo.

CHAPTER SIX

‘I need a wetsuit.’ ‘You mean, you’d like a wetsuit.’ Mum peered into the oven, sighing when she saw dinner was family pie again. ‘Shame. Why are we having potatoes with a potato-topped pie?’ ‘It’s Cuisine de P. I’m adding parsley and paprika.’ ‘Sheesh, man. Is it too much to ask for real greens? Peas?’ ‘No time. I’ve been snorkelling with Mason in this little bay with tiny fish and crabs and –’ ‘In the sea?’ ‘Yup. Mason’s dad took us.’ He grinned. ‘I spotted some pāua.’ ‘Some what?’ Mum looked uncertain. ‘Shouldn’t you have asked me?’ ‘You were working. Anyway, I borrowed a cruddy old wetsuit, but I need my own.’ ‘How much are they?’ ‘Dunno exactly, but Mason knows this guy who sells cheap gear from his garage. I’ll need money for the suit and a gun.’ ‘We don’t have spare money. I brought all the cash we were allowed, but there’s other sports gear here. Why don’t you get involved in something different?’ ‘I want to dive. Dad would’ve said, “Sell the gear you don’t need” and we’ve got heaps we can sell.’

Mum’s shoulders slumped in a I don’t need this sort of way. ‘Like what? What don’t we need?’ Sean drew a list from his pocket and slid it across the table. Mum read aloud. ‘Two tennis racquets, coffee table, blue outdoor furniture set, three suitcases, banjo … You can’t be serious about your father’s banjo?’ ‘Neither of us play. He’d be chuffed about my diving and he’d be fine selling his banjo.’ Mum dropped the list on the table and put her head in her hands. ‘We don’t know what he’d say and it’s not fair to put your words on him all the time.’ She tapped the list. ‘I’m not selling his banjo, Sean. Listen to yourself, be reasonable –’ ‘You be reasonable,’ Sean shouted. He stood up, his fists clenched. ‘I’m trying to fit into this shitty place while you’re making it harder. You have loads of friends but I’ve only got one. You don’t realise. I like Mason. And his dad.’ ‘Is this about the family or the sport?’ ‘I don’t know! They’re both good.’ The people and the sport were so linked it seemed impossible to separate them. ‘What does it matter? Diving’s tough, you know. It’s like a safari. Dad would be proud of me and what I’m doing.’ Sean bolted for his room before there could be any more discussion. He sat on his bed, earplugs jammed into his ears, and hit play on Lost by Hybrid Minds. The drum and bass washed through him, the sparse lyrics resonating. After a while, his mother came in with their meals on a tray. She started to speak and he reluctantly pulled the buds from his ears. ‘You can’t be slamming doors and playing poor displaced me every time you want something, hey?’ ‘Well maybe you can’t stop me every time I want to do something that has an element of danger.’ They retreated back to silence, each recognising the heart of the matter. Mum pushed her slice of pie back from the edge with her finger. Sean noticed she’d added peas and warmed-up-leftover pumpkin to the plates. ‘However,’ she said at last. ‘I do think you have a point. We’ve got stuff clogging up our garage and we did agree we’d haul it here to sell so we could get some money.’ They looked

at each other and Sean raised an eyebrow. Mum nodded. ‘Let’s set up an online to get trading and you can buy this dive gear.’ ‘Will you relax about the sea?’ ‘Will you promise not to take risks?’ ‘Of course.’ How could she not understand he was essentially terrified of the sea? ‘But,’ Mum began. ‘About that banjo –’ ‘I know,’ Sean interrupted. ‘I don’t want to sell it, either.’

The next morning there was a message on Sean’s phone from Mason. Shore dive Tues, after school, come to my house first. Two smiling, fat, fish emojis served as full stops. Sean read the message several times, his nerves jangling with fear and excitement. He replied, I’m in. Cheers. He trained extra-hard that day, making his flippered feet work the lengths. Now that he had an idea of the currents that moved him around, he focused on making his legs strong. His dive fitness was improving: twice he’d managed two-minute breath holds. ‘This is our last training,’ Blubs told the group when the bell rang. ‘We’re getting the school pool water blasted and repainted. If you’re keen to be part of the work group then get this permission slip signed by your parents.’ Sean ed the queue to take a form while Blubs continued talking over their heads. ‘Make sure you’ve got protective gear. I’ll let you know the date as soon as I know. In the meantime,’ he raised his voice, ‘I’ve arranged for you to have access to the Campbell Street pool. I don’t want you to stop training.’

Kura ed Mason and Sean for the next shore dive. She was a pro with a fishing rod but also new to diving. In the car, the three of them chatted about

dive guns, but soon the talk turned to Mahia, a beach on the east coast that Kura and Mason travelled to every summer. They had years of history to draw on: Mahia friends in common, whale strandings and big storms that altered the beach landscape, or just local personalities to discuss.

Kura wasn’t going this year as her sister was getting married in Australia. Sean wanted to shout, I’m here, I could go. Please take me. He felt invisible, forgotten in the car. He needed to make new memories, to be able to say to someone in this country, when? His life in Zimbabwe felt erased. An occasional teacher asked him about the politics back home and a handful of students showed an interest in the wild animals of his country but no one cared that his cousin Louis was the shooting champ for his age group or that Leroy once found a snake in the laundry tub. Sean felt like a rhino beetle, stranded on its back, waiting for someone to tip him up the right way. Kura must have sensed his mood because she began to talk about Blub’s annoying teaching habit of asking students the question they’d just asked him. She did a good impression of his puffed cheeks and googly eyes. Sean was grateful when she asked about the teachers at his old school and he told her about Mr Cane, so named for his inclination to whack the students’ desks. It wasn’t much but he felt his invisibility lift a little.

Ritchie dropped them near a reef aptly named Hopeful Bay. They repeated the routine Mason referred to as splurge, suit up, splash-in, which meant they sprinkled their wetsuits with detergent before putting them on and getting in the water. Mason gave Kura and Sean old guns to use. ‘They’re a bit old school, but okay for starting.’ He kept his own carbon speargun for himself and said, as an apology for having the flashiest gun, ‘We could switch around.’ He pointed to the end of the reef where the waves seemed bigger. ‘Let’s drop in, down there.’ Sean would’ve preferred to try out his gun closer to shore but he knew he should stick with the others. Mason showed them how to load the guns in the water by using the chest pads

on their wetsuits. Sean liked the feel of the weapon in his hands, the trigger beneath his finger, the computer-game sensation of the muzzle out front. The gun made him feel less vulnerable to sharks although common sense told him sharks wouldn’t be lurking so close to shore anyway. He kicked off with a sense of unlimited possibility. The waves rocked the water in the deep pool making it hard to swim in a straight line. They were together as a group but separate, and Sean watched Mason pull up behind rocky outcrops to stalk his prey. The whole idea of stalking fish seemed crazy. It was no different to games he’d played with Leroy when they were younger; staking positions, watching and waiting for their pretend enemy. Mason’s spear arced through the water. Sean couldn’t tell if he’d shot anything until he saw a ghostly outline shimmering and twisting in the water. He knew from his own research that Mason would grab the fish and iki it now, before threading it onto his line. Sean braced himself as he kept watching. Mason picked his iki spot behind the fish’s eye and drove his knife in. It was immediately still. Then he unclipped the line from his gun, threaded the end through the fish’s gills – and out its mouth – before easing the fish down towards his float. It was impressive and logical, yet primitive. Then, Kura got a fish. He watched, envious and a bit sick again, as the whole procedure was repeated. Mason high-fived her, showed her where to iki her fish and how to thread it onto her line. He waved Sean over, clearly determined to see each of them bag something. Sean waved back as if he’d misunderstood and kept creeping through the pastalike fronds of floating weed. It was almost more beautiful out along the reef than it had been in the rock pools. The big fish appeared when Sean was least expecting it. He’d used his gun to part a clump of kelp when he found himself staring at a triangle-shaped fish. For the briefest moment, they eyeballed each other before the fish recoiled, zigzagging spasmodically as it escaped. Sean kept his gun trained on its disappearing back but didn’t even try to shoot. He lay on the surface and thought about his lack of action. The sheer beauty of the fish, whipping away in its desperate bid for freedom, seemed more important than another fish on a spear. Mason and Kura came up beside him. ‘What

happened there?’ ‘Dunno. I couldn’t shoot it.’ ‘Really?’ ‘We already had two fish,’ Sean shrugged, ‘but it’s probably more than that.’ ‘Don’t overthink it. The good thing about free diving is you can look and leave, or you can catch a feed if you want to.’ Mason took his goggles off to spit and clear the fog that had formed. ‘Are you chilled here? You can go back.’ ‘I want to keep diving,’ and Sean was relieved that this was the truth. ‘I’m sure I will be able to –’ he shrugged and pointed at the tip of his gun, ‘shoot something, next time.’ ‘Spearfishing’s just part of the game, getting down here among the fish is pretty key.’ Sean nodded, but felt doubtful. There’d been no pause in Mason’s YouTube clip between seeing his fish and spearing it. ‘It’s hard spearing in these rock pools, it’s easier in the sea, like when we’re at Mahia.’ Sean nodded as if he was sure that was the case when Mason said, ‘Why don’t you come up and see for yourself?’ So, there it was – an invitation in spite of his mangled shot. He didn’t know if it was a throwaway comment but he wanted to visit that magical place so much. ‘Serious?’ ‘Yeah. Dad’ll be pleased.’ A wave washed over them, briefly halting the conversation before Mason carried on. ‘If you come for the spearfishing comps in Feb, you’ll get some diving in, but not on the actual day. We only put down two divers per boat but you can be a spotter with Dad.’ Sean was hardly able to resist smacking the water like a happy cartoon fish. The long summer had yawned with emptiness and here was something to look forward to. ‘I’d never be good enough for the competition, but I’d love to see that part of New Zealand.’ Sean didn’t say it, but even the thought of sitting on a boat for hours with Ritchie was appealing.

Kura had Mason’s new phone in the sea and she was photographing the swirl of waves hitting a chair-shaped rock. She turned the camera on Sean. ‘Hey, Phelps, are you smiling?’ ‘We’ll tell Dad when we go in. You can be his number one crew,’ Mason said. ‘I haven’t been on a sea boat before,’ Sean itted. ‘What? Never?’ ‘Canoes and dodgems, but not out on the sea.’ ‘Dad’s taking the boat out this weekend for a test run before he drags it up to the beach for the summer. What’re you doing Saturday or Sunday?’ ‘Nothing. I never do anything.’ ‘Definitely a smile,’ Kura said from behind the camera, which made Sean give a big, hearty laugh.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Has your mother signed that form?’ Blubs asked Sean the next day. He held a clipboard and pen. ‘I’ve got it here.’ Sean rummaged among his books. Blubs checked the signature then wrote Sean’s name down on his paper. ‘Good. You’re on my list.’ ‘Do you know when it will be?’ ‘The experts are giving it an acid wash today, so we’re hoping to be ready to paint this weekend.’ ‘This Saturday?’ ‘Yup. And Sunday – a two-day job.’ Sean nodded but turned away to hide his disappointment. Why did two things that mattered have to double up when there were so many weekends with nothing on?

On Saturday morning, Sean dug out his father’s old overalls. He stared at the paint-splattered covers, the dirty green a reminder of the safari buggy his father had painted just before he died. Sean had lent a hand, but soon skived off with false promises to be back in no time. Dad ended up finishing the job on his own, and now, his prized buggy lay under a tarp, beneath the cypress hedge, probably sinking back into the dust. It was good to see Kura waiting beside the pool when he arrived that morning. She wore overalls, too, and even though she’d rolled hers up they still swamped

her small frame. She grimaced at the expanse of concrete below. ‘It looks three times longer now it’s empty.’ They heard Blubs before they saw him as he came through the gates to the pool enclosure. He was laden with buckets, brushes and a long length of hose. ‘Come on, now. We’ve got perfect weather for this paint job, so let’s not waste a moment.’ Sean thought about Mason who’d be taking advantage of the perfect weather out on the boat. Did he realise how lucky he was? Sean and Kura were assigned sections of the pool adjacent to each other. They worked steadily for a long time and Sean was shocked when he paused to find it was only nine o’clock. He divided the hours ahead into the pieces of dive gear he might buy, working that first stint for the float and line that would tether his gun. He imagined the float bobbing above him, and then a thin oval-shaped fish lying in the beds of waving kelp at his feet. He lifted his extension roller, sure he could shoot it. He fired, the fish lurched and wriggled but it was good. He reached out to wrestle his prize onto the float line when he heard a shout from above. ‘What the hell are you doing down there, Phelps? It’s not a bloody game.’ Blubs leaned over the side, his face filthy with annoyance. ‘I’ve convinced the school you guys are a good investment.’ Sean dropped the end of his roller brush back onto the concrete surface and moved it backwards and forwards. ‘Yeah, sorry, just scratching my nose.’ ‘Get scratching the pool surface because I want that section finished by 10.’ Sean’s face burned with embarrassment at being called out. He kept his head down and worked until sweat ran down his face and a blister formed on his thumb. When they finally gathered for a break Kura whispered, ‘What did you shoot?’ ‘John Dory,’ he laughed. ‘Perfect size.’

Sean arrived home late that afternoon physically wrecked. He left his paintsplattered clothes at the door and slumped in a chair in front of the TV with a

bag of biscuits. A clanging outside heralded the arrival of a vehicle in front of the house. Mason was suddenly there, crossing the road, unlatching the squeaky gate. Sean cringed at the mess of his flat, the tiny garden of weeds, the cracked pane of glass in the window. He kicked his overalls to the side and pulled the door open with false bravado. ‘Hey.’ ‘Tarakihi,’ Mason said, holding up a bucket. ‘You can fillet it, right?’ ‘Yup, of course,’ Sean said. Mason laughed. ‘Good luck, send me a photo.’ He vaulted the low, stone wall before running back across the road. Sean stared at the black eyeball of the spiky fish and said, ‘You’re a tarakihi, huh? I shot a John Dory.’ Some of Mason’s energy must have rubbed off because Sean opened his computer to read up on filleting. He ended up with scrappy pieces and fish bits covering the benchtop and floor. He was trying to decide if the ingredients should be T for tarakihi or just F for fish when Mum rushed in from her Open Day at the technical college. She kicked off her flat shoes at the door and ran past the kitchen to bring out some heels. ‘I’m going out for a drink, you’ll have to eat alone tonight. Sorry – been a huge day with so many students through the door – really successful – you’ll be exhausted; don’t wait up. Lock up after me!’ ‘What?’ Sean followed his mother to the door. ‘You can’t just – I’m cooking dinner and this isn’t fair. How come –?’ His question petered out when he saw an old, black Audi double-parked and running. A man with glasses and a beard sat in the driver’s seat, otherwise the car was empty. ‘What the hell?’ ‘For goodness sake, Sean.’ Mum pulled the door open properly and walked out. She spoke in a harsh whisper. ‘I’m going out for a drink with the staff and this man has kindly offered me a ride. You’re not the parent.’ She breathed slowly. ‘It’s only a drink. Okay? Goodnight.’ Sean could feel the man looking questioningly. ‘Not okay,’ Sean muttered. ‘Definitely not okay.’ He backed inside so he could slam the door.

On Sunday, Sean told Kura about the tarakihi Mason had delivered. He exaggerated the mess he’d made filleting it. ‘You have to keep your knives sharp and your slices smooth, not jagged.’ He liked the way she knew stuff. He found himself itting he’d eaten alone as his mother ditched him for a party. ‘I love being left alone, ’specially with fresh kaimoana and no one around to share it with.’ ‘It’s just, well, she’s, I guess …’ Sean couldn’t explain the essence of his objections. ‘Mum’s making all these new friends –’ ‘So? Are you worried or jealous?’ Kura stopped painting and looked hard at Sean making him wish he’d left the subject alone. ‘Both. It feels like she’s sorted but I’ll always be a misfit.’ Kura slid the paint tray down the line with her foot. She seemed to be thinking before she spoke. ‘Aren’t you mixing up minority with misfit? They’re not the same thing.’ She tapped her hand against her heart and said, ‘Like, I’m a minority, ’cause there’s not many other Māori kids at this school but I feel proud and strong. I reckon misfits don’t feel so good about themselves.’ She leaned her back against the wall of the pool where there was shade and said, ‘You’re Zimbabwean right? So just be you.’ ‘I can’t find me. I’m gone.’ Sean tried to laugh but it came out strangled. ‘Don’t worry about it, I’m talking nonsense. The sun’s frying my brain.’ ‘You’re not gone; your signposts, your waitohu have been mislaid.’ ‘Yup. They’ve disappeared for sure – my dad, my culture, my country, even my language. I have to stop and think before I speak.’ ‘Ha ha. Maybe we should all do that! Anyway,’ Kura paused to check where Blubs was before carrying on the conversation. ‘I know your dad has died – Mason told me. You can’t hurry some stuff, you know.’ ‘It’s been ages but feels like yesterday.’

‘You’re doing everything you can, like mixing with good people and trying new stuff. If you do the mahi you’ll reap the rewards. Things will come right.’ Sean glanced at Kura in a knowing way. ‘Good people? Does that include you?’ ‘Damn right it does,’ she grinned. ‘You’ll do all right hanging with me. And now you’ve got your invite from the Leadbetters for Mahia – you’ll be going?’ ‘Dunno. Depends on Mum.’ Sean shook his head. ‘Knowing my luck, she won’t let me go or they’ll pick someone else.’ ‘What a pessimist.’ She pulled a gloomy face. ‘The end of the world might come too but, in the meantime, you might as well keep looking for sunshine.’ ‘Ja, ja, I’m looking at it right now.’ Sean smiled at Kura for a fraction longer than usual. He felt awkward, then, so he put a dab of paint in her freshly painted square to lighten the moment.

Sean and Kura finished at three and went to Mason’s place to see the day’s catch. A long, thin fish lay the length of a bin, its tail curved up and over the end. ‘Guess the weight of this guy,’ Mason shouted. ‘Come on, what do you reckon?’ ‘I’m going with heavier than it looks because you’re making such a big deal,’ Kura said. She leaned over to tap and poke the fish. ‘It’s hard.’ Mason smirked. ‘Maybe that’s because it’s dead. Rigormortis?’ ‘Perhaps it’s pregnant?’ Sean suggested. ‘Yellowtail kingfish lay eggs,’ Nicole scoffed. Sean wished he’d kept quiet but Kura said, ‘Good try, though. I reckon there’s something inside, so get filleting.’ The idea of a surprise inside the fish was disgusting, but Sean hung around to watch Nicole slice it open. Everyone peered in to see a long, thin mackerel tucked inside, almost two-thirds the size of the kingfish. ‘What the hell? Dad, come and look at this,’ she called.

Ritchie came to stare at the fish inside the fish. It was headless and covered in a greenish, yellow slime. When Nicole rolled it into the sink, it landed with an unbending thud. He ran his finger through the slime. ‘This is bile, breaking the fish down.’ Mason pulled his father’s arm back. ‘How can you touch it?’ ‘It’s just nature. You produce bile.’ Ritchie wiped his hand down his already filthy Tshirt. ‘It’s produced here in your liver and stored here in your gallbladder,’ he said trying to poke Mason’s stomach. ‘How would the kingfish manage to eat such a big fish?’ Sean asked Ritchie. ‘It’s a carnivore, the ocean’s its giant soup bowl,’ he replied. ‘Eat or be eaten in that environment.’ Mason got his measure out of his dive bag to lie it across the mackerel. He said over his shoulder, ‘See why this sport is so cool? There’s always something weird or wonderful.’ ‘Yeah,’ Sean said. ‘This one is weird.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mum borrowed the same old Audi a week later to take Sean to buy his dive gear. ‘Whose car is this?’ Sean glanced over his shoulder as he pulled his seat belt on. A man’s jacket was bunched up on the back seat. ‘My friend from work. Daryl.’ Sean wanted to say: Daryl’s a shit name; that he knew Daryl was more than just a friend from work; that he wasn’t happy about any man who wasn’t his father; but instead he said, ‘His car’s a mess.’ ‘Maybe you could clean it as a thank you,’ Mum said. ‘He wanted to do something kind for you.’ Like hell, Sean thought. He wanted to do something kind for you. The car made his skin crawl, it smelled of something he didn’t like. ‘Are you allowed to drive this?’ ‘Yes and no.’ Mum shrugged at Sean. ‘I know you’re desperate to look at wetsuits, and –’ she braked too hard at the intersection at the top of the road, making them both lurch forward. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ She drove more slowly then, sitting too far forward in the low-slung seat. ‘About this wetsuit guy, I don’t trust a salesperson called Sharkie, so don’t take money in.’ ‘It’s ’cause he looks like a shark.’ ‘Hmm. Let’s see, shall we?’

Sharkie wore his wild hair oiled and knotted in a bun, a sarong tied on his hips and a string singlet with plenty of bare chest hair showing through. Mum

frowned with disapproval as he padded towards them, his bare feet slapping the concrete floor. ‘Welcome folks. You must be Sean.’ He held up his hand for a bro shake. Sean met his palm in the air and avoided his mother’s eye-roll. Then Sharkie stepped back and spread his arms wide to display the garage filled with dive gear. He looked like a lion tamer and Mum gave off an even more disapproving vibe. Sean ignored her, gave a low whistle and moved towards the spearguns. ‘Yeah, but wait,’ Sharkie said. ‘You’ve got some limited funds, right? One flash item’s not going to work for you.’ He lifted a piece of paper off his workbench which was an old surfboard lying across two saw horses. ‘I made notes, so let’s start with the most important thing.’ Sharkie selected a mask from a high hook. ‘This is key.’ He tapped the front. ‘It must be glass and you need a decent strap that seals around your face.’ ‘Couldn’t he start with plastic?’ Mum asked. ‘Plastic’s cheap, but it scratches easily and fogs up.’ Sharkie folded his arms and leaned back on the wall. ‘It’s the air inside the mask that makes you see underwater because our eyes are water lenses. They only work if they have air around them so it’s really important his mask is watertight and good quality.’ After the masks, Sharkie moved to the snorkels. ‘Narrow is good; the width of your little finger and long. Some snorkels have swanky valves and bends but it’s bullshit. Price is irrelevant – mine cost me five bucks.’ Mum looked confused. ‘You mean you can buy a decent snorkel for five dollars?’ ‘Too right – just get one that perfectly fits his mouth.’ Sharkie pointed at the flippers in Sean’s hand. ‘I see you have fins. They’re good; rubber with heels; that’s what I use, too, but you’ll need booties of course.’ He scooped some neoprene socks from a bin. ‘These bad boys will keep your fins from rubbing.’ Then he reached into another container for a weight belt. ‘Wetsuits keep you buoyant so you need lead weights to hold you under the water. Do you understand that?’ ‘Yup.’ Sean stood right beside Sharkie to peer at the weights. ‘About a tenth of my body weight?’

‘Good work, you’ve done your homework. We’ll come back to the weight belt when we’ve looked at wetsuits. Chuck your fins on the counter and follow me.’ He walked towards the spearguns calling over his shoulder, ‘Fins have to be efficient – the most distance for the least effort.’ ‘I agree,’ Mum said, as though she were the diver. Sharkie pointed at the guns. ‘Now, , big companies want to sell you their latest toys, but the latest isn’t always the best.’ Sean nodded but couldn’t help eyeing up the best. ‘I’ve been thinking how I can help since Mason mentioned you’d be calling by. I’ve got two suggestions.’ He pulled out a rubber-band-powered gun with a wooden handle. ‘This beginner gun I could do as a hire-to-buy scheme with you paying me off in six-monthly instalments.’ ‘How much?’ Mum asked. ‘I paid two hundy; I’d sell it for that. I like seeing young guys getting involved.’ Sharkie tapped the wood. ‘Four 50-dollar payments.’ He put his hand up. ‘Don’t decide now, think about it.’ ‘Thank you,’ Mum said. She gave Sharkie one of her specialty smiles that usually floored people. ‘What’s your other suggestion?’ Sharkie scratched his face and looked awkward. ‘Your wetsuit. Hear me out, huh?’ He bent down to drag up a box. ‘You’re not tall yet. Is your Dad a tall guy?’ Sean gulped. ‘No. Maybe.’ ‘Well, either way, you’re sure to grow; don’t waste money buying something for one season.’ Sean nodded. Nervously. Sharkie ran his hand over the lid but didn’t open the box. ‘Wetsuits are crucial for warmth, not fashion, okay?’

Sean felt a trap open. ‘You need a thickness of three to five millimetres and a hood – the hood’s essential because you lose most of your heat through your head, and this one comes with the socks and gloves as well. All for a bargain price.’ Sean wanted to turn away but he forced himself to look when Sharkie finally lifted the lid. He stared down at a bright, pink wetsuit with black zips. Sharkie looked gutted. ‘This was a promotion to encourage girls into spearfishing.’ ‘How ridiculous,’ Mum said. ‘Girls don’t need to be dressed in pink to spear fish.’ ‘I know, I know, I’m sorry. I agree, but I’m stuck with the thing.’ He lifted it up and Sean saw it was probably the right size and was indeed good quality. ‘How much?’ Sean asked sullenly. ‘The whole lot retailed at 380 dollars but you can have it for 80 bucks – it’s two years old and I want rid of it.’ Sean reached out to feel the quality, the spongy thickness of the neoprene. ‘What about sharks? Don’t they like pink?’ ‘Good question – two schools of thought on that one, mate. Some say sharks are colour-blind but yeah, others say black wetsuits are best.’ ‘I know it’s gunna fit,’ Sean said. Sharkie nodded. He seemed sad about that, too. Sean folded his arms and breathed deeply. ‘I’ll take it.’ ‘You will?’ ‘Seriously?’ Mum and Sharkie spoke at the same time. ‘Pink’s an attitude, not a colour.’ Sean didn’t expect anyone to agree. He knew he didn’t.

• • •

‘What did you get?’ Mason asked when Sean arrived at his house. ‘Come and tip the stuff on my bedroom floor.’ He led the way down a ageway, saying over his shoulder, ‘I hope you didn’t get a gear bag; I’ve found one you can have.’ ‘No gear bag, I’m totally out of money.’ Sean dumped his loot on the floor, and stared around Mason’s room. The walls were each painted a different colour and the green wall was dominated by a wakeboard and a snowboard, both hanging from special hooks. An unmade bed strewn with fish-shaped cushions, school clothes and a toy Labrador with missing ears sat in the middle of the room. Under the window was an old-school desk that might have once belonged in a doctor’s surgery. It had a roll-top and a leather inlay on the inner polished surface. An array of framed photos was arranged on one side and Sean stepped forward to peer at them. ‘Wow. Is this a marlin?’ Mason came to stand beside him. ‘Yeah, Queensland. Off Great Barrier Reef with Dad last year.’ Sean straightened up and saw another picture behind the marlin of a lady who could only be Mason’s mother. They shared the same smile and the same wavy, fair hair. Mason saw him looking and pulled him away. ‘I’m dying to see what you’ve bought.’ Sean played up his presentation, starting with the gun, followed by the weight belt, the mask, the snorkel, the catch bag, the knife and finally, the wetsuit. Mason gaped. ‘You paid for that?’ ‘He tried to force me to take it, but yup, I paid,’ Sean laughed. He dropped it onto Mason’s lap. ‘It’s a new range; it’s called a wetshit.’ ‘It’s good quality.’ Mason fingered the material. ‘Is this a costume? Didn’t he have Finding Nemo?’ ‘He said it was all about Pink Panther this year. Have I been duped?’ Sean flopped down onto the floor beside his gear. ‘To be honest, it was this at 80 dollars or nothing. My funds didn’t run to a black wetsuit.’

Mason nodded and picked up Sean’s gun. ‘This is good.’ ‘It’s okay.’ Sean looked disappointed. ‘I wanted pink to complete the look but he was all out.’ ‘Ha ha, you’ll be a rare tropical fish.’ ‘I’ll be a slaughtered fish when Nicole sees me.’ Mason looked surprised and sucked air through his teeth. After a while he said, ‘She’s just mad about stuff at the moment.’ Sean wanted to say, ‘I’m mad about stuff, too,’ but he could see his quip had brought a sulky look to Mason’s face. He shut up.

CHAPTER NINE

‘Wait, Dad. Donelle’s coming ’cause we’re starting our new film.’ Nicole peered out the window for her friend. ‘Who starts a project this late in the year?’ Mason asked. ‘It’s to raise money for her trip to help wounded animals.’ Nicole looked pointedly at Sean. ‘Someone has to help them.’ Sean noticed Ritchie’s jaw clench as he glanced sideways at Nicole. He was just going to speak when the rear door wrenched open and a pile of gear landed on Sean’s knee. A girl climbed in beside Sean, her long, dark hair flinging across his face. He shuffled across to the middle, shrinking from her confident manner. ‘Thanks for waiting, Ritchie,’ she said. She smiled at Nicole and Mason, then turned to Sean with her hand out. ‘Hi, I’m Donelle. I’m in media with Nicole.’ ‘Sean.’ ‘He’s from Zimbabwe,’ Nicole said. Donelle went ‘Ahh,’ in a that explains things sort of way.

• • •

It was blustery on the coast road with ominous clouds skittering across the sun. Sean stared out noticing how the clouds changed the colour of the sea as they blew across the sky; green in the shallows, blue further out, but black close to the rocks.

Today’s dive was at a different location again. The water seemed deeper, darker and more agitated as if a giant hand was sloshing a tub. Sean leapt out with the others but stood watching instead of getting ready. The waves pounded over the end of the reef sending sea spray high into the air where it seemed to hang, suspended, before it fell back down. He pointed at the craggy rocks and asked Mason, ‘We’re going out there?’ ‘It’s a guarantee for crays.’ It seemed an impenetrable fortress for crays. Mason held the splurge out, so Sean unzipped his bag to douse his new wetsuit with dishwashing liquid. It made the decision more final. ‘Work out the bumps as you pull it on. The shin part sorts your feet, the thigh part sorts your knees and the crotch part has to tuck right in.’ Mason demonstrated with exaggerated wide steps which made Sean laugh, but Mason said, ‘Nah, seriously, if you don’t fit the bottom half properly, you’ll rip the top. Then put your arms in the top first, so it’s easier to get your hood on.’ Nicole gasped. ‘Are you for real?’ Sean had already decided to front foot Nicole. ‘It was all I could afford.’ His tactic worked but her words stung. ‘Now I’ve seen everything. You’re a freak.’ Sean breathed out slowly. Your words can’t touch me, Nicole Leadbetter but he knew words could cut deeply, just as he’d wounded her when he spoke about her mother. His hands shook as he scooped up his fins. Ritchie stayed in the car to do paperwork but called through the window, ‘Be sensible out there, Mason, he’s still a beginner.’ Mason shouted, ‘Of course. We’re walking up the beach so we can get in by the pancakes.’ The pancakes turned out to be a series of flat rocks stacked one on the other like hotcakes. Sean crept to the edge of the stack to peer into the yawning pit of boulders, barely covered by water, until a strong, surging wave filled the void.

When the pit was full, the sea slopped and swilled, forcing seawater over the ledge, almost dragging Sean into the abyss as it drained away. He stepped back from the angry, unpredictable hole. There seemed to be no logic to the wave patterns. ‘We’ll get in over there,’ Mason said, pointing to the far side of the pancakes, ‘then we’ll swim through the channel when it’s full of water. The crayfish hide on the other side and under that rock.’ Mason pointed to an enormous barnacleencrusted boulder on the other side of the crater. Of course, they do, Sean thought. Any creature with a smidgen of survival sense would know that was the best place to hide. Mason slithered off the edge beckoning Sean to follow. The force of the waves tried to push them under the lip of the pancakes. Sean felt scared. ‘Is this crazy?’ ‘Hell, yeah! Real crazy.’ Mason laughed with joy as he dog-paddled towards the gap with Sean following. He watched the sea rush into the basin, swirl and churn, then rush away again. It looked violent. ‘You need water in your bathtub,’ Mason shouted over the roar of the sea. ‘Get ready to launch when I say. You don’t wanna get washed on a ledge like a crayfish.’ ‘No, I –’ ‘Go!’ Mason shoved Sean into the cauldron. Sean tried to kick through the narrow fissure but couldn’t get any forward momentum. He felt Mason grab his leg to haul him back. ‘You weren’t going to make it and the rocks’ll wreck your gear.’ Mason pushed in front of Sean. ‘Lemme go first. I’ll show you.’ Sean swam back to tread water behind Mason. He rubbed his elbow where it had crashed against a sharp rock. ‘Maybe the tide’s wrong?’ ‘Tide’s good.’ Mason pointed at another roll of water sweeping towards them. ‘Here’s mine. I’ll go into, under, then out.’ Mason threw himself at the roil to do exactly that. He bobbed up on the other side and called out, ‘Easy! Here’s yours, get ready … Go!’

‘On the wave, under the wave and out,’ Sean recited before throwing himself in. He felt his knee connect with a vicious edge, but kept going until Mason grabbed his arm. ‘You’re lighter than me, so it’s harder to get through.’ Sean nodded. He felt elated and terrified. ‘Let’s drop below the kelp line to peer along the ledges. Imagine you’re getting low to look under a bed for the swaying feelers of a crayfish.’ Mason adjusted his snorkel and mask. ‘We’ll have a trial run before we go to the best rock over there.’ He jabbed at a place over his shoulder. Sean tried to take a big breath but he was too nervous. He plunged down to follow Mason’s black-clad form. The swirling waves and bubbles made it almost impossible to see but eventually Mason became visible lying on the seabed with his head under a rock, shining a small torch into a dark shelf. Sean grabbed a handful of weed to anchor himself but still his feet drifted towards the surface. Mason moved fast and decisively. He put his gloved hand into a narrow fissure and slid it forward. Sean saw that he was guiding a crayfish out of its lair while his other hand met the crayfish head-on and wrapped around its feelers. He made the procedure look slick and easy. Sean wanted to go up for air, but Mason flipped the crayfish over and held the tail flat so Sean could measure it. Mason peered at the numbers, then stowed the crayfish in his catch bag. He gestured towards the surface. ‘You’re too light,’ Mason said when they’d surfaced. ‘Follow me.’ He swam to a ridge of low rocks where he was able to slip a weight off his belt and thread it into Sean’s. ‘I didn’t expect a crayfish to be chilling on our practice rock, that was a bonus. Let’s try again, but this time you do the harvesting.’ Sean wanted to back out; he’d never be good enough, but Mason was already swimming away. By the time Sean caught up, Mason was doing his relaxing breaths and was ready to dive. Sean told himself to chill out. He tried to slow his heart down but found himself taking small, panicked breaths instead. ‘Calm down,’ he muttered, but his lungs and heart wouldn’t listen. His breaths were shallow pants like Yogi on a hot day.

Mason was waiting so Sean dived anyway. The extra weight on his belt did make it easier to lie beside Mason on the seabed. They moved to a different ledge further out to sea, beneath an overhanging rock which was shaped like a shark’s open jaw. Sean saw two waving feelers. He commanded himself to creep forward. His heart banged against his ribs. He glanced up, searching for the security of the surface but it was gone; the overhanging rock was a trapdoor. Relax, Sean instructed himself, knowing his hammering heart was using precious stored oxygen. Mason pushed him forward. Go, Sean thought. Go now. Mason tapped Sean’s arm and held up his thumb and forefinger in a circle; the time-honoured gesture to ask if Sean was okay. Sean nodded yes. He felt a brief moment’s pride when Mason patted his shoulder. But Sean didn’t feel okay. He’d nodded instead of shaking his head. His chest and brain strained for air. Go fast. Do it. Sean kicked forward, shoved his hand into the narrow gap and felt something scuttle, so jammed his other hand in to halt it. The crayfish couldn’t go back so it faced Sean, rearing up with waving claws. Sean’s hands became unpredictable. He fumbled the scoop. The crayfish flapped away in backward, zigzag bursts leaving Sean holding a crayfish leg. He felt sick. Air. Air. His mind became blank, fuzzy, he couldn’t think but his feet acted on instinct. They kicked hard off the sea floor, only to slam him into the overhanging rock. His face scraped and he reeled away before sinking down. A hand unsnapped his weight belt. Blackness.

CHAPTER TEN

‘Slowly,’ someone said. Sean gasped for air like a goldfish out of its tank. His snorkel dangled from his mouth. ‘Take it easy.’ He was vaguely aware that it was Nicole speaking and felt her drape his left arm over a rock. ‘Make sure he stays put,’ she snarled, before disappearing. Mason was there then, with his snorkel and mask hanging off his arm and his gloved hand clamped down on Sean’s to keep him from slipping underwater. He wanted to tell Mason he was okay but his clenched jaw wouldn’t work. ‘Nicole’s getting your weight belt.’ Mason glanced towards the shore. ‘Dad’s gunna kill me.’ ‘Belt?’ Mason nodded. ‘She released the buckle; you needed to get up quickly.’ ‘Head –?’ ‘You’ve hit it. There’s blood up here.’ Mason tapped his own forehead before leaning forward to ease Sean’s mask off. Sean lifted his right arm to pat the growing lump under his hood and saw he was still holding the crayfish leg. He recoiled from the sight and threw it into the sea. ‘Crayfish legs grow back,’ Mason said, realising Sean was revolted by the severed leg. I’m safe, Sean thought, but stared at the distant shore and wondered how he’d ever get back to the car. His face was tight with pain. Mason stared at the shore, too, but his thoughts were obviously about his father. ‘Dad’s gunna spew.’

‘Does he have to know?’ ‘Depends on the marine film crew following us.’ Mason gestured behind Sean. Sean turned awkwardly to see Donelle filming him. She gave a small wave as if they were all in the game together. Nicole swam up on the other side of Sean and slammed his weight belt on the rock. ‘You’re bloody idiots, you two.’ ‘I didn’t realise,’ Mason said. ‘He said he was okay.’ ‘You’re the supposed expert, not him.’ Nicole tossed her head in Sean’s direction. ‘He might have concussion.’ She shrugged her shoulders, sick of them both. ‘What were you thinking? It’s his third dive in the sea and you push it like that? You’re friggin’ stupid, Mason.’ ‘It’s just a bump.’ Sean mumbled. ‘Say a wave washed me into a rock. It was my fault. I wanted a cray.’ ‘Yeah, can we say that, Nicole?’ ‘Say what you like,’ she replied.

Ritchie cleaned Sean’s face with Dettol before smearing the graze with antiseptic cream from his medical kit. ‘Foreign bodies and bacteria live in marine environments,’ he explained. ‘You’ll need to watch for infection.’ Then he rang Sean’s mother and they all heard him describe Sean’s crash into the rock as he tried to swim through a channel. ‘Yeah, he’s fine,’ Ritchie said. ‘A real egg on his forehead but they did the right thing by coming straight in.’ Everyone was quiet. Nobody looked at anyone else. ‘I’ll drop him home and he can have a rest,’ Ritchie said. ‘Then why don’t you both come for a barbeque tonight? It would be lovely to meet you.’ There was a pause before they heard Ritchie say, ‘Wonderful. No, it’s no trouble at all. See you at six.’

Mum nearly changed her mind when she saw Sean’s face. ‘Argh, shame!’ She peered closely. ‘We need to watch for infection.’ ‘I know. He told me. We’re watching.’ ‘Don’t get lippy with me, Sean. I’m not happy about this; come under the kitchen light so I can look closely.’ ‘No, it’s sorted. Ritchie put stuff on.’ ‘I need to see it.’ ‘No. Leave me, it’s nothing.’ Sean went to the bathroom and locked the door. It wasn’t nothing. He stared in the mirror at his broken skin and swollen face, vivid reminders of his terrifying experience. He wished he could tell his mother what really happened but the lie felt locked in as tight as his swollen face. He showered, changed and shook away the memory of his blackout. ‘They said six o’clock, Mum. Let’s go.’

Sean carried the salad while they walked the 20 minute route to Mason’s house. ‘Tell me about the Leadbetters,’ Mum asked. ‘Ritchie’s a doctor, sort of half-retired. He’s quite old – but kind. Don’t call him Richard, no one does.’ Sean picked a tomato from the salad to eat as he thought about them. ‘Nicole is Mason’s sister. She’s an amazing diver but she’s mean, always on about her media studies and she films me in a mocking way, so I’ve not told her you make documentaries.’ ‘How is she mean?’ ‘She’s racist, I think,’ Sean answered, ing the pointed way Nicole had spoken about Zimbabwe in the car that morning. ‘Anyway, she thinks I’m weird and wimpy.’ ‘I think you’re brave and comionate,’ Mum said. ‘It doesn’t count when your mother says nice stuff.’ Sean kicked a stone along the road. ‘And don’t stick up for me around her; I don’t want her knowing I told

you.’ ‘I’m never going to all the rules,’ Mum said. ‘And don’t get questioning about the diving, will you? This is just a little graze.’ ‘It’s more than a little graze. I don’t understand how a person can swim into a rock. It seems very dangerous.’ ‘That’s exactly the stuff I don’t want you saying. Diving is perfectly safe; I misjudged a wave.’ Mum shook her head. She walked out on the road to get around an old van blocking the footpath and called out from behind the obstruction. ‘Where’s Mason’s mother by the way?’ ‘They’ve split up; well sort of, she’s finding herself. Mason won’t say where she’s looking. He won’t talk about it.’ And just then an idea wormed into Sean’s brain. He looked at his mother in a new light when she stepped back onto the footpath. She was pretty, happy and clever. He didn’t want his mother to marry again, but this whole Daryl business made Sean realise some things were out of his control. Ritchie Leadbetter was a better option than beardy-weirdy Daryl, who accentuated their foreignness by being a recent immigrant himself. The idea burrowed further. ‘Ritchie is really good to me,’ Sean said. ‘That’s nice.’ Mum was barely listening. Sean thought about how hard life was in this new country, how it was easier with the Leadbetters on your team. Sean’s pink wetsuit marked him as poor, an oddity. He sent a silent apology to his dead father, then said, ‘Ritchie is really, really awesome, you’re going to like him. Lots.’ Mum stared at Sean as though she hadn’t seen him before, but didn’t answer.

The Leadbetters cooked up a feast. Nicole made sashimi and Sean liked the way she arranged the slivers so the fish was put back together, in death. Pāua fritters sizzled on a hot plate outside while Ritchie cut open the cooked crayfish. Mum stayed inside to avoid watching the crayfish go into the pot even though Ritchie

said he’d drowned them first. ‘It’s more humane,’ he explained, but Mum didn’t want to see any of it. When they sat down for dinner, Ritchie insisted Mum try all the delicacies. He gave her special attention, which made Nicole sulky. She put her laptop on her knee even though Ritchie said, ‘Not at the table.’ He ignored Nicole and boomed across the table, ‘Sean’s diving well but there’ll be no diving for a couple of weeks with that sore face.’ ‘Perhaps no more diving at all,’ Mum muttered. ‘I’m not stopping,’ Sean said. ‘I love diving.’ In reality, he loved the Leadbetters and spearfishing was part of the package. Mum rolled her eyes at Ritchie and they laughed together. Sean glanced at Mason and raised his own eyebrow in surprise. Even though he’d thought up the idea, he was surprised to see it happening. His mother was smiling and laughing with Ritchie. ‘I’m hoping you and Sean might come up to Mahia for a visit this summer. Sean could us on the boat for the spearfishing competition.’ Mum looked interested. Sean and Mason exchanged glances again. It was a shame things unravelled after that. Ritchie dropped a dish of warm potatoes on the kitchen floor as he was carrying them through to the table. He barked at Nicole and Mason to help him clean the mess. They hurried out of the room. Sean waited at the table with his phone, unaware his mother was watching the video Nicole had been ing. He looked up in surprise when Mum gasped and followed her gaze to see his pink-clad form being dragged, dazed and muddled, to the surface by Nicole. His head lolled away from the camera as Nicole put his hand on the rock. ‘Don’t watch that.’ Sean tried to angle the screen away, but Mum pushed his hand back. ‘Nyepa. A lie.’

‘Well, not really –’ ‘Yes, really – a lie.’ ‘All okay in here?’ Ritchie stood at the door with the broom in his hand. ‘We won’t be eating my Spanish patatas bravas after all.’ He looked at Mum’s face and then at the screen. ‘What’s happened?’ ‘Sean got into trouble under the water. Did you know?’ ‘The wave washed him against the rocks, didn’t it?’ Ritchie came to stand in front of the laptop. ‘Nicole?’ he called. ‘Get here.’ Nicole came in and rewound the video about 20 seconds. Mason leaned over to see what it was about but Sean moved away from the sight. ‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘I pushed it too far.’ Mum’s bottom lip quivered. ‘It was a lie,’ she said for the third time. ‘If you had known the truth you would have said “no more diving”.’ ‘That’s right. And I’m saying it now.’ Ritchie rested the laptop on his belly to replay the clip. He shut the lid with a sigh. ‘You’ve all lied. I can’t believe this.’ He looked at Nicole sternly. ‘Thank God you were there, what a disaster that could’ve been.’ ‘It was my fault,’ Mason said. ‘I wanted him to get a crayfish because he didn’t shoot when he saw this fish last time and –’ ‘Be quiet,’ Ritchie commanded. ‘Is this how spearfishing is?’ Mum asked. She wiped under her eyes where tears had gathered. ‘There’s always a risk,’ Ritchie told her. ‘I think our Sean has learned a lifetime lesson today; he’ll be a more careful diver as a consequence.’ Everyone was silent before Ritchie added, ‘If you let him continue, of course.’ ‘I don’t think so. I can’t.’ A tear escaped and ran down Mum’s face and more

followed. Sean felt ashamed of his lie and her tears. ‘Get Anita some tissues, Nicole.’ Ritchie’s lips were pressed together in a tight line and his eyes bore into Mason’s. ‘I’m very disappointed.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ Mason said. Mum wiped her face and shook her hair back as she tried to get herself together. She rolled the napkin on her knee into a tight spool and said, ‘My family has rapidly disappeared on me over the last few years. We didn’t have many to begin with, and now, with Sean’s dad –.’ Sean couldn’t look at anyone. He could hear the unasked questions in the room but knew he couldn’t answer them. Mum must have plastered a well-mannered smile on her face because she said, ‘I don’t want to spoil this beautiful dinner or wreck Sean’s friendship but I don’t want him diving in the sea again. I’m sorry.’ Sean glanced at Mason but this time it wasn’t a happy look. ‘Jeez, mate,’ Mason muttered. As Nicole walked towards the kitchen Sean noticed she was smiling, a small triumphant smile.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The lie wrecked everything. Mum watched Sean closely after that night as though he might black out in the kitchen or stop breathing in his sleep. ‘Can I swim?’ Sean asked her. ‘You can do as many lengths as you like – up and down the pool.’ ‘Do it then,’ Kura said. She’d come around to hear the story for herself and they sat together on the broken steps at the back of Sean’s house. She was leaving that weekend and her leaving felt like one more broken thing. ‘Keep training, build up your stamina.’ She waved her cell phone. ‘I want proof you’re swimming; stay in touch, huh?’ ‘Sure will,’ Sean said. He wondered how much keeping in touch would be too much. ‘There’s an awesome new coach at Campbell Street, so enrol there for the summer.’ ‘Maybe,’ Sean mumbled. His mother had given him housework and cooking chores but otherwise he could ‘do what he liked as long as he kept out of mischief and out of the sea’. Each night, Mum scrolled through old photos of Dad, alive, sunburnt and strong. She sipped her wine instead of eating dinner and she had long conversations with friends back in Zimbabwe. ‘Ja, ja, it’s water everywhere here,’ Sean heard her say. ‘So dangerous.’ Long-day Daryl, and his annoying six-year-old daughter Tilly, came to visit. Mum gave Daryl a beer, but she didn’t offer him a second one when he said, ‘Maybe a complete ban on the sea is a bit extreme? Especially in this country!’ He took the hint after that and left.

‘Hi! Can I the swim club?’ Sean peered through the dirty glass screen to attract the attention of a man eating a pastry behind the desk. ‘Sure thing. I come to you,’ and the guy who looked to be in his twenties strolled around to let Sean through the door into the pool enclosure. ‘I’m Alphonso,’ he said holding his hand out. ‘And you?’ ‘Sean Phelps.’ ‘I’m from Italy. I’m coaching of the Rats. You are a Rat?’ ‘I’m from Zimbabwe so I’m probably more an antelope –’ Alphonso laughed. ‘As long as you big antelope don’t eat my rats you are welcome. All abilities, just a swim desire.’ ‘I want to swim every day.’ ‘Good. We are starting at 5:15, then.’ Sean scanned the groups and times on the list taped to the office window. ‘Can’t I a later group?’ ‘No, you must come to my most fun, working class. You will never be sorry.’ Something about Alphonso’s confidence and crazy mixed-up sentences made Sean want to be in his group, so he signed up to the Rats.

The alarm on Sean’s phone woke him with a jolt the next morning at 4:30. He was reluctant to be the ‘newbie’ again, but after just two early starts, he felt part of the motley team Alphonso charmed, cajoled and coached. He sided with Sean, as the only other foreigner. ‘I come here to play,’ he moaned, ‘but all day I push lazy birds with no wings, up and down their bird bath.’ Alphonso cooked breakfast for his Ratters once a week and when he started an evening class for breath control, Sean signed up for that, too.

‘I’m thinking an idea,’ Alphonso told Sean one afternoon when it was quiet. ‘You want me to be the coach? I’m brilliant.’ ‘Not so brilliant, I think, but fast, like a fish.’ He wiggled his hand out in front. ‘You must get in the sea.’ ‘Well that’s not going to happen,’ and Sean told him about his diving ‘incident’ as his mother called it. ‘But this is no good, you must go again. I take my snorkel and mask to the world; every country – but not so much Zimbabwe.’ He shook his head, ‘No to crocodiles.’ Sean made a cutting gesture with his hand. ‘My mother made me quit – finito. I’m not allowed back in the sea.’ ‘If you have bad experience, you must get back on the pony.’ Alphonso clutched imaginary reins. ‘You must dive.’ He tossed back his own mane of dark hair. ‘You must give me your mother to talk.’ Sean gave him his mother’s number. If anyone could persuade her to change her mind, it would be Alphonso. ‘She works in the media department at the Tech College.’ ‘I am good this way talking with ladies.’ Alphonso gave a wink. ‘Today we will learn to slow your heart. I see now why you are swimming so fast and panicked. Spearfishing and free diving are for people who are not,’ he tipped his head back, searching for the word on the ceiling. ‘Discordant. Do you know this word?’ ‘I think so.’ ‘Spearfishermans must be relaxing before they dive; 30, 40 minutes before. You must be in charge of your heart.’ ‘That would be good,’ Sean said. ‘Shallow water blackout is very bad, a monster. You must look at this monster so you are not enemy of the sea.’

‘I haven’t got much money for more lessons.’ ‘Can you sweep or clean?’ Sean laughed. ‘I can, actually.’ ‘Good. You are sweeping the changing rooms,’ he waved his hand towards the rubbish bins, ‘you are disposing,’ and then he pointed at the water, ‘and you are Rat coaching.’

That evening Sean cooked boerewors over the braai Mum had set up in the yard. He knew Mum was worn down by Daryl’s persistence and she’d invited him, and Tilly, to come for dinner. Sean was wrestling open cans of baked beans on the ground outside when Mum came out with a glass of Coke for him. She leaned against the wall beside him with her wine, waved away the smoke from the braai, and said, ‘I’m going to change my mind.’ ‘About bread and broccoli?’ Sean asked hopefully. He’d already counted the sausages and figured there wasn’t going to be enough food. ‘The swimming is making me starving. I think we need bacon, too.’ ‘We can serve more food,’ Mum laughed, ‘but I’m changing my mind about the diving. I didn’t deal with your blackout thing very well.’ Sean squinted into the low sun as he stared at his mother. ‘Seriously?’ ‘I’ve been thinking this for a while, especially in view of the way you’ve kept training. Then I spoke to your lovely swim coach and perhaps we all could do with a break. We’ll go to Mahia.’ ‘How do you mean, we all?’ ‘I’m not used to the roads so Daryl’s going to drive. He’ll bring Tilly.’ Mum held the trump card – she’d been holding it ever since Sean lied to her and she played it confidently knowing Sean couldn’t argue about Daryl or Tilly. ‘When Daryl arrives, we’re going to talk about the trip and look over our camping gear.’ Sean felt caught between two extreme reactions: joy about the holiday and

disappointment about Daryl and Tilly. Daryl arrived well-prepared to discuss Mahia. He put a folder of information on the table and after they’d eaten he pulled out a topographical map of the peninsula. He explained the contour lines which showed the height of the hills before he moved onto bathymetry, ‘The measurement of the depth of water,’ he explained. Sean furtively photographed Daryl with his maps and sent a message to Kura with a yawning face: Casual dinner conversation on topography and bathymetry. ‘Mahia was an island once,’ Daryl continued. ‘This isthmus keeps it connected.’ He ran his finger over the arrow-shaped piece of land that clung to the rest of New Zealand by a thin strip of land. ‘Think of it as a land bridge,’ Daryl said proudly, as though he’d built it himself. ‘You’ll be asking yourself, “How is it spelt?” ’ Sean wasn’t asking himself that but Daryl spelt it anyway. ‘I-s-t-h-m-u-s.’ When Sean didn’t answer, Mum frowned over her shoulder and said, ‘That’s interesting.’ Daryl’s enunciation was deliberate and annoying and very English. ‘And Mahia sits on a volatile section of our coast; extremely susceptible to earthquakes and tsunamis.’ ‘Sheesh, man,’ Mum said. ‘In a really big shake, it could be separated from the rest of the country and become an island again – if it survived at all.’ Sean was surprised Daryl was so clinical about the dangers in front of Tilly but it was Mum who said, ‘That’s enough, thank you.’ Daryl looked surprised. Kura sent back a swift reply. Suck it up, he’s your ticket to the comp. lol. The dive classes, both wet and dry, were run once a day but Sean stayed at the pool for hours, helping move guide ropes, watching the beginners, cleaning the changing rooms and emptying the bins. He also listened to Alphonso’s teaching spiel for basic swimming and dive classes. His slick patter was imioned

more than mangled. ‘Divers must not be greedy. Listen please! Less than five per cent of the world’s fishes is caught when spearfishing. But 10 per cent of all fishes caught otherwise is dumped back in the oceans, dumped back!’ Alphonso had a way of wringing his hands at this sentence. ‘You divers must take only what you need, you must kill cleanly and you must love under the sea.’ Sean’s first visit back to the sea was with Alphonso and two other men on a Saturday morning early in January. As soon as Sean got out of the car he was struck again by the clean salt air, the wheeling bird calls, the crash of the waves. He donned his pink wetsuit that was now almost too small. They practised shore dives; the backward walk into the sea when wearing fins or the careful shuffle forward to knee-deep when the shallows were jagged and rocky. ‘Your hair is in your mask. It will leak and fog; you need ponytail,’ Alphonso said. Sean got a close haircut later that day to make his diving easier. ‘Your gun isn’t clipped onto your line! This is why you will say goodbye to your gun and fishes.’ Alphonso gave Sean better gloves. ‘To be feeling the gills on your fishes and the spikes on your crayfish.’ Then he waded into the water and tapped Sean on the shoulder. ‘Guasto! Your fins are breaking the water, warning: here I come, the hunter.’ When Sean finally shot a cod amongst the rocks, Alphonso held it up in disgust. ‘You best to stone through the brain but you only hit the body.’ Sean stared at the barely alive fish on his spear. ‘Can we kill it?’ ‘Make your decision, always be sure.’ Alphonso slid the fish off the spear. ‘Hold here, behind the gills and iki behind the brain.’ In one expert flick of his knife Alphonso dealt to the cod. ‘If you iki, it will be dying with its mouth open.’ He opened his own mouth. ‘Then you thread to your line until you add to your ice bin.’ ‘Oh, right.’ Sean already knew about iki but each night he went over everything he’d learned that day. He listened to podcasts, watched videos and ed an online spearfishing group to follow their chat.

On the last lesson before Sean left for Mahia he gave Alphonso a panettone his mum had made as a thank you. ‘It doesn’t look tasty,’ Sean said, ‘but apparently it’s special for you.’ ‘This is Italian Christmas treat and I am thinking your mother is most speciale to assemble this.’ He clapped Sean’s back. ‘You are diver now. Arrivederci.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

The road twisted and climbed with sudden dips and expansive scenery. Logging trucks thundered along the narrow highway like bullies along a school corridor. Daryl drove nervously, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Tilly puked without warning and although Sean managed to avoid most of it, he copped a spattering on his arm. ‘Shit,’ he said. Mum gave him a hard stare over her shoulder. ‘I gave you a container,’ Daryl called back as he searched for a place to pull over. ‘Why didn’t you use it?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Tilly wailed. ‘I opened my mouth and there it was.’ Sean saved that line for Mason. They drove on once Daryl had mopped up the big bits but even with the windows down, the smell made Sean want to vomit, too. As the car looped up the last bit of coast road, the views became more breathtaking so Daryl pulled into a scenic lookout to let them stand and stare. The sea sparkled blue, the sky was azure above it and the cliffs were stark white in contrast. They gaped in wonder. ‘Sheesh, it’s a hell of a place to get to,’ Mum said, ‘but this makes it worthwhile.’ Sean stared at the sheer cliff faces rising from the sea and spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘No wonder you need a boat to get out diving.’ Mum’s reply was so annoying Sean had to leave the view and get back in the car. ‘Don’t be relying on the boat, Sean. It’s a family time and we can go for lots of walks. And we can fish off the shore because Daryl has brought his kontiki.’ Daryl and Tilly are not family, Sean wanted to scream along with some other truths. I want to dive off Mason’s boat. I want to wrestle a kingfish. I want to be with the Leadbetters. The idea of hanging out as a bunch of foreigners,

launching a kontiki off the bloody shore, made Sean want to punch someone, preferably Daryl. He slammed the car door as hard as he could then sat amid the noxious fumes of Tilly’s vomit. It was Daryl who opened the car door. He eyed Sean as he might a ticking bomb then called out to Mum, ‘Let’s get to the campground to set up, so Sean can find his mates.’ Sean lifted his eyes, begrudgingly. ‘Thanks.’

• • •

It took ages to assemble the campsite. Sean had his own one-person tent, and he was relieved to see Mum had a separate space from Daryl and Tilly. Everyone agreed an early meal of fish and chips on the beach was warranted after the effort of the day. They’d only waited 10 minutes for their order when Sean’s phone beeped a message. ‘Oh, it’s Mason! He wants to know if I can go and check the crayfish pots. Right now.’ ‘Tell him thank you, but no, we’re having dinner, just now,’ Mum said. ‘I’m not hungry. You can save me some. Please!’ Sean felt frantic as he tried to argue. ‘I have to take my chances; he’ll ask someone else; it’s only fish and chips.’ Mum looked exasperated but Daryl had Sean’s back, again. ‘I suggest you let him go. It’s good to see a boy getting out, doing activities.’ ‘I want to go on the boat, too.’ Tilly started to cry. Daryl shushed her. ‘We’ll go and watch the boat leave.’ Sean didn’t want them watching the boat leave, but knew he owed Daryl. ‘I have to meet them at the boat harbour, I’ll run there now, I’ll be fine.’ ‘Wait for us, hey,’ Mum said. ‘And you must wear a life jacket.’

• • •

Sean found Spear-time straight away amidst the activity of the boat harbour. His mother’s fussing made him reckless and he leapt between a stationary car towing a boat and trailer, before dodging a carload of tourists looking to park on the sea front. Mason laughed when he saw his moves and high-fived him. Ritchie slung his arm around Sean’s shoulders. ‘Good to see you. I swear you’ve grown taller; you’ve filled out, too.’ Sean never wanted him to take his arm away. ‘I’ve been swimming, all summer.’ ‘Well it’s good to have you here. Welcome.’ Ritchie unhooked the boat and trailer from his truck before climbing on an old tractor parked under an enormous flowering tree. After some coaxing, the tractor shuddered to noisy life, then spewed exhaust out the back before Ritchie was able to reverse it up to his trailer. Mason attached the trailer to the tractor with plenty of winding and securing of clips and chains. ‘Okay, Dad, you’re good to go.’ He turned to Sean. ‘Finally, huh?’ ‘I reckon. This place is stunning.’ The tide was well out and the dropping sun glittered on the water like glass beads on a steel surface. Sean waded in the shallows as Mason and Ritchie backed the trailer. Sean could see how delighted Ritchie was when he caught sight of Mum. ‘Hello, Anita!’ He pulled on the tractor handbrake. ‘We’ve got room on the boat if you’d like to us.’ ‘Oh, no thanks. I’ll leave that for Sean.’ She smiled warmly but then put her hand up. ‘Actually, I have a friend who’d like to go.’ She turned to look at Daryl who was already rolling up his tros, each turn showing more of his pasty legs. ‘Oh.’ Sean thought Ritchie sounded disappointed but he quickly recovered himself. ‘You boys come and hold the boat, and let umm …’

‘Daryl.’ ‘And let Daryl get on so he doesn’t get splashed.’ Mason and Sean held the boat as Daryl climbed in awkwardly. Sean refused to look at him, choosing to focus on keeping the boat steady. A sea breeze tugged at the bow trying to force the boat sideways. Sean’s feet sank into the sandy bottom pushing the squelchy sand up between his toes. He tilted his head to take in the enormous hill that loomed above them. ‘Mokotahi,’ Mason said, reverently. ‘It shelters this harbour.’ Ritchie clambered on board then, making the boat dip and sway. ‘Okay, boys, push us out, we’re very shallow.’ Sean leaned his body into the side but the boat stubbornly refused to move. Mason ran around to Sean’s side and they heaved together, until it slid off the sand and floated. Sean climbed on first, then Mason followed, lifting the ladder and sliding the gate down after them. Ritchie worked the controls, the engine making various whines and beeps as he gradually dropped the motor into the sea. Daryl stood at the back of the boat waving goodbye to Tilly and Mum for ages until he finally took the front enger seat. Mason moved around the deck, stowing loose items. The boat chugged at low revs until it came level with a yellow buoy. Ritchie shouted, ‘Everyone hanging on?’ Daryl, who was using the bottom of his shirt to wipe the salt water from his glasses, looked up in alarm. He shoved his glasses on and grabbed the handrail as Ritchie opened the throttle. The boat rose like a cheetah from long grass. They were off. Sean thought he was hanging on, but the forward momentum slid his bum towards the edge of his chair. He turned to kneel on the squab, letting his face catch the fury of the sea spray. The boat skimmed the waves, bunny-hopping across some, crashing into others. Occasionally the sea rolled and parted for the boat but at other times it seemed to close up in front of them. Behind them, the boat left a wake that folded into patterns, leaving a groove where the engine sliced through the water. It was mesmerising to watch as was

the gradually diminishing shoreline. After a 15 minute ride down the coast, past the stark cliffs Sean had seen earlier that day from Tilly’s puke-spot, Ritchie pulled the boat to an abrupt halt. ‘Here we go, Mason. Work your magic.’ Mason was already pulling on black gloves. He glanced at Sean before pointing at another pair lying in a pocket under the seat. ‘You wanna help?’ Sean stood up and tried to balance as a wave of nausea hit him. The rocking boat made it hard to stand and the air was filled with the strong smell of fuel and fish bodies. ‘What do I do?’ No one answered. Mason pulled a long hook from a special holder and held it as he leaned out over the side of the boat. ‘Back up a bit,’ he yelled and Ritchie threw the lever beside his steering wheel into reverse. The boat edged backwards before Mason shouted, ‘Stop,’ then ‘Gotcha.’ He hooked a floating rope that was attached to a cluster of orange and green buoys with the Leadbetter’s name inked on them. He ed the hook back to Sean who slid it back into its holder and stood ready to help again. The buoys landed on the floor in front of Sean with a clatter, followed by a long coil of rope which Mason hauled in with fluid movements, showing off his arms. Sean surreptitiously squeezed his hands into fists and wondered if his swimming training might have improved his own biceps. As the iron crayfish pot came to the surface, Mason nodded to Sean. ‘Help me lift this?’ Sean slid his gloved fingers between the bars and helped Mason haul the pot out of the water on the count of three. Everyone craned forward, drawn by the frantic snapping noise coming from the cage and Sean saw the nowfamiliar orange of crayfish. Ritchie held a plastic measure and stepped forward to put his bare hand into the open funnel. ‘I reckon there’re two takers here.’ He grabbed a flapping, snapping crayfish by its back. It threw out long pincer legs to no avail; Ritchie knew exactly what he was doing. He flipped it over and flattened it out. ‘It’s a male,’ he said, so Mason turned the measure up the other way. ‘And it’s good.’ Ritchie lifted the hatch and knelt down awkwardly to remove a bung from the underfloor bin at Sean’s feet. He let it half-fill with water before closing it off again. Then he dropped the measured crayfish into the bin where it slid to the corner of the

hold, curled up, defeated. ‘You can tell this is undersized,’ Mason argued, but Ritchie insisted on measuring. ‘Let’s be sure.’ He peered closely at the numbers on his orange marker. ‘Throw it back, then.’ Mason tossed the lucky crayfish over the side of the boat. It spun for a moment in the air before landing with a faint splash in the sea where it swam away backwards with funny tail claps. When the crayfish were sorted, Mason began to rebait the pot. He stabbed at the clump of frozen fish bodies with a knife. ‘No way,’ Ritchie called out. ‘You’ll stab yourself; let Sean help.’ At first, Sean baulked at touching the bait, but once he put his hands on the pile, he found it was okay to grab the mass and prize it apart. He held a fish head in one hand, and a skeleton with a partially severed head in the other. ‘I try to divide the bait equally. If I give each pot some fat kahawai, then I think we’ve got more chance of catching crays,’ Mason laughed. Ritchie called out, ‘I see I’ve ed my superstitious nature on to you!’ Mason grinned at him and wiped his fishy hand on Ritchie’s arm. ‘You’ve ed on lots of weird habits.’ Sean envied the way Ritchie and Mason moved around the boat in a wellrehearsed dance. They had systems and routines that had been honed over the years and they seemed oblivious to the sloshing sea as they carried out their tasks. He turned away to stare down into the water. His fingers gripped the handrail and he wanted to scream. Why, Dad? Why did you risk your bloody life? I need you.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was seven o’clock, the sun was low, glittering and still warm, but there was more than a hint of evening in the shadows as Spear-time coasted back to the harbour. Mum walked towards them, holding Tilly’s hand and calling out as soon as the boat was in the shallows. ‘You okay, Daryl?’ ‘Only just,’ he told her. ‘Did you not have your sea legs on?’ Ritchie asked and everyone laughed when Daryl gave a sheepish snort. ‘I’m not sure I own any.’ Ritchie pointed up to the car park and said to Mason, ‘Get the tractor, son, and we need a chat before everyone disperses.’ They gathered around the boat when it was back on the trailer and Ritchie sat on the wheel guard as he spoke. He wore a worn hat that said Old fishermen never die, they just smell that way, which he pushed back to scratch above his ear. ‘Here’s the plan. Tournament day is Saturday so we’ve only got tomorrow to prepare. I’ll take Nicole, Mason and Sean as my competition crew, but only Nicole and Mason will dive.’ He looked at Sean. ‘It’s teams of two, so you stay on the boat as my spotter.’ ‘Yeah, I know,’ Sean said. ‘Maybe next time, huh?’ Ritchie said. ‘The tournament’s a bit of fun but Mason and Nicole take it very seriously, don’t you?’ ‘It’s the best thing about summer,’ Mason laughed. ‘Last year we couldn’t get a kingfish but this year we will.’ Ritchie looked doubtful. ‘Well, we’ll see. There’s a westerly blowing up

tomorrow afternoon so let’s dive early tomorrow morning but relax in the afternoon. Registration’s at six.’ Daryl spoke up, his accent sounding stilted after Ritchie’s casual chat. ‘Some people might like to assist me when I launch the kontiki tomorrow afternoon?’ Sean wondered why the hell he didn’t shut up about his stupid kontiki but Mason said, ‘Yeah! I’ll help.’ Daryl’s face became all glasses and beard as he scrunched into a smile. ‘I’d be delighted. It’s old but efficient.’ ‘Bit like me,’ Ritchie said. He settled his hat in place. ‘Everyone happy? Sean, if you want to dive and Anita agrees, then be here at seven tomorrow morning, sunscreened, with food, water and a hat.’ There was no long discussion. Mum just said, ‘That’s fine. Thank you.’ Mason and Sean slapped palms. ‘Tomorrow will be awesome, it’s our reconnaissance day.’ Mason laughed in the chilled-out way that made him so popular at school. ‘We always have our best fun when it doesn’t count, don’t we Dad?’

Reconnaissance day had surprises Sean couldn’t have imagined. He was at the boat harbour well before seven, shivering while he waited on a washed-up tree, teeming with sand hoppers that swarmed over his bare toes. He corralled them with driftwood but they escaped any fence he built by leaping the walls or burrowing under them. The Leadbetters arrived and repeated the routine of switching the boat from the truck, to the tractor, to the sea. Nicole had earbuds in under her beanie. She didn’t acknowledge Sean, but sat with her camera gear in her lap, as the boat slid into the water. Sean’s legs quickly became numb in the cold sea as he steadied the boat. ‘Gimme one good push and get on board,’ Ritchie called. ‘We’re deep enough to start the motor right here.’ Sean and Mason checked the crayfish pots on their way down the coast, bagging four takers. He wondered how long they’d be at sea, how he’d go to the toilet, if

he had brought all the right dive gear and most of all, if he’d be brave enough to jump off the boat into the middle of the ocean. It seemed a mad, mad-crazy thing to be doing. Ritchie drove them about 20 minutes further down the coast from where the crayfish pots were set. They mostly hugged the coastline rather than heading straight out into the vast ocean. When Ritchie finally stopped it was at a spot that looked exactly like the rest of the coast except for a cascade of white spume that dropped into the sea from a gap between rocks high up on the cliffs. ‘The Waterfall,’ Mason said. ‘We had our first dive off the boat here, didn’t we, Nicole?’ ‘Dunno. Can’t .’ ‘Why don’t you boys go first? Nicole looks half asleep,’ Ritchie said over the rattle and clang of the anchor dropping. He threw a towel over Nicole who’d curled up on a pile of life jackets in the cabin. Sean wanted to get the jumping in bit over with. His stomach clenched as he stared down into the inky-black water. He pulled out his pink wetsuit with what he hoped was a confident, who-cares attitude and sprinkled it liberally with the boat splurge. They were rocked constantly as the breeze jerked on the anchor rope trying to blow the boat away. The smell of petrol, the movement and Sean’s nerves all combined to make him feel sick again. ‘Dive one up, one down,’ Ritchie said. ‘That’s the rule for tomorrow’s competition, so that’s what you’ll do today.’ ‘That means we clip our lines onto the float,’ Mason explained, ‘but when I’m diving, you’re spotting me from the top, then I do the same for you.’ ‘All the way to the top,’ Ritchie added. Sean was already familiar with that technique from Alphonso’s classes and he nodded agreement. He sat on the side of the boat ready to go. After months of watching YouTube clips where divers fall backwards into the water, he was finally ready to try it for himself. He stared over his shoulder, trying not to think about what was down there. ‘Give me your guns,’ Ritchie said. ‘I’ll them over when you’re in.’

‘I’m in,’ Mason said, and fell backwards. He came up and took his gun. ‘We’re not very deep.’ ‘No, about four metres.’ Ritchie spoke directly to Sean, then. ‘This isn’t much different to a shore dive, so why don’t you get in and check out the fish?’ Sean nodded, sat for a moment longer, then let himself fall back. The water closed over his head, cool and silky. He righted himself, cleared his snorkel, adjusted his mask and reached up to collect his gun from Ritchie. ‘Enjoy this,’ Ritchie said, not letting the gun go immediately. ‘Swim within your limits all the time. Mason will have you covered.’ He looked at Mason. ‘I will, I promise.’ Mason pointed to a crumbling cliff face that jutted into the sea. A brown tree with exposed roots was caught in the slip, mummified in death. ‘We’ll go in that direction. There’s a smooth rock, like a landing pad.’ ‘I’ll follow you,’ Sean said. He let Mason try to edge ahead but no matter how hard Mason swam he couldn’t leave Sean behind. ‘Hey, you’ve got fitter!’ Sean laughed. ‘When my diving career crashed, I’d nothing else to do but swim.’ A wave sloshed over them, silencing them, but Sean bobbed up laughing again. ‘I covered bloody miles, every day!’ ‘It shows. Good on you.’ ‘It was Kura’s idea,’ Sean said, happy to say her name aloud. ‘She made me send proof I was training.’ ‘So, you’ve been messaging her every day?’ ‘Only doing what I was told,’ Sean laughed. ‘As you should. And you’re still messaging her?’ Sean nodded. ‘Well I’m still training.’ Mason grinned at him but said in a serious tone, ‘I feel really stink about what

happened that day. Your blackout was nearly the end of my diving, too.’ ‘It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve made my own decisions.’ ‘It was my fault. I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s okay. Thanks.’ Sean felt surprised and grateful for that apology as he swam towards the flat, table rock Mason had spoken of. It was the size of a volleyball court, but still covered in water. ‘The tide’s not out far enough; we’ll come back soon and lie in the sun like seals,’ Mason said. ‘I’ll spot you first, if you want to dive.’ ‘Yup. Cheers. Are we hunting anything special?’ ‘Let’s just look and leave today unless there’s something you can’t resist.’ Mason untangled his line so the little orange dive flag popped up. ‘Hopefully we’ll have enough fish after tomorrow’s tournament.’ Sean breathed up and dived off the rock. He swam in a wide circle looking at the dips and hideouts. It felt weird knowing Mason was lying on the surface watching him and it made him acutely aware of his technique. He thought about his breath hold, hoping he wouldn’t need to surface ridiculously early. But once the idea entered his mind, he began to worry about air, and seconds later he was heading back up. Mason didn’t comment on Sean’s quick dive. He just took his turn – for at least two minutes. When Sean dived again, he put Mason from his mind. There was a small crayfish pot lying on the rocks but tilted on one edge. The bait swayed in the current and there was nothing in the pot. Sean pulled the pot across the rocks and set it straighter, hoping it might bring the owner more luck. Mason put his spear through a squid which immediately released a burst of black ink. When it dispersed, Sean saw him bring the squid up to their base rock. ‘I’ll leave it on my spear until we’re back on the boat so I don’t rip it apart,’ Mason said. He dived again and Sean saw him pull a snapping crayfish from a ledge that was covered in a lichen-type of weed. He didn’t bring it up but swam over to the craypot Sean had adjusted and pushed it in.

Sean laughed, his shoulders shaking as he stared through the water. When the tide was sufficiently low, they basked on their flat rock to warm in the sun. The waves shifted them around but they clutched the edge, drifting with the current. The white cliff faces with their grass toupees and protruding rock noses reared above them, and they stared at the shapes, not talking, just floating. Eventually, Mason said, ‘The night your mother saw the video? When you nearly drowned – or I nearly drowned you?’ ‘What about it?’ ‘She said something about losing her family.’ ‘Ja. Sheesh, it’s been tough. My grandparents were robbed in Bulawayo, carjacked, and they never recovered – they sort of faded out after that. Mum always worried about them and then Dad. After he died, it was over for Mum. She always wanted to get out of Zimbabwe and before I knew it we’d come here.’ ‘What happened to your father?’ ‘Umm, well –’ ‘You don’t have to say. I figured he was shot by poachers?’ ‘Ha.’ Sean gave a dry laugh. ‘Nothing so dramatic. He got a tick bite in his leg. He probably got it when he was out checking the river levels, but maybe he already had it when he left that day.’ ‘What’s a tick? It sounds disgusting.’ ‘Small spider about the size of a flea. It burrows into your skin and when you pull it out, you have to be sure you get it all.’ ‘Gross!’ Mason pulled his legs up to his stomach as if the thought of the tick was so horrible he couldn’t lie straight. ‘So, he’s saved a baby elephant, which is huge, but got killed by a tiny tick?’ ‘Well, not exactly. The bite got infected. He must’ve thought the infection could

wait but it was masking something else. He actually had malaria.’ Sean gave a slow shake of his head. ‘That doesn’t wait – you need treatment for malaria.’ ‘What a shit.’ ‘He had cerebral malaria.’ Sean ran his hand across the surface of the water, back and forth, over and over. ‘That’s the first time I’ve been able to say it to someone out loud like that.’ Mason nodded but they were both quiet for a while. A clump of seaweed drifted by and Mason grabbed it, draped it over their float and arranged the fronds to hang like a curtain. ‘It makes sense that your mother is nervous.’ ‘She says she’s risk averse,’ Sean said in a voice like his mother’s. ‘But she doesn’t need to be. I’m a wimp.’ ‘What?’ ‘I spend my entire time underwater thinking about air, sharks, rogue spears, mythical sea creatures and God knows what else. If I can dream it, I’m scared of it.’ ‘You’re too hard on yourself. Six months ago, you’d never dived in the sea, and now you’re a merman on a rock.’ ‘Aren’t mermen supposed to be the ugliest sea creatures ever imagined?’ He pulled the seaweed off the float and hung it over his face. ‘With long beards?’ ‘I thought I was making it up, but it kinda suits you.’ Sean tried to throw the seaweed onto Mason’s head but Mason rolled off the rock with his arms jammed against his sides. He lifted his head out of the water and said, ‘What did the seal with the broken arm say to the shark?’ ‘Dunno. What?’ ‘Do not consume if seal is broken.’ Mason twisted in circles. ‘Arff arff.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘You boys have earned yourselves smoko.’ Ritchie reached into the cabin to get his thermos bag. He asked Nicole if she was coming to them, then unscrewed the lid to release the smell of coffee. ‘Praise be,’ he said as he inhaled the aroma, his nose right over the top of the flask. ‘Coffee anyone?’ ‘Nah,’ Mason said. ‘Gets my heart rate up. I’ll have water.’ He ed a water bottle to Sean. ‘Keep hydrated, huh? Drink heaps even if you’re not thirsty.’ Sean drank the water and watched as Mason rolled the line around his float to stow it at the back of the boat. Then he tucked his mask into the pocket of one fin, and his snorkel into the pocket of the other before throwing them down in the pile. Lastly, he slid his gloves up under his wetsuit top. The order and rituals of boating appealed to Sean, who knew he harboured tendencies of being overtidy. Nicole crawled out of the cabin. Her hair fell over her face but Sean could still see how bad-tempered she was. He avoided glancing her way again and reached for the cake he’d brought to share, pleased his mother’s baking was legendary. ‘What’s in here?’ Mason peeled back the lid of the container and slid his finger through the frosting which was stuck to the top. ‘Yum! This is amazing.’ He took another swipe through the brown icing. ‘Chocolate cake’s my fav.’ Sean felt everyone’s mood lift as he divided the block into four pieces, inside the container. Mason slid the biggest piece to his side. ‘I’m watching your weight, Dad.’ ‘I can manage my own weight at 65, thank you.’ Ritchie reshuffled the slices so the largest piece was closest to him. ‘This is decent of Anita, I must say. I’m fond of chocolate cake, too.’ Sean used his knife to tip a slice on its side to show the texture. ‘It’s banana

cake.’ ‘What?’ Nicole leaned in and snatched the container from under Sean’s knife. He thought she was going to inspect it, or at least enjoy the chocolate smell, but she hurled the four generous slices into the sea. ‘No bananas on the boat.’ ‘Nicole!’ Ritchie’s voice was furious. ‘You didn’t have to eat it, but you had no right to throw his cake overboard.’ Mason said, ‘Jeez, Nicole. We could’ve had it later.’ Seagulls appeared from everywhere, pecking at the disintegrating cake before the sea could break it up. She shrugged. ‘He’s already brought bad luck with that blackout.’ ‘What?’ Sean felt hurt. ‘How could he know?’ Ritchie demanded, before turning to Sean. ‘I’m sorry.’ Sean stared at the fury of the birds pecking and fighting over the scraps. ‘This is about bananas?’ Ritchie pulled out a bag of sandwiches. ‘Yes, it’s about bananas.’ He unwrapped the paper. ‘It stems back to the 1700s in the Caribbean trade days, when wooden cargo ships had to move quickly so their bananas didn’t rot. There wasn’t time to throw out baited lines and troll for food so the crew often went hungry or starved.’ ‘I thought it was because there were lethal spiders in the bananas,’ Mason said. He moved his hand in a creepy spider-crawl towards the sandwiches. ‘That, too. Some say it was because sailors often slipped on banana skins and went overboard.’ Ritchie offered the sandwiches to Sean before Mason’s hand could get there. ‘The whole thing’s ridiculous, but I’m as superstitious as the next bloke, so I’ll stick to cheese and bacon sandwiches. Help yourself and thanks for bringing the cake.’ Sean ate three sandwiches while he was hungry; he seemed to alternate between being queasy and starving. As he ate, he thought about Nicole’s extreme reaction

and how much she hated him. It seemed unfair that one mean sentence months ago at the pool gate could cause so much anger. The horizon dipped in and out of view making Sean feel sick again. He tilted his chin to catch the breeze and prevent the sandwiches from coming back up. He found himself staring at a flock of birds in the distance, swooping and circling above the sea. More and more birds gathered at one place and he pointed them out. ‘Why are those birds going mental over there?’ Ritchie swivelled to look over his shoulder and Mason stood up. ‘It’s a boil up! Good spotting, Sean. Let’s go, Dad.’ Sean wasn’t sure he was ready for another adventure but the Leadbetters swung into action. ‘Tidy everything away properly,’ Ritchie barked to Mason. ‘And you, Nicole, keep an eye on the anchor rope; it’s been tangling.’ Nicole went forward to lift the hatch in the cabin while Ritchie turned on the motor to bring up the anchor. The clanging, grinding noise drowned out any further conversation. Ritchie started the boat then turned around to check on the state of things. ‘Stow the spearguns under the gunwales and put away anything that could fly around.’ He picked up Nicole’s gloves that were lying on the seats and tapped her back to hand them over, then called to Sean. ‘Be ready to jump into the water; this will be fun.’ Sean put his ready for fun face on, but behind the façade he was ready for home. Spear-time motored across the bay towards the birds and the scene became stranger as they approached. The sea bubbled and churned like a pot of boiling water. It was only when the boat drew close that Sean could see the cause of the bubbles. Thousands upon thousands of tiny fish twisted and spun in a circle while seagulls wheeled and dived over the top of them. ‘What’s causing this?’ Sean asked. ‘The big fish, usually kahawai, but maybe tuna, herd all the small krill and pilchards into a frenzied bait ball.’ Ritchie pulled up the boat on the edge of the action. ‘The big fish keep the little fish on the surface and the gulls think it’s a free-for-all. They dive-bomb the picnic. It can break up as fast as it starts.’ Mason ed Sean his gun. ‘When you get in, it seems easy to spear a fish but it’s better if you dive, even down a metre, and shoot upwards. These fish are

flying so it’s trickier than it looks.’ ‘Shoot in front of them,’ Nicole said. Mason grinned at Sean as he pulled his hood on. ‘Or don’t shoot if you just want to look.’ Nicole sat on the side of the boat facing the sea. ‘Yeah, maybe just watch from the boat. Where there’s a bait ball, there’s sharks.’ She held her gloves in one hand and adjusted her bootie with the other and said in a baby voice, ‘Might be best if you wait with Daddy, Sean.’ Sean shoved Nicole into the sea, then. She squealed as she went over but when she came up, her face was unreadable. ‘Revenge of the banana cake,’ he said. Mason laughed. ‘You had that coming, Nicole.’ ‘You’re not a very loyal brother.’ She looked hurt. Ritchie interrupted them. ‘I’m telling you all something now and you’d better listen up because this is your captain speaking.’ He looked relaxed as he grasped a handrail to balance himself, but his voice was steely. ‘I’ve had enough of you sniping and arguing on the boat. It’s not good prep for getting in the water together. You need to be able to depend on each other down there. If I hear of one argument in or under the water, I won’t take any of you out again. Ever.’ He glowered at them. ‘You hear me?’ Everyone nodded their heads. Sean felt sheepish and chastised.

Swimming in the bait ball was like being at a weird fish dance party. The big fish writhed, twisted and devoured the baby fish in the churning circle. Little bait fish got mangled, lost their tails or were sliced in half lengthwise but still they wriggled, desperate to escape. The gannets bombed incessantly from above, shrieking their own war cry, grabbing at the trapped pilchards and krill. It looked like a war zone and it reminded Sean how brutal nature can be.

Mason and Nicole were away to Sean’s left, side by side, lining up their shots. They fired almost simultaneously and Sean saw both spears connect. I can do that, he thought. It was going to be a combination of luck and skill because the fish were twisting back on themselves more than swimming in line. He dived under the turmoil to peer up at the fish-frenzy, and the perspective was completely different. He saw seabirds bombing in neatly folded parcels while others flopped, landing in a mess of feathers. Sean saw one bird devour a fish in a single gulp then carry on paddling underwater in search of another. It was mayhem. Sean breathed up, checked where Mason and Nicole were, then went down just a metre. He tried to aim at a fish but the chaos was ever-changing so he just fired and hoped for a hit. His spear sprang forward and pierced one, then a second, kahawai smack in the middle of their bodies. He pumped his fist. Ha, two at once! That can’t have happened before. He couldn’t wait to tell Mason. He was pushing up through the whirlpool to find him when a dark shadow ed over. His heart missed a beat. He kicked back as he scrambled for the surface just as a sleek, dark shape with a fin sped past.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sean’s guts clenched; his whole body trembled. Another black fin shot past and then another. Each fin was attached to a fat, grey body with a pale underside. They circled the bait ball at incredible speed. Sean pulled his gun around, spinning his body, terrified not to be facing the danger. But the black fish were everywhere, they were torpedoes, hurtling past Sean, plundering the trapped fish over and over. Spear-time appeared beside Sean immediately. Ritchie leaned over from the steering wheel, yelling, ‘They’re dolphins.’ Sean knew he was panicking, his legs quivered and his heart pounded as he kicked towards the back of the boat. Ritchie cut the engine. ‘Don’t go near the motor when it’s running. They’re dolphins, they won’t hurt you.’ Dolphins? Sean looked again and saw their snub noses, the blunt fins, the particular grey of their bodies and nodded. He backed away from the boat not wanting to be caught clinging and terrified. ‘Dolphins are fine, right?’ They didn’t look fine, they looked powerful brutes of muscle and blubber. Ritchie called back, ‘Dolphins are special and this is special. They’re also a protected species so by rights you should get out of the water. But if you just ire them in their natural habitat, it’ll be okay for a while.’ Sean nodded, grateful to this man who was so clearly determined to let him learn and enjoy. Mason and Nicole swam up to the boat to up their guns, floats and the two fish they’d shot. ‘Give me your gun, too,’ Ritchie called to Sean. Sean pulled on the line until his spear came up showing his two fish. Mason laughed at Sean’s expression of surprise and Sean laughed extra-loudly –

relieved he wasn’t part of a whirlpool of sharks. The dolphins worked the boil up differently to the kahawai. They raced around the edges blowing bubbles or making whoomph noises to keep the mass of tiny fish rolling before charging through the centre, engulfing anything they could grab. It was spectacular and cruel. The little bait fish were being attacked on three fronts now, with slim hope of escape. And then, almost as if a school bell rang, the dolphins started to leave. They gathered on the far side of the circle, playing and maybe counting heads. ‘No,’ Nicole called out, her voice soft and sad, ‘don’t go.’ Sean had mixed feelings about the sudden exit; the dolphins were magnificent but terrifying in their strength and speed. Nicole, though, was completely entranced. She followed the pod crooning and calling as if to say goodbye and they replied by swimming up close to her face. Mason was already on the boat and Sean was just heading there when Ritchie called to Nicole, ‘They’re coming back again.’ Three dolphins spun and twisted towards her. They looped around, under the boat and circled her. Sean edged away but Nicole stayed still. She tried to stroke them and one dolphin brushed against her, again and again. Nicole pushed her mask up, slid off her glove and held out her bare hand. Everyone watched in surprise as the dolphin paused to let her caress its back. Her hand was minute against the smooth, glistening expanse and as she stroked the dolphin, it rolled over, baring its lighter underside. It reminded Sean of Yogi when he wanted his stomach rubbed. Nicole was completely unafraid. After a while, the dolphin made a clicking sound before it left, diving deep under the boat and away to the others. Ritchie puttered across and cut the motor so they could get on. Nicole climbed up first and when Sean finally hauled himself up the ladder he saw that Nicole was crying into a towel. Not little tears, but big gasping ones. Ritchie wrapped her in a bear hug. ‘It’s okay, baby girl,’ he said. Sean saw Mason and Ritchie exchange a look over Nicole’s bent shoulders. ‘You cry, Nicki, you cry,’ Ritchie said softly and Sean had to lean over to wash his face in

the sea in case he cried with his own pain.

There was no escaping the planned kontiki expedition that afternoon. Sean thought Daryl’s contraption looked like an old, mangled hose reel but Daryl was certain his kontiki would launch. ‘Well I never,’ Ritchie said when he saw it at the camping ground. He sank to one knee, almost deferentially, to touch the ancient device. ‘Galvanized downpipes and will you look here, they’ve been soldered at each end to make the pontoons. They sure knew how to improvise in the old days, huh?’ ‘I reckon.’ Daryl was puffed with pride. ‘Before my Dad made this model he used a basic longline, which he launched with a huge plastic bag – it was about six feet long – and once it was filled with air and tied off, it bounced its way out to sea and dragged the line with it.’ ‘Well I never,’ Ritchie said again. ‘A plastic bag.’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘Grab a couple of today’s kahawai,’ he called over his shoulder to Mason. ‘I swear snapper can’t resist the taste of fresh kahawai.’ When Mason sprinted back with the fish Daryl took them gratefully and asked Ritchie, ‘Are you sure you can’t help us launch this thing?’ ‘I’d like to,’ Ritchie said, ‘but I’ve got to sort and refuel the boat. I’d better get moving.’ But he stayed where he was, glancing at Mason until Mason grabbed his elbow and hauled him up.

The kontiki party set off in a chaotic cluster, but soon divided into pairs. Mum walked with Nicole while Daryl dragged the kontiki in an uncool plastic container that looked like a wheelie bin without a lid. Tilly walked beside him until she started to grizzle and then Daryl sat her on top of the kontiki bin. Sean cringed to see him in his Hawaiian beach clothes pulling the kontiki bus. Mason threw a skimboard along the low-tide mark, riding it with such effortless ease Sean was sure it must be simple. He had a turn, flicking it like Mason, then running to jump on it when it was skimming. It jammed immediately and

catapulted Sean into the shallow water where he lay, surprised. ‘It’s all about where you put your weight,’ Mason laughed. ‘Ja, ja; just another toy to make me look hopeless. I’m definitely taking you to Zimbabwe one day where you can try jackal hunting.’ ‘Is that a thing? It sounds better than skimboarding, actually.’ Daryl had stopped further along the beach to yell and point out the birds swooping and spinning in a mass just off the shore. ‘Birds working like that above the sea are our onshore clue,’ he instructed the group when they gathered around him and no one bothered to explain they’d been their offshore clue that very morning. ‘I think we should put the line out right here.’ Everyone collapsed beside their gear on the warm sand. Sean opened a food bag; he was always famished these days, and he’d just pulled back the skin on an overripe banana when Mason yelled, ‘Didn’t we say bananas are bad luck?’ Sean paused, ‘Wasn’t that just for boaties?’ ‘I say, don’t risk it.’ Mason snatched the banana from Sean’s hands and crammed it into his own mouth. His cheeks bulged around the squish and bits oozed onto the sand. Sean grabbed a towel to whip-snap him as Mason gobbled up the whole banana. ‘I hope you get pooped on by a seagull.’ Sean tried to dunk Mason, but he couldn’t pull Mason’s feet out. ‘I hope you get chomped by a gigantic fish.’ ‘It would have to be a pretty big fish to chomp me!’ Mason shook himself like a shaggy dog, spraying water on Sean. ‘Come over here,’ Daryl yelled. ‘I need the line fed out. Once it’s running everyone has to clip the baited traces on. It’ll be a race against the seagulls.’ They came to stand beside Daryl and stared at the array of hooks on the sand. ‘These look lethal,’ Nicole said. ‘Keep a knife handy.’ Daryl dropped a knife beside her. ‘If anyone gets caught by a fish hook as the line is running out, you’ll need to quickly cut yourself free.’

‘Just don’t get caught,’ Mum called from her shelter under the umbrella. Daryl held up the body of the kontiki and went into classroom mode. ‘Who knows what this barley sugar at the bottom of the flag is for?’ Sean turned away but Mason peered closely. ‘Is it something extra to attract the fish?’ ‘No. Good try.’ ‘The lolly dissolves as the kontiki goes out to sea.’ Nicole held up her hand against the glare of the sun and spoke in a bored voice. ‘Well done,’ Daryl said. ‘And what then?’ Mason seemed determined to figure out the next bit, but Nicole beat him again. ‘When it’s gone, this sinker is released and –’ ‘Yes,’ Daryl said. ‘The sinker drops and the line lies along the sea floor. Hopefully the fish see the bait and voila!’ Nicole nodded. ‘How long does the lolly take to dissolve?’ ‘About 20 minutes,’ Daryl said. ‘You can unwind the nylon since you answered the question.’ ‘I’d rather do something exciting. I’ll clip the traces on.’ ‘All right,’ Daryl agreed. He seemed unperturbed by Nicole’s manner. ‘You take the float, Sean, and walk it out beyond the breakers.’ Sean tucked the float under his arm and waded into the sea. Gluggy, spiky sand pushed up over his feet and clung to his ankles. He knew the spikes were buried tuatua, so he scurried, lifting his feet quickly. Where there’s shellfish, there’s crabs, he figured. ‘Go further, go on, further,’ Daryl yelled. Sean pretended not to hear. ‘Further,’ Daryl bellowed. ‘I may as well take my speargun, cause that’s the only way we’re going to get

any bloody fish,’ Sean called back. He knew Daryl couldn’t hear him over the noise of the surf but it felt good to snipe. The shallow, breaking waves gave way to rolling swells which were harder to push through. Sean looked back to see everyone busy with a job; attaching traces, cleaning the bait, winding out or, in Tilly’s case, chasing away greedy gulls. At last Sean was able to send the float on its way. It stalled briefly, turning circles before it dutifully bobbed its way out to sea. He came back to stand with the group as they watched the little orange float with its fluttering flag; a tiny boat climbing over the waves, stoically forging its way. ‘Well, Nigel,’ Daryl called to the open sea, ‘if you’re out there, send us a snapper, will you?’ Sean guffawed. Nicole said, ‘Who are you talking to?’ ‘My father. This was his kontiki before he died,’ Daryl said without a trace of embarrassment. Nicole shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’ll be interesting to see if he’s listening.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

After everyone had eaten the picnic they’d packed that morning, Mum and Tilly wandered back to the camping ground. Daryl, a white snowman of sunscreen, lay dozing under the umbrella Mum had vacated. Nicole sunbathed on her towel and Mason and Sean built an elaborate bivouac. ‘What d’you reckon our chances are tomorrow?’ Sean asked Mason. ‘We did all right last year, but we didn’t get a rat.’ ‘A what?’ Diving lingo seemed to have its own language of cryptic messages. ‘Mahia rats are kingfish. They’re nowhere and then they’re everywhere.’ ‘Why’s that?’ ‘They’re big and majestic, they push the weight of your total catch up. Last year, I nearly got one – I think I will, tomorrow.’ ‘You better.’ Nicole’s voice was muffled as she lay with her face down on her towel. ‘I’m going to be so mad if we don’t win.’ Mason rolled his eyes. ‘Chill out, Nicole.’ ‘What else can you catch?’ Sean asked to change the subject. ‘Nicole’s got the species list on her phone. Read it out.’ She rummaged in her beach bag and read out, ‘Tuna – that’s albacore and skippy, blue mao mao, blue moki and blue cod.’ ‘It’s two of each,’ Mason interrupted, ‘except kingfish.’ ‘Then there’s butterfish, giant boarfish –’

‘They’re yum to eat but they’ve got mean spines on their backs. I know someone who got spiked by a giant boarfish – took ages to heal.’ Mason stabbed a stick into the sand as if he was imagining a spike. ‘Gurnard, John Dory, kahawai, koheru, porae, snapper, trevally, tarakihi and mackerel.’ ‘And crayfish,’ Mason said. ‘Wow.’ Sean didn’t know half those fish. He wished he’d done more prep. ‘Is there a legal size for them all?’ ‘Only some.’ But Nicole was distracted by messages on her phone so Mason lifted his towel again to explain. ‘You have to gut and gill your fish for weigh-in. And you can’t up-size your catch.’ ‘What’s upsize?’ ‘If you spear a couple of gurnard, then see a bigger one, you can’t swap out a little one to take a bigger one.’ ‘How would anybody know?’ ‘They probably wouldn’t but spearos are mostly ethical. Tournaments only work if people respect the rules.’ ‘The tide’s turned,’ Daryl yelled. ‘Come on!’ he waved them over. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got. I’ll wind and you lot spread out to unhook the fish when they’re on the sand.’ Daryl began cranking the handle and Sean left the others to run out behind the breakers. He wanted to be the first to sight a fish. Two empty hooks went past but the third hook had a little pilchard twisting on it so he ran back to tell Daryl. ‘There’s a fish, but it’s undersized. Stop winding for a moment. I’ll set it free.’ ‘Not likely,’ Daryl snapped. ‘Just get the fish in and don’t touch them ’til they hit the sand. I’ll measure them.’

‘Measure them?’ Sean muttered. ‘It’s only one and it’s piddly.’ ‘Here comes a kahawai,’ Mason yelled, so Sean ran back out again. Sure enough, a small, thrashing fish came into view. ‘There’s no hook,’ Mason said. ‘He’s swallowed it, well and truly.’ Nicole eyed the slim fish and it stared back, its beady eye unblinking. ‘It doesn’t seem as fair as spearfishing.’ ‘And all the fish are smaller,’ Mason said. And then, to prove him wrong, there was a flash of silver on the next wave, a large expanse of silver. ‘Did you see that?’ ‘What?’ Nicole ran up beside him. Another wave crested, silhouetting an enormous fish lying vertically in the water. ‘Oh my God! What the actual …?’ Nicole could hardly speak. Sean doubted the enormous shape could be a fish. He pushed further out to try and get a closer look. A wave swelled up, bigger than the others, and dumped them all in a foam of swirling water. Sean was swept aside but when he scrambled back to his feet, he ran quickly to Mason and Nicole and saw the fish again. It twisted and strained on the incoming line. ‘What is it?’ he called. ‘The biggest snapper I’ve ever seen,’ Mason roared. ‘It’s hooked by its bottom lip!’ Mason hooked his finger into his bottom lip and kept it there as he ran towards the beach. ‘I’ll tell Daryl. We need a wet sack.’ Sean’s legs were concrete pillars to lift but he ploughed back through the surf to follow Mason. The ocean tugged, pulled and swirled around him, and he felt strong as he ran into shore. ‘What’s the sack for?’ ‘Maybe a towel.’ Mason was puffed, his answer came out in gasps. ‘Get the fish … into shallow water … wrap it up, hold it. The net’s too small.’ Sean took over the winding so Daryl could run out to inspect his catch. Sean turned the crank with a steady rhythm and Mason picked up his red towel, holding it aloft like a matador. ‘Keep winding,’ Daryl shouted at Sean.

‘I am!’ They all saw the shiny snapper hanging in the water as it rose up in yet another wave. It spun like a top, thrashing its tail. ‘Wind,’ Mason screamed. ‘It’s breaking free.’ The fish was in shallow water now and more frantic than ever. It reared and bucked in the knee-deep waves, then flapped the surface of the sea with desperate, violent smacks of its tail. ‘Stop it,’ Mason yelled at the snapper. ‘Wind!’ Daryl bawled. He ran back to snatch the reel from Sean, kneeling into the job and saying, ‘Please, please.’ Sean wondered if he was calling on his father again. ‘It’s shaking itself off the line,’ Nicole screamed. ‘No! No! It’s,’ Mason ran alongside the fish with his towel fluttering, ‘it’s, it’s – off!’ And there it was, floating free. ‘Get him,’ Sean yelled. Daryl stood up. ‘For crying out loud!’ ‘Mason!’ Nicole’s voice pierced the chaos. ‘Dive on him. Dive, you idiot!’ Everyone was screaming except Mason. With his red towel ready, his mouth a straight line of determination he fell on the snapper in the ankle-deep water, smothering the fish. ‘Arrrgh!’ He let out a long cry. ‘Hold him,’ Daryl ordered. He ran towards Mason, pulling his shirt over his head as he went. He called to Sean, ‘Get the whacker.’ Sean grabbed the fish baseball bat and belted back to Mason. ‘Here, here. Get ’im,’ but Mason lay groaning in the shallow water, holding his arm. Daryl wrapped his shirt around the snapper’s tail and dragged it, thrashing and fighting right up onto the sand. He kept pulling the fish, long after it was clear of the water. ‘My arm,’ Mason moaned. ‘My arm bloody stings.’ He knelt in the sea, gripping

his elbow. Sean and Nicole ran back to see what was wrong. ‘Holy shit,’ Nicole shouted. ‘You’ve been spiked.’ Mason groaned, ‘It friggin’ hurts.’ ‘Yeah, they’re mean, those things.’ She crouched low and peered closely. ‘I think it’s through the muscle.’ Mason groaned, but stood up, still holding his elbow. He walked up the beach to stare at the fish. It lay exhausted in the sand, occasionally beating its tail. ‘You need to finish him off,’ Mason said, as he sank down beside it. Nicole took the whacker from Sean and dealt it a final blow. It gave a big flap and was still. She flopped down beside Mason with the fish whacker in her lap and her arm around his shoulder. ‘You’re going to need treatment you know; those wounds nearly always get infected.’ ‘Oh, what’ve I done?’ Mason moaned. ‘The tournament!’ He dropped his head into his towel and kept it there for a while. ‘It’s okay,’ Nicole said. She wrapped her arm tight around his neck and Sean heard her say, ‘We’d better ring Dad, huh?’ He felt a pang of envy at the sight of their bond. Nicole moved away to use her phone so Sean sat down beside Mason. ‘Would this be an okay time to say you shouldn’t have eaten that banana?’ Mason made a splutter noise that was a cross between a laugh and a groan. ‘It’s weird that a snapper did chomp me.’ ‘It’s even weirder that Daryl’s father sent it.’ This made Mason laugh properly. ‘The biggest fish he could find with just an hour’s notice.’ The monster lay dead in front of them. ‘It’s colossal,’ Sean said. ‘Carnage,’ Mason agreed.

‘And I thought Daryl’s kontiki was going to be boring.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Much later, after the snapper had been photographed and examined many times, Nicole turned up at the camping ground with a case of knives and a bag of lemons. ‘I’ll deal to the snapper if you like. Where’s the filleting bench around here?’ Daryl looked doubtful. ‘Filleting fish is pretty technical –’ Nicole ignored him and pointed to a flat roasting dish. ‘Can I use that?’ ‘Of course. I’ll show you where the bench is. Where’s my slops?’ Mum found her sandals and slipped them on. ‘Bring the fish, Sean.’ ‘Just the snapper,’ Nicole said, ‘otherwise there’ll be too many flies.’ Sean laid the snapper on the steel bench beside Nicole as she sharpened her knife. Mum laid out some containers with lids to store the fillets. Nicole said to Sean, ‘Now get me a bucket of seawater.’ Sean saw his mother’s hands still and as he turned to go he heard Nicole say, ‘Please.’ By the time Sean arrived back with the seawater, Nicole was on the phone to her father. ‘The barb has to be surgically removed; it’s gone in too far. They’re doing it now,’ she said to Mum. ‘Poor Mason,’ Sean said. ‘He’ll be gutted.’ And then it occurred to him: if Mason couldn’t dive, who would buddy Nicole? ‘Shit.’ He expected his mother to say something about his language but she stood biting her lip. ‘I agree.’

At four o’clock, Mum took fillets of snapper to the Leadbetters and Sean quickly

prepared salad and sweetcorn for Cuisine de S. Mum seemed worn out and said, ‘No. Just no,’ when Sean tried to rustle up sugared strawberries for dessert. Ritchie and Mason were back from Wairoa hospital and everyone was hungry except Mason. He lay on a couch with his bandaged arm resting on a pillow. He pointed at his backside with his free hand. ‘I got a jab right here. Bloody stung more than the snapper spike.’ ‘You could’ve sat on the snapper,’ Sean suggested. ‘I reckon. The needle was just as long and sharp.’ ‘We need to talk about tomorrow,’ Ritchie interrupted. ‘Especially while Anita is here.’ Sean picked at a thread on his jeans and wouldn’t look up then. He didn’t want to see the disappointed faces if they had to use him for the tournament and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be invited or overlooked. ‘Mason’s out of the tournament; he’s not coming on the boat,’ Ritchie began. Mason protested but Ritchie shut him down. ‘That’s my fatherly opinion and my medical opinion. It’s final.’ Mason surrendered immediately, so Sean guessed he wasn’t up to it anyway. ‘I’m happy to take the boat out if someone is able to keep an eye on Mason. He should be fine, but he’s on some big antibiotics so it’s a matter of making sure he doesn’t react.’ Mum nodded slowly at Ritchie. Sean knew she was dreading the next bit. ‘I can put the word out that we’re a diver short or we can use Sean. I guess the first person to comment should be you, Anita.’ ‘You’re asking if I’ll allow Sean to dive?’ ‘No point in me giving Sean the chance if you’re going to say no.’ ‘I won’t say no, if he wants to.’ Mum nodded to Sean. ‘What do you think?’

Sean had no idea what he thought. The dive that morning had proven his swimming was stronger, his breath control was better and he knew he’d never take risks with air again. He wanted to step up for Mason, but the thought of diving with Nicole was intimidating. Sean had silently scoffed the way Daryl called on his dead father, but right then, Sean could hear his own dad say, ‘Have a go, son.’ He looked at Mason who was staring at him intently, at Nicole who’d turned away, and at Ritchie, who’d raised his eyebrow. ‘I’m keen. I can do it,’ Sean said. He felt sick with nerves. ‘Would you mind, Nicole?’ ‘Nicole doesn’t make the call; your mother and I do.’ ‘But it won’t work if Nicole’s against it,’ Sean said. ‘Hmm,’ Ritchie said. ‘So, Nicole?’ She shrugged. ‘Diving with Sean in his pink wetsuit is like duck shooting in a maimai with strobe lighting – but who cares what I think?’ ‘I thought we were finished with the wetsuit. It’s all I could afford,’ Sean said. ‘Some marketing person thought more girls might dive if they could wear pink. I’ve had to get over it; maybe you should.’ Nicole carried on in a flat, dry voice that made Sean brace for attack. ‘I should mention there’s a prize for the most umm, impressive –? What’s the word, Dad?’ ‘Meritorious.’ ‘Yeah, the most meritorious fish. It’s a new wetsuit. Just saying.’ ‘Really?’ Sean didn’t know if he was more surprised that Nicole had spoken nicely to him or that the competition would offer good prizes. ‘Let’s keep on track,’ Ritchie snapped. He looked tired. ‘We need a spotter and an on-duty nurse. What’s your next call, Anita?’ Mum didn’t hesitate. ‘Daryl can stay behind with Tilly and keep an eye on Mason. I’ll come as your crew.’

Ritchie beamed, his tiredness lifting before their eyes. ‘We’re in business.’ He looked at Mum. ‘Will you wait with Mason now, for 30 minutes, while we three go to the fishing club? We’ve only got 10 minutes before registrations close.’

The concrete building of the Mahia Boat and Fishing Club commanded the best views in the bay. It sat in the middle of the domain with its wide doors thrown open. People of all ages spilled across the grass waiting for the safety briefing. Ritchie, Nicole and Sean pushed through the crowd and up the stairs to fill out the forms. There were at least five people manning the bar and another group taking the competitors’ details. Sean wrote his name on the paper but hesitated where it said Dive Partner’s Name. He glanced sideways at Nicole’s sheet and saw she’d written his name on her copy. It didn’t seem real. There were three short sentences at the bottom of the page, which made Sean falter again.

Competitors enter at their own risk. I certify that I am in good health. I have attended the safety briefing.

What the hell? It sounded dangerous, official and irreversible. He signed his name. Back outside, a bearded man tapped the microphone to silence the group and began speaking in a monotone. Sean stared around at his fellow competitors. There were about 30 entrants; two other pairs in the youth section and just three women divers in total. Nicole went and stood by some divers her age, two strong, fit-looking boys. Sean shuffled his small frame back out of sight. ‘No upsizing of fish is allowed.’ The microphone dipped in and out of sound as

the man reading the rules kept moving it away from his mouth. ‘All fish must be gutted and gilled and kept on ice during the competition.’ He turned his page over. ‘Start time 0900 hours in the water, and finish time 1500 hours out of the water.’ Sean tapped his fingers on his leg to count the hours of diving. Six! That seemed a long time. ‘All pairs must be here at weigh-in by 1600 hours.’ Nicole made a whispered joke to the guys, making them all laugh. It was probably nothing to do with Sean, but his face burned anyway. ‘The most important rule is the one-up, one-down system we’re running. For new divers, that means only one diver can be under the water at any given time. It’s a safety measure we insist on.’ He peered at the group in a challenging way. ‘The diver under the water will be working on a long rope and the diver on the surface will be on a short rope. Switch over when your dive buddy is safely on the surface.’ The man looked around at the other officials. ‘Same channel?’ he asked and they nodded. ‘Finally, we’re manning the radios all day and the channel you can call us on is 63, should anyone need assistance.’ There was a smattering of applause at the end of the briefing then Nicole and Ritchie were approached by people asking about Mason. Nicole expanded the story for the benefit of the young divers around her, pulling her phone out to show the size of the snapper and the type of kontiki. ‘Who’re you diving with now Mason’s out of play?’ one of them asked. ‘Sean Phelps.’ She didn’t introduce him and the conversation about chances, species, wind direction and secret fishing spots carried on around him. ‘You’re a bit stuffed without Mason,’ another boy suggested just before it was time to leave. His mate sniggered, ‘Two girls, you’ve got no show.’ Nicole’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m better than both of you.’ She clearly didn’t care about their opinion of Sean but there was no way anyone was going to criticise her. ‘I could win this tournament on my own.’

Daryl and Tilly walked with Mum and Sean to the boat harbour the next morning to watch Spear-time leave. Tilly stood close to Ritchie as he unhooked the boat trailer from the tractor, so he said, ‘Can you hold the D bolt for me?’ Tilly whispered, ‘D bolt, D bolt,’ as she clutched the metal ring. She put one foot up on the side of the trailer like Ritchie but he didn’t notice. He kept wiping his face and rubbing his eyes. ‘Let me wind the jockey wheel,’ Sean offered. Ritchie handed it over and Sean asked, ‘Is Mason okay?’ ‘It was a rough night. That injury will hurt for a while.’ The boat harbour was quiet in spite of the fishermen milling around. The morning was chilly and the competitors seemed subdued. Ritchie barked orders at Nicole who snapped at Sean. Mum climbed the ladder, her mouth a straight line of worry. When Daryl waded in to help her, she shooed him off saying, ‘I think I can manage two steps.’ Daryl backed away. Nicole drove the tractor back up the beach track and Sean saw her pause and lean down to talk to someone. It was only when the person began to wander down to the water that Sean recognised Mason’s familiar swagger. Sean called out, ‘Are you coming with us after all?’ ‘No way, this is too bloody sore.’ Mason held his bandaged arm up against his chest. ‘I wanted to see you off – wish you luck.’ ‘Thanks.’ The word seemed inadequate. Sean was flattered, grateful, surprised and even emotional. ‘Got any tips? Bit of advice?’ ‘Umm.’ A wave splashed over Mason’s ankles. He lifted his arm instinctively, wincing with the effort. ‘Maybe just back yourself. Be decisive, because you can shoot straight.’ Sean nodded. They watched Nicole park the tractor under the tree and begin walking towards the sea. She twirled the tractor key like a poi. ‘And don’t be nervous of her; she’s your dive partner, not your boss.’ ‘How do I get her to understand that?’

Ritchie leaned over the side of the boat and yelled, ‘Mason Leadbetter, get back to bed.’ ‘I’m going. Right now.’ Sean wanted Mason to answer the question but he’d moved away. As he ed Nicole on the beach, Sean heard him shout, ‘And make sure he gets his face wet,’ which made Nicole laugh.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

They went through the now-familiar routine of launching, with Nicole taking over any job Sean tried to do. Ritchie opened the throttle as soon as he hit the mark and they headed straight down the coast with everyone lost in their thoughts. Sean saw his mother’s thin wrist stretched tight as she clutched the handrail to brace against the motion of the boat. He hoped she’d be okay with the long day ahead. At about 8:30, Ritchie pulled up at Snapper Cove. The wind tossed the boat in a sickening sideways motion and Mum looked white. ‘I’m sorry about this, Anita, but I don’t want to drop the anchor in case we don’t stay long. We’re just pausing to get crayfish ticked off the list. Keep your face turned into the breeze.’ Nicole and Sean suited up at the back of the boat. She seemed unfazed by the rocking motion as she stood on one leg to pull a flipper on and adjust her straps. Sean worked fast to keep up, but he was clumsy and uncoordinated in comparison. Nicole attached the long rope to her float line then scrolled through her phone, reading messages. She didn’t look up as she said, ‘You can unclip if you want. I’ll just grab the crays.’ Sean looked out at the buoys bobbing on the sea surface. There were at least half a dozen of them. ‘Do you mean you’ll get them out of the pots?’ ‘ ’Course not,’ she spat. ‘Spearfishing comps are based on honesty, no spearo would do that.’ ‘Good to hear,’ Sean said. ‘So that’s why you can’t get the crays without me, can you? You can dive for them, but I have to be in the water, too.’ He pulled his mask and snorkel down, slipped on his gloves, then sat on the side of the boat to wait beside Nicole.

Ritchie came to speak to them. ‘It’s one minute to nine,.Good luck, you two.’ Nicole nodded and tipped back into the sea. Sean could see Ritchie had something else to say, so he waited while Ritchie leaned over the side and called her back. ‘You’re buddies down there. Look out for Sean. Make your calls safe and fair.’ Nicole nodded again, then kicked off. Sean followed. On her very first dive, Nicole found two crayfish. Sean bobbed on the surface with his head under the sea to watch as she scooped them both from the ledges they were hiding on. Once the crays were measured and stashed in her catch bag she kicked up – all on one breath of air. ‘Let’s go.’ She swam to the boat to pull herself up the ladder. ‘Dad, we want tarakihi now, so can we go further out?’ Sean wanted to be flippant, make a joke about going for a swim, but he felt stupid and couldn’t muster one up. He flopped onto a seat, and busied himself wiping his face and adjusting the strap on his gloves. ‘Where to?’ Ritchie asked Nicole, as he started the motor. She flipped through a notebook that was beside the steering wheel. ‘Eighteen or 19?’ Ritchie took his sunglasses off to punch numbers into his depth sounder. He straightened up, checked over his shoulder that everyone was hanging on, and took off. In just 10 minutes, he pulled the throttle back on a new, deeper spot near a sharp rock that jutted up from the seabed, like the tip of a spear. The waves moved over and around the rock, splashing up, creating turmoil. Nicole peered at the fish finder. ‘Look! What’s that?’ Her finger followed a blur on the screen. ‘It’s definitely fish. I’m going down.’ ‘I won’t drop the anchor and I’m keeping well back from that beast,’ Ritchie said, pointing at the rock. Nicole threw the float with its fluttering dive flag into the sea, then jumped in, without glancing back to see if Sean was following. Sean was following, his jaw clenched in fury, his fingers tight on his gun. He swam after her until they were in front of the boat but tucked behind the rock. Nicole dived immediately. Sean bobbed on the surface with his head under to watch. She tucked in behind a gap in a rock that was almost a cave and within minutes Sean saw her spear torpedo across the bottom of the sea floor and pin a

fish. With sure hands she pulled it in, knifed the fish and threaded it onto her line. She came up beside Sean to catch her breath. ‘Was that a tarakihi you got?’ he asked. She didn’t reply, just breathed slowly through her nose before checking her dive watch to assess her heart rate. He started to unclip his short line to switch them over. ‘Wait on,’ she said. Sean left the line and waited while Nicole timed herself for what seemed like two minutes. Then she breathed up and dived again. The waves slopped and surged against Sean’s body, coming at him from all directions saying, She’s got you, mate. He waited for about 30 seconds before pulling hard on Nicole’s rope. There was an annoyed, answering tug from under the water. He waited a while longer before yanking again. Harder. Once more he felt Nicole wrestle her rope back. Her irritation floated up, high-frequency sonar waves of displeasure. He pulled again, as hard as he could. This time he felt her gun loosen and just as he expected, Nicole swam to the surface. She pulled her snorkel out and shoved her mask up so he could see the full extent of her anger. ‘You’re pulling on my rope, you bloody moron.’ ‘You’re cheating me of my dive, you bloody moron.’ Nicole stared in disbelief. ‘Are you for real?’ ‘We’re dive partners. That means, I dive too.’ ‘I haven’t got time for this.’ Her voice was chillingly low. ‘We’re in a tournament right now and you want to sulk about turns? You know you won’t shoot anything if you dive.’ ‘You can’t dive without me.’ Sean had nothing to lose. ‘Give me my turn or I’m getting you disqualified.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’ ‘Try me.’ They stared each other down. ‘You’re in this comp for the glory,’ Nicole said, at last. ‘Dunno what you mean. I’m here ’cause Mason’s injured.’ ‘That’s right: you don’t understand because your problem is so ingrained.’ She tossed her head. ‘Off you go then. I can’t compete if I’m babysitting you.’ But Sean’s shallow, frantic breathing was now his handicap. His pounding heart wouldn’t settle. ‘You go,’ he said, ‘I’m not diving like this.’ ‘Bah!’ Nicole spat. She dived immediately but came back with nothing except an angry face. ‘All that fuss frightened off the fish.’ Sean nodded. He needed her to chill out. ‘Where to now?’ She frowned at the distant horizon for a while but eventually said, ‘There’s a strong current flowing across the bay. We’ll swim into it.’ ‘You go first.’ Sean sank down to watch Nicole dive and as she swam into the current, Sean moved his fins slowly to keep up with her. Within 40 seconds of her being down there, she’d speared a long, thin fish. She’s good, Sean thought. Damn, she’s good. They took turns for over an hour; Nicole switched sullenly at first but gradually thawed, or forgot. Sean shot a cod that was a decent size, but mostly he only saw fish as he was ready to come up for air. In total, Nicole bagged two kahawai, two gurnard and a tarakihi, which were all legal. Her float line looked impressive. Ritchie moved to several spots that morning. Each time, Sean wished they could stay where they were. The rocks and ridges became familiar and safe, but Nicole was always determined to find a kingfish. It was at one of the new places, an area full of floating kelp and churned-up sand, that Sean made his blunder. Nicole dived first, of course, and while Sean spotted her, his eye was drawn towards a rock formation with seaweed growing from its ridges like tufts of hair on a balding head. The sun illuminated the

submerged rock, teeming with bait fish. But there was a real fish there too, decent-sized and nibbling at the thicket of kelp. Sean’s eyes darted from Nicole to the fish. It’s a butterfish, he decided, noting its dark skin. As soon as Nicole surfaced, he pointed at his rock and sank down. He kept his snorkel out to minimise the bubbles, his gun primed and his fins slow and stealthy. The fish lingered in the tangle, intent on its meal. At last, it startled, backed out and in the split second before it moved, Sean fired. The spear scuppered the fish, right between its eyes. He nodded his head. Yes. He pulled his line up, dragging the fish and spear towards him, mimicking other divers he’d seen from the hours of footage he’d watched. ‘What did you get?’ Nicole asked, the minute his head came above the water. ‘Butterfish.’ He lifted it up and saw in the light that it was ugly and stunted. There were mottled spots covering the underside of its belly. ‘I think it’s a butterfish.’ Nicole didn’t answer but turned away in disdain. ‘What is it then? Is it on the list?’ ‘It’s a Māori Chief. They’re terrible to eat and they take nearly 40 years to grow, so of course it’s not on the list.’ ‘Forty years?’ Sean gave a grunt of disappointment. ‘Oh my God, I feel bad.’ She smirked. ‘You don’t feel bad. Like I said, you’re here for the glory, but you lose this time.’ ‘Why? What do you mean?’ ‘It’s not a trophy fish. It’s just a poor, harmless, slow-moving thing with a fancy name.’ She checked her watch and unclipped the lines to switch them over. ‘You’re like your father, aren’t you?’ ‘What?’ The shock of hearing her even speak his father’s name made him gasp. ‘I saw that photo of your father standing by the maimed elephant, all haughty and pleased with himself. You’re trying to be like him.’

‘Shut up.’ ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ ‘You’re wrong.’ Sean wondered if he might cry or if his pounding heart might leap free of his wetsuit. ‘Maybe he was going to eat the elephant, like Mugabe – the whole world knew about Mugabe feasting on zoo animals at his birthday party.’ She looked exultant. ‘ how there was a baby elephant on the menu? You’re all the same.’ ‘Who’s all the same? What are you saying? You’ve just lumped me and my father in with Mugabe.’ ‘I’m saying, you don’t have a good example in your country, that’s all.’ She gestured at the fish still lifted above sea level. ‘Dump that harmless Māori Chief on your skewer and be certain before you shoot next time.’ Nicole put distance between them by swimming away. Sean looked back at the boat and saw Ritchie and his mother staring over in their direction. Ritchie yelled, ‘You guys okay?’ He made a gesture to ask if he should come over, but Nicole waved that they were fine. She dog-paddled on the surface for a while then breathed up and duck-dived to the bottom. Sean bobbed on the water watching her. His anger felt big, bigger than any fear of the water, and for the first time he didn’t check to see what might be lurking. After his father died, he’d been to a grief counsellor and learned strategies to cope with anger. He ed a mantra he’d been given and recited it now to calm his clamourng heart. He who angers you, conquers you. He said it over and over until it seeped into his whole being. Nicole came up, rested and went back down. He didn’t care. He thought about the way they’d lived in Zimbabwe and knew with certainty she was wrong. Once he understood that, he lay still, breathing through his snorkel. A shadow drifted between him and Nicole. She looked up, alarmed, as it approached but Sean was completely unafraid. The stingray with its sharp and pointed stinger drifted by, uninterested in them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘Where would we find a kingfish, Dad?’ Nicole clutched her drink bottle in one hand and a sandwich in the other as she leaned on Ritchie’s shoulder. She stared down the coast. ‘Can we try past Portland?’ ‘You need 40 minutes to get back for weigh-in,’ Ritchie reminded her. ‘The day’s running away.’ ‘Let’s go anyway; throw everything at our last chance.’ Ritchie nodded. He turned to Sean and Anita. ‘Are you okay?’ But he was distracted, not expecting an answer. ‘We’re moving to a hole out past the island where we’ve caught kingies before.’ Mum nodded and began to close the bag of chippies. She scooped up the sandwich container. ‘Has everyone finished?’ No one answered. Sean sat at the back and stared at the coast. He felt like being quiet. Nicole’s words had trampled on his private pain, but they were only words. His father wasn’t haughty; he stood tall and proud in photos, just as he’d stood in life. The day Sean showed the photo of his father beside the slaughtered elephant was the first time he’d shown the picture to anyone. It seemed incredible that Nicole had turned it into something hideous and leapt to such outrageous assumptions. His mother tapped him on the shoulder with his drink bottle. ‘Are you okay? You seem quiet.’ He gave her a brief, reassuring smile. ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ and he knew he was. He became aware that Spear-time was motoring past the V-shaped tip of the peninsula only when Ritchie pulled up briefly to point out the launching pad for

the rockets. But he scarcely stopped, pushing on to get to his kingfish hole. They travelled up the side of the island, with its slippery sides and flat-table surface. The sea was choppy alongside the island, but the moment they ed out into the open sea, where the waves came together from two angles, the boat was buffeted by the wind. Sean gulped. So much for his brave intentions; this new environment felt exposed. As Ritchie crawled back and forth over a small area with the engine on low revs, Sean noticed his mother looked pale. The boat lifted then dropped over the waves making it seem as though the island was lifting and dropping too. Ritchie kept his eyes on the depth sounder until he said, ‘Found it,’ and pulled up abruptly. ‘We’re right over the edge of a hole; 22 feet on the right and five feet on the left.’ He smiled ruefully at Mum. ‘It won’t be too comfortable for us on the boat, but sometimes big fish hang around a deep hole like this.’ Sean refused to look at anyone. Twenty-two feet was one hell of a crater. ‘What’s the dive plan, Nicole?’ Ritchie asked. ‘Sean can guard the edge of the drop; useful stuff might creep up. I’ll go into the hole to see what’s hiding around the upper ledges. Maybe a big trevally is out buying his takeaway, but I really, really want a kingfish.’ ‘We’re supposed to be buddies. How will I see you down a big hole?’ Sean asked in a sullen voice. He hadn’t felt like a buddy all day. ‘I won’t go deep,’ Nicole replied. ‘It’s my ascent you have to watch, especially as I get near the top. We don’t have tons of time, so let’s work fast. We’ll use all our ammo. I’m rigging up the flashers.’ She pulled a squab off the seat and lifted out three cut-glass balls attached to a piece of wire. As she untangled the discs, they danced in the sun, glaring but also mesmerising as the prisms of light bounced off the boat’s aluminium. ‘Wow.’ Mum looked surprised and doubtful. ‘Is that going overboard? Won’t that drive the fish away?’ ‘Not kingfish,’ Ritchie said. ‘They’re attracted to light, movement and noise. They’re inquisitive as hell.’ He checked the depth sounder again. ‘This breeze is keeping us hovering above the drop. Why don’t you throw the flashers off the back, away from the anchor rope and let out five metres of line? If Anita jigs the

flashers you divers can sit back and watch what the sparkle lures.’ ‘Is there a prize for the most glittering crew?’ Mum asked. ‘If I’d known I could’ve worn a sequined dress.’ Everyone laughed except Sean. He found he couldn’t move his mouth. Once she’d thrown the flashers over the side, Nicole held Mum’s hand to show her how to jig them in the water so they moved. Then she put her head in the smelly bait bin and rummaged for something deep down the bottom. ‘Here, I’ll do that,’ Ritchie said. ‘You get diving.’ ‘Got it.’ She brought up a berley bag which looked like one of Yogi’s old dog rolls; it was even tied in a similar string bag. She handed it to Ritchie. ‘Can you put this over the other side? We’ll go now.’ They both dropped into the water and Sean immediately felt the difference in the new diving conditions. The wind came predominantly from the west but it pummelled them from all directions, cutting up the top of the waves and rocking the boat. He was swept along like an apple on a conveyor belt. Nicole dived the deep hole several times and Sean was happy for her to keep the long rope. She kept checking the flashers out the back of the boat, and looking at her watch. She seemed unable to settle. At last she signalled him over. ‘I’m putting all bets on the flashers so we’ll take turns lying on the bottom. Clutch a bit of rock and lie quietly.’ As she went, she said, ‘And don’t eyeball anything that comes along.’ Sean legs were leaden. He kicked them on the surface waiting for his turn. One kingfish would end the day; he was ready for it to end. When it was his turn to lie on the bottom he was surprised that it was more protected from the currents. The flashers were hypnotic as they lifted and twirled. Tiny fish checked out the disco balls and even tinier fish came to nibble at the berley. Nicole and Sean rose and sank like submarines, barely acknowledging each other. Nicole had just taken over surface watch when a long, sleek shadow swam across Sean’s line of vision. It doubled back on itself, obviously eyeing the

glitter. At first, he thought he’d imagined the fish. His eyes strained through the moving water but there it was again, in the distance. ‘There’s something circling the flashers now,’ Sean said, when he reached the surface. ‘Patience,’ Nicole muttered as much to herself as to him. ‘You must be patient.’ She glanced at her dive watch, readied her gun and dived down. Sean watched her stealthy movements, the flashers jigging and the fish in the distance. He wanted Nicole to come up so he could be the one to take the shot, but she stayed under. Eventually, he sank down beside her, willing her to look so he could beg with gestures, but she didn’t glance his way. She used one flippered foot to move him back – another obstacle to clear from her mind. He saw her touching the knife strapped to her leg over and over, the way a tennis player constantly bounces the ball before serving. In spite of the tension, Sean was pleased his own heart rate was slow and steady. Now that he knew Nicole wasn’t giving him a chance he backed towards the anchor rope to watch. The big fish swam to the right, then turned sharply and reeled towards the glinting lights. They saw its yellowy-green skin when it ed through a shaft of sunlight. A kingfish. It was still a long way back and facing them at an awkward angle. Nicole’s arm was stretched far in front of her. She must be getting low on air, Sean thought and just then, he saw her speargun jump. The spear darted through the water and pierced the fish just as it lunged to escape, lodging in the very centre of its massive back. Nicole pumped her fist. The kingfish shuddered and stopped still for a brief moment, paralysed. When it was able to move, it bucked and twisted, arching its spine. Then it ran. Sean kicked up to grab air and briefly saw Nicole’s snorkel on the surface too. She went straight back down to play her fish so Sean parked up and watched from the anchor rope. Nicole’s gun floated in the water beside the kingfish, which shimmered like a blue light on the bottom of the sea. Her black-gloved hands gripped her line, keeping the tension on all the time.

She stayed in an upright position and moved like a moon-walker, each fin curling and releasing in a backward dance. She had access to air, she looked in control and she looked determined, but time was against her. The fish was spooked, injured and determined. It whipped along the sea floor, turning one way then speeding back the other. The deep hole was its sanctuary, but it had to the boat to get there. After spinning in more confused circles, the fish rocketed across the bottom of the ocean towards Sean. Nicole held the line tightly, forcing it to rear briefly – and that is when luck intervened for the kingfish. The little lift was followed by an immediate drop which pushed the fish under the anchor chain, instead of over it. The chain clipped the end of the spear, knocking it from the kingfish’s back. Nicole threw up her hands in despair. The fish rotated, a somersault to check it really was free, before it bolted. In that second of confusion, as it spun, Sean fired. His spear appeared to travel too far in front, but the fish swam straight into it. He shot the kingfish in its side, just behind the gill plate. Again, it thrashed and protested but with less vigour. It seemed to know it couldn’t dislodge a second spear. Now it was Sean’s gun that moved with the fish. He knew exactly what to do having just watched Nicole and he kept the tension on his short line as he kicked up for air. ‘What’s going on?’ Ritchie had the gaff in his hand. He leaned far out over the side of the boat. Sean spat his snorkel out. ‘Kingfish,’ he called. ‘On your spear?’ Sean nodded. ‘He’s big.’ ‘Have you got your line?’

Sean held it up. ‘It’s hard to hold on –’ ‘I know, son. Where’s Nicole?’ ‘I’m here.’ Nicole swam up beside Sean with her snorkel dangling from her mask. ‘Gimme the line. I’ll bring it in.’ ‘I can do it.’ ‘We don’t have time. It’s my fish but the bugger shook my spear out.’ ‘So, it’s not your fish, is it? It’s mine.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Nicole said. She tried to bring her gun in but the lines and guns were a tangled mess. ‘Please. Hand it over.’ She put her hand on the line but Sean gripped it tightly. He moved away, imitating her backwards walk. ‘Never. Not after what you said about my father.’ ‘I didn’t mean –’ ‘You did. I can’t believe you said that.’ She faced Sean, barely tolerant. ‘Oh, whatever. Just keep the tension on your line all the time. Pull it in whenever you get the chance.’ She swam towards the boat to call out to Ritchie. ‘Lift the flashers and berley.’ ‘I am,’ Ritchie called back. ‘but I need the anchor up, too, so we’re ready to leave.’ She gave a thumbs up then came back to Sean. ‘It’s taking too long. We’re already late.’ ‘No.’ His shoulders ached, his arms burned and his legs felt exhausted. The clock was ticking. ‘Lie on your back, hold the line tight against your chest and flipper slowly if you need a rest,’ Nicole said. She called out to Ritchie. ‘He won’t let me take over.’ Ritchie leaned out. ‘Can you hear me, Sean?’ Sean nodded. ‘Yup.’ ‘You’ve got two options. Either Nicole swims down and puts another pin in him, or she gets on the rope and you dive down to finish the job.’

‘The last one,’ Sean yelled. ‘All right, Nicole. Tell him what to do.’ Just as Nicole touched the line, it slackened. Either the fish was panicking and swimming towards them – or it was free. They both pulled in nearly two metres of line before it was taut again. ‘You still got him?’ Ritchie called. ‘Yeah.’ Sean held up the line. ‘Thought he was off.’ ‘You’re doing well!’ Nicole’s added strength meant they reeled steadily for what seemed like a long time before Sean’s gun came into view. ‘I’ll get it,’ Nicole said. She ducked under the water just as the fish jerked away again. ‘He’s bullshitting us,’ she said, as they released some rope. ‘Taken less line. Must be tiring,’ Sean gasped. If the fish wasn’t tiring then Sean was; he could hardly talk. Nicole called back instructions to Sean. ‘Again. Now!’ They pulled on the line, then pulled again, and Sean’s gun came back into view. Progress. ‘Keep going,’ Nicole shouted. ‘Pull.’ She swam forward to snatch up the gun. ‘I saw the fish,’ she said, when she came back up. ‘It’s not far now.’ The line went slack and the fish reared from the sea like a missile, before it smacked back down on the water and disappeared briefly before thrashing again on the surface. ‘Holy smoke,’ Nicole said. She held Sean’s gun out for him. ‘It’s best if I go and finish him off; it’s not an easy job.’ ‘No.’ Sean was determined not to give in to Nicole. ‘I’m going.’ She made an angry sound but took her knife out. ‘Use this. Don’t bloody muck it up.’ It was hard taking the knife in the choppy water and Sean knew she’d never

forgive him if he dropped it. ‘I won’t,’ he muttered. ‘You better not.’ She gathered up as much line as possible and lay on her back. Just as Sean was about to swim towards the fish, she said, ‘It won’t survive this, so you’re doing it a favour now.’ Then he heard Ritchie yelling again. ‘Hold it with your knees. Like a rodeo!’ Sean gave a thumbs up, and held the knife like a dagger to face his prey. The thrashing fish became more frenzied as Sean approached. It writhed and struggled with such force Sean wasn’t sure how to get near it. He ed Mason’s instruction to be decisive. Without staring directly into the fish’s fixed eye, he raised his knife and kicked forward. The bucking fish and Sean collided. His body jarred and his chin snapped backwards as the solid weight of the beast hit him. He felt winded for a moment and clutched the knife, terrified he might drop it. He didn’t want to be this close to the fish, after all. It was a monster, coarse, yet slimy, and sharp to touch. He wanted this over and couldn’t miss again. He lunged forward once more, aggressively and purposefully. This time he led with his legs and wrapped his knees around the fish’s thickest part. Then he brought his body in close like a hug. The fish was briefly quiet. Sean picked his iki spot behind its eyes and drove the knife in deep. Then deeper again. It shuddered, and was still. Blood poured out, the pink tinge now a red current. He grabbed his fish, still hugging it close as he dragged it across the surface. Nicole was right there, ready to help him, and he let her. She pulled her knife out of the fish and slipped it back into its pouch before they moved off, dragging the fish towards the boat. ‘Is it done?’ Ritchie dangled so far over the side he was in danger of tumbling in. ‘Sure is,’ Nicole called. ‘We’ve got him,’ Sean said at the same time.

He saw his mother straighten up from beside Ritchie. Relief crossed her face before she looked away. He knew she’d be pleased the fish was caught, the day was over. The kingfish was as long as Sean’s leg. It was in a mesh of line, guns and the float, it was heavy to drag and it was slick with blood. But it was caught. Ritchie slid the gaff under its gills to make extra-sure it couldn’t slide away. The boat drifted with the anchor up, making the landing of the fish even more difficult. The three of them pushed, pulled and heaved it onto the transom then through the gate and onto the deck, where it landed with a thump. Nicole followed the fish, then Sean and then all the gear. Ritchie moved to the side to lean over and wash the blood and fish slime from his hands. ‘Come on! Quick.’ Nicole pulled the gate down. ‘Ready,’ she called. ‘It’s nearly 3:30. I’ll radio to say we’re coming in.’ ‘Take off slowly,’ Nicole called back to Ritchie. ‘We’ll tidy some stuff away as you go.’ ‘I’ll be slow.’ Ritchie looked at Mum, who was quiet. ‘What’s up, Anita?’ Mum waved her hand as though a fly buzzed in front of her eyes. She tried to speak but nothing came out. Ritchie looked alarmed and stepped towards her but Mum turned to the side of the boat and threw up into the sea. Her body shook, and a string of vomit hung in the breeze. She leaned over to wash her face and the side of the boat with seawater before slumping into her seat. ‘Are you okay?’ Sean stood up, unsure how to help. ‘I’m fine,’ Mum said, with a wry laugh. ‘Sort of, anyway.’ ‘Poor you,’ Ritchie said. ‘It’s not been pleasant out here.’ He handed Mum a towel and began to hunt for water. She wiped her face on the towel but waved away the water. ‘Get going, Ritchie. We might still manage a win.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ritchie pushed the limits as he drove Spear-time home. The boat hurtled and crashed over and through the waves, slewing occasionally then shuddering back into action. Everyone hung on as they endured the jarring and bumps. Sean stayed on the bottom of the boat, jammed up against the seat with his feet touching the kingfish. He was relieved it wasn’t gasping or flapping in distress. It lay still, stretched across the floor, formidable and mighty, even in death. The kingfish had a ridge of steel-grey down the length of its spine, which faded out on the sides until its belly was almost white. Blood lay around the four battle wounds; the two spear holes, the knife and finally the gaff. More blood covered the floor of the boat. There was going to be some serious cleaning to be done.

The now-familiar coastline of Mahia beach came into sight. Sean wondered how Mason’s time with Daryl and Tilly had been, and whether Mason knew about their action at sea. He toyed with the idea of messaging him but his phone was out of reach and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Nicole on her phone. He was nervous about her spin on the day’s events. He couldn’t imagine how the judges could allow for a 30 minute late arrival and a 20 minute late exit from the sea, but Ritchie was racing as if he believed they had a chance. As Spear-time rounded the base of Mokotahi, he was still pushing the speed limit until the moment he hit the yellow marker. In an instant, the boat went from flying to puttering. ‘Ring Mason,’ Ritchie shouted to Nicole. ‘We need the tractor.’ ‘He’s organised someone.’ Nicole held up her phone before stowing it in her bag. ‘I’m going to gut and gill this bad boy now. It’ll make a hell of a mess so lift anything you don’t want bloodied.’

She squatted down on the floor of the boat and ran a filleting knife from the base of the fish up to its neck. Blood spilled onto the deck. Mum leapt back and lifted her feet. ‘It looks like a murder scene.’ ‘Listen up, everyone.’ Ritchie kept the boat turning in small circles as they waited for the tractor to be backed over the sand and into the water. ‘The official weigh-in time is past. But it’s a family tournament, you’re in the youth section, they may make allowances.’ He looked sternly at Nicole and Sean, ‘But whatever the decision, we accept it.’ ‘They’ll be okay,’ Nicole said. ‘My friend said there’s no other kingie, let alone one this size. They can’t disqualify us.’ She scooped a handful of guts from the length of the fish and dumped the dripping bundle in a bucket. Flecks of blood and guts spattered her arms. ‘Well, that’s my point,’ Ritchie said. ‘They can. And we have to take it on the chin if that happens.’ He pushed the lever forward and drove the boat onto the trailer. ‘It’ll take us another 10 minutes to get over to the club and our catch on the scales.’ Two of Ritchie’s mates were there. One turned the winch while the other steered the boat between the guide poles. Mason waved from the shallows. ‘You’ve had a battle, I hear.’ He held his good hand over his sling to it. Sean paused before he answered in a non-committal way, ‘Been a big, old day.’ ‘How’s your arm?’ Ritchie called. ‘What would that kingie weigh?’ Mason stood on tiptoe to peer over the side of the boat. ‘I’m picking 18 kilos,’ Ritchie replied. ‘How’s your arm?’ ‘Shame you weren’t in on time,’ Mason said. Ritchie shrugged. ‘I’ll assume your arm is fine.’ Mason laughed. ‘It’s better, but not improved enough to help clean up the boat. Look at the state of it.’

‘This is the one time you can be let off. Make the most of it.’

The scales were set up next to a blackboard at the fishing club. Nicole dragged the kingfish up off the floor of the boat with her body angled so Sean couldn’t help. She ed it to a couple of her friends and there was a smattering of applause when it came into view. One by one the fish were dropped into a bin, to be weighed or hung on the scales. The kingfish was the last. The weigh-master pulled his glasses off his nose to peer at the numbers. ‘Eighteen point five,’ he said after a long time and wrote the number on the blackboard. There was more light applause but a voice from the back yelled, ‘Yeah, but they’re late.’ Mason started to reply but Ritchie silenced him with a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know. We’re late.’ He tried to see into the back of the group where the heckler stood. ‘It’s just a chance for our newbie diver to get his fish weighed.’ Ritchie wrapped his other arm around Sean’s shoulder. ‘A young lad from Zimbabwe who’s brand new to the sport.’ ‘Well done,’ shouted a different man. He juggled a baby and a toddler and still wore his camo wetsuit. ‘Give the kid a chance.’ ‘He’s still late,’ the other voice repeated. Ritchie steered Mason and Sean towards the boat. ‘Let’s sit back and see what they decide.’ Sean saw two judges sitting at a table under the spreading branches of a pōhutukawa tree. One of them seemed to be adding up numbers on a calculator, the other was reading from an iPad. A pile of dive gear, a small kayak, and some brown cardboard boxes were stacked up behind them and for the first time, Sean believed he might win a prize. It was hard to stop staring at the loot. Ritchie went away to get cold beers, just as Daryl arrived with cans of drink and hot chips for Nicole, Mason and Sean. He beamed with pride as they thanked him and fell on the food. Mason said something to Daryl about it ‘being better than lunch’ and they both laughed, so Sean assumed their day had been all right. Daryl wasn’t annoying just then but Tilly was. She kept asking the name of Sean’s fish and no matter how many times Sean told her ‘kingfish’ she repeated

her question. ‘But what’s his name? His real name?’ ‘It doesn’t have a name,’ Sean said. He was too tired for Tilly’s baby chatter. ‘His name’s Totga,’ Nicole interrupted. ‘What?’ They turned to stare at her. ‘That’s random,’ Mason said. ‘Totga?’ ‘It’s an anagram.’ She pushed her hair off her face with a rough swipe. ‘It stands for The One That Got Away because this is really my fish.’ ‘How can it be your fish if it got away?’ Sean looked around but no one met his eye. ‘Think about it,’ Nicole snapped. She went to sit further away and Sean was surprised to see Mason go and sit with her. Only the bottom half of their bodies was visible as they sat behind the boat. Daryl took Tilly off to look at a puppy tied to a tree behind the clubrooms and Ritchie stood talking to friends as he held the drinks he’d bought. Sean turned to his mother. ‘She’s bloody spoilt, that Nicole.’ Mum didn’t answer. ‘Don’t tell me you agree with her? You saw the fight and the work I did to catch that friggin’ fish.’ Mum sighed, ‘Technically, you caught the fish.’ She stared out at sea. ‘Well if I caught the fish and there’s a prize to be had, I hope you’ll agree I should take it.’ ‘Forget the prize, Sean. You’ve been a guest on the boat, you’ve had amazing opportunities and we’ve not contributed anything except a few sandwiches.’ ‘So, it’s about money again?’ ‘It’s about so much. Opportunity, kindness, friendship, but yes, money too. I don’t think you should accept a prize for that fish.’ ‘And Nicole should? I can’t believe the way you stick up for her.’ Sean jabbed

his finger in Nicole’s direction. ‘She’s horrible. She said stuff out there today that shows she’s no idea of our lives before we came here –’ ‘How could she?’ ‘She’s made some huge assumptions and said terrible things, even about Dad.’ ‘Look, Sean, when people can’t control something, they tend to overreact towards things they can control.’ ‘Like what? What are you talking about?’ Sean hated it when his mother spoke in riddles. ‘I’m saying Nicole is so angry she’s lost her ability to be civil at times.’ ‘I can’t believe you’re buying into that stuff,’ he argued. ‘She’s a spoilt –’ He wasn’t prepared to swear in front of his mother. ‘I’m not saying her behaviour is justified, I’m saying I understand it.’ ‘What you’re really saying is that her mother taking off is worse than my father being dead.’ Sean clenched his fists and felt his neck tighten as he used his words to stab the point. ‘My situation is way worse. I miss Dad every day and you obviously don’t. You’re happy to be here and probably –’ Mum flinched. ‘Don’t say any more,’ she said quietly. He was relieved to stop hurling the words. He marched down to the beach to be alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The sand at the tidemark was littered with hundreds of tiny, black, air bladders washed up in the last tide. Sean stomped the hard sand, squashing, popping, bursting the black spheres. He picked up a piece of driftwood and wondered what Mason and Nicole were talking about. He wished he had a sibling, someone to share the load of moving country. It would’ve been better if he’d never left Zimbabwe but more than anything, he wished his father was still alive. He needed to chat to him right now. He would say sorry for lying in bed that last morning of the school holidays when his father had gone to check the water levels. Why couldn’t there have been an urgent flashing sign warning him, Get up, go with him. He’s going to need you. Sean slammed the wood into the sand, narrowly missing his toes. Every Zimbabwean knows you don’t let malaria take hold. Maybe he’d already been addled by the fever or perhaps he really believed he just had an infection from a tick bite. The mystery of his father’s decision to save the baby elephant before himself made Sean itch as if a million ticks crawled beneath his own skin, taunting him. He hurled the piece of driftwood into the sea. He hated ticks and hated mosquitoes. He wondered if he hated the baby elephant for needing such urgent help and he knew he hated the greedy, filthy poachers who started the chain of events. And now there was more anger and fury. How could Nicole make a connection between Sean shooting the Māori Chief and his father posing beside a mutilated elephant? How dare she? He wanted an apology from Nicole. He turned back towards the clubhouse, feeling righteous. He would demand a damn apology. As he crossed the sand he ed something else his father used to say.

Sometimes you need to offer an apology to get one back. The thought of saying sorry to Nicole made his steps slow up. Surely, he didn’t have to do that? No way. Not after the way she’d treated him. The prize-giving was getting under way. Sean heard the from the microphone and began to sprint back up the beach towards the action. On his way, he ed Daryl who carried a crying Tilly on his shoulders. Daryl paused to say, ‘Can you tell your Mum I’m taking Tilly back to the campsite? She’s tired.’ Daryl looked tired, too, and sort of weighed down with stuff that was more than just Tilly. Sean nodded and started to move off when he heard Daryl call back, ‘Oh, and well done out there, today. That was a big deal, you competing in the competition.’ ‘Thanks, Daryl.’ Sean watched Daryl trudge away and wondered if he and Daryl had more in common than Sean cared to it. He shook off his concerns for Daryl and ran, reaching the makeshift podium just as the two judges were stepping up. They began with the usual speeches acknowledging the sponsors and applauding the ‘good heart’ of the tournament. Huh, Sean thought. He saw Mason and Nicole sitting together on an upturned kayak. His mother leaned on a rail beside Ritchie and they each held a beer as they watched the activity. He didn’t feel able to any of them. The adult prizes were handed out first, amidst much banter and catcalling. Speartime had bagged the biggest kingfish in both categories. Wicked. They would surely win the most meritorious. He toyed with the possibility of a black wetsuit or even a dive watch like Mason’s. ‘And now the youth section,’ the judge said at last. ‘There’s been quite an upset this year with one of our young divers being mauled by a Rottweiler snapper yesterday. Our sympathies go out to Mason Leadbetter who couldn’t compete so we’d like to invite him up to hand out the prizes.’ Sean looked across and saw Mason’s surprised face. He smiled and stood up, nudging Nicole’s arm as he went. She rubbed her face, sniffed hard then put on her I don’t care look. The judge continued. ‘There were three boats in the youth category and we all know Spear-time was late to return.’

‘Flexitime,’ Ritchie called out, amid laughter. The judge spoke to Mason then came back to the microphone. ‘The Mahia Boat and Fishing Club is d to the national body and we abide by the national body rules. This means we have to say, Spear-time is disqualified.’ The judge looked over and shrugged. ‘Apologies, Ritchie.’ ‘Bedtime,’ a wise guy yelled. Ritchie waved his bottle in acknowledgement but didn’t laugh. Sean looked at Nicole. She smiled through clenched teeth and clapped for the winners of the youth section: the two boys she’d spoken to at registration. He thought about the work she’d put in, diving and diving, over and over. She must have swum double the distance he’d swum that day and she’d bagged most of the fish, including, perhaps, the kingfish. Sean had caught a cod, a discarded Māori Chief and, perhaps, the kingfish. He tallied up the total the winning boys had bagged and realised, even without the kingfish, Spear-time’s crew would’ve won. They should’ve made the call to abandon the hunt and get back in time for weigh-in. Nicole would’ve done the maths, too. In spite of his fury, he felt sorry for her. Their big fish, last to be weighed and still hanging on the scales, was their mistake and yet their star. It looked regal and powerful and he ed the fight in the bloodied sea; its thrashing tail and massive strength. No wonder it was the king of fish. Their kingfish. Sean glanced at Nicole and saw she was staring at the fish too. He thought about the way she’d set up the berley that brought in the baitfish, and rigged up the flashers, which had lured in the beast. Her kingfish. Someone lifted it down to put it on ice for the charity auction. He ed the way he’d demanded equal share of the dive time. Nicole would’ve dived every time if he hadn’t insisted. She was completely driven. The prize-giving drew to a close and Mason went back to sit with Nicole. The old man at the microphone kept trying to speak but was drowned out by the noisy squeak of the barbeque being wheeled out and the rattle of bottles in the chiller. People moved into groups to talk, but the MC insisted on attention once

more. ‘Come on, folks, a bit more of your time?’ ‘A bit less of your voice,’ someone called back, but the group quietened. ‘There’s one last prize.’ He flapped a brown envelope above his head. ‘This is an opportunity that’s been donated to our fishing club. It’s not from the major sponsors, so we’re handing it out as a special award.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘We held this prize back to acknowledge the big effort of young,’ he looked down at his notes, ‘Sean Phelps. Where are you, Sean?’ Sean felt his face colour up and knew the deep red of his face would be exacerbated by his white hair. He’d wanted a prize but now it was becoming a reality, he didn’t want a prize. ‘Sean Phelps is here all the way from South Africa, so he’s new to this country, brand new to this sport and somehow, he’s managed to compete today. He buddied with the formidable Nicole Leadbetter and what’s more, he managed to outplace her by bagging himself an 18.5 kilo kingie. What a start to his spearfishing career.’ There were wolf whistles and jokes at Nicole’s expense and nothing for it but to go and accept the prize. Sean couldn’t bear to look at anyone. It wasn’t his first attempt at diving, he hadn’t outclassed Nicole and he was from Zimbabwe, not South Africa. The man on the microphone had driven the knife in as surely as Sean had knifed the kingfish.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sean gave his mother Daryl’s message through the window of Ritchie’s truck after the prize-giving. They were all sitting waiting for him, except for Nicole, who’d already walked home. Mum gave a quick nod, her face unreadable and when Sean jumped in the back seat, he found the mood testy and everyone anxious to get going. ‘Sorry, Sean,’ Ritchie said as he started the motor, ‘but I need to get this boat cleaned and the engine flushed. It’ll be dark by the time we’re finished.’ ‘My arm really hurts, now,’ Mason said as he leaned against the window. ‘And I’ve got a headache.’ ‘I’ll re-dress your wound as soon as we get home and you might need to crash into bed.’ Ritchie bumped over the grass and onto the road. ‘I’m not going to bed.’ Mason sounded angry. ‘I’m just saying my arm is sore.’ He shut his eyes. Sean shoved the envelope containing his prize into his pocket. No one was interested. ‘Nicole has gone ahead to fill the tub with freshwater,’ Ritchie said to Mum. ‘We’re very happy to help,’ Mum replied. She angled herself in her seat as if to include Sean. ‘It’s been a wonderful day. Thank you.’ ‘It was a pleasure to have you along,’ Ritchie said. Sean knew he should add his thank you to the pile but he didn’t feel grateful. He slumped further into his seat. ‘You all need to get out here,’ Ritchie said when he pulled up at the bach. ‘There’s no room to open the doors once I park up against the wall.’ Mum and Sean got out on the same side and Mum hissed, ‘Where are your manners? Couldn’t you at least say thank you?’

‘No one’s giving me the chance to explain. It’s something Nicole said.’ ‘Well, that’s scarcely Ritchie’s fault. You’ve had so many opportunities, you’ve got the prize you wanted and you’re acting like a toddler!’ She gave Sean a hard stare before going off to help. Ritchie whistled as he backed the boat right up to the house, then he climbed onto the boat to grab some of his things, turn off the battery and pull out the bung. Nicole began dropping knives and dive gear into the old bathtub so Ritchie ed more stuff down to her. ‘I can do that,’ Mum said. ‘You go and sort Mason out.’ Sean knew from his safari days that cleaning up was all part of the deal but with everyone out of sorts it was hard to know how to help. He didn’t want to be fighting with his mother and he certainly didn’t want Mason to decide he was too much and not invite him to dive again. No matter how much Sean hated big discussions, he knew this whole problem couldn’t be resolved until it was aired. Nicole had the water blaster out ready to wash the blood and fish scales from the boat. She pulled on the cord but his foot was tangled in the coil. ‘Move,’ she said. Sean kicked the cord from his feet in annoyance. ‘I need to talk to you.’ ‘No.’ She switched the water blaster on so the noise drowned out any possible discussion. Sean leaned over and switched it off. It reminded him of their battle over the line that morning. Nicole must have thought of that, too, because she said, ‘Not again.’ Mum looked down from the boat. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘We have to talk,’ Sean said. ‘You know how much I hate having chats but it’s all too big, now.’ He swung his hand in a circle. ‘Us three.’ ‘I’ve got too much to do,’ Nicole said. ‘I can’t stand around talking.’ She mocked the word, emphasising Sean’s accent again.

‘Then maybe you could listen.’ Sean kept his hand over the switch. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I said that about your mother taking off. It’s ages ago now, but I know you haven’t forgotten it.’ ‘No, I haven’t.’ She turned away to stare at the distant hills. ‘You didn’t know anything about my mother, yet you thought you had the right to comment.’ ‘Yup, I’m sorry.’ ‘It was so random.’ ‘Not really. You kicked my shoe in the pool.’ ‘Hang on, Sean.’ Mum interrupted. ‘It’s always tough saying sorry but don’t ruin it with an excuse.’ She glanced at Nicole. ‘Trust that if anyone else needs to apologise, they can figure that out for themselves.’ Nicole looked irritated but Mum ignored her. Sean carried on, ‘I’m sorry I made us late by hanging onto the kingfish.’ Nicole didn’t answer and Sean turned to his mother. ‘And I’m sorry I said you don’t care about Dad. I know you do. Did.’ ‘I’ve missed Lloyd every day, but it’s true I haven’t missed Zimbabwe the way you have.’ ‘I wish you’d never moved us here.’ ‘I know, but I hope you’ll understand one day.’ Mum rested a bait bin on the side of the boat and leaned on it as she spoke. ‘Fourteen is a terrible age to move countries and I’ve been very sad about how homesick you are.’ Her smile was warm. ‘You’re a good person. Saying sorry is hard and I ire you for it.’ The noise of Nicole’s silence was deafening. Sean eventually stepped back and Nicole switched the water blaster on, forcing him away with the spray. He was disappointed Nicole didn’t apologise, but strangely he felt better for saying his bit. He lifted some of the gear out of the bath and hung the pieces on the clothes line. ‘Come on, everyone, there’s food here,’ Ritchie called as he came down the windy path from the house. He carried a tray stacked with dips and crackers, two more bottles of beer and some fritter mix. Mason followed with a bottle of juice

under his good arm and some cups balanced on the top of the bottle. ‘Good effort, team.’ Ritchie slid the tray onto the rickety table, turned on the grill and looked around to arrange the seating. He said to Mum, ‘ me down a squab, will you? We can’t have you sitting on this wet bench.’ Mum looked unsure until Nicole pulled a cushion off the boat seat and threw it down to Ritchie. He placed it on the wooden seat for Mum. The tray of food drew the group into a circle around the table and Mum patted the space beside her. ‘There’s plenty of room for two. Nicole? Do you want to perch beside me?’ It seemed as if this little gesture of kindness was Nicole’s undoing. She made a hiccup sound that made everyone turn her way, before she blurted, ‘All right then, I’m sorry. Okay?’ She looked hard at Sean as she blinked away threatened tears. ‘You were so easy to pick on and we were doing this study on wild animals and I thought maybe you hunted them down and slaughtered them for fun, or something.’ ‘I love wild animals. We spent our lives trying to protect them.’ ‘Well, I didn’t know that. I saw you showing that horrible picture around as if you thought it was a good thing and I really hated you.’ ‘I only showed Mason because we were talking about poachers.’ ‘Well, Donelle had this link to Mugabe’s birthday party and we saw slaughtered sables and impalas, a lion and heaps more.’ Her voice rose higher and she struggled for air. ‘We saw them eating a baby elephant!’ ‘That doesn’t mean everyone in Zimbabwe does that. All the people we know were horrified. Mugabe was out of control.’ Sean felt exhausted by this fight. ‘Bad things happen in every country in the world and I’m just one person. I can’t be held responsible.’ ‘Are you talking about the picture of the elephant with the missing foot?’ Mason interrupted. ‘I saw you two looking at it on his computer,’ Nicole said. ‘Sean’s father found that elephant when it was already killed and mutilated.’

‘He looked all proud and arrogant as if he’d killed it,’ Nicole said in a sulky voice. ‘Who takes an elephant’s foot?’ ‘Poachers, that’s who. Evil, sick people who can sell a foot just to make money,’ Sean shouted. ‘And a photo doesn’t tell you what a person is like. You made assumptions about my father.’ ‘Nicole,’ Mason said. ‘Listen to me.’ Something about his low voice made her pause. ‘There was a baby elephant, too. It was left by the poachers, abandoned beside its dead mother for two days and Sean’s father managed to get it to a sanctuary. His dad actually died because he saved the elephant before he got treatment for his own disease.’ Nicole started to cry properly. Sean found himself saying to Ritchie, ‘Dad got cerebral malaria and –,’ ‘Hey, well now.’ Ritchie dropped his heavy arm over Sean’s shoulders and the gesture made Sean cry a bit, too. ‘Could we talk about something else that’s not elephants?’ Mason asked with a nervous laugh. He lightly tapped the side of Sean’s leg. ‘I wanna hear stories from today. Didn’t someone catch a kingfish?’ ‘Yeah, well, there was a story actually. Did you hear the one about the kingfish and the anchor chain?’ Sean managed to ask with a grin. He wiped his face on his sleeve and said to Ritchie. ‘It was a good day, thanks.’ ‘You’re welcome,’ Ritchie gave Sean’s shoulder a squeeze before he removed his arm. ‘How about you repay me by taking us to Zimbabwe one day?’ ‘Now you’re talking, Dad. They hunt jackals over there.’ Mason thumped Sean’s arm and laughed. ‘What about it, Sean?’ ‘I’d love to take you guys home.’ Sean looked up at his mother. ‘What do you think?’ ‘I’d have to come along to make sure you come back again,’ Mum laughed. ‘We wouldn’t be going without you, Anita,’ Ritchie said. There was an awkward

silence after that comment so Ritchie began to stir the fritter mix. ‘Let’s get some food cranking. This is my specialty smoked-tuna recipe.’ ‘I don’t want to eat fish any more,’ Nicole said, her voice still high and shrill. ‘How is killing fish different to killing elephants?’ She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘Now I feel bad about the kingfish.’ ‘Nicole,’ Ritchie said in a slow, measured tone. ‘You already know you can eat whatever you like. We fish sustainably, you’re an accurate shot and a beautiful diver. But,’ he looked fierce as he spoke directly to her, ‘we will not be discussing this subject tonight. Everyone is exhausted, and we have guests.’ He unscrewed the lids on the beer bottles and ed one to Mum. ‘It sounds like there’s been way too many assumptions made today and outrageous statements thrown around. I’d like you to think before you speak – or make decisions.’ ‘But –’ ‘No more tonight,’ he barked. ‘Can I say something?’ Sean raised his hand and everyone looked astonished. He knew they were thinking he was the last person who should be piping up. ‘Really?’ Mum asked. ‘Can we not –?’ ‘It’s something good.’ He waved his envelope. ‘I’ve got this prize –,’ Nicole groaned. ‘But it’s a prize for you,’ Sean said ing it over. She backed away as if it might detonate. ‘Nicole!’ Ritchie growled. She snatched the envelope then and read the card. She read it for a long time. ‘Come on, share the news,’ Mason said. Nicole began to read, ‘The bearer of this award is invited to the Neridin Conservation Underwater Film crew for a day. We offer one young diver with an interest in media studies a chance to film with our experts around the Auckland

Islands. The junior recipient must be accompanied by an adult.’ There were general exclamations of surprise and delight and Mason said, ‘I see what you’ve done there, Sean, you’ve just saved your bacon.’ Sean laughed. ‘Actually, there’s something else. I’ve not told you but Mum’s made heaps of documentaries and –,’ ‘Have you?’ Nicole looked at Mum. ‘It was part-hobby and part-necessity for our business.’ Mum read the voucher over Nicole’s shoulder. ‘That does look amazing.’ ‘I thought Mum could be your accompanying adult, seeing as I’m always borrowing your father.’ ‘You are. You’re always annoying us,’ she said in a bored voice. ‘Anita might have been put off boating after today,’ Ritchie asked. Mum smiled one of her dazzling smiles. ‘No, I loved it out there on the water. I’m happy to help with Nicole’s editing and be her adult but,’ she gave a nevous laugh, ‘I won’t be getting in the water!’ ‘You don’t need to dive,’ Nicole said. ‘It’d be cool if you came along, though. Thanks.’ ‘Perhaps you owe Sean a thank you, too?’ Ritchie suggested. ‘Nah, she doesn’t need to,’ Sean said quickly. The last thing he wanted was another fight as Ritchie wrenched a thank you from Nicole. ‘It’s her prize anyway. She caught all the fish.’ Nicole shrugged and pulled her phone from her back pocket. Her thumbs darted over the screen for a while before she looked at Sean and said, ‘Ngiyabonga.’ Sean laughed. ‘You’re welcome.’

MORE INFORMATION

FISH SPECIES: You can research information about all the species mentioned (some fish have different names in different parts of the world): www.oceanhunter.co.nz/NEED+TO+KNOW/Species+Identification.html

FUN FACTS ABOUT FISH: www.factretriever.com/fun-fish-facts justfunfacts.com/interesting-facts-about-fish/

FISHING AND DIVING WEBSITES: www.fishing.net.nz/ www.spearfishingnz.co.nz/ saltsisters.co.nz/spearfishing Facebook.com/Spearfishing New Zealand - official page Facebook.com/SpearfishingAustralia - official page

GETTING STARTED:

New Zealand: www.nzfishingworld.co.nz/latest/2015/06/getting-spearfishing www.oceanhunter.co.nz/NEED+TO+KNOW/Spearfishing/Types+of+Spearfishing.html www.facebook.com - NZ Spearo Community Facebook

Australia: http://auf.com.au/sports/spearfishing/ https://spearfishing.com.au/pages/spearfishing_clubs_and_organizations www.spearfishingaustralia.com

GEAR SITES: New Zealand: Hamills Outlet Stores www.oceanhunter.co.nz/ www.wettie.co.nz/ wildblue.co.nz/ www.huntingandfishing.co.nz/

Australia: www.adreno.com.au www.mrdive.com.au

BREATHING SKILLS FOR FREE DIVING: www.noobspearo.com/the-vault-blog/ dry-training-for-spearfishing/ www.youtube.com/watch?v=SyUvBG8vwJ8

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Spearfishing is one of the fastest-growing water sports in the world — and available to everyone. It’s an ancient form of fishing that’s still relevant today and from what I’ve seen, addictive and thrilling. People who spearfish, or free dive, are always keen to on their knowledge and enthusiasm. I’d like to thank the many spearos who patiently explained the mechanics of spearguns and breath control to me or shared their underwater adventures. In particular the Scott men: David, Paul, Daniel and Tom. Also, thanks to Phil Freeman, Mark Holder, Garth McIntyre and Blair Herbert. A special thanks to Hannah Coop and Jackie Stuart who first showed me spearfishing was for girls too.

Thanks to Blair Herbert for the cover photo of Tom Scott, taken at Whakaari/White Island in the Bay of Plenty.

Any story that involves Zimbabweans naturally includes some struggle, patriotism, courage and a ‘make a plan’ attitude. Special thanks to KK and Rob Marffy, s Randell and to Bruce Stobart for talking so openly about emigrating to New Zealand and how Zimbabwe’s history has impacted on their lives.

To my fellow writing buddies, in particular, Jackie Rutherford, who was an early reader for me, as was my sister, Liz O’Connor and brother, Leo Watson. Thank you to Jenny Nagle and Christine Dale of OneTree House. Heartfelt thanks again to my sister Jude who read the manuscript over and over and solved some plot issues. It was a lucky day when I got an editor for a sister.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary-anne Scott lives in Havelock North but her heart lives in Mahia. It’s a magical place that she goes to as often as possible. Mary-anne’s greatgrandparents and grandparents had connections to Mahia and her parents even got engaged while on holiday there. The tradition has continued with Mary-anne and Paul’s sons and their families making regular trips there, too. It seemed timely to set a book in Mahia and Spearo is the result. If people asked Mary-anne if she was keen on spearfishing, the answer used to be ‘no’. However, writing this book and doing the necessary research has given her a better understanding and appreciation of the sport and she hopes many young people, especially girls, will take up diving and spearfishing as a hobby. It’s a sport that’s available to anyone with a snorkel, mask and flippers (and a spear if you want to catch your dinner). Spearo is Mary-anne’s fourth novel. She has previously written Snakes and Ladders, Coming Home to Roost and Sticking with Pigs which were all shortlisted for the New Zealand Book Awards for Children and Young Adults. Mary-anne writes as an advice columnist for stuff.co (‘Dear Mary-anne’). To read more, or to the author: www.maryannescott.co.nz