Okarito - Kim and Jordan

They had a couple of days to settle in, it was a long weekend so Monday was a holiday, (for some).

Kim's mother had been shopping so her kids were wearing their new uniforms when they fronted-up to school on Tuesday. Jordan's mum was not that organised, they had to go shopping after they'd signed-in and left the office.

So, Kim started, in year 9 on Tuesday morning and Jordan came in to year 10 after lunch.

They'd both been out exploring the town in the weekend, but they hadn't met or even seen each other. Neither of them had seen that kid with the pack of dogs either. Kim had decided that he probably had a job walking other people's dogs – after all, no-one would have that many dogs would they?

Jordan hadn't thought of that, but he probably would've agreed.

That Steve was at home all weekend. He was a truck driver so he'd be away on the road a lot – the more the better as far as Jordan was concerned. Steve didn't help at all with the moving in and getting things sorted – the lazy sod! It wouldn't have hurt him to, at least, mow his lawns and tidy the yard up, but he didn't. He just sat around watching TV.

Jordan made himself scarce, as much as he could, before anyone got any bright ideas about him doing the lawns. The town library had free wireless internet, as most libraries did these days, so he took his laptop down and sat in there to go online. That was good.

He could've done that at home but they didn't have wireless there. Plus, he'd rather be out of the house and well away from lawn-mowers and other nasty things.

He was on-line almost as much as he was out exploring. He would've spent even more time there, but his friends back home weren't on-line much. They were out and about, having a life - damm them.

Tuesday lunchtime, he arrived at the school in his mostly-new uniform. His mother had been delighted when she found that the shorts he already had from his old school were the same as the ones required here. Also, the Op-Shop had some used school uniforms.

Jordan was horrified! He didn't want to wear someone's cast-off clothes – what if they recognised them on him? He'd die of shame. He protested a lot and they compromised by buying only a second-hand jacket which was the most expensive item on the list. The rest they bought new.

He went through the school buildings and sat on a bench seat out at the back, in the watery sunshine. A group of girls was going passed and one of them, the shortest one, stopped and studied him.

He sat looking back. She was almost, but not quite, as short as he was and she was a pretty girl. Okay, she was stunning – blonde and beautiful with big blue eyes and delicate features. He be very interested if he wasn't gay.

She nodded as she made a decision and she came over and said, “You're sitting in my seat.”

“He shrugged and said, “So?”

“So get out of it. Move your arse!”

He shrugged again and said, “Fuck off.”

“What did you say to me?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did.” She sat down next to him and smiled. “I like you. What's your name?”

“Jordan Houston. What's yours?”

“Bonnie Wilson. You're new here, what year are you in?”

“Year 10. What're you?”

“You're year 10, really? Small aren't you?”

“Yeah. I have noticed that. You're not so big yourself. Are you in year 10?”

“I am not! I'm year 11 and I'm bigger than you, Shorty.”

“Not by much. You're year 11? You don't look it.”

“I've noticed that too.You're pretty cool, Jordan Houston. What music are you in to?”

“I like Metal – Chelsea Grin mostly, but others too.”

“A man of good taste. I love Chelsea Grin, they're nearly as good as Megadeath. I knew you're okay.”

“I think I like you too, but they're better.”

“Are not! We'll have to educate you. Where're you from?”

“From Brownsville and I'll be going back there as soon as I can. “

“Don't be in too much of a hurry. Where are you living?”

They sat and talked until it was time to go in to their separate classes. Jordan was well pleased – not even 5 minutes in the school and he'd made a friend already. Shame she was a girl, but a friend's a friend. It was a good start.

Kim was not so happy. It looked like an okay school and he was in year 9 where he should be, he was 13, but all the kids seemed so much younger than him. Maybe it was just the difference between a city school and a small town one.

He was used to much bigger classes, but they had an interesting way of seating here. All the tables were pushed together to make one big one which they all sat around like they were in a boardroom. He was not sure if he liked it. It was different to what he was used to. Maybe he'd like it, in time.

Still, the people were friendly enough and he was delighted to see that they had an active Performing Arts Department. He was no actor but he did love his music, so he made a time to show them what he could do.

It was lunchtime the following day before she could fit him in and he met the teacher there then. She welcomed him and said that her name was Hailey Clayton.

“Clayton?” he said.”Are you related to the Miss Clayton at the Royal Hotel, Miss?”

“I am. Miss Clayton is my great-aunt.”

“She's a scary lady.”

“She can be, but she's not that bad really. My father always said that she's got a big heart in there somewhere. You must be from the new family in the hotel. Now, what are you going to do for us?”

“Well, I'll . . “ he looked around. “Is the piano in tune?”

“Of course.”

“Well then, I'll play you the best tune ever written.”

“The best ever? That's a big claim. Okay, Kim Harrison, show me what you've got.”

He sat at the piano, opened the lid, flexed his fingers and started with some quiet warm-up exercises which morphed into the opening bars of Beethoven's 5th Symphony.

The teacher sat back smiling and closed her eyes as the music washed over her. That soon stopped when it changed again and he launched into 'Roll Over Beethoven', sung and played in the style of his all-time favourite, the best piano-performer ever - the early Jerry Lee Lewis.

The tempo sped up and he stood and kicked the piano stool aside. He raked his fingers along the keys, like his idol did. It was more of an impersonation than a performance and he was having a great time.

Miss Clayton was not. “No, no,no, no, no!” She waved his hands away from the keys. “That'll be enough of that. Kim, that was awful!”

“You didn't like it?” Kim was genuinely surprised. It was old stuff but it still had the power to shock and that was good, wasn't it?

“No, I did not like that at all. There's no denying that you've got talent, but that was a dreadful noise. That's not the sort of music that the school can make use of – not at all.”

She riffled through the sheet music under the seat of the piano stool and pulled out several pages.

“This is the sort of tune we like. Or this, or this. Why don't you play me one of these and we'll see how it goes?”

“Those?” he looked disdainfully at the pages and shook his head. “No thanks. I'm not playing them, they're rubbish.”

“Rubbish? What do you think that, that what you were playing, was?”

“It's music, good music and that's what I like.”

“I'm afraid that you're all by yourself there. Kim, nobody likes old-time rock anymore. I don't, the school doesn't and the kids don't either.”

“Well I do and that's all that matters.”

“No it's not. It'd be fine if you were justplaying for yourself, but when you're playing for an audience it has to be what they want to hear.”

“Sounds like selling out to me.”

“Maybe it is, but everything in life comes down to buying and selling. If you want my time and money, then you have to give me something in return. If you're playing for me you need to play what I like. Just try one of these tunes.”

He had another look, they were still rubbish as far as he was concerned. He shook his head. “I don't think so. How about 'Jambalaya'? That's an ace song.”

“No thanks. Only you think that. Don't you see that you have to give the people what they want?”

“What you want, you mean. I'm not playing that stuff.”

“We're wasting our time here, aren't we?” She started tidying the papers together. “Good day, Kim. Come back and see me when you're prepared to be more cooperative.”

“That won't be happening. Thanks for nothing, Miss Clayton.”

He walked out, fuming, and he flopped on a bench seat outside. A dark-haired boy and a blonde girl, both much shorter than him, stood looking down at him.

“Bombed out, did you?” the boy said.

“You what?” Kim screwed his face up as he looked up, he was looking at the sun behind them. The music room windows were wide open, they must've heard everything out here. “She didn't like my music.”

“I'm not surprised,” the girl said. “It sounded like an explosion in a music shop.”

“It was supposed to, kind-of. I don't care if no-one likes it, I do.”

“Good for you.” The boy sat down on the ground. “I kind-of liked it too, it was different. What would you call that stuff?”

“Music,” Kim said. “It's early rock 'n' roll. Rockabilly, I think it's called.”

“Early rock and roll?” The girl scoffed. “Ancient bloody history! Can you play metal?”

“Not on a piano. I don't much like that crap anyway.”

Well, you just lost the vote. Looks like you'll be playing for an audience of one.”

“No, for two,” Kim said. “I like it.”

“I meant you'd be playing for yourself.”

The boy said, “I used to play in a group at my old school. We were crap. Well, mostly – Ashton was pretty good. I think you're better than the rest of us anyway.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I dunno,” said the girl. “Maybe you'd be okay if you played something decent. What's your name? Your're new here, aren't you?”

“I am new, I started yesterday and I'm Kim.”

“Kim? Cool. I'm Bonnie and that's Jordan, under the hair.”

“Hey.”

“Hey, hey. Started yesterday, in what year?” said Jordan.

“Year 9. You?”

“I'm in 10 and Bonnie's 11. She's an ole lady.”

“Oh sheesh.” Bonnie stood up. “You're year 9, I can't be seen talkiing to you. It's bad enough that Jordan's in year 10.”

“Fuck off then.” Kim was still grumpy from being rejected and he didn't want any more dumping on.

“You're telling me to fuck off?” Bonnie sat down again. “No, I won't fuck off. I think I like it here.”

“Bonnie likes people who curse at her,” Jordan grinned. “She's a strange one.”

“Me? You're the bloody weird one, Boy. So, Kim, where are you living and why are you here?”

“The parents have bought the Royal Hotel, so I'm living there, on the top floor.”

“In the old pub? Cool.”

The unlikely pair lifted Kim's spirits, especially Jordan. He had a big grin and he was fun to talk to. The cleaners were starting work, banging their bins and brooms around and casting dirty looks at them, so they decided it was time to go home.

Westpoint Tales - Back Again

(This was not planned - it just happened).

(If you haven't already read it, it might pay to go back and read 'Going Back')

'Nathan Thomas thinks he's so cool. He's nothing but a big-headed idiot and a total jerk-off!
Can't believe I was ever mates with him.'

Mason glared at the 'Shaggin' Wagon', the big dark-windowed van that had just driven past him. The windows were all black, the side walls were dark blue and the back of it was red. The front wall was white, he couldn't see it but he knew that because he'd seen it around, many times.

The van turned around at the intersection in the distance and came back towards him.

'Mr Cool – cruising around for people to look at him and his wagon.'

Thomas had been the proud owner of that thing for a couple of weeks now. He got it from his uncle when he left town. All the silly little girls were impressed and they couldn't wait to go for a ride in it. Slappers!

It was odd though, he'd had it for a while, he was forever cruising around in it and it'd been given that name, but he'd never heard of anyone who'd actually been in it with him.

Damm! It was pulling up in front of him. The door opened and Thomas got out and grinned at him. What was he up to? They used to be friends, years ago, but they weren't now.

'What does he want? Whatever it is, he's not getting it.'

“Hey, Mason. How're you going?”

“What's it to you?” Mason glared. He wasn't going to be nice to him just because he felt like talking for once.

“Just asking,” Thomas shrugged. “Doesn't hurt to be nice.”

“Wouldn't have hurt you to be nice in the last 5 years either.”

“Yeah, I know and I'm really sorry about that too. We were good friends once.”

“We were but that was a long time ago.” Mason kept on glaring.

Nathan Thomas was way too good-looking with his curly dirty-blond hair and big brown eyes. It was no wonder that he was so popular with all the girls in town. Even the ones who'd left school and thought they were too cool to talk to 'kids' talked to, and giggled at, Nathan Thomas. Shame he was such a jerk on the inside.

“Mason, I know I've made some mistakes in my life and breaking up with you was a big one. I wish it'd never happened. I'm 16 now and I'm trying to fix where I've gone wrong. Think you can forgive me?”

'What? Wow. What's got into him?'

“Yeah? Well . . maybe.” Mason was lost for words. “We'll see, maybe.”

“That's better than nothing, I guess,” Nathan grinned. “Not much, but a bit better. Listen, I need a favour. Are you doing anything?”

“Not a lot. Just going home.”

“Well then, would you come for a ride with me, in the van? Please, pretty please with sugar on top.”

“You want me to come with you. Why? You don't take anyone with you.”

“So come and be the first. I've been working on the old thing all morning and I'm not the best mechanic. I want to take it for a drive up the hill, to try it out. Will you come with me?”

“Up what hill? There's no hills around here.”

“Out of town, there is. I want to see if it'll get up to Dennistown.”

“Up the biggest hill of all. Why do you need me with you? I'm not pushing that bloody great huge thing.”

“It's not that big, but hopefully we won't have to. I'd like you to come for company, but also to call for help if it craps out on me.”

“You could call yourself, couldn't you? What's wrong with your phone?”

“I haven't got one.”

“Haven't got one? Of course you have. Everyone's got a cellphone.”

“Everyone except me. I did have one, but I sold it.”

“What for? You must've been desperate.”

“I was. I cleaned out my bank account and I sold my phone, my Playstation and games, my board, bike and everything else I could think of. I needed money to buy the van before my uncle sold it to someone else.”

“Really? You must've really wanted it.”

“I did and it's time I made some changes in my life – that was the first of them. Come with me?”

“Yeah, alright. But try not to kill us.”

“I won't. I won't kill us, I mean. Thanks, Mason.”

They got into the front of the van and he drove out of town on the road towards Dennistown. It was weird, but Mason was delighted to be there. He still liked the jerk, even though he'd hurt him and they hadn't talked for years. They were good mates once.

They arrived in Waimang and Mason nodded. “So far, so good.”

“So far,” Nathan agreed. “But now comes the hill and that's the hard part. If it's going to die anywhere, it'll be up there.”

They started climbing and, just to keep talking, Mason said, “Why do you call it the 'Shaggin' Wagon'?”

“I don't.”

“But that's what everyone is calling it.”

“But not me. It's a nasty vicious rumour, I don't know who started it and I wish they'd cut it out. That is not what it's for.”

“What is it for then?”

“It's transport, it's shelter and it's a home on wheels. Not the greatest I know, but it's whatI can afford and it's all I've got if I get kicked out of home.”

“Kicked out? Why would they do that? Why would anyone kick their Super-son out?”

“I expect that they will when they find out that I'm not so super.”

They continued on, up around a couple of corners, while Mason thought about that.

“Nathan, I don't know what you mean. Why would your parents kick you out?”

“They probably will when they find out I'm not going to be what they want me to be. I'm 16 now and I'm sick of being told how to live. It's my life and I'm going to live it the way I want to and not how my father says that I have to. There's going to be changes. For a start, stop calling me Nathan. My name is Daniel.”

“No, it's not. It's Nathan. I know who you are.”

“You don't you know – not yet. Daniel is my second name and that's how I want to be known from now on. I hate Nathan; it's my father's name and he can keep it.”

“Sometimes I hate Nathan too.”

“I know you do and I'm hoping to change that.”

They arrived at the top and parked where the center of the town used to be, well away from the other cars even though no-one could see them through the tinted windows.

“You didn't want me to come just for my cellphone. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“I'm going to try to. Are you going to listen.”

“I'll listen.”

“Thanks. Okay, I never wanted to stop hanging with you. When we were 11, my father told me that I had to. He said that I had to stop being friends with you and start hanging-out with girls. He pushed me into that and he's been doing it ever since.”

“What's wrong with me?”

“There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. What's wrong is him and to hell with him. My father hates queers, really hates them, and he was determined that I was not going to be one.”

“Why would he hate gays? He doesn't even go to church, does he?”

“Only at Christmas and Easter. Apparently that's enough.”

“More than enough, I think. But why does he think that I'm one of them?”

“He knows that your dads are.”

“Everyone knows that. But that doesn't mean that I'm one too.”

“But he thinks you are. Even when we were 11, he said that you were a nancy-boy and he wasn't going to let that happen to me. Hah!”

“Hah?"

"Yes. Despite his best efforts, I am who I am.”

“So, your father said that you had to stay away from me because he thought I might be gay. He doesn't even know if I am or not. Why does he hate gays so much? That's just stupid.”

“He is stupid. But it's even more than that. It involves you personally.”

“Me? I've never done anything to him.”

“You didn't have to, just being born was enough. That's something I've always wondered – how did you get born when both your dads are gay?”

“Easy. They hired a surrogate mother, of course.”

“Oh. Of course. Good thing they did, eh?”

“I think so.”

“So do I. Anyway, you know that my father was English?”

“Yeah, I know that. He was born and bred in London, emigrated to New Zealand and finished up living here in Westpoint.”

“And a good thing he did too. But, according to him, he was here once before, when he was still a kid. His granddad brought him here because he wanted to show him where he was born. Granddad was born in Westpoint and lived here until they moved to the UK.

He was descended from James Hargreaves Williamson – him with the statue in the Square. So that means that I am too.”

“Wow. I didn't know that. I'm descended from James Hargreaves. He's my I don't know how many times Great Grandfather.”

“He is? That's very cool, Mason. That means that we are cousins, kind-of.”

“I guess we must be. Distant cousins.”

“Not too distant, I hope. He had a bad experience with some gayboys when he was here. I don't know exactly what happened, but they were both of your dads and that's why he hates gayboys and especially hates you.”

“Oh great. And that's why you weren't allowed around me.”

“Yeah, that's why. But no more. I'm old enough to make my own decisions now. I've got a weekend job and I've got somewhere to live if I need it. From now on, I'm in control of my life, not him.”

“So . . ah. . Good, I guess. What is it that you want?”

“Same thing I've always wanted. I want you, Mason Peters.”

“Me?”

Mason thought about that. He made a decision. He kissed him.

End.

Okarito - Kim, 1

“Back the truck up.”

The driver's mate stood in the yard, making useless gestures while the huge pantethicon inched back through the narrow gateway. The driver took no notice of him at all, he was busy concentrating on what he was doing.

It looked impossible but he was a proud professional and he knew he could do it. Slowly, ever so slowly, it entered and filled the yard, like a carefully copulating porcupine.

The boy stood out of the way, in a doorway, watching and waiting. Yesterday, when it arrived at their old home, he'd wondered why they had to have such a big truck? Surely, it was too big, they weren't even moving half of their furniture. All the whiteware, fridge, freezers, washing machine and dryer, was being left behind. A lot of their other stuff was too. They didn't need it all because they were moving into a hotel and that was already furnished.

'Surely,' he thought, 'a small truck would be enough if we're only taking personal stuff.'

He got that wrong didn't he? By the time they'd finished the truck was chock-a-block and there was no room for any more in there.

What he'd overlooked was his father's gear and there was a whole garage-full of that – carpentry tools, painting equipment and paint, oodles of paint – buckets and buckets of it. He knew that his dad was a painter, but – wow! (“Can't you buy paint in our new town?”)

Apparently, there was no need to, not when they had all of this.

So, they filled the truck up, spent the night in a motel, and now they were here, just arrived and waiting to unload and move into their new home.

Everyone pitched in, even the little kids helped, (a bit), and it was all unloaded in no time flat. Sorting it all out was going to take a lot longer. For now, all the furniture and personal effects went into a big room and the passage at the back of the pub, and the tools and gear were left, covering the floor, in a garage.

When all of that was out of the way his mother summoned him inside to meet the staff. He stood there, feeling awkward, while all the strange grown-ups studied him.

“This is our oldest boy, Kim. He's 13 and he's obsessed with music. If you talk to him and he doesn't answer it'll be because he's got his earbuds in and the music turned up loud. Kim is usually plugged in to one thing or another.”

“Mum!” He protested, even though it was true.

“Whatever,” she replied in teen-talk. “Kim, these are Mr. And Mrs Springer, the chief cook and barman.”

“Chief cook and bottle washer, more likely,” the big, bald, man held out a hand which Kim took and shook. “Hello, Kim and welcome. Forget the Mr and Mrs, our names are Terry and Anne, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, umm . . Terry.”

“Louise and Jody. They help in the kitchen here.”

“And in the bar,” one of the younger women smiled.

The other one nodded,” Right. Everywhere else too. Hello, Kim.”

“Hey, Ladies,” he smiled, then stopped when he looked at the other , grim-looking, old lady standing there.

“This is Miss Clayton, the Housekeeper. She runs the place really, the hotel couldn't function without her. It was a condition of the sale that Miss Clayton should keep her place here, which we didn't mind at all. How long did you say you've been here, Miss Clayton?”

“Fifty-seven years,” she replied without taking her eyes off Kim.

“Wow,” he said. “Fifty-seven years! You must've been very young when you started?”

“I was.”

He held out a hand, which she ignored.

“What should we call you?”

“I think 'Miss Clayton' will suffice, thank you. Come with me and I will show you where your room is.”

He followed her out to the hallway which ran through the hotel from the front to the backdoor, up the stairs to the second floor and up again to the third. He hadn't even realised that there was a third floor.

Miss Clayton didn't speak, didn't look back and didn't stop until they came to the door of his room at the back of the building. She might be getting old but she wasn't slowing down.

“This will be your room. Your sister is on the second floor, in Room 11, and your parents and the 2 younger children are in the owner's apartment on the ground floor. The bathroom, showers and toilets, are along the hall there. Please wear a robe if you are not fully dressed; you'll find one behind your door.

Keep your belongings in your room and do not disturb the paying guests.

We have several full-time boarders up here and the Springer's apartment is at the front. Mrs. Springer is an early riser, Mr.Springer is not. Kindly respect their hours, they work hard. Are there any questions?”

“I, ah, no, I don't think so. Where do you live, Miss Clayton?”

“Far away from here. I have my own apartment on the ground floor, near the backdoor and I value my privacy.

Meal times are at the same hours as for the guests, but I understand that Mrs. Springer has something special prepared for this evening. Go down to the kitchen to eat when you are ready.”

“Great. Yes, I'll do that. Thank you, Miss Clayton.

“Don't be too long. Mrs. Springer needs her sleep; her day starts at 6am. Good evening, Kimberley.”

She swept away, leaving him standing with his mouth open. His parents might own this place now, but he didn't envy them trying to tell Miss Clayton what to do. She was an impressive lady. Staunch.

Left alone, he sat on the king-single bed and bounced a couple of times to try it out. Seemed okay. It was an old building but, thankfully, it was a modern bed.

The room had one door, one window, the bed, a free-standing wardrobe with attached drawers and a mirror on the side, two chairs and a small table, with a radio and a telephone on it. The TV was secured high on the wall, by a bracket, and there was a light above the bedhead.

It was not a bad room; not huge but big enough. He could be comfortable here, especially after he brought in his music, his laptop and his bits and pieces. That stupid framed print on the wall above the table would have to go and some posters would brighten the place up.

He got up and opened the drapes to see what the view was like – it was awesome! The window faced east, away from the sea and towards the mountains. Some of the town was spread out below him, houses hiding in amongst the greenery, the darker-hued bush beyond them rose up to the hills and the snow-capped mountains reared up behind. The cloudless blue sky completed a scene that was 'as pretty as a picture'.

Actually, it was better than any picture he'd ever seen. Even the schoolyard, visible in the distance, looked good from here. He loved this view.

So, what else was there? He checked-out the bathroom, and then went along to see what the view was like from the front.

There were glass doors out to the wooden, roofed, balcony outside. He opened them and looked out but stayed where he was, safely inside.

“Not scared of heights, are you?”

He looked around and grinned.”Oh, hi, Mr. Springer. I'm not really, but is it safe out there?”

“Of course it is. It holds me and I'd weigh twice what you do. Seriously, there's nothing to worry about, this old place was built to last. It might all look a bit shabby but it's all as solid as a rock. And, I told you to call me Terry. I might be old compared to you, but you don't have to rub it in.”

“Okay, right. Sorry. Terry, then. I'll take your word for it and if it all collapses and kills me, I'm blaming you.”

He stepped outside for a better look. It was different to the view out at the back. The balcony looked down over the main street, there was a patch of green, a park or something, behind the shops on the other side, then, screened by over-grown hedges, a camping ground with a few tents and campervans. The Tasman Sea was over behind them.

He could just see the famous lagoon, on his right, up past the main street, and more mountains behind that. It was all good, but he preferred the view from his room at the back. Looking down at the street was interesting though; it was all very busy down there. He guessed that the sunshine would've brought the people out. It wouldn't be much fun wandering around on a wet day and they got a lot of them here.

A kid walked past down there, surrounded by dogs – 10 or 12 of them, easily. Maybe more. Amazing – there were all sorts, pure-breds and mongerels, and they were all very well-behaved, just walking along quietly like they were all on leashes, which they were not!

'Whoa. We've only got one dog and he never behaves that well. What's that kid's secret?'

And - “Eating time!” He scurried down to the kitchen to get in before all the food was gone. It'd been a long day, he was hungry and was sure that the others would be too. Four kids took a lot of feeding and they'd be famished.

He needn't have worried. Mrs. Springer had served-up more than even they could eat. They did try though. It was a great old-fashioned steak and kidney stew with strange things on top that she said were Yorkshire Pudding – weird, but good for mopping-up the gravy.

The parents weren't eating. Or, maybe they already had? Who cared? They could look after themselves.

When he'd cleaned the plate up, and refused a 3rd helping, Kim sat back and grinned at his sister, Kaylee. “We could get fat around here.”

“Yeah, but we won't. Great meal, thanks Mrs. Springer.”

“Really good, I loved it,” their younger sister, Alesha, agreed. Baby brother, Bayley just grinned and waved his spoon. He didn't talk much, he wasn't even 2 years old.

“Right, Kids,” their mother came in and lifted Bayley from the highchair. “Rinse your dishes and leave them in the dishwasher, and when you've done that, you can all shower and go to bed. It's been a big day.”

Jordan in Okarito, 2a

Jordan leant out of the window and beckoned. His mother pulled in front of them, frowning and waving a finger as she did. He couldn't hear what she was saying – probably just as well he couldn't! He was obviously in trouble, yet again. It didn't take much.

“Sheesh!” He slid back into his seat. “Was she always such a grumpy . . . ah, person?”

“No, she wasn't,” Dennis grinned. “Not until she had you.”

“Me? It's not my fault. Nothing's ever my fault – I'm a kid.”

“When it suits you, you are. Oh, no – Damm!”

“Why? What? What've you broken?”

“Nothing's broken. Not yet anyway. She's leading us down the main street, there's not much room for a big old truck down there.”

“They'll all have to get out of the way then,” Jordan nodded. “I'll toot the horn again. That'll shift them.”

“You will not! Behave yourself. You should start as you mean to go on, so don't arrive in your new town making a big dick of yourself.”

“How I'm going to go on? That's easy – turn around and we'll get out of here.”

“Out of town?”

“Exactly!”

“I think not. This is where you'll be living for the forseeable future.”

“Dammit.”

He sat quietly checking it out as they crawled along the short main street area. He tried not to be too negative, but it wasn't easy. The weather didn't help. It was an overcast, gray and dismal day and it was a gray and dismal, worn-down and weatherbeaten old town.

There was some colour in the shop fronts, under the verandahs, but not a lot and up-top they weren't even trying. Some of the old places looked like they hadn't seen a lick of paint since the year dot. How expensive was paint anyway? Way too much, by the look of things.

It all looked like an old run-down gold-mining town, which was really he supposed, after the gold rush was over. Way over. Was he ever going to call this place home? He didn't think so.

One thing grabbed his attention and he sat up for a better look and looked back as they passed. It was a boy, of course – a kid somewhere around his age but much taller, of course. Why wasn't he in school? It wasn't over for the day yet.

He was a nice-looking guy, very tidy, but that wasn't the ineresting part. He was walking along, on the street not the sidewalk, and he was surrounded by dogs – dozens of them! Well, maybe one dozen, give or take a few. A lot anyway. They were all around him, quietly walking along and none of them on a leash or anything. Wow.

How did he do that? Maybe he was the Dog Whisperer, or the Leader of the Pack? The truck followed the car around the corner and he lost sight of him. Oh well, he was sure he'd see him around – couldn't miss him, could he?

Interesting.

Things improved, slightly, once they were out of the downtown area. There were still a lot of old buildings, but the houses generally were newer and better looked after. So, what was their house going to be like? Not great.

They pulled up in the side street, a couple of blocks back, and that bloody Steve was standing there waiting for them.

The house was nothing startling – not old, not new. It looked like a 1960's sort of style – wooden-framed windows, yellow weatherboards and a green roof, all a bit faded, naturally. The lawns needed mowing, the hedges needed clipping and gardens needed weeding,he noticed with a sigh because he knew who'd being doing that.

The house windows were small and high-up, almost touching the eaves under the roof.

“Oh, great!' He thought. 'Unless the floors are high-up too, we're going to be living in a tall person's house. How can she do this to me? I wanna go home!'