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Kui warmly greeted Declan, Mum, and me at the marae that evening.

The carved meeting house rose strong and serene from the open grass, surrounded by thick bush beating with birdsong.

In contrast to its tranquility, I was a turmoil of emotions, excited about being here, but also anxious about this new way of investigating, and of embarrassing Kui.

None of your journo questions, girl, she’d cautioned me in the waves.

She pointed to the entrance. “See how it’s shaped like enclosing arms? Shows this is a sacred, communal place for us to stand and belong.”

“What a beautiful way to put it.” I sighed.

We chatted until people started gathering. “Wait here,” Kui said, and took her place at the front.

She became the caller, giving the karanga, the ceremonial call of welcome, which remembered the dead and spoke of their reason for gathering tonight.

The men lined up for the haka, the ceremonial dance. Their movements were free, each man showing his own feelings—one with tongue protruding, another with his eyes enlarged, someone else slapping his thighs and arms.

I was dazed by the passion and vigor. “The strength of the emotion here. It runs so deep. It—it’s humbling. ”

Kui, Mum, and Declan stared at me. “Yeah, not the Isla you’re used to,” I said. “I’m not sure where this is coming from.”

After we greeted the elders, Kui’s son Rangi appeared at my side and introduced himself. He was slighter than how I remembered Kingi, his long hair wrapped into a topknot and his visible skin covered in tribal tattoos. His chin tipped to the sky, a gesture like Kingi’s.

He motioned for us to follow him around back to the hāngī pit, where a group of men were hauling up wire baskets filled with food.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Declan said, as he peered into the earth oven. “How’s this all work then?”

Rangi leaned on his shovel. “The food’s been in this umu for four hours.

We dig about three feet down and lay heated stones.

On top of the stones, we put these wire baskets lined with puka leaves.

As you can see, they’re filled with veggies, lamb, chicken, and seafood.

Then we cover the baskets with wet sacks.

” He gestured to the men. “Some of these guys have been here for four hours covering up the steam that escapes.”

“Such a long time to make one meal.” I was familiar with this process, but I’d never deeply considered it before.

He seemed surprised. “Yeah, I suppose, but every part of it brings us together.”

*

I chatted about babies with Rina and the parents watching their toddlers, joked with Mum’s golf friends about their games, and got surf tips from Rangi’s friends and a run-down of their hairstyles.

Petey, who had an impressive curly mullet, mentioned he worked at the port in The Mount.

I made a mental note of that but restrained myself from asking him about his job.

When it was dinnertime, we ate at picnic tables outside.

Then Rangi took Declan off to talk about the iwi’s customs and show him the marae.

Bevan stayed with me, while Rina strolled with Mum.

“Nice to talk to you about something other than work,” Bevan said. “We have to get together and do things that real-life friends do.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, shamefaced. I wanted to think of her as a good friend who happened to be a newspaper editor. But I couldn’t afford to do that yet. Maybe after I was sure my parents were safe. “You know how complicated being a journalist is.”

She smiled ruefully. “Try being a journo in a small town.”

“How do you do it?” I asked, shaking my head. “How do you keep apart from the rest of the town, stay impartial?”

“You can’t. You have to be in it. And you can’t fall out with people,” she said. “It’s not like in London, where you can piss off someone, but who cares, because others will help you. In a small town, you’re accountable for your actions. Everything comes back to you.”

That wasn’t quite true. Snow had got away with something. I was sure of it. And the more I heard about Sarge, the more I questioned the brevity of his investigation and the way he’d doubled down on his finding that Janey had taken her own life.

“Tonight has been special, that’s for sure,” I said. “I was dreading coming back.” We were both silent. My heart sputtered. We’d never talked about this, even when we left town together for journalism school. It was a pivotal moment for us.

She laid down her knife and fork. “I wish I’d stood up for you, yelled at them, reported them. Something. ”

I understood why she didn’t. What kid would? But it felt good that she wished she had.

“You did more than anyone. You were friends with me. That was brave, considering. And they did the same to you.”

“They gave me shit because of our pig farm. I didn’t care. I was proud of our farm and our hard work. That was on them.”

I shifted in my seat. “If I’m honest, I feel a twinge of jealousy.

You’ve got a great attitude. You came back here, and you are happy and successful.

The same place I’d run from.” Did that mean she was stronger than me?

Does she have something I lack? I was always certain running away and staying away was the only answer.

Rina returned to the table, yawning, and Bevan insisted on taking her home. Mum got a ride with a golf friend.

I rose to search for Declan.

The sunset blazed a fiery pink, replaced swiftly by deep darkness as the men lit a fire, grabbed their guitars, and started strumming and singing.

Declan gestured me over, and I squished in beside him. He leaned into me, his hand on my shoulder. “Wow. I haven’t seen that smile before.”

“I feel so happy.” I closed my eyes. “I’ve missed all this, the food, the culture, the songs.”

Still seated, he lifted me over—whoa—to sit between his legs. “More room here,” he said.

This felt different from when I’d been this close to other men.

Deeper, scarier, like with every interaction, the stakes were high.

His legs around me sparked an electric field between us, raising my every nerve on end.

I rested my hands on his knees. He ran a hand through my loose hair, then rubbed my shoulders.

I held my breath, not wanting it to stop, and he rested his hands on mine, and we rocked a little from side to side.

Soon I was swept up by the many levels of harmony in the singing.

The women took turns to raise their voices above the rest, then returned to the main tune.

One of them might sing the words before the others.

But the overall sound was beautiful, made more special by hearing each of their voices.

Everyone who sang, like the men who performed the haka, had a chance to shine, do something different.

But ultimately it was about one song, one people.

I’d believed I had to be alone to be strong. But relying only on myself had become exhausting, as if the sun were out day and night, and I could never shut my eyes.

I joined in with all the songs that I remembered from my childhood. Declan leaned over me. I could feel the heat radiating from his chest. The thought of his tenderness awoke a similar softness in me, opening up my heart.

“Sorry.” I swiveled back to Declan, wrinkling my nose. “I’m not a brilliant singer. And I sing kind of loud.”

He laughed softly. “You throw yourself into things with abandon.” His eyes shining, he gave me a wide grin. “I like that about you.” He said it simply, honestly. Like a friend. Still, I blushed at his attention.

I turned to the front. I could feel his lips on my ear and his scruff against my neck, sending tingles down my spine. Not like a friend.

“You feel things fiercely,” he said. My heart lurched.

I was glad we weren’t face-to-face. No one had ever said anything like this to me.

One boyfriend told me I was like Teflon.

Another used to act like a robot and recite that my internal security system could not be bypassed.

I did feel things. I just didn’t let myself show it .

“I see it.” He gathered my hair in his hand and twisted it, resting his cheek against my neck. “I see you.”

I see you. Back in London, I’d have spluttered with cynicism over this as an earnest therapy phrase. His tone, strong and sweet, cracked open my heart a little. I was still for a beat, enjoying the roughness of his bristly cheek.

Shimmying my bum against him, I smoothed my hands down his thighs. His quads tightened, warming my blood.

With the same strength he’d used to pull me over, he put his hands around my waist and lifted me forward.

“Ah, yeah,” he said in a strained voice. “I know it’s dark, but I have to stand up after this.”

I smiled to myself and folded against my knees.

After we’d helped pack up, Kui and Rangi walked Declan and me to the car.

“Good girl,” Kui said in my ear as she hugged me, our faces lit by the headlights of cars starting up. “You followed my advice, I could see that.”

“It’s been great to meet you.” Rangi hugged us too. Something caught his eye. His surf friend, Petey, returning to his car.

“Night, brah,” Rangi called to him. “See you on the waves. Big weekend.”

I remembered Rangi had a long weekend every month while Snow did the export.

Petey jogged up to us and slapped Rangi on the back. “Last one, eh? Let’s make it epic.”

Rangi did a double take. “Last one? Why? What happened?”

“Your four-day weekends are over, brah. We can’t do the surf trips we planned.”

Rangi looked as puzzled as I felt .

“Your wine export is finished after the next shipment.” Petey searched Rangi’s face. “Didn’t Snow tell you?”

What? My heart stopped. Around me, I could feel Kui, Declan, and Rangi stiffen.

Rangi jerked back. “First I’ve heard.”

Petey raked a hand over his face. “Ah, shit, mate, I’ve spoken out of turn. Please don’t say anything. The buyer in London says the shipment next Sunday is the last one. We’ve got all the paperwork. Yeah, it’s for real, mate.” That was eight days away.

He started to back away, clearly worried about getting in trouble at work.

The day after the campground auction, it was over. No more shipments. And no second chance for us. It didn’t make any sense. What made Snow decide to end his multi-million-dollar paydays?