“I like your outfit, Rosemary,” I said.

Tiny fib.

Mum’s best friend was the first to arrive. I hadn’t realized Mum invited her. She struck some poses in her harem pants, a riot of parrots, her purple hair razored with patterns, her lashes like captive caterpillars.

“ Got my trou from CeeCee’s boutique . Sweet as. ” She watched me, repeating her expression. “Yeah, nah, yeah, everyone says that now. Ask me about any of the new lingo, eh? Also, I could make myself available for an interview about my real estate agency, livin’ the dream.”

“Oh, neat,” Mum murmured as she joined us, carrying a bucket of ice. “That’d be a good read.”

Rosemary swayed to every whim and trend that caught her eye. During one phase, she’d become a healer, praising the health benefits of drinking your own urine. My heart skipped a beat. But wait. She was also a real estate agent who’d previously trained as a lawyer.

That gave me an idea.

Mum returned to the kitchen, and once she was safely out of earshot, I grabbed my chance.

“Rosemary, I’m remembering now how multitalented you are,” I said. “You’re a lawyer too? You must have drawn up the paperwork for Mum and Dad’s loan to Snow . ”

“Nope.” She pulled at her eyelashes. “I was a little miffed they didn’t come to me. They used that chap down the road.”

The hair on the back of my neck sprang up. That didn’t make sense. Mum and Dad were fiercely loyal about using close friends, even if their skills left much to be desired.

“Sorry about that. I suppose the transaction was complicated because Snow bought the winery through his Cayman Islands company?” I touched her hand reassuringly. “Not that you couldn’t handle it.”

“Actually, it was simpler than you’d expect.

” She thrust back her shoulders, seeming confident of her knowledge.

“When Snow bought the winery, there was little scrutiny on purchases by overseas companies. But the rules have since been tightened. Now, all overseas buyers have to be validated by professionals like me.” She flicked her hair proudly.

I was about to ask more when Kui stepped into the courtyard.

My heart glowed at the reassuring sight of her tall, straight-backed form in denim, her thick glossy braids still black, a prestigious Māori tattoo, moko kauae, on her chin and lips.

She’d run the local library where her son Kingi, Janey, and I had hung out as kids, a magical part of my life.

After setting down her platter of “drunken mussels” in white wine and garlic broth, she opened her arms wide to me.

“Haere mai.” She smiled her welcome. “Shall we do this properly?”

She meant the hongi, a traditional Māori greeting.

My limbs lightened as I remembered doing this with Kingi and Kui when I was younger.

I gently held her upper arms and leaned in to press my nose to hers, pausing so that we exchanged breaths before slowly pulling back to look her warmly in the eyes.

I loved that she smelled of sandalwood and the vanilla scent of old books.

“Oh, my clever girl.” Her voice was airy and bright, as though it had been sifted through the sun and the clouds. “We’re so proud of you. We’ve read all your articles through the years. I knew you’d be famous one day.”

“Famous? Heck, no,” I said. “But thank you for reading all my stuff.”

Before I could ask about Kingi, Kui asked, “How’s your dad? We’re worried sick about him.”

“He’s better,” I said. “They’re doing surgery in three days, but he’s in good spirits.”

“And how are you coping?” Kui rubbed Mum’s shoulders. “ Truthfully? Not the answer you give to everyone else. I know you two. Together all day long, chatting about everything. You must miss him.”

“So much.” Mum slumped on a seat. “I’m hopeless here without him.

This morning, I laid out his clothes on the bed—as I do every morning—and I collapsed on them and cried.

” She pulled an electricity bill out of her pocket.

“This arrived. He deals with all the bills, as you guys know. I opened it and cried again. Not because I cared about the bill, but because… this sounds pathetic, but I don’t know who I am without him. ”

She convulsed into sobs, which I’d never seen before. Fred whimpered at her heels. I was shocked. My heart hurt for her. God. Instead of asking her about her feelings, I’d complained about my room. I had to do better.

I dropped down and wrapped my arm around her. Rosemary and Kui were tearful as they crouched in front of her.

“I’ll help with everything, Mum.” I rubbed her back. “I’ll do whatever is needed. ”

We were still comforting her when Bevan clomped in on her beloved clogs, these a sunny yellow, and hugged Mum too.

Mum waved us away and got to her feet.

“Bloody hell, wahine.” Bevan offered me her charcuterie plate.

She’d been my best friend at high school after Janey disappeared.

“Saw photos of you with the straight black hairdo. Flash as.” Her smile created deep dimples in her skin, like her dad’s.

“Smell you, Princess Grace.” One of our silly sayings.

We lapsed into cackling like teenagers. The laughter bounced her curls and the cherubic face that had inspired her parents to name her Anahera—angel.

A headstrong toddler, she’d renamed herself Bevan.

“I liked your huge red hair,” Kui said, slicing some goat cheese onto a cracker and drizzling it with Bevan’s honey. “You were a character, all right.”

Grimacing, I said, “Yeah, like a frizzed-out clown character.”

“ Not a clown,” Kui insisted. “But definitely, everyone could see you coming.” When Kingi, Janey, and I hid in a corner of the library, “wagging” math, she’d always spot my bright orange mop. It had given me away when I hid from my bullies too.

“I’d love to see Kingi,” I said, changing the subject. “How is he?”

Kui tried to pull her hair forward, even though she’d tied it back in braids. I remembered that gesture from when her husband left her with bruises. The memory pinched inside me. “A knock on the old noggin from windsurfing,” she’d say, though I never saw her out on the water.

“Kingi’s not—” She bit her bottom lip. “He’s not living here. ”

I started to ask for details, but Mum slipped her hand into Kui’s and squeezed it.

Kui’s unconscious tic could mean Kingi was back in prison. The times when I’d asked what he was up to, Mum was never sure. My scalp prickled with guilt. I hadn’t bothered to follow it up.

“I miss Kingi so much that sometimes my whole body aches,” Kui said. “But we can’t meet, maybe ever.” She shook her head sadly.

Rosemary broke the melancholy silence. “Anyone for Kui’s drunken mussels?” A chorus of “sweet as” rang out as she handed around the platter.

*

When the conversation returned to nearly normal, I took Bevan aside.

“I’m so sorry I missed your wedding.” I grimaced. “I’ve been an absolutely shite friend. Loved the photo you sent of you and Rina.”

“Ka pai.” She waved her hand. “No worries, mate, you were busy.” But she cupped her chin like she used to when she was hurt.

No wonder. In high school, we’d spent countless hours plotting our lives as ass-kicking journalists in London.

After Janey disappeared without a trace and Kingi had his own stuff going on, Bevan and I found each other in the library and became best friends.

At eighteen, we left for the one-year course in journalism at the polytechnic, after which we’d planned to fly to London.

I was blindsided when she decided to return home and take a job with the local paper. I thought she’d lost her ambition.

Now, she was the editor of that same newspaper. In photos of her online, the office wall behind her was filled with prestigious national and international awards. And I was unemployed.

“I have some more news,” she announced as we joined the others. She clicked her clogs together, and the others grinned as if they knew already. “Rina’s pregnant. We’re going to be mums.”

I squealed with joy and hugged her.

A knot twisted in my chest. I’d had the same conversation with Shay only this afternoon. Was there still a place for me in her life? I’d neglected this old best friend. Was I about to lose Shay too?

I disappeared into the kitchen, diving into the fridge for some bubbly to toast Bevan while Mum stacked champagne flutes on a tray.

“Look. Lucky last,” Mum said, tray in hand. “CeeCee’s arrived.”

The woman appeared about the same age as me, and she looked fabulous in a tie-dyed romper, her deep tan glistening, and her crimped blonde hair floating in the sea breeze.

“Who’s CeeCee?” I murmured to Mum.

“You know,” Mum said. “Snow’s girlfriend.”

Snow’s girlfriend? Not good . Now I couldn’t ask Bevan and Kui about the winery.

But maybe with some subtle prompting, this woman might let a few details slip.

Centering myself with a deep breath, I reminded myself to keep my emotions in check.

I couldn’t show my hostility toward Snow and put her off.

Now she was closer. Gliding over the threshold, she reminded me of a girl at high school called Teeny.

Had she changed her name? A memory flashed of Teeny’s first year of high school.

She’d been tucked under Janey’s arm, gazing adoringly at her.

After Janey died, she hung around with those two girls who’d bullied me senseless.

“Teeny”—I pushed the head of my fear and anger underwater—“is that you?”

“Yuck.” A stab of disgust seized her face. “My father called me that. It’s been CeeCee for years.”

Like a grimy postcard from the past, I remembered her father, Scrumy, leaning against the campground shed in his stained undershirt, slugging beer from a bottle, watching kids on the trampoline. Rosemary appeared in the kitchen and bumped CeeCee’s hip.

“Hey, girlfriend.” Rosemary stroked CeeCee’s head like she was a kitten. “Look at our Ceec. Not only a pretty face, but she pretty much runs the beach.” She sucked in a breath. “Jeez. See what I did there?”