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33.
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I have something completely different for you this week. In an effort to salvage my Dark Valley tv series idea, I have tried turning it into a... we'll say Story for now, but The Beginning Of A Novel would be the desired result.

Here is the first 5000 words

Enjoy

Here's to Friendship.

P.s.

For those of you who read this yesterday;

For those of you that noticed certain characters were named after you;

In the interest of artisanship;

And in fairness to changing everybody's name and not just a few -

I have drafted new names for my characters.

If you didn't mind me using your name, and you don't like the one I've replaced it with, let me know and we'll talk.

CHAPTER ONE:

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“HAVE A GOOD DAY BACK AT SCHOOL!”

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Baxter Black opened his eyes. And groaned. The holidays were officially over – today was Monday and it was time to go back to school. A prospect Baxter was not at all enthused by.

His mother, who’s banging on the bedroom door had woken him, was saying “Bax! Wakey wakey, school today!”
“I’m up, I’m up” He called in response, forcing himself to roll out of bed.

As he pulled back the curtains the weather offered no escape from his mood – it was as gray and bleak out there as he felt.

“Great.” He muttered to himself.

As he stood there staring at the weather, a fantail suddenly came to rest on his windowsill.

"Huh." said Baxter. "Hello birdie."

The fantail cocked his head at him.

"Baxter!" called his mother again.

"I'M UP!" he called back, and when he turned back to the window the fantail had gone.

Baxter showered, got into his uniform, ate his breakfast, got his books ready... It all started as any other normal school day would.

But little did he know that today would be far from normal.

*

Baxter and his mother Carol drove the old country road to Riverton in relative silence. Baxter being 16, there wasn’t a lot of flowing conversations on these routine drives to school. He didn’t feel like he could talk to his mother about much these days anyway… He mostly just liked to look out at the fields and the mountains, though today they were shrouded in cloud and fog.

Fern Valley, the valley in which Baxter was born and bred, was one of the most dreary and dismal places to live in the whole country. It was pretty, with its rolling farmlands that spread to the coast, but it was also at the bottom, and on the sunless side, of Black Mountain, and the mountain kept the valley in an almost eternal shadow. The weather was overcast 99% of the time anyway – you could count on both hands the number of sunny days Fern Valley saw in a year. Baxter often wondered why people lived in this place at all, and fantasised about the day he could leave this place. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, and dreamed about the day he’d be living in a big city like London, or New York...

Baxter had been fascinated with New York ever since he'd learned that that’s where Madonna had started out. Baxter was a Madonna fanatic – it didn’t earn him cool points, but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, Madonna was the shit. He couldn’t wait to go to vibrant and creative New York one day, and follow in her footsteps…But for now, he was trapped in a depressing, gray little hole, where people’s minds were simple, and closed, and prejudiced, and racist, and classist, and moralistic, and stoopid…

Even though he was born and raised in the valley, Baxter did not feel at home here. Nor, to Baxter’s mind, did Fern Valley feel it was Baxter’s home. To Baxter, the place had been screaming at him to Get Out since he was 5.

Yes, indeedy, Baxter couldn’t wait ‘til he was old enough to flee this dark valley.

Right now though, it was back to school. Baxter sighed at the thought of it.

“Alright?” asked Carol.

“Mmm. Just… looking forward to another exciting day at school!” he quipped.

Carol rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything else. Baxter was thankful – a speech about knuckling down was the last thing he was in the mood for.

The car was quiet, bar the radio, for the rest of the trip, and soon they were pulling up to the corner of Isabelle’s street.

“Seeya later!” said Carol cheerily. “Have a good day back at school!”

“Oh I’m sure I will Mother.” Said Baxter flatly as he got out of the car.

“Kiss!” said Carol, sticking her cheek out.

God, thought Baxter wearily as he obliged her with a quick peck, praying none of the guys from school were around to witness this.

“Seeya.” He said, closing the door and flicking a half wave at his mother.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way down the street to Isabelle’s house.

Isabelle was Baxter’s best friend, and they had known each other since they were at kindergarten. They were very close, like brother and sister – which also meant that, on occasion, they fought like brother and sister. Neither were inclined to hold back on the other if they felt the other needed a good arse kicking. But, for the majority of the time, Isabelle and Baxter got on like a house on fire and practically lived in each others pockets.…

At least, they used to. But ever since Isabelle had starting going out with Jared Miller four months ago, she had less and less spare time to spend with Baxter.

This bothered Baxter. A lot. Primarily because Jared despised Baxter, as most of the guys his age at school did. Baxter was a bit of an anomaly in this region, in that he was a male that didn’t play rugby, or build cars, or hang out with guys and talk about girls… Baxter hung out with the Girls, and was into Drama, and liked Madonna… Baxter, for all intentions and purposes, was, to the general male population of Fern Valley High, a Fag.

Jared and his best mate Jai Kahu – Jai was also the boyfriend of Baxter’s other good friend Raya – were just two of the many that were more than happy to apply the term Fag to Baxter. It was mostly shrugged off by him – he did, after all, have bigger things to deal with – but it certainly didn’t make life any funner.

Baxter felt more than a little ripped off that two of his best friends were now going out with two of his biggest bullies. Sure, they were both nice to Baxter in front of their girlfriends, but given an unseen chance, Jai and Jared were the first to kick Baxter in the guts. And once or twice, literally. But after some stern words from their girlfriends they had backed off a bit to keep the peace, though the tension still definitely hung around. It was pretty routine these days though for Baxter to ignore them, and them to ignore Baxter. This seemed to work for all parties involved.

It’s not as if Baxter wanted Izzy or Raya for himself, as he found it very hard to sexualise a girl if they were already his friend. And he did want them to be happy, which they seemed to be.

But in Baxter’s mind, and he knew the girls knew this deep down also, those boys were nowhere near good enough for his friends. They were arseholes, pure and simple, and he would relish the day his friends ditched them, and he thought about that day often. Thoughts usually accompanied with a dumb grin.

In the meantime Baxter took what little time he could get with them, and that included the walk to school. Baxter walked to school half of the time with Isabelle, but sometimes with other friends, like Kalista, or Kendall. He was looking forward to seeing Isabelle this morning though, as he hadn’t seen her much over these holidays.

As he knocked on the sliding door and slid it open, the usual O’Shale household chaos greeted him.Isabelle’s stepmother, Justine, was going about the morning routine, attending to the two girls Alice and Delaney, Izzy’s little half-sisters, themselves up to their elbows in a mess of breakfast.

“Good morning Justy!” Baxter chimed cheerily, ditching his car brood for a more family-friendly face.

“Morning Baxter!” said Justine. “Izzy’s in her room, go on through.”

Baxter pulled funny faces at the girls as he passed them and into the hallway, knocking on Isabelle’s door.

“Come in!” he heard her say. Baxter swung open the door to see Isabelle sitting on her floor mattress.

She was drying her wet, curly, matted red mop with a towel in one hand, and holding the phone to her ear on the other. Her face was kinda grim and so was her tone. Baxter was instantly unsettled.

“Uh huh… uh huh… Yeah, I know… No, come… It’ll be alright… Promise?... Ok, I’ll see you there, we’ll wait outside the gates for you… Ok… Love You… Byee.”

“Who was that?” Baxter asked as Izzy hung up the phone, knowing full well it was probably Jared.

“Cindy” said Isabelle.

“Oh.” Said Baxter. “Is she alright, what was that about?”

Isabelle looked up at him with a strange look on her face… was that worry? Or confusion?

“I’m not sure if I can tell you,” she said, then added as an afterthought “Though I guess… you’re gonna find out anyway.”

“What?” said Baxter, now kind of alarmed. “What’s going on?”

Isabelle sighed. “It’s Kate… She died yesterday.”

“Kate Taylor?” asked Baxter.

“Yeah.” Said Isabelle.

Baxter stood there in shock for a moment, his mouth agape… before he said the only thing he could think to say.

“FUCK!”

*

It was almost Christmas, 1981, and Baxter and Kate Taylor had been four years old when they’d first met. They had both been taken by their Grandparents to the Retired Servicemen’s Association Christmas show, and had found themselves sitting next to one another in the front. It was instant friendship, and the two had been thrilled to find themselves at school with each other two months later.

Their closeness however hadn’t lasted long, and their friendship became… intermittent.

It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, it was just that they had both been pre-occupied with the problems they were having at home.

Kate had been adopted, and as soon as she could talk she was arguing with her adoptive parents. By the time she was 8 Kate had suddenly vanished from school, and Baxter learnt months later when he saw her on the street one day that she had been sent to boarding school. She then got expelled from said boarding school and was sent to another, far up north. She was then expelled from that boarding school too, and not long after, expelled from the Taylor family period and was put into foster care. All this by the time she was 11. From there Kate had pretty much been bounced from family to family, and even though she had been tentatively accepted into Fern Valley High last year, had stopped going to class long ago. She went out with Men, not guys her own age but Men. Men who seemed like mean bastards to Baxter, who hardly ever talked to Kate nicely, and who loved having a young girl to fuck, and yell at…

Every time Baxter talked to her over those broken years, the black rings under her eyes got another shade darker, her face a little less happier…

The last time Baxter had hung out with Kate was just a few months ago. He’d gotten to school late, having driven his own car that day – a navy blue Vauxhall Viva, affectionately dubbed Dolores The Vivasaurus – and was walking toward the school gates when he heard his name from across the road.

“Baxter!” He turned and saw a large SUV parked across the road, its window slightly down with a hand beckoning from the darkness. He crossed the road to investigate. Kate’s face grinned at him through the smoky air.

“Wanna puff?”Baxter did a quick scan to see if a teacher was around before jumping into the car.

“Hello Miss Taylor!” Baxter said. “I would Love one, Thanks!”

He took the joint from Kate and took a deep puff. Aaah, just the thing to kill the boredom of all the hours that lay ahead.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he asked her as he passed the joint back.

“Not a lot.” She said. “I’ve got the car ‘til Matt finishes work so I thought I’d go for a drive and sorta ended up here.”

“What, outside school? Don’t worry, you’re not missing much.” Said Baxter. Kate passed the joint back.

“Do you remember when we met?” she said, looking at Baxter with a cocked head.

“Sure do.” He said. “The RSA Christmas Show. And they sang that song that we used to sing at school as kids, remember?”

“That’s right.” She said, smiling. “That song, remember how it went?”

“Pfft, do I remember…” said Baxter sarcastically. And then in unison they’d both burst into song.

“Kiss me, Honey Honey, Kiss me,

Thrill me, Honey Honey, thrill me,

Don’t care even if I blow my top

But Honey Honey

–Uh huh? –

Don’t Stop!”

The pair of them then burst into laughter, and Baxter had a coughing fit from his smoke.

He’d then decided he’d better get into school, and they’d said their goodbyes…

Little had Baxter known then, that talking about the first time he’d met Kate, would also be the last time he would ever see her alive…

*

Baxter and Isabelle walked to school in relative silence. Baxter was dumbstruck. Isabelle was puffing her cigarette anxiously.

“O.k. Hit me.” Said Baxter. “How did it happen?”

“Well… No one’s really sure.”

“What do you mean, was she murdered or something?” gasped Baxter. This was horrible, THIS CHANGED EVERYTHING!

“Well No… not exactly.” Isabelle said.

“Izzy, you’re not making this easier, just spit it out.” Said Baxter.

“Well… she was drinking yesterday… with Jared. And Jai. And Raya.”

“Oh my god.” Said Baxter. “Where were they?”

“At Raya’s house.”

“Noooooooo.” Said Baxter, stunned. “She didn’t die at Raya’s house, did she?”

Isabelle nodded.

“Oh my god.” Said Baxter. “Her Mother. Is Going. To KILL her when she gets back!”

Isabelle nodded emphatically.

“So how did she…” Baxter couldn’t bring himself to say ‘die’.

“Well… she drank herself to death. They think.”

“What? They think? Who, the Cops think??”

“Yeah.”

Baxter shook his head. This was information overload. “Hold up, ok, start at the beginning.”

“Ok.” Said Isabelle, taking a deep breath. “Yesterday Raya, Jai, Jared, and Kate were hanging out at Jared’s. She’d gone round to score weed off Jai, and then they decided to get drunk. Kate bought a bottle of whiskey, they all went back round to Raya’s, and then Kate drank the whole thing in three gulps... And then she was wasted. Apparently she was tryna walk and kept smacking her head into the wall and shit.”

Isabelle stopped to take a quick drag on her cigarette, making sure no cars were driving past that might contain a teacher, spitting into the gutter.

“Umm, so then she was wasted and Jared and Jai put her into the bathtub. They were checking on her every now and then, but then later, just after the guys had gone, Raya went in and Kate’s face was blue.”

Baxter gasped, his hand flying up to his mouth. Poor Raya, having to find Kate like that… He shuddered at the thought.

“She called the ambulance, and they came, but… Kate was dead.”

“So… it was alcohol poisoning, yeah?”

“Well… probably, yeah. But her body has all these bruises from when she was falling around so… the Police sorta think that it was…”

“Murder.” Baxter finished. “The cops think Jared and Jai and Raya murdered her, is that it?”

Isabelle shrugged. “Yeah.” She said. “Well… more the boys really. They’re both down at the station being questioned now.”

“WHAT???” Baxter could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Isabelle could only shrug in response.

“This is bad. This is really really bad.” He said.

“Yup.” Agreed Isabelle.

“How long… when will they get out?” Baxter asked.

Isabelle shrugged again. “Dunno.”

Although he hated to admit it, Baxter inherently knew that neither Jared nor Jai were Murderers. Arseholes, sure, but not murderers…

*

As the two of them rounded the corner they could see Cindy and Raya waiting for them at the school gates. Baxter’s heart jumped for a moment. He wasn’t at all sure what he was going to say to Raya.

“Hi guys.” Said Isabelle, hugging a red-eyed and teary Cindy. Baxter stood for a moment uncomfortably, him and Raya looking at each other. But on seeing her face – her forlorn, tired looking face – Baxter remembered that Raya was just not that person, and that she was innocent in all this. He moved forward and gave her a hug. Raya returned it.

“Are you ok?” he asked her.

Raya rolled her eyes, stepping back and wrapping her arms around herself, exhaling a long deep breath.

“I don’t blame you.” He said, not taking his arm from her shoulder.

“It was horrible Bax.” She said softly.

“It’ll be ok.” Said Baxter, not really believing this. He happened to glance up and noticed the school flag in between the turrets above the grand entrance. The reality of this hit him like a brick.

“The flags flying at half-mast.” He said.

“What does that mean?” said Raya.

“It means somebody died.”

“…oh.” Said Raya.

Cindy and Isabelle turned to look at this two, and for a few seconds the four of them stood in a stunned trance, staring at the flag. Raya took Cindy’s hand, and they stood, connected…

As Baxter thought about the coming day, a thick feeling of dread began to fill him, and he suddenly found himself panicking.

“Oh my god, I dunno about this guys.” He said.

“What do you mean?” said Isabelle.

“I don’t wanna go in there.”

“Yeah, me either!.” Said Cindy, even more upset than Baxter.

“No, come on guys, let’s get this over with.” Said Izzy.

“It’s all anyone’s gonna be talking about all day! I don’t know if I can do it!” said Baxter, noticing his voice was slightly higher than usual. He started to take deep breaths.
“It’ll be ok, I promise.” Said Isabelle, in her most convincing voice.

“You don’t know that.” Said Baxter, shooting her down.

“It will be!” said Isabelle firmly. “Now, let’s get this over this.” And without another word she hooked Baxter by the arm, still holding Cindy in the other, and started walking. Raya, still hooked on Baxter’s other arm, was forced to move too.

The entrance loomed uninvitingly as they approached. Before Raya opened the doors, Baxter took a deep breath.

Inside, the main corridor was buzzing with students. The first bell had not rung yet, and the students were loading their lockers, talking about their holidays, picking on the geeks…

Baxter looked around at the normalcy of it all, knowing full well that very soon Kate’s death would be the subject of every conversation for the rest of the week. He felt kinda jealous that he was not in their position, cheerful, and oblivious…

As they made their way to their home room Baxter saw Kalista, Fern, Kendall and Bailey approaching them. Isabelle saw this also.

“Ugh.” She sighed. “Look Baxter, it’s your friends!” she said brightly and sarcastically.

“Aw yeah, Please! Make today harder Isabelle, thanks!” Baxter shot back.

Isabelle shut her mouth, but didn’t apologise. There was no fixing that bad blood.

Kalista, Fern, Kendall, and Bailey were Baxter’s other group of girl friends, and the divide between the two groups could not be bigger.

The divide was mostly a class thing. Kalista, Fern, Kendall and Bailey were the daughters of locally important, wealthy academics. Kalista’s father Vincent Steel was an insurance magnate who had carried on his father’s business, while her mother Susan was a lady of leisure; Fern Jones’s parents were both teachers at the High School – her father Dave was head of the social studies department, and her mother Shirley was head of the English department; Kendall’s father Sam Douglas was the judge down at the courthouse while her mother Jan was an occasional lawyer but mostly a lady of leisure with Mrs. Steel; and Bailey Rossi-Dodds’ father John was the Doctor of the region, while her mother, Sally, took care of the Rossi-Dodd’s brood. Bailey was currently the oldest child at home, but was the fifth child of Nine, with two brothers and two sisters older then her, and two brothers and two sisters younger – only a Doctor could possibly support that many children.

Isabelle, Raya, and Cindy, however, were the daughters of working class, down-to-earth families. Isabelle’s father Bryan was a music teacher at the primary school, while her step-mother Justine looked after her younger sisters; Raya’s mother Eyvette was a receptionist at the courthouse (Raya’s father was not in the picture, nor did she have any idea who he was); and Cindy’s dad Pete, a truck driver, and her mother Penny, had recently moved down south to live, leaving Cindy behind at the school boarding house.

One would think that in such a small place like Fern Valley, there wouldn’t be much room for social divides, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. The social attitudes and divides were perceptibly concentrated… and, to an observant outsider like Baxter, garishly comical.

Baxter, who liked to spend as much time away from home as possible, and who was personally connected with every one of the girls, had long ago mastered the art of blending into any degree of social standing – one of his mother’s teachings, that Good Manners Will Get You Anywhere, had basically become his mantra. Every Single One of his friends’ parents LOVED him, and he was welcome in all their homes.

The fact that his friends did not get along often drove Baxter insane, but he simply refused to pick a side of the fence. He loved all his friends, but was often frustrated by their varying degrees of hatred for one another – especially between Isabelle and Kalista. While Kalista saved her caustic tongue for less public occasions (usually), and out of respect for Baxter, Isabelle, having known Baxter longer, didn’t really feel the need to edit her mouth for Baxter’s sake.

Despite the tension between the groups, all the girls seemed to recognise Baxter’s loyalty and love for each of them, and therefore they all remained friends with him. Baxter, however, had long ago given up trying to mesh the two groups together.

Isabelle, Raya and Cindy sidled past the other girls silently and went into home room. Baxter smiled meekly at his friends.

“Hi!” chirped the girls cheerily.

“Hi.” Said Baxter forlornly.

“What’s wrong?” said Kendall.

Baxter sighed. “A lot.”

“Hey, I heard Kate Taylor died!” said Bailey, excitedly. This was typical – Bailey was the biggest gossip Baxter knew, and he knew she would be THRIVING on this juicy steak of a rumour.

“Yeah do you know anything about that?” asked Kendall, in the same bright, excited manner.

He couldn’t blame them for being inquisitive – Baxter knew he’d be asking about it too had he not already known. The difference was he had known Kate personally. But he also knew that none of these girls really knew this – in fact, most people would never have guessed that Kate and Baxter even talked to each other. But despite this, their questions bothered him. All four girls were staring at him expectantly.

“It’s true. She’s dead.” Said Baxter.

“I heard she was murdered.” Fed Bailey to the group.

“She wasn’t murdered.” Said Baxter, although he knew he did not know this for sure. “She died of alcohol poisoning at Raya’s.” That last part kinda slipped out.

The girls all gasped at this tidbit, their eyes growing wide, and greedy for more. This irritated Baxter to the extreme.

“Oh my god, tell us!” said Bailey clapping, absolutely delighted to be hearing such juicy treats. But her tone stopped Baxter dead. He was done talking about this.

“Look… I don’t wanna talk about it.” Said Baxter flatly, and started to walk off.

The four girls were slightly perplexed by this reaction, but only Fern was astute enough not to be offended, and she grabbed Baxter’s arm.
“Hey wait. Are you ok?” she asked.
“No, not really.” He said.Fern gave him a hug. The other three girls looked at each sheepishly.“I… I’m sorry!” said Bailey, realising her mistake.
“It’s Ok” said Baxter.
“I didn’t realise you two were friends.” Said Kalista.

“Me either.” Said Bailey.

“I know.” Said Baxter. “No one did. But I’ve known her since we were four, ya know?” Even as he said it, Baxter felt himself getting teary. This was dangerous – he knew being seen crying in the very public main corridor would be enough ammo to get him teased for the rest of the year. He immediately wiped his eyes. The girls exchanged looks – they were suddenly feeling very awkward.

Bailey lunged forward to get in on Fern’s hug. “I’m sorry!” she said.
“It’s ok. Really.” Said Baxter. “I’ll see you guys later.” And with that he went into home room.

The girls watched him leave as the first bell rang.

Fern turned to Kalista. “Did you know he was friends with Kate?”

Kalista shook her head. “It’s news to me!”

“Yeah, I’D never seen them talking!” added Kendall.
“Well… Baxter is a bit of drama queen.” Said Kalista.

*

Baxter sat down next to Raya, who immediately noticed his wet eyes.

“You ok?” Raya asked.

Baxter shrugged. “How ‘bout you?” he asked.

Raya shrugged back. Baxter put his arm round her shoulder. Their fellow students began to fill the room and soon their home room teacher Mr. Wallace joined them. The sight of him turned Baxter’s butterflies into bats. He knew that even though he knew already, the Official School Announcement of Kate’s death was going to hit the news home like a mallet.

“Alright everyone, quiet down please, quiet down!” called Mr. Wallace. The students slowly silenced.

“Good morning everyone, and welcome back!” said Mr. Wallace, in his usual, constantly jubilant manner. “Now don’t get comfortable because the whole school is heading over to the gym for a special assembly, so come on everyone! Off we go!”

While the rest of the class gathered their bags and proceeded to leave, Baxter, Raya, and Cindy remained glued to their seats. Only Isabelle stood up.

“Come on guys, we have to.” She said to the others. The others, however, were extremely reluctant to move.

Mr. Wallace, holding the door open and having ushered everyone out, now noticed his four remaining students.

“Come on guys, quickly!” he chirped.

“Mr. Wallace, do we have to go?” asked Baxter.

“Yes, of course, come on!” said Mr. Wallace, waving them toward the door.

“But we already know what the assembly’s about!” said Baxter.

“Oh rubbish, come on!” said Mr. Wallace, clearly Never going to let them stay. Isabelle looked at the others.

“Come on guys.” She said quietly. “In ten minutes the worst will be over.”

Baxter sighed as he stood. Raya and Cindy slowly followed.

The four of them walked to the gym in a thick bubble of silence, while all around them the buzz of other students was deafening.

They entered the gym, found themselves a spot on the floor, and waited for the axe to fall…

After a few minutes, when all the students had finally filed into the gym, the Principal, Mr. Masters, stood up in front of them all. A hush fell over the crowd.

“Good morning everyone, and welcome back to the new school term” he said, in his most sterile and official voice. “I’m sorry to tell you that I have some bad news for you this morning.”

The tears were welling in Baxter’s eyes already, and he started to feel slightly sick.

“A student of this school, Kate Taylor, passed away yesterday, and we are very saddened to hear of this loss.”

And there they were… the words Baxter had been dreading to hear. They crashed in his ears like bricks, and their weight pierced his heart. The tears began to flow freely, and he let them. Fuck everyone.

In the back of his mind he heard Cindy begin blubbering too. He tried to block it out. He felt Raya’s arm slide around his shoulder, and he let himself lean into it.

Mr. Masters continued. “The school offers its deepest condolences to her family and friends. There will be victim support counseling available all day in Mr. Bain’s office for any students who feel they need it.”

Thank god, thought Baxter. Going to actual class was definitely Not on the menu today.

“But I would also like to remind students that end of year exams are coming up, and I hope that you all can keep focused, and move past this sad event.”

‘Sad Event? A Sad Event? Really? Is that the best he can come up with?’ thought Baxter.
Mr. Masters then began to read from a poem, something about angels and flying free, Baxter wasn’t really listening. But then, to Baxter’s amazement, Mr. Masters exited the gym, and, just like that, it was over. The students were already beginning to stand and were being ushered out by the other teachers. The whole thing had lasted less than two minutes.

Baxter was flabbergasted. As were the other three girls.

“Is... that it?” asked Baxter, confused.

“I think so.” Said Isabelle.

“I don’t believe it.” Said Raya.

“That was nothing!” cried Cindy.

“It really, really was” agreed Baxter. And just like that, his sadness turned into anger. “That Fucking Arsehole!”
“What a cunt” muttered Raya.

“He barely even mentioned her, that makes me SO MAD!” yelled Cindy, enraged, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to turn and look.
“If it had been one of the First Fifteen or a Netball girl," said Baxter, absolutely seething with fury, "they’d be building a gold fucking statue at the gates!”

“I reckon!” said Raya.
“Come on.” Said Izzy, standing. “NOW we can do what we want.”

It was the first agreeable statement Isabelle had said all morning.

*

Within a minute the four of them were sitting outside the Art room, chain smoking cigarettes. Smoking was in no way allowed on school grounds, but right now, none of them cared about getting detention.

Nor did any teacher or prefect that walked past them seem to care about giving it to them. In light of the news that had just been delivered, it seemed that, for now at least, they had a free pass.

*

32.
.
LOST FINALE: Once upon a time, I watched a show. I watched a show for six years.
I watched Every Single Episode of a show for six years.
I watched a show with the kind of dedication it takes to look after a baby. You nurture it, you love it, you burp it at night…
And then that show grew up, moved out, and called me a Bitch on its way.
YUCK, ICK, UGH, PFFT, and CACK.
I WILL admit that it was VERY PRETTY, and had certainly dressed itself up to the nines before it left, but…
Well let’s put it this way – a really long way.
You can dress up a donkey in a rabbit suit, and take it to the pet show and tell everyone it’s a rabbit, and some of the people might even believe it but most everyone is looking at the donkey in a rabbit suit thinking “Hmmm, I dunno about that rabbit… looks a bit like a donkey in a rabbit suit. But it’s doing some pretty amazing tricks!”
And then just after the donkey in a rabbit suit has impressed the pants off of everyone and is being trotted out of the pet show with a big blue ribbon for Best Rabbit, the bright fluorescent lights of the exit lobby do their trick and suddenly everyone can see that the “amazing rabbit” is very clearly a donkey in a rabbit suit, and now the people feel offended and a little bit foolish for believing the amazing rabbit’s tricks…
It’s kinda like that.
THUMBS WAAAAAAAAAAAY DOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWN.
Does anyone know where I can find the last six years of my life please??

.
VISITS FROM FRIENDS:
I LOVE it when my friends visit, and I’ve been very lucky to have had two visits from old friends this week!
Last week my friend from Auckland popped into work, though this was actually the suckiest visit because she breezed in and out in less than ten minutes to go pick up a couch… UN-impressed.
And realistically, Not better than nothing.
But then on Sunday I got a surprise visit from another old school friend, Christie Cameron. Christie and I have known each other since I was 14 and she was 13, and we catch up sporadically over the years, and, like the best friendships do, we always pick up right where we left off. I love that.
She stayed for over an hour – HEAVEN! – and we talked non-stop. I was a little hungover from my wine-guzzling Lost session, but that hardly slowed me down.
Christie is getting MARRIED THIS SUMMER and I LOOOOOOOOOOVE going to old friends weddings! I used to be kinda cynical and grossed-out by the whole marriage concept – one person for life? REALLY?? – but I have to say that over the years, as I’ve watched people I love declaring their love for one another, my heart has definitely softened to the idea. Not to say that those particular marriages have always lasted BUT… I think the idea of celebrating a relationship that makes your friends sickeningly happy is One Damn Good Reason To Celebrate. And also a great reason to buy a new outfit.
Congratulations to my friend Christie and my-friend-by-association-whom-I’ve-yet-to-meet Tim.
I can’t wait to celebrate your big day with you!!!
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A POEM:
This week I went digging
in the dirt of my ancestors
as I helped clean my friends
fathers’ grave.
I dug up the weeds
and the worms,
and I couldn’t help but realise
that my friends father
was now the dirt
and maybe even
inside the worms stomach.
I was muddy,
and sweaty,
before ten in the morning…
I liked the feeling of dirt
underneath my fingernails.
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31.
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THE LOVELY BONES:

I watched this in tandem with Avatar the other night. I have to say, I thoroughly enjoyed it!
I know reviews have been mixed, and I can see why, but I just thought it was good. Entertaining.
Not quite as… mmm, cohesive, and, mmm, satisfying as, say, Vincent Ward’s ‘What Dreams May Come’. I mean, that murdering creep deserved more comeuppance than that… Although his comeuppance was pretty crunchy.
And the script could have used a taaad more plotline to tie some bits together, buuuuuuuuuut… overall, I liked it!
THE LOVELY BONES RECEIVES A MAD SCORPION BLESSING.
DING!
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MY AMAZING GREAT-AUNTY ROSIE:
I wish I had a picture to post here, but I don’t.
My friend Anja was over from New York recently. I didn’t get the chance to catch up with her however because I had already planned a visit with my family to visit my amazing Aunty Rosie in Eltham.
…
My amazing Great Aunty Rosie was born in the year 1918.
Can you imagine that? Born in the year Nineteen-Eighteen… She really has lived through it all.
She is 92 years old, and if she manages to make it another 8 years, she’ll be a certified centurion.
Unfortunately, her health has started to fail a little over the last few years, but I have to say, she’s done INCREDIBLY well, and continues to do so.
Her vision is fine, she can still walk, still has all her faculties, all her intellect, personality, brain… She even still lives in the big old family homestead – a house even older than her – and won’t hear a word of living anywhere else, nor does any member of the family wish to remove her from it.
As long as she’s still capable, then everyone is fine with it. She is, of course, kept a good eye on, but I am afraid my days with her in my life might be shrinking rapidly. She has been in and out of hospital lately, with her heart not so strong and her breathing getting harder… She’s fine, but taking a little longer to get better when she gets sick these days. Poor, beautiful Aunty Rosie.
She is my mother’s aunt, and for as long as I can remember her and her sister, my Aunty Sylvia, were the wonderful duo of great-aunts who would drive down from Eltham in their just-as-old blue car ever so often, with lollies and money in tow.Aunty Sylvia, bespectacled and reserved; Aunty Rosie, constantly fussing and smiling. One of them sliding me some secret money, not to be shown to Mum, the other sliding me some money, with the same instructions.
For years and years she lived in the house she grew up in with her sister Sylvia, but after Aunty Sylvia’s death in 2003, Aunty Rosie has continued to live in their big old homestead.
They haven’t always lived in it, but just about. Around 85 of those years anyway.
I visited her on May 16th. Although I have seen her lots growing up, I haven’t been to her house since I was very young – let’s put it this way, I have almost no memory of it.
I have been very curious about this house, hearing all the tales about it. I have very vague memories of it, and I’ve seen photos of my Aunts in the garden, but I didn’t really have a clear picture of it in my head.
Although the outside was pretty much on par with the picture in my head (though the paint job was a lot newer than I had expected) it was the inside that really blew me away.
For one, it’s Huge. It’s got high ceilings, it’s wooden, and old, and steeped in history.
On seeing it, I began to worry immediately that it was exactly that. All those things about a house usually mean COLD IN THE WINTER. Her curtains weren’t nearly thick enough, some of her windows didn’t even have curtains (don’t panic, I’m talking about the kitchen and bathroom, which don’t always, but with a house like that…)… I was instantly more worried about Aunty Rosie than I ever have been.
I wouldn’t ever want her to live anywhere else if she doesn’t want to, but at the same time I couldn’t help but think of all the little ways I wanted to impose on her lifestyle to make things more comfy for her.
I hope she wasn’t too overwhelmed by us all actually. There was quite an influx of us at one point.
I went to sit in the (huge, all the rooms are HUGE) lounge and worked my way around all the photos on the walls and on tops of cabinets…
Although Aunty Rosie and Aunty Sylvia have always been constants in my life, I have to admit… my mother’s side of the family – apart from her brother – have never been a huge part of our lives.
I talked about my Nana Doris recently… After her death, some fairly awful things happened on that side of the family, and from a very young age, I turned my back on it. I kinda had to, just to get by.
To be fair, however, I gotta say… Pakeha folk just aren’t all that keen on their extended families.
Not all, but most. That side of the family are those type of folk, and to be honest… I don’t think we’re missing much. They’re all a bit weird really… But maybe that’s just because I don’t know them.
I don’t think it is, but anyway…
The house is amazing. Old, probably cold (although with all the heaters she has constantly running, she’s never actually cold), but amazing. Kinda like the quintessential farmhouse – all wooden, and with a verandah running round the outside, and big old windows, but in the middle of the suburbs.
It is sparkling white, with a huge front lawn, and an old old greenhouse that is mostly used for garden tool storage these days but still has RIPE grapes growing in it, and a back garden that is more like a back drop, with an overgrown, windy, steep path that heads down through the bushes, stopping intermittently to fork off in either direction that lead to little, flat, small garden banks, but continues to eventually end at the river. It is an amazing piece of land, that although isn’t that big, manages to contain a lot. Like a TARDIS lawn plot – All together now, “IT’S BIGGER ON THE INSIDE!”
It wasn’t exactly awash in colour at this time of year – it was mostly just lush, overflowing green – but I imagine in the summer that overgrowth is teeming with flowers…
As I went through her photos – all her black and white originals, from a time when capturing images had only just been invented – and saw her as a child, with her siblings (most of whom have died), as a young woman (abs and all), on the beach, with her mates, outside the landmark buildings of various cities around the country, graduating and becoming a nurse, amazing Morticia-like white streaks of hair appearing before it finally graduated to the all-white bun I’m familiar with… An entire lifetime spread before my eyes, crammed into these photo books, and all this before colour film had even been dreamt up…
It was quite an overwhelming experience really, and also, very gently, allowed the gates to that side of the family that I had kept shut for so long to finally open.
I was really… not forced but… swept in, to the fact that this was my history too. That this woman’s life runs through my blood (or at least would if my mother hadn’t been adopted).
Realistically, yeah, I could denounce that branch of my tree, simply because they are NOT blood. ...
But I am not stupid enough to believe that whanau is only blood. ‘Cause it isn’t.
Whanau, family, whatever you wanna call it… It is the people we know, the people we love, the people we were raised with… It doesn’t matter if those people have your blood in their veins, because you are still an integral part of who they are, and you are still in their system…
I am probably babbling a bit here, but… It has taken me a long time, and I’m finally beginning to accept… that I am made up of many things.
Maybe the blood roots aren’t there, but – and in a way this quite apt, and just like my cut-up and stitched-together spine – other branches have definitely grown and been grafted onto my tree.
I love my Aunty Rosie with all my heart, and I am glad she is, and will forever be, part of my family tree.
…
My friend Anja wanted to know more about Aunty Rosie, and what was her secret…
I don’t know what her secret is. Personally, I’m not sure I’d like to live that long (especially in this body, I already feel 80), but I imagine never having kids or getting married certainly kept a lot of fuel in the tank.
.
THE NATION’S BUDGET, DELIVERED LAST WEEK:
….I know you’re expecting me to be all over this one. Ranting and raving like a mo-fo.
But I gotta tell ya… I’m still ingesting it all, and doing some thorough research before I open my trap to speak this time.
I know that the dreaded POLITICS monster is, so a Blogging Bible tells me, one of the ten commandments of blogging no-no’s, can be personally offensive to some people, and all the rest of it, but that’s just too bad because Me being Me, I’m going to say shit about shit I don’t like one way or the other, but… this time?...
And this will shock a lot of you…
I’m not so sure that I do don’t like it.
This shocks me a lot, because Me? And National? UGH. They disgust me to the core.
And yet… I’m not seeing a lot to not like so far…
Sure, it ain’t Great, I’ll give it that much, but…
Like I said, I have to think more before I go into this like I want to, but…
It currently has me in an intellectual tail-spin.
More news at 11…
.
A BIT OF A DUNEDIN RANT:
I mentioned earlier that I have been missing Dunedin a bit lately.
It has been in my mind, in my dreams, in my thoughts.
I can picture in my mind vividly the city, the streets, the hidden pockets, the buildings, the beaches…
And when I do, I am flooded with good feelings, happy thoughts, etc.
I’m under no illusion that I was always happy while I was there, but when I try and think about Wellington in the same way, it doesn’t really fill me with the same feelings.
I get more of a “Meh” feeling with Welly. Take it or leave it.
Perhaps because I’m relatively fresh off the boat from living there, I’m sure the fact that my ex is there probably weighs in there somewhere – although, these days, not as much as they once would have, which is a nice revelation – but as a city it just isn’t all that inspiring for me.
Dunedin just has that magical creative vibe – or at least it used to when I was there, I’m hoping it still does – that Wellington… not so much.
In Wellington, the creative sector is quite… hmm, what word do I wanna use for this… industrailised? Not quite commercialised, I don’t mean that, but it is… a Business. And let’s face it, Wellington is very business oriented.
In Dunedin, the creative sector is everywhere, high class, low class, and everyone appreciates everything. Not only that, the amount of quality, council funded public street art that pours through the Octagon at almost every opportunity that comes along earns it bonus points just on that alone.
Plus, Dunedin has Thai Hanoi restaurant, which makes one of my two favourite dishes ever.
TANGENT!
The first of my favourite dishes ever comes from Cinta Malaysian Kitchen Restaurant in Wellington.

They make this DELICIOUS Sweet and Sour Tofu, BUT you have to eat it wrapped in roti bread with coconut rice and their amazing satay sauce… It is the BEST.

I have been going in there to get it sporadically since 1996, to the point that the old man who runs it (who I’m afraid might have died because I don’t see him in there when I go anymore, I hope not!) calls out “Hello My Friend! You want your tofu, yes?”

My second favourite dish ever comes from Thai Hanoi Restaurant in Dunedin,

and it is Seafood Claypot Rice, and Oh My God… It is Also the BEST.
Whichever city I lived in, I was constantly craving the dish from the other.
Man life is hard sometimes…
ANYway. What was I saying?
Ah, yes. How much I’m missing Dunedin…
There are many reasons I’m living where I am right now. But when I think about where I’ll live next, Dunedin feels like a good choice.
…except for the cold.
I miss ski-suits, but I don’t miss having to wear them.

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FRITTERS:
I have been on a real Fritter buzz lately. I rediscovered them last week, and by god if they aren’t the easiest thing to whip up.
What’s better, is that in rediscovering the fritter, I am realising their potential for greatness.
This week, I’m going to provide my FIRST EVER RECIPIE!
Here’s a nice comfort food dinner that, of course, you can twist and turn however you like.
*
THE BASICS:
1 cup Flour,
½ - ¾ cup of Milk – it pays to add ½ cup first, then add a bit more if necessary,
1 Egg,
1 ½ tspn Baking Powder – don’t be stingy or exact about this. There’s never any harm in fluffy-ER fritters.
*
That’s the base for any self respecting fritter. And here’s where you can get interesting. These are my current flavourite additions:
*
½ cup (roughly) diced, fried chicken fillet
¼ cup mixed veggies
¼ cup corn
A handful of chopped basil
Some shakes of pepper, ½ tspn salt
A crumbling of vegetable stock (optional, but delicious).
*
Mix to a good consistency – not too thick, not too runny.
Add large spoonful-sized amounts to a hot, oily frying pan, and flatten out the mixture to make them round and not too thick.
Fry ‘til little bubbles start popping in the middle – or until the underside is golden brown, you don’t wanna burn them stoopid – and them flip ‘em over. Keep frying ‘til the other side is golden and
WA LAH.
Perfect winter night dinner.
*
Before you start the Fritters, just dice a couple potatoes, salt and pepper ‘em, veggie stock ‘em, basil ‘em (I love Basil in just about everything), oil ‘em, and chuck ‘em in the oven on 200°, and by the time your Fritters are done, you’ve got chips mate.
*
Next, smother it all in whatever sauce you’ve got on hand (I don’t recommend Watties Tomato Sauce for this, I’m talking Sweet Chilli, or Sweet and Sour) and you’ve got the perfect winter nights meal.
NUM NUM.

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