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The next morning, I go for a swim in the sea first thing, do some work for a few hours, then go out to the garage and start up my AEM Suzuki Hayabusa. When I was a kid, I had a picture of one of these on my wall, and it’s a dream come true to own one. Made from carbon fiber and costing two hundred thousand dollars, it has the ability to do 188 miles per hour, and it’s the epitome of cool and a thing of beauty. I don my leathers, pull on the helmet, climb aboard, and set off for my parents’ house, high on the hills in the suburb of Brooklyn.
Influenced by California architecture, their five-story mansion contains numerous bedrooms, a pool and spa with massage and steam rooms, and several full-sized kitchens. It’s surrounded by a private botanical garden with extensive pathways and a cable car link to various terraces and decks that give views from Lyall Bay to Petone on the other side of Wellington.
The three lower levels form three standalone apartments, and Kip, Damon and I each had one of these through university and into our early twenties. All three of us still stay here from time to time because it’s just such a magnificent place, quiet and familiar.
I approach the main house from the road that curves around to the highest point of the hill, steer the bike down to the garage, park it there, and then walk around to where Mum and Dad live. I’ll bring Catie up via the cable car. Mind you, I’ll probably need to make sure there’s oxygen waiting for her at the top as she’s going to hyperventilate when she sees the place.
I go through the side door into the main house and walk through the lobby, with its South African hardwood floor, Persian rugs, and antique British furniture, to the huge kitchen we spent so much time in as kids. I find my family sitting on the terrace out the front under the shade sail, where several sets of dining tables and chairs grace beautiful mosaic floors that swirl in patterns between sections of manicured lawn.Bennie and the Jetsfrom Elton John’sGoodbye Yellow Brick Roadis playing in the background. It’s one of Dad’s favorite albums, so he’s probably the one who put it on. Catie would like his choice, I think.
“Afternoon,” I say, going down the steps.
“Saxon!” Mum gets up, comes over, and gives me a hug. “Don’t you get hot in all that leather?”
“Yes. But I always do what my father tells me.”
“Yeah right,” Dad says wryly, coming over to also give me a hug. “Hello, son.”
“Pammy’s making Long Island Iced Teas,” Mum says as the housekeeper comes out with a tray. “You’ll be staying for a while, right? Do you want one?”
“Yeah, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course not,” Pam says with a big smile, “lovely to see you, Saxon.” In her sixties now with gray hair she always wears in a bun, she’s been with us for over twenty years, as much of a member of the family to me as everyone else here. She goes back to the kitchen to make the drink.
I take off my boots and thick socks, then struggle out of the leather suit. It’s made of kangaroo leather and fits like a dream, but it’s not the easiest thing to take off. Once it’s done, I chuck it over a chair and join the others in my bare feet, shorts, and T-shirt.
I lean over my father and steal a couple of strawberries from the bowl in the center of the table, then take the seat at the end. “How is everyone?”
“Good,” Mum says. She’s in her early fifties but looks about five years younger, with bright blonde, slightly wavy hair that sits just above her shoulders, and the most startling blue eyes that none of us have inherited, as we all take after Dad. “We were talking about how crazy the traffic in the city has been,” she says.
“I got stuck at the Terrace Tunnel for over an hour,” Dad states. “It was ridiculous.” A year older than Mum, his dark hair and beard are now flecked with silver, but he manages to make it look distinguished.
“One reason why I love motorbikes,” I tell them. “You can go straight past all the traffic.”
“Maybe,” Mum says, “but I’ve never liked you using them. I don’t know why I had to have three boys. One day you’ll all have your own kids and then you’ll understand my pain.”
Kip and Damon glance at me with amusement, but they don’t say anything. I grab another strawberry and smile at Pam as she comes out with my drink. “Thank you.”
“Ready for lunch?” she asks Mum, who nods.
“You want some help bringing it out?” I ask.
Pam shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Pierre’s made seafood platters,” Mum says, referring to the chef who comes in at the weekends. “I thought you’d all appreciate that.”
“I’m starving,” I say.
“You’re always starving,” she replies. “I’ll never know how the three of you aren’t the size of Jabba the Hutt.”
We all chuckle. “It’s why we exercise,” Kip says. “So we can eat.”
“One day it’ll catch up with you,” Dad advises, patting his stomach. It’s hardly a paunch, but he’s carrying a few extra pounds than he used to.
“I’m expecting to wake up on my thirtieth birthday and be, like, twenty kilos heavier,” Damon says, and we all laugh.
Pam comes out with the food, and we clear the table so she can put the platters out. She explains what Pierre has cooked for us—scallops in the half shell with garlic, basil, and lemon juice; lobster tails, prawns, and squid scattered with herb crumbs; natural oysters; French steamed mussels with white wine and garlic; salmon sashimi; and a romesco sauce to serve, plus a couple of green salads and huge chunks of homemade bread with butter. Very nice.
While we eat, Dad talks about a conference he went to in Sydney, Damon tells him about his trip to Christchurch, and Kip asks them about their opinions on the new microprocessor that Mack’s working on. My plate is scattered with empty shells and crumbs of bread before Mum eventually says during a lapse in the conversation, “You’re quiet, Saxon. Everything okay?”
