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We talk for a while about the Northland, and it seems like no time at all before the pilot is announcing he’s beginning the descent, Will clears our glasses and buckles himself in, and the plane lands.
We say goodbye to Will, and Mack thanks the pilot, and then we head out into the hot sub-tropical weather.
Jamie’s waiting for us in a silver Ford Everest. “Koro’s car,” Mack says as we walk toward it.
“Oh, Jamie won’t have been able to have a drink on Christmas Day,” I say, feeling guilty.
“He doesn’t drink,” Mack says. “Never has.”
It’s too late for me to ask why, as Mack’s opening the door for me, and I get into the car. “Hey Jamie!”
“Hey Sidnie. So cool you could join us.”
“I’m really touched to be asked,” I reply, buckling myself in.
“Couldn’t not,” he says. “Mack was moping.”
“Shut up.” Mack gets in beside me.
I laugh. “Me too.” I lean over and kiss his cheek. Before I can move back, he slips a hand to the back of my neck, holds me there, and kisses me again, long and lovingly.
When he eventually lets me go, I press my lips together and look at Jamie, who’s pulling out of the car park. He glances in the rear-view mirror and smiles.
“So how many people are there today?” I ask as we pass kiwi fruit and mandarin orchards, and stalls that would normally be selling plantains, cherries, and strawberries if it wasn’t Christmas Day.
“I dunno,” Mack says. “Thirty? Thirty-five?”
“More than that,” Jamie says. “Another ten or so arrived this afternoon.”
“Wow,” I say nervously. “I don’t know that many people in total.”
“We have a big extended family,” Mack says. “Lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Don’t worry, nobody will even notice you’re there, I’m sure.”
Yeah,right. Jamie drives along the road that follows the beach, then finally slows and turns onto a drive beside a large house just across the road from the sand. Lots of people are sitting on the deck, talking, eating, and drinking, their paper hats from the crackers fluttering in the breeze, and some of the kids are wearing headbands with reindeer ears. More are playing rugby on the beach or splashing around in the sea. A big Christmas tree stands in the window, and another one leans at an angle on the beach, trailing tinsel on the sand. Loud music floats along the beach on the summer air. A typical Kiwi Christmas.
As I get out of the car, Gus bounds up to me, and I bend and fuss him. Then I have to stop, as everyone wants to come up and say hello.
I must shake hands with fifty or sixty people, and I rapidly lose track of their names. Eventually we come to the end, and Jamie’s girlfriend, Emma, says, “I’m so sorry, that must have been a bit overwhelming, come and sit with me.” I follow her to the table and take a seat beside her, not far from Koro and Kuia—Mack’s grandparents.
Koro is in his seventies, a quiet, tall Maori guy who gave Mack a big hug when he walked up to him. Kuia is a typical grandmother—plump, cheery, and obviously the matriarch of the family, bossing everyone around and filling the air with her hearty laughs.
Mack vanished a couple of minutes ago, and I look around for him, but can’t see him anywhere. Shrugging, I accept a glass of wine from one of his aunts with a smile. “He said nobody would even notice I’m here,” I say, sipping the wine.
“He was fibbing,” Emma states. “Everyone was excited to meet you.”
“Why? I’m hardly anything special.”
“Because you’re the first girl he’s ever brought up here,” Kuia says.
“Oh.” That surprises me. “He never brought Felicity here?”
“Who?” Kuia asks.
Jamie snorts. “Noooo. He was never serious about her.”
My heart leaps. He’s serious about me? We’ve only had two dates; we’ve only slept together once.
“That’s better.” Mack comes out of the house, rests his hand on the back of my chair, and leans past me to help himself to a mince pie from the plate in the middle of the table. Ooh, he’s taken off his shirt and changed into swim shorts. His torso and legs are bare. He smells divine.
