See You in September

Charity Norman

• Publisher: Allen & Unwin
• Year: 2017
• eBook ISBN:
  9781952535307
• Print ISBN:
  9781743318775
• Subtopic: Women in Fiction

Cassy smiled, blew them a kiss.
'See you in September, ' she said.
It was a throwaway line. Just words uttered casually by a young woman in a hurry. And then she'd gone. It was supposed to be a short trip - a break in New Zealand before her best friend's wedding. But when Cassy waved goodbye to her parents, they never dreamed that it would be years before they'd see her again. Having broken up with her boyfriend, Cassy accepts an invitation to stay in an idyllic farming collective. Overcome by the peace and beauty of the valley and swept up in the charisma of Justin, the community's leader, Cassy becomes convinced that she has to stay. As Cassy becomes more and more entrenched in the group's rituals and beliefs, her frantic parents fight to bring her home - before Justin's prophesied Last Day can come to pass. A powerful story of family, faith and finding yourself, See You in September is an unputdownable new novel from this hugely compelling author.

Five

The bell was ringing.

Rolling over to peer out of her window, Cassy made out the faintest glow in the sky. A floorboard creaked in Suva’s room.

Get going, Cassy scolded herself. You’re a guest. You can’t loll around in bed! Yet she felt mired in sleep. She closed her eyes for one last moment.

Then she was sitting up in panic.

No. Not now! Nausea gripped her with an iron hand. She slid from the bunk and pelted to the outdoor toilet, where she was violently sick. Exhausted, she shivered on the wooden floor. This was a disaster. She had to take control. She needed to return to civilisation. Right now.

The bell fell silent, and she heard singing. She imagined all those people gathered in the meeting house and felt oddly comforted. By the time she’d brushed her teeth and stepped out onto the wet grass, it was growing light. Her anxiety felt less sharp now, despite the terrifying sickness. The contentment of Gethsemane seemed to wash right through her. She could smell bracken, wood smoke and … coffee!

Aden was tending the stove when she looked in from the porch. She’d thrown on some clothes and plaited her hair. For a moment they faced each another. It was as though they had an understanding; they knew where this was leading. But it can’t be leading anywhere. We come from different worlds, and I’m leaving today.

‘Hi!’ he cried delightedly. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Like a log.’

‘You look a bit peaky. You all right?’

Well, no. She’d just brought up most of last night’s supper, and she fervently hoped he hadn’t heard her. Not dignified. Not sexy.

‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘Dandy! Bit of a stomach bug.’

He seemed to accept this, and lifted an enamel pot from the stove. ‘D’you like coffee at this time of day?’

‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’

He seemed confused. ‘I think so. Last time I looked.’

‘Sorry—maybe it’s an English expression. It means yes, I’d love some coffee. Where’s Suva?’

‘Helping to make breakfast in the whare kai,’ he said, handing Cassy a mug. ‘The community kitchen. I thought you might like to come out to the jetty for a while. And I’ve got something for you. The knitting team asked me to give you this.’ He laid a navy blue cable-knit jersey around her shoulders. She could smell the lanolin.

‘A gift from Gethsemane,’ he said.

‘You can’t give me this!’

‘I just have. Stop fussing and put it on.’

So she stopped fussing and pulled the jersey over her head as they stepped onto the porch. A single bird called in the trees. It sounded like a football rattle, with a whistling finish. Another answered, then another, and another, serenading the morning with trills and clicks and notes as pure and fluid as those of a piccolo. Aden knew their voices: That’s a tui—hear his creaking and all the whistles? That flute is him, as well. There’s a bellbird, the korimako.

A crowd of busy little birds were pecking around the cabin.

‘What are they?’ asked Cassy, enchanted. ‘Like tennis balls with legs.’

‘Quails. They visit every day, looking for whatever we’ve dropped.’

The two of them wandered along the pumice sand, crunching around kayaks and a red motorboat with Ikaroa painted on her hull. This, Aden explained, was the fastest way to get about the lake. ‘Goes like a rocket,’ he said. ‘Great fun.’

Cassy pointed to a long white boat lying at anchor in the bay. ‘She’s beautiful. I didn’t notice her last night.’

‘Matariki. Pride of our fleet. That grand lady started out as a sailing boat back in 1920. She’s made of kauri.’

Matariki was elegant and old-fashioned, with a boxy cabin roof and four portholes up the sides.

‘Does she use ethanol too?’

Aden nodded as they began to walk along the jetty. ‘She does. She’s got a shallow draft, so we can moor just about anywhere. She can carry a lot of us, at a pinch—gets a bit low in the water though! We’ll take her out on Suva’s birthday.’

‘Will you? Where are you planning to go?’

‘Suva’s chosen Kereru Cove. Hot springs, even a hot beach. It’s something tourists don’t get to see.’ An idea seemed to strike him. ‘Hey, why don’t you stay till then? It’s on Wednesday. Less than a week away.’

Cassy narrowed her eyes, calculating, longing to say yes. ‘I’d love that, but …’

‘You have to get to Taupo?’

‘I should.’

‘Look, Cassy, I’ll drive you to the main road any time you say the word. But you’re a big hit here, and I’ve got an offer for you: bed and board in return for four hours’ work a day. The rest of the time you can explore, take a kayak, go for walks.’

‘You don’t know how tempting that sounds.’

‘The offer’s there.’

They sat down side by side at the end of the jetty, letting their boots break the rippled satin of the water. From there the island looked like a turtle. It seemed to have a head and a body, and was swimming through gossamer skeins of mist.

‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked.

‘Since I was fourteen. My parents came for a permaculture course. They had a smallholding and wanted to run it sustainably. They came for a week with me and Julia, my sister. We never left.’

‘And their smallholding?’

‘Sold it. Put the money into Gethsemane.’

‘What made them decide to stay?’

Aden leaned back on his hands. ‘They found what they were looking for: people who cared, a community, a way of life that was clean. Dad’s a mechanic—and boy, did they need a mechanic! He keeps the machinery going. The sawmill, the tractor, the van, the boats. He likes a challenge.’

‘And your mum?’

‘Does the Gethsemane accounts. We’re running a business here, even if we wish we weren’t.’

‘But you were a teenager! Weren’t you pissed off?’

‘Couldn’t believe my good luck. It was a lot more social than our little farm in the middle of nowhere. So many playmates. We ran around in a gang, playing on the best rope swing I’d ever seen, swimming, fishing, putting on shows, hunting in the bush, kayaking … it was a perfect adolescence. There’s no stranger danger here. No drugs, no bullying, no terrorism. Complete freedom.’

‘Is your sister still here?’

Aden hesitated, looking down into the shadows below the jetty. A small swell washed around the posts. ‘Julia didn’t like it so much. She was seventeen, maybe a trickier age. She left.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘In Australia. She’s a nurse, she’s got her own family. We’ve lost touch.’

‘What a shame.’

‘We’re very different people.’

At one side of the bay, the beach ended in a grassy promontory. Cassy was startled to notice a number of white crosses dotted across the headland. They looked like stickmen, marching through the tussocks, luminous in the half-dark.

‘Are people buried on that headland?’ she asked.

‘No. The law says we can’t do that. When someone dies, we have them cremated in town and scatter their ashes on the lake. The crosses are memorials.’

‘So everyone comes home.’

‘Everyone comes home.’

Sunrise wasn’t far away. All along the eastern horizon, primrose yellow merged into whitewashed blue. Brilliance sprayed from behind the volcano.

At least it’s stopped raining in time for Hamish’s skydive, thought Cassy. Then it struck her that she really didn’t care. She was in a fairytale valley, watching the dawn with a man who intrigued her. What more could she possibly want? It was tempting to stay—just for a day or two, just while she rested and made decisions. She couldn’t imagine anywhere more healing than this place.

She was still undecided when the rim of the sun gleamed over the volcano. Seconds later, fire seemed to tear across the lake.

‘Wow,’ she whispered.

‘I know,’ said Aden. ‘Wow.’

They sat in companionable silence, watching the day begin, listening to a cacophony of birdsong.

‘Will Suva get presents?’ asked Cassy.

‘We don’t go in for that. Possessions aren’t important. The picnic’s her gift from the community.’

Cassy laughed. ‘I’d like to see my sister’s face if someone told her she wasn’t getting anything for her birthday. Heads would roll.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Well, for her last birthday …’ Cassy checked herself, embarrassed at the sheer opulence of her family’s life. ‘Let’s just say she didn’t go without. Then again, where we live is basically one giant shopping centre. Our local park is festooned with broken bottles and graffiti. There’s an oily kind of drain they call the stream, but you’d want your stomach pumped out if you drank from it. So I think Suva has the better deal.’

A breeze sprang from nowhere, shattering the water into thousands of shards. Cassy heard the clanging of a gong.

‘That’s for us,’ said Aden. He swung his legs back onto the jetty, stood up and held out his hand for hers. ‘We don’t always share breakfast, but this is a special occasion.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because you’re here.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

He laughed, holding on to her hand a second longer than he should. ‘I never lie.’

•

The whare kai turned out to be a bustling kitchen and dining hall with long refectory tables. A brick bread oven was being used outside, and the comforting smell of freshly baked bread pervaded the scene. Everyone in sight was wearing navy blue or beige. At one end of the hall, a crowd of children were playing blind man’s buff. Two older boys had hold of Monty’s hands and were helping him to dodge.

Bali was waiting for them. A shawl was draped around her shoulders. ‘Cassy!’ she cried. ‘You’re famous! Everyone wants to meet you.’

As she spoke, a middle-aged couple bounced up to introduce themselves as Berlin and Kazan, Aden’s parents. Both were sturdy and fair-haired, like their son. Berlin had what looked like engine oil under his fingernails, and Cassy remembered that he was the mechanic. Next came Seoul—Bali’s older brother, the chef. He and Bali were very alike: deep brown eyes under heavy brows. He had intricate tattoos up his arms and the physique of a rugby player.

‘My poor brother’s in love with Paris,’ whispered Bali. ‘But she’s refusing to be anyone’s partner at the moment.’

Others followed: too many to remember, but every one of them welcoming. An elderly woman sat peaceably at the head of a table. Her face reminded Cassy of a walnut, because of its colour and the incredible profusion of wrinkles. A walking stick rested across her knees.

‘Netta,’ said Bali, leaning close to the old lady, ‘this is Cassy. Cassy, this is my kuia—my grandmother.’

‘I’ll be your kuia too,’ said Netta, smiling in Cassy’s direction. She wore hearing aids in both ears. ‘Sit down next to me, pour yourself some tea. I don’t see very well nowadays.’ Her gnar...

Table of contents

• COVER PAGE
• ALSO BY CHARITY NORMAN
• TITLE PAGE
• COPYRIGHT PAGE
• DEDICATION
• CONTENTS
• PROLOGUE
• ONE
• TWO
• THREE
• FOUR
• FIVE
• SIX
• SEVEN
• EIGHT
• NINE
• TEN
• ELEVEN
• TWELVE
• THIRTEEN
• FOURTEEN
• FIFTEEN
• SIXTEEN
• SEVENTEEN
• EIGHTEEN
• NINETEEN
• TWENTY
• TWENTY-ONE
• TWENTY-TWO
• TWENTY-THREE
• TWENTY-FOUR
• TWENTY-FIVE
• TWENTY-SIX
• TWENTY-SEVEN
• TWENTY-EIGHT
• TWENTY-NINE
• THIRTY
• THIRTY-ONE
• THIRTY-TWO
• THIRTY-THREE
• THIRTY-FOUR
• THIRTY-FIVE
• THIRTY-SIX
• THIRTY-SEVEN
• THIRTY-EIGHT
• THIRTY-NINE
• FORTY
• FORTY-ONE
• FORTY-TWO
• FORTY-THREE
• FORTY-FOUR
• FORTY-FIVE
• FORTY-SIX
• FORTY-SEVEN
• FORTY-EIGHT
• FORTY-NINE
• FIFTY
• FIFTY-ONE
• FIFTY-TWO
• FIFTY-THREE
• FIFTY-FOUR
• FIFTY-FIVE
• FIFTY-SIX
• FIFTY-SEVEN
• ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS