Though she occupied herself with business books, writing postcards and looking after the apartment, there just wasn’t enough work to keep her mind off her sense of isolation. She talked to herself, telling herself that she wasn’t a child, she was a wife, mother, grandmother, who ran her own businesses. She was in Hawai‘i living in a fine apartment with her husband. But silence made her neck prickle. Silence made space for ghosts.

Every morning, when Chappy left for work, Oriwia turned on the television, grateful for the sound of voices. She’d turn it up loud enough to be heard in every room as she went about her tasks. If she went out shopping, or to post her cards, she’d leave the television on so that on her return she wouldn’t walk in to silence.

Although she had brought library books with her, she couldn’t settle to read. Again there was too much quiet, a kind of noiselessness which left her alone in the world. However, when she could think of nothing more to do, and it was too early to begin preparations for the evening meal, she’d turn the television down just a little and read for an hour, rereading passages which pleased, puzzled or intrigued her, discussing with herself what she liked and didn’t like, taking her time, afraid she would run out of books to read before it was time to go home. She put aside one book for the plane journey, telling herself that if she ran out of material before then, she’d read the other books over again.

As evening neared, Oriwia would find herself drawn to the front window, looking out for a man on a bicycle, which would eventually materialise as a man driving a sedan. She would listen for the tinkle and squeak which would become instead motorised sounds slowing and halting, the graunching of a handbrake, the shutting of one door, the opening of another.

All was well. She belonged in the world again. Her husband was home. They could exchange the news of the day, though there was not much to tell in her case unless there had been a postcard from home or Aki had called in.

Chappy had emigration documents to discuss with her. Now that his United States citizenship had been granted, he was eager to talk about the next stage of his return and would’ve wondered at Oriwia’s reticence when he brought up the subject. All she would say was that she would be concerned for his health should he return to Aotearoa. Cold and damp was something she hadn’t taken into account when she’d been so adamant that love was paramount.

‘I’ll put on warm socks,’ he said.

‘You were right down.’

‘Before I get off the plane.’

‘And your business?’

‘Our.’

‘Leaving behind a going concern.’