Conversations had already taken place on other evenings, where Chappy had told of his desire to return to Aotearoa and work the land. Oriwia, who had now decided that his happiness was what mattered most, had put other alternatives out of mind. Though there were no markets for small-time veggie growers any more, what did it matter? Chappy was coming home. She could have her tearoom, he could grow and sell vegetables.

But when?

And now, flowers.

The patch where they’d grown their vegetables, now taken over by lupin and scrub, suddenly burst into bloom – gladioli, stocks, pinks, sweet peas, sweet william, spring bulbs. Roses.

‘Baskets,’ he said.

Baskets, long and open-ended for gathering blooms, round and open for display, tall with collars – high at the back, low in front – for special floral arrangements, small and pretty for flower girls strewing petals in church parades.

Incense and roses.

Their land would be covered in colour and fragrance. They would provide blooms and baskets to florists who would do them up into bouquets, posies, sprays and corsages for weddings, or wreaths for funerals. Or maybe they wouldn’t sell flowers at all, but just have beautiful gardens. They’d belong to a garden society and win cups for prize blooms.

But?

Her tearoom?

Aki, on guitar, moved on to a new song, ‘Me he manu rere’ – if I were a bird I’d fly to your bed and hold you in my arms. Or should that be wings? Oriwia wondered.

The singing didn’t continue for very long after that. Ishy and Malia made moves to go home. Ela’s mother told them to wait. She was cutting up cake and putting biscuits on a tray. Oriwia went to help her. Aki and Chappy were talking about gardens and rotary hoes and a small tractor.

Flowers.

‘I was handing round biscuits with my head full of flowers when my mouth said something, Grandson, but I didn’t get the words right.’

Oriwia stood there holding a plate of chocolate coconut clusters.

‘I want to remarry,’ she said. Her worried look wouldn’t have helped anyone understand what she was getting at. ‘Gee whiz. You should’ve heard the silence. You should’ve seen the faces. They were all at once wired stiff,’ she said.

Chappy’s straight black hair looked as though it had been electrified. His wavy eyebrows went up, his eyes widened and his lips were tucked back under his teeth so no sound would come out. Aki, who was standing leaning the guitar against the wall, swivelled and straightened. Oriwia could see he was boiling, all muscle and eyes, heat rising through his body, arms hitching and bulking his shoulders as though he could tackle a bull. Ishy halted the biscuit that was going towards his mouth and stared with his lips poking towards her. The Hawaiians became statues, except that their eyes were flickering from face to face to see what story was written on them.