‘There’s less blood now,’ Lily murmured. ‘The tourniquet must be working.’ Her white face was only a few inches from mine; her bottom lip trembled. But she managed a shaky half-smile. ‘Just as well Jess and I have been reading those nursing books.’

I tried to speak, but my voice wouldn’t come. The pain had sunk to a slow, pulsing jolt. My drenched clothes felt strangely comfortable. Mother was clasping my hand, whispering ‘You’ll be all right, son. You’ll be all right.’ Lily kept pressing on the wad of clothes over my gashed flesh.

Yes, I was going to be all right. Somehow, I knew it. And the funny thing was, I wouldn’t need to make a choice after all. The axe had made it for me.

More magpies fluted somewhere. I was drifting into darkness. My eyelids felt heavy. But I kept watching Lily Sheffield’s face. The dark eyes; the lips set firm now; the neat chin. She glanced at me; tried to smile once more.

That’s interesting, I thought, as the world faded. I have made a choice. A totally different one. And … And I think I’ve found a treasure.

FLORENCE 1938

When I asked my parents why they gave the first names Florence Hahona, my father Duncan joked that the Florence was Florence Nightingale, the famous nurse.

Actually, he was only partly joking. Mostly I’m named after Great-great-auntie Flora in Scotland who gave Nana Aggie her silver bracelet. But Mum and Auntie Jess had been studying nursing before Father had his terrible accident with the axe, so the things they learned probably saved his life. And when Mum was expecting me, Auntie Jess told her: ‘Lily, if this baby is a girl, she’s going to bear the name of a strong woman. She’s going to know that there’s nothing women can’t do if they get half a chance!’ Fifteen years later, I’ve learned that when my auntie says something is going to happen, it usually does!

She — Auntie Jess — lives up in Auckland now. She started a group helping women who can’t get work, or who are forced out of their homes because they don’t have money to pay the rent. There was a big riot a while back, when hundreds of unemployed people marched up Queen Street, demanding that the government do more to help. When the police tried to stop them, fights started and shop windows got smashed.

And why is my second name Hahona? That’s easy. She’s my second nana; she and Nana Aggie have been friends nearly all their lives. They met just after Nana Aggie and Great-uncle Niall and their parents arrived from Scotland.

Great-uncle Niall told me not long before he died how he remembered their heads together as they talked and giggled and whispered: one dark and one fair. They’re both white heads now, but they’re still often together.