I was only nine, but I remember my mother and Nana Lily crying and crying. Grandad Duncan went out, carrying the axe that he’d hurt himself with that time, and began chopping at an old macrocarpa tree that he’d been trimming for firewood. He chopped so hard that the axe broke. He came back to the farmhouse holding the handle.

Uncle Angus was buried a week later. Auntie Whina laid her greenstone bat on the grave, and left it there for a week. Nana Lily did the same with her silver bracelet; then afterwards she gave it to Mum. Some people were afraid that the magpies would steal them, but they lay there untouched.

Tipene and I sloshed along the shingle road towards the stile leading into our home paddock. I was thinking about the milk bar he’d mentioned: I’ll never forget that.

We were in town one day last year. Auntie Whina and Mum wanted new shoes, even though Uncle Robert and Dad said there were plenty of decent gumboots around. They gave me and Tipene and Finola money to buy a milkshake each while they were in the shop — ‘and to stop you boys being silly while we choose’.

The guy serving in the milk bar watched us come in. Finola asked, ‘Could I have a vanilla milkshake, please?’ Tipene went ‘I’ll have a chocolate one, thanks’, and I said ‘Me, too.’

The guy behind the counter didn’t answer for a couple of seconds, then he muttered ‘Not serving just now’.

We boys stared at him. When Finola spoke again, her voice sounded tight. ‘We’d like to buy our milkshakes, please.’

The man shook his head, went ‘Not serving’ again. ‘Try Wilson’s.’

Wilson’s Milk Bar is right down the far end of town. I couldn’t work out what he was on about. But Finola and Tipene had realised something. My friend’s hands were clenched into fists. Finola’s face had gone hot and angry. She’s three years older than him, almost sixteen then, and she stood there like a grown-up. Her eyes stayed on the guy serving — not serving. He wouldn’t look at her; started wiping the counter.

After another few seconds, Finola went ‘You’re pathetic. You know that?’ She turned and strode out. Tipene glared at the guy, then followed. I went after them, trying to understand what was going on.

‘What—’ I began when we were out on the footpath. But right then, Finola put her hands to her face and burst into tears. Tipene looked wilder than I’d ever seen him.

‘What—’ I began again, like a cuckoo clock or something.

My friend glared at me. ‘He wouldn’t serve any of us because we’re Maori. Couldn’t you tell? The bloody pig!’

My mouth dropped open. I felt my own face start to heat up.