The next day, we drove up to Auckland. Two carloads of us: me, Mum and Dad, Nana Florence and Grandad Matiu, Uncle Tipene and Nana Whina. Auntie Pania hugged Tipene hard before he left. ‘Be sensible! I know what you and Alan are like when you get together.’

Tipene grinned. The scar on his forehead, where he’d bashed it when he and Dad were stuck in the Waimoana, wrinkled like it often does. ‘No rivers at the rugby ground, honey.’

Pania snorted. ‘You two can find trouble whether it’s wet or dry!’ She looked at me. ‘You stay out of trouble, too. Don’t go beating up any Springboks!’

Nana Whina kissed Auntie Pania and the twins. ‘Can’t we go, too?’ Marama asked. ‘Yeah, can’t we?’ echoed Marika.

Nana Whina laughed. ‘Someone has to keep an eye on your Grandad Robert. You two make sure he behaves himself.’ The girls looked pleased.

Great-uncle Robert McDougall wanted to come with us, but someone needed to be at home just in case anything happened. So he’d agreed to stay.

Nana Whina wore the little greenstone bat around her neck. I glanced at Nana Florence and stared. The silver bracelet wasn’t on her wrist. Then I saw its plaited band and thistle clasp glinting on my mother’s. So it was her turn to wear it now. Someday it would be mine. I didn’t want to think about that; it would mean Mum was getting old.

We climbed into the cars, waved goodbye to Auntie Pania and the twins, and headed off down the valley for Auckland and the third rugby test.

Three kilometres along the road, a farm truck was parked in a driveway. A figure stood beside it, watching us come. John.

We slowed down. My brother gazed at us, shook his head, then called out. I heard ‘… careful … safe’. We waved again, drove on again. My parents smiled at each other, and I felt better, too.

We had a good time driving up. Mum and Dad checked out all the farms we passed. ‘Nice-looking heifers,’ I heard. ‘Fencing must have cost a packet … paddocks looking heavy.’ When we drove through a town, Dad looked bored; Mum tried to see into the shop windows. As soon as I can, I’m going to live in a place with lots of people and lots of things happening.

A train rumbled across a bridge on our left. My father murmured: ‘Mum still can’t bear to look at anything like that.’ I knew he was talking about how Great-uncle Angus died. I glanced through our car’s back window, at Matiu’s green car with Nana Florence, Nana Whina and Tipene, but I couldn’t make out their faces.