I feel down, sometimes. Once after I’d had my chemo, and spent a week at home feeling grotty (but Mum still made me do my assignments!), I went back to school and the other kids were full of this amazing Outdoor Pursuits Course they’d been on. They were laughing about how Chantelle had fallen off the flying-fox, and the disgusting stuff the boys cooked when it was their turn to do dinner. I sat there, still feeling tired and achy, and I’d have given anything in the world to be like them. Anything.

I’m not lonely, even though I’m off school a fair bit. I’ve got friends who come to see me. My family are really cool. Even my brothers are pretty good — for boys. But I spend a lot of time by myself, when I’m recovering from chemo, and because, like I said, I can’t go out and do some things other kids can. So I’ve learned to do stuff on my own.

I like going for walks along the riverbed. I get there over the ‘new’ bridge. It’s nearly thirty years old; that’s new? Maybe to adults. They had to rebuild it after a truck crashed through the deck into the Waimoana. Grandad Alan and his friend Tipene dived in and saved the driver’s life.

Anyway, I walk to the rocks where people used to swim before the river changed course yet again, and where Grandad and Tipene found the carving. I sit there and read or think. Or I wander past the old orchard.

A scary thing happened to me one time in the orchard. I was eleven. I’d finished a round of chemo, and was nearly ready to go back to school. Mum and I decided to go for a slow walk down to the orchard, so she could get a few pears.

We waited for Mr Ross from up the valley to drive over the bridge, then we crossed. We climbed the fence opposite where the roadman’s cottage used to be (it fell down in an earthquake when Great-nana Florence was about my age), and started down the track towards the riverbed. Mum held my hand, in case I fell and grazed myself. I was fine on my own, but I’ve learned to let people do things that make them feel better about me. Hope that makes sense!

The orchard trees are all covered with lichen and moss now. They don’t grow much fruit, but Mum likes to go there. Great-great-grandad Duncan was clearing the bush for the orchard when he almost lost his leg. Great-nana Florence and her friend Whina were there when the huge earthquake hit. It’s a special place.