I stood up, and began heading towards the bridge and home. Like I said, I felt tired. It happens. Dr Koen’s been talking to Mum about this new treatment, where they take some of your DNA and use it to rebuild healthy cells in your body. That’s another thing they can do for me if they need to.

I stopped halfway along the bridge and looked around, trying to take everything in like I was seeing it for the first time. The Waimoana glittered among the riverbed stones. A couple of magpies, probably rellies of those thugs who beat Mum and me up, did a show-off forward-roll in mid-air, then flashed back to their tree. The hawk still hung high above the swamp.

I heard Mum telling Uncle John one time how she’d decided on the way home from a protest march that living here was a treasure. She saw me listening, and shut up. Why? Because in a few years, I might not be living — here or anywhere else. Meanwhile, my uncle went ‘Aw, yeah. Good one, Ailsa.’ Typical male!

What do I think? I guess Mum’s right. I guess a lot of people have thought the same. I reckon every day is like discovering something new and special. You never know what you’ll find. You never know when you’ll meet someone or something that changes your life.

Did I just write that? How embarrassing. How puke-making. But it’s true. Every day is my treasure. I’m gonna make the most of them. And I’m gonna live years and years and years of them. Betya!

CALLUM 2018

They’re going to make up their minds this morning. I just know they are. They’ve been talking about it for months now: Dad and Mum, Nana Ailsa and Great-uncle John, Uncle Sholto when he can drive over from his farm-adviser job, Grandad Robbie has Skyped a few times (he works in the Pacific Islands, on health and environment things), and he’s told Dad that whatever people decide, he’ll support them 100 per cent.

We might be leaving the farm — selling it (if Dad and Uncle Sholto can get a buyer) and moving into town. It’s hard to believe. Melody — I’ll tell you more about Melody later — and her Nana Marama came over a week back. Mum was all worked up about our maybe leaving, and she started crying while she talked to Marama. And while Melody and I kept looking at each other and pretending not to look.

‘Cam’s family have lived here for 130 years,’ Mum sobbed. ‘Mine, too.’ My mother was a Sheffield; one of her great-great-uncles or something used to own a big place further up the valley. ‘Your family has helped us for all that time. I can’t bear to think of moving away. Leaving all the old ones up there in the cemetery — it feels like we’re betraying them.’