I believe it finally. It is why he passed my way.

I stood up awkwardly. If I turned to my left I could see the tiny clapperboard Maori meeting place where Saffie lay waiting. Candles were kept alight day and night by Maori friends who took turns to guard her so that she was never in the dark or alone. Tangihanga, the Maori process of mourning, had begun.

I thought the perfect position for Saffie’s last journey to a peaceful afterlife was here where I stood now. The grass was long and the smell sweet, of hay and childhood, of the myriad of possibilities that lay ahead. You could just glimpse our house to the right with the view down the valley. Across the river from our land lay the curve of blue sea with the yachts resting in the shelter of the bay. Beyond, tiny islands lay.

Behind me our land circled and there was no sound but the constant crickets and the kokakos. It was a perfect bird’s eye view of all that I loved and the things that made up my everyday life.

We will bury Saffie here.

Sam’s boys were going to fly over and help build a small summer house with a grass roof and no straight lines. Inside, I already knew what trees and shrubs I would plant. Manuka, kowhai and ponga, and saplings to grow upright through the roof and windows.

Distant Maori relations of Jack’s were coming up from their farm in Whangarel to help too. Gran and Grandpa were travelling all the way from Cyprus to be here.

Saffie will never lie alone again.

I turned from the water and started to walk back to the house and it was then that the first pain came, sharp and urgent, making me double up with the shock of it. I crouched on the ground to get my breath. Sweat broke out on my forehead and fear made my heart hammer.

I must get back to the house. I got to my feet shakily and I felt Saffie’s presence suddenly beside me, anxious.

‘It’s OK,’ I told her. ‘It’s OK. I can make it back to the house…’

No!

The word seemed loud in the silence.

No, Nikki. Stay where you are – don’t start walking. Ring Jack. Ring him now.

At that moment my waters broke. I got my mobile out of my pocket and I dialled. Jack anwered immediately.

‘Nik?’

‘Jack, please don’t panic. Could you come back? I think I’ve gone into labour.’

Jack panicked. I heard it. Sam came on the line. ‘Nik? Where are you?’

I was doubled up again and could not speak for a minute. Sam’s voice was calm and reassuring. ‘Take deep breaths, that’s it. How close are your contractions?’

‘Oh, God, Sam, pretty close, about three or four minutes…’

‘Nik, listen to me…’ His voice was jerky and breathless and I realised they were all running as he talked. ‘Don’t try to get back to the house. Stay where you are. Lie down, breath as you’ve been taught and try to relax…We’re in the boat now and on our way. OK?’