He kills the sander, turns back and lifts the clear glasses from his head. He’s covered the furniture in drop sheets and I know he will clean up after but my eyes are fixed on him.

‘What’s wrong?’ he says, his voice muffled by the dust mask.

Stupid, pointless tears. They’re pressing at the backs of my eyes, squeezing out at the corners. A stone in my throat.

‘What, Lina?’

I rub at my left eye. ‘What are you doing?’ I say. ‘The marks?’

He puts the sander down and is coming towards me but I raise my forearms as if guarding myself from a blow.

He breathes deeply through his nose, lips compressed. ‘I asked you before your run,’ he says. ‘You said I could sand them.’

I shake my head to clear it. He’s right but I was distracted by the messages. ‘It’s fine.’ A tremble in my voice betrays me.

‘No, you’re upset.’

‘No.’ I swallow, meet his eyes. The marks are gone forever, another relic destroyed. I’m struck by a memory. Standing with my back against the wall, Grandpa resting a ruler on the crown of my head.

‘Why are they all different colours?’

‘Because I just use whatever marker we have handy.’

‘What are the numbers?’

‘They’re dates. That way we will know how old you are each time so we can see how much you’ve grown.’

‘Oh.’

‘See, you used to be this tall when you were four, then you were this tall at four and a half, then this tall when you turned five.’

‘Then I grew a lot. Look how big the gap is.’

‘Well, we didn’t see you for a couple of years here. Then again up here.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you were with your mum then.’

Cain’s voice breaks my memory. ‘Lina, I asked you.’

‘I know,’ I say. But still the sadness grips me. It’s not just the marks. It’s also those messages. I fear the worst. My emotions are short-circuiting. ‘It’s nothing, don’t worry.’ Cain didn’t know the significance.

‘That’s why I asked if I could sand,’ he says, frustrated.

•

The road out towards town undulates through the lakes area. Cain is silent as we pass by the Green Lake, Lake Rotokakahi. It’s tapu, forbidden to swim in and remains mostly undisturbed, flat and much smaller than Tarawera. Once, Cain had pulled over when tourists were paddling in the emerald waters. He’d whistled and waved for them to come in. I had listened from the car as he calmly explained this was the only lake in the area where swimming was forbidden. Without complaint, the tourists took their towels and their van and moved on. Perhaps if it had come from a less imposing figure, they might not have listened but that’s the effect of the tattoos, the scars.