stairs, and a freckled face peered over the railing at me. I recognized that look. Awe. Not about me, not really. About the dream.
“Hi, mate,” I said. “What’s your name?”
“Hamish Cantwell,” he said shyly, coming the rest of the way down the stairs. “Are you really an All Black?”
“I was,” I said, as Matiu transferred his attentions to my arms. “I was a Highlander as well, though. I’m thinking you may be a supporter.”
A little black-and-white dog with a feathery tail had come down with him and was frisking around Xena, play-bowing and rising onto his hind legs like he was hoping for a wrestling match. Xena looked at him with tolerant bemusement, as if she couldn’t fathom ever being that undignified, then dropped to the floor at my feet, laid her head on her paws, and sighed.
“The Highlanders are my very favorite,” the boy said. “Because they always wave to the crowd and things, like they’re saying thank you for coming to see them, and two of them are gingers like me, but nobody teases them. They’re good at rugby, but they’re nice. Buddy has a Highlanders collar besides his All Blacks one, too. Matiu and I have season tickets, so we can always go, except when they play somewhere else, and I have a jersey and a bobble hat and a flag and everything.”
“That’s good,” I said. “What position do you play yourself?”
He looked down the same way the girls did, then looked up again and said, “Midfielder?”
“Really?” I said. “Me too. Or I did once. I’m a builder now.”
“Matiu said so,” Hamish said. “Except that I think you must always feel most like a rugby player, because being an All Black is special.”
“Yeh, mate,” I said. “It is. But other things are special, too. Being a builder’s pretty good.”
“I guess,” Hamish said, sounding so doubtful, I had to smile.
“Would you like to meet a few of the boys, next season?” I asked. “The fellas on the team?”
Hamish got very, very still, and then he nodded and whispered, “Yes, please.” Then his eyes lit up, and he said, “And could my grandad Alistair meet them too? He likes the Highlanders the most of all, except sometimes he yells at the coach, but he wouldn’t yell if he met him in real life, I don’t think. Even though he sometimes yells anyway, so maybe if they didn’t win, it wouldn’t be as good for him to come.”
I was laughing. I said, “I think I could arrange that. Get you a photo or two, if you like. And you could bring your Grandad along, but only if they manage the win, of course.”
Matiu said, “You realize that you’re interfering with my unbiased opinion,” but he was smiling.
“You could meet them too, maybe, Matiu,” Hamish said. “And Mum, too, even though she doesn’t like it as much as us. That’s because she’s pregnant,” he explained to me, “and you have to leave and go to the toilet all the time when you’re pregnant, which is heaps of work, because there’s a queue. Also, the seats aren’t comfortable, because you’re fatter.”
All right. I laughed. The pretty, very pregnant redhead who’d been on the couch came into the kitchen holding a toddler by the hand, another ginger with auburn curls and big green eyes, and said, “I resemble that remark. I’m Poppy, by the way. I’m going to get some plates out, because if we don’t get our skates on, that pizza’s going to meet nobody’s standard. Especially after you were so heroic, because—ouch. That’s got to sting.”
I said, “Nah. Didn’t you hear me telling Daisy how tough I am? Trying not to cry, aren’t I. Preserving the image.”
Matiu said, “Oh, I think the image is safe. I remember you as a player. You made a doctor wince. How’s the head these days?”
“Not bad,” I said, but when Matiu looked up from his task and gave me that “Don’t-bullshit-the-trainer” stare, I added, “I get the odd migraine now and then.”
“He does,” Fruitful said. She was on the couch again, and I twisted to look at her, suddenly remembering how she’d stepped back when I’d … well, yelled a bit.
I said, “Not as many as I used to, fortunately. You look very pretty, Fruitful. New hair. New clothes. Different. Looks good.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Matiu smeared antibiotic ointment on my arms and started taping gauze down over the worst of the scrapes. He said, “You’ll need a plaster on