“It’s less than that now.More like 300.The island has been losing people at a fast rate for years.The young men and women of the island soon move away, to Raro or farther.Usually New Zealand and Australia.”
Libby glimpsed the turquoise water through the trees.The ocean moved up and down in dramatic swells, sending heavy waves crashing against the rocks.Andrea turned down a steep ramp toward a sectioned-off “pool,” which was separated from the great South Pacific by a concrete wall.The water level dipped and rose with the ocean.
“This is the harbor.It’s safe to swim in,” Andrea said, and Libby held her breath as three Maori children, not more than ten years old, jumped into it.They came up smiling, pulling themselves out of the pool and jumping in again.“It’s deep enough to dive into.”
“Splash!”Karim squealed.
“I don’t think so, honey.You’re too small.”Libby winced at the mere thought.“We’ll find a rock pool.”
Andrea drove back up the dirt track, back to the tarmacked road.“This is one of the seven churches we have on Atiu.And over there is one of the four tennis courts.The island is made up of five villages.You’ll be staying in Areora.”She drove past a white building.“That’s the village hall.The Christian church is holding an island dance there the night before you fly back to Raro.Would you like to buy tickets?Children go free, the food is good, and there’ll be a traditional dance performance.All money raised goes to the church and school.”
“Sounds awesome.Yes, please.”Libby looked up at the truck’s ceiling.“I’ll get one for him up there too.He’ll enjoy it.”
Not likely, but after ten days relaxing on this little island, Cranky might at least be chilled enough to attend.
A hundred or so meters later, Andrea stopped the truck outside a wide bungalow set back from the bumpy road.“Here we are.”She cranked the handbrake and hopped out.
Libby shifted Karim on her lap and pushed her door open.Dan was already down from the trailer, hauling their bags and the stroller out.Curious children gathered by the neighboring house.They were older than Karim, the eldest among them looking to be about twelve or thirteen years old.
“Hey, kids!”Libby waved.
They grinned back, giggling.
Andrea came to her side, jangling a set of keys in her hand.“I’ll warn you that the village wakes up early.”
“Oh, we do early, don’t we, Karim?”
She unlocked the house, and they followed her into the darkened interior.“I’ll advise you to keep the windows and doors closed when you go out,” she said.“The locals’ idea of sharing is different to that of the Western world.Everything is shared on the island.Of course, they’d give it back, if only you knew who took your stuff.As good as the people are here, their concept of private property might differ from yours.”
Andrea pointed to the kitchen, the bathroom, and then at the two doors at the end of the corridor.“Bedrooms are through there.You’ll find extra linen in the wardrobe.”
A closet!Libby hadn’t had one of those since she’d left Rick’s house in London four months ago.“Thanks, Andrea.This is great.”
“There’s homegrown coffee in the kitchen too, from Atiu’s own coffee plantation.”
“Gee, thanks!”
When Andrea left, Libby scanned the room for anything dangerous—or easily destroyed—and then set Karim down to explore.The furnishings were sparse, just how she preferred it—fewer things to move out of her son’s way in case they got broken.The pile of books on the coffee table quickly occupied Karim enough for Libby to crane her head to look through the kitchen doorway.Dan was already investigating the coffee.
He sniffed the jar.“Smells good.Would you like some now?”
“Yes, please.”With Karim still occupied by the books, she quickly explored the bedrooms.Both rooms contained double beds, a chair, and the exciting closets.The little bathroom had a small tub with a shower hose hanging over it, a sink, and a toilet.Everything aboutManuiwas basic but very homely.“This is so cute.”
She checked on Karim, then coaxed him outside to sit at the table under the thatched canopy that ran the width of the house.As she rummaged in her bag for Karim’s oatmeal cookies and a bottle of water, the bushes next to her rustled.
“What’s your name?”asked one of the kids she’d seen earlier, a girl of about seven, who traipsed through and made herself at home at the table.Then more children followed until there werefour…five…no,six unexpected visitors.
“My name’s Libby, and this is Karim.”
“How old is he?”
“Almost three.”
“I’m eight,” said a bare-chested boy in bright-green shorts.“This is my sister.”He pointed at the girl who’d sat at the table.“I’m Rua, and she’s called Rellina.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
“I’m Christopher Mac,” said the eldest child.
