From the Ashes Read online

  ‘Christ,’ Sonny muttered, ‘he eats better than we do.’

  ‘Have you got him yet?’ Rose asked anxiously.

  ‘We’re picking him up on the way home,’ Sonny said, adding to Allie, ‘Aren’t we, love?’

  ‘Certainly are,’ she replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  Which wasn’t much at all.

  Chapter Four

  Allie arrived at work the next morning in quite a bad mood, mainly because during the night Mr De Valera had done an enormous shit in the bath. They’d decided not to let him outside for a couple of days so he wouldn’t run off, and had made him a sandbox for a toilet, but clearly he’d decided not to use it. Sonny thought it was a great joke but she didn’t. It stank and it was disgusting, so she’d made him clean it up. God knew what they’d find when they got home at the end of the day.

  She put her things in her locker in the staffroom and sat down, her hands in her lap. Every day — every single day — when she walked into the Smith and Caughey building her heart raced, she broke into a sweat and she felt dizzy. But she’d discovered that if she sat for a minute or two and breathed deeply, she could calm herself and the panicky feeling would start to ebb. Then she straightened and smoothed her uniform and took her place in the Beauty Hall on the ground floor. At Dunbar and Jones she’d worked in Fashions, but Smith and Caughey had offered her a position in cosmetics so she’d taken it, though she’d started first on general toiletries, moved to Helena Rubinstein, and now she was on the Elizabeth Arden counter.

  ‘Have a good weekend?’ her friend and colleague Peggy asked.

  Peggy was a hoot. She was pretty, clever, unnaturally blonde and applied her make-up with a trowel, but with so much skill she got away with it. They were there, she reckoned, to flog powder and rouge and mascara and lipstick, so why not demonstrate them?

  ‘Not really,’ Allie replied. ‘My nan ended up in hospital with a broken hip.’

  ‘God, really? Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s comfortable but she has to have surgery.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘I know. And nearly as bad, we’re stuck with her bloody cat till she’s better again.’

  ‘But you don’t like cats.’

  ‘I hate this one. It did the biggest poo in the bath last night. Stank the whole flat out.’

  Peggy shrieked with laughter. ‘Sounds like our dog. He’s always shitting on our lawn. I wish he’d go and shit at the neighbour’s.’ She pushed a cardboard box across the counter. ‘Here, you need cheering up more than me. It’s the new lipsticks. You can unpack them.’

  ‘Ooh, really?’

  Allie found the scissors, slit the tape on the box and began extracting a series of smaller boxes, inside which were packed row after row of lipstick tubes, like golden bullets. She lined them all up on the counter in order of colour, then selected a tester, bent to a mirror and tried it on.

  ‘Pure Red. Does it suit me? It doesn’t, does it?’

  ‘Not really,’ Peggy said. ‘It’s not right for your skin tone.’ She wound open a few more testers, her mouth pursed in thought, then handed one to Allie. ‘Wipe that off and try this. Pink Violet.’

  Allie did as she was told.

  ‘That’s better,’ Peggy said. ‘It’s much softer.’

  Allie agreed — it was. She’d discovered fairly quickly that selecting the right cosmetics for a woman’s complexion wasn’t that different from helping them choose the most flattering colour of clothing, and she’d been very good at that. Of course, they didn’t all listen, but if the occasional woman wanted to go around looking like a clown, that wasn’t her look-out.

  She’d just finished building a counter display of some of the new lipsticks using a Perspex stand and a square of gold satin when she smelt smoke. Her heart thumped wildly as she scrambled to establish whether it was just someone’s cigarette or something far, far worse.

  She relaxed shakily as a woman approached the counter, her cigarette in its long black holder wafting a plume of smoke. She wore a beautifully tailored two-piece suit in dark blue wool with a black fur collar, black gloves, a black sculpted half hat in felted wool with a tiny net veil, and black suede heels. Her face was expertly made up and, beneath the cigarette smoke, Allie caught a whiff of some exotic floral scent she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Good morning, madam. May I help you?’

  The woman smiled, revealing even, white teeth. ‘I expect so. Which one of you is Allie?’

  ‘That’s me,’ Allie said.

  ‘Oh, good. You were recommended to me by my nanny, Evelyn Palmer. She says she knows someone who says you’re very good with cosmetics.’

  ‘Really?’ Allie wondered who that could be.

  ‘Yes. I need face cream and also face powder, please. I seem to have run out.’

  The woman’s accent was posh New Zealand, overlaid with something else.

  ‘Do you usually use Elizabeth Arden?’ Allie asked.

  ‘Actually, no. I prefer Payot for skin care.’

  Allie had never heard of it. ‘I’m afraid we don’t carry Payot.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a French brand. I used to buy it at Harrods when we lived in London.’

  ‘I think you’ll find Elizabeth Arden is also very good. Our customers seem very happy with the results and we do sell quite a lot of it.’ Before the woman wriggled off the hook, Allie forged ahead. ‘We have Elizabeth Arden’s full Ardena range, including the Cleansing Cream, Skin Tonic, Velva Cream, Orange Face Cream, Eye Lotion, Hand Lotion, the Featherlight Foundation Cream, and, of course, the Eight Hour Cream. And some of those come in sets, which is handy.’

  The woman took a long drag on her cigarette, causing the ash to droop then fall to the floor. ‘They’re not always full-sized in the sets, the bottles and jars, are they?’

  ‘Well,’ Allie began.

  ‘I’ll take three of everything,’ the woman interrupted. ‘Of the full sizes.’

  Allie stared at her. ‘Pardon?’ She was aware Peggy had been having a good eavesdrop farther along the counter, and was now openly listening in.

  ‘I’ll take three of everything, thank you.’

  ‘Oh. Well, yes, of course.’ Christ almighty, that would cost her a fortune.

  ‘Now, face powder,’ the woman said. ‘Nothing too cakey.’ She laughed brightly. ‘I don’t want to look even older than I do already!’

  Allie thought she didn’t look very old at all, probably somewhere in her early thirties, but changed the subject as she reached for their lightest powders. ‘Have you been home from London very long?’

  ‘Oh, London. No, just a couple of months, though I miss it dreadfully already. We lived there for some years. My husband’s English, ex-RAF. He’s a senior pilot for NAC now.’

  From the corner of her eye Allie saw Peggy mouth, ‘Well, lah di dah’, but smiled at her customer.

  ‘Could I show you the Ardena Invisible Veil?’

  ‘Lovely. I quite like the floral box. Very pretty.’ The woman looked around and stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray stand then permitted Allie to dust some of the powder onto her hand. ‘Yes, that’s acceptable. I’ll take three of those as well, thank you.’

  Peggy said, ‘I’ll package everything while you’re writing the docket, if you like.’

  Allie nodded her thanks and asked the woman, ‘May I please have your name?’

  ‘Mrs Kathleen Lawson. That’s Kathleen with a K.’ Mrs Lawson offered a hand. ‘Thank you, Allison, you’ve been very helpful. It is Allison, isn’t it, your proper name?’

  Feeling rather uncomfortable Allie shook the proffered hand, then went back to her docket. ‘Er, yes. May I have your address, please?’

  ‘Three Eastbourne Road, Remuera. Such a nice part of town and with lovely views.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Allie said. From her flat they had a stunning view of the neighbour’s clothesline and some sheds on the property behind
them.

  As she wrote Mrs Lawson’s purchases on the docket, Peggy packed them into a smart Smith and Caughey shopping bag, then Allie discreetly advised Mrs Lawson of the total cost.

  ‘Not as bad as I thought!’ she said with a laugh, and handed over a wad of notes.

  Allie folded the money and the docket into a capsule, inserted it into the Lamson tube and fired it off to Miss Cato at the cash desk. While they waited for the change to come back, Mrs Lawson chattered on.

  ‘Are you married, Allison?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘No children, I gather?’

  Allie shook her head, thinking that was a bit of a nosy question. Actually, they both were.

  ‘Good. I don’t approve of mothers who work. Except for charity work, of course.’ She turned to Peggy. ‘And you, er . . .?’

  ‘Peggy Mitchell, ma’am. No, I’m not married. Haven’t met the right man yet.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure someone will come along. I have three children myself, two boys and a girl, ages nine, seven and five.’

  She paused, and Allie thought she might be expecting either her or Peggy to say something, but Allie had no idea what might be expected, so she kept quiet.

  ‘Of course, being a mother is a full-time job in itself, isn’t it? We had a nanny in England and she was worth her weight in gold. My husband insisted I hire another nanny here— Evelyn, of course — and I really don’t know what I’d do without her. He’s away quite a lot flying, you see, my husband. Not on long trips, usually just overnight, but it’s wonderful to have someone to help get the children off to school in the mornings and what have you. We were considering boarding school, but, really, there are some very good schools in Remuera. She cooks too, the nanny. She’s marvellous.’

  Allie, who knew Peg took a dim view of people who skited, dared not catch her eye. At last the change came whistling down the Lamson and she counted it out.

  ‘Thank you very much for shopping at Smith and Caughey, Mrs Lawson. I hope you enjoy your purchases.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. Thank you for your help, girls!’

  And off she went.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Peggy said, ‘What was all that in aid of, telling us about her home in fancy Remuera and the nanny and all the rest of it? Posh cow.’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you think her teeth were real?’

  Peg shrugged. ‘I’m thinking of having all mine out. They keep giving me gyp.’

  ‘Nice clothes, though. And beautiful accessories.’

  ‘Just because you worked in Fashion.’

  ‘I can’t help having a good eye.’

  Peg got out the inventory book and wrote down the sales Allie had made. ‘I think she might have taken a shine to you. What’s the bet she’ll be back?’

  ‘Well, it won’t be for ages, the amount of stuff she bought.’

  ‘And you were impressed,’ Peggy added slyly. ‘Go on, admit it.’

  ‘I was not!’ Allie protested, feeling herself going red.

  Peggy laughed. ‘Yes, you were. You can’t fool me, Allie Manaia.’

  ‘Oh . . . shut up!’

  *

  Rose had her surgery two days after she was admitted to hospital. Colleen took a very rare day off work and, with Sid, caught the bus to spend the day with her. While Rose was coming round from the anaesthetic, her surgeon explained to Colleen that the break had been complicated as it had involved a significant femoral neck fracture including tearing of the blood vessels, on top of osteoporosis, which meant they’d only been able to ‘patch’ the break, not mend it completely.

  ‘I see,’ Colleen said.

  Sid said, ‘I don’t. What does that actually mean?’

  ‘I’m afraid it means she won’t be very mobile any more,’ the surgeon replied. ‘And no longer independent.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Sid groaned.

  ‘Well, can she have a wheelchair?’ Colleen asked.

  ‘We can arrange that.’

  Sid said, ‘I’m not putting her on the bog.’

  Colleen turned on him. ‘Will you shut up! No one’s asked you to!’

  ‘Fracturing a hip at your mother’s age also means there’s a greater risk of her dying earlier than she might have,’ the surgeon went on. ‘Complications can arise, such as a pulmonary embolism, or an infection, or heart failure. You need to bear that in mind.’

  ‘How much earlier?’ Colleen asked.

  ‘Well, sometimes it makes no difference, sometimes it’s a year, and sometimes . . .’ The surgeon spread his hands, palms up. ‘We just can’t make a judgment. It depends on the patient.’

  Colleen said, ‘So now she’s living with a death sentence?’

  ‘We’re all living with a death sentence, Mrs Roberts.’

  ‘That’s bloody cheery, isn’t it?’ Sid remarked.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t give you better news,’ the surgeon said.

  ‘Have you told all this to Mum?’ Colleen asked.

  ‘She wasn’t sufficiently awake when she came out of surgery. I thought I’d leave that to you, as her family.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Sid said.

  ‘I’ll see her on my rounds in the morning, and answer any questions she has then.’

  Colleen and Sid were sitting with Rose when Allie and Sonny arrived after work. Rose was awake, but exhausted and still faintly groggy.

  Allie gave her a kiss. ‘How are you feeling, Nan?’

  ‘As though I’ve been run over by a bus. But the doctor said he fixed everything all right.’

  ‘Did he?’ Allie pulled up a chair. It made a terrible scraping sound on the linoleum and she winced.

  ‘He had a good talk to you, didn’t he?’ Rose said to Colleen.

  Allie looked at her mother expectantly.

  Colleen got that expression on her face that Allie knew meant she wasn’t telling the whole truth. ‘Yes, he said the operation went very well and Mum should be back on her feet in no time.’ Her father, Allie noticed, was staring hard at his hands.

  ‘Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? You must be pleased, Nan.’

  ‘You bet I am. The food in here’s atrocious.’

  ‘That reminds me.’ Allie opened her bag. ‘Here. Cadbury Milk Tray. I know they’re your favourite.’

  ‘Ooh, you do spoil me, love.’

  Allie checked her watch. ‘What time do you get your tea? I hope they don’t kick us out while you have it.’

  ‘Been and gone,’ Rose said. ‘They bring it round at a quarter to five. Far too early.’

  ‘Then who’s that?’ Sonny asked, nodding at a woman slowly making her way down the ward with a trolley.

  ‘Tea lady.’

  Sid rubbed his hands together. ‘Good, I could do with a decent cuppa.’

  ‘Well, you won’t get one in here,’ Rose grumbled.

  *

  In the ward directly on the floor below, Kura Apanui poured the last cup of tea from her enormous enamel pot for the patient in the bed nearest the door.

  ‘Milk and—’ the man began.

  ‘Two sugars, I know. And a couple of super wines, Mr Stewart? We’re out of gingernuts.’

  ‘Yes, please. Can’t eat gingernuts anyway. My teeth, you know.’

  ‘Oooh, I know, they’re hard, eh? But you can always dunk them.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Mr Stewart said, wriggling up the bed into a sitting position.

  Kura set the cup of tea on his nightstand. ‘There you go. Mind it’s not too hot.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Her teapot empty now, Kura wheeled the rattling trolley into the service lift, pushed B for Basement, then eased off a shoe and wriggled her aching toes as the lift descended. Then she followed a warren of corridors to the hospital’s enormous and busy main kitchen, where she unloaded stacks of dirty cups and saucers from the trolley into an outsized sink. Not her job to wash them, fortunately — some other lucky person would be doing them tod
ay.

  ‘You nearly done?’ her cousin and best friend Wikitoria Irwin asked. She was standing there with her hat on and her handbag, looking grumpy. ‘Come on, you should’ve clocked off.’

  ‘I got held up.’

  ‘Well, hurry up. We’ll miss the bus.’

  ‘Wait on, I’ll only be a second.’

  Wiki could be bossy and bad-tempered sometimes, Kura knew, but she was loyal and had a huge heart, and she loved her.

  ‘Give me your locker key,’ Wiki said. ‘I’ll get your bag and things.’

  By the time she came back Kura had finished unloading the dishes and put on her hat. She clocked off and they hurried out of the hospital towards the bus stop just outside the main gates.

  ‘Bugger,’ Kura said as the bus they hoped to catch started to pull away.

  ‘Well, I’m not waiting for the next one,’ Wiki declared and ran after it, banging with all her might on its shiny painted side.

  Embarrassed by all the faces peering out the bus’s windows and too shamed to join in, Kura nevertheless couldn’t help laughing, and the driver must have heard because he slowed to a stop and the door opened again.

  ‘Come on, get on!’ Wiki called.

  Kura did, following her cousin up the steps, her face a blaze of heat. They got some dirty looks too when they moved down the aisle looking for seats. No one shifted over for them and she didn’t manage to sit down till Queen Street, where a lot of people got off. She cared because it was insulting and because her feet hurt, but she didn’t let it upset her, not these days.

  They stayed on the bus as it went up Wellesley Street then up College Hill to Ponsonby, where they got off opposite Hargreaves Street and walked the last few hundred yards.

  ‘You coming over for tea?’ Wiki asked.

  ‘You got enough?’

  ‘Plenty. We’ve still got some of that pork. If we don’t eat it tonight it’s just going to go off. You got any bread?’

  ‘Did some rewana last night. I’ll bring that.’

  ‘Lovely. See you soon.’

  They lived on opposite sides of the same short street, so Kura wouldn’t have far to herd her husband Joshua and seven children. There was an eighth child, her youngest, Alice, who was eight years old, but she and Joshua had left her with her grandparents at Maungakakari because she needed extra care. The family missed her desperately. She was a mongol child, and when she’d been born Kura had had trouble, though she’d popped the other seven out at home as easy as pie. She’d had to go to the hospital with Alice and the doctor had told her she shouldn’t have any more babies because Alice was a retard, and had tied her tubes, and that was the end of that even though Kura had only been thirty-three at the time.