In the Shadow of Satellites Read Free Page A

ridiculously triumphant. He pulls a face, closing one eye and concentrating hard.
    “Then two days ago. I’m still jet-lagged as hell. I’ve been sofa-surfing at my brother’s, in Petone. I was gonna hire a car but I couldn’t handle the long drive, so I’m bussing it instead. When I phoned Ana, she said she was coming out to spend the weekend, so I decided to hijack your girly time on my way up to Auckland to see my folks. Hope you don’t mind?”
    “Of course not.”
    His smile fades and he gives me one of his patented stares, as if he’s looking right through me into my soul. It always throws me, that stare.
    “You look good,” he says earnestly.
    He’s lying. I look like crap.
    “So do you.”
    He scratches at his beard, frowning.
    “What do you think? It was kind of a ‘fuck you’ to the corporate world when I left London. Now it’s just annoying the shit out of me. Itches like a bastard.”
    “I like it,” I smile. “It suits you.”
    He smiles back. We just sit there for what feels like far too long, smiling awkwardly at each other as the boat ferries us across the lake, Ana at the helm. Then he reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tight. His brown eyes cloud over, and I know what he’s thinking.
    “It’s good to see you,” he says.
    I look down at my hand in his because it’s easier than seeing the pain in his eyes. I don’t want to see anyone else’s pain. I can barely handle my own. I look up at him again, making myself smile, even though my face feels frozen.
    “You too.”
    I get that feeling again, like James is missing. He should be here for this, for Chris’s homecoming. Like so many other times during the past year, it feels wrong to be here without him.
    “Hey, there’s your neighbour,” Ana says, easing off the throttle some more so that the boat slows to a crawl. “Hard at work, I see. Doesn’t the guy ever stop?”
    Chris lets go of my hand and slips his sunglasses on, as we all turn and look over into the property next to mine. It’s the only decent view we have because his property, like mine, is only accessible by boat. He’s hammering, still. He has a small orange pup tent set up on the right hand side of the old cottage, right beside a fire-pit. We can’t see much from the water, but we can see he’s going to be busy for a while yet. I don’t envy him.
    “He’s keen,” says Chris, with an amused laugh. “Or a sucker for punishment – not sure which.”
    Just then, my neighbour steps back from the cottage and turns towards us. Before I can stop her, Ana waves.
    “Afternoon!” she yells, her voice carrying easily across the water.
    I want to crawl into the hull of the boat and hide, but it’s too late for that. I wave weakly in his direction, as does Chris. My neighbour waves back, then returns to his work.
    “He seems friendly enough,” Ana says, as we coast closer to the small wooden jetty in front of my own cottage.
    Chris stands up, causing the boat to rock sharply from side to side.
    “Whoa,” he says, grabbing onto my shoulder to steady himself. He surveys the cottage, sliding his sunglasses up into his hair. “Jesus, this place hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”
    “That’s the way we like it,” she says, grinning at him as if it’s her place he’s talking about.
    I understand, though. The cottage is almost as much theirs as it is mine. When James and I lived in Wellington, the cottage became the ideal getaway. Ana lived half an hour away in Rotorua, and Chris would often stay with us on his way to or from visiting his parents in Auckland. We’d plan long weekends and lazy weeks here together, even after Kieran was born.
    We climb from the boat onto the jetty, and Ana and I grab the bags of groceries she’s brought with her, while Chris lumbers along behind us with his oversized, battered backpack. I remember when he bought it. It looks very much the worse for wear now, after two years of being hauled around the world. James and I had